#tagging it all just in case but I kept it vague

[supernotnatural2005]

A Dangerous Love

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Sam's POV of yours and Dean's relationship.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/tags: Implied smut, angst, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, poor Sammy! Dean being his typical over protective self, both of them are stubborn.

AN: Hey guys, I know I've been MIA for a lil while, but I'm doing okay, still getting there, although this isn't a full return, I just wanted to pop on and give you guys a little something, as well as catch up on some reading now I have a minute 😅. This was sitting in my drafts and finally touched it up. I tried something little different with It being from Sam's POV. But I enjoyed this one and I hope you guys do too! ❤️

Main Masterlist

They were fighting again.

Sam didn’t even flinch. He barely glanced up from his laptop as the sharp words echoed through the paper-thin motel walls—voices rising, footsteps pounding, another inevitable blowout brewing like a summer storm.

“You can’t just run in like that!”

“I had it handled!”

“No, you almost got yourself killed!”

“I’m not a child, Dean! I know what I’m doing!”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me with the way you acted tonight!”

Sam sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He’d heard this fight a hundred times—probably more. Same argument, different hunt. Dean being overprotective, you pushing back, neither of you knowing when to shut up.

Then came the inevitable—

“Go to hell!”

“Already been, sweetheart.”

Sam winced a second before a door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls. Right on cue, his own door flew open, and in stormed Dean—still fuming, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, his face flushed with frustration.

Sam didn’t look up. He’d learned his lesson. Playing mediator between you two was about as effective as standing between two charging bulls. So, he kept his eyes locked on his screen, feigning deep concentration on the case he was researching.

A small town in Lincoln, Nebraska. Three bodies in a week, hearts missing. Probably a werewolf. Maybe a Rugaru. Definitely not as terrifying as the emotional carnage currently unraveling in the room.

Dean stalked back and forth like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Sam made the mistake of humming in vague agreement. That was all the opening Dean needed.

“Right? I mean, she just—she just goes in, no backup, no plan, like she’s got a damn death wish.”

Sam finally looked at his brother, eyebrows raised. “You mean like you do? All the time?”

Dean scowled. “That’s different.”

Sam snorted. “Oh, is it?”

But Dean ignored him, too deep in his rant to acknowledge logic.

“She doesn’t listen. Ever. I tell her to stay back, and what does she do? Runs straight into danger like she’s got something to prove.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled, but unmistakably pissed-off voice: “I can hear you, jackass!”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “Good!”

Sam sighed, long and suffering, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was his life. Not just the near-death experiences, not just the monsters and the ghosts—no, this. Being caught between his stubborn brother and his brother’s equally stubborn, equally reckless, equally loud girlfriend.

Dean, still grumbling to himself, flopped onto the opposite bed and crossed his arms like an angry child. Sam wisely said nothing. He knew the drill—Dean would rant, stew for a while, and eventually, in a few days—

Wait... Scratch that. 

A few hours later, Sam was rudely jolted awake by a very different kind of disturbance.

Something rhythmic. Repetitive. Suspiciously… breathy.

At first, his sleep-fogged brain struggled to make sense of it. A fight? No—too much giggling between the groans.

And then—

Oh. Oh, no.

Realisation hit like a freight train at full speed and his stomach churned.

The unmistakable sound of a headboard knocking against the wall. The low, hushed moans. And worst of all—

“Oh, God, Dean—”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Sam groaned, grabbed his pillow, and smothered his own face with it like he could suffocate the memories before they fully formed. How could he forget about the damn make-up sex? He should’ve known when Dean left the room and didn’t return that this is what would come of it. 

Burying himself deeper under the blanket, he contemplated driving to another damn state. Maybe exorcising himself. Was there a ritual for that? A way to erase the mental scarring?

Eventually, after a painfully long time, blissful silence returned, and with it, the symbolic, albeit fragile, truce between you and Dean.

The next morning, Sam nursed his coffee like a war veteran as he sat in the outdated diner, watching the two of you with equal parts fascination and whiplash.

You were nestled beside Dean on the other side of the booth, stealing bites of his pancakes with a smug grin.

Dean—who, under normal circumstances, would stab a man with a fork for even looking at his food—just smirked, all stupid heart eyes, letting you get away with it like you were some divine exception to the rule.

Sam squinted. Not even twenty-four hours ago, you two were about five seconds away from an actual homicide.

Now? Now, you were practically glowing, exchanging touches, finishing each other’s sentences, giggling like a couple of lovesick teenagers in a CW drama.

Sam exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

Every relationship expert on the planet would call this toxic. Hell, if he described it to anyone—the explosive fights, the impossible stubbornness, the complete disregard for self-preservation when it came to each other—they’d probably diagnose you both with something and slap you with a warning label.

But for as long as he could remember—even before you and Dean finally got together—it had always been like this. Back when you were just a couple of reckless teenagers, trading jabs and daring each other into stupid, dangerous situations. Before things got complicated with feelings and labels.

You and Dean were like flint and steel—constantly striking, constantly sparking, burning hotter than anything Sam had ever seen.

But the fire never went out.

It should have. By all logic, it should have burned itself to the ground a dozen times over. But instead, it just kept going, somehow forging you both into something stronger.

It was chaos. It was infuriating.

And, honestly? It was kind of impressive.

Even if it made Sam’s head want to implode.

But then there were moments that tore away all the noise, stripped everything down to the bare bones of what you and Dean truly were. Moments that left no room for doubt.

Because when it came down to it—when it really mattered—the two of you didn’t just care. Didn’t just love each other. You were willing to bleed for one another, break for the other, burn the whole damn world down if you had to.

And tonight? Tonight just proved that.

The hunt was supposed to be routine—get in, take care of the pack, get out. But the damn werewolves were faster, stronger. They had numbers. And somewhere between the chaos and the fighting, you made a split-second decision.

You saved Dean’s life. And you nearly lost your own in the process.

Dean caught you before you hit the ground. One second you were standing, the next you were collapsing, blood soaking through your shirt, pooling between his fingers as he pressed down hard against the gash in your side.

“No—no, no, no,” Dean’s voice was hoarse, raw with panic. “You're okay. I got you.”

Sam barely had time to react before Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes wild, desperate.

“Sam! Get the car!”

Sam was already moving, sprinting for the Impala as Dean held you against him, his flannel already stripped from his shoulders and bunched against your wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his grip unrelenting. His fingers trembled against your skin, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Just hang on. I got you.”

Sam skidded to a stop beside the car, yanking the door open. He turned back just in time to see Dean lifting you into his arms, his expression twisted in barely contained panic.

Sam didn’t miss the way his brother held you—not just with urgency, but with a kind of care that made his chest ache.

He helped ease you into the back seat with Dean, still pressing the flannel to your side. His voice was shaking, but his grip was steady.

"Step on it, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t argue. The second he was behind the wheel, he floored it, tires screeching against the asphalt.

The drive was a blur of traffic violations, but because it was nearing midnight, the roads were practically empty, making up for the reckless driving. The city flashed by in streaks of yellow and white, and in the rearview mirror, Sam could see Dean cradling you against him, his forehead nearly pressed to yours as he whispered every reassurance he could think of.

"Stay with me, sweetheart.”

"You’re okay.”

“I swear to God, you’re gonna be okay.”

But Sam heard the crack in his brother’s voice. Saw the way his hands were shaking. Dean wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.

By the time they crashed through the ER doors, shouting for help, Dean was covered in your blood.

The nurses barely had time to react before Dean was snapping at them to hurry, his voice sharp, desperate. And then you were gone—whisked away behind double doors, leaving Dean standing there, breathing hard, fists clenched, and your blood staining his hands.

Then came the waiting.

Dean couldn’t sit still. He paced the hospital waiting room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair over and over, jaw tight, eyes darting to every single doctor or nurse that walked by.  

The agitation built inside him like a pressure valve ready to burst, as Sam sat nearby, watching his brother unravel, feeling helpless.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he growled, throwing his arms up in frustration as his gaze stayed trained on the double doors they had wheeled you through.  

Sam let out a quiet sigh. He was just as worried, but kicking and screaming wasn’t going to make time move faster. “They’re doing everything they can, man. You have to let them do their job.”  

Dean clenched his jaw, his entire body rigid with anxiety, and Sam could see the cracks forming in his brother’s usual composure. Deannwas a lot of things—fearless, reckless, stubborn as hell—but right now? Right now, he just looked scared.

When the doctor finally approached them, Dean nearly jumped down his throat.  

"How is she? Is she okay?"

“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said. “But we’ve managed to stabilize her. She needs plenty of rest, and we’ll have to monitor her overnight and go from there.”  

Sam let out a breath of relief. But Dean—Dean’s shoulders sagged, his lips pressing into a thin line as something unreadable passed through his expression.  

They had lied, of course. Told the doctors you’d been attacked by a bear because —“yeah, doc, she got slashed by a goddamn werewolf” — would’ve landed them in padded cells. Thankfully, the doctors didn’t ask too many questions.

When they were finally allowed to see you, Sam watched as Dean crumbled at the sight of you lying in that hospital bed.  

You looked so small. So fragile. The machines beeped steadily beside you, an IV hooked up to your arm, your face pale from the blood loss. It made even Sam’s heart twinge painfully to see you this way. You were not only his brother’s girlfriend. You were his best friend. His sister.

Dean approached cautiously, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he got too close. Then, without a word, he sat beside you and grasped your hand, his fingers brushing over your knuckles with a gentleness that didn’t match the man who had just been almost punching walls in the waiting room.  

His throat bobbed. Then, wordlessly, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering there as he exhaled shakily.

"You scared the hell outta me," he muttered, his voice thick, raw. “You’re gonna pull through this, you hear me?”

He swallowed hard, then softer, more broken— "cause' I can't lose you."

Sam swallowed hard against his own emotions. He knew this wasn’t just about saving you anymore. It was about Dean confronting the most terrifying thing he could ever imagine—the thought of losing you. And for a man like Dean, who was constantly worrying about this very thing, you'd think he'd be somewhat prepared for the real thing. Evidently not. It was crushing, breaking him into a thousand pieces.

Sam wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching the way Dean’s thumb traced gentle circles against your skin, but he saw the anger rise, predictable from his brother's guilt and fear as it continued to chip away at him the longer he looked at you. 

“Dammit, Y/N. Why didn’t you listen to me? I—“ Dean’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes, like he was trying to pull himself together.  

And then, as if on cue, you stirred. Your fingers twitched in his grasp, your eyelids fluttering, and Dean went still—his breath caught, his entire body frozen as he waited.

Slowly, your eyes opened, hazy with exhaustion and pain, but when they focused on him, you still managed a weak, lopsided smile.

"Worth it.” you murmured, voice hoarse.  

Dean closed his eyes like he wanted to strangle you and kiss you at the same time, because of course you’d have a comeback, even on the brink of death.

Sam huffed a small, teary laugh, shaking his head.

Because this was the two of you. Always on the brink of disaster. Always throwing yourselves in front of danger for each other. Always driving each other insane.

It was a deep love. A dangerous love.

But it was real.

And it was true.

AN: What started off as a Drabble, became a one shot lol. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was fun to do. 😁💕 Also I am still working on part 2 of In The End , I'm sorry for the delay guys 😭

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

[burning-academia-if]

I don't know if this one has been asked but I'm sick in the head so anyway, how would the RO's react to the MC coming up to them and hesitantly asking to bite them or for them to bite the MC HARD, like make them bleed, dig their teeth into their skin, leave a scar hard. Now bear with me, the reason why is because MC's life has never been good, they've spent most of their life losing (friends, family, home's, etc.) and now with the whole "you are a danger not only to yourself but to everyone around you" they would be going feral about having or leaving proof of having lived, of having loved and been loved because what is cannibalism if not one of the deepest ways of showing love (the desperate need to shove a whole person in your chest, let them rest right next to your heart, carry them as a part of you for the rest of your life).

Anyways, love the story, bye!!❤️❤️🍽️❤️❤️

Anon I hope you know I yelled when I saw this lmaO thankfully for you cannibalism as a metaphor for love is my jam. Under a read more just in case tumblr's tagging system fails (cw: discussions and references to consensual violence)

Rook: He balks at the idea, at first. His whole thing is trying to keep you out of harm's way, and him becoming the harm? But the idea sticks. You want proof he's here to stay and he wants you to never forget him. He might be willing, depending on how you ask again.

Beck: He wouldn't. Besides it isn't like a scar is proof of someone staying with you. You might notice he does become more bitey, leaving marks on you, as a form of compromise. He hopes you'll come to learn he's here to stay without needing such extreme reassurance, but until then, he hopes the marks he leaves are enough

Rhea: Is gentle with you, saying that isn't how she wants to treat you. Your blood isn't something to be spilled, and even if you're ok with it, she isn't. She'll stay, she swears it. You don't need to go so far for comfort

Zoe: Blindsided by the idea, and probably one of the few times their fake calm mask slips into place around you. Would have a genuine discussion about it with you, and would say to ask them again when you're in a better place. If you still want them to do it, they'll consider

Lars: Consensual violence doesn't bother him, and if you really want him to, he will. He'll ask where you want him to bite, and he makes you swear you'll tell him to stop if it's too much. He cleans and binds the wound after, making sure you're alright emotionally and physically

???: Do you know what you're asking them? They've marked you in so many ways, they wouldn't hesitate. The only catch is, you have to do the same as well. Lean in together and sink your teeth into each other's skin at the same time. Some exchange rings as proof their relationship has eternity. Other people exchange wounds

[notsodelirious]

Little Red Riding Hood

synopsis: your boyfriend’s a werewolf and sometimes he needs a little help with his ruts

notes: NFSW MDNI, also super unrealistic sex, reader is fucking a werewolf so like, they’re allowed to be a little elastic

tags: vaginal sex, monster sex, knotting, dubcon, referenced breeding kink, ftm reader, werewolf!Jason, 1k words, no use of y/n

no, I’ve got nothing to say for myself, I just like monsterfucking, enjoy

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

He was a werewolf.

You knew this intellectually.

He had told you point blank.

He had shown you.

He was a werewolf.

Fully, through and through, without a doubt. A werewolf.

And yet mating seasons never occurred to you.

He explained it vaguely one evening when he said he’d be spending a little time away (ei. lost somewhere deep in the Rockies where nobody could find him).

You asked if you could come.

He scrunched his face and explained what would happen if you did. In vivid detail. How attached he’d get to you (even more than currently) how desperate he would get, doing anything and everything in his power to knot you, stuff you full of his cum, as much as your body could bear.

You just blinked up at him and smiled.

He worried that he’d hurt you during his rut—he’s heard of partners getting hurt during their werewolf’s heat; but you had pointed out most cases were cishet couples, from 100 years ago.

You’d been on T for a couple of mouth now, did strength training with him; he knew how strong you were.

It took a little more needling, a little more reassurance before he finally gave in.

A month later you found yourself in the Rockies.

You sat by the crackling bonfire, a beer in hand, simply enjoying the silence and the stars—Jason had left a little before the moon had risen to acclimatise himself alone.

Not that he lost all inhibitions when he shifted—the disorientation just made him a little violent—and you were perfectly okay not being around for that.

He promised he’d find you, no matter where you waited. And you believed him.

You kept an ear out on the forest, watching the shadows dance and flicker, embers and fireflies flitting across your eyes.

You shuffled closer to the fire—dressed in only a pair of old sweatpants and a dye stained hoodie, you were dressed for the hunt, not the temperature.

Jason didn’t want you freezing. You didn’t want him tearing off perfectly good clothes from your body—you weren’t worried about the aftermath. This was the compromise and you made do.

You used a stick to arrange the kindling when you heard a branch snap. Followed by a deep growl.

“Jason?”

You didn’t have time to turn.

You cushioned your face before your head could smack against the ground, grunting softly as you inhaled dirt and ashes.

You didn’t try fighting—it was far too late for that. You just squirmed in his grasp, massive hands holding you down as claws caught on the fabric of your clothes and tore them apart—swiftly, no hesitation.

You gasped and grumbled about the cold air, nipples pebbling as they scraped against the ground, uncomfortable but not yet painful.

“Jay?”

The beast—Jason—huffed, growled softly, nosing the back of your head as you felt the warm, heavy weight of his dick land against your back, making your heart stutter in anticipation.

He rutted against you, passively, almost disinterested in the act itself, more fascinated by your smell and touch, but leaked thick pre-cum down your back.

You almost whined when he pulled away, basking in the cherishment and body heat, almost having forgotten the threat of violence—only for your eyes to widen when you feel the tip of his cock press against your unprepared pussy.

“Jason-! Jason, wait!”

Your pleas went unheard—the tip of his cock pressed against your opening before splitting you open, tearing a scream from your throat. His fat cock forced its way between your walls, stretching you far beyond what you had ever experienced before—he pressed in deep into your body, his tip insistent against your womb, your stomach bulging slightly from how many inches he was stuffing into you.

You moaned brokenly as you were pulled all the way down to his pubic bone, handled like nothing more than a doll, limp and wheezing in his hands.

