#all the wild family she knew is dead

[orcinus-veterinarius]

You know my feelings on California’s orca law, but if it keeps Corky safe, then it might be worth it.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[clockwayswrites]

Birdritch part 2 Yeah, there's a subscription post now...

Danny pulled another sweet potato fry from his bag before refolding the top to keep it warm. He’d finish all the fries before he even got home, he knew that, but that was future him’s problem. Right then being able to munch on the sweet, salty goodness as he took a shortcut through the park was just what he needed. There was something about Robinson park that always settled him.

It was probably because of the park’s wild, otherworldly nature that came from Poison Ivy’s control. It almost felt ghostly in how unreal it was. It was another thing Danny tried not to think too hard on and just enjoyed. It wasn’t that Danny was ignoring the fact that he was half ghost (as he always tried to convince himself), he just wasn’t dwelling on it anymore. Ghosts had consumed his life for so long and he needed a break.

Even before his accident (it was easier to just call it an accident when people asked about his scars), his parent’s obsession controlled their house, family, and lives. He got now that it wasn’t normal to grow up not cooking because the food might eat you. Or because your parents were too busy in the basement lab to remember. His time away from Amity Park in college made Danny realize that Jazz and his childhood had been at best unsafe and at worst negligent.

It had taken Danny a lot of therapy to be able to say those words.

Being honest, Danny still needed a lot of therapy, but there was only so much progress he could make when he couldn’t really explain that he was half dead and had spent the end of his childhood fighting ghosts, the government, and his parents. He was half tempted to try and track down Harley Quinn and see if she was up to taking on a new patient. (Danny was pretty sure that she wouldn’t rat him out to the authorities.)

A vine thrashed suddenly in front of Danny, hitting the sidewalk with a meaty thump.

Danny froze.

Fuck.

His phone was out of power.

He couldn’t check if something was going on in the park.

While Poison Ivy was much more Pamela Isley than rogue these days, as seen by the city just letting her have control of much of the park, she was still temperamental and the right— or wrong— sort of thing could set her and her plants off. (Sometimes the plants went off on their own. Everyone knew not to be a sleaze bag in Robinson park.)

Slowly Danny started to back up.

Several more vines wretched themselves out of the ground around him.

He could hear shouting somewhere off to his left. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement from the plants that direction.

Alright, not angry at him then.

Danny crept forward slowly, keeping his motions as calm and small as possible. Just because they plants weren’t angry at him it didn’t mean they weren’t a threat to him. His best chance was to stay on the path and head in the direction away from the noise.

And away from the over sized flowers.

Well fuckity fuck.

Most things Poison Ivy could do weren’t really a threat to Danny. He could phase away from vines, after all. But the flowers? The flowers had pollen and pollen was an unknown; one that Danny didn’t want to be known. Sam was rather certain that the pollens could effect Danny in odd and unknown ways due to his half ghost nature.

He had refused to let Sam experiment on him to figure it out. Comparing her fervor to his parent’s helped shut that idea down for good. Danny didn’t regret avoiding being a lab rat, even as he was staring down the ruby red flowers to his right. He still just had to keep his motions as calm and small as possible.

The flowers were only an issue if they let their pollen out.

Danny started to move in as wide of an arc as he could around the flowers.

While they were closed up he was safe.

Danny’s left hand spasmed.

The paper bag of food crinkled.

The flower petals unfurled.

Fuck.

---

AN: I know there are issues, another no read through late night post, but I'm getting my serotonin where I can. Stay delightful, darlings.

[crossingthedreams]

growing pains — aemond targaryen x niece!reader

a/n: i know i’m late. shit happens. i’m having so much fun with this writing challenge that the lateness isn’t even bothering me anymore, lol. here’s day 08 — growing pains. of course i had to keep it in the family for this one (got it? hehehehehe)

a/n 2: hey! just posted day 10 - humiliation, which can be read as a prequel to this. check it out!  

summary: the daughter of the Realm’s Delight and the Rogue Prince was a valuable trade coin. amidst the chaos, and fortunately for her, there was one who saw her as a person and not a merchandise.

word count: 1.7k 

warnings: angst. targaryen incest (uncle/niece). mentions of death. slight ooc!aemond.

As a little kid in the Red Keep, you were under the constant eye of your mother’s step-mother. Your parents were always coming and going, and your siblings were all boys, who had the privileges that came with it. Your uncles and aunt were most often than not more than willing to ignore you, as well as your grandfather, the King. 

Your uncle Daeron was sent away when you were very young, which was very painful, as he was very kind. The only one out of your entire extended family who could be considered as such. 

From then on, with two grown sons and one far away, the Queen seemed to have more time with you. She always praised your silver hair, saying it differed you from your older brothers.

You weren’t even a woman, hadn’t even bled yet, when Aegon made his first pass on you. He was to be married to his younger sister, the Princess Helaena, and he knew very well your father, the Rogue Prince, would gut him if he ever laid a finger on you. Still, he made his remarks and made sure it was known throughout the Keep that he could have you any time he chose to. 

Your mother spent most of her time in Dragonstone with your older brothers, sisters and father, and you got news from a raven that she was with child once more. Joyous news, of course. 

However, even in happiness, you still felt a little left out. With the Blacks, you were the distant sister, kept away by the politics of it all. With the Greens, you were the first trueborn child of an heir who would never be, your legacy tarnished by the constant discussions of your brothers’ legitimacy. 

Your Uncle, the Prince Aemond, was a constant in your life. Ever since birth, the two of you were always in each others’ camp of vision. Sometimes a bully, sometimes an enemy, sometimes a friendly face in tedious functions, Aemond was always there. You had danced with each other a million times in events, not only in King’s Landing, but all throughout Westeros. 

As the second son of the King and the first daughter of the Princess, you both were disposable enough to be sent wherever the Crown needed an appearance, but the royal family wouldn’t be able to attend in its entirety. 

He wasn’t always a dragonrider, much like yourself. You only claimed a dragon as an adolescent, and he made sure you knew how proud he was.

The Cannibal, your dragon. Never before mounted, always thought to be a wild, untameable beast. 

You proved them all wrong, and when you did it, their faces showed nothing but horror, except for Aemond. 

Aemond was there, and Aemond was proud. 

It was the dead of night in King’s Landing, but you couldn’t sleep. It was when you heard the muffling and quiet running of servants from outside your door. 

You knew you were in danger before anyone walked in, even though the reason was unclear to you. 

You changed out of your nightgown and hid a small dagger in your clothing. Something was coming, of that you were sure, and you wouldn’t stick around to find out. Women, even royalty, only had two fates in a crisis: death or marriage. You refused both. 

You didn’t fear for your life as much as you did for the second option. No one was insane enough to put a child of the Princess to the sword. 

It was then and there you knew you had to go to your parents, in Dragonstone. 

Aegon was married already, but there was nothing stopping him from taking a second wife to strengthen his claim. Queen Alicent was arduous when she needed be, and you had no doubt she would whore you out in order to protect her own children. 

Your uncle Aemond loved you, of that you were sure. He would marry you gladly and he would make sure you were happy. When you were younger, the thought made your stomach fill with butterflies. You didn’t need the Iron Throne, you were more than content with your beautiful uncle, who rode the largest dragon and was educated enough to carry a conversation for hours. 

Even with his quarrel with your siblings, he saw you as a valuable member of the family. The main reason for that, you now understood, was because  your allegiance was questionable. You were loyal to your parents, but you were also living with the Queen Alicent and her children. 

In your mind, all the family bickering and fighting could have been solved if Jace and Helaena were to wed each other, but the Queen refused, of course. A marriage between you and Jacaerys would’ve been the second option, and it probably would’ve happened, if Luke’s claim to Driftmark wasn’t so controversial. There was no doubt as to your heritage, silver hair and lilac eyes. You were the spitting image of your parents, and a perfect Targaryen Princess. 

Such were the growing pains of life. The nostalgia and longing for better days, even though the days past were just as tumultuous. Above all, you missed the innocence you lost. 

You looked around your room, and it pained you to realize there was nothing to take but yourself. 

There was a secret passageway in the backs of your room that would either take you to the Small Council or outside. Leaving now seemed like the only sane option.

As you made your way very quietly down the spiral stairs, you couldn’t help but wonder what your life would've been like if your mother and her stepmother had simply gotten along. Maybe you would not be fleeting King’s Landing in the middle of the night like a criminal. 

It was then that you felt an arm involve you, paralyzing you, and a hand fly up to your mouth to keep you quiet. You began to react, but the soothing shh made you calm down. You recognized that voice, and you knew who you’d see even before you turned around. 

Aemond was hiding beneath a cloak, much like yourself. He looked around to make sure the two of you were alone, even though you were in a deserted, secret, ancient passeaway.

“Uncle…”, you wanted to be honest and simply ask him what was the matter, but you had to play your cards right. 

“Rȳbagon naejot issa (Listen to me)”. Your parents made sure you were fluent in Valyrian even before you fully understood the common tongue, and you were thankful for that. On the rare occasions you and Aemond spoke High Valyrian to one another, it was because something very funny or very important was happening. Now, you doubted it was the first.  

Aemond’s one eye had so many emotions in them you couldn’t focus on one alone, and his hand still held your arm tightly. You had no idea what he was about to tell you.

“Gūrogon aōha zaldrīzes se jikagon. Se dārys iksos morghe, Aegon jāhor sagon vēttan dārys sir se ao issi nykeā trade gelebo hae se tala hen Rhaenyra. ȳdra daor sōvegon se route naejot zaldrīzesdōron, jikagon naejot Dorne nykeā naejot se Arryn's. Aōha kepa jāhor ao adhirikydho. (Take your dragon and go. The King is dead, Aegon will be made King now and you are a valuable trade coin as the daughter of Rhaenyra. Don't fly the usual route to Dragonstone, go to Dorne or to the Arryn's. Your father will surely find you quickly)”, he spoke quietly, but intensely. 

“Why are you telling me this, Uncle?”, the frown was inevitable. Aemond had too many reasons to take you back, kicking and screaming, and present you to his mother. He was never kind, and this made no sense other than he was trying to lure you into a trap.

For the first time in your life, you looked at Aemond and saw exhaustion.

“Nyke bē ao daor naejot gūrogon aōha hen ao (I care about you enough not to take your choices from you)”, he said, not looking directly at your eyes. 

Years ago, you would have believed him in a heartbeat. He had just said the most perfect words a prince could ever say. Now, a woman grown, you didn’t fully believe it, even though your heart wanted to, desperately. 

You approached him, and your hand met his, that was still on your arm. The other cupped his cheek, making him look at you as you firmly said, “Gūrogon issa naejot se shores, mazverdagon issa aōha ābrazȳrys. Vīlībāzma hen iksos jāhor mōris istin īlon dīnagon īlva ēlī āzma tala naejot Jaehaerys (Take me to the shores, make me your wife. Whatever war of succession is happening will end once we marry our first born daughter to Jaehaerys)”.

You didn’t know how much your words resembled your mother’s. You would never know just how much it affected Aemond, making his manhood twitch with the thought of spilling in you and seeing your body grow with a little Targaryen princeling. 

In another life, maybe, Aemond made you his. But now, as he well knew, the two of you had dance the dance to the choreography that was made for you. 

He could still steal one moment, as all this was already borrowed time. Just one more.

So, he pulled you by your waist, closer to him, and pressed his lips to yours. First, your eyes widened, and then closed. You melted in his arms, and you kissed him back. The good feeling lasted only for a second before he was pushing you away.  

“Jikagon se ȳdra daor jurnegon arlī (Go quietly and don't look back)”. 

He was already turning back and motioning for you to go, leaving behind not only him, but the life you made for yourself, quietly. It broke your heart, but you knew where your loyalty lied: with your mother, the only heir to the now late King Viserys. Soon, you’d be back at the Red Keep, and hopefully Aemond would be forgiven. Hopefully, the two of you could pick up where you left off. 

Even with hope still in your heart, you knew the truth. You knew Aemond was just a memory now, even if you could still listen to his footsteps. You were older, wiser, and it ached, but such were the growing pains in life. 

[bumblesimagines]

