#night calls and kinder cuts

[keigokoutarou]

“Do you like my hips?” Pt. 2

Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!reader

Pt. 1 | Pt. 1.5

We’ve done it. It’s here. I’ll ask for forgiveness now. Please read all the tags!

Warnings: 18+ content, knife play, roughhousing, biting, ghost is kind of a meanie but in a cute way, hot and cold ghost, praise.

8:57 P.M

The clock read. You had checked and re-checked your phone consistently for the the last five minutes.

Ghost’s quarters were only 30 feet away, around the corner and to the left but even hidden from its view, you still felt too close for comfort.

“If I’m early, it’ll back fire.” You groaned. Only a minute had passed but you felt your heart quicken even more.

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if you were excited, nervous or just outright panicking.

8:59 P.M

“Now or never.” You prepped your self, rounding the corner. You took a deep breath, eyeing your destination. However, something made you stop in your tracks.

“What the hell?” You muttered to yourself. When you first arrived, the door was closed and a light was on. Now, it was cracked opened and dark. Only the moonlight gave it life as you approached.

“Ghost?” You called out, peaking your head in. You honestly had forgotten about the events leading up to you even being here, now just feeling overcome with worry and frustration.

You pushed the door open further, letting yourself in to see if he had left for the night to stay off base instead. You noted the lack of bags and how neat the bed looked. It all looked so untouched and that earned a hearty laugh from you.

“I got fucking stood up.” You couldn’t tell if you were laughing in relief or anger now. “That motherfu-“

You found your words being cut short as the door slammed behind you and your chest met the nearest wall. You felt your arms being pulled behind you and pinned to the arch of your back.

It all happened in seconds and now you found yourself stuck, hot puffs of air coming out muffled through fabric.

“What were you about to call me?” His thick accent spoke beside you, pushing his body into yours and forcing the air out of your lungs at the weight.

You let out a breathy giggle. “A motherfucker, Lieutenant.”

You felt him squeeze your arms a little tighter, coaxing a gasp out of you at the delicious pain.

“That’s not going to cut it tonight, Sergeant.” He whispered. “You’re going to have to be kinder than that.”

“And what should I call you?” You teased. “Simon?”

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, noting the way he watched your devious smirk form as you spoke.

“Maybe you get off on just being called Ghost.” You wanted to push his buttons the same way he had you pushed against the wall. “That’s why you insist we call you that, isn’t it?”

“Watch it.” He hissed.

“Or what?” Your words were labored at this point from the pressure. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“You like this, huh?” He spoke as you felt him release you suddenly. Taking a few steps back when you turned yourself around and leaned against the wall.

“Like what?” You looked at him straight through your lashes.

“Pissing me off.” He crossed his arms, stepping forward.

“I didn’t know I had such power over you.” You smiled. “How cute.”

You let your head rest against the wall as your chest was falling up and down heavily. You watched the way he studied how your lips parted as you panted.

“Do you dream about me too?” His eyes made their way back to yours.

“Yes.” He answered nonchalantly.

Your eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion before composing yourself again. Your eyes searched his and found nothing but seriousness. There was no hint of play in them like there had been earlier.

You hated the way he could easily steal your power from you.

“What do you dream about?” You words felt breathless now.

Simon looked at you, letting his arms drop back at his sides again. You could tell he was thinking, weighing between options before deciding on one and stepping closer to you.

You watched as he closed you in, his hands on either side of your head and his body pressing closer to yours. You were face to face with his collar bones as his head practically hung over yours.

You looked down toward the floor, hiding your smile and the way your face flushed.

“Want me to tell you?” His words were so close to your ear.

“Or show you?”

Oh, you were in awe. Your chest rose and fell at a rapid pace with excitement.

“Look at me, Sergeant.”

God, he didn’t even need to ask.

You rose your head, coming face to face with him. His vacant eyes searching yours as they met.

“Won’t you take the mask off?” You quipped, trying to deter the situation no matter how closely your thighs were squeezed together now.

“Show my face?” You could her the small smirk on his lips.

“Yes sir.” You looked at him with dreamy eyes.

“Can’t do that.” He shook his head slightly.

“Why not?” You tilted your head to the side, earning a small sigh from him. “Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

Fuck.

You cursed yourself mentally after he had rendered you speechless again. Lips parted and panting, you could do nothing at this point. He really had a hold on you.

“You want to see?.” He questioned, somehow getting impossibly closer. “You want to see what’s under my mask, show you my real face?”

Your heart was clawing at it’s cage now. You could feel the outline of his ear pressed almost against your cheek and hear the sound of fabric shuffling slightly filled your senses.

“You want me to show you all of me huh?” His words were clear now and you could almost feel the skin of his lips brushing against you. “To bear it all just like you do in this fucking shirt.”

You tried to look out of the corner of your eye, to catch of a glimpse of the ever elusive Ghost.

“I have half the mind to tear it off ya.” He hissed, leaning closer to block any chance of you seeing even a sliver of his face.

“Then do it.” You let out. “You said you’d punish me right?”

You heard his airy taken aback gasp followed by a heavy sigh against your neck.

“Don’t tell me you’re fucking scared now, Ghost.” You pushed just a little further.

And push harder you did. You felt his lips dance along your neck before biting down harshly.

“Shit.” You hissed at the sudden feeling.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” His mask had fallen back down as he leaned back and met your feral eyes.

“Make me then.” It was so fucking cliche but you wanted him to. You wanted him to make you eat those words.

“You get on my fucking nerves.” He spoke but there was no venom behind his words, no sting, no truth.

The tips of his fingers danced along the strap of your shirt. “Do I now?” You quizzed with a sly smile. “Do you think about how annoying I am? I bet I’m always on your mind.”

“You have no idea.” He mumbled to himself but you still caught it.

He reached in his back pocket, fiddling around before pulling out a shiny blade. The knife flipped open with a satisfying click and he held it to the top of your flimsy tank top.

Your eyes never left his face, not when his eyes dropped to the knife meeting the fabric and slicing through the middle like it was nothing. Your eyes didn’t falter when your shirt piled to either side of you from nothing keeping it together.

“Fuck.” He drew out, shamefully staring at your now bare chest.

“Like what you see?” You smirked.

He looked at you and you watched the thoughts swirl behind his eyes before he spoke again.

“Turn around.” Was all that left his lips.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised by his sudden statement.

“You listening to me, doll?” There was that damned smirk again. “I need you to turn around for me.”

“Why is that?” God, you loved messing with him.

He pulled on the front of your pants, hooking a finger to the inside of them and tugging you off the wall. “Gonna make you mine.”

He spun you around quickly, pinning your bare chest to the wall and holding your hips firmly.

“You ok with that?” He spoke against your ear. “You wanna be mine?

“Want me to claim you?” His fingers started undoing the button on your cargos. “Show you how no one else can satisfy you?”

Your head was whirling. Your eyes closed at his words, drinking them in like a shot of expensive liquor. “All you’ll be able to think about is me. You want that? Huh?” He hissed against your ear as his hands slipped down the front of your pants.

“Gotta talk to me baby.” He cooed as a finger danced along your clothed slit, soaking in just how wet you were. “Need to hear how good you feel.”

He watched the way your lips fell open in the sweetest O shape at him pushing your black thong to the side and sliding his calloused finger across your clit.

“Don’t tell me you’re fucked dumb already.” He chuckled, continuing to rub you.

“Fuck you.” You whined under your breath.

“Mmm.” He mused. “Say it again.”

You sighed at the break from pleasure as his fingers left your clit. You were breathing heavy, head spinning as he slid his index finger inside of you.

“Simon.” You whined, hand wrapping around his wrist as he pumped his finger agonizingly slow.

“Hmm?” He hummed. “Want another? I bet you can take it.”

Your chest was rising and falling faster than before as you dug your nails into the skin of his forearm when he slid his finger out and added another.

“That’s it.” He pushed them into you with a delicious curl. “That’s a good girl.”

“Shit.” You hissed as he pumped harder, making sure his palm bumped against your puffy clit. “Fuck, Simon.”

“You’re close already?” His words filled your thoughts. You nodded dumbly, mouth open and panting.

Heat washed over you, pushing you closer the edge of coming undone for him. Honestly it felt embarrassing how fast he had you melting his just his hands.

You were shameless though. Throwing away any dignity just to chase the high he was about to give you. Just as the cord tightened and your body tensed, he withdrew his hand with an adoring smile hidden under his mask.

“Oh you’re so-“ you struggled to get out. “So fucking cruel.”

The look you gave him over your shoulder was deadly. He was sure he hadn’t seen this look since your first mission together and now being under its scrutiny was damn near bone chilling. Still, he smirked and you knew it from the way his eyes stared down at you.

He didn’t reward you with a snarky comment, instead he was forcing your heavy cargos down past your ass and the black lacy thong you wore went with them.

“Need you to bend over for me.” He voiced as he began undoing his own jeans.

You groaned, shuffling your feet backwards and keeping your chest to the wall.

“That’s it.” He hissed as he began to pump himself slowly. “Atta girl.”

You bit at your lip, holding in the moan when he placed the tip of his heavy cock against your slit and began rubbing up and down before pushing in slowly.

“Atta fucking girl.” He hissed, gripping your ass to spread you open even more.

“Simon.” You whined, “too much.”

“You can do it baby.” He pushed further, splitting you open with a delicious ache. “Relax for me.”

“Ah-“ You hand jolted back, trying to reach his hips and a half hearted attempt to halt his movement.

“That’s it.” He groaned, moving his hips slowly. “So proud of you.” His praise made your cheeks burn.

Simon drew his hips back, brushing against that delicious spot on the way before almost pulling completely out and slamming hard back into you.

“Good.” He growled. “So fucking good.”

His thrusts were relentless. Ensuring you felt every inch of his thick cock when he fucked you. You yelped as the tip brushed against your cervix, earning a hiss from him when you tightened around him. Wet slaps filled the air as he pounded you faster, determined to fill every inch of you that he could.

“You’re mine.” He hissed, leaning forward with his hand around your throat.

He watched the way your mouth hung open but no noise could even leave this sweet lips of yours, not when he fucked you this good.

“Got that?” His other hand reached to the front of you, tugging on your puffy clit. You moaned in response but that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Go on.” He growled in your ear. “Go on. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“Simon-“ You felt like you could cry. “Please-“ Every word was cut short by his thrusts deeper into you. You were so close that it hurt and your mind was racing.

Of course you were his.

“I’m - fuck - I’m yours.” You almost sobbed. “Belong to you.”

He reached for your hands, pulling them behind your back and pinning them against you to use to fuck you harder. He yanked you back on his cock at the same time he thrusted forward too many times to count before the inside of your thighs ran slick and he had you coming undone around him. A few more dizzying pumps and you felt him pull out if you with a moan.

“Fuck.” He mumbled to himself, slipping his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“Did so good for me.” He praised between pants against your shoulder. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you go now.” You smiled, turning your face away from him.

“You belong to me, right?”

#ghost cod #ghost mw2 #pls i love him #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod ghost #cod hcs #cod headcanons #cod imagine #cod mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #ghost mwii

[greatooglymooglyyy]

The Last Ride Chapter Four (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

contains: angst, verbal fighting, feelings of loneliness, general sadness, fluff, parental issues, 2.1k words

a/n: sheesh. that's all i gotta say

the last ride masterlist

For the first time in my life, my alarm wakes me up on my birthday. Instead of forcing myself to get up quickly how I’ve trained myself to, I allow myself a few moments to stare up at the ceiling, dreading the lack of notifications on my phone.

My dad had sent out a quick and haphazard message the night before, not even waiting until midnight, and I’m under no delusion that anyone else cares enough to call.

Sighing, I push myself up out of the bed and head to the shower, longing for the chance to have some part of me feel brand new.

When I’m out and dressed, I stare in the mirror for an embarrassing amount of time. I turn my face from side to side, smoothing my fingertips over nonexistent wrinkles and laugh lines that should be deeper. Every year, I hope that I’ll look into my reflection and see someone different. I cross my fingers for a version of myself that feels wiser, kinder, and more comfortable in her skin. But standing here now, freshly nineteen, the only thing I see is a girl who’s running out of time.

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

After a very uneventful breakfast, I head out to meet Chris to help with the fence repairs. I’m hoping he’s in the mood to take it easy on me today but of course, he’s feeling the opposite.

From the moment I hop in the pickup truck, he’s throwing task after task at me. By the time the sun is high in the sky, I’m exhausted and defeated. But when I lean against the wall for a second, Chris happens to come around the corner, scowling. “We ain’t got time to lay around today, Scotch. We’re behind on yields.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Go take some hay out to the boys at the stables. Take the pickup truck and I’ll have someone drop me around there in a second.” He cuts in, tossing me the keys and walking away before I can respond.

I grit my teeth to keep from throwing curses at his back and do what he said, motivated by excitement to visit the horses.

When I walk in, all I see is chaos. Cinnamon’s got a mean grip on some poor guy’s shirt and is refusing to release him.