His warmth breath blew against your back as he huffed softly before he started to move—slowly at first, getting used to your tight warmth, clenching around him like a vice grip, he gradually sped up until he was fucking viciously into your body.

“Ah- ngh… Jas’n,” you mumbled as he thrusted into you with reckless abandon, bullying into your cervix, your stomach clenching as he threatened to push past it. “Ja-ay-“

Your face was pressed into the ground, his determined huffing against the shell of your ear, snapping his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the trees around you, your cries and pleas turning into nothing more than wet sobs and whines.

Your mind slipped into oblivion, the burning and pleasure in your pussy searing through your mind and you could do nothing more than sit there and take it as he bruised your insides, claws leaving indents into your soft skin.

You felt him get closer, felt him grow more desperate, whining and panting; his knot grew, catching on your rim once, twice before he was slamming in to the hilt, popping his knot into your abused pussy.

He growled, jackrabbiting against your ass, balls drawn and cock twitching inside you before he flooded your insides, marking you with his cum as he buried himself deep inside you, pumping loads into your welcoming cunt.

Your entire body fell for a moment, muscles relaxing as it forced itself to accept all of Jason, everything he had to give, his love and cum alike.

You were laid on your side, carefully, as if to not shatter your already ruined body, bruised and bleeding, and cut and trembling…

You hummed softly at the cold nose pressed into your neck.

You pushed it away weakly, blinking as the fog dissipated a little. You shifted, only to wince when your cunt tugged his knot—nearly making you gag at the sudden nausea.

He nudged you again, licking your cheek, appeasement as you breathed through the discomfort for a moment, focusing instead on the firm swell in your lower belly.

You chuckled breathlessly as you looked down at him, adoring and love stricken as he rested his big head against your chest.

You ran your hand through his fur, smiling as he chuffed.

“Does this mean we’re having cubs?” you asked softly, laughing again when his tongue darts out to lick your jaw.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

I’m thinking of either doing a part 2 or the other boys (Dick probably as a merman and Bruce as a dragon, idk) but all of that will have to wait until after my summatives — anyway, requests are still closed due to aforementioned essays and the slow process of writing the ones in my inbox, but here’s my masterlist for more works <3

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Sugar, Spice and All Things Nice

summary: After his stunt with the Whisperers, Negan thought the Alexandrians would finally come around to him… but it seems like you’re the only one who’ll happily put up with him

word count: 3.4k

tags: sunshine reader, swearing, some serious potty mouth lmao, food/ eating mentioned throughout

A/N: Hello to the anon that sent in the request for a Negan x reader fic based on Discord and Fluttershy's relationship! This is for you my dear anon <333 I really hope I did ok! ... although I may have made the reader a little more vulgar than Fluttershy lmao

Well, shit. Isn’t this just like high school?

Looking around the makeshift cafeteria, Negan can feel daggers being glared his way in at least three different directions. As if he wasn’t already public enemy number one, most Alexandrians saw his heroic attempt to infiltrate the Whisperer’s as his way of trying to regain some power with the enemy. 

It didn’t help that Carol seemed less than willing to reveal her part in the plan.

Negan sighs, his eyes dropping to his tray of food. Given the recent destruction of Alexandria—oh, and let’s not forget, he’s also getting blamed for that—supplies are running dangerously low. Most buildings need some kind of reconstruction before people can move back in, the walls have never been weaker and the food is sparse. 

“Negan?”.

His tray looks like someone's poor attempt at a dinner. A small bowl of watered down soup. A sad heap of green beans. And some meat. What meat exactly, he’s hesitant whether he wants to know.

“Neeeegan?”.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Negan half expects to see a bowl of soup flying his way but instead, he sees your smiling face. You sit smack bang in the middle of the cafeteria, at a table where Negan only vaguely recognizes the other people. 

In case he still hasn’t spotted you yet, you shoot your arm up and wave. “Negan!” you call again “Come sit over here!”. He can’t quite tell if you’re oblivious to the dirty looks or if you’re just too damn cheerful to care.

How you do it, Negan isn’t sure. Even when he still had his dear old Lucille… the bat, that is, and he strutted though Alexandria with his Saviors, you were the one who told Carl not to gun them down as they ransacked your community. You kept your composure, staying civil and sweet without letting anyone push you around.

And here you are now, being the utter definition of sweetness once again.

Negan hesitates for a second. He could easily sit alone and keep his head down but there's something about you that has always pulled Negan in despite himself.

With his sad tray of food, he begins making his way towards your table. You pat the seat next to you. "I saved you a seat,” you say once he’s close enough, that bright smile never fading.

Negan grunts as he sits, setting his tray in front of him with a loud clink. “I was wondering where you were today! Wasn’t sure if you’d have time for dinner. I heard they’re working you like a dog,” you take a sip of soup before gesturing to the woman across from you “but then Dianne told me you were helping—“.

Before you can continue, Dianne stands suddenly, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, she grabs her tray and walks off, taking her dinner to a different table. A few people glance at each other, clearly noticing the tension. The others remain seated but they subtly shift away from Negan, lowering their voices as they avoid making any further eye contact.

You sit there, frozen for a beat as you watch Dianne stalk off. Negan wonders if this’ll be a wake-up call for you. That maybe now you’ll realize that his bad name can affect how people see you too. 

You chew on a green bean, feeling the awkwardness settle in. As you swallow, you lower your voice just for Negan to hear. “She’s still uh… well, she’s not over the whole Hilltop fiasco,” you explain somewhat sheepishly “just give her time”.

Clearing his throat to ease the heavy tension, Negan pokes and prods at his dinner with a fork. “The green beans are nice,” you make casual conversation “the meat is… unpredictable but the soup can be tasty, once you season it a little”.

“You got access to a whole pantry of seasoning?” he teases. With a lopsided grin, Negan takes his chances with the mystery meat. 

You shrug coyly, not wanting to reveal all of your secrets. “Maybe I do,” you smirk playfully.

Negan doesn’t notice how you subtly dip your hand into the pocket of your jeans, clutching something small in your fist. He takes a bite of the meat, chewing thoughtfully as you nudge the side of his thigh.

As much as Negan hopes you would give him a secret handy under the table, he knows that isn’t your kind of thing. You’re all things pure and thoughtful, not lewd sexual acts. 

Trying to push away his risqué thoughts of you, he looks down at his leg and watches as you carefully open up your hand. “Holy shit,” Negan chuckles amusingly “where’d you get that?”.

Bringing his hand down to yours, Negan watches as you gently place the salt sachet into his palm. “Found a whole container full of them a few weeks back… my own secret stash” you reveal, bringing your hand back up to the table as you try to act normal.

“Well, fuck me” he muses, carefully tearing the top open “and here I was thinking you were a goody two shoes who couldn’t kill a walker without apologizing to the damn thing”.

“Hey I’m still good!” You protest, careful not to straight out call yourself a goody two shoes “I’m sharing my stash, aren’t I? And sharing is caring”.

He can’t argue with that. 

Being as nonchalant as possible, Negan sprinkles some of the salt over his soup, adding a little to the mystery meat before passing the sachet to you. As you mimic his subtle movements, Negan scans the surrounding area. 

Thankfully, most look away, not wanting to catch his eyes. But that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the judgement practically radiating off them. He can’t even have a damn meal without these people frowning upon it. 

No matter what he does now, Negan knows they’ll always see him as a monster. It doesn’t matter how many people he saves, how many strenuous jobs around Alexandria he does or how many times he puts himself in harm's way; they’ll never move on. This isn't anything new but it never really gets easier either.

You notice it too but decide not to say anything. The way the discomfort hangs in the air, the uneasy shift people do in their seats when he looks around, and who could forget the way they shake their heads disapprovingly as if that’ll show Negan who’s boss.

But instead of letting it simmer, you dive back into the conversation like it’s just another day, talking to Negan the same way you’d talk to any friend of yours. You make a deliberate effort to keep things casual, focusing on the mundane as you both eat your dinners. 

“So, what’d you do today?” you ask “More repairs or did you get a break for once?”.

Negan looks over at you, a grateful flicker in his eyes. Your voice is a lifeline in a sea of sideways glances, pulling him back into something resembling normality. You’ve always been good at that, helping him navigate the weird, tense spaces where everyone treats him like he’s a ticking time bomb. 

“Fixing damn doors and floorboards again,” he mutters with a dry chuckle. “But honestly, I’m happy to be working… keeps me busy, ya know?” his lips tug into a half-smile. 

“I was supposed to spend the day on guard duty with Gabriel but I kinda pretended I was doing other stuff” you admit, taking a small sip of the soup “I mean, I like Gabriel, don’t get me wrong… I just… I don’t know, sometimes he can come off a little preachy. Does that make sense? Is that mean?”.

Negan hides his smile with a spoonful of green beans, chewing slowly. As if you could ever be mean. Still, he hums as if he needs to think about that being a possibility.

"I know Gabe can be a pain in the ass, but I don't think he deserved to get stranded," Negan says just to mess with you.

You sigh in defeat as you watch Negan slurp down his soup. “I know, I know, I just…” You pause, trying to find the right words “I think I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than spend a whole day with Gabriel”.

Negan blinks, totally thrown off by the sudden confession. The soup almost gets stuck in his throat as he chokes, his instinct to spit it out clashing with the urge to just swallow the damn thing.

He barks out a cough, a small dribble of soup escapes his mouth before he can stop it. A few people glance over, clearly startled by the loud, unexpected sound. It’s as if any loud noise from Negan’s direction draws all eyes to him, people acting as if he has a loaded gun at the ready. 

“Oh!” You quickly gather the sleeve of your sweater and bring it up to his mouth, trying to shield him from the prying eyes.

“Here, just… um…” You hesitate, unsure how to help, but slowly begin dabbing at the side of his mouth. “You’ve got a little something there... and there… oh, and a bit by your chin”.

Negan’s mind can’t catch up with what’s happening. How did it go from the most innocent person in the world giving Gabe an almighty diss, to him almost choking to now you’re wiping soup off his face?!

You dab it away, ruining your own sleeve for the sake of him. “Just lemme…” you give one last dab by his lip “there! All gone”.

Negan meets your satisfied smile with a slight pout. His gratitude is there but it’s quickly overtaken by the twinge of embarrassment creeping up on him. 

“You’re like a mama bird wrapped in a blanket of sweetness and sprinkled with sugar, spice, and all things nice,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing as he accepts the situation with a resigned grin.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if you needed the Heimlich!” You ask, worry evident into your voice.

Negan chuckles and brushes off your concern, the only thing hurt being his ego. Dribbling in front of a pretty girl doesn't exactly leave the best impression—unless it's on a basketball court.

“I’m fine,” he waves it off “I just didn’t think you had such a fuckin’ potty mouth.”

“Well, I try not to let it run wild,” you admit, feeling a little bashful as you nudge him. “But I figured I’m in good company”.

Negan laughs, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He leans back in his seat, finally catching his breath. “Well, I’m not sure the rest would agree with that assessment, sweetheart” he says with a smirk, feeling more like himself. 

You shrug, deciding to tease him a little in your response “Hm, yeah I guess you got a way of bringing out the worst in people”.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Worst? Nah darlin’ it’s not the worst. It’s just a little… unfiltered. Like a good whiskey. Strong, bold, but doesn’t go down smooth unless you know how to handle it”.

Giving a laugh, you continue to eat your meal “I guess I’ll take your word for it”.

You and Negan relax into a comfortable silence as you both eat. Eventually, the dirty looks dull, people’s initial amped up hatred leveling out when they realize Negan won’t scatter that easily.

The tension never fully vanishes but it becomes background noise, swallowed up by the mundane act of eating. 

After dinner, you find yourself walking along the streets of Alexandria with Negan. “How do you do it?” he breaks the silence, stuffing his hands into his pockets “Make all this shit feel less like… well, shit?”.

“I’m not sure,” you reply honestly “I just try to be nice. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be when the world is already so cruel”. 

Negan huffs a quiet laugh, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Nice, huh?” He glances over at you, something almost contemplative in his gaze "Guess that’s one way to keep your head above water. Doesn’t always work, though. The world’s pretty damn good at crushing people”.

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. There’s a rhythm to the way he talks, a calmness in his voice that contradicts the chaos he’s lived through. How he's still able to be so witty with his jokes and always willing to help, you're not sure.

“I don’t think being nice is about keeping your head above water,” you say after a moment “It’s something everyone can do and it costs nothing”.

He lets a few beats of silence pass, making sure there’s no one else in earshot before being more specific. “Ok but why be nice to me? After all the shit I’ve done” Negan gets to the point.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, a small sigh escaping you. This question isn’t new. He’s asked versions of it before, although he’s never been this direct.

“I don’t really have a good answer,” you say "Maybe it's because I think people are too quick to judge you. You’re not all bad, Negan. You can do good when you want to".

Negan lets out a surprised huff “So you think I need saving, huh?”.

You shake your head almost immediately, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. “No," you say firmly "I don’t think you need saving. You’re not helpless, I know that. I think the others like to think that you are now, without your Saviors or lieutenants or… um, other things. But you’ve always been a capable guy”.

He falls quiet for a moment. You wonder if he’s even hearing you or if he’s just lost in some thought, some memory you’ll never understand. Then, as Negan exhales a long breath, he looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“That’s some real heart warming shit,” he says finally, his voice not unkind, but laced with a touch of something that might be regret, or maybe just old wounds. “Guess I’m just asking because they all fuckin' hate me. Other than you, Carol was the only other person to give a shit- and that's only because she had an agenda”.

“Maybe my only agenda is to be your friend,” you say softly, your voice steady but sincere. “We’ve all done ugly things to survive—things we’d rather bury. I don’t see why we have to parade you around as some kind of example of remorse. You’re more than that”.

Negan chuckles at that. As much as he hates to admit it, when Negan first met you, he didn’t think you used your brain much. He was one of the idiots that took your kindness as a show of ignorance, thinking that you just floated around like you were living in some fairy tale.

But now? Now Negan knows how wrong he was. Underestimating you was one hell of a mistake and a massive misjudgement of your character.

He glances up, his eyes lingering on the damaged homes around. Then, without warning, he asks, “Would you stay here?”

You blink, surprised by the abruptness of the question. “In… Alexandria?” You try to follow his train of thought. He nods once, slow and deliberate.

You take a moment to consider, weighing up your options. “I don’t see why I’d leave,” you wager “It’s safe here. Not just with the walls keeping things out, but there’s safety in numbers too”.

Negan lets a silence linger after your answer, taking your insights to heart. Some others pass by but they pay no attention to either of you, unaware of the risky conversation that’s taking place.

While the Alexandrians have tried to oust Negan in the past, that was under their terms. They wanted Negan to stay in a cabin they decided upon, somewhere they’d know he is if they ever needed him again. If Negan was to leave in the morning and not look back, you don’t know how the Alexandrians would take that.

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Why are you asking me that, though?” you wonder, unsure if he’s serious or just toying with the idea.

Negan has never been one to beat around the bush and now is no different. Keeping his voice clear but low, he reveals “Just curious whether I should ask you to leave with me when the time comes”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, worry washing over you. You stand there, momentarily speechless. Would the Alexandrians let him leave so easily? 

You blink a couple of times, trying to regain your composure. "You... you don’t have to leave," you finally manage, trying to de-escalate the situation “Things will get better. More people will come around, eventually. They’ll accept you. It’s just... it’s gonna take time”. 

Negan can’t tell if you’re trying to rationalize this for him or for yourself. You’re just too damn caring to realize people won’t change. 

Negan’s expression stays the same. “It’s been years, hun,” he breaks it to you as gently as he can “It’s still the same and it’ll always be the same. You know it, too”.

The way he says it carries a heaviness, a truth he’s known for a long time. And even though his words sting, you can’t help but see that small, almost imperceptible shift in him. It’s as if he’s tired of pretending, tired of waiting for something that feels like it’ll never come.

You hold his gaze when no words come. You know Negan’s right but how can you agree with a truth that’s so awful?

Negan has always worn a mask of tough bravado, his smile twisted in a way that hinted at danger rather than warmth. But in this moment, as he watches you, someone who has quietly but consistently shown him kindness, there is something different in his eyes.

He didn’t know how to process it at first, the warmth that spreads through his chest and the fluttering in his stomach that makes him feel alive. It’s something he hasn't felt in years. Hell, maybe even decades. But now he feels it every time he looks at you.

Negan watches you, his heart tight with the weight of your silence. He had been hoping for something, anything. Negan hoped for assurance, a simple confirmation that you’d be there, that you'd go with him. 

But you don’t respond. 

The air between you both thickens and the words he had been longing to hear are nowhere to be found. After a long pause, he exhales softly, trying to mask the disappointment creeping in. 

His voice takes on a casual edge, the bravado slipping back into place. “Well, guess the workday’s not done yet” He nods toward one of the houses being repaired, offering a strained smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, with a shrug, he begins to turn away. 

The moment hangs there, unspoken and unfulfilled, acting as a space neither of you dare to cross. But just as he’s about to walk away, your voice breaks through the silence.

“I’d go with you”.

