#who knew death & guilt could have that impact on you

[sunflowerwinds]

nobody but you | v.a

summary: you lost everyone close to you, including your best friend (and childhood crush) when you were fourteen years old and had to grow up on your own. seven years later, a ghost reappears, igniting those same feelings from all those years ago to come bubbling back up. bed-confessions lead to what you’ve wanted for years.

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: reader is described to wear skirts and have longer curly hair, reader’s nickname is star, mature language, mentions of vi and reader being each other’s first kiss, caitlyn being a third wheel (i’m so sorry :/), mature content: dry humping & hickies (vi!receiving)

a/n: …. hey. arcane is a new fixation and i HAD to write for her. inbox is open for more vi ideas! (modern or not) <33 4 DAYS until arcane🙂‍↕️!!!

That night that the explosion happened, you were a wreck. You had lost so many people that you held near to your heart; Vander, Claggor, Mylo, and Vi. As much as you hated to admit to yourself but losing her had the most impact on you.

Her body wasn’t found so everyone, including yourself, assumed that she was dead.

Powder, god, you couldn’t get to her before Silco did. When you arrived at the aftermath of the scene, she was gone and all that was left was a piece of a bomb that was undeniably Powder’s creation. Guilt settled within you at the rumors that spread of who Powder had become; Jinx.

It took years for you to become somewhat okay, falling into a new routine. With Silco running Zaun and dowsing the streets with shimmer, you had to watch people you knew become addicted and lose their minds over it.

You were alone.

It was a last resort but you took up a job at The Last Drop; as a barkeep. It was shitty pay but at least you had enough for food. It, of course, was nothing like when Vander owned the place. There was no family feeling or sense of comfort and unity.

You had accepted from that point on that this is how things were going to be. You live in the space above Benzo’s souvenir shop, making it your own home. Since his death, the space had been unoccupied. You took it upon yourself to make it yours.

It was decorated with remembrance of your late friends and knick-knacks you’ve collected from around the Lanes.

You had gotten off of your afternoon shift at the Last Drop, making your way back to the broken-down place you called home. You were ready to sit back and make dinner for yourself, sitting with your thoughts and silence. However as you approached the door to the shop, a weird sense settled into your gut.

The front door was open ever so slightly, barely noticeable at first glance. You usually would’ve dismissed it as a mistake on your part.

But this incident mixed with the weird feeling in your gut told you that this wasn’t just forgetting to close the door all the way. You hovered your hand over your leather holster that held your coins and a few ninja stars that you had been holding on to since you could hold one.

It was also helpful to hold up your extra layer of skirt.

Carefully, you peeked into the shop to see if you could see something or someone inside. From the small crevice, your sight was limited so you couldn’t confirm anything just yet. Lifting your left boot, you push the door open with the toe of your foot. You look into the shaded areas of the building, waiting for some form of movement.

Once you carefully step into the abandoned shop, you reach behind you to grab the doorknob to shut it closed. Your eyes flicker around the room, squinting in concentration as you continue to walk across the wooden floors.

A second passes and that’s when you hear a creak come from behind you. Reacting quickly, you grab a ninja star from the pocket of your belt and launch it into the darkness. The sound of the blade splitting into the wood and a grunt relax your worries somewhat.

Reaching for another star, you raise a hand to turn on the light to see who exactly made their way into the shop. Your face hardened as you lifted your arm once more, preparing to defend yourself.

The intruder stood against the shut door, eyes locked on the weapon in your hand.

“Star?”

They question you, stepping forward into the light.

You grip onto the ninja star tighter, confused as to how they know who you are. You suck in a deep breath, tilting your head as the strangers' features reveal themselves in the light. You squint for a moment before letting out a soft gasp, letting the bladed weapon slip from your fingers and onto the ground.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Were you hallucinating? Have you finally reached your breaking point?

The hair, the bandaged arms, the same slope of her nose.

“Vi?” You breathe out, your eyes welling up with tears.

The pink-haired girl nodded, letting out a shaky breath herself. She took a few more careful steps towards you. You take the same amount of steps to meet her in the middle, throwing your arms around her neck with desperation. You let out a sob as you bury your face into the crook of her neck.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s me,” her voice was gentle in your ear, one of her bandaged palms cradling the back of your head while the other held you close by your torso.

Your eyes squint shut as you take in the fact that this is really happening. Vi was here; alive and so different. You pull away from her now-inked neck, brows furrowed from the questions rattling through your head.

“You… Where have you been?” You ask her softly.

“I got arrested and I’ve been in Stillwater since that night,” she explained carefully, one of her palms cradling your elbow.

“How are you here now? How did you get out?” Your eyes flicker to the ink on her cheek and the nose ring.

“I got released earlier today. I—I just had to see you. To make sure you were even…” Vi trailed off as she brushed a flyaway out of your face so she could really look at you.

The way you looked both so different and the same; how much you still look like that same girl that used to cut your fingers on your ninja stars. She remembers how you would try to hide the little slits on the tips of your fingers from her until you would physically wince from the cuts, forcing Vi to tend to the wounds.

You, unknowingly, did the same.

Too distracted just like how you would be all those years ago. Two teenage girls just trying to survive every day, secretly meeting up on the rooftops to snuggle dangerously close when everyone was asleep.

“When you said we were making a quick stop, I did assume it would be quick,” a posh English accent emerges from behind Vi, causing you to pull away from her comforting touch.

Vi let out a sigh before turning her head to peer at the tall woman standing in the doorway. You immediately recognize the attire underneath the small coat she was wearing and raise your hand to aim a ninja star at her. She was an enforcer.

Vi had an enforcer… get her out of prison?

“Who are you?” You snip, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” The dark blue-haired woman quipped back.

You hold back the scoff bubbling in your throat before Vi reaches forward to gently push your hand down. You hesitantly did so, still gripping onto the weapon between your fingers.

“I was thinking that maybe we could lay low here for a bit. Get some rest,” Vi attempts to ease your obvious tense figure.

“We?” You glance over at the woman watching her face soften.

“Yes. Just until tomorrow. Then we’ll be out of your hair to go to Babette’s.”

Voice still calm and gentle, Vi explained the situation at the moment. It turns out the tall woman’s name is Caitlyn, they’re looking for Powder Jinx because they believe she’s involved with an explosion that happened in Piltover.

You could see the desperation in Vi’s eyes when talking about her sister and your heart broke for her.

“Okay. I’m up top so,” you nod towards the door more into the shop that leads upstairs.

“Lead the way, Star,” Vi grinned, shoving her bandaged hands into her pockets.

You look over at Caitlyn who is standing right behind Vi, towering a bit over you both. You lead the pair to your living space, flicking on the light to reveal the new made up home. Vi whistled as she walked around the familiar space now made into more than just an attic.

“You did all of this?” She questioned with a smile as she walked over to the shelf of books and trinkets.

“Uh, yeah,” you feel a bit vulnerable knowing that both a stranger and past best friend who you thought was dead are in your home. “No rent, no roommates, just me.”

Your childhood friend traces the hanging lights from your ceiling, grinning for a moment when they make a soft twinkling noise. Being as nosy as she was, she made her way over to where you slept. Her eyes locked on the beaten-down table next to your table, focusing on the small ceramic bowl full of trinkets.

“Shit, you kept this?” Vi grabbed an item off the bedside table that was next to your bed that made your eyes widen with embarrassment.

It was a star ring that Vi had gotten (swiped from an antique shop) when you were thirteen. That day she gave it to you was also the day you brought up the idea of being each other’s first kiss to get it out of the way. Dating wasn’t a worry but you both agreed that you might as well ‘prepare for that day when you’d need to.’

It wasn’t the most amazing kiss, of course as you were preteens but you still became flustered the second you two made eye contact as you pulled away. You remember twiddling with the star ring after and how much you felt so cared for by someone.

“Oh yeah. It was to remember you by,” you sheepishly reply.

Vi hummed at your response, her smile creeping onto her lips as she set it down.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but is there someplace where I can rest?” Caitlyn questioned from behind you, seeming to be standing carefully near the door.

You glance over at Vi who had laid back on your bed, shutting her eyes with a sigh. One of her bandaged arms draped over her lower stomach while the other rested above her head on your flattened pillows.

“You can rest over here.”

You motioned for the tall woman to follow you. You walk around the wall, pushing back a curtain to a secret space where you usually allow some acquaintances from work or people in need to sleep, turning to Caitlyn with a friendlier grin.

“Thank you,” Caitlyn called after you as she sucked in a deep breath, looking around the small room. “For allowing me in your home.

“Thanks for bringing her back to me,” you nod.

Caitlyn nods in return, a small smile on her lips as she lowers herself on the dingy mattress.

“I know it’s not the ivory walls you’re used to but make yourself at home,” you notice the small, barely noticeable gap in between her front teeth as she smiles at you.

“It’s lovely,” her posh accent makes you chuckle.

You simply shake your head and shut the curtain to give Caitlyn some privacy. You recollect yourself as you think about Vi who is currently lying down on your bed. Vi perked up as she heard footsteps walking towards the bed, making eye contact with you as you rounded the bed to the other side.

“Hi,” you mutter as you lower yourself down on the opposite side of the bed, knee first.

“Hi,” Vi replied, her lips twitching into a small smile.

You can’t even hide the smitten smile on your face as you lay yourself down next to her, back on the mattress as well. Your palms rest above your navel as you try to act as normal as possible.

A tense silence filled the open room; the both of you not knowing what to say to one another. You could hear the shouting and loud music of the streets coming from your open window but all you could focus on was your own nervous breathing.

“I thought about you every day,” Vi’s the first to break the silence. “Every fucking day there, I thought about what it would be like coming back to you. I hoped you’d be here, Star. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone too.” Vi admitted as she shook her head, snuggling into your bed.

Your eyes bore into her side profile, admiring the slope of her nose and the ink etched into her cheek. You turn the rest of your body to match your head.

“You would’ve been okay,” you joke, weakly chuckling.

Vi blinks and looks over at you with a soft and meaningful gaze. She’s silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before she speaks.

“Do you remember when we would go up to the roof of the Last Drop and talk about what we would do if we ever got out of here?” Vi questions gently, facing you so that you are face to face.

“Yeah,” you mutter, not knowing where she was going with it.

“Every scenario we talked about whether it was taking over the streets or getting bucket loads of cash to build a new life there, I never imagined what it would be like without you by my side. You were always… right here.” Vi breathed out, her gaze avoiding your own. “Now that I know what it’s like to have that reality, I don’t want it to happen ever again.”

“Vi,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

Her eyes carefully lifted to meet yours, pupils dilated with vulnerability.

“I was so… scared you were gone too,” Vi whispered, hesitantly reaching for you but her hand retracted quickly.

You took the reins and carefully hooked your finger onto one of hers, sighing in relief at the touch. Vi stared at the courteous touch and wrapped her palm over your own, running her thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you remember what happened after you gave me that ring?” You ask softly, using your free hand to brush a piece of her hair out of her face.

Vi wasn’t stupid. She knew you meant that kiss that put a pep in her step for a few weeks after; the girl that she had been crushing over since before she could remember. Not wanting to confront it head-on, she quickly stumbled out a little joke.

“I think I thought about doing that for months. Mylo wouldn’t stop giving me shit for it every time you came around, blowing kisses at me when you had your back turned.” Vi chuckled as she shook her head.

You smile at the mention of Mylo, not doubting it for a second. You, in a similar fashion, turned to Ekko for your little crush on Vi.

“You know, come to think of it,” you pretend to recall, “I remember you asking me an important question too.”

Vi wanted to punch herself in the jaw as you brought up another rather embarrassing moment. She could see it now; two teens sitting on a rooftop, shoulder to shoulder after sharing a quick peck and avoiding each other’s eyeline.

“We could be each other’s… back up when we get older, you know.” A fidgety thirteen-year-old Vi had proposed.

You remember glancing down at bright-colored streets and clouds that intoxicated the air of Zaun. Vi glanced over at you to see if you had even heard her as you had gone completely silent.

“Back up?” You questioned, your voice still going through the ups of puberty.

“Yeah, well, when we’re old, like, forty or something and have no one else, we could be each other’s.”

Vi didn’t really explain what that meant at the time but you agreed with ease. You knew how much you would do for Vi; maybe it was a little obsessive and unhealthy but she had a grip on you that you hoped never left.

Neither of you were near forty yet but there was a sliver of hope you could enact that pact today.

Something took over you after that confession and you scoot your body closer to hers. You reach your hand up to brush your hair out of her face, cupping the side of her face. Vi held onto your wrist as you began to lean into her.

Before you could even comprehend it, Vi pressed her lips to yours. Your eyes widen at the sudden movement, releasing her face in shock. Her hand was still gripping onto your wrist as her lips moved against your own.

After the initial surprise of the kiss, you follow her rhythm. You place your hand back onto her cheek as you suck in a deep breath, letting yourself enjoy what you have been craving to redo after seven years.

The soft smack of your kisses and you and Violet humming against each other's lips silently drove you insane.

“I missed you so much,” Vi mutters against your lips.

You sigh at the confession, warmth blooming in your chest.

“Never thought I'd get to do this,” you confess. “To be with you like this, Vi.”

Vi’s palms move down your body, rubbing down your sides carefully like you were going to disappear at any moment. Years of confinement and getting into fights with inmates led her to this very moment; the only person in her life that was really here for her.

“And now that you are doing it?” Vi questions, her big rounded eyes boring into your own.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Vi beams at that and you dive back into her lips, humming against the gentle touch of her lips. This second time around was more hungry, eager for one another. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of her bandaged arms wrapped around your waist as you kissed like you needed her; craved her.

Oh, how needy you were at that moment: selfishly grabbing onto her like she could disappear at any moment. She wasn’t; at least you hoped not.

“I still can’t believe you’re really here,” you sighed out, tears welling up in your eyes.

Vi immediately notices your mood drop and shakes her head, leaning in to kiss your cheek and placing a few more gentle touches on your neck and jaw.

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart,” she murmured against your skin as she continued to carefully kiss your skin.

You suck in a deep breath as you cup either side of her face to pull her away from your flustered skin. Vi’s chest was heaving up and down from her own hunger for you becoming overwhelming.

“I want to make you feel good, Vi,” you admit, whispering just below normal speaking volume.

Vi stares and blinks, her breathing slowing down.

“Me?” She questions as if she misheard you.

“Yes, you. Please.”

You couldn’t even feel an ounce of embarrassment from your begging as you meant it more than anything. Vi, with not much more needed convincing, nodded frantically as she allowed you to take the reigns.

You pull away to sit upright and straddle her lap, your skirt lifting up your legs to rest on the highest part of your thigh. Vi’s eyes widened for a second at your position in your lap, her bandaged hands resting on the flat pillows as she stared up at your figure. Her eyes were rounded with admiration and lust.

“Is this okay?” You question, tucking some of your hair behind your ears.

“Yes. Yes, you’re… good.” Vi reassures you as you smittenly smile down at her.

She matches your smile as you lean down to reattach your lips, placing your hands on her collarbone. Vi’s hands grip gently at your upper thighs, frantically pulling you in closer to her. The strap of your shirt was slipping down your shoulder, resting on your triceps.

You allow yourself to be there in the moment with her. You had the tendency to think about the worst outcomes of every situation but right now as Vi’s palms move more up to your hips, you just feel her.

Not afraid, not depressed; just her.

Her touch was electric on your skin. Vi sits upright from her laid-back position, humming as you run one of your hands up the back of her head into her hair. Feeling her body running hot, she removes her hands from your body to shrug off her red jacket from her body.

You pull away to help her remove the jacket, throwing it to the side and hearing it hit the ground. You look down at her now-revealed arms and eyebrows raise up at the sight of her toned upper body.

You were gawking; you knew you were.

“What were you doing in there?” You shamelessly ran your hands down her firm biceps.

Vi lets you feel her up, watching your hungry eyes follow your hands on her body. She doesn’t answer your question but she does place her palms back at their rightful place on your hips.

You snap out of your daze as her hands squeeze your hips. Your cheeks lit aflame before focusing on the task at hand. Did you 100% know what you were doing? No, but you figured if you just do what you do to yourself to her, it was bound to make her feel good.

So you slowly began to grind your hips down onto her own. Vi sucks in a sharp breath at the unfamiliar feeling, letting out a shaky breath.

That only fueled your keep your hips moving against her. Vi’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, tilting her head back to huff out a soft moan. You let out your own noise at the feeling, leaning forward to attach your lips to the length of your neck.

Vi moaned your name at the feeling of you kissing the sensitive spot on her neck. Her grip only becomes tighter on your waist as you begin to suck and lick, creating a dark spot on her pale skin. You pull away after a few seconds to brush your finger over the mark, feeling disgustingly proud of yourself.

“What are you doing to me?” Vi whispered, groaning under her breath.

“I could say the same,” you quip with a cheeky smile, grinding down hard once.

The motion tugs out a moan from the both of you. The thinnest layer of sweat began to form on your neck and crevice of your hip and legs. Vi leans forward, panting into the crook of your neck. She attempts to hide her needy whimpers against your skin but you can’t miss the desperate sounds.

You were growing wetter by the second, aching to get her off.

“Vi—“ You gasp as her palms rest on your hips, helping you grind down onto her clothed crotch.

Your hands rest on the broad on her shoulders, feeling over the tight muscle. She was panting softly as she took in the sound of you asking for her; needing her like this. Her blue eyes admire the way your jaw was left open as you pant and whimper from the friction.

“So beautiful, sweetheart,” she praises, a low moan leaving her own hips.

You almost shake your head at her words but you knew it would be a huge mistake to do so. You allow yourself to take in the words, not wanting to seem like you didn’t believe her. She drew the beautiful inside to the surface with ease.

Your hips stuttered, wondering if you were going to cum like this. It wouldn’t be the first time as you’ve shamefully done the same to your mattress.

“You’re perfect,” you tell her honestly, a shaky breath leaving your lips.

Vi wanted to tell you you were far from correct but you were persistent on the fact.

“You are. You are, Vi,” you cup her face as you weakly grind your crotch on hers.

Vi nods to show you she is listening, one of the few whimpers she’s made throughout the night bubbling in her throat. You place a few kisses over her face before placing the final one on her awaiting lips.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna—“

“Me too. Cum for me, please,” you encourage the pink-haired girl.

You watch as her muscles tighten, a vein popping out of the side of her neck. It beautifully highlighted the mark you’ve made on her.

With your grinds becoming sloppier and weaker, Vi assisted you by practically doing all the work. Your hips and inner thighs were growing more and more tired out by the second. Your will to make sure Vi came was the only thing keeping you going.

Your mouths were hovering over one another, whining and moaning onto each other’s lips. Your core tightened as you felt your orgasm approaching. Vi’s whispers of praise only drew you closer.

“Just like that,” you whine.

“Yeah?” Vi whines right back, kissing right above your chest near your collarbone.

You nod with a whimper, muttering ‘please’ and ‘right there’. The mix of your panting and hot moans drove you both to cumming against one another.

You were shaking at that point, arms now wrapping around her neck for stabilization. Vi, mimicking you, wrapped her arms around your torso, burying her face into your chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Your hair was now frizzy, your whole body aflame from the orgasm that tore through you. Vi’s lips were dragging on your heated skin causing you to shut your eyes as you, too, attempted to calm down.

The two of you sat there, matching each other's breathing patterns as you both came down from your highs. Your eyes before you knew it grew heavy with exhaustion. Vi noticed how slumped you were and cradled your body to maneuver you to lay back down. Your arms were still locked around her neck, refusing to let her go.

“Are you okay?” Vi asks after a few minutes of silence, licking her swollen lips.

You chuckle softly at her question, resting your forehead on her shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m perfect.” You mutter before placing a loving kiss to her bare shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Vi nods at your words, rubbing her hands down your back. She traces the length of your spine, lulling you into the sleep that your body was asking for.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll wake you up before I leave.” Vi encourages when she notices you fighting your tired eyes.

Your heart sank at the word ‘leave’, brows knitting with betrayal. Your exhaustion left your body for a moment at her words.

“Leave?” You delicately whisper.

“No, no, not for good. I’m not doing that to you again,” Vi was quick to reassure your worries. “I just—I have to find Powder. I don’t know how long it will take but I will be back for you.”

You swallow your doubts that Vi will be able to change Jinx back into the girl she once was. You knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Vi into staying, especially with Caitlyn tagging along with her.

“Be careful, okay? I can’t lose you again,” you cup her face, running your thumb over the ink on her cheek. “You’re my backup, remember?”

Vi manages to chuckle at your words, shaking her head.

“I never should’ve asked you that. You were never going to be just a backup, Star,” Vi told you softly. “You were always going to be first for me.”

Your eyes rounded with admiration at her confession.

“We were kids when you asked me that, Vi. I’m glad you did. I’ve never wanted anyone but you,” you tell her with a smitten grin on your lips.

Vi presses a deep kiss onto your awaiting lips, nearing knocking your teeth against one another from her own smile. You lazily kissed her back until you physically couldn’t anymore. Sleep overtook you as you rested your head on her bicep that was acting as your pillow for the night. You felt one last kiss on your temple before you knocked out.

The next morning you awoke to the feeling of the bed shifting next to you. You slowly peek through squinted eyes to see Vi’s blurred figure sitting on the opposite side of the bed, quietly speaking with Caitlyn’s undeniable taller figure.

“I’m just pointing out how you completely disregarded the fact that I was in the room opposite of you. I had a curtain as a door,” Caitlyn quietly scolds the pink haired girl.

You try not to show any reaction but you were embarrassed that you had completely forgotten about Caitlyn resting just 10-15 feet away from you two.

“I’m not sorry for what I did but sorry you heard,” Vi snips, no doubt in your mind with raised brows.

Caitlyn sighed rather loudly before shaking her head, holding her hand up to Vi.

“Let’s just… get going, please. We haven’t got much time.”

Silence from Vi.

“Okay. Just give me two minutes. You can wait outside the door.”

You quickly shut your eyes and pretend to sleep once again, listening for the receding footsteps. Vi spoke with care as she gently tapped your shoulder.