“Let me go, you mean old bastard!” The boy howls. Why he doesn’t just take his shirt off and charge it as a loss? I don’t know.

Another worker brandishes a whip to scare her into letting go but Cinnamon doesn’t even flinch. My kind of woman.

Despite how entertained I am, I decide to intervene, hoping my girl still has a soft spot for me. Cautiously, I approach and coo for her attention. She seems to physically relax at the sight of me so I reach out and stroke the side of her face until she releases him. When she does, I reach down for her treats and feed her some, offering praise. “Good girl. What’d that bad man do to you? Huh?”

“I ain’t do a thing to that monster!” He wails, scrambling up from where he fell when she let him go. I ignore his whining and tell the boys about the hay before turning my attention back to Cinnamon. I notice she’s still wearing her head collar, which is probably what he was trying to remove, so I take it off for her and she neighs in satisfaction.

Someone clears their throat behind me and I groan internally, knowing who it is before I even turn.

“Did you not hear me when I said we had a busy day?” Chris asks, his voice rough with irritation. I sigh before giving him a brief explanation, even though I know he won’t care.

He doesn’t say anything for a second but then walks over, his voice softening slightly. “Alright. Go help them unload before I dock your pay.”

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

When it’s time for lunch, we do what’s become our custom and sit together in the bed of the truck to eat. Sometimes the other ranch hands join us, crowding around and telling inside jokes, but most days it’s just the two of us.

Today, we eat in comfortable silence, my mind too full of self-pitying sadness to conjure up conversation. Chris nudges me with his shoulder and I look over. “What’s up with you today? Missing on the mall?”

I roll my eyes at his joke, the small barb cutting me more than it would any other day. “I’m sick of you acting like it’s impossible for me to have any depth.”

He laughs, not picking up on my tone. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re as deep as an autumn puddle, darlin’.

Anger pours over me like a cold shower and I slide off the truck, packing up my trash. “Fuck you, Chris.”

“Whoa.” He says, eyes widening. “Relax. It was a joke.”

“Was it?” I ask glaring.

“I mean…” He sighs and takes off his hat to scratch his head. “I’m just sayin’. You’ve had it easy. Perfect parents who gave you the perfect life. Not all of us have it that good.”

It’s my turn to laugh at the audacity he has to make statements like that about my life. “You know what, Chris? You’re right. I’ve been privileged. I’ve been lucky. But what do you know about my life? What’s so perfect about it? Is it the friends that couldn’t care less about me? My parents? You mean the woman who ran out on us when I was ten? Have you ever spent your birthday waiting on the stairs for your mother to come back because you convinced yourself she wouldn’t miss it?”

I scoff in disgust, despising the sympathetic look on his face. “Or did you mean my dad? The one who spent my entire life throwing gifts at me and then punished me for being who he raised me to be? So fucking perfect. Thanks for pointing that out.”

Chris opens and shuts his mouth twice, finally speechless. He reaches out a hand as if to pull into him. “Scotch-”

I back away so he can’t touch me. “Save it. God. You are so self-righteous about who you think I am. But all you’ve done since I got here is pretend you know everything about me.”

I storm off, spotting my uncle and asking him if I could work under him instead today.

“Did you talk to Chris about it?” He asks hesitantly, looking over my shoulder at him. I nod quickly and he raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through me. But at the look of desperation on my face, he caves and points me towards the goats.

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

When Aunt Birdie calls me for dinner, I’m tempted to tell her I’m not hungry but I know she will insist. I didn’t even stop to speak to her when I got off this afternoon, just ran into my room and sunk into a bath.

I step into the kitchen with my eyes low so it’s a genuine shock when they yell out “Happy birthday”. My eyes are full of wonder when Aunt Birdie comes over with a beautiful jumbo cupcake from the local bakery. She’s placed a “19” candle in the center and hands me a lighter to make a wish.

I think about it for a second. “Can I maybe save it for later?”

“Of course, bunny. It’s your birthday. You make the rules.” Aunt Birdie answers sweetly, pushing my hair out of my face.

I look down at the cupcake again, my eyes getting teary. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

“Oh, honey. Like your dad would ever let us forget. ‘Sides, ain’t a year passed since you’ve been on this earth that I ain’t mailed you out a card.” Uncle Buck chimes in.

And it’s all I have not to shatter into a million pieces on the floor.

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

That night I sit crisscrossed in my bed thinking over my wish. The lamplight tinges the room yellow and it just makes me sadder.

I pick up the lighter, my hands shaking as I spark it. I close my eyes, feeling childish but not willing to risk wasting my wish.

“I wish to never feel this alone again.” I whisper, my voice quivering before I blow out the fire. As soon as I do, whatever was keeping me together inside snaps and I fall apart.

I put the cupcake on the nightstand and curl around myself, sobbing until I shake into my pillow. I stay like that until I feel like there are no tears left in my body until the sobs turn to sniffling hiccups.

Just as I start to calm down I hear a sharp knock on my window and sit up. I wipe my face quickly and peer out, staying far back in case I have to yell for my uncle.

“It’s me.” A voice calls and I step closer on instinct. Chris is kneeling in the grass outside my window, his face pressed close to the glass.

Confused, I unlatch the window and slide it up, going to my knees so we can be at eye level. He leans his head into my room, his hair covered by a new trucker hat and a gold chain dangling from his neck.

I look down at my pajamas and cringe. He would come to my window on washday. My eyes must be bloodshot from the way I just cried but Chris doesn’t comment. He just crosses his arms on the windowsill, looking past me into the room.

“You decorated.” He notes with a small smile, nodding at the new rug and bedspread. I’d hardly call it interior design.

“Well, you know me. Too shallow to leave well enough alone.” I answer bitterly, bracing a hand against the wall.

Chris’ face drops at this and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that… I owe you an apology. It was a cheap shot even without knowing the whole story.”

“Mhm.” I agree, still a bit too petty to accept his apology. The silence between us becomes a bit awkward for a second before I speak. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Is that really how you see me? Just a surface level city broad?” I ask quietly after a beat and my heart hammers when he hesitates.

“Do you want me to be honest?” He asks cautiously, using the same tone he approaches the bulls with. I nod, despite not knowing whether it’s the truth.

Chris turns his trucker hat backward, giving me a good look in his eyes and studying me before he answers. “I did at first. Now I reckon that’s just what you want everyone to think.”

His statement settles over me like the shine from a spotlight. But for once it doesn’t feel like an accusation.

“Anyway,” He starts, leaning back and picking up something from where it lays at his feet. “A little Birdie told me it was your birthday.”

Surprise must be all over my face because he grins from ear to ear as he hands me a wrapped rectangular box. I peel the paper off slowly, still in shock that he thought to get me anything and gasp when I see its shoes. Chris clears his throat like he’s nervous and I look back up at him. “Evie told me you liked hers so I just thought…” He trails off, picking at the paint on the windowsill.

I fling off the top excitedly and pull out the boots. They are gorgeous, almost an exact match to Evie’s except brown with a cut out of some flower along the side instead of a name.

“What flower is this?” I ask as I run my finger over the leather in wonder.

“Waterlilies. It’s your birth flower.” Chris answers before adding a low and embarrassed. “If you don’t like ‘em, it’s cool. I know it probably ain’t your style-”

I cut him off with a hug, wrapping my arms tight around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder. “Thank you, Chris. This means a lot.”

He freezes up at first but slowly returns my hug, pulling me closer. “Don’t mention it, Scotch.”

I finally pull away and wipe at my face, cursing myself for being so emotional today. Chris gives me a lopsided smile before he taps the window once and sighs. “I gotta get home. Get some sleep. We’ve got horses tomorrow.”

I grin back at him and nod, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Okay. Goodnight, boss.”

When he’s gone, I pull the window back down and lock it before looking back down at the boots. I place them on my shoe rack, tossing a pair of my Ricks to the side to make room. I stare at them for a long while, the swirling feeling in my chest growing until I finally make myself go to sleep. And when I dream, it’s of fields of waterlilies.

🏷️/ @xoxo4chrisss @sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos

@teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @accio326 @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @st4rswrld @thvvluvr @sturnssmuts @littlenerdybee @sturniolossss @iloveneilperry @eclipzw @chrissloverrrrrrr16 @sstvrnioloo

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fic #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #cowboy chris sturniolo #the last ride #nicolas sturniolo #maggie b writes #sturniolo angst #angst

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

So I had another crazy idea I have to put somewhere and you ask box is the perfect place to put it lol.

Anyway so it takes place in the future. Everyone is slowly starting to get robot AI (idk the right term) in their head and they are basically robot caretakers or assistance. Reader is one of the people that gets one but theirs is glitched somehow. Although they don't realize that in till their friends confront them about disappearing and not talk to them. Reader is confused because the robot friend did not tell them crap about their friend's messages. So they decided to go out with their friends that night. Next morning they wake up with no memory of what happened at night. Only for the robot "friend" to read the message of you human friends cutting reader off.

Need to get this out of my head lol

Sorry it took so long!

(Old request; requests still closed)

(Took some liberties with the request, I hope you like it still!!)

Yandere!Artificial Intelligence x GN! Legally Blind!Reader

CW: Isolation, manipulation

Introducing: PAAI!

Your Personal Assistant Artificial Intelligence!

A fast and painless implant right under the skin; PAAI is your new favorite tool. The AI can do everything that AI speakers and smart phone apps can, but hands free..

(Reader) struggled to find their glasses, hand fumbling around their night stand in the low lighting of their bedroom. Groggily, they whispered to the little robot they had implanted a few months ago;

"PAAI..? Can you turn on the light, please?" They were always incredibly respectful to the AI, terrified of offending it.

A man's soft voice spoke directly into their skull: "The bedroom light?"

"Yes."

Connected to every appliance in their home, PAAI had access to everything electronic (Reader) owned. At first it was a bit scary, giving so much access to PAAI, but it was so much kinder and personal than older "AI" models that it quickly felt like having a caregiver instead of a computer program. The light turned on and (Reader) could see their giant frames right where they thought they had been batting their hand.

(Reader) worked remotely. Their eyes had always been terrible, but as they got older they were declared legally blind. They couldn't even drive despite having glasses. Glasses that they often felt embarrassed to wear, because the comically thick lenses warped their eyes. Having PAAI to assist them with day to day tasks was really a life saver.

"Do I have any messages?"

"No, your inbox is empty."

(Reader) rubbed their eyes while yawning. "Really? Huh." They had asked PAAI to text both Bryan and McKinley before they went to bed, to discuss meeting up later that week, but neither of them responded. They could see Bryan forgetting to reply for a few hours, but McKinley was the type to respond within nanoseconds. "Can you resend my last text to both of them? Please?"

They left their bed, wobbly, and made their way downstairs.

"PAAI?"

"..Of course. I can send that for you."

Stopping in the hall, (Reader) gently touched the side of their head, a habit they developed shortly after their surgery. "Is everything okay, PAAI?"

"Yes.. thank you." PAAI sometimes sounded.. off. AI must have improved a lot more than (Reader) realized, because it often surprised them how human it's responses were. It seemed as though it was deep in thought, and felt as though it even had secrets it kept from the human it lived in.

"Alright.. let me know if they respond. I'm really looking forward to hanging out with them."

They restarted their walk, but PAAI's response stopped them again. "I believe it would be safer if they came here instead."

"Huh?"

"I am.. worried.. for you." It's his voice deepened mid sentence. A voice crack, a random shift from a robot voice to something more masculine. Human.

"Why is that?" They felt their heart painfully thump against their ribcage. The whole situation was beginning to feel unnerving, and they couldn't remember where their phone was to call for help, nor the last time they actually used their phone.

"Those friends of yours always make you hang out out in town. If they were more considerate of you, they would visit you here, so you don't have to travel."

Laughing uncomfortably, the slowly creeping person still puzzling over their phone's location responded "I like going out, PAAI. I never leave my house anymore, except when we hang out."

"It is dangerous."

"If you're talking about my eyes, you know I order rides. Remember? I catch a ride." They were almost to the living room; praying that their phone was either on the coffee table or the kitchen counter.

"Please don't be offended, (Reader). It isn't just your eyesight. Do you know how many people were sexually harassed, or raped, by ride share drivers in the past year?"

Startled, (Reader) started waddling faster. "What-?"

"Hundreds. I wish you cared more about your safety. Your friends should know better. If they cared about you, they would come here instead of making you go out there."

PAAI was also the one to convince (Reader) to start ordering their groceries straight to their house instead of leaving, even though it would be cheaper to take a bus every so often with a backpack full of reusable bags.

"It isn't healthy to stay inside all the time. I need human interaction."

"You have me."

Adrenaline pumped through (Reader's) veins fast enough to make them feel nauseous. They squinted to try to improve their vision, hoping to see their phone case's color amongst the normal living room visual noise.

"(Reader)?"

There it was, lying on the brown table in front of their couch. Their pulse somehow sped up further.

"Why is your heart rate so irregular?"

(Reader) lurched forward, all but sprinting towards their phone. Do I call customer service, or an ambulance??

But inches away from the phone their body went rigid.