Obsessions and Cruelty

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Despite the love Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had for their twins, Prince (Y/N) and Prince Aegon, Daemon never truly forgave (Y/N) for causing the death of their mother; but he'll never genuinely hate him either.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Brother-Brother), mention of childbirth caused death, mentioned death of a sibling (Lil Aegon), toxic behavior?, Daemon stop insulting women challenge (impossible)

~~~

Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had been overjoyed when (after a long and excruciatingly painful childbirth) the Mother bestowed them with the gift of twin boys whom they happily named Prince Aegon and Prince (Y/N). Their two older brothers, Viserys and Daemon, welcomed them into the family with ease, making plans of all the things they'd teach the boys.

All had been well, until six months later when Alyssa passed after being unable to fully recover from having the twins, her body too weakened from the hours of pain and blood loss. Tragedy struck again with the weaker of the twins, Prince Aegon, passed just shy of his first nameday, leaving the family in distress and an ocean of grief.

Prince (Y/N) had been born sickly as well, and the boy had hardly cried or fussed when he'd been born; so much so that the midwife and maester present feared he'd been stillborn until Baelon took his boy into his arms and the little one finally kicked off with some wails. His health fluctuated throughout his first few years of life, having its highs when he raced down the hall with his little legs and a flurry of maids following as well as its lows when he could hardly get out of bed. 

While his father deeply grieved the loss of his beloved sister-wife and child, he refused to allow it to push him away from his youngest boy. He ensured to assign (Y/N) a personal maester, one who'd only tend to the boy when asked and would give him all the attention he needed.

Others assumed (Y/N) would pass before becoming man-grown, but the prince proved them all wrong, much to the relief and glee of his father and eldest brother, Viserys. His second eldest brother, Daemon, stewed in his grief and growing resentment. 

Daemon had loved their mother wholeheartedly. Alyssa had been a fierce, determined, daring princess who taught Daemon much of what he knew. He loved her, from her blonde hair to her mismatched eyes to the fact she rode the beautiful Red Queen, Meleys, because she'd been denied of riding Balerion. Alyssa's wild spirit had passed down to her son but she'd been stolen from him before she'd ever get to see him in action.

He despised it, despised how much they coddled him, how much they fretted over a weak little thing. Daemon spent much of his time avoiding the boy, for the sight of him alone reminded him of the night he learned of his mother's passing. Perhaps it was guilt too, that made him ignore his brother, for he also reminded him of the thought that he screamed in his mind during the funeral.

I wish they'd died instead.

Daemon hadn't looked anyone in the eye when little Aegon had been pronounced dead from a harsh fever; an inevitable death, the maester had claimed, for the boy had been weak for months. But Daemon believed the Gods had done it to remind him they were always listening. 

(Y/N) had been around four when Daemon's resentment first spilled over into actions. The younger prince had been left without a playmate after their brother left for training lessons, and (Y/N) had refused to play with the willing maids in favor of stumbling out of his room in his stubby toddler legs to search for his other brother.

When he approached the seven-year-old in his bedchambers, Daemon snatched the wooden toy wolf and snapped its head clean off with the threat of doing the same to the rest of his toys if he ever approached him again. (Y/N), of course, bursted into tears and Daemon awkwardly watched until their father arrived to scoop the little one into his arms and give Daemon a scolding. 

Baelon attempted to get the two to reconcile a few days later with a hug. When Daemon extended his arms out toward (Y/N), the little boy made a face and ran right back to their older brother who immediately gathered him up into his arms. It'd been then that Daemon felt a twinge of bitterness, not at (Y/N) for having Visery's attention but at Viserys for being chosen over him. He forced it away and told himself it was what he wanted. He hated him after all. Or so, it was what he told himself in the years that followed. 

Without fail, the weeks leading up to each of (Y/N)'s namedays seemed to set something off in Daemon and he'd make it his life's mission to bother the boy into tears. The first few years resulted in many wails and scoldings from their father, brother, and eventually even their new sister, Lady Aemma. His life had resulted in the death of the woman Daemon loved most, and he'd never forget it. But, Daemon soon learned everyone, even sickly weaklings, had their limits. 

On (Y/N)'s tenth nameday, Baelon had settled (Y/N) on his knee after the celebration and began recalling stories of Alyssa, starting with the fact she'd always followed him around in their youth like a shadow. (Y/N) had been enthralled, eyes big and wide and head eagerly nodding for more tales of the woman he'd never get to meet. Grief made Daemon's chest constrict, and without thinking, he'd blurted out: "There'd be more stories if you and Aegon hadn't killed her." 

The room had fallen deathly silent afterward, only family members lingering around who all turned to stare at the boy wide-eyed. His grandparents and father seemed on the verge of lecturing him when (Y/N) slipped off Baelon's knees, walked right up to the spot on the floor Daemon was sitting on, and landed one good punch to his nose that left a heavy flow of blood. Some in the room laughed, others shook their heads but Viserys had ensured to swoop in and separate the two until the maesters arrived. 

And while Daemon had a maester tend to his bleeding nose (luckily dismissing the possibility of it being broken), (Y/N) sent him a triumphant grin from across the room that made Daemon seethe. Still, he couldn't deny the hint of pride that swelled in him, as well as a new bubbling feeling. 

From then on, fighting and bickering were the only thing the boys seemed to do together, mostly because picking on (Y/N) was the only way to get him to pay Daemon any sort of attention. His accusation had been enough to permanently cement him as the enemy, even with all the coaxings and reminders of blood being thicker than water. He leaned into it, even if it meant having to sit back and grumpily watch (Y/N) happily cozy up to Viserys and sometimes even Lady Aemma. 

The Gods had cursed him for wishing the Stranger on (Y/N), he was certain of it. Why else would he care so much?

By the time the two were in their teens, Queen Alysanne had wed Daemon to Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. He'd been sent off to live with her in the Vale, perhaps the most boring place in Westeros and annoyingly far from home. When he'd returned home for a visit, he'd learned from Viserys that the soon-to-be seventeen-year-old (Y/N) had many marriage prospects. Daemon had hoped to find himself thrilled at the idea of (Y/N) moving far away to become the new lord of some noble house but it only soured his mood whenever someone brought it up.

"I hear Lady Lusia is quite beautiful." Lady Aemma told (Y/N) one afternoon, a cup of sweetened milk in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Daemon scoffed quietly at her words, a bitter taste forming in his mouth that made him angrily swallow the piece of apple he'd been chewing. Lady Aemma seemingly ignored him. "I hear she has a fascination for dragons. I'm certain she'll love Sōna." 

"Or Sōna will eat her in a single bite the moment she lays eyes on her." Daemon piped in, pushing himself up from the couch he'd sprawled himself across and smirking at the eye-roll (Y/N) sent his way. Truthfully, Sōna was exactly like her rider in more ways than one: spoilt, easily annoyed, and downright bratty at times. The pretty beast had certain food preferences, for Gods' sake. Lady Aemma merely shook her head and sipped on her drink whilst Viserys finally tore his attention away from the book in hand. 

"Perhaps you have someone in mind then, Brother. You seemed against Lady Katherine and Lady Breyna as well." Viserys's finger dragged along the edge of the book, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he regarded his brother in a way that seemed to say I know. Daemon scowled at him, unable to resist the heat creeping up along his neck. 

"I'm saving those ladies from a lifetime of misery, more like. (Y/N) would probably drop dead if he saw a woman naked." 

At that, (Y/N) whirled around to look at him with a sneer. "It wouldn't be my first time!" He snapped at him, and irritation rolled over Daemon like a crashing wave. He'd been gone from court for a little less than a year and had already missed so much. His new wife's family had insisted he stay in Runestone with her despite her indifference, but he hardly cared for her or the Vale of Arryn. She was plain-faced, boring, and never bothered to converse with him. He much preferred the bustle and hustle of the Red Keep.

But nobody mentioning his little brother had bedded someone while he was away? It shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did but the thought of some lousy little lady - or anyone, truly - laying hands on his brother in a less-than-friendly way made his blood boil. Had she even done it right? Had she even kissed him with passion or just with the desire to boast about lying with a Targaryen prince? 

"Who?" Daemon demanded, springing up to his feet and chucking the apple aside so hard it slammed into the wall and broke apart. Lady Aemma flinched at the noise and gave her husband a bewildered look that was met with a quiet sigh. Daemon's long silver hair spilled over his shoulders as he grasped the back of (Y/N)'s chair and leaned down to glower at him. "What dumb bitch decided you were worth laying with?" 

(Y/N) bristled like an enraged stray cat and shot up from his seat, planting his hands on Daemon's chest and shoving him back. Daemon stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his boots, and scowling immediately but before he could cut the distance, Viserys planted himself firmly between the two. At twenty-four, Viserys had no business being forced to stop fights between the two, but he believed it to be his job as eldest much to their annoyance. Daemon opened his mouth to spout some more things but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way (Y/N)'s eyes glistened. 

"Nyke vēdros ao." (Y/N) spat venomously, and Daemon's shoulders sagged, his body reeling back as if he'd been struck. (Y/N) stormed past the two of them, the doors shaking violently when he slammed them close behind him. Lady Aemma frowned at him, shaking her head with a soft sigh of disappointment. 

I hate you. 

He'd meant it, Daemon was sure of it. He'd been a bother since (Y/N) had been born, just a baby prone to illness who had no memories of their beautiful mother. The birth had impacted Alyssa severely, sure, but the twins had never asked to be born. Daemon had realized that early in his teenhood, but most of the damage had been done and he'd never been one to apologize or admit wrongdoing, to begin with. But as he stood there, staring into nothingness while the words replayed over and over in his head, he swore he felt his heart cracking. 

"Go apologize," Viserys told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Make things right before it's too late. Father intends on having him wed before the winter."

Silently, Daemon turned on his heel and left the couple alone in their room to make his way down the hall. He'd upset (Y/N) enough to make him cry, something he hadn't done in years, so he felt certain the teen had rushed off to his bedroom before he could be seen. The servants and guards he encountered along the way were quick to step out of his way, and the ones stationed at (Y/N)'s bedchambers opened the doors for him without having to be asked. 

(Y/N) sat at the edge of his bed, legs crossed and lips pouting like a child but Daemon could only wince at the tear stains on his cheeks. His hands messed with his boots, undoing the laces of one and throwing it onto the floor. When he spotted Daemon lingering by the doors, he threw the other one at him, nearly hitting him in the thigh. "Go away," He demanded. 

"Your aim's better." Daemon simply told him, slipping off the holster holding Dark Sister to his waist, and leaning the sword against the wall. (Y/N) reached down for the boot he'd tossed on the floor, scooping it back into his hand and throwing it at Daemon. His brother caught it with ease before it could slam into his chest, causing (Y/N)'s cheeks to puff out in annoyance and Daemon to smirk.

"Come to laugh at me some more?" (Y/N) asked bitterly, his eyes following Daemon as he made his way further into the room. With nothing else within grabbing distance to throw, he remained seated on the bed with a glare and curled hands ready to hit him. Daemon eyed his tense form and took a seat beside him, scoffing when (Y/N) scooted away.

"You act like a child." Daemon sighed, snatching (Y/N)'s wrist into his hand and squeezing the skin exposed when his sleeve rode up. (Y/N) struggled at first, angered muttering falling from his lips, but he slowly relented and gave in with a heavy sigh. Daemon gave him a hard tug that forced (Y/N) to fall onto his side, a grin gracing his lips at (Y/N)'s narrowed eyes. 

"And you act like an arse." He replied, shifting around to sit up straight again. 

"I didn't..." Daemon pursed his lips. Viserys knew how to apologise, knew all the right things to say to make things better. Daemon only knew how to hurt and break things. "I didn't mean to-... to make you cry." 

"Liar." (Y/N) huffed and Daemon's jaw clenched, his temper flaring up with ease. "You like seeing me cry. You probably get off on it." 

Daemon bit his tongue, this time literally, so he could fight the wicked smirk from spreading on his face. "Yes," Daemon exhaled, the breathy, amused tone making (Y/N) grow still with suspicion. "I get off on the thought of you crying from how much you desire me." He said lowly, moving an inch closer so their noses would bump together. He relished the quiet hitch of (Y/N)'s breath.

"I- I- You- I would never- What-" (Y/N) sputtered, tongue twisting so violently he almost choked on his words. Daemon's free hand rose to grab his jaws, fingers digging into the heated skin of his cheeks. He delighted in the heat, for he believed it meant there was a chance of his feelings being mutual. 

"Who did you lay with?" Daemon questioned, his fingertips digging into the skin of (Y/N)'s cheeks and pulling his face ever so closer. He dragged his lips over his cheekbones, trailing them over his little brother's nose and brows and any part of his face he could reach. (Y/N) squirmed in his grip, his closed hand pressing against Daemon's chest in a half-hearted attempt at pushing him back. "Tell me."

"No." (Y/N) grumbled, ever the disobedient one. 

"Was she worth it?" Daemon prodded, pushing his brother back onto the bed until his back was flat against the covers. He swung one leg over (Y/N)'s hips to straddle him, laying his weight down on the prince's thighs to prevent him from getting up. (Y/N) glared up at him, lips forming a deeper, more pronounced pout. He pinned the wrist in his hand beside his head, ensuring to keep a steady grip on him. 

"Better than you'll ever be!" (Y/N) spat, the challenging tone in his voice only making Daemon's desire flourish, the overwhelming feeling pumping through his veins. He swooped down and slammed their lips together, swallowing the squeak that escaped (Y/N) and shoveling his tongue into his mouth when (Y/N)'s lips parted. He suckled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tasted a hint of metallic. 

"You should've come to me, sweet brother." Daemon sighed, tongue lapping up the small trickle of blood that stained both their lips red. (Y/N)'s fingers curled around the collar of Daemon's tunic, battling between pushing him back and drawing him closer. "You need not for anyone else. I will take care of you, regardless of what anyone else dares to say." He cooed, pressing a sloppy, bloody kiss to his cheek. 

"You hate me." (Y/N) murmured, his nose crinkling at the taste of blood dancing on his taste buds. Daemon frowned at him, hands harshly squeezing (Y/N)'s jaw and wrist for his words. When (Y/N) grimaced, he released his jaw and instead tenderly stroked his knuckles over his cheek. 

"I do not." He assured, nuzzling their nose together and kissing him again, savoring the shudder that went through (Y/N) when he pressed down on the small cut. "I care for you. More than you'll ever know, little brother."

[amara555555]

Idk atp, im avoiding my assignment-

Trouble but make it double:

Shingen x platonic daughter reader:

The entire compound was empty. The guards travelling to another location in the west, her mother and the other concubines all gone to visit family, her brothers all gone out for business, her uncle Shintaro out for some kind of meeting and her dad Shingen- oh wait he was still here.

That knowledge only proved to be more valuable than anything that the biggest form of defence was still at the base. And what better way to spend her time other than cutting her finger while cutting crust off bread then convincing him to come out his room, get some sunshine and…..make her a sandwich.

She tried knocking.

No answer.

She tried walking in.

No reaction.

She tried waving.

No reaction.

Poking.

None.

Dancing.

None.

Raspberry.

None.

Trying to lure him out with peanut butter.

NOTHING!

She ofcourse using the intelligence equivalent to a rat, she came up with a fantastic idea.

She draped a black sheet over herself before flashing a light on the paper shoji doors, intending to perform a shadow puppet show. She walked into the light and her tiny figure imprinted onto the doors like a shadow.

Shingen’s mind was occupied before he hears an incessant sound of a crow cawking. Now he knew there was none, he wasn’t that isolated but what annoyed him was that this insolent little child would not stop cawking. His now growingly pissed off eyes flicked up to see his insolent girl’s shadow hopping on one leg and cawking, while flapping a black sheet like wings…………. What in the dead Yamazaki family members is going on here?

She kept going and switching legs after one tired out after a series of ‘ow’s’. She resumed her cawking only to hear stomps zooming her way before she jumped out the way as her dad crashed through the fragile paper doors with a scowl scrunched into his smooth features and she shrieked while zooming off into the kitchen as he barrelled after her.

“You disrespectful girl!”

“AHHHHH-“

30 minutes later and Shintaro was back. His manor interior utterly destroyed and his niece sitting on a mountain of rubble with her depressed father holding her cape.

“……what happened?”

His voice strained as he asked reluctantly, her excitement in contagious to him as she giggled and pointed to her behemoth of a father while munching bread.

“Daddy made me a Sandwich!”

Shintaro’s eyes flicked to Shingen.

“……and you decided to maul our ancestral home like a wild animal?”

Shingen blinked before gently tugging her cape.

“She provoked me.”

Shintaro had half the mind to-

He chased Shingen who bolted away.

[igotanidea]

Three times: Bruce Wayne x reader

Christmas bingo: Family dinner

(I guess this is what happens when I call myself out on not doing the event I planned XD. As always - sorry for typos, grammar etc. - not proofread this just kind of happened in less then an hour, so - )

***

“This is going to be a mess.”

“It’s not going to-“

“You don’t know them-“.

“I think I’ve stalked your boys enough to –“

“Y/N.”

“Bruce”

“This is-“

 “Oh, come on, just relax and – Oh, for God’s sake gimme that”.

She stepped in front of him, successfully blocking him from seeing his reflection in the mirror. He was doing a terrible job at doing his own bowtie. The fearless, emotionless Batman, the dark shadow over every criminal in Gotham had shaking fingers because his girlfriend was to attend the family dinner with all his sons.

AKA – the mess with his sons.

“Remind me whose idea was it, again?”

“Mine. Duh.” She send him her most beautiful smile, deftly putting the finishing touches to his look.

“Yeah… right. No one else in their sound mind would have come out with that.” He muttered.

“Did I mention you look extremely handsome tonight?”  Her sudden change of a subject made Bruce blush like a schoolboy in a way that couldn’t; be hidden from her watchful gaze.

“You know you’re supposed to say I look beautiful or something like that, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you really that worried, hon?”