“Star, sweetheart?” She hummed, brushing your flyaways from your face.

“Hmmm?” You open your eyes, stretching one of your arms up.

“Hey. I’m gonna head out, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Vi traces the apple of your cheeks as she talks to you.

“Be careful. I mean it, Vi.”

The blue eyed girl nods at you, giving you one last meaningful kiss onto your lips.

“I will. In fact,” Vi pulls away to reach by the bedside table, grabbing the star ring she gave you. She slid it onto her middle finger, showing you the jewelry. “I’ll be back to give you this. It’ll be my good luck charm.”

There was a beat of silence before you let out a soft laugh at her ridiculousness. You adored her more than anything and anyone.

“I’ll be waiting, Violet.”

TAGLIST: @kylorey25 @evermorewest @breezy-sapphic @auraclus @ichig0nn4 @thesevi0lentdelights @vincinnamontoast @onesockcat @sc0ttstre3ted @seolarsistem @kissyslut @pinkdaisys4u

[valliesworld]

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

[brucewaynehater101]

Ok Tim Time Travel AU or just Tim Travel AU. Tim gets sucked in a similar event that got bruce un the Time stream. But it only makes Tim land in various events that takes place since bruce beginnings as batman.

The first event is bruce getting shot, Tim pops in and helps young bruce. As it the first time, tim didnt prepare in any way to hidrñe his identity. But bruce was out enough not to recognize him. (He wouldnt anyways)

The next time, tim is more prepared, he hacks into the drakes account to get money and with that crafts a new suit. And writes down a list of ideas of how to hide his face. As bruce can't have tim's face in his memory. (He goes from ghost maker blindfold to red hood'd helmet). The only distintive is an "R" in his suit.

And that's how it goes for a little while. Tim appears out of nowhere to help bruce with smthng. Usually to save him from posible deaths

Then he's throw in Dick's parent's death day. Then when dick almost falls off his line. Then some dick' kidnapping. And so on.

Bruce ofc doesn't trust this elusive evident experienced vigilante. But it grows on him. For the robins is this cool big brother and stuff.

Tim doesnt want to think what this means for how he interacts with his family.

Ideas are buzzing!

Cool! Anyone can feel free to list out canon events you think Tim could have helped lessen the impact of (in this AU, he doesn't have that much control. It seems more like he's helping in the aftermath). He will prevent their deaths in some cases, but let's say, for plot's sake, that he can't prevent certain outcomes.

To be extra fun, perhaps all the Bats knew about Future!Tim. Imma call him Raven just for the hell of it.

Tim finds out when he gets sucked into the time thing, that he was Raven all along. The older vigilante left him a clue that was only decipherable after Tim's first time jump.

Regardless, Tim slowly builds up a reputation with the Bats. It's difficult because he has no control on when he stays or goes. He just pops up when he's needed.

It's difficult to establish trust with someone who is untraceable and never stays.

It's heartbreaking for Tim because there are some incidents he can't change despite going back in time (like Jason dying). Tim has no control.

There's also the fear of destabilizing the timestream or whatever.

Then, as Raven, Tim learns a fuck ton about incidents that his family has hidden or never talked about. Traumas they don't or wouldn't mention (perhaps Raven learns about Tarantula and similar shit). Since Raven pops up whenever and isn't actually a Bat, there's a different type of relationship that vigilante has with the Bats. It helps them to admit shit they wouldn't to their family (which you can then get into guilt, protective anger, horror, etc).

Raven slowly starts getting close to the Bats as much as he can given his circumstances. Older Tim watches Robin debut, Nightwing debut, Jason become Robin, the aftermath of his death, Tim becoming Robin, etc.

Having an "outsiders' perspective" on all of these events must feel weird as fuck.

[hismourningflower]

YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN HER | genshin impact fanfiction. zhongli x gn!reader — angst, hurt/no comfort, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, gagging, death, decomposition, dealing with grief and guilt. not proofread or edited.

idle chatter. this is also a reupload from my old blog... i'm such a thief gasp <3 library waiting list. @lovingluxury @dumbificat @starryshinyskies @ryuryuryuyurboat @ainescribe @bfjax @soleillunne @sangoqueenkoko

aventurine's addition. "alexi will forget if i don't remind her - here is the link to 'you're not her,' the first part of this angst."

the scene haunts him vividly. it creeps into every crevice of his mind, every nerve that has harboured all the knowledge he could ever acquire over these past centuries; it affects his psyche. in the darkness behind his eyelids - should he be brave enough to dare let his eyelashes sink shut - he sees every detail left of his beloved - you.

the guilt eats at him, nagging at his bones and tearing at his flesh, leaving only remnants of searing pains when he can't help but blame himself that he let it get this far - that he even let it happen. it was something so simple that he could avoided, at least that's what he tells himself. zhongli isn't stupid, not when he's walked teyvat this long and seeked enough knowledge for his own curiosity - albeit never comparable to that of the dendro archon. he knows it couldn't have been avoided, for that is why the guilt rips him apart so brutally.

but yet there is one simple way it could have been avoided. he should have never fell in love with you. the thought aches his heart and he finds his grip tightening around the tea cup in his hands, paled knuckles concealed by his oh-so-familiar gloves. amber eyes resembling the cor lapis native to his own country close shut and the horrific scenes creep back in.

the man admits to oversleeping that morning, the comfort of familiar bedsheets drowning him in a warmth incomparable to anything else. his routine with you was a simple one; he was always the last to bed but always the first to rise. zhongli used it as an excuse for you to never see his bare skin, the dark tones that cover his large hands and fade up his arms, decorated in veins of golds and oranges. he would get up and dressed, pulling black gloves over his hands before your eyelashes could even flutter open.

that was the way your relationship had ticked for the months it had been ongoing. that was the way zhongli kept his deepest secrets locked away, thinking it was for the best; it wouldn't cause problems if you knew, you was a mortal. zhongli knew he was facing the sandglass of time when it came to your life in the first place. is that what shattered the sandglass so soon? ending your life with a severed tie that happened too early, taking you from him when he was least prepared?

the bed was empty by the time zhongli awoke. the first fleeting thought that crossed the geo archon's mind was his secrets, his hidden gems - had you seen it all? had you left him? the second thought to cross his mind was in regards to your safety. he was certainly no fool, he knew he had enemies even with the lack of people who knew his true identity. you never rose before him and at least he would have expected you to wake him.

zhongli has traced the corridors and winding paths of your shared house many times. he's taken the stairs so much they're worn from the use of you both - and your guests, when the likes of xiao, hu tao or your friends come to visit. in every footstep, the man has memorised every inch of the house; every painting, every vase, every floorboard and in these steps he takes routinely, he knows the house is never this silent however there's no proof of a break-in. there's no distress, no signs of damage or disruption.

the earth has taken your body for its own in the span of a few hours, vines creeping across your body as if to tie you to the ground. celestia forbid someone tried to give you a proper burial, your clothes and skin stained in a dark red as the blood that flooded out of your mouth hours ago begins to oxidise. it paints the grass surrounding you and in the summer heat of the liyue sun, it creates a foul stench that suffocates the garden you'd spent so much of your time in.

there are flowers beginning to bloom on the vines tethering you to the earth, in shades of white so pure, it pales in comparison to the glaze lilies that had damaged your internal organs so ferociously. the sweet floral scents create a bitter tang in the air mixed with the metallic waft of blood and the unforgettable smell of the unavoidable rot your body was going through in the heat. this is what undeniably lead him to find you.

it makes him gag, turning his head away the second he steps outside into what is usually the clean air of liyue's countryside. his eyes fall to the pile of wilted glaze lilies you'd compiled in the far corner, hidden behind an apple tree you'd been growing. it's beginning to finally bear its fruits. zhongli notes that you will never see your apple tree's first harvest.

it feels as if he's stabbed in the chest when he finally musters the courage to look at you - or rather, what he thinks is you. your cheeks are sunken and your skin is beginning to tighten against muscles and bone, this isn't the you he remembers kissing goodnight last night. this isn't the you that would pepper kisses on his face when he expresses how tired he is after his shifts at the wangsheng funeral parlour.

this isn't who he fell in love with. this wasn't the human he should have never fell in love with because by gods, if there was anyone zhongli should have known to trust the least, it should have been celestia. he was a fool for thinking he could ever get away with loving a mortal, even after faking his death and attempting to step away from the title of the geo archon. he was still immortal up until his eventual erosion. he had still seen centuries past and people die around him.

was this celestia's curse upon you for his own regretful actions? the things he shouldn't have done and most certainly shouldn't have said? the sultry whispers and lingering touches that he knew was wrong from the start? but he loved you. he knew he loved you.

the scene of sharp branches coated in blood twisting and turning out of your mouth is unpleasant and the grass surrounding you is a distasteful red as he falls limp to his knees beside your growth - your corpse. his hands, free from their gloves, fumble with leaves and vines, attempting to pull them clear from your face in his shaking grasp as his thumbs gently wipe under your closed eyes, caked with dry blood.

your name falls from his parted lips when bitter tears sting his eyes for the first time in centuries. there's a raw emotion ripping him to the shreds and that was long buried in the depths of his very being - grief. it swallows him, forcing a choked sob from him as he hunches over what was his lover. he closes his eyes, holding his breath to keep from breathing in that sickening, overwhelming stench as he tries to remember your face from last night.

those distinct features he'd fell in love with, the glitter of your eyes and that smile he loved oh so much - he recalls the times hu tao managed to draw that smile onto your face with her mere presence. zhongli gags at the thought of having to tell her and the others about your death. does he lie again? you passed away in your sleep - but where has lying got him in the past? here.

why hadn't you told him? had baizhu been behind this too? after all this time he assumed the doctor could be classed as a loyal friend, zhongli realises that he was wrong. if he hadn't of kept it a secret, could zhongli have saved your life? the archon grimaces. this is not the time to be doubting the security of the relationships he has with the people around him. even as he contemplates the reasons you kept your disease secret from him, he runs over every thought of loving you.

to him, he would never love anyone or anything as much as he loved you. nothing could ever be comparable to his love for you; not even after all these centuries of aimlessly wandering teyvat and not even for all the future centuries that he would continue to walk, heartbroken and grief-stricken without you by his side for even a few more years.

you should have been her.

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© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[icallhimjoey]

writing idea: group hang at a rage room/smash room that ends up in a meet cute.

eeeeeee thanks for this request! it's a quick lil thing, hope you enjoy! tw: mention of blood and a cut in your face Wordcount: 1.7K

---

Not His Thing

Joe hasn't stopped feeling the uncomfortable flush of guilt in his face for the past half an hour. He feels awful.

Smash rooms, as so it turns out, aren't really his thing.

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"Yea, sorry. I'll stop. Sorry. Sorry." Joe jokingly takes all blame immediately, because he is obviously an idiot who can't do anything right at the moment.

You smile through watery eyes, your nose tinged red and half your face numb from the cold. You've been pressing a towel-wrapped ice pack to your cheekbone for over twenty minutes now, and it's done wonders for the bleeding and for the pain. Not so much for the panic and the lightheadedness that followed though, but all things considered, you feel fine.

Your fun day out with friends has been cut short, though.

"Does it hurt still?" someone asks you, and you expertly control your voice, give them a steady, "No, it's just cold, now." but your eyes are still watery.

When you remove the ice pack for a member of staff to have a look at you, they tut worriedly and tell you to just hold it in place a moment longer.

Joe did this. This is Joe's fault.

Joe tries his best not to wince at the swelling he can see. At the size of the cut he left in your face. God, your face. You are likely going to need stitches. He remembers getting a cut in his own face, right in the middle of his forehead, and how that bled for hours. The worst part though, is that it'd left him with a scar.

Joe can't believed he scarred someone.

"But I am sor–" Joe tries, not overly loud, he doesn't want to make you jump.

"Stop it. It was an accident. Accidents happen, don't worry." You reassure him once more, and you really mean it, but it does nothing for Joe's culpability.

He did this.

Joe had swung a bat at porcelain, and you'd been in the wrong spot at the wrong time. A shard of vase had gotten stuck in your cheekbone, just below the protective glasses you'd been wearing.

You imagined it'd just been a scrape, had only let a small, "Ow," pass your lips upon the impact, but then you'd gone to touch it, and felt something solid there still.

Stuck.

Skin wet.

The liquid warm.

Something solid.

Something sharp.

Your fingers painted red, and the sight of it had nearly made you faint. Joe had never seen colour drain from someone's face quite so fast.

Joe already knew that his fight or flight response was freeze, but being confronted with this cowardly personality trait like this was terrible.

Joe hadn't ever seen a girl panic the way you had from something he was responsible for.

He'd just stood next to you in his protective gear, big shocked eyes behind his plastic safety glasses, entirely unsure of what to do.

And then you'd wobbled on your legs, and he had just shot an arm out.

For the lack of strength you'd held in your legs, Joe was surprised by the death grip you had on the sleeve of his overalls.

Your blood covered hand went back to touch at your cheek again, but Joe was able to grab hold of that wrist just in time. And then, with weird tensed upper bodies that held onto each other, Joe'd lowered you down onto the ground because everyone around you kept repeating for you to sit down, to get onto the floor.

You sat down, and then only seconds later, lied down before you could lose consciousness all together. Your friend lifted your legs up and even though your eyes looked scared, the two of you were giggling. Laughing at the silly situation.

And Joe had just stood there.

Useless.

Your skin looked extra pale next to the bright red of the blood that dripped down your cheek right into your hair and it was... sort of beautiful. Awful thing to focus on when he should've actually been doing something helpful, but Joe just... looked at you, and thought you looked lovely.

Looking at you now, still teary, but smiling, he's still scared it'll flare up again. Your panic. It's unlikely, you're sat on the floor, leaning against the wall near the exit, but your cheek doesn't look good. He feels bad going back in to launch a hammer at a printer, or whatever, so he's hovering. Some of his friends are too, just like the staff is, making sure you're drinking your water, telling you to stay seated until your breathing has returned to normal.

Your friend has gone to get the car, and she said she'd be quick, but the second she was out the door, you'd cracked a joke. Said you'd see her in an hour if you were lucky.

You shudder through another inhale, and it makes Joe's eyebrows twitch up a little. You see it happen and release your breath in a laugh.

"If I were to go with just how you're looking at me, I'd believe I was actively dying," you joke, and everyone around you politely smiles through worried grimaces.

"I feel fine. I'm fine, honestly. It's just a minor cut. It feels," and like an idiot, you remove the ice pack and shove a dirty finger right into the cut on your face.

You feel how wide the cut is, and how deep into your cheek your finger sinks.

"Fi–..."

The wave of nausea is a surprise to you, and the way Joe shoots into action when you sag to the side because your head is suddenly too heavy is a real surprise to him.

"Hey, hey, okay, careful, careful..." Joe holds you by the side of your face that hasn't got a huge gash in and curls his fingers around as he carefully tries to hold you up.

"Maybe you shouldn't..." he starts, and finds the ice pack you've dropped with his other hand. "...play with that."

You kind of want to go to sleep.

Close your eyes and have a nap.

You lean into the hand that holds you and the instant comfort after shooting pain is nice.

But then the ice pack gets softly pressed against where your skin's broken and your eyes laser back into focus.

"Hi," Joe says when you make eye-contact. He smiles, though it's wobbly.

Maybe you aren't as fine as you thought you were.

"I'm fine?" you ask, feeling panicked like a real loser.

"You're fine." Joe assures you, voice soft but level enough for you to believe it. That's what's important, he thinks. If you believe it, you'll calm down enough until your friend gets back and she can take you to hospital.

"You're okay, focus on breathing, all right?" Joe redeems himself. This is what he should've done half an hour ago, when all hell broke loose. "That's all you've got to do. You're fine."

"I'm fine." you repeat after him, and force yourself to take a deep breath. "I'm fine." you're reassuring yourself now, and with one hand cupping your clammy face and another cooling where you're hurt, you press your own hands to your chest and ground yourself with your eyes closed.

It's awkward because there's other people there, but Joe's glad he gets to hold you for a bit. It's admittedly an unconventional way of being close to someone he's just met, and he still feels mortified, but... you're pretty. Even with dried blood covering half your face.

If this is how he meets the love of his life, it can be an embarrassing story he will gladly listen to at every single birthday party until he dies.

"That hurt." you say after a moment, and smile, eyes still closed.

"You're fine." Joe says again, but whispers it now.

"I'm sorry," you say like this is your fault. "I should've known not to agree to come to this," you confess, eyes blinking open now, and if you're startled by how close Joe is to you, you don't show it. "I'm not really angry enough for this. I don't think smash rooms are my thing..."

Same, Joe thinks, and he smiles, gets some of his confidence back when he sees the flush returning to your face. "Maybe there's some anger now?" he asks, because you should be angry. At him. Look at what he's done to you.

You don't understand what he means, this handsome stranger, and you frown in confusion. Before you can ask, and before Joe can explain, the door opens and your friend barges in, completely out of breath.

"Quick! I've stopped right in front and I'm holding up traffic!"

And just like that, Joe and staff help you move back up onto your feet.

You're fine.

You're helped out to the car, but halfway down the pavement, you're walking by yourself and are getting into the car without any help.

It is just a cut on your cheek.

"Can I, em," Joe starts, staring through the glass of the door at where you cup a loose hand over your cheek to protect it when you put your seatbelt on with the other. "Can I get her details?" he turns to a member of staff.

"Huh?"

"I'd love to send a card," he explains, and from behind him, he can hear one of his friends softly chuckle.

Joe'd forgotten he was even there with anyone.

"A card, or a bunch of flowers?" one of them starts.

"He's going to write her a love letter," one groans, already annoyed by the idea of it.

"Gifts her ten grand, just because he feels bad," another jumps in, and they're laughing, slapping shoulders. They're making fun, pretending to be Joe, mimicking the face he made, how he'd helplessly stood there, joking about how the one time Joe joins them for something, this happens. It's all shit they'd held in whilst you were there still, and it's all spewing out now, no holding them back. Joe doesn't even try.

"Come on, we've spent long enough not smashing TVs in."

And bats, hammers and axes get picked back up.

"You coming?"

And Joe smiles, though it's not very convincing.

"Nah," he says, and walks over to that staff member. He needs to get your details.

"I'm good."

There was no way he was going back in there, because smash rooms, as it turns out, aren't really his thing.

the end

---

The Taglisted

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello I love your blog!

That being said woud really like to read your take on Harry's relationship with death and grief

And wich death do you think that impacted him the most

Thank you so much! I'm glad you love my blog!

I will warn this post mentions some suicidal ideation, mentions of self-harm, and a lot of Harry's grief methods and coping mechanisms, so be aware.

Now, Harry has a lot of grief in his life, and each death is one he reacts to differently, not only because of who dies but because his grief accumulates. So with every death, Harry is pushed closer and closer to his threshold. You kinda see this threshold in Deathly Hallows:

He could not draw breath. He could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. He could not bear to join the Weasleys, could not look into their eyes, when if he had given himself up in the first place, Fred might never have died. . . He turned away and ran up the marble staircase. Lupin, Tonks. . . He yearned not to feel. . . He wished he could rip out his heart, his innards, everything that was screaming inside him. . .

[...]

The images of Fred, Lupin, and Tonks lying dead in the Great Hall forced their way back into his mind’s eye, and for a moment he could hardly breathe: Death was impatient. . . .

(DH)

Harry saw Fred die, and he was sure that was it. After Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Dobby, and even Snape, no one else should be able to die, and then he sees Lupin and Tonks are dead and his mind doesn't even know how he's supposed to handle all this grief. He actually can't process it at the moment. He feels so much pain and guilt because Harry blames himself for each and everyone that died. Even though they were adults who chose to fight on their own, he didn't force them, but he feels responsible for their deaths.

Even for his parents' deaths as I mention later. This is really a theme with Harry's grief — he always blames himself. If he just called Sirius in the mirror, if he just knew Occlumancy, if he just drunk the potion instead of Dumbledore. At points, Harry actually wishes he was dead instead of having to carry all his grief and pain:

And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

(DH) - is it just me who feels like crying every time I read this quote?

Obviously, his parents' deaths affected how his life went more than any other death, but Harry never knew them. He never really grieved them growing up. He grieved the childhood he could've had. That above scene in Godric's Hallow is the first time Harry truly grieves for James and Lily themselves, not just as a family he could've had.

Cedric's death was the first Harry had to watch, and it was mixed in with a lot of other trauma. So, Harry doesn't really grieve Cedric, not really. He is sad he had to die, but Harry mostly grieves himself. He doesn't want to think about the graveyard and the nightmares. He comes off as somewhat numb to Cedric's death because they weren't all that close and Harry is suffering and has no idea how to process any of it, so he pushes all of it aside because there are other things more important.

Sirius, I think, is the death that hit him hardest. I mentioned how Harry's behavior changes after Sirius dies. Sirius was one of Harry's only support lines, and then he was gone. Harry's reaction to his death is the worst too.

He tries and somewhat succeeds in casting a crucio on Bellatrix. He has his outburst in Dumbledore's office that makes me want to throttle Dumbledore and hug Harry whenever I read it:

“Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —” “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall.

[...]

“I DON’T CARE!” Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. “I’VE HAD ENOUGH, I’VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON’T CARE ANYMORE —”

(OotP)

After that, we see this grief in Harry's behavior. He becomes more reckless, more mouthy. In the first books, Harry does a lot to try and avoid unnecessary danger. From the end of book 5, Harry just doesn't care about himself as much.

Sirius is a character Harry grieves. He mentions Sirius constantly in the early chapters of book 6 and I think we see him grieving Sirius all throughout the final few books as more deaths just mount on top of his guilty consciousness as Harry keeps blaming himself:

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one, that the shelter of a parent’s arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died, and he was more alone than he had ever been before.

(HBP)

Dumbledore is a weird one. Harry grieves Dumbledore for both what he was and what he wasn't rather than the man himself. Harry grieves not actually knowing Dumbledore and Dumbledore's perceived betrayal throughout the majority of book 7:

But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose?

