#or did he just make the prison one day and go your all fools

[abeejasarts]

I absolutely LOVE the Bill Goldilocks Cipher AU. (AU by @ckret2) I love it to bits. I think that its important everyone knows WHY I love it so much so more after the cut

I have recently gotten into reading the Bill “Goldilocks” Cipher AU, and I’m absolutely in love. (As an important note, I am on chapter 45) Not just because of the characterization and how it feels like how all the characters would act and adventures that could happen in the show, but also because specifically what Bill looks like. And I WILL INFODUMP!

Bill, for context, is stuck in this body. it’s not something he’s possessing, it’s his own body, but it was made by a computer. He created it instantaneously to escape the Theraprism (in an INCREDIBLE one shot I suggest fans of the Book of Bill read)

But then he got stuck. He couldn’t leave it, his soul was essentially stitched to the body with no powers and no way to escape. And he hates it. Bills body doesn’t look like him, not because it’s a woman, because it’s a human, and he wishes he was still a 2D triangle. The FACT that it’s a woman, the fact that it doesn’t match up with what we the audience imagine Bill would look like, let’s us imagine some of that “this isn’t right” dysphoria that is so essential to the story and Bill’s characterization. Of course we would imagine Bill to be a man, but he isn’t here. When he says he hates how his body curves and moves, we think, “oh, he means cause he’s a woman” NAW HE JUST WANTS TO BE 2D! It’s BRILLIANT!

But that’s not all!

Bills entire reason for escape is because he doesn’t want to stop being himself. He doesn’t want the prison to take away his memories or make him “perfect”, he just wants to be him and he’ll do anything to stay himself. He wants to be free.

and then when he escapes to try to stay himself forever, to “freedom”, he’s immediately trapped again. He’s trapped inside Gravity Falls, he’s trapped with the Pines, but worse; he’s trapped in a foreign body. He isn’t himself. The thing he wanted most cost him what he was fighting for to begin with.

This AU is so beautiful. It’s amazing. I adore it. And Author, if you’re reading this, your work has brought me many days of brainrot and joy.

Also, importantly, I haven’t read through the authors blog, so there’s a chance that they just think Bill should be a woman and that’s just what he would look like humanized, and there’s nothing deeper than that and I’ve made a fool of myself. If that’s the case, and the whole “the audience understands the dysphoria” part isn’t correct, I apologize, but if that is what you were going for, you did it perfectly and please never stop writing because it inspires me.

Also I have more fan art coming this AU really did give me serious brainrot like nothing else

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 So Close, Quantico.

Post prison Reid x Fem!reader

Read part one here!

Summary: A strange visit to the prison ends with an unexpected confession of love and makes you run away again. You were ready to leave, but maybe this time he'll make you stay.

Words: 2,5k.

Warnings & Tags: literally none, just drama and sweet love+emily being a bestie. english is not my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I didn't expect to be asked for a second part because I'm still new here and I don't think anyone will read me (intrusive thoughts lol), but here I am giving it to you because Spencer needs a happy ending!

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Just as you sat down and pulled out a travel magazine to read while you waited for your flight, you got a call from Emily. You frowned and were confused for a few seconds until you remembered that you hadn't told her that you were going back to London so soon and that the possibility of having a drink together would not be fulfilled. You hadn't even said goodbye in person, and it was only now that you realized it.

You hadn't noticed anything after working on Spencer's case for four days straight and losing your mind over it. It was the first time you hadn't seen your client or personally briefed him on the progress of the investigation, and that impersonality made everything strange, but you knew he didn't want to see you, and you weren't going to push him. At least you managed to get him released on parole after you found some evidence of third party involvement in his alleged crime. And as soon as you were informed of this decision, you assigned a trusted lawyer to the case, booked a flight, and packed your bags.

“Don't hate me, but I'm about to catch a flight and I forgot to tell you.” You said quickly as soon as the call started and you could hear a sigh of shock from the other end.

“You what? Why? You just got here and we haven't even had a chance to talk and drink wine.” She replied after a few minutes of processing the information.

“I'm really sorry, Ems. I have things to do at my office and my work here is already done.” You tried to explain as you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. You didn't like the idea of looking like you were running away again, even if you were. “I really have to go.”

“You have or you want?”

The question alone made you sigh and question being best friends with a profiler. It was impossible to hide your feelings and thoughts from her.

“It doesn't matter...anyway, you can visit me whenever you want, I have plenty of wine at home.” You spoke trying to avoid her question at all costs. “Penelope and JJ can come, girls' night out and all.”

“And Spencer...?” She asked in a cautious tone, knowing that this was a complicated subject. After all, Emily was the one who had to put up with your sighing and crying over Reid for years.

“He's not a girl.”

You could almost see her roll her eyes at your answer, and by the tone of her voice when she told you she meant it, you knew she did.

“Seeing him was as strange as I imagined, but confirming that he doesn't want to see me and that he hates me felt worse than I thought. I have to face this from a distance.” You tried to explain and put into words the feelings you were avoiding.

“He doesn't hate you, and he definitely wants to see you.” She corrected you, making you frown.

“What? Please don't try to make me feel better with emotional profiling tricks.” You said wearily, looking up at the big screen with the flight schedules and realizing that it was still more than half an hour before your plane was due to arrive.

“These are not tricks. Seriously, if he didn't want to see you, he wouldn't have asked me for your hotel address yesterday.”

Your heart stopped at that moment, and any attempt to focus your attention on something else, or even keep your cool, failed. You didn't want to get your hopes up again and sound like a fool for getting excited about something so minimal.

“I'm not even at the hotel anymore, and he never went there.” You tried to control your nervousness and conceal how this information had thrown you. “Ems, my flight arrives in 30 minutes, I have to leave you, but I promise to call you more often and visit you sometime. I love you.” You ended in a chaotic way.

“Well, me too. But don't disappear, I'll wait for that girls' night.” She replied, defeated by your insistence, and paused before speaking again. “And tell Reid we have a case in Utah, we're leaving in 30.”

“What?” You asked immediately, not understanding if you had heard wrong, but she had already hung up.

You looked up again, expecting to see the central screen with the schedules, but instead of seeing your flight number in bright letters, you saw Spencer's brown eyes searching for you a few feet away. You had to blink several times to confirm that it was him and that you weren't hallucinating, and only then did Emily's last words make sense.

Was he here to see you? Was it possible?

You remained motionless in your seat, as if bound to it, and watched as Reid walked at a brisk pace straight towards you. It was the first time you had seen him since that chaotic visit to the prison, and you still had a bittersweet taste in your mouth from that interaction. He was wearing a suit now, probably the clothes he wore to work, and he looked like he had run several miles, judging by his disheveled hair and labored breathing.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as soon as you had him in front of you, rising from your seat to be at his height even though you were several inches shorter.

“I needed to talk to you for days and you never came to see me again.” He explained, still trying to regulate his breathing after searching for you all over the airport. “About what you told me before you left.”

“I didn't come back because you made it clear that you didn't want to see me, and I respected your wish.” You explained as calmly as you could. “And as for what I said, there's no need to talk about it. It's outdated and I shouldn't have brought it up.”

You saw him sigh and fidget chaotically for a second before he spoke again. He seemed nervous, as if he had rehearsed the conversation a thousand times in his mind.

“I need to talk about this. You told me you were in love with me...I just found out and I couldn't stop thinking about it, it's stuck in my head because you never told me.” He tried to speak slowly, but it was as if the old Spencer you once knew had reappeared and started babbling. “You said you were leaving because you were offered a better position and you were bored with this job, you never mentioned that...that you liked me.”

“My flight leaves in less than 30 minutes, I can't talk now.” You tried to get out of the situation, but he gently grabbed your arm before you could escape. And with a sigh, you spoke again. “Good. I never told you how much I liked you, but that doesn't change anything.”

You pulled away from his touch and putting your hands on your bags so you could leave soon.

“It changes. It really changes everything.”

“What? How?” You dropped the suitcases and looked at him in confusion.

He remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the clock on the bright screen above you, trying to use the little time he had to talk to you and express himself. He felt the words catch in his throat, and it was a disappointment after having only you as the protagonist of all his thoughts since you had visited him, pushing away any possibility of holding a grudge against you because the only thing on his mind was doubt about what would have happened if he had known.

Spencer had spent so many years locked in hate, trying to hold a grudge against you for leaving, leaving nothing but torturous memories in an eidetic memory and a ridiculous need for a hug from you every time things went wrong. And suddenly you showed up, looking as beautiful as ever, saving him from a traumatic experience and delivering information he never expected.

He had only been free for a few days and yet everyone looked at him differently, from pity to fear, knowing that prison had changed him forever. But not you, you looked at him as if he were the same as always, even though years had passed and you had only seen his worst face again.

“If I had known...if you had told me I...” He stammered, trying to find some courage to stop feeling like the same young man you had left. “You would know that I felt the same way.”

At that moment, you almost had to sit up again because of the impression his words had made on you. You closed your eyes and opened them again to make sure that you were not hallucinating and that it was really the one you had been dreaming about for years who was telling you that he also felt something for you before.

“You don't have to lie...no, don't lie to me like that just because I got you out of jail.” You started to blurt out, completely denying the strong beating of your heart.

“I appreciate you doing this, but I won't lie to you. I could never do something like this.” He assured you, looking you straight in the eye for confirmation. “And if you don't believe me, I can tell you exactly when I first realized I liked you, it was November 8, 2005, it was 11:35 in the morning because I looked at the clock. You had completed your third month with us and you went to talk to Gideon and Hotch because you wanted to get out in the field and stop doing paperwork. You were so nervous about getting fired that you grabbed my hand before you left, but you didn't notice because you were busy listening to my comments about your performance. I thought it was nothing and that I was just nervous because you were the only one I was talking to and I was afraid of losing you, but before you left you smiled at me and I knew everything was going to be okay. Again I thought it was nothing...but every time things went wrong I thought about it, I still do because that smile is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

“I...” You tried to speak and formulate even one word, but it kept getting stuck in your throat.

“Wait, I'm not done yet.” He interrupted you, saving you from a possible babble. “I never told you because I thought you didn't feel the same way and that you saw me as a younger brother to be taken care of. I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, so I left it in my mind as an impossibility and I thought I was completely over it until you left and I lost my mind...and it's happening again.”

“God, I need to sit down.” It was all you could say at the time as you tried to process everything he said.

You sat down with his help and watched him relax a little as he finished speaking, as if he had waited a long time to say it and had practiced it many times. You felt your heart pound after years of dreaming of hearing those words from him. You had never imagined a life where Spencer felt anything more than friendship for you, and now it was real. He had loved you as much as you wanted, and you had been too blind to see it before other people came along.

“I know it's been years since you got over me and that I was a jerk to you when you came to see me, but you need to know that ever since I saw you I couldn't stop thinking about what my life would have been like if I had told you from the beginning.” He spoke again, trying to look closely at you to decipher what was going through your mind. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry if this has upset you or...”

“Do you know how long I've waited to hear you say that?” You said, still surprised, taking the opportunity to get up from your chair.

“I'm sorry, I know it's too late and now you're going to leave again, but this time I'm here to ask you not to do it again.” He came over and took you by the hands, bending down a little to be at your level, as if he was begging you. “And I know it's selfish because you have to go and you have a life away, but I really...”

“Spencer.” You stopped him before he started babbling, and he looked at you anxiously for your answer. “It's not too late.”

“Really?” He asked, as if he could not believe he had heard you correctly.

“Really.”

You gave him a small smile of affirmation and felt your eyes glaze over with emotion as you felt him release your hands and grab your cheeks to wipe away the stray tear that had fallen. The look of tenderness he gave you along with his touch made you tremble.

“Are you planning to kiss me already or are you going to wait 13 more years?” You spoke without even thinking.

He didn't have to think once before closing the distance between you and fulfilling the longing that had been in your mind for so long. You couldn't say anything because his lips had been on yours before and the first contact had almost made you melt. His hands were still on your cheeks, but one of them went down to your waist to pull you closer and make sure you were real.

Your lips tasted like cherries and that made him smile immediately in the middle of the kiss, thinking that you were still wearing the same lipstick that you had applied in front of him so many times and that he had only dreamed of tasting. Finally, the reality was far better than any fantasy and the softness mixed with the intensity of a repressed love during the kiss because finally the stars had aligned for the two of you.

“Are you going to go out on a date with me?” He asked as soon as you both parted.

“I have a girls' night out first.” You replied, letting it be known that you were tired of running away. “But I'd love to go on a date with you.”

He came over and gave you a quick kiss before you could say anything else. You returned the kiss and then pulled away, putting your arms around his neck.

“You're kissing me like this before the first date?” You joked, still trapped in the bubble of love you felt you were in.

“I don't intend to wait any longer now that I have you here.” He responded by giving you a kiss on the head and wrapping his arms around you to hug you. “So please don't go away for 6 years again.”

“I don't plan to go anywhere now.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

I Might Change Your Life, I Might Save My World

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre/early)

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD Violence and Gore; Mentions of canonical character death; Some verbal aggression

A/N: I had them on the run alone. I hope that’s okay!

*gif is not mine

The run had so far been uneventful. You’d even dare say boring. That was a word that wasn’t used carelessly. Life in the apocalypse was rarely boring and usually consisted of running for your life while scrounging up anything possible to ensure you could just survive. At least you were out with Daryl. He was your best friend and could usually keep you at least mildly entertained whether or not it was intentional. 

You were a survivor of the Governor’s insanity at Woodbury. It had seemed safe enough, but he had fooled everyone. Or maybe he had at one point been a kind, reasonable man that was just pushed too far by the cruelty of the end of the world. Regardless, it was there that you had met Merle, the right hand man. You had always teased him about that. Right hand? Get it? To most people, it would have seemed cruel, but not to Merle Dixon. He would ruffle your hair with a gentle shove and tell you to get lost. 

You never did.

When Merle left, you had followed and he had allowed it. He even held your arm and dragged you out behind him. That’s when you actually met Daryl. You had seen him in the fight pit, eyes wide as the Governor revealed he was Merle’s younger brother. He had never mentioned having a brother. Maybe he had thought him dead. Most would say Daryl was everything Merle was not, but they just didn’t know the elder Dixon like you did. Merle was crass, sometimes downright unkind, but below that rough exterior, he had a big heart. He was learning, little by little. You would have liked to take some credit for that.

Daryl had left his group that day, following Merle, just as you did. You remained quiet, watching the younger Dixon watching you. He looked almost wary, but there was a naked curiosity there too. When the two butted heads, you trailed behind while Daryl led the way back to the prison. Where he belonged, he had said. 

You had fit in easily. Merle, not so much. It made your heart ache for him when you could see the poorly hidden love he had for his little brother. He was absolute shit at showing it, sometimes selfish, but it was there. When he proved it by trying to be better, trying to show Daryl that he could do the right thing, it had cost him his life. You blamed Daryl for the longest time. You knew it wasn’t his fault, deep down, but you needed someone to catch the fury of your grief. The archer had taken it willingly.