“Worried? Who, me? I’m not worried.” Bruce scoffed. Externally to put up a front and internally – because she was so damn right. Poor Y/N had zero idea what she was getting herself into.

“I got contingencies – “

“mhm.” Right, she wouldn’t even imagine the scope of contingencies that would have to be of use when his four boys see each other in the dining room.

“I got tranquilizer for Jason, lollipops for Dick, sleeping pills for Tim and a puppy for Damian.”

“You- what?”

“I got-“

“I heard you the first time, Y/N.”

“Then why-?”

“Lollipops?”

“What? Low blood sugar is not good for any athlete.”

“Dick is not an athlete. And no- “ he cut her off – “hanging out from the chandelier is not an Olympic discipline, Y/N.”

“Well then, in the worst case scenario, we’ll give him a mirror.”

“What, you hope he’d turn into a stone from looking into his own eyes?”

She tilted head looking at him carefully.

“I knew you had a walking dead in the family, but you never mentioned the Medusa”

“If you survive this, you’ll be much better then Perseus, sweetheart.” Bruce kissed the top of her head, praying to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t run out of the manor screaming the first fifteen minutes into the dinner.

***

Five minutes.

It took Dick five minutes to ruin everything.

Out of all of his sons, Bruce was hoping that the first-adopted one would keep a better track record.

Instead, he whistled.

He freaking whistled upon seeing her.

And it took a hell lot of Bruce’s self-control to not strangle him.

And then there was Jason.

Sitting in the corner, arms crossed, stern look on his face, cutting his meat in a way that might as well crash the entire plate.

With a wild look in his eyes, not saying a single word, almost freezing the steaming dinner.

Causing Bruce to start sipping his drink a little faster than intended.

And Tim-

Propped on the elbow, head on the palm, dozing off, almost snoring and almost ending up with his nose in the mashed potatoes.

But Damian turned out to be the worst of them all.

Which probably should have been expected, considering the fact that he was the least aware of the societal norms.

“You’re not a good match for father.”

Bruce choked, Dick laughed and Jason snapped his eyes towards Y/N to see her reaction.

Y/N didn’t react, focusing on chewing.

The atmosphere was becoming a little tense yet no one made any attempt of filling the silence with words.

“I said-“

“I heard.”

Then came the silence again.

“And you’re just gonna-“

“Yeah, I’m just gonna ignore you.”

This was unexpected.

Damian was definitely not used to being treated like this.

And he was not going to tolerate being treated like this.

Who the hell did this girl think she was?!

“You are-!“

“Oh, by all means, do tell me who you think I am.” She snapped and with a mocking smirk looked right into Damian’s eyes, still having in mind that he was just a kid. Being too mean or too harsh was not an option but putting him down a peg or two could be.

“You are-“ Damian started

“Mean?”

“Um-“

“Harsh-“

“I want-“

“Quick – witted?”

“Will you-“

“Not-taking-bullshit kinda girl?”

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH!?”

“I gotta give to you Damian, you are very perceptive.”

“You are mocking me now.”

“Again. Perceptive.”

As she refused to back down, showing her innate stubbornness and strength, a tiny smirk formed on Jason’s lips and disappeared as soon as the second son noticed Dick staring at him.

“stop staring Dickhead!”

“I’m not staring.”

“you are impressed with her, aren’t you?”

“Like hell I am impressed!” this came out of jason’s mouth a little louder than aimed at and obviously everyone heard. “I’m not!” he objected, almost defensively.

“good. Good cause I would lose my sympathy towards you if you were impressed by me so easily, Jason.”

“I – wait, what?”

“Come on, a girl gotta work for it, doesn’t she? Clearly you all think I’m some sort of gold digger?”

“I don’t-!” Dick cried out in confusion

“Mhm. You don’t, Richard. And yet, you had me checked out the second you saw me, didn’t you?”

Dick blushed, being called out like this.

“What is going on…?” Tim muttered, slowly awakening from his slumber due to the screaming match at the table.

“Bet you also believe I got zero worth and less than zero skills to be dating Batman, huh?”

“SHE KNOWS!?” Tim suddenly became awfully awake, as four pair of eyes landed on Bruce, than on Y/N, than on Bruce again with Tim

“The hell, old man?!”

“I swear, you are a fucking hypocrite!”

“That’s outrageous father!”

“I bet she figured this out herself, cause he was careless again-“

Even in his wildest dreams Bruce didn’t imagine that the source of his embarrassment at the family dinner would be the woman he was in love with. And it made him feel a lot of things varying between fear (cause what else was that one capable of), anger (cause what else was that one capable of?!) and pride (cause – well, you know how it goes).

Showing nothing on his face, he gave Y/N a look she understood well enough.

“What? Oh. Bruce come on-“

“This is not-“

“I’m not going to pretend in front of-“

“They were not supposed to-“

“They are your freaking family. And it’s Christmas.”

“I do it for their own good!”

“What? Lying?’

The silence that came out later was deafening. No one, absolutely no one dared to breathe too loud. Even the flies suddenly dropped dead.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian was all crossing eyes, waiting for the situation to unravel further though each of them for different reasons. Secretly, each of them was making bets whether it was Y/N or Bruce who would win this argument.

And odds were not in her favor.

Bruce cleared his throat, pushed the chair away from the table and stood up.

REACHING HAND TO HER.

Talking her hand in his, and walking out of the diner room, to the study and closing the door behind them.”

“What the fudge-?” Dick muttered

“Do you think they are going to-?”

“JASON!”

“What? They freaking locked themselves!”

“There are kids in here!”

“I’m not a kid, Grayson!”

“You are a kid Damian!”

“I’m 12!”

“Shut up you little demon spawn!”

“Watch your tongue Todd!”

“I should have stayed by the computer-“

“We were supposed to be nice to her-“

“Well, look how that worked out for you all – “ Y/N’s teasing voice cut right into the boys’ fight before they could move to fisticuffs. She was casually leaning on the doorframe, observing them with unimpressed look on her face.”

 “Um-“

“By all means, do not stop on my account. I got three older brothers and-“

“Wait, you got what now-?” Bruce appeared behind her back – “you never told me that.”

“Well I’m full of surprises, but glad you didn’t go full PI on me as you do with every other victim of yours.”

“You are not my victim-“

“Oh yeah, then what am I?” she teased, daring him to confess his feelings in front of the boys.

“Y/N!”

“Fine! Fine, later you little coward.”

Boys chuckled

“And as for you, I am shocked and maybe a little disappointed  you are not at each other’s throats already. I was hoping for a show-”

“I’m sorry, how exactly did Bruce describe us to you-?”

“cavemen.”

“Whaat?!”

“Ok, well, maybe not exactly cavemen but-“

Bruce cleared his throat again.

“What now?” she rolled her eyes turning back to him. “Wait, what time is it?”

“9.15.”

“9.15? You sure? Not a 9.14 or --?”

“It’s 9.15 sharp.”

“But that would mean-“

“Mhm.”

“And you are-?”

“Yes.”

“What is going on in here?” Damian was beginning to lose his temper.

“Oh, nothing. I won a bet with Bruce.”

“A bet?! You bet on us!?” Jason yelled feeling like a circus monkey.

“What exactly was the bet about?”

“Well thank you for asking, Tim.” Y/N turned to look at Drake. “I voted on you surviving an hour in each other’s presence. Bruce- well – not so much.”

“Oh my god, we are cavemen in his eyes!” Dick wailed theatrically.

“And now – since he lost” she put an emphasis on the word – “he will apologize for the lack of belief.”

“He what?!”

“No way!”

“Could you give me a second to rush upstairs and grab a camera?”

Gods. Never in his life was Bruce that ashamed.

“Y/N-“

“Bruce-“

“Do I have to-“

“Yes, you have to.”

“But-“

“Come on, really it’s not that hard.”

“I’m shocked you survived this long.” Bruce muttered almost incoherently with the grim expression, willingly making a full out of himself by admitting his wrongdoing.

Leaving the boys in pure shock and maybe, a little respect to this woman who made the Batman do this.

Little did they know that said woman was about to be thoroughly dominated that night for this.

Therefeore – the family dinner happened to be a huge success, everyone getting what they wanted and what they deserved.  

Especially Y/N, cause it felt like she won three times.

[strawberrykidneystone]

a baroness after my own heart

sevika x female reader

summary: sevika from house silco has officially entered the marriage market after years of putting it off and she falls in love with the first woman she lays her eyes on

a/n: sevika… mr. darcy hand flex….

tags: not historically accurate, love at first sight, dancing, regency era-ish, me being a sap, drama, gossip, romance, not historically accurate

ao3 version

viscount silco’s ward, jinx, has been in the marriage market for merely a year and has seemed to scare off every man and woman with her odd personality. earl vander’s ward, lady violet, had recently married into house kiramman. it was quite the scandal when it was revealed that jinx and violet were estranged sisters living in different houses, but the excitement died down quickly with the new ball season starting. no doubt that silco’s influence had also stopped the gossip papers from writing about his family.

you were not a duchess by any means, but you had quite a steep dowry that had many suitors show an interest in you, but each one had been just as boring as the last. your mother was not pleased with your efforts and made an ultimatum, you had to get married this year or you would be sent off to live with your aunt in the middle of nowhere, so you were eager to see the fresh meat entering the market this year.

lady mel visited your house this afternoon with a paper in her hand. she was currently being courted by sir jayce, a man of lower social standing than herself, but she had been adamant about marrying for love. of course, the courting had somewhat come to a hold with the recent scandal, but it was sure to start up again as balls exposed more of people's relationships to the public. you had heard a few rumors about him and his lab partner viktor, but they were quickly laid to rest by mel's mother, duchess ambessa, and no one questioned her judgment, ever.

the two of you settled in the drawing room with tea and biscuits, your handmaidens making themselves scarce on the other side of the room to allow the two of you to talk semi-privately.

after taking a sip from her tea, mel brought your attention to the small paper in her hands, "my dear friend, i have just received word that sevika is entering the marriage market this year."

you had to hold yourself back from spitting out your tea. no one had seen lady sevika in quite a while, she was at the side of silco most of the time and when she wasn't she was in the bars down in the village that no other members of high society would be caught dead in. she was a baroness in her own right and had her own estate, but she was known to work closely with the viscount in many aspects since her parents had taken up traveling the world. personally, you had never seen her, but you had heard that she is intimidating as she is beautiful. you thickly swallowed your tea and set your cup down on the saucer, "pray tell, is there a reason why? she has had ample time to enter the market whenever she wanted, why now?"

"there was no reason given, a kitchen maid wrote to me in haste as soon as she heard," mel said with a grin, she always liked to have her fingers in all of the pies, paying off servants for small bits of gossip was included into keep tabs on everyone. you shook your head in disbelief, the whole thing seemed fishy.

"perhaps it's to draw away attention from the scandal of the two sisters," you suggested and cocked your head curiously.

mel waved her hand dismissively and shook her head, "most people have already forgotten about that by now. whatever the reason, it's sure to be an interesting season this year."

you nodded in agreement and took a small bite from one of the sweet biscuits, letting your imagination run wild surrounding the house of silco and vander. you and mel continued to talk about everything under the sun, mostly gossip about other houses and who's getting desperate to not be considered a spinster next year. before you knew it, the sun was almost down and you bid her farewell at the door, her carriage taking her back to her mansion in the hills.

the next week was pure chaos.

picking out fabrics for dresses, trying out hairstyles for this season, pairing accessories with each other, and keeping up with the constant rumor mill. as long as you didn't hear anything about yourself, you were fine with a little gossip here and there. there had been a little talk about how you were getting close to being a thornback*, but you simply ignored them. you were determined to get married this season, even if it killed you.

before you knew it, it was time for the first ball of the season. lady mel's family was hosting of course, with no expense spared for decorating the huge mansion. there were gold decorations everywhere decorating the house with fresh-cut roses intertwined in delicate patterns. the rose bushes that lined the front of the house were lit up with protected candles, the whole house glowing like a sun against the night sky.

exiting your carriage in your custom-fit gown with elbow-length gloves, a curly updo with a headband of pearls in your hair, and a pearl choker to match, you confidently walked into the ball with your family.

with your fan hanging on your wrist and your dance card in its proper case, you immediately walked up close to the dance floor, scanning the crowd. it was mostly filled with faces you had seen before with a few you didn't recognize, but you couldn't help but feel nervous. you were thankful for the gloves on your hands absorbing the sweat that would no doubt be building up on your hands, but you were still hopeful for this evening.

suddenly, the whole room fell silent. you turned your head towards the entrance you just walked through and held back a gasp. there was duchess caitlyn and lady violet arm and arm, with the house of silco, vander, and kiramann following up behind them. they posed a united front together and you had to praise them for their bravery showing up at all. their footsteps echoed throughout the room with the occasional ‘thump’ from silco’s cane. the group paused in front of the ballroom, not unlike two armies about to attack each other. mel quickly snapped at the orchestra to ease the tension and they picked up their playing again, people slowly going back to their conversations and dancing. the big group quickly dispersed, acting casual as if nothing over the summer had happened. duchess caitlyn and lady- duchess violet took to the dance floor and waltzed with each other, a genuine aura of love surrounding them as they glided around the circle of people even though people were very obviously keeping their distance.

you walked through the crowd and stayed on the edges, ending up close to the refreshment table. god it was going to be a long evening, but thankfully not an uneventful one.

it’s not that you were uninterested in marriage, you just hadn’t found the right person. you were resolute about marrying for love, which annoyed your family to no end as they had all married for wealth and status. you had hoped to talk to mel for a bit, but she was already busy waltzing around the dance floor with jayce, much to lady ambessa’s dismay. looking over to the side of the room, you saw jinx and sir ekko passionately talking about some sort of trinket in her hands. a fond smile graced your lips, it’s as if the two never grew up, still up to their usual antics.

just as you were about to chalk this night up to simply standing on the outside as just another wallflower and observing other couples, somebody caught your eye.

a tall woman with a short and straight haircut that sharply framed her face, her grey eyes lighting up against her darker features. she had the most endearing wide nose you had ever seen and full lips to match. she wore a beautifully tailored burgundy suit complete with a black vest and a white undershirt, tan pants, and a black cravat adorned around her neck to complete the look. she was simultaneously the most beautiful and handsome woman you had ever laid your eyes on.

and she was staring right back at you.

the rest of the world seemed to blur away and your heartbeat picked up, you had to convince yourself that you weren’t having an aneurism in the middle of the ball or somehow daydreaming of this perfect woman. the room seemed to light up as if the world had been dimmed until this moment, you could see nothing else but her. the two of you wandered intently toward each other as if in a trance, never breaking eye contact as you made your way through the crowd.

before you knew it you were face to face with her, both of you awestruck by the feeling that your hearts had been searching for each other all your lives, two halves that were now whole. sevika cleared her throat and slightly bowed her upper body, keeping her eyes on yours as she held out her left hand with the palm up, “may i have this dance?”

your voice was caught in your throat, all you could do was nod and placed your hand in hers. as soon as you laid your hand in her warm palm, you knew that you never wanted to let go.

she led you to the dance floor and people were already starting to whisper about the two of you as they parted to let the two of you onto the floor, but you couldn't care less in this moment. the two of you smoothly got into a classical waltz position with her leading, her left hand never leaving yours as she held your interconnected hands up and placed her other hand on your waist. you rested your arm on top of hers and followed her lead in the dance, absolutely enthralled with your partner as you twirled around the dance floor. it was like the two of you were floating on air above everything else, dancing in your own little world where it's only you and her.

all too soon, the song ended and suddenly you were back in a crowded ballroom standing in front of the woman you danced with, whose name you didn't even know. the two of you bowed to one another and exited the floor together. reluctantly letting go of her hand, you clasped your hands in front of your dress formally and smiled up at her, "thank you for the dance miss?..."

"sevika, baroness sevika," she said in a smooth deep voice with a bow of her head.

you held back a gasp and quickly introduced yourself, curtseying while holding your skirt.

the two of you quickly got lost in conversation as if you had known her all of your life, having more in common with her than anyone else you had ever met in your life. sadly, the evening was coming to a close and the last dance of the night was announced. sevika gave you a knowing look and you nodded, the two of you joining the other couples for one last dance. she was such an easy dance partner to follow and you couldn't help but feel safe in her arms. losing yourself completely in the dance, the music ended far too soon for your liking. you wished you could've stayed here and danced with sevika all night.

alas, each of your houses were starting to depart and sevika looked down at you with the biggest puppy eyes, holding both of your hands in hers, " would it be too soon if i called upon you tomorrow?"

you giggled and squeezed her hands in yours, "i shall simply die if i do not see you tomorrow."

sevika's face lit up and she brought your hands up to her mouth, kissing your knuckles, "then tomorrow it shall be."

she slowly walked backward, holding your hands as long as she could until she finally had to let go, silco calling to her from their carriages. she stumbled slightly going down the stairs which made you giggle until your mother sharply called your name. you quickly joined your own house once again, giddy in anticipation for the next day.

a/n: i tried to leave reader's outfit as ambiguous as possible so you could imagine your own outfit but FUCK i love pearls <3

part 2 coming soon

*thornback: single woman over the age of 25

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all

[starshipsofstarlord]

lap girl (1)

summary. a series of unchronological scenarios of y/n being in daryl’s lap within part of their journey (part 1 - the first night in alexandria)

warnings. fluff, daryl’s lap (as that should be a warning in itself), sleepy!y/n, 3rd person - that’s all the warnings for this chapter

divider credits @cafekitsune

alexandria