(DH)

He mourns losing the trust he had in Dumbledore, not just the man himself. He mourns no knowing if Dumbledore really cared for him. He mourns not actually knowing Dumbledore and he mourns the loss of the one man Harry trusted would save him — his last and greatest protector.

Unlike Sirius, Dumbledore is a person Harry has a more complicated relationship with, so his grief for him is similarly more complicated. Where he thinks of Dumbledore the idea and Dumbledore the man as very different things and he isn't sure which one of them was more honest. And he mourns not knowing.

All of this is mixed up with his helplessness in book 7 and wishing Dumbledore had told him more to prepare him. All these frustrations affect the way he grieves. And, as we see, book 7 is Harry at his most reckless — because when Harry's in emotional pain, he throws himself into danger.

Harry's grief at Dobby's death is one that really stuck with me when reading DH, specifically this scene:

“I want to do it properly,” were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. “Not by magic. Have you got a spade?” And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Bill had shown him at the end of the garden, between bushes. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives. His scar burned, but he was master of the pain, he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out. . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love.

(DH)

Harry is right in saying grief drove out Voldemort more than love. Harry's magic is very intuned with his emotions and pushes Voldemort out on instinct. I believe this is a type of Occlumancy.

See, Occlumancy requires a clear and focused mind, Harry, not knowing how to process grief, turns to manual labor that causes him pain. There is the pain from his blisters, pain from his muscles, pain from his scar — and he relishes in that pain because it makes him feel numb. It clears his head and allows him to actually practice Occlumancy.

This is a kind of self-harm. Not a super obvious act of self-harm, but it is a kind of self-harm. Working himself to the point of pain and exhaustion so he won't feel it all anymore. Just like he shouted at Dumbledore at the end of book 5. We actually see Harry in this almost numb state in book 7 quite a bit.

His recklessness is a form of self-harm too, in a way.

As he followed Bill back to the others a wry thought came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.

(DH)

As I mentioned a grieving Harry is much more dangerous to himself than a happy Harry. He's angrier, more reckless, and more prone to outbursts. He relishes in his own pain and danger in a way he hasn't before. Add that to his PTSD from everything else, and... god, I feel so bad for my boy...

Then we have all the deaths in the Battle of Hogwarts, of which Fred affected him most I think. But by that point, Harry is half numb.

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant laid down their arms? Harry’s mind was in free fall, spinning out of control, unable to grasp the impossibility, because Fred Weasley could not be dead, the evidence of all his senses must be lying—

(DH)

They're in the middle of the battle and immediately after this paragraph, Harry shouts at everyone to get down and away as more curses start flying and the Acrumentulas come in. He pushes everyone to act and to move because Harry has become so accustomed to grief and pain that by this point it's second nature to him to be in a state of pain:

Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts? He closed his eyes on her command, and at once, the screams and bangs and all the discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became distant, as though he stood far, far away from them. . . .

(DH)

I mentioned in the past that all mind arts require a focused and clear mind. This state of numbness from grief Harry pushes himself into is what allows him such good control over his connection with Voldemort and when and what he sees from it.

Harry only lets himself start to grieve Fred when he sees his body again in the hall. And he doesn't want to grieve or feel, so he runs to Dumbledore's office to view Snape's memories. At that point, towards his own death, Harry's in the mindset where he's willing to do anything to not feel the pain and grief and guilt anymore, so much so that when Dumbledore asks him to die, Harry does:

And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.” Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel, they were so far away from him, their voices echoing strangely in his ears.

[...]

His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished: Neither would live, neither could survive.

[...]

Terror washed over him as he lay on the floor, with that funeral drum pounding inside him. Would it hurt to die? All those times he had thought that it was about to happen and escaped, he had never really thought of the thing itself: His will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death. Yet it did not occur to him now to try to escape, to outrun Voldemort. It was over, he knew it, and all that was left was the thing itself: dying.

[...]

Dumbledore’s betrayal was almost nothing. Of course there had been a bigger plan; Harry had simply been too foolish to see it, he realized that now. He had never questioned that his own assumption: that Dumbledore wanted him alive. Now h saw that his life span had always been determined by how long it took to eliminate all the Horcruxes. Dumbledore had passed the job of destroying them to him, and obediently he had continued to chip away at the bonds tying not only Voldemort, but himself, to life! How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death would not me a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort.

(DH)

Not for a moment does Harry consider not dying. He mentions he wants to shout out, and wants someone to care enough to stop him:

He wanted to shout out to the night, he wanted Ginny to know that he was there, he wanted her to know where he was going. He wanted to be stopped, to be dragged back, to be sent back home. . . .

(DH)

But he doesn't shout out, because the only home he ever had was for a year at Godric's Hallow, and that home was six feet under, where Harry knows he should be.

Just, all of Harry's thoughts as he walks towards his death, to me feel like a reaction to grief. He heard Dumbledore's plan when he reached his threshold of pain and grief. It's why he doesn't consider another option if there's another way. He doesn't want there to be another way. He wants to live, but he also wants it to be over.

And in death, Harry considers staying:

Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss.

(DH)

Staying where it's warm and peaceful and there's no pain. But he chooses to return, he chooses to live, and I think that is such an important moment for his character and his journey with grief. It's the moment he accepts life is pain and decides he wants to live anyway.

[ranna-alga]

I cannot stop thinking about Arthur and Mary and how truly tragic their love story is.

We know that a big reason why they couldn't be together was due to unfair circumstances. Despite Mary seeming internally conflicted about it all, it seemed like, at first, neither of them were willing to integrate themselves into each other's lifestyles and the consequences of that (Mary leaving her family behind and Arthur deserting the outlaw lifestyle), or at least in the first mission with Mary. But on the second? Mary takes back her word, almost impulsively, and says she is willing to run away with Arthur if it means they can be together. Despite the love and loyalty she has for her family (which mirrors Arthur's for the gang), she knows her family life will only continue to make her depressed, and being with Arthur makes her realise what she actually wants out of life.

And based on the implications of Arthur's words ("I want to. More than anything, I want to."), he may also be willing to even abandon the outlaw lifestyle. But he knows he likely can't. The one thing he fears the most is for the woman he loves more than anything else in the world is to be subjected to the violence that he is all too familiar with; he can deal with it if it's inflicted on himself as someone who grew up in such an environment, but Mary? He wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to her, especially when he likely already has an extreme amount of personal guilt for the deaths of Eliza and (especially) little Isaac, how he wasn't able to protect them.

But even at that, he promises to try. He's just as willing. He's willing to protect and look after her. He says they both need money, and he's willing to get it himself if it means they can abandon everything they once knew and start a new life on some newly-bought land. And what's so particularly painful is that you can just see the disappointment behind Mary's eyes at the mention of money... How, no matter what, money is always at the forefront of his mind, even if it seems valid on Arthur's end.

When she said "I'll write to you.", it seemed as if there was some hope left to be had on Arthur's end because at least they both have a chance now, right? But in my opinion, I feel like Mary was already mentally writing the final letter in her mind at that moment, and the time gap between that scene to the moment Arthur receives said letter was Mary desperately trying to put those thoughts into words on paper.

How must she have been feeling upon hearing about Arthur's death?

Imagine the life they could have had if things worked out. If they managed to run away and be happy together. Would their home be similar to John and Abigail's in the Epilogue? Would Arthur and Mary get married? What if they had children and Arthur got a second chance at being a father again, this time not being absent and being there every day, looking after his beautiful family with the woman he loves the most..?

Arthur deserved that life. Both him and Mary. And I think that's what made John and Abigail's ending in the Epilogue so much more impactful. Arthur may have died and Mary may have been elsewhere, but they lived vicariously through John and Abigail by living the lives they themselves deserved but couldn't have.

Hear that noise? That's the sound of my heart breaking.

[skyewritesstuff]

tim mcgraw (peeta's version)

my masterlist.

entry 1 in my (taylor's version) songfic series.

summary: of all the ways the games could take peeta from you, you never imagined it to be like this.

pairing: peeta mellark x reader (set during the aftermath of the first book)

fandom: the hunger games

warnings: none, it's just sad!

notes: based on tim mcgraw by taylor swift. has been beta read.

word count: 3.4k

Peeta Mellark.

You’d heard his name spoken countless times in your life. Teachers called on him, hoping for an answer. His father confronted him on whether or not the daily tasks for the bakery had been completed. You’d asked him to go on walks with you, to teach you how to bake, and to lay on your backs in your small backyard, staring up at the night sky.

However, when Effie Trinket spoke his name, she wasn’t simply asking for a tribute; She was sentencing him to death.

The walk to the room where the blonde was being held, awaiting the impending trip to The Capitol, felt like it took days. The stares of the other District 12 residents made you feel as if you’d been selected yourself, but in a way, it felt like you had. You knew that the second the cannon fired in the arena and Peeta’s handsome features were shown on screen for the final time, a part of you would go with him. It was inevitable.

As soon as you were ushered behind the heavy wooden doors, you locked eyes with the blonde. He very visibly released a breath that he must not have even realized he’d been holding before stepping forward.

The peacekeeper’s gruff voice from behind you broke your trance, “You have three minutes.”

Tears brimmed behind your lashes. “Peeta…” Your voice cracked and his name exited your lips sounding more like a question, as if you were asking him if this was reality.

“Y/N, it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You didn’t know whether to finally let those tears fall or to scream and push at him, hoping to knock some sense into him that this was not going to be okay. However, the shakiness in his voice indicated that he might’ve already been aware of this.

“N-No…No, it’s not…it’s never going to be okay again.” The tears began to fall rapidly and your hands covered your face, hoping to shield the boy from a guilt he had no reason to harbor.

With a delicate touch, he reached up and pulled your hands away with his, shushing you gently and pulling you into his body. His arms wrapped around you tightly. The embrace felt like all of his embraces before every reaping since you first began dating at fourteen: finite. Except this time, it was.

“Listen, I need you to stay strong for me, okay? You’re going to be on my mind the entire time I’m in that arena…and you’ll be the last thing I think of before the cannon sounds. I love you. It was never supposed to end this way.” 

This time, he looked like he was going to dissolve into his own tears that he was quite obviously fighting back. You reached up and wiped at your eyes. 

“N-No…there’s not going to be any cannons…you have to win.” You tried to force a smile to impact his overall mentality, but his facial expression remained unchanged.

Peeta chuckled, “I can’t make any promises…”

“I love you…” the statement came out weakly, tears falling slowly down your cheeks, “I love you and I need you to come home.”

“Time’s up.”

You both shared one, rushed, final kiss before you felt a strong hand on your back all but jerking you towards the exit, tears streaming down your face.

Little did you know, he would come home, but the version of you who he came home to was vastly different from the one he left behind those big wooden doors on reaping day. You both had been so changed by the games. He’d faced horrors unlike any other and you’d faced a betrayal that hurt worse than any death you could’ve faced fighting alongside him in the arena.

From the stares you got at school and around town to your mother’s now disapproving tone towards the blonde, wishing his demise at every new turn in the games, Peeta’s infamous interview turned your world upside down. You wanted to believe it was all some big scheme for the games, hoping that if they played as lovers, they’d win the favor of the Capitol…but Katniss was also a known loner. He never would truly have a chance to interact with her or engage with her in a way that would not result in him being coldly pushed away if he’d not been forced to compete with and against her.

Who’s to say he hadn’t harbored feelings for her all along knowing that they’d never be requited? Then again, who’s also to say that him mentioning you, his partner of two years, would be enough to bring sympathy and sponsors from the Capitol? You watched the games every single year. There was always at least one sob story about someone who had to get back to a significant other and that never changed their fate in the games. 

You looked at yourself in the small mirror on the wall of your home, letting two French braids out of your hair so that they cascaded down in waves. Your head was beginning to hurt right at your left temple, a feeling you’d grown too accustomed to over the time frame of the games. Between the headaches, sleepless nights, and tears, the mental gymnastics every move Peeta made in the game had taken its toll on you.

“I cannot believe you’re still going to see him. He embarrassed you. He made a fool out of you in front of the entire country, but especially in our District and you’re still going to see him.” your mother looked up from some sewing she was doing right as soon as you dropped to your knees beside your bed and pulled out a box. On top of some pictures of you and Peeta, drawings he’d given you, dried flowers, and a variety of other things you’d collected throughout your relationship was a letter simply addressed with his name. You picked it up and tucked it away in your bag, shaking your head at your mother’s comments.

“I…have to. I have to just…get closure. I can’t move on if I don’t just…figure this all out in my head.” Your hand played with the strap of your bag as your mother shrugged in your direction, still mumbling under her breath as you exited your home and started towards Victor’s Village.

Part of you wanted to see him just to make it concrete in your head that he was alive because part of you doubted the allowance of two victors in the games. The other part of you wanted to avoid him at all costs so you never had to face the conversation to come, which could lead to you losing the love of your young life.

You made your way up the cobblestone road, your eyes fixed down strictly out of nerves. You admired the different stones under your feet as you headed on, only glancing up when you realized you needed to identify which house belonged to Peeta. You knew which home belonged to Haymitch, but there were lights on in two other houses. You surveyed their appearances until you observed a barely noticeable billow of smoke coming out of the chimney, perhaps from an oven.

You walked up to the front porch of this home and knocked gently, your hands quickly flying back to the strap of your bag, twisting it back and forth as you waited. 

A brunette answered the door, looking perplexed as to why you were standing there. You took in her harsh stare, her side braid, and the wound on her forehead and took a hard swallow.

“Oh…” Your eyes fell to the ground again.

“Can I help you?” Katniss asked. Her tone wasn’t as harsh as the way she’d been eyeing you. She sounded confused and you didn’t blame her.

A laugh sounded from behind her, causing you to look back up and over her shoulder. Haymitch Abernathy stood off in the distance, taking a swig from a longneck bottle, shaking his head.

“H/C hair, E/C eyes…this is the real game right here.” He took another sip, “I’ve been interested in this since the train home.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Haymitch?” Katniss asked, looking from you to Haymitch and then back to you.

“That’s Lover Boy’s real lady.”

“Oh my god…”

“Is…”

“Wrong house…” Katniss took a hard swallow herself, looking rather uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, but then ultimately decided not to. “Can you just…give him this…please?” You reached into your bag and withdrew the piece of paper that you’d spent many long nights pouring into since the night of the interview.

“Uh, sure, but he lives…” she began to gesture with the piece of paper, but you turned and walked away, arms wrapped around your midsection as you felt your chest begin to tighten and a lump began to form in your throat.

You heard Haymitch call something out from behind you as you picked up your pace and exited Victor’s Village. You felt stupid. You should’ve just gone next door and either given Peeta a piece of your mind, tried to talk this whole situation out, or just slid the letter in the mail slot on the door and continued on home.

Who knows if Katniss will ever actually give him that letter, especially if she’s harboring some kind of feelings towards him that she wants to make sure stays locked down. You let out a long sigh and then quickly changed your direction. You weren’t ready to go home and face the cruel commentary your mother would spew the second you stepped onto the threshold of the house. 

Instead, you went to your backyard, staying out of the way of the windows so that you couldn’t be seen. You sat your bag on the ground and stared up at the sky. The sun was just starting to set and it was turning the beautiful shade of orange that Peeta loved and would try to capture with his paints. The lone thought caused your chest to ache and tears to well up in your eyes again. Except this time, you allowed them to fall.

As you looked up into that orange sky, you began to recite the letter to yourself internally despite the thoughts being placed out in the open the second you turned the piece of paper over into Katniss’ hand.

Peeta,

I don’t know what to say. I needed you to come home, but not like this. I’m glad you’re alive. I will always be glad that you’re alive, but why her? You looked at Flickerman and thought before you spoke. You could’ve talked about me and you didn’t. Maybe it was a strategy. Maybe you took this as your chance to finally address feelings you’d harbored for Katniss. I don’t know, and I guess I’ll never know. Regardless of what the reason is, I want you to be as happy as you can be as a victor coming out of the games and if that’s with Katniss, then it’s with Katniss. I’ve never been one to care about the opinions of others, but when you have grown adults making fun of the fact that your boyfriend left you the second he could and commenting in passing about how you left and then used the games as a matchmaking service…I’d look like a fool to ever be seen holding your hand in public again, even if I want nothing more than to do just that.

I will forever be proud of you for what you accomplished. You fought so well and demonstrated your abilities physically, artistically, and mentally in the arena, but what you said in your interview was so shortsighted and rash that I don’t feel it’s something you and I can come back from. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to lay next to you again without wondering what was truly going on in your head in those few seconds of hesitation before you began to profess your love to Katniss.

I love you, Peeta and I will always love you…and I thought you loved me. I just hope that you don’t harbor any negative feelings towards me when you read this. Know that this was not a sudden decision and that it took the entirety of the games to finish because it was something I never thought I’d write. I hope that when you think of the time we spent together, it’s a positive memory and that you can hold them near and dear to you even though Katniss is now in your life. I know that happiness, for me, will at least for now be laying under the stars with you and dreaming of a day that we don’t have to worry about our names being pulled out of those bowls. You’d tell me how beautiful my eyes were and how you never wanted the sun to come up so you could stay in that particular moment forever. You will always be my first love and there will always be a place for you in my heart. I hope your future is as safe and as happy as you dreamed it would be.

Yours,

Y/N

You didn’t even know at what point that you’d began to cry even harder. All you knew was that you could feel a draft on your face and the moisture had dripped onto the top of your shirt. You’d started grieving him the night of the reaping, fearing he would not return. However, the actual grieving process began the night of the interview, knowing that even if he returned, he may never actually return to you. Everything had only begun to come to a head in the grass that night as the sun went down behind Sherbert skies and the void of the night sky took over your vision.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear footsteps coming up from your left side. It was only when you heard a familiar voice say your name that you sat up and turned around, a delayed gasp escaping your lips.

“Peeta?!” You looked at him and took him in in the virtually non-existent light. You couldn’t make out much about his appearance aside from his white shirt and the familiar piece of white paper in his hand.

“I…I…” he looked unsettled, scared even, “I can explain everything, but not here.”

“What?”

“Meet me back in Victor’s Village in an hour. Don’t let anyone see you.”

Something in his tone made your anxiety spike. Your heart was pounding and your stomach was turning. Whatever was happening was not good.

You hesitated before agreeing to meet him, watching as he turned and headed back in the opposite direction. You walked back around the front and entered your house.

“So, what pathetic excuse did he give you?” your mother asked.

You shrugged, “He wasn’t home. Haymitch said he’d be back in a little while, so I’m going to go back…”

“This is entirely too much effort for the boy that just decided to throw away two years with you on television.”

“He…” 

You fell quiet. You couldn’t even think of any explanation for Peeta’s behavior, but you hoped to have one soon. You walked back to Victor’s Village around forty-five minutes later, your heart pounding in your chest. What had him acting so timid and scared? This wasn’t like him at all.

You stepped up on his front porch and knocked on the door only for him to answer it almost immediately and let you inside.

“Peeta, what the hell is going on?” You couldn’t stop the thought from coming out. You were truly at wit's end and you just wanted answers. Your eyes fell on the boy. His face crumbled slightly.

“I…We…” he looked away, staring at the floor and then back up at you, “We can’t be together anymore. I’m so sorry.”

You sighed, your throat feeling tight again, “I…I figured, but…like…were you always interested in Katniss or?”

He shook his head, “I was never interested in Katniss. I’m not interested in her now. Y/N, I’m in love with you. I want you so fucking bad, but, I can’t…they’ll…they’ll hurt you. If they found out it’s all a lie, we’d all die.”

You stepped closer to the blonde as his face flushed and tears began to spill from the corners of his eyes, “Peeta, baby, what are you talking about?”

You reached up to wipe his tears and he leaned into your touch ever-so-slightly, “I lied about Katniss because I wanted to gain us sponsors and I just… wanted to try and get out of there…and we did, but Katniss told me that the Capitol is suspicious of us and that if we’re not selling this…we’re going to die and if I stay with you and get caught…they’ll just kill you to get you out of the way. It’s not safe for you to be around me anymore. I love you and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

You took a hard swallow as you tried to process what he was saying. He was now trapped in a fake relationship with Katniss or else the Capitol is going to kill the both of them and possibly anyone they love. You tried to find words, but there were none. What is there to say to that?

“I’m so sorry. I fucked up and I’m so fucking sorry.” He reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of your eyes.

“You…didn’t. You did what you had to to survive. You kept your promise to me…” You said softly, your voice still shaking through each word, “It was just..never supposed to end like this.”

“I know.” He said solemnly, “I wanted to come home, move into this house, and let you come over whenever you wanted until you eventually moved in. I wanted to protect you for the next two years…giving your family bread and money and whatever to keep you from having to put your name in that bowl any more than it has to be. I wanted to marry you…and maybe one day, when it’s safer, we can…but…until then, I can’t risk it. If we keep this up and the Capitol catches wind of it, you’ll be reaped next year, no questions about it.”

“It’s a quarter quell…”

“It doesn’t matter! In my eyes, that makes it even more dangerous because, for all we know, they could eliminate the one male, one female rule and put you and Prim, Katniss’ sister in there.” He was momentarily silent, “I cannot mentor you and then watch you die.”

“We could run…”

“We won’t make it but a little bit past the gate. There’s Peacekeepers everywhere.”

“Then we die together.”

His face grew stern, “I am not watching you die.”

Your bottom lip quivered, “If it’s ever safe again, will you come back to me?”

“There’s no coming back. I will always be yours.” He reached down and took your hands in his, placing a kiss on your knuckles, “But if that time ever comes…then, yeah…I promise…and that’s one I know I can keep.” 

“I’m going to miss you forever.” she said, “I never thought that this was how the games would take you from me.”

“I know…but…just don’t forget about me, okay? Even if you move on..”

“I could never forget about you…even if I wanted to…I’d always think about you.”

With that, he leaned in and pressed one last kiss to your lips, pouring the feelings he’d expressed to you countless times over the last two years into it, his hands cupping your face gently as your hands went to his waist. It was the kiss that you should’ve shared after the reaping and the first kiss you’d shared since he’d been home…except this time, the kiss was your last.

It's hard not to find it all a little bittersweet

And lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe…

[floralpascal]

Could You?

