#that a mile away lies a sleeping woman

[duskdragon39]

If you are so inclined. Trick or treat?

:O

For you, a trick:

The heart of the matter is this: a sense of place is a sense of perception. It's community and communication and history, bound up into physical location.

The problem with Avery Marsh is that. Well. When you excise someone's community, his ability to communicate, and half his history - how can you expect the location to make up the difference?

[repulsiveliquidation]

Hope, Coffee, and Poetry.

cw : smut, angst, mentions of cheating. 18+ DNI.

a/n I hope this lives up to your expectations. I cried when I wrote the last line, I have no idea why. Enjoy. realized I forgot to include the Frida Kahlo quote I used!

“You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.”

Hope.

“Bebita, please!”

“Don’t want to hear it, Alexia,” you tell her, storming out of the restaurant with her trailing behind.

“Baby, wait!”

You turn around quickly, anger seething behind your eyes. She cowers a little, taking a step back from you just as you both stepped out of the restaurant.

“Don’t you dare try to justify what you’ve been doing behind my back, Alexia. I’ve been so stupid to think that you wouldn’t break my heart like that when you promised me you wouldn’t ever do that. You know the pain and turmoil my father did to my mother and you SWORE to me you would never cheat on me and you fucking did!”

“Amor, I’m sorry. I tried to tell you but-”

“But what, Alexia? ‘Oh sorry I couldn’t join you for dinner babe, I’ve got my mistress to fuck at 8 pm tonight, and I can’t reschedule?!’”

You step up to her, most of the girls now joining you two outside. María, Ingrid, Lucy, and Frido look extremely upset with Alexia while Ona, Jana, Pina, and Aitana are by your side rubbing your back and arms.

“You ruined us, Alexia. Don’t ever forget that.”

You wipe your tears off your face, give the girls a curt nod, and walk off towards your car. Opening the door, you hear María yelling her head off at Alexia, fluently cursing at her in Spanish. Alexia has her head hung low when you drive past, sobbing into her hands.

“How could you do something like that to her, Alexia? She was the best thing that ever happened to you and you throw her away for some gold digger you picked up at a bar?!” María lays into her after Alexia desperately tries to explain herself.

“She is not a gold digger!” Alexia yells suddenly, looking straight at María with red eyes and an angry look.

“Did you just defend her? The whore you’ve been sleeping with behind your fucking wife's back?”

Alexia looks at her best friend in shock. The words just came out of her mouth, she wasn’t thinking.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Your wife has been there for you when you were THIS close to giving up football. When your ACL tore, she almost gave her career up to be there for you full-time. When your father died, she was the first one you called; she was as heartbroken as you were, he was the best father figure she had. The two of you were thick as thieves, inseparable since you were children. You knew the kind of shit her father put her and her mother through with him sleeping around and you go and do the one thing she hoped the person she loved wouldn’t do to her!”

Alexia was sobbing hard, shoulders shaking hard with her cries. No one comforted her, somehow that hurt her more than the truths María was yelling at her.

“I am so fucking disappointed in you, I can’t even LOOK at you right now!” María yelled one last time, shoving Ingrid’s hand off her shoulder and walking back into the restaurant.

Ingrid nods at the other girls to go back inside and finish their lunch, wanting a minute with the captain. She pulls Alexia into a tight hug, letting her cry into her neck. She’s shaking, mumbling a million apologies to no one. Ingrid shushes her, cradling her face in her hands.

“What you did was unacceptable. María said some hurtful things but she was not wrong. You’ve made the bed, now you have to lie in it. The girls are going to need some time to forgive you but I think you need to make amends with your wife first.”

Alexia nods her head, thanking Ingrid before rushing off to her car. Her hands shake as she starts the car, thoughts running through her head a million miles an hour. She wonders how she could have been so stupid, so desperate for love that she went out to find it when it was right in front of her the whole time.

You were perfect, the woman of her dreams. When her father died, you ran over to her house barefoot when she called to tell you. You ran into her house and pulled her into your arms, cradling her sobbing form as you tried to be strong for her. He was the father you never had, your own cheated on your mother so often she resented men for a long time and you swore you would never be with someone who was the same way.

When you met Alexia at 4 years old, there was an instant connection. The two of you were attached at the hip, one never seen without the other. Barcelona promoted both of you to the first team at the same time. Having just started dating and having the opportunity to go to work every day with your best friend was a dream come true.

Day by day, the two of you made things work. You two functioned like a well-oiled machine, a connection that ran so deep, that you were sure in other lifetimes you were lovers. The night of her 24th birthday, you surprised her with two tickets to the men’s team game that weekend and a little black velvet box. She immediately knew what it was and you argued, with her groaning about being the one who needed to propose cause she ‘wore the pants in the house’. You glared at her, to which she apologized, said yes, put on the ring, and made love to you all night.

The next morning, after yet another passionate round of steamy morning sex, she pulled out a matching velvet box.

“Here, bebita,” she whispered, handing you the box as you settled into her side. You gasped and opened it carefully, a beautiful diamond ring shimmered in your palm.

“My turn,” she grinned, “Will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Coffee.

“Bebita!”

Alexia walks into the house in search of you, hoping you’ve come home and she could catch you before you inevitably leave.

What she doesn’t expect is for you to have company over.

“Aitana?” 

You pull away from Aitana’s arms, looking back towards the door to see Alexia standing there. She’s breathing hard, tears streaks on her cheeks.

You stand, a confused Aitana remains seated on the dark couch both you and Alexia picked out when you first moved in.

“Uh, I’ll just leave-”

“No, stay.”

You walk up to Alexia, arms crossed across your chest. Her shoulders sag and her head hangs low once again.

“Can we talk…please?” she looks up at you, eyes filling with tears. Your heart begs to comfort her but you know better not to. You know you’d give in to her, her tears have always been your greatest weakness.

“I messed up, amor. I know that now, but please, we can fix this. I’ve broken it off with her, we can go for couples counseling, I’ll work harder to communicate, I’ll do anything!”

“Alexia, I love you. I think I always will. But I don’t deserve to be someone’s second choice. I deserve someone who can come to me and tell me they’re not happy. Instead, you found someone else to do that for you. You found someone else to do my job for me. I’m sorry Alexia, but we’re done.”

You step closer to her, kissing the corner of her lips. She’s shaking her head, lips begging for you to stop.

“Sign those papers I gave you, I’d like them as soon as you can please.”   

“No, please! Give me a chance, bebé please!”

“I already did, Alexia. I will not do it again.”

You walk into the bedroom and grab the duffel bag you had packed, storming out to where Aitana stood dumbfounded in the living room before taking her hand and leaving the house.

Alexia feels her heart break into pieces. You did already give her a chance at redemption, how could she forget? She thinks back to that day when you were both 21, away at both your international camps.

“Bebé, hi! I’ve missed you!”

Alexia scrambled to answer her phone, pulling the covers over her naked body. She glances over at the clock and notes that it’s time for your regular phone call. You notice her disheveled hair and wonder what she’s been up to, your head cocked to the side with a curious look on your face. You shake your head and focus back on her, feeling your heart ache to be with her.

“I-I’ve missed you too, Amor! What-what are you doing?”

“I’m done with training for the day, silly. Are you already in bed, was Spanish training that hard?” you tease, grinning at her.

“Sí, it went on for hours today!” she says with a nervous laugh when suddenly there was a ruffle in the sheets. Alexia looks at the moving duvet in the corner of her eye, and you see a foot sticking out of the edge of the screen that’s not Alexia’s. She looks back at you and notices, immediately covering it up.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, voice raised in anger.

“Amor, let me explain!”

“There’s nothing to explain Alexia, we’re done! How could you?!”

“Bebita please, this was a mistake!”

It took a year of counseling for the two of you to mend the trust that was broken. Fast forward 2 years and you were walking down the aisle to marry her on the happiest day of your lives. She had kept her promise and the two of you couldn’t have been closer.

Until she broke that promise again.

Poetry.

Aitana was beautiful. She loved you in a way so different from Alexia. In the days after the divorce and the court hearings, Aitana was by your side the entire time. She was gentle and she was kind. She knew you were guarding your heart with an impenetrable fortress, but she tried every day, little by little to gain access to the sweet, caring, loving, unapologetic girl she had quietly been pining over since her days at the academy.

Aitana was the textbook definition of sunshine. She always had a big smile on her face, never letting anything get her down. She was like a pocket rocket, able to pull laughs out of you no one else ever did. She made you feel safe, secure, and loved.

Court proceedings were taking a while and in that time, you two managed to build a new life together. You had known each other a long time and turning that friendship into the most excitingly new love was easier than you thought it would be. You moved in with her, drove to training together, cooked together, and made love every way you could. She was easy to love, but a passionate lover that would move mountains for you. A part of you still loved Alexia, you knew you always would but you felt your heart grow to make space for the new best thing in your life.

“Please Aitana, fuck…”

“You like my mouth on you, princesa?”

“Yes, so fucking much…please!”

Aitana pushes your legs back, lips attached to your core as she eats you out hungrily. She groans into your pussy, eyes boring deep into yours that are filled with tears. Your hands pull on her hair, your head thumping back onto the couch you’re fucking on.

She sits up between your legs, two of her fingers pushed deep into your pussy. She kisses up your calf, free hand caressing your ass.

“Getting close, bebita?” she asks in the most innocent voice, a little smirk across her face.

You look up at her, hands holding your legs back like the good girl you’re being for her. She grins, leaning over to crash her lips to yours. You kiss back ferociously, her fingers pushing in a third that makes your eyes go back into your head.

“Aitana!” you cry out, the tips of her fingers roughly pressed up against your sweet spot. She kissed down the expanse of your neck, lips latched onto your breast when she suddenly bit down and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You shuddered and squirmed, body convulsing hard as her fingers and palm worked you through an orgasm so hard you saw white and passed out for a second.

“You are not what you seem, baby,” you tell her panting, kissing her slowly as she cradles you in the bath after fucking you into the couch twice more.

“For you, mi amor, I’ll be anything you want.”

Alexia stood outside the courthouse with a soft smile on her face. You walked out behind her, the final hearing of your divorce was now over. You both parted on good terms, leaving nothing but good memories behind. Aitana remained by your side and you spoke to Alexia, knowing that there was nothing but love for each other that would never change.

“She makes you happy. I’m so glad she can give you what I couldn’t,” Alexia started, her expression a little sad and longing.

You lean in and kiss the corner of her lips again, lingering just a few seconds longer than you should.

“I will always love you, Ale. Never, ever forget that.”

“I won’t bebita, you’re very special to me.”

“I’ll see you on Monday at training?”

“Sí,” she waves you two off, smiling wide before saying one last thing but it’s not directed at you.

“Tana?” she calls, Aitana turns around and looks at her captain.

“Sí, capi?”

"Cuida de ella por mí, ¿quieres? Es una buena".

[dancingtotuyo]

12. love with urgency but not with haste

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: you adjust to life with a newborn. Joel finally gets to tell you something

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, depression, anxiety, vague/brief references to postpartum recovery, fluff

Notes: as always, a huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand and @janaispunk for beta reading.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3533

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The newborn stage with Willa is much different than it was with Carter. The early months after Carter’s birth are a blur in your memory. Maria practically moved in with you. The nights you managed to fall asleep, she roused you when he woke up. When you couldn’t sleep, she had to pull you out of whatever world you’d drifted into. You remember feeling like a bad mother at the time. Who isn’t in tune with their child. What mother doesn’t go running at their first cries? But the moment he was in your arms, he joined you in the far off places, tethered you to some semblance of reality. A growing reminder that you couldn’t get too lost. 

Most of what you remember those first few months are feelings, his baby soft skin, the fresh scent of a newborn that seemed to be present whether you lived at the end of the world or not. 

If anyone asks Maria about Carter’s first few months, she sits there for a minute in silence before answering. It’s hard to put into words what she saw. She’d worried about you, made sure you ate, and cleaned yourself up. While you spent much of your day with a far away look in your eyes, the moment she placed Carter in your arms, you were attentive to his every need with ease. You didn’t seem totally present to the world, but you were totally aware of what your child needed as long as he was in your arms. You would interact with the world for an hour or so at a time, like your body knew it needed to for survival. Eventually, your hours of cognition grew. The night you were shushing Carter before Maria could even get out of bed, a weight lifted off her chest. Two days later, she slept in her bed for the first time in three months. 

With Willa, everything feels more concrete. You know better than to chalk it up to being in the present. You’re more present. The world is spinning around you at a hundred miles per hour and you’re keeping up with all of it even with the exhaustion of healing and caring for a newborn. Joel is up for every feeding, pulling her out of the crib, hushing her softly, his hand spanning her entire back before he places her gently in your arms. You laugh together when she nods off, milk drunk and groan in frustration when she refuses to go back to sleep, and you remember all of it. The way her little tongue pokes out as her tiny clenched fists stretch over her head. The way Joel’s crows’ feet cut deep creases into his eyes even beneath the sleep deprivation. The way your heart fills with warmth. 

On more than one occasion, you wake up to find Carter with his face pressed to the bars of the crib, watching over his baby sister as she sleeps. When you say his name, quiet enough to not wake Willa, he spins around with a grin and jumps in bed with you, wiggling between you and Joel. When Willa wakes up, Carter lies flat on his back as you place Willa on his chest. Sometimes he talks to her, filling her in on his dreams from the night before. Other times, he makes funny faces, trying to get her to smile. A few times, he just kisses her head gently and lays with her in silence. Together, You and Joel watch them in awe. 

Ellie visits when Joel is out of the house. After getting through her nerves of holding such a tiny person, she takes to Willa with more ease than you expect. She and Carter take turns telling her about space and dinosaurs. Willa stares at them with wide brown eyes, a captive audience for Ellie and Carter’s shared interests. She doesn’t ask about Joel. You don’t offer any specifics. Anything she learns comes from Carter telling a story or your broad, off handed remarks about plans for the day or week. You can tell that she’s pulled away from you some, but you trust she’ll come to you when she’s ready.  What’s most important to you right now, is that she’s still in your life.  

As much as you hate that Joel never told you, a part of you is grateful he never asked you to keep the secret, and you feel guilty for thinking that. The anger ebbs and flows through you over the entire situation. Ellie deserved the truth, but you understand the fear of loss better than anyone. 

On the days when her assignments allow it, Ellie takes Carter with her, giving you some quiet time. You usually use the time to nap. Sometimes, you lay on the couch, Willa’s small body curled on top of you, sun streaming through the living room window, warming your bodies. 

Willa joins you and Joel on your evening walks once they resume, though they’re usually pre dinner walks now. She is usually strapped to Joel’s  chest in a makeshift sling. The sight of her tiny body asleep against her father quickly becomes one of your favorite sights. No matter what, you have the assurance that your daughter knows the safest place in the world is in her daddy’s arms. 

“What’s got you grinning?” Joel chuckles, squeezing your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“I’m imagining what it would be like to be her.” You smile, nodding toward Willa. “All curled up against your chest.”

He smiles, hand covering her entire back. “I would hope you have a pretty good idea of that by now.” He tugs you closer to him.

You laugh, hands landing on his waist, clutching the fabric of the sling wrap at his sides. “Not strapped to you like that. It seems so cozy and safe.”

“I hope that’s how you feel right now.” He pulls you in close, Willa squeezed softly between you. 

“It is,” you nod. 

“Good,” Joel kisses your cheek. He looks so content, so at ease. It all suits him so well, like he was made to be right here, in Jackson, in this moment with you. His curls play in the soft, June breeze. Willa’s tuft of soft baby hair does the same as it peaks out of the sling. 

Willa squirms slightly between you, drawing both of your attentions until she finds a more agreeable spot. Joel chuckles. “I think it’s time to get my girls inside. I think someone is going to be ready to eat soon.” 

Joel pulls you to his side, his arm wrapping around your waist. You hum softly, letting your body melt into his, drunk on the warm air and fading sunshine. Ellie sits on the front porch with Carter when you round the corner. Their favorite astronomy book sits between them. If you couldn’t hear them, you’d think they were having some serious discussion, not trying to decide which constellation would defeat which in hand to hand combat. 

“Solving the world's problems?” You smile at them.

“No, Mommy!” Carter laughs. 

Ellie stiffens immediately as you feel Joel stop behind you. “Ellie.” He nods at her. 

She averts her gaze, refusing to acknowledge him. You don’t have to turn around to see the hurt he’s trying to conceal. He deserves the cold shoulder, and he knows it. 

“Did Willa enjoy her walk, Daddy?” Carter slides off the swing, rushing over to the two of you. 

“She slept through most of it,” Joel chuckles. Ellie shifts her whole body away from the four of you. He pretends not to notice. “Let’s go inside, Buddy.” He holds out his hand.

Carter nods, taking it, but looks back at Ellie before they head inside. “See you tomorrow, Ellie?”

She nods. “Of course.”

The door clicks shut, leaving just the two of you. You ease onto the swing next to her. She doesn’t turn to you, doesn’t attempt to make eye contact. You sit back, waiting for her to say something, or leave, but you get the feeling she’s ready to talk about it. 

“I could have.”

“Could have what?”

“Solved the world’s problems.”

You suck in a deep breath, the carelessness of your earlier words hitting you. “Even if they had figured out how to make a cure,” you say. 

“They did. I saw everything!” She clenches her fist. 

“You saw theories, and lab experiments.”

“Ones that they said worked.”

“Even successful lab experiments go wrong in practice.”

Ellie shifts in her seat, hunched over her knees, but she’s not running away from you. 

Your fingers find the end of her short hair. She’s continued to trim it since you did the initial chop. 

“The infected would still be infected. People would still hunt each other down, grab for power. Everything that was built is gone. The world can’t go back to how it was.”

“So we’re doomed? My immunity means nothing?”

“No,” you grab her arm, the one with the bite mark. The outline of a fern is tattooed over the inside of her forearm now. She’s talked about filling it in, cover the bite with it. “It means that immunity is possible. That maybe one day humans will adapt and evolve to fight Cordyceps. It’s hope.”

“Hope feels pretty damn shitty when your friends are dying.”

“Yeah, I suppose it does,” you sigh, setting her arm down.

Silence settles between you. Birds chirp. Bees buzz around the flowers in front of your house even as the sun fades behind the mountains. 

“I don’t think I can ever forgive him.”

“You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry about it too.” Her head whips around, brown eyes sparkling with tears. You give you a somber smile, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He shouldn’t have lied to you. I know you gave him every opportunity to tell you.”

There’s a soft nod to her head that grows with each up and down. 

“Whether you ever forgive him is up to you, but you will always have me, okay?”

Ellie lets out a sigh of relief, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes as her arms wrap tightly around your shoulders. “Thank you.”