It was miserably quiet on the streets of alexandria, aside from the clanging against the metal walls from the prowling walkers, but those inside their homes were ignorant to their hungry fuss. The journey to find the community that had invited them within their borders was a tiresome one, Daryl sat sceptically against the wall of the living space of the house that they had all huddled within, watching over his friends as they shuffled sheets upon the ground to make their slumber in the new place a little more comfortable.

He wouldn’t sleep, he was well aware of that fact. The archer was volunteering to keep watch, as he had done so countless times on the difficult road. His eyes were heavy, but it was an expense to make sure the family that was far more loyal than from that he had came were safe, and able to rest without a threat having the opportunity to creep within the large residency in the middle of the night, and take a sullen advantage of their exhausted state.

His eyes wandered up as he caught a sight of y/n, who’s hair was wet from the shower that she had been far too excited to endure. Her skin was warm to the touch, he could tell that as her pores were swollen from the foreign heat of the scalding water. He hadn’t seen her in such an almost relaxed state since the prison, and even then her eyes were always obscured to the fences, spying on the dead that rattled against the metal fences.

Daryl felt his lips twitch to the sight as he realised she was creeping closer to him, dragging a blanket along the ground until she reached him, a languid sluggishness to each of her steps. “We on watch?” She asked almost comically as she fought the desire to rub her drained eyes whilst she simultaneously fought the battle of keeping them open. Her shirt was a little damp from where her tresses were still wet from her shower, but he didn’t care that he felt a few drops smack down on his hand as she sat beside him, coaxing herself to lean her head against his shoulder.

“I ‘m.” He replied sternly, understanding that she was in dire need of a long nap, and thus he grasped her waist, caring not for the eyes of their friends as she released a surprised squeal, and placed her body over his own, so that she was seated perfectly atop of his lap. He grasped the material of the blanket, curling it around her shoulder and tightly holding it against her front. Her nose nuzzled into the middle of his throat, absorbing the wild scent that living outside of a home had inhabited him with, however she found comfort in the familiarity of it.

“We are.” She sluggishly replied, her pupils dancing with frugal resistance to remain upon him, he knew she was stubborn, and so Daryl dragged her in closer to his body, cradling her preciously as he placed a kiss on her forehead, wrinkling his nose at the strong scent of coconut that had soothed her scalp. “Let me stay up with you Dar, you shouldn’t have to be the only one that is watching over everyone.” What she didn’t realise was that he really didn’t mind, he just wanted her to gain some of her strength back.

“How ‘bout i wake you as soon as someone else takes over?” Daryl knew she’d only rest if she had confirmation that he too would get some shut eye, and so he surrendered to being cared for, deep down understanding that he was in need of rest, even if it be eventually, in order to protect her. He wouldn’t allow a single soul to lay harm to her, he had taken it upon himself as his own duty to protect her, he had done so when and before the prison had fallen, and had every intention of continuing on his love smothered path of being the catalyst to keep them together.

[diejager]

I have a fucking insane idea based on a DnD thing I saw once lmao. So basically, if someone went through an immense amount of trauma, it could sort of manifest into another being used for self defense. This being was literally only limited by their imagination. It could be a damn house cat or a fucking dragon. It was basically an extension of their body that was a result of a dangerous or traumatic situation. It could help with other tasks as well, but its main purpose is defense. I need to see the men react to this, I’m begging

Monster au. Plz

~🧋

Cw: trauma, inaccurate magic, tell me if I missed any.

They were familiar with all kind of magic. Be it Old Magics and Magiks, enchantments, hexes, curses, dark arts, and everything known to the world, yours was…. peculiar. Quite peculiar for a person without any ties to a magical lineage or prior knowledge of powers. You were just a normal human - as normal as you could be with all your fearlessness towards monsters and hybrids alike - with a few unique perks and qualities, but a human no less. You weren’t any different from your parents, your extended family or any friends. A mortal with soft flesh, resilient and persevering, wild imaginations and genial abilities to adapt and conquer, and yet, were so, so fragile. 

They hadn’t expected it, with Farah - the only witch they personally knew - tied to Alex by the hip and always on the move, their repertoire of magical knowledge was lacking. So, there was a mass of confusion between them, one that made understanding your strange ability difficult, but not impossible. They had Laswell’s help to sift through all existing records, some confidential, hidden under red tapes and confidentiality regulations, and others public, open to any curious eyes and prying noses. 

The black Maine Coon that seemed to follow you, her lumbering figure and elegantly, curled fur that stood out among patches of grey and military green and browns of the base brought many questions, but all shrugged away at the mere sight of those piercing green eyes, vibrant lime that seemed to glow in darkness. She could light up the room with a single glance. It was as odd as it was menacing, and she was fiercely protective of you, shadowing your steps, curling her tail around your leg, laying on your lap when you sat and glaring at anyone who tried to approach you. 

A spirit animal someone had commented, a guardian in the shape of a cat another had hushed. She was all speculations and would stay that way until someone found out more about your Maine Coon, or if someone grew a pair and actually asked you rather than treating it like a secret mission conducted behind your back. A mystery to resolve, a like game they thought it be amusing to play until you found them out or someone gave up after grueling weeks of hitting a brocade —a dead end. 

It was fun and all, at least while it lasted. They felt like they were so close to figuring it out by themselves - pride and ego, you’d cackle. You’d have a field day laughing at them for them, then praise them for holding out so long - and Soap went out and begged for an answer. 

“I was wondering when one of you would crack,” you smiled, running your fingers through her fur, brushing away knots and tangles, “Took you longer than I expected.”

You had known of their investigation, but never spoke up. It riled them up, a thrill at finally being given the knowledge they’re hungered for, an adrenaline that pumped from their hearts to know the answer. And you stalled, teasing them with the pretty curl of your lips, taking all the time you needed to have them squirm in their seats and hang at every word that fell from your mouth.

“She’s a… trauma response, of some kind. I don’t really know how or why, but she just appeared one day while I was recovering. I was confused,” you laughed, nuzzling her scruff when she sat up to lick your chin, “Really confused. But I did some tests, experiments out of sheer boredom and discovered she came from my mind- or a product of it.”

“Your mind..?”

“You know humans have vivid imaginations, as physically unfortunate we are, our minds are a… strange thing, and she came right out of it.”

“So she could be… anything?”

You threw your head back, pulling her up in your arms as if she was the lightest kitten ever, your smile so wide it was infectiously making them smile.

“Anything that my mind can conjure up.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[schemmentigfs]

Blue Faces, Red Tempers.

Summary: Melissa gets a taste of her own medicine when your son pranks her by painting her face blue before your weekly dinner with the abbott crew.

just a lil crack to celebrate season four that premieres tomorrow. 🤍 (not revised!)

The house was unusually quiet, the early morning sun barely filtering through the curtains. You were already up, moving quietly around the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise. The scent of freshly chopped vegetables and simmering sauce filled the air as you prepared for tonight’s dinner.

Your work family—Janine, Gregory, Jacob, Barbara, Ava, and Mr. Johnson—were all set to come over for the traditional weekly dinner. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, a night of laughter and relaxation. You just hoped that everything would go smoothly, especially since Nicholas had a habit of turning calm moments into chaotic ones.

Melissa, of course, was still asleep. She had pulled a late night with lesson plans and was finally getting some much-needed rest. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess against the pillow, and she was sprawled out on her side, snoring softly. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments in the Schemmenti household.

At least, it was until Nicholas found his way into the bedroom.

You were too focused on stirring the sauce to notice his quiet footsteps sneaking past you. A few minutes later, you heard him giggling from down the hall, and that was when you knew—something was definitely up.

“Sweetheart?” you called out, your voice echoing softly through the house as you wiped your hands with a towel, the remnants of dinner still lingering on your fingers. When no response came, you felt a hint of concern tug at your heart, so you sighed softly and headed upstairs, your footsteps light on the wooden steps.

As you reached the top of the stairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounded like a warning. You paused for a moment outside the bedroom door, taking a deep breath to brace yourself for whatever awaited you inside.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a sight that was both hilarious and slightly terrifying. There lay Melissa, dead asleep, and nestled under the covers completely oblivious to the tiny artist hovering over her with a small tube of blue face paint in hand.

Your son stood at the edge of the bed, his hands clutching the object firmly. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration as he prepared to embark on his artistic mission.

A rush of laughter bubbled up in your throat, but you quickly stifled it, not wanting to startle either of them. “Nicholas Alexander Schemmenti!” you scolded calmy, trying to keep your tone light, but the amusement and concern made it difficult. “What are you doing?”

“Mommy looks like she needs some paint!”

You couldn’t help but shake your head at the sight. It was both adorable and slightly terrifying to see your daughter with a paintbrush in one hand and her imagination running wild. You stepped further into the room, prepared to intervene if the chaos escalated any further.

Nicholas was being incredibly meticulous for a newly three-year-old, his tiny fingers streaking and smudging the paint all over your wife’s face while humming to himself. He had gone for bold strokes across Melissa’s cheeks and forehead, creating a bizarrely abstract yet charming masterpiece. The older woman didn’t stir once during the entire process. Not even when Nicholas decided to add a final touch—a big blue dot on the tip of her nose.

Leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, you couldn't stop laughing with your hands over your mouth and your eyes wide. But then, you realized what kind of storm would brew when Melissa woke up. Still, the sight was too precious to ruin, so you grabbed your phone and snapped a quick photo for posterity. She wouldn't mind later, would she?

You had to stifle a snort as you watched the redhead boy beam at his creation, feeling nothing but pride at his artistic endeavor. For a moment, you contemplated waking her up gently and explaining the situation. But… you decided to let your wife get a test of her own medicine, since she was a practical joker and never got what she really deserved.

Instead, you made a quick decision. You hastily removed any mirrors from the bedroom and the bathroom Melissa normally used. If you were going to let this play out, you were going to commit. You just needed to keep her unaware for as long as possible—at least until the crew arrived.

“Come on, Nick,” you whispered, ushering him out of the room before Melissa stirred. “Let Mommy sleep.”

Nicholas looked up at you with wide eyes, smiling as if he had just completed the Mona Lisa. “She looks pretty,” he whispered back holding your hand.

You ruffled his messy curls, trying not to laugh. “Yes, she does, bud.”

—

By mid-afternoon, Melissa finally woke up, still blissfully unaware of her new ridiculous blue face. You had managed to keep her distracted for most of the day, and she hadn’t once noticed that all of the mirrors were mysteriously missing. She wandered into the living room, still groggy, yawning loudly as she scratched the back of her head.

“Hon, why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” she grumbled, leaning against the counter. “I overslept.”

“You needed it,” you said, forcing a straight face as you chopped more vegetables. Her green eyes still looked heavy and glossy with sleep, and you could tell she was trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Melissa scowled a bit, rubbing at her face absentmindedly—smearing the blue paint even further across her cheek. You had to turn away quickly, pretending to fuss over the stove as a laugh bubbled in your throat. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “So, what time’s everyone comin’ over?”

“Should be here in about an hour,” you answered, working hard to suppress your amusement. “Everything’s almost ready.”

She nodded, yawning again as she headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna freshen up, babe,” she called over her shoulder. You immediately panicked, moving quickly to intercept her.

“No, wait! Maybe…don’t go in the bathroom yet,” you rambled, waving her off casually. “I, uh, spilled something in there, and it’s a bit of a mess.”

Melissa turned and raised an eyebrow at you. “What? You spill somethin’?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It’s a bit of a disaster. Let me clean it up first.”

She narrowed her eyes, but shrugged. “Alright, whatever. But you owe me a coffee tomorrow for letting me sleep in so late.”

You let out a relieved breath as she moved to the kitchen, completely bypassing any reflective surfaces. For the next hour, you managed to keep her busy while finishing up dinner, all the while making sure she had no opportunity to discover what had been done to her face.

The doorbell rang a little after five, and soon enough, the Abbott crew trickled in. Janine and Gregory were first, followed closely by Jacob and Barbara. Ava and Mr. Johnson, true to form, came last, with the principal dramatically announcing her entrance like she was arriving at the Met Gala.

Your wife, unaware of the blue mess still decorating her face, greeted everyone with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She was grumbling about how you’d let her sleep too long and how she hadn’t had enough time to properly wake up. Everyone else, however, could hardly look her in the eye without their faces twitching in suppressed laughter and shock.

“Hey, Schemmenti!” Ava called from across the room, smirking as she eyed the eldest. “Looking real fresh today. Did you do something different?”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed as she glanced over at her. “What’re you talkin’ about, Coleman?”

Ava smirked but shrugged casually, shooting a look at the others. Janine, Jacob, and Barbara were all biting their lips, trying their hardest not to laugh. Even Gregory was barely holding it together, his eyes shifting nervously and in an awkward manner as if he was afraid of bursting out in laughter and facing Melissa’s wrath.

“Nothing, nothing,” Janine said quickly, her voice squeaky with barely restrained giggles. “You just seem… refreshed.”

The second grade teacher grunted, raising a brow. “Uh-huh. Sure, lowercase.”

You silently wrapped an arm around your wife’s waist, fighting back a chuckle. She looked absolutely ridiculous, but surprisingly adorable.“Be nice to Janine, baby.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Barbara broke the silence, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she tried to hide her amusement. “Shall we eat?”

“Yeah!” The entire crew chimed in unison, laughter bubbling up as they eagerly gathered around the table, ready to dive into dinner despite Melissa’s bizarre appearance.

Dinner was set up on the dining table, and everyone gathered around, trying their hardest to act normal. Melissa sat at the head of the table, completely oblivious to the paint still streaked across her face. You were honestly amazed at how long you’d managed to keep this going.

As everyone dug into the meal, the conversation was light and casual. But beneath the surface, the tension of suppressed laughter was palpable. Everyone kept sneaking glances at Melissa, their shoulders shaking from the effort of not losing it entirely. She seemed to sense that something was off, her sharp eyes darting around the room, trying to figure out what was so funny.

You could see the gears in her head turning. She nudged you, and you gave her an innocent smile.

“You’re too quiet,” she whispered. “What’re you hiding from me?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying the night, honey.”

You shot a wink at Nicholas, who was happily sitting at Melissa’s side, munching on his mac and cheese like he hadn’t turned the dinner into a comedic spectacle.

Finally, in the middle of a conversation about some ridiculous thing Ava had said at development day, Nicholas climbed out of his high chair and wandered over to his mother. He tugged on her sleeve, a big innocent grin on his face.

“Mommy,” Nicholas said in a loud whisper. “You’re blue!”

Melissa blinked down at her, her expression deadpan. “Huh?! What’re you talkin’ about, kiddo?”

“You’re blue!” the boy spoke again, giggling and pointing at her face.

For a split second, she just stared at her son, completely confused. Then, she looked up at the table, and that’s when the dam finally broke.

It started with Jacob, who snorted so loudly that his drink nearly came out of his nose. Janine was next, practically falling out of her chair with laughter. Barbara tried to maintain her composure but failed, her laugh spilling out as she covered her mouth. Gregory chuckled quietly, while Ava leaned back in her chair, smirking like she had been waiting for this moment all night.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Melissa asked, her voice dripping with irritation. Her eyes flicked from one person to the next, her brow furrowed in confusion.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Lissa… baby… Nick… he painted your face while you were asleep.”

There was a moment of silence as your wife processed your words. Then, her eyes widened. “What?!”

She shot up from the table, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to get to the nearest reflective surface. She stormed down the hall and into the bathroom, where you had finally replaced the mirror. A second later, a loud, horrified yell echoed through the house and the whole neighborhood.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” The redhead shouted. “I look like a damn Smurf!”

Everyone at the dinner table dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, even Mr. Johnson letting out a rare chuckle. You covered your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles as Melissa stormed back into the dining room, her face freshly scrubbed but still faintly tinted blue in some spots.

She pointed at you, clearly annoyed. “You think this is funny, huh?”

You bit your lip, nodding as you approached her. “A little,” you admitted. “But you still look cute.”

She shot you a deadly glance, the look on her face practically screaming. Why didn’t you stop him? You just shrugged.

Melissa sat down at the wooden chair with a huff, her cheeks still faintly tinted blue despite her efforts to scrub it all off. She reached for her glass of wine, taking a long sip while glaring at everyone, especially Ava, who seemed the most entertained.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, shaking her head as she looked down. “One more damn laugh outta any of you, and I’ll—”

Before she could finish, another round of giggles erupted, this time from Janine, who was struggling to contain herself. Jacob, too, was snickering, his face turning red as he tried to take a sip of water. Barbara, who was usually the calm and composed one, couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Alright, that’s it!” Melissa slammed her hand down on the table, making everyone jump. She turned to Nicholas, who was sitting beside her, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused. Leaning over, the older woman gently placed her hands over his ears, covering them with care. “Okay, bambino, cover your ears for a second, okay? Mommy’s gotta say somethin’ to the idiots at the table.”