Summary: Having survived your bullet wound, you and Ghost both face the consequences of your deepening relationship as Ghost grapples with the impact of almost losing you. (Set right after the events of Nightmare)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: reader was hit by a bullet, medical talk, canon-level violence, talk of death, secret relationship, mentions of smut, some hurt/comfort

A/N: Thanks to everyone who requested this chapter! Hope you all enjoy!

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

Ghost knew pain. He could handle the bite of the feeling, no matter how intense or prolonged. He had never hit a breaking point from it. 

But guilt? It cut deeper than normal pain. Guilt was a nebulous feeling - an affliction of the psyche that was impossible to stop and damn near inescapable. It gnawed at him from the inside out, like a poison running in his veins. It haunted his every thought and even found him in sleep. The pain of guilt was damn near unbearable. 

Two weeks. You had been in the hospital for two goddamn weeks. For a while, it had been touch-and-go, your situation fluctuating from dire to stable to dire again as the doctors worked to repair the damage from your gunshot wound. A few days after the incident, they had put you in a medically-induced coma. 

Ghost picked at the peeled plastic leather on the armrest of his chair. He scratched his nail under the dried edge of the plastic and pulled, snapping another bit of it off before flicking the flake to the floor absentmindedly. Then, he began the process again with a new section of the material. As the days had worn on, he had slowly torn a gaping hole into the covering. Each day, the hole in the armrest grew wider, just as the hole in his chest did. 

You laid in the bed in front of his chair, tubes and wires crisscrossing over your body. Your face held none of the defining characteristics of sleep that he had come to know. Instead of peaceful, you looked distressed, your eyebrows now pinched even in sleep. A shade of gray now clung to you, almost as if you were sick. 

“Simon.” 

Ghost looked to the door of your room, following the deep, gravelly voice to a disgruntled Price. He stood in the doorway, his eyes trained on Ghost. He wore simple camouflage fatigues, a change from the last time Ghost had seen him in your hospital room. Ghost also noticed that Price had trimmed his beard since then, as well. 

How long ago had that been? 

“I told you to get out of here,” Price grumbled.

“‘n I told you I’m fine.”

Price let out a huff of air before he moved closer. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Price looked tired and solemn. He eyed the flakes strewn around the hard linoleum at Ghost’s feet. “Why’re you here? Why’re you doin’ this to yourself?”

Ghost leaned back in his chair, eyes falling back to where you laid. He couldn’t hold Price’s gaze anymore. Price was a quick, calculating man and Ghost was sure that it wouldn’t take more than a few missteps on his part to guess exactly why this really hit Ghost so hard. With the mask and his usual stoic demeanor, he already had a guard against the Captain’s incredible gift for reading people. But Price had adapted, learning instead to read Ghost only by his eyes. 

Lying wouldn’t do. Price would see straight through him if he did. He’d have to give him the truth, just not the entire truth. “This happened on my watch. This is on me, Cap.”

It felt like only yesterday that Ghost had been sitting in a hospital bed just like yours warning you not to get hurt on his watch. Not when you were putting yourself on the line for him. It was a bit of sick irony now that you laid in this bed after taking a bullet for him - irony he wasn’t fond of at all. 

He couldn’t tell Price that you had been in Ghost’s bed only a few nights before that mission. That Ghost had fucked you slowly then, his forehead pressed to yours as he unraveled you. It was the most intimate he had ever been with you. Usually when you fucked, it was hard and fast. Feelings were there, only covered by rough desperation, but this was different. It had been something soft and vulnerable, something that was more than just sex. A wall had broken between the two of you, one that had held you both back from admitting that this was an actual relationship. 

Ghost had long stopped ignoring the fact that he had strong feelings for you, but now he was finding that those feelings had no discernible bottom. The deeper he fell for you, the deeper those feelings ran.

Maybe if Price knew all that, he would understand. But Price couldn’t know. If he did, he would be obligated to report that his Lieutenant had started a relationship with his Sergeant, a subordinate. The fallout would be disastrous. 

“You were watchin’ each other’s six,” Price asserted, his voice even and insistent. Ghost could tell that he was trying to be the voice of reason for him, a role the Captain played well. Even if Price didn’t know exactly why, he could see that what happened to you was eating Ghost alive. “You both did your jobs. Sometimes shit happens and good people get hurt.”

Ghost shook his head. “I’m her superior, my job is to keep her safe. It’s the same thing with the others - Soap and Gaz. I should’a been better than that.”

Ghost had replayed that moment in his mind a million times over. If only he would’ve been better, then maybe he would’ve noticed the gunman’s hiding spot or reacted quicker to take him down. If Ghost had just been better, you might have never gotten hurt.

Price sighed, scratching at the side of his beard as he turned his eyes to you. “Shit like this is never easy when you’re in charge, Simon. You know as well as I do that blamin’ yourself is a dangerous game to play. The only thing you can do is learn from it ‘n move on. I know you two are close but tha’s no reason to sit here torturin’ yourself.”

Ghost bit back a scornful chuckle. If only Price knew how close you truly were. If only he knew that seeing you like this made him feel like the armrest of the chair he sat in - slowly being picked apart piece by piece. 

“Styx is gonna pull through. Go get some rest,” Price said resolutely. 

“Sir-”

“Tha’s an order, Lieutenant,” Price barked. “Out.” Reluctantly, Ghost stood and walked towards the door. As he passed him by the doorway, Price called over his shoulder, “You saved her life. She’s gonna live because of you. Focus on that.”

That was easier said than done. As Ghost pushed out of the room and down the bustling hallway, dodging doctors and nurses as he went, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had only saved your life because you had put yourself in danger for him again. 

It was his job to protect you - both his actual job and his job as the person you were in a relationship with. But he’d failed, and it was you who paid the price. 

It should’ve been him. At least then he would have some peace knowing that you were okay. He could take the pain if only it meant that he would take the pain away from you. 

As he made his way to his temporary room on this unfamiliar base, he could hear your voice in his head chastising him, could see the way your head ticked to the side as you challenged him like you had so many times before. It was a conversation he had with you on more than one occasion. 

“Oh, really?” you questioned, sarcasm lacing your voice. Your head had laid on Ghost’s pillow, only a few months prior, facing him in his bed. “So you can stick your neck out for me, but I can’t do it for you?”

“Precisely.” Ghost’s hand had slid up and down your bare side - the side that would later take the bullet that was meant for him. Irony was a cruel thing in retrospect.

You had narrowed your eyebrows at him, dropping your teasing tone as you leveled your serious gaze. “That’s bullshit, Simon, and you know it.”

At that, he had leaned forward and pushed his mask up above his mouth before he brought his lips to your neck. He pressed the plush of his lips to the sensitive spot at the curve of your neck - the spot he knew would drive you wild. A gasp escaped you as you tilted your head to bare more of your skin to him, your body slowly arching into his touch. 

“You can always stick your neck out for me like this, love,” he whispered against your skin before lightly nipping his teeth at the flesh there. 

An obstinate huff escaped you. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you countered, but your words had held no venom, your voice light with growing lust. It was more a concession to his caress than a genuine jab. 

“You already did that, Styx,” he had teased before rolling you over top of him so that your bare thighs straddled his large hips. Excitement flashed in your eyes as you smirked down at him, your face only inches away from his own. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear as he added, “But you can do it again if you really want to…”

Ghost opened the door to his room, trying desperately to shake the memory from his mind. To shake you from his mind. 

The room was plain and minimalistic. Gray walls, a cement floor, a small closet, a small wooden table, and a rickety single bed that could barely hold his mass were all that the small room contained. For years, accommodations like this seemed like staying in a five-star hotel. Hell, in the field, he considered a clean sleeping bag on the hard ground to be impressive. Although this guest room looked like every other quarters on every base he’d ever been on, it still felt colder somehow. More empty. 

Ghost ripped off his boots before collapsing onto the green bed, the springs groaning under his weight.

What if this relationship with you was a bad idea? Ghost and you had already broken a list of rules a kilometer long, enough to have both of your jobs if anyone ever found out. He would do everything in his power to keep you away from the fallout if it ever did come out. But that wasn’t the issue for him right now. What if this relationship with you was putting you in danger? What if it was compromising the both of you?

You had both swore to each other that you wouldn’t let this affect your work. Even though you had risked your life for him once even before your relationship started, he worried that you had taken that bullet for him because of your relationship with him. Had you done what you swore you wouldn’t?

Ghost had felt the moment he broke his promise: the second you went down, the mission meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was getting you to safety. He had been compromised, let his feelings for you rule him. It was the first crack in his armor, the once-perfect soldier finally slipping. The worst part was that, given the chance, he wouldn’t change a damn thing about how he reacted. He would do it all again. 

There were reasons for the rules that prohibited his relationship with you, just as there were consequences. A dark voice in the back of his mind said that it was his fault. He let this relationship start - let the both of you fall into this knowing damn well how you both felt. He had let the two of you compromise yourselves. As a result, you now laid in a hospital bed desperately holding onto life and he was going out of his mind. 