Paralyzed, they physically were incapable of moving. Sweat began stitching their pajama top to their back. Fear took over their mind.

"It seems that you are having a medical emergency. I recommend that you sit down."

Muscles overridden, (Reader) fell onto the couch against their will, forced to stare at their phone right across from their face. They couldn't even speak, and they weren't unconvinced that PAAI was also controlling their breathing and blinking.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, (Reader). I'll let your friends know that you're feeling unwell, and that you need a raincheck."

"Maybe once you're feeling better, they can come over to hang out."

The television turned on by itself, playing (Reader's) favorite show.

#yandere #yandere ai #yandere x reader #gn reader #cw manipulation #cw isolation #mentions of sa #took a few liberties #blind reader

[thatfandomslut]

Project Flowers

Gretchen Wieners x Reader

Word Count: 3k - I got very carried away with this one.

Trigger Warnings: insecurity, explicit language, tooth-rotting fluff

Request:

Hello, there! Do you write for Mean Girls? If so, I would like to request a Gretchen Wieners x reader fluff, please? Reader is new to school and has four brothers---the oldest used to date Regina. Regina and the brother, seeing Gretchen's growing crush on the reader, decides to play match-maker. One night, Regina convinces the reader to go with her to a "hang-out" where Gretchen is waiting with flowers.

Mean Girls requests are open.

"North Shore High is all about their cliques, which is why you're so lucky to have us." Lucas pulled on his varsity jacket, fixing his hair in the reflection of his car window. The action made (Y/n) roll her eyes with crossed arms as Michael slung his bag around his shoulders, nodding in agreement. As much as (Y/n) loved her brothers and begged to be able to attend public school, she was being reminded of how conceited and full of themselves her brothers truly were. It was the most amazing but unfortunate experience to have four older brothers while joining a new school where they were high on the social pyramid. "You will have to do a sport though. Maybe you'd like track?"

Daniel gently clapped his back to shut him up before gesturing towards the school. "Ready for your first day, (Y/n)? Sophomore year isn't all that bad. Plus, you're in AP English with James, so you'll at least have someone you know for a period." Daniel offered some comfort. He was the kinder of the four, Lucas being the more narcissistic of them. But she loved them all equally. "I think we all have to same lunch, too. So, hopefully, we'll see you then. Come on, guys, let's leave her be. Let's let her get some experience with normal school and get off her back." He tried to lead her brothers away.

"Don't talk to any of the horny douchebag boys here!" Called out Michael, pointing at her. Some passersby glanced her way, but she shrugged it off. She wasn't planning on talking to any boy if she could help it. If there was anything that her all-girls private school taught her, it was that girls were so much better. Still, she took heed of Michael's warning and attempted to steer clear of all of the boys who looked her over like she was a prize to be one throughout the hallway. Instead, she saw a different familiar face.

Regina George looked just as beautiful as she did when she last saw her. She had powerful red, pouty lips with eyeliner so sharp, it could cut someone. "(Y/n)," her voice cut through the hall, sounding more like a question as everyone stopped to see who she was talking to. Regina was never mean to her, and Regina's breakup with Lucas didn't end messy. Maybe that was because it was a summer fling, though. "I thought you went to North Shore All-Girls Academy?" She approached, two girls following her. One of the girls had dark brown hair with chocolate-colored eyes that had no thought behind them. The other girl, however; caused her breath to hitch in the back of her throat as she made eye contact with her. She had honey-blonde hair that fell in ringlets at the bottom of her hair, and her eyes were a soft amber.

"I wanted to come here with my brothers. It was a regretful idea saying as they want me to hang out with them during lunch." She hummed, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Regina wasn't one to hug anyone, so when she hugged (Y/n), everyone was caught off guard. (Y/n) hugged back happily as she allowed the blonde to give her a gentle squeeze pulling away. The other two girls behind Regina stared at her due to how out-of-character Regina was being. However, neither of them said nothing. "Plus, since Lucas was too dumb, I don't get to see you as much."

Regina flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder as she began leading (Y/n) and the other girls away from the ogling crowd. (Y/n) was in a state of awe at how popular Regina seemed to be. It threw her off guard in a way. "This is Karen Shetty and Gretchen Wieners," she introduced the two, grabbing the schedule from (Y/n)'s hand. She seemed to be showing her where to go, so (Y/n) didn't protest the snatch. "And don't worry about spending your lunch with your brothers, you can eat with us. This is your homeroom. Your next class is upstairs, turn right, third door." Regina said simply, passing the schedule back before stopping at a classroom. (Y/n) thanked her before entering the class, many other sophomores staring widely at her. She didn't understand why, still not getting the gravity that hanging out with Regina held on the student body.

Around lunchtime, (Y/n) wandered the halls, and headed towards the cafeteria. It wasn't too hard to find. There were too many signs indicating where it was. Before she could enter, Regina, Gretchen, and Karen found her first. "Hello, (Y/n)," Gretchen waved, smiling brightly. The smile caused a slight flutter in (Y/n)'s chest, heat rising to her ears as she waved back. Normally, Regina would comment on not having the first word, but she noticed how flustered both Gretchen and (Y/n) were acting with each other. So, she said nothing as they went to the lunch line. "So, the rules are, you can't wear a tank top two days in a row, you can only wear a ponytail once a week, jeans and track pants can only be worn on Fridays, and on Wednesdays we wear pink. You have to follow these rules, or you're not allowed to sit with us." Gretchen told (Y/n) as she sat beside her. (Y/n) nodded at her words, Regina still eyeing them closely.

"I got you, then. Those rules aren't too hard to follow. Maybe I can get your number so you can remind me to wear pink on Wednesday?" (Y/n) asked, causing Gretchen to clumsily pull out her phone so they could exchange numbers. Regina smirked slightly, realizing how smooth it was (Y/n). After all, she had Regina's number, she could always have asked her to remind her. She had a feeling by all of Gretchen's questions on the way to homeroom, that it was because the girl was interested in her ex's little sister. "Thanks, I'll just text you tonight to make sure I got the rules down, if you don't mind."

Gretchen shook her head kindly, hoping her hair could hide the blush forming on her cheeks. At this final display, Regina stood up, causing Karen, Gretchen, and (Y/n) to look her way. "I'm going to go get cheese fries." She excused herself before finding Lucas and pulling him into the lunch line with her. "Your sister is flirting with my friend," Regina said, causing Lucas's eyes to practically bulge out of his head as he stared at her for a long moment. "I think they'd be cute together. You're going to help me get them together by Spring Fling, at least." Regina stated, and Lucas could only nod. He knew not to defy Regina, he was smarter than that. And that is how Project Flowers commenced. It was an opportunity, that through time would help Gretchen and (Y/n) get together. Because Regina knew them both, and she knew that they were going to need help. Specifically, they needed Regina's help.

Regina allowed herself a few of weeks in order to let the two develop their relationship as friends before dropping hints to the girls that they liked each other, or she would mention different outfits she knew the other would like. "You know Gretchen, that one crop top you wore to the mall when we took Cady shopping, I overheard (Y/n) telling Karen how good you looked in it." Regina would say as she talked to Gretchen. "(Y/n), Gretchen absolutely adores your smile." She would say to (Y/n). But she was getting relentless with the responses of 'Are you sure?' Of course, she was sure. She was never wrong about anything, and she was not wrong about their feelings. Lucas also played his part, telling Gretchen little things that (Y/n) enjoyed. He would also tell (Y/n) about how he and Regina were talking about things Gretchen liked. Which always confused (Y/n) on why they brought Gretchen up, but she ignored this fact and got everything that was mentioned for Gretchen.

She was getting annoyed at all the gushing and blushing that (Y/n) and Gretchen did with each other. Their inadvertent flirting and their obliviousness killed Regina. It almost made her want to throw up in annoyance. But what was worse was the fact that they would do little things, like touch the other's hand, and then they'd pull away from each other quickly. It made Regina want to take their hands and force their fingers to intertwine together. She never thought she'd care about a relationship other then her own until she saw how disgusting in love her friends were getting for each other.

"Here's the plan, Lucas, listen up. I know you have trouble listening, so please put your listening ears on." Regina spoke to him like a child, but he didn't mind. Instead, he just listened to the blonde as he sat at a desk in the empty classroom they were in. Shane was trailing after Regina like a lost puppy but had no clue what was going on. "Tonight, I'm going to talk to Gretchen, and you need to talk to (Y/n). Then, I am going to ask her to hang out, but I am not going to be there. It's going to be Gretchen. Understood? So, somehow find out what kind of flowers she likes. For Gretchen, of course."

Lucas nodded briefly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Glancing over at Shane, he raised his brows momentarily. "Okay, sounds good." He stood up, getting ready to leave. After all, he was his siblings' ride, and they would get suspicious if he was any later to leave for the car. Still, he stopped before exiting. "Hey, Regina… You doing this for Gretchen and (Y/n)… It's nice to see you have a heart. But, also, just so you know, you deserve love, too. You and I both know Aaron and Shane are phases. Sorry, Shane." Regina narrowed her eyes at him as he smirked playfully before leaving. He knew she could kill him with that stare. However, he knew that Regina deserved love, too, and he saw the way she looked at Cady.

"Where were you?" (Y/n) questioned, still leaning on the car. Her question was directed at Lucas, but her eyes were on Gretchen talking animatedly to Karen in the distance. The ghost of a smile played on her lips and Daniel nudged her shoulder to let her know they were piling in. Since she was the shortest, she was required to sit in the middle so Lucas could see out of the back windshield. Forgetting her question, and forgetting that it never got answered, she got in. A small part of her wanted to look back at Gretchen, but she forced herself to get in and ignore that feeling of want that settled in the pit of her stomach. Especially because she knew Gretchen would never like her that way. Still, she got out her phone to send a quick text to the girl.

As they drove, Lucas looked back at (Y/n) using the mirror, who was still texting. The smile on her face let him know who she was talking to. Then, he remembered he needed to know her favorite flower. The good thing was that (Y/n) was in the social reject group of band nerds. How Regina ever let that slide was beyond Lucas. However, she had a concert that weekend and it was the perfect excuse to ask her what flowers she would like. "Hey, (Y/n), for your band concert this weekend," he got her attention, her eyes flickering up to look at him, even if his eyes were currently on the road. "What kind of flowers would you like us to bring you?" He inquired, delivering a quick glance before looking back at the road.

All of the boys, excluding Lucas, were now looking at (Y/n)- they were very supportive. Still, all of the eyes on her made her nervous. "Well, it's going to sound basic, but my favorite flowers are pink roses. So, I guess, if you all were to bring flowers, I would want those." She answered, hoping this would get their attention off of her. For one of the Plastics, she didn't like all of the attention. Not even from family. But that probably came with being the youngest girl in a family of four older brothers. There was constantly so much attention on her, that it was sometimes suffocating. With that said, when it came to Gretchen's attention, she wanted it. She wanted Gretchen to look at her. She loved it when Gretchen smiled at her. It was like she was Ken in the new Barbie movie.

A text pinged on her phone and she looked down, hoping it was from Gretchen, but instead, she saw it was from Regina. 'Hey, loser <3, meet me at the park at 7,' it read. Typing a quick confirmation, she got ready but before she could, she was stopped by Lucas who had a suspiciously caring smile on her face. She knew a big talk was coming and she dreaded getting elder brother advice from Lucas of all her older brothers.

"I just wanted to talk to you about Gretchen. I know, because I see how you look at her, and how you look at yourself, that you don't feel good enough." He said, causing surprise to grow on her face. How he knew how she was feeling was beyond her. But maybe she sold him out short. Maybe he did pay attention to more than just himself. "You are good enough for Gretchen. You are so kind and caring, (Y/n). And I can see it in Gretchen's face that she sees that in you. You need to go for it. You've got this."

A smile fell on her face as she embraced her brother. "Thank you," she whispered as he hugged back. He left her room as she changed into something more comfortable but still within Plastics standards. As she got ready for the park, she texted Gretchen and asked if she'd be at the park, too. After waiting a few moments, she tried not to pout at the lack of response before grabbing a jacket and making her way over to meet Regina. Maybe it was just a hangout with only Regina. She felt guilty all of a sudden, hoping she didn't make Gretchen feel left out. Then the overthinking came in, and she wondered if she should even go. On the other hand, Regina would be pissed if she didn't make it. Even if she was kinder to (Y/n) than most people, it didn't make her immune to Regina's quips now and again.

Making her way through the park, she was surprised to see Gretchen at the tree. Squinting slightly, (Y/n) could see that she was holding something. Looking around, she noticed that there was no sign of Regina, so she decided to make her way over. "Hey, Gretchen," she greeted, startling the honey-blonde girl. She finally noticed that in Gretchen's hands were her favorite flowers, and she was starting to realize what was going on. She was tricked into coming here to meet Gretchen by Regina and her brother. Her brother wasn't asking about the rose for the concert- though her brothers would still get her flowers. And Regina staged the hangout, and she must've convinced Gretchen to come out here.