Negan freezes, his heart stumbling in his chest. “What?” He asks, not quite sure if he heard you right.

You shift from foot to foot, your gaze drifting away from his for a moment, as if the vulnerability of the moment is too much to bear. 

With a simple shrug, you reply "Well... if you weren’t here anymore, who the hell would I use my potty mouth around?". The words are teasing but there’s a thread of sincerity weaving through them.

Negan lets out a chuckle, though it’s tempered by the way his gaze softens when it lands on you. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and in that instant, the playful banter fades. There’s no jest in the air anymore, only the quiet understanding that when it comes down to it, you'd go with him. 

No matter the wreckage of the world or the mess that surrounds him, you would go.

Negan studies you, as if trying to read between the lines of your words. He doesn't pry into your answer, not asking you why or teasing you. Instead Negan gives you a small, almost nonexistent nod, before heading back to his work.

You don’t take offense, knowing that Negan’s starting a new game now. This isn’t him stalking off because of your answer. This is Negan playing the long game, maintaining his role of the solemn workhorse to the others as he secretly bides his time until his— no, your eventual escape.

Negan keeps his head down as he gets back to work, knowing that disappearing will be tougher now with an extra person, but it’s something he’s more than willing to put up with. 

In that moment, Negan wonders if there really is a future that doesn’t feel so damn lonely after all.

[notlongtolove]

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.  then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o’keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. 

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.” 

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely. 

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau. 

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down. 

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further. 

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache. 

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips. 

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though ​​his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.” 

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter. 

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything. 

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.” 

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware. 

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his. 

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” ​​It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits. 

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better. 

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer. 

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession. 

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off. 

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.” 

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all. 

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—” 

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway.  “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused. 

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

[cocosparkel]

anything with hermes please

All For You

(Hermes x princess!reader)

Summary:You are the sole daughter to a king in ancient Greece. What will you do when Hermes gives you an irresistible offer ?

Warnings: none

Word count: 636

Story tags: fluff ______________________________________________________________

You sighed as you flung yourself on to your bed. Being a princess may seem like a perfect life to everyone, but all you wanted was a little freedom.

Being the youngest daughter of the king with 3 older brothers, you were heavily pampered, and looked after like you were still a baby.

While this was nice at times, there were instances where all you wanted was for your family to let you make your own choice.

Just a few minutes ago, you had walked in on your father and your eldest brother planning on marrying you off to some prince. You had argued with them, and your father sent you to your room and forbade you to leave.

Honestly, all you wanted is to travel the world, explore the places your brothers and father had told you about. You wanted to sail through uncharted waters, and discover new places. But, being a woman seemed to be the problem here.

“Why so sad, darling ?” A mischievous voice said, and you looked up to find Hermes.

You scrambled out of your bed, “Hermes ?”He grinned, his wings fluttering as he floated to her.

“Do you know anyone else as handsome as me ?”

Laughing, you shake your head. “I thought you wouldn't be able to visit today ?”

Hermes was one of your best kept secrets. You had met him almost 2 years ago, by accident, and after that, you kept seeing him everywhere. It wasn't too long before your tentative friendship turned into something more.

“Can you blame me for wanting a break from my extremely tedious job ?" He said.

You rolled your eyes at that, but smiled nevertheless. “No, I guess I can't.”

“Well, tell me, my sweet princess, who do I have to blame for that frown on your pretty little face ?”

You could feel your cheeks turn red at his subtle flirting, as you stammered out a reply, “Father wants me to marry some prince..”

His face fell slightly,“I see.”

“But I don't want to marry him,” You blurted out.

“Oh ?” Hermes murmured, an unreadable expression on his face. “And why is that ?”

“I-I want to travel the world, I want to see every corner of the world and meet new people, learn about their culture, and-” she stopped suddenly, seeing the smile on Hermes’ face. “Sorry, I was rambling again… It's just that if I marry a prince.. I'll never be able to do that.”

“No no, it's fine.” He said, plopping down on her bed next to her, as they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

You bit your lip, stopping youself from saying how he was one of the reasons you didn't want to marry that prince, or any prince for that matter.

“You know, I could take you around the world.” Hermes said, suddenly standing up.

He looked at you, a strange intensity in his eyes.“Wherever it is you want to go, I can take you.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What ? Why ?”

He looked away, “I’d do anything for you, princess, if it means I get to have you for myself.”

You swallowed, shocked. Your thoughts were racing, was this his way of saying he wants you in a romantic way…?

“How ?” You asked.

He pulled you up with him.“You don't have to worry about it darling.” He said winking at you.

You still weren't convinced. Seeing your hesitation, he sighed.

“Don't you trust me ?” he asked with a small pout.

“I do.” You said without missing a beat.

His smile grew wider, “In that case, what are you waiting for?”

Giggling slightly, you hold his hand,and he pulls you towards him, before lifting you bridal style, leaving you a blushing mess.

“Ready princess ?” He asked, the glint in his eyes making you feel excited and apprehensive.

______________________________________________________________

A/N :

Hope you like this, your request was kind of vague, so I did this first.

(rules for requesting)

(If you liked this one, check out my other. Xreader story, Fatal)

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter four

summary: buck finally runs into grace, and then buck and eddie surprise you in your apartment.

word count: 2.4k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: i purposely made this vague so you can choose who’s who when reader is blindfolded lol, but if you wanna know who i imagined them as just ask hehe<3 enjoy💋

warnings: smut, non-con (but reader enjoys it??idk how to tag this), buddie breaks into readers house<3, descriptions of violence/murder (nothing too graphic), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

It was easy to get to this point. It didn’t take much to spike the not-so-secret drink Grace keeps under the bar counter during her shift. And it was easy to convince you to go over to Eddie’s for the night to hang out. 

They kept away from you for weeks; patiently waiting for a night that Grace has to work with Isaac. Every time they work together, Isaac walks her part of the way home; just until he gets to his own apartment, and then she’s alone the rest of the way. They know if they see Grace being rude to their sweet girl one more time, they won’t want to wait, so not seeing your pretty face is something they have to endure. They can’t risk being taken away from you.

They have everything meticulously planned. 

Grace is alone, at night, in a dangerous part of town. Check. 

The cameras in the alley placed almost halfway between Grace and Isaac’s house have mysteriously stopped working a couple weeks ago. Check.

Their soft girl is safely at Eddie’s house with many pictures taken of them and Christopher doing crafts, acting as an airtight alibi. Just in case. Check.

Now, all that’s left to do is wait.

Once Grace passes by the alley, barely even paying attention to her surroundings, Buck emerges from the shadows and grabs her. She tries to scream, but a large hand covers her mouth quickly, pulling her against a broad chest as she’s pulled deep into the alley. 

The last thing she sees is the mask. 

The last thing she smells is the metallic scent of her own blood.

“What are you?” These words are the last thing she hears. The voice is dark, and almost comes out as a growl as he holds the phone in one hand and the knife in the other.

“I’m nothing. I deserve this.” she stutters out, tears streaming down her face and mascara smudged all over her cheeks. Her last words. 

It took some coaching to finally get her to say the words; the proof is shown in the video, in the form of scrapes on her arms and legs, and the cuts littered across her pale skin, but it’s worth it.

Both Buck and Eddie know what she’s saying is true, even if she doesn’t quite believe it yet, and they want her to feel as worthless as she made you feel when she said those awful things to you.

As Buck is walking away, down the part of the street that he knows have no working security cameras facing the street, wiping the splatters of red off of his mask with his black sleeve, he thinks about you and Eddie. 

He imagines you laughing and smiling with him and Chris, and he smiles to himself. He imagines himself there, slowly spreading you open for them after Chris goes to bed, everyone's bellies full from your wonderful cooking. Having to make sure you’re completely silent as they mark you, the crimson falling down your pretty skin. 

His little family. Almost complete.

 Now all they need is for you to accept their love. Which shouldn’t be difficult now. Grace made you insecure, and now that she’s taken care of, they’ll be able to convince you that they want you. They’ll make sure you accept them. 

Buck is still running on pure adrenaline when he gets to Eddie’s house, waiting strategically in his jeep down the street until Eddie has driven you home and is back in his house. They sit on the couch, Buck’s phone held up between them as they listen to Grace's pleading and whimpering.

They know that they can’t wait any longer to have you, but they know they have to be careful. Again. They know they can’t do anything now; calling Eddie’s babysitter up so late and asking her to stay the night with Chris would be suspicious, especially when a body would turn up soon, killed around the same time.

So, the next night, when the body is found, they leave when Chris’s babysitter arrives. Their masks are already in Buck’s jeep, and they ride over to your house in silence, eagerly counting down the seconds until they can see their pretty girl.

You’re fast asleep when the front door to your apartment opens, but you don’t hear it; you’re sleeping soundly with alcohol coursing through your veins. You had found out about Grace today, and while she was rude to you, she had been your friend at one point. To self sooth, you poured a few too many shots, and are now sprawled out on your back on your bed, breathing heavily.

Your eyes shoot open when you feel a warm hand covering your mouth and cold metal held to your throat. Your body tenses as you stay completely still, barely able to make out the two masked men standing directly over you.

“You scream and I’ll slit your throat. You got that, sweetheart?” the smaller one hisses quietly into your ear. You nod quickly, keeping your mouth shut as you look up at them with bloodshot eyes. They almost feel bad; they knew you’d be upset about that bitch’s death, but not this upset.

The other man chuckles darkly at your submissive demeanor, then reaches down to your oversized t-shirt, lifting the hem of it with his knife. You shiver as you feel the cold metal moving up your skin. If he pressed any harder, you’re sure he’d draw blood, and in your dazed state, you’re still sound enough to understand that that’s probably what he wants. 

“No panties? You were just waiting for us, weren’t you baby?” you hear the smaller one ask in a condescending tone. You let out a shaky breath, and although you know you should be terrified, that you should scream and hope someone calls the police, you can’t bring yourself to. You’re not even sure if this is real. You’re only half sure that someone is actually in your apartment right now. All you know that is real right now, is the pool forming between your legs.

You know you shouldn’t be turned on right now, but the way they’re looking down at you, their heads slightly tilted as they examine you has your heartbeat quickening. And not just because they could kill you at any time.

They both look at each other for a split second before one man is grabbing your wrists and tying them to the bed, and the other is fastening a blindfold around your eyes. It’s tight, almost too tight, and although you squirm in their grip in a mix of surprise and fear, you still don’t scream.

“What a good girl for us.” one of them speaks. You think it’s the larger man, but you’re really not sure.

“You gonna keep being good for us, sweet girl?” the other one asks, and you nod quickly. You feel your legs being yanked apart by large hands, and you let out a quiet yelp. You feel a hand on your neck as soon as the noise escapes your throat, and the familiar cold metal dragging across your plush tummy lightly. A string of apologies tumble out of your lips before they can even scold you, and they smirk at each other; their masks having been discarded immediately after they know you were securely fastened to the bed.

You gasp quietly again when your shirt is yanked up, now bunching above your chest. Your nipples harden as the cold air hits your skin, but two warm palms grab your tits quickly, protecting you from the cold as they begin to massage you. You let out a low moan as the man tweaks your nipples, and your breath catches in your throat as the other man’s mouth attaches to your dripping cunt. 

The man that’s playing with your tits, you assume, as the other man is slowly moving his tongue through your glistening folds, shushes you quietly before his lips press searing kisses around your breasts. His hands are still squeezing and groping at your chest, as the other man’s tongue darts in and out of you desperately, nose nudging your clit in a way that has quiet whimpers threatening to escape your lips. 

You’re trying so hard not to make a sound. Your fear is heightening your pleasure as you struggle against the restraints, desperate to touch them.

Even as they work you closer and closer to the edge, you can barely even make out what’s happening. You’re still drunk, you’re sure of it, and with all the emotions swarming around your head with Grace’s death, you think that maybe this is some weird dream.

But, dream or not, you feel fucking incredible. And the real-not-real tongue fucking your greedy cunt is making you see stars.

You’ve also never had this much attention focused on your tits, and with the way the man is tweaking and sucking on your nipples, you feel like you’d come just with his touch alone.

Your breathing is coming out in laboured pants, and you whimper quietly as you bite your lip, knowing what could happen if you make too much noise.

The man attached to your core moans when he feels your pussy clench, and he inserts two fingers into your core, curling his fingers as he sucks on your clit. 

“You gonna come for us sweet girl?” You nod desperately, and both men chuckle. You gasp softly as you feel the knife against your throat, almost enough to slice your soft skin.

“You’re not gonna tell a single person about this, yeah? Promise us that, and we’ll let you come. How’s that sound, gorgeous?” one speaks.

“Yes, yes, yes. Promise. Please.” you plead, trying not to move your head. One wrong move, and you’re sure the knife will cut your throat.

You come not long after, the knife taken from your throat as the attention is focused back on your perfect tits. Your thighs squeeze the head between your thighs, and the man lets out a low growl, teeth grazing your clit and large hands holding your thighs apart as he works you through your orgasm.

Once he’s licked up all your juices, they both remove themselves from you and stand up with smirks. It’s obvious that one man wishes he could’ve tasted your sweet cunt, but by the sounds of your heaving chest and the sight of your quivering thighs, they know they should let you rest. 

The other man is quick to bring their lips together, letting both of them taste your sweet release as their mouths collide in a sloppy kiss.

You feel on edge as you lay there completely bare, your cunt pulsing as the cold air offers a stark contrast to the fire under your skin. You swallow when you finally feel a hand on your throat and a knife moving down the valley of your breasts.

“You tell anyone, and we’ll gut you. You got that, sweet girl?” you nod quickly, holding your breath.

“Promise, I won’t.” you babble, mind reeling and confused. 

The blindfold and restraints are yanked off of you, but not before two gentle kisses are placed on your lips. While one is sweeter, almost loving, the other is rough, and almost desperate, and you know that both men have just kissed you.

You open your eyes quickly, but you’re met with pitch black. They’ve obviously unplugged the little light you keep in your hallway, as it gave you just enough light to see them when you first woke up. Either way, you’re sure that seeing them would do you no good, and your legs are so weak that you can’t even begin to think about getting out of bed.

You fall asleep after a while, unsure of how to feel, and the next morning when you wake up, you’re not even sure that it happened.

Your head is pounding as you sit up, and as you look around your room. Everything is in place. The only thing that makes you think it could be real is the mess between your legs, but even then, it could’ve been a dream that made you very excited. 

You continue on with your day, getting ready for work, and thinking deeply about it. You know that real or not, you can’t tell anyone. On one hand, if it was real, they’d “gut you.” And you’re sure they’d keep that promise. But on the other hand, if it wasn’t, you never think you’d live down telling anyone that you had a sex dream about the two masked men terrorizing LA.

You’re so emotional about everything from the last 24 hours that you convince yourself that you made it up. No need to be afraid, you tell yourself, it was just a dream, right?

The words from Grace are still in the back of your mind, anyway. If they were going to do this to someone, why you?

They watch you through a screen for most of the day, thankful that they have the day off and can spend the day taking care of their sweet girl.

They want to make sure you’re not too shaken up. You clearly enjoyed their touch, but they want to make sure that you’re not scared beyond return. They know they threatened you; they had to. But they’d never actually hurt you. 

They’re pleased when you continue your day like normal, making no attempt to reach out to anyone. They think at this point, it may be easier to isolate you, just a little. Without anyone else, you’ll cling to them, and they can assure you that you’re not crazy. You’re gorgeous, and sweet, and smart, and if they get you all to themselves, they know you’ll realize how nice their attention is.

You’ll accept the protection that they’re giving you. The stability. They dream of the day when you know everything they’ve done, and like it. Maybe you’d even join them; telling them about who wronged you and beg them to do something about it.

They don’t think you’d ever actually take part in it; you’re far too sweet for it, but that’s okay. They’re more than willing to do all the work. Just for you.

next chapter

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!

taglist: @sherlocksbaby2323 @essienoe @p14th0mps0n @celestixldarling @minsugafour @brooke0297 @zelfanswhenshecan @sarahsmi13s @avengersgirllorianna @bingbongsupremacy @nishinoyahhh @alyssanicole01 @outof-spite @supernatural-bangtanboys @sporadicmakerwerewolf @x0xchristine @pear-1206 @swanshells @tpwkstiles @lulubelle14 @cannibalhellhound @odetolocksmiths @charlie-winchester94 @hollandxxmix @evysian @buckandeddiesverison @starbyun92939798 @maxinish @theking-mustdie @daeswash @911varietyposts @superlock-in-the-tardis @lilsquatch7898 @hufflepuff-spidey @starboygf @wnbweasley @damndirtylitch @eva-tts5 @alexxavicry @tatyhend @sammiejane22 @mbioooo0000 @prettybi-girly @boybandbaby @toessssw @tryingtograspctrl @azkza @rosey1981 @cryedye @dreams-encapsulated-in-glamour (if you interacted with my taglist post and are not on this list, make sure your blog is visible in seatched, otherwise i can’t tag you! + more in comments)

[animeyanderelover]

Envelope for Teru ❤️

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, jealousy

Tags: @killuagirly

Valentine's Day Special: Envelope Prompt

Black hair, brown eyes, president of the volleyball club, member of the Student Council, in his second year just like you. That was the man you dedicated hours of your thoughts to. That was the man you had decided to write a letter to which you had meant to deliver to him personally on this day. An unexpected mergency meeting in your own club had wrecked those plans though and instead you had tasked one of your good friends to deliver the letter in your place.