When the prison fell, you had tried and failed to save Beth. Grieving yet again, right on the heels of losing Merle and then Hershel and then your home, you found a way out with Daryl, leaving the two of you stuck together on the road, alone and with a dense cloud of animosity billowing between you. It wasn’t until one night in a rundown home that Daryl had said reminded him of where he grew up, moonshine was flowing and then so were the emotions. You had both yelled, thrown things, killed the walkers that the fight attracted while continuing the verbal onslaught. In the end, drained and resigned, the two of you had talked. 

And the rest was history.

Alexandria had been a saving grace. It had taken a while to adjust. For Daryl, he had never lived in a community like that. He slept on the porch most nights, fleeing the confined spaces that left his chest heaving and his skin damp with sweat. You felt as if it were Woodbury all over again, destined to crash and burn and leave the group nothing but ashes. So, you slept on the porch with him, if for no other reason than to keep a fellow outsider close. You both knew it was more than that. 

Months had gone by. You had both finally moved inside a house and were even closer now than you had once been to Merle, which was surprising. Rick was confident in sending the two of you out together. You got shit done. That day in particular, things just weren’t moving in your favor.

For one, it was cold. The seasons were changing and you hadn’t adequately prepared for the chill in the air, especially when on the bike. The two of you were scouting for places that could possibly still have necessary supplies. Daryl had—as always—been quick to notice your discomfort. Though he had usually sewn the sleeves of jackets right onto his sleeveless shirts, that day, he had actually worn a leather jacket. 

“Here.” He shoved the article toward you, prompting a raised brow in response.

“What for?” You queried. It was a stupid question, but useless banter always kept things light between the two of you, comfortable even if Daryl would always claim the opposite. The space that lingered was never oppressive, not anymore.

“You’re cold, idiot.”

“Daryl Dixon is being sweet to me. This is one for the record books!” You chuckled while slipping on the jacket. The hunter scowled and bumped you with his elbow.

“Stop.”

“Didn’t hear you disagree.” You would have continued to tease if he hadn’t held up a fist just in front of you, the signal to be still and silent. The telltale groans, snarls, and shuffling feet were growing closer, blocking the two of you from the bike. “Aw, crap.”

“Yup.” He agreed, leaning around the corner of the building just enough to see the sizable herd. “Need a plan.” He mumbled, unclipping the sheath of his knife for a quick draw when needed.

“Got one.” 

“What?” When Daryl turned, you were already rounding the opposite corner of the building with a quiet shout of get the bike. “That fuckin’ woman’s gonna be the death’a me.”

There were a great deal more undead than you had anticipated. “Well, hell.” You grumbled. It was too late to turn around, several of the milky yellow eyes already landing on you. As you walked backward, keeping a safe distance but close enough to hold their attention, you could see Daryl peeking out from the corner. You exchanged nods before you began to wave your arms. “Hey! Over here! Keep your eyes on me!!” The noise ensured that Daryl’s already near silent footfalls would go unnoticed. He would get the bike, circle the herd, and you’d jump on. Piece of cake. 

Until you bumped right into a walker that led the other half of aforementioned herd. 

“Oh, fuck!” Quickly grabbing its throat to hold it back, you pivoted, walking backward toward the open area at the edges of the corpses. Daryl was shouting your name, the bike roaring to life. You just happened to choose the wrong time to glance in his direction in an attempt to gauge the distance between you. The next walker had fallen somehow, levering clumsily to its feet just beside the one you were grappling with, your knife having just sank into that one’s skull. There was no time to react. You could only watch the blade slip free as the teeth came together on your arm. It was painful but nothing like you had expected, more pressure than anything. Still, it was too late. You were bit.

“Y/N!!” Daryl shouted, grabbing you away from the dead man, your arm slipping free from its jaws to throw it off balance. That gave you a chance to climb on behind Daryl, the injured arm cradled to your chest while the other wrapped tightly around his abdomen. “Just a minute, just hang on. We’ll take care’a this.” He was rambling anxiously, the cool wind whipping and stinging as the herd grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

“I’m bit. I’m bit. I’m bit.” You chanted against Daryl’s back, only barely holding back your sobs. The bike slowed to a stop, the kickstand lowered roughly before Daryl was scrambling off when you should have been the first to move. 

“Lemme see.” When your teary eyes met his, he growled through the sting at his waterline. “Lemme fuckin’ see!” He wasn’t as gentle as he could have been but he didn’t hurt you. Pulling your arm away from your chest roughly, he grabbed the shoulder of the jacket and yanked it down, ripping one of the seams in the process. You were both greeted with bruising flesh, the slightest indents of where teeth had vehemently pressed, but no broken skin. No blood. No scratches. While you stared in a shocked relief, Daryl wasn’t so graceful. His legs buckled and he went down hard to his knees. “Goddamn it, Y/N!”

“I’m okay.” You blinked, eyes transfixed on your arm. It hurt but it wasn’t a death sentence. You weren’t going to turn. “I’m okay, Daryl.” You smiled through the tears, now falling for an entirely different reason. “Daryl?” He was trembling fiercely, his shoulders moving in a way that suggested he might have been crying. You started to throw your leg over the seat to comfort him when he drew back his arm and planted his fist into the asphalt with a crunch that made your stomach turn.

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid!” He roared, barreling upright to stand with his nose nearly touching yours. You were too shocked to react properly. “Ya couldn’a waited for a actual plan, just had to go balls to the wall an’ run out there like a fuckin’ lunatic!” Your eyes followed anxiously as he started to pace.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to get us out there in one piece. I didn’t even see the—”

His uninjured hand grabbed your wrist, tight and firm but not without care. He’d never hurt you. Not intentionally. Not physically, at least. “Ya call this one piece? I woulda had to take your arm, ya fuckin’ useless idiot!” That sent you reeling. Daryl had been angry with you before, but for things like keeping the squirrel over the fire for too long or kneeing him in the groin while trying to get comfortable enough to sleep. But that? That was different.

If Merle Dixon had taught you anything, it was to never show how you really felt. When you began to laugh, Daryl dropped your arm and stepped back, eyes wide and full of disbelief. “My god, you’re dramatic. I’m fine, Dixon. Let’s just chalk this up to a shit day and get the fuck out of here.”

“A shit d—are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“Stop it. Get on the bike and let’s go.” You pulled the jacket back onto your arm, your red flannel peering through the tear in the shoulder. Now adjusted once again and ready to go, you looked back to find him still staring at you with the same incredulous expression. You chuckled and shook your head. “Stop being ridiculous. Let’s go.”

“Nah.” He was stepping backwards with his own head twisting back and forth. “Take the bike and go home. M’gonna walk.”

“It’s at least fifteen miles and it’s cold. Now who’s being stupid?” When he turned his back, leaving his crossbow strapped to the motorcycle, you actually began to panic. You could drive the bike, sure. He had taught you a few months back, just in case. Still, leaving him behind with nothing but his knife was not something you would do without a fight. “Daryl! Seriously, please, let’s go.” He ignored you, stalking off into the trees until the wings of his vest disappeared. 

Chasing him wasn’t a good idea. You knew him well enough to know that much. Or did you? It had been a long time since an argument like that, one where both of you had shut down in one way or another. You started the bike, toeing up the kickstand before propelling it forward, your chest constricting tighter and tighter with every mile. 

It had taken him far longer than necessary to make the walk back to Alexandria’s gates. Granted, he’d stopped for several smokes to calm himself down. He’d slide down the nearest tree and sit there—flexing his throbbing fingers—until he had drawn the cigarette down to the filter or he heard the incoming growls of the walkers that had been tailing him. He had to take an extra half hour to put down the ones he could and lose the ones he couldn’t. By the time Sasha pulled open the gates, Daryl was bone weary and more than a little ashamed of how he’d reacted. 

“Seen Y/N?” He asked in lieu of answering when she questioned where he’d been.

“She came back a while ago. Haven’t seen her since. Sorry.” She patted his shoulder and returned to her post. You were back, so that anxiety was at least remedied. 

Still, he needed to talk to you. The way you had laughed in the face of his anger had unnerved him. It reminded him so much of his brother that it hurt. That type of behavior didn’t suit you. Then again, who was he to tell you how to behave? He had spoken to you so harshly instead of just telling you that you scared the shit out of him. He should have hugged you and been thankful that you didn’t lose your arm, didn’t lose your life. But emotions and Daryl weren’t exactly on speaking terms. When he didn’t understand why or how something made him feel a certain way, he lashed out at it. He was conditioned that way, it was in his blood. He had been trying so hard to be better. He actually thought he was getting better. Boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong. He was still a work in progress. He needed you to know that. He needed to apologize, even if it burned coming out of his mouth to admit he was wrong, to admit to feeling anything at all. 

Damn you for wiggling your way into his useless heart. He thought he had crushed and buried the thing years ago. Then you came tagging along on his brother’s heels and challenged everything he thought he knew about himself. He chose not to acknowledge it, even when people like Carol and Rick did. Often. 

Sighing, he stopped on the porch of the home he shared with you and Carol, lighting up a cigarette and leaning over the railing on his forearms. He would have assumed that you’d already spilled everything to Carol but when she didn’t barrel out of the house with a rolling pin aimed at his head, it was easy to figure out that you hadn’t. Maybe you hadn’t even been home yet. He trampled that worry down quickly, not willing to let it compound into another wave of anger he’d have to answer for eventually.

The streets were quiet with the sun now completely gone, replaced by the waning crescent moon. There was enough light for him to see, of course. His eyes were trained from years of hunting and surviving out in nature. He could hear frogs close to the pond, even hear the paper of his cigarette sizzling with each drag. But then he heard something else. Something that shattered him to his very core because he knew immediately what and who and why it was.

He didn’t bother to keep his steps light. It wouldn’t do to surprise you. You’d just be even more upset without time to even try and compose yourself. Even so, it was possible you still didn’t hear him approaching. Your sobs and sniffles continued, probably barely audible to anyone who didn’t know how to listen and not just hear.

You were perched on the bench beneath the gazebo, knees drawn up to your chest with your face hidden behind them. Even in the dark, he could see your shoulders shaking. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there watching you but once it was clear that you hadn’t noticed him, he cleared his throat. Had it been any other day, any other situation, the way you unfolded and nearly climbed over the back of the bench would have been comical. Maybe it still would be when the two of you looked back on this, but that was only if he could make things right.

“Hey.” He rasped, still rooted to the same spot.

You sniffed, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your flannel. The leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. “Hi.” All the confidence from earlier was gone, leaving your voice but a tiny echo of the woman that had called him dramatic. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”

“Ya alright?” He chanced a step toward you, pausing after one when your eyes darted down to his boots and back up. God, he felt like an asshole. Were you afraid of him now?

“Mhm. I’m okay.” You sniffed again and settled back onto the seat, pulling your knees against you once again. “I hung your jacket on the doorknob of your room. I fixed the sleeve.”

Great. You fixed the thing he tore. Now he felt like a major asshole. “Listen, Y/N, I—”

“It’s okay, Daryl.” You interjected, offering him a small, feigned smile while your eyes betrayed you. “Carol has dinner ready. I put your plate in the oven.” It was just getting better and better. You had still thought of him enough to make sure he had something to eat when he got back. And the award for Asshole of the Year goes to: Daryl Dixon.

You stood so quickly that he nearly flinched. “I should—I have a new job assignment tomorrow. Need to get some sleep.”

That threw him. “New—ya ain’t goin’ out anymore?” You shook your head.

“I’m gonna work in the pantry, dabble in the armory too. Give Olivia a break sometimes.” Your tone wasn’t cold but bordered on emotionless. You’d asked Rick to take you off the run list, and you’d done it because of him.

“Y/N, don’t do that.” He watched as you approached, your head down. If you hadn’t seen his boots when he stepped into your path, you surely would have slammed into him. “Shouldn’a talked to ya the way I did.” Even while you looked off to the side, he could see the way your face screwed up like you were about to cry again, but after a moment, you settled.

“No, you were right. I should have waited. Things could have gone a lot differently. I didn’t stop to think about how you would have felt if I had been bitten.” Daryl deflated at the utter dejection in your voice. “Anyway, goodnight, Daryl.” 

Watching you walk away, your arms wrapped around yourself so tightly, he let himself think about it; allowed himself to think about what he would have felt if you had been bitten. It wasn’t anger then. It was loss, despair, guilt. Whether he’d had to have taken your arm or not, the prospect of possibly losing you was more than he could even think to bear. What was more terrifying was that he realized that your loss would devastate him more than his own brother’s had.

“Y/N, wait!”

He couldn’t let you think he had acted that way out of anger alone. Yes, he had been angry but he had been scared. He couldn’t say you were his closest friend. That spot was taken by Carol. You were something else entirely. Something that he would never get the chance to explore or define, fear and awkwardness be damned, if something happened to you.

His feet were carrying him toward you at a brisk pace, your eyes wide at his approach but you didn’t move. You didn’t flinch or cower, even when he grabbed your shoulder and pulled in against his chest, wrapping both arms around you to hold you there.

“M’sorry.” He whispered into your hair. You weren’t hugging him back but that was most likely because your arms were pinned between the two of you. “Ain’t no reason for me to ever talk to ya like that. Ya ain’t stupid. You’re quick on your feet an’ it ain’t fair’a me to fault ya on that just cause m’too scared to lose ya.” He felt your sharp inhale while his face and neck flushed at the admission. “I—Christ, ain’t no good at this talkin’ an’ shit.” When your shoulders shook, he knew he’d made you cry again and took a step back, his hands sliding up to hold your shoulders. While that was true, the movement was from the laughter bubbling up from your chest instead of the tears falling down your cheeks. “The hell ya laughing at?”

“I like you too, Daryl.” Goddamnit, you had a pretty smile. He’d make a fool of himself ten times over if it meant you’d give him that smile just once.

“Ain’t a thing ‘bout likin’ ya.” He swallowed hard and looked away, the pink hue on his cheeks deepening. “Don’t know what it is, but, uh—well, maybe we can try to figure it out together?” He sounded like a lovesick teenager and was two seconds away from rolling his eyes so hard that they would relocate permanently to the back of his skull.

“I’d like that.” 

“Really?” He straightened, expression embarrassingly hopeful.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.” 

“Right.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, not feeling like he’d entirely lost the right to call himself a man. “So, uh—Guess we should tell Rick that Olivia can get Spencer to help her. Maybe he’d stop oglin’ ya all the damn time if he’s cooped up in the pantry.” You reached for his hand and he let you take it. “Maybe I could talk her into lockin’ him in there for a while.” The walk back to the house wasn’t a long one and all too quickly, you were climbing the porch steps just in front of him.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want other guys checking out your girl?” 

Daryl almost missed the top step. “My girl?” He didn’t mean for it to come out quite so breathlessly. He was mostly definitely losing his man card that night. You were blinking at him, your smile slowly faltering.

“I—I misunderstood, didn’t I? Jesus, Daryl, I’m—”

“Nah.” He quickly derailed that train of thought. “Just liked hearin’ ya say it s’all.” 

“Are you—”

“Yup.” The smile was back and Daryl could breathe again. Somehow, standing there with you on the porch and him on the top step, just staring at one another was more comfortable than he could have ever imagined. 

“So,” you began, twisting your upper half back and forth, “you walked me home. Are you gonna say goodnight and kiss me now?”

