#also is that last gif too dark or just right...I want back and forth and just keep my old style with it

[thelassoway]

Ted Lasso S02E05 Rainbow || Ted Lasso S03E01 Smells Like Mean Spirit

What does that mean?

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind. 

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?” 

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground. 

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along. 

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend. 

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed. 

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children. 

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose. 

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance. 

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb. 

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother. 

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything. 

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you. 

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror. 

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell. 

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end. 

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys. 

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak. 

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them. 

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd. 

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them. 

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod. 

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once. 

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story. 

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you. 

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril. 

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods. 

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

 The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder. 

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow. 

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak. 

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon. 

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them. 

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off. 

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted. 

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?�� Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm. 

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied. 

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look. 

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters. 

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.” 

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror. 

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done? 

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more. 

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances. 

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs. 

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.” 

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.” 

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage? 

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected. 

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air. 

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me. 

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants. 

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father. 

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little. 

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that. 

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever. 

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye. 

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago. 

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well. 

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

 He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered. 

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally. 

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words. 

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper. 

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

[flametrashiraarchive]

hi may I ask for

pussy drunk muzan please♡

Alright, look... I'm absolute trash for Muzan at the moment. I already thought he was hot and then that last Swordsmith Village episode just... ugh... I love him.

Anyway, I couldn't resist answering this right away. I've also done headcanons for human Muzan and demon Muzan because I'm a hussy for him.

NSFW below the cut.

He may be wealthy, but Muzan's life is far from comfortable. He hurts; he's angry, frustrated, he resents the world. Physical activity is hard on his body but the man still has needs.

Human Muzan

You enter his room when summoned, hopeful that the doctor has given him good news this time.

"Of course not. That fraud only deals in disappointments."

"I'm sorry..."

"Keep your worthless pity. Just... come here."

You approach his futon and gently take his extended hand. His grip is weak and unsteady. "Yes my lord?"

He arches an eyebrow, knowing that you're aware of what he wants.

So you get into position, lying sideways across the top of his futon so your hip is resting where he would lay his head. You lift your skirt and open your legs so he can rest his head on your inner thigh as he lies on his side.

Muzan doesn't speak a word. He doesn't praise you, doesn't thank you. He just inches his head closer and begins to lick your pussy.

You bite your lip to keep from crying out. If you make too much noise he'll scold you and stop, so you do all you can to remain silent. Muzan Kibutsuji is the only man you've ever met who eats your pussy solely for his pleasure.

He tongues your hole, lapping at your essence as if it could cure him, his deep groans vibrating through you as he feasts. And when he's licked up every drop, only then does he turn his attention to your clit, slowly circling it with his tongue, enjoying the way it swells from his attention, stopping when he feels you're wet enough again and turning his attention back to your cunt.

He goes back and forth between the two motions, taking you to the edge of ecstasy again and again until you cum. His long, dark hair splays across your thighs as he fucks you with his tongue and palms his cock. He strokes himself slowly, setting a pace which isn't too strenuous for him, and all the while he continues licking your overstimulated clit in those long, slow circles, making your muscles tighten with every torturous lap.

He keeps going, his groans getting louder as he makes you cum once more and he keeps on stroking his cock.

"Mm-more," he moans, his deep, commanding voice cracking with desperation. "Nghh... give it... to me."

His composure breaks entirely as he shudders through his orgasm, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucks your clit, tonguing it to get you off one last time.

The doctors confirmed long ago that Muzan cannot produce heirs, but that doesn't stop him from fingering his cum into your pussy, making sure you take in every last drop of it before he lifts his head and says flatly. "I'm finished. You may leave."

----------------------------------

Demon Muzan.

Muzan appears accompanied by the sudden strum of a biwa, standing behind his work desk. "Get over here. Assume the position."

Thick veins throb in his forehead and his crimson eyes are murderous.

Either the upper moons have pissed him off again, or his latest experiment to reproduce the blue spider lily potion has gone awry. And when he's in a rage like this only one thing that can calm him.

You climb onto his desk on your hands and knees and put your chest down, sticking your ass in the air toward him.

"See? My requests are so simple and yet you are the only one who seems capable of obeying them." He slides a finger down your slit, spreading your growing wetness. "You bow for your king as you should."

"Because I-"

"Silence."

A low, primal growl rolls from the depths of his chest as he leans forward until his face is no more than an inch from your pussy. And then he inhales.

That's all the warning you get before he drags his tongue slowly from your clit down to your hole with a deep groan.

"Oh, you never disappoint me," he whispers, though whether he's speaking to you or that specific part of you, you aren't certain.

He starts with small, fluttering licks, teasing your sensitive flesh with the tip of his tongue. But before long he can't hold back, and his licks become frantic and sloppy, devouring you with fervent hunger.

Outside of this room he appears cold, calculating, elegant and distinguished, but you bring out an all together different sort of beast.

"Muzan!" You bite your knuckles to keep from crying out and incurring his wrath.

He grips the backs of your thighs and parts your folds with his thumbs, pushing his tongue deeper into you. His wanton moans fill the room as he drags his tongue over your flesh again and again. You can't hold back from crying out in pleasure as you cum, your pussy throbbing with ecstasy as he continues eating you.

As a demon, he has the strength to fuck you like he always wished he could as a human. At the sound of your desperate cry, the last remnant of his restraint snaps. He stands, licking your essence from his lips as he thrusts his cock inside you, shivering at the sensation before he starts to pump his hips back and forth.

His elegant fingers dig into your hips as he holds you in place, burying himself to the hilt inside you and fucking you with short, fast thrusts, keeping your cunt stuffed full of him.

"Oh... oh... yes..." he grunts beneath his breath.

He pulls out only to push two fingers into you, pumping them back and forth before he takes them out again and stuffs his cock back in. And as he fucks you harder, faster, he brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from them.

That's enough to send him over the edge; your exquisite taste accompanied by the sensation of your needy cunt squeezing his cock. His back arches as he cums, baring his teeth as he fills you.

His breath is hot and heavy as his lips graze your shoulder blades.

"Such a good and obedient servant," he whispers, his hair falling over his brow.

And then he straightens his back, regains his composure, and disappears once more, accompanied by the strum of a biwa.

[zepskies]

Until Morning

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: A quiet moment between you, Ben, and your newborn daughter.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD verse, lovelies! I know I promised a longer “family dynamics” one-shot after Strong as Blood, but let’s start with this.   

**This can be read as standalone, but you can also find the chronological reading order of this series collection on the Break Me Down Masterlist.

Word Count: 650 Tags/Warnings: Fluff and comfort, new parent feels.

When Ben woke in the dark, your side of the bed was empty.

His eyes quickly adjusted, taking in the digital red numbers of the clock on his nightstand. It was a fucking ridiculous hour of the morning, but he soon realized what woke him up.

He heard the dulcet tones of your voice drifting from down the hall. Letting out a deep breath through his nose, he debated if it was worth getting out of bed.

But he heard his daughter make a sound of distress, followed by your gentle shushing.

Ben peeled back the warm comforter and got up.

He didn’t bother with a shirt and just padded out to the nursery down the hall in his sweatpants. He found you dressed in one of his old shirts and nothing else, a messy bun atop your head.

You were slowly pacing back and forth across the room with the baby cradled in your arms.

“If I didn’t care,” you sang, “more than words can say… If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

Ben crossed his arms and leaned against the open doorway. He watched you in silent contemplation; his sleep had once again been interrupted, but this felt right.

And once again, his entire world was in this room.

You glanced over and shot him a tired smile, but you kept singing until the infant fell asleep in your arms.

“Would my every prayer begin and end with just your name?” you continued. “And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare… Would all this be true, if I didn’t care for you?”

Your last notes fell softly on Delilah’s head, where you laid a gentle kiss. In your exhaustion, you didn’t realize that your husband was behind you until you felt his hand on the small of your back.

“She’s knocked out,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You can set her down.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You bit your lip, as you had tears brimming, threatening to trickle over and fall.

“I don’t want to,” you said. Emotion was clogged in your throat, in your shining, tired eyes.

Ben’s thumb soothed against your back.

“She’s all right," he said. "She's asleep. You need to do the same.”

You probably hadn't slept a full night since before getting home from the hospital weeks ago.

You sniffed, trying not to succumb to the sheer feeling of overwhelming in your chest. You knew Lila would be fine if you put her back down, but you also couldn’t help the need you felt to hold her close and know that she was safe with you.

More than anything, you didn’t want to mess this up. You didn’t want to miss a moment where she might need you.

With a short sigh, Ben grasped your shoulder and guided you back with him. Not to the bedroom, but to the plush rocking chair in the corner of the nursery.

He sat down first, then guided you into his lap. His arm wrapped around your waist and tucked you in close. His free hand went to brush over Lila’s downy hair, which was already as brown as his. And he cradled her as well, supporting your hold.

You allowed yourself to relax against his warm chest with a sigh. He rocked the chair back and forth until you too fell asleep, along with your daughter.

Ben brushed back your messy hair away from your forehead, where his lips lingered. He ended up dozing off a little, but mostly he stayed awake.

He made sure you and Lila both slept until morning.

AN: 🥹 Do you guys like the name Delilah "Lila" for short? I did a lot of deliberating and that was the name I settled on.

BMD Fun Facts:

Lila is the heroine's name in the OC version of this story on Ao3.

There's a nice little callback to "If I Didn't Care" by the Ink Spots.

And with the title, there's a sort of callback to BMD Part 7 - "Until Midnight." 😆

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, here's a heavy dose of dad!Ben for ya with This One's For You:

Summary: Late one night, finding no other recourse, Ben sings to his infant daughter to help her sleep.

▶️ Next Story: This One's For You

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[myladysapphire]

My Lady Strong (VI)

Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?

word count: 3,100

CW: MDI 18+, toxic relationship, manipulation, mommy issues, bullying, co-dependancy issues, self harm, not beta read.

Fem!oc x dark!Aemond Targeryen

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC

A/N sorry its been so long! forgot wehat direction i was going in with this story so going off the few notes i had left about this chapter! might be a few changes ive made from the last few chapters, but hopefully it all makes sense! but this story is gonna get dark and sad!

Aemma had been pacing back and forth for the last hour, nerves clear on her face as her mother and brothers were set to arrive in only a days time.  She hadn’t spoken to her in what had felt like forever, and she had no idea on what too expect. She thought that perhaps she might have done something but thinking back on the countless letters she had written, she could not think of a single thing she could have possibly said. Perhaps taking Aemond’s side at Driftmark, or perhaps refusing to leave his side after the fact. 

She had made her complaint to Aemond, the morning after they had reconnected, he had simply laughed, “oh Aemma, do you really think your mother cares about you? She happily sent you of to wed me the second it was suggested.” He said as he brushed her hair for her, having dismissed her ladies so they could break their fast. “if she cared about you she would have demanded I got to Dragonstone, not you here, she simply wished to be rid of you.”

Aemma looked down, she refused to believe it, her mother had always preached how she was her favourite child, then again, after Driftmark her mother did just send her away, she would have visited her more or asked her to visit if it was true. “Really?” she asked tears in her eyes.

“oh of course” he smirked, “but do not worry dear, soon enough you shall be my wife and she will no longer have to even act as if she cared for you, and you will not have to care for her either.”

She shook her head, and looked up at him, meeting his smirk in the mirror “do you think she loves me still?”

“no” he replied instantly.

A tear fell from her eye “do you love me?” she near begged.

Aemond’s smirk widened, his eyes twinkling, “of course” she turned her head, and he instantly gripped her chin, “and you love me, don’t you?”

“no” she replied. His grip tightened slightly, “I do not know what it is to love Aemond, but perhaps…once we get to know each other more.”

He frowned. “We have known each other our who lives”

“Yes, but these past years we have been distant, I know nothing of you”.

“And whose fault is that” he said stepping away, “was it not for that bastard I would still have my eye! And you would love me!”

She stood up, following him, “how does-“he stopped her, turning around quickly to face her.                     

“Because it does!” he almost whined, “you were mine! And then you were handed to me on a silver platter and yet all you have done is whine about your mother and your stupid brothers!” he took a breath, allowing her an opportunity to speak.

“I begged to stay with you Aemond, I defended you and –“

“And you begged them to stay also!” she looked at him, she had never told him of the conversation with her mother.

“How do you know that?” she asked bewildered. “and what does that have to do with anything?”

“everything!” after what they did to me, to YOU! And you wanted them to stay” he shook his head, “I went to find you, I needed you and you were begging your mother to stay? Do you think I could forgive you?”

“Aemond-“ she was crying now.

“these past years I have grow into the man I knew you wanted, not the silly little boy you grew up with, but the man you need, my mother has been nothing but a mother to you, and yet you still crave that whore and those bastards”

“I’m sorry Aemond. “she said, reaching for his hands, “your right, I am so sorry, I just wanted my muna, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She caressed his hand, “but I didn’t want too lose you or her and yet I lost you both!” she whined, “I needed you too!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his waist.

She needed him. Aemond smiled, “goo. because I am all you will ever and have ever needed.” He said holding her to him, “your mother is here in formality over, and at the end of the week she will be nothing to you, I will be your everything, your husband, your protector, your Aemond.”

“And let me remind you sweet Aemma, that without me you would remain Lady strong, a princesses bastard. And yet you betrayed me, begged for our tormentors to stay and if that had happened do you think I would have been able to devote these past five years to becoming your protector, to become the man you desired?”

She shook her head.

“They were cruel to you, hated you. All because your mother favoured you, do you think they will have changed?”

She shook her head again, and started to think back, growing up all she had ever wanted was to marry Aemond, and have him be her protector and never have to see Jace and Luke again.

She had thought that after Driftmark she would never get that Aemond, he had changed the second that eye was taken from him. He became cold and cruel and there was even whispers he was mad.

“but-“she started to speak, a part of her felt like he had turned into them.

He had tormented her for years and now he seemed to be perfect for her. It didn’t make sense.

“But what?” he asked, suddenly moving closer to her.

“you have been cruel, ignoring me then you started to torment me, sending me the heads of Aemma’s roses, as if you were threatening me.”

He shook his head, “I don’t know what your talking about”

“yes you do!”

“no Aemma, your confused, I sent you Aemma’s roses, to show I was thinking of you , and I never cut there heads of” he laughed, “and I only ignored you as I felt so hurt by what you did”

“i- but you cut of-“ she shook her head, “I-I I’m so confused, Aemond I- perhaps I should ask Cassandra, she has a better memory than me –“

“no Aemma, your just misremembering, you’ve always had trouble with remembering things” he said, “and do you not trust me?” he said sounding sad.

she shook her head, “of course not- I, just I thought you hated me for whatever reason and now I must have thought your acts were of torment and not …love” she said unsure.

“it okay Aemma, I know you struggle and I know you have always had difficulties with things” he said softly, “I was hurt and scared you would hate me too, I should have been more upfront, it is all my fault” he said, pulling her into a hug, “I know you are sorry, and I am too”/

He wasn’t, he loved the look on her face when she opened the box of cut of Aemma’s rose heads, loved the way she was scared, but he also realised years of ignoring her had made him seem untrustworthy, and he feared he made a mistake, he had a new strategy to play. At first he wantec her to be scared and run to him for help, but it seems her ladies and beloved Cassandra had gotten in the way of that plan, and made him the villain.

He supposed he had to get them out of the way.

Since that conversation, Aemond had made sure she did not leave his side.

Saying how he missed her dearly, and realising how much he needed her and pushing her away had hurt him more than it hurt her.

She had felt so badly for him, and before he knew it they were back to their old habits, were she went he went, she would even ask him too choose all her clothes, even serve her dinner.

She forgot how simple life was with Aemond, how happy and easy he made her life.

And Aemond was loving it, he loved getting to control every detail about her, she would dress how he liked, believing it her choice to let him pick, she would follow him everywhere, meaning he no longer had to follow her.

The only problem was that her ladies maids were still in the way. They ere there when she woke, and dressed, giving question stares as he would enter her rooms, whispering in her ear about things Aemma would never reveal.

He wasn’t jealous just angry.

He had been hurt all those years ago and ignored her because he wanted to be better. Become the best possible Aemond, become her protector and a man who would never again loose his eyes to is silly little nephews, and someone who would never let them hurt Aemma again.

And it was blatantly obvious that his ignoring of her head made her annoyingly close to her little friends.

He had hidden letters from her mother the first year, then they came less and less, before stopping altogether. He would allow a few of Aemma’s letters to be sent, not before reading them himself. He wanted her too feel isolated, but that had failed, and now it would be too suspicious for Aemma to receive the letters her mother had sent over the years, especially as he had read them all and hated the love his sister had for her daughter, hated that no matter how hard he wanted to hide it, her mothers return would only pull them apart once more.

So he realised the game of isolation needed to change and to get ride of the Ladies he must earn their trust, so he wooed them, by sitting in at their gatherings and showing undivided devotion to Aemma, there was still the issue of Cassandra Baratheon. She despised him, and he here. She was brash and loud, and Aemma’s best friend. 

He wasn’t jealous, no, not at all. Not jealous of the way she effortless laughed at her jokes or talked to her without having the perplexed and wanted to please look in her eyes that’s she did with him.

He watched the bitterly as they chatted the day away. She seemed to light up around Cassandra, and he hated it.

“Are you nervous about you mother and brothers return?” Cassandra asked, sipping her tea.

“yes, especially my mother” she sighed, stirring her tea “I did receive a letter from my brothers this morning” she reviled, much to  Aemond’s surprise. He had ordered all letters addressed to Aemma be sent to him straight away, how this had escaped him – “I had waited in the ravenry for a reply for my letter, and one had just arrived when I got there.” She reviled, answering what Aemond was wondering.