Now you stood there, barely able to mask the shock as the boy who had received your letter walked over to you. He was handsome, yes. He was in his second year, yes. He was also a President of something in this school and a member of the Student's Council, yes. That's where the similarities already stopped though. Instead of black hair, he had blond hair. Blue eyes where chocolate-brown eyes should have been. Not the president of the volleyball club and not just a mere member of the Student's Council but the president of it. Perhaps it had been your fault for not just giving your friend the name of the boy this letter had been adressed to. Part of you wanted to be mad but the vague description you had given her fit him quite perfectly too.

Minamoto Teru.

You were sure that he had already received his fair share of letters and chocolates today as he was the school sweetheart of most girls here. Initially you had assumed that this would be why you would be able to dismiss this situation easily and explain the misunderstanding. It was that carefully concealed smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes that had the words dying on your tongue. He looked... happy that he had received a letter from you. You could only pray that this wouldn't be the case for otherwise everything would get awkward and uncomfortable very fast.

"Hey."

Oh god. He was bashful, wasn't he? Normally Teru was always a collected and calm individual. Now his voice carried that dooming undertone of sheepishness. Blue eyes that usually always managed to hold eye contact had to avert your gaze shortly as if he had to gather his nerves before they met your face once more. Most foreboding would have had to been the pink blush on his face.

This letter contained your entire sappy heart, secrets and thoughts you had never dared to voice out before. You had always kept it vague, far too vague though as otherwise you were sure none of this would have happened. You'd never been good in being direct. Now this would be your downfall, wouldn't it?

"I honestly didn't expect this letter from you. I... Well, I always thought that you didn't really feel for me that way. So when I received this envelope I was really, really happy."

This was all going in the wrong direction. You couldn't even look him in the eyes as he stepped closer, close enough that you could stare at his shoes all whilst trying to reign in the silent horror seeping through your veins. How were you supposed to undo the drama that you would undoubtedly happen?

Teru must have mistaken your inability to look at him as shyness. An assumption you couldn't have necessarily blamed him for.

"I'm honestly a bit ashamed that I didn't notice sooner and that you had to take the first step. But I'm still glad for this. Would you like to-"

He cleared his throat, causing your lips to purse into a thin line. It was the pure sincerity in his voice that was killing you brutally right now. You'd rather prefered if he would have just thrown the envelope in your face. This was Minamoto Teru though. A modern day prince who looked and behaved perfectly that part.

"Would you like to go out with me this weekend? Whatever you want to do, I'll be happy if I can just spend time with you."

Could some deity up there just have a hole swallow you please? Now all of his attention was on you, awaiting an answer you couldn't give him. At least not the answer he was expecting at least. Time was far too short though and within only moments your silence alerted the boy in front of you. One of his hands reached hesitantly out for yours, eyebrows furrowed as he observed you. When his fingers brushed against yours, your hand pulled away as if his mere touch was burning you.

"(l/n)?"

That was it. The way your name glid from his tongue, concerned and gentle, did it for you. That's when your lowered head lifted up to meet his gaze finally. You wondered just how tortured your expression must have looked in that moment as all the muscles in your face were pulled taught in a tormented grimace.

Those few seconds where he clearly didn't know what was wrong only added to the agony. You wondered if that would have been preferable though the moment there was finally that slow spark of realisation and his face just fell, muscles going slack with shock.

“This letter is for me, right? You made this all to confess to me didn’t you? …Didn’t you?”

There was the tiniest tremor in his voice as he repeated the last few words and took one step closer to you. Only for you to immediately erase the closeness by stepping back. Your face was burning but not with comfortable heat. Your stomach was churning and not erupting with those little butterflies you had hoped for.

Wrong person. He was the wrong person.

"You... you like someone else. That letter was meant for another boy in the Student's Council."

It was the shock that rendered him unable to take any actions initially as he just muttered those words out, blue eyes growing vacant as he glanced down at the envelope decorated with doddled hearts.

Still, despite the fact that your eyes were focused on his shoes you could still feel the moment those eyes landed on your figure again.

"For whom was this letter meant?"

The hair on your neck stood up. Gone was the previous bashful warmth to his voice. Now it had taken on a firmer edge and you were not able to unhear the tinge of bitterness. You would not tell him though. You just wanted to rip that letter out of his hands and go home. When you attempted to reach out for the envelope, you were shocked in an unpleasant way when Teru moved his hand away and held it out of your reach.

"Who is the boy you wrote this letter for, (l/n)?"

It sounded like he wasn't asking but was expecting an answer. An answer you could not give him though. Deciding that it was not worth it, you abandoned the letter and Teru altogether. You evaded the hand that shot out to hold you back just in time, feeling only the ghost of a touch as the tips of his fingers brushed over your arm before you dashed away as fast as your feet could carry you in that moment. Surprisingly enough he didn't follow you, a fear that you had initially held.

You didn't turn back, were too much of a coward as you feared the sight you could be potentially met with otherwise. Maybe that was for the best. Otherwise you would have witnessed how blue eyes glared at the envelope he had just minutes ago viewed so fondly. How his face grew contemplative for a few seconds before turning cold. How he started to rip it apart, tearing apart your confession for someone that wasn't him and threw it in the bin as he made his way back to school with a concealed expression hiding the ugly jealousy that now reared its head.

The prince wasn't as gentlemanly as he would appear after all.

[weirdsht]

"Would u like to hear me yap about regressor!reader x cale? (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡ or not? ^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^" "If it's a fic prompt why not? 👀"

OKKKKK 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 .

Ughhh imagine Cale and the gang with someone who regressed because of them and they had no clue about it. In the 1st timeline, everything was fine, they meet the fam, do crazy things, and form relationships until they realized a lot of their companions get hurt or shockingly die. They were a transmigrator like Cale as well, they read the TCF novel, so they were heavily confused a lot of times when out of expectations scenarios happened. Like why are things that never happened in the TCF novel keep happening?

One time they died, then unexpectedly regressed to the starting line, like they came back to the place and age they first gained vision of the TCF world. They try to make everyone safe all while forming unbreakable bonds with her companions at heart.

Sooo in the end they find out that everything happened because of their existence. They were an anomaly, something that shouldn't mess with the original plotline for the journey of Cale Henituse and his family, so that was why they were the target, but somehow, their enemies end up causing harm to the wrong people a lot of times because they try to fight before reader can even lift a finger. Though, none of them know that every time reader dies by their enemy's hands, they regress to their own starting point before they meet everyone. Timeskip they end up dying again lol

In the third timeline, angst and shi, they avoid everyone since they were the main characters and they weren't her enemy's enemy. Thankfully, they survive until the end of the war.

Imagine reader and their loved ones meet again :(( they don't remember about them but somehow the gang keeps stumbling upon reader and they keep seeing weird scenarios and thoughts about reader which confuses them to the max (AND WHY IS READER VISIBLY AVOIDING THEM??? Sus) because they've never met this person before, especially Cale

Insert guilty as sin's "I'm seeing visions, am i bad or mad or wise?" LOLOL

If it's too long or u can't understand the shit i just spilled, it's ok to js keep this as an unanswered ask

I just like to yap and overshare 😭💟

Apparently Not - LoTCF & Regressor! Reader

tags: gender-neutral reader, regressor reader, vague novel spoilers, hurt/comfort (not sure if it hurts though), very loosely inspired by how orv uses the disconnected film theory

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read navi)

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

The first time was confusing.

Scenarios that did not happen in the novel kept happening. For some reason despite Cale’s actions being mostly the same, the timeline has taken another course. Things did not go their way. It seems like the enemies are cunning too. They laid out plans that [name] had never read before. Their inadequacy caused the regressor to die at the hands of the magic spearman.

The second time was devastating.

[Name] thought that they got it this time. Thought that they had prepared enough even if things went south.

But why..?

Why is nothing going Cale’s way?

Why are they still losing?

Why is the sword of disaster piercing their heart?

Why are Raon’s teary eyes the last thing they could see before they die?

[Name] thought they were prepared. They thought that with the help of the original novel and their first regression, they could get through everything.

But that was not the case. Time and time again things that did not happen before kept happening. No matter what they did all the favours stack up to the White Star’s favour.

In the end [Name] died whilst unable to do anything.

The third time felt like an enlightenment.

“Haa–!!”

Huff. Huff

[Name] woke up with a jolt. They could still feel the fiery sword piercing through their skin and bones. However, when they touch where they have been stabbed there’s nothing there. Their body was perfectly intact as if everything was merely a nightmare.

They must be back then. Back in the starting line. Back to the time when Cale and the others have not met the regressor yet.

‘If I don’t insert myself into the narrative maybe things will go according to the novel?’

Yeah, that must be it.

And so [name] did their best to blend in as a background character. Of course, they still helped behind the scenes. But they made sure to stay out of the spotlight. They have been better at doing that compared to Cale anyway.

They manage to both survive and not have any run-ins with what used to be their family for a long time. It hurt [name] to deliberately avoid the people they love the most, but it had to be done. They can’t be selfish for it will cause the world’s demise.

However, everything changed during the war against White Star.

“Have I met you somewhere before?”

Alberu asks them as they bump into each other after the battle on the Stan Territory. This sent [name] into a mild frenzy. Their original goal was to just weaken the enemies from the shadows, help free the prisoners and then disappear as they they never existed. But now they have come face-to-face with Alberu.

“I wasn’t aware that the rising sun of our kingdom was such a flirt.”

It took everything in the regressor to not cry. Just seeing the quarter-dark elf’s face was enough to make them emotional. Enough to make them remember all those late nights they have spent together talking. All the days they spent bonding over baking. All those talks they had about Cale being a headache.

Not able to take any more overwhelming emotion, [name] excused themself. Disappearing in the shadows once more. Leaving Alberu confused at the interaction.

That night Alberu had dreams of ranting all his dongsaeng problems to a certain regressor that he was sure he had never met before.

What [name] thought was a one-time thing became a frequent occurrence.

Choi Han, Raon, On, Hong, Ron, Beacrox, Rosalyn, Eruhaben…

[Name] kept running into them like a joke by fate.

As if the world wanted to rub it in their face that they could never be part of that family. That their presence will only bring them demise.

So every time they have a run-in with one of them they run away. They didn’t care if they looked like a frightened dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Didn’t care if the interaction always left the other party confused. Could not care if sometimes tears are pooling in their eyes when they have to turn their back once more.

That was until [Name] encountered Cale.

The one person they have been avoiding the most.

Others were fine. Sure it hurts having to run away from them but [name] can just cry it off for 2 nights and they’ll be able to function once more.

But not with Cale.

They can never run away from Cale.

Hence why silence lingered over them as they stared eye-to-eye. Both of them did not break eye contact even when a lone tear dripped on [name]’s cheek.

“I-I’m sorry I don’t know what’s gotten over me. I must’ve confused you for someone I know.”

[Name] tried to hastily wipe their tears as more flowed from their eyes. Their dam of emotions finally overflowed upon meeting Cale and there was nothing the regressor could do to stop it.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll get out of your way now.”

They couldn’t see the redhead’s expression due to their tears. However, they were sure he was looking at them weirdly. The mere thought of it hurts, but it’s not as if [name] could blame him since he didn’t know them

Thus why they are now trying to walk away from the situation.

Keyword being try.

How could they when Cale is holding onto their wrist? When he pulled them back in his direction to wipe their tears away?

“You must’ve suffered quite a bit.”

Cale mumbled in their hair as he let the regressor cry in his chest.

The action confused [name]. Cale was kind, but not this kind towards strangers.

“What do you–”

[Name] tried to ask but Cale shoved their face in his chest more to prevent them from speaking.

“[Name]... My records never lied to me. The moment I saw you, recordings of our past timeline resurfaced.”

Ah, so that’s why…

“Then you must also know why I went this route. Let me go…”

Please let me go before I lose my will to fight.

Please let me go before I fall for your warmth once more.

Please…

“No, your place is with us. Everything will work out this time. I promise.”

Cale stroked [name]’s hair. He has no plans of letting them be on their own again. They’re family, even if Cale has to flip the world upside-down just to make sure they will remain one.

“You’ve been away for long enough. Let’s go home now.”

[bamboozledbird]

his eyes, his mouth // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Void!Stiles, fem!reader (she/her pronouns) Pairing: not actually unrequited Stiles x fem!reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, choking, non-con touching/kissing (nothing worse than the show), emetophobia (mentions, no details)  Tags: author is horny for classic lit and bad at titles and it shows Summary: Reader accepts Void's invitation to play even though she knows she's already lost. A/N: I'm on my teen wolf bullshit again icb. This is a rewrite of an old work of mine from 2014, and I did it for entirely selfish purposes. I need Void now, and my other work is in s1 smh.

The first time she saw brown eyes it was in her mother’s face, skin glistening with the sweat of labor and the adoration of motherhood. For a long time, she thought she’d never see eyes that full of feeling again—like a never-ending tree ring, like reeds taking root—and then, in the second grade, she met a boy with the round, brown eyes of a fawn. She helped him read without skipping over lines, he helped her make sense of fractions, and she stared at his eyes until it was time to go home. Over the years, she memorized every crack of amber and drizzle of honey until the sky was just a cloak of him, him, him. 

It was the eyes that gave Void away. He could replicate Stiles’s smile, the curl of his smirk, the pucker of his confusion—but the eyes. He couldn’t quite hide the hollowness, even when her own were shut tight.

She kept them closed now. Under the starless sky, she could only make out the vague shapes of deadening trees; it was easier to follow the ink-dipped path with her hands. Her fingers brushed against damp moss and sticky bark until she stumbled over a loose rock. The stone rolled into something solid, and the resounding thud sent her heart into her throat. Everything seemed to be a little more than it was out here in the dark—the shapes bigger, the sounds louder, the fear thicker—everything except for her. Like this, she was a scared little girl. Frantic. Small. Alone. 

She didn’t realize quite how small she was until she was enveloped with darkness, how small and how pathetically human—but here she was anyway: alone in the woods, blinded by the darkness of early morning, on her merry way to meet an immortal psychopath with an entire Japanese spirit army at his disposal. All this, simply because he told her to.

She’d known the text was from Stiles’s number before she even pulled her phone out from under her sleep-rumpled pillow. She knew because it was three in the morning. It seemed like he only ever needed her at three or five in the morning, and yet she always, always answered. She’d realized quickly, however, that this time it was Stiles’s number but it wasn’t his message. 

< Stiles 🤓☝️: > 

I know you always found Stiles so easily, but why don’t we see who’s the better hider? I’ll play fair this time, cross Stiles’s heart. I’ll even give you a hint:  The cock crew, The sky was blue: The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. ‘Tis time for this poor soul To go to heaven. In case you’re thinking about not showing up, you should probably know the consequences. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, if you don’t come out and play with me, I’ll have to take out one of your pieces, and your family is just so deliciously human. I’m afraid it would be permanent. 

The riddle wasn’t actually a riddle, and that was the entire point: both the author’s and Void’s. The only reason she knew the answer was because she loved James Joyce. Stiles knew that, so, of course, Void did too. He also knew that she’d know exactly which holly bush to stumble towards in the dark.

She reached the perimeter of a small clearing; the smell of pine and earth layered over the trickle of a shallow rivulet was achingly familiar. Tilting her head, she inched into the open area, wary of its uncanny resemblance to a stage, and came to a stop in front of a large stump nestled between thickets of holly. Even in the dark, her fingers found the clumsy letters chipped into wood by small, marshmallow-sticky hands. 

He had Stiles’s phone, but he hadn’t bothered with the usual needlessly complex charade. She could only assume that meant that this was the trick and she was the punchline.

“The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush,” she broke the disquieting silence when the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled like a rabbit that knew it was about to die. She’d heard a rabbit scream once; nothing ever sounded quite so terrible until she heard Stiles wake up from one of his nightmares. “Clever, but I’m a little young to be your grandma. Aren’t you, like, a zillion years old?” 

The Nogitsune exhaled against the knobs of her spine, his breath revoltingly warm and wet, “You could’ve let me have my dramatic entrance. I ask for so little.”

She pretended that her stomach was not churning and that she was not dying from this, “Sorry, next time a psycho killer asks me out, I’ll know better.” 

He clicked his tongue and slipped his hand over her shoulder, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger in slow, methodical twirls. “You really need to learn to mind your manners, baby; someday that lip of yours is going to get you into trouble,” he chided, mouth resting against the shell of her ear. 

She repressed a shudder and pulled his hand away from her by his wrist. He went surprisingly easy, delicate bones limp in her fingers. For a moment, she just gripped his clammy skin, digging her nails into pale flesh, waiting for him to do something. He didn’t. Void just sighed in her ear and hummed, “I know, baby. It’s just the moon, right? And the stars, and your favorite author in your favorite place with your favorite person—and they say romance is dead.”