Daryl’s face contorted in confusion, a dark brow arching. “I, uh—I live here too.”

“Does that really matter?” You asked, stepping a little closer. 

“Guess it don’t, really.” When you leaned forward, he didn’t stop you. Found that he didn’t want to. Even as new and undefined as whatever this was, this felt right and he’d be damned if he’d let a chance like that pass him by. 

Inside the house, Carol swirled the wine around in her glass, watching the kiss happen with a sigh of relief. “Finally.” Picking up her book, she took a sip and placed the glass down on the table before opening to the dog-eared page. “Now I don’t have to lock them in the pantry together tomorrow.”

[liennka]

Another tragedy in your pitiful collection of plays

Interview with the Vampire characters x gn reader

Summary: you witness the tragedy that happened that day in the Theatre des vampires and tell your side of story to Molloy…(s2e7)

-> This one is pure angst and rage, I am open to any criticism (be nice pls) and I hope you like it :)

I just wanted to say that I am not the owner of this show, but I did make this story, so don't copy it without my knowledge, thank you.

I've never been so scared. As if the whole world pressed against me, its weight crushing my chest, squeezing my heart. As if I was suffocating, my lungs empty, squeezing my windpipe. One look at the stage and my heart threatened to burst, yet I couldn't tear my eyes from their faces. Madeleine's blank gaze, her pale skin covered in blood darker than her lipstick. Claudia's resigned sneer, her mouth open, always ready to defend herself. Louis' furrowed brows, one eye slightly swollen. The smell of blood everywhere. Just another batch of strawberry syrup with dye for the people watching, even for me in other situations, but today it was the blood of my friends. Reeking of metal and bitterness, flowing straight from their hearts, poured onto the floor from their mutilated heels. 

I could not hear what they were saying. What made Claudia stand up and gasp with pain, what made Luis fall to the ground. No pre-written words from Santiago, no laughter from the people, no retelling of Lestat's life, no music.  My head was silent, only Armand's whispering, a voice that was familiar, a voice that lulled me to sleep. His powers that immobilized my body, his pity, his reassurances. My mind was clouded. Inside I was aware of what was happening, the fear and disgust, I wanted to scream, wanted to get out. But Armand did not. I could feel tears streaming down my face, but not my muscles… Then all the whispering stopped.  

"Banishment!" The crowd shouted in unison, in unprecedented desperation. The sound broke my hypnosis. What happened? I scanned the audience carefully, glancing at the man next to me. He sat behind the bars, giving the impression of a prisoner, but I knew very well that the only one holding him captive was himself. His inner self-degradation, his way of avoiding guilt. Why did Armand let me loose? What took his attention that even his love could not keep? Was it an unpredictable course of the play? Did the audience disappoint him?  He didn't move a hair, his eyes didn't flicker, his hands didn't clench. Still, someone had manipulated the crowd. If it wasn't him, then who? Lestat's ear was bleeding, his hand was shaking, and his eyes were red. It was him. Lestat. Armand wanted Luis dead.

"Is this what you wanted? Another tragedy in your pitiful collection of plays? Another reminder of your endless suffering?" I finally regained my voice and snapped at him, my hand gripping his arm. 

I've never been so mad.  As if the whole world was laughing, its ignorance signing the death penalty for these three vampires, the audience enjoying the show. As if they wore sunglasses while their skin burned. No, I was not mad at those fools in those seats, I was mad at the fool in my coupé, in a cage he designed himself. Watching a play he wrote himself.

"Louis!" Claudia yelled, clutching his shirt in despair, though there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"You can still end it. This time you can say No", I begged Armand, I always begged. He just shook his head. "Not to the laws," he whispered. Luis's screams filled the backstage until it ceased altogether, stifled by the doors.

"Is this a revenge on Lestat? Is this a way to regain the power over your coven? Is this revenge on your coven?" I took a breath "This is not the way! For once, do not let others trample over you, swallow your wounded pride and let it go. This plan of yours will hurt all of us, not just them! This is a mistake!" my voice wavered, I was desperate. Out of the corner of my eye, Santiago was talking to the humans, warning them. So did I, warning Armand, pleading with him, threatening him.

"Stop," his cold tone pinned me to the ground again, literally.

"Let them live," I cried, unable to move.

"They broke the law, they committed a crime. You are being irrational" he looked into my eyes.

I knew they were criminals, but more importantly, they were my friends, two girls doomed from the moment they were born. If anyone deserved to live, it was these two.

"They don't deserve this, please!" The burgundy tears fell from my cheeks onto my white blouse, forever testifying my misery.

"'There's nothing I can do," he shrugged and turned towards the performance.

"Coward."

He did not react. The stage fell silent, all the actors retreating, pushing the two vampiresses forward, holding onto each other till their last breath. I do not know what their last words were, it belonged only to their ears.

The dark curtain began to draw . Claudia looked up for the last time, meeting my gaze and smiling. "I'm so sorry, Claudia," I sniffled, not accepting what was about to happen. "It's okay," I heard in my head, her voice rough but sweet. "'s not your fault." I choked on a sob. She was like Joan of Arc, ready to die, knowing she was right, knowing they had misjudged her, yet she did not give up on her ethics, kind till the end. She stopped smiling and glared at the whole room. "Follow the bouncing ball!" she mocked them, gently embracing Madeleine.

When the sun's rays hit them, Claudia shielded Madeleine with her body, but the newborn vampire did not know daylight, did not know the pain of a sunburn, because Claudia loved her, she never let her suffer like Louis and Lestat had let her. With a shriek, she fell to her knees, the ash from her body swirling through the air. Claudia's singing led Madeleine out of this world, and then herself. 

I've never felt such pain. As if the whole world ended, the lights went out, the music stopped. As if my heart had turned to stone, fallen out of my body, shattered into a million pieces. But the world didn't end, only their lives. The lights didn't go out, only their eyes, the music didn't stop, only their screams. They turned to dust, the dust we'll all turn to one day, human or not.  

I dropped on my hands and knees, nothing holding me down, but I stayed there anyway. My choked cries, muffled by the vampires watching, turned to wheezes and  wheezes turned to screams. I had never screamed that loud before, not on stage, not as a human, never. It was so loud my eardrums were bursting, I could feel my own blood on my tongue and my vision darkened. I heard the cracking of glass, the clattering of shards as they scattered across the floor, all the glass in the hall shattered. That was the power of  vampires. I hope Claudia saw it somewhere, and I hope I made everyone in the hall deaf. The last thing they would hear would be a cry of pain, haunting their conscience.

The people fell silent, waited, and then began clapping. They applauded death, they applauded violence, they applauded Armand's writing.  How humorous. He frowned at me. 

"Are you all right?" He asked. 

No, I wasn't all right. I wanted to gouge out his doe eyes, break every bone in his body, make him suffer, but I still cared about him. 

"How can you even ask?!" I growled at him, waving my hand at him. My fingernails left scars, sure, they would heal, but my words won't. "I hate you! You should have stayed a slave, not ruining people's lives!" I didn't mean that, did I? I don't know. I do know that Armand took it seriously. 

"That's enough." He grabbed my hand and then I didn't feel a thing. He shut me down, just like in the restaurant.

“Thats how it happened mister Molloy” I sat in a cafe with the interviewer.

“And tell me, how did you know he directed the play?” he asked, recording my voice again.

"In the café. He stood up and headed for another drink, but ended up at the door, I think. I found it odd, so I followed him. Followed his gaze as Santiago entered." I glanced down at my hands, mindlessly fiddling with Claudia's green necklace.

"They took my friends by force and covered their heads with sacks. They were shouting, I was shouting too. I demanded an explanation from Armand, to stop the madness. Instead, he embraced me, pulled me close, and told me to stop fighting. That he was saving us, saving himself. I asked...and I remember it like it was yesterday:'So you've chosen...you've chosen to suffer again?' and he said, 'Yes'. He said he wrote a play that would make everything right again."

“He didn't lie to you about the play? He never told Luis, you know?” Molloy asked

"Honestly, I don't know. I think he always saw himself as my brother, he knew that I could not leave to live on my own. That I would stay by his side. That I would always forgive him" I smiled a little

“Did you?” he smirked

“No, not this time. I do think he can be redeemed, but never forgiven, not by me.” I looked into Molloy’s eyes. “So, if you see him again, tell him to find me, it's been 70 years and we have stuff to discuss”  

[fantasylandloser]

Attention

warnings: mention of not having food, kissing, suggestive, glenn being a gossip, if there are more let me know

a/n- there might be a part two for *whispers* smut

(update pt. 2)

************

“Where’d ya get this?” Daryl asks, snapping the strap of your bra. It’s the girliest thing he’s ever seen you wear. He imagined you must have liked little frilly bras before the infection.

“Found it.” Is your simple answer. He grunts, barely an acknowledgment. “Same for all this?” He questions nodding his head towards the assortment of lip gloss and hair products and girly shit that he didn’t know the name of. 

“Yep.” Another grunt. 

“Sounds like a waste of a run.” He judges, but it doesn’t bother you, you know how surly he can be. 

“We didn’t go for it, we stumbled across it.” You explain but you’re barely paying attention to him, you’re too busy looking in the mirror trying to make yourself as pretty as possible. More like how you looked before all this started. 

“We?” Daryl asks, barely able to keep your attention.

“Me, Maggie and Michionne.” You answer as you fuss over your hair. Daryl grunts again and you cut your eyes at him. 

“Will you stop that? If you have something to say just say it.” You wait for him to tell you how stupid you look trying to pretty yourself up in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, in a prison at that. 

“It’s just not like you, s’all.” 

‘“It used to be,” You pause taking a deep breath, before running your fingers through your hair. “Before the world got blown to shit, I used to love this, had it down to a science. Now I can barely remember how I kept up with all of it.” 

“You don’t need it.” Daryl tells you. “All this for that guy?” He knows better, but he asks anyway. His curiosity had been peaked ever since you started disappearing at odd hours of the day only to reappear with him. You also hadn’t seemed like you were interested in making any connection outside of your friendship with Daryl and the others you were at the farm with.

At a certain point you’d been his shadow basically, damn near mirroring everything he did, until you ditched him for some douchebag you hardly knew. It went from you being at his side practically 24/7 to it taking up to an hour for him to find you. 

You roll your eyes at him. “It’s for me. And you know his name.” 

“Yeah well I don’t think Mark would like it if he knew you were prancin’ around in this frilly shit in front of me.” You scoff trying not to laugh at him saying his name in such contempt.

“You can leave if you want.” He doesn’t. “ Mark and I aren’t even together.”

“Fooled me.” He tells you gruffly. He tries not to feel too disappointed when you start to shimmy into your pants, the tightest pair you own, or look at the curve of your ass when they get stuck under your thighs momentarily. 

‘“Might be time to trade those.” He says gesturing to the jeans that just barely fit you but make you look so, so good. 

“Maybe.” You agree. “None of my damn pants fit right anymore.” You complain. Daryl knew what you meant but couldn’t help thinking they fit just right. 

“It’s cuz’ we actually have food to eat now. Ain’t that a good thing?” He reminds you and you can’t help the feeling of gratitude for all you have now.

“Yeah. The best thing.” 

After you throw your shirt over your head you start to speak again. “Okay do I look like a woman again?” You ask, doing a quick spin for Daryl. His heart picks up when you look back at him, seeming to want his approval. 

“You never stopped lookin’ like one, last I checked.” You give him a look of indignation, before sighing. Wrong Answer.

********

“Why didn’t you just tell her?” Glenn asked.

“Cuz’ it wasn’t for me. It’s for him.” Daryl nodded down at Mark, who was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you. 

“Dude, the only reason she’s even paying attention to him is because you’re practically a nun.” Glenn says before pausing. “That’s what Maggie told me anyway.” If she were standing beside him she’d hit him upside his head for never being able to keep a secret. 

“Maggie told you what now?” 

Glenn sighs knowing that gossiping is going to come back to bite him in the ass. He does it anyway because he can’t keep a secret to save his life. 

“Yeah man, Maggie told me that the woman basically walks around you half naked and you don’t want her. I also saw the shit they came back with so if you ignored her in that, then I’d say you’ve given her a pretty good reason to believe you aren’t interested.” Glenn glances over at Daryl, seeing the look of confusion.

“I didn’t ignore her.” Daryl says sharply. “I didn’t know it was some sorta’ test.” He huffs, not liking that his friend knew all this and he was left in the dark, about you of all things.

“It’s not a test bro, she was trying to get your attention. I mean in my opinion I think she should come right out and say it, that’s what Maggie did but maybe she doesn’t know how to at this point.”

“Maggie dragged your ass through the mud before the two of you got together. That’s how I remember it, walker bait.” Daryl smiles a bit knowing you told him that, but you’re not as much of a gossip as Glenn.

“Shut up, man.”

When you finally get to the bonfire, Daryl sees the moment Mark lays eyes on you, but he whistles to catch your attention before you can go over to him. 

“Glenn needs a break , you wanna fill in for ‘em?” Glenn makes a noise of amusement at his obvious lie, becoming even more amused when you scrunch your face up but then agreeing anyway. 

You’re in the guard tower for ten minutes before Daryl says something, instead of the utter silence. “Glenn told me something..” He starts. He hears you mutter a ‘fuck’ under your breath knowing that he wasn’t good at keeping a thing to himself and Maggie kept nothing from him.

“That’s never good.”

“Not for anyone that shares secrets with him.” You hum in agreement. 

“So what did he tell you?” You ask, not wanting to draw out the conversation. 

“How many secrets of yours does he know?” He asks you, his eyebrow drawn up and you don’t hear it but he has to bite back the jealousy. 

“Between him and Maggie, way too many.” You admit. Daryl grunts, displeased that you share things with them that you don’t with him. He gets it. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

“If you have something to say to me I think you should say it.” Neither of you are looking at each other, instead you’re both scanning the perimeter. You wanted to curse Glenn for putting you in the predicament where you might have to say something you just wanted to be. 

When you remain silent. He pushes again, he just wants to hear it from you. “It’s not gonna be on me if you don’t say anything.” You inhale a deep breath.

“You know how I feel about you, Dixon.” Not enough. 

“I don’t.” He counters. 

“You do.” You huff and he watches you out of the corner of his eye, sees the slight flame in your cheeks and wonders if it's from embarrassment or anger. You just might be as bad as this as he is. It’s cute.

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear.” You add much to Daryl’s shock. So much so, that he drops his gun just to look at you better. 

“How do you figure that?” You give him a pointed look and he grins in his realization. “I thought you just liked the attention.” You scoff at his words. 

“Your attention, dumbass. You don’t see me running around in my underwear in front of anyone else.”And you are specific to only his attention. The way he looks at you inspires a feeling in you that hasn’t been accomplished by any other man. 

“Well you don’t needa be so mad about it.” You exhale because you are mad and you’re not entirely sure why. 

“If you don’t want me just say that. I don’t see any reason-” You’re cut off by a rough grab of the front of your shirt. He kisses you, it’s quick, somehow deep, then it’s over. 

“Y’er beautiful. With or without the extra shit. You understand me?” It takes you a moment to realize he’s answering your earlier question. You nod, slightly flustered, your thoughts and words failing you. 

“Good. Go tell Glenn he can come back.”