“what did it say?” Cassandra and Aemond asked simultaneously.

“Luke and Jace were asking about how I am , and saying they were sorry if their actions in our youth  and wish for us to reconnect upon there return.” She replied.

“you will do no such thing” Aemond spoke, standing up.

“And why not?” Cassandra asked, clearly unhappy at Aemond.

“because of how they have always treated her!2

“oh please, they were children!” Cassandra spoke, now standing alongside Aemond, “ they have apologized and wish to know there sister, and from what Aemma has told me, I and my sisters have done far worse to each other than they did to her!”

Aemond scoffed, “please, they were bullies, they locked her in the black cells!”

“they- they what?” Cassandra asked, no looking towards Aemma.

“i- its true they did, but they have apologised incessantly since then.” Aemma said, trying to diffuse the situation, “they are my brothers, and they.. they said sorry”

“You still have nightmares Aemma” Aemond spoke, now moving back to his seat and taking her hands in his.

This perplexed Aemma she had never not once told Aemond of her dreams, especially of that night, he himself had always felt partly responsible for it, having taken so long to find her, and having left her alone that night. “what?” she asked, “I never told you about my dreams…”

Aemond flinched sightly, realising his mistake, and Cassandra herself took on an angry expression, “how do you know of those dreams Prince Aemond?” she asked, moving herself closer to Aemond and Aemma, as if to protect her.

“i- she is to be my wife, I only took a concern when the guards said she would often wake screaming.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“but that still-“ Aemma started, slowly removing her hands from Aemond.

“don’t concern yourself too much Aemma I simply stood guard to ensure you did not try to harm  yourself.”

Aemma flinched, Aemond cant know about that, no one does. Not even her maids. She had always kept her arms covered, he cant know.

Her eyes betrayed her, showing a scared expression, an expression both Aemond and Cassandra took to be scared about hurting herself.

“I – I” she stuttered, “I don’t know what you-“

“don’t worry Aemma, nothing bad happened, and your brothers wont get anywhere near you” Aemond spoke.

Aemma nodded, trying to mask her own fear of Aemond potentially knowing her secret to make it look like she feared her brothers.

Her parents were set to arrive on the morrow, and All Aemma could do was twist and turn. Dreams had been plaguing her. Ever since the black cells she has been getting premonitions, dreams of what was to come, dreams that have come true.

She supposed she was lucky, Helenas dreams caused her to speak in riddles, some even called her mad. When in truth Aemma was the one who was mad. She scratched and bleed as she dreamed, tearing at the skin on her arm. Her hands felt like they were soaked in blood, her nails turned red, as she scratched and teared. She dreamt of herself, she was married with children, but one was dead. She killed him. She must have, blood was on her hands, on her dress her face. Her other children cowered in the corner, flinching away from her.

“a son for a son!” she woke up gasping, the words ringing in her head.

Her bed sheets were stained in her blood, her arms scarred. The wounds from her last dream only just having healed.

She couldn’t help it, it was if her only escaped from her dreams was to harm herself. Perhaps it had been the three years of isolation she had felt so alone, where the dreams controlled her. She would send days and days tuck in the loop. Until one day her mother wrote to her of needing alliances and how her and Alicent had chosen her ladies. Her ladies had saved her, Cassandra specifically. She would wake her up, help her dress, and for once Aemma had a reason to escape her dreams. But then Aemond’s neglect and ignorance of her had turned cruel, calling her “my lady strong”, a name he had only just stopped calling her.

But something haunted her as she paced around her chambers, Aemond’s torment had put a stop to her dreams, the dreams were there was no dancing dragons, or no blood-soaked hands and gowns. Instead the dreams were of dragon snapping dragons neck, storm soaked nights and screams. And then since this week her nightmares have been full of crying, begging and blood. And now this.

It seemed no matter what her life would be full of tears and screams, and death.

“Aemma.” Cassandra said, walking into her chambers, alongside the rest of her ladies, Cerci Lannister, Cerelle Costayne, Margaret Fossway and Rosia Tyrell.

She had not slept since being awoken from her dreams, she had bathed and dressed, applied ointment to her scares, and had proceeded to pace her rooms nonstop.

She was worried, her mother would be here soon, and she had no ideas what she would be like.

She knew nothing of her, and she feared her mother may no longer love her. And well she was nervous about her wedding, and the wedding night. Aemond and Alicent had told her about it in the past week, and she was scared. And she just needed her Muna.

“how are you feeling?” Cersi asked.

“I am nervous” she admitted.

“of course, you will be wed on the morrow, you are bound to be nervous” Margaret added.

“well i-“

“but think, you will get to marry someone who loves you!” Rosia gushed.

“yes you are so lucky!” Cerelle complained, she had received news yesterday of her father engaging her to some man who had been married twice before and she had never met.

“oh Cerelle, he’s old hell probably die before you can wed.” Aemma said nonchalantly, and Cassandra laughed as she watched Aemma gasp at her own words. “sorry, just today the first time I will see my mother and brothers in years. I’m nervous”

Cassandra grabbed her hand, caressing home gently, “it’ll be okay, I’m sure.” She then looked to Cerelle “ and Aemma’s right, he’s what eight and seventy, he could croak at nay moment!” they all laughed, and for the first time that day Aemma’s mind was finally taken of what was to come.

She stood in the courtyard wating for their arrival, alongside her stood alone, Alicent having to have leave only moments ago to take care of something. She had done all her wedding planning with Alicent, she had comforted her when she cried over her mothers lack of care over her wedding, and visiting her despite her countless letters over the years. But Alicent seemed nervous, as if she was waiting for something or scared of something, and even more so when she had to leave.

After a few moments a carriage finally arrived in the courtyard, and her mother was the first to step out.

She wanted to run to her, to hug her and tell her how she had missed her. But her dream, it rang in her head.

“A son for a son” that all she could hear, and a voice in her head told her it was her mother’s fault, that her mother would force her to kill her son. She didn’t want to think it, but her mothers face, her blood soaked hands and a headless child was all she could see.

She made her way slowly walking down the steps the greet them.

“muña, lēkia” she greeted, a smile gracing her face. “welcome home”

next part

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[websterss]

TILL DEATH DO US PART — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

WARNING(S): angst, some fluff at the end

WORD COUNT: 4,214

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk. 

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had. 

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier.  You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror. 

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground. 

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.” 

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible. 

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela. 

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form. 

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor. 

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.  

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered. 

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart. 

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright. 

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.      

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant. 

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now. 

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

-

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this��this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic. 

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble. 

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?” 

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim. 

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

[captainleviswifee]

If you dare...

Tags/TW/context (idk💀): Alcohol, sfw, y/n fem reader, reader is a squad leader, Attack on Titan, Levi Ackerman, lighthearted, established close friendship and partnership between you and Levi, you and Levi are in denial of your feelings for each other and Hange knows it, Hange is just lowkey tired of this back and forth.

Edit: you can use extensions, or apps to replace y/n with the name of your choice.

The night is blooming, the moon's graceful glow upon you and your comrades in the clearing of the Old Headquarters of the Survey Corps. The tall trees, both vivacious trees and pine trees standing tall around your merry group, providing shelter from the fog of the evening. Not too far from the headquarters, but also not too near in the vicinity to avoid disrupting the working higher-ups, or the resting scouts in their in the assigned shared quarters of their barracks. Regardless, even without the protection of the trees, the fog won't be stopping this small gathering of you and your comrades. An survey mission had just ended. It's a small mission led by you, in order to train you. Nothing too exciting just this small group of scouts surveying ahead, and placing supplies ahead of the expedition route that's due in next week. Although the mission is a success with the least amount of deaths so far, it wasn't without sacrifices. You sit relaxed with a drink of your own on one of the chairs. Beside you are your comrades, your subordinates, the Levi Squad in some of the chairs and benches, and then Hange accompanied by Moblit who sat beside her. All forming a complete circle with a table of food in the middle of the circle then a burning bonfire right beside it. Keeping this small gathering of people warm from the evening fog. In some of these seats are soldiers, scouts who fought bravely. At the cost of a missing leg, or an arm, or maybe even missing screws after facing the dark reality that the titans bring outside the Walls this very recent expedition. Yet despite, what they have experienced, they sit there merry with a drink on their uninjured free hands. Largely due to the part that Hange, Oruo, Gunther, and Eld are leading the conversation of this humble party.

A farewell party to be exact. The last night of these maimed soldiers in the military before they return to their status as simple civilians. In a way, Commander Erwin allowed this to happen just so the soldiers would go home with at least smiles on their faces. Smile of relief from surviving, or the smile from this small gathering and the events would occur later are sure bound to kick up a merry chat between their waiting families instead of the horrors outside walls as their main topic.

"Ah, it's your turn!" The bottle spins and points at you. "What?" And you break out from your deepest of thoughts, maybe because of the battle analysis reports, survey reports, and whole another bunch of papers you'll submit tomorrow, or maybe because of the watchful gaze a certain pair of steel blue gray eyes.

"Everyone's been pulling up 'Truths' this whole time, would you care for a dare instead?" Hange smiles cheeky at you, as she asks you at gunpoint in front of your comrades. "A dare?" Your question sounding more like a refusal. "C'mon please? It's nothing hard I swear. It'll be just like how easy you killed four titans this recent mission, right boys?" And your comrades and subordinates alike jeered at the thought. You were quite in a good form, the past mission and now that you're in this spot like this. With their mood like that, you don't want these soldier's last night to be with you being a killjoy of the night. You gave Hange a look before responding, "Alright what's the dare?" "Sweet! Well it's nothing hard, I just want you to kiss someone." Hange playfully answers giving a certain midget sipping tea at the edge of the circle, a knowing look. Fully aware of Levi's gazes at you. Or how he would sparingly brew the tealeaves you gifted him. Or how he would scold you as he checks up on you at the hospital after each mission, Hange gave a knowing look at Levi barely noticed by their comrades. The latter only returned a glare, barely noticeable in between sips of his tea. "The what? Hange, you can't be serious." You respond. You may be a little tipsy, but you still have your wits about you. "It'll be fine, unless..." Hange trails off, "Unless it means something to you of course. Were you saving it for someone?" She quips, her tone now growing teasingly playful. It didn't help that the rest of the Levi Squad, your subordinates, basically everyone's got their eyes and ears on you now. Giving in to either get peer pressured to saying something akin to confession—

'It wont be a confession,' You stubbornly think.

Well it's either you get peer pressured into saying something you may or may not regret, you decide to just go with the dare. At least in a dare there's a chance that the very act will be considered, 'not of any significant meaning to you.'

"Alright, I'll complete the dare. You guys owe me a drink for this one." You say with a smile pointing to the rest of the crowd, primarily to Hange. You scan your surroundings to look for a specific person who you know wouldn't take this dare personally or seriously. He may be a few centimeters smaller than you, but it did not take you long enough to find him sitting at the edge of the circle. Drinking tea instead of alcohol, he looks at you his blue-gray eyes displaying deadpan expression. "Is it okay if I pick you?" You ask for consent walking up to him with his side facing you. Casual form drinking tea amidst the tensing sensual atmosphere fueled by the expectant gazes of your comrades. His jaw clenches for a split second before nodding nonchalantly. His steel blue gaze, maintaining his composure. Bringing his cup a little lower from his lips, he remained sitting as he was. His side still facing you.

"Alright," You give a smile before placing one of your knee to his seat for support, you other hand crawling up behind him, to gain purchase of the seat he is leaning on to. And your other free hand cupping his chin, lightly with your fingers as you lean your face closer to his steel blue gaze.

In response, his body stiffens evidently caught off guard by this sudden act of intimacy. He fought back the shivers that run along his spine and his jaw subtly clenches as maintained his indifferent expression.

You lean in closer, and closer. Intensifying the already sensual tension caused by her own intimate actions.

Only to give him a light kiss on his cheek.

'They only said a kiss after all, they didn't say where.' You cleverly think, avoiding making a spectacle of yourself and drag Levi in this.

Disappointed murmurs hint the chorus of their comrades and Hange nodding with a light chuckle in amusement, "Ha! Well played, y/n." Spinning the bottle once more, "Next dare!"

When you pulled away and returned to your seat downing a glass in one big gulp, Levi didn't look at you or anyone at that moment. He just sat there with the memory of your lips, warm on his skin.

He sat there drinking his tea in silence. He wasn't drinking any alcohol at all.

And yet,

Why are his ears red?

[constellationguy]

Another perspective

Episode five

"Text: regular talking

'Text': regular thinking

"Text": Saiki talking telepathically

'Text': Saiki thinking

Previous episode

ATTENTION! You might want to rewatch episode five of The Disastrous Life of Saiki K before reading to fully understand the events.

Summary: Episode 5 in L/N Y/N's perspective.

It is 4:00pm at PK Academy and everyone is trying to go home, Y/N was no exception. However Y/N had to do some homework in the library so they stuck around a couple extra minutes to finish it before going home.

While Y/N was in the library they heard Takahashi calling out for Saiki. ‘Why the hell is he looking for Kusuo? He’s probably already left by now to catch that show he was talking about,’ they thought. They didn’t pay it much thought though and soon left the library to go home.

Just as Y/N reached the shoe lockers they heard Kaido scream. “AAAAAAAAA”

“What’s wrong Kaido?” Teruhashi asked.

“A ghost just lifted up the locker I was hiding in! No wait, it wasn’t a ghost it was dark reunion!”

“Slow down! Nothing you’re saying is making sense,” Teruhashi said trying to understand him.

“HOLD ON ILL SAVE YOOOUUU,” Hairo screamed, running back into the building.

“What happened?! I heard a scream!”

“It’s Dark Reunion! They’ve found my hiding spot!”

“Oh… okay ya.” “Of course,” Hairo and Teruhashi said unimpressed.

“Finally heading home Saiki?” Toritsuka asked.

‘Saiki?,” Y/N thought. They were on the other side so wouldn’t be able to see him but they didn’t hear Saiki approaching earlier.

“I’ll walk with you pal!”

“You idiot!”

“AH THERE HE IS!” Teruhashi, Kaido, and Hairo said, finally seeing Saiki.

‘Oh man, I feel bad for Kusuo, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. It’d probably draw to much attention. I know he won’t be to pleased with me ignoring this but he’ll get over it right?’ Y/N thought feeling a little guilty.

“Saiki! I need to repay your favor!”

“Our teacher asked me to give these to you!”

“I have a layer now!”

“You’re not busy are you?” They asked in unison.

‘Sorry Kusuo….’ Y/N thought as they quietly left, not drawing the group’s attention.

—————————————————————————

“Listen up guys, today’s about one thing. US BEING NUMBER ONE!” “LETS DO IT!”

“CLASS THREE GO!” “YAAAA”

“Sports day, so annoying.”

“You’re just saying that cause you suck at sports.”

“SHUT UP!”

Y/N had to agree with Kaido. It’s not like they didn’t like sports or they were bad at them, sports day was just a gaggle of activities that didn’t hold much value to them. Shouldn’t “sports day” be about actual sports anyway?

“Yo Saiki, hey! You pumped?”

“I’m the opposite of pumped.” Saiki replied plainly.

“And Nendo, you’re a fit guy! I expect big things out there from you too!”

“That’s right, you’re not beating me this time.”

“We’re all on the same team,” Saiki said exasperated.

“And Kaido, my man!….. just do whatever it is you can do. I’m sure you’re gonna try really hard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

While Hairo was talking about the other teams Y/N couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. They really didn’t think winning sports day should be that deep.

“Our first event! Boys hundred meter dash!”

‘Ooo, Kusuo’s up first! This should be fun.” Y/N thought while pushing to the front of the class to get a better look at the race.

“Saiki you got third!”

“Why is everyone so excited?”

“All the other racers are on the track a field team. And the forth place guy has a school sprint record!”

By Saiki’s expression, Y/N could tell he didn’t take that into account. “Truly remarkable,” Y/N snickered.

“Not bad buddy! But I am pretty sure I could smoke you one on one, oh that guys running.” Nendo trailed off.

“Kaido’s running?”

Y/N knew this was a bad choice but they also knew seeing Kaido get absolute last place would be funny.

In the three legged race Sawakita was running along side Teruhashi. It turned out to be more of a carry but it was still entertaining, creepy maybe, but entertaining.

“Scavenger hunt race? I wonder which of us is doing that.”

“You are.” Saiki replied annoyed.

“ITS MINE I WIN! I GOT THE PAPER!” Nendo celebrated.

“Now go find what’s on that paper.” The intercom announced.

“AAAAAA! Here, let me have this!” Nendo said after running towards class 3’s group.

“Ya sure!”

“No not the racket! This, thanks!” Nendo then took one of Saiki’s limiters off his head. Y/N didn’t notice this so the couldn’t prepare for Saiki falling down and taking them with him.

“SAIKI!” The whole class screamed.

“Nendo what did you do?!” Y/N asked Nendo as they sat up and sat Saiki’s head in their lap.

“I just took his hair clip,” Nendo replied, looking at it then set it into Y/N’s out stretched hand.

‘Damn, I haven’t done this in a while, but fuck it, we ball,’ Y/N then went for it and stuck Kusuo’s limiter back into his scull.

Shortly after putting it back, Saiki regained consciousness and shot up into a sitting position.

“Are you feeling okay? We were worried,” Kaido said crouching down to talk to Saiki.

“You fainted when Nendo took that thing out of your head so Y/N put it back.” Saiki was looking around rather shocked like he was making sure everything was okay.