It was the audible intake of breath as he smelled the jasmine and honeysuckle in her hair that finally cut through the heady haze swathed around her. She turned around and let go of his arm with a sharp push that sent her stumbling back a few steps. Void narrowed his eyes at her, and his slow smile made her sick, “Did I ruin it? C’mon, I gave you a hint; you tell me what he’d say if he were here.”

 "Is this really why you made me get out of bed at 3:00 am? To roleplay?” she sounded much braver than she felt. 

Void grinned again, all teeth and bad intentions, and she thought of the way Stiles’s eyes looked with his smirk wrapped around her straw as he stole a sip from her cup. It was more vanilla creamer than coffee, and his cheeks had hollowed from the sickening sweetness. She’d wanted to kiss him then for the same reason she wanted to climb on every sculpture that read, ‘look, but do not touch.’ Had that really only been a month ago?

Void slunk forward, agile and lithe like a big cat, and the flash of his smile in the dim light was a scalpel against her throat, “Maybe. Isn’t that why you came to find me in the middle of the night?” He stopped a few inches in front of her and canted his head, “All alone, no wolves or hunters to interrupt us, even though I didn’t tell you to keep it to yourself. You did that all on your own, baby. Such a good girl.” 

His jaw softened slightly, and he rounded his eyes into a twisted mask of pity. He must’ve been able to hear her heart bruising against her ribs; she could feel the echo vibrating her stapes. Her lips parted, but her mouth went cottony when his hand trailed over her collarbone and came to a stop along the slender slope of her throat. “It’s just us now; you can tell me,” his voice was gentle, almost a coo, as his fingers squeezed slightly, thumb pressing into her carotid. “You can pretend it’s him. I won’t mind.” 

“You’d get off on that, huh,” she was horrified to realize that her voice was wet and thick, completely wrecked, like she’d been crying for hours. Void’s eyes, dark and endless, flickered over her face as he sucked in a breath through his teeth—savoring her misery. “Knowing how much I want him—how much I hate you.”

His grip around her neck tightened briefly, but he relaxed his joints after a shallow exhale, struggling to pace himself. Overindulgence, she mused, that was probably his only weakness. “Don’t be like that, baby,” he smoothed his thumb over her pulse and grinned manically when it rabbited under his touch, “you’d get something too, and we both know this is the only way you’re gonna get it.” His wistful sigh stirred the soft hairs framing her face. “The boy doesn’t have much taste, I’m afraid, but I have to admit in this case,” Void’s gaze darted from her panting mouth to her heaving chest as she struggled for meager mouthfuls of air, “it’s worked out splendidly for me.” 

If she could just stop seeing blurry splotches for a moment, maybe she could think of something to do other than gape at him like a fucking fish. At least, she couldn’t quite make out the lines and curves of Stiles’s stolen face like this. He would be so disappointed; the thought struck her in the stomach, and she might have gagged if her trachea had the space for it. He would be so disappointed that she’d been stupid enough to traipse into the forest to play house with a demonic spirit without backup. How? How could you be so fucking stupid? She could hear Stiles screaming at her in her head, almost felt his long fingers pinching her biceps as he tried to shake the stupid out of her. Not how, Stiles. Why. But she could never tell him the why; the why was possibly even more foolish than following the devil in the dark. At the very least, it was infinitely more cliché and endlessly more pathetic.

“I knew you were going to be my favorite.” She felt the words more than she heard them. Void’s dry lips brushed over her cheek, and then he dragged his mouth towards her jaw, more like a taste than a kiss, “I knew you’d be fucking exquisite.” 

Her vision narrowed into pinpricks as his mouth crowded over hers, and with her last grasp of consciousness, she bit down on his lip. Hard. She fell to the ground with the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. Like pennies, she thought faintly as she watched honied amber eyes swim in the night sky, tastes like pennies. 

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

When she finally woke up, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Her throat was rubbed raw with pain, and the left side of her body was sore to the bone. She hissed as she accidentally pressed into a blooming bruise just over her hip. It took her a moment to hone in on the ratty velvet couch and concrete floor: Derek’s loft, then. That was good. If she were dead, she would’ve picked just about anywhere else as the backdrop for her afterlife. 

“You’re awake.” Stiles’s voice was flat, but his eyes were his and only his. 

Her fingers skittered away from her skin to grab at the thin blanket draped over her legs, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Knock much?”

He didn’t look amused; he didn’t even roll his eyes. She had only seen Stiles well and truly angry a few times in her life and never at her. Heat sparked along her spinal column, and no matter how many times she swallowed her throat stayed dry. 

“Look…” she cleared her throat and bit down on her bottom lip, wincing as pain sliced through the flesh—it was split open. When the hell had that happened? Frowning, she licked away the small trickle of blood from the reopened cut and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably, like, five seconds away from laying into me with a hyperbole-heavy lecture, but can you just save it until I’ve taken a few painkillers and iced my fuckin’ knee. Much appresh.” 

“You have no fucking idea what I’m thinking,” his tone was even, almost numb, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. The amber was molten, and her head swam with the desire to burn in it. 

Her leg jittered. “So,” the heel of her foot tapped against the stone floor, shooting aching jolts up her leg to her slightly swollen kneecap, “you aren’t thinking that I’m at least three levels above Jar Jar on the dumbassery scale? Like, it’s Jar Jar, Nedry, Condiment King, Goku, then me.” Her calf throbbed as she rolled her ankle and then pushed her foot up onto the toe of her muddy sneaker, trying to bounce silently. Stiles clocked it immediately. Of course, he did. It was his move.

Sighing, Stiles knelt down so that he wasn’t looming over her anymore and squeezed her unbruised knee until her foot slowed to a stop. “You know it goes: Nedry, Condiment King, you, Goku, and then Jar Jar," he ended his sentence with his hand hovering a few centimeters above your nose.

“Thank god.” The corner of her mouth wobbled as she tried to smile, “I think I hit my head on the way down, though. Possibly lost a few brain cells.”

Stiles winced, and the couch dipped with his weight as he sat down. His thigh was warm against hers. “Let me see,” he gently parted her hair, long fingers gently searching for any blood or bumps. She couldn't help but notice his mouth when he was this close; it was puffy and pink, most likely from using it as a chew toy while pacing a hole in the floor. She was frozen, paralyzed with wanting.

Her chest stuttered as her breath hitched. “You’re supposed to say somethin’ like, ‘Oh no, you didn’t have that many to begin with,’ or, ‘What will your other one have to fight with now,’” her voice was high and breathy, but she hoped he’d just write it off as pain or being slightly-concussed. 

Stiles managed a weak smile until he accidentally pressed into a tender spot on the side of her head. She sucked in sharply, air whooshing between her teeth, and he immediately reached for her with his other hand. Like it was instinct. Like it was the only thing he knew. Stiles threaded their fingers together and squeezed as he carefully brushed the pad of his thumb over the same spot on her scalp, “There?”

“Mhm,” she was breathless, grateful he was intensely focused on the shallow cut just above her ear so that he couldn't see the wild look in her eyes.

“What did he…” Stiles licked over his teeth, grimacing, and stared at the pronounced veins in his pale wrist, “what did he say when he…had you…like that?” The words sounded painful, like barbed wire raking over his tongue. He couldn’t look at her; she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

“Oh you know,” she hoped he couldn’t feel her heartbeat where his fingers were pressed against her skull, “the usual maniacal, narcissistic rambling.” She lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch even though it tugged at her bruised windpipe, “‘I’m what killed the dinosaurs. I’m inevitable.’ All the final boss monologuing clichés.” 

Stiles searched her face for something. She smiled a little, and his responding smile was just as small, just as tired, but he seemed satisfied with her expression. He sat back and withdrew his hand from her hair, but he kept his thigh needlessly close to feel the warmth, the blood flow, the undeniable proof that she was here. “He Thanosed you?” Stiles arched a brow and dropped his arm over the back of the couch behind her head—close, but never close enough. Always a few inches away from where she wanted him.

“He did live in your head for a while there,” she sighed softly and drooped a bit into his side, chasing his body heat like a cat, curling in on him like a comma. 

Stiles hummed a little in recognition, drumming his fingers in a soft pitter-patter just behind her shoulder. “And that’s everything? He didn’t…that’s it?” 

She looked over at him. His jaw was tight and so were the tendons in his neck as he bit at his raw cuticles, on the verge of shaking or puking. His cheek fit perfectly in her palm, and she wanted him so badly she might split in two, “That’s it.”

[dianneking]

The Bet - Brienne/Reader bookshop AU

Hi dears, in case you wanted some trashy, slightly angsty romance bookshop AU starring none other than the majestic Brienne of Tarth as well as yourself...well, look no further cause you're in the right place! It is with great pleasure that I present you

The Bet

Tags: Alternate Universe - Bookshop, Out of character, Angst with a happy ending, POV second person, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Misunderstanding, Panic Attacks, Hints of past violence, Swearing. Word count: 5423.

AO3 link in the title above.

"Hello?" 

You did a double take when you lifted your eyes from the monitor. You didn't mean to, but the woman in front of you was not the kind of person that usually found her way to your tiny bookshop. 

She was...well, she was imposing , to begin with: taller than you'd ever seen a woman be, with broad shoulders that the t-shirt she was wearing did nothing to hide...and she looked clearly out of her environment among the shelves, standing with her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped in front of her, shifting from foot to foot, a frown taking over her face the more and more you looked at her without saying anything. As if she was waiting for your reply...

Oh!

Right.

"Oh uhm sorry, yes? Uh hi, welcome! What brings you to our bookshop today?" You cringed at your own awkwardness, but her expression didn't change too much from her frown.

"I lost a bet."

"A...bet?" Well this was unexpected. Surely your little shop was not so scary that getting into it was a dare? And this woman in front of you looked as if she'd be afraid of very little. She looked more disgruntled than scared anyways, light eyebrows corrugating over those piercing, beautiful blue eyes, lips pressing together as her nostrils flared out. She looked like the type of woman who spends more time in a gym than in a bookshop but apart from that, you had no idea what kind of bet would bring her here. Not that you were complaining. 

"Yes. I lost a bet and now I have to buy a book here. Surely you can provide me with one." She enunciated, as if she was talking to the dumbest person alive. You didn't care. Her accent was melting your insides into a pile of goo. 

I'd like to provide you with my number , your mind dreamily suggested as a reply, but you squashed it ruthlessly down. Not every woman with muscles is interested in other women, you reminded yourself. And even if she were, it didn't follow that she would be interested in you , anyway - the woman was the definition of Out Of Your League, with her short blonde hair, her chiseled jaw, her strong arms crossed on her chest…and you had lost your train of thought once again. 

"Hmmmm yes sure. Uhm not a fan of reading?" She bristled as if you had insulted her.

"Of course I read .” She scoffed “I make time to read daily. I simply don't waste my time with all of this..." she gestured around her, vaguely including the manga section and the horror shelves in her speech "...this fiction ." She spat the word as if it had offended her by its own existence.

Right.

If you had to be completely honest, if it had been anyone else insulting your beloved books, you'd have been all up in their faces. These weren't just books, they were your babies, your companions during the long days at work and your even longer sleepless nights, they were your best friends in a way no human ever could aspire to be. From the moment you had understood that in those pages lied countless stories, adventures you could partake in, emotions you had never felt, you were in love with reading already.

That's why you were working here, day after day, smiling up at the shelves filled to the brim, cursing the paperwork and cleaning and everything that kept you away from cracking open the newest release and losing yourself in its pages.

You loved your job because you loved books.

So anyone insulting your papery companions would be treated to your Cold Stare™ and Dismissive Attitude™.

And yet...you guessed this woman was clearly misguided in her dismissing all fiction with such a sneer. The fact that her sneer was so damn attractive didn't absolutely play any role in your sudden conciliatory attitude. Absolutely not. Nuh-huh. Not at all.

"Hello? Are you still there?" 

Well, fuck. Daydreaming of a client when they are in front of you. Great way to appear professional, and to make a good first impression on a gorgeous first-time client.

"Huh. Yeah, uhm sorry, I was thinking of possible recommendations that would suit your needs. What are your general interests?" You tried to patch things up only to be once again met with her frown.

"That is a useless endeavor. I will not enjoy wasting my time reading it anyways. Just give me one." 

"But you will read it?" 

"Of course! I did give my word."

Her word . Who said that nowadays? Giving your word? That was the stuff of old, of knights, of epic tales of heroism, of... fiction .

Oh.

You might have the right book for this hard, formal, stunning woman.

You stood up, surprising her with your sudden movement, but you didn't notice the way her eyebrows shot up, nor the way her eyes followed you as you made your way to the book, rising to your tiptoes to reach it.

You presented it to her like a hunter presents their caught prey.

"This." 

She gingerly caught it between her fingers, as if it could bite her, or worse, contaminate her with the debauchery of reading for pleasure.

"This?" 

"You'll like it." 

"Haven't you listened? I said I don't like fiction."

"I heard you. You didn't say you don't like it. You said you don't read it." You didn't even know where the confidence came from, but you were sure. This was the right book for her.

She seemed to be surprised by it. Surprised enough to give up her fight with a huff. 

"I guess I might as well get this since you're so sure about it." 

She started skimming the first pages as you rang it up for her, and you could see her frown slightly easing up.

You hid your smile, feeling it pulling at the corners of your mind as she absent-mindedly handed you her card, paid and wandered out the shop, her nose still in the book.

____

"So about that little bet we had, did you get the book?" 

Brienne didn't like admitting she was wrong. She sure as shit wouldn't admit that to Jaime of all people. She wouldn't hear the end of it.

But no matter all of her misgivings, she was enjoying that book. The plot had captivated her against her will, and more than one time she had found herself up until the early morning hours glued to the pages, lost in the description of adventures that had never happened if not in the fantasy of the author.

Such a far cry from her usual dry, factual fare of nonfiction books. Boring , some would call them, practical , she’d counter. You see, Brienne was a practical woman and she happened to like that about herself. And if people found her boring, it was their fault, not her own.

"Yes, I did get that" she replied in a bored tone, hiding her excitement below her well-polished mask.

She thought of the excitement on your face as you got the idea of suggesting this book to her. Of how smug you had looked when handing her the volume.

So sure she'd like it. And the most shocking aspect of it all was the fact that she did. 

And maybe, maybe in the privacy of her own mind she could admit to herself that she also thought of the way your shirt had risen as you reached for the book, exposing a sliver of your midriff as it did so. And the way your eyes had sparkled when you had handed her the novel, challenge and amusement and confidence mixing in your gaze. 

She had liked that too, just like the book, and just like the book she had liked it almost against her better judgment.

________

"How did you do it?"

Your heart skipped a beat as she charged into the shop, the bell ringing behind her long after she had entered, a thunderous frown on her face, the copy of the book she had purchased from you tightly held in her slender yet strong fingers.

She had gorgeous hands too…some people were just blessed with beauty, you thought. And you were blessed with being able to see and talk to such beauty.

The smile that climbed to your face was not your usual customer service one, but a warmer one, a special one just for her.

"So, did you like it?" 

She looked taken aback at your warmth, and you could see the faint beginning of a blush on her cheeks.

"I did, if you must know it!" She looked offended at the very thought. It was adorable.

"Oh I am so glad to hear that! The author is an emerging one, only has another one published, if you liked their style you might enjoy this too!"

"What for?"

"Why, as your next fiction book, of course. Isn't that why you came back?"

"I…maybe."

This time your smile got a definite hint of smugness in it.

"Are you going to fight me over this one too? Should I dare you to read this as well?"

"Listen here, don't get cocky. You just got lucky there. It won't happen again."

It did.

As a matter of fact it kept happening, and you fell into a sort of beautiful bookish routine. Depending on how long the book was and how busy she was, your favorite client would grace your shop with her presence once every couple of weeks or more, always putting up an offended front at having liked the fiction book you had suggested and yet always asking for another one.

Slowly but steadily she would start opening up about what she liked in them, allowing you to start collecting tidbits of information about her as well - she loved historical fiction, and fantasy too. She wasn't so keen on sci-fi and urban fantasy unless the plot was somehow worth it. She loved strong female main characters and complex character arcs. 

During the day she was kept busy from her work (law enforcement, she told you on one occasion, and didn’t go in more detail, you wondered if she was just a regular cop or maybe something cooler), but she found time to read in the evenings ("Mornings are absolutely for working out, no way I am skipping that for a book. Even if it is a good one.” she had stated, as if it was the law, and you had nodded dumbly, once again mesmerized by the intensity of her gaze, even if you woke up with a book and read it during breakfast and on the commute to the shop and couldn’t think of a better way to start the day). 

_______

“And I loved the world building in this one, the interaction between the characters, and I can't wait to read the second part and understand where these mechanical enemies are originating from!” 

You looked up at her as she agitatedly waved her copy of Clockwork Boys in the air, trying to express how much she had enjoyed it. You found it hard to believe how different she was from the hard, reluctant person that had first set foot in your shop. Mesmerizing. Just as she was. 