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

When Damian has moved on from vigilantism And go to high school in a country far from Gotham quietly and have a normal life . But there are people who don't understand that he is tired and wants to rest, not to make plans for genocide

Jon: Hey Dami long time no see are you, you know?

Damian: what ?

Jon: Like planning something because my instincts tell me you're going to do something big

Damian: If you only came here after not wanting to see me for years just to accuse me, it's better for you to stay in Ultraman prison

Jon: You can't say that Damian, you're the one who never wanted to see me all this time

Damian: Never mind I don't have time for this stupid, you better go and leave me with my homework alone before I take out my kryptonite

Jon: but-

Damian: Nuh uh *pull out a kryptonite sword*

Jon: where did you-

Damian: Respwan I swear if you go out in public and scream 'Robin' again I will call Slade

Respwan: And what are you trying to do by going to that stupid school, manipulating everyone into thinking you're on the student council

Damian: Actually, I'm the student council president and an athlete in school sports competitions, but that's okay you just dumb

Respwan: What do you mean huh !

Damian: Ask your father to register you and come with me then you will understand the pain and pride of being in school. But if you're too scared

Respwan: wanna bet

*Two semesters later*

Respwan in Wilson family dinner: And that's how I make those naughty kids apologize for coming to school 10 minutes late

Mara: You will pay for what you did to me Damian

Damian: Whatever, but if you can't shut the fuck up, go and die

Mara: You're a dumb if you think your disguise can fool me

Damian: Whatever you say, princess, but come with me and ressy and we will finish this semester together. And share joy slash misery together

Mara: Are you challenging me now huh!

Damian: Yes. If you can become Mrs. Mina's favorite student in less than 1 month, I will gladly give you my position

Mara: Challenge accepted

*1 semesters later*

Mara: Dam-dam give me your homework please

Damian: No you should know better than to spend all your time playing at the arcade all day

Mara: Please Mrs. Mina will come in a moment dam, I still love my life

Bruce call Damian: son are you okay, If you have trouble, your older sibling can come and help

Damian: *Just finished buying things to prepare for a party at his house and has two damn siblings who are just go buying whiskey*

Damian: I'm okay, no one needs to come, everything is under control

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) IV

Masterlist

Previous Chapter - Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter IV: "Angel" he calls me (Does he know that I'm falling?)

Your room had become a graveyard of memories, most of its belongings were those passed down to you from your late family members, and its latest additions were your mother’s, which you kept in a coffer, locked and sealed in the corner of the small vastness of your room.

The air was often stuffy as a result, and between Helaena's insect viewing screens and your mother’s piled embroidery works, you took every opportunity you were offered to be far away from it.

Jaehaera, on the other hand, viewed it almost as a playground, often roaming it as a labyrinth of a past she could not remember, a past that wasn’t hers. You attempted to show her Helaena’s needlework or her insects collection, anything that could keep the memory of her mother alive, but your little girl did not seem that interested. You had put the effort off for the while, waiting at least until she was grown enough to remember what you were showing and telling her.

Instead, it seemed that she had found a toy and companion in a doll you and Helaena used to play with at her age, shaped to the liking of your mother, with dark, auburn hair and brown eyes. You had let her have it and asked Rhaenyra for some new fabrics, for you to sew some new clothes for the doll, as its last were old and ragged.

Today, you were allowed out during your change of guard.

To leave the ‘vault’, as people would call it, the long keep with the slate roof behind the royal sept your family was confined in, was like a breath of fresh air, for however fresh the change could be, seeing the foul smell the city often carried with itself and it’s reputation. Thankfully, the gardens were exempted from such nullity and nuisance, the smell of freshly planted flowers making up for its environment.

Such a pity Jaehaera had to attend her lessons on such a beautiful sunny day. You were sure she would have liked the feel of the sun on her skin after so long inside, but you most of all understood how important her lessons were for her, actively encouraging her to go to them even on those days she would not wish to, taking her to the chamber where they would be held, hand in hand.

Were you both to be confined to the Keep for the rest of your lives with no hopes of seeing any change, then her wit would one day become her saving grace, and you would make sure she cultivated her talents in quantity.

Just as you had been made to do at her age, for the rest of your life by your mother.

From where you walked, you got a clear view of the inner courtyard, filled and bustling with activity. From servants and stable boys hanging around to high and low nobles promenading around, as they always did, as if they had nothing better to do.

You knew very well that that was not just what they were doing. The art of lingering around, present but never noticed, becoming part of the backdrop in people’s lives was something that, while you could not go unnoticed of doing, was something you had learned a thing or two about since the beginning of your confinement as Rhaenyra’s prisoner.

Steely but silent, never to make a sound too loud, that’s how you moved around the halls of the Keep, watching with your ever-curious eye. If there was one thing you were grateful to your mother for, it was for teaching you never to take people or anything by their surface level. A man, as common as they come, could be the Lord of the Seven Hells in disguise, and by putting up a good bravado, he could fool even the wisest, the most pious. The angel of death disguises itself as an angel of light. The gods shine bright their light among the most faithful to protect others from him, but even the gods’ gaze cannot reach where their light cannot overpower the dark. It was in your best interest to understand people and their motives, now more than ever when your survival depended on it.

You watched as the familiar figure of Jacaerys came from the double doors leading to the courtyard. He donned his riding gear, very clearly prepared to head to the dragonpit to visit Vermax and take him for a ride. You were about to call out for him, greeting him and calling out for a good morrow, having only seen him now since yesterday, but stopped when you realised he was not alone.

Baela and Rhaena followed soon after, walking out the doors donned in the same riding gears as him, a clear sign that they were going with him to ride their dragons too.

The laughs of the trio reached your ears as you watched them smile and chatter with one another, so content and carefree. So unlike you and your predicament. You wished to be with them, in your own gear, going to the dragonpit to ride Silverwing, who you missed dearly. But it was a common truth that you could not. A truth you could only turn into reality in your dreams, where you dreamt of sitting upon the leather saddle on her back, soaring to the skies as you once used to.

You clenched your hand involuntarily, the pain so evident as you felt the tips of your nails dig into your palm, so deep that had you not stopped yourself, you were sure to draw blood.

A feeling so dark and viscous twisted at your heart.

How was this fair? Why should you have to pay the price for the sins of others? You had been pardoned for your family’s crimes, why, then, were you not allowed to return to a life of normalcy? Why, after two years since the war’s end, were you still treated as a traitor would?

Jaehaera, too, a girl so young and so bright, of just ten years of age, isolated by the children of her age, was allowed only to familiarise herself with Rhaenyra’s youngest sons.

The reasons as to why pulled at your viscera. If they were doing this for reasons that you were not allowed to know, if they were hiding them from you, you knew it was because they, too, understood that you would not stand for them.

Everyone had witnessed in what was now being called the ‘Dance of the Dragons’ how destructive and deep the rage and anger of the Targaryens could be. You seemed meek, weakened as the years passed, but no one forgot who you were, as you never showed yourself to be passive to slights and insults thrown your way. You had to stand for yourself, now more than ever, when you had no one to do so for you, and with a rage running so deep? Some would say the perfect recipe for disaster.

A Targaryen whose blood of the dragons ran as deep as that of those that came before you and those that will come after, as hot and boiling as that of dragons made flesh.

One day you will wake from the ashes of your sleep and remember who you were. Today, was just not that day.

You had been promised that you and Jaehaera would be treated well, but you knew very well that promises meant nothing. They could be easily spoken, so easily broken, just as oaths had been during the war. or how much longer this would last, you could not know.

You were comfortable now but in the future? Who would assure you a life worthy of being called as such? Jacaerys? Jacaerys would be too busy being King to assure you continued to have the life he was making sure you had now, and if rumours of him being betrothed to Baela were to become true, who is to say his gaze would not be too hastily driven to his new wife rather than to his duties or his responsibilities.

Because that’s what you were, a responsibility, now belonging to his mother, your sister, but one day to become his.

Watching them walk up to the wheelhouse, with no sense of worry or care, made you only want to be able to have what they had more than anything.

You turned to walk in the opposite direction, turning your gaze from that which you had begun to crave once more, something you knew you would not be given, could not be given, as they always reminded you.

Unbeknown to your thoughts, your feet had led you towards the forest of the godswood. You had not noticed until the darkness of the shade washed over you, glimpses of light shining down at you from the cracks of the moving branches.

The rustling of the leaves by the wind calmed your thoughts, your hunger for what you craved, the anger for what you were denied. The chirping of distant birds, the murmur of crickets, and the washing of the waves of the Blackwater Bay created the perfect backdrop for your walk, but the fresh chill made for a cold reminder of the spring that had yet to come as you clinched to your frame your shawl, moving it over your shoulder from where it rested hanging on your elbows. The thick walls shut out the clamour of the castle, creating the perfect quiet for your unrested mind, despite your occasional shivers.

You allowed the silence to surround you, only broken by your and your guard’s steps, who, unlike your wishes, moved unsynchronised. Ser Rickard’s were heavier, not just made so by his weight and height but also by the heavy armoury he concealed his body with.

He who had first been in your mother’s services when Ser Criston had gone to march against Rhaenyra, who, surprisingly, had been allowed for him to retain his position as a member of the Kingsguard, now the Queensguard.

Though he was appointed as your sworn protector to get him out of her gaze, she was not too fond of having her late brother’s treacherous servitude anywhere near her.

Ser Rickard was always kind to you, taking care of you as a father would, perhaps better than yours had when he was still alive. Despite the strict orders he had been given about never letting his eyes off you on these particular and secluded walks, he allowed you the freedom you were deprived in the thick walls of the Red Keep, which were known to have ears and mouths to carry the whispers of misbehaviour far and wide.

As you sat upon a bench, he took some steps back, watching over you from the distance as you gazed over the bay set before you. The sea leading to the Gullet was filled with merchant ships from around the continent, Volantis, Lys, and Braavos, going in and out, carrying with them the well-being of the Capital and that of its people.

The godswood was empty, as it would be along the walls of the city of Southron gods. Hardly anyone came here to pray. Prayer would only fill the ears of the trees when a Stark or a northerner was nearby, otherwise, the tree would have to bear witness to secret escapades from young couples, whispered plots or your solitary walks. You suppose even the gods would grow bored of such entertainment. You were not much to look at in this state, after all. At least for them, for it seemed you had indeed caught the eye of someone.

The sound of leaves being crunched under heavy boots that did not belong to Ser Rickard made the both of you twist in alert, awaiting the reveal of the intruder of your quiet.

The man had not proved himself to be a stranger by any means; you knew him quite well, the familiarity between you two not a hidden knowledge to one another.

“Lord Reynford”  Reynford of House Redwyne, Lord of the Arbour, once ally of your brother and a kin of yours, though through which unmanned and distant cousin you had never met, you could not tell. You had a vague idea of why he was here as you acknowledged his presence.

“Forgive me, your grace, I did not mean to interrupt the quiet” his voice was gruff and slightly monotone, not giving away anything. He dressed richly, even for his age. His face clearly showed his age, a man of over two and fifty years of age, who carried himself well despite his tenure.

“It’s hardly quiet, wouldn’t you say?” You asked, the sound of the city below you two proving your point.

“So it would seem, though I meant you quiet. The city can hardly be disturbed when in itself is a cause for disturbance,” he said, walking closer.

With the tail of your eye, you spied Ser Rickard stepping closer, and you held up a hand, signalling for him not to.

He stopped in his tracks, unsure whether or not to listen to your silent command, which went against what he was instructed. Though he cared for you and gave you much relative freedom, he was always at the ready to prove his loyalty to the monarch he was now sworn to serve. You did not blame him for not wanting to so easily disobey the orders he had been given or to prove himself disloyal by the newly bound oath he had sworn. It was beyond his bounds to allow this conversation to continue, of the possible treachery that was sure to be whispered.

Still, now, you found yourself wanting to be selfish, wanting this thing to be given to you. Fortunately for you, it seemed that Ser Rickard understood you too well. He returned slowly to his previous posting, giving you and Lord Reynford space and privacy for your conversation. He would grant you this, only because of how wanting you seemed of it.

“Such a pity, that such beautiful day is to be disturbed by the cold of the wind” Lord Reynford now stood in front of you, clutching his hand behind his back. He wore a heavy, blue cloak with a red fur collar fastened with a pin in the shape of a burgundy grape cluster. A true Redwyne, he presented himself as such, showing others how proud he was of his heritage.

“How true you speak, but I suppose beautiful things are not often left untouched by the harshness of the world. Wouldn’t you say?” He seemed to ponder your words, though you could see he wasn’t really giving them much thought, his mind somewhere else altogether, perhaps to the reason why he was here.

“How right you are, you yourself are a great example of such saying,” he said, his voice low “I do remember how charming you looked in green, princess. How dreadful these black gowns make you look” he extended a hand to pull a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You flatter me,” you said, closing your eyes at the contact of his finger against your temple, wanting nothing more than to pull away, but not wanting to be impolite, something you were taught to be unacceptable against high and honourable lords “but those times are gone, my lord. You best make sure to forget of them”

“Nonsense, i could never forget such pretty sight” he disagreed “How I and many others wish to see it again, you cannot imagine, Princess” You watched as he shuffled closer “More than anything, that and much more. We all wish for your happiness and your desires to be fulfilled”

“And what would you know of my desires, my lord?” You asked, tilting your head in a slight show of defiance, but not against him, but rather his assumption.

“Nothing, unless you wish to share them with me” How clever of him, he had plotted it all it seemed, not leaving a single possibility in its wake.

“And tell me, Lord Reynford. Are you of the same cloth that Lord Peake was cut from?”

Unwin Peake, a man known for being willing to die to see his ambitions succeed. He wasn’t exactly subtle in his straying of hands, his overstepping, his overaching. The way he pushed his daughter, of just one and ten years of age, into befriending the eight and ten-man that was Jacaerys concealed anything but what he was truly after. Like any other man, Peake yearned for the throne, though he wasn’t exactly quiet about his wants or needs, which was why his plans had not unfolded in the way he wanted.

He had fought for your brother through the very end, and as such, he had approached you many times, trying to inspire rebellion in you, which you quickly and always turned him down for, at times rather harshly for his insistence. But it wasn’t your fault that he didn’t understand that you had no interest in opening old wounds unless necessary. Unless it be to protect yourself and Jaehaera.

“I would sooner allow you to take my life than be condemned to the same ring of the seven hells in which that man belongs in” he replied gruffly, almost offended by the comparison. But he was a smart man who understood the question you had just asked him. The meaning of your words was plain to see. Was he here to try and use you for your plans, or was he an ally, here to reassure you of his loyalty and, most of all, his eagerness to serve you?

“You must believe me, your grace. I wish for nothing more than to serve you in my capacities” The reassurance was much needed, and though you believe his words to be sincere, you were not too quick to fall for them. Any man could speak with enough sincerity to get what he wanted, and though a servant and faithful subject, he remained a man, and men are but deceiving creatures. He would have to prove himself first.