“You scared me.” Y/N said while they suddenly hugged Saiki’s shoulders. They held that position for a moment before letting go and asking Saiki a question. “Are you alright? You still don’t look to good.” Y/N asked while putting the back of their had to Saiki’s forehead.

Saiki let it stay there for a second, then shakily took Y/N’s wrist to bring it away from away from his head but didn’t really give them a complete answer, staying in his thoughts for a moment before getting up.

“Woah, I almost lost my buddy.” When the intercom announced that class three came in last place Nendo wasn’t too bothered by it. “Nothing I could have done about that one guy, huh, when your best buddy passes out there are more important things than sports day. We’ll get the next one.”

“He passed out because of you!” Y/N couldn’t really tell who said that cause they were still in the ground, but they assumed it was Takahashi.

“Hey are you alright?” Hairo asked Y/N while helping them up.

“Ya, I’m not injured. No harm, no foul right?” Y/N said trying to sound half hearted but they still came off a bit shaken.

“And that’s it for our morning events, time for lunch!”

“Well pal, it’s time for food.”

“Where’d Saiki go? SAIKI? WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Y/N could hear Nendo yelling but choose to ignore it in favor of following Saiki.

“I’m not feeling so hot. It doesn’t matter that it was only out for a second, it’s still causing me all sorts of problems.” Saiki commented to Y/N.

“Alright that’s it. If you keep that up, you’re going to break those chopsticks, give them here.”

“Why?” Saiki asked.

“Kusuo Saiki, give me the damn chopsticks.” Y/N said sternly, Saiki chose to comply. “You’re still really shaky and you really need these calories to recover.”

Y/N then grabbed an edamame with the chopsticks and brought it close to Saiki’s mouth. Saiki made a face for a second then put the edamame in his mouth. “What are you, my mother?” Saiki asked all snarky.

“Aw what? Don’t like the idea of me being your mommy?” Y/N said teasing back then they both broke out laughing.

“No but seriously, my body isn’t listening to me, I need to go home.”

“Saiki?! We playing hide and seek?”

“Well that’s my cue.” Saiki tried to teleport but it clearly didn’t work as he stay there as Nendo rounded the corner.

“Hello? Huh, doing some private stretching? Hey you alright? Maybe you should go home early.”

“Sorry you’re sick bro.”

“You need help getting home?”

“Oh no. His parents are here, I’ll just take Kusuo to them so they can head home together, but thanks for the offer. I’ll be back in a moment.” Y/N interrupted the group of guys trying to talk to Saiki.

Kusuo could only thank Y/N silently as they walked to meet his parents.

“Hey mom, hey dad. Kusuo needs to go home. He’s not feeling to well.” Y/N told Saiki’s parents. They’ve been a family friend for a long time so they called his parents mom and dad as well.

“Oh okay, we can take him home. How about you come with us, I’m sure Ku would like to company.” Kurumi replied.

Y/N looked to Saiki, he only shrugged in response. “I’m sure in Kusuo-ese that means, yes I’d love for you to come, so I’ll just take our head bands back to the class and we can head out.” Y/N said before patting Saiki on the back and taking both their headbands back.

“Hey, turns out I’m also headed out. Sorry I also have to leave. The Saiki’s are my neighbors so they are gonna sign me out so I can help take care of Kusuo.” Y/N told Hairo and handed him the headbands.

“Of course. No worries at all. We’ll just have to work extra hard and we’ll win this. For Saiki!” “YAAA”

Y/N then ran back to the Saiki’s and went home with them.

When they got home Y/N helped Saiki get to his room upstairs. “You go change out of your gym uniform and I’ll be back with my famous healing soup in about thirty minutes, alright?” Saiki nodded in response as Y/N closed his door.

Kurumi and Y/N made the soup together and got to talking.

“Honestly Y/N, thank you for taking care of little Ku. I know he doesn’t show it often but I know he really appreciates it.” Kurumi told Y/N.

“It’s no problem really. I need to pay back all the times he helped me out when we were little anyway. He’s been there for me ever since we were born, it’s only fair that I can be there for him when I can.” Y/N replied sentimentally.

“Aww,” Kurumi cooed as she hugged Y/N. “Well the soup’s almost ready, how about you go change while it finishes.” Kurumi said as she whipped her tears.

Y/N went over to their house to change, then quickly came back to serve Kusuo the soup.

“Knock knock. Still awake in there? Hey, how are you doing?” Y/N said gently while opening Kusuo’s door.

“Not the best but a little better,” Saiki replied.

“Well, finish this then take a nap. That should help you feel better.” Y/N said while putting the soup on Saiki’s table.

“Why are you still acting like my mom?” Kusuo asked laughing lightly.

“Someone you actually listen to has to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. And besides you don’t hate it do you?” Y/N teased.

“Whatever you say.” Saiki said, smiling very lightly.

“Okay well, finish that then get to bed. I’m going to go pack you some of the soup for your lunch tomorrow,” Y/N said while getting up.

“I’ll see you when you wake up ya?”

“Ya,” Saiki replied warmly, a little sleepy even. Y/N then closed the door to Saiki’s room.

The the next day when Saiki and Y/N came back to class, Saiki’s closer friends had buzz cuts.

“So uh, how did this happen?” Y/N asked Hairo. “Well it all started when….” “Woah! What kinda soup is that? It’s smells good. Did your mom make it? What’s in it? Tell me about it!” Nendo bombarded Saiki with questions about his lunch.

“Non of your business.” Saiki said while starting to eat his soup.

—————————————————————————

“Alright everyone, today we are having a safety drill.” Hairo announced to the class.

“I don’t need a drill, I’ll be fine.”

“Nendo. You need to take this seriously, imagine this rooms on fire, way hot flames are everywhere, the smoke makes impossible to see let alone breathe. So what then? You got an escape plan? How will you know what decision to make if you don’t participate in this drill?! Preparation is the key to survival!”

‘He’s as hot and smothering as a fire,’ ‘Ya, I see that now.’ Y/N and Saiki thought towards each other.

“So when the alarm goes off, follow my lead and evacuate to the court yard.” “Okay.”

“Here’s an easy way to remember the correct procedure in an emergency.” Hairo said while weighting S O S on the board.

“What’s sos? I know what that stands for! Save Our Selves. SOS!”

“Ya that’s the plans but that’s not-”

“If it’s not that how about Someone! Over here! Save me!”

“Hehe, each one of your guess is dumber than the last one.”

“Alright do you know what it means smart guy?!”

“Of course I do. Obviously it stands for Scorching Oblivion Smackdown…. Hehe, I’m joking. It stands for Slow, Orderly, and Silent right,”

“Yup you got it. Now everyone just remember those simple rules and we’ll ace this drill!”

“The first floor science lab is on fire. Please evacuate.”

“That alarm sound always makes me so nervous,”

“I’m with Teruhashi, it’s so jarring. I know fires most likely won’t ever happen but still, the thought is kinda scary,” Y/N thought aloud.

“Stay calm everyone Open your bag and get your Safety hood, stand in like after that in order of student number.”

“Where’s my hood.” “Oh crap I think I left it at home.”

“Seriously?! If this was an actual fire Obviously you’d be Smoldering ashes!”

“Oh I can’t seem to find my safety hood.” Said Teruhashi.

“Oh come on not you too!”

“Use my hood!” “No use mine!” “Use mine!”

“But if I take all of yours then you’ll die!”

“She’s right! This is not a safe plan!”

“Sacrifice” “Ourselves to” “Save her”

“Oh okay,” Hairo said awkwardly.

“Okay, let’s move out.”

“Hold on, I forgot my phone.”

“Stop Takahashi. Out of line is to dangerous. Stay in place!”

‘What’s with the SOS obsession?’

“Stop it guys, Obviously it’s not the time to Stupid fights.”

“Okay gang we’re almost down- AAAAAA! Stop everyone! Our path leading out! Shuddered before us!”

“Seriously?” “Oh come on!” “Screw it we’d be dead.”

“Hey, isn’t this the first floor science lab that we are supposed to avoid cause it’s “on fire”” Y/N air quoted.

“They are testing to see how well payed attention, clearly our class leader didn’t pay attention to the announcement.”

“Stay calm. Obviously there’s a Solution to get outside. Yes that’s it! I understand why they locked us in. They’re testing our physical strength, ya that’s the only explanation! We don’t have to send out an SOS if we can overcome obstacles by ourselves! Which means to get out we must break down that shudder!”

“Alright let’s break it down boys!!!” “AAAAAAAA”

‘Is it too late to leave the pack and go to the court yard by ourselves?’

‘In a real fire they’d be the first to die.”

“So you wrenched open a metal shudder and ran out the front door? I see. WHY WOULD YOU ANIMALS BREAK OUR BEE SHUDDER, WE LITERALLY INSTALED IT LAST WEEK LOSERS! So what are you gonna do? Obviously you’re idiots, Shudders are expensive to fix!!”

“WE’RE SORRY!”

“This school doesn’t even need to bother with emergency drills, after all… So long as I’m here Ordeals like fires Simply won’t happen.”

“As punishment you’re all getting buzz cuts.”

—————————————————————————

Next episode: in progress

[illshakeyouallnightlong-dean]

Take Me To The Sun

Previously known as In Times Of Flaring: Here is the official Part one to the series! You can also find it on AO3 I finally made an account!

Take Me To The Sun (846 words) by leftmeinwonderland

The quadrant is in chaos. Finding out who is alive, who we all lost - and all I can think about is they aren’t back. He isn’t back. 

I wish I could comfort you, flare. Rathnait whispers to me, and for a moment I feel guilty that I feel so out of sorts for not being able to focus on shielding my emotions from her. Her talons tick nervously on the flight field, vigilant over my every move and breath. All I can do is stare at my dragon vacantly. Streaks of dark copper highlighted her grace, her beauty - running down the length of her neck and down each of her legs. Rathnait was a sight to behold, and I was only grateful to be considered worthy to be hers. Her scarlett colored scales glistened in the setting sun, as if mirroring the sun itself in all its bright glory. Her swordtail flicked in the air back and forth in agitation. We must not get ahead of ourselves, you would feel it if something happened to him. 

I reach out to clutch her nose to my chest, needing to feel the warmth of her breath on my clammy self. She nudges me gently, trying all she can to ground my spiraling thoughts. 

I can’t help but think of the moments I last saw him - the fight, the anger. 

****

“Xaden is already bending the rules with bringing Violet along, I can’t ask him to risk your well being as well,” Garrick murmurs in my ear as we watch the tense showdown between Dain and Xaden. I try to ignore the sting in my chest, having to wrinkle my nose to rid myself of unshed tears. 

“You're not even gonna try, after everything? You just expect me to watch you go? You’ve been keeping secrets, Garrick. This seems like part of one of them” I hiss at him, shrugging my arm away from his hold. Rathnait glowers at both Garrick and Chradh, his brown scorpion tail - the irritation she feels at watching me get hurt is almost enough to make her snap her teeth at them both. Garrick’s jaw clenches, his ever composed features faltering at the anguish I knew he could see in my eyes, could hear in my voice. 

Just say the word, flare. I’ll teach him to treat you with more care. Rathnait snarls at Chradh, snapping as he tries to nudge her affectionately. I don’t want to put her in an uncomfortable position, to push away her growing care for Chradh. You let me worry about that. Chradh knows you are the one I chose, the one I will always look out for.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish we had time to talk more, but right now I would rather know you’re safe with the rest of your squad. Your anger towards me is worth it if I am guaranteed your survival,” I watch as he makes sure his flight gloves are secure, flexing them before flickering those earth toned eyes towards me. My heart cracks a little bit more - all I want to do is scream. To shove him and get him to see that this is hurting me, is crushing me. How much more can I let slide? How much more can I take when all I want is to want him. To love him.

“And what about you? What if you don’t come back?” 

Xaden and Violet make their way towards their dragons. Squads have begun to launch to their respective posts, Dain and I are being waited upon by Second Squad. 

“I’ve survived too much to lose now. I’ll be back and we can talk - I’ll tell you everything,” Garrick promises, stepping forward to plant a soft kiss on my temple. Clutching his flight jacket, I can’t help it as tears fall down my cheeks. 

“It seems like you might lose me though,” Turning around to follow my Squad leader, ignoring the curses from Garrick, ignoring the way in which my Squad watches me with grimaces and pity. All for fucking War Games, all for nothing. 

I make my way towards the group, needing the familiar, needing their constant. Ridoc opens his arms, bringing me in for a brief tight embrace. Sawyer offers a wavering smile.

“Are you gonna be ok?” Rhiannon softly asks, wiping my wet cheeks with her hands. I shakily smile at her, making sure my own flight jacket and gloves are secure. I can’t bare to watch Garrick and Chradh take to the sky, having to believe that he’ll be ok, but at the same time wanting to protect myself from more heartbreak. 

“Let’s go get this over with.” I quickly scale up Rathnait, she chuffs at me, making sure I’m secure in my seat. Let’s go flying, Ray. Take me towards the sun. Sending my devotion to her down our bond. She launches quickly, wings flaring gloriously. The rest of the squad is quick to follow. 

I’ll always make sure you’re near it, flare. The light will never die in you, not even from this pain. 

[ihavemanyhusbands]

The Assassin's Apprentice

PART ONE: RELUCTANCE

Mini-Series Masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Duncan Vizla x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.6k words

Summary: A reluctant mentor gets assigned a reluctant apprentice to learn the ropes of the hitman business... Eventually. The result? Various situations for them to bond and play nice with each other, even if it's not always easy.

Warnings: one bed trope wahooooo, sort of implied mutual pining, assassin!reader (in training), swearing, lots of tension, slight power imbalance, eventual smut, beginnings of fluff, eventual angst, slight age gap (reader is in her 20s), smoking, and I think that's it right now but lmk if anything else!

-------------

“How long until we’re there?” You asked, glancing over at him.

He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and turning back to the passenger side window. You tried to discern anything in the endless darkness of the highway, but you couldn’t see beyond the occasional road sign illuminated by the truck’s headlights.

You’d been on the road for hours, with no real idea of where, or when, Duncan — the so-called mentor you’d been paired with — was planning to stop. Your next assignment was somewhere in the midwest, between Illinois and Indiana, but he’d kept most of the other details to himself. 

You weren’t sure how he expected you to learn anything about the business if he wasn’t willing to share what he knew. You could barely even call him a teacher, really, but you found it was more due to willful negligence rather than outright incompetence. If anything, you’d think it would help the mentorship end faster, especially since you knew he was just as unhappy being stuck with an apprentice.

You’d only been working together for a couple of months, but you didn’t feel like you’d progressed all that much. Sure, you were getting a much better handle on weaponry, but you still had a long way to go. Guns were especially difficult, but that was yet another lesson he had neglected to teach you. 

Still, there was a small part of you that didn’t want to call the agency about a replacement. At least, you had gotten to know him enough to predict his moods and some of the decisions he took. Starting over again with someone new just seemed too tedious at that point. 

It was as they said, after all, better the devil you know than the one you don’t…

You sighed, wishing you could just go to sleep and forget everything for a few hours. Finally, as if your silent prayers were being answered, he pulled off the road into the parking lot of a dingy-looking motel. Surprisingly, it was relatively full, but there was a vacant spot right in front of the main office that Duncan pulled into.

“Let me do the talking,” he said, switching off the ignition. 

You rolled your eyes. “What, you don’t trust me not to give us away or something?”

“No, but I don’t want any sort of unnecessary back and forth, like right now,” he said pointedly. “We’ll take whatever room they have, we’ll sleep for a few hours, and we’ll leave early in the morning. That’s it, nothing more to it. You understand?”

“Whatever,” you muttered under your breath, following him to the main office. 

The reception had a rustic feel to it, with sparse decorations that had probably not been changed since the eighties. A small, old TV was playing Jeopardy, the voices indistinct and low. You hung back and pretended to leaf through some old pamphlets while Duncan went to speak to the manager, an old man who had been dozing off in his chair before you entered.

The manager looked through his yellowed logbook and smiled with what seemed to be relief.

“You’re in luck, this is our last room available,” he said.

“Two beds?” Duncan asked.

He shook his head. “Just a single, king-sized bed.”

At this, you couldn’t help yourself — your head snapped up in horror, eyes wide. “But you have extra cots, right?”

“Unfortunately, we are currently out of them. We have some larger families staying here right now.”

Duncan shot you a warning glare over his shoulder and you pursed your lips. You nodded tightly at the manager, who was confused at your slight distress. 

“I-is that alright with you? I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he said, eyeing Duncan, clearly intimidated by his size.

“It’s fine, we’ll take it. How much?” Duncan said, his voice starting to become haggard with exhaustion, and took out his wallet.

“Forty-five.”

He handed him the cash and practically snatched up the key. He jerked his head towards the door so you’d follow suit and you left the pamphlets back where you’d found them. 

“Room eighteen, at the other end of the lot!” The manager called out as the two of you were halfway out the door. 

You shot him an apologetic glance and mouthed a quick thank you before closing the door, the bell overhead jingling. 

Outside, Duncan immediately lit a cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke. You gathered what little belongings you’d brought from the truck and followed him toward the room, silently cursing your luck. 

Your mind was racing with possibilities, but the one that kept coming up was making him sleep on the floor. It was only polite, after all, but you doubted he’d give in without a fight… If he gave in at all. Another option was to sleep on the floor yourself, but the consequences would not be pretty for him in the morning. 

You were struggling to come up with much else, but sleeping in the same bed was absolutely unthinkable. You wouldn’t even consider it. But still, heat traitorously crawled to your cheeks at the thought.