Just fucking sleep. He just needed to fucking sleep. 

~~~

Ghost found no solace when his eyes closed. He found you there, too. He was lost in the space between sleep and consciousness, a restless and aching plane of existence. He couldn’t tell whether the images he saw were dreams or memories or some odd mixture of both. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

His eyes snapped open, his consciousness yanked back to the dark, cold room. It was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out what had woken him.

Someone banged on Ghost’s door again, the knocks hard and fast. 

“Ghost.” It was Soap’s voice that came from the other side of the door, though it held none of his usual energy. It was too somber. “The doctors woke Styx an hour ago.”

Ghost sat up and quickly pulled on his boots again. When Ghost opened the metal door, he found Soap poised to knock again, his fist raised before he froze. Soap relaxed then, dropping his hand to his side. 

“They’re lettin’ visitors in now. I thought you’d wanna know,” Soap told him, his voice low. He appraised Ghost with solemn eyes, his mouth drawn tight in apprehension. It was a rare look for the young soldier. 

Ghost offered him a, “Thanks, Johnny.”

He pushed past Soap, heading swiftly towards the hospital wing of the base. Soap ran to catch up, his boots smacking into the concrete hallway floor, falling in stride with Ghost. 

Soap was quiet until the pair entered the hospital section of the base, the distinctly sterile aroma making Ghost feel sick. 

“LT…” Soap drew cautiously as they traversed the packed hallway. “What happened to her?”

“What d’ya think, Johnny? She got fuckin’ shot.”

Soap rolled his eyes, dodging a nurse that dashed between them as she headed towards some unknown emergency. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, how’d it happen? You haven’t said a word about it to anyone but Price.”

Ghost simply shook his head. 

“C’mon,” Soap pushed, “what happened out there?”

Ghost stopped right outside of the closed gray door to your room. He had known Soap long enough to know that he would keep asking until he got an answer. He might as well pull the band-aid off now. “I had my back turned, a guy jumped out, she shot him, and took the bullet that was meant for me.”

Soap’s face dropped, some of the pieces of why Ghost had kept this quiet finally clicking into place. He tapped the fist of his right hand against the palm of his left hand nervously. The only thing he said was, “Oh…”

“Yeah.” Ghost gazed at your door.

“Well, at least you both made it out of there, yeah?”

Ghost grumbled, “Barely.”

“Ghost,” Soap chided, clearly catching Ghost’s irritation that you’d risked your life for him again, “you’d do the same thing for her. I know you would.”

“Tha’s got nothin’ to do with this.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if it had been you who’d been shot instead of Styx, I’d be standing here having this same conversation with her. The two of you are more similar than either of you will admit.”

Ghost let out a long huff. 

“Just go easy on her,” Soap urged. “I’ll be waitin’ out here. Might call Gaz and tell him she’s awake. Then I’ll go in to see her after you.” He clapped a reassuring hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he passed by him to go sit in the waiting room. 

Ghost turned back toward your door, a knot forming in his stomach. All he had wanted for weeks was to see you awake, but now, the thought of facing you was paralyzing. 

Ignoring his apprehension, he grabbed the cold door handle and turned, slowly peering into your room. Price stood beside your bed, still clad in the same fatigues he had been in earlier, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to you. 

You. You were reclined back on the bed, your hair wild from the weeks spent asleep. Your face showed the weight of what you had endured, eyes tired from the physical strain your body had been under. But you looked alive again. Some of the gray had begun to dissipate from your skin, your normal glow beginning to return. 

Hearing the door open, you and Price both turned your heads to Ghost, your conversation cut short. Whatever you were going to say died on your lips the moment you saw him. When your eyes met his, he felt like he could finally breathe again. 

You were alive.

Price cleared his throat before resting a hand on your shoulder. “We can finish this conversation later. I’m happy to have you back, kid.”

You nodded at Price, your eyes not straying away from Ghost for long. Ghost could barely tear his eyes away from you either. 

Price strode across the room, giving Ghost a pointed look before walking out of your room and closing the door behind him. 

It was quiet for a long moment as the two of you simply took each other in from opposite sides of the room. While you were asleep, there had been so much he wanted to say to you, but now every word was lost. 

You looked relieved to see him, eyes wide like a doe. 

“Ghost…” Your voice was hoarse, almost painfully so. Ghost moved forward to the side of your bed, as if somehow he could fix it, could take away some of the pain. “Price said you were here,” you croaked. “And that he had to kick you out.”

He nodded. He had been by your side for weeks, had seen you almost every day, and yet hearing you talk to him made it sink in that you were really here. You were really alive. 

“He said you were gonna rip that chair to pieces if he let you stay.” You ticked your head toward the chair Ghost had occupied for days. You chuckled a little, but the movement made your whole body tense up, your face screwing in pain. You let out a hiss, your breaths going ragged. 

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” you claimed, but your voice was only a mock impression of being okay. Pain still drew your lips into a hard line as you pressed them together. It was the same thing you had done when you got shot, almost like a reflex: I’m fine. The memory burned his insides like acid. 

“No, you’re bloody not,” he retorted. 

You huffed out a long breath as you laid your head back on the inclined bed, your eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. You knew exactly where he was going, exactly what was going through his head. You warned, “Ghost…”

“Why?” He asked, voice calm but strained. “Why did you step in front of me?”

You shook your head, your gaze dropping to meet his once again. “Why? You know damn well why.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“You think it was even a choice? If it was me, would you even have to think twice about stepping in front of me?”

Ghost huffed indignantly, looking at the ceiling. 

“That’s what I thought,” you said lightly. 

“Maybe tha’s the problem,” Ghost growled. You quirked a confused eyebrow at him before he continued. “We said we wouldn’t let this - us - affect our work. This was never supposed to be-”

He cut himself off, frustration marring every fiber of his being as he turned away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Relief and pain battled inside of him, the combination enough to tear him apart. It was too much.

The silence hung over the two of you for a long time, the only noise in the small room being the steady, fast beep of your heart monitor. Each beep was a reminder of why this was a terrible idea. It was a reminder of what he had to lose, a reminder of what could be ripped away from him at any moment. He squeezed his eyes closed, his hand coming to grasp the back of the abandoned, torn chair to ground himself. 

He never meant to let you this close to him. He never meant to care like this. 

“Do you think you could go back?” you asked, your voice steady and hoarse. He knew you well enough to know what you sounded like when you were covering up how you truly felt, though. It was too calm, too measured. “Simon, I mean it. Could you go back to the way things were between us before? Because if so, just do it now while I’m hopped up on painkillers. Make it easy for me.”

He could end it now - tell you that it was over like he should have a long time ago. But the damage was already done. Even if things ended with you now, he would never be able to stop the way he felt for you nor stop it from influencing him. He would always care more than he was supposed to. He had already gone so long without you - been on the verge of losing you for weeks - and it was about to rip him to shreds. How could he ever choose to let you go?

With his back still turned, Ghost countered your question with his own. No matter how you answered, he wasn’t sure he could take the sting of it. “Could you?”

Your response was immediate and unwavering. “No.”

Your admission hung in the air, the revelation an indictment of his own choice. 

Then, Ghost said your name. Your real name - the name he almost never used. It dripped from his lips, the weight of it a confession of equal measure. 

He wasn’t strong enough to let go of you.

When he turned around to face you, your eyes were wide. He saw a small flash of relief cross your face, the medicine you were on surely hindering your ability to hide it. A small, weak smile slowly drew at the edge of your lips. “I like the way you say it.”

Ghost walked to the edge of your bed then, the plastic creaking under his added weight as he came to sit on the edge of it with his body twisted to face you. He dropped his bare hand to lightly run his fingers along the back of yours, being mindful of the wires and tubes attached to you. You caught his intention immediately, turning your hand to slowly slip into his grasp. It was quiet for a long time while he ran his thumb back and forth over your skin. Somehow the gesture was more intimate than any night spent tangled with you in bed.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, your head tilting at him. 

Simon met your gaze. Your eyes were heavy, the physical strain you were under taking its toll. 

“You’re gonna get some rest,” he commanded. “Get your strength back. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

You nodded before squeezing your eyes shut. “Think I’m gonna need some more meds soon. This headache is terrible.”

He leaned over you and plucked the remote with the “Call Nurse” button on it from the other side of the bed. Untangling your hand from his, he placed the remote in your grasp.

“You might wanna get out of here before that nurse with the bun comes back,” you warned, your tone light. “I think she hates you for what you did to that chair.”

He rolled his eyes. That nurse had shot him a nasty glare each time she had come to check in on you in the last few weeks. “Trust me, I noticed.”

Simon stood then, his eyes flitting to the still-closed door of your room. In one swift motion, he turned, bent over your bed, pushed his balaclava over his nose, and lightly brought his lips to yours. You froze in surprise for a moment before you melted into the kiss, your lips chapped but insistent.

He had wondered if he would ever get to feel this again. To feel you, the way you ran through his veins like a wildfire. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It was a reminder of everything he almost lost and everything he still stood to lose.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered, his lips still brushing yours with each word.

You didn’t answer. He knew you couldn’t; he wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, you simply brought your cold hand to the exposed flesh of his chin. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold. 

It was you. Just you.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hello! I’m not sure if this has been requested yet. But could I request an Ethan Landry imagine with the prompts 1 & 4. “How could you betray me like that?’’ & “I’m not gonna let you get hurt.’’ Could the reader be Gale and Dewey’s daughter too? Please and thank you!

I've been waiting for a request that could fit this scene idea that I had and this one was perfect!!

my taglists are here  + you can requests here at any time

—

Your eyes welled with tears as the ghostface on detective Bailey’s right took off their mask, revealing the face of your boyfriend.

‘’No,’’ you cried, barely audible.

The ghostface reveals are known to be shocking, but this — you did not see this coming. Ethan had always been sweet, loving and awkward. He was the perfect golden retriever boyfriend. You really thought you had him figured out.

Yet, here he was, black robe on and bloody knife in his hand after stabbing his roommate to an imminent death.

You felt sick to your stomach. This couldn’t be happening.

You were starting to believe that your life was cursed. You were the daughter of two survivors of the original Woodsboro massacre, it would make sense. Cursed by the bloodline.

Would this ever stop? Or were you destined to die by the knife of a masked killer? You were so sick of these fucking ghostfaces. One of them had taken your father’s life last year. Now, your mother was severely injured and one of the killers turned out to be the guy you were in love with? Your father was right — never trust the love interest.

Beside you, Tara was frowning at who she thought was her friend. How could he have done this to Chad?

Sam’s attention shifted to the second ghostface that had yet to reveal himself. Please don’t be Danny, she silently begged. She had gone through this once, she didn’t want to be betrayed the same way again. She would probably go ballistic if the second ghostface revealed to be Danny.

Everyone was on the edge as the remaining ghostface removed their mask.

Quinn.

‘’Hey roomies,’’ she greeted with a smile. ‘’Didn’t see that one coming, did you?’’

‘’Because we thought you died,’’ Tara said, deeply confused.

‘’Yeah, well it was a way to get off the suspects list.’’

Detective Bailey and Quinn went on about how they faked her death, but you weren’t listening. Your attention focussed on the boy who completely shattered your heart.

“How could you betray me like that?’’ you said as a tear slipped down your cheek, looking right at Ethan.

His eyes were filled with guilt and regret, but you didn’t put your guard down. You couldn’t let yourself be fooled by him — not again.

‘’I’m sorry, baby.’’ Ethan’s voice had shifted to the soft one he used with you, dropping the ghostface act. He made a step to you, but before he could reach you, Quinn did and held her knife against your throat.

You gasped and went completely still in Quinn’s hold, your life one move away from ending.

Rage filled Ethan, glaring at his killing partner. ‘’Don’t touch her!’’ he warned, pointing his knife at Quinn. ‘’She has nothing to do with this.’’

‘’Uh-uh. Come any closer and I’ll kill her,’’ the ginger haired girl defied, tightening her hold on your frightened figure.

Quinn’s threat was not an empty one and Ethan knew. She didn’t care about you or your life.

‘’Falling for the enemy. God, you’re such an idiot!’’

You begged Ethan for help with your eyes, the fear in his mirroring yours.

Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot echoed in the theater and you saw Kirby, back on her feet, firing at Quinn. The bullet hit her shoulder and fell back from the impact, just enough to allow you to slip from her grapes and flee with Sam and Tara as Quinn cursed from the pain.

The theater was large, so you separated. Sam took Tara's hand and dragged her in one direction and you took the other. It would have been smart if there weren't three killers, but staying together made you a bigger target. There wasn’t really a smarter plan, they both sucked.

You pushed a door and took a left, hoping to find a room to lock yourself in, but instead ending up in a long hallway that was a deadend. Fuck. If any of the killers found you, you would be doomed.

You leaned against the wall, catching your breath for a short moment as you asked yourself what your mom would do in your situation. She’s Gale Weathers, she’s intelligent and resourceful — she always finds a solution.

During your thinking, a hand covered your mouth.

By elimination, it wasn’t Quinn — she would have stabbed you immediately. It also couldn’t be detective Bailey because all the man could do was use a gun.

Your eyes widened in fear, thinking this was your moment, but instead you heard Ethan’s voice.

‘’It’s me.’’

A sound that should reassure you and make you feel safe instead made fear rise in your chest.

You pushed his hand off you. ‘’Don’t touch me.’’

Your words hurt like a dagger to the heart. You were scared of him.

He raised his hands in surrender. ‘’I know you're scared of me right now—’’

��’You murdered people, Ethan. You...you stabbed my mom and killed her boyfriend.’’

‘’That wasn't me! It was Quinn,’’ he exclaimed, quickly innocenting himself. ‘’I could never do this to you.’’

His eyes were pleading that you would believe him, but to which extent had he put an act on?

‘’Was any of it real? You and I?’’

Tears filled your eyes again as flashes of the time spent with him hit you. All the nights watching movies cuddled on his bed, the study sessions that turned into making out and the softest smiles he gave you. The intimate moment spent beneath the sheets. Helping him tape his strange knight costume for the Halloween party because it kept falling apart. When he comforted you after the attack at Sam and Tara’s apartment or accompanied you to the hospital when your mom got stabbed numerous times. You had cried into his chest, wrapped in the protection of his strong arms while the doctors were taking care of your mom.

‘’Yes!’’ he affirmed, coming close but you stepped back, making his heart ache. ‘’Everything between us is real, I promise. You're the only good thing in my life I've ever known. The only person I’ve ever loved.’’ He was pouring his heart to you, not caring if he sounded desperate.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do to get your forgiveness. Hell, he would get on his fucking knees and beg if needed.

‘’And I believe that.’’ You put a hand on his face gently, feeling his baby-soft skin. ‘’I love you, Ethan. I love you, but I can't forgive you. You…you killed Anika and Chad.’’

‘’I had to! My dad— He made me do it.’’ Tears filled Ethan’s eyes. ‘’I-I wanted nothing to do with this.’’

He rarely ever evoked his father — or his family. All he had said to you was that he constantly had to fight to gain his father's love and approval because he wasn't the favorite son. Was this why he participated in his father's revenge plan?

Your heart ached for the boy who begged for his father’s attention and love, but it didn’t change anything to the fact that Ethan had killed in cold blood two people who called him a friend.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ Your hand slipped from his face, getting flashes of Anika’s body falling from the ladder and hitting the ground. ‘’You’ve gone too far. I can’t—’’

‘’I’m sorry. For Chad and Anika and all the people I’ve hurt.’’

‘’Sorry is not gonna bring them back.’’

Ethan didn’t say anything. Sometimes, silence is best.

‘’I’m still gonna keep my promise.’’

You drew your eyebrows together. ‘’What promise?’’

‘’To protect you. It doesn’t matter if you hate me, you’re not going down tonight.’’ He rested his forehead against yours, looking right into your eyes as he promised. ‘’I'm not gonna let you get hurt. Ever.’’

—

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[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 1| RIVER OF GOLD |

The Lady | T.L x READER |

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ and if I was a child, did matter? If you got to wash your hands. ~

“He scares me, just a little. Not a violent way I suppose but as if he knows everything about me, though he might if he paid for spies. I am to be his wife, never thought I’d lay with a Lannister and yet here I am. Father has forbade me from writing to Doran, he would be mad at me. Lannisters and us have had a bitter history, my sweet aunt lost at the cost of war but perhaps this would be my first taste of power. I would be his wife, I would hold the sword.”

Grey, the skies were grey in the Westerlands. Black adorned every noble lord and lady's bodies as they stood by the falls. Five children stood as they mourned the death of their mother, along with many other houses who had only come to pay respects; out of obligation. Only five young bodies knew the truth of what had happened.

"Our princess took a terrible fall." the Maesters and handmaidens said, a truth laced with an ugly lie.

Our mother killed herself

The silk that wrapped the former princess's body held the further truth, if one peaked in they would see her bashed left cheek from the impact, a little lower they would see her crushed collar bone and even lower they would see blackened bruises from the fall. They would also see scars, yellowing bruises and fingerprints all over her skin, the testament to the brutality she had to suffer at the hand of her lord husband.

She was gone, and a candle that all five children held in the storm; blew out with her. The oldest boy Jeagir stood with his arm around his sister, you. Her hands rested on the shoulders of her two younger sisters Ellia and Nyela and their Maester Crasden, that stood next to them with an asleep toddler in his arms; the youngest Loren.

While the younger girls wept silently, their older siblings silently boiled in rage. All four children were handed torches as they walked to the four corners of the pyre their mother laid on, a Dornish priest went on with words that were muffled in the noble children's ears. While some remembered the screams from that night, some could only hear the crackling fire in their hands. In unison they lit the four corners of their mother's final rest. She would be safer now, nobody would hurt her now.

Your mother had written to you six moons ago, "Fly back to me, child." She had written. Her Martell uncles had managed to get her on a ship within the next day of the letter's arrival. The ship flung the banner of House Martell and delights filled the cargo of the ship for their dear sister.

"Give her my love." Doran Martell had said as he kissed the top his niece's head, a girl he had raised as his own for the past twelve years.

The morning you arrived to Lannisport, your receiver and long friend Fredrick also brought the doomed message.

"Princess Elina took a terrible fall."

One look at your mother's dead body and the guilt in your mother's handmaiden's eyes, the horrified sullen eyes of your sisters and the rage in your brothers eyes. You knew.

Your mother killed herself.

Lannisport was controlled by the most powerful family in the Westerlands, the Lannisters. More specifically Tywin Lannister. That man knew everything that went on in his lands and surely a Dornish ship with Martell sails entering his harbour was to be brought to his attention. He had ridden out that day, as he did every other day to visit Lannistown and the port. Mostly to set his own eyes upon the visitors from Dorne, he had taken extra guards as a welcome party.

He watched from high ground as the ship docked itself, five boats emerged from the ship. One with a golden pavilion shade, harbouring most likely a person of noble decent. He wondered if the Martells finally had come for his head, but out emerged a young lady at best in a pink Dornish dress, you.

His brother Kevan had rode down to the ports to enquire about the arriving party before riding back to his brother. Tywin watched as a man stood with the banner of his sworn house Maerilys, he watched as the man greeted you dressed in pink, then he watched you speak and for a moment all the colour drained from your face. It seemed as though everyone around you had frozen too, then he watched as your hand came up to your forehead, your lips widen as all the men and women that came with you hung their head low. A message came for him too, a rider rode out from Casterly Rock with the message.

"Princess Elina Martell of House Maerilys has passed."

Kevan too returned from the ports.

"That's Lord Maerilys's eldest daughter."

Tywin had arrived to Deep Den after the funeral, he had known Princess Elina personally having been a close companion to his late lady wife Joanna, the woman wasn't much older than him but he knew wits when he saw it, though he never liked the man she married. Lord Loren Maerilys, clearly named after his ancestor but Tywin knew that man held no kingly qualities. The house provided a good chuck of the Lannister fleet and armies, siege weapons and other labour personnel to Casterly Rock.

Lord Maerilys was a cruel man, the Mad King had his own reasons but Maerilys was another kind of evil, he flaunted his affairs in his lady wife's face, he beat her and humiliated her. Princess Elina on the other hand suffered through it all, many never understood why, she was Dornish. If she had written about the true brutality of her husband to her brothers. They would have landed an army right at her front gates to take her home. She never did, she suffered it all.

When you were born to the household, Lord Maerilys was not pleased, had it not been for his advisors and Maesters, he would have thrown your babbling form into the sea to wash off your existence, to another father you may have been a delight, a gorgeous little girl. But to your father, you were weakness, you couldn't carry their house's name.

Maester Crasden protected you as alittle girl as best he could, keeping you for longer lessons or away from your father's sight most times. However she you fell in the trap of your father's violence, instead of staying in your bedchambers one night as your mother's muffled wails rang through the halls, you hid a dagger stolen from the armoury in your skirts and walked into your parents chambers. Your little hands were ineffective, the blade you wielded ended up giving you a bigger cut than her father and a swollen bruise to her cheek from a backhanded slap.

"You insolent cunt! I could have your head for this." He screamed like a mad man as the little girl's glare never left him. That night her mother wrote to her brothers for help for the first time. She urged them to take her daughter, to raise her as their own with her nieces and nephews.

"Protect my girl, do not let her flame die." She had written.

Tywin had strayed from his riding party for a while, he rarely got to breathe in the country and the serenity of its views. He wanted to tarry a bit, as his riding party prepped for his arrival. The Old Lion had taken a guard along with him, surely he was learned enough to know that he was safe no where. There was a faint rush of water from the great falls in the mountains by Deep Den, the birds sang their songs as the air in the forest remained thick and humid, and Tywin walked through it all like he owned the forests. He had taken a long deep breath, closing his eyes as his head lifted upwards, allowing himself to unravel for just a moment. Though his moment of peace was interrupted by the whoosh of an arrow that nearly missed him and lodged itself onto the tree trunk behind him.

His guard drew their swords, at alert as Tywin sat strong on his horse. All of them looking around to find the source of the attack, a rustle in the bushes and most of them were prepared to fight. Until from the bushes and vines emerged your figure dressed in commoner rags, out of breath and sharp as you looked around before your eyes widened at the men with their swords out. You hands instinctively held tighter on your bow as your chest heaved, looking at all three men skeptically; until the armour they wore gave their true identity away. Lannisters.

You dropped the bow, raising your hands in defence. Gulping at the glare, the lord had fixated on you. If you weren't mistaken, you stood in the presence of Tywin Lannister. Comely and stern looking man.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought you were a deer," you looked at him apprehensively, as you prayed to the gods, that this man knew nothing of your identity.

"Clearly not," He nodded at his men to sheath their steel.

Tywin didn't trust the girl, and the only way he knew that he would make out of these woods without killing you, was to take you with him. You were clean, too clean for a commoner. Your posture and nimble fingers, too relaxed to be an assassin. You looked familiar and yet he couldn't quite put a name to the face.

"Who are you girl?" Tywin commanded, his eyes capturing every detail of the sweet maiden before him. The velvet of your dress pointed that you were no mere peasant girl, though your unruly hair and mud over your hands would unlikely make you of noble birth.

"I am a kitchen wench, from the Den my lord," you tried to hold his gaze to not seem as if you were lying through your teeth. The lord gave you a grunt of answer before turning his horse around.

"Come along then. No girl like you should be out here alone." He ordered but you stood your ground

"Forgive me my lord, strange men offering escort in the middle of the woods, not exactly reliable," you made your case "I can find my own way home." With that you ran, abandoning your weapon. You ran through the very well known forests as the Lannister guards wandered deeper into the forest with no avail.

You huffed in exhaustion as you returned home, sweaty and covered in dirt. What was to be a trip to clear your head turned out to be a rat chase. The maids all looked scared for their Lady, for surely if Lord Maerilys saw his daughter in this condition, not only would he have your head but also the gaurds that were supposed to be escorting you.

"You must change, before your father sees you my lady." A man called out, Fredrick Serrert. When you had left the shore he was merely a boy but when he came to receive you, he stood a man grown at nearly six foot three.

Down in the Deep Den's hall, Lord Maerilys. A stubbed, and disgruntled old man greeted their liege lord. Both lord exchanged words of formality before Tywin walked himself to the rear gardens, where a burnt out pyre of ashes remained, still gusts of simmering smoke emitted from it. There laid Princess Elina, he still remembered her face, how young him and his betrothed were when his father had brought him along to their wedding. An elaborate affair, the Dornish princess was set to marry the older Maerilys brother, yet tragedy struck Daven Maerilys and her "condition" (the birth of your brother) left her in choice but to wed the younger brother Loren Maerilys instead.

"They say you look for a wife, Lord Tywin." Lord Maerilys asked, the old lion just nodded in reply.

"I have three. The older one just returned from Dorne, and my two younger one's are yet to bleed but should be of cause my lord." Tywin's face scrunched up in disgust, though his face looked away from Loren, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure Tywin had imposed a marriage on his daughter, but sell out your daughters that young. Then out of the blue, it hit Tywin.

"Kitchen wench." He scoffed under his breath. He hadn't been outsmarted in a while but surely he was looking forward to meeting this Lady as he put a name to the familiar face. He remembered you from the docks