“Your words are as sweet as the wine that flows at your feasts,” you said, voice thick “almost….intoxicating, if said to the wrong person we can only imagine the damage they could cause”

“Then we must make sure they do not reach unwanted ears, no?” His eyes burned with hidden conviction, one only for you to see. Bearing witness only, were the trees. They were there, listening, silent, watching you two. The greenery of their leaves, the greenery of the grass, the shade reflecting such colour. Green, a colour so bright and so deep, the colour of living things, of life, of earthly change and of rot. So many rotten things were green, your family having been one of them.

“You said that my desires are ones you share” you tested him, wanting his reaction. He perked at your words, clearly listening intently to your coming request.

Remember this feeling, you told yourself, this is the moment you stop being the lamb to the slaughter.

You were blind. No, you had blinded yourself of the truth which had now come to the surface.

You were rotten, just like them, just as your family had been, just as much as the words you were speaking. How sweetly the fox speaks when it is being cornered by the hound.

“I want to be free”

Taglist: @esposadomd

If anyone wants to be added, please comment so, and you'll be tagged in the next chapter

[miniwrites1]

Angry s*x with Sebastian where they’re both mad at each other because of the silliest misunderstanding ever. Please I need all the spice and nsfw. Thank you so much in advance.

Anger Issues - Sebastian Sallow

Word Count - 1.5k

Theme - Smut (MINORS DNI)

Warnings - Oral Sex (M&F! Recieving), slapping, dirty talk, dom!Sebastian, sub!Reader, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (Don't be a fool, wrap your tool)

A/N - 1.5k of pure filth,enjoy! (All characters are aged up to 18+)

“Take off your clothes (Y/N).” He glared at you, staring you down until you did as he asked. Slowly you removed your cloak and uniform, taking your time to tease him. You could tell he was frustrated with you. You discarded your clothes next to his bed, leaving you in your underwear, a matching white set. His eyes roamed your body, hungry for more.

“All of it.” He demanded; you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t going to let him have you that easily.

“No. If you want it you need to take it.” You challenged, knowing how Sebastian worked, he wanted you to be pliant and take what he’d give you. Not today, not after earlier. You were going to make him work for it.

Throwing you onto his bed, frustration coursed through his veins at the smirk upon your lips.

“Is this what you wanted?” He barked. “Is this why you’ve been a bitch all day?” He asked, flipping you onto your front, making quick work of undoing your bra, ripping it from your body, before he straddled your legs, pinning you to the bed.

“Sebastian, I-.” You went to speak, but he cut you off by slapping his hand down onto your arse, turning your words into a moan.

“No. You don’t speak, I don’t want to hear you make a sound. You’ve said enough.” You fell silent, you could feel your underwear becoming soaked from his actions. A few more well-placed slaps and you were mewling under him. He shuffled up the bed slightly, leaning forward to grab your hair and pull your head back, pressing his lips up to your ear.

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked calmly, it wasn’t normal. He was never this calm, he was normally ravenous. You thought for a moment about saying yes.

“No.”

“Wrong choice.” Sebastian removed himself from on top of you, keeping a tight grip on your hair and using it to pull you on to your hands and knees, head over the side of the bed. He undid his belt using one hand, whipping it off and discarding it across the room. The sound that it made as it hit the floor made you flinch slightly.

“Are you scared love?” He teased; you shook your head, glancing up at him through your eyelashes. You could see the hunger in his eyes, it’s like he wanted to devour you.

“Unbutton them.” He motioned to his trousers, his bulge was obvious, being trapped in the tight material. Leaning on your elbows, you worked to unbutton them as quickly as you could, feeling yourself becoming more soaked by the second.

Once the button was free, you shimmied his trousers down to his ankles making sure to take his underwear with them. His cock popped free from its fabric prison, bobbing slightly in front of you. You glanced up at him again, he looked back and simply raised an eyebrow. You pursed your lips together, a refusal. Your reaction only served to make him more frustrated, with his hand still in your hair he moved your mouth just above his cock.

“Are you trying to piss me off more?” He asked, a dark tone taking over. You smirked again, biting your lip as you looked at his cock. It was long and thick; a couple of veins present on the top. Perfect.

Sebastian took his opportunity as you released your lip from your teeth, opening your mouth slightly. He surged forwards, forcing his cock in, groaning at the feeling of your velvety mouth wrapping around him.

“Shit, your mouth feels so good love.” He moaned out, thrusting in and out as if it was his life at stake. His thrusts began to get rougher, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag slightly but he wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d gotten what he wanted from you. You gripped the backs of his thighs, holding on as he used your mouth for his pleasure until his thrust became uneven.

“I’m going to cum down your throat.” He moaned out, leaving no room for argument. He gripped your hair even tighter, forcing you down further onto his cock. His thrusts slowed and you felt a warmth fill your mouth and slide down your throat, a small amount escaping from the corners of your lips. He pulled his cock from your mouth, still semi hard, releasing your hair from his hand. He wiped the corners of your mouth with his thumb, gently pushing his cum back into your mouth as you swallowed it down.

“Are you ok?” He asked, his caring side shining through. You nodded, believing that he’d released most of his frustrations.

Before you could say anything Sebastian had his hands on your shoulders and had pushed you onto your back. Climbing on top of you again, he played with the hem of your underwear, running his finger under the band and giving is a sharp snap against your hip. You let out a small moan and the pain, causing him to smirk.

“Shall I carry on?” He asked, an eyebrow raised awaiting you answer. You nodded softly. You’d expected him to pull your underwear down, instead he pushed it to the side, exposing your soaking folds. He ran his finger through them in silence, toying with you, occasionally brushing a finger over your clit. You wriggled underneath him, trapped in by his legs either side of you.

“Please Sebastian.” You moaned out, want him. He let out a small laugh.

“Why should I?” He asked seriously, staring at your lips. He wanted to kiss you, but he wanted you to earn it.

“Please.” You moaned in response, ready to beg for his cock.

“Not good enough.” He placed his tongue flat against your clit, licking in a fast up and down motion. You could barely control yourself, your hips moved in a way that you didn’t know they could, trying to generate more friction against his tongue. His hands wandered to your waist and gripped it tightly, holding you in place as he continued his assault on your clit. You could feel your orgasm approaching at a rapid pace as your breathing picked up. Sebastian picked up on it too, bringing you to the cusp of orgasm only to take it away from you again. You moaned out, glaring at him for not giving you your release.

“Patience (Y/N), I’ll give you what you want.” He commented before diving back in between your fold. It became a cycle that felt like it went on for hours, he’d bring you right to the edge of orgasm only to take it away again. By the final time you were on the verge of tears.

“Please Sebastian.” You sniffed slightly, trying to contain your frustration. He grinned up at you from between your legs.

“Are you ready love?” He asked, giving you a chance to end everything there if it was too much. You nodded, wiping the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as he pushed your legs into the position that he wanted.

He lined his cock up to your entrance, gently teasing you with his tip. He started slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size, groaning at he felt your warm, wet pussy engulf him.

“Fuck (Y/N).” He moaned out due to your tightness. His fingers returned to your clit, this time rubbing small circles instead of just toying with you. The lightest touch was enough to have you writhing under him, you were so close to your orgasm.

“Please Sebastian, can I cum?” You moaned out, his fingers driving you insane with the pleasure they were creating. He nodded, focussing on his fingers and thrusts, drawing you closer to your orgasm. He connected your lips in a passionate kiss, rubbing faster. After a moment, you finally orgasmed, it felt like your world had imploded from the intensity. You were barely able to string together a coherent thought.

Sebastian felt your walls contracting around him, your pussy suddenly becoming even slicker. He pushed you through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure as well as chasing his own. He used your pussy for his own needs as your walls continued to spasm, you let out the occasional moan as he continued. Eventually, his thrusts began to falter, his moans echoing around the room.

His hips slowed, gently thrusting inside of you as he came. His breaths were heavy and he rested down on his forearms above you, slowly pulling his cock out. You looked down at him as he rested on top of you.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” You mumbled softly. Sebastian looked up at you, giving you a small smile.

“I’m sorry too. I know I’ve been an arse recently.” He replied, you knew his N.E.W.T’s were worrying him. He crawled up the bed to be level with you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, giving you a small kiss on your forehead.

“Maybe I should piss you off more often.” You mentioned looking up at him, only half joking. His eyes glazed over slightly at the thought.

“Maybe you should.”

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /four/ Azriel x reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

A/N: We're getting closer to her returning to the IC and I'm so happy about that. I also had a lot of fun writing this part, so I hope you enjoy!

Part One Part Two Part Three

The following days were much the same, watching from a distance as Tamlin worked hard to woo the young Feyre. Your eyes rolled every time he tried to complement her. She didn’t belong here. Just like you didn’t belong here. She was too much of a dreamer to become a High Lord’s wife, or little play thing. Too much of a dreamer to be held down by his endless rules and customs. 

She deserved so much more. You deserved more. 

Imagines of wings and starlight fill your head every time you close your eyes. You could see all of them, laughing at The House of Wind over dinner, having a grand time without you. They moved on, you know they had. But you couldn’t move on from them, no matter how hard you tried. You yearned for them. 

You yearned for Cassian and his brutish humor, the kind that always got him in trouble with your mother, but always made you laugh harder than you should. You yearned for Morrigan and her never ending support when your father was being particularly dastardly. And Azriel….oh how you longed for him. The gentle touches of his shadows, the shy smiles, and rare bouts of laughter. Besides your brother, you missed Azriel most of all. 

He was your Az, and yet you had no claim to him. But he seemed to understand that you belonged to one another. Maybe that’s why you made the promises you did. 

Where you go I go, but whatever we do we do it together. 

You made that promise before you flew for the first time. You were too afraid to fly as a child, but when Azriel came along and had to learn so late in life….well you got over your fear for him. You grasped his scarred hand in your tiny one and led him to the edge of the House of Wind. Why they decided that was the best place to learn to fly, you’ll never quite understand. 

But it was then that you looked up at him, tears in your eyes due to fear, that you spoke, “Where you go I go.”

He nodded slowly, hair blowing in the wind, “But we do it together.”

“Together,” You agreed, holding his hand tighter. 

And together you leapt from the ledge and let the wind take hold of your wings. Together you wobbled, but still stayed afloat. Together you figured it out, never once letting go of the other. And when you landed back on the roof, you held him so tightly as he laughed. And it was then that you decided that was the most beautiful sound you ever heard. It was then that you decided you would do anything to hear that laugh and see that smile as much as possible. 

And it was then that he decided he would always protect you, because you were his just as much as he was yours. 

“He’s sending her back,” Lucien’s voice drew you from your thoughts. 

“He’s what?”

“Your brother came,” Lucien says, face pale, “Took her mind, threatened to crush it. It isn’t safe for her here anymore, time is almost up. So Tam is sending her back.”

“He’s a damned fool,” you hiss, “She’s in love with him, it’s plain as day to see! All he has to do is get her to admit it, but he can’t do that, can he? He’s giving up, all because my brother decided to come and scare him?”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t, but when does the brutality of the Night Court surprise Tamlin?” You question, “He’s seen it first hand, he knows what we’ll do to him. Why do you think he keeps me full of Faebane? Huh?” 

“Y/N-”

“He knows I could shred all of your minds so easily,” You nearly laugh, “I could make Rhys look like child’s play if I really wanted to. You think he is vile and violent? See what happens when I have all of my powers, Lucien. There’ll be nothing left to bury. I could raze the Spring Court to the ground and not feel a thing about it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m a prisoner here, don’t think that I wouldn’t take the first chance to escape,” You shake your head, “No matter who I have to kill. I might still be a child compared to the rest of you but I’m a child of the Night. Brutality is in my blood.” 

“You aren’t like them-”

“Oh? Am I not? Just because I’ve been docile so far doesn’t mean it isn’t inside of me. I am a wolf in sheep's clothing. I always have been, dear Lucien. I am the most dangerous person in this manor, and he’s a fool to forget it.”

His face contorts into something that you aren’t quite able to read. Pride wells in your chest knowing you’re doing your job. You want to feel sick about it, want to feel sick about the role you’re playing. But if it brings you one step closer to your brother then you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. All you want is to go home again. You just want Rhys to hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright again. 

“Tamlin deserves what's coming to him,” you hiss, “You all do.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Oh but I do. I hope Rhys enjoys breaking every single one of you. And if he doesn’t, I will,” You take a step closer to Lucien, “By the cauldron I promise you, I will break this court apart piece by piece and I will laugh as I do it. And I won’t stop until he’s the only one left standing, and all he has to claim is rubble.” 

It rises up in your chest, and you feel it escaping through your fingertips, the darkness you used to run from long ago. You smile at it, feeling it wrap up your arms and cascade down towards the floor. It took a lot of energy to conjure it. You would be exhausted afterwards. But it would be worth it. 

Lucien took a step back, and then another. Head shaking. You knew what you looked like. A vile smile on your face, darkness twirling all around you. You looked like your big brother. You felt the power flowing through your veins, what little you had left of it anyway. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Lucien.” 

Tamlin sent Feyre back to the human lands the following day. You watched from your window with a scowl on your face as the carriage took her away. Tamlin was giving up and damning all of you in the process. Amerantha would come for him soon enough, and then there would be nothing left for you but to run. 

Maybe you could make it to the Night Court, maybe you would be lucky. 

“Once she comes, you’re free,” Tamlin spoke over dinner that night. 

“Perhaps,” You do your best to sound bored. 

You had to control your heart, so you didn’t give away how scared you truly were. If she found you, you would be dead in an instant. Or maybe she’d use you as a toy to get Rhys to do her bidding some more. He was already her whore, but perhaps she wanted more. She wanted him on his knees for her. And even you knew that he bowed before no one but his court. 

“Maybe I’ll stay here, I’ve grown quite fond of this place.”

“Liar.” Lucien bites out. 

One look from you though and he stands down. What he doesn’t know is you slept for almost twelve hours after your little display earlier. It took everything you had, all of your energy and what power you had. But it was worth every second to see the look on Lucien’s face. To know that you were still able to scare him enough. 

“Something you add, Lucien?” You question, venom dripping from your words. 

His head shakes, swallowing deeply. It only makes you smirk. You were so close to going home, to any semblance of home. Maybe your brother wouldn’t be there, but you’d be free. The Court of Nightmares had to be better than living here. 

“You should hide,” Tamlin says slowly, “They’re coming.”

“Now?”

He only nods, and reaches for more wine. He seems too calm. But then again he’s already given up. He gave up the second he sent Feyre back across the wall to her family. You can’t help but scoff as you rise to your feet. You expected him to fight back, maybe even for Lucien to fight. But you didn’t expect them to just lay down and roll over and let Amerantha march her cronies in here and take everyone. 

“You’re a coward, Tamlin.”

“So you’ve been saying for hundreds of years.”

“You should have just killed me.”

“Heard that too.” 

Your eyes roll, “I hope you have fun as her dog.” 

“Enjoy your freedom, Y/N.” 

You scoff again, “You best hope I never get the chance to kill you, Tamlin. I won’t make it as quick as my brother made your family's death.” 

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Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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Even though your parents are furious with you for breaking off your engagement, you don't regret what you did.

After all, how could you? The relationship with Alistair was doomed to fail anyway. He's destined to fall in love with the heroine and would ultimately have ended the engagement of his own accord. But even if you make sure not to antagonize the main character, there's no telling what this universe has in store for you. It's highly likely that your death flag will activate the moment the canon plot is set in motion, and when that happens, you need to be uninvolved as humanly possible.