Suddenly you felt brave, braver than you'd ever thought you could be.

“In two weeks the author is going to be at our local book fair, if you'd like…maybe we could…go together?” you stumbled on your words a little and you could feel your cheeks getting hotter but that didn't change the fact that you had managed to ask your crush out!! 

And she didn't say no! She looked a bit stunned for a second but then she ran her free hand through her hair (oh it looked so soft and silky, you wanted to bury your hands in it too).

“Sure! Is it going to be Tuesday in two weeks, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Had she just…?

“Cool, I have the day off anyways, so it works like a charm.” She… She…

While your brain was still reeling, unable to process the fact that she had said yes , she grabbed the stack of post-its and pen and started jotting down something.

You blinked at her, unsure of what to make of the string of numbers you were seeing until she straightened up and handed you the sticky note with a…was it a shy smile pulling her lips up? Her eyes had never looked so big before, of that you were sure.

You looked at the sticky note. It was a pink one, and you had to resist the childish urge to draw hearts all around the numbers. You just were so happy! You thought as you went to save it into your phone, only belatedly noticing a glaring tactical error on your side. 

You still didn't know her name!

You felt like hitting your forehead on the desk. How was this even a thing? Who doesn't know their crush’s name? You, that's who. Too busy ogling her and inviting her to book fairs to remember to ask her her frickin name! 

Hehe. But you did ask her out and she did say yes. That had to count for something, right?

You looked down at your phone and then typed up “ My Knight 🩷 ” in the name field, struggling to contain the giggle that threatened to escape your lips. In another world she would have totally been a proud knight, protecting the defenseless and fighting for justice, you were sure of it. And she would have looked gorgeous in armor. 

Tomorrow, you told yourself. You'd text her to work things out tomorrow. Surely you could resist that long. The fair was ages away anyway. You could resist a handful of hours to avoid seeming desperate, surely you could.

You texted her that same night, of course. 

But she did reply almost instantly, and you managed to start a conversation beyond the bare minimum details of your…was it a date? It had to be a date, right?

She told you about her dinner, and how she had already started on the sequel of the book she had just finished. You could almost feel her excitement through the message.

You fell asleep with your phone beside you on the pillow, dreaming of soft blonde hair and armor  and book fair dates. 

____________

"Are you the one who's been selling Brienne fiction?" 

You were pretty sure you had never seen the man who had just entered your shop as if he owned it. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"You know, Brienne? Tall, blonde? Hates all fiction books except the ones you've been selling her?" 

So that was your knight's name! And what a roundabout way to learn it! Just like in the best novels, it seemed that you had been spared the humiliation of asking her for her name after you’d known each other for months. 

Brienne.

You liked the way it sounded. 

Brienne.

It sounded like the name of a warrior, a strong, hard-headed and hard-working woman who'd stop at nothing to achieve her dreams. A knight. 

“I am Jaime by the way, nice to meet you. So are you the one?" He offered you his hand, you took it mechanically, trying to answer his question without giving too much away. Your knight’s reading habits were none of this dude’s business,that’s for sure.

"I don't know if I am the only one. Maybe she just doesn't tell you about all the fiction she enjoys."

"Nice try to defend her honor. I see why she likes you."

She liked you?

Butterflies erupted in your stomach and it took all of your self-control to avoid bursting into a happy dance.

She liked you!! Shelikedyoushelikedyou.

She liked you. 

She liked you.

She liked you !

The man in front of you kept talking, oblivious to the cheering going on within your brain.

"Listen, I know Brienne, okay? She's a lovely girl but I had to bet with her to make her unwind enough to consider reading something for pleasure."

“Well she probably didn't find the right book until now.”

“Or the right book dealer… so are you hers or not?” 

"Maybe I am…But why do you want to know that?"

“Well if you were , I'd owe you a huge thanks and possibly a round of drinks, cause she's been in a downright good mood for the past months, and especially in the past week or so. As her partner, I spend most of the day with her, and believe me, I am beyond grateful for the change.”

Oh.

Her…

Oh.

Of course.

Of course she had a boyfriend. No, a partner. That's even more committed, right?You had been so stupid. Stupid and stupidly hopeful. So hopeful and you'd once again mistaken friendship for something else, just like you did so many times in the past. 

You tried to swallow around that piece of news, you kept on a brave face while he still waffled about something or something else, but you had no idea what he was talking about.Nor did you care, all the joy that had taken over you had just as quickly dissolved, leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You didn't remember him leaving, but you knew that you were quick to lock the door after him and close up shop.Only then, surrounded by your beloved books, you allowed yourself to break down and cry all of your tears.

____________

You didn't cancel on Brienne, even if a part of you wanted to do nothing but stay home and mope. Yet you were sure you'd regret it for the rest of your life if you didn't go. 

And she had looked so happy when you had invited her. She probably didn't have a lot of female friends, you thought. When she talked of her hobbies, it had always been things that she did on her own. Working out, reading, jogging. 

She was probably glad to have some company. Someone to talk to that she vibed with. That was that. It had always been that, and you reading more into it didn't change the harsh truth.

Your heart was beating faster when you pulled up to the parking lot of the venue, but it was more due to trepidation than happiness. You had been preparing yourself mentally for a bookish date with your crush, not for…an outing with a friend. You weren't sure how to behave now, your mind too busy going through every single interaction the two of you had had, dissecting each word, each smile, each playful joke at each other's expense. When did you start thinking you could have a chance? At what point had your hopes become delusions?

Your phone started buzzing as you got out of the car. “My Knight 🩷” appeared on the screen, and you had to swallow against a hard knot. 

You know you should have changed the name. You knew her name now, and she most definitely wasn't your knight. And yet…you still hadn't.

With a sigh, you picked up, trying to be optimistic despite the dread pooling in your stomach. You could do this. Friends. You could hang out with your friend that just happened to be the hottest woman you'd ever seen. It was going to be okay. 

_____

It was not okay. 

It was anything but okay. 

Who thought that Brienne was going to be the kind of straight girl that gets all touchy-feely with her female friends? She had hugged you when you two met up and you thought you would die on the spot, surrounded by her arms and her perfume and the happiness of her voice.

And then as you walked through the venue, weaving through the stands, checking out books (you couldn't remember a single one you'd seen, preoccupied as you were with your companion) her hand kept finding excuses to touch you, once on the shoulder to get your attention, once wrapping around your elbow to direct you to a certain stand, once simply splayed on your back as you discussed cover designs.

It was torture. Every time her warm hands touched you, your heart would start racing, still stubborn in its hopefulness. But then you’d remember that it was all in your head and your heart would painfully constrict because oh it would have been so nice if it had just been true.

By the time you sat down in the auditorium where the author panel was about to start, you were a jittering mess. 

You kept replaying each interaction you had with Brienne, trying to rationally explain to your heart why, even if it might seem like she was coming onto you, she had a boyfriend and therefore it had to be her way of being friendly. 

Yes, even when she placed her hand squarely on your knee as the authors started their introductions.

To be honest you weren't sure what had been said at the panel. You mechanically laughed when you felt others do the same, and studied Brienne’s profile out of the corner of your eye. She had a soft smile on her face. As if she was enjoying herself. As if there was nothing wrong with the way her hand was resting on your leg, absentmindedly stroking lazy patterns with her thumb. Driving you mad. 

You were so engrossed in your thoughts and in her touch that you hadn't even noticed that the panel had ended, and most of the spectators had filed away, leaving the two of you alone in the auditorium.

You did notice Brienne shifting in her seat to turn towards you. Mainly because that caused her hand to climb slightly up your leg, putting it decidedly in the thigh area. Clearly an oversight on her part, but you could feel your breathing getting slightly quicker, and looking up to see her stunning eyes trained on you with laser-sharp focus didn't help you with that.

How unfair.

How terribly unfair for her to be so close, and yet unreachable.

How crushing that her hand, searing hot on your thigh, was not a promise of something more.

How sad that you'd never get to kiss those lips even if they were getting closer as Brienne leaned towards you…you could see her blonde lashes fluttering slightly, the small scar on her upper lip, her breath light on your face…

Suddenly she was too close.

Your heart jumped in your throat, and it felt like it had cut off all of your air supply. 

There was a ringing in your ears, and your skin was crawling hot and cold at the same time. 

You could see the little scar on her lip almost flickering, as your vision swam with black, and you knew without any doubt that you had to 

GET OUT OF HERE!! 

______

"So this is where you've been hiding." Brienne's voice was not warm anymore. You guiltily looked up at her from your spot on the bench. She wasn't smiling at you anymore and you wanted to hit yourself for that. It wasn't her fault that you had misunderstood all of her cues and kept seeing what your wishful thinking desired, and yet she had been the one to go through the pains of searching for you while you hid away to work your way down your panic attack.

She sat down beside you, a heavy sigh on her lips.

"I need to ask you something."

Oh. There it comes, you thought. The direct questioning that preceded the gentle let down. The 'I'm flattered but I don't feel the same' speech. As if you had never heard it before. Your heart remembered the pain as if it had been yesterday, and valiantly tried to brace itself for the inevitable rejection.

"Why?"

Huh? That…that was not what you expected her to start with, but she kept talking, and you had no choice but listen. "Why ask me out if you're so clearly uncomfortable with me? Is this some sick joke? It wasn't enough to prove me wrong over and over again? You wanted to humiliate me, too?" 

You could only stare open-mouthed at Brienne as she rained down harsh words on you, anger and pain mixing on her face. She was so beautiful. Even when angry. She looked like a vengeful angel, the righteous hand of God, coming to punish you for daring to hope too much .

"I-I'm sorry." You tried to explain yourself, but she didn't let you, her voice hard and cutting and relentless.

" You are sorry ? Is that all you can say? That's not enough for me. Especially when it's clearly bullshit. Do you think that's the first time people make fun of me? That someone thinks that going out with Brienne The Beauty is the funniest prank on Earth? Did you do it for a laugh, hm? Didn't expect me to say yes when you asked?" 

"No, actually I did not."

"You! The fucking nerv-"

"I didn't dare to hope you'd say yes because you're out of my league!" 

A stunned silence met your words. You didn't know where the strength to interrupt her came from but you had to. You couldn't let her go on thinking you had asked her out to make fun of her or something. And once you started talking, you couldn't help yourself. The truth had to come out, so you pushed on: "Which clearly you are. But you said yes and I…Brienne, I am so sorry. I tend to live in my head and you were so nice to me and I thought…but clearly I shouldn't have. Thank goodness Jaime told me before I made a fool of myself. Which apparently I still did. Fuck. I am sorry for that, I promise you I am enjoying myself today and I am sorry I am awkward and I understand if you don't want to see me anymore after this." 

"Jaime? What does he have to do with all of this? Did…did he set you up to do this?" You could hear the betrayal seeping in her voice and you couldn't bear it. If you couldn't have her, at least you could do your best not to have her break up with her boyfriend over a huge mess of a misunderstanding that you did all by yourself. By thinking you had a chance with this goddess.

Better if she hated you instead. Which she would do anyways. If she didn't already.

"No. Nono he's been nothing but friendly. He just dropped by the shop because he was curious about the books you've been reading." 

"Then why did you bring him up?"

"I didn't know, okay? When I asked you to come here, I didn't know."

"What didn't you know?" Oh she wasn't making it easy on you, was she? 

"I thought…I thought you might be interested in me - which I now realize is ridiculous. That's why I asked you out. I asked you and you said yes and you gave me your number and I thought it meant…I swear I didn't know! But then he told me and now I can't help but be awkward because I had thought this was a date and now it's not and I didn't want to ruin it for you which I guess I did anyways. I swear I didn't know when I asked you."

" Know what ? What did Jaime tell you?"

"That he's your…That you're his…That you two are together. Which makes sense, because you are so well assorted and you look perfect for each other and I am sure he can make you happy in ways that–" 

"WHAT?" The roar that came out of Brienne's mouth was almost feral.

"What 'what'?" You babbled back. You looked worriedly at her shaking hands. You knew she was going to be angry at you once she found out about your silly crush. But you still hoped she wouldn't hit you or something. She didn't seem like she'd be the type to take out her anger on you but…but those hands looked like weapons, clenched as they were into tight fists. 

"WHAT DID HE TELL YOU?"

You flinched away. You couldn't help it. The loud angry voice booming next to you, the hand shooting out towards your shoulder…you flinched away, your hands instinctively coming up to shield your face. Trying to make yourself as small as possible. Just as instinctively, apologies started dropping out of your mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" 

Silence.

Well, not really silence but the soothing pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof above you. 

But no words.

No more loud anger.

And no new pain blooming on your body.

You dared to open your eyes and peer beyond your hands. 

Brienne…well, she was beautiful, as always. But she was also white as a sheet, her deep, blue, stunning eyes wide open and bright with unshed tears. Her whole face a mask of hurt as her gaze took in your shape, as far away from her as the small bench allowed you. Her hand was still in the air, but it had lost all the strength, it was just hanging, palm half-opened towards you as if to show you it was harmless. When she spoke, her voice was little more than a broken whisper.

"I…I wasn't going to hit you."

"I…huh…I'm sorry."

She sighed and straightened in her seat, tearing her eyes away from you to settle them on her hands, now clenched in her lap. Her back was once again ramrod straight. Just as she probably was , your mind cruelly reminded you.

"No. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, to make you think that I was…unsafe. I guess that with how I look, it's an easy assumption to make."

"Beautiful."

"I'm sorry?" 

"You said 'with how I look' and that's beautiful. You're beautiful, Brienne. He's a really lucky man."

It wasn't her fault and you knew it. You couldn't blame her for this huge misunderstanding, you couldn't let her think that she or her appearance was to blame for your reactions.

You put your hand on top of hers, trying to get her eyes back on you, to show her how truthful you were. Her hands were so cold. She still didn't look at you.

"He…We huh we're not together together." Her whisper was so soft that you thought you had misheard.

You had to. 

"I'm sorry?"

"Jaime and I are not together." 

"You two…are not?"

"No! I don't know why he would…wait. What did he say? What were his words?"

"Huhhh I don't remember exactly. He said something about you being his partner." You tried to keep the accusation out of your voice. She didn't seem like the type to try to cheat on her partner, denying she was in a relationship at all. Gaslighting you for her own ends. And yet, you didn't dare to hope that…

"Oh for fuck's sake! Is this where all of this came from? He's my work partner . Not my romantic partner!"

"Your… oh . Fuck."

"Yes, fuck. And since we're on the subject, when you asked me, I thought it was going to be a date as well, that's why I gave you my number!! But then we were here and you kept avoiding me and you tensed up every time I touched you and when I tried to kiss you you just ran away and I thought…I don't know what I thought."

"Could you maybe…try that again?"

"Try what?"

"To kiss me. I promise I won't run away this time. Or have a panic attack."

"Just like that? That's not how it's done! The moment must be right and mmmmph–"

You didn't let her finish her sentence. You threw yourself at her, lips on lips, slightly smashing your noses together in your haste. 

But neither of you cared, lips moving against each other, her hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck, and both of yours coming up to cradle her face. You didn’t care, because unbeknownst to the other, each one of you had dreamed of this moment so many times, and yet now that it was happening it was better than any fantasy. 

Comments are always welcome. If you want to read more of my fanfictions, here's my masterlist.

[felibrary]

COLUMBA

synopsis: rainbow roses represent love and passion. similar to the feelings you’ve harbored for lyney ever since the two of you were children, feelings full of determination and tenderness.you take the initiative to confess your feelings,  the cards are already laid out on the table, the choices have already been written out and decided. besides one: the one that reveals lyneys response. how will he react?

✧ pairing: lyney x reader | wordcount: 2.1k | content and warnings: fluff, angst, confessing feelings | prompt: unrequited love | oneshot

✧ authors note: i might dislike this one even more than the "wish you were sober" one... this one's just so much more choppier</3

✧ tags: @azullumi

event: STARCROSSED 2024

“and a rainbow rose for you!” 

the sly magician winks at you as he reaches out his gloved hand to yours. lyneys slender fingers are gracefully wrapped around the stem of the colorful flower. he looks at you, eyes full of anticipation as he awaits your reaction. 

his eyes twinkle like an amethyst - a gem that gleams and reflects the fluorescent light as it gets shone upon, presenting the purity that lies hidden beneath the depths of the pair of eyes. the irises that are drenched in a deep purple glint with a certain shimmer that you can’t quite make out. if you were to take a guess you’d say that they look hopeful, buoyant, almost fond. 

seriously, who were you to deny him? his smile is probably worth a fortune, it’s blithe practically dreamy. the ash blond is undeniably a beauty among the nation of justice - a seraphic seashell that lies buried in the fine sand, easily seeping through the tiny gaps of the palms as it is held with utter care. petite sand corns disappearing out of sight and the only object that remains in the hands is the mussel. 

it basks in the radiant sunlight and the sand that slipped out of the grasp of the fingers can only watch in envy, as the seashell continues to relish in the gentleness of the person who discovered it. the one who is allowed to see its beauty and all the secrets that are kept sealed beneath.

amid the vague living room light, lyney continues to shine as elegant as ever. his stage presence long-forgotten, revealing his true nature to you, the lyney whom you know, the one whom you grew up with, the one who makes your heart race. the lyney that shows himself to the outside world is simply just the celebrated magician of the court of fontaine but there was much more to lyney, so much more. 

to the people of fontaine he’s like the backside of a playing card, unaware of the image, the number, the symbol that is imprinted on it. but that’s not the case for you. unlike them you know lyney like the back of your hand. the two of you grew up together at the house of the hearth. under the care of father with lynette, freminet and the other children that resided there. 

no matter how many times lyney and lynette tried to trick you with one of their new learned magic tricks, you’ve always seen through them. nevertheless you weren’t able to deny that they were really impressive, especially for children of such a young age. naturally, over the years he grew up to be a grand magician, not only wrapping the audience that was seated in the rich red places in the court around his fingers, but also you. luring you in by coaxing mellow praises into your ear and simple gestures like this one, offering you a rainbow rose a day before a performance. 

an action that never fails to make you swoon.

his incandescent eyes, the ones that glow like a vibrant glass shard that got swept to the shore by the tide, his million dollar smile that is plastered on his pale face, they are the traits that make lyney look simply irresistible. 