When you got close enough, you had to shake yourself out of your thoughts as he tossed the key at you. You barely caught it, blinking in surprise, but then you shoved past him with a huff. Dickhead.

“I’m gonna finish this,” he said, referring to his cigarette. 

Wordlessly, you shut the door behind you and dropped your bag on the bed, irritation still looming like a dark cloud over you. Before you could really think about it, you grabbed some sleep clothes and locked yourself in the bathroom to shower. 

The hot stream of water did seem to help ease some of your tension, and so you lingered for perhaps a little too long. You scrubbed thoroughly to wash the long day off of you, trying not to think of what would come next. 

What you didn’t know was that outside, Duncan had lit another cigarette, plagued with his own spiraling thoughts. He could never have predicted the day would end the way it did, and that threw him for a loop. Feelings he so carefully concealed warred inside him. He was not totally put off by the idea of sharing the bed, but he certainly would prefer not to. At least, not then.

He was already on edge from your biting remarks and scathing looks, but he wondered if that flame inside of you ever flickered with other emotions. Or if it was even possible, but perhaps he was just projecting. He was not the most patient of men, and he certainly did not know how to take care of – much less guide – someone. He’d always worked alone, and that was a fate he’d accepted long ago.

But then, there was you, shaking him out of his routine and somehow coaxing him into a state that seemed more present. Like he was finally disengaging autopilot, the days no longer blending into each other. Even if things were not necessarily smooth between the two of you. 

You took your time toweling off and getting dressed, too, just stalling for a little bit longer. Then you heard insistent knocking that immediately broke through your serenity. With another annoyed huff, you stomped over to the front door and yanked it open.

Duncan shouldered his way in, giving you a quick glance over that you chose to ignore. For a moment, you both stood there, unsure of how to proceed. You opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to it.

“You can take the bed,” he said gruffly, deciding as soon as he saw you.

You gaped at him, stupefied. You had been braced for an argument, almost eager to defend yourself. But this was the first time since you’d met him that he’d truly taken you by surprise.

You relaxed your posture, clearing your throat as you looked away.

“Are you, um, sure?” You asked mostly out of politeness.

“Yes,” he said.

You nodded slowly, reluctantly muttering, “Thank you.” 

“What was that?”

“I said thank you,” you said louder, your jaw clenching.

He smiled a little in satisfaction, a teasing edge to it. “Nice to know you still have some manners, after all.”

You frowned, glaring up at him as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I could say the same to you, what with you suddenly being so generous.” 

He grunted in response, which could be taken as a touché. You tossed him a pillow and the thin extra blanket that was folded over the comforter.

“I’m exhausted, so I’d advise you not to test me anymore tonight,” you said, sliding under the blankets. 

“Or what?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

You held his gaze pointedly. “Do you really want to find out?”

He shook his head, observing you for a moment longer before he let out an amused huff.

“That smart mouth of yours will get you in a lot of trouble someday. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, not the first time I’ve heard that. Doubt it’s gonna be you that does anything about it, though.”

He let out a wry chuckle. “Oh, yes. When trouble comes knocking, I’ll steer clear.”

With that, he dropped what you’d thrown at him and went into the bathroom to shower as well. You pressed your pillow over your face and let out a long groan. He really knew how to push your buttons, but it was especially frustrating that you didn’t think anyone had ever affected you in such a way before.

You pulled the covers up to your chin and turned away from the door, grumbling to yourself. But as you listened to the muffled sound of the water running, exhaustion got the best of you and you drifted into sleep without realizing it.

When Duncan was done, he saw your prone form and tried his best to tiptoe around the room so as not to wake you. He peeked over the side and found himself smiling softly upon seeing your serene expression, which was a rare sight. 

The life you had signed up for was not an easy one, he knew that well. Perhaps he was stalling because he wanted to spare you the worst parts for a little while longer — the loneliness, the constant paranoia and vigilance, the lack of trust.  

Or perhaps he liked having some company a little too much. Even if you always seemed to be ready to chew his head off, he still enjoyed having someone with him on all his travels. The lack of silence was a welcome reprieve.

He slept shallowly for a few hours, but he was woken up by the sound of your shuddering breaths. You’d been woken up by the cold that had crept in as night reached its darkest point, the measly motel sheets too thin for you to generate heat properly. 

He heard you tip-toe towards the heater, cursing under your breath when you realized it was broken. You realized you’d left your jacket in the truck, as well, but you wouldn’t dare venture out there into the freezing night for it. You wanted to punch something in frustration, but you clenched your fists tightly instead.

He shifted on the floor, looking up at your silhouette. “Trouble sleeping?” 

“Aren’t you freezing?” You asked, teeth chattering slightly.

“A little,” he said, already used to finding ways of maintaining body heat.

You stood there for a moment, trying to rub warmth onto your arms. A part of you already knew the solution to your problem, but you didn’t want to voice it. You didn’t think he’d let you live it down if you did.

And yet, he was the one to speak up.

“Do you want me to…?” He trailed off.

The word no was immediately on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. All you wanted was some goddamn rest for at least one night, and if you needed to sacrifice both your pride and your dignity for it… then you would deal with it when daylight came. 

You sighed heavily, resigned. “Not really, but also… yes?”

He stood up with a grunt, tossing his pillow and blanket back on the bed. His heavy footsteps thudded to the other side of it as you reluctantly slid back under the covers. His weight sank his side of the mattress as he lay down and you almost rolled into him.

Quickly, you scooted away as far away as possible, your back nearly hanging off the edge. 

“Alright just – stay on your side, okay? No funny business. I mean it,” you warned. “I’m not afraid to cut your fingers off if you try anything.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t doubt it. But what if it’s you who tries something instead?”

“Oh, you wish,” you huffed, turning away from him. “Good night, Duncan.”

He hummed in response, smiling to himself as he settled on his back. Luckily for the both of you, his presence was enough for the bed to warm up properly. You fell back asleep without much more protest and in your unconscious state, you sought out more of his warmth. Your body inched close to his, and his body involuntarily found itself rolling to one side and enveloping you.

It was almost natural, the way you fit just right in his embrace. It was foolish to pretend you didn’t, in some subconscious way, expect to end up like that. Both of you slept more soundly than you had in a long time.

Early the next morning, when pale tendrils of light filtered in through the thin curtains, you began to wake up to find yourself flush against him. In your half conscious state, you hummed and nestled against him more comfortably, not quite wanting to get up yet. Then slowly, you began to remember just who was holding you. From there, more and more details started to sink in – the top of your head under his chin, your back against his chest, your butt pressed to his…

Your eyes popped open and you drove your elbow back into his chest. With a groan, his arms untangled from around you and you hastily wiggled away from him. He blinked up at you blearily as you glared down at him, noticing that his smell lingered on you. Your face felt like it was on fire. 

“What are you doing!? I told you to stay on your side!” You hissed, still reeling from shock and outrage. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just didn’t notice. Guess we slept pretty deeply,” he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with one hand. “What time is it?”

He rolled onto his back and it was then that you noticed something bulging underneath the sheets. 

“Oh god… oh my god,” you whispered panickedly, quickly looking away even if the image had seared itself into your mind. “I, um, I don’t know, just get ready okay!? Please let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

He frowned for a moment, confused by your hysterics, but then he noticed his own predicament and tried to cover himself with one large hand. He found himself blushing a little, too, and he grabbed a pillow for extra measure. 

“U-um yes, yes, go ahead and use the bathroom first if you need,” he said. 

You didn’t need to be told twice, running inside and locking the door behind you. You looked at your wide-eyed reflection in the mirror and let out an exasperated breath. You internally cursed yourself for having been weak willed, even if for a moment. Sure, the rest had been worth it, but what about everything else? 

Well, maybe if neither of you mentioned it again, then it would be like it didn’t happen at all… right?

---------

[respectthepetty]

Y'all can thank @negrowhat and @27vampyresinhermind for this post because I wasn't going to watch Wandee Goodday until Wednesday, but here I am clowning while traveling with color-coded boys in love.

First, starting the episode with 69 and the yellow bananas on the purple boxers is the way I want all my shows to begin.

Especially because I feel the yellow bananas are going to be a thing for BD Yellow Yal Yak.

Next, I am fully on Team No-Kiss-on-the-Lips-until-the-Finale, so Yak being so comfortable with Dee to kiss him goodbye is the small crumbs I need to survive.

Since Yak is subtly making his way behind Dee's walls and the colors tell us this since Dee now has a little yellow light in his room by the TV.

It wasn't there before he decided to be Friends-with-Benefits with Yak.

And it's nice because as others have pointed out, Yak and Dee do seem to be actual "Friends" with benefits.

They fix things for each other, like Yak fixing the broken heart light that Dee was too busy to properly care for.

They call each other and know when the other is not doing well, but they also don't push each other to share.

And they also match colors.

Which reminds me - Is this plum, like dark purple, or brown?

Because what Ter is wearing is clearly brown, but the poster of them is purple, so I just think that Dee is already destined to win this scholarship.

But he won't go abroad

Because he will realize he is right where he needs to be.

And I think it was reinforced by Yak not taking the necklace back.

So even though Yellow Yak initially said no to fake dating and broke off their friends-with -benefits arrangement, he still allowed Dee to carry a part of him around.

And his brother and Cher understand how important that is because Yak easily handed over his name even though he fears having a public relationship. Also, I still think the brother is a Blue Boy because he is loyal and stable, but I need a moment to figure this out (when I've had more than three hours of sleep).

The boundaries and the colors are quickly shifting because Yak was black last episode and Dee was white, but this episode, as they go back-and-forth over this fake dating possibility, they switch colors.

But Dee is still a Purple Prince with his purple boxing gloves, purple hand wraps, and Yak pointing out that homeboy *should* be rich.

So even though Dee leaves in a huffy state and in blue, he is highlighted by purple lighting.

Which Yak absorbs when he decides to take Dee's hand and helps Dee cross the obstacle, together.

Which leads to Yak giving into Dee's request as he is highlighted by the yellow lights in the background.

He commits to the bit and shows up to the hospital with the purple-wrapped flowers.

And seems to fit right into Dee's life as both match the background of Dee's apartment.

Sidenote: It will never not please me that Dee's apartment building was colored purple.

So that little yellow light in the beginning of the episode to show how Yak has slowly started to integrate himself into Dee's life turns into a full-on yellow lighting attack.

They may be fake dating, but the feelings are about to be real.

And it's not because Dee is wearing Yak's yellow next week (with Yak wearing Dee's fake blue).

But because Yak has this blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of realizing he can't distinguish between the fake and real.

"Stay True" to yourself and your feelings, Yak!

[slowburningechoes]

confessions over cocoa ❆

Summary: Sipping on hot chocolate with the love of your life seems like the perfect time to reveal the secret you've been keeping.

Pairing: Domestic!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: just some tooth rotting fluff, domestic Christmas activities, caloric consumption, pregnancy, giving this man children because CBS writers are cowards

Word Count: 1.2k

"Seems your PhD in chemistry is finally coming in handy," you tease, sipping on a mug full of hot chocolate Spencer had made from scratch.

A scoff fell from his lips, "Finally? You know I've defused chemical bombs and deciphered the elements in hundreds of biological and chemical weapons, right?"

You roll your eyes sarcastically, "Yes, I know, boy genius. I'm just saying that all this is the best application of your skills." You lift your mug up and point to it.

"Well, I'm glad that my years of academic research has yielded an expert cup of hot cocoa for you," Spencer rolled his eyes, pouring some from the warm pot and into a mug that matched yours.

"Don't forget the homemade sugar cookies last week," you add, smirking at him mischievously.

Spencer almost spits out his drink as he laughs. "I should've just become a baker instead of a profiler, huh?"

You sit your cup down on the island and move to place your body in front of his. "No, we still need to work on your icing skills, honey."

"Presentation isn't everything - like you said, they were delicious," Spencer sat his mug down, too, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"And either way you'd be busy this time of year," you say, matter-of-factly.

"Hmmm, that's true," he leaned down, pressing his lips against your forehead. "But at least as a baker, I'd have some down time throughout."

You found yourself shaking your head, "You're proud of the work you do and I am proud of you. I wouldn't want to change that for all the endless sweets in the world. Besides, I hold down the fort pretty well while you're away."

"I hate that you have to do so much on your own," he whispers, running his fingers down your spine. "You run the bookstore, you check in on my mother, and you take care of everything here. You even managed to put up all of these Christmas decorations without needing me to reach something for you."

You slap his arm lightly in response to the joke about your height before pulling him into the living room with you. His expression was one of confusion as you rustled under the ornamented tree.

"What are you looking for, baby?" he inquired, attempting to aid in your search.

Before you can respond, you spot it - a small rectangular box wrapped in dark green paper with a golden twisted ribbon on top. You turned to him, holding it in your hand unsteadily.

"I was going to save this until the morning since it will officially be Christmas," you begin, "but I feel like now is the perfect time for this gift."

You had it to Spencer, who still had a curious look on his face.

As he rustled with the paper, you added, "Also, I love taking care of things here. I love taking care of you - of us."

A smile spread across his face, popping off the lid of the sturdy box. "I love you, y/n." He unfolds the tissue paper that hid the gift.

"I love you, too," you respond, rocking back and forth on your toes waiting for him to see it.

Spencer lifted up the small round object into the palm of his hand, admiring its ceramic detail. "An ornament?" he asked, a befuddled yet pleasant tone in his voice.

"Just one last one to hang before tomorrow morning," you bite your bottom lip nervously, moving to his side to view the ornament next to him. "Look at it closely."

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows and squinted to read the engraved script. As he realized, his breathing became hitched and his jaw dropped. The room was silent for a moment longer than you expected, which made the lump of anxiety grow in your throat.

"Soon to be...," he read, tracing his fingers over the text. "A family of three?"

"The rhyme is cheesy, I know but-," you justify before he cut you off.

"You're pregnant?" Spencer asks, his voice soft but higher in pitch. Tears began to form in his eyes and he softly bit down on his lower lip.

You nod earnestly, your eyes also beginning to fill with tears. "Mhm, turn it over." He doesn't move though, so you reach into his palm and flip it over yourself.

The opposite side revealed a picture from your ultrasound. The fetus was just defined enough for the various parts of his body to be obvious. As soon as Spencer laid eyes on it, he raised his free hand to wipe away the tears that were now rolling down his flushed cheeks.

"H-how long have you known?" he asked, barely able to get the words to escape his mouth.

"I had my suspicions when I missed my cycle awhile back, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions," you begin, rubbing your thumb against your sweaty hand. "But then it still hadn't come when you left for the case last weekend, so I bought a few tests. They all came back positive... but I still couldn't believe it, so I went to the doctor where they confirmed it with a blood test and well - this. She says I'm eight weeks along."

You looked up at him with anxious yet hopeful eyes. His eyes broke from his trance on the ornament to you and a huge grin spread across his face. The mix of happy tears streaming down his face and his goofy smile makes you fall for him even deeper.

"Y/n," Spencer sighs, placing his free hand on the side of your face, before kissing you fiercely. "I-I can't believe it. We're going to be parents, I-I'm going to be a father!"

His hands quickly moved to place the ornament safely on the tree before dropping to his knees in front of you.

Spencer gently placed his head against your stomach and began whispering to your unborn child. "I already love you so much, little one. You have no idea how excited I am to meet you."

You practically melted in that moment, just admiring his attentive nature and softness. He had waited forever to have children and you had talked about it for years, but it hadn't happened until now. You always knew he would make the perfect father and this just confirmed it all.

"You are already so perfect," he says in a hush. "I can't wait to hold you."

You run your fingers through his curls, pressing him against you softly. "What do you think it is, Spence? A boy or a girl?"

"I don't even have a guess - b-but, truly I don't think I have a preference either way," he responds, coming back up to his feet and embracing you. "Either way, this baby will be so loved. I can't believe we made a baby."

"Hopefully they're just as smart and charming as you," you say, cuddling into his chest.

"I already know they'll be beautiful like their mother," Spencer mumbles against your skin, placing a firm kiss upon the top of your chest.

You had always felt that "home" feeling wrapped in Spencer's arms, but something about carrying his child inside you and bringing them into the world made you feel complete. Even just the two of you made a family, but this third addition was the most welcomed gift you could have received this holiday season.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 18 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - whilst trying to clean up the mess you made, Luke makes a discovery. Spencer and Luke have it out before Spencer comes to a realisation about his mental state.

A/N - chapter starts just before the end of the last chapter as reader is storming away from Luke.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - use of “bitch” and “whore” (not towards reader), mentions of sexual assault, blackmail, swearing, murder, blood, PTSD, talk of split personas and alter egos. WC - 4.7k

Chapter 18 - Uncontainable

When you stormed away from Luke back towards the cabin, the raised voice coming from inside stopped you in your tracks as you reached the front porch. All your years of FBI training kicked in at that moment and you slowly and cautiously crept to the window. 

The first thing you saw was a wave of bright red hair flashing before your eyes as the person it belonged to moved frantically back and forth. But it soon became clear she wasn’t moving of her own accord. 

Spencer, who was only wearing a pair of underwear, shook her by her wrist somewhat violently, yelling in her face. 

“Listen you little bitch, do you have any idea how many people are actually assaulted every day? How many don’t report it because they’re scared they won’t be believed? And you want to use their real pain for your own sick gain?”

You frowned at his words, trying to deduce what they were arguing about whilst also making sure you didn’t make a sound. 

“You know you’re not helping yourself right? If you bruise me it’ll only make my story seem more believable.” Mary spat back at him and you saw Spencer quickly let her go. “And don’t think I haven’t seen the bruises on your lovely wife. I’m sure she would back up my story.” 