All the Maerilys kids poured out one by one. Olyvar came first, head held high and the spitting Dornish image of his mother, behind him trailed the two younger girls, Nyela and Ellia. They stood in a line as Tywin was introduced to them, he shook the oldest boy's hands and charmingly complimented the little girls on their hair. Then burst through the doors was another, your hurried feet found you standing next to your little sisters, with a toddler in your arms. You gracefully bowed.

"This is my eldest daughter." your father introduced you, every cursed word you could think of you used on yourself internally. You prayed that he would keep his mouth shut about earlier, and thank the gods he did.

"And who might this be?" Tywin gestured at the child wriggling in your arms, your sweet brother you had only seen painted palm prints off in your mother's correspondences

"Harolld Maerilys, my lord." you voice spoke up, a lot gentler then earlier, almost a whisper as you tried to not startle the child.

Tywin that night thought of the proposition Lord Maerilys put forth, there was something about this girl that just made you tick. Tywin wasn't a child that merely beauty would sway him, though you were quite a sight he had seen in a while, full lips, expressive eyes. There was something commanding about you, the way your eyes never left his, your head held high even admist all this sorrow. He saw a gain in this too, an alliance between Martells and Lannisters, you were important enough for them to send you home with Martell sails.

The next morning he made his wishes heard, he would court you for the week he was to reside at Deep Den, and leave with a bride by him.

You were having none of it, a screaming match broke out in the hall. As servants and soldiers turned a deaf ear to them yet again. You had nothing against this wedding but you refused to leave you little sisters behind at the hands of a monster.

"The girls will leave with me to Dorne!" You yelled over your father's voice

"You watch it girl, I could sell you and sisters for a lump sum and no one would bat an eye!" Your father threw back, menacingly nearing your proximity. However you weren't a child anymore, you stood your ground glaring up at your father. His hand shot forward, yanking your head up from the root of your hair making you yelp out in pain.

"Hurt me, go on. My uncles will cut your hands off if I tell them about this." your words were laced in venom and yet the truth. Doran Martell, was viciously protective over you and Oberyn, your sweet uncle Oberyn. You were his sunshine, though he may never see you more than just his little niece, your heart once yearned for more with your Uncle Oberyn. Many whispered at Sunspear that you had given your maidenhead to him and how you wished that were true.

"My lord." Maester Crasden's voice made Lord Maerilys push his angry daughter away, as tears threatened to roll down your face. You sat on the chair with your head on the table, rubbing the spot your father had held onto. Crasden came over, his fingers gently parting your hair to check for injury, you sweet lady would be fine.

"Marry him child." you scoffed at Crasden but he looked at you as if he wasn't finished, he sat down next to you.

"You would be the Lady of Casterly Rock, our liege lady," he cleared his throat before going on "you could order your sisters away to Dorne." His hand patted your cheek "You would hold power, I could not help your mother child. Let me help you."

The old maester's words had sunk deep within you as you began to ponder on the topic of your marriage and finally gave in, other than Tywin's cruelty on the battlefield and politics, there was no account of him ever imposing himself on women, you began to think of if you'd be safe and the only way to confirm your queries would be from the source itself.

You and Lord Tywin had found yourselves in your mothers gardens, you had called for him yourself and Tywin was curious to hear what you had to say.

"I realise how auspicious of a union this is, however I have questions and terms of my own before I agree to this." you kept your voice strong as you voiced yourr feelings on the matter.

"Go on then, my lady." Tywin walked past you to sit down.

"I truly hope that you know my disdain isn't toward you my lord, but merely a worry for my prospects." you stated as you sat down across from him, you didn't want to elaborate further, not wanting to slander your father in front of his liege lord.

"I am aware, my lady" Tywin's stress on the word made you look away. If your mother's troubles had been so known, how come none of these vast noble lords come to her aid.

"You needn't worry about me imposing myself on you" He suggested making you look at him, grateful and confused

"You would be well looked after and eventually sponsored for when the time came for your duties at Casterly Rock." He elaborated further.

"I knew your mother, I have a debt that still needs to be paid." The mere mention of your mother made the your eyes gloss over.

"And I would be safe?" There was a gentle crack to your voice.

"You would be safe." He reassured you, the green of his eyes glinting against the sun.

So it was setttled, Lady Maerilys was to wed Lord Tywin Lannister, ravens flew from Deep Den to Castley Rock, The Red Keep and to Sunspear. The news of this alliance spread through both families, both his children and the Martells were furious at about the wedding but it was done. A small affair at the Great Hall, you wore your mother's ivory dress that was fit to your sizing, that morning your mind nearly changed again as you tried to make a break for the ports but was stopped by Olyvar. If not for yourself then you performed her duties to protect her sisters.

"Father."

"Smith."

"Warrior."

"Mother."

"Maiden."

"Crone."

"Stranger."

"I am hers and she is mine."

"I am his and he is mine."

"From this day until my last day."

A chaste kiss between the two sealed this union. You were now Lady Lannister of Castley Rock, and hell was to pay if anyone tried to hurt you.

next chapter

[spooky-bunnys]

Carl Grimes x male reader who is the leader of his own settlement in a private school and they become close and they are so cheesey and cute together and sneak out to see each other

I miss The Walking Dead. I stopped watching after like the middle of the 6th season. I just couldn't handle all the death anymore. But I hope you enjoy.

When (Name) was a kid he had a best friend that not only was his classmates, but was his neighbor. His name was Carl Grimes. He was everything to (Name). Just like how (Name) was everything to Carl. Especially since all (Name) had was his grandmother. Who half the time didn't even remember the poor (hair color) male.

So when the world fell apart. Neither boys knew what happened to the other. Carl tried to convince his mother and Shane to help his friend but they were more worried about getting themselves out and to safety then for the kids. Sadly when (Name) when to the Grimes household and saw it ransacked he thought the worst.

That Carl hadn't made it. (Name)'s grandmother hadn't. In fact she had attacked poor (Name) who sadly had to choose between his life or her dead life. She was already turned so (Name) didn't feel as much guilt as he would've if she was alive.

(Name) over the years had been all over the place. Saving many people and families. While some people tried to double cross him, (Name) didn't let that affect him. (Name) would save whoever he could and if they chose to stay with him, he'd let them as long as they don't hurt others in the group.

(Name) had honestly never been one for violence but sometimes that's all a person knows. He has done some questionable things over the years. But the others in his group didn't hold it against him. They knew he was just doing it with their safety in mind. Especially after an incident when a man tried to force himself on one of the younger girls.

That was the first time (Name) had killed a living being. It haunted (Name) but the thanks that the girl and her parents have him helped. His wife had tried turning the group against him. Calling him a murder and a liar. Until the girl explained what happened in exact details.

The woman didn't say anything after that. Just asked for a few supplies and left the group. (Name) had of curse blamed himself but the group supported him. So when they had found a private school in an hour and half from D.C. he decided the group needed to settle.

So he worked hard along with the volunteers that helped him clean it out. They turned it from a private school to a heavily protected fortress. He set up a routine with the workers and was even able to give the children the feeling of normality with going to school. Which made many people happy including himself.

He had a routine fr scavenging, training, teaching, and guarding. He had displayed it on the inside of the front door. But when people wanted to change they had to discuss it with him and see if anyone would switch. If nobody could switch he'd do it himself. Since everybody needs a break he'd say.

So imagine his surprise when on one scavenging hunt he runs into not only the old sheriff but his son too. "Mr. Grimes? C-Carl?" The two had quickly turned with weapons drawn. But both were pleasantly surprised to see it was someone alive. "Um I'm sorry how do you know us?" (Name) pulled his long hair up showing off his face.

"It's me. (Name). (Name) (Last Name)." The two froze. "Holy shit (Name)!" Carl practically tackled the poor male to the ground from the surprise hug. (Name) yelped and winced upon impact and Rick quickly pulled Carl off the smaller boy. "Are you bit?" Rick asked gun trained on (Name). "Ah-no. I broke my left hand earlier trying to get something off a high self."

The two Grimes looked at him confused. "Oh I was scavenging for my group." The two tensed at the information. "Are you talking about the Saviors?" (Name) confused tilted his head. "Saviors? I don't know who that it. But I'm talking about my group. We're set up at John Kennedy Academy. It was a private school before everything happened."

The Grimes looked at each other then looked at (Name). "Whose the leader then?" (Name) pointed at himself. "I am. Surprising I know but I've worked extremely hard to get to where I am and I'm very proud of it." The two shared a look and Rick nodded. "We'll take you back to your group then. I know Carl is dying to spend more time with you." Carl blushed and lightly hit his father.

(Name) chuckled and nodded. "Alright follow me if you want. I came in a car. Do you guys need a ride?" The Grime winced then nodded. (Name) led them to the van he was using. "This is our Scavenger Van as the kids like to call it." Rick chuckled with a nod. He knows how kids are. When they piled in (Name) realized something. "Um actually could one of you two drive. I forgot about my broken hand..."

Rick nodded and took over as the driver as (Name) directed him to the Academy. When they arrived at the gate an older male had his gun trained on Rick. "Staye your business!" (Name) rolled down the window and stuck his head out. "Nick! It's okay they're with me. I accidentally broke my hand again!" The man now identified as Nick opened the gate.

Once they entered Nick immediately opened (Name)'s door and took a look at his hand. "Yep definitely broken. What'd you do this time kiddo?" (Name) bashfully looked away and softly spoke. "I tried climbing shelfs for items." Nick huffed and messed up (Name)'s hair. "Well get to Stefanie then. We should have the right material to bandage it."

The male nodded and turned to leve but saw the Grimes. "Oh I completely forgot! Nick meet my old neighbors M. Sheriff Rick Grimes and his son Carl." Nick nodded at the two and shook their hands. "My name is Nicholas Blake. Or just Nick for short. I was a baker before the world ended." Rick nodded before asking. "How'd you meet (Name) then?"

Nick was silent for a moment. "I-I had lost my wife and daughter. They'd be bit and I couldn't kill them. So they turned. I couldn't find it in myself to end them but luckily this kiddo saved me." Nick ruffled (Name)'s hair again making said male whine. "Now (Name) go to Stefanie for that hand while I take the stuff in." Rick offered to help which Nick agreed. Leaving (Name) and Carl.

"Wow (Name). You've done a lot over the years haven't you?" (Name) nodded and started up the Academy stairs. "Care to join me?" (Name) held out his right hand. Carl smiled softly and grabbed it letting (Name) lead him. It honestly felt like old times as they walked and talked about what happened over the years.

"Wait so your telling me. Because you killed her husband who was trying to harm a little girl, she tried turning your own group against you? What did you do?" (Name) smiled sadly. "I didn't do anything. The girl came forward and told everyone what had been happening before I stepped in. She told her everything in detail. The wife didn't say much after that. Just asked for a few supplies and left."

Carl nodded. He knows how hard it is after killing a living for the first time. While they were walking and chatting many and the settlers saw how happy their leader was and smiled. Glad he finally had his happiness again. Well that was until they made it to Stefanie's office.

"(Name) (Last Name)! What on earth did you do this time?!" Stefanie was a lady in her early 40's and honestly the look on her face scared Carl a little bit. (Name) stared at the ground and kicked at an invisible rock. "I was climbing a shelf to get a some cans of food and an undead sent the shelf backwards and I landed wrong."

Stefanie sighed and ran a hand down her face. "Honestly kid. Your so clumsy I swear. What are you gonna do when we run out o medical supplies?" (Name) had answered without hesitation. "I'll go out for more. We have too many people here to not have any medical supplies. Which reminds me! I found the equipment you had asked me to look for a few months ago! Nick should be bringing it up here or Mr. Grimes will."

Stefanie smiled softly. "Thanks kid. Your always looking out for us. But whose gonna look after you?" That's when Carl spoke up. "I will. I know how clumsy he is. So I'll gladly look out for him." Carl sent (Name) a soft look and Stefanie couldn't help but snort. "Young love."

[risriswrites]

Mary's Song

summary: bradley bradshaw is in love with his best friend and it takes them years to figure out how to tell each other how they feel. loosely based on taylor swift's song "mary's song (oh my my my)"

pairing: best friend reader x bradley bradshaw, fem reader

author's note: so this is my first time writing a fanfic and actually posting it anywhere. i'm actually really proud of it so if anyone reads it and actually likes it feel free to like and reblog :)

word count: 7.8k words

She said, "I was seven and you were nine"

I looked at you like the stars that shine

In the sky, the pretty lights

And our daddies used to joke about the two of us

Growing up and falling in love

And our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes

And said, "Oh my, my, my"

It was a sunny summer day in Santa Barbara, California. Carole wasn’t sure if it was going to be a good beach day with the temperature being in the mid 70’s. A subtle breeze could easily take that seemingly beach friendly weather and turn it into a frigid nightmare.

In the end the absence of clouds made her commit to packing up her beach bag, loading up the car, and dragging her only son to the beach to soak up some much-needed sun.

Their lives had changed since losing Nick. Even though five years had passed, the loss still impacted them every day. Thankfully, having Mav around softened the heartache a little.

Pete had given Carole a call earlier that week letting her know he would be in town on his “completely unnecessary” vacation. And after humoring him with some back-and-forth banter and mild guilt tripping, she was able to convince him to come to Santa Barbara for the week.

Carole had never known Mav to have a sister, so when he shows up with a seven-year-old girl in tow claiming it’s his niece, she’s a little flabbergasted.

“It’s just so hard for me to wrap my head around that I’ve known you for years, and never knew you had a sister! Let alone a niece.” Carole squints at him accusingly.

Maverick, who had decided to take full advantage of the California sun, was laying out on an old lawn chair Carole had brought out for him. Peering over his aviators at her he smirked, “I’ve gotta keep some secrets to myself, don’t ya think? Besides, my sister and I weren’t close until a couple of years ago, so there wasn’t much to tell anyway.” He deflected. He wasn’t going to tell Carole the reason behind the reconnection of the two siblings being the death of her late husband.

“Still, when you first brought her out here, I thought you had finally found someone to settle down with and had a kid. Albeit I would have been offended for not getting an invite to your wedding if you had decided to have one, but I digress.” Carole brought the bottle of water she packed up to her lips gingerly, sipping at the refreshing liquid. Turns out she had left the umbrella at home and the sun had taken no pity upon her mishap.

“Definitely not the case. You know how I feel about settling down and it hasn’t really changed since Charlie.” Maverick let out, breathing out a laugh in the process.

Carole rolled her eyes, pushing her sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose, “It’ll happen one day when you least expect it to Mav, I can guarantee you that. Can’t be the heartbreaker forever.” She huffed, glancing over to the two children currently chasing each other on the beach.

Pete followed her gaze and focused on the scene playing out in front of him; hoping to derail Carole from lecturing him about his past lovers.

“She’s gonna have him wrapped around her little finger before the week’s over. I can see it now” he smiled, nodding his head in the direction of the two kids. Mav watched on as his niece looked up at Bradley with a small pout forming on her face, seemingly disgruntled with the game after playing it for so long and is now trying to convince him to partake in something else.

With a soft smile and another roll of her eyes Carole leaned further back in her chair letting her eyes flutter shut, knowing her son was safe with Mav’s own eyes on him.

“I mean seriously Carole, they’re gonna grow up and end up disgustingly in love with each other. Mark my words.” His gaze never leaving the two kids who had stopped chasing each other; after Maverick’s niece had successfully changed Bradley’s mind.

Now instead, opting to dig a tunnel from the water to a little pit they had made further up the beach. Mav had overheard his niece calling it a “hot tub” but he’s certain that whatever they were making had no resemblance to one in the slightest. Bradley didn’t seem to mind though and had gone along with the small build anyway, glancing over to the seven year-old girl every now-and-then to see how she liked it.

Carole didn’t even bother with glancing up at the two when replying to Mav with a very sarcastic “sure Pete” and allowing herself to slip back into brief relaxation.

Oh My My My

*Nine years later*

I was sixteen when suddenly

I wasn't that little girl you used to see

But your eyes still shined like pretty lights

“Relax sunshine, you’re gonna be fine.”

“Bradley, I swear if you tell me I’m going to be fine one more time I’m going to throw the nearest object to me at your head.” You growled.

Bradley glanced at the scene in front of him, his best friend of nine years (and counting) sitting on the floor of her bedroom currently pouting angrily down at her latest grade, with the closest object to her being an old textbook. Cute.

You have terrible aim; he’ll take his chances.

“Sunshine” he breathes out. “I’ve told you before Mr. Greenwood is just a hard-ass who likes knowing his class is one of the most difficult to pass in all of high school.” Bradley sighed.

You let out another huff of frustration swiping a lock of hair out of your face, “I know, I know, it’s just so annoying. I’ve spent weeks preparing for this exam and the most I can show for it is a B-.”

“You’ve only got a month left and you’ll be out of there, don’t stress about it, you’re passing and that’s what matters.” Bradley reassures.

“Easy for you to say, you’re graduating in three weeks, leaving me behind at this poor excuse of a school. Who knows when I’ll see you again! You’ll probably move to another country to become a hippie, learn to speak a different language, and change your name to something obscene like Holden” you sputter out waving your hands around in the process.

Bradley scrunches his eyebrows and wrinkles his nose at the obscene set of words that just left your lips, “I’ll have you know I would not become a hippie.” He pauses briefly before continuing, “I’d be a musician, thank you very much.” Bradley mocks offence.

You finally glance up at him from your spot on the floor, almost instantly regretting that decision. He looks too attractive laid out on your bed like that, it’s almost unfair.

Bradley had filled out a little over the summer, rambling on and on about how he wants to be in top physical condition for when he starts training to become a naval pilot -like his dad had been and consequentially like Uncle Mav. Last time you looked over to him a mere two minutes ago he was laid out on your bed looking up towards the ceiling like it was some humongous puzzle piece.

Now as you look at him, he’s propped himself up onto his forearm; his bicep muscle making itself very apparent; supporting his body weight on it, while simultaneously leaning his head on his fist, gazing softly down at you. Stop looking at me like that or I swear I’m going to fall in love with you.

You visibly swallowed before casting your eyes back down at your paper lying on the floor beneath you.

“I like that you’re more offended by the job title than the name change,” she scoffs.

“Also, there’s no way you’d become a musician, I refuse to believe you possess such a talent.” You threw back, giving your head a shake.

Bradley scoffed before jumping into a spiel of how he’s “like a magician” when he’s on the piano. Lecturing about his many talents and capabilities in an attempt to pull you away from staring at that stupid piece of paper any longer.

A smile pulls from your lips before you let out a few giggles regarding his exaggerated so called “talents”.

Bradley perks up at this and fixes you with a teasing glare, “What are you laughing at? I’m serious! I'm one of the best pianists of all time! I even give Beethoven a run for his money.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, given that Beethoven has been dead for over a hundred years.” You chortle, tossing your head back in another round of laughs.

Bradley raises his eyebrows in offence, “Oh now you’re in for it.”

You look up between your fits of laughter only to see an eighteen-year-old Bradley Bradshaw launching himself off your bed and tackling you to the ground.

Bradley immediately starts wriggling his fingers up and down the sides of your ribcage, knowing that you’re extremely ticklish, sending you into an uncontrollable amount of laughter. You push away Bradley’s hands a few times in futile attempts to get him away from you; throwing yourself around in the process, before abandoning that plan and instead trying to push at his chest.

You manage to hook your leg over one of his and give his chest a hefty push using all your weight to send him over your shoulder. He grabs ahold of your arm in the process, bringing you with him. Both teenagers now laughing uncontrollably.

Bradley is currently holding both of your arms captive against his chest, laughing at your adorable attempt to try and tickle him. And you joining in because, why did you think you were going to be able to out-muscle him?

You look down at Bradley, stopping your assault and just enjoying the moment. His head is tossed back on the hard-wood floor, eyebrows scrunched while his eyes remain tightly closed pinching at the sides, his mouth is open letting out little breaths of laughter. He’s so beautiful. Your laughs have stopped now, just staring down at him with a soft smile.

Bradley notices your laughs have stopped and chooses that moment to look up. Oh. You’re peering down at him with a smile on your lips and a look he can’t quite decipher in your eyes. Your eyes are so pretty. He gives you a sheepish smile back. It’s too quiet now, and when did his hands move to your waist?

At that moment a loud, shrill pinging rings in the pair’s ears throughout the room. Making both teens scramble away from each other in a mess of “Oh I’m sorry” and “Shit” as your limbs get caught up in your hurriedness to get away from a moment neither of you know what to do with.

Bradley crosses the room in a few long, hurried strides successfully turning the obnoxious alarm off.

He huffs out a breath in mild relief. With the alarm off, your room is once again blanketed in quiet, which funnily enough he’s not sure if he prefers the silence or the pinging of his alarm. He turns to look at you and decides then that he definitely prefers the alarm over the silence. You’re standing at the opposite end of the room; your hair is a bit of a mess and you’ve got a subtle blush to your cheeks making your skin glow a little differently. Fuck.

He swallows, deciding to break the silence “I gotta go. Gotta be up for school tomorrow.”

You nod your head peering down at the floor afraid to look into his eyes, “Yeah” you breathe out. A beat passes, “Yeah of course. It’s late, I’ll walk you out.” You ramble out, before running a hand through your hair, hoping to compose yourself quickly and pray he doesn’t pick up on the massive crush you have on him.

You’re swinging your bedroom door open and stepping out hurriedly before Bradley can even grab his keys and wallet. He takes a breath once he’s got everything and forces himself to follow you out of the room.

You didn’t make it far without him, just a few steps down the hallway of your room before he’s right behind you again.

Before he knows it, you’ve made it to your front door and you’re swinging the cream colored door open for him. “See you tomorrow?” you ask as nonchalantly as you can, throwing him a tight smile as if it were a bone.

He steps over the threshold of your home, putting a little space between the two of you. Something’s different. He glances up at you, eyes wandering over your facial features. It’s still you, but something’s different.

He gives you a soft smile shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans deciding to let that thought go for the night, “Yeah I’ll swing by to pick you up.”

You glance over at the blue bronco currently sitting in your mom’s driveway. Your eyes quickly flitting from him to the bronco and back to him before you give him a genuine smile, “Sounds great!”

He gives a short nod before he’s pulling you away from the door into a quick hug, giving your waist a squeeze, then begrudgingly letting you go. Bradley turns away from you then, and starts walking down the gravel of your driveway.

You watch from your front door, making sure he gets into his truck safely. Leaning against the doorframe as you call out, “Let me know when you get home!”

He looks back as he opens the door smiling, shaking his head with a short breath of laughter leaving his lips, leaning his weight onto the door tilting his head up as he shouts back to you, “I’ll call you!”

And then he’s climbing into the driver’s seat, starting the car, reversing out of your driveway and speeding down the road to get home to his mom, who no doubt is wondering when her son will be home; he said he’d be back by ten and it’s almost twelve in the morning.

You watch him speed off before deciding you should really close the door and stop watching after him like he’s going to turn around and come back.

With that thought in mind, you grip the door and shut it softly. Leaning against it in hopes to not wake your mom; at least that’s what you’re telling yourself, who’s got a shift at the hospital in a few hours.

“Bradley leave?”

You nearly jump out of your own skin at the sound of your mom’s voice. “Jesus don’t scare me like that! At least make a noise or something before talking, I swear I almost shit myself.” you huff. “But yes, he just left, and I really need to get ready for bed sooo… goodnight.” And with that, you’re quickly making your way back to your room to start your night routine.

Your mom watches you make a quick escape before rolling her eyes and laughing softly to herself.

Oh My My My

*Nine years later*

“I’m just saying, there’s no way you guys didn’t date back then.” Jessie emphasizes, punctuating her statement by pointing an accusing finger in your direction, slurping her strawberry milkshake obnoxiously.

You roll your eyes, glancing away from your friend to look through the window at the traffic piling up outside of the small diner. “Nothing happened Jessie” you huff, mumbling an “unfortunately” under your breath. Jessie doesn’t notice, thankfully.

“Well, you guys had everyone else fooled in school then. I’m pretty sure Kimmy was going to blow a gasket when she asked Bradley to go on a date and he shot her down because of you.” She smirks, swirling a fry into her milkshake before biting into it.

You huff in annoyance, “Okay that was like nine years ago first of all. Second of all, I had nothing to do with that! He could’ve easily gone on that date. He knows I would’ve been fine with rescheduling our weekly movie night.” you follow your statement quickly by sipping from your own milkshake, trying to avoid having this conversation with Jessie for what seems like the billionth time.

“That’s my entire point! He could’ve if he wanted to! But instead, he turned her down to spend time with YOU!” she all but shouts.

You tuck into yourself, scanning the diner to see if anyone was paying attention to Jessie’s loud proclamation. No one’s looking; to your relief, so you quickly return your gaze to her. “Look, Bradley and I have been best friends since we were seven. I’m pretty sure if he had any romantic feelings for me, he would’ve acted on them by now.”

“Where is your loverboy anyway?” Jessie asks, quirking a perfectly arched brow.

Another frustrated huff leaves your lips, Jessie was never the type of friend to let something go. You grab at a fry from your own plate and casually dip it into the pool of ketchup before tossing it into your mouth, “I think he has training today.” You punctuate your guess with a shrug of your shoulders, “I don’t really know, I’m not his keeper.” That’s exactly where he is. He texted you this morning saying so himself.

“Why? Do you want to go on a date with him?” you tease.

“God no! He’s not my type, you know that.” Jessie scoffs.

“Mhm, sure he’s not.” He’s not. You’re just tired of Jessie trying to make something out of nothing. False hope sucks, so reversing the accusations onto Jessie allows you to have the upper hand.

Jessie flicks a strand of wavy black hair out of her face, takes her last sip from her milkshake, then fixes you with a pointed look, “I know you want me to drop it so I will. But please just think about it. There’s something there, and I’m ninety-five percent sure if you were to kiss Bradshaw the next time you saw him, he wouldn’t pull away.”