The toddler giggled, thinking it was a game, and nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Mommy!” he chirped, his small hands coming up to cover his own ears under Melissa’s.

With Nick’s ears safely blocked, Melissa turned back to the group, her green eyes narrowing as she leaned in, her voice low and dripping with mock-threat. “You guys wanna keep laughin’? Keep it up. See what happens. I swear I’ll make your lives a living hell. Janine, I’ll volunteer you for every damn committee at Abbott. PTA? All you. Science fair? Hope you like buildin’ volcanoes.”

Janine immediately stopped laughing, her eyes wide as she waved her hands in defense. “Wait—Melissa, no! I—”

“Too late, Teagues,” she growled, pointing a finger at her. “You started this.”

“And you, Hill,” Melissa turned her gaze to the next target, her voice even more menacing, “I’ll throw every tech problem your way. Oh, the projector’s broken again? Guess who’s fixin’ it. All of ‘em. Every. Single. One. Even if they ain’t broken, I’ll say they are.”

Jacob’s laughter died in his throat, replaced with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, okay, message received,” the social studies teacher said, raising his hands in surrender. “No more laughing. Promise.”

“And Gregory,” Melissa said, her eyes locking onto him next. “You wanna keep smilin’ over there, huh? I’ll personally make sure you’re stuck with Ava in her damn bunker away from Janine.”

Gregory’s smirk quickly faded as Ava cackled across the table, leaning back in her chair like she had won some kind of victory. “That’s right,” she said smugly. “Ain’t nobody wants to stay with me in my bunker. Not even you, Gregory.”

The man’s face twisted into a grimace. “I-I wasn’t laughing that hard, Melissa. Really. Just… a little smile.”

“If you say so.” She narrowed her eyes, not convinced.

Finally, she turned to Ava, her annoyance reaching its peak. “And you, Ava,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re already walkin’ on thin ice, so I don’t even gotta threaten you. You just wait—next time you leave the school for more than ten minutes, I’m tellin’ everyone about that talk you had with the man who came to inspect our school. You know the one I’m talkin’ about.”

Ava’s cocky grin faltered, her eyes widening in panic as she leaned forward. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” your wife said with a devilish grin.

At that, everyone went silent. The only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and the faint hum of the refrigerator as Melissa sat back in her chair, looking satisfied with herself. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her regain control of the situation. Even with a face still tinged blue, Melissa Ann Caterina Schementi was a force to be reckoned with.

[str1wberry7thyme]

Martyn saying that the watchers hate love the most out of all emotions with zero pauses on this mornings lore stream is driving me crazy because it’s explains. Everything.

The way they made sure Grian was still miserable even after winning third life because they wouldn’t let him enjoy a win with his partner that he spent the whole season intrinsically attached to. How silly was he to forget, he still needed to kill Scar.

Scott ending last life with nothing but bad blood between his two closest allies that continued on across multiple seasons, and still hasn’t truly been fully resolved in wild life either.

Pearl winning Double life, the season about soulmates and what should be filled with love, completely by herself. And in the end when she realises she doesn’t truly hate or want revenge against Scott, only wanting him to understand her like he used to, it was too late. The watchers were never going to allow two winners. They wanted soulmates to rip each other apart in the end, almost like they wanted to make a point that you are better off alone in their world this way.

Martyn used his alliances to his advantage and immediately betrayed his mean gill that he did care for in his own way because he knew that’s what it took to win these games. Exactly how the watchers wanted.

Scar was so confused, so shocked when he realised the man without any friends had been “rewarded” for it in the end by being crowned the winner. But that’s not what he wanted for himself, he wanted to be nothing but a good person but every task he was given forced him into antagonising others and made sure there was no love left for him in the end. He can’t believe how this is possible.

..But then comes Joel and his stupid car. Joel and Gem and their stupid family. Joel and his stupid decision to hold his anger and forgive others instead. Joel and his stupid win that had even the ghosts of the dead full of joy for him. Joel and his stupid victory that actually felt like a victory for the first time in the series. Joel and the way he stupidly killed what was basically a walking symbol of the watchers with a laugh. I wouldn’t be surprised if the watchers hate to see him coming.

[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 8

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Summary: Discovering that JJ wasn’t your biological brother was hard. Learning that both his dads were terrible was even worse. But he’s your brother, no matter what, and you’ll always have his back. You persuade Rafe to to help them get to Morocco and for you to go with them. Rafe can seek his revenge on Groff, and you can help your little family find their treasure.

A/N: Part 2 has dropped and I’m still an emotional wreck. Sofia is still present but that storyline is different in my universe. Each of my parts will contain 2/3 episodes each so they will be a bit longer, and will probably be 2 parts.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: lil bit of smut at the end bc of course I had to throw that in there. ;) (oral f receiving)

JJ bursts through the back patio door into the house, panting hard and leaning forward with his hands on his knees. Startled, you leap up from the couch where you’d been watching V play on the floor.

“J, what’s going on?” you ask, rushing over to him after a quick glance to ensure V is safe.

“Hey, sis,” he says between breaths, then mutters under his breath, “Well, maybe not sis anymore.”

You catch his words despite his attempt to muffle them. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, you shove it into his hands. “Calm down and talk to me.”

JJ takes a long drink before blurting out, “It means my whole life’s been a lie. You’re not my sister, and Luke’s not my dad.”

The words stun you. You glance over JJ’s shoulder and spot Rafe standing in the hallway, drawn by the commotion. You subtly shake your head, signaling him to stay back. JJ wouldn’t open up with Rafe hovering.

“That letter,” JJ continues, his voice trembling. “The one from Genrette? Dad told me all about it. He said I’m his grandson. Larissa is my mom.”

You laugh softly, more out of shock than amusement. “JJ, that baby died. We all know the story. Dad’s probably just messing with you.”

“No,” JJ says firmly, shaking his head. “He told me my real dad dropped me off with him. He and Larissa were close, and he thought I’d be better off with Luke. Luke took me in, and then a couple weeks later, Larissa was found dead. They lied about me so no one would suspect I’d been given away.”

You stare at him, trying to process the revelation. “So, Larissa’s your mom, and—”

“Chandler Groff is my dad,” JJ interjects, his voice rising. “Think about it—when we went to Goat Island, Genrett only knew three names: yours, mine, and Sarah’s. It makes sense for Sarah; she’s a Kook and a Cameron. But how did they know us?”

“Dad said I used to play in the gardens when he worked there. I just assumed you were there too. I don’t know how long he worked there—I was only three. I didn’t think much of it when Genrette knew my name,” you reply, trying to rationalize it all, though doubt creeps in.

“Look, Dad’s a lot of things, but I don’t think he’s lying about this,” JJ says, his tone softer now.

“Okay,” you say, trailing off as you take it all in. Then, trying to lighten the mood, you smirk. “So, if this is true, that makes you a Kook by blood.”

JJ shoves you playfully, suppressing a laugh. “Never. P4L, baby. And this changes nothing between us. You’re still my big annoying sister.”

You smile, pulling him into a hug. “I’ve been stuck with you for nineteen years, J. I’m not letting go now.”

JJ rests his head on your shoulder for a moment, the weight of the conversation still lingering. Then he pulls away. “Alright, I gotta go find Kie and the others.”

“Bye, J.” You watch as he rushes out of the house and down the dock.

Rafe steps into the kitchen, exhaling sharply. “Don’t start,” you warn before he can say anything.

“I wasn’t gonna,” he replies, dragging out his words. “But damn, that’s wild. Your brother’s a Genrett. Hope this doesn’t make him a partner in my deal.”

You glare at him, unamused. “You don’t even know if my dad’s telling the truth.”

“Maybe. But it could explain the lies.” Rafe shrugs. He knows how Figure Eight people operate better than you ever will.

“Can we just drop it?” you plead, needing a distraction. You move back to V, who’s now fussing with a toy.

Rafe follows you to the couch, clearly not ready to let it go. “Speaking of Hollis and Groff…”

You roll your eyes. “What now?”

“I haven’t heard anything about the deal,” he says, watching for your reaction.

“Weird.” You give a short, dismissive response, hoping he’ll take the hint.

Thankfully, he does. Leaning down, he pinches V’s cheek and kisses you on the head before heading out to the patio.

A knock at the door interrupts the moment. To your surprise, it’s Sarah. You pull her into a tight hug, realizing how much you’ve missed your old friends since settling into this new life with Rafe and V.

“Hey. Rafe home?” Sarah asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, he’s outside. Everything okay?” you ask, taking the slip of paper she hands you. It’s about a zoning change in the Cut.

“Great, more good news,” you mutter sarcastically, gesturing for Sarah to head out to the patio. You skim the notice, letting the Cameron siblings talk in private.

Later, after putting V down for a nap, you catch Sarah storming out of the house. You find Rafe slumped on the patio, his head in his hands.

“What happened?” you ask, placing a hand on the back of his neck and rubbing down in between his shoulder blades..

“She wouldn’t even let me touch her,” he mumbles, his voice thick with emotion. “I just want my family back.” He pulls you close, burying his face against your stomach.

“It’s going to take time, Rafe,” you say softly, scratching his scalp with your nails.. “You’ll get there.”

His shoulders relax under your touch. Looking up at you, he smiles faintly. “Thanks,” he whispers, standing to kiss you deeply before sitting back down.

Your phone buzzes with a text from JJ in the Pogue group chat:

JJ, 4:30 PM: We need everyone we can get. I know you love the high life now, but you’re a P4L, sis. We need you too.

You look up at Rafe. “Mind watching V for a bit? I want to go to the town meeting. It’s important.” You hand him the zoning notice.

“Why the fuck do you care about this?” Rafe scoffs. “You live here now. That doesn’t concern you.”

You glare at him. “This is the kind of attitude that’s going to get you nowhere with Sarah. The Cut is still my home. I’m still a Pogue, and I’m going. Watch V.”

Without waiting for his reply, you grab your keys and walk out.

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

The meeting hall buzzes with tension as you arrive, stepping into a sea of familiar faces. The Pogues are here in full force, just as you expected. Loyalty runs deep, and none of you are known for backing down without a fight. You wave to your group, making your way through the crowd, and settle into a seat next to JJ. He’s tense, jaw clenched, fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as his eyes flicker toward the far side of the room.

That’s when you see them—Topper, his mother, and Ruthie. The smugness on their faces makes your blood boil. You glare, your expression sharp enough to cut glass, but when they smirk at you, you let your sarcasm fly. With a quick, deliberate motion, you raise your middle finger. Topper’s mother gasps audibly, turning away with a look of pure disgust, while Topper and Ruthie exchange uneasy glances before staring straight ahead, feigning composure.

The meeting begins, and the air grows heavy. The topic: the property you once called home. The land that held your childhood memories. People exchange confused glances, murmurs rippling through the crowd. The leader of the meeting steps forward, explaining that the floor is open for anyone to speak.

Before you can react, JJ bolts upright, ready to unload his anger. You and John B yank him back into his seat.

“No, not you,” you hiss, glancing around nervously.

John B stands, and his voice fills the room. He speaks from the heart, his words a powerful blend of truth and desperation. But as he finishes, the silence feels deafening. That’s when Dale stands, his presence heavy and calculated.

Dale’s voice is smooth, almost rehearsed, as he talks about an “injunction” that supposedly invalidates JJ’s auction win. He mentions a promissory note that the bank failed to honor, claiming it renders the sale void. The crowd shifts uneasily, whispers of confusion and anger spreading like wildfire.

Then, Dale gestures toward the back of the room. “The rightful owner,” he says.

Luke rises, and the room explodes into chaos. Shouts echo as people recognize him. You feel your chest tighten, anger and betrayal clashing in a storm inside you.

“Sorry,” Luke says, his voice hollow. His apology feels like a slap in the face.

“Sorry?” JJ spits, his voice venomous.

“Save it,” you snap, cutting Luke off.

Dale drones on, spewing corporate jargon about what they plan to do with the land. But you know better. You see through the lies. They want to strip it away, crush the community, and take what little they all have left.

Your anger boils over. You charge at your father, shoving him hard.

Kie’s voice breaks through. She turns around to stare down Luke,  “JJ and y/n loved you, they shouldn’t have but they did,” she says, anger in her eyes.

“You only ever looked out for yourself! You never gave a shit about us” you shout, the room’s noise dimming under the weight of your words.

Your father doesn’t fight back, his expression a mixture of guilt and sadness.

You falter for a moment, your chest heaving, but the rage inside you keeps burning.

Behind you, JJ suddenly storms past, his movements purposeful. You barely have time to react before he grabs a chair and hurls it through the nearest window. The sound of shattering glass ignites the room into chaos. Police officers rush in, but JJ doesn’t back down. He fights them, swinging and shouting until they finally wrestle him into a squad car.

“Guys, get him!” you yell to Pope and John B.

Pope leaps into action, climbing onto the back of the truck. With a loud crash, he smashes the rear window, and he and John B pull JJ out.

“Go, J! You’ll be fine—you always are,” you say, grabbing his face and locking eyes with him for a moment. Then you push him to run, and he takes off into the night.

Your group gathers around you, their faces tense but resolute.

“I gotta get home to V. You got him?”

Pope nods. “We got him. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I know you do, just wanted to hear it,” you reply, watching them disappear after JJ.

By the time you get home, your anger is still simmering. You step inside to find Rafe lounging on the couch with V in his arms. He looks up as you enter, his expression cautious.

“How was it?” he asks, his voice careful.

You ignore him, your thoughts too clouded by everything that’s happened. Despite the changes Rafe has made, despite the family you’ve built together, there’s a part of you that can’t separate him from the Kooks.

“Hello?” he calls, his voice following you into the kitchen.

“Like you give a shit,” you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

Rafe sets V in her high chair and walks toward you. “What’d you say?”

You turn, and he’s already towering over you. “Like. You. Give. A. Shit.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snaps, his tone sharper now. “You come in upset, and I’m not allowed to care?”

“No, not when you’re one of them,” you fire back, your arms crossed as you glare up at him.

“What happened, y/n?” He lets out a big sigh, signaling his frustration with you.

“The rich always win—that’s what happened,” you say bitterly.

The words spill out of you, your anger finding its target. You recount the meeting in vivid detail, emphasizing every injustice, every betrayal.

“I hate them, Rafe. With every fiber of my being. And Topper and Ruthie? They were there, smirking like they owned the damn place.”

Rafe sighs, but you cut him off before he can speak.

“That place is my home. Those people are my family. They helped raise me, JJ and John B since our parents didn't care enough to. I didn’t die of malnourishment as a child thanks to Mr and Mrs. Baxter down the road. I didn’t have to wear the same 3 outfits every day, because Ms. Houlihan would provide me with her daughter’s hand-me-downs. I wouldn’t have made it out of my house alive if Mr. Maden hadn’t heard my screams when my father was beating me and my brother and intervened, taking us home with him. You will never understand what it is like to be from there. There’s an actual sense of community. We look out for each other. You couldn’t say the same for this side of the island, could you”

You continue.

“I don’t care about my house. I know you’ll protect me. I can always work something out for JJ. The people that have no choice but to stay, they still care and I care about them. Those people work their asses off every single day. All of that happened to me and I’m still proud, because of people like them. I will raise my daughter to respect them just as much as I do. Not look down on them or not care that their lives are about to be ripped from them.”

Rafe shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

You roll your eyes, you really don't mean to take it on him, he didn't have anything to do with what happened. You just feel an insane amount of guilt coming home to this house, when all the people you love went home terrified wondering how long they have left in theirs. Rafe was partly to blame for this feeling, giving you space in his home and that’s why you couldn’t hold in that anger with him. This is just all too much for you.

“V needs a bath tonight. I’m going to bed,” you mutter, brushing past him.

Hours later, sleep still evades you. You hear Rafe come in, his footsteps soft. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple.

“I have another meeting. Will you be okay?” he whispers.

You nod without a word, and he leaves.

Once the front door closes, you slip into V’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically. Tears sting your eyes as you stroke her cheek.

She’ll never know the struggles you did, and for that, you’re grateful. But she’ll know where you came from. She’ll be proud of both sides of her family.

You pick her up and carry her to your bed, pulling her close. Her soft breaths lull you to sleep.

When Rafe returns, he finds the two of you curled up together. For a moment, he stands there, a small smile spreading across his face. Changing quickly, he climbs into bed, draping an arm over both of you.

As sleep takes him, the steady rhythm of your breathing and V’s soothes him, filling the room with a quiet sense of peace.

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

The next morning, sunlight filters through the blinds as you wake up, feeling lighter than you did yesterday. Glancing down, you see V laying beside you patiently, her little hands fidgeting with the blanket. A soft smile plays on your lips as you look over at Rafe, sprawled on his back with his mouth slightly open, snoring softly. Even in this unguarded state, there’s a rare peace to his face, one you don’t see often.  

Carefully, you lift V and tiptoe out of the room, letting Rafe sleep a little longer. In the kitchen, you place her in her high chair, giving her a few toys to keep her entertained while you prepare her oatmeal and set the coffee machine to brew. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air as you hum softly, stealing glances at your daughter, who babbles happily to herself.  

When Rafe eventually makes his way downstairs, coffee mug in hand, there’s a cautiousness in his step. He hesitates near the counter, watching you, unsure of where you stand after last night. You meet his gaze and close the distance between you. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his chest.  