Story? What story? Was she exploiting Spencer? Had Luke told her who you really were and now she was trying to blackmail him? He said something about unreported assaults, was she going to tell people he assaulted her? 

“The only story she would back up is the one where you’re a desperate little whore who shamelessly wanted to fuck a man you perceived to married.” He barked at her. 

“Well I guess we’ll see won’t we? Who’s going to believe the strange out of towner over the young, innocent girl.” 

That was all you needed to hear. You could put an end to this, clear up this mess before it got out of hand. 

You crept around the side of the cabin and let yourself in the back gate. You made sure to walk silently up the spiral staircase that led to the first floor patio and thank god you’d been too drunk to think about locking the bedroom doors last night. 

You snuck inside and quickly found the SIG in Spencer’s nightstand. You’d done this so many times before, sneaking up on an unsub, it was like second nature. Breathe through your nose, steady, shallow breaths. Feet barely ghosting the floor. Do not make a sound. Keep the gun pointing straight ahead. 

You silently made it down the stairs and you heard her voice again as you reached the kitchen door. 

“I told you I want out of this town. I work three jobs and I am nowhere close to having enough. Finding out your little secret is the best thing that could have happened to me. So if you don’t give me what I want, I will disgrace the former FBI agent Spencer Reid and tell everyone that you raped me. Ten grand should do it.” 

You could feel the anger rolling off of Spencer in waves before you even entered the room. He would see you the second you stepped inside and you had to hope he could control his facial expressions long enough so Mary wouldn’t see you coming. 

“Let’s just talk about this, please?” He was begging her as you slowly pushed open the door. His eyes flicked over toward you and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“No, no more talking. You pay me now or I will go straight to the cops.” 

You cocked the gun and if she heard it, it would have been too late. You aimed at the back of her head and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The sound of the gunshot rang out through the room as the bullet hit its target and continued careening out the front of her skull towards the wall. 

She made a pathetic gasping sound as her body crumbled to the floor right at Spencer’s feet. The shock was written all across his face as he looked up at you, still holding the smoking gun in your hand. 

You tucked it in your waistband and strolled closer to Spencer whose mouth was hanging open and wide eyes glared at you in a stupor. 

“W-what did you…? Why did you?” He croaked out as you stepped closer, not a single hint of remorse in your eyes. 

“Karma’s a bitch.” You shrugged simply. “And so was she.” 

“Are you insane?” He yelled in exasperation. “We don’t kill close to home! How are we supposed to talk our way out of this?”

Her blood was splattered across his bare torso and arms, but he didn’t seem to notice, his frustration taking precedence. 

“She was threatening you! What was I supposed to do? Let her tell the whole town you raper her? Or let you fork over all of our cash to keep her quiet?” You glared at him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, this is bad.” He scratched his head, trying to formulate a plan. “We need to clean this up. We need to make sure every inch of this cabin is as clean as when we found it. We need to get her body in the trunk of the car, we need to dispose of it, and then we need to leave town.” 

“Leave town? That will only make us look more guilty.” You scoffed. 

“By the time they figure out she’s missing we will be so far away from here, they will never find us. And with any luck the freaking BAU won’t find us again either!” He spat. 

You rolled your lip between your teeth and took a step back.

“You know that Luke was here.” You looked guilty. 

“Yes, Y/N I do. Fuck, this is falling apart like a house of goddamn cards.” 

“I’m…I'm sorry.” You swallowed thickly, your previous bravado fading around you. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.” He stepped around Mary’s body closer to you, suddenly softening. “You were trying to help.” 

He cupped your cheek in his hand and held you so gently you could cry. He looked at you as though you hung the moon, his love for you so painfully clear at that moment. 

“I fucked up, Spence.” Your bottom lip quivered. 

“And we’ll fix it. Together, ok? We’re in this together, sweetheart. I promise you we will figure this out.” He leant closer to you and pressed his lips to yours. 

You believed him, you had no reason not to. If anyone was going to be able to set this right it was Spencer. When the two of you worked together, it was some kind of magic. With Spencer on your side this didn’t seem quite as daunting as it actually was. 

***

Luke’s cell phone rang as he was letting himself back into the hire car. He grinded his teeth, not particularly wanting to talk to anyone right now. 

His encounter with you had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew there was something bigger at play here, he knew Spencer had done something, he just had no idea how to prove it. 

He slid into the driver's seat and pulled his phone from his pocket, brows furrowing instantly when he saw the name on the display. He gnawed his bottom lip and answered it, placing the device to his ear. 

“Phil?” He ran his fingers over his stubble. 

“Hey man,” Phil’s voice lacked its usual bounce and under normal circumstances Luke would have asked what was wrong but it was the least of his concerns right now. 

“I’m sorry now really isn’t a good time.” Luke slotted the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine. 

“I really need to talk to you.” 

“I’m up to my eyes in a case, I’ll call as soon I’m-”

“It’s about Duncan Green.” Phil cut him off. 

Luke’s hand that was still on the key fell to his lap as his blood froze in his veins. It had been several years since he’d last heard that name but it didn’t make it any less sinister. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Luke leant back against the chair, gaze somewhere out of the window but not focused on anything. He could feel every erratic beat of his heart. 

“A body was found in a shallow grave in the Rio Grande National Forest in Colorado. We got a call after local cops got a match to his prints.” Phil’s tone was morose, not at all how Luke expected him to react to this. 

“He’s dead?” Luke wanted to jump for joy but he put the party on hold. He could tell there was something Phil wasn’t saying. 

“Had his throat cut. He’s been living in Albuquerque under the assumed name of Matthew Richards since his escape from prison.” 

Luke closed his eyes, holding the phone in a vice like grip. Green had been murdered, his body found in Colorado. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his cool, at least for the time being. 

“Is it a coincidence or do you think someone tracked him down?” Luke kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“I don’t believe in coincidences. The bureau still has sightings of him come in everyday but you know we can’t check out every lead, it would be impossible. But the Green case was accessed just a few weeks ago and again a week ago by the same government login details.” Phil’s voice sounded even more sullen. 

“Who’s were they?” Luke held his breath, already having a pretty good idea of what he might say. 

“L. Alvez.” Phil sighed as he spoke. 

Luke opened his eyes, slamming his hand violently against the steering wheel and letting out an animalistic groan. 

“Fuck.” He spat, slamming the wheel again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“I can only assume it wasn’t you?”

“Of course it wasn’t me!” Luke spat, pinching the bridge of his nose firmly between his fingers. 

There were only two people who he could think of that would have accessed that file. You knew him well enough to assume his login password, like it wouldn’t be hard for him to guess yours. And Spencer was a goddamn genius and it wouldn’t be at all difficult for him to figure it out. 

He had a post it note on his desk at work, hidden under his keyboard with his password scrawled on it, even though he knew it was dumb to do so. Realistically anyone at the BAU could have found it and logged onto the database as him but you and Spencer were the only ones who had the motive to do so. 

Green killed your sister, it wasn’t a far stretch to think you would have wanted him dead. And if Spencer was really in love with you, maybe he’d do just about anything for you, including finding the monster who ruined your life. 

He took a few deep breaths to try and compose himself before he spoke again. 

“How far is the National Forest from Crested Butte?” He grumbled, still pinching his nose. 

“Uh, why?” Phil’s tone was riddled with confusion.

“Just look, please?” 

“Fine, let me check.” Phil started tapping away at a keyboard for a moment or two before he spoke again. “About one hundred and sixty miles south, give or take.” 

“Goddamnit.” Luke hit the steering wheel again. 

“You gonna fill me in on what angle you’re working here, Alvez?” 

“I…no not yet.” Luke shook his head. “I gotta go.” 

“Alvez, tell me what you’re thinking.” Phil remained calm. 

“I can’t. Not yet. I need to piece this together first.”

“I can help you.”��

“No, you can’t. I’ll call you later.” Luke quickly pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up, smacking the wheel several more times. “God-fucking-damnit Y/N, what have you done?” 

Suddenly he grabbed the keys back out of the ignition and was hurling himself onto the street and marching in the direction of your cabin. 

***

Spencer closed every single one of the curtains on the house just to be sure. He wiped the residual blood off his torso, he’d shower properly later as he was bound to get dirty again, and threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, foregoing a shirt. 

While he was busy doing that, you laid out garbage bags and wrapped Mary’s dead body in them, sealing every inch to ensure no more unnecessary blood leaked out. You dragged her dead weight through to the kitchen, on your way towards the back door when there was a sudden and rampant knocking at the door. 

You froze in your tracks just as Spencer appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked at you, now covered in Mary’s blood after wrapping her up. He slowly padded downstairs, as quietly as possible in the hopes whoever was at the door would think you were out. 

But then they knocked again. 

“Y/N, I know you’re in there! Open the door!” Luke’s voice carried through to you both. 

“Shit.” You hissed, ducking below the kitchen counter even though the curtains were drawn. 

“He’s not gonna leave easily.” Spencer sighed, looking down at himself to ensure there was no visible blood. “You stay here, it’s about time Luke and I had it out anyway.” 

“Spencer, there’s a blood pool in the middle of the room and a fucking bullet in the wall!” You reminded him, glaring at him from the floor where Mary’s trash bag covered body was laying next to you. 

“Shit,” he groaned. “You’re right. If I open the door he might try and force his way in.” 

“Y/N! Open this goddamn door!” Luke yelled louder this time. 

“I’ll go round back, it might look suspicious but it’s better than the alternative.” He nodded to himself. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” 

“Spencer!” You whined, halting him in his tracks. “I’m scared.” 

He rolled his lip between his teeth and moved closer to you, dropping to his knees next to you and cupping your face. 

“I’m going to take care of it sweetheart. I promise you, everything is going to be ok.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before standing back up and you watched him stroll out of the kitchen towards the back door. 

You whimpered a little when Luke knocked again, heavier and angrier than before. You held your breath, moving to a sitting position on the kitchen floor and drawing your legs up to your chest and leaning back against the cupboard.

Spencer marched through the garden and out of the side gate, ready to face Luke for hopefully the final time. 

“Y/N open the fucking door! I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me!” Luke slammed his palms against the door just as Spencer was rounding the house and stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. 

“You’re gonna be here a long time then.” He folded his arms across his chest and he saw Luke tense at the sound of his voice. 

Slowly, the older man turned to face him, hands going to his hips and squaring his shoulders. 

“Where is she?” Luke spat. 

“That's none of your concern.” Spencer kept his cool, he needed to keep his anger bottled up if he was going to get through his encounter. 

“She’s my friend.” He folded his arms too.

“But she’s my wife.” Spencer smirked, unfolding his own arms and proffering his ring finger toward Luke.

“You and I both know that’s not real.” Luke scoffed. 

“It’s a symbol, Alvez. She loves me and who knows, maybe one day we’ll make it real. So stop chasing her down like a pathetic love struck puppy. She doesn’t want you, man, deal with it.” Spencer shrugged, offering him a slightly sympathetic smile. 

“You think that’s what this is about? You think I came all this way because I want to win her heart? We’re not in high school, Reid.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I think you’re jealous and you’re concocting scenarios in your head as a way of making yourself feel better when the truth is, Y/N and I just wanted to get away from it all. From you all. Do us a favour and leave us alone, Alvez. We don’t need you chasing after us.” Spencer spat as Luke headed down the front steps towards him.

“So it’s just a coincidence that Duncan Green turned up dead in the same state you and Y/N decided to call home?” 

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. It felt like a trap, he needed to pick his words very carefully. He made sure to keep his expression unchanged, didn’t even so much as blink at Luke’s words but inside he was panicking. 

Just take a breath. Calm down. Don’t rise to it. 

“Who?” Spencer hid the recognition from his face, but Luke still saw through it. 

“Don’t play dumb, Reid. It doesn’t suit you.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Duncan Green, the man who killed Y/N’s sister, who broke out of prison and who we were chasing at the FTF for years. He was found with his throat cut less than two hundred miles from here and my user was the last to look him up. All seems a little coincidental doesn’t it?” 

“Right, yeah Y/N has told me about him. What are you implying, Alvez?” Spencer cocked his eyebrow. “You think, what? I killed him? Oh come on, do you really believe I’m capable of something like that?” 

“The thing is, I’m not sure what you’re capable of. I thought I knew you both but I’m not so sure anymore.” Luke shook his head. “Some twenty two year old told me you were sleeping with her. Some diner guy told me Y/N said you were a bully. Hell, the guy at the used car lot thought she was scared of you! All that makes me think that maybe I never really knew you.” 

Don’t let him break you, Reid, do not give him anything. 

“Luke with all due respect, why are listening to these morons over me? You do know me, and you know I’m not capable of killing someone.” 

Luke’s expression faltered and Spencer breathed a small sigh of relief, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. He just had to stick the landing, don’t fumble it at the last hurdle. 

“I really don’t know what to think, Spencer. Of course I don’t want to believe you’re capable of something like this but there are just so many things that don’t add up here. And I swear to god if you did kill Green and you’ve put Y/N in danger, I will make it my life’s work to put you back in prison for the rest of your life.” Luke spat, his expression one Spencer had seen him use many times in interrogations. 

Spencer took a step back as a smirk twitched at his lips. He shrugged his shoulders at Luke. 

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are, Alvez. And I can promise you, if I had done something, you would never get me back inside a prison cell.” He took a few more steps back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Now if you’d kindly get the hell out of here and leave us alone.” 

Spencer turned on his heels and started back towards the side gate. He thought Luke might have more to say, he heard the other man grunting in frustration behind him, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. 

He threw open the gate and bolted it behind him, not slowing as he traversed the backyard and made his way inside the cabin, locking the back door behind him. He found you more or less where he left you, cowering on the kitchen floor next to the garbage bag stuffed with Mary’s corpse. 

You looked up at him, bottom lip quivering as you hugged your legs to your chest. It was such a strange juxtaposition to see you so frightened when you hadn’t hesitated in pulling the trigger and killing Mary not so long ago. 

Spencer slid down to the floor next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and you instinctively rested your head on him. He could hear your erratic breaths as you snuggled against him.

“Is he gone?” You whispered. 

“Not yet. I’d kill him with my bare hands if I didn’t still respect him so damn much.” Spencer sighed. 

“I would never forgive you if you killed Luke.” You raised your head and looked at him. 

“I know, sweetheart. And I wouldn’t do that to you. But jeez he’s a pain in the ass.” He used his free hand to cup your face delicately and his fingertips brushed lightly over your cheek. “He knows about Green.”

Your face paled, colour completely draining from your skin as you stared at him in horror.

“He…what?” You swallowed. 

“I didn’t get the full story but I guess they found his body. There is nothing that can tie us to him, Y/N. We were careful.” He tried to insist. 

Apart from the fact I used Luke’s credentials to track him, he decided against saying out loud.

“What happens now, Spence?” 

“We have to wait him out, he won’t stay out there forever. Once it’s dark we have to get rid of the body, clean up this house and we have to get the fuck out of this town before anyone realises she’s missing.” 

“I like it here.” You sighed sadly. 

He could have pointed out the fact that if it weren’t for you being so trigger happy then you wouldn’t have to leave. Not so long ago, he would have pointed that out. He would have gotten angry, blamed you for this, for Mary’s death, for Luke showing up here and for the BAU being on your asses. But something had changed in Spencer.

It was entirely plausible that his time in prison had caused a break in his psyche. The PTSD that he’d left untreated for so long had manifested itself in the form of a second persona, much more dark and evil than himself. When he found his anger rising, he switched into this alter ego without meaning to, maybe because Spencer had never been good at dealing with anger or emotions in general.

His alter allowed him to stand up for himself, to deal with that residual trauma and not bottle it all up like he’d been doing his entire life. You’d told him he was like Jekyll and Hyde and you were right. 

But he was learning that the love he felt for you, that swarmed through every inch of his body was what could tether him. If he focused only on that love and not on the rage, he could keep the monster at bay. Best case scenario, he may never need to kill again, but really he’d just settle for not ever having to make you scared of him again. 

He wanted to be the man you needed him to be. None of this hassle was worth it if he didn’t have you at his side at the end of the day. You were worth not giving over to his demons for, you were the only thing that mattered in his completely fucked up existence. 

He knew if it came down to it he would take the wrap for everything, Green, Mary and Jason Durand included. He would not let you go down for any of this. He was going to the ends of the Earth to protect you no matter what. He loved you so much, it was the least he could do. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

“I know sweetheart, but I’ll find you a new Stars Hollow, I promise.” He kissed your forehead. 

“Won’t they just come for us again? They’re going to keep coming for us, Spencer.” You chewed on your lip. 

“We have to be extra careful this time. We have to figure out a plan, we can’t use the Nissan anymore, not now the team knows about it. And our aliases are blown. Fuck, I don’t know what we’re going to do.” He confessed, letting go of your face so he could pinch the bridge or his nose. 

A smile tugged at your lips which caused Spencer to frown at you. 

“Good job I’m always prepared. I was a fugitive hunter, Spencer, we don’t leave anything to chance.” You sat back and reached into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out four similar rectangular cards which you handed over to him. “I think through every eventuality. The BAU have no idea what they’re dealing with.”

Spencer looked on in awe at the four driving licences in his hand. Two bore your photograph and two his. There was one matching set of Arizona issued licences for Samuel and Violet Truman and another set of Florida licences for Jack and Lily Waters. He glanced up at you with a curious expression on his face. 

“Samuel and Violet will buy themselves a little car to go on their American road trip. Meanwhile, Jack and Lily will be checking into motels along their way.” You smiled mischievously at him Spencer’s own smile grew. He had never loved you more than he did at that moment. 

“Good god woman, you’re an evil genius.” He pulled you close and kissed you hard. “If we make it out of this, remind me to marry you for real one day.” 