And with that, Jessie scoots from her side of the booth, grabs her check, and proceeds to walk up to the cash register to pay for her meal, and to flirt with the cashier of course.

With a small smile and a shake of your head, you grab your own check and start to scoot out of the old booth.

Once Jessie has secured the cashier’s number you pay for your meal and you both exit the diner pausing outside to give each other a brief hug before parting ways to your respective vehicles.

Once inside of your car you immediately lock the doors and glance briefly down at your phone. A new message from Bradley has popped up.

Bradley: “Hey sunshine, I’m going to be finishing up here in two hours, do you want to meet up at the hard deck for some drinks?”

Your heart jumps at the idea of seeing Bradley later. Fucking traitor.

You: “Hey!”

You: “Yeah I’m down for that! What time are you thinking?”

You put your phone down in the cupholder of your car and pull out of the diner’s parking lot. Halfway back to your apartment your phone vibrates inside of the cupholder. Knowing that it’s probably Bradley has you going a little over the speed limit to hurry home.

Once you’re safely parked in your designated spot, you grab at your phone, unlocking it to see what he’s said.

Bradley: “7:15?”

You quickly send a quick “that sounds good” text before hopping out of your car and making the trek up to your space.

By the time you’ve ascended the elevator to your room and locked the door behind you, your phone has vibrated again.

Bradley: “Perfect, I’ll come pick you up.”

With a few hours to kill you kick off your sneakers and jeans, throwing on one of your favorite oversized shirts and make yourself comfortable on the couch.

A power nap is just what you need in order to liven yourself up to go out to the bar with Bradley. So, with that thought in mind you set an alarm for an hour and click your phone off, slipping under your old throw blanket and drift off to sleep.

Only to be awakened by the blaring noises of said alarm, what feels like only seconds later.

Sure enough, it’s been an hour. You huff in annoyance throwing the blanket off your face and take a few deep breaths before forcing yourself to sit up from the couch and make your way to your bedroom to pick out an outfit for tonight.

The little yellow sundress you bought a few months ago peeks out from your closet and you quickly pull it from its hanger before you can talk yourself out of it. Discarding your oversized shirt onto your chair you slip the sundress over your head and pull it down to settle at your midthigh.

Glancing at your reflection in the mirror you decide a touch up of your makeup and fluffing of the hair should be enough for tonight.

Once you’re finished, you glance over at your phone to check the time, pressing on the screen making it come to life. There’s a text from Bradley telling you he’ll be at your place in five minutes – four minutes ago. Your eyes go wide, and a panic runs down your spine before you’re scrambling around your room for a pair of shoes to go with your dress and where the fuck did you put your purse?

A few knocks land on your door moments later and you curse under your breath deciding to just go answer the door and forego searching for your purse. Only to see it sittin pretty on your kitchen island.

Swiping the forsaken piece of faux leather off the counter you stride towards the door, opening it in one swift motion.

And there he is.

Bradley Bradshaw in all of his sun kissed glory, hands in his jean pockets looking down your hall before he’s turning to look at you.

He sucks in a quick breath, barely audible, but you heard it.

Fuck, stop looking at me like that.

“Hey” he breathes out.

“Hi” you smile.

A second passes by, both of you just looking at each other before you come out of your daze and decide you’ve been staring for too long.

You breathe out a laugh and step out into the hallway, “ready to go?” you ask.

He takes a small step back from you as you turn to lock your door, giving his head a shake before fixing his gaze. Once you’ve turned yourself back to face him he has an easy smile on his face grabbing your hand in his, leading the way down the hallway, “Just waiting on you sunshine.”

You roll your eyes, he can’t see it, but he knows you’ve done it as soon as you quip out, “Coming from the guy who sets aside time to groom his barely-there pornstache I’ll take as much time as I please, thank you very much.”

He hits the “down” button for the elevator before turning to you and settles his hands on your hips pulling you a little closer to him. Your breath hitches at the action and your eyes widen for a second before you’re forcing yourself to appear normal again, unbothered.

“So now you’re hating on my stache,” he fixes you with a questioning look.

You stick your chin up a bit in defiance, “yes.”

You say it so confidently he almost believes you.

“Oh really? Then who was the one protesting against Nat, just last week; about the ‘stache’ being one of my best features? And how I can’t shave it off,” he raises an eyebrow.

The elevator button dings allowing you a brief escape from his grasp and question. Sidestepping out of his hands into the elevator, you press the “ground floor” button before looking back at him cocking your head to the side smiling, “Wasn’t that Jessie?”

He jumps into the elevator before the doors close and scoffs out a laugh nudging his shoulder against yours, “No sunshine, pretty sure that was you.”

“I don’t recall saying that.” You hum back.

“That’s because you were too busy downing those fruity drinks of yours.”

“Okay first of all, it’s called a fuzzy naval, second of all, it’s not my fault beer is disgusting, I don’t even know why you guys drink that shit.” you scrunch your face at him.

The pair of you step out of the elevator, Bradley once again slipping his hand back into yours, “Don’t worry sunshine, I won’t judge you.”

You decide not to comment on that and just let Bradley guide you to his blue bronco. Seriously, that car just screams Bradley Bradshaw and you’re not sure if you like the car so much because of the way it looks, or if it’s just him.

“Bradshaw, you have got to let me drive her one day.”

Bradley opens his passenger door for you and keeps a hold on your hand, helping you into the bronco. Totally unnecessary but you’ll allow it. One side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk, “in your dreams baby” and then he’s shutting your door and jogging over to the driver’s side.

That’s new.

Before you know it, he’s reversing out of the guest parking space and turning onto the main road to get to the bar of choice, the Hard Deck.

He’s got his window down letting one arm lean out of it and the other has a grip on the steering wheel, looking completely relaxed and carefree. You turn to look out your own window, leaning your head back against the headrest letting the soft sound of ABBA playing through his speakers to be the only thing you focus on.

Once he’s parked, Bradley has already made his way to your side of the vehicle and is opening your door, before you can even reach for the handle. He offers his hand to you again and you take it as you step down and out from the bronco.

You smile at him mumbling out a quick “thank you” before letting his hand go again and start heading towards the entrance of the Hard Deck. He follows behind you quickly grabbing the door for the both of you and letting it swing closed behind him.

The Hard Deck is a little crowded tonight, so Bradley decides to make his way in front of you to make it easier for the both of you to head towards the bar. This time you slip your hand in his as to not lose him in the mass of people.

Bradley’s heart jumping at the feeling of you reaching for him this time.

Once you’ve reached the bar he grabs Penny’s attention, waving her over to him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemaking duo.” Penny smirks. “The usual?” she quirks a brow.

Bradley smiles before replying with a “you got it”, and Penny glances over to you for a confirmation on Bradley’s request, receiving a small smile and a nod promptly followed by a “yes please”.

Penny lets out a light laugh before heading off to get Bradley a beer and to teach one of her new girls how to make a “fuzzy naval”.

Bradley looks around the bar looking to see if he can find Nat in the sea of civilians and naval aviators. He knew that more often than not, she’d be floating around here once they’d finished up for the day. Most of the naval aviators would come here to destress after training, so it’s not much of a surprise to him when he sees her leaning against the pool table, baiting another civilian into playing a round of pool.

Once he’s spotted Nat, he makes a mental note to head over to the pool table she’s currently occupying. He knows you find comfort in Nat’s company and considering the amount of people crowding around the bar tonight, he can already see that you’re ready to make a run for it.

He slides his arm around your shoulders, trying to provide some comfort before you two can move away from the bar.

Bradley gives your shoulder a light squeeze to gain your attention before he points casually over to Nat. You smile up at him before turning back to the bar, relaxing into his side.

Finally, Penny returns with your drinks, flashing the two of you a smile and giving Bradley a knowing look before she’s turned away and rushing to the opposite end of the bar. Bradley grabs your hand pulling you towards Nat.

Natasha sees the two of you making your way over to her and the grin she had on her face widens even more seeing Bradley holding your hand.

Once the pair of you have reached her, she hits the cue ball towards the black eight ball. Easily slotting it into the pocket, shooting a hand out to the shocked civilian; who she has successfully hustled for the night. He lays a fifty-dollar bill in her hand and walks away in shame before she’s turning and looking at the two lovestruck dumbasses in front of her.

Smiling she says, “Look who decided to drag her ass away from work to make it out tonight.”

You smirk, “How’s the best naval aviator I know?”

Natasha’s smile turns into a smirk, “She’s doing great, already made fifty bucks off the civvy who’s sulking over there in the corner.” She gives her head a nod, gesturing to the man who’s now looking like a kicked puppy, chatting with his buddies.

Natasha turns back to the duo, “Head was a little big when he came over here, figured I’d help him deflate it a bit,” she shrugged.

You laugh and Bradley just looks up to the ceiling with a small shake of his head.

“Good, someone needs to do it.” You say, exasperated, sipping on your drink in the process.

Bradley just let you and Nat carry on conversing with each other, listening in on things that he deemed important, but he was mainly just looking at you. Eyes roaming over your features as you talk.

He is definitely enjoying the view. You’re giggling at something Nat had said, occasionally sipping on your drink, usually followed by flicking a strand of hair out of your face. Don’t even get him started on how the sundress is making him feel. Where did you even get that from? You never wear sundresses. The color complements your skin and makes you stick out in the sea of khaki and jeans like a sore thumb.  

He's suddenly pulled back into the conversation when Nat smugly starts talking about training earlier today.

“Oh, and you’ll never guess who finally got their callsign today” Nat laughs, exaggeratedly leaning over towards you, sneaking her eyes over to Bradley.

You whip your head over to him with widened eyes, “You didn’t tell me that you got your callsign today!”

“It’s not a big deal sunshine,” he smiles warmly at her, happy to have her attention on him instead of Nat.

That statement grants him an eyeroll from you, “sure it isn’t. It’s not like you’ve been wanting to know what your callsign would be since you were five.”

He lets out a laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips and taking a sip, eyes trained on yours.

Your eyes flicker to his lips for a second before you catch yourself and focus back on his eyes again.

He smirks and drags the bottle away from his lips setting it down on a nearby table, “they decided to pay homage to my dad” he breathes out. “So, Rooster is what they came up with,” a small smile graces his lips. “Keeping it in the bird category.”

You smile warmly at him, squeezing his arm, “I like it.”

“Definitely beats Holden by a landslide.” you scoff.

Bradley snorts and glances over to Nat, who’s watching the exchange with a knowing smile.

“Has Nat told you hers yet?” he inquires.

You shake your head before fixing Nat with a questioning stare.

Nat lets out a huff, “It’s a long story”.

“Well, how about you two talk about it while I grab us another drink.” He suggested.

With approval received by both women he quickly makes his way back over to the bar ordering two drinks and a water for himself.

He’s drumming his fingers on the bar waiting for the drinks, casually bobbing his head with the music, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Knowing you and phoenix were in that general area he turns his head to check in on them, only to see some dick, leaning on the pool table attempting at starting up a conversation with you.

He watches as your face, once relaxed and happy, turns sour. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, you start talking back to the stranger.

Bradley hasn’t moved yet, but the longer the guy stands there talking to his girl, the angrier he gets.

Bradley thinks he could’ve been fine with letting you and phoenix handle the dick who looks like he walked straight off the set of jersey shore. However, the second he put his hand on your wrist Bradley lost all resolve and was moving swiftly from the bar to make his way back towards you.

You scowled down at the unwanted hand on your wrist before yanking it back towards your body, “Yeah, that’s great, glad you’re having a good night, but don’t touch me.”

“Oh, come on sweetheart, I was only being friendly. Let me buy you a drink?” He reached again for your hand, prompting you to take a step back, bumping into a hard, familiar chest.

“Pretty sure she already told you to keep your hands to yourself.” An arm sneaks around your waist, “And I’d hate to have to tell you again.” Bradley’s hostile voice rings in your ears, crystal clear over the music coming from the jukebox.

The Vinny wannabe scrunches his brows at the pair, “hey man, maybe if you don’t want your girl to be approached, maybe you should tell her how to dress. You can see that ass for miles.”

Bradley clenches his jaw and starts to make his way around you when he feels his hand being pulled back. Turning to face you, he gives you a questioning look, furrowing his eyebrows in the process. You mumble out a quick “I’ve got this handled” before moving around him and slapping the greasy-haired asshole.

The sound reverberates through the bar and effectively catches Penny’s attention, and without another thought she’s wringing the bell. You don’t disrespect women or members of the navy in her bar, and from the way both Bradley and Natasha are glaring down at the man in front of them, she’s guessing he did both.

Two naval officers appear out of the sea of people and roughly grab at the guy’s arms, dragging him from standing in front of you, Bradley, and Natasha to landing in the sand outside the bar’s parking lot.

Penny locks eyes with you receiving a smile and giving one in return before directing her attention towards Bradley, who’s glare is still transfixed on the door where jersey shore was thrown to the wayside.

Penny frowns and locks eyes again with you nodding her head towards Bradley before turning her attention back to serving the crowd that has formed at the back of the bar.

You take a step towards him and grab his arm, giving it a subtle squeeze. Bradley breaks his glare from the door to meet your sparkling eyes, and just like that his anger melts away and he refocuses on getting his girl a drink. Nat had started another round of pool with a naval officer so Bradley decided to bring you with him up to the bar, finding one stool unoccupied and allowing you to sit while he stands and waits.

Not much is said between you two while you wait for their drinks, the sound of Billy Joel’s “uptown girl” muffled by the chatter that has resumed throughout the bar.

Bradley’s eyes are scanning the bar, while yours are focused on Penny who is putting the final touches on your drink. And before you know it another fuzzy naval is placed in front of you, along with a brand of Natasha’s favorite beer. With both drinks finally accounted for, Bradley grabs your hand once more and makes the journey back over to Nat.

Casual conversation ensues between the three of you for a few more hours before Penny calls out to inform you that she’s closing up for the night. Bradley closes out his tab for the night and you guys make your way out to the parking lot.

Nat is still walking towards a vehicle that has pulled into the parking lot when she turns her head lazily to face her two best friends, “well, it’s been fun troublemakers, but I need to get back to the base. Early morning and all.” She waves a hand out to them and a small smirk spreads across her face before she calls out, “Rooster, don’t forget what I told you earlier!”

Bradley gives her a mock salute before she’s hopping into the vehicle and riding out of the parking lot.

You look over to him with a goofy smile on your face (possibly from the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed in the past few hours), “what’s that all about?”

Bradley looks down at you and laughs at the ridiculous look on your face. Hooking his arm around your shoulder he leans down towards your ear and whispers, “you wanna walk the beach a little, before I bring you back to your place?” effectively avoiding your question.

Your eyes light up at the idea and you immediately b-line it past the Hard Deck and towards the pitch black sea. Bradley shakes his head before bolting after you, “Hang-on speed racer!”

Giggling erupts past your lips, “hurry up Roo!”

Bradley’s smile faulters for a second as his heart lurches in his chest at the new nickname.

He finally reaches you and grabs for your hand yanking you back to him. You’re all giggles and messy hair with a light flush on your cheeks, definitely from the alcohol.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth through the white t-shirt lying underneath his Hawaiian button down. Classic Bradley.

“You know my callsign for all of five hours and you’re already shortening it sunshine.”

You push your body away from him, only keeping one hand in his as you lead him further down the beach, “I like it, it’s cute.”

“That is not what callsigns are for. But I’ll let it slide just this once.”

“I don’t know, I’m quite fond of it, Roo” you smile back at him this time, clearly teasing. Teasing is always easier than admitting your feelings after all.

“Makes me think of that cute little kangaroo from ‘Winnie the pooh’. Oh! And you’re tall, and kangaroos can be tall!”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute and tall.” Bradley teases.

You blow out an exasperated breath, “No Bradley, I said that kangaroos are cute and tall.”

“But I remind you of a kangaroo from Winnie the pooh?”

“Yes.”

“And kangaroos are cute? And can be tall?”

“Yes.”

Bradley quirks a brow up at you, “So, by association of being nicknamed after a kangaroo. I’m cute and tall.”

You scrunch your nose up at him, “Not everything is about you Bradshaw.”

You let go of the hand you’re holding and continue your walk forward, hyper focused on the ground as you walk.

“I’m taking it as a compliment anyway.” He states, following after you.

After a few minutes of just ambling down the beach in comfortable silence Bradley decides the two of you should probably start heading back to his bronco.

He quickens his pace to reach for your hand and is once again pulling you back towards him.

Being slightly tipsy though doesn’t forebode well with trying to stay balanced and you manage to trip over your feet, falling into Bradley. He stumbles back trying to keep the both of you upright before he loses his balance as well and is falling into the sand.

“Shit” you breathe out, “Are you okay?”

Bradley has one hand on your waist and one hand cupping the back of your head.

“I’m fine sunshine, are you okay?” eyes currently wandering the expansion of your face checking for any signs of pain or visible injuries.

“Well, I was fine until you pulled me down. I was looking for seashells,” a small pout forming on your lips, Bradley’s eyes instantly falling down to them.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask if you were ready to go home.” He whispers out, afraid that whatever spell your under right now will be broken at the mere mention of leaving.

“You coulda just asked? Didn’t have to pull me to the ground to get my attention.” you mumble out.

“I don’t know about that sunshine; you were pretty focused” fingers playing with the fabric of your dress. “Besides, I think I have a great view right now.” His eyes have moved from your lips back up to your eyes.

A beat passes. Your cheeks are flushed pink and you’re painfully aware that you’ve been laying on top of him for longer than what can be considered normal, but you can’t move. He’s pinned you to where you’re at with his honey brown eyes and you’re positive you can’t move away.

You’re holding your breath above him, he’s too close. Too close for you to pretend that you only see him as your best friend. And the way he’s looking at you right now, isn’t helping.

Closing your eyes, you take a breath in, “You’ve gotta stop looking at me like that.”

And then you’re making an attempt at getting up and off of him.

Bradley’s eyebrows furrow before he’s catching your arm and pulling you back down to him. Your eyes are still closed.

“How am I looking at you?” he whispers.

“Like you can see my soul.” You suck in a breath and open your eyes; fuck it, “Like I’m the only person you want to look at for the rest of your life.”

Exhaling the breath you’d been holding you murmur, “and I can’t sit here and continue to pretend it doesn’t do anything to me when it does.” You look up and out towards the sand dunes that lead back over to the main road.

You really don’t want to hear the rejection, let alone see it.

Completely prepared to get up and off of him again you’re about to do just that, when he lets out a small chuckle.

A few tears begin to form in your eyes as you begin to whip your head down to tell him off for being a fucking asshole when you see that he’s still looking at you with the same adoration on his face.

Bradley’s bringing your face closer to his, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “sounds about right then” he whispers, lips ghosting over your own.

Five seconds is how long it takes for you to understand what he just said before he’s slotting his lips against yours.

The world feels like it’s stopped and the only thing grounding you to it is Bradley and the feeling of his lips caressing your own.

The kiss is tender and sweet, there’s no rush or clashing of teeth, it’s calm and patient. Like the love you’ve had for each other that’s been building over the years. His hand that had a hold of your arm has moved to cup the back of your neck, keeping you close, where you belong. Your body once cool from the sea breeze, now feels as though it’s on fire as you melt into Bradley; his mustache tickling your top lip.

Bradley sits up bringing you with him as the two of you explore each other’s lips for a couple more seconds, before you’re breaking the kiss to get some air. Leaning your forehead against his, you smile, eyes still closed.

Bradley has his own smile on his face as he nudges your nose with his, “Only took eighteen years of being best friends, but we got there.”

You let out a short laugh, “Speak for yourself, I was ready for you to kiss me when I was sixteen.”

Bradley lets out a chuckle, “I think we need to make up for lost time then, shouldn’t we?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Definitely” you whisper before capturing his lips with your own.

You pull away again all too soon for his liking as a groan leaves his lips, mouth chasing after yours.

You laugh, running your fingers through his soft curls and he lets out a hum, “I still wanna know what Phoenix said.”

“Calling Nat by her callsign now huh?” He pecks your lips trying to bring you into another long kiss, before sighing out an, “Okay.”

“She told me to grow a pair and ask you to be my girlfriend. Said something about how she couldn’t keep dealing with all of the sexual tension.”

“Which speaking of by the way, I love this dress on you.” his hand bunching up the material around your waist as he says it.

Giggling you lean forward again, catching his lips, letting out a hum of appreciation, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bradley leans back and looks you in the eyes again. You’re glowing brighter than the moonlight shining down on you right now, and if the sun was out he’s certain you’d be shining brighter than that too.

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” a confident look has settled across his face as he bites his lip, waiting for your answer.

You hum again, looking over his shoulder in mock contemplation. Head moving from side to side in an attempt to look like you’re weighing your options. Bradley squeezes your sides earning a squeal from you as you try to block his hands.

He stops long enough for you to catch a breath and look back over to him, “Yes” you breathe out.

His lips quirk up into a surprised smile, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bradley surges forward towards you again and brings you into another blinding kiss.

He breaks the kiss this time, before murmuring, “Any chance I can stay at your place tonight?” his tone hopeful.

“Keep kissing me like that and I don’t think I’ll ever let you leave.” you smile.

He grins at you, “That’s the plan, sunshine.”

Oh My My My

[a-998h]

Hi I hope your having a good day.

Anyways I've got a sagau idea

So I've made like ten-ish or over OCs who look exactly like/similar to me because of Lore Reasons.

So pretend Reader has their own universe with a look-alike self-insert and over ten OCs who look just like their IRL self because of Lore Reasons.

It only applies to physical appearance and it ranges from "you're identical to the Reader" to "you could be a relative to them."

Let's say that instead of Reader getting Isekai-ed to Teyvat, one of their OCs who looks just like them lands in there instead and is executed in Imposter AU fashion, no matter how much they say they aren't Reader and never even claimed to be them.

They wake up in their universe like it was just a nightmare, but now have scars permanently acquired from the Imposter Hunt.

As for Reader, they had a nightmare where they saw their OC brutally hunted and killed in all the worst angles and don't take it well.

Next time its time to boot up Genshin Impact, they just hand it to a friend who loves the game but don't have the storage to play it, and just watches them play.

Their acolytes are wondering why their creator isn't controlling them anymore.

"As glad as I am that your letting me play, what's the fuck happened to make you let go of your borderline obsession with it?"

"Nightmare."

"one hell of a nightmare to put this off, the fuck happened?"

"You know [OC's Name]? I had a nightmare they woke up in Teyvat and was murdered and tortured by almost everyone in Teyvat. Because they looked like a Creator Deity."

"There's never even been a mention of a Creator God, and looking like them got one of your favorites killed, good god."

"yeah I can't stomach this anymore. I think I'll focus on my own original creations instead, you can have my account for now on."

"Woof. Not too keen on spoiling my Teyvatian faves myself knowing they might be culpable in making you sad."

"yeah I'm scared of having nightmares of my other look-alikes being murdered."

"Whatever makes you happy."

From then on Teyvat has to grapple with only having attention from a friend of their Creator occasionally giving them the time of day instead of their Creator's doting.

Teyvat will have to grapple with the 'imposter' being one of their many direct creation always meant to look just like them.

Teyvat will have to grapple with having executed a direct creation of the creator and loosing their love because of it. All that love now directed to those very mistreated creations.

Teyvat will have to grapple with their Creator Deity not even knowing/remembering that they created Teyvat, and only thinks they made their current focus.

Okay now I'm imagining an AU where another look-alikes OC whose heard of what happens the first time around wakes up in Teyvat and it very intent on staying away from civilization and finding their own way back to their universe.

Like what if this happened because Teyvat or other parties couldn't get the Creator back yet, so they settled for the next best thing. Their own creation who looked oh so similar.

This fits with my own lore for my series on my blog.

They want you. You're their beloved god but they can't have you, at least not yet. Thanks to Travel and the existence of you controlling them they knew other world exist.

The first they thought was a copy of you. They hunted the imposter, how dare this weakling impersonate their god. The death was brutal. That one woke up with scars.

This repeated for who know how long. As they come to terms with the fact that they won't have you just yet, the settle for someone they think is related to you. There are traits shared between the two of you, but that one isn't their god. But the have to settle until they can have you.

The nightmares that follow you push you away, they're sorry. They want you back, they'll be nice to the next one if you just look their way again. Please, they need you.

There is guilt, they killed a creation of yours with no remorse. They killed someone because they happened to look like you, and Teyvat thought this person was lying about being their god. They'll all make it up to you, just please look their way again.

[hestella]

Hannibal lector x reader: A new face pt. 4

So, it turns out it was just my period messing me up! I feel good now lol.

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3

a/n: I maybe should make my Tumblr all asthetic and stuff. any ideas? Warnings: mentions of violence, trauma, distribution of trauma if you squint, language?

She blinked, looking around, even though she couldn’t really see. It was a force of habit. She quickly relized where she was, Hannibal’s office.

She was sitting comfortably in a chair in his office. The chair was leather, smooth, with seam traces that she could feel going sideways. The room was carpet, soft and clean. It smelled like wood and antique leather, with a whiff of the office owner’s cologne. His.

“sorry, what was it?” she asked. “I must have zoned out.”

“No worries,” Hannibal replied. “you were taking about how you forgot a lecture?” 

“right,” she nodded. “I missed a lecture. Completly forgot about it,”