“I love you, Ellie.” You squeeze her against you. “Like you’re my own child.” 

Her voice is muffled against your shoulder, but you still hear the world clear as day. “I love you too.”

You lose track of time, but you sit with Ellie until she is ready to go. Once she stands, she lingers, keeping conversation. You smile at her. “You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

She seems to think about it for a second, eyes drifting to the door that keeps her separated from Willa and Carter… and Joel. You see it in her face, she misses it. Forcing a weak smile on her lips, she squares her shoulders some. “I think it's better if I don’t. Not tonight at least.”

“It’s an open invitation. Same as always. You’ll-”

“Always have a seat at your table.” She finishes with a real smile this time. 

“Exactly.” 

“Thank you.” She says, and then she’s walking across the street to her house. 

Willa is squirming in Joel's arms when you get inside, rooting against Joel’s cheek in search of food. He laughs with baby drool splotching across his chin. “Don’t think I’m gonna be much help there, Wildflower.”

You laugh, arm’s instantly stretching out to take her. “Hand her here.”

He kisses her cheek before doing so, placing a kiss on your cheek as well. “I’ll start on dinner.” 

You hum in appreciation. “You’re a good man.”

“When I want to be,” Joel calls over his shoulder as you settle on the couch. Carter colors at the coffee table in front of you, updating you on his day at school as you nurse Willa. Life feels good, settled with Joel in the kitchen and your children around you. The only thing missing is Ellie, and you’re hopeful that she’ll be back soon. 

Life carries on much the same, the five of you settling into a routine, a dance of sorts. Ellie still avoids dinners both at your house and Sunday’s at Tommy and Maria’s. You see Joel searching for any way to make things right, but you know what he can’t admit. There’s nothing he can do. An apology might help, but Ellie has to be ready to forgive him, and she’s a long way off. 

The summer is slow and sweet like honey. Willa doesn’t seem to get that memo because you swear you blink and she grows. She begins to sleep more throughout the night, which is a welcome change for both you and Joel. She smiles and laughs now, and you swear it is the most treasured sound. If she's awake and fed, someone is making her giggle. You soak it all in, every second, stopping to commit the moments to your memory. 

Willa’s feedings increase to every four hours at the beginning of August, just as the bouquets of wildflowers Joel brings you begin to grow in size and color. They’re hitting their peak a little bit later this year, but you’re thankful for it. You should have just enough time to enjoy a short afternoon there, just you and Joel. While getting on a horse still sounds like the least appealing right now, you’re willing to endure it for the beautiful peace of the meadow. You just have to get Joel to agree. 

You’re lying next to him in bed. He’s angled against the headboard, reading a book about space so he can keep up with Carter… and Ellie. Crickets chirp through your open bedroom window, ceiling fan spinning above you. The summer has been hot, but thankfully, it cools down at night, cool enough to tolerate Joel’s hand on your inner thigh just above your knee, drawing little circles absentmindedly against your skin. 

You’re in that matching pajama set that Joel loves. Nothing fancy, just a thin shirt and shorts, not particularly sexy by any means, but you catch the way his pupils dilate every time you wear it. You wore it intentionally tonight, not to seduce him necessarily, at three months postpartum, you still don’t feel quite ready for sexual activity, but you were hoping to make him a little more open to taking you outside the wall. 

Your little expeditions outside had quickly died once he learned of your pregnancy, not that you were very interested at that point either, feeling slow and uncomfortable, but you have an inkling that he might be resistant at first. 

“Joel?” You roll onto your stomach, hand spreading across his stomach and chest.  

His eyes dart to yours, suspicion crawling over his face as he chimes back with an antiquated “Yes, dear?”

You crinkle your face. “What are we? A sitcom couple in the 50’s?”

He chuckles as he dog ears the book, setting it on the nightstand. He’s careful to keep a cap on his volume so he doesn’t wake Willa sleeping in the corner. “You want something.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

You narrow your eyes at him, making his head tip back with another chuckle. His large hands slide over your body, guiding you to straddle his lap. There’s still an ache in your pelvic floor with the stretch, making you wonder if you’ll actually be able to withstand the horseback ride, but you want to go lay in the wildflowers with Joel like you did last year. 

“You okay, Sweetheart?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, and the ache is slowly easing away. 

Joel’s hands roam your exposed thighs, kneading at the extra weight you’re carrying from the pregnancy. He loves it all, the extra pieces of you available to his hands now. Joel hums, still suspicious. 

“You have the day off tomorrow, we should go see the wildflowers.”  

Joel raises an eyebrow. “What about Willa?”

“We can make it there and back before she needs to be fed, and Maria already said she could watch both of the kids.”

“Are you ready for that?” 

“I want to go.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Joel meets your eyes with stern concern, letting you know there’s no room except for the absolute truth. 

“Joel-”

“I’m not taking you out there unless I know you’ll be okay.” There’s something more than concern in his features now. Is that fear? “We’ve never had any issues out there, but I’m not going to risk putting you in harm's way if you’re not ready.” 

You let out a long sigh. He takes one of your hands in his, kissing your fingers gently. “The ride there and back will be difficult. I haven’t been on a horse in months and I’m still a bit sore at times.” 

Joel lets out a long sigh, rolling the idea through his mind, working through the logistics. You can tell, he wants to take you. “I’m not sure, Darlin.”

“We’ve been going on walks for weeks.”

“Because that’s comparable to running for your life after riding on horseback.”

“Joel.” 

“Promise me you won’t slow up if something happens, and you’ll let me know if you need to turn around.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Cross my heart.”

He smiles at you and you know you’ve won. “Okay.”

Joel spreads the blanket out in the meadow as you take in the smattering of color sprawling around you. They’re more vibrant than last year, having had more rain this spring and summer. In the distance, a woodpecker knocks at the trunk of a tree. Dragonflies chase after each other as the sun soaks into your skin. 

Joel’s arms wrap around you, pulling you into his front. He rests his chin on your shoulder as the two of you sway in the gentle breeze.  “How you feelin?” he presses a kiss into the crook of your neck. 

You lean back against him, tilting your head toward the sun to soak it in. “Like I had a baby three months ago and then rode a horse.” 

“Think you can make it to the ground?”

“Not sure I’ll be able to make it back up,” you laugh as Joel helps you ease to the ground. 

“Makes two of us,” Joel chuckles, sitting down. 

You lounge against him, both of you enjoying the sounds of nature and the peace around you. It’s hot, the sun beating down unencumbered, but neither of you minds. Neither of you tries to distance yourself from the other’s body heat. The gentle breeze floats over your skin. The two of you watch as a yellow butterfly lands on your boot, easing its wing open and shut before taking back off. Just like last summer, it feels magical here. Like you can forget the rest of the world and its dangers and simply be present. 

Joel stretches his legs and then he’s pulling backward so that you’re both fully stretched out on the blanket. Your jean clad legs tangle with each other as you nuzzle into his side. His fingers play over your shoulder blades, exposed by your razorback top. 

You’re pulled back to just over a year ago, when he brought you here for the first time, the words he almost said, the ones you wouldn’t let him say, and how much life has changed since then. The losses, the gains, Willa. Your heart has opened so much. 

Joel nudges you onto your back, lips nipping in your neck, just under your earlobe, and down your jaw. You laugh, sun dazed and relaxed.  He lets out a content huff that spreads into a deep chuckle as his hand sprawls over your abdomen. You wrap your arms around his shoulders.

 You see that look again. The same one from last year, the one you’ve seen every day since. He looks at you like you hold the world in your hands as the sun glistens off his deep brown eyes, You feeling it radiating off of him in waves, surging toward the surface. 

His thumb runs over your bottom lip. “Gonna let me say it this time, Sweetheart?”

Your head lilts softly, absorbing him and everything about this moment. The way nature seems to hold its very breath in anticipation as the breeze stops and the critters go silent. You push back one of his curls with your thumb, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as a small ball of energy forms in your stomach. 

“I’m not gonna stop you.”

He smiles, the chuckle in his chest taking its time to reach your ears. He savors it, much like you just did, taking in everything about you in this moment. The tilt of your head, the light in your eyes. You’ve been his, but you’re giving him all of you in this moment. He’s not going to take it for granted. 

“I love you.”

All the anxiety you feared would manifest, melts away, swept away as the breeze rustles through the meadow again. Pure, unbridled joy cascades through your body until it bubbles over into your face, thrumming in your veins as it manifests in the purest laugh at your lips. 

“I love you, Joel.” 

Bonus: Art Work

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[munchmemes]

taylor swift lyrics, the tortured poets department edition, part two

guilty as sin?

▸ my boredom's bone-deep. ▸ am i allowed to cry? ▸ i'm seeing visions, am i bad? or mad? or wise? ▸ one slip and i'm falling back into the hedge maze. ▸ oh, what a way to die. ▸ i keep recalling things we never did. ▸ how i long for our trysts. ▸ how can i be guilty as sin? ▸ i keep these longings locked inside a vault. ▸ someone told me there's no such things as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. ▸ they're gonna crucify me anway. ▸ what if they way you hold me is actually what's holy? ▸ i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

▸ the "who's who?`" of "who's that?" is poised for the attack. ▸ you don't get to tell me about 'sad'. ▸ if you wanted me dead, you should've just said. nothing makes me feel more alive. ▸ who's afraid of little old me? you should be. ▸ the scandal was contained, the bullet had just grazed. ▸ at all costs, keep your good name. ▸ you don't get to tell me you feel bad. ▸ is it a wonder i broke? ▸ let's hear one more joke. then we could all just laugh until i cry. ▸ i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean. ▸ they say they didn't do it to hurt me but what if they did? ▸ i want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. ▸ you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. ▸ isn't that what they all said? that i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong. ▸ you lured me and you hurt me and you taught me. ▸ you caged me and then you called me crazy. ▸ i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

▸ the jokes that [you/they] told across the bar were revolting and far too loud. ▸ they shake their heads, saying "god help [them]" when i tell 'em you're the one. ▸ i can fix him, no really i can. and only i can. ▸ i could see it from a mile away. ▸ you had a halo of the highest grade, you just hadn't met met yet. ▸ come close, i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel all night. ▸ trust me, i can handle me a dangerous [man/woman].

loml

▸ we were just kids, babe. ▸ i don't mind, it takes time. ▸ i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed. ▸ i felt aglow like this. never before and never since. ▸ you and i went from one kiss to getting married. ▸ you said i'm the love of your life about a million times. ▸ a conman sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme. ▸ i felt a hole like this never before and ever since. ▸ what we thought was for all time was momentary. ▸ i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all. ▸ the coward claimed he was a lion. ▸ i'll still see it until i die. you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart

▸ i can show you lies. ▸ i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit. ▸ they said 'you gotta fake it 'til you make it' and i did. ▸ you said you'd love me all your life but that life was too short. ▸ i can do it with a broken heart. ▸ i'm so depressed, i act like it's my birthday every day. ▸ i cry a lot but i am so productive, it's an art. ▸ you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart. ▸ i can hold my breath, i've been doing it since [you/they] left. ▸ i'm miserable and nobody even knows!

the smallest man who ever lived

▸ was any of it true? ▸ now you know what it feels like. ▸ i don't miss what we had. ▸ in public, you showed me off then sank in stoned oblivion. ▸ you didn't measure up in any measure of a man. ▸ were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? ▸ good riddance 'cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden. ▸ i would've died for your sins. instead i just died inside. ▸ in plain sight you hid but you are what you did. ▸ i'll forget you but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy

▸ this happens once every few lifetimes. ▸ these chemicals hit me like white wine. ▸ what if i told you i'm back? ▸ the hospital was a drag. worst sleep i ever had. ▸ ditch the clowns, get the crown. ▸ what if i told you we're cool? ▸ honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy? ▸ where's the trophy?

clara bow

▸ all your life, did you know you'd be picked like a rose? ▸ i'm not trying to exaggerate but i think i might die. ▸ this town is fake but you're the real thing. ▸ take the glory, give everything. ▸ promise to be dazzling. ▸ you're the new god we're worshipping. ▸ beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding more. ▸ it's hell on earth to be heavenly. ▸ them's the breaks, they don't come gently.

[hotgirlgraps]

Heartbreak Diaries

A/N: it’s been a minute y’all. This is something I wrote a little while back about the lovely stages of heartbreak. Sorry if you relate, and as always I hope you enjoy babes, and remember that healing isn’t linear.

For months, she was trapped in a fever dream. A realm border lining delusion, and anyone could’ve told her that but it was no use. She wasn’t going to listen when all her mind was wrapped up in were thoughts of him.

Despite how many times she had to lie to the ones that she loved, trying to convince everyone that he wasn’t who he appeared to be. He wasn’t as bad as what he may have seemed.

Despite all the tears she’d cried for him, always over the same thing because he’d made so many empty promises to change for her, and for some reason she believed him every single time.

Despite all the red flags waving directly in her face every time he got angry, caught up in his own lies, or he spewed dishonesty so smoothly that he could convince anyone of anything imaginable, and she knew that.

She still stuck with him, holding on as tight as she possibly could’ve. The equivalent to wrapping your bare hands around barbed wire until you eventually lose all feeling, and the damage leaves you numb to it all. Only then did she finally let go.

There’s only so much that one person can take before they finally decide to break the chains that are binding them, but all the memories come flooding back and it’s hard to decipher if you genuinely miss that person, or just the person that you wanted them to be.

It wasn’t her fault that she had seen the good in him. He was amazing at putting on a face, but eventually the mask started to slip and what lied beneath the soft brown eyes and charming smile, was never something that she had expected.

Anyone else probably could’ve seen it coming from a mile away, but they didn’t know him in the most intimate moments. There was a delicacy to him that he’d shown her, almost as if he was an old soul deep within, but he covered all of that with a hard, cold shell.

She’d asked him why he rarely showed that side of him, he’d always say, “It’s easier this way.” But in the earliest hours of the morning, when they would be cuddled up underneath her bedsheets just talking about anything their minds could muster up, she’d get that side of him.

Even though when the sun would rise his cold exterior would activate like clockwork, she would hold onto that little sliver of hope that maybe she could break down those walls once and for all. The empath in her was drawn to the darkness within him, and the little shimmers of light that shined through a few cracks in his shell.

Looking back now, she knows that was her first mistake. Thinking you can heal someone who doesn’t want to be healed. Thinking you can teach someone how to love when they never got to see what it truly meant to love or to be loved correctly.

But at the time, you couldn’t tell her that. She was content where she was at, wrapped up in his strong arms with her head on his chest listening to him tell her stories about his childhood and his high school best friend until they both drifted off to sleep. That’s where she wanted to be, but she wasn’t the only one.

The same fingers that were tracing little hearts on her back belonged to the same hands that would be wrapped up in another woman’s hair the night before. The same lips that were kissing her forehead were the same lips that were leaving patches on another woman’s neck.

She didn’t know it at the time, and he didn’t have the nerve to tell her until his guilt got the best of him. His stories rarely added up when he had planned to stay with her for three days and suddenly had to be back home a day early for work.

She had a weird feeling in her gut, which she tried to fight against. He’d look her in the eyes, cradle her face and kiss her with so much passion before he’d leave, promise to call her as soon as he lands and she believed him.

She never would’ve expected that he’d be making a stop to another woman’s house as soon as he left her. While she’s checking her phone, waiting for a call, wondering if he’s okay, he’s letting someone else kiss him, touch him, taste him with her fresh on his lips.

When she finally found out, she felt like a dumbass. The signs had been there, even her best friend had called them out multiple times. She just didn’t listen. She wanted to believe that the man she thought he was, was the man she was truly falling for.

He groveled and he begged for days for forgiveness. He swore it was all a mistake, and he would never do anything like that again. He came clean about everything, and made so many promises that if she gave him another chance, he would show her just how much he loves her.

So she did, and for a little while, he did keep his word to her. He started to open up to her about all the things that he kept locked deep inside. He gave her all his time and his attention, surprised her a couple times just to see her smile when she opened the door and he was standing there with a bouquet of white roses and a boyish grin on his face.

She struggled to put everything behind her though. Maybe it was because of how easy it was to trust him at first. He had something about him that just made her feel so at ease, like they’d known each other for so many years already.

Once that trust was broken, they could never be the same again. She couldn’t help but to ask him about his plans just to see if his story was going to change. She questioned everything he said. She compared herself to this other woman, wondering why she wasn’t enough for him herself. Truth of the matter is, she was going crazy and he didn’t like it too much.

They started fighting a lot. It went from being so excited to see each other, making up for lost time to immediately glaring at each other as soon as their eyes locked.

He used to have a gleam that shined in his eyes every time he looked at her, but it died. She noticed that when they were getting ready to go out on a date, and the silence in her room was speaking volumes.

He used to compliment her every chance he got. He’d say something like, “Do you know how gorgeous you are?” Before he’d wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her forehead, her nose, her cheeks and finally her lips.

He stopped doing that, and she missed it but her pride was always her biggest downfall. She put on a nice outfit, probably not a coincidence that it was one of his favorite dresses on her, but when he looked at her, his eyes were practically lifeless.

She stood a few feet away from him, smoothing down the end of her dress while she watched his eyes slowly roam her body, just for him to tilt his head to the side and stuff his hands in his pockets, mumbling “So you ready?”

She started to realize that things were only getting worse from that point on. He didn’t kiss her the same, touch her the same, even look at her with any sense of love or adoration like he did before.

It started to eat away at her, and that only fueled her craziness, or so he called it.

One night they were sitting on the couch watching a movie in silence. He was sitting a few inches away from her and the small space between them was enough to make her feel like they were a hundred miles apart. He used to always have his hands on her somehow, but that all changed so quickly.

In an attempt to try to feel closer, she turned towards him and said, “Hey, can we talk for a second?”

He didn’t immediately respond. He was silent as he paused the movie and dropped the remote on his lap. He didn’t turn to face her, and only hummed back to her.

She avoided the pain that it caused, and pushed forward with the conversation anyway.

“I just feel like we haven’t really been as close as we used to be.” She started, and already saw the tick of his jaw.

“Yeah?” Was all he said, lolling his head to the side to finally look at her, his eyes casting pure boredom.

“Yeah.” She whispered back. “I miss you.”

“You don’t act like it.” He told her, and she felt a jab in her gut because she knew it. She knew that she was the biggest reason why they were having so many arguments and so many problems, but she was still hurt by what he did, and she still had too many questions left unanswered.

“I want to.” She sighs. “But I’m still struggling with everything that happened.”

As soon as he heard those words, he was getting off the couch with a huff, storming to the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. She sat there dumbfounded, staring at that door and waiting for him to walk back out, maybe after he cooled down he’d be ready to have a conversation, but thirty minutes went by and he never came back.

She found him sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look up at her when she walked in.