You giggled against his lips, both of you completely forgetting the imminent danger you could be in, ignoring the dead body by your side and Luke still skulking around outside. 

“We’ll be ok right, Spence? If we leave this place, we’ll find somewhere new and they won’t find us. We’re gonna be ok, aren’t we?” You needed to hear him say it.

“We're going to be just fine, sweetheart. We’re going to take care of this mess and we’re not looking back, only forward. They can’t curb us like they want to. They don’t get us. It’s you and me.” 

“You and me.” You repeated. “We’re uncontainable.” 

Hey,

we're takin' our crown, we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back,

We're uncontainable!

Woo!

(Are you ready? Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls for the main event.

Ha-ha, they aren't ready for this one! Yeah, here we are!)

Comin' out the gate I'm swinging,

And if you're in my way you'll feel it.

I hear you think you're tough,

So put your hands up,

We never back down from a fight.

So lemme ask ya,

Can they stop us?

(No!)

Break us?

(No!)

Get your game face on,

We're against the ropes!

Tap out?

(No!)

Throw in the towel?

(Hell no!)

'Cause when the bell goes off the gloves do too.

Hey, we're takin' our crown, we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back,

We're uncontainable!

Hey, we're takin' our crown, we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back,

We're uncontainable!

Throwin' off the chains,

I'm runnin'.

You think you're at the top,

You're fallin.

Swing and miss you're through,

You're out of the loop,

We're gonna bury you alive.

So lemme ask ya,

Can they stop us?

(No!)

Break us?

(No!)

Get your game face on,

We're against the ropes!

Tap out?

(No!)

Throw in the towel?

(Hell no!)

'Cause when the bell goes off the gloves do too.

Hey, we're takin' our crown we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back?

We're uncontainable!

Hey, we're takin' our crown, we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back?

We're uncontainable!

Keep swingin', keep dreamin',

But you'll never knock me out.

I've fallen too often,

But you'll never keep me down.

You see it, you feel it,

Your mama can't save you now.

One day they'll say,

The throne was made for me.

Yeah,

Uncontainable.

(Is he?)

We're uncontainable.

Hey, we're takin' our crown we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back,

We're uncontainable!

Hey, we're takin' our crown, we're takin' it now, yeah.

Hey, we never look back,

We're uncontainable!

Stop us?

(No!)

Break us?

(No!)

Get your game face on,

We're against the ropes!

Tap out?

(No!)

Throw in the towel?

(Hell no!)

Never look back,

We're uncontainable.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom

[whateveriwant]

Heads or Tails

Summary: Ghost has undergone a lot of changes recently, many of which you find concerning. So you concoct a plan to try to bring the old Ghost back, the first and most crucial step: getting rid of that new mask.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: language, slight physical aggression, some uncool boundary crossing, my attempt to sound Bri'ish

A/N: Hello! So this is a new endeavor for me! I've never written for Ghost or CoD/MW before, but I've recently become obsessed with interested in the characters, and so wanted to give it a go. I was rushing a little to get this out, but I really hope you enjoy! :)

"Bet it's a fetish or somethin'."

Your neck nearly snaps as you swivel to the left, your eyes bugging at the Scot's words.

"Probably humiliation kink… Maybe breath play," Soap ponders aloud, eyes trained across the room pensively.

"Nah, mate. I reckon it's a bad trim, or some bad ink," Gaz adds from your right, making you pivot in your seat. "What'd you think? Tribal or teardrops?" He gestures to his own face, attention also drawn straight ahead.

As the two go back and forth positing ideas, your own eyes are finally steered to the figure in question. This conversation, like seemingly all the ones as of late, is centered around one topic and one topic only.

That damn mask.

While Ghost's signature masks are nothing new to the members of the 141, this one in particular has had you all scratching your heads for weeks. Much like his other balaclavas, this one is dark with a contrasting white skull, only this mask has one minor addition that none of the others have ever included: A big, bouncy puffball right on the top of his head.

When you first saw it, you honestly thought it was a joke; you were on a mission in the tundra, after all. But as you started to laugh, the sharp, deathly glare the Lieutenant gave you had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, averting your eyes out of respect.

Where he got that mask, you hadn't a clue, but you figured it would be just a one time thing anyway. However, that assumption turned out to be entirely wrong as Ghost continued to wear it again and again, no matter the mission conditions. Not only that, but he's also been exclusively wearing it around the base too; that is, whenever you do see him around the base. 

It's been weeks now and you haven't spotted him without that ridiculous mask once. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wears it 24/7. But that can't actually be the case unless he likes waterboarding himself with every shower, which if he does, then good for him, you guess.

Though you have a lot of questions you'd like to ask the Lieutenant, the one eating at you the most is why. Why the switch up? Why the obsession with this specific mask? Why all these little changes you've noticed about him over the past several weeks?

Because that's the thing. Beyond the pom pom, there's something about Ghost that's been… different. Better, even, in some regards, but there's also been a massive decline in others. 

Out in the field, he's shown significant improvement. His aim has been sharper, his knife skills cleaner, hell, even his walk has been more sure-footed. While Lieutenant Riley has always been the cream of the military crop, for the last several weeks, he's been on another level.

Off the field, however, is a different story entirely. Instead of the man you thought you knew, it's like you hardly recognize Ghost anymore. He's been much more curt, closed off, and dare you say, a downright cunt to you all, and that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of all the other discrepancies you've noticed with his character. 

Like why has he been avoiding the team much more than he ever used to, or why does he immediately shut down any attempts at getting close with him? He's never been an incredibly open or approachable man per se, but it's like he's gone full blown antisocial recluse now.

The sudden switch in his behavior just didn't make sense to you, so you tried casually bringing it up to Price one day, hoping maybe he had an explanation that would help piece things together. In response, however, your Captain simply shrugged his shoulders, dubbing the mask Ghost's "good luck charm" that must've just gone to his head. 

While you didn't necessarily have a better answer yourself, Price's conclusion wasn't good enough for you to accept as the truth. Maybe a lucky rabbit's foot or good luck coin or whatever could explain away Ghost's overnight tactical improvements, but it didn't answer the why of everything else. 

Why has Ghost changed so much?

As you reflect, the sound of Gaz and Soap's continued discussion slowly brings you back to the present, making you blink out of your stupor.

"...been acting all off. Like he's… paranoid or something," you hear Gaz say regarding Ghost. "Like, the other day for instance, when we got dropped off back at base, I swear, as soon as his boots hit the ground, he was booking it like he was about to get shot." 

Well, that's certainly a relief. Not that Ghost is acting strange, but that at least you're not the only one to notice.

"I thought maybe he was just sensitive to the floodlights – those things were ruddy blinding that night – but when I tried to catch up and ask him, you'd think I was chasing him from how fast he ran," Gaz adds.

Though that's a bit unexpected on Ghost's part, you suppose it's not all that uncharacteristic anymore. He's been increasingly aloof nowadays, and while you're not totally sold on Gaz's paranoia claims, you definitely see the cause for concern.

"Y'know, I think you're on to somethin'," Soap agrees with Gaz's conclusions. "Just the other night, 'round two in the mornin', I caught him rummagin' around the kitchens like he was afraid to get caught."

"Hold on," Gaz interjects, craning his head to face the other Sergeant. "What were you doing in the kitchens at two a.m.?"

"Mind yer business, that's what," Soap huffs, waving his hand dismissively. "But anyway, even then he was still hidin' beneath that bloody mask. I cannae even remember that last time I saw him without it," he says, almost dejectedly.

You can't remember the last time you did either, though you're not as beat up about it as Soap is. The man seems to have a certain fascination with staring at his Lieutenant's bare face that you can't say you totally relate to. 

As Soap continues thinking to himself of when last he saw Ghost without his mask, he suddenly snorts, smiling as he tells you, "Y'know, I once tried to break in his room and steal that thing while he slept, but the lad has some unpickable locks on his door, I tell ya," he chuckles.

"Oi, you mental or something?" Gaz's voice pitches up. "Trying to steal his mask? You'd be lucky if he didn't string you up by your bollocks just for thinking it."

Soap scoffs, peeking over from the corner of his eye. "Oh, come on. Like you've never?"

"I'd like to keep my boys securely attached, thank you." Gaz shifts his weight at the uneasy thought, grimacing slightly.

That has Soap turning fully in his seat, making to confront Gaz head on. "So you're tellin' me you like the new mask? That you don't want to see the fucker gone?"

Gaz shakes his head, mirroring Soap as he similarly turns to face him. "I didn't say that. I'm just as tired of looking at it as you are."

At that, Soap throws his hands up, letting out an exasperated breath. "So let's do somethin' about it!" he exclaims, calling back to his attempted theft.

"Like what?" Gaz huffs. "You want me to ask nicely? 'Ghost, would you please lose the mask? There's only room for one ugly hat around here, and Price has already filled that niche. So sorry.'"

As the two Sergeants continue to bicker over the top of your head, you keep your eyes on Ghost who's still in the room. Thankfully, he appears to be completely oblivious to the animated discussion happening around you. You don't think he'd enjoy hearing how his teammates want to throw his mask in an on-fire garbage bin.

Gradually, your attention starts to drift away from the conversation at hand until you're right back at your earlier conundrum: trying to figure out Ghost's deal. 

Why has he been acting so different as of late? What could have brought on such a drastic change in his behavior? As you think, Soap and Gaz's words lightly filter through your mind, and suddenly, the answer becomes blatantly obvious. 

What's the common denominator in all of this? What seems to be the root cause of all this discourse? It all comes down to one thing and one thing alone.

That fucking puffball mask of his.

Ever since he got that new mask, there's been a never ending stream of changes with Ghost, most of which you'd argue are for the worse. You know it's silly to cast blame on such a normally inconsequential scrap of fabric, but at this moment, there's nothing else that makes sense in your mind.

Maybe the change is because his brain is being squeezed too tight or maybe he's been having a constant bout of heat stroke these last few weeks. Whatever the reason, you can see how wearing that mask has negatively affected him, and you're eager to see that rectified.

"I've got it!" you pipe up for the first time, interrupting the Sergeants who are still verbally going at it. You look between them both before once more bringing your gaze back to Ghost. "I know what to do," you say confidently.

Though the old Ghost you knew has been M.I.A. recently, you don't think he's truly gone, not permanently anyway. He's just been squirreled away for the time being, trapped in a cage of woven black thread. You just hope that, with a little luck and a lot of planning, soon…