You made the right choice. Granted, you ruffled some feathers in the process, but you still think it's better to nip a problem in the bud rather than let it fester and screw you later on.

Your father isn't having it, though.

"The Calderwood family won't even speak to me!" he fumes, stomping around your room like some huffy preschooler. "I requested an audience with Duke Calderwood, and he snubbed me outright! What a disgrace you've brought upon this family! Do you feel no shame whatsoever!?"

Hardly any, to be honest.

You fiddle with a lock of your hair, visibly disinterested. At the end of the day, you're just looking out for yourself, and the best way to do that is to ensure none of the crucial characters have anything to do with you. It sucks if you hurt Alistair's feelings, but you'll gladly take that over dying a gruesome death. You know what your priorities are, and you intend to stick to them.

Surely your father would prefer having a living, breathing daughter over a dead one, no?

"I'm sorry, father. But like I said, I genuinely don't think that relationship would have lasted. Alistair didn't seem to care for me much either. I'm willing to bet he would have ended the engagement at some point, whether I took the initiative or not."

"Such shamelessness," your father scoffs. "Everything you say is completely and utterly preposterous. Do you really take me for a fool?"

I mean, those are just the facts, but whatever floats your boat, I guess.

He clenches his jaw. "I told you the other day that you would regret your selfish actions, but it seems like you have yet to com to terms with the weight of the situation. But don't worry. Starting today, you'll learn remorse. I'm going to put you through hell to make you wish you never acted out in the first place."

You gulp. He's saying he's going to put you through hell, and that certainly didn't sound appealing. Shit. You knew ending things with Alistair was bound to have consequences, and ultimately, you still think the safest choice, but you can't deny that you're feeling pretty nervous right now.

What is he going to do to you? Is he the type of parent to enact physical discipline on his child? Does he intend to slowly deprive you of your meals, or confine you to a small, prison-like room for days to end?

Truly, the possibilities are endless, and the more you imagine it, the more terrified you become.

Shit is about to hit the fan.

"...I want you to complete all of this by the end of the day."

You blink. There's been a change in locatioon, and you're currently in one of his offices. Your father dragged you here against your will while you screamed bloody murder. Since you're still very much unfamiliar with the layout of the manor, you were convinced he was taking you to one of the secret torture chambers.

But no, it's just an ordinary office, equipped with an impressively large collection of bookshelves, as well as the desk you're sitting at.

You watch, somewhat mystified, as your father slams a notebook down in front of you, along with a few pens and pencils.

"All of these questions," he repeats. "You are to finish every single one of them by the end of the day. And you won't be permitted to leave this room until you do. If you end up having to stay up all night to work on them, I don't care. This is what you get for acting with no regard to your own family."

...this is your father's idea of a punishment?

"I know how much you hate doing academic work," he smiles smugly. "I understand if you feel like crying. But I really have to put my foot down this time. You've simply gone too far. It's time for you to learn that you can't always get what you want."

You stare at him in disbelief.

He's either fucking with you, or you've totally lucked out and discovered that your father isn't at all the scary, strict parent you assumed he was.

"So... I have to solve all these math problems," you clarify. "And once I do... I can leave and get on with the rest of my day."

Your father snorts. "Well, sure. But we both know you won't be getting out of here anytime soon. And don't misunderstand. This isn't only a one-time punishment. From now on, you'll be expected to study every single day. Did you think I was kidding? You made a grave mistake, and you need to face the consequences."

"A-Alright," you stammer, doing your best to keep a straight face. It's tremendously difficult not to laugh, because you got a pretty good look at most of those math problems.

Needless to say, this is going to be a piece of cake.

Your father heads to the door, but he stops before leaving to glare pointedly at you. "I'm serious," he warns. "I have a servant posted by the door who will inform me if you dare to snea kout before completing your work. There's no way out of this. I'm afraid you're just going to have to suffer, my dear."

"I understand, father." You make a big show of nodding your head with a somber, repentant expression. "It's going to be hard, but I'll do whatever it takes for you to forgive me."

He shakes his head and mutters something to himself - probably that you're stupid and have no chance of finishing all these questions in time - then he finally leaves the room.

The moment he's gone, you crack your knuckles.

"Adorable," you muse. "He thinks this is a lot of work? For a modern-age university student with virtually no sleep schedule?"

Spoiler alert: it isn't.

You get down to the grindm and just as you predicted, tis may as well be child's play for an overworked student such as yourself. You're used to having to meet unreasonable deadlines, having to work with uncooperative group members to complete massive projects and earn a decent grade. And of course, you're also no stranger when it comes to cramming desperately the night before an exam.

This is, to put it simply - light work.

But it seems like the villainess wasn't exactly the brightest of the bunch (which is really no surprise), because the servant posted at the door lets out a flustered squal once you step out of the room.

"Lady [Name]!" he exclaims. "Please, get back inside the room immediately! Your father specifically told me not to let you leave until you finished all your work!"

"But I have finished," you say simply.

"You... what?"

"I'm done. I solved all the problems."

You lift up the notebook and start turning pages so that he can see every question has been completely filled in.

The servant's jaw drops open.

"U-Um," he splutters nervously. "That is... well, I mean... I-I myself am not educated enough to review these, so I will need to get your father's opinion on this matter. Please, wait right here!"

He runs off without a moment's delay, and soon enough, you hear a loud voice booming across the hallway.

"...what do you mean she's already done?"

Your father must think you're trying to pull a fast one on him, because he seems just about ready to explode when he storms up to you. He even shakes his fist in frustration. Not with the intention of hurting you, but more to say, seriously? You're really going to try this shit with me?

[Name], I'm not even a little amused," he scowls. "I thought I made it very clear that you are not to leave this room until you finish all the work I've assigned you!"

"I really have completed all the questions, though," you insist, handing him the notebook. "Here. Please take a look. I wanted you to check my answers in case I made any mistakes."

He scoffs derisively and snatches the notebook from your hands, clearly prepared for disappointment. "Just to be clear, I meant that you need to solve them. As in, answer all the questions properly. You can't just scribble random nonsense and call it a day-"

He stops rambling mid-sentence. You watch, rather amused, as his eyes dart across the pages you've filled in. All of a sudden, he isn't bitching you out anymore, and you have a pretty good feeling why.

"They're... they're all correct," he mumbles in disbelief. "But how is this possible? You're just... you've always been so..."

Stupid? Tactless? A complete waste of a character?

"...so bad at studying!" he exclaims.

Ah. It looks like he decided to go with a milder insult. What a considerate father he is.

"I've worked really hard," you state matter-of-factly. "I feel horrible about letting you down, and I want to prove I'm capable. From now on, I intend to be disciplined and driven, every single day."

Your father takes several steps back, and he raises his hands defensively, looking as though he's just seen a ghost.

"S-Something isn't right..." he mumbles, visibly pale. "You, there! Are you positive [Name] never left the room? Is it possible she snuck out at some point and got someone to solve these questions for her?"

The servant furiously shook his head. "I assure you, my lord, I was right there standing watch the whole time! Nobody entered or left the room. I swear on my life."

Even though he was clearly trying to be reassuring, it seems his words have had the opposite effect.

Your father looks even more distraught.

[Name], what's the matter with you?" he asks in a hushed, almost fearful tone. "You're acting strange. Even your mother was saying that you didn't quite seem like yourself the other day."

He's suspicious. And why wouldn't he be? You're not his actual daughter. In fact, you're an entirely different person - from a different reality, at that.

Perhaps most people would say the smartest thing to do is play the role you've been given. To emulate the villianess, [Name], and do your best to convince everyone that you're the same insufferable scumbag they've always known.

And if you had been transmigrated into virtually any other body, that's probably what you would have done.

But living the way [Name] did -by making enemies left and right- is a recipe for disaster. You've already seen her story play out, and you know how it ends.

In horrible, painful death.

So, yes. You're not exactly being subtle about your approach. People are bound to notice that you're not an abusive brat all of a sudden. They're going to be flabbergasted by your behavior, and it's practically unavoidable.

You've already decided how you want to live in this world. Here, you will completely rebrand the woman known as [Name], and you will rid yourself of this miserable 'villianess' status. It's unfortunate that your parents can't seem to recognize their own daughter, but they'll just have to come to terms with it.

From now on, you're [Name.]

And so, you smile.

"I apologize, father. I understand why this change must be shocking to you. But I realized recently that I want to build a different kind of life. I'm ashamed of the way I've behaved until now. It's time for me to grow up and start doing things differently. This is a promise I made to myself."

Both your father and the servant still appear to be visibly stunned. Well, it's not exactly the kind of transformation that's easy to swallow, you suppose. It's basically the equivalent of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly.

"I promise to work very hard from now on," you say. "I'll show you that I can find a respectable man to take Alistair's place, and I'll keep up with my studies as well. If I do a good job and prove I am serious about this, will you forgive me for ending this engagement?"

Your father struggles to find the words. "I-I suppose and that would be acceptable, but-"

"Great! Again, I really am sorry about what happened. But everything will work out in the end. You'll see."

Befor ehe cn even think of a response, you've already taken to happily skipping down the hallways, humming a tune as you do.

He blinks repeatedly.

"What in the world just happened?"

Since you completed all your work, as promised, your father leaves you alone for the rest of the day. It turns out that neither of your parents in this world is particularly strict. Certainly not as strict as your real parents, at least. Well, they died a few years back, which you figure is probably for the best, otherwise they'd be mourning your absence right about now.

Anyways, the Alistair situation seems to have been resolved. As long as you prove that you can excel academically, and you eventually marry some other rich, successful man, it sounds like your family will leave you to your own devices.

Now, you finally get to do the thing you've most been looking forward to.

"Let's get out of town!" you exclaim.

Fiona, who you've since learned is your designated personal maid, tilts her head to the side while folding some sheets into a drawer.

"Into town, my lady? Are you sure it would be alright for you to do that? I worry your father might get awfully upset again..."

It hasn't been long since you've awoken in this world, and naturally, she's still quite afraid of you. Still, you can tell that she's slowly starting to let her guard down. At first, she was visibly confused and probably thought that you were putting on an act, but it seems like she's starting to realize that you've geuinely changed for the better.

"I finished all the work he gave me," you beam. "He seemed really surprised I managed to answer every question correctly, and in such a short time too. I asked him if I'm allowed to leave the manor, and he said I could."

Seriously. You're definetly not complaining about it, but your parents don't really know how to put their foot down and give you a proper punishment. You figured you would basically be under house arrest after breaking up with Alistair.

It's really no surprise that the villainess turned out to be a spoiled brat.

Fiona stands up and dusts her apron off. "Th-That's very impressive, Lady [Name]. I had no idea you were so smart."

There's a pause, and then she lets out a gasp, having just realized what she said.

"I-I didn't mean to say that I thought you were unintelligent!" she insists. "I always knew that you were smart, but um... um... I just didn't know you were extremely smart! R-Right. That's what I meant. Please don't... please don't be upset with me..."

She whimpers, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Unfortunately, it looks like you still have a long way to go before she feels comfortable around you, and doesn't live in constant fear that she'll be punished for saying the wrong thing.

"Don't worry, I know what you meant," you chuckle. "I take no offense to it. Besides, it's completely understandable that you would be shocked. My father certainly was. I have to admit, I wasn't exactly working hard before. I didn't put much effort in. But now that I'm actually taking things seriously, it shows."

Fiona lets out a sigh of relief. "O-Of course, my lady. It's very cmmendable that you've decided to put in your best effort."

"Anyways, long story short, my father agreed to let me go out. Since I want to head into town, would you mind accompanying me? Even though I have permission to leave, he still doesn't want me going all by myself. ANd I'd definitely prefer to take you over someone else."

"You'd... prefer to go with me?" Fiona blinks, incredulous.

"Of course! I know you the best out of everyone, so you're obviously my favorite," you happily state.

Fiona takes a few moments to let your words sink in, and it semms like she must be pretty flattered, because she makes a shy face and blushes fiercely.

"I-I'm honored that you would say that," she mumbles, still too flustered to look you in the eye.

Oh my god. She's so cute! I just want to hug her and squish her cheeks.

"If you'll have me, then I'll gladly accompany you," she nods. "Please let me know if there's anything I need to bring along. I'll pack everything into a bag."

"Don't worry about tht. I'm not bringing anything with me. I just want to go out for a little stroll around town and stretch my legs."

You're not really lying. It's not like you have anything specific in mind, but ever since you got here, you've been wanting to explore as much as you can. After all, it's not every day you get reincarnated into a fictional world. You figure it is time to let you inner fangirl out.

And so, with Fiona at your side, you hop into a carriage and take a quick trip to the center of town.

"... holy shit, it looks even cooler than I thought it would!"

You're so excited that you accidentally voice your thoughts aoud, but thankfully, Fiona doesn't think much of it. Considering how crazy you've been acting lately, she doesn't really dwell on most of what you say.

Anyways, you're actually here! It's kind of amazing when you think about it. There's so much of this world that you have yet to explore - all sorts of places that you saw in the game - and it's unreal that it's all right within reach.

It's not like your old life as horrible or anything, but you have to admit that this new one is endlessly more exciting.

Well, setting aside all the different ways you could die, of course.

Fiona offers you an encouraging smile. "Lead the way, my lady. You've worked really hard, so you more than deserve this break."

Honestly, you wouldn't consider doing a few pages of math problems that hard, but you'll take the praise regardless.

It goes without saying, but you don't really know where you're going. There are a few spots that you caught glimpses of while playing the game through the heroine's point of view, but this world obviously has a lot more to explore than what was shown.

Good thing you've got no place to be.

"Let's go there," you point excitedly, "and also there. After that we'll stop by there. Oh! And it looks like they've got all kinds of food stands scattered about. I want to try everything. Even if it seems like I'm about to puke, please dont try to stop me. I'm willing to take the risk."

Fiona stammers out a few protests as she desperately tries to keep up with your breakneck pace. You could certainly afford to take your time, but you want to see as much of the town as possible. There's a bunch of other places you want to visit too. It's hard to pace yourself when this is such an incredible-

"Thief! That man stole from me! Someone stop him!"

You turn around in a hurry, and sure enough, some guy is sprinting down the street as if his life depends on it. He's holding a big brown bag filled to the brim with fruits and vegetables, it seems. A petty theft, but a theft nevertheless.

Hold on, isn't this the perfect opportunity? If I step in to catch a thief, surely your horrible reputation will have to improve.

A smile spreads across your lips. What luck! It looks like you'll be able to demonstrate your endless generosity even sooner than expected.

Fiona starts pulling on your arm. "Lady [Name], please be careful. We should get out of the way and-"

"Halt, thief!"

Ignoring Fiona's protests, you step into the middle of the street and stand there with your hands squared upon your hips. You're still a noble, after al. Your words and actions carry a lot of weight around these parts. He'll have to think twice about stealing.

Except your act of bravery doesn't exactly go over the way you planned, and instead of being intimidated by your authoritative presence, the thief grits his teeth.

He also pulls out a knife.

"Get the hell out of the my way, bitch!"

Oh, balls.