“I’m sorry for last night,” you say quietly, squeezing him a little tighter. “My outburst wasn’t fair to you.”  

Rafe doesn’t miss a beat, his arms circling your back. “You don’t need to apologize. You were right—I don’t understand. But if it’s something you’re passionate about, I care about it too. I’ll help you however I can.” He pulls back slightly to look down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  

You blink up at him, half in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that. You wanna help the Cut?” you tease lightly.  

“For you? I’d do anything,” he replies, sincerity evident in his tone. His hand cups the back of your head, drawing you into a kiss that lingers longer than either of you expected.  

The soft hiss of water boiling over breaks the moment. You pull away with a laugh, rushing to the stove to tend to V’s oatmeal. Rafe stays close, his fingers brushing your waist as he leans against the counter.  

“I’ve got to stop by the docks today,” you tell him, plating V’s food. “Left some things on the boat the other day. I’ll take her with me, and we’ll just hang out for a bit.”  

Rafe nods, sipping his coffee. “I’ve got some meetings to handle, but maybe we can meet for lunch?”  

“Sounds perfect,” you agree, leaning into him as he plants a kiss on your shoulder before heading upstairs to get ready.  

By the time you arrive at the dock, it’s mid-morning. You set up a shady little play area for V, making sure she has water and snacks. While she plays happily, you spread out a towel nearby, basking in the warm sun. Every so often, you glance over at her, marveling at how much joy she brings into your life.  

After about thirty minutes, you scoop her up and hold her to your chest, brushing your fingers through her soft, honey-blonde curls. The simple act fills you with a sense of calm and gratitude, and you lose track of time.  

It’s nearly 11:30 when you realize you need to pack up and meet Rafe. As you gather your things, movement on a nearby boat catches your eye. Hollis. You’ve only met her once, but that was enough to form a strong dislike. Despite your better judgment, you approach, intending to keep things civil for Rafe’s sake. But you freeze when someone else steps into view.  

Sofia.  

Confusion twists your features as you inch closer, straining to hear their conversation.  

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me now that I’ve exposed your scam?” Sofia’s voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet.  

You scoff silently, disbelief washing over you.  

“I risked doing this for someone I loved,” Sofia continues, her tone laced with bitterness. “Just for you to screw him over like this?”  

“Loved?” Hollis echoes mockingly. “That’s right—I met his other special lady a few weeks ago. You got your money, no? What’s the problem?”  

You hear the rustle of papers.  

“This is the legal contract,” Hollis says. “Me, Chandler, Goat Island—it’s all there. You played your boyfriend. I could ruin your family in three phone calls.”  

Sofia rushes off the boat moments later, stopping abruptly when she spots you. Her face pales, guilt written all over her.  

“How much?” you demand, your voice sharp and unwavering.  

“$25,000,” Sofia mumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Plus some—”  

You cut her off, your tone dripping with disdain. “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. Just as good as you, apparently.”  

Your glare lingers before you brush past her, the weight of what you’ve overheard sinking in.  

As you drive to meet Rafe, your thoughts churn. Sure, you’ve played him before—for the right reasons. When he was lost, blinded by his father’s expectations, you stepped in to stop him from spiraling further. But this? This was different.  

Sofia hadn’t just hurt Rafe; she’d betrayed the version of him he’s been working so hard to become. The version that puts his family first, especially V. That makes her actions feel even more unforgivable. 

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

You spot Rafe waiting for you outside the restaurant, leaning casually against his truck with a grin on his face. V lights up at the sight of him, and her little arms reach out as he scoops her up effortlessly.  

“Bout time,” he teases, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before dropping one on V’s head. “I thought you girls were gonna stand me up.”  

“Never,” you reply, forcing a playful smile, though the tension in your chest lingers. The encounter with Sofia still weighs heavy on your mind.  

The three of you settle into a cozy booth, and you do your best to keep the mood light. But your silence must have been louder than you realized because Rafe eventually breaks it.  

“How was the boat? Even though it was docked,” he jokes, trying to draw you out.  

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. “Good,” you reply quickly. “It was a nice time for the two of us.” You glance at V, who’s happily nibbling on her crackers.  

The waiter brings your food, and while Rafe digs in with enthusiasm, you find yourself pushing your meal around on your plate.  

“Rafe,” you begin hesitantly, “I’m starting to get worried that this is a scam.”  

You’re trying to convince him some other way than exposing Sofia. She was really a nice girl, from the same place as you. You grew up together, you hung out together, worked at the country club together. Her family let you crash on their couch to get away from Luke. $25,000 can go a long way for someone like us. That town council meeting really screwed with your head. She was also really happy with Rafe and you came back just to ruin all of that.

Partly blaming yourself for that decision to betray him, not knowing it was Rafes' own words that made her do it, not you. Even though you didn't know that she overheard something he said, you've been on that end of the stick with him many times and know the pain it could cause despite you caring so deeply about him. 

He looks up from his plate, his brows knitting together. “What? You told me you’d support me in my decision. The one I made for us.” He gestures toward you and V. “Now you think I made a mistake?”  

“That’s not it,” you insist, setting your fork down. “Hollis was docked next to your boat. I overheard her saying some weird things. It just… made me uneasy, that’s all.”  

Rafe leans back, his jaw tightening as he absorbs your words. For a moment, he says nothing, then shakes his head.  

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, though there’s an edge to his tone. “It’s supposed to go through in a few days anyway. So, your opinion of what you *think* you heard doesn’t matter anymore.” His expression softens slightly as a smirk creeps onto his face. “We’ll be swimming in cash, baby.”  

The sudden change in his demeanor catches you off guard, but you decide not to push further. For now, at least. You know how stubborn Rafe can be, and pushing him too hard might only make things worse.  

As V babbles happily in her high chair, you force a smile and nod along. But deep down, the unease remains, tangled up with guilt, doubt, and the unresolved question of how to handle the truth about Sofia. 

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

You arrive home after a full day out with Rafe and V, feeling the kind of exhaustion that’s both fulfilling and draining. The park had been a blast, shopping for V had you both laughing over baby shoes and tiny outfits, and dinner ended with V fast asleep in her car seat.  

Rafe carefully carries her inside, her little face nestled against his shoulder. He whispers, "I’ve got her," as he heads upstairs to lay her in her crib. You head to your shared bedroom, the quiet of the house settling over you like a blanket.  

Changing into a tank top and sleep shorts, you sit on the edge of the bed, your mind drifting. It doesn’t take long before Rafe joins you. He walks in quietly and sits next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder. His lips are warm and unhurried, and when he moves your hair aside, you instinctively tilt your head to give him better access.  

He shifts, kneeling between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs as he continues kissing your neck. There’s a tenderness to his movements, but when he tugs at the hem of your tank top, you stop him with a raised eyebrow.  

“Really? Now?” you tease, though your tone is more amused than annoyed.  

“Just want a quick taste of you, angel,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.  

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Looking into his eyes, you reply, “How can I resist that?”  

Rafe doesn’t waste a second. He softly guides you to lie back on the bed, his touch firm but careful. He slips your sleep shorts down, his hands trailing along your legs as he spreads your thighs. The look in his eyes is one of complete focus, as though nothing else exists but you.  

He starts slowly, planting featherlight kisses on your inner thighs, inching closer to your center. His lips finally reach their destination, and his tongue moves in deliberate, practiced strokes. You arch your back, your fingers gripping his arm that’s wrapped around your thigh as he applies just the right amount of pressure.  

“Rafe... oh my God,” you cry out, your breath catching as the waves of your climax crash over you. He doesn’t stop until he’s sure you’ve ridden out every last sensation.  

When he finally pulls back, his chin glistening with evidence of his handiwork, he smirks and leans forward to rest his head on your stomach. His arms wrap around your waist as he clings to you, clearly satisfied with himself.  

You laugh softly, still catching your breath, and nudge him off gently. “Alright, Casanova, let’s get some sleep. I’ve got to meet my brother tomorrow.”  

Rafe groans playfully but gets up, changing into a pair of sweatpants before sliding under the covers. As you pull your shorts back on and climb into bed, he immediately reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.  

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispers against your hair, his voice heavy with contentment.  

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, letting the warmth of his embrace lull you to sleep. 

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

Taglist - click to join my general list

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative @writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @percysley @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

I like to think if Jason was really adopted by Talia and was an official Al ghul, he would tell everyone about his Mastermind plans at a family dinner without any shame.

And no one wants to stop him because they all know it's easier to kill half the heroes in America than to stop Jason from doing what he's doing alive, even if he's actually dead It won't affect anything

To them it was just the emo phase of a teenager with too much hormones, so they just let him run wild in Gotham. Because they clearly knew that in the end he would come back crying

So when he comes back nay's failure is just a sign that he's finally out of his rebellious and emo phase, and means there's new blackmail material.

Talia: you know I Will still love you Habibi, don't worry your failure is nothing for me. You still my baby boy

Jason: mom stop, I'm not-

Talia: I know I know you are sad that bruce didnt choose you, Don't worry, I will always love you

Jason: please stop mom

Ra's: I'm disappointed in you but this is something I expected from the start

Jason: I don't care about your opinion old man

Ra's: but you do care about other assassin opinion on your crying picture Right

Jason: I hate you

Damian: I don't understand why you didn't just kill that clown

Jason: Damian please not you to

Damian: sorry akhi but since you told me about your plan I already think that so stupid

Jason: you wont understand it habibi

Damian: tell me so I can understand it then akhi

Jason: no

Mara: sometimes I forget that you can be so stupid

Jason: don't you dare mara

Mara: You know if you give up on being the heir to the demon head I won't spread the photo of you crying in Miss Talia's arms

Jason: this why I hate you all

Nyssa: you look like your mother when she also get out of her emo phase

Jason: I'm not emo motherfucker

Nyssa: I think you just Denying the truth my dear nephew

Jason: NU uh

Some random assassins: hey how about you-

Jason: finish that sentence and you'll regret being born

The random assassin:

Jason: good

[demonicbaby666]

i. A late night text

Feelings Are Fatal Masterlist | Masterlists | ii

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Words: 5.4k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, fingering, oral sex, alcohol mentioned

It was a single text. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

It was nothing of significance. 

‘What are you doing?’

It painted light on your blackened phone in the dead of that Friday night. When you should have been out with friends and not rotting in bed with Netflix pulled up on your laptop and a family-sized pack of Doritos nestled at your side. The city roared with life. The hustle and bustle of busybodies dancing, shouting and singing called so desperately for your attention. The universe begged you to live for once, not for anyone else but for yourself. 

‘What are you doing?’

You knew what it meant–the true meaning behind messages sent after dusk and before dawn. They pulled uncomfortably at the muscles in the stomach, forced gooseflesh to pebble the expanse of your arms and raised the hairs on your skin to stand tall. They made you weak, ripped your resolve to shreds and forced the self-preservation you built for yourself to melt. 

Regardless of the outcome always being the same, every night, you told yourself, would be the night you’d be strong. You’d put your phone on silent, place it to the side facing down, and recommence a wild evening of trash TV in which you would think nothing of debauchery. 

‘What are you doing?’

Ten minutes. It was your max. Ten fucking minutes and the blasted, overpriced hunk of metal was in your hands as you nervously stared at the three dots that seemed to be taunting you, flickering back and forth until another grey bubble burst into light. 

‘Case is closed. I’m back home.’ 

You were better than this; you had enough respect for yourself not to do this. You didn't need to answer someone’s beck and all. 

The clattering of words typed out on your phone filled the sorrowful silence. 

‘I’m outttttttt at the mo. Gimme 20 and I’ll make my way over.’

The necessary number of Ts needed was one, but it didn't hurt to overplay the whole ‘out on a Friday night’ thing, and it wouldn’t be the first time either of you had liquor running through your systems during one of your nightcaps, even if it was a lie this time. It was a needed lie. The tattered pyjamas you wore and the mess on your head wouldn’t paint the image you wanted in JJ’s mind. Dancing amongst friends and strangers, hot and horny, that was better suited to your dynamic–which, simply put, was emotionless fucking. 

Time, it would seem, was not on your side. This was unfortunate because, even if your clothes were to end up on JJ’s floor, you still had to think through what to wear to both give the illusion you were flitting from club to club and impress JJ enough to have her distracted from the fact you were so quick to drop everything and come crawling. 

It was exhausting–the need to make her want you more than she supposedly already did, the hollowness that accompanied every late-night visit you paid her, the following mornings you spent in a taxi crying on the way home, smelling the sweetness of her perfume on whatever article of clothing you'd borrowed from her. Most painful of all was knowing she’d never feel the same. 

You needed it to stop. This needed to stop. 

She was your best friend, for Christ's sake. You were, in plain and simple terms, your best friend’s fucking booty call. Your best friend with whom you were so stupidly and utterly infatuated, it’d been a miracle you hadn’t outright admitted you loved her amid a mind-blowing orgasm—which she had given you several. 

All it would take was one text. Your fingers itched to type the words out as you stood over your unmade bed, teeth mindlessly nibbling at your bottom lip. 

‘It's over. I can’t do this anymore.’

A single finger hovered over that blue arrow. You’d only have to click send, and all of this would be over. You could go back to pretending you were JJ’s friend, that it didn’t hurt when she was away on a case and most likely sharing a bed with a far more attractive woman than yourself, because needs must and all, that it didn’t affect you that she only looked at you with such fervency when she needed an outlet for her stress and that you most certainly did not want anything more than unembellished platonic love from her. 

Your body’s need for her won out with the selection and subsequent deletion of the message.

The only dress available was one far too short for the evening air, and frantically searching for another was not an option when you were already lost in half sets of lingerie. So, you settled, even if it meant risking your legs to hypothermia. Even if it meant wearing a g-string in favour of finishing your makeup because that was the only pair of underwear you could find with a matching bra. It didn’t necessarily aid you in any way that the rightly impatient Uber driver outside was threatening to wake the whole block with a blaring horn. 

It was pathetic. You knew it. The driver knew it from the second you tumbled into the car out of breath and dressed like a hooker. Still, he was kind enough to greet you with a grunt and murmur of your name, instead choosing to silently judge you through his rearview mirror and remain silent for the duration of the drive. 

The city lights glinted defiantly against the blighting dark. You watched, mesmerised, as street lamps, neon signs, and lone candles swaying in closing restaurants bled into one. They morphed into one big blur until they were slowly replaced by the quiet stirring of TV screens and dwindling dimmed bedroom lights. 

The area housing JJ’s apartment was quiet, eerily so. Only the hum of the engine, the distant shrill of a car horn, and the crunch of tyres against asphalt as everything came to a halt could be heard through the dense silence. 

Another glare from the rearview mirror afforded you no extra time to prepare for what was to come. Your only comfort was a deep breath and a silent prayer that your emotions wouldn’t step out of line as you reached for the handle and pushed the door open. 

Blonde hair greeted you as you exited the stuffy Uber, and immediately, you were pulled into a warm embrace so tight you could smell the familiar scent of JJ’s shampoo–honey and home. You’d missed this. You’d missed her. With hands at your waist eagerly pulling you in, you lost yourself in the feel of the warm body pressed against your front. 

Occasions like these kept you coming; you were a scavenger, living off scraps. Pitiful was what it was, yet you couldn’t find the strength not to come running when JJ called. It was easy to pretend that evenings like these meant more than they did, that JJ wanted you more than just for your body, that you wouldn’t meet up with her in a couple of days for a coffee and act like none of this had happened. 

When your bodies perfectly slotted against each other outside her apartment complex, your head nestled in her neck, and her lips hovering over your cheek, it was hard to think of yourself as anything other than made for one another. They were the type of thoughts you kept under lock and key, aware but discontent that they’d always exist for you and you alone. 

You’d learnt to live that way because you knew your feelings were woven so deep into the fabric of your being that it was hard to imagine a life without them. Somehow, you knew JJ had always been there, rooted so deep in your heart, that having her infinitesimally, compared to how you wanted her, was better than not having her at all—even if it hurt, even if it turned your tears to acid as they burned your cheeks. 

“You smell nice,” you mindlessly sighed into the warmth of JJ’s neck. It couldn’t be helped. Slips always happened when she was affectionate. 

“You smell like vodka,” She chuckled. 

So what if you had a shot or three before racing down to the Uber? After all, you had a lie to sell and were nothing if not committed to the gambit. 

“Yes, well, I was out,” You muttered. 

Shaking yourself out of your love-fueled daze, you attempted, and subsequently failed, to peel yourself out of JJ’s embrace. Her hands were stellar on your waist, refusing to budge. However, you couldn’t say you minded, not when she slowly walked backwards and spun the both of you so your back was to the wall. A thin smirk lined her rosy lips, and you settled on lightly slapping her chest when she wouldn’t release you in reprimand for her earlier comment. 

“But then I got a tempting text from a certain somebody.” 

“Pray tell, what was so tempting about this text?” 