“I don’t want to fight, Tyler.” She told him in the most gentle voice she could manage in hopes that it would dissipate the tensions, but it didn’t.

“Then why do you always start your shit with me?” His eyes snapped up to hers, and she could see the anger bursting through them.

“I don’t try to start a fight but there’s still some things that bother me-“

“And how many times am I supposed to say I’m fucking sorry?” He snapped back. “How many times have I told you that already? If you’re still stuck on that shit and you can’t get over it then maybe you just don’t need to be with me anymore.”

That was the last thing she wanted though. She just wanted to know that he wasn’t going to betray her trust again. She wanted to trust him and for things to go back to the way they used to be.

So that’s what she tried to do. She apologized for all the times that she brought it up, and from that point forward she never brought anything related to the other woman up again. It still fucked with her, but she wasn’t going to let him see that.

And surprisingly, they started doing better again. They started laughing with each other again, going out and having a good time with one another. He started complimenting her and kissing her every chance he could. Things had gotten better again, and even though she still couldn’t fully trust him, she acted like she did.

And then, he ruined it once and for all.

It was completely out of the blue when she woke up one morning with a text from him. It was a long paragraph but she only got through the first couple of words before she realized that he was breaking up with her.

He had said so much about how they had hurt each other and needed to grow apart in order to come back stronger in the future, but her heart told her it was all bullshit. She knew it, her best friend knew it, he just didn’t have the guts to give it to her straight.

She was exhausted by this point. She didn’t try to fight for him or what they had, even though she really wanted to. She just let him have it his way. Summer was coming up and she had the feeling that he just wanted to have a fun little summer without being tied down. Everything else he said was just a way of letting her down easy.

The craziest part of all of that was the fact that when she accepted it, and she didn’t try to fight for him, suddenly he wanted to be with her again.

He showed up to her house in the pouring rain with wet puppy dog eyes like he thought it was some kind of movie. He sent her letters when she blocked his number and found every little way to communicate with her.

Of course, she gave in to him one night when all the memories came flooding back. He came over and they danced to a couple slow songs in the kitchen. He told her he loved her and he’d do anything to make it work with her, but he just wanted to get her back underneath the bedsheets, and unfortunately he knew all the right ways to do it.

The way he looked at her in the morning, like he was conflicted and didn’t know what to do. She asked him something that had been weighing on her heart since he left her, and for once, he gave her honesty.

“Are you trying to choose between me and someone else?” The words burned when they danced on her tongue. She knew the answer, because why else would he be in her bed trying to figure it all out otherwise.

He looked at her with eyes that softened, a hint of sympathy glazing over them before he looked down at the sheets draped over his stomach.

His silence was the confirmation that she needed.

It hurt like hell to be sitting next to the man that she loved, knowing that he didn’t love her, but he knew just how to make her think he did.

It killed her inside knowing that when he leaves, he’ll just be running into someone else’s arms. He’ll be weighing his options, writing out a little pros and cons list in his head and seeing which one of the women checks the most boxes.

Never in her life had she felt so destroyed emotionally, mentally and physically. She couldn’t do it anymore. She didn’t deserve it and he didn’t deserve her.

“I’ll just make it easy for you.” She whispered, waiting for him to look back into her eyes, but he couldn’t.

“It’s not like that.” He shook his head, but she didn’t believe anything else he said. She couldn’t allow herself to.

“If you’re choosing between two women at once, just let them both go. No woman deserves to be in competition for a man. If a woman is the love of your life, then it wouldn’t even be a question for you.”

His lips parted but he didn’t speak. His chest heaved and he stared down at the sheets, unable to conjure up anything to say back to that.

It remained silent in that room for a while, until he finally looked over at her and grabbed her hand.

“I wanna be with you. Just you.” He said, but as soon as he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her cheek.

He froze, his lips grazing her skin. His hand slowly slipped out of hers and he dropped his head down to her shoulder.

She had to fight back the tears. She couldn’t look at him. Even the feeling of the ends of his hair tickling her skin made her want to burst into tears, but she knew what was best and she knew she had to let him go.

“I’m not an option anymore.” She whispered. “I never should have been in the first place. If you wanted me and only me, then you never would’ve gotten with anyone else.”

He sighed heavily, reached up and wiped a tear off his cheek before he picked his head up. His eyes were tinged red and eyelashes wet, a sight that cracked her heart in two, but she couldn’t let that change her choice.

They looked into each others eyes for the last time. All the memories they made, all the late nights they shared, all the promises they never got to live up to. It all came crashing down on the same bed they used to make so much love in.

He sighed once more before he tore his eyes off of her and silently got out of the bed. She didn’t watch as he slid on his sweatpants and grabbed his keys and his phone off her dresser. She didn’t want to watch him walk out of her life, making it look so damn easy while she was internally crumbling to pieces.

All she did was wait until she heard the front door close, and she buried herself in the same sheets that smelled like him, crying and sobbing and feeling sorry for herself until she finally fell asleep.

And then, when she woke up, she stripped the bed of all of the sheets and the comforter and the pillows and she threw them in the washing machine with way too much laundry detergent.

She took those white roses off the kitchen counter and threw them in trash. She did her best to erase every trace of him, and even though she knew his memory was going to be the last to go, she wasn’t going to let herself sink any deeper than she already had.

It was time to heal and move on, and hope that one day he’d just be a boy she dated in her 20s.

————

Taglist: taglist: @madhatterbri @730hook @multi-fandom-things730 @willowgreens @shawtys-things @justdamnpeachy @wickedval l l @730bliss @theworldofotps @madds-97 @gethooked @benjaminka @5secondsofmoxley @cypherpart15 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @littlemissbliss06

[tootoomanycats]

PERFORMANCES: Chapter 1 -The Storm of The Century

Summary: In the wake of a historic hurricane raging across the treacherous waters of the East Blue and Grand Line, islands and their resilient inhabitants must either adapt or flee to ensure survival. Sleep Haven, a once-tranquil oasis, now finds itself shattered by the merciless storm. What took years to build and nurture with your own hands lies in ruins, demolished in mere hours. What should have been a fleeting tempest stretched into endless months of devastation. With little left but dwindling supplies and scant funds, you and your fellow islanders embarked on a desperate flight for survival. In your hour of dire need, you reached out to a mysterious benefactor whose aid came at a staggering price. The cost: to divert the attention of the clownish "Leader" of the Cross Guild. As events unfold on BariBari Island, amidst schemes and dangers, you find yourself grappling with emotions long suppressed. Is your interaction with the clown merely a facade, or is it awakening something you've denied yourself for years? Will the repercussions of this precarious pact only affect the flamboyant clown, or will it unravel the last vestiges of your guarded heart as well? The storm may have ravaged Sleep Haven, but the true tempest now brews within your soul and the choices you are forced to make.

Warnings for THIS chapter: None

Performances Master List

Pairings: Buggy/Reader

Word Count: 4,417 Words

AO3 Link

Warning for this Story:

Reader is a retired sex worker

Both Buggy/Reader are in their early to late 30's

There will be smut scenes

There will also be cute fluff scenes

Please note that betrayal does happen to Buggy in this and as of right now I still dont know if Buggy will forgive Reader or not.

Switch/Switch sexual dynamics so its really anyones game.

Author Notes: Hello everyone! Please note that this story already has some spicy teasers that can be found on the MASTER LIST. This story was origionally only supposed to be a few smut peices, but its become what will probably be one of the most intense and intricate stories I've ever tried to take a crack at. A few things to note before you should dig into this story. Reader is a fem presenting person and there will be pronouns of She/Her for this story. I am working on stories for nongender presenting works, but for this one it is a designated identiy. Anyway if you like it, please remeber that fanfic writers live off of Likes, Kudos and Comments of encouragment and conversation. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Storm of the Century

"Get to the bunker!"

Amidst the cataclysmic wail of the hurricane, screams became echoes lost in the torrent. The quaint island town, once a portrait of tranquility, was now an arsenal of airborne debris, propelled by winds that shrieked at a hundred miles per hour. Mari, a slender blond woman, sprinted through the chaos, clutching a young child to her chest like a precious gem. Her eyes were set on the concrete sanctuary that had morphed into a last haven for the island's residents.

Once safely ensconced inside, her eyes scanned the room in a frenzied dance, landing on face after face, each one not the one she was looking for.

"Where's the Mistress?!"

Silence strangled the air. The group of women inside exchanged worried glances; their faces etched with a mutual dread. Finally, the child's voice broke through the din, its pitch climbing to be heard over the relentless battering of the storm against the shelter's walls.

"She said she was heading to the Ustesse family's place! Their mom is 'bout to have the baby!" A wave of collective gasps swept the room, whispers and murmurs swirling like mini vortexes. "They're gonna be okay, right Mari?" The child clung to her leg, his small face etched with terror, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Bending down to his level, Mari swiped away his tears with the corner of her apron and tenderly swept his disheveled hair from his eyes.

"Don't you worry. I have faith she's hunkered down with our friends. I'll go check on them, okay?"

The child clung to Mari's skirt, his small fingers knotting the fabric tightly until another woman tenderly pried him away and cradled him in her arms. With a resolute nod to the remaining occupants of the makeshift sanctuary, Mari clenched the rustic wood handle of the door, leveraging her entire body weight to wrench it open against the ferocious wind.

Outside, the storm raged on.

Ominous, dark green clouds churned in a frenetic dance, intermittently pierced by jagged bolts of lightning that shot from sky to ground and an encroaching sea line. Amid the apocalyptic landscape, she nearly missed her turn; the familiar road marker had been uprooted, now likely a part of the storm's airborne arsenal. Navigating just ten feet felt like an insurmountable quest as she lunged from one gnarled tree trunk to another, grasping their deeply anchored roots to avoid being swept away, her fingers ached, and the muscle of her palms cramped at the strength needed to hold on. What should have been a brief traverse felt like an agonizing odyssey.

Finally, a welcome sight emerged: the door of the Ustesse residence, peeking timidly from the slope of a small hill. Its unique architecture had rendered it a fortress amid the devastation. With the final sturdy tree and fence line a daunting hundred feet away, Mari resorted to crawling on all fours, her body encrusted with a sludge of mud and saltwater, her hair a tangled net of debris.

Summoning her remaining strength, she rapped on the massive wooden door before leaning into it, a low groan escaping her lips as she exerted herself to budge the door just an inch. Once safely enveloped by the fortress of solid oak, she gave one final heave, sealing the door—and with it, the cacophony of the storm and the haunting screams of the world outside. Silence filled the space, air stale with its humidity from the storm.

Catching her breath and hastily combing her wind-tangled hair from her face, Mari delved deeper into the short corridors of the dwelling. Just as she was about to call out, a gut-wrenching scream echoed from the far reaches of a back bedroom. Without a second thought, Mari charged down the hall, heart pounding.

"Hello? Is everyone alright?!"

A bedroom door burst open, revealing the cherubic faces of two children—twins. The boy’s eyes brimmed with tears, while his sister, a portrait of grave concern, gestured urgently toward the bed. As Mari neared the warm glow of a flickering lamp, her eyes widened at the spectacle before her.

A woman in the throes of labor crouched on all fours, her fingers clenched around the headboard with such force that the wood itself seemed to wail in sympathy. A statuesque figure—her mistress—kneaded the laboring woman’s back, offering rhythmic chants of encouragement between her cries.

"Mistress?" Mari’s voice quivered as her eyes met those of, you, her friend.

"Mari! Oh, bless the gods, you have perfect timing. We need hot water and clean cloth—fast. The twins are too petrified to leave their mother’s side." With graceful, efficient movements, your arms supported the laboring woman, guiding her to sit at the edge of the mattress. "Listen, Hannah," you spoke, tone laced with gentle humor to try and lighten the moment, "I know this isn’t your first time at the rodeo, but with the baby being breech, we need to proceed with the utmost caution. Are you with me?" You watched the mothers body language with worry, the feelings tel-tail signs hidden behind a well practiced smile. The last thing needed was for the poor woman to panic because the person she was depending on couldn't keep it together.

Hannah's face was flushed, a vivid crimson, her hair clinging like wet tendrils to her sweat-drenched forehead. Cheeks puffed rhythmically as she exhaled forcefully, desperate for enough oxygen to ward off fainting. Gripping the mattress's edge with white-knuckled hands, she heeded your guiding words. Meanwhile, Mari stationed herself behind her, soothing her flushed skin with icy rags and murmuring words of encouragement.

"You're doing beautifully. Keep breathing, just like that."

While the intimate tableau of new life being ushered into existence unfolded within the sheltered chamber, the hurricane outside continued its relentless havoc. Hours slipped by like minutes, until finally, the culmination of Hannah's strenuous labor bore fruit—a tiny, newborn life. Arms carefully swaddling the freshly cleaned infant, lips curving into a tender smile as you approached the exhausted mother while whispering.

"Ten fingers and toes—a classic choice."

Exhausted but elated, Hannah chuckled as she cradled her newborn daughter, feeling the infant's minuscule fingers wrapped around her pinky. She looked up at you, her Mistress while reaching for your hand, and planted a reverent kiss on the back of it, before pressing it to her flushed cheek. "Thank you, Mistress Your presence—and Mari’s—made this infinitely more bearable, I think we would have been in big trouble without both of you."

Warmth spread from the hand on the mothers damp cheek, up into your chest and heart before being expressed through a smile that radiated love. Bending down, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon Hannah’s forehead.

"I’ll always do whatever I can to support our little village of misfits."

A sudden cough diverted everyone's attention to Mari, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes were a mix of exhaustion and sorrow, burdened with news she wished she didn't have to relay. "Mistress, there are urgent matters requiring your immediate attention."

The exhaustion from the last few hours gripped your shoulders, sagging them for a brief second at the added weight of remembering the growing storm outside, and the towns precarious condition. You had been called to the home so early, that everyone in town had still been a sleep, even the baker. Something told you that todays dawn of ominous black clouds that had filled the horizon, had turned into a much more worrisome outcome than just the usual tropical depression.

You needed a drink, a stiff one at that.

Something strong enough to not only burn your tongue but also this day away. With what little energy that could be mustered from aching joints and stiff muscles, your spine straightened, with head held high and a stiff upper-lip you nodded before exiting the room, Mari trailing closely behind.

"Thank you, Mari. Any indication of when this storm might subside? I saw some dark clouds on my walk here earlier, but I haven't had a chance to see what its damage is yet." Turning down the hall towards the front of the Ustesse earthen home, the round wooden door and windows stood before you. Windows that faced out to the front of the town came into view, but your brain was having trouble comprehending what it was seeing. Lead filled your feet and forced the once hurried forward momentum you had to stop. The sudden change causing the blond to bump into your lower back, but you didn't budge. Body unable to move at the new and terrifying view in front of where you both stood.

The islands usually calm, crystal clear, blue waters were the backdrop for the small islands only town. It had taken months to bring the supplies for just the first houses foundation, let alone the last three years for the rest of the buildings to be finished at the beginning of this year. Untold hours of sweat, blood and so many tears from your own two hands had been put into creating this safe haven from nothing.

Saliva built in your mouth, a normally wet tongue felt like blooming cotton in its dry texture. The sensation forced the already cord tight muscles in your neck to swallow. A new view showed through the windows glass, one that could only be what clothes perceived of the outside world trapped during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Wind howled by so fast that you were sure you could see bits of earthen chunks being thrown at breakneck speeds. The storms dramatic change of atmospheric pressure caused both window frames to bow and groan, threatening in anguish to break. Thank god you had splurged for the hurricane rated windows this time around.

This home and the bunker had been built as a test, trying to put less financial investment into the usual and expensive construction supplies and more into a sturdier outcome with what was already on hand from the land around them. Building them both into the side of the hill had been the hardest part, but it seemed that the gamble had paid off. You blinked as dust fell from the ceilings boards, realizing that the chunks of earth you had seen were from the homes moss roof.

The home still held up, so far.

How had that storm turned into this so fast? Normally the island had plenty of warning from the weather monitor to prepare. A den-den mushi connected to the stations from the main island, it had guaranteed constant updates and warnings. In the years you had lived here, not once did even a small ‘just in case’ not get sent out. A gut sinking question pushed its way to the front of your mind.

Had the main island been caught off guard by this storm as well?

Mari had stood silent next to you, the top of her head barely reaching your shoulders, her emerald green eyes observed calmly, as a blank expression took the place of a once truly happy smile of her friends face. Years of friendship taught her patience, especially when it came to the time that you needed when processing information. She stood in worry at the events outside, but also in confidence knowing that plans for multiple outcomes were already swirling in the back of your mind while taking in what was before you.

Finally moving, you walked to the front door and grasped the copper handle to pull it open when a sudden gust of wind slammed it shut, pulling you against the unyielding wood with a loud thud. "What the—?"

Mari intervened, gently brushing your hand aside. Taking a few long strides back you watched as the short blond braced a foot against the doors frame for leverage, she clenched the handle with a firm grip and mustered all her strength to yank the door open.

With a gritty shove, the door finally yielded, breaking the vacuum seal between the tempestuous storm and the home's still air. Both of you stood silhouetted in the doorway, squinting into the blinding onslaught of the storm—visibility reduced to a mere five-foot radius. Mari shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, her nerves starting to win against her patience.

“Whats the damage so far Mari?”

"The storm appears to be getting closer, Mistress. As it stands, only Hannah's home and our newly erected shelter have withstood the havoc.”

With wide eyes and mouth gaped in shock, you turn to look down at your friend before placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Another ball of saliva forced its way down as panic set in, had the people who had come to depend on you made it to safety? The words had to be forced out with what little air it felt your lungs could grasp, voice scratchy and hoarse as the question was asked.

“Is everyone…are they okay?”

Mari gave a small smile and nodded her head in reassurance. She understood intimately the fear you had; she had been a first-hand witness to this islands ceaseless endeavors, helping lost souls and vulnerable women find not just shelter, but a home and small community to depend on. It might have been humble, but it was one of safety, filled with love and warm meals. More than most had experienced before in their lifetime.

"Everyone is safe," Mari whispered, her voice tinged with solemn relief as her smaller hand lay gently across your own. “So far it is just the buildings that have been destroyed. This storm came on so quickly the others didn't even have time to grab any personal belongings.”

Both of you looked back out the door as the hurricane seemed to stay in place on the tiny island.

“I guess we will have to wait and see what we can salvage, hopefully we can make enough to repair everything”.

Now where was that drink?

Two Months Later.

That's the length of time the colossal hurricane had churned off the coast of the Grand Line, its path ever changing, sometimes even veering dangerously close to BariBari Island. The last hurricane of this scale had been the stuff of legend, occurring generations ago. The kind of things elders spun as eerie tales for younger ears at bedtime, recounting a storm that raged for an entire year before vanishing as mysteriously as it appeared. These stories painted nightmarish scenarios—mighty ships splintered like kindling under the hurricane's wrath, lush islands stripped to barren wastelands, and entire communities swallowed up, leaving nothing but memories and fear in their wake. Its unyielding presence disrupted every facet of maritime travel and daily life for the Cross Guild.