(you don't think you could ever reject lyneys advances, after all you’ve already fallen far too deep into the bottomless abyss, also known as love, to search for your path out.)

right now, at this moment you think lyney looks absolutely majestic, heavenly even. taking a snapshot of this wouldn’t be enough to capture the beauty of lyney. neither would a portrait do the job well. the movements of the paintbrush are delicate, swiftly moving around the canvas, but they’re not enough. no matter how many brushstrokes were to be painted, they still wouldn’t be enough. 

(either way he’d outshine every other painting that gets hung next to his. he’s the muse that will always be out of everyone's reach.) 

simply because lyneys beauty, his bare nature, is something to keep etched into your mind, engraving it onto stone so that it will never fade or wash away, no matter the circumstances.

you reciprocate his action, accepting the flower. grasping the rainbow rose carefully, so that the stem doesn’t crinkle and eventually falls into two pieces or the blossom loses its petals. “my, what’s the occasion?” a performance awaits the folk of fontaine tomorrow. you already knew the answer, but, nevertheless you question him. lyneys honeyed voice is a sound you’ll never get tired of. listening to him as he talks never feels like a chore, rather, it feels like a voluntary course that isn’t important at all. but nevertheless you stick around, to not miss what others don't get to see.

“well, as you might already know, a performance awaits the folk of fontaine tomorrow.” the magician responds. you can only chuckle at that, predicting lyney has always been easy for you. 

“is that so? i can't wait.” you give him a small grin and take another peek at the flower. beautiful, you think to yourself as you look up to lyney once again. the corners of your mouth curve into a content smile. lyney stares right back at you and does the same, giving you a bright grin in return that makes your heart pump quickly. 

the brightness of lyneys smile competes with the one of the sun, it’s warm and welcoming. it works wonders like medicine, soothing and curing your wounds with a simple grin. lyney is out of this world, he's charismatic, making you fall for him head over heels. fun to be around, always making you laugh over stupid jokes. and not to mention caring. 

the first two buttons of his white dress shirt are unbuttoned, showing off his delicate collarbone. lyney was never particularly muscular, rather, he had a quite slender build.

“i’ve never put much effort into my physical training as in my shows. after all, i have an audience to bewitch with magic tricks, not my body."  you recall his words and the giggle he let out after.

some strands of his ash blonde hair are out of place, including his dyed one. his maroon colored hair slightly stands out, but you don’t mind, it's similar to the color of a maple leaf, vivid and lively. flying through the wind, admired by passersby as it floats around in the air. out of reach until someone takes the chance to grab it. 

“by the way, where’s the thank you?” lyney jokes in an offended manner. his sultry voice snapping you out of your former haze. 

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side.

“for the flower.” he points at the rose with his gloved finger. 

“ah, right. thanks a lot, it's really pretty.” you thank him by giving him another smile. before casting your gaze down to the rose again, admiring the colorful petals as you remember charlotte's words. 

“for example, magicians often use “rainbow roses” in their flower related performances to represent passion and romantic encounters.” her words stuck to you like a millstone around one’s neck. surely lyney knows what they mean, he’s not unaware what they symbolize right?

it makes you wonder if lyney is aware of your feelings, and possibly even returns them. lyney has always had a keen eye for the beauty of this world, attentively swaying his gaze around and admiring the elegance that lies within each individual. did lyney also see that kind of beauty in you? one that goes even further down, reaching into the inescapable depths. but then he’d face the ugliness that slummers at the bottom, despite that, how is lyney able to love you? 

for you the beauty of this planet has always been lyney. he’s the sun that you bask in, relishing in its warmth as the sun tendrils place delicate kisses on your body. the water that engulfs your body, plattering against your limbs and makes you feel refreshed. he’s the blood that runs through your veins, the one that makes you function properly.  

the question still lingers in the air: does lyney reciprocate your feelings? 

your grip around the rose is tight, fearing that it might slip out of your grasp when you’re inattentive and losing it. you watch lyney make his way to the stage, the crowd already awaits their renowned magician, waiting in and staring in awe as he performs another unpredictable magic trick. 

the air is thick, the tension increases at every passing second, for both you and the crowd. if lyney takes another step, you’ll lose the lyney you know, your lyney. instead you’ll have to watch as he takes up on his persona, even if it’s only for a mere hour, it always feels like an eternity to you, until you get to see the lyney whom you love again. 

besides the sound of lyney who was shuffling his cards thoroughly once again, it was dead silent.

“nervous?” lyney looks up to you, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“huh?” you’re confused, what is he implying.

“the way you fiddle with your fingers.” he points at your hands with one of the cards, a red heart you notice. “you only do that when you're anxious.” lyney says. “come on, tell me what’s wrong, you know that i’m always here for you, right?” he gives you a reassuring smile, a genuine smile that isn’t there to satisfy his guests. 

sometimes you forget how easy it is for lyney to see right through you. you nod as a response to his observation. “yeah, ironic isn't it? i’m nervous even though you’re the one who’ll enter the stage at any given moment now.” you try to sound steady, trying to convince yourself. but your voice betrays you, it quivers.

“aww.” lyney coos at you. “you know i hate that expression on you, do you not?” the ash blond sighs dramatically, purple eyes still maintaining eye contact, a fond shadow casting over his pupils. “how am i supposed to go out and present, knowing that my best friend is dying from nervousness.” he jokes, shaking his head. before he looks up at you once again with a look that says “don’t worry.”

best friend. 

“lyney.“ you try to gather your courage, how does one confess their feelings to the person whom they adore?  lyney smiles at you “yeah? i’m all ears.”

“lyney, you’re probably already aware of my feelings. but i really like you.  i love you. i've loved you ever since we got introduced to one another, ever since we were children.” you don’t dare to look him into his eyes, too embarrassed by your confession just now. you play with the fabric of your freshly ironed shirt a bit, to distract yourself, as you await lyneys reactions.

“archons, since when were you this sentimental?” lyney laughs out. “that’s what you were afraid of telling me?” he takes a few steps so that he stands in front of you now. “gotten all shy now?” the magician teases before patting your head. the action makes you look up, greeted by lyneys smile . “i love you too. youre like another sibling to me.” he slightly tilts his head to the side. "even though we’re not blood related, it just feels like we’re family, don’t you think?”

“no! lyney that's not what i-” you protest but you get cut off by the announcement.

“and now ladies and gentlemen, presenting fontaines renowned duo, mr. lyney and ms. lynette! a big applause please!” 

“ah!” lyney looks behind him where everything was already set up and put in place. “i suppose that is my sign to leave. farewell!” he inches away from you. “let’s reunite after the show, shall we?” he winks at you and bids you goodbye before rushing off to make his way over to the stage.

you remain glued to the floor, frozen in place after you’ve just gotten rejected. you hope this is just another one of lyneys antics, a joke that he will later on reveal as faux and tell you that he reciprocates your feelings. but you know that he won't. yes, perhaps lyney is a liar, a good one at that. he has lied to a dozen people before, but never once to you. 

the rainbow rose in your head shines vividly in the dim lightning, its petals making it glow beautifully. you’re not sure what came over you, frustration, regret, remorse. you’re not certain. the petals that were once finely attached to the pistil, will be gone, you rip the petals off, one by one.

he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

e/n: "i got sibling-zoned." "that's rough buddy."

[artuurle]

I think I might have missed a post or something so sorry if like a billion people asked this before but what happened to Thespius? Did he just up and leave or did the grief eat him up?

I tag all of my posts on LaL au under the tag (#ggg Love and loss au), so if you worry you may have missed something you can always check with that tag on my blog! Though in this case you haven't missed anything! I purposefully kept it vague On exactly what happened with Thespius since in the Au nobody really knows what happened to him. The gods stopped seeing him right after Cliff's death because he shut himself inside his own realm and refused anyone entry; and Cliff never went to investigate where Thespius went when he disappeared because he assumed he upset the god. Only a week after Cliff last saw him is when Huzzle is finally able to enter Thespius's realm to investigate, finding the revived human.

Though I'll let you in on a secret. He never left.

Grief and guilt didn't just eat him up. It swallowed him whole.

[croquis-el]

Differences in localization and the original pt.2

I noticed that you liked this topic, so I continue (I am very pleased to read your comments and tags)

Disclaimer (just in case): these posts will be written solely for the purpose of familiarization; I do not force anyone to play the game in Japanese, because you are free to choose the version of the game that is comfortable for you.

Today's post will be entirely dedicated to one case that made Hodo cringe as much as possible - Turnabout Big Top

Here, for some reason, they decided to get this for that (in every second phrase). Brace yourself, we are starting.

___________________________________________

Maximillion Galactica

No, his name is fine (it was kept from the original), but his exclamations were replaced with synonyms (why bother?)

In the Japanese version, for Max, everything is "gorgeous", and all good people are "honey"

ゴージャス! まさに、そのとおり!

Gōjasu! Masani, sono tōri!

Gorgeous! That's exactly what it sounds like!

フッフッフッ････。 よろしくたのむよ、ハニイ。

fuffuffu~tsu. Yoroshiku tanomu yo, hanii.

Hehehe... Nice to meet you, honey.

(ハニイ････って、 ぼくのことか?)

(hanii tte, boku no koto ka? )

(Honey... are you talking about me?)

In the localization: everything is "fabulous" and "sweetie"

Copy the homework, but not word for word, okay? So we have one text for both of us!

___________________________________________

Naruhodo's Hairstyle

We will all agree that Hodo's haircut is very expressive and memorable (thanks to his ancestors - Ryunosuke - for his unruly hair). Which creates a flight of fancy for the nicknames that Hodo is given.

In the original, Max (like many others) calls Naruhodo "hedgehog"

さあ、ハニイ。そんな ハリネズミはほっといて。

sā, hanii. Son'na harinezumi wa hottoi te.

Come on, honey. Leave the hedgehog alone.

In the localization, Hodo, for some reason, becomes "porcupine."

Was it worth the effort? Okay.

___________________________________________

Max's Psycho-Locks

After the appearance of the psycho-locks (and in the original they are exactly psycho, with an "o"), Naruhodo calmly repeats Max's favorite exclamation and is annoyed by the magician's deception.

ゴージャス! もちろんだよ!

gōjasu! Mochironda yo!

Gorgeous! Of course!

(ゴージャス! この手品師、 何かかくしてる、ってワケか!)

(gōjasu! Kono tejinaji, nanika kakushiteru, tte wake ka! )

(Gorgeous! So this magician is hiding something!)

In the localization, for some reason, he is unhappy that he repeated Max's phrase (you were normal with this, aren't you?)

Was there a need to change Hodo's reaction? To make a hole in his character?

___________________________________________

Shaved ice with syrup

In the original, when Mayoi begs Hodo for kakigori (shaved ice), and is unhappy with the lack of syrup on the snow he offers, he will simply think that you can eat ice just like that (without syrup). Literally - eat what they give you and don't complain.

なるほどくん。 かきごおり食べたい。naruhodo-kun. Kakigori tabetai.

Naruhodo-kun. I want to eat shaved ice.

････そのへんに

いくらでもつもってるだろ。

sono hen ni ikurademo tsumotterudaro....

There's loads of them around there.

わーい。････って、 シロップかかってないじゃない!

Wa ī. Tte, shiroppu kakattenai janai!

Yay... Wait, there's no syrup on it!

(かかってりゃ、いいのか････?)

(kakatterya, ī no ka?)

(Bring it on...?)

In the localization, a joke about "yellow" snow appears (you understand, I hope. Unfortunately, I also see this every winter in the city, so I giggled).

___________________________________________

Balloons with advertisements

And the last thing in this post (so that it doesn't get too long).

Commenting on the balloons with advertisements, Mayoi expresses the idea that they are no longer used often because children always try to climb on them.

In the localization, Hodo answers her somewhat vaguely, hinting at some other reason than children. (What exactly?)

In the original, his answer makes much more sense, showing Naruhodo's daily worries

アドバルーンて、あんまり 見かけないね。最近。

adobarūnte, anmari mikakenai ne. Saikin.

I don't see many advertising balloons these days.

子どもがよじ登ったら あぶないからね。

kodomo ga yojinobottara abunaikara ne.

It's dangerous if a child climbs on it.

(真宵ちゃんなら やりかねないな････)(mayoi-chan'nara yari kanenai na)

(Mayoi-chan could do that...)

He allows the idea that Mayoi could also climb on such balloons. He literally sees her as a child, a little sister who needs to be constantly looked after if there are constant dangers around.

___________________________________________

So, in my subjective opinion, 2 meaningless changes; 2 changes that create a hole in the Hodo's character; and 1 more as an understandable and rather dark joke for those who annually see snow lying on the street for more than, at least, a month.

P.S. If you suddenly want to support me, the link is in the profile description.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 7

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: Reader and Alejandro interactions that make Simon jealous and a wee bit insecure. Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

____ pulled into the underground parking lot of the apartment complex, sighing. She had just come back from an underwhelming meeting with her editor. 

She had proudly submitted the first few chapters of her manuscript, hoping they would be a hit, but was instead bombarded with the many suggestions of changes that should be made; while the plot itself was alright, the main complaint had to do with the male lead. 

“Frederick is not captivating or interesting enough. He needs more depth and personality… Definitely something different from Elystran,” the voice of the editor echoed in her thoughts as she killed the engine of her car and stepped out of the car. The thought of it once again made her shoulders slump with disappointment. 

Just as she did, out of the elevator across her parking spot came Alejandro. He spotted her and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, twirling his car keys around his finger. 

“Hey, where you off to? I thought you were at work already.” 

He shrugged, “Took a day off for a doctor's appointment.”

“What happened?” 

“Nasty back pain,” he sighed. Then noticing her dull spirits, he asked if she was okay. 

“Yeah, I just came back from a meeting with the editor and apparently, I have a lot of stuff to change in my manuscript.” 

“Ah,” he nodded solemnly, “I'm sorry to hear that.” 

She shrugged. “It is what it is.” 

Alejandro was silent for a moment, unsure whether to ask whatever he had on his mind. He decided to just go for it. “Do you mind if I read the manuscript? I'd like to see what it's all about. Maybe get a sneak peek into your next book too.” He winked at her. 

“I was actually thinking of asking you just that.” She beamed, happy that he asked. 

Alejandro raised his eyebrows. “Really?” 

“Yeah. Actually, most of the problems in my manuscript are with the male lead, so I think your valuable input as a man would really help me out. And your general opinion as a reader too.” 

The man couldn't help but feel flattered. “Is that so? Then I'd be happy to help you out. Just send me the manuscript and I'll read it soon.” He threw his car keys in the air and caught it in his rugged, tan hand and smiled. 

“Perfect.” Just as she was about to say something else, she got a notification on her phone, which she immediately took out, hoping it was a message from the editor changing his mind about the manuscript. 

But it was Simon. Though a little disappointed, she still smiled, and he noticed.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, raising his eyebrows teasingly at her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, grinning. She kept the phone back in her pocket, deciding to answer him later. 

Alejandro found it a little odd that she wouldn’t reply to Simon immediately, but he figured, “Maybe it’s just me,” and decided to let it be. 

“I’m offended you didn’t tell me you started dating,” he smirked, playfully putting on a tone of feigned offense as he put his hand on his chest. “How’d you two meet?”

She laughed at his dramatics and then briefly related the incident to him. 

“So you two started dating only a month and a half after meeting each other? That's… quick.” Alejandro remarked, raising his eyebrow. He knew people could fall in love at first sight, but that wasn’t the case with everyone. 

“Yeah,” her voice squeaked and her gaze faltered; she cursed herself for it. “We found a lot in common and… hit it off.” 

“Hm…” he exhaled, noticing the vagueness and lack of conviction in her voice and body language, but decided not to comment on it, not wanting to jump into conclusions too soon. “Well, good for you. I’m glad you found someone,” he said with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He then looked at his watch. “I should get going. Don’t wanna be late for the appointment.” 