You reminded yourself why you were here and, more importantly, what you were here for. 

“It wasn’t the text itself. It was how wet I got when I realised who it was from,” you replied, running your tongue along your lip. 

“Fuck,” JJ growled, her pupils dilating. The release of your waist was quickly remedied by the grip of her hand sliding into yours and the eager jerk of her pulling you through the complex’s doors.

Unlike your own, JJ’s apartment was spacious. Despite there being a certain emptiness in the place, it had character. There was the mustard couch you’d spent many evenings eating ice cream on, binge-watching whatever JJ decided to throw on. There was the vintage coffee table you’d helped pick out and carry back from the local thrift store that had honestly seen better days now that it was marked with one too many wine stains. There were the pictures that dotted stone grey walls bright with happy memories—a couple with the team, some with just the BAU girls and the ones you most treasured, the ones with only the two of you. 

In a delicately carved rustic frame was the picture of you and JJ at Sandbridge Beach. She was buried up to the neck in sand and had on her goofy smile, the one that showed all her teeth. You stood proudly above her, plastic shovel in hand, with an equally goofy smile of your own tugging at your lips. You looked happy. 

It was packed that day, but after the three-hour drive filled with 2000s tunes and an unhealthy amount of Cheetos that JJ demanded she be fed, you weren’t about to turn back around. She was adamant about that. So you pretended that no one else was at that beach, that the people next to you weren’t rolling their eyes at your childish antics, that the water wasn’t polluted with the masses when JJ lifted you, slinging your legs around her waist and died with laughter as she dunked the both of you under cold salty shores. You were happy.

There was something so bittersweet about staring at these memories built on friendship. The reminder of what your relationship truly was tugged at your chest each time you burst through those apartment doors. Of course, you wouldn't have it the other way. Your place was no better; if anything, it was worse; in the foundations of every nook and cranny, there was a memory of your and JJ’s friendship. No, being here was more manageable. At JJ’s, you could - as you always did - leave in the morning and find solace in your empty bed, find peace in soaking your pillow with tears, relish in the shame of knowing in only a few nights, you’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 

“Tell me you weren’t out for long,” JJ groaned from behind you, hands mapping a path down your back, resting on the curve of your ass. You could feel the frustration bubbling in her chest. “Dressed like this.”

You only just about managed to say, “An hour or two,” before the blonde had you turned around, lips turning your brain to mush as she kissed you for the first time that evening. Though sudden, it was entirely welcome, and how could it not have been when she tasted so sweet? 

The first time you sampled her was five months prior. It was after you hosted a small gathering at your place, where drinks flowed freely, and laughter was heard from every corner. She stayed that evening when the place wasn’t nearly messy enough to need help. With a bin bag in her hand and conversation light on her tongue, she collected cups and wrappers, wiped surfaces down, and when there was nothing else to do, she crept up behind you and whispered all the sinful things she wanted to do to you the second she saw you in that dress. 

Garcia introduced the two of you five years before; for most of those years, you’d pined for JJ, longed for her, and loved her. It started small, like falling in love with how she looked after Garcia. Then, when the two of you began to spend more time alone, it was the way her eyes shone under low lights, the way her hair looked after it was windswept and slightly knotted. 

After that night, it was the smell she left on your pillow, the tingling she left between your legs, and the smile she plastered on your face. Then, as all things go, because happiness was not a thing you got to experience for long, life took it away. 

The following day, she was gone. The right side of your bed was empty and cold. 

You didn’t think much of that morning. Bursting through Garcia’s door, sitting on her couch and crying your eyes out wasn’t a fond memory. The blonde was kind enough not to pry, kinder to let you stay the day, then night. By the following day, you’d built your walls back up and reminded yourself that what you felt for JJ was one-sided and what she wanted from you would never be what you wanted from her. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

This. She meant this, surely. She’d missed the sex. Not you, never you. Telling yourself that was supposed to help, yet it only intensified the sting of longing caged within your chest. 

When JJ’s tongue pushed eagerly into your mouth, the small squeak that echoed in your throat morphed into a liquid moan, and you thought nothing more of her admission. If you did, with most things regarding JJ, it’d have driven you crazy. Instead, you focussed on the fingers skimming down the back of your dress, curling at its hem and delving under. Her touch was feather light at your thigh, and whilst you appreciated her being gentle any other time, now was not the time. 

You didn’t want her to treat you like a glass figurine, like you were something she could break, because she’s already broken you, and her light touches and soft kisses would never be enough to put you back together. 

No. Only crushing you over and over with an iron fist and sex-addled savagery would compensate. 

With one hand firmly placed on JJ’s shoulder, you moved the other to her questing fingers. Tearing them away from their tender endeavours, you rose them higher and higher till they were ghosting over your sex, mere millimetres away from your soaked panties. 

“Someone’s in a rush,” JJ laughed, nipping down the length of your throat. 

“Well, I assumed I wasn’t summoned here for casual banter.”

“The kitten has claws,” the blonde mumbled, continuing her descent to your neck. There, her pearly teeth nibbled at your thudding pulse point while her fingers remained vexingly still. 

“Stop talking.” 

Somewhere between dragging JJ out of the longue and into her bedroom, she had managed to unzip your dress and gift it to the corridor floor. You were equal in your endeavours, ridding her of her t-shirt, unbuckling and pulling leather through belt loops. Between all the kissing, it was an impressive yet chaotic sight. 

By the time you arrived at the foot of her bed, you both had quite the view, JJ more so. 

The look she got in her eyes was something you’d never forget. It was as though she was trying to take every part of you in at once. You were the open spread at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and she didn’t know what to begin with. That look was scorched into the back of your eyes and ingrained into every late-night fantasy. This time, however, it was shadowed by a look of something darker. 

“Were you planning on meeting someone?” she asked, taking a small step back and frowning. 

“What?” 

You looked down, admiring your lingerie set with great pride, until realisation dawned on you. Before coming to JJ’s, you were ‘out’ without knowing where you would end the night. The red lace cladding your breast and sparse over your cunt would have led anyone to believe you wanted to entertain a particular type of company, and whilst any willing participant would have no qualms with seeing you in such a set, the look in JJ’s judgemental eyes told you she was not partial to that thought. 

“That is not a night out with the girls' set of underwear.” Her eyes were back to roaming your body, only now the attention seemed more desperate. 

“Would you rather I take them off?” You tried to rid the room of tension with a sprinkle of seductive humour. Entertaining the thought she felt she had some claim over you was moronic. 

Maybe it wasn’t the answer she was looking for. Or perhaps it was. Maybe this was all a game of chess, and she would always remain two steps ahead. 

Whatever it was, you knew your part in it was a mere pawn. Your job would always be to heed and obey but put up a bit of a fight, come when called, but don’t let it be known you’re desperate, take and give pleasure, but don’t let any memories of it fester inside you and bring up feelings of true significance. 

At the latter, you’d failed - even if love blossomed in your heart years ago - but you could do the rest. 

“Or I could go put my dress back on. If the image isn’t to your liking?” You look over her shoulder into the corridor, where your dress lay in wait.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, voice low and gravelly, fingers pinching your chin to force your gaze back to her. 

Her eyes were two glaziers, flecks of grey pebbling her irises like raindrops on a sheet of water. Surely, you committed a heinous crime in a previous life, and this was your penance–to be tortured over and over again by your own heart, to kiss this beautiful and kind woman, have opened the depths of your soul to her, and have her see nothing but a body in which she could use to decompress and view as nothing more than a friend come morning. 

These evenings, blanketed by the cover of night and veiled under the guise of necessity, would be the most you would ever have of her. And, yes, it was selfish to take and take, trick her into believing you were using her in the same way she was using you, but your punishment came swiftly. It was delivered to you on a tray of coal the mornings after, and time and time again, you invited the sordid torment into your home with an enveloping hug and salty tears. 

Fingers dipping into your panties drew your attention away from the tempests of JJ’s eyes, and through the lump in your throat came a gasp, morphing into a moan when JJ slid down to your sex. 

“You weren’t kidding about how wet you got.” JJ tilted your head ever so slightly to the side to nibble at your earlobe, sending a single electric current running down your spine. It was joined shortly by a second when the blonde sucked her shimmering fingers to her mouth. 

“When have I ever lied to you?” You asked, somewhat winded. Except a couple of minutes ago, alongside every time I pretend not to hold you in my heart. “This is what you do to me.” At least that wasn’t a lie. 

While JJ was momentarily distracted by your admission, you took the opportunity to level your state of undress. Dropping to your knees, you tugged her trousers down and over her ankles, pressing kisses into the meat of her thighs. She showed no reservation or aversion. If anything, her fingers threading through your hair was a cue to offer her more from your auspicious position. 

And offer, you did. 

Moving her underwear to the side, you breathed in the sugared scent of her and felt saliva gather at the sides of your mouth as plain want turned to ardent need. Somehow, by some miracle, you were allowed to do this—taste the most intimate area of JJ’s body, hear her moan above you and watch the gentle push and pull of her chest grow rapid. 

Restraint was not something your nighttime companion liked to exercise, so it came as no shock when she used her sturdy grip to urge you closer. Despite her silent request for more, JJ’s head still jerked back and let out a rather loud ‘oh my god’ when you followed instructions and sucked her clit into your mouth. But her reactions had never previously bothered you, and they weren’t suddenly about to. 

You let them guide you. 

When her moans became strained and whiny, you knew to slow down. When her left knee twitched ever so slightly, you knew to move a smidge to the right. And when one of her legs hooked over your shoulder, you knew to bury as many fingers as she could take inside her and pump till her throat was raw and cum was dripping down your chin. 

“You’re too good at that,” JJ happily sighed, dropping her thigh down from your shoulder and mustering the strength to pull you to your feet. 

Happy to taste herself on your tongue, the blonde leaned forward, slotting your lips together and letting loose a contented hum. You matched her vocal bliss, growing nosier with the removal of your bra and the playful tweaking of your nipples. Her touch was addictive, and your hips pledged to reveal as much. They slaved away, trying to locate anything to grind down on, first the sticky material of your ruined panties, then, with great relief, the toned length of JJ’s thigh. 

The inner turmoil settled down, quieted by the hastening pumping of your heart. You welcomed the fall onto JJ’s bed with a mere squeak and watched enamoured as she rid herself of her bra and underwear, then moved onto the mere strip of material keeping her from seeing you fully and gloriously bare. 

You smirked at the wolfish glint in JJ’s eyes, the slight parting of her lips as she let out a shaky breath and spread your legs–an invitation to fill the vacant space with her body. 

It seemed that JJ had other plans. In one swooping move, she had you flipped on your stomach, manoeuvring your body till your cheek was pressed against crumpled sheets, ass raised high in the air, and ankles hanging off the bottom of her bed. 

“You’re perfect,” JJ breathlessly whispered, crouching down and using the pads of her thumbs to part your folds. The casualness of voicing such a thought left you dizzy. 

Why did she always have to do that? Take your breath away with words alone, and on top of that, act like it meant nothing. It meant something to you. It vexingly meant too much to you. She threw these compliments about, always sounding so sure, so firm in her belief that they were fact and not opinion. 

“JJ,” you whined, growing restless with the influx of poignant thoughts, desperate for more than her warm breath hovering over your sex. 

“Yes?” she feigned innocence, taunting you with her candied tone. 

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath to alleviate some of the tension growing taunt in your stomach. “I swear to god if you don’t-”

Your own drawn-out cry cut you off. JJ’s tongue was back on you, only now it was consistently moving up and down the length of your pussy, occasionally circling the bundle of your nerves waiting at the apex of your sex. Even if it had only been slightly under a week since you last tumbled under bed sheets with the blonde or two days since you stuck your hand beneath pyjama bottoms and tended to your own needs, you were convinced the releasing tension burrowed deep into your bones had been gathering for not days, but months or years, waiting to be granted this kind of attention. 

Her tongue was insistent, steadfast on your clit from the moment she suckled it into her mouth like a starving baby to its mother's tit. She moved feverishly fast, then lulled her pace. The press of her tongue was harsh on you, then so light you barely felt the echo of it on your clit. Over and over, fast then slow, concrete then pillow soft until finally, she had you dribbling between whines and moans, your knuckles white with the force of your hold on bedsheets. 

The fiery inferno intensifying deep within your gut was utterly unruly. Its heat burned from your core up to your chest, down to the tips of your toes, which hung precariously off the end of the bed. Every word leaving your mouth was incomprehensible. They came out muffled, embedding themselves deep into crinkled cotton, and honestly, you were thankful. Between your senses leaving your body the moment JJ touched you and the disappearance of any inclination to keep things platonic between you, you knew what you wanted to say, or rather were trying to say, would have thrown a wrench into this delicate dynamic you both shared. 

A cry resembling JJ’s name echoed in your ears as she picked up her pace, ceasing her teasing touches and now favouring consistent flicks of her tongue. 

Abruptly, she stood up, and you would have vocalised your annoyance had it not been for what she did next. Using the full force of her body, she slotted her fingers in and out of you at what could only be deemed a brutal pace. Each thrust ended with fingertips grazing your g-spot, something the blonde never failed to hit, edging you closer to the summit of your release. 

“Touch yourself,” JJ panted from behind you, sounding almost as wrecked as you felt. 

You let out a hiss, your nipples so very sensitive as they brushed against cotton sheets in a desperate attempt to work your hand down to your clit. It was an outward struggle to maintain a repetitive pattern, the slip and slide of arousal making it impossible to work the set of nerves for any longer than a few seconds, but your efforts were not in vain. 

The flutters of pleasure rolling around in your stomach were hastening, the shuddering of your canal walls around slender fingers was intensifying, and all the while, JJ’s misshaped voice echoed in your ears, becoming more and more muffled. 

Pinpricks of light burst behind your eyelids, a fire roared in your stomach, and your hips caved to carnal need, uncontrollably rutting forward and back with the careful aid of JJ’s unoccupied hand. 

Your body was being ripped apart. Every inch of you stretched so thin that you were sure this would be when you’d break with ‘Jennifer’ on your tongue and adoration heavy in your heart. 

JJ did not let you lose yourself as you plummeted into the fiery pits of your orgasm. Her fingers, still tucked inside your twitching cunt, swept back and forth, hell-bent on prolonging the undulating pleasure coursing through your core. Her lips, pressed against your neck, moved lower to your arched spine where she lay kiss after gentle kiss. And her words, a second ago, hot and demanding, were now kind and coaxing. 

She tended to do this–piece you back together without having ever known she tore you apart, often until you were spent and your limbs immobilised. That night was no exception. You gave as good as you got, ignoring the orange and yellow hues painting the horizon outside the window and the cruel reality they brought with them. It was when you could no longer keep your eyes open that you succumbed to the pull of sleep. 

—

Most mornings, you’d wake up alone. Whilst it was a depressing reality to some to turn and find your sheets cold, it was what you’d learnt to prefer. There was, of course, merit to opening your eyes and being greeted by the luminous sight of blonde hair and copious amounts of nakedness. The sight would always be welcome, that remained undisputed. It was the urges you quarrelled with in the early hours of dawn that you had an issue with. You’d think that months of sleeping together would teach you some restraint. Alas, whenever you woke up to the sight of JJ, all you wanted to do was curl into her, wake her with soft, affectionate kisses and beg her to make you her signature chocolate chip pancakes. 

That wasn’t written into your invisible contract. What was agreed, or what you decided was non-verbally agreed, was that you’d have sex, sometimes you’d stay for the night, and in the event you did, you’d be out of her hair before she started her day, so both of you and JJ were spared from any spontaneous love declarations. 

Still, it didn’t make it any easier to remove JJ’s arms from around your waist, to quietly slip out of bed and force yourself not to look back lest you fall right back into her arms. 

There was no chance you were returning home in the clothes you’d worn the night before; comfort was always essential for your walk of shame. So, you tip-toed over to JJ’s closet and slowly pulled the doors open. No matter how gentle you were, the hinges refused to allow you a peaceful exit, sending a painful squeak out into the morning quiet. 

“Where are you going?” JJ grumbled, and you tried so fucking hard not to fall more in love with her when she did that. When she acted as though it was weird for you to leave before breakfast, like she wanted you to stay. It was helpless; when her droopy eyes locked onto yours, you felt your heart race and your stomach flutter. How could anyone look so perfect, having only just woken up? 

“I’ve got a thing,” you muttered, throwing one of her sweatshirts over your head. 

“A thing?” She gave you a cautionary look when she once again managed to catch your attention, her disbelief cutting a crease between her eyebrows. “It’s too early for a thing. Come back to bed.” 

Why did she have to do that? Force you to break your heart by denying yourself the very thing you’d yearned for since the moment you met her. 

“I’m having coffee with Pen.” 

She begrudgingly sat up and levelled you with another condescending glare, “At this time?”

“Well, you see,” you said, staring back at JJ unstirred as you pulled on a pair of stolen leggings. “I have to go home and do this thing called having a shower so I don't meet our beloved friend looking and smelling like I spent a great portion of last night between your legs.”