It looks like you mght have bitten off more than you can chew. Fiona outright screams at the sight of the man charging straight towards you, knife pointed outwards, and she pulls you back so hard that you trip and fall to the ground.

There you lie, helpless and vulnerable, but fortunately, you are spared.

"...I'd avise you to stop running while I have both of your legs."

It takes a moment for your disoreintation to fade, but you swear you hear the sound of a sword being drawn.

Hardly two seconds later, the knife the thief was holding is knocked onto the ground, mere inches away from you.

The thief has been apprehended.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

Someone approaches you. It's a man, but the sounds of it, and the same one that just spoke earlier. You groan weakly. It certainly wasn't a pleasant fall, but you're glad Fiona acted in time, otherwise you might not have evaded the thief's knife.

"Here," the same man says, offering you his hand. "Allow me."

"Oh, thank you."

You blink away the fuzziness in your eyes and reach up to grab the man's hand. His grip is strong, and he pulls you to your feet with ease.

Finally, you meet his gaze.

And all the blood drains from your face.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he frowns, examining you for any possible injuries. "What you did just then was incredibly reckless. You never know whether or not these criminals are armed, not to mention that a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be taking on that kind of risk. Please be more careful from now on."

You didn't know how to respond. Try as you might, the words just won't form.

This man... you know him. In fact, you know him shockingly well. Having played through the game for hours on end, you couldn't possibly forget his face, not even if you tried.

His name is Carmine Mortis, he's a knight, and he is yet another one of the heroine's love interests.

But if things go wrong...

He is also the man who will publicly execute you.

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[sky-is-the-limit]

Title: Inverness.

Summary: At the end of MW3, we see Price, Gaz and Ghost scattering Soap's ashes into the wind because he had no one back home. What if he did?

TW: Mentions of death, Grief, Angst, just pure sadness.

WC: 2.1k

You scrubbed the frying pan with an intensity that would have made your hands bleed if you could still feel them. The sponge grated against the metal but there wasn’t a single speck of dirt left to remove.

It gleamed just as it had every morning for the past five months, yet you kept at it, as if scrubbing could erase the nightmare that had become your life.

You didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel, so you focused on the pan. This useless, spotless pan that he used to make you both breakfast that cursed morning.

The sound of the clock ticking gnawed at your nerves but you welcomed it. It was better than the silence that screamed in your ears, the silence that reminded you of everything you had lost. The same ritual, the same time, 7:05 a.m. Every single day.

Johnny’s face flashed before your eyes. How he looked that morning. Smiling, though you could see the worry in his eyes, deep into his features. You kissed him goodbye, your hands clinging to his uniform.

''Promise you’ll come back to me.'' You whispered, your voice barely more than a breath and he smiled, that crooked smile that always made your heart stutter, ''I always do.''

But promises were lies and you were a fool for believing them.

You hadn’t slept, not really, not since the nightmares began. Two, maybe three hours a night, if you were lucky. But even then, sleep was just another form of torture, bringing images you couldn't escape.

You saw him in your dreams, his body broken, bloodied in a thousand different ways. And no matter how much you screamed, no matter how desperately you reached for him, you could never save him. He was always just out of reach, just beyond your grasp, dying over and over again.

Then your hand slipped and the sponge clattered to the floor but you didn’t pick it up. You just stood there, staring at the wall, your breath hitching in your chest.

You should eat something, you knew that. You should go outside, feel the sun on your skin, breathe air that wasn’t thick with misery. But you couldn’t. The walls of your apartment had become your prison and you were too afraid to leave, too afraid of what waited for you outside.

Your friends had tried to help, bless them. They had come, one by one, sitting with you in that same kitchen, trying to coax you back to life. But nothing worked. Their voices were just noise, their concern an unbearable weight.

So you pushed them away, retreating further into the darkness, until the only company you had was this cursed frying pan and his ghost.

Turning your face to the side, your gaze drifted to the kitchen table, where the letter sat, still sealed, still untouched. What had arrived in his place, delivered by his Captain with a look that told you everything before he even opened his mouth.

The letter that contained words you couldn’t bear to read because once you did, it would all be real. Once you did, Johnny would be gone, truly gone, and you would be left with nothing but the ghost of a promise he couldn’t keep.

They say grief comes in waves and at first, they’re so overwhelming that you feel like you’re being pulled under. These waves hit unexpectedly, crashing into your sense of normalcy and flooding you with tears you thought you’d left behind.

But as long as the letter remained unopened, you could pretend. You could pretend that he was still out there, somewhere, alive and breathing, just waiting to come back to you.

It was a lie, you knew that but it was the only thing holding you together, the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

You couldn’t let him go. You weren’t ready. And maybe you never would be.

That day, life felt worth living, as if everything was falling into place without any effort. The sun was warm, the sky clear and your mind blissfully at peace. Johnny’s return was only days away and the thought of it made everything seem brighter.

You woke up that morning after a full eight hours of sleep and greeted the day with a smile, like always. Work had been the usual, nothing out of the ordinary and the evening was spent with friends, savoring every minute at your favourite corner cafe. There had been no reason to expect anything would change, that it would all come crashing down at exactly 6 p.m.

The knock on the door was unexpected, startling you from your thoughts. For a brief moment, you thought that Johnny would walk in but you paused, puzzled.

He had his own set of keys, so it couldn’t be him. Maybe it was the courier with that package you’d been eagerly awaiting, a little surprise wrapped in lace for when your boyfriend would return and so humming to yourself, you crossed the room.

Opening the door, your smile was ready, friendly and sweet, the kind you always wore when greeting strangers. The very first thing that made Johnny fall in love with you when he first met you.

However, the man on the other side wasn’t a courier or a familiar face.

He was tall, in his 40s if not more, though perhaps it was the untamed beard that added those extra years. He stood there in jeans and a black jacket, a beanie pulled low over his head.

For a moment, the thought crossed your mind that he might be a new neighbour, someone coming to introduce himself.

''Hi! Uh, Can I help you?'' You asked, welcoming, completely unaware of what was coming. He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stood frozen, like a statue, his expression a mask of unreadable emotions. Something about the way he hesitated, the way he just stared at you, began to chip away at your mood. Then, the envelope in his hand caught your eye and the world started to tilt.

''My name is John Price, ma’am-'' He finally said, tone low and controlled, though you could sense the strain in it. He paused, as if the next words were lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

Everything after that moment was fragmented, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. You faintly remembered him asking if he could come inside, his eyes reflecting a sadness that seemed to share in your grief. But it was not the same.

''I’m so sorry.'' The sympathy was genuine but it was also detached.

For him, Johnny was another soldier, a memory he would eventually leave behind.

For you? Johnny was everything. The beginning and the end of your world, the very essence of your existence. His death was not something you could ever move past. It was an abyss that consumed everything.

Price, was it? His name was Price. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. He kept apologizing, saying something about the funeral but the words were swallowed by pain.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the world around you fell apart. The room felt like it was collapsing in on itself, the walls closing in, pressing you into the earth.

A cry escaped your lips, raw and jagged, repeating over and over,

''No, no, no-'' The sound was guttural, a plea that couldn’t change anything but was all you could manage.

Falling to your knees, the floor seemed to rise up to meet you. Every breath was a battle, each inhale a ragged gasp that barely filled your lungs. Your hands clutched at your chest with a fierce desperation, gripping so tightly that the skin began to tear as memories started creeping through,

//

"I’m gonna take ye to the Highlands next summer." Johnny murmured and the smile in his voice was so vivid, you could almost see it without opening your eyes.

''Mm?'' The only reply you managed, a sleepy whisper against his skin.

"My dad’s side’s from Inverness-" He continued, his tone like a soft melody. "It’s so beautiful, lass. Ye hae to see it. I spent most summers there when I was a bairn."

A soft kiss on his neck was your only response, your eyes heavy with sleep.

''I’m gonna marry ye there.'' He declared, the promise as sweet as his voice.

Sleep had already pulled you under, leaving his words hanging in the air. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart and the dream of a future that felt as certain as his arms holding you.

//

Finally, the pan was set aside, the water dripping off your numb fingers. They felt like they were encased in ice after being wet for so long and your throat was parched, having gone without water for hours.

If Johnny was here, he would be furious. He’d lecture you about not eating enough then insist on cooking your favourite pasta dish, all while talking your ears off with his affectionate scolding. He would take care of you, as he always did.

The letter still sat on the kitchen table, mocking you with its presence. No amount of wishing could make it disappear. It was a cruel reminder of what you couldn’t escape. You weren’t sure what was inside. Perhaps a confirmation of his death, or a note from his supervisors but the uncertainty terrified you.

In the quiet, as if Johnny’s presence was a whisper against your ear, you heard his voice, soft and reassuring, ''Dinnae be afraid, lass.. Ye have to open it. Ye have to set me free.''

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you moved closer to the wooden surface and the letter was now within reach, a final step toward confronting the truth you had been too afraid to face. The weight of it seemed almost unbearable before a ghostly encouragement echoed in your mind.

''Ye can do this, baby.''

Listening to him one last time, you reached for the envelope, your heart pounding in your chest. With a deep breath, you ripped it open, pulling out a piece of paper that was clearly torn from a larger sheet. The paper wasn’t formal, it was barely a ragged scrap.

''My Dearest,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I wish I was there to see your smile in person. I miss you terribly.

Every day here in England feels like hell, endless rain everywhere. I swear, the weather’s enough to make a Scotsman lose his patience! I keep dreaming about the day I can sit in that little pub next to our apartment, with a cold beer in hand, and laugh about how much I hate the English… weather, of course.

I wish I could be there right now, to hold you and tell you how much I love you. It’s not easy being away from you, and I’m counting the days until I can see you again.

I know things are hard right now but please remember I’m doing everything I can to stay safe. I have to remind you, though, with this shitty job, there’s always a chance I might not make it back. But I promise, I’m fighting to come home to you.

If something does happen and I don’t make it home, there’s something for you in my nightstand. I was saving it to give to you myself, but if I’m not there, I want you to go into our bedroom and get it.

It’s not meant to hold you back or keep you in the past if I’m not here. It’s a promise—a reminder that I will love you forever, in this life and the next one.

I love you more than words can say and I can’t wait to be with you again.

Yours always,

Johnny."

Sobs wracked your body uncontrollably as you clutched the letter to your chest, desperate to keep your tears from staining its precious words.

With shaky breaths, you began walking towards the bedroom, as if Johnny's voice was gently instructing your every move. You placed the letter gently on his pillow and sat on the edge of the bed. It felt right, a final gesture of love and farewell.

You had to do this, for him and for yourself.

With trembling hands, you opened the nightstand, the drawer sliding open with a hesitant creak. Inside, nestled in the shadows, was a small blue box. Underneath it, a postcard. Inverness.

The sight of it made your breath hitch. You already knew what was inside and the realization cut through you like a knife.

Slowly, with a sense of dread, you opened it.

There it was. A beautiful silver ring, its band engraved with intricate floral patterns on the inside.

With trembling hands, you slid the silver ring onto your finger. The cool metal felt strange but the emerald sparkled softly in the dim light, though you didn't pay it much attention. Instead, you laid down on Johnny’s pillow, you let your tears soak into the fabric. His scent was still there, somehow. Maybe you'd imagined it.

As you closed your eyes, you promised him. You'd carry on, for him and for you. You'd carry on and visit Inverness with him, so he would rest there.

[lennadanvers]

Three times Simon wanted to hug you (and the one time he did)

This is the final part! I was supposed to post it yesterday but fell asleep. You can find parts 1-3 here.

Simon’s birthday wasn’t a special day. Only one person knew about it (Price), and all he got from him was a “Happy birthday, son” and a pat on the back. It was okay, though, because the captain couldn’t give him the only gift he wanted.

He had tried. Really. But he just couldn’t bring himself to ask you for a hug. How did people do that, anyway? Initiate that kind of contact?

Ghost was pretty sure you wouldn’t turn him down. You were too nice to him. But he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. Didn’t want it to be uncomfortable, or weird. You were so�� Human. So warm, so much expression, skin, so much life.

He, on the other hand, had the name of a lost soul and the face of an abandoned body.

A poor combination – one that couldn’t manage to think of an effective strategy, by the way. Whenever he saw you, he opened his mouth and all that came out were sarcasm and dad jokes. An it really wasn’t that bad, because you were laughing a lot -and in his birthday, no less-, but he wanted to know what it felt to be safe. Unbroken. Close to you. Maybe then he’d be infected by your humanity.

He had watched Soap. How easy it was for him to touch people. But Ghost had put up a barrier, a boundary, and now it had become a prison. How was he supposed to cross it? To get out? He was a soldier. A fighter. He could stop people. He could kill. But Ghost wasn’t a fucking climber. And feelings can’t be pierced by bullets or cut by knives. He could hit the punching bag all he wanted: his knuckles still ached for a soft caress, not because of the blow.

It would have been the perfect birthday gift. Scratch that, it’d just be the perfect gift in general.

But no, the only perfect thing in Simon’s life were the sturdy defenses Ghost had installed around him.

Well, you were perfect too. Not in the same way, of course. You were so much better. You were unpredictable, flawed, changing. More than perfect. Simon could rely on you, even though he could never guess what was going to be your next move. You were always there, always close, but never enough (though he wasn’t sure it could ever be enough- can one melt into somebody else? Could he make himself a home inside of your ribs?). Always seeing, even when you weren’t looking (you didn’t look at him that much- maybe slightly longer than at the rest of the people at base, but his expression was always harder to read with the mask).

He, on the other hand, was blinded by your light, unable to see past the brightness you casted over everything.

That’s why he found himself hiding in the kitchen, just a couple minutes away from midnight. Ghost liked the kitchen. It reminded him of you. Like anything else, if he were to be honest. But in the kitchen, he felt the warmth of the oven and could pretend it was your heat, finishing cooking the parts of him that were still raw. The fridge was full of the time, dedication and love you had put into baking whatever sugary thing you had been craving recently. It tasted better than a birthday cake, even if it didn’t fully satiate his craving for something sweet.

He'd figured he would be able to enjoy his pathetic beer on his own.

Not in peace, though, because- as usual- you were there. At first, just in his head. You were in the buzzing of the fridge, in the condensation of the bottle, in the empty space between his fingers.

But then you were also under the doorframe, looking at him.

Your head had the same inclination it had when you were perched on a rooftop, eye against the rifle’s scope: you were searching for your target. You said hello in a sleepy voice, and all the lack of air in his lungs allowed him to do in response was nod. As you walked towards the fridge to get some water, he turned back to the table. There were eight chairs. The only one occupied was his.

What if you decided to sit down with him? Make a birthday toast, even if you didn’t know it was his birthday? Maybe all the years piling on his back would weigh less, huh? Especially if there were still seven chairs unoccupied after you sat down.

You didn’t sit. You stood there, quietly sipping water with your hip against the counter. Simon felt your eyes scratching at the back of his mask.

He ran out of beer rather quickly. Maybe a little bit of alcohol would help? But it was just a bottle, after all, and even though he smashed it as hard as he could against the wall surrounding him, it didn’t even make a dent. It just shattered. Ghost knew he’d still be finding shards of glass the next morning.