“Alright, see you later!” she said with some eagerness, wanting to end the conversation, for she didn't know how else she could cover up. 

“See ya, muñequita.” 

Simon had recently followed ____’s spam/personal account, and saw that the skeleton plushie made a very frequent appearance. It showed up even on her main account to her tons of followers. 

The story on her personal account posted late in the morning showed the skeleton perched against her laptop screen along with the caption, “Serious writer’s block rn. He’s cheering me on!”

The next image, posted three hours later was of Alejandro in front of a laptop that looked like hers, captioned, “@-alevargas is giving me some pointers. He's ruthless 💀”

Simon grunted, feeling a spurt of jealousy. He rolled over on his side on Gaz's sofa, nearly kicking Johnny– who was seated on the floor– on the back of his head. 

He didn't hear his friend's yelp as he was too busy feeling bummed that she didn't ask him, especially after the two shared meaningful conversations over her novel before. 

“It's not like I can control who she chooses to share her work with,” he told himself resignedly, “Besides, we're just friends. I'm not supposed to be feeling jealous like this.” 

Yet he couldn't help it. 

Simon decided to scope out his competition by paying a visit to Alejandro's Instagram page. Upon reaching there, he found that the man was an up-and-coming part time model with a fair amount of followers. Even though Simon saw him in real life and found him to be a handsome man, his modeling photographs rendered him dangerously handsome; he had perfectly tanned skin, thick glossy black waves styled gorgeously to suit his masculine features, straight pearly whites for teeth, a near perfect five o'clock shadow, an athletic and muscular body, and a dazzling smile characteristic of motivational speakers. He was Mexican, to top it off, which meant that he most definitely was an outgoing and energetic guy. 

Simon felt his confidence fade into insignificance. Here was a man perfect in every respect like an expertly cut diamond, and compared to him, Simon felt like an ugly, misshapen rock. His own features contrasted with Alejandro's in his brooding, glaring eyes, his pale skin, thin lips, crooked teeth, his somber and quiet outward personality, and most of all, his marred face and body. 

He immediately exited Instagram and dropped the phone on his chest, sighing. “Yeah, with a bloke like him as competition, there's no way I'm winning,” he thought to himself, now resting his arm over his forehead. 

“Oi, Ghosty,” Johnny nudged Simon's leg with his elbow. 

The familiar nickname irked him all of a sudden, as it felt like a reminder of his flaws. “What?” he asked, trying not to sound snappy. 

“Did ye ask ____ if she wants tae come for our one night camp?”

Simon grunted. “I'll ask later.” 

“No. Yer gonna forget. Also, tell her that Lindsey is coming too.” 

Lindsey. Simon remembered Johnny telling him about her soon after he confessed their stalking. A short, freckled, ginger girl; Johnny spoke about her a lot and with excitement too, even calling her ‘Jolene’ in reference to the Dolly Parton song. Simon wasn't particularly surprised that Johnny was gallivanting with yet another lady; that's what he had always been doing since high school. His wit, charm, smiles, energy, and particularly his Scottish accent recommended him greatly to the opposite sex. He only hoped that Lindsey wouldn't take him too seriously. 

Simon picked his phone back up and sent a quick text to ____  about the camping trip and its general details. No sooner was he about to throw his device aside on the coffee table to pay more attention to Gaz who was playing his electric guitar nearby, her reply came. 

Author Girl: of course I'd love to come! 

Simon Riley: great. I'll let you in on more details later

Simon Riley: Johnny has invited your friend too apparently

Author Girl: Really? She didn't even tell me.

Simon Riley: u better ask her about it then. 

There appeared to be a slight delay in her reply even though she was online, and he wondered what she was up to. Finally, a reply came after two minutes. 

Author Girl: I'll do that :) 

Simon Riley: Are you busy? 

Author Girl: yeah kind of. Alejandro is giving me some suggestions for my story

He felt a twinge of jealousy again. “He's still there? At this point, maybe they make a better pair than she and I,” he thought despairingly. 

Simon Riley: yeah, I saw ur Instagram story. How's it coming along? 

Author Girl: it's coming along great. We're almost done here

Simon Riley: he's at your place? 

Author Girl: yeah, he came over to give me some enchiladas he made and I invited him to come in. 

Another twinge of jealousy, and another skill to add to Alejandro's repertoire. 

Simon was so close to typing, “I wish you invited me instead,” but immediately deleted it. 

Simon Riley: cool. 

Simon Riley: I'll leave you two then, I got other things to do

Author Girl: sure. I'll text u back soon :) 

Simon Riley: alright. Cheers

She noticed how he went offline so quickly and stared at her phone for a moment. “Is it just me or did he seem a little off?” she wondered to herself, hoping she wasn't reading too much into it. She shrugged it off, thinking it had to do with whatever he was busy with. 

“Muñequita?” Alejandro's voice interrupted her reverie.

Her eyes snapped back to the man sitting across her. “Yes?” she smiled, not realising she had been engrossed with Simon. 

He looked at the clock on her wall. “I should get going now. It's gotten late,” he said, now placing her laptop on the coffee table and rising. 

“Oh right, I've kept you here long enough,” she chuckled as she rose too. “Wait here for a moment.” 

Alejandro, confused and curious, stood by the coffee table as he watched her disappear behind her kitchen door. She soon appeared with a can of soda, which she put in his hand. 

“That's for you, as thanks for the enchiladas and helping me out,” she said, grinning at him. 

He chuckled and playfully gave her forehead a gentle knock with the edge of the cold can. “Thanks, muñequita,” he smirked, opening the tab of the can with a single finger and taking a long sip of the soda. “Well,” he began as soon as the sip was drowned, “I'll be off now. Good night.” 

“Good night, Alejandro. Take care,” she said as she walked him to the door. 

“You too, nena,” he gave her a little smile. “Call me if you need any more help, alright? I'll be at your beck and call,” he said only half-jokingly, giving her a wink. 

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You don't need to do that, but I'll let you know.”

As soon as he left, she breathed a heavy sigh. The conversation with Alejandro was fruitful, but she was exhausted. She decided to decompress and wind down for the night by taking a nice, long shower and a soak in the bathtub. She then had a simple dinner and just before bedtime, she was found on her bed in her satin pajamas and her phone, cuddled with the cushions and plushies; Little Simon, the most preferred and well loved, was tucked under her arm and pressed against her breast. 

Her cute animal video marathon was interrupted by a message from (Bigger) Simon. 

Simon Riley: wyd? Are you busy? 

Author Girl: watching videos. Hbu? 

Simon Riley: [photo] 

Simon Riley: watching a film with the lads. It's boring 

The photo showed a glowing television screen in a dark room, and a little cameo of Johnny's familiar mohawk at the bottom as he was seated on the floor in front of Simon. 

Simon Riley: I'd rather talk to you

She felt her heart skip a beat. 

Simon Riley: I hope I'm not disturbing you btw

Author Girl: no no you're not

Author Girl: tbh I'd rather be talking to you too 😂

It was now Simon's turn to feel his heart skip a beat. 

Simon Riley: good, because I'm in for a conversation 

Author Girl: what do u wanna talk about? 

Simon Riley: hmm

Simon Riley: how did it go with Alejandro? 

Unbeknownst her, Simon had to revise that text several times so as to not make himself sound unnecessarily overprotective, prying, and smothering. He hoped that he sounded casual and carefree enough. 

Author Girl: went well. He gave me a lot of pointers for my male characters. My editor wasn't so happy with my male lead so I had to consult an actual guy to help me out

Simon Riley: you could've asked me

Author Girl: yeah well Alejandro was the first guy I came across so I thought I'd ask him. I was going to ask a bunch of different guys too so I'll be asking you next 😁

Simon Riley: good. I'll be glad to help. 

Simon Riley: btw about the trip

Simon Riley: I need to fill u in w the finer details. Can I call you rn? 

Author Girl: sure

She sat up straight on the bed with bated breath. Though he had a few phone calls with him, she still felt a little bit nervous. She was about to get lost in her thoughts when the blaring of her ringtone made her jump with fright. She scrambled to pick up the call. 

“Hey!” she squeaked in a high pitch, and immediately cleared her throat. 

“Hi darling,” he said, his voice deep and affectionate; she could hear him smiling. “You alright? You seem a little… I don't know, surprised?”

“No,” she said breathlessly, “No, no, I'm fine.” She chuckled. When she heard the faint sound of traffic on his side, she asked, “Are you out already?” 

“Just the balcony,” he answered.” How could you tell?”

“I could hear some traffic.” 

“You're sharp,” he complimented. 

She smiled. “Thanks. Now, what did you want to discuss?” 

“Right, yes,” his voice immediately turned serious. He gave her all the finer details of the trip for a few minutes and at the end of it, he asked, “We're planning on using a car to get there since it's gonna be the five of us and it will save on petrol. Do you think we could use your car?” 

“Well if my car is in good enough condition for you, then I don't mind,” she said, a hint teasingly. 

He chuckled. “If I check it and find anything wrong, I'll give you a bollocking,” he teased back. 

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes, smiling, “You gave me enough of a bollocking the other day when my battery died. I'm not going to let you do it again.”

She heard him laugh, and like it always did, her heart melted. 

“You deserved it,” he scoffed. “But anyway, batteries and bollockings aside, you're okay with your car being used?”

“Absolutely.” 

“And you're comfortable driving long distances? Like I said, it will be a three hour drive, which is quite long by European standards.” 

“I'm okay with it. It's been a long time since I've driven that long though.” 

“Don't worry, if you're tired, I'll take your place.” 

“You? But didn't you say you were a bad driver?” she smirked. 

He could hear her smirking and thought he'd try to make her laugh. “If I try really hard, I can avoid hitting a tree.” 

She burst out laughing. “You're banned from the driver's seat!”

He smiled, gratified. “Whatever shall I do,” he said sarcastically, smiling and shaking his head. 

“If you can prove that you won't hit anything within the first five minutes of the drive, then maybe I'll consider letting you drive for longer,” she challenged, shifting in her seat on the bed and running her finger over the contours of Little Simon on her lap. 

“Challenge accepted,” he said with a self-assured snort. 

She smiled at his confidence and willingness. “So where are we all meeting again?” she asked. 

“At my place. I'll send you directions for it after this.”

“Okay,” she exhaled, now thinking of what his place looked like. What sort of decor and aesthetic he preferred, what sort of colors he liked, and if he kept house plants. 

The two continued to converse a little more until their eyes felt heavy and they started yawning. 

“Are your friends still watching the movie?” she asked, by this time half sitting up and half laying down on her bed. 

“I think it's almost over,” Simon, who was still seated in the balcony, looked over his shoulder at Gaz and Johnny who had their eyes still glued to the television set, despite them having melted into the sofa. “You sound sleepy, darling. You should go.” 

“Hmm…” she sighed. “But I don't want to go,” she whined in a soft, sleepy mumble. 

“Why not?” he questioned smilingly, not wanting her to hear how her sleepy whine was making him melt. 

“I like talking to you,” she replied in a tone that was trying to convince him to stay. She rolled over on her side, holding Little Simon close to her chest. 

The man's distant eyes softened as he heard this and he felt a little tickle in his stomach. His voice deepened, quietened, and mellowed as he replied, “Same here, my darling, but we'll talk again soon, alright? You sound like you're gonna fall asleep right now.” 

He heard another little whine, and he chuckled, unable to stop finding her cuteness so endearing and sweet. “Go on now,” he encouraged gently. 

She finally relented. “Good night, Simon,” she said in a half-whisper. 

“Good night, my love.” 

There ended the call, and Simon kept his phone on his thigh, feeling his face turn warm against the cool, damp air of the outdoors. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled. 

“Fuck me…” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. 

This phone call was a huge boost to his earlier insecurity. Their banter, her acting cute, her not wanting to stop talking to him was evidence enough that she preferred him over Alejandro. He could only hope that his hunch was right and that she wasn't doing the same thing with the other man. 

When the sound of her puppy-like whine echoed in his mind again, he groaned, wishing he could punch a wall so he could feel manly again. 

Any more, and she was going to be the death of him. 

The same woman, blissfully unaware of how her unintentional cuteness affected Simon, was now half-asleep on her bed, fingers curled loosely around her phone, and Little Simon nestled under her arm. 

“Elystran, from your first book, was bubbly and energetic. So I think that it would make sense for Frederick to be a little more reserved and aloof, but someone with power and authority, unyielding, and kind to nobody but Adelheid. Maybe if you knew someone with similar traits like these, you could use them as a model.” Alejandro's words from their earlier discussion echoed in her thoughts. 

Like lazily floating clouds on a clear summer's day, her thoughts drifted, trying to think of who would make the perfect model. 

Her thoughts settled on one man: 

“Simon.”

End of Part 7.

Part 8

Thank you all for your love on this series! I enjoy writing this and all your wonderful likes, comments, and reblogs fuel my passion some more. It's sm fun to write fluff; too bad I don't see a lot of it on tumblr lol. But anyway, thank you all once again. Remember, if you enjoyed this and want to be notified for updates, leave a comment so that I can add you to my tag list. x

[greypetrel]

OC tag game

Tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age, thank you so much, Laya! Gonna keep up with Inky, but hey, feel free to tag me or request another blorbo.

Name: Aisling Deshanna Lavellan

Alias: Lucky, Shrimp, Sleeping Beauty

Gender: Cis woman

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Age: 27 in 9:40

Spoken Language: Trade, Elven, learnt Tevene on her own "just to be sure", and learnt it better from Dorian. Josie tried to teach her some Orlesian, she has some basics but never stuck.

Occupation: First of clan Lavellan. Then very unsure Herald of Andraste. Inquisitor, more sure about it. After 9:42, horse breeder, local healer in South Reach, magic teacher for children.

FAVORITE:

Color: Teal

Entertainment: Shitty novels, smut or not, creating whacky experiments with Dorian, dancing, drawing very very badly, animal and horses, to watch, caress, adopt...

Pastime: Taking care of the horses in the stables, chilling out in a tavern with friends, writing long letters full of doodles to far-away friends, checking her friends have eaten and have been hugged today, provide that hug in case it lacks, sparring with the Chargers, gardening (more plant-picking in the wild, but still).

Food: Lemon custard pie. Any dessert with lemon. Any dessert, really. Citrus in general. Peaches. Anything that she didn't cook and isn't pickles, really.

Drink: Dalish peach liquor which she can never find outside clans. Mulled wine. Hot chocolate with allegedly too much whipped cream.

HAVE THEY...

Passed university: ... In the modern AU yes, she's into a PhD? Canonically she has equal instruction but no formal institutes in Dalish clans?

Had sex: Yes

Had sex in public: Oh damn. I think yes.

Gotten tattoos: Yes! Vallaslin on her brow and chin, and running all throughout her body. Back, arms and legs. Dedicated to Ghilan'nain, she didn't have it removed post Trespasser.

Gotten piercings: Nope. Her magic focuses on lightnings, she doesn't want to have any more metal on herself than strictly necessary.

Gotten scarred: Several scars, yes. More after the Inquisition, but surely some are from before. I think the most embarrassing one is a semi-circle between her thumb and index fingers. A halla bit her, but it was clearly her own fault, the poor halla is 100% innocent and did nothing wrong ever.

Had a broken heart: Romantically? Yes. Platonically? She's all kept together with glue and glitter.

ARE THEY...

A cuddler: In Dorian's words she's basically an octopus. If she likes you she will cuddle you. Unless you very specifically tell her no.

Scared easily: Nope. But if she's fully concentrated on something, she doesn't hear anything happening around her, if you walk close and tap her shoulder, she'll startle.

Jealous easily: Nope. If she'll enter a love triangle, she'll be the one to step away and leave the other two alone. "Other person is so much better than me, you're both really lucky, you'll be a great couple. :)" (self-esteem not there)

Trustworthy: Yes, to a fault.

FAMILY:

Parents/siblings: Adoptive mother and two older adoptive siblings, a brother -Pavyn- and a sister - Radha. She remembers very vaguely her biological mother, has no idea of her name, her clan, doesn't know if she has siblings out there. Could be, she doesn't want to know.

Children: After Trespasser yes. A girl, Niamh, and a boy, Taralin.

Pets: ... She'll adopt everything that moves. Too many too count. The favourite one is her horse, Little Brother. She and Cullen have an agreement: if one adopts something, the other can adopt something too. They have a farm. A big farm. She tends to adopt animals that are one step from their grave, on their way to the butcher. Three-legged cows, cats with no more eyes. All of the animals she adopts have food names. Cullen only gave her the one rule: nothing venomous and nothing that breathes fire. Which was a big disappointment because she really really wanted to try and imprint on a dragongling. Her How to Train Your Dragon dreams were compromised, alas.

Tagging: @salsedinepicta @ndostairlyrium @shivunin (do another if you'd like!) @hollytree33 @inquisimer @pinayelf @saltyowlets @star--nymph @chanafehs @kirkwallrealestate (hi Lu!) @diesvitae @idolsgf @heniareth and YOU!