And now, the behemoth storm showed signs of further intensifying, prompting the leaders of the Cross Guild to recall their entire armada back to the island. They aimed to minimize the loss of their assets, salvaging whatever could be spared from nature's fury. But this strategy made from necessity had a double edge to it, while it saved their assets, it also lost them time and money in doing so. The lack of incoming funds creating great irritation in the largest of the three leaders, and terrified the shorter showman. A stop to income meant debts couldn't be paid fully or on time.

The formidable warlords congregated around a large circular worn table. Emptied wine bottles, extinguished cigar stubs, and disheveled piles of coins and playing cards surrounded them like the aftermath of a battlefield. Initially convened for a formal meeting, their gathering had dissolved, as it often did, into late-night poker and calculated wagers. The air was thick with a smoky haze, trapped by the room's tightly shut windows. Scant candles flickered on sparse furnishings, casting ominous shadows that danced in rhythm to the distant roll of thunder. Raindrops pelted the windowpanes, each gust of wind testing the mettle of their rusted latches.

Just as a new round of thunder shook the very foundation of the room, the silence was shattered, with a high-pitched whine. Slumping dramatically in his chair while disembodied hands remained frozen, Buggy sneered at cards that he had yet to reveal—a losing hand, if the theatrics were any indicator. After already losings the last four rounds, his mind was craving After four loses from the last few rounds, and his chips stacks getting smaller and smaller, his brain started to struggle staying focused. Weeks of being kept inside, no sunlight and temperatures fluctuating between sweltering and freezing would make anyone irritable. Even more so for someone who’s brain never seemed to stay quite or still.

"This storm has been raging for weeks. The longer this damn hurricane goes on, the more I’m starting to think its possible to die from boredom."

Buggy stormed from his grandiose chair, boots thudding against the floor as he glowered through the windowpanes. Just two hours ago the rain-droplets had been freezing to the glass, and now it was so warm that the inside edges were dripping in humidity. It was impossible to stay in one layer of clothing for the whole day now, having to now switch between snow and winter ware to summer beach attire constantly. His usual outfit was reduced to more comfortable wear for the late night. Long azure-colored hair held up in a high ponytail to keep anything warm off his neck, classic makeup smudged after hours of wear and humidity. The fur-lined coat draped over the backing of his chair, accompanied by his stripped bandanna.

Pouring another full glass of wine, Mihawk's eyes flicked from Crocodile to Buggy. Setting the crystal glass down, a pale hand tossed a few more coins into the pile as cards were discarded and new ones added. The usually well-poised swordsman felt his patience wearing thin with being cooped inside for so long, finding time alone to read had become near impossible. Add the irritation of never having a moments peace and the shifting weather it was no wonder he had grown more and more quite as the night went on. Even his normally immaculate appearance had loosened to something more casual. Hair tousled, mustache bristling in odd directions from the sweltering dense air. Hat and coat hanging on the wall, sword leaning next to them forgotten and left to try and stay cooler during this hours choice of temperature.

Crocodile delicately ashed his sizable cigar into a nearby used glass. Leaning back into his chair, he relished the sound of the wooden joints creaking under his weight. "I've got some old acquaintances that are going to dock on the island soon. They asked if they could stay until the storm passed, its a smallish group of maybe twenty at most.”

While still looking out the window, Buggy rolled his eyes in boredom. “Oh yeah? What do they do for work?”

The behemoth man paused in his reach for a new card, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips as he searched for a fitting descriptor. "They're a group of retired performers—some of the best at what they used to do." Plucking the new card, Crocodile grabbed an four of clubs to throw into the discard pile before nodding to the brunet next to him that it was his turn now.

Buggy perked up, spinning to face the table, his eyes alight with eagerness. "Performers?" Then, his excitement deflated. "Oh, wait. You said they're retired, right? So, they're old and boring." With a disheartened sigh, he laid down his cards and folded them, leaving the game to the other two men.

Silence once again fills the room, the clown could feel his skin crawl from under-stimulation and the banal environment, feeling the frenetic energy of his brain becoming louder.

“So when do the geezers get here?”

Crocodile stiffed a chuckle at Buggy's question, now turning to face the sword-smith to continue their card game, deliberately ignoring the clown's feigned indignation. “They should be arriving in the next few days, If the storm allows it.”

Shifting in his seat, Buggy swung one leg over the armrest and gazed out the window again, sulking in his boredom and already reaching for his coat as the temperature started to drop again.

A few hundred leagues away

Ornate tubes of lipstick danced like marionettes across the creaking floorboards, swept away by the hurricane's invisible hands as the storm outside orchestrated an all-out assault on the ship's integrity. Each howling gust and bone-jarring wave turned the vessel into a seesaw, rocking it in erratic patterns that defied gravity, from fore to aft, starboard to port.

When a particularly large wave crashed against the ship's bow the buckets in the room slid across from one corner to the other along with the smaller trunks of storage, their scraping noises adding to the symphony of the ship's already overstimulating orchestra. Falling to your knees with a harsh thump, a hand flew to cover your mouth as a particularly intense wave of nausea made itself known. Moans, groans, and the unmistakable retching of seasick passengers reverberated through the timbers as if the ship itself were in agony.

With a sense of urgency, the that Mari had help to adorned with delicate rings reached out in a desperate ballet, snatching up the errant lipstick tubes before they could escape into the narrow abyss between creaking planks. Then, as if provoked by your defiance, a colossal wave—fit for a sea monster's grand entrance—slammed into the bow. The impact sent buckets, dainty trunks, and sundry personal items skidding and screeching from one end of the room to the other. The shrill scraping of metal against wood joined the discordant orchestra, lending another layer of chaos to an environment already awash in sensory overload.

A knock at the door was heard before it slowly cracked open. A voice gently called out, "Miss? Are you alright?" In walked the familiar petite blond with a white apron cinched around her waist. Her eyes darted to where you stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over a bucket, trying to hold back from heaving up what little food you had been able to keep down so far.

"Oh dear, you poor thing. I knew this voyage would be trouble, especially with your seasickness." Mari helped guide you to sit up on the bed before wiping the sweat that had grown across the heat of your forehead with a rag dunked in a bowl of cool fresh water. "I didn't think it would be so rough when we're gaining distance from the storm's center. Are you sure we can trust this acquaintance of yours?"

Letting out a low, contented hum as the icy touch of the damp rag caressed your feverish forehead, taming wayward strands of hair that clung to moist skin. Head tilted back, eyes blissfully shut, you surrendered to Mari's nurturing touch as if each swipe of the cloth washed away a morsel of discomfort. "No, he is not someone to be trusted. I'm afraid turning back isn't an option, Mari. Since that storms appearance we’ve burned through almost all our emergency supplies. We’ve no money to speak of and nowhere to retreat to. Did the captain give any indication of how much longer this hellish ride will last—oh God!"

Even in so much discomfort and exhaustion your hand shot to a bucket tucked covertly under the bed, just in time for you to dry-have, retching into its emptiness. Mari's face crumpled in empathetic distaste, yet she remained steadfast, gathering your hair to prevent it from falling into the line of fire. "The captain assures us it'll only be a few more hours," she replied.

With a groan that seemed to echo the creaks of the ship, you withdrew your head from the foul-smelling bucket, collapsing onto the bed that swayed like a pendulum in sync with the ship's motion. "By gods, thank you for that news. Please, check on the others. From what I was hearing they might be faring even worse than me."

Mari bit her lower lip, a visible manifestation of her brewing concern. Sensing this, an eye cracked open, lips stretching into a warm, reassuring smile as you gently squeezed Mari’s arm. " You are too good to us, Mari, there is no one else we could hope to depend on. Please, they might need you more than me.”

At the encouraging nod, Mari pivoted gracefully and moved toward the door. Pausing on the threshold, her eyes lingered, bathed in the dim light of the room. "If you need anything, just holler, Miss." With that, she vanished into the dizzying corridor, momentarily losing her balance in the ship's wild sway. Bracing herself against the wall, she pressed on, intent on delivering the same vigilant care to the other ladies enduring this maritime ordeal.

Back in the sanctuary of your private chamber, starring at the ceiling, transfixed by the droplets of water that seeped through the holes in the timeworn deck above. Each droplet felt like a punctuation mark in the million thoughts that seemed to swirl repeatedly—a relentless reminder of your dire circumstances. Letting the right arm go limp, fingers loosely clutching the now lukewarm rag before letting it tumble to the floor. Your thoughts careened like a tempest, mirroring the chaos outside.

"We're in desperate need of help," the words murmured softly, as if verbalizing it might summon the assistance you so urgently required.

Shout Out To: @gingernut1314 @oddmawd @fanaticsnail @diabolicemerald @hey-august @lemony-snickers for being such amazing authors. All of you have given me inspiration and strength from reading and experiencing your creations to to able to spread my own wings. Thank you.

[azsazz]

Bloody Hearts

Azriel x Cassian x Rhysand x Reader

Summary: A modern mafia AU.

Warnings: Blood, injury, guns, depictions of graphic violence. Ik this isn’t how hospitals work but just pretend for the storyline that it is.

Word Count: 3,306

Notes: I want to thank each and every single one of you for your continued support. I love writing for you all and seeing your excitement and interactions are incredibly honoring. Here’s to you, 3k, and the many more to come! 💙

Special shout out to @sarcasmsweetie for planting the mafia seed in my head, I hope you enjoy! 💙

_________________________________________

The night sky is full of stars, but no moon.

It’s an evening like most in late September, the breeze blowing softly up the darkening streets, caressing everything in its wake. This just so happens to include Rhysand, who shivers as the gust tickles the dark hairs at the base of his neck.

He checks over his shoulder before pulling his coat tighter around himself, a hand pressed firmly over the fresh wound on his stomach.

He’d been caught, narrowly escaping a gang of rivals who had ambushed him at a meeting with a potential customer. A bullet shot to his side was a gift and a warning, and he can feel it still lodged in the taut muscle of his abdomen, fresh blood oozing between his fingers.

Rhys had lost his gun and phone during the attack, managing to intercept one of the escapees and rid them of their life and weapon, one that’s clutched tightly in his other hand, tucked just inside the flap of his overcoat. 

“Fucking asshole,” he spits through gritted teeth, jaw clenched to try and stop them from chattering. He’s cold, can barely feel his finger on the trigger of the cool metal of the gun, can definitely feel the warm, thick blood seeping from his stinging wound.

His breathing is labored and he stumbles every once in a while, his vision blurring. He curses. He hasn’t been able to find a pay phone and the streets in this part of town are abnormally quiet tonight.

He’s waiting for someone to jump him.

Rhys blinks hard, once, twitch, three times to clear his sight as he continues his quick pace towards the hospital up the street.

He’s been through worse before.

Squinting against the fluorescent lights as the doors slide open for him, Rhys tucks the weapon into the waistband of his pants. It hurts to do so, and he grunts as he makes his way up to the counter, straightening his posture as much as his body allows without putting any more strain on his injury. He needs to act as normal as possible so he doesn’t get asked too many questions.

There’s a woman on the other side of the glass, head buried in the computer screen before her. He can make out the lines of age on her face in the glow from the monitor, and she doesn’t even look up at him when she speaks.

“How can I help you?”

“I’ve seemed to have cut myself while cooking,” he lies expertly, but he doesn’t think she’d even care if he told the truth.

She gathers his information – most of it lies to keep his identity a secret – and prints the hospital bracelet, standing from her chair onto her aching feet as she shoves the large glasses perched low on her nose up into her disheveled hair to wrap the plastic band around his wrist.

Rhys has made sure not to show her his bloody hand.

“Have a seat and someone will be out shortly,” she tells him, collapsing back into her chair with a lethargic breath, slamming the space key to start her show back up.

He rolls his eyes, moving away from the counter, hand still pressed firmly to his side.

He chooses to slump against the wall instead, as far away from the few other people in the waiting room as he can get, knowing that if he were to sit down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs he would probably let the darkness that’s been vignetting his vision for the past half mile lull him to sleep.

It takes longer than he would like to be called into the emergency room. Rhys leans his head against the wall, releasing a shaky exhale as he watches the steady drops of blood falling from his hand and onto the linoleum tile beneath his feet with a soft patter. No one notices, and he doesn’t say anything when someone’s finally calling his name.

He lifts his head as he follows the nurse leading him back and he catches sight of you.

His heart stumbles at your beauty. You’re in the midst of a game of chess with a coworker, head propped on your curled fist as you assess the board, trying to figure out your next move. Your face is scrunched in the cutest way, silently taking count of your black pawns, deciding which one you can sacrifice.

Naturally, because he’s not paying attention he trips. He tries to catch himself on the countertop but your game is in the way and his bloody hand slams down onto the checkerboard, blood splattering in its wake as the board goes sliding and the pieces go tumbling onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he grunts, his side slamming into the cheap countertop because he’d been unable to catch himself. It hurts like a bitch but he bites his lip as harshly as he can, avoiding eye contact with you and your friend who have shot to your feet in shock.

“No,” you exclaim, raising your hands. Your feet are rooted to the ground as you stare over at him, slightly rattled from the incident. “Are you okay? Maybe we should get you a wheelchair–”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you, really,” His voice is gravelly, and he stuffs his bloodied hand into his pocket, forcing you to look from that mess to his face. It’s squished in pain, dark brows furrowed, luscious lips pressed into a firm line, but when he looks up at you the whole world stops.

His eyes are like a dream and you can’t stop yourself from falling into their rich purples and dark speckles like stars. Long lashes frame the rounds of his eyes, looking like they’re each dipped in coal liner but you know that he’s just effortlessly pretty.

Rhysand opens his mouth to say something but the nurse leading him back to his room places a gentle hand on his bicep. He flinches at the contact, gaze snapping to the woman before him.

“Sir, maybe we should get you to a room so that you can sit down.”

He’s sure he’s delirious now, after the way you looked at him. A face of confusion that had melted into one of awe when your crystalline eyes met his. His heart throbs in his chest and he can feel the fresh wave of blood seeping through the silk of his torn shirt as he allows the nurse to guide him forward.

He’s led to a private room where the nurse retrieves a fresh gown and places it on the bed.

“You’ll need to take off your clothing and put this on,” she instructs, reading over his chart. Her gaze flicks to where his bloody hand is once again putting pressure on the wound in his side, then meets his own, sizing him up.

“Some cut that must be,” she comments, watching him for any sort of give.

He’s been playing people for far longer than she could even know.

Rhys tries to muster that cocky smirk that seems to work on most women, but it must look more like a grimace because she seems unaffected. “Yeah, the knife got away from me when I was carving the meat,” he replies coolly, though the effort to stay standing is making him sweat.

She stares at him for a long moment before relenting. The nurse points at the gown on the bed with her pen, “Gown, now. You’ll be helped shortly.”

“Thank you very much,” Rhys tries not to snear and he swears he can hear the grating roll of her eyes as she draws the curtain shut upon her exit.

He sighs, shoving the gown away as he collapses on the corner of the bed, hissing at the twist of his wound. The bullet hasn’t hit any organs, he knows that, and he’s only a little nervous about the amount of blood he’s lost, but he can’t stop thinking about the pretty chess-playing nurse in the other room.

He needs to get in contact with his team, set bounties on their heads for the assassination attempt. 

Or he can just sick his Cassian on them.

He knows he’s going to get lectured by Azriel for being out there alone, but the both of them had deserved the night off, away from the sharp gazes of those mutts in the Canus gang. Their rivals for generations, Rhys had never known a day of peace while they’d been around.

They’d been at war with the Canus mob for as long as he knew. Rhys had been taught about it some when he was younger, when his father had the time to sit him down for the sort of talks other seven year olds weren’t receiving. Instead of talking about what he did at school or what he wanted for his birthday he was taught of the long-lasting drug war he was going to reign over some day and gifted weapons instead.

And that fateful power had been thrust upon him sooner than he anticipated, when his mother and sister were captured and killed by the infamous Oleanders, a rival crew that had not been short on land nor wealth. His father was a man of business, and no one said no to him, but they had. So his father took what he wanted instead and because of that, his mother and sister had suffered because of it.

Rhysand blinks harshly, trying to shove the memory from his mind and the black spots from his vision. He’d been the one to ask his father to join in on the revenge, using their best allies and assets to sneak into the penthouse the Oleanders occupied, slaughtering them, one by one, until only the youngest son, Tamlin, was left to take over the family business.

His fingers dig into his wound and he holds back a pained cry at the searing pain burning through him. It works though, flushing the memories from his mind while he waits for help.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·. ♜♞♝♛♚♝♞♜ .·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

“(Y/N),” room three,” your coworker nearly growls, slamming his patient papers down on the counter in front of you. They would’ve landed in the patient's blood had you not hastily cleaned it up, tossing the bloodied board into the biohazard tin.

You hadn’t been able to find one of the pieces in your hurried cleaning. Maybe your chess partner, Vern, had picked it up and thrown it away or it had rolled under the counter to be found later by a janitor. You had no time to fret over it as you stare at her in shock.

“Isn’t he your patient, Amren?”

She brushes her cropped hair behind an ear, glaring. “I don’t like him.”

“Well what makes you think I want him then?” you ask, but are peeling the papers from the damp counter anyways.

Amren doesn’t respond, slumping down in the seat you’d stood from when the mysterious, injured man had stumbled into the counter.

You sigh, making your way towards room number three.

You can’t help yourself, looking through his papers. There’s quite a bit of information left blank or redacted, like he hadn’t been willing to answer any of the necessary questions in order to treat. His name is Rhysand, last name redacted. Age, redacted. Occupation, blank. Eye color, redacted. Height, a surprising six foot two.

“Hello again,” you greet, brushing through the thin curtain separating his room from the rest of the hospital area. “I’m (Y/N).”

He’s laying back fully now, closed eyes opening to latch onto you as you make your way straight towards the sink, placing his papers down before washing your hands.

“Rhysand,” he offers, his breath rattling in his chest.

“So I’ve read,” you toss him a soft smile over your shoulder, wiping your hands off on a paper towel, walking around the side of the bed to perch in the chair beside it.

Rhysand’s cheeks redden despite the blood loss he encountered tonight. You’re attractive, looking everything like an angel came to save him. The black scrubs you’re wearing don’t do your body justice but that’s okay, he can imagine how you look beneath your clothes just fine in his delirium.

“So,” you roll your chair closer, noting the bloody hand pressed to his side, “What brings you in tonight?”