“Did your students say anything about it?” he asked. 

“Well, actually, it turns out I called the admin that i wasn’t feeling well, and i cancelled it.” She explained.

Hannibal, with habit, forced his smile down, but then he was refreshed by the fact that she was blind. He smiled. 

“That’s concerning, but at least safe. Something more…risky may have happened.” 

She nodded. “I know, and…I’m glad that none of my students are impacted.” She rubbed her temple. 

“Do you think it’s dementia?” He asked. 

“I don’t know, I mean, do you think it’s dementia? I’ve forgotten things, but those were things like keys, phone….not a whole lecture.” She sighed.

“Well, if you ask for my professional opinion, I don’t think it’s something to worry about. Forgetting things are common, especially when you are faced with many things at once, or something you were not familiar with,” Hannibal explained. He still had a grin on his face, having fun.

“What would you consider ‘things I’m not familar with?’” she asked.

“well, it could be the death of your student-“ Hannibal said carefully, observing her instant face change. 

“right.” She muttered, rubbing her lips with her thin fingers.

“Did you forget about that too?” Hannibal asked. 

“No, it…I guess I don’t want to remember it.”

Her thoughts went straight to Marrisa. She didn’t think of marrisa as a special person, someone who could psycology impact herself, but it was true that she felt some sort of remorse, or possible guilt on her death.

Hannibal nodded. “I understand. I personally think Jack is pushing you and Will too far without a break.” 

She chuckled softly. “..maybe.” 

“What to you feel towards Jack? Don’t you think he’s pushing you to the edge?” Hannibal asked, masking the intention to play both sides.

“Are you trying to make me blame jack?” she chuckled, catching his intention. He tilted his head at her sharp observation. But thankfully, she seemed to take it as a joke. “…I know that Jack doesn’t want to push us. It’s….inevitable, I’d say.” 

“Do you believe so?” Hannibal let out a soft chuckle with her.

She nodded. “I feel empathy for him.” 

“There are certainly lots who will disagree with that,” Hannibal chuckled.

She laughed. “He didn’t force me to do it. Probably with Will, but not me. I’m not that special.”

Hannibal had already noticed her habit to downplay stories that had to do with her. He didn’t know exactly why, maybe another habit of her, or something to do with her nature, but at this point he already knew how to translate her words to the typical truth. 

“why did you accept, then? you could have declined,” hannibal’s gaze flickered to her hands, bony yet soft-looking. 

“…Jack persuaded me,” she shrugged. she paused, crossed her hands by her knuckles, and continued. “I heard that you think jack sees Will as fine china, I think jack sees me as…glue to keep the china together, in case it shatters.” she muttered. 

“you accepted because of Will?” Hannibal tilted his head.

“For Will, at least according to Jack,” she explained.

“May i ask, what is your relationship with Will?” Hannibal asked.

“er…hard to define, or rather, undefined. We were colleagues, but we didn’t really know each other at the time. We’re just….comfortable.” she frowned, trying to think of a better way to explain it. 

“..romantic, perhaps?” 

“what? no, i don’t think so. I mean, i don’t think so. Not sure about Will…as in, I don’t really know how he’s like around people he likes,” she shook her head, surprised by Hannibal’s assumption. 

Hannibal nodded. He felt from himself, a little…uncomfortable. It was like something was icy burning in his stomach, like he just swallowed liquid nitrogen. He leaned on his hand, subconsciously hiding his lips behind his fingers. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, or why he was feeling like this.

“How do you feel, being seen as glue for Will?” Hannibal asked. 

“…are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?” she asked, her lips a thin smile. When Hannibal didn’t say anything, she continued. “I think I’m overestimated. If Will was to shatter, I don’t think I’ll be able to glue him up that well,” 

“Do you think there’s someone better that can do that?” 

“…maybe. Possibly you, I guess. Compared to you, I’m just…glue.” She muttered as she shrugged.

“And what am I?” Hannibal tilted his head, interested.

“…The careful hands that can craft china. fix it, make it into something new….” she tapped her hands on her knees. 

Hannibal sighed, feeling the icy and uncomfortable feeling inside him get released for a moment.

“So in order for me to actually be the glue, I need your signature on the paper,” she leaned back on the chair comfortably. 

“Don’t worry, you and I both wish our good Will is protected well. I’ll sign the paper,” hannibal chuckled. “But I need to know your state, regardless of the paper. Are you experiencing any traumatic responses from what happened?” 

“Well, sometimes I get overly sensitive on what’s behind me,” she took a breath in. “But I guess being blind is one good thing here, I don’t have nightmares of Garret Jacob Hobbs,” She nodded. 

“I’m curious, what do you picture him as? What do you picture me as?” Hannibal asked. 

She chuckled. “…I’m not blind from birth, and even, I’m not completely blind now. Before I went blind, I’d ask my friends if they’ve seen the blue moon last night. I’d ask how lovely the flowers are in the school backyard. After I went blind, I’d ask the same things, only now no one can see the things I see and I can’t see the things they see.” she muttered. 

He partially forgot she was a philosophy professor. He reminded himself to take her to an Opera or classical concert of some kind, if he had the chance. He had a feeling she would love it.

“I associate people, or at least try to, with senses. Not what they look like, but what they feel like, sound like….In the case of Garret Jacob Hobbs, I associate him with how his voice sounded like, his hands felt like against my neck…and it brings me fear. With you, on the other hand…I know you by your charming accent, voice, and what your hand felt against my left abdomen that day.” she explained.

“..and what do I bring you?” Hannibal asked, purely curious. 

“…a sense of calmness.” she replied. “I must have forgotten, thank you for saving my life by the way, Dr. Lector.” she nodded her head once. 

Hannibal chuckled as a response. “Calmness?” 

“Yes…I’m blind, and with that, I grew to have everything in control, everything to be known…so if something happens outside of my usual range of habits, I tend to panic. Like going to a place I’ve never been before, I don’t know where things are, if the floor is carpet or wood..” she said. “..but as a member of a society, I can’t exactly have a set of places to go, I can’t be limited inside my own panic. I need to change lecture classrooms if there’s a change of schedule, I can’t always go to the same coffee shop…” she shrugged. “Your voice was like a finding a rose in the crowd.”

“so it was a risk to even go to interview Abigail,” 

“..could I blame myself? it’s not that many students’ parents turn out to be serial killers,”

“I’m not saying you should blame yourself.”

Hannibal shifted his position. “But you doing your work, under jack…sure makes you a vulnerable target,”

“..it’s what I chose, isn’t it?”

“or you were manipulated into chosing,” Hannibal suggested. 

Hannibal leaned forward slightly, his fingers still partially covering his lips as his eyes narrowed, calculating his next move carefully. “Do you think Jack manipulated you into choosing this path?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if trying to coax out a buried truth.

She paused, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Jack can be... persuasive, but I’ve always known what I was getting into. It was my decision. I wanted to make a difference.” Her voice was steady, but there was an underlying current of uncertainty, one that Hannibal noticed instantly.

“Interesting,” he mused, leaning back again, his fingers now steepled in front of his lips. “You’ve built your life around control, haven’t you? It makes sense, given your circumstances. But you seem to have placed yourself in situations where control is often stripped away.”

She smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. “I suppose you could say that.”

Hannibal’s gaze flickered to her hands again, seeing them unconsciously fidgeting with the fabric of her trousers. “What about your family? Did you feel the same sense of responsibility with them? To hold things together?”

Her hands stilled for a moment at the mention of her family. “My family...” she trailed off, her voice quieter now. “I don’t really talk about them much.”

“Why not?” Hannibal pressed gently, sensing the shift in her tone.

“There’s... not much to say,” she said, her voice hollow. “I’ve lived myself alone, for the majority of my life…not technically in years, but..you know. I think that what made me me happened after i lived alone.”

Hannibal’s eyes darkened with a flicker of understanding. “So, you became your own glue. Holding yourself together, holding others together. But it’s tiring, isn’t it? To be the one who’s always keeping things from falling apart.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, almost resigned. “Yes, it is. But I don’t know how else to be.”

Hannibal watched her closely, his mind calculating and connecting pieces of her puzzle. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it’s time for you to let someone else hold things together. Someone who understands the fragility of the china you protect.”

She turned her head slightly toward him, though her unseeing eyes couldn’t meet his. “And who would that be?” she asked, her tone laced with a quiet challenge.

Hannibal smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps... someone like me.”

She smiled, and that smiled spread into a laugh. 

“Why are you laughing?” Hannibal tilted his head. “sorry, I…I just….I know the situation isn’t necessarily funny.” she nodded, covering her mouth. 

Hannibal tilted his head, studying her with quiet curiosity. "Yet you find it amusing," he remarked softly, his voice calm but probing. "Why?"

She shook her head, still chuckling softly. "I don’t know... maybe it’s just the idea of someone like you holding things together." Her smile lingered, though there was a hint of something else behind it—perhaps disbelief or irony. "You, who seems to watch the world as though it’s some grand experiment. It’s almost... surreal."

Hannibal leaned back slightly, intrigued by her response. "Surreal? And why would that be? Don’t you think I’m capable of such a task?"

She paused, considering his words carefully. "Oh, you’re capable," she said, her tone steady now. "More than capable. But that’s exactly what makes it amusing. The thought that someone like you, who probably finds breaking things just as fascinating as putting them back together, could be the one to 'hold things together.' It feels... paradoxical."

Hannibal allowed a slow smile to curve at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps it is," he mused. "But isn’t it often those who understand destruction the best who are also the most adept at preventing it?"

She raised an eyebrow, though her expression was still touched with amusement. "Maybe. But I don’t think it’s prevention you’re interested in, Dr. Lecter. Not really."

He gave a soft chuckle in response, appreciating her sharp insight. "Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m more intrigued by the fragility itself." His voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if speaking an intimate truth. "The fine balance between creation and destruction... it’s something we all live with, whether we acknowledge it or not."

Her laughter had subsided now, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "I guess we do," she said, quieter. "Maybe that’s why I laugh... because I realize how fragile everything is. And sometimes... it’s just easier to laugh than to think about what could break."

Hannibal watched her for a moment, nodding slowly. "Perhaps laughter is another form of holding things together, then," he offered, his tone laced with a certain dark understanding.

"Maybe," she agreed, her smile fading into a pensive look. "Maybe it is."

-=-=

A new case. Except, it was different from last time. 

“..you’re saying the kid killed their parents?” She asked in disbelif.

Will stood, tense and visibly agitated, his eyes fixed on the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Yes, I'm saying the kid killed his parents. Both families, same method. The mothers were killed last—because the boys wanted to make it personal. It’s not a coincidence."

She sat across from him, her fingers brushing lightly over the corner of one of the photos, though her unseeing eyes remained calm. "I don’t know, Will...You’re jumping to conclusions."

Will’s jaw clenched. "Jumping to conclusions? The evidence is right there! These boys have been missing for a year, and now we find them connected to two brutal murders? They’re not innocent victims anymore."

She frowned, shaking her head. "But you don’t know what they’ve been through. Maybe someone manipulated them, forced them into this. It’s easy to see kids as monsters when they’re standing over bodies, but kids aren’t born killers, Will."

His gaze darkened as he looked at her, his frustration boiling over. "You're making excuses for them. they bonded over it, over the violence. Someone could be behind this, I don’t know. But whoever that is, they are their new family now, and they killed to prove their loyalty."

Her voice rose, matching the intensity of his. "And how do you know that? How can you be so sure they weren’t manipulated by someone else, someone pulling the strings behind all this? Maybe they didn’t even want to do it!"

Will slammed his hand down on the table, the sudden noise cutting through the room. "You don’t understand! You think there’s always some puppet master, always someone to blame. But sometimes people—even kids—do evil things because they want to. You think these boys didn’t know what they were doing when they shot their mothers to death?"

She flinched at his outburst but didn’t back down. "I understand more than you think, Will. I understand how someone can be manipulated into doing something they would never otherwise do. You’re forgetting how easy it is to push someone when they’re vulnerable, especially children. No one is born with the capablilty to just kill their family, especially when they have not been abused!”

Will’s hands clenched into fists, his voice lower now but no less fierce. "You want to believe that because it’s easier for you. It’s easier to think someone else is behind it, that these kids are just pawns. But sometimes the truth is uglier than that. Sometimes, there’s no puppet master."

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re letting your anger cloud your judgment. These kids were missing for a year—something happened to them during that time, obviously.”

Will glared at her, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that bordered on rage. "They’re not innocent! Stop trying to protect them because they’re kids. They made their choice, and now they have to live with it."

Jack, Beverly, Brian and Jimmy were just listening to their fight. The room fell into a heavy silence, the tension palpable as Jack Crawford, Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price stood frozen, quietly observing the heated exchange between Will and her. No one dared to speak, their eyes darting between the two as they squared off, the raw emotion in the air undeniable.

Beverly glanced at Jack, her eyes wide in disbelief. She hadn’t expected the conversation to escalate like this, but it was clear both Will and she had strong, conflicting opinions. Brian and Jimmy exchanged a look of shared awkwardness, each unsure of whether to interrupt or stay silent.

Jack, standing at the head of the room, crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. He took a deep breath, then finally spoke, breaking the silence. “Are you two finished?”

Will stiffened at the sound of Jack’s voice, but didn’t turn around. His gaze stayed fixed on the crime scene photos in front of him, his jaw still clenched tight. She, on the other hand, sank back into her chair, arms crossed defensively. The emotional storm that had surged between them seemed to leave a heavy residue in the room.

“I’m not, but I don’t know about Will,” she retorted. Jack sent her a glare but being blind, she ignored him. She was the only person in the room with the balls to do that. 

Jack sighed, rubbing his forehead. He turned to Beverly, Brian, and Jimmy. "Let’s get back to the evidence. I want every angle covered."

The team quietly resumed their positions around the table, the atmosphere remained tense, but the confrontation had dissipated. Will and Y/N exchanged no further words, but the distance between them felt wider than ever. 

Tag list: @Wolfgirl-205

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

Welcome And Goodbye

Nanami Kento x Reader

(Song: welcome and goodbye by Dream, Ivory)

It’s been three years. Three years since he returned back to Jujutsu High.

Three years without you.

You both had the same mindset after the death of Haibara when you were in your first year as students. Having to risk your life as a jujutsu sorcerer felt too much of a burden, especially for you. You two didn’t realize it until later; how much of an impact Haibara made into your lives until the break up. He was the reason that you and Nanami became a couple for six years. The reason why you two left behind the life of a sorcerer. However, once Nanami returned, his death became the reason of the break up.

Nanami arrived home late again. He hated staying out late for work. It was seldom, but he knew you were going to worry yourself out. He stopped at Jujutsu High after his mission for Shoko to heal his injury.

He found his dinner on the table, wrapped up for him to eat when he arrived home. He looked at the counter filled with papers, textbooks, and your laptop. Guilt crept in him. Quietly, Nanami walked inside the shared bedroom. He found you curled up in a ball, fast asleep. The closer he walked to you, the more he saw the tears that stained your cheeks. He hated it. Especially because he was gone so late, he knew you cried so much with worry.

When he sat down, you felt the bed dip and woke up. You jumped up and wrapped your arms around him. You couldn’t help but cry. You couldn’t help but worry about the possibility of death happening to him. However, you knew the consequences when he decided to return.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly and kissed your forehead.

“I’m just glad you’re home safe.”

He remembered that week all too well. Three years later, it plays over and over in his mind. He remembered you two sitting on the couch, wanting to talk about the relationship and his job. He remembered the tears that you tried to hold but failed to. He remembered you mutually agreeing about breaking up. He remembered it all, detail to detail. The broken look on your face, what you wore, how your hair was. He remembered packing his things. The last time you two made love and kissed before he left to stay with Gojo until he found himself his own place.

He wonders everyday if you were doing okay. But he knows that you are. You still lived in the same apartment. You worked overnights at the hospital. You still attend the same school and you’re at your last year of it. He knows the café you visit frequently because he saw you a year later when he needed something to eat. So every now and then, he goes there to pay for your coffee and snack before you got there.

“I don’t see why you can’t go up to her and just say hi,” Gojo said. Nanami sighed, turning the page of his newspaper.

“She has her new and better life,” Nanami answered. “Besides, as long as I know that she’s okay, that’s all that matters.”

“But you won’t know unless you ask. She’s good at putting up a mask. And you know it. You just read her well.” Nanami was silent. Sometimes, Gojo does have a point.

“Do you talk to her?” he asked curiously.

“Of course! You know, I had her meet my students. She gives them great insight.” Gojo’s smile was wide. Nanami was surprised. He didn’t think you would keep in contact with anyone. But, Gojo was the one who kept tabs on you for him during the recent stage of the break up. It only made sense that you and Gojo would talk to each other now and then.

Nanami made it to the café again. He paid for your future order and sat in the corner, drinking his own cup of tea as he read the newspaper.

He found you walking inside. He enjoys the surprise look on your face when you found your order paid and ready to go again. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. You sat at the opposite side of the café where the windows were. You always love being by the sunlight. You were typing continuously. He could assume that you were typing a paper. Nanami thought of ways to approach you, but stopped himself every time.

The next time he looked up, he found a man sitting down in front of you. His heart sank. You smiled widely at him and laughed at whatever he said. He wanted to leave. He wanted you to be happy, but he didn’t want to see it with another man.

“Hello?” you said, answering a sudden phone call. “Satoru?” The name coming out of your mouth made his ears perk. He couldn’t help but look up just a bit. “I might be a bit late. Later.” He couldn't help but wonder when you called Gojo by his first name, too. Panic settled within him.

You stood up and packed your things, and told the guy that you’re heading out. Nanami watched the man lending you his sweater but you politely declined. The man was persistent and Nanami smiled as you continued to reject the offer. He could safely assume that you weren’t interested.

As you left, Nanami stood up. He folded the newspaper and threw his empty cup in the garbage. He left the café, deciding to go home and not continue to see you what you were going to do with Gojo.

“Hey there, stranger.” The sound of your voice surprised him. He slowly turned around and found you hugging yourself warm and giving him a shy smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Y-Yeah. How did you—“

“It’s not everyday that a tall man with blonde hair comes in the café. You’re not hard to miss, especially with that tie of yours,” you said with a small laugh. Nanami couldn’t help but smile back. There you were, finally in front of him three years later.

“I…I um…” You were the only one who could get him flustered like this. It still amuses him to this day.

“Thank you. For the coffee and snacks,” you said.

“How did you know?”

“I only realized it a few months ago. I noticed you the day it was paid for. I…I didn’t know how to approach you.”

He called out your name. His voice was soft and gentle. Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. It was music to your ears. You had to stop yourself from touching him, from holding his hand. You were dying for his touch and kisses. Everyday for the past three years.

You thought about him every day. You were heart broken that day. Nanami Kento wasn’t just your lover but also your best friend. He knew you inside and out. He knew you more than you knew yourself. But after your talk with him three years ago, the worry was too much where you agreed to end the relationship while he didn’t want you to worry. And you regretted it ever since. Because no matter how happy everyone sees that you were, deep down you still weren’t.

Nanami watched you shiver again. Swiftly, he took his suit jacket off and placed it around your shoulders. You felt weak from his smell. You missed him too much.

“You should hurry. Gojo-san is waiting,” he said sadly and quietly.

“Satoru can wait,” you said. He watched the tears form and he watched you hold them in. “You seem to be doing great though. Kicking ass I bet.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he replied softly.

“Kento, I—-“ You blushed, you haven’t really said his name in a while too. It felt foreign but it also felt so right. You lost your train of thought. Nanami usually has that effect on you.

“Do you have time then? I-I really missed you and…”

“Follow me.” And so he did. Nanami followed you for a few blocks. He realized that you were leading him to your place. “Want some tea?”

“Please.”

It was the same as it was, except there were no pictures of the two of you around the apartment. The couch was new and even the table yet the layout and arrangement never changed. He went in the kitchen with you. He sat at the high chair at the counter, watching you heat up water in the kettle.

“The truth is, I’ve been training with Satoru for the past two years,” you confessed. “I told him not tell you because I wasn’t ready to see you just yet.” Nanami’s eyes widened.

“So…a-are you coming back?” he asked.

“Somewhat? Not completely,” she answered.

“What made you change your mind?” You knew that he wanted to protect the younger sorcerers. You couldn't say no to him for that reason. Strangely, you missed the action. You missed helping people in need. It was why you decided to go into the healthcare field but sometimes, it just wasn't the same.

“I miss helping people,” you answered. “But I also miss the action. That was fun.”

“What about school? You worked hard.”

“I’ll still do it,” you said. “I still don’t want to be a sorcerer forever.” Nanami nodded. He understood. It was the same for him.

“Itadori-kun has a lot of potential,” Nanami said. You nodded.

“A lot of growth is needed for him. But Satoru has promising students."

“So, you train and partake in missions?”

“No missions. Just training and teaching whenever I can.”

“I never noticed you.”

“I haven’t either.”

It was quiet again for the two of you. You went back and turned the stove off. You poured hot water in two tea cups and gave each other black tea bags. Nanami quietly thanked you and blew at the hot liquids.

You texted Gojo. You were going to cancel the training session. All he did was text you good luck. You feel like you know Gojo well enough that he knows that you’re with Nanami.

You vented to Gojo a lot. And he’ll tell you the same thing every time. To go and talk to him. You had it all planned out today. But the moment you stood in front of him, everything you planned for was gone. So for a while, the two of you drank your tea with content silence until it was prolonged and awkward. Nanami looked at the time and stood up from his seat.

“I should head back,” he said. You looked at the time. It was already eight. And you knew Nanami. It was almost time for him to get ready for bed.

“R-Right,” you said, disappointment evident in your voice and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. He slowly got ready to go. By the time he was at the door, the two of you two remained silent. Both of you wanting to tell each other to stay.

“I’ll see you around,” he said and turned around. He immediately felt you grab his wrist. He turned around and the moment he saw your tears, he pulled you into his arms.

“I missed you too, Kento,” you said, replying to his statement from the café. “I missed you so much. I regret it. I never should’ve left. I should’ve tried harder and—“ His grip on you tightened.

“I never should’ve brought it up,” he said. “I never…I should’ve…fuck. I missed you so much.”

The two of you remained like that for a while, with you in his arms and his face buried in the crook of your neck. When he pulled away to look at you, he cupped your face and used his thumbs to wipe your tears away. You couldn’t help but smile from his comfort. Nanami smiled back and rested his forehead on yours. You two took in the comfort that was missed for the past few years.

“I never stopped loving you,” he confessed.

“I love you too, Kento. So, so much.”

He captured your lips. He closed the door and lifted you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Nanami carried you to your bedroom. Gently, he laid you down, lips still glued to each other. He gently bit your lower lip and caressed the side of your body. You softly moaned at his touch. You loosened his tie and unbuttoned shirt. Nanami was the first to pull away. He admired your flushed and breathless look. He smiled softly and gave you soft kisses all over your face.

“Have you ever…was there ever anyone else?” he asked curiously. You shook your head.

“Just you Kento. How about you?” Your answer made his smile wider. He captured your lips again before replying the same answer you gave him. And the two of you stayed up together, catching up on the three years missing each other.

The sunlight shining through the thin curtains stirred you awake. Memories of last night flooded your mind and you blushed as you turned around. Next to you was Nanami. You smiled, missing his serene and sleepy face in the mornings. You couldn’t help but softly brush his hair back. Nanami smiled and slowly opened his eyes.

“Good morning, darling,” he greeted, voice hoarse and tired.

“Good morning.”

“Come here.” He opened his arms and you eagerly went to him. Nanami gave you soft kisses on your shoulders, up to your neck, then to your lips. You shuddered and sighed in content. “After last night, I'm not leaving you ever again."

“I wouldn’t let you,” you said.

“Do you have class?” he asked curiously. You nodded and told him that it started in a couple of hours. “I’ll drive you. Go get ready then we could go to my place and I can do the same.” You got up out of bed and walked to your closet. You pulled out clothes, but what surprised him were also clothes that he left at your place.

“They were in the laundry. I couldn't throw them away,” you said. “We can spend more time together before we go now.” Nanami got up and hugged you.

Students couldn’t help but stare at the two of you, especially at Nanami. Nanami carried your bag and held your hand. You guided him to the building, excitedly telling him about your semesters in school.

“What are your plans for today?” he asked.

“This is my only lecture, but I go to lab and practice skills for about an hour. Then the library to study. If Satoru calls me, I might train instead. I have work tonight, too.” You pouted at the idea of work. You hated working and going to school. It was tiring, especially when you train with Gojo. Now being back with Nanami, you were contemplating on calling out tonight. It has been a while.

“Call me. I might be able to pick you up," Nanami offered. “I’m going on a mission with Itadori-kun, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Text me when you get to the place and let me know when you’re done?”

“Of course, love.” He walked you all the way to your classroom. He gave you back your backpack and pulled his wallet out to hand you his credit card.

“Wait, Kento—“

“When you need coffee and food,” he said. “I know you need the coffee.” When you didn’t take the card, he sighed and took your hand and placed it there. “Let me take care of you again. I miss it.” You couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay,” you said happily. “I’ll see you later.”

“I love you, darling.” Nanami gave you a soft kiss.

“I love you, too.”