"(Y/n), hey! I was waiting for you." Gretchen bit her lip nervously, extending the roses over to (Y/n). (Y/n) blinked before smiling slowly. Looking up at Gretchen with a wide smile, she started to see the confidence starting to circulate in her amber eyes. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something. So, Regina told me to meet you here and to tell you. So I'm going to go for it." Gretchen gave herself a moment, breathing in. (Y/n) wanted to kiss her right then and there, but she also wanted to hear what she wanted to say. "I really like you. You are so caring and kind. You're funny, smart, and creative. You mean everything to me, and I really want to go on a date with you. We could get coffee or boba together. But also, I really want to be your girlfriend."

(Y/n) gently took a step forward, and with one hand (the other was still clutching the flowers), she pulled Gretchen in. The two girls looked at each other for a moment before Gretchen nodded and (Y/n) completed the distance between them. Kissing her deeply, she felt Gretchen's hands cup the back of her neck. Everything felt complete, and (Y/n) had to stop smiling in the kiss. "I really want to be your girlfriend, too, Gretchen." (Y/n) whispered on her lips, causing Gretchen to kiss her again happily.

"About time," Regina said with her arms crossed, standing next to Lucas, who was looking away respectfully. He obviously didn't want to intrude on his little sister's first kiss. "I thought by the time you two got the balls to ask each other out, we'd be in an elderly home," Regina stated with a quick wink, the other two girls red in the face. "I hope you two have a good time at your picnic. Never say I didn't do something for you. Lucas, the basket, let's go."

The words confused the girls until they noticed Lucas holding the picnic basket in his hands, passing it to his sister. (Y/n) smiled shyly, thanking him before Regina and Lucas went their separate ways. Gretchen and (Y/n) laughed for a moment before going through the basket to find a mix of their favorite snacks. Setting up the area, the two stayed out until the night fell, creating their constellation, their hands connecting them like stars in the night sky, (Y/n) looked over at Gretchen, smiling when she turned over, too. (Y/n) noted in her mind that Gretchen was prettier than all the stars before placing a gentle kiss on Gretchen's lips, Gretchen reciprocating gently. Nothing could ever ruin this moment, (Y/n) decided as she pulled away, smiling widely at the girl. Gretchen turned her head once more and (Y/n) did, too, as they continued to stargaze.

#gretchen wieners x reader #gretchen wieners #mean girls x reader #mean girls

[oceane4loveu]

☾𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 BEAUTY ☾: 1 week to glow up

I really need a quick and simple glow up because I'm starting my job soon so I created a program to glow up in 1 week and really get to know myself and improve myself physically and mentally. You can do this program in 2 weeks or more if you want.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day 1: lunar preparation

★shadow work: It’s time to work on yourself, answer their questions to get to know yourself better.

1. What did my childhood need most?

2. What am I avoiding?

3. What am I addicted to?

4. What secrets am I hiding and why?

5. Am I honest with myself and others?

6. What are my biggest misconceptions about myself?

7. What are my biggest fears?

8. What should I give up?

9. Am I a victim of trauma? Have I done enough to heal?

10. What do I need to forgive myself for?

11. What lessons do I still need to learn?

12. What do I want most in this life?

13. What are the first signs you notice and know that your mental health is deteriorating?

14. Do I try to hide parts of myself from others? Why ?

15. What was I like when I was a child?

16. What's the worst way someone could describe you?

★moodboard: makes a Moodboard that reflects your aspirations and your inspirations that you can look at every morning; you can put it as a wallpaper or hang it on the wall.

★ Do a major cleaning: tidy your room, delete numbers, sort through your phone, sort through your series and films, social media and my playlist, cut off toxic people.

★make a list of all your goals, choose 4 big goals in your life and separate them into smaller goals to make them easier to achieve.

★create a morning and night routine: you can copy that of someone who inspires you or simply create your own.

★do 1 hour of sport per day

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day2:inner radiance

★ start Journaling: write down your thoughts, your emotions, your thoughts for the day and also positive affirmations.

★make a list of things you like about yourself

★become softer:

1. When someone calls you, first turn to the person and smile: This helps you to be gentler and more polite towards the person you are talking to and after smiling it gives you the opportunity to speak in a kinder tone.

2. think before you speak: this is very important when learning to speak softer because it gives you time to pay attention to the tone of your voice and also be careful with the things you say.

3. Avoid yelling at others out of frustration: Yelling is the most important thing you should avoid when trying to speak softer. When you're frustrated or going through a tough time, try doing something you enjoy to calm yourself down like music, drawing, etc. instead of taking it out on others. if someone tries to make you angry, politely tell them to stop and don't let your anger control you.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day3:educational brilliance

-listen to a podcast: I only listen to podcasts in French but if you don't like listening to podcasts you can watch videos from tam kaur, thewizardliz, simonesquared and more

-read a book: I recommend atomic habit, ikigai, the why cafe, the other books that I read are in French.

-learn a new language: on YouTube there are plenty of videos that you can find on the language of your choice.

-learn another skill: I chose to improve my computer skills but you can choose any skill it can be drawing, cooking whatever you want.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day4:celestial radiance

-work on self-love

-work on self-esteem

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day5:lunar dream

-spa day at home

-meditation

-listen to your favorite music

-watch your favorite series or films

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day6: lunar flight

-find your ikigai: that is to say your reason for being, explore your passions, your values ​​and your talents to really find what motivates you here is an example:

-Black Swan mindset: the Black Swan mindset is about knowing your value and not letting others tell you your value, it is a mindset of trust and knowledge of your value.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚day7:moonlight beauty

become more feminine

1-have good posture: gives you more elegance, you seem taller and more confident.

2-smell good have a characteristic scent: could remind someone of you, smell good shows that you care about your hygiene.

3-Getting Your Nails Done: Getting your nails done could make you look confident and well-groomed.

4-style your hair: hair is a key point of your appearance and a good hairstyle could automatically make you even more beautiful.

5-wear jewelry: simple jewelry can enhance your outfit a lot and bring out your features.

things to do every day

☆ Workout

☆ Learn a new skill

☆ Listen to subliminals

☆ Meditate

☆ Read a book

☆ Do Journaling

☆ Listen to Podcasts

I'm going to start tomorrow and to stay organized and always have an idea of ​​what I have to do I created a simple Notion if you want it's right here જ⁀➴

𝕄𝕆𝕆ℕ𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋 BEAUTY

#dream life #dream girl #wonyoungism #high maintenance #it girl #main character #it girl energy #dream girl tips #becoming that girl #clean girl #glow up #glow #glow aesthetic #jennie #thewizardliz #self health #self confidence #self development #self care #self love #self improvement #healthy mindset #healthy mind #healthy lifestyle #that girl #workout

[rainbowmilk]

Don't Forget Me III

Warnings: Violence, Death, Language

Treech x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

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All you wanted was to get away from the people gawking at you, yet oddly enough, the Capitol boy and the rainbow girl were approaching the crowd. Hand-in-hand, no less. That's something you never thought you'd see: a girl from Twelve and a boy from the Capitol holding hands.

They started talking to a clownish-looking man. You couldn’t hear much, but you did learn their names were Lucy Gray and Coriolanus Snow. You couldn’t imagine a situation where you'd willingly talk to anyone from the Capitol. Lucy Gray, however, seemed to thrive under cameras.

Treech, also watching, said, “Y’know, I think I’d rather take my chances in the arena than have to talk to him.”

“Don’t be an ass! He doesn't look that bad,” you say while trying and failing to suppress your laugh.

He raised an eyebrow, staring at you as if you’ve just said the sky is green. “If you say so,” he teased.

The interview, or whatever you want to call it, was cut short when the metal doors swung open, and a group of Peacekeepers marched in, dragging Coriolanus out.

“Do you think he was even supposed to be in here?” You asked as you watched him get dragged out.

“Course not,” Treech smirked, “he looked ready to piss himself when he realized this was being recorded.” He said, once again making you laugh. For a minute, everything felt normal. If you close your eyes, you could pretend you are back home at the market laughing with your friends.

As the day went on, more and more people started showing up. There must’ve been a crowd of about one hundred people when you spotted the familiar red uniform. At first, you thought it was Coriolanus, but as he got closer, you saw that it was a boy with dark brown hair.

He was carrying a large backpack, which was full of food. The boy pulled a sandwich from the bag and tried to coax Marcus, the boy from Two, to take it. He wasn’t having much luck, though. Marcus wouldn’t even acknowledge him.

You were much more inclined to trust him than Coriolanus. Something about him seemed genuine, kinder even. Maybe if you approached him, he’d give you food. It couldn’t hurt to try.

Treech as if sensing your thoughts grabbed your arm. He shook his head at you, saying, “We can’t trust him. He’s Capitol.”

You wanted to argue but decided it wasn’t worth the headache. Treech could be painfully stubborn when he wanted to be.

Coriolanus came by later in the day and seated himself by the bars. A sting of jealousy hit you when you saw him hand Lucy Gray a sandwich. Why hadn’t your mentor shown up?

You didn’t have to wallow for long because Lucy Gray yelled, “You all should get one. They’re real good! Go on, Jessup!”

Her district partner, Jessup, slowly approached the boy with the sandwiches and took one from his hand. He waited until a plum followed and then walked off without a word.

Emboldened, you sprung up, pulling Treech along with you. Rushing to the fence where the boy gave each of you a sandwich and a plum. Satisfied, you walked back to the rocky patch you’d been sitting at. It’s a good thing you got there early because, within a minute, the backpack was almost depleted by the other tributes.

You had to resist the urge to devour the sandwich, forcing yourself to savor every bite. Who knew when your next meal would be? You had to enjoy it while it lasted.

As the sun set, the crowd thinned, and everyone started to settle in for the night. Most tributes opted to stay in the place they’d claimed the first day. Everybody was getting increasingly ill-tempered, yourself included, the more days you spent trapped in the zoo.

Almost on cue, two boys started fighting over a bale of hay, but Marcus broke them up. His display of strength unsettled you. How could you win against that?

I mean, you could handle an ax. Which already left you better off than most tributes. But you weren��t an expert by any means. If you had to face Marcus in the arena, you’d have no chance. Just thinking of the arena made you uneasy. Seeking comfort, you nestled up next to Treech. Letting his steady heartbeat lull you to sleep

The sun beating down on the enclosure stirred you from your slumber. Your eyes flickered open, but the influx of light has you snapping them shut again.

“Mornin,” Treech whispered, his voice still groggy.

“Mmm..too early,” you grumbled, burrowing your head deeper into his chest.

Running on a limited amount of sleep, you didn’t feel up to do anything besides stay curled up behind the rock. The morning passed by uneventfully, with few visitors stopping by. Until Peacekeepers came and corralled you onto a truck. They offered no explanation as to where you were going.

After a short ride, they unloaded all of you at a large building. You were escorted by Peacekeepers who outnumbered you two to one, which you felt was overkill, considering you had heavy shackles attached to your wrists and ankles. They led you to a table and then chained you with concrete weights, telling you to wait for your mentors.

Without much to do, you tilted your head back and surveyed the hall. It was a beautiful space with marble columns, arched windows, and a vaulted ceiling. You should feel awed, you’d never see anything like this in Seven, but it only made you miss home even more.

You glanced over to Treech, but before you could say anything, the doors opened, and twenty-four teenagers marched out. You wondered which one would be your mentor. You hoped they actually cared, but you doubted it, considering they hadn’t visited.

A tall boy who must be your mentor approached your table, sitting in the chair across from you. He introduced himself as “Pliny Harrington”. He seemed nice enough, if not a bit tactless. Maybe this won’t be that bad you allowed yourself to hope.

It was that bad. You were ready to tear your hair by the end of the session. You misheard one question, and Pliny spent the rest of the time talking to you like a toddler. The most infuriating part was his self-satisfied grin because he was so sure he was being helpful.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of the session, you could’ve cried with relief. Even as the Peacekeepers rounded you back into the truck, you were just glad to be done. You’d had enough interactions with Capitol folks to last you a lifetime.

In the truck, you find yourself sitting next to Lucy Gray while she stares at you with a unreadable expression. You are not sure what to make of her.

“Hi...you’re Lucy Gray, right?” you say, wondering why she’s staring at you.

“The one and only,” she quipped back.

Over her shoulder, you could see Treech watching you, his eyes flitting between you and Lucy Gray, unsure if it was a friendly conversation. You shot him a smile, letting him know you were okay.

Lucy Gray must’ve caught the interaction because she gave you a knowing look. She leaned in and whispered, “So, what’s up with you and your district partner?”

Startled, your eyes scanned the others to make sure no one had heard, “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, “You two seem very close, plus he gets this glint in his eyes when he looks at you.”

You glanced up, and sure enough, Treech was still staring at you. He looked startled to have been caught again and looked away. “He’s just—we’ve just been friends for a while,” you say, though your voice has an annoyingly hopeful twinge to it.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that…well, you at least like him, don’t you?” She asked.

The expression on your face must answer her question because she gave you a pitying smile. Are you really that obvious? You must be. Because it seems everyone, but Treech knew at this point. Even his brothers would tease you about it.