Taking in the absolute failure, he stood up and fixed the chair against the table. There, as if he’d never been here. Ghost threw the bottle in the trashcan next to you, the fabric of your pajamas was cotton, and pulled down his mask. He muttered some variation of “Sleep well”.

You were wearing shorts, goosebumps on your legs. His hoodie was warm. And big. He was almost certain you both could fit in it.

You blinked at him and left the glass on the counter.

“G’night, Simon.”

You took one step towards the door, and he was already willing his body to move, to open the way for you to leave first.

Ghost had always known you had better sight than him. You were an amazing sniper, out on the field, of course, but also out in life. You saw all the stupid little things: the defeated tilt of his eyelids, the dead motion of his hands hanging at his sides, the chains around his ankles that reached all the way to hell. And, again, you were an incredible shooter. An empathetic one.

Another step, and you were inside. Your arms held his waist softly. It was a slow movement- inhaling before pulling the trigger. Your cheek rested on top of his chest, the shot going straight through your target.

He felt your weight against his ribs, your hair on his neck, your fingers in his back… Simon felt you. He felt you.

His hands tripped to hold you; the grip stronger than socially recommended. But he was doing his best- he wasn’t a climber, after all. The height scared him. So, naturally, he held on for dear life.

Simon ducked his head, nose against your hair. That way he couldn’t see the empty space under his feet- it was easier to pretend he was still standing on the floor, and not floating above it. He took a step towards you, boots almost bumping into bare feet. It wasn’t a big step by any means, but it was the first.

Behind his mask, he could finally smell you. It wasn’t just your shampoo. It was your perfume (faint, subtle, fresh against the heavy air in his side of the fabric), you: special, delicate, and so different from him. Clean- somehow you had managed to get rid of the blood and gunpowder, the guilt, the grime. The last time the sun had touched his face (the first ray of a cool morning): that’s what you smelled like.

Outside.

Good, beautiful things on the other side of the wall.

No humidity, no rotting, no locked darkness. Clean, healed wounds. Life growing, symbiosis, instead of desperate survival. Even though he was so much bigger than you- back hunched, arms wrapped all the way around your ribs, body practically eating you, absorbing- Simon understood his own insignificance.

It was such a relief not being the strongest person in the room.

Simon’s lungs swelled, his knees and brows relaxing, lips and hands trembling. Finally, there was someone in his side of the wall.

If you have any requests/ideas, you can send them and I'll do my best to write them.

[weird-is-life]

i always see sunshine spence! x grumpy cat!reader but i was wondering if you could write smth about it being the other way around!!

i imagine it with older season spence (post prison even) with a gf who’s a bit younger and away more perky than he is!! but you can do it whichever way you’d like :))

Thank u for this request! I hope this is okay🥰🥰 (0.9k)

The Bau is buzzing with people. You've only been here once before and it was just to get some files with Spencer late at night. And then there was literally no one except for the security guards.

Right now, the place is so busy, you have to step away to the side multiple times just to not get run over.

Spencer called you this morning as he always does. But he seemed very off on the phone, more grumpier than usual. And of course, you as a good girlfriend can't have him sad all day. So here you are, standing in middle of the Bau with no idea where to go.

You got inside by telling the guards, you were coming to see Spencer and that you knew the way to his office. But obviously the second part was a lie. You have no idea what floor Spencer's office is. You think it's either 4th, 5th or 6th floor, but you can't really remember.

You are on the floor 4, but this is definitely not the right one. And because you don't want to look like a fool, exploring every floor until you find Spencer's, you settle on calling him.

He picks up, as you step into the elevator, "Hi, sweetheart. Is everything okay?"

"Hi Spence, everything is great. Remember when we went to get your files, that one night?" you ask with giddy smile on your face as you push the button of the 5th floor.

"Of course, I do."

"What floor did we go to? Was it 6?" you ask as unsuspiciously as you can.

"No, it was the 5th-"he starts to say as the elevator stops there.

You notice his tall frame in the distance, so you say, "never mind, I got it."

"Wha-"before he can asks, you hang up. You can see the big frown on his face even from the distance, his confusion makes you giggle.

You are not even a bit surprised, when your phone's starts ringing. You don't pick up, you quickly walk towards him. Poor guy, he is so focused on the phone call, that he doesn't even notice you as you near his desk.

"Hi" you greet him and giggle again, when he looks at you with wide eyes and open mouth.

"Y/N? W-what are you doing here?" Spencer puzzles.

"You seemed sad on the phone call this morning," you pouts, " so I thought I'd come see you and bring you lunch."

You are smiling so much at him, that Spencer already feels better, "sweetheart, you didn't need to come all the way here."

"But I wanted to, couldn't leave you grumpy all day, could I?" you tease him, " and I'm pretty sure, you didn't even eat breakfast."

Seeing his guilty face, you know, you are right. You know he tries to eat something else than a coffee for you, so you don't say anything to that.

"I also brought you some cookies" you smile at him.

"Thank you" he says, tugging you close to him for a hug.

"You are very welcome, handsome" you grin at him and look around, before you give him a quick kisses on both of his cheeks. Apparently, it was not enough, because when you pull away to look at him, he is back to frowning.

"Stop frowning so much, Spence" you chuckle.

"It's your fault. You come here looking so pretty to bring me lunch and you don't even give me a kiss" he defends and you think, he's being ridiculous.

"I did kissed you!"

"I want a real kiss, please." You roll your eyes at him, but you comply. The kiss is long enough to make him happy, but not long enough to make people around uncomfortable.

"Thank you, pretty girl and thank you for coming here."

"Of course" he smiles and you return  the smile.

"Okay, call me, when you are done, yeah? " you start to pick up your things to leave, but Spencer stops you.

"Wait wait wait, where are you going? Aren't you going to stay?"

"I don't want to bother you at work" you answer, cheeks a little red.

"Nonsense, you could never bother me, lovely. Please stay." He gives you puppy eyes and who are you to say no to that.

"Really? Won't Hotch mind?" you bite your lip, you know Hotch is really sweet, but stern person.

"I'll tell him, I'm taking my lunch break, which is exactly what I'm doing" he grins at you and leans to push another chair next to his.

"Okay,then I'll stay" you sit in the chair and start to tell him all about your morning. Or more like you ramble happily to him about every single detail of your morning. About how you saw your neighbours cat or about how you went to the shop and had to buy a bouquet of flowers, because they reminded you of him and so much more. But Spencer doesn't mind one bit, he could listen to your excited voice all day.

By the time his lunch break ends and you have to leave, your giddy energy makes all his frown lines dissappear.

Later that day, you get a text from Penelope, saying, that the team owes  you a big gift basket for saving them from grumpy Spencer. Which honestly makes you giggle ones again and you make a mental note to yourself to bring Spencer lunch more often.

[kyumiscafe]

"What if he just... snapped?" || Gojo x psych ward nurse ♡

Used y/n but not too much, no tw's just Satoru being a tiny bit unhinged

Do you like the plot? Here's the janitor ai bot for anyone interested

They all worshipped the strongest, but no one saw the man, no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first crack appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission, Gojo's near death experience. Then it was his best friend Suguru Geto, his betrayal, death. Murder. The blood on his hands left such a deep mark, irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog. The final crack took place in the prison realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts Gojo Satoru snapped.

Satoru can't remember what he did after being unsealed. All he remembered was the blood that came afterwards. Apparently, he went on a rampage. It didn't matter, he didn't feel guilt, not in the slightest. They all got what they deserved, right? The good ruled over evil once again, and the world was safe. As usual, Gojo Satoru saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least that's what those old fools believed would work...

Satoru can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense. 'You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.'

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit. However society always looked down on mass murder, so fine. Gojo will play nice... for now.

Click clack, click clack...

His grin only deepened, a borderline predatory look as he heard those familiar footsteps. Ah... how wonderful.

"There you are. How's my favourite nurse? Missed your psychopath?"

Gojo spoke, voice laced with sarcasm and a chuckle escaped his lips while looking at Y/n.

"So... are you going to undo the straps this time sweet nurse? My arms are sore."

Satoru pouted, sweetly, so devilishly charming, one can almost forget that by society's standards, he's an 'dangerously unstable individual.'

Those hourly visits are the only reason why he's still here despite being Gojo fucking Satoru and walking out. It's not like anyone could stop him if he really wanted to... Truth is- it pissed Gojo off, being stuck there made him fucking irascible to say the least. He hated feeling bored with a burning passion.

[cursedvida]

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE III (Buggy x F!Reader)

PART II // PART IV

WARNINGS: violence, swearing, Buggy being angry.

N/A: thirth part of this series, it's not gonna be so much longer. I hope you enjoy!

After revealing your ability to knock a guy down with just a couple of blows, your pretensions of going unnoticed within the crew have become quite impossible. You have caught the attention of Buggy, who on the one hand seems quite interested in your skills, but on the other is somewhat suspicious of you. And no wonder, in his eyes you have gone from being a helpless young girl to a killing machine, that has to confuse anyone. 

The day after what happened in the tavern he calls you to his cabin. It's the first time you've been alone with him since you found him that night in the ship's hold. You are very nervous, not because he might blow your cover but because he is so close to you. Buggy is not an overly muscular man but he is very tall, at least two feet taller than you. It was something you hadn't paid much attention to until now. Having him so close to you makes your chest tighten, making you feel ridiculous. 

"So tell me, Y/N.... why hadn't it occurred to you to tell me that you can finish a man off in half a minute?"

Buggy's voice sounds soft, almost seductive. He's using a patronizing tone. You've been watching him long enough over the past few months to know it's his way of hiding an impending anger.

"Do you think i'm an idiot?" There he is, he's just pulled out the genie. He abruptly turns to you and approaches, positioning himself dangerously close. "Tell me, do i look like a joke to you?"

You should be nervous about having to come up with some excuse but actually all you can think about is that you see him as a very kissable person. Obviously, you can't say that. 

"Did you really think I'm gonna believe the story of you not minding important to tell me about your fighting skills?"

"I..."

"Tell me the truth, Y/N. Now."

Buggy comes dangerously close to your face, his nose almost brushing against yours. He must think your nervousness is because he's caught you, but the truth is your heart is going so fast because you're holding him so close and it feels like a sin not to eat his mouth. Every day that passes your desire for him grows and at times like this you find it hard to control yourself.

"Well?" he insists, getting impatient. 

You snap back to reality, you must answer something. You sigh, perhaps the best thing to do is to tell the truth.

"Okay..." you nod, pulling away from him a little. You can't center your head holding him so close, his scent clouding your sense. "I had foster parents, they were Marines. They were working as undercover agents, but they ended up in prison for treason or something. When they were arrested my sister and I escaped, but we ended up as slaves and were bought by a horrible guy who was in the business of training children to sell them as mercenaries in the future. I was one of the best, escaped from there, got my own life and blah, blah, blah..."

You were not good at telling stories but that time you have excelled, you have told it with such reluctance that anyone would say that you are summarizing a very boring novel. Buggy stares at you for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. You don't understand what's so funny, maybe you don't like to make a big deal out of it because your personal traumas have turned you into a kind of emotional robot, but it's not to make fun of other people's misfortunes either. 

"Do you really expect me to believe something like that?" 

Wow, so that's what it is, the truth has seemed too far-fetched for him. Well, good for you. 

"I have to admit, you're a good storyteller. You could use that talent for some show." You stifle a smile, one of the things you like most about that fool is how sometimes he doesn't know anything. "But I want the truth, Y/N, or we'll have a problem."

You sigh. Fuck, that's lazy, now you'll have to make something up. 

"My father was a former marine" you lie "I was trained by him." 

Buggy grimaces.

"Yes, of course the earlier story was much more interesting, it had more drama."

"I thought if I told that my father had been in the Navy you wouldn't want me in your crew" you shrug. Well, in the end a boring, simple excuse was the most convincing. 

Buggy stares at you, weighing whether to buy your excuses or not. 

"Okay, I believe you" he nods. He folds his arms and leans slightly towards you, speaking menacingly "But I hate it when people try to make a fool out of me." 

"I never have ever intended anything like that" Actually at first you did. 

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck, of course yes!" You exclaim, exasperated, stepping completely out of your role. 

Buggy pulls back, confused by your reaction. 

"What, you're offended?" he asks, incredulous "I'm the one who has the right to be angry here!"

"For God's sake, Buggy, stop thinking the whole fucking world wants to fucking laugh at you."

You've never said swear words in front of him before, nor spoken in such a rude manner. It's the first time you show him your true personality and he seems quite surprised. And a bit angry, to be honest. 

"You're obsessed with what fucking people think. Fuck it, people are bullshit." 

"How dare you talk to me like that, don't you know who I am?"

"Of course I know, everyone knows. You love make everyone know" you reply, a bit fed up now "I'm just telling you the truth."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, maybe you don't like being on this crew anymore."

You fold your arms, he's not the only one who can be proud and stubborn, you've always been known for that too. 

"Maybe not."

Buggy's gaze seems to be on fire with rage. He's really furious. 

"Well, get the hell out then."

"No!"

That really knocks him off his feet.

"No?"

Your tone has dropped considerably, regaining your composure. 

"I'm not leaving." 

"May I ask what the hell is wrong with you?"

At this point in the conversation, and considering that you've already discovered too many cards to give up the game, perhaps it's time to tell the truth. But the one that matters. The stuff about you working as a bounty hunter or that your goal was to kidnap him is not something that seems relevant to you.

You take a breath, take a deep breath and stare at him. 

"I like you" you reply matter-of-factly.

Buggy stares at you as if he has just seen a ghost. He's speechless, that's quite a feat coming from someone who is incapable of shutting his mouth for more than two minutes. He opens his mouth slightly to say something but he can't, he gets stuck. Your confession has completely thrown him off, right now so many things are going through his head that he is unable to manage. 

"I don't care about being a pirate" since you confess, you decide to confess completely "but I like you and I don't want to leave the ship. So stop accusing me like that, it doesn't sit well with me."

Not that it feels too good to your self-esteem to see the horrified look on Buggy's face at this point, but it feels genuinely good. You've finally let it out, you've been holding it inside for so long that it's been a lump in your throat.

"Your .... Eh.... Me?" It's the only thing Buggy finds himself able to utter. 

The idea being liked by someone is not something that crosses his mind often. Buggy can brag about all his exploits and constantly bravado about his abilities, but he has always felt considerably inferior than many of his peers. He knows he inspires fear, terror even, that some of his disciples look up to him but... liking him? Why would you like him? You're quite a bit younger and very pretty. In fact you don't know it, but more than one member of the crew has commented to him once or twice that they finds you very attractive. He's sure it's a ruse or something to confuse him, there's no way you really could like him. 

"Look, I'm not going waste more time, this is a childish conversation" You tell him, once you've made your confession it's like all the nerves and fear have disappeared. You are you again. "When you calm down you look for me"

And then you make the decision to do something you've been wanting to do for weeks. You were taught that if you decide something you have to go all the way, that has always been your character. So you approach Buggy, stand on tiptoe and give him a light kiss on the lips. He stands still, motionless, like a statue. You look into those eyes that enchant you and say:

"I really wanted to do that, I'm sorry." 

And with that said you leave, returning to the deck. Buggy stares at you, static, unable to react. 

What the hell just happened?