“I uh–” he hisses, slowly peeling his hand away, exposing the wound. “I cut myself while cooking.”

“Some cut,” you murmur, starting straight into the gaping hole in his side, “What kind of knife were you using? A nine millimeter?” 

He lets out a surprising laugh, groaning when it jostles his wound.

“Glock,” he admits disgustedly, before he realizes what he’s just admitted.

He tries to sit up, panicking. He instantly regrets it when the pain rips through his side once more. He bites his lip, holding in the whimper of pain he so desperately wants to release. You’re there, pressing him back down to the bed with your hands on his shoulders, shushing him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” you send him a wink that makes something in his chest flutter, “Let me take a look at it.”

Rhysand settles but his heart doesn’t, watching you as you slip on a pair of rubber gloves before slowly lifting up his shirt to examine his injury.

You try not to let your gaze linger on the tightly corded muscle of his stomach and focus solely on the wound.

It’s an injury you haven’t worked with before, since your time at the hospital. You can’t compare it to the ones you’ve seen, the woman who’d come in with the top of her finger cut off, just below the first knuckle. She’d shoved the remaining bit into your arms in hysterics, shouting at you to help her. Thankfully, she had managed to put it on ice before rushing over to the hospital, which was nice.

Then there was the child who had broken his leg in such a way that the bone had ripped through the muscle and tissue and you could see it clear as day. That one was awful. The child wouldn’t stop screaming and crying and he’d almost gone into shock with how terrified he was to see his own bone sticking out of his leg like that. 

That one had been a little harder for you to sleep off.

You have to admit, you’re a little intrigued. As much as you don’t like seeing people in pain, it’s interesting to see the extent of injuries people come into the hospital with, and sometimes it was amusing to know the stories behind them.

Looking from the wound to Rhysand’s face, your breath catches in your throat. You hadn’t realized how far you’d leaned in to examine his side, and you’re blushing and quickly turning away, busying yourself by opening one of the drawers, searching for supplies that you know aren’t in there.

You find the scissors on the tray Amren had left out, turning back to your handsome patient.

“Do you think you can take your shirt off or do you need me to cut it off of you?” you ask, holding up the scissors and snipping at the air.

You can cut me out of my shirt anytime that you please, Rhysand thinks, biting back a smirk.

“I can do it,” he manages, because he’ll need to put it back on once he leaves. He wouldn’t be caught dead out in the street with a hospital gown on. He lifts the hem of his shirt, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling when he peels the wet clothing that’s stuck to his body off. He hisses when he accidentally tugs on the wound while maneuvering his shirt over his shoulders and head.

He should’ve let you cut it off after all. 

Rhys relaxes the best that he can, leaning back slightly on his hands so you can come in for a closer look. He holds his breath as you examine his torso.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s hit anything important,” you explain. It’s still trickling blood but doesn’t nearly look as bad as you thought. “Is there an exit wound?”

You shift to look at his back but he’s letting himself fall back to the bed, heart thumping. The gun tucked into the waistband of his pressed pants digs into his spine.

“No exit wound,” he rushes to respond.

You furrow your brows at the confusing reaction but let it slide, “Right.”

You rise to your feet, pulling off your gloves.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Rhysand nods, watching you with eagle eyes until you leave.

He relaxes once he’s alone, releasing a shaky breath, slamming his eyes shut tight. He curses himself for being so careless. He needs to get this bullet out and get out of here.

“Call the doctor, gunshot wound, room three. Why didn’t the front desk get him back here sooner?” you call over your shoulder as you pass your coworkers, though you know the exact reason why.

“Maybe it was because he said he cut himself,” Amren supplies, confirming what you already know.

You roll your eyes as Vern gasps, immediately asking her what is going on with the pretty patient in room three. 

“The doctor is on his way,” you announce when you enter room three once more, setting the tools that are wrapped up in their respective packaging onto a portable table next to Rhysand’s bed.  “Need anything while you’re waiting?”

“A glass of water would be great,” Rhys answers, eyeing the tools he’s seen plenty of times before.

“I’ll be right back. The doctor should be here any second.”

You can feel his colorful eyes on you as you dip behind the curtain once more, walking towards the nurses area. You grab a little pitcher and fill it to the brim with ice and water, picking up a few plastic cups to bring back to the room with you.

You exit the nurses nook just as Amren is walking by and you trip, spilling the water on the floor. You curse, apologizing to the tiny nurse who’s grumbling about having to deal with a code gray, but knowing her, the patient is no match for the little nurse.

You exhale, irritated as you clean up the mess as quickly as you can. You just want to get back to the man in room three. Maybe you’ll even get a smile out of him for bringing the water.

You replace the old pitcher with a new one, disposing of the crushed plastic cups. You tap your foot impatiently on the ground as the water slowly fills the tiny jug. Carefully this time, you make sure no one is in your way before heading back to Rhysand’s room.

There’s still no sign of the doctor in the halls and you roll your eyes. Rhysand’s lost who knows how much blood for Mother’s sake and the doctor can’t even be arsed to hurry up a little.

That is the most frustrating part of your job.

“Here’s your water–” you stop in your tracks when you catch sight of the empty bed. 

You furrow your brows, backtracking a step to make sure you’re in the correct room. Yup. Three. The bed is still a bloody mess, but Rhysand is nowhere to be seen.

You place the water pitcher and cups down on the counter and that’s when you notice the bloody tools on the mobile cart you’d prepared for the doctor.

The tongs and tweezers to get the bullet out are no longer clean and sitting in the small metal bowl where the rest of the tools are laid is a tiny bullet covered in Rhysand’s blood.

[dangermousie]

Ep 27 was all plot and no ship. In fact none of my favorite characters except Jiang Li herself appeared in it - it was devoid of the Duke, his sidekicks, Shen Yurong, Princess Wanning, any of the Yes and except for a few seconds’ appearance devoid of Jiang Jingrui.

Still it definitely moved the plot forward - namely the plot of the serpents’ nest that is the Jiangs. Because the grievances were not suffered by our protag but the original Jiang Li and any connections of love or blood were also not hers but the original Li’s, she’s able to be clear headed and not really emotionally involved except insofar as she feels bad for injustice and she’s gonna need that because stepmom has lost the few restraints she had and the rest of the family is useless.

I found this ep humanized both Ruoyao and stepmom for me. I found it so tragic that Ruoyao has finally stopped stepping out of her mother’s monstrous, smothering shadow (her mother’s love always looked controlling and conditional but this ep shows just how downright abusive it was and how Ruoyao had so little chance) only to have her agency taken away from her by mommy on the most basic level. A woman who would poison her own child to get rid of a stepdaughter should not be called a mother in any sense.

I hope Ruoyao gets some sort of a happy ending and a way to find out who she actually is but I doubt that since the drama very clearly implied in this ep she is not a Jiang but is a child of adultery between stepmom and diviner. Papa Jiang is not much of a father even to his blood (he just goes with whatever the woman he is currently sleeping with likes) but the moment he discovers she’s not his, that nunnery is gonna be best case scenario for Ruoyao. Not every family can be the Fans from JoL or the Xiaos from Nirvana in Fire 2.

Stepmom? What a horror show but the drama humanized her (while showing she shouldn’t be allowed to run around at all.) All the woman wanted at the start was to run off with that painter and live in obscure bliss (Ruoyao’s desire to run with worthless ex-fiance is quite reminiscent of that - like mother like daughter - tho at least Mom’s boo genuinely loved her.) But daddy prevented it and was going to marry her off to some sort of mental defective with a family that wanted that dude to have a child (and in that society that marriage is pretty much life of horror) unless she found herself another match and was all “why don’t you off Papa Jiang’s wife, she’s sick anyway” - and not excusing stepmom being a murderer but it’s like Shen Yurong - when all your choices are bad choices you are way more likely to do bad things to survive. In some other alternate universe, she married that painter who never became a diviner and is living a placidly virtuous existence.

Honestly, the moment she killed a friend to escape a hellish marriage it was the end for her - she sent Jiang Li away because of the whole “I murdered your mom can’t have you find out or just look at you” (and daddy blames her for soft heartedness in not killing her!!!) and the other kid was an accident - it’s basically she started out as a villain out of perceived necessity but then she had to continue and got worse and worse. The journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, indeed.

I found it poignant she ultimately wasn’t able to maim monster daddy as requested by diviner. Not so poignant that she’s apparently repeating the way she was parented in the way she’s parenting her daughter despite knowing firsthand what that’s like. (But I wonder how much her obsession with getting Ruoyao the best marriage, the nicest reputation (no showing in public at age x), the best womanly skills (zither) is driven by her forever remembered terror of being a woman with no power and no options and no good marriage prospects.)

Even that scarred cousin who married the abuser got a little bit of interest from me - the way she tells his paralyzed body that even tho he beat her so badly she will take excellent care of him and the sheer terror in his eyes was great. Go girl!!!!

Still, hope next ep brings back the Duke and Co. (Jiang Li sent away the guard the Duke had on a mission for her and girl - bad life choice - guard had a big point in that he was there for her protection. And now diviner is coming and there is no guard. I guess she’s so bad at listening to instructions, the Duke will have to move in with her himself to make sure she does what he wants. What a hardship 😂)

[dandelion-wings]

💘 dealer's choice on ship 👀

Thank you for the ask! <3 I accidentally significantly more than a snippet, whoops. >> But I'd been reminded of this pet pairing of mine while looking at Eula's voicelines earlier today, and while I don't always manage it I do like to hit all the elements in these prompts, and then the moment I looked at this one the idea for fitting this pairing into it sprang into my head and demanded its chance.

---

This isn't what Sucrose had expected when Ms. Eula said that she would protect Sucrose personally on the way to Liyue Harbor. Some bandit gang has been kidnapping doctors, alchemists, and similar such people on the roads through the Guili Plains, and while Sucrose is strong enough to protect herself while gathering materials, she *is* grateful for extra protection from the kind of threat posed by a large, organized band. Still, she'd just assumed it meant she would ride along with the merchant caravan Eula is already protecting.

Instead, the first night they camp, someone had asked Sucrose what she was going to Liyue Harbor to do, since she certainly wasn't a merchant she didn't seem to be a knight. She'd just opened her mouth to explain that she was an alchemist, and that she was going to confer on certain herbs with a healer there, when Ms Eula spoke over her.

"She's here as my personal companion," Ms. Eula said haughtily, giving the merchant a glare so fierce that she quickly mumbled an excuse and scooted over to talk to one of her companions instead. When Sucrose finished dinner and went looking for her tent, she found that Ms. Eula had put Sucrose's bedroll in the command tent, side-by-side with her own.

"Um... you don't have to do that," she said. "I brought my own tent."

"I swore to Master Jean and Captain Albedo that I would take personal responsibility for your safety," Ms. Eula said, just as haughtily. "That includes protecting you from any spies that may be in the caravan. If you're with me, they have fewer chances to ask you questions you can't formulate a dishonest answer to."

"Oh," Sucrose said, her face hot with the realization that she'd almost made Ms. Eula's job harder by giving herself away, and that was how Ms. Eula had arranged their sleeping arrangement ever since.

Their sleeping arrangements aren't the only way in which Ms. Eula has backed up her assertion that Sucrose is her *'personal companion.'* She insists that Sucrose walk with her when she's pacing alongside the wagon, and with Mika when she's gone ahead to scout. She puts her hand on Sucrose's shoulder, or takes her arm, or even takes her hand once, when Sucrose slips and nearly falls in her mud, and keeps her fingers laced with Sucrose's for nearly a mile after she pulls her out. And Sucrose is only making it harder for her by getting more and more flustered with every gesture that makes it clear what 'personal companion' is supposed to *mean*.

The problem is... well, there are several, but they all have the same central root. Sucrose wouldn't get so flustered as to nearly bely the pretense, nor pull jerkily away from Ms. Eula when she finds herself too aware of her touch, nor drive herself deeper and deeper into sleep debt by lying stiffly awake all night long with Ms. Eula's back against her own, if she didn't enjoy Ms. Eula's attention so much. The logical knowledge that her affection is false doesn't change the emotional or physical effects. Ms. Eula is a very beautiful woman, and her dedication to keeping Sucrose safe makes clear the kindness that lies behind her intimidating exterior. Sucrose is experiencing a very natural reaction that would be fascinating to observe, if it was happening to anyone else.

Instead she's been observing Ms. Eula, which only makes it worse. Sometimes she nearly thinks that she catches evidence that her feelings are returned--Ms. Eula's hand lingering a little too long, her anecdotes when they walk together becoming a little too personally vulnerable, her strong back pressed against Sucrose's own a little too firmly to be an accident in her sleep. But then Ms. Eula sees Sucrose jump at her touch and makes an excuse for another patrol, or hears Sucrose stammer an inadequate response to their conversation and abruptly changes the subject, or notices her embarrassment in the dark and carefully rolls away to the far edge of her bedroll, and Sucrose doubts her observations after all.

Besides, that Eula might harbor the same feelings is a highly unlikely hypothesis. It's not one that Sucrose is confident enough in to test, not when the results of that experiment might be so disastrous.

It should be a relief to get to Wangshu Inn, where bandits wouldn't dare to operate and Sucrose can safely get her own room. That she finds herself fantasizing about sharing one of the Inn's famously comfortable beds with Ms. Eula is all the more reason that she should get her own. This may not be a subject for experiments, but she can surely run a few small-scale personal trials to determine exactly how far her reactions to the situation have progressed.

There are a few other folks from Mondstadt there already, a smaller group on the way back from Liyue Harbor that have hired their own protection. Some of them know some of the merchants Ms. Eula's company is escorting, and they cluster together at dinner, laughing and talking, while Ms. Eula and Sucrose and Mika join the rest of the Reconnaissance Company at a table of their own. Drink flows steadily, until Sucrose is light-headed and half the knights are flushed. The laughter from the merchants grow louder, as well as their looser and looser talk.

"Wonder what the Lawrence has over her?" one of the merchants on their way back says, far too loudly, and gives a braying laugh. "She might look good, but I wouldn't kiss a fish that cold if you paid me a million Mora to do it, and I can't imagine a hoity-toity Lawrence is anything but a selfish tyrant in bed."

Every back at the knights' table stiffens at the insult. Sucrose draws herself up, too, and turns about in her chair, flushed red and with no idea what she's going to say but still certain that Ms. Eula deserves some defense.

"Leave them be," Ms. Eula said, just as loudly, her chin high and her hand cool on Sucrose's arm. The touch sends a shiver through Sucrose that isn't just from the chill. "Such insults from drunken idiots aren't worthy of a response, even proper vengeance."

Given Ms. Eula's own attitude, that seems hypocritical. Sucrose goes even redder when she sees the faint concern in Eula's scowl and realizes that this dismissal is for her sake--that she's protecting Sucrose from embarrassing herself in an argument she hasn't the least idea of how to make.

The braying merchant, though, has already noticed Sucrose turning towards him, and he grins maliciously at her. "Come on, don't try to lie to us. You wouldn't be cuddling up with a Lawrence if she wasn't making it worth your while."

Ms. Eula's hand tightens on her arm, as if to hold her back. But Sucrose isn't the sort of knight who rushes in with sword or spear. Anger bubbling up, as well as an impulsive desire that some analytical part of her notes is undoubtedly due to the alcohol, she rises to her feet.

"Her time and attention is worth the time and attention I give to her. It's a mutually beneficial relationship," she tells him, and deliberately turns her back, which brings her directly face-to-face with Ms. Eula.

Who is just as red in the face as Sucrose herself. Certainly that's the alcohol, but Sucrose looks at her widened eyes, her slightly parted lips, the way her breath is caught, and decides, impulsively, that maybe her unlikely and overly-optimistic hypothesis is worth testing after all. Surely she can get away with attributing any experimental failures to the alcohol. Leaning in, she presses their lips together.

For a moment Ms. Eula is stiff and frozen, lips unmoving against Sucrose's own. Then she responds, tilting her head back and to the side to better fit them together, with nothing but warmth in her answering kiss. She lets go of Sucrose's arm only to catch her hips and pull Sucrose into her lap; Sucrose clambers eagerly into it, pressing up against her, running her hands over the muscles of her shoulders and the curve of her sides. Eula shivers and gasps into Sucrose's mouth.

She should have touched Eula back ages ago, instead of freezing up at every contact. If she had, she wouldn't have been so worried about testing her hypothesis. Right now the results are *extremely* promising. Though, Sucrose reflects as Eula adjusts her grip to hold her up as she rises and marches into the inn, she should certainly repeat the experiment multiple times. Just to verify the results.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Chapter 16 - Ehrlichkeit]

• Ehrlichkeit (German, honesty)

Warnings: emotional conversations, Yoongi opens up to Kookie & it’s beautiful, the unconditional love they share :(

Wordcount: 6.1k

a/n: i love them, i love them, i love them

Yoongi opens his eyes. He didn’t sleep much, but he doesn’t feel tired. He doesn’t get tired easily. It’s in his nature. You are still in his arms, fingers holding onto a bundle of his shirt just like you did when you fell asleep. Your body feels soft in relaxation.

“Hm”, he hums and smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. It makes you nuzzle into him even tighter. He pats the back of your head then looks at Jungkook. The young vampire is staring into the darkness, body tense and eyes slightly glassy.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi whispers.

Jungkook flinches and looks at Yoongi with widened eyes. Yoongi knows that he didn’t expect him to be awake.

“Her heartbeat is really loud”, Jungkook says, pointing at his own ears with shaking fingers.

Yoongi understands instantly.

“Should we take a walk?” he suggests.

“Yes please.”

“Okay, let’s go”, Yoongi says and wiggles out of your grasp.

“Yoongi”, you whimper, half asleep and barely there.

“I’ll be back soon, princess. Go back to sleep”, he assures you, kissing your cheek.

You hum quietly, having already fallen asleep again.

The two vampires leave the room once dressed. They leave the hotel as well, walking on the empty streets next to each other. The night is cold, heavy fog hangs deep into the city and the air smells fresh. Jungkook seems to breathe easier because of it, but he still carries tension in his stance.

Yoongi doesn’t talk, because he knows that Jungkook needs the silence. Jungkook doesn’t talk because he is lost in his own thoughts.

The city turns the streetlights off after a certain time. The streets are pitch black, but to them it looks like a bright full moon night when snow lies on the world. Outlines are clear, paths are obvious and their faces are visible entirely.

The motel was close to a park. The gates are locked but the two vampires don’t mind. One little jump and their feet touch soft grass.

“Do you think someone saw us?” Jungkook asks.

“No. Not in that darkness”, Yoongi assures him, “come. I hear shuffling.”

“I think it’s a badger.”

“Yeah it sounds like one. Do you want to eat it?”

“No, I’m not hungry. You were really filling.”

“Okay.”