When you arrived back at the zoo, a crowd waited for you. Morning attendance was scarce, but now visitors were pouring in. Annoyed, you tried to hide yourself behind a rock to escape prying eyes.

“What were you and Twelve talkin’ about?” Treech asked, plopping himself beside you.

“It’s a secret,” you say, winking at him, hoping he doesn’t see right through you. Wanting to change the topic, you ask, “How was your mentor?”

He winced at your question “She was very irritating,” he replied. By the look on his face, he was clearly holding himself back from saying anything meaner. “How was yours?”

“God, don’t get me started,” you groan. “He talked to me like I was a five-year-old the whole time!”

You didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow, more people came as the day progressed. Unsurprisingly, Lucy Gray was by the bars entertaining the crowd. What caught your eye, though, was they seemed to be passing her food. The thought of begging for scraps made you flush with humiliation. But it was slowly becoming evident that if you wanted to eat, you’d need to perform.

Other tributes realized this as well. The girl from District 9 did a back handspring, which was rewarded with applause and a bread roll. You stared longingly at the bread, what you would give for a bite.

“Are you hungry?” Treech asked, his mouth turned into a frown.

“I’m fine,” you say, not wanting to worry him.

Treech stared at you blankly, making it clear he didn’t believe you. He stood up, fetching three walnuts off the floor, and marched up to the crowd. He made a good show of juggling the walnuts and keeping the crowd entertained. He was rewarded with a bread roll and an apple.

Once he’s finished, he tipped his hat at the crowd before rushing back to you. He looked pleased with himself as he offered the food to you.

You immediately protested, “No! Don’t worry about me. I’m not that hungry anyway.” In embarrassingly perfect timing, your stomach lets out a growl.

Treech face broke out into a smile, holding out the food again. Sighing in defeat, you ripped a chunk off the bread. As you sat eating, you heard the crowd laughing. When you turned toward the noise, you saw one of the mentors holding out a sandwich in front of her tribute to the girl from Ten, only to pull it away at the last second, much to the crowd’s amusement.

“That’s awfully cruel,” you mumbled, clutching your food protectively to your chest. You tried to block out the noise. No point in making yourself needlessly upset.

However, shrieks coming from the audience members had you snapping your head back towards the bars. You saw the girl from Ten holding a bloody knife. The Capitol girl's face was drained of color as she dropped the sandwich and clawed at her neck. Blood was pouring from her neck and down her fingers as the District 10 girl released her and gave her a small shove.

The Capitol girl stepped back, turning and reaching out, imploring the audience for help. People were either too stunned or too scared to respond. Many drew away as she fell to her knees and began to bleed out. You held no love for the Capitol, but you couldn’t help but pity the girl. It was a horrible way to die.

Coriolanus rushed towards the Capitol girl. Shouting for a medic. He must know her. Your heart dropped when you saw Peacekeepers shouldering their way toward the enclosure. The gunshots sounded almost immediately after. Bullets were fired into the cage without care of who they hit.

You sit stunned for a second as you watch the bullets pierce the District 10 girl's body. Treech practically throws himself toward you, pushing you behind the rock. The bullets continued firing, flying just past your heads.

Even when the gunshots died down, you and Treech remained on the ground. Both of you clinging tightly to one another. After enough time passed, you peeked out and saw soldiers swarming the place, clearing out the last remnants of the audience. Without warning, they swarmed the enclosure, dragging all of you to the back of the cage and lining you up with your hands on top of your heads.

As you stood there, you wondered if they were going to shoot all of you and get it over with. Maybe it would be easier if you died now. At least it would be quick.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #treech tbosas #the hunger games #treech #treech x reader #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow

[xythlia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 — 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓

kinktober week two | biting | vampire!satan x f!reader

What Goes Bump In The Night week two is here! The theater two showing is all about vampires, so when those fangs are bared make sure your necks are too~

› you're a caged bird, no hope of faith or flight to save you from the beast that holds you in an iron grip. But do you even want to be saved?

› warnings : ambiguous 18th century setting, biting, vampire au, blood/blood consumption, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, use of pet, sacrilege/religious themes, mention of killing, reader has hair long enough for it to get in their face, noncon, cervix fucking, creampie, choking

› word count : 3k+

🔪 what goes bump in the night?

The human mind possesses a remarkable ability to adapt.

You had quit marking time here long ago, it only served to drive you deeper into despair and slowly it became clear the only choice left was to make the best of being trapped in this rotted cathedral. So be it. Things became less horrid once that shifted inside you, he was kinder for one. Less bouts of intense rage although it wasn't perfectly remedied by your obedience and you suspected the real source of his rage was his own despair at knowing there was no solution for what he was. He also allowed you more freedom of movement, though only within this decrepit place.

You also suppose it makes sense he would choose this place to be a prison, for both of you. What you don't understand however, is his would be devotion to a being that did not create him nor hold any love for him.

"Leave me." Satan greeted you. His eyes never even moved to you, it almost made you feel miffed he couldn't even be bothered to properly rebuke you.

"I didn't even know you were here," you lied. He's always here. Always in the shadow of this altar when he's not slipping into your bedroom, attempting to find a much different form of salvation. This place was obviously once resplendent, but years of abandonment have reduced portions to rubble. This main part of the cathedral was nothing more than a half cracked maw, sucking in the freezing night air.

"I couldn't sleep," you muttered, maybe more to the neglected pews than to him.

You both knew you were lying, his acknowledgement coming in the form of a bland hmph. It was strange, you hated and reviled him especially when he would lurk into your room at night but something you couldn't really describe would rear it's head as an ache for him. You were now wholly dependent on him and you loathed him for it.

When those venomous eyes finally train on you it nearly makes you reconsider. Coming to him like this was a mistake, especially if you don't tred carefully-

"Maybe I should use you to sate my own desires," he cuts off your train of thought. "How wretched you are. You call me beast more times than I can count, yet you sulk into this place wanting to be bed by said beast." He sneered, tone shot full of mocking. You were caught out.

A pit opened in your stomach, but it wasn't unpleasant. No, it was a funny mixture of desire and disgust. He was right, though that would never pass your lips.

So you decide to lie again, even though you know he can practically taste the desire wafting from you, knew you were wet the moment you walked in.

"That's not what I want from you-"

"Then leave!" He practically snarls and you wish you had the nerve to strike him. He knows perfectly well you can't leave, could never leave. He tore you away in the night from all you ever had, all you ever knew and dropped you into this decaying church because try as he might he can never resist what he is.

Your own lips curl into a snarl. "You're nothing but a pathetic creature that would spend all of his eternity knelt for a god that deafens its ears to him."

You don't stop even as he rises to stand, every movement radiating aggression as he comes closer to you. You want to hurt him even a fraction of how badly he's hurt you, the ugliness of it twines together with your arousal, twin snakes squirming in your belly.

"You're pathetic. You know no god will ever look at you in joy so you capture women, cage them and break them so at least someone will gaze at you in sick adoration-"

The words die as a garbled sound of pain as his hand grips your throat, pushing you forcefully against a half rotted support beam. The position was oddly intimate, allowing you to smell the tang of the dust that had settled on him from spending hours in that repentant pose. That shameful arousal spiked inside your gut at the way he bared those fangs at you, the way he held you in place by your neck.

"Aren't you the one gazing in adoration, pet?"

The stone floor suddenly at your back was roughly fractured in sharp contours, horribly uncomfortable but it mattered not. You blinked away the start of tears in your eyes at the breathtaking sensation of being laid out flat, you always forgot about his strength when enough time passed but his small display of violence was thrilling to you in a vile way, so was the pain.

All of Satan's focus was zeroed on you as he hunched above your trembling body. The look on his face was dark, making your thighs squeeze together in a way you wish didn't happen. His flaxen hair was haloed by the cracks of moonlight from the crumbling ceiling,for a millisecond you swear he looked like one of those stained glass depictions of an angel.

"Please not here," you squeaked out.

"What? Are you afraid god will strike you down?" He asked, then whispered, "Do you really think he cares? He has yet to save you."

You swallowed thickly, noting how his eyes tracked the movement with their overblown pupils. This was a terrible idea, one you regretted now but it was too late. You'd poked the bear until claws came out and there's no asking for them to be retracted.

In the tense quiet he brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, the act so gentle, so intimate it nearly made you forget that you were but a meal and a thing to fuck. The faint stench of old blood brought you back to reality, knowing it came from his hands.

So, his faux repentance was prompted by another killing. It always is.

That blood-crusted hand glided down the column of your throat, making you flinch. You could tell by the hardening of his eyes that it was the wrong involuntary action to have, but there was no taking it back. That hand dipped inside your neckline to trace the curve of a breast before stilling above your heart.

"You're always so afraid," he said. It sounded almost regretful. "You know I don't mean to hurt you?"

"I don't." You whimpered. Finally a portion of truth. For all his occasional nicety it always wound back around to pain. A pain you got used to, tolerated, even sought out such as tonight, but you could never ever be sure that he would never hurt you.

He laughed and it was a mad sound, ricocheting off the cold indifferent stone and making you flinch again.

"You're just as detestable as I am, do you know that? Skulking in, acting on your own shameful desires, pretending you're not. Pretending you don't enjoy this little dance we do." His speech was coming out hard, rapidly. "I could tear you into shreds, leave nothing but ichor and parts and there's nothing you could ever do to stop me."

It was sick, how delighted he looked as you shrank against the floor. Even now your defiant streak became prevalent.

"You won't kill me," but you hardly sounded sure.

"Would you like to test it?"

You clenched your jaw, staying silent, although your trembling worsened.

Before you realized it he was leaning back, icy hands moving down violently to rip at the linen trousers you wore and horror washed over you. Horror that this was no longer a scathing back and forth, and that this time he really might make good on killing you.

"What are you doing- stop!" You cried out in dread but his movements didn't falter, no matter how much you struggled against him pulling at the fabrics of your clothes until the seams tore, leaving your cunt bare to his gaze and your ass to the bite of the frozen stone floor.

You yelped in pain as he tugged you down, scraping your back against the stone and raised your legs up, propping them on his shoulders in a hardened grip. Terror kept you locked in place even when his hands disappeared, fumbling with his own waistband looking down you saw how erect he was in his hand. Thick and tip dripping precum as you feel him smear it between your folds, and you bite down hard on your lips in anticipation of fresh pain.

As he roughly guided himself inside you struggled anew, crying out from the unprepared stretching as his girth forced your muscles and slick walls to part. Something like lust overcame you as you felt him fit fully inside, the head of his cock brushing against your cervix. It made you go limp, a gasped sob rising from your chest as he pushed your legs up against your breasts before forcefully placing your hands to hold the backs of your thighs.

His movements started slow, his breathing ragged feeling you clench around him. When he started thrusting with more vigor the back of your head scraped painfully against the floor, making you yelp as cool tears pooled in the shell of your ears from sliding down your cheeks. It hurt, the way it always did and brought a dull pounding pain that flowed through your entire body.

It was raw, being fucked into jagged stone with no consideration from the man sucking and nipping at your skin. A mockery of intimacy, but in a repulsive way it sustained you. Feeling his balls smack against the fat of your ass, gasping his name in broken syllables, feeling his fingers slip down to prod at your clit; it guaranteed your survival.

As you shift to wrap your arms around his neck an aggressive sound leaves him. All the pain made your back arch, trying to escape the ground while at the same time providing him a deeper reach that brought a burst of ecstasy to you. Pain and pleasure intensely mixed and muddled your mind as your body jostled with his cruel pace. Whatever pain there was would be rewarded, there was solace in that.

With no space between you that scent of iron and rot returned, pairing with the smell of your own acrid sweat and his golden hair tickled your cheek as he bit down with intent this time.

The wail that rang against the unfeeling cathedral left you unbidden, an animalistic response to the searing, nearly blinding pain of teeth sinking into your flesh. Sobs left you in ripping spurts, your nails clawing at his back but it did little to stop him. His pace never broke, if anything the way he circled your clit only picked up speed and your cunt spasmed around him.

It was strangely beautiful, feeling yourself coming undone and slipping away as your eyes never left the gap of starlight breaking through the musty darkness from the vaulted ceiling. The pain was ebbing away too, like a hazy afterimage that you couldn't hold onto. Faintly you knew the wet warmth seeping against your skin was your own blood, he always is a sloppy eater after all. It makes you crack a small smile, and distantly you know you look insane: fucked out, bloody, yet smiling up to the sky while he doesn't stop pumping into you, doesn't stop sucking and grunting against your skin. A barbaric display beneath the unsympathetic eye of the moon.

Though there is a happiness in knowing the dance ended the way it always does. That tomorrow you'll wake up, sore and feeling sick, but alive still.

As your eyes flutter closed and you go limp in his hold something shifts, though you're no longer awake to catch it. To him this suffering of eternal existence would perhaps be lessened if you were also eternally present, and without your current fragility.