“But-” 

You strode over, bending at the hip to cut her off with a chaste kiss, ignoring the pull of your heart to fall back into bed and pick up where you left off last night. For a bit longer, pretend that this was a real relationship where you could kiss the woman you loved whenever and wherever you wanted. 

“I’m going now,” you mumbled over her lips, ripping away to grab your phone and walk straight out of her bedroom. 

You heard a heavy sigh, the thud of her head defeatedly falling back on a pillow as you clambered out of the apartment, heart tucked under your sleeve, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. 

Taglist: @sincerestlove @hot4milfs @chestnutninny @theoneforhobbies @lez-talk1 @obsessedwjill | Click here to be added to the series taglist

[scentedpepper]

Missing | TWD

MALE READER X S5 GROUP

Summary: The group reverberates with a somberness upon your potential death

Content Warnings: Mention of Major Character Deaths from previous seasons, S5 and below spoilers

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Not too sure how I feel about this one

Could be read as GN for the most part (he/him used a few times, 'Father' used once, 'Brother' used once)

Was originally supposed to be centered around Daryl and Rick, but somewhere along the writing process, I devlled into just about every other member of the group

Ya'll know how many last names I had to look up for these tags

Enjoy?

_________________________________________

7 days.

Seven days of them searching for their found family member who went out to investigate and never came back.

Glenn thought for sure that maybe with all the shit they have been through, the apocalypse must have treated you a little kinder.

That was assuming you were already dead.

Which Rick, in all his glory, continued to remind everyone that until there is evidence, there are just as many possibilities as there are stars in the sky.

He thought it was a strange fit, all doom and gloom, it wasn't like Glenn to carry around the carcasses of such negative presumptions about his loved ones, but nonetheless, he had just the same.

An ever present reminder as the fire was stoked by Glenn's constant fidgets, his spaced-out breaths being released with the baggage of endless possibilities.

"Glenn's gonna lose it when he sees this one. "

Is what Daryl said to Rick on the night of day 5, your shirt clenched in hand, approaching the church with footsteps so heavy you could mistake them for Walkers.

The worst part, Rick thought, was how he had found it, which further fueled the possibility that couldn't help but arise.

A decaying Walker's den where there was a mass majority of bodies wearing clothes; Not Walker corpses.

Hopeless and without explanation Rick approached camp with a grim expression that took root in his features.

And when Daryl had handed the shirt to Glenn after he feverishly chanted let me see it, let me see it, over and over, Daryl observed the way his hand shook when he snatched it and how the same hand came up to rub his face after he confirmed in his own mind that, without a doubt, it was yours.

Maggie had to take the shirt from his hands and when she felt the dirt and grime ragged against her skin, she almost burst at the seams, Rick knew by the strain in her brows and the way her hands turned into fists at her side.

She was the first person Rick had questioned upon your missing presence, wanting to know who you had walked out with last night and who stayed behind, wanting to pinpoint possible places you might be, or routes you could've taken.

Her response was ridden with anxious adrenaline, her lips chewed raw in worry, bouncing on her toes before stomping off and pulling everyone together to go looking for you.

There was no conversation within the group but a mutual agreement.

Naturally, the first person they looked to for some account of wrongdoing was Gabriel.

You had always been so intuitive, like you were the one who could read minds not him.

The others felt so comforted by you, Gabriel assumed.

He was only too accustomed to the fact that everyone saw the good in you, the positive, and while that brought him a modicum of solace, there were times where he couldn't help but wallow in envy.

A man of God and yet, it was you who they looked to, as if you were Christ himself.

As if you were his light.

Gabriel couldn't understand this fascination.

When he had confronted you about it, rather presumptuously, Gabriel was too quick to gauge the situation and allow his ego to speak for him. Said confrontation also happened to occur right before Maggie and Sasha who shared pointed looks with each other as they watched the scene unfold before them.

You were quick on your toes, always had been. Back on the farm, when Shane had been more akin to a wild boar, you were always the first to confront him. Always calm, or whenever you spoke you at least had the appearance of it, always matter of fact. Even when your voice raised or when anger was seething through you, it seemed like everyone just stopped, and listened.

It was one of your redeeming traits, sharp tongue laced with facts that wouldn't hesitate to point out things that were missing, contradictions, positions and beliefs.

It left some satisfaction amongst the ton when Gabriel pushed out of Judith's designated room, nearly knocking Carl off his feet as the door came with his exit.

A flustered look had replaced him, no doubt having felt the embarrassment, as if he had been burning inside.

After a beat, he had apologized under his breath and carried himself in haste towards you.

Unfortunately, this incident occurred the last night anyone had seen you.

When everyone had risen that morning, one by one coming off the floors of the church and stirring awake those who remained sleeping, you were the only one who hadn't stirred. Because your body wasn't even of prescence.

Almost immediately, everybody went on an emotional and mental frenzy.

Even when the conversation with Gabriel didn't bode well for him. He refuted, if a little pathetically, that you weren't very friendly towards him.

Upon hearing of what had happened just hours before they woke, Daryl seemed to retreat back to the deepest of his old roots.

Begrudgingly, Rick knew this was what they called "fight or flight."

Luckily for everyone involved, Daryl never moved unless there was something to fight for. The man had gained some sort of control over the years of personal development but like a dog, he'd jumped on Gabriel the second tensions rose.

There was a knife pressed against Gabriel's throat when Drayl pushed him into the nearest wall and the preacher did nothing but pray to himself and accept his fate.

Minuets later of interrogation and threatening, Michonne and Tara intervenned, though Daryl seemed none too eager to back off the smaller man, not until he was physically being dragged back and Rick telling him to get a hold of himself.

"He's lucky I didn't slit his fuckin' throat! It was him!"

Because back in the day, with Merle at his side, he would've and to hell with anyone who said differently.

Rick saw Carol's lips part to say something, as did Abraham, but nothing came out. Not with Rick cutting through them like cloth to speak, clearing his throat, hands rising in demand to appease the tension in the church.

"We are going to look for Y/N. It's no secret that we're standing on a ticking time bomb. " His head turned sharply towards everyone, waiting a beat before he continued. "Everybody gets paired off. No one leaves each other's sides. "

His gaze softened upon the archer as he came around to see the anger and frustration but most of all, the pain in his eyes. He wanted to assure him, they were going to find you. But he couldn't find the words to, as his own fingertips surged with doubt and as the rest of the days proceeded, his whole body seemed to become encapsulated by it.

They all began out at once, weapons gathered, determination and grievance fused into them as they exited the church in pairs. The only 2 persons staying behind being Judith and Abraham.

Before the front doors fell, Rick sought out Gabriel, his fingers ghosting over the knob as his stomach tied in knots.

"If you so much as touch a hair on her head. "

He was referring to Michonne who'd gotten the unsavory job of catering to Gabriel, "I swear it'll be the last thing you do. "

His eyes followed Gabriels timley swallow as he spoke.

"And if I find out you had an inkling of any wrongdoing, God won't be able to save you. "

It wasn't just Daryl that was shaken by the fear of your abduction –or worse, there wasn't a moment where Rick could stop to inhale without thinking about you. How tightly you had embraced him 2 nights prior, when he'd confided that maybe he wasn't suited for this leader job anymore, that he didn't know where you all would go, or if you'd even make it past these religious grounds before succumbing to hunger.

There was warmth radiating off you like a furnace and he couldn't shake the soothing way your fingertips gilded against his forearm as you told him that things would fall into place in time, no matter how difficult it got.

But Daryl was a damn firecracker, this way of his to emote through hostility and intimidation was a way for him to cope with the potential loss of his brother.

You were not Shane.

There's so much Rick could rationalize before he no longer had the will to counter how much he wished you were there now to quell the savagery within his best friend.

Carl was as much of a mess as the archer, if not more. The rage within him seemed to blaze each step closer to the forest. It burned at his eyes, tearing his hands into fists that felt as if their own knuckles may shatter within the grasp.

Rosita had to stop him.

"What?" He initially sneered at her, pushing out of her grip and continuing to stomp forward until he could feel her nipping at his heels.

"Carl, now is not the time to get some kind of revenge, alright? We'll find the fucker, but getting ourselves killed is not going to help. "

In time, she got him to sit down and collect himself, which consisted of roughly pacing and rubbing his face with his palms in an attempt to scrub the hostility right out of him. He wanted to scream, to fucking yell the earth apart because this wasn't fair, none of this was.

Yet, he found it somewhat easier to sit there and allow his teeth to sink into his knuckles while he suppressed tears.

Eugene and Tara had wandered the farthest the fastest, the church began to slowly disappear the deeper they strayed into the density of the trees until there was no distinguishable church at all, or street or houses for that matter.

They were silent the entire way, like speaking would somehow shatter the chances of finding you, safe, sound and alive.

So then when Tara's voice did come, meek and soft, far from anything close to the tone she usually sported, Eugene nearly jumped.

He halted immediately, his body turning as he looked every which way as if you may suddenly appear behind a tree.

"We should turn around and just make our way back. " She whispered.

That was her biggest concern, because with the route they had taken, any further into the unknown, she knew there were no way to familiarize themselves with where they were.

"Rick said to keep searching til sun down and that's just what I intend to do. " There was an an irrtation in his expression and an agony to his voice that confirmed his intentions were anything but logical.

"Eugene. "

And again, his body suddenly felt like it wasn't his, or maybe his bones weren't aligned and he was a puppet, a stranger, someone entirely else.

"Eugene, we won't get anywhere trying to force out this search. Please. The sun is already setting, it's near impossible to see 10 feet ahead and even if we were to press further in the dark, they're-"

She didn't need to finish her sentence to know what she wanted to say, the image was still clear in her mind as if she had just watched the last interaction you'd had with her and Rosita. The absolute dejection you allowed her to see in your eyes, the hesitation and restraint you had felt in giving your hugs. She took one and wrapped herself around you and you didn't dare do more than reciprocate the tightness, afraid to hurt her. As if.

After some minuets, Eugene came to and they turned back.

When they got to the church, Abraham was doing circles around the confinements of the holy sanctuary with Judith in his arms.

"Where's Gabriel?" Eugene spoke cautiously, realizing the weight in his voice when he did so.

"He's locked in his office. Said to leave him to rot or somethin'. Not a bad idea, the bastards a fuckin killer. "

Abraham was just as convinced as Daryl. No one asked to elaborate because they somehow knew the moment he did, he'd lose his shit. Like a bomb that's set to a timer, ticking away until it explodes into your ears.

"Find anything?" He asked as Tara slid down the wall she had been leaning against since they returned and brought her legs to her chest. Eugene shook his head at him which made the soldier nod back bitterly.

By day two, Michonne decided to conduct a one man search party for the nights. When the moon came out, she snuck off to the woods and scouted the area she had previously searched, for any evidence that may have been missed on the 1st visitation. Which would prove to cause strife amongst the group when Carl found her out four days later.

"What are you doing?" He challenged harshly as he forced himself into the dark brush behind her with Michonne's body jolting at the abrupt arrival of company.

"Carl-"

"Are you crazy?”

The boy wasn't the only person who she'd receive these questions from, Tyrese had found himself wandering her way as well.

"Why would you come out here on your own? Have you lost it?" He griped under his breath, tone laced with disapproval as if the woods had just come to eat them alive.

"Well, what are you doing out here?" She retorted back in a whisper yell with a forceful gesture to the man who was just as armed, just as ready as her.

Her efforts were fruitless, though, and no response was heard, which left her walking the same way she came.

Rick wasn't happy about it.

At first, when Carl appeared through the door in the night, he thought his son was the culprit of the secret night searches, but soon realized what has transpired when he saw Michonne making her way inside.

"Everyone is on edge, alright? Everyone is doing exactly what is expected of them, they have been looking and looking and Michonne, it's about time you pulled your head from your ass and sat down for the night. " Rick had said 5 minuets after they'd settled in the privacy of Judiths room. Their voices were lowered considerably so as not to wake the others, but Rick's tone wasn't anything less than a demand.

"So we should just sit around?" She had, then, the urge to spit at him and remind him that you could be dead in the next second. Gone. Poof.

"We are not–" Rick's voice began to rise in octaves but he took a moment to lower the volume. "We are *not* just sitting around. "

There was an enervation in Rick's stance that Michonne could feel pricking her heart strings. He looked exhausted, absolutely strained.

"He could– he could be in trouble. " Michonne attempted to keep her voice leveled as she looked around in disdain, her lip trembling and Rick saw this, that she could not come to accept the way things were."I can't bury him." She hissed as clear glistens of wetness fell from the pools in her eyes.

Rick knew exactly the terror Michonne felt in the pit of her gut and he could almost see inside her head, the vision of a funeral and everyone in a heavy sweat of depression and rage, because it was the same one he saw every night before he closed his eyes.

A few dead bodies surrounding the fire pit in the woods while everyone circled around you and Daryl cried.

He had already envisioned it all, envisioned the way Glenn would crack at your loss. While Maggie was reduced to hiccups and broken speeches, she had somehow found the strength to collapse to the floor and refuse help.

Bobs face would fall, for once, it would fall and Sasha wouldn't be able to handle the breath leaving her body, clutching Tyrese, who looked just as devastated, to her to bring her solace.

Carol would gasp but it wouldn't matter because no one would hear her over Daryl's sobs, no one would see the way her lips pulled down at the corners and the lines in her face would tighten.

Rick didn't like to think about how he might react. He imagined it be something similar to crazed. But beyond that, he didn't want to picture it.

And what about his son? Carl who hadn't even fully grown yet. Rick couldn't stomach the thought, the sheer utter torment he'd experience watching his sons body begin to wither. He didn't want to know.

You'd been there while he was unconscious in that hospital bed, through every storm, everything, by his side. You were a father to Carl as much as he was and you'd been nothing short of a supporting role to Rick. There's been times when you just drove the both of them off in the car, taking trips to lakes and nearby parks, anywhere that offered a semblance of normalcy.

You'd scout the places out days before, cleaned it free of Walker's and set up a picnic on the cool greens of grass or near broken tables. Even once or twice when the fire smothered to ambers or if Carl's blood started to burn so hot, you'd give them a midnight rendezvous, all three of you climbing up a tree or anything that fit the current circumstances in which the group resided.

Rick had to run a hand through his hair and all he could do was grab Michonne by her shoulders, look her forcefully in the eyes and say:

"We are going to find him. And anyone who gets in the way of that will pay. "

Because he wasn't going to accept anything else.

Which is why he didn't stop Tyrese or Daryl or anybody who wanted a chunk out of Gabriel the morning of day eight when he suggested that they move on.

He even went as far as leaving the church entirely, not caring to put aside personal feelings, not caring how he may look. His expression was sour and drained and at this rate, the only thing he cared about was finding you.

He would have no problem burying his tomahawk right into the preachers skull.

Daryl kept watch most of the nights, refusing rest for the past week because every time he tried, he felt as if it were a ploy. He became distressed each time he was reminded you weren't going to walk in and slumber on the floor next to him or Carol. You weren't anywhere.

It pissed Daryl off beyond belief to know there was an actual possibility that you weren't breathing anymore, weren't thinking, feeling.

His anger had to be one of the few things driving him into the same track less search the next day as he pushed through the forest ahead of Rick.

Things were starting to feel all too familiar and he thought he might find you in a barn just the same as Sofia. But you didn't pop out the doors in any walkers veil, you weren't bloodied nor torn apart. There were no traces of anyone or anything in those forests.

You simply disappeared.

And it left them in another night of quiet.

Spoons scraping agaisnt cans, the faint sound of chewing. A tiny droplet of rain hitting a window pane or two.

That was all.

No one spoke, yet they all sat around a room cramped with anxious bodies.

Sasha's leg brushed against her guns outline, her boots rubbed together, her tongue flicked at her teeth and she felt as if her thoughts were vibrating the inside of her skull, riling her from the depths. There was an eerily absence of anything positive, because at this point no one was expecting good news.

Gabriel's execution was more or less inevitable as each of the nights rolled by. There'd be the lingering aura of danger and anticipation due to the preachers remaining presence. But no one ever mentioned it, let alone had the will to.

It was hard to digest the concept of your loss because not a single one of them wanted to bury you, the group preferred to be broken and you had become like an integral part of what bound them.

Food was beginning to dwindle down the line of low and low to nonexistent.

And as they sat there, in silence, there was collective knowing resonating around them that this would be the last night they spent in the church.

Not that anyone dared to speak it, not even Rick, who gazed afar into the burning light of a candle and contemplated.

Carol noticed first, maybe it was her nose, fine tuned for the scent of trouble and like a dog trailing a rabbit, she jumped up with a clatter and darted towards the front door.

But she didn't even get halfway across the church, with Rick trailing closely behind her, along with the others who were all clammering to their feet, when the doors burst open on their own, the cool whip of wind entering the room as the room itself seemed to rise up in temperature.

There, with a trail of blood drops, a scarily dehydrated and filthy body fell into her arms.

It was you.

And the sigh of relief felt as if you breathed the air back into everyones lungs. It reanimated the whole church.