You'll be able to set him free again.

~~~~~

You peek impatiently around the corner, seeing Gaz standing at the end of the hall. When he notices you, he shakes his head, turning back to keep watch like directed. 

Annoyed, you check your phone again. Soap said they were on their way five minutes ago. You know it's a maze of passageways between here and there, but still, they should've shown up by now. 

At its core, your plan is simple, but so many pieces have to come together for you to pull it off successfully. One screw up and it all comes toppling down, and you doubt you'll ever get a chance at a redo.

Another 30 seconds pass before you're checking on Gaz again, the man keeping a silent sentinel against the wall. The trap's been set, all you have to do is sit back and wait. But you're not sure how much longer you can handle until you go mad.

Just as you're about to text Soap for confirmation again, Gaz perks up, turning and nodding over at you. Before he can be spotted by anyone else, he slips into the room at his back, quickly closing the door shut.

Finally! It's time. Operation Unmask is a go.

You stoop to pick up one of the items at your feet, counting down from 20 as you hear a pair of heavy boots slowly approach your position. When you finally reach zero, you suck in your breath. It's now or never, baby.

Right before the figure can descend on your hiding spot, you pop out around the corner, colliding directly with the man you'd expected to find. Ghost grunts in surprise at the blunt contact, that damn pom pom on his head bouncing as he stumbles slightly.

"Oh, sorry!" you call out innocently. "Didn't see you there." It's not exactly a lie. You struggle to peer around the tower of boxes in your arms, stacked high enough that you can hardly see a thing ahead.

Ghost grunts again as he takes in the scene you've laid out, thankfully seeming to accept it at face value. "Careful," is all he says, moving to continue in the direction he was headed.

"Oh, uh, actually—?" you stop him before he can escape. "Sorry, but… Do you think you could…?" You shift the boxes deliberately in your hold, hinting at the favor you mean to ask. "If you don't mind. They're really heavy."

This plan all hinges on whether or not Ghost will take the bait. Though he's been less than charitable recently, in the past, he used to be quite helpful to you in particular. That's why you're the one who had to ask for his help. You knew that anyone else, he'd decline immediately.

But you can tell Ghost is hesitant to agree to assist you now, not only because of his recent change in character, but because he was currently preoccupied.

"Price is waitin' for m—" he starts to give the excuse Soap had fabricated to lure him out of his room.

"Please," you cut him short, pretending your situation is dire. "It'll be quick. I just need to get these to my office." That's where you pulled them from initially, filling them with whatever junk you could find to weigh them down. Soap and Gaz weren't thrilled to have to lug them all the way over here, but you had to make them heavy to be convincing, you'd told them.

As if on cue, out of the corner of your eye, you see Soap finally make his appearance at the end of the hall. He turns the corner Ghost had come from earlier, having successfully tailed the Lieutenant all the way from his room undetected. Gaz's timing is also stellar as not a second later, he carefully opens and exits the door Soap passes by.

Luckily, Ghost doesn't seem to notice the two Sergeants quietly lurking behind him – a blessing since, sometimes, you swear he has a pair of eyes in the back of his head. 

He considers you for a moment, staring at the stack in your hands, glancing at the others still by your feet. Though you can sense he's warring with himself, another light 'please' from your lips has him caving with a sigh.

As Ghost bends to grab one of the box towers, that's when Soap really makes his move. The Scot creeps forward until he's within arm's length of Ghost, hand outstretching as he reaches towards the Lieutenant's head. Just before he can close his fingers around the mask – intending to snatch and run, the fastest of you three – Ghost does something that surprises you all.

Without even looking, Ghost suddenly jerks away from Soap's grasp, ducking at an almost unnatural speed and angle. At first, it's like he doesn't even realize what's happened himself, but then he turns and sees Soap standing there, hand caught right in the cookie jar.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing, MacTavish?" Ghost asks roughly.

Soap blinks dumbly, shocked by Ghost’s quick reaction. "S-Sir," he stutters, his brain trying to catch up with his mouth. "Just… thought… I… saw a piece of lint," he makes up the fib on the spot, then boldly reaches towards the mask again.

Once more, Ghost evades his reach, leaning far back like he's in The Matrix. He growls and slaps Soap's arm down. "You wanna keep that hand, Sergeant?" he rumbles.

In response, all Soap can do is nod his head, baffled into a state of silence. 

"Then fuck off," Ghost warns him not to try again. He then nods towards the pile at your feet. "Or better yet, make yourself useful and pick up a box." 

Still in a trance, Soap immediately complies with the Lieutenant's order. The two grab a respective stack, Ghost directing Soap to walk ahead as he no longer trusts him where he can't see him.

Fuck! This is not at all what you envisioned. This train is rapidly going off the tracks, heading straight over a cliff.

But thankfully, you have a potential backup in place, and Gaz quickly makes his way over as he sees things running amok.

"Ghost?" he captures the attention of the growingly irritated man, who stops and turns at the sound of his voice. "Uh… your shoe's untied," Gaz mumbles once he's under the intimidating gaze of Ghost, and your eyes fall shut at the lame excuse.

Christ, this is all going to shit. There's no way you're going to pull this off.

Somehow, though, Ghost chooses to check Gaz's statement, and he cranes his head down to inspect his boots. "No," is all he says, seeing his laces clearly intact. But before he can stand back up, head still down turned, Gaz takes his opportunity before it can slip away.

Gaz tries to grab for the bloated puffball wobbling in his face, but just like before, Ghost seems to have a sixth sense for it. Again, he bends out of the way, spectacularly agile, and shoots a glare at the Sergeant's gall.

"You out of your fuckin' mind? What's gotten into you lot?" Ghost accuses the three of you, turning to look at you all, becoming increasingly suspicious of what you're doing.

Shit fuck ass balls. You need to act fast. He's starting to catch on. 

Panicked, you do the first thing that pops into your head, dropping the boxes to the floor with a thunderous thump. Ghost's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide in confusion, and they only widen more as you purposefully knock the boxes out of his hands too.

"Whoops!" you exclaim and swiftly crouch down, starting to pick up all the bits and bobs that spilled out.

Gaz realizes your intent and quickly follows suit, stooping down to help you clean up the mess. It's a few seconds before Soap catches on as well, and then all three of you are on your hands and knees, crawling around like a pack of vermin.

"The fuck's the matter with you bunch?" Ghost exhales, unable to make sense of the unfolding chaos. Nevertheless, though, he begrudgingly lowers himself down, electing to assist despite his growing skepticism.

As you go about cleaning up the mess you made, you try to covertly catch the eyes of your accomplices. Without words, you ask them which one is going to make a move, who'll grab for the mask next, but both seem a little reluctant at trying their hand again.

Ugh, whatever. You'll just do it yourself then. Really, how hard can it be?

Slyly, you creep around until you have a good vantage on Ghost, his back partially turned to you. You edge closer and closer until you're nearly bumping into him, pretending to still pick up the items scattered around. Then slowly, so incredibly slowly, you raise your hand up, reaching towards the back of Ghost's mask. Just as your fingers graze the fabric, pulling it up a mere centimeter, Ghost jolts, springing to his feet with a start.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he yells.

"What's wrong with you?!" you fire back, your frustrations boiling over. You pop up to mimic his stance, throwing all stealth to the wayside as you figure the jig is up anyway. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" he sneers. "Like hell. You're out to fuckin' get me."

There he goes again with the paranoia Gaz proposed. Though maybe, in this instance, he's not entirely wrong.

"You think we haven't noticed the differences with you? How much you've changed recently?" you continue. "We can see what that thing's doing to you. You'd be better off without it."

Ghost shakes his head in wild perplexity. "The hell are you on about?"

"The mask, L.T.," Soap rises to his feet. "Take it off," he implores.

"Who the fuck d'you think you are giving me orders, Sergeant?"

"It's just a mask, sir, and we've all seen you without one before," Gaz joins the showdown. "What have you got to lose?"

Ghost looks between each of you angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at you all in turn. "You're all way out of line! Get the hell back," he urges as you three start to close in.

"Why d'ya always hide from us now? I thought we were friends, L.T." Soap reaches forward, his hand immediately swatted away.

"Ghost, really, the thing's a bloody eyesore. Just get rid of it." Gaz tries his luck, only to be met with the same result.

Again and again, you all try dislodging the mask, descending on Ghost like a pack of rabid animals. With each swipe and stretch, he expertly dodges your attacks, bending and batting you away like pests.

"Quit fuckin'—!"

"Just let me—!"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!"

The scene is total, unbridled chaos – voices raised, arms entangled, rubbish littered all over the ground. You three push forward on Ghost until he's backed into the wall, trapped with no way out. He fights and fights, the pom pom jostling around perilously, until finally, bitterly, he's overcome.

Soap gets his fingers hooked under an edge of the mask, and he yanks, pulling it all the way off. For the first time in weeks, Ghost's face is revealed to you all, and you'd be ecstatic if not for one detail that has you freezing.

Is that a…?

No, it can't be. You must be imagining things.

Actually, that looks kind of real. Holy shit, that's definitely real!

Oh my God! Is that a—?

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?!"

You, Gaz, and Soap all jump back in horror at the sight before you: a plump, little, white rat nestled atop Ghost's head. The rodent seems just as shocked to see you as you are it, and it lets out a small squeak as you lock with its beady eyes, tiny fingers clinging to Ghost's hair.

"Aaaahhh!" Soap unleashes a girlish shriek, dropping the mask as he rears back.

"What the fuck, Ghost? No really, what the fuck?!" Gaz asks dumbfounded, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Before anyone has a chance to fully process what they're seeing, the rat tugs on Ghost's hair, moving him to scoop up his mask from the floor. He's guided to shove the fabric back on his head, perhaps a little more roughly than intended, because you hear a pathetic squeak ring out as he does.

He points his index finger at you in a threatening manner, the holes over his eyes slightly askew. "Not a word," he grumbles, spinning on his heel. "Not one fuckin' word!" 

And just like that, he takes off down the hall, a fat, pink tail sticking out from under the back of his mask. It takes a moment before you even realize your mouth is still wide open, and you close your jaw with an audible thud. 

Vaguely, you hear Soap muttering behind you, near tears as he cowers against the wall. "Steamin' Jesus, I think I touched it! Did— Did it bite me? Am I bleedin'? I think I'm bleedin'!" he blubbers hysterically.

"Nah, you're alright, mate! You're alright!" Gaz tries to comfort him, unsuccessful as he’s also rattled.

As the two huddle together in the corner, you're left staring after Ghost's rapidly fleeing figure, trying to pick up the pieces of your newly fractured reality. 

That… was… 

Honestly, you're not sure what the hell that was.

A rat? That rides on Ghost's head? Controlling his every move and muscle? You guess that explains a few things about his behavior recently, but mostly, it just leaves you with more questions than answers.

Where the hell did he get that thing? How the fuck does it work? Why did he even think to test it out in the first place?

Actually, on second thought, no, you don't want to know. You've seen enough for one day, or really, one lifetime. 

At the start of this, you thought you had such a great plan to unveil – one that would simply reveal the "true" Ghost again. You didn't realize that in the process of trying to set him free, you would release a whole other beast, literally. And while at your core you still believe your intentions to help were good, you realize now that, perhaps…

Some things are better off hidden.

__________

A/N: Squeak squeaker squeaky squeak! [Translation: Happy April Fools!]

It figures that my first venture in this fandom is a crack fic. I expected nothing less lmao. But anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x City Girl Reader

You expected Ghost to leave you before the morning; he usually does. However, you're surprised to see him rush to your aid after being woken up by violent night terrors. A sweet and unexpected moment between you, that only ends as quickly as it began.

Tags: Romance, Drama, slight Hurt/Comfort, slight Angst, Intimacy, Fluff that turns sour, Mask-Kissing, Arguing, Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, FWB, Jealousy, Toxic Relationships, "Couples", Arguing, Swearing, A Little Melodramatic, I'm aiming for something more real though, Reader is somewhat bratty and immature, Ghost is bad at communicating his feelings, Damaged people not knowing how to talk to each other and let their walls down, reader has night terrors, I wanted representation!

WC: 4.5k~

Author's Note: I'm back from Vegas! I was on a drunken bender on Fremont St. partying with my brother for his birthday this week (I talked to a lot of interesting people too 😏). This chapter might be a little different, I don't know? I'm not gonna lie, after this chapter, the tone is about to take a shift. Please enjoy~

Also, thank you so much @argella1300 for helping me out when I asked. Your insight was greatly appreciated and it really meant a lot! 💞

Masterlist

It came in the dim shade of dusk, tucked in by shadows of your hall -- the abnormally tall silhouette of a man. Stalking you. Haunting you.

He looms at the brink of your hallway, expressionless, unmoving, and yet somehow inching forward all at once. With each step he closes between you and himself, an encroaching darkness fills the room behind him within the blink of an eye.

Who was he? It's a question you've had since adolescence. The answers never felt as true as his unsettling existence.

The world around you is silent, fogged as though you were being held underwater, your mind racing at an incoherent speed. The only sounds you hear are that of your own screaming. You knew what was happening; your body and mind had just been unable to control it.

Night terrors.

You've never told anyone about them before; you've never felt any need to. It's not exactly a hot topic of discussion, nor something you could even put forth any real value into if asked; you can't explain something you don't understand.

They haven't been anything beyond a waking three-minute inconvenience. An on-and-off occurrence throughout your life. But once it happens, there'd be no avoiding it.

They send your body into a mindless, cold panic, the only emotion coursing through your veins being the unknown fear that first woke you. Your arms thrash frantically as you scream, your body feeling as though it were being grabbed by a million hands...

Don't touch me, your mind cries out. Don't touch me. Don't touch me...

...Until you've felt the one, very real hand touch your shoulder, taking with it the darkness you'd thought had all but swallowed you whole and replacing it with the waking world around you.

The morning returns, as do the rest of its unpleasant realities.

"Hey." That deep and raspy Manchester voice is the first sound you finally register, and for once in your life, it couldn't have sounded any sweeter. "Hey," Ghost says again, placing both hands gently over your shoulders to wake you. "Everything's OK. You're in your living room."

Your chest heaves shallow breaths when sitting up on your couch, taking in your surroundings. That's right, you're still in your living room. You'd almost forgotten you'd passed out on your couch last night, now catching the breaking dawn which pooled through your windows.

It always takes you a moment to regather yourself after it happens, having to make sense of what had been real versus some strange in-between with you and your REM state. In those moments, everything felt real, and fake all at once.

Even the shattering and reforming of reality around you could not take your mind from Ghost's hand, which remained wrapped protectively over your arm, fingers trembling with the hesitancy of his own actions.

"Are you alright?" His dark eyes look your face up and down, taking in every twinge your lips made and how your eyes seemed to look in every direction but his own, still glossed over and dazed from sleep. "You just started screamin' out of nowhere."

Once his words run through your head a few more times, you realize that you'd made a scene right in front of the one person you hadn't wanted to know this about you, a new detail he no doubt did not expect from you at all.

Ghost has known you to be many things -- seductive, witty, cold, distant, and near every other synonym in between. He's heard your voice moan in pleasure more times enough to recognize it within a crowd; he's heard you hurl enough insults his way to send even the hardest of soldiers home crying and insecure.

Never has he heard you scream like this before, with such fear and strife. In fact, he can't think of a single time you've ever been so frightened around him. To see a glimpse of that had been more unsettling than he wished to let on.

He'd only woken up a few minutes shy of you, having slipped away to fix himself up and reset his balaclava. His lips had still felt stained by your kiss from last night, the skin on his face tingling off the memory of your touch alone.

Nearly two months he's spent with you in this odd, little fling and he's never actually kissed you like he had last night before. Never for so long. Never so deeply. He wouldn't allowed himself to. Kissing just for the sake of it always felt like a step beyond casual, as much as he often craved your lips on his most exhausting days.

Ghost must have stared at himself in the mirror longer than he should have, just chasing that feeling again, making himself sick with it. He debated on leaving before you woke, though he'd keep that to himself, having heard your screaming once he'd rounded the corner. In which case, Ghost ran to your aid without question.

His first thought had been that you were in danger; perhaps someone had broken in, or worse, you'd been hurt. You might get on the man's nerves, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't care about your well-being at least somewhat. He never wished any harm to you, and he damn sure wouldn't let anything happen to you if he can help it.

The archway between your hall and you had felt as foreign and distant as space itself, however. When Ghost found you on your couch, your arms writhing, and wide eyes locked on him with confusion and terror, he had frozen in place.

For a split second, he thought that fear had been caused by the sheer sight of him. And then, the strangest thing had happened -- it tore him to pieces being given a glimpse of a reality he didn't know he feared most of all. One where the sight of him brought you complete anguish.

Your screaming didn't stop when he approached you, nor had it stopped when he knelt beside you, saying your name and asking what was wrong, only falling on deaf ears.

Nothing had stopped your screaming, nor these emotions that ripped at him, until his hand had touched your shoulder, and you both felt the sensation of one another.

Your features calmed, your gaze softening at the sight of him, now having been pulled from that sudden trance. In a matter of seconds, you'd just barely managed to get your breathing to a more manageable pace, your heart not drumming so loudly in your ears. You played his words in your head, again and again, until you've slowly regained composure. Everything's fine. Everything's fine.

Had you noticed he had this effect on you? Ghost imagines you'll only carry on as though it were just another thing; the kindest of gestures are often the hardest to notice in the moment, and you never did like to dwell. It only took years' worth of tragedies for Ghost to be able to recognize them himself. Though every now and then, it isn't something he can catch either. He only wishes this hadn't been one of those times.

Embarrassment and shame flood within you like a crashing wave, though you mask it in an annoyed groan, turning your body away from Ghost in hopes he'd take the hint and give you some space. You always hated when this happened around others, most of all around the men you slept with. Slowly, you prepared yourself for your usual dose of reactions.

"I'm fine," you say. "I just... I'm fine." You rub your hands over your face in defeat, before sinking your head into them with a low groan.

There had been reasons you didn't sleep over or have others do the same often, this being one of them. You didn't need to have another guy slowly ghost you because you scared him awake at 2am in a frantic panic; the best way to avoid it would be to not put yourself in the situation at all, right?

But what happened last night hadn't been like any of your normal nights with Ghost. Last night had been something... not quite the same. There had to be some reason you haven't sent him home yet otherwise. You wondered if it had been the same reason why he hadn't gone home yet either.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost sighs. "You might've woken the neighbors with that one."

"It's nothin' they're not used to," you say casually, though the second you do, you wish you hadn't been so cavalier about it. You hadn't meant to invite him into your world like this.

However, no one had been more understanding of these sorts of troubles than he; Ghost knew what a pain it could be feeling as though you needed to explain emotions you had no control over. So he wouldn't ask you what that was about, or why you think it may have happened. He didn't need to know anything beyond the fact that you were OK.

"Well," Ghost sits down beside you on the couch with a dramatic "oomph", huffing to himself with a certain contentment to it. "I've been there."

"I'm sure you have," you groan. You couldn't help being sly with him, even now. It came out of you impulsively, knowing he'd always reward you with some form of attention you both could get something out of. Something you both let sit at the back of your minds all day.

You stretch your arms over your head feline-like, your body now finally feeling as though you'd slept in your living room instead of your bed. Your shoulder ached dully, your back already popping at each stretch you made with your body. The wonderful joys of aging.

"That's one way to get the blood pumpin' in the mornin', yeah?" Ghost jokes, he always did feel a little humor could lighten any mood. "You never scream like that with me."

"Perhaps you should do a better job then," you tease.

"Don’t tempt me, love."

Love. He doesn't call you that often. Only in your most intimate of moments. You hadn't felt your face smiling, but you knew you were.

You looked so innocently up at him after without even thinking. "Tempt you, Manchester?" You give the man a rather tired but still lurid look, bumping his shoulder playfully with your own. "Perish the thought," you say. "As if it's that hard to do."

"Oh, fuck off." Ghost sighs, and you can practically feel the man smiling beneath his mask. A smile that felt as warm as a heater come after a snowstorm.

Wind chimes clung lightly outside your window, the finches gathered at your bird feeder chirping blissfully. You both laugh lightly to yourselves, your arms faintly brushing at every small exhale from your noses. And you both sat there even after the laughter, simply looking off ahead of yourselves, with eyes still heavy from waking.

It had felt suddenly a tremendous task to look over at Ghost. Once you've worked up the courage, you catch him gazing out your window aimlessly, peacefully, his body settled into your couch as though he'd been with you the day you bought the thing.

And then he looks down at you. Maybe he felt you staring, but you never noticed how brown his eyes are, or how deep they could look in a dimly lit room. Similarly, he's never noticed how animated your own eyes are, always moving and observing some small, unknown detail. It made his skin crawl delightfully. Ghost would have thought that feeling to be a bad thing, and yet it had been quite the opposite.

Why don't we ever do this? You asked him that last night, and though he'd answered you, it hadn't been the entire truth.

A sudden burst of energy springs from you, pulling you from your seat and inviting yourself onto Ghost's lap, who leans back and lets you do so without question. Your legs settle over his boulderous thighs, humming lightly as he rests his hands back against your hips, sighing pleasantly to himself and looking back up at you.

Ghost did his best not to squirm around too much with you on top of him. It hadn't been the worst thing you two have done together. However, it wasn't common for things to feel so... easy. He could stay like this all morning if you let him.

Something tells him you felt the same way; you don't usually take this long to start getting to the point of things physically.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

You watch your comment bring him to a short pause and find yourself now at the edge of your seat, arms resting gently over his shoulders and not being used to this sudden anticipation towards his answer.