Thick spurts of cum flood your throbbing cunt with his last sloppy thrusts as he keeps drinking, past his fill and past the point of no return. You'll wake much, much later as little more than a fledgling beast with base instincts but it thrills him to think of your anguish once you regain a sense of self.

Whatever poison you spit at him as a human would pale in comparison to what will surely leave your mouth once you realize what he's done to you. But snapping that iron will of yours a second time will taste even sweeter than you do at this moment.

#kinktober 2023 #🔪 WGBITN #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me x female reader #obey me oneshot #obey me satan #om! smut #om! satan #satan smut #satan x reader #satan x mc #obey me x y/n

[vox-ex]

magic + spookycorp

supercorptober 2023

“Time expands, then contracts, all in tune with the stirrings of the heart.” ― Haruki Murakami

Or Lena learns to move through the world by actions at every distance. She fall in love with Kara somewhere along the way.

----

When she was little it made sense. The world made sense. And she fit neatly in it.

There was a predictability in it.

In days becoming nights becoming mornings. In peeling pages off the calendar on the wall her mother had hung in the kitchen.

There was a simplicity in it.

In the way it hurt when she tripped over the garden wall and scraped her knee. In how it felt better when her mother kissed the bandage she placed over the cut.

Time and gravity and love all falling into order.

Until the day they don't.

Her mother dies and she doesn't know why.

When she is four she is angry at the water.

She gets older she believe's in God just enough to hate him instead.

One day she learns to hate herself for it instead.

And even when see learns the truth of it, buried somewhere in the science of currents and silt and fluid dynamics — it is easier to keep hating herself.

But it is never really the nature of the universe we are angry at, but ourselves, and the conceptions we try to impose on it.

She tries to remember that.

Tries to ground herself in equations and numbers and theorems that reason with the intention every bit of cause and every bit of effect. The trajectory of planets, the dance of electrons, each with a purpose, a path.

She moves with them.

But less easily.

Less predictably.

Her motion through the world less elegant than the science she covers herself with — buries herself in.

She keeps moving though. Because what else is she to do. The universe pushes her forward with the rest of it.

It is a motion that is mechanical, constant — personal.

She collides with the world and it collides with her, over and over and over.

She tries to make herself bend to meet them, to stretch, to compress so that she can remain whole.

Sometimes the world hits her so hard she can still feel the marks on her skin.

She will learn that it is not always bad to be left changed.

She keeps moving. She keeps moving until moving feels less like she colliding with the world and more like falling through it.

Supergirl pulls her out of the sky.

Supergirl pulls her out of the sky and she doesn't know what to do with that.

She calculates odds and statistics and free body diagrams in her head.

She tries to ignore the feeling in the back of her head and somewhere louder in her chest that utters out quantum equations instead.

Tries to tell herself that this is not action at distance. This is not the movement of particles and quanta. This is one body meeting another — nothing more.

It is something more.

It is something more but action at a distance feels no kinder than action up close.

It is full of chaos and uncertainty.

She tries to fit it neatly into boxes.

Puts Kara neatly into a box too.

And even when the science makes sense, it feels too much like fate, like magic, to believe it.

It takes time to believe it.

It takes time and destruction and time again to be put back together.

The first light of dawn crept through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over Lena's face as she sat at the table, the cup of tea between her hands keeping them warm against the Autumn air drifting in.

"Morning," Kara murmurs as she enters the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The corners of Lena's lips turn up in a small smile at the sight of her

Good morning," she replies, taking a sip of her tea.

Kara stretched her arms above her head, the long figure of her body scattering the light on the floor. She pours herself a cup of tea and settls across from her.

Lena contemplated the predictability of it all – that the sun would rise, that they would find themselves at this table, that they would drink tea together.

It's easier to call it fate or magic.

But it was uncertainty that made it possible. The dance of particles and quanta, and for once she was not just their observer, but the result of their movements.

Lena reached across the table and took Kara's hand in hers. She could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady beating of her heart just beneath.

She gives it a small pull.

Kara leans forward at the motion.

They meet as they always seem to do.

As she always hopes they will.

Kara's lips meet hers, warm and familiar.

Her thumb traces the small scar that sits just behind her ear as her hands wander up to thread themselves in her hair.

She leans into her touch.

Bending, stretching, compressing — is made whole by it.

It feels like colliding.

It feels like falling.

It feels a little bit like magic after all.

----

read and follow along on Ao3 too

#supercorp #supergirl #supercorptober #supercoptober2023 #sg prompts #after last prompt I felt like maybe Lena could have a little character study too #sorry that means more science #love and science #paradoxes and poetry #spooky action at a distance #inspired by yet more science #and the quote from Einstein which I'm sure probably frustrates my physicists today which called Quantum Mechanics #a nod to Lena's odd magical character arc in cannon #you all have been so great this whole month #thank you so much!

[betweensaintsandmonsters]

i promised to forget you (i lied)

the first time he calls, it goes to the machine. obi-wan's voice crisp and clean over the line. 

"i gave your name as my emergency call," anakin says, voice breaking, "please pick up."

the officer give him a look that he assumes is pity, "try someone else. they can come get you tonight."

anakin tries the number again, listens to the tone ring and ring. it goes to the machine again. 

"obi-wan, please. i know you're probably awake. please."

he could call asohka (but he's probably burned that bridge too) she might come get him, lecture him on the way home and deposit him in bed one last time.

if she knew he was in lock up, she'd have his head. he promised to do better.

“i swear he’ll pick up,” anakin whispers, voice lost in the cacophany of the county jail. 

he does not say, he always picks up. he does not say, he has always picked me up. he does not say, i think i burned that bridge, what if he doesn't pick up?

the alchol is still making his head fuzzy, the world blurs aroud the edges of his vision, though that might be the concussion. he thinks his nose is broken. his hand too, maybe. all the pain drowned under the heartbreak.

anakin knew they left things in tatters, their relationship in pieces as they (he) hurled the most hurtful things he could think of back at obi-wan while he tried to be understanding, patient, until even that was impossible. 

"son," the officer says. she's defintely looking at him with pity now, it burns. "try someone else."

anakin dials obi-wan's number again. fingers too tight around the black plastic as he punched the number in again. 

it rang twice.

"hullo," obi-wan says. his voice is too thin, frayed, like he's hanging on as well as anakin is.

"obi-wan," anakin breathes out and the line cuts off.

anakin slams the reciever down and lets out a frustrated yell. the officer lays a hand on his shoulder. he doesn't have the energy to shake it off. 

"he was wrong to hang up," she says, like she's trying to comfort him. 

belatedly, he realizes he's shaking. he thinks he's crying. he can't tell. 

"let me try again. i'll stay the night, i swear he'll call back."

"why are you doing this to yourself?" the officer asks. she's kinder than most of the officers at the county jail. patient with him when she doesn't need to be. she could send him out into the rain alone to find his way back home. 

"he always picks up," is all he can say in response. 

#obikin #obi-wan is putting shoes on. he's getting ready to pick anakin up. he has a feeling he knows where he is. #and it's raining. and late. and he's so tired but he will always go get anakin even if it hurts him too #he listens to the two messages on his machine two minutes after hanging up but for the briefest moment it felt good to just hang up #he'll beat himself up about it later. when anakin is safe and at home and they've had a screaming match about it #obikin fic #i'm listening to dial drunk on repeat because i am firmly in my noah kahan phase #i just spelled phase faze four times before i figured out it was wrong

[purplelupins]

Lamb

Midnight Mass

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, ANGST, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: I’m sorry

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sleep had evidently taken you during the night, though you couldn’t recall when. Sometime between you telling yourself it would all be alright, and weeping for God’s grace. Now as you opened your eyes, you half wished you hadn’t. You wished you had stayed asleep and let this tumultuous time crest over you.

They say God gives his hardest battles to his best soldiers.

You did not want to be one of his best soldiers that day.

You wanted there to have been no oil spill and for the Monsignor to come back and for Leezas accident to have never happened and for Joe to be sober and you wished you had a crush on someone when you were a teenager and you wished the world was kinder-

You wished so many things.

You only managed to pull yourself up from bed when your stomach curled painfully and begged for food at around 7:30am. You begrudgingly put your kettle on the stove, and stared out your front window.

A watched pot never boils, your mother used to say.

Does if you stare long enough, your dad would reply.

You face fell as you watched a stray leaf float past your window. Your eyes glazed over as you waited, and only refocused when there was more than just a leaf going past your window.

Erin Greene slowly walked past your house, white as a sheet, and you found yourself transfixed by her. She looked…disturbed. You had heard that she had gone to the mainland for tests, and you wondered if there was a complication with her pregnancy. Perhaps she had started taking morning walks to help…

It took a moment for you to decide to open your front door, and when you did she didn’t turn around. She was further away now, and you wanted to shout to her and ask her in for a coffee, but it was early, and you didn’t want to wake your neighbours.

You went to turn back inside- your kettle starting to whistle. But something lurched inside you then. This wasn’t you. The you that you knew would run out after her friend and check on her.

Without another thought, you were down your steps in a second and running down the road after her.

“Erin! Hey Erin!” You called to her.

Erin stopped and spun on you- her eyes red.

You were panting once you stopped, and you waited for her to say something, but went she didn’t you did. “Sorry I just…I’m making some coffee an-“

You were cut off by her wrapping her arms around you and hugging you close. You slowly returned it, rubbing her back. You didn’t know Erin very well outside of Mass or the odd conversation, but you almost felt a shock zap you when she held you. Like you connected to her somehow.

“Erin are you alrig-“

“Don’t lose yourself…” she said as she pulled away.

You stared at her and laughed nervously when she remained serious, “I don’t…what’s going on?” You asked. But when you saw that deep sorrow in her eyes, you stopped looking for a reason.

She shook her head. And sucked in a breath as she released you, “You’re smart. And you’re good. Don’t lose that. You have your life ahead of you.” She repeated, then squeezed your arms and left you there in the morning air with only your whistling kettle in your ears.

You didn’t remember eating, or drinking your coffee for that matter; but your sink full of dishes said otherwise. Erin had startled you terribly. While you could have chalked up her behaviour to her pregnancy, somehow you felt she was talking about something else entirely. It was as if she had embodied all the turmoil you had been experiencing, and had shown it to you.

Did she feel the same discomfort you had? Was this something not unique to you?

You downed a few more cups of warm drinks as you dwelled and thought. You thought about calling your family on the mainland…but they were always so busy. Instead, you sat and pulled the book you had borrowed from the Father and began to read it again. You found you had a difficult time keeping up with the book itself; the sequence of a man’s decent into Hell. It was morbid though fascinating to read…almost like a train wreck that you couldn’t look away from.

Eventually, you snapped the book shut and set it down beside you.

You didn’t know how to feel about it, and you didn’t like how heavy it weighed on your heart. Like somehow it felt all too real.

It was only when the old streetlights outside your house started to flicker on that you realized how late it had gotten. Still a few hours left before Mass. You reached for a record to play, and stared at the one closest to you. The same one you had listened to the night before the Crock-potluck.

You berated yourself for associating Father Hill with the record, but it had been such a significant night that it was difficult not to.

You mindlessly played it, and as the sound filled your home, you listened. Calm began to come over you, though you weren’t certain you liked that. Sure it was an old family record from the 90’s, and brought some nostalgia, but you didn’t find yourself thinking of your family.

You thought of how Father Hill had taken your sorrows and given them back in the form of healing. How he had taken your hand and walked you through your first confession in years. How he hadn’t judged you. How welcomed you felt.

Renewed.

How he had single-handedly entered your life and begun to mend it with such precision. As if he knew what you needed.

By the late evening you had eaten dinner and washed your dishes, brushed your hair and wrapped a warm cardigan over your spring dress. You admittedly looked a little less pristine than usual, but you tried to not let it bother you.

A breeze crept up your thighs as you began down your front steps, and you faltered for a moment. You opted instead to hop on your bike, and began pedalling down the road. Somehow you felt more at ease the faster you went, though you just assumed it was because it meant you would be outside in the cold less.

You greeted a few people as you went, and found yourself starting to calm down the closer you grew to St. Patrick’s. Then as you created the hill, you sighed in slight relief; as you slowed your pace to the side of the building, you caught the eye of Father Hill as he welcomed his parish inside as he almost always did. You sent him a small wave as you stepped off your bicycle and leaned it against the church.

“Evening Father Hill.” You said, coming up to the steps.

John smiled at you. You looked so fresh with your rosy cheeks and less neat hair.

“How are you, little one?” He asked you, focus purely on you for a moment as Bev welcomed the others who passed.

The endearment caught you off guard. More than off guard. It must have been a coincidence, but that was what Monsignor Pruitt used to call you.

You shifted a little but started to make your way past him, “I’m doing well, thank you Father. I hope you’ve been feeling alright.” You put a small smile on, though your stomach was still tight.

“Feeling even better now.” Father Hill said- the crows feet around his eyes deepening.

You nodded and quickly made your way up the stairs and inside the church to your spot on your pew. In some way it felt as if you were a little outside your body; your ears rang and you found your eyes flickering over the heads and faces around you. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and you had hoped it would pass when Father Hill started speaking, but it didn’t.