The shuffling of little feet drowns out in their ears again right as they cross a corner. The grass blends into an asphalt path. Yoongi can hear the dampness stick to their shoes and somewhere far away water drips from a leaf onto the ground.

Jungkook inhales and exhales in a defeated sigh, kicking a pebble into the gutter. It hits the ground after a second, making an echoing sound of impact. It sounds loud in the vampires’ ears, but was mostly silent for humans.

“How do you do that, hyung?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“How do you sleep next to ___ or humans in general? How do you not go crazy at their heartbeats?”

“Practice.”

“Yeah well, I practice too and it’s still affecting me”, Jungkook says, sounding a little bratty. Not at Yoongi but at his own inability to learn.

“Jungkook. You’ve been practicing with me for how long now? Thirteen months?”

Jungkook nods his head.

“At thirteen months Fredrick couldn’t even be in the same room than humans. At thirteen months Carla still ripped through twenty deer per hunt. At thirteen months I could barely even hold myself back from ripping a human apart who was ten miles away from me because their heartbeat sounded deafening in my ears.”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi with widened eyes.

“At thirteen fucking months you just had sex with the woman you are in love with and you didn’t even as much as scratch her. Talk shit about your progress again and I’ll break your nose.”

“But I wanted to bite her when I-”

“-yes because you were in the middle of fucking orgasming. Wanna know how long it took me to stop ripping through people’s throats each time I climaxed?”

Jungkook nods his head.

“Fifteen years.”

“Really?” Jungkook gasps.

“Yes and I know how long my other students needed for that. Trust me, you’re the first who can even as much as be close to a human after thirteen months, let alone kiss and fuck her. Your progress is fucking remarkable.”

“Oh”, Jungkook lets out, lifting his head to stare into the cloudy night sky, “I think I really needed to hear this”, he gets out and then sobs softly.

Yoongi stops in his tracks, looking at Jungkook burying his face in his hands to cry quietly.

“I’m sorry”, he chokes out, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Hey”, Yoongi says softly, placing his hand on the back of Jungkook’s head, “it’s okay, kiddo. I’m here”, he says, pulling him against his chest for a hug.

Jungkook lets his head fall against Yoongi’s shoulder and wraps his arms around the latter’s waist.

“Why am I always crying?” he croaks, “it’s so fucking stupid.”

“No it’s not. It’s okay”, Yoongi assures him in a soft voice, rubbing soothing circles on Jungkook’s shivering back, “as long as you’re not doing it alone, it’s okay. Hear me, kiddo?”

Jungkook nods his head, arms tightening around Yoongi.

“Thank you, hyung. I know I’m such a crybaby.”

“No, you’re not. You just feel emotions very strongly, but that’s normal. Especially because of who you are. We feel shit stronger, that’s just how we work. Happiness, grief, anger, sadness. Love. We feel that shit stronger. It’s okay to cry, Kookie.”

“I just have so much going on”, Jungkook presses out and sobs, “it’s so much.”

“I know”, Yoongi says, running his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, “why don’t we sit down for a while, mhm?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. Come, lean on me. The bench’s right there.”

Yoongi holds Jungkook’s hand as they sit, caressing his skin with his thumb. He feels cold from the fresh air, but he knows that Jungkook wasn’t bothered by it. Their bodies may feel cold to the touch after long hours in the chilly outside, but it doesn’t affect them physically.

When the seconds almost turned into a minute, Yoongi decides that it is time for him to speak. 

“What’s making you so sad, kiddo?”

“I don’t want to talk about it”, Jungkook says instantly and Yoongi sees a lot of himself in that answer. 

“I know, I get it”, he says and drapes his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, “you know, I’m here for you. You can lean on me.”

“I’m already putting so much on your shoulders, hyung”, Jungkook murmurs, lowering his head sadly. 

“Hyung’s strong, Kookie. I can handle it.”

Jungkook acknowledges him with a nod of his head and a shaky “mh-hm” and then he buries his face in the palm of his hand, letting out a sad whimper. 

“I’m so dumb, hyung”, he chokes out. 

“Talk to me. What makes you think that? What’s bothering you?” Yoongi asks in a soft voice.

“Everything.”

“Everything, mhm. That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not everything, it’s just”, Jungkook sags his shoulders, “I don’t even know why I’m so sad, but I am.”

“Is it about her heartbeat?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“And?”

Jungkook hesitates, picking at his own peach fluff on his cheeks.

“Is it about Tae?” Yoongi asks.

“Yeah, I’m so upset about that”, Jungkook whispers, lowering his eyes sadly, “why did I ever trust someone like Taehyung?”

Yoongi frowns. Not at Jungkook, but because of what he just told him. He thought that Jungkook was plagued by his usual worries. Fears of never being able to control his urges, impatience of taking so long to master his skills, anger at himself for messing up. He hadn’t expected heartbreak to be the reason for Jungkook’s sadness however. It angers him that Taehyung is the reason for it.

Yoongi rubs Jungkook’s upper back soothingly.

“He, he told me that I was nothing more than a d-distraction. Why did I think that he actually liked me?”

Yoongi scowls, “he’s such a bastard.”

“No, don’t say that he is-”, Jungkook stops himself, gawking at Yoongi with big, glassy eyes, “why am I defending him?” 

Yoongi gives him a knowing smile. Sad and compassionate. 

“You like him, don’t you?”

Jungkook nods his head, lower lip trembling. 

“It’s not like I, I thought that he was the one for me. But it, it…it hurts me so much to think that I was just a distraction to him. H-how can he act so loving with me if I was just a distraction? Why would he play with me like that?” Jungkook pouts sadly. “Like holy fuck, the first romantic encounter I didn’t initiate turns out to be a distraction. I feel so fucking played with and, and that hurts me so much.”

Yoongi cups Jungkook’s cheek, wiping the new drops of tears away.

“Do you want a hug, kiddo?”

“Yes”, Jungkook falls into Yoongi’s chest before he can even finish his sentence, “please hug me, hyung.”

Yoongi wraps him up in a tight hug, swaying their bodies from side to side to soothe him. All while his hands rub up and down his back. He listens to Jungkook whimper into his chest and he frowns as he does. If he sees Taehyung again, he’ll probably punch him in the face.

“Hyung, can you make me feel nothing?” Jungkook asks desperately.

“No Kookie, I won’t do that.”

“But, but you could?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes you could, you’re lying.”

“Kookie”, Yoongi speaks gently, “you’ve managed to survive your worst days and you will survive this too. Heartbreak feels like the end, but you will survive this. Trust me.”

“What if I can’t? My heart hurts so much.”

“I know, kiddo, I know”, Yoongi presses him closer, “but hyung’s here and I’ll make it better. Yeah?”

“Yeah”, Jungkook says and sniffles sadly, “why can’t I stop crying? It’s so stupid”, he gets out and sobs softly as he rubs at his own eyes harshly.

“Hey, don’t”, Yoongi stops him from hurting himself, pulling Jungkook’s hand atop his lap instead, “I understand how you feel”, he says, “Taehyung’s a player before he’s anything else and I don’t know if this helps you in any kind of way, but it wasn’t because of you.”

“Yeah it was. It’s because I’m so much work.”

“Shut up. No you’re not”, Yoongi almost hisses the words, forcing Jungkook to make eye contact with him, “you’re not much work and if anyone ever makes you feel like you are, tell me because I’ll punch them until they’re dead.”

Jungkook lets out a shy chuckle, lowering his eyes.

“Don’t say that, hyung”, he mumbles.

“I’m fucking serious. Nobody hurts my Kookie and gets to tell the tale”, Yoongi says, tugging a strand of hair behind Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook lifts his eyes. They carry immense sadness as they lock with Yoongi’s. 

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi”, he presses out.

“For what?” Yoongi asks, soothing his hand over the back of Jungkook’s head. 

“For m-making you drink the blood. I-I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. I was never angry at you, Kookie.”

“Hyung”, Jungkook whimpers, seeking refuge in Yoongi’s chest, “hyung, I hope we never leave each other. I actually wouldn’t survive if we did.”

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums and strokes his hand up and down the back of Jungkook’s neck.

“Do you feel the same?”

“Yes kiddo, I just suck at saying it.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, making Yoongi smile and then rest his chin on top of Jungkook’s head.

“That’s okay.”

Jungkook places his hand over Yoongi’s and lifts it to his lips to kiss his knuckles softly.

Yoongi sneaks a glance at him, feeling breathless because he didn’t expect it.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

Jungkook lifts his head, looking at Yoongi, “I just thought that...I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay”, Yoongi says, placing Jungkook's head on his shoulder, “relax.”

Jungkook exhales deeply and seconds later, Yoongi can feel soft kisses on his knuckles again. He glances at him. Jungkook seems so peaceful. His eyes are closed and each time he lifts his lips from his knuckles, Yoongi spots a soft smile washing over his face.

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums and looks back at the willow tree, closing his fingers around Jungkook’s. He really likes this.

And so it happens that the two vampires sit on this lonely bench in this empty park while Jungkook kisses Yoongi’s knuckles and Yoongi thinks to himself that he would fight the world to keep him safe.

“Thank you”, Jungkook says, “I don’t feel so sad anymore.”

“Good. You shouldn’t feel sad over someone like Taehyung.” 

“You don’t really like him, do you?”

Yoongi looks over his shoulder as if he wanted to check if someone was listening in. He knows that it is impossible. Taehyung and Jimin are somewhere out in the city partying. Yoongi is furious about it now that he knows that Taehyung dares to have fun when Jungkook is heartbroken. You won’t hear him either, because he left you at the motel safe and sound.

“This stays between you and I”, he still says to which Jungkook nods his head. 

“I promise. You can trust me, hyung.”

“Good”, Yoongi says, “because truth is. Lately? I can’t stand him one bit.”

“You can’t?”

Yoongi nods his head, “he’s reckless and I will never forgive him for what he did to ___. And now you too. He constantly hurts the people closest to him and it infuriates me.”

“But didn’t he only hurt ___ because of Namjoon’s influence?”

“I’m not talking about the evening they almost killed her. I don’t blame him for that. But he brought her into this life. It’s his fault that ___ got hurt so many times in the first place.”

Yoongi picks up a pebble from the ground to throw it into the pond. He does it with so much strength that the water ripples in fear of being victim to yet another one of his throws.

“He controlled her mind multiple times, lied to her, let her get hurt”, Yoongi clenches his jaw, “his little regard for her life angers me so much. The best proof is how he disappeared at Fringella’s stupid ball. If Fredrick hadn’t dragged me away, I would have stayed glued to ___, but what did he do? He flirted with a dozen strangers and left to have blood orgies with complete perverts. How completely disrespectful to her.”

Yoongi sneaks a glance at Jungkook. 

“And to you”, he says, “I can’t understand him. I find no interest in strangers when I have someone like ___ by my side. How can he have such little respect for someone so wonderful?”

“Maybe he loves her differently? Maybe his love is so great that he is able to share it.”

Yoongi scoffs, “that’s just childish. Either you love a person or you don’t. And if you do, then your, your every second should be filled with the desire to look at them and see them smile.”

Jungkook looks at Yoongi. 

“Are you talking about ___ too, hyung?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a problem with her spending time with Tae or me?”

“Not with you, Kookie. If there is one other person I have no problem with than it is you.” 

“Really?”

Yoongi nods his head, “being loved by her feels like…like…being alive.” 

Jungkook smiles at the smile curling Yoongi’s lips. 

“She makes your heart race even if it can’t race and, and your stomach feels so”, Yoongi touches his own tummy, “it always tingles. That’s so nice.”

Yoongi sneaks a shy glance at Jungkook. 

“And I want this for you, kiddo. You deserve her too.”

“And Taehyung?”

Yoongi tightens his jaw, softness in his eyes disappearing. 

“Sometimes I wish she didn’t love him”, Yoongi confesses in a whisper. 

“Really?” 

He nods his head, “he hurt her so much and so many times and yet she still sees something in him. I’m scared for her.”

“Scared for her?”

Yoongi nods his head. 

“When she goes out with him and Jimin, I want to take her and lock her up. I’m so scared that they will hurt her. Even if Tae promises to take care of her, what if he doesn’t? He is so reckless, what if this gets her hurt?”

“I don’t think that Taehyung would allow her to get hurt.”

“You don’t know that. What, shit, what if he does? What if Jimin loses control and he bites her? What if she runs into a vampire and Tae’s not there to stop them? What if she gets fucking bit? Fuck”, Yoongi presses out, “I want to be better for ___. I promised her that I would trust her and let her have her freedom a-and I meant it, but it’s so hard. Why can’t she stay by my side so I can protect her?”

“I think it’s really great that you trust her so much even if it’s hard”, Jungkook says, “and it’s yet another reason why you deserve ___.”

Yoongi looks into Jungkook’s eyes in shock, almost as if he didn’t expect to hear such words. 

“I understand your worries, especially the thing with Jimin. But I really think that Taehyung wouldn’t let this happen to her.”

“What if you’re wrong? Fuck, I want to keep her safe. Why doesn’t she want me to?”

“She does, hyung, she does”, Jungkook insists, taking Yoongi’s hand, “she just doesn’t want to be your prisoner.”

“She’s not my prisoner. She’s my…my love”, Yoongi’s eyes soften, “and I wanna keep her safe.”

“And you are. Trust me, ___ can go out that freely because she knows that she has you to keep her safe. And she loves returning home to you because she knows that you trust her and give her space.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do. Nobody wants to be controlled and you’re doing everything right to keep her safe without acting possessive and that’s why she feels the way she does about you.”

“Do you think it’s good? How she feels?”

“You have to ask? Of course it is. She is so into you.”

Yoongi lowers his eyes, “okay”, he whispers.

“You’re doing great. Not everyone wants to be better for their partner. That’s why you’re my role model”, Jungkook smiles, “I want to be like you too. I want to do everything in my power until I’m of no danger to ___. I want to keep her safe and make her smile. You inspire me so much, hyung.” 

Yoongi looks away, patting Jungkook’s shoulder wordlessly. The gesture visualises his deep gratitude, for speaking the words is too difficult for Yoongi.

“I can’t wait for the day I can give oral to her”, Jungkook says, “I want to fuck her like you do. She smells so goddamn happy whenever you touch her and, and I want to get to the point where I can please her like you do.”

“It’ll still take a while. Oral’s the hardest part to control, because it comes closest to feeding.”

“I know, I’m just really excited already. She tasted so good on you”, he says and sighs contently. He kicks his feet happily, eyes flitting to Yoongi.

“Yeah I could tell”, the latter says, cocking his right brow up.

“What do you mean?”

“You bit my dick, remember?”

Jungkook snickers, scrunching his nose up.

“You liked it, be honest”, he says, carrying just enough flirty playfulness in his voice that Yoongi flusters. He touches the side of his neck, eyes flitting to his own lap.

“It was reckless of you to go down on me”, he says and clears his throat loudly.

“I think you liked it”, Jungkook whispers, giggling cutely when Yoongi lifts his eyes just to send him a look.

“Since when are you that bold?”

“I don’t know”, Jungkook giggles, “I’m just saying it how it is, hyung”, he flirts, which flusters Yoongi once again.

“You’re so weird”, Yoongi murmurs.

“Should I stop?”

“No uhm”, Yoongi pats Jungkook’s knee twice and turns his head away. He doesn’t say anything else afterwards.

Jungkook lets his eyes linger on Yoongi’s side profile for two more seconds and then he looks at the pond as well. He sways his upper body from side to side, taking a deep and content breath.

“Hyung, do you think that ___ is the one for you?”

“Yes”, Yoongi says without hesitation. 

“How do you know that she is?”

“She guessed my favourite colour first try.”

Jungkook looks at him as if he doesn’t really understand.

“It wasn’t even a special night. Just a random Tuesday and we were talking in bed and she asked me what my favourite colour was, but before I could tell her, she had already guessed it.”

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle.

“Between me and you, kiddo. I didn’t even have a favourite colour until she yelled out blue”, he confesses and smiles, “she was so excited about getting it right and she kept smiling and giggling. So I told her that she was right and I haven’t seen blue the same since.”

Yoongi touches his chest.

“Now I see it everywhere”, he whispers, “I think if all colour would be ripped from this planet, I’d be okay as long as I can still look at blue.”

“I see”, Jungkook breathes, studying Yoongi’s features.

He finally understands.

Yoongi sniffles and rubs his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter”, he says, looking at Jungkook, “that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“No, it’s exactly what I wanted to hear”, Jungkook answers him, “thank you, hyung. For trusting me.”

This is the first time the two men look into each other’s eyes. Truly and honestly look.

“Mhm”, Yoongi lets out and places his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder to give him a gentle shake.

Of course I do, he says with that touch, I’ve got your back and in return you’ve got mine.

Jungkook leans in and rests his head on Yoongi’ shoulder. He kisses his knuckles once, then lowers their intertwined hands to rest them between his thighs. He closes his eyes and falls into the silence with Yoongi.

Yoongi heard five cats pass by in the time all of that happened and grew beyond relaxed by now. He listens to Jungkook’s calm breathing and has his tranquil scent in his nose. He feels pride in it, because he doesn’t smell upset anymore and he knows that it was his doing.

“I want to be like you hyung”, Jungkook says then, sniffling because of the cold.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so weak and I cry easily and I always take everything to heart. I want to be like you. I want to be tough and strong.”

Yoongi stays silent for a long time. It was an innocent sentence, Yoongi knows that Jungkook meant no harm in it. Perhaps that he even meant it as a compliment. And yet Yoongi can’t help but think of his entire life because of it. All the times he hesitated, felt regret, grieved, lost his way and wished to be someone else. He thinks of all the times he felt incomplete. Yoongi takes a deep breath and releases it in a loud sigh. 

“I’m not strong”, he says. 

“Of course you are. No matter what happens, you always know what to do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Don’t say that. You’re so tough.”

“Jungkook, I’m not tough, I’m fucking tired.”

Jungkook lifts his head, turning to study Yoongi’s side profile.

“I’m fucking tired of being tough and strong. I’m not strong, I’m tired. So goddamn tired”, he says, “sometimes I want to shrink myself so I’m small enough to fit into someone’s palm, just so I can finally be the one having to carry zero responsibility on my shoulders. And then they could crush me.”

He looks at Jungkook.

“That’s what I wish for on my worst days. That they crush me in their palm and that it’s successful and I finally don’t wake up again for the millionth of time”, he confesses, “I tried everything Kook. Every single thing you can possibly think of, I tried. Everything that kills humans, witches, werewolves and vampires. I tried it and always woke up. And on my worst days I wish to be tiny and to be crushed and to not heal from it.”