Ghost had thought about being completely honest with you, admitting that he'd been equally surprised. That's when he woke up and saw you still sleeping on the couch next to him, it had been the hardest thing to even excuse himself to the restroom.

Your arms had been entangled around him, cuddled against his large shoulder like a giant pillow. You slept soundly beside him, peacefully, having felt so at ease with letting your guard down, all things considered. An innocent sight too far and few between bitter exchanges.

He's never slept over after before, nor has he ever held you in his arms like this. Yet, it had felt like the most sensible thing to do now, something as natural as breathing or blinking.

He found himself just watching you sleep for a while, still. In the early morning light that crept through your living room window, he sees all these details to you he's never had the chance to; you are beautiful. Truly. And he hadn't meant it in ways that were superficial or lustful. Genuinely, he really did find you a stunning woman. He's always found you so, even behind the toxicity.

Seeing you next to him had made him happy, and all at once, it hurt him the same, knowing this time would always be finite. You'd bore of him soon enough, only to call him later as another passing thought. Maybe one of these days, he'll gather the strength to stop answering.

Even now, with you over him like this, it's odd. He doesn't want to get up, and yet he does. He wants to pull you in closer, and he wants to leave. He can feel himself breathing, yet the sight and touch of you made the air catch in his lungs each time he went to inhale.

Maybe he could just blame that on the smoking.

"Good thing I was 'ere, yeah?" he finally quips.

"Right," you lean forward, letting your nose brush the tip of his just faintly enough for him to long for its sensation beneath his mask. You watch the blond of his lashes flutter innocently, with eyes wrapped up in you even more than they had been last night. "My knight in shining armor. You won't hear me complaining."

"That's a first," he teases.

"Fuck you."

Your kiss is what truly wakes him that morning, your lips sculpting the shape of his mouth through his mask and gently planting slow, light pecks. His arms hug around you warmly, with strong fingers gently grazing their way up your back. He always did like these rare occasions where you'd treat him softly; he liked to think it had been a side of you that only he had seen. Even as he knew it wasn't true.

You continue to kiss him for a little while, the man's hands only remaining comfortably at your back to keep you over him. Ghost wasn't sure how much more he could take of you wiggling about on his lap before he gave you what you were clearly looking for. But it wasn't until you started reaching for his mask that he felt a sudden bolt of lightning strike him.

Both his hands shoot up to grab yours, large fingers hooping across your wrist like cuffs, keeping you just out of reach from the brim of his mask. His sudden hesitancy makes you smirk, and already does he know that you're about to push his buttons.

"Aw," you tease, purposefully rocking your hips into him. It makes you giggle when he huffs to himself. "Feeling shy?"

"Not shy," Ghost says. "Just..." Vulnerable. Anxious. Wary. Careful. "...You know how it is."

"Aww," you start to pout mockingly. "Is that honor only reserved for the special girls in your circle?" you ask. "Or just the ones you don't fuck?"

"For the ones actually interested in sticking around," he says. "Instead of just being some fling."

You can't help but scoff, and Ghost can't help but tense up afterward, already preparing himself for an outburst. You certainly were good for them, and Ghost hadn't wanted to kid himself here either; this would all end soon enough.

It wouldn't be long now... and he knows he should pull away before that day comes. He's lost enough people in his life to recognize not to get close to something that won't last long enough to really matter. So he won't hold back his words with you. You can't have your cake and eat it too, he thought.

But some small, sad part of himself wanted you to fight his words, however harsh that storm would be, just like you always do.

Your shoulders slouch and your eyes drift off somewhere into the room. You couldn't make it more obvious that what he said had stung, in ways you hadn't even known you'd been capable of feeling towards him.

A fling. A piece of meat. That's how you liked to present yourself -- it's how you've viewed others too -- most of the time. So you can't get mad if that's how he sees it.

Yet every time that truth is brought to attention, it can't help but make your gut twist up in knots. As if some delusional part of you felt you could continue to sleep with Ghost and see other men as well without him caring.

You've been in a losing battle with Ghost since you first slept together. You knew on that night that any real formalities between you two were forever gone; you'd already spoiled so many of the first joys of being with someone, and it often left this feeling of things being too late to change. What you have now will probably always be what it is. So why can't you enjoy it for that while you still can? Why must he complicate things?

"I just wanted to kiss you," you admit.

It's the honest truth. You dreamed about his lips; his kiss had felt that good. You never expected him to have left such an effect on you, yet you've woken up, and the want to taste him has not subsided.

Ghost takes his eyes from you, dark orbs lowering to your lips as though to telepathically share the same thoughts as you.

"I..."

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Your eyes turn to the thunderous rumbling of your cell phone against your hardwood coffee table. A phone call.

Ghost looked back at you, expecting you to sit up and answer it. You merely turn back to him, letting it buzz until the call finally drops. You could always call them back.

As you've opened your mouth to speak, however, the phone begins to buzz again. Another phone call. It's this time that you've decided to sit up and see who it is; you freeze once you read the caller ID. Shit!

"Who is it?" Ghost regrets asking the second his voice lets the words rumble out.

"It's uh..." You stumble on your words, purposefully being coy, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Your boyfriend?" Ghost answers for you, and your silence after speaks volumes.

Your boyfriend. Mr. Sweet and Super Understanding himself. This supposed "doomed" second relationship that has been nothing but highs since you've known him, if anything you told Ghost last night had been true. It figures he would call you so early this morning, you two had seemed close after all.

And like the strike of a match, his entire demeanor runs from cold to ticked off. Ghost can do nothing more than laugh to himself, shaking his head as though you'd just pulled the rug from underneath him and blown the ceiling off the roof of your prior delusions.

After all, you got exactly what you wanted here from him. He fixed your car, fucked you after, and now you get to send him on his merry way while you spend some real time with someone else.

Grumbling to himself, almost without him even knowing, he mutters, "I don't know what else I fucking expected-"

"He's not-" You struggle to find the right words to say, feeling as though every sentence spoken made a true difference between Ghost walking out of your life for good or not. The thought made you start to panic all of a sudden. "I'm not with him like that. You know this already."

You're right; he does know this. You haven't lied about a single thing since he drove over to jump your car. "Besides," you start to argue. "Why does it matter anyway? Why do you care? It's not like you want to be with me. You won't even let me look at you! You've said it yourself; I'm just some "slag" you sometimes like to fuck. Why the fuck do you care if I'm seeing someone who doesn't think that way about me?"

Because he hadn't felt that way about you. Not anymore. Not ever.

Never has he met a woman able to push his buttons so effectively, in ways all too familiar to his childhood. But at the same time, this woman, this human who unknowingly held so much power over him without even being aware, you equally found the littlest of ways to creep into his mind and bring him a bittersweet peace he had not felt since his youth.

But if he said that to you would you listen? Would you even understand? You've never been a woman to be tied down. He's known this. Who was he to think he'd be the difference when what you say is true. He has not been kind to you, not until it was too late, and now you've one foot out. How could he blame you for that?

And yet Ghost stands up, a bubble now having been burst. "As though you're so innocent," his voice raises, emotions finally starting to tip. He matches your hostile energy, his dark eyes glaring down at you, a mirror of wounded gazes. "How many times have I been here for you, only for you to cast me aside like an old toy you can just play with when you're bored? All I've ever been to you is an easy out; you've never cared what I've thought-"

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

Ghost's eyes shoot down to your phone ringing in your hand, and you swear you've never seen him more upset.

A passing fear of him stepping over and snatching your phone from your hand passes over you, and your entire body language subliminally shifts in response. You instinctively take a step back from him, lightly turning your body to keep your phone from his reach. You'll be damned if he thinks he can try that.

He notices this small action, and a part of himself felt akin to his father, recognizing that fear in your eyes from his mother, even as you hide it behind a biting glare. That feeling alone could have done him in for good.

Though Ghost wanted nothing more than to answer that call and tell that other man to fuck off already, he had more self-composure and respect than that, along with his own moral obligations.

Still, it didn't take long for the conversation to take a turn, and from that point, it had been as though everything this morning had been but a slow build-up to an inevitable argument between you two. It always did come naturally.

It started out antagonistic from the jump. You questioned and belittled his sudden emotional flare-up, criticizing every one of his reactions and ignoring the obvious signs that you really needed to back off and just let him go. Or it would be better to say you didn't care for it.

To be frank, you didn't understand his frustrations. If other men had been such a problem, why does he keep coming back? What is it that he keeps seeking here?

Ghost hadn't been interested in spending his whole morning arguing with you, and physically feeling a grave be dug for the remains of your tarnished relationship. He moves around you and begins gathering his things, needing the air now more than ever.

"Hold up-" you approach him, throwing any caution or personal space out the window, as you've stopped a few steps shy of him. "Where are you going?"

"Back home." Ghost starts to put his boots on, the frustration he controlled in his voice being taken out by the aggression he used to tie his laces. "It's time I've made myself scarce."

"You're just gonna run off now? Just like that? I didn't take you for such a pussy, Manchester-"

"Don't push me, Spice," Ghost warns you. "I mean it."

"Or what? You'll leave?" you taunt. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"And that's the problem," Ghost says, standing up on his two feet and towering over you. "All you ever do is what you want. You never care how your actions affect others or what someone might think of them."

"What do you want from me, Simon?" You finally ask him, voice starting to rise, your chest puffing up aggressively. You'd curse him for getting you so emotionally riled up this morning.

What do you want from me? What do you want? A simple question that had been impossible to answer, because answering it would mean being honest with himself about what's happened with him here. It would mean being vulnerable.

"Stop calling me," Ghost says. "Stop seeing me. Stop being with me. We should never have done this in the first fucking place... This has to stop."

No longer did he wish to feel this way, to feel as though the worst parts of himself came at a constant full display with you. No longer did he want to feel himself slowly start to care for you, knowing that at any moment you could be gone. He's not sure he could handle something like that again.

Your mouth opens, and then it closes, and then you frown. Ghost thought you wouldn't say anything to him. He thought you might even cry. But no, you never were one to just leave things at that. You always had to say the last thing in an argument, and you never minced words.

"Then fucking go already," you say. "Get out. You won't have to worry about me calling you ever again."

Ghost didn't say anything after that, though he had looked at you for a little while longer. If you hadn't known him as well as you think you did, you'd say his brown eyes looked rather sad.

He moves away from you, making his way to your front door and unlocking it. He makes sure not to look back as you see him out. The man wouldn't be able to stomach the sight.

He remained on the other side of the door after you'd slammed it, feeling the wind hit his back and the sharp silence that it brought with it. Ghost then cocks his head back and closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. He felt the warm, morning air hit the little parts of his skin left bare for the air to kiss, and as though his mood couldn't drop any lower, he remembered he still had to go to work with you this morning.

Part Seven Coming Soon. Stay Tuned~

Since I'm trying to explore toxic relationships, I wanted to delve into the complexities a little (while not being so on the nose about it). They have their ups and they have their downs; they blend and happen all at once and take each other's places at every positive or negative interaction. You can have genuine moments of care and empathy with people you simultaneously butt heads and take issue with I feel; nothing is ever just black and white. I'm rambling and probably not making a lot of sense.

But, now that Ghost and the Reader are in the pits, they've gotta look within themselves and fix their shit if it's meant to be. I want to write them in a way where it's clear if they could just sit and figure out what it was they wanted from each other, then this could be something real if they let it. However, life waits for no one, and they're about to be in for a doozy. The mission i have planned for them is gonna be 👺👺👺

Taglist: @cabreezer0117, @homicidal-slvt, @deadbranch, @argella1300, @poohkie90, @glitterypirateduck , @sarraa-26, @quincessimus, @0-444-4444, @crazymela, @13thprogenitor, @joce2fine, @sapszilla, @dmitriene, @justherebecauseafarisucks, @zevrajalexxandra, @corvusmorte

[highinmiamiii]

NO FEELINGS - ch. 02

🇬🇧 a prelude 🇬🇧

A/N: heeey yall, it’s been a second i’ve been feeling some of that good ol’ block lately. i wanted to make this second chapter a lot more detailed and maybe get a little nasty with it already but i fear my brain just wouldn’t allow me…so i hope you enjoy this flashback/prelude chapter with that tattoo scene in a little more detail that i had sitting in my drafts for what it is. leave a comment if you wanna be apart of my permanent taglist and any feedback or suggestions are welcome. thank you all so much for following and reading i love you so much! enjoy this while i sort out this blockage and come back stronger, better and hornier 😈 also i hope the switching back and forth isn’t confusing i attempted to differentiate for ya’ll

Her POV: back of steakhouse (present)

She leaned against the grimy counter, staring at the faded ink on her arm as her mind drifted. It hadn’t taken much—just one look at him sitting out there. The way his jaw clenched, cigarette hanging from his lips, the same damn way it used to back in London. She hadn’t expected to ever have to see him again, and now, as the memories came flooding back, it felt like a sucker punch to the gut.

London in the 90s. A wild, rebellious time. The city had swallowed her whole, but she’d been too busy chasing the dream to care. The music. The crowds. The life. And then there was him—Billy. She wasn’t sure what she saw in him at first. Maybe it was the same reckless abandon she had, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t give a damn about anything, including her.

Butcher’s POV (Present)

He lit another cigarette, taking a long drag, eyes narrowing as the smoke curled up toward the dim lights. Christ, she’d aged, just like him, but the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed much. Still that spark, that defiance. But behind it, he saw something else. Pain. Maybe even a little bitterness. The last thing he had in mind when coming here was to dredge up all these old memories. If he’d known *she*, of all people would be the one serving him piss poor American whiskey in a tiny little white sheer tank top, he wouldn’t have dared to show up here…or would he?

But London… yeah, he remembered. He could still see her, standing there in that grimy club, screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. The way her fishnets dug into the meat of her thighs, her big messy carefree hair to match her attitude. That night had been pure chaos—loud, electric, full of bad decisions. She’d been wearing some old Nirvana shirt, looking every bit the rebel without a cause. That’s what caught his eye. A Yank, lost in a sea of Brits, and still holding her own.

Her POV: Camden, London (Flashback)

The club was packed, bodies pressed together in the heat of the moment. The shitty Sex Pistols cover band’s rendition blared through the speakers, the crowd was a frenzy, and she loved every second of it. She’d never felt more alive, more free. And then, through the haze of booze and music, there he was. A cocky grin, leather jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes dark and sharp. He looked like trouble, and that’s exactly what she was after.

They’d met by accident—literally, she’d spilled her drink on him. He’d smirked, tossed a sarcastic remark, and she fired one right back. That was how it started. The banter, the late-night pub crawls, the music they bonded over. Sonic Youth. The Clash. Pearl Jam. They’d spent hours talking about bands, trading tapes, dissecting lyrics. He was tough, but he got it. He understood the frustration, the rebellion that was running through her veins. And she loved him for it.

Butcher’s POV: (Flashback)

She’d been a live wire from the moment they met. Mouthy, sharp, full of opinions. But bloody hell, she knew her music, and she didn’t take shit from anyone, of course it didn’t hurt that she was the sexiest damn woman he’d ever seen in his life. They’d spent that whole night drinking and talking, getting lost in the chaos of London’s underground punk scene. She wasn’t English, not by a long shot, but there was something about her—something that felt familiar.

Maybe that’s why he stuck around. Maybe that’s why they became inseparable after that night. Camden was their playground, the pubs their refuge. They were both running from something—her, from a life that didn’t suit her, him from his demons, the ones that always seemed to creep in when the booze ran dry.

Her POV: Streets of London (Flashback)

They’d wander the streets of London at 3 a.m., talking about everything and nothing. She’d ramble about her dreams, how she’d saved up for years to get to London, only to find out that the dream wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed. He’d listen, nod, offer some witty remark, and she’d laugh, feeling lighter for a moment.

Then there was that night—the tattoo. They’d been drunk, of course, stumbling out of a pub when he saw the tattoo parlor.

“Go on, love, get somethin’ that sticks. Like us,” he’d slurred, smirking like the devil himself.

She rolled her eyes, but she was too far gone to resist. “You’re full of shit, Butcher.”

“Am I, now? Bollocks to it. Get the ink, love.”

And so she did. Never Mind the Bollocks. The same words that were now permanently etched on her skin, a reminder of those wild nights, of him.

Butcher’s POV: Tattoo Parlor, London (Flashback)

He couldn’t forget that night. Hell, he couldn’t forget any of it. She’d been so fiery, so full of life. He’d loved that about her, even if he didn’t say it. They’d been reckless, sure, but wasn’t that the whole point? To live fast, to not give a fuck?

But then Lenny died. And the whole world went to shit.

He’d shut down, shut her out. There were no more late-night pub crawls, no more snarky conversations over cheap pints, no more music. Everything that once felt like an escape, even her, turned into a reminder of what he’d lost. And what was worse, he couldn’t pull her into the darkness that now consumed him. She was too bright, too full of life—life that he no longer wanted a part of.

He’d ghosted her, plain and simple. He’d watched her from a distance, knowing she’d be heartbroken, but he couldn’t give her any more of himself. There wasn’t anything left to give. And London, once the vibrant backdrop to their wild love, became a suffocating city, drowning him in grief.

Her POV: Pub in London (Flashback)

She sat alone at their favorite pub. The one they used to haunt after every show, after every wild adventure through London’s underground. She kept checking her phone, waiting for a message that never came. The hours passed, the pint in front of her went warm, and still—nothing.

He was gone.

She didn’t want to believe it at first. But night after night, the calls went unanswered, and slowly, it started to sink in. He wasn’t coming back. Not for her, not for the life they’d carved out together. London, once her grand adventure, started to feel like a prison without him. The streets that used to be filled with music and laughter now echoed with silence. And every time she looked down at her arm, at the ink that now felt like a cruel joke, her heart twisted in pain.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

He snuffed out the cigarette, a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the smoke. Sitting here now, seeing her again after all these years, the memories were crawling back. The nights they spent in each other’s arms, the reckless abandon, the laughter… and then, the way he left her. Cold. Brutal.

He had his reasons, sure, but none of them would make a difference now. She hated him, that much was clear. And maybe she had every right to. He’d left her to fend for herself, knowing she’d have no way of surviving in London without him. But at the time, it felt like the only way to save her from the wreckage of his life.

Her POV: Backroom of the Steakhouse (Present)

She could hear the chatter of customers, the clatter of plates in the kitchen, but it all faded into the background. All she could think about was the way her life had fallen apart after he left. She’d had to scrape by, working whatever jobs she could get, barely keeping her head above water before finally fleeing back to the States.

And now, here he was. As if none of it had happened. As if he hadn’t left her stranded in a foreign country with nothing but a damn tattoo and a broken heart. She could feel her pulse quicken, her chest tightening with anger, with hurt. She wanted to storm out there, demand an explanation, shout at him for all the years she lost trying to pick up the pieces.

But instead, she stayed put. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d wrecked her. Not after all this time.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

He knew she was out back, probably stewing in her thoughts, just like he was. A part of him wanted to go to her, to explain, maybe even apologize for how things ended. But the other part—the part that still felt the weight of Lenny’s death, of everything he’d lost—kept him glued to the booth.

What was the point in dredging it all up? She’d moved on. She had to have. Just like he had. But then again, why did it feel like seeing her was pulling him back into that old life, back into those nights where it was just them against the world?

He reached for his glass, took another slow sip, eyes fixed on the dim light of the restaurant. Whatever they had back then, it was long gone. But seeing her now, it felt like a piece of him still lived in those London nights, still ached for the chaos and the connection they shared.

Her POV: Backroom of the Steakhouse (Present)

She pushed away from the counter, straightened her apron, and steeled herself. He could sit there and sulk all he wanted, but she wasn’t about to fall back into the past. Not with him. Not after everything. The memories still hurt, sure. But she wasn’t that same girl anymore, and she’d be damned if she let him drag her back to that place.

As she headed back out into the dining area, she caught sight of him again, sitting there like a ghost from her past. It was strange, how someone could look so different and yet so much the same. His face was more lined, his hair grayer, but that smirk, that swagger—it was all still there.

She had half a mind to walk right past him, pretend like he didn’t exist. But something inside her—maybe the part that still hurt, still remembered what they had—wouldn’t let her.

Butcher’s POV: Steakhouse Booth (Present)

And there she was, moving through the restaurant, that same defiance in her step. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret—just a small one, mind—but it was enough to remind him that they hadn’t been all bad together. They’d been wild, reckless, and young, but they’d had something real in the middle of all the madness.

As she came closer, his gaze locked onto hers. It was a silent challenge, like it always was between them. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him first, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to back down, either.

But the years between them? The ones filled with silence, with her hurt and his guilt—they hung in the air like smoke from a freshly lit cigarette.

And in that moment, Butcher couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, some things weren’t meant to be left in the past.

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current tags: @butchersdarkbird @scrmqwn