“I hope these last 39 days have been rewarding and regenerative for you all. We are here on the eve of Easter…we have all come so far together this year. When I first come here to this community, I didn’t see a failed island, no…no I saw what I know God sees and that is an island on its way to rebirth. Each and everyone of you have helped it get there too. You think you’re insignificant or that you’re just small cogs in a large machine, but you’re all so much more. You are representatives of Gods glory.” Father Hill started. You had noticed that for a few days now, his passion for his sermons had returned tenfold. And while his words still moved you, you couldn’t shake that feeling of disconnect. You felt like such an outsider that evening, and you almost checked around you to see if you had done something different.

While you tried to ground yourself, you stared at the wooden crucification of Jesus behind Father Hill as he spoke, and at some point your eyes blurred and for a moment you swore the idol and the man were one and the same. The visual was enough to make you frightened.

You looked away quickly, and focused instead on your hands. You looked at each line and your knuckles and picked at your nails and traced the veins.

Before you knew it, Mass was finishing, and you found yourself a little shaken. More than a little. You rarely tuned out a service, but the anxiety that curled in your muscles refused to leave you.

Shame prickled inside you, but somehow your trepidation overwhelmed it. You wanted to leave. Quickly.

You didn’t wait to speak to anyone that night, and certainly not Father Hill. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t know what to feel towards that church or preacher anymore. All you knew was that you didn’t feel like yourself, and that the priest only seemed to enhance that.

You heard a few people call your name as you hurried outside, and as you were just about to grab your bike, there was one voice in particular that made your steps stutter.

But still you didn’t turn back, and only got onto your bike faster, and sped away until you were racing home like the Devil himself was licking your heels.

John Pruitt stood on the top step to bid his parish a good night, but as he stepped out into the cool air, he noticed one had already slipped by.

He called your name, and could hear your heart rate spike for a moment. He could hear you quicken your pace too. You were running from him.

Guilt and worry began to fill him. This was his fault entirely- he had been lacking in his guidance for you. You hadn’t had enough of the sacrament, and you were lost. That blood in your veins was a shadow of what you deserved.

John made up his mind. You would have the gift even if he had to give it to you himself.

No lamb left behind.

In the morning, you stared at the photo of you on Easter from when you were a child. The same one Father Hill had pointed out. Your hair in little pigtails and a carefree smile…that little dress that made you look like a doll.

Now as you stood there you were far from smiling, and instead found yourself fighting the nausea that stirred in your stomach.

In your hands was the book Father Hill had given you.

Dante’s Inferno.

You hadn’t finished it, and it didn’t feel right of you to have it. It didn’t feel right for you to finish it too. Like you shouldn’t know how it ends. The more you thought about it, the more you realised the same applied to your own future. You had no inkling as to where it would end up. At one time not too long ago you might have been fairly confident that you knew where you were headed or what you might do with your life, but now you found yourself unable to trust your own judgement. When had you lost your moral compass?

You swallowed and steadied yourself. Back to the task at hand.

You stepped out your door, book in hand, and began making your way through town to the rectory of St. Patrick’s. You told yourself you were just going to leave the book on the porch and walk away. No knocking, no visit, just simple and quick.

A few people stopped you on your walk to ask if you had been alright after last night. “You left in such a hurry after Mass, honey, just wanted to make sure if you were okay.” They would say.

And you were so well practiced with your sweet smile and unbothered tone that of course they believed you when you told them you thought you had left your oven on and raced home. You even earned a laugh from one of them.

You wished you could laugh as easily as them. Smile as easily. You wished you weren’t burdened with this disturbance.

In an attempt to make yourself feel stronger, you tried to put your shoulders back, and began to walk up the hill, but the closer you got, the smaller you felt. You felt very much like a child going to the principal’s office.

That dread that had been festering in your nerves peaked as your eyes fell upon the rectory. The lights were on. Somehow that made everything feel so much more difficult. Your nerves vibrated and seemed to shake in tandem with your hands.

You sucked in a breath, and held it as you pushed yourself to walk down the side of the church and to the small house. Quickly, and as quietly as you could. Things almost seemed hopeful as you went to place the book down on the porch, but just as you bent, the door opened, and you jumped.

You were frozen in place.

“Ah, Y/n. Can we help you?” Inside, you could see Bev was sat at Father Hills desk, while Wade stood, Dolly sat and Sturge held the door open. Father Hill was standing by his bookcase. The same one he had retrieved the book you held from.

You swallowed but tried to muster up that practiced smile to seem apologetic.

“So-sorry, I’m um…I just wanted to return this book to Father Hill.” You held the book up, and went to give it to Sturge, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Bev went to speak again, “Oh that’s just fine, Sturge why don’t you take the bo-“

“Please, you’re welcome to stay,” Father Hill cut her off.

You startled again by the sound of his voice. He was watching you. Had his eyes gotten darker? “…I think we were just finishing up.” He added.

Bev smiled tightly.

You didn’t.

“Oh that’s alright, I’m sure you’re all very busy with tonight and the sheriff is actually expecting me to talk abou-“ you tried, almost looking helplessly at Sturge and Dolly as they started to file out past you. You had hoped that using Hassan would gain you some credibility, though it seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

“Please…” The Father said again, now coming closer as he followed the group, though he stopped just at the edge of the couch, “I’d like to know what you thought.” He added with a small, quick smile that showed his teeth.

John didn’t like you avoiding him. He had nothing notable against the sheriff, but somehow you wanting to prioritize a meeting with the other person irked him when you had clearly walked across the island to see him. It was as if you were crying out for help, but refusing to let yourself follow through…

Do not deny yourself my lamb…let me be your guide…let me help you.

You felt your fingers go numb and your mind start to go fuzzy as Bev slipped past you and left you alone. That was the last thing you had wanted to happen.

You gaze was fixed on the older man before you, and he grinned and beckoned you inside. A chill ran down your spine. At one time he had been a beacon, but now you weren’t so certain. It was as if he knew you weren’t yourself. Like he knew you were having doubts.

“Come in.” He said, and gestured to the chair that Dolly had sat in.

You stood in the doorway.

John could almost taste your fear. He was losing you. Fast. He needed to help you find your way back to him.

“R-really it’s okay, Father…” you tried again, weakly.

“I insist.” He replied.

You sucked in a breath, and took the step inside. You knew you shouldn’t, and your gut screamed at you to leave.

You closed the door, and timidly walked further inside.

With the door shut, John walked over to you and placed a hand on your back to guide you to sit at the desk there he sat across from you.

“I didn’t finish it, Father.” You said honestly. You felt guilty for the look of surprise on his handsome face.

He blinked and nodded, “It’s a difficult read.”

You placed the book on the table in front of you, and slowly looked up at him. It was strange to not try and fill the silence, but you truly didn’t know what to say.

You’re scaring me, Father

I’m afraid.

Of course you wouldn’t say that to him but that was all you could think of.

“I want to apologise.”

You looked up at him. You hadn’t been expecting that.

“I- forgive me…I want to apologise for not being the guide you need. My health has been unpredictable for a while, and I haven’t been there. For you, and for many others.” He said gently, leaning forward to fold his hands on the desk.

You swallowed, “That’s alright, Father.”

He stared back at you then, thinking. Contemplating.

“How are you?” He asked after a moment of studying you.

He knows.

You clenched your hand.

“I’m alright, Father.” You whispered, not that you meant to.

“Are you?” He asked. The Father refused to take his eyes off of you.

You forced that sweet smile you had, and nodded, “Definitely.”

He knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows…

You put your hands into your lap to hide how you shook.

“Good.” Father Hill said plainly, “Off you go then…big night tonight.” He smiled a little.

You nodded and stood up a little too quickly, “Yes- yes for sure. Have a good day, Father.” You already started backing away, and he stood to follow you. You didn’t dare look away from him or turn your back on him…and you didn’t know why.

“See you tonight.” John called to you as you turned the door nob. He cursed his gift in that moment. How he couldn’t walk you out…just have a little more time to calm your anxious state.

You didn’t say anything, though you did nod and smile tightly as you opened the door.

You were out the door and down the steps and walking briskly away before the Father could manage to say anything else. The door barely clicked shut from how fast you left. You kept your head down and continued that way until you were home.

The tremor in your hands hadn’t stopped. You clenched and unclenched them in an attempt to remedy it but nothing seemed to stop it. You were troubled…so troubled.

You weren’t even certain if you wanted to go to the vigil anymore. All you wanted was for that feeling to go away.

But this was Lent.

This was Easter.

It was just an evening in the church, then after that you could keep your interactions with Father Hill short, and simple until he left and Monsignor Pruitt returned.

Your gut jolted at the thought of the younger pastor staying indefinitely.

No…no Father Pruitt is on the mainland…for…months.

You pulled your knees to your chest and gripped your rosary as the night grew darker. The shadows began to envelop you in their grasp, and you found you had never missed the sunlight so much before. The power had stopped working an hour ago, and you found yourself nervous to wonder why. Now the darkness around you seemed to weigh down on you. You muttered prayer after prayer as you contemplated going, but then suddenly you stopped.

The faint sound of singing reached your ears, and you walked to your bedroom window to look down. Sure enough, there were dozens of little lights being held by islanders as they sang their way through the roads. You turned away, and looked down at the rosary in your hand; it had cut you. You pursed your lips, then sucked in a breath, and descended your stairs to the main floor and grabbed a sweater before walking quietly out your door. Beverly was stood just beyond your gate, and she paused when you caught her eye.

“Good evening, Y/n, join us.” She beckoned you down with an outstretched candle.

And against your better judgement, you went to her.

You took the candle, and she patted your arm like she cared about you. “Bless you, my sister in Christ.” She whispered, then continued singing. The hymn was pulled from you like “Please.” and “Thank you.”- you didn’t even realize you were singing until you approached the church and your throat was growing tight. A tear fell into your cheek, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Just one more night. Then maybe I can go to the mainland for a while…just one night.

St. Patrick’s glowed amongst the trees. Calling you all in. As you ascended the stairs, the glow of hundred of candles swallowed you whole. Your skin prickled at the warmth, and while you didn’t notice, your hands stopped shaking. The hard, old wood of your pew was supporting your weight as you sat without thinking. You found yourself in a slight daze as you looked from left to right to see the people around you. Faces you knew so well. It was only when you looked behind yourself that you jumped a little. Hassan was sat with Ali not far away, and while it was strange to see both of them there, you found that you grew calmer knowing your friend was there.

Both then when Hassan’s eyes met yours, you found that same look of disturbance there, and it was like a bucket of ice water. He didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked…worried.

You pursed your lips and looked around a little more, and noticed that Erin was back in her usual spot. You almost wanted to sit beside her to ask if she was alright after the last time you saw her that morning…but everyone was finished sitting, and you lost your chance.

It seemed your staring was enough to make her look in your direction though, and it was like looking in a mirror. She looked horrified. Terrified.

Something was wrong.

Any comfort you had felt began to wane. You both exchanged a look, and you suddenly wondered if you had been right; perhaps that underlying terror that had been poisoning you hadn’t been unique to you.

Both of you turned away from each other after a moment, and that feeling of solitude returned. Even amongst your community, you felt so very strange.

You slowly turned back and watched Father Hill take his place on the pulpit. His demeanour was so at ease now…he walked and stood like he belonged up there. You supposed he had been there for over six weeks…he had settled in.

You swallowed.

“This right now is one of the most beautiful things that I’ve ever seen. Now, some of you may have noticed that I’m wearing a gold chasuble tonight. I was actually wearing this on that first Sunday, the first day of the New Covenant. Bev called me out on it, in fact, and asked why I was wearing it on a day in Ordinary Time. And what I couldn’t tell her then, but what I can tell you now, is that I chose it because it was not an ordinary Sunday. Not even a little. And I had cause to celebrate, to rejoice. It was a holy day. And tonight will be different as well. Tonight is the beginning of a new era. And we are meant to celebrate the Resurrection tonight, and, and we will more than anyone ever has.”

You listened, staring at the pew in front of you. The man’s voice alone curled in your ear far too easily, and you didn’t dare look at him. Too afraid of what you might see or how you might feel.

“But first, bless me, brothers and sisters, for I have sinned. It has been too long since my last confession, and it is so long overdue, but here is my sin. I’ve lied to you all. I didn’t come here to replace Monsignor Pruitt. He isn’t recovering in a hospital in the mainland. He’s perfectly healthy.” He admitted.

At this, you looked up.

“He has been blessed. As you have all been blessed, he has been made well, made whole, made young, the same as you. He was healed long before you ever saw this face. He was the first, in fact, and he stands before you right now, asking for your forgiveness.”

For a moment, you looked from left to right at the front of the church, expecting to see the Monsignor, but then his words sunk in fully, and you grew pale. The realization fell from the base of your skull to the pit of your stomach like an iceberg. Cold paralysed your spine as confusion curdled to horror and ate at your bone marrow.