“Hyung”, Jungkook presses out, scooting closer to drape his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder, “I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

“So no kiddo, you don’t want to be like me. You don’t wanna…” he tenses his jaw, “...don’t wanna deal with the thoughts I’m having. Fuck, Kook. I’m not strong, but I struggle to tell people that. Do you see the irony? I don’t want to admit that I’m not strong, because it’s, it’s hard.”

Yoongi lowers his head.

“It’s fucking hard to talk about my feelings. I have no idea how to do that because I didn’t have them for most of my life, but now I do and, and I feel everything and it’s so burdening but I still can’t get myself to tell people that I’m struggling.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath before he continues talking.

“You say that I always know what to do when in reality I have no fucking clue what I should do about, about…”, Yoongi lowers his voice as he continue speaking, “…about Namjoon. Everyone tells me that I should kill him, but I don’t know how to do that. He’s the only one still alive who’s like me and once I kill him…I’d be the only one left.”

“Oh”, Jungkook lets out, “I see…”

“I know that it’s the right thing to do. Kill him, I mean. But how can, can I kill him when he’s…the only one who knows how it was to fucking die only to wake up knowing that we’ll be the new fucking Devils of this cursed planet?”

Yoongi lowers his head, hitting his own knee rather harshly, “I’m so fucking pissed. Why did he have to turn out that way? He was the gentlest and most loving person when I met him. All he did was write poetry, look at art and help people who were hurting. He loved animals and, and nature and he had this one bonsai tree he grew when we were still humans and which he cared for as if it was his own child for the first two hundred years of our existence. And now he’s such a fucking monster. He burned that bonsai tree and laughed. He ripped up all his poetry and sang whilst doing it. He stopped helping people and instead gets off on torturing them. Do you even know how much it hurt to have to watch him change like that and be fucking helpless?”

Yoongi hits his knee again.

“I tried everything to stop it from happening. I tried to take him to art fairs, but he ended up killing most people. I wrote melodies and asked him to write poetry for them like we always did, but he ended up laughing in my face. I tried to hug him once, but he ended up breaking my arms and called me disgusting. I even fucking begged him to stop. I fucking begged in tears on my fucking knees and even that didn’t work.”

Yoongi sniffles shakily, wiping at his eyes quick enough that Jungkook couldn’t even watch the tears escape. Jungkook still knew what was happening, crying for him.

“Why him?” Yoongi presses out, “why did it have to be fucking him out of all the Creators? Couldn’t it have been Seojoon or, or Chaeyoung? I never liked them anyways. Why did it have to be my best friend out of all people?”

Yoongi wipes at his eyes again.

“Maybe that’s why I kept my emotions off for such a long time. Because I don’t wanna deal with the big fucking hole in my heart Namjoon left after he died. He may still be alive, but my best friend died with that cursed arrow and left a clashing hole in my heart. Fuck. And now I’m supposed to be the one killing him. Holy fuck”, his voice cracked at the last word, turning into a heartbreaking whimper.

Yoongi dares to sneak a glance at Jungkook. 

“I don’t know why I just told you all of that” he gets out.

“It’s okay, hyung. You can tell me anything”, Jungkook assures him.

“I think….I’m struggling too, kiddo”, Yoongi whispers, “like really fucking much.”

“I’m sorry, hyung”, Jungkook says, crying for him. He tightens the arm around Yoongi, resting his forehead against him. It falls so it rests on Yoongi’s temple. 

Yoongi tilts his head, leaning into the touch as his eyes flutter closed. 

“There are times where I just, just…just. I just want to be taken into someone’s arms and then rested against their chest. And I want to feel small and fragile and vulnerable and then I want to be told that I don’t have to be strong anymore because they are there for me and I don’t have to carry any sort of responsibility for once. I don’t know”, Yoongi hesitates, “I know you don’t wanna hear that. I don’t know why I can’t shut the fuck up. Sorry.”

Jungkook shakes his head, scrambling to his feet to take Yoongi into his arms as tightly as possible.  

Yoongi falls against his chest with his entire body tense in flabbergasted surprise. 

Jungkook sobs softly, squeezing Yoongi’s head closer with his fingers deeply rooted in his hair. He kisses the crown of Yoongi’s head, keeping close afterwards.

“Don’t apologise. I know how you feel, hyung”, he whispers, “I tried to end it a few times too in the past, but never truly tried. And, and for the longest time I saw no meaning in living and existing and being here, until you came and, and you gave me back my meaning by, by teaching me control and I want to cry because you do so much for me, but you don’t feel….good.”

Jungkook gives Yoongi a strong squeeze. 

“I never even considered what Namjoon meant to you, but I understand now. It would break me so much if I had to watch you or, or Hobi or Jin change into a monster without being able to stop it. And then the world would expect me to kill you? It would fucking break me. And I understand now, hyung”, Jungkook says, sobbing painfully, “I want to be your arms from now on, hyung. I want you to be able to feel small and vulnerable with me and I want to hug you whenever you don’t want to be strong. And, and I-I won’t e-ever pressure you about Namjoon again. I’m sorry that I ever did.”

“Fuck, kiddo stop crying so much. You’re making me feel bad.”

“I can’t stop. I feel so awful because you feel as if you have to shoulder everything alone a-and you shouldn’t have to feel that way”, Jungkook says, shaking his head and forcing Yoongi’s to tilt back. 

Their eyes meet for only a second then Yoongi looks to the side.

“I’m your shoulders too, hyung and I want to carry your stuff. ___’s your shoulders too, if I’m not enough. A-and I know that Hobi and Jin and Emma and maybe the others too, are your shoulders too.”

Yoongi lowers his head, but gets it tilted back again by Jungkook. 

“A-and if you don’t want to, to be vulnerable in front of, of the others you can be it with me”, he says with an almost crazed honesty in his teary eyes, “you can come to me on your worst days and then I hug you and you can be small”, Jungkook nods his head violently, “yes, that’s what you can do with me. A-and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want the others to know. Just, just as I won’t tell anyone about tonight. I promise.”

Yoongi lowers his eyes because quite frankly he felt embarrassed and overwhelmed and most of all, like crying.

“Thanks, kiddo”, he mumbles, hitting his own palm.

“Don’t”, Jungkook leans in and kisses Yoongi’s forehead, “you’re my family and I love you. So much.”

Yoongi looks up at Jungkook, giving him a scowl of awkwardness. 

“Why did you kiss my forehead?”

“Because you deserve it”, Jungkook says and grins cutely. He leans in again, making Yoongi move back.

“Kookie, don’t”, he says, flustering visibly.

Jungkook only snickers, fighting Yoongi’s hold until he can smooch his forehead again.

“Goddamn it, kiddo”, Yoongi says but the tremble of his laughter lets Jungkook know that he wasn’t at all upset. 

Jungkook laughs, wrapping his arms back around Yoongi.

Yoongi grows limp instantly, body falling into Jungkook’s chest and shoulders sagging in relief. He feels up Jungkook’s back with his fingertips. The younger vampire smells like worry, empathetic pain and love. There are also hints of his flowery shower gel. His chest is strong and his arms feel safe. Yoongi feels…he feels small right now. It’s a nice feeling. Unfamiliar, but like something he wanted to experience in centuries. He exhales deeply, feeling lighter afterwards.

“I feel good”, he whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t feel….all those things when I’m with you and ___. I feel good. Alive. It’s…don’t worry about me too much.”

“No, I’ll still worry”, Jungkook says, squeezing Yoongi against him, “but I’m happy that you feel good when you’re with ___ and me. We want you to be happy and to feel nice.”

“I know”, Yoongi whispers, “I try to. For you guys. I want to try to feel good.”

“Mhm”, Jungkook kiss the crown of Yoongi’s head, “don’t force it. We’re also here for you if you feel bad and we love you the way you are.”

“Mhm”, Yoongi acknowledges him and he hopes that Jungkook knows how much more he wants to say with that simple sound.

Jungkook sits down on the bench afterwards, keeping his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders. He rests his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, half-lidded eyes running over Yoongi’s face even if that makes the older vampire unable to look at him.

“So uhm”, Yoongi begins in an attempt to change the topic, “what are we going to do about Taehyung? Should we tell him to leave?” Yoongi asks him quietly, “what do you want to do?”

“Me? Why me?” Jungkook gasps, straightening up.

“Because he hurt you. You deserve to decide.” 

“I don’t know. I think that if we told ___ that we want him and Jimin to leave, she would never forgive us.”

“Right”, Yoongi exhales loudly, “shit. Let’s just keep this between us for now. Do you want me to talk to him?”

Jungkook shakes his head, then shrugs his shoulders and nods his head before he ends it with a shake of it again.

“I don’t know. I don’t want a fight to break out”, he says.

“I won’t fight with him. I’ll just talk to him and tell him that he should cut the crap and stop pretending like you don’t mean shit to him.”

“You think that he is pretending?” Jungkook gasps.

“I don’t want to say yes to give you false hopes, but Park Jimin’s back and that man is a master in manipulation, especially with Taehyung.”

“Hyung”, Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hands, squeezing them tightly, “hyung I said the same thing to him. I, I also think that Jimin’s manipulating him.”

“Mhm”, Yoongi furrows his brows and nods his head, “I see”, he says, looking to the side to think. Just opposite of the little pond, they find themselves at, stands a big willow tree. There are two squirrels in it currently sleeping. Yoongi can hear their tiny heartbeats.

He looks back at Jungkook, realizing that the younger vampire is looking at the tree as well.

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high though”, Yoongi says, “maybe Tae’s actually a fucking cunt. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah I know. I’m not”, Jungkook whispers.

“But I’ll talk to him, yeah?”

“You don’t have to, hyung. I don’t want you to work so much.”

“It’s not work. I like helping.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanna help. It makes me feel good.”

“Oh uhm, maybe you could talk to him then”, Jungkook says and nods his head.

“Mhm”, Yoongi says, patting Jungkook’s thigh lovingly, “hyung’s gonna take care of it, yeah”, he says more to himself than to Jungkook, but the latter hears it nonetheless, smiling softly in reaction.

He leans in and rests his chin on his shoulder again.

“It’s okay, hyung. I already feel better now that I talked to you. I hope you feel better too.”

“Yeah, I do”, Yoongi whispers.

“Good”, Jungkook smiles proudly, snuggling into Yoongi, “I want to have what you have”, he says with confidence in his voice, “I want to look at blue differently too and until I haven’t found that feeling, I’ll keep looking. I won’t find this with Taehyung, but I’m sure I will find it one day.”

Yoongi doesn’t miss the adoring glance Jungkook sends his way when he speaks the last sentence.

“Hm”, Yoongi places his arm around Jungkook’ waist, patting his side, “you’ll get it, Kookie. You’re worthy of the greatest love.”

Jungkook closes his eyes and smiles.

“You too, hyung. I hope you and ___ stay together forever.”

Yoongi sneaks a glance at Jungkook’s face even if he can’t see it clearly in this position. An honest smile washes over his face and because in this moment he feels safe, Yoongi leans in to kiss the slope of Jungkook’s nose. Jungkook opens his eyes, gazing at Yoongi’s blurry features.

“You’re a good person, Kookie. I’m happy to have you as family”, Yoongi says quietly enough that only they can hear his words and he knows that it will always stay this way, because next to you, Jungkook is the only person he trusts without a doubt.

“Me too, hyung”, Jungkook breathes, leaning in with closed eyes as Yoongi places another kiss on his nose. He doesn’t pull away afterwards, staying close with his lips on Jungkook’s nose. They both have their eyes closed.

They will sit in this park until the first birds greet the new day and the horizon is drenched in colours of flames and gold.

[artdivadej]

Survivor's Remorse (XIX)

Part One | Part 11+

Peeta

After 30 minutes of more of his time wasted, Peeta let out a sigh so loud and deep, it shook the large table his cheek rested on.

"You brought me out of my room.... for this? Can I have my morphling and go back to my nightmares in peace now?"

"Peeta, is there something you'd like to add?", Plutarch asked chipperly.

Peeta turned his head so that his right cheek rested on the table and he was looking over the military and diplomatic officials of 13. All of which were looking at him with differing expressions., none of which he cared to decipher.

"No. Which is why I want to know why I'm here. I have no reason to be at another war mongering table, as it makes its plans, to do just what it was made to. So again....why am I here?"

"We would like to bring you in and involve you in the taking back of the Districts. Haymitch has informed us that you've agreed to become a part of the rebellion", Plutarch explains gesturing between Peeta's slumped form and Haymitch sitting directly across from him, trying not to appear as though he was sleeping for half the meeting.

"If Haymitch led you to believe I wanted any part in the planning of killing innocents, he lied", Peeta scoffed still refusing to lift his cheek from the table. "I've had my fill and unlike all of you, with your guns and bombs, it's a bit bloody and personal for my taste"

"War is never personal", the snow haired woman he'd come to know as Coin, spoke coolly.

Now Peeta was enraged and repulsed, his head lifted quickly from the table, eyes locking with the cunning leader. He hated how both she and Snow had such bright white hair, though hers had streaks of deep grey that matched her name. Peeta did not like this woman or her callous attitude towards life in the slightest.

"Murder is always personal", Peeta rumbled so lowly, it was practically a growl as his eyes held hers, refusing to break contact with their soulless depths. They were such a light grey they were almost as light as her snow-white hair. Even her lifeless eyes irritated him. "Just because you have the luxury of commanding other people to do it for you, doesn't mean it isn't personal. People aren't just numbers. Every. Single. Life. It was someone with hopes, dreams, family and love to give. You clearly have been underground with your perfect little soldier fucking fantasy world where everyone falls in line, living the life you designed for them. Come topside and join us in the real world, where the children are forced to kill each other and watch the life leave their eyes as your hands are covered in their blood, clawing at you to get just one more breath. Not with guns. Not a bomb that you can drop from miles away, to reap the fruits of your deadly gifts with no guilt as you watch it melt the flesh from women and children! No! We are forced to murder each other with our bare hands, while all of you sit here in your cozy little fuckin pods ordering us to do it for you!", Peeta roared now on his feet, having thrown his chair at the wall opposite him, Haymitch having long since ducked seeing this outburst coming.

When it hit the wall, Peeta pushed away from the table and stormed out of the room without a backwards glance, one hand in his pocket and the other tugging at his hair.

"I told you", Haymitch shrugs at the rest of the diplomats who were looking to him for an explanation. "A teenager he may be in age, but that is a man on the brink. And he is ready to burn the world to match the flames of pain it's dished out to him from day one. He doesn't give a shit about your battle plans. If it doesn't involve a way to get her, he could truly not give a damn"

"So, what do you propose we do to make him more amicable?"

"Stop wasting his time. It's only pissing him off. You want a voice for the rebellion that the people resonate with, you have it and you're wasting his time with strategy meetings about things he'll never need to know about. Use his voice. His intellect. Peeta isn't the type of person that revels in the killing of others. He wants peace, to be able to love and live free. That's all he's ever wanted for himself and everyone else. If it's not about that, he just Does. Not. Care", Haymitch shrugs, chewing on his lollipop and doodling on the paper in front of him, still not looking at the rest of the room. He was annoyed that he had to be at the meetings, he couldn't imagine what the pointless chatter did to Peeta.

"A voice. You want us to let him talk directly to the people? You think that would work?"

"He's had it with the bureaucratic politics. All a Victor cares about is action. Words have meant very little to any of us", Finnick tacked on, popping a sugar cube in his mouth, adding his own doodles to Haymitch's paper. "If you want all our cooperation, give us yours"

"Here, here", Beetee slapped his hand to the table in agreement.

"Then, what would you all suggest?"

****

Peeta sat on his bed and rolled the pearl he'd given you on the beach across his lips. He remembered with a deep sadness your last words to him when you'd placed it back into his hands that night of the Quarter Quell.

"Give it back to me when I come back. Remember, we protect each other?"

"Always" Peeta nodded, his hand on your hip and forehead resting against yours.

-Excerpt from

Survivor's Remorse

Chapter 19. Damn Diplomacy!

Available on Wattpad: MADDINK0318

[the-lark-ascending69]

People i want my babygirl Robin to be bullied by:

Billy: obvious option but not less delicious. He's the worst person you've ever met. He probably has no qualms hitting women. Gross disgusting bastard who probably finds Robin both pathetic and arousing. Wouldn't go out of his way to stalk her but he'd have fun cornering her and whispering some really sick comments into her ear while she's paralized by fear if he finds her. His violence is more psychological than physical most times, but if she ever tries to run or fight or do anything else than stay really still and hope he gets bored and leave, he'd grab her by the back of her neck and shake her like a dog. Possibly smelled her homosexuality from a mile away and decided he wanted to "fix her" in the way that's most personally entertaining for him, but he never gets that far. Doesn't make Robin less scared, tho.

Jason: Slightly less obvious option but arguably more compelling than Billy even. Satanic panic idiot, popular boy, respected by the community, dead girlfriend. WOULD get physically violent with Robin much faster than Billy if she and Chrissy were friends. Terrorizing Robin has less to do with his own pleasure and more with incontrollable rage and hatred. Possibly thinks Robin preyed on Chrissy. Has no interest in "fixing" her. He wants to cleanse Hawkins of all traces of her. He wants her in the bottom of the lake.

Nancy: now, don't get me wrong, Nancy loves Robin. She adores her. The way Robin makes Nancy feel is absolutely maddening. Nancy doesn't know what to do with all this feeling - it's dangerous and devastating and terrifying, and it means the final death of the girl she used to think she was. The end of her last tether to normalcy. And Robin is at fault. Because Robin is not normal. And becoming so close with such a freak had been risky. Oh, god, she liked women. How could a woman like women? What was there to like, other than their soft hair and delicate hands and sweet voice? It made no sense. It was inverse, it was - it didn't work like that. Of course, she never goes as far as Billy or Jason. She never yells or threatens or goes out of her way to hurt Robin. But she hurts her nonetheless. She avoids her, for one, and when she can't avoid her, she tells her to keep quiet. To let her do the talking. She ignores Robin when she tries to speak to her and replies to Steve instead - as if Robin were a kid and Steve was the responsible adult looking after her. Robin doesn't understand why her friend is suddenly treating her like this. It started when she told Nancy the truth about her, and she'd reacted awkwardly, sure, and the whole pulling away was something she half expected - no one wants to be friends with a lesbian - but the way she treated her otherwise... it didn't just seem like she was uncomfortable with her. It sounded like she was sick of her. Like she'd realized what a pathetic joke of a person Robin was and couldn't help but feel disgust and frustration whenever she saw her. Like she couldn't help but take it out on her. Suddenly Nancy was telling her to shut up while Robin tried to tell her about an important good idea, or about her feelings, or about anything, really. Suddenly Nancy was pulling her away from the group to secretly tell her she couldn't stay in her house, despite everyone else being there. She offers her an uncomfortable fake smile and lies to her and says something along the lines of her mother suspecting Robin is a queer, and Nancy not wanting her to find out. And Robin knows Nancy is a bad liar, but she feels a shiver run down her spine, scared of the hidden half-truth. She asks Nancy if she's serious. Nancy shrugs, and maybe she tells her she doesn't feel comfortable letting her sleep in the basement with the rest when Max and El are there. She knows Robin will understand. She knows Steve can drop her off at her house or something. But then Robin panics and her eyes water and she tries to talk to Nancy so hard and she just... grabs Nancy's hand, begging her to please, please look at her and listen to her, she doesn't want this. And then a hot pain hits her cheek, and it dawns on her that Nancy just slapped her. Let me go, she says, because Robin is still holding her hand, and Robin mumbles a soft Nance, before she slaps her again. She lets go. No one had ever hit her before. Steve drives her to her house and she stays quiet during the whole ride, eyes still watery, despite Steve's questioning. She absently looks out the window. She doesn't want to speak ever again.

Steve: bet you didn't expect this one. Well, neither did Robin, but a lot of things change after he gets back together with Nancy. Things were normal at first - best of friends, closer than siblings. Nancy wasn't even mad that he spent so much time with Robin. But everything fell apart when Robin confessed her second great secret to Steve, and she was an idiot, of course she was - you didn't say these things to your friend. What kind of person does that? She deserved everything that happened after. She deserved it when Steve looked at her with disgust. She deserved it when he got angry at her, when they fought, and she would later regret defending herself - it didn't matter if she felt like this long before he got back together with Nancy. It didn't matter that he'd told her he didn't love her anymore. None of that mattered because the rules were different for Robin, and for this, she couldn't be forgiven. Suddenly Steve was cold towards her. Suddenly he stopped insisting that they all hang out together, and when sharing a space became inevitable, he acted distant. Protective of Nancy. He observed Robin through the corner of his eye while holding Nancy close to his chest, and it made Robin feel like an animal. Like she should somehow be in jail. But if losing Nancy hurt, losing Steve destroyed her, and she tried to talk to him - always her and her stupid mouth - she talked and talked and he and Nancy just looked at her with so much contempt, that she couldn't help but start crying. And she tries to approach Nancy, tries to talk to her, and it happens so quickly - Nancy tenses up, Steve presses his hand against Robin's chest and roughly pushes her back, making her almost lose her balance. Robin desperately tries to step forward, but he pushes her back again, now he's coming forward, getting into her space in a way that makes Robin feel disgustingly mannish - who treats a woman like this? - when he shoves her back once more and tells her to quit being a creep around his girl. And Robin can't believe her ears, she can't believe this is Steve, her brother, talking to her like this, but his eyes are hard and cold, and Robin feels so inhuman under his gaze.

Now she has no one to help her if Billy or Jason get their hands on her.

[annwrites]

—all of me

give your all to me, i'll give my all to you. you're my end & my beginning. — tommy miller x survivor!reader ; ❅*̩̩͙‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚

Once Tommy has finished giving you the—essentially scripted—lines explaining the layout of their quaint little town, he turns back to you with a soft smile, while you gaze up at him with dark, empty eyes.

"So, any questions, or—"

"This place won't last," you state in a monotone tune.

He settles his hands on his hips, awkwardly clearing this throat. "You're not the first to think it, and you won't be the last. But it works. What we have—"

"One day someone is going to come," you say, taking a small step forward. "And they'll take this place from you. From all of you. They'll rape, and destroy, and steal, and burn it to the fucking ground. And you're stupid enough to remain here like sitting ducks, practically waiting for it to happen."

A muscle in his jaw ticks, unsettled by your words—by you; your...state. He knows you just need time. Perhaps a lot of it.

But you'll come around.

They all do, eventually, when they begin to find a sense of home here in Jackson.

"I don't want to be here."

He shakes his head. "So, we were supposed to what? Leave you out there—middle of winter—to die? You were unconscious, hurt, starving. You're safe here, I swear—"

"No one is safe," you say, interrupting again, no care for whatever 'comforting' words he's about to throw at you. You don't want to hear it. Don't want to hear anymore lies.

That's all this place is: a lie.

"You should've left me to die just like they did," you say, stepping past him. "It's what I wanted."

when jackson's scouting party finds you a few miles outside their settlement, it's only with tommy's insistence that they bring your unconscious body back to their town, with him refusing to leave a young woman in need to die in the freezing wilderness.

and it quickly turns out, when you awake, that your wounds are far deeper than just the surface.

reluctant to make yourself at home, or to make so much as one friend, you remain consistently alone—going so far as to stay locked in your house as much as possible.

refusing to give up on you and let you waste away on your own accord, tommy does his utmost to try and gently break through your hard, icy exterior.

he knows he finally has when you show up on his front porch one night, shaking violently, telling him that you think you might finally kill yourself, and that you need his help.

and so he takes you in, begins to look after you as best he can, until you attach yourself to him out of a sense of fear of what lies outside jackson's gates, even if you still sometimes insist...that you want to walk out of them, never to return.

headcanons:

tommy's house is super cozy, so she has less of a hard time making herself at home there.

even though she feels like she's intruding on his personal space.

all around, she just feels like a massive burden on him. but when she tries to go back to her own house, he practically begs her to stay so he can continue taking care of her.

just as joel insinuated before about tommy—that he's the kind to constantly look for purpose, reader becomes that for him, just like frank did for bill.

the two of them spend a lot of time cooking in the kitchen.

also spend a lot of time on the couch watching vhs tapes & dvds.

sometimes she'll sleep on the pullout couch downstairs so she can stay up late watching tv, bc she's terrified to shut her eyes.

one evening, she finally wanders into town during a movie night & no more does she walk into the building, that she shakes her head, feeling, as ever, like she doesn't belong, & she leaves, heading back home, until tommy follows her & tells her he thinks it's great she made an attempt to begin with.

[miles-and-waylon]

A Betrayal of the Worst Kind

Camerashipping and fluff, what could be better?

Miles ‘punishing’ Waylon and Lisa’s of no help.

-

Being on the run and trying to take down a major corrupt corporation with near infinite resources take a toll on a man. Waylon kept his mind away from his stint at Mount Massive by working. Lisa was the one keeping them up on personal maintenance (and driving a majority of the time), Miles handled the execution of dangerous ideas (given the fact he was already dead), and Waylon was the planner.

He was almost always on his laptop, a laptop protected by a motherload of security measures as he’d learned to use after getting caught that first time. He only stopped for long when it came to eating and sleeping, and when one of his partners got fed up and forced a break.

In another cheap motel found on some highway in the middle of nowhere, with Lisa out getting food from the gas station next door, Miles smacked his laptop shut just after he saved his newest project. Before he could even complain, he was laid out across the couch, hips straddled by his dangerous captor.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Waylon tried to protest, squirming as his death-cold grip tugged up his shirt. “Bad time! What if Lisa walks in?”

“I mean, the last time she walked in on us, she seemed quite happy with what she was seeing. Did you really tuck a t-shirt into a pair of sweatpants? You’re such a geek it’s painful.”

Waylon bucked up his hips, kicked his legs, tried to swat away his hands—all to no avail. He proved absolutely terrible in a struggle when his life wasn’t on the line. “Are you judging how I wear pajamas? Are you kidd—“ Miles fingers came in contact with his stomach, nails dragging down against his skin. Immediately, the pinned man turtled into himself.

“I was curious, you know, at our last stop. I brushed up against your side, and you jumped juuust enough for me to notice, and you said that I scared you!”

“Miles—“

“Ah-ah! You said that, but I’ve seen how you startle. That wasn’t it. I’m still a journalist, Way. A bored journalist! When I think I’ve been lied to, that’s when my gears get working.” He wore the most evil grin, contrasting with Waylon’s suddenly wide, terrified eyes. He scribbled slowly, teasingly across exposed flesh. “Did you lie? Did I really startle you?”

“Miles,” he began again, voice wavering. Waylon twisted to press his face into the dusty couch cushion beside him. “Really? A-are you held up on a lit…” He paused to swear. It was the only way to keep a giggle from getting out right then. “…little thing like that? I don’t even remember it!” Journalist or not, who would realistically be able to tell a startled flinch from having sensitive sides?

“Well, honestly, I only remembered it because I basically have nothing to do right now. Doesn’t change that you lied. You lied, and you’ve been neglecting me. I think that’s worthy of a little punishment, don’t you?” Then he found those sensitive sides to attack in earnest.

“Wait! Wait, wait—!” God, then the *buzzing* started. There was no point trying to resist after that. His brief exposure to the engine was still enough to make poor Waylon more receptive to sensing the Walrider’s presence, and he’d be damned if the sudden hum of nanites against his body wasn’t an abuse of power! He broke out into sweet, bubbly laughter, unsure if he should try to protect himself or keep trying to push him away.

Then came a glimmer of hope.

Lisa came through the door right then, plastic bags full of food and much-needed toiletries hanging from her arms. She quickly realized she arrived to a scene of chaos. Her expression turned into curiosity and bemusement.

“Lisa!” Waylon gasped. He threw his arm out towards her in a pleading gesture. “Lisa, help me! Please!”

To his horror, as she realized what was going on, her look twisted into a traitorous smile. “You gotta go lower,” she advised. “Get his hips. He can’t take it. It’s adorable.”

Was this the woman he married? One so willing to throw him under the bus like that? His shock was interrupted by Miles gleefully following her instructions. Laughter turned to mirthful, unmanly squeaks and squeals echoing across the walls of the room.

“Let me put away what I got for us, then I’ll come help.” She better mean help him! “It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten to see him like this.” Apparently not.

He was doomed.

[hesitatingspirit]

I. Boy v. World

it feels like the world is against me sometimes.

and i dont know how to make it clear that i just want to be left alone. say hi my name is adam nice to meet you please dont hurt me im just a boy please i just want to be treated like one of you. you dont have to even talk to me but if you refer to me just maybe say he but if not its okay & i’m still too aggressive. say nothing at all and i’m just too difficult to even bother with at all. loser from the start, this is an eternal summer and you’re god’s least favourite cold-blooded experiment. strap in and enjoy the ride: you’ll be here for a long time.

If I am offended by someone calling me a woman, I am too much. I am one of those trannies that makes everything about them, the spitting image of the blue-haired, big-mouthed, angry-faced caricatures of trans individuals created by the right. If I am not offended, I am making a bad name for my fellow trans siblings by not standing up for myself when people misidentify me. I am normalising the idea that people are allowed to “mess up” on purpose, label me as whatever they want. I can never win: The only way would be to never get misgendered again. To not even have it be a possibility…

But we all know that this can never happen.

No matter what I do, I am always wrong,

because what did I expect when I chose to do this?

I mean,

Everyone knows how the world feels about people like me.

What DID I expect?

Would it have been easier for me to just stay a girl?

Easier for which one of us?

The world is run by spiders weaving complex webs of lies and careful misinformation, all vague enough to seem true to those who only catch the news in passing and parrot it at work, conversing at the water coolers. But being wrong is a disease, and baby, it's contagious: Mask up and shut your mouth and maybe even your ears too.

They are just trying to provoke me. They want to make me step out of line, so when I finally say “hey im a bit uncomfortable” They can finally say

I knew there was something about him!

He is one of those, he lied!

He DOES make his identity his whole personality!

No. It seems that my identity has become YOUR personality,

because my gender defines everyone but me:

The way people react to my face usually tells me all I need to know.

I can recognise a cold gaze from around the corner,

through a brick wall and from a mile away

I'm a psychic, honey, and I'm never gonna change,

so dont shoot the Messenger, okay?

and it goes like this it goes

boy with mustache makes a face when stranger calls him a girl

boy with mustache apologises for the trouble in case stranger noticed

stranger scoffs i dont see why it's such a big deal you can't expect everyone to understand

boy says i know and i’m sorry

boy goes home and forgets what he looks like.

It kinda goes like this:

different place wake up with a different face who am i today well everyone sees different things

but you know me i ride my own wave, this is My summer soundtrack

i am a skateboarder i am a stoner i am a rockstar

i am a bleach blond baby boy abandoned by god and i will never die again

mask after mask name after name

another ring around my eyes after another night awake

bags full of sleep deprived weekends staying busy with a racing head

lids heavy with the memories of endless nights

it’ll weigh me down ‘til i’m lowered into my early grave

and all the brick roads and sunsets up in my favourite singer’s hometown will never hit me the same

ghosts see the world differently,

ever so slightly colourblind

translucent lids half-covering eyes that have grown so tired from all they’ve seen

an eternity an observer

an eternity more to go

the people who care what you look like or hate what you listen to aren't really people that should be in your life anyway. so i don't care too much when they cut me off.

i don't care at all,

i just find it so insane that somehow i'm hurting people by being alive. by breathing.

if i enjoyed the shapes of the words she and her in your mouth if i enjoyed the twang of their sound waves if i could love the way the words hit my eardrums then my existence would be pure, a gift from god and i would be a miracle

but because i stand up for myself

because i have committed the crime of wanting to be happy

i am irredeemably evil

forever unclean,

stain on society and a file best left unopened.

top secret, confidential. don't ask, don't tell, but tell them what you don't know, tell them what you want to think. don't ask, don't tell, but they’ll always ask, and you’ll always tell.

“we don’t talk about her anymore.”

“she went crazy.”

“i heard it was drugs that did it.”

“i heard it was schizophrenia.”

“i think she was into witchcraft.”

god forbid a boy want to be loved: god forbid i avenge my death.

porcelain is so easily cracked,

you don't think i have a right to self defense?

i have to crawl out of my grave because this city is all i know. and this place can get so damn cold.

my rebirth will be slow. it will be terrible. and it is commencing.

[outoutdamnspark]

I just found this in my drafts and I don’t remember writing it or where exactly I was going with it, but hey! Have some random Gardenshipping thoughts!

(cw: none. one minor suggestive mention of office stuff. under cut for length)

For all the silverfox!Emmet x Reina stuff I’ve thought of, for some reason I’ve never thought of Reshiram!Emmet x Reina before? So...

🔥 I imagine Emmet is an aspect of Reshiram - not the god-dragon in full, but a piece of it. He’s probably reincarnated several hundred times by now, as the mortal aspect of Truth, and has memories of all his previous mortal incarnations as well as Reshiram’s memories and probably even a good chunk of Kyurem’s. The man is A Mess™️, especially after Ingo, his twin, his brother, his other half (platonic, don’t make it weird), vanishes. After all, what is Truth without Ideals to give it purpose?

🔥 That’s why, when he meets Reina and she becomes his personal assistant at Gear Station, he gravitates towards her. Just like in Gardenshipping canon, he starts to fall for her because of her genuinely kind and caring nature; she also has no idea he’s a piece of a fucking god, so she just treats him like a normal person. Not a celebrity trainer, not a deity, just. As Emmet. And he soaks it up like a man dying of thirst. Here’s this beautiful young woman who truly doesn’t care what or who he is, she just wants to make sure he’s eating and sleeping and taking care of himself. How can he not be intrigued by her?

🔥 He can also smell dishonesty a mile away and he can tell Reina is just actually that good of a person. Sure, she lies about her living situation (she doesn’t tell him that she’s unhoused for the longest time), but I’d imagine Emmet can also tell the intent of a falsehood, so he probably picks up on the fact that any lie she tells is born from the need to survive, rather than malice or the desire to mislead. She isn’t hurting anyone - she just wants to keep her misfortunes private, and Emmet can... sooooort of understand that? (He might not like it, it makes him worry about her, but in the end it really only affects Reina herself, which makes Emmet bound and determined to get to the bottom of her problems and help her in any way he can. The man is SMITTEN.)

🍃 On Reina’s side, I honestly don’t think she’s all that religious; Reina is from Kanto originally, and she has a lot of internalized stuff from the local belief system (i.e. she’ll say things like “Legends” or “Birds” in place of “Arceus” or “Dragons”). She’ll probably still have a subconscious desire to believe in something, but she doesn’t actively practice anything. Also, having only been in Unova for a couple of years at most, she might not really understand the region’s religion all that much. She probably doesn’t really think about it - which. Valid.

🍃 That being said, she would probably not know how to handle being face to face with a literal piece of a deity. For starters, her entire worldview would be - at the very least - a little bit shaken. After all, if you go from nearly thirty years of disillusionment and not fully believing in anything because you’ve been through absolute hell, to suddenly finding out the man you’re in love with (and who’s been railing you over his desk every day) is the Incarnation of Truth, you miiiiiight need a moment to process.

🍃 (That last part, especially, because how on earth do you reconcile the fact that you’ve had an actual god between your legs?)

🍃 Reina already has hella self worth issues, so to find out that her boyfriend isn’t even human, she might not handle it well for a while. In her eyes, what could a god possibly see in a lowly human like her? She still loves him, that part will never change, but she’ll have to take some time to try and reorient before she can even work up the courage to go near him again.

🔥 Emmet, in the meantime, is going to be utterly distraught. He’ll put on his trademark Subway Master Emmet smile, but it’ll be hanging on with a hope and a wish, because he is not doing okay knowing that the love of his life might be terrified of him now. He can’t lie, no, but he’s gotten really, really good at talking around the truth after countless lifetimes, so anyone that asks how he’s doing is getting a series of non-answers until he can slip away. Reina makes him feel normal, human almost, which is something he’s never fully gotten to experience - because while he might be a shard of a Dragon, he’s still somewhat his own entity, since he’s, you know, actually out in the world of man and not sitting dormant in a rock somewhere. He’s constantly torn between two halves of his own existence, and the thing that made it bearable all this time was his twin; with Ingo gone, however, Emmet has been feeling the extra weight of responsibility around his shoulders like a yolk for damn near a decade.

🔥 Until Reina.

🔥 (Like in regular Gardenshipping canon, one of the reasons Emmet falls for Reina is because she just treats him like a person. Doesn’t fawn, doesn’t get close to him just to challenge him, doesn’t pity him; just sits with him and lets him be a regular guy.)

🔥 I’m also imagining the way Reina even finds out Emmet is one of the God Dragons of Unova is uhhhhhhh not the most pleasant of circumstances. Probably Team Plasma, but I’m picturing there being some sort of siege on Gear Station or an attack somewhere that requires Reshiram’s attention, and somehow, someway, Reina winds up witnessing Emmet with his more draconian features and spewing ethereal fire. Get that sweet, sweet ‘oh shit’ moment with Emmet turning around, eyes slitted and glowing, claws out, wings sprouting from his back, fire still trickling from between fangs too big for a human mouth, only to see Reina standing there, completely frozen, just staring at him. 

🔥 The follow-up conversation is gonna be... a lot.

🍃 I feel like it’ll take about a week or so for her to be able to talk to him again