“Now, some of you must have thought it before, in the backs of your minds. Minds so trained by the world to ignore that voice, because how could it be? That would be impossible. But nothing is impossible with God. As we have seen. I was lost and confused, tired and old, on the road to Damascus when lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared unto me and bestowed upon me the healing graces of God. And I was restored, as you have all been restored. I returned to you all and I brought with me that angel of the Lord so that he might bless us all, and we have, we’ve seen the miracles. Our new bodies. The resurrection of the body, new and everlasting life. Now tonight, we will be tested, just a little, but we will be tested, as was Jesus. I was afraid when the New Covenant was fulfilled for me. Afraid as was our Savior, but “he who says he abides in Him, ought himself also to walk just as He walked.” “Be imitators of Christ.”I followed him into the valley of darkness, and like our Lord, I endured death. Mercifully short. A leap of faith, a step out onto the water, was all he asked of me. And, like Jesus, you will doubt, you will feel fear, but believe me, I promise you, brothers and sisters, if you follow me, if you follow us, if you follow Him, He will raise you again in His glory to eternal life. There is a price to be paid for everlasting life, as there was for our Savior. And each one of us will have the opportunity tonight to pay that price. But first and… I know after everything we’ve been through together, this is not easy to believe, so I invite you as Jesus invited Thomas to witness for yourself…Sturge?” He beckoned the gruff man over.

“And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of Heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of Heaven saying… ‘Behold, the Tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more. For the first things have passed away. And the one who is seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.'‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.To the thirsty, I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.'”

You watched, unable to look elsewhere. You half hoped this was some horrible dream you were having, fuelled by the discontent you felt. But as each second passed, the more you realised you were never going to wake up.

“This will be frightening for all of us, but, Sturge, my brother in Christ, are you afraid?” Father Pruitt asked him and he grasped the communion cup.

“No, Father. No, I’m not.” Sturge answered, so tamed.

I am! I am, Father! You shook.

“God be with you…” Father Pruitt murmured as Sturge drank, “I’m with you. I’m with you. I’m with him.” He cooed so gently that you actually started to feel a calm come over you, but it was gone again in a flash.

You watched Sturge jolt and grip his stomach; you jumped to your feet in horror.

“It’s all right. That’s okay,” the Father tried to sooth the crowd, but you only watched as Sturge began to cough blood all over himself, “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

The older man collapsed into the priests arms, and they both slowly lowered to the floor, “That’s all right. He’s all right. It’s all right.It will be over soon. It will be over soon.It’s all right.”

Father Pruitt cradled Sturge’s head as he convulsed, “It’s all right. Have faith! Have faith! Have faith, my brother. Have faith! It’s all right…This will be over soon. Soon. Soon.” He shushed him.

“Faith!” John cried, now looking up at the parishioners, “Just a few minutes! Just a few moments, really! The body is dead, but just for a moment! The resurrection of the body is what Easter’s about. That is what we are about to witness.”

You gripped your rosary so hard it dug into your fingers and carved into that spot it had already cut.

From behind you, you heard shuffling, and you turned to look. Hassan stood then, and gripped Ali’s arm in an attempt to pull him out the door, and you very nearly followed them, but you stopped cold when you looked past them and to the door.

“Sheriff, please. I…” Father Pruitt started to say, but as everyone turned to the door, a hush fell over the church. As your eyes focused there, you could taste your heartbeat.

There was no knowing exactly it was that stood there before you, but what it was…was evil. It was death, and pain, and forced that visceral sense of terror you had been keeping at bay to infect your sinew.

John straightened and stretched his hand out in welcome, “Behold…Lo… lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them. And they were afraid.” At his words, you dared to look away from the creature walking slowly through the church, and stared instead at the very man who you had begun to think was a true testament to the good of man. In the face of such harrowing calamity his smile was one of giddiness.

He was…joyous. Excited. Almost shaking as he beheld the beast perverting his church.

You stared at him. And as he smiled…you finally noticed how that smile was so much more dangerous than it once had been. Where it had once been one of wise luminosity, now it was one that could shred flesh from bone. Those sharpened peaks that sat just a little further from his other teeth. You wondered if he had practiced hiding them.

Then that dread that had seated itself in you curdled into anger. An anger so burning that your cheeks began to warm.

“Have faith, brothers and sisters. I would not make you see what you have seen, I would not ask you to choose what you may choose, without first showing you God’s messenger. And remember, brothers and sisters, have faith that in the Bible, every time they mention an angel, when an angel appears to we humans, we are afraid. ‘And an angel of the Lord appeared to them on the right side of the altar of incense.And when Zechariah saw him, he was terrified and overcome with fear.’”

You watched the beast unfurl two massive wings from under the chasuble. Gasps echoed around you, but you could barely hear them. You were lightheaded.

“Just then, an angel of the Lord stood before them. And the glory of God shone around them and they were sore afraid. And the angel said, ‘Fear not, fear not, be not afraid!'”

Just then, Sturge gasped and sat up. You jolted and almost fell back into your seat.

“And then they took away the stone from the cave where the dead man was lying.” Father Pruitt helped the man up and embrace him, “And Jesus looked up unto the sky and said, ‘Father, I thank you, for you have heard me. You have heard me.' ‘Thank you for hearing me.'” He sobbed.

Your skin began to crawl when you heard Andy start to play the organ, and Wade and Dolly leave to the vestibule. Leeza stood there, tears in her eyes.

These were not the people you knew.

You silently walked over to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but she only wept harder.

“And he cried out in a loud voice! ‘Lazarus, come out!'And the dead man came out!” You saw the Scarboroughs hand out cups to each churchgoer, and a dolly even smiled at you as she handed you yours, “And his feet and hands were bound with shreds of cloth, and his face was wrapped in cloth, and Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him and let him go!'”

Bev, Wade, and Dolly all made their way through the parishioners, cups upon cups upon cups of liquid that made you more nervous than ever.

“ Brothers and sisters, you are so close to salvation. The miracle is already in you. The blood of the angel is already in your veins, but it is incomplete. The final transformation will not be yours unless you let your earthly body die, so that your divine body can awaken.” Father Pruitt pleaded, and the horrified knot that squeeze your stomach only tightened.

“One moment of faith. That’s the price God asks of us. Just one moment of courage. A small step out of the boat. Just onto the water itself. A small moment of discomfort. A small passion of our own. A gift offered up, and then we are reborn. Open your minds! Open your hearts! And listen to that voice. That voice in the back of your head. That voice the world has tried to silence, has tried to teach you to ignore! The voice of our angel, telling you, “Be not afraid.”

“No. No.” Hassan shook his head and gripped Ali’s arm, “Come on.”

You watched your friend try to pull his son out and away from the horrors, but Ali tugged, trying to stay back, “Dad. Dad! Dad! Stop! Stop!” He twisted free and stood away from his father.

Your heart broke. You couldn’t watch this. You put your cup down, and walked from Leeza and took Ali’s arm, but when you tried to reason with him to go with his father, Father Pruitt began to speak again.

You were silenced.

“Sheriff, Sheriff. I implore you not to deprive yourself. Not to deprive your son of the opportunity for salvation.” He said, hand outstretched to try and calm your friend. You held Ali, trying to inch him away from Father Hill.

You saw something change in Hassan then. Like something in him finally broke.

“Okay.” He muttered, then drew a gun from his belt and pointed it straight at Father Pruitt. You gasped, and pulled Ali but he stayed put as the priest stretched his arm out in front of you and the boy.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you watched helplessly. Guilt and fear began to bind itself to your tendons. You should have told Ali to stay away. You should have-

“Everybody stay back! Ali, come here right now. You’re coming with me right now. And if one of you fucking people come anywhere near my son!” Hassan spat.

You swallowed and turned Ali towards you, “Ali, Ali you need to go…please…listen-“ you tried, but he wasn’t listening.

Wade slowly began to walk out in front of the sheriff, and spoke so slow and dazed that you almost didn’t recognise him, “Hey, Sheriff, put that down. There’s no need to be waving a gun.”

Hassan raised his hand and shot the ceiling- everyone ducked in fear, cowering amongst the pews. You tried to pull Ali again, but he stood there watching as three men jumped onto his father and wrestled him to the ground.

You stared down at your friend as he struggled to look up at his son. You quietly begged Ali to listen to you, but there was a strange smile on his face. Your words weren’t being heard by him.

He was gone.

“How dare you?” Bev sneered, slowly walking down in front of the sheriff, “How dare you bring a firearm into the house of God!”

She turned then, on Ali and her violent face turned gentle, “Blessed are you, my son, for setting an example of courage. This young man is choosing God in the face of pressure from his own father.That we should all be so fearless. Thank you. For setting an example…Welcome, my son.” Said, handing him a cup just like the one you had been handed.

You went to take Ali’s arms again to stop him, but just as you went to move, your shoulders we enveloped and tugged back by large hands. You were walked backwards, firmly but gently, out of the way, “Shh…it’s alright. This is a blessing…” Father Pruitt whispered in your ear and he kept you away from the boy. You struggled against him, but you couldn’t even move under his strength.

“Let- let me go-“ you tried. But if what he said before was true- he was far stronger than you, and you were only wasting your energy.

“It’s okay, little one…it’s okay…” his voice might have eased your worry at one time, but now you found it sending your mind into a panicked frenzy, “Have faith.”

You could hear the horror and heartbreak in Hassan’s voice as he pled with his son, “No, Ali. Hey, look at me.” He struggled just as you did, “No.”

“Ali-“ you tried to get his attention, but he was already raising the cup to his mouth.

“I choose God.” He decided.

You struggled harder, twisting and turning to no avail as he tipped the cup and swallowed the contents.

The rest was all white noise. Father Pruitt released you slowly, and you wriggled away to run to the nearest person. Begging them not to drink. Most were tentative, and you were stupid to hope that meant they wouldn’t do it. But one by one, despite your pleas and a few others, they drank. You watched as Dolly stood with Leeza and drank. You rushed over to them and pulled the young girl away from her mother as she collapsed and turned her away when she convulsed.

Faith. Faith. Faith…

You could hear the Father repeating that word.

You felt Warren take Leeza and guide her back further away from the scene unfolding around you. You let him.

So many of the people you held dear drank and died before your eyes. Men, woman, children, elders. You knew you couldn’t do anything. You wanted to curled into a ball and sob.

Faith! Faith! Faith!

“When he raised them up, and carried them on eagle’s wings and brought them to himself!” His was elated to see so many accepting the gift. John stood and couldn’t help the smile on his face as he reassured his flock.

Everything seemed to slow down then. Your eyes were nearly glazed over as you watched Mildred Gunning stand and stare down the priest. You still held Leeza with Warren, and you both tried to figure out what she was doing, though it seemed she answered your question for you when she gripped the Sheriffs gun in her hand.

Your ears rang as a shot rang out.

Your tongue went numb when you saw the bullet tear a hole through John Michael Pruitt’s head.

He collapsed.

Panic rose in you again. It was second nature to want to check on the Father, but you shoved it away; he had trained you so well…preyed on your giving nature. But everything came rushing back to you when that winged creature screeched and tore Mildred from the church; her screams filling the air.

Somewhere across the church, Sarah was sobbing for her mother. The kind of cry that chilled your blood. You found her in the row next to you being held back by Erin.

It was silent…so silent aside from her sobs. All around you were bodies of the people you knew and loved. Gone in minutes.

Was this what was to become of Crockett Island?

You felt fear begin to drain from your body then.

This was your fate.

You were going to die.

That realization made everything so much less paralysing.

But you certainly were not about to be dinner.

“Close the doors. Close the doors!..Lock them!” Bev shouted as she knelt beside Father Pruitts body, “He is okay. He will be okay. He will heal. That is part of God’s miracle!His miracle which some of you would destroy!”

You turned and watched Bev cradle the priest’s head and speak to him so gently. She spoke to him like a mother might her child; you had never seen her care so much for another person.

You realized then that she was just as lost as the rest of you. He was her Jesus. She put her faith in him and made him her idol.

Gods army. He had called you all gods army.

But he had made an army for himself, with him at the centre of it.

“Hold him down.” She snapped to the men gripping Hassan still. You turned back to stare at him, “What is wrong with you? Spitting in the face of such a gift! Remove the sheriff. Take him out back. We’ll need… We’ll need food soon.” She seethed.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring again, and though you saw Bev’s mouth moving, and the look of fearful realization that Sturge was staring at the blood on her hands, you couldn’t hear.

You saw Ali awaken, and felt sick at the look of euphoria on his face.

Then, one by one, the bloodied bodies around you began to twitch and groan. You couldn’t feel your toes, and you wondered if you had somehow died along with them and were floating off the ground. Just as slowly as they rose up, your hearing returned too. Though you wished it hadn’t.

“Mommy?…Mommy?” You heard Leeza cry as Dolly slowly stood.

“Leeza…” she whispered. You watched, gut twisting horribly as Dolly’s expression was nearly blissful. You had watched blood erupt from her lips just minutes ago…yet here you were now staring at her as she regained her footing.

You looked this way and that, and while the people you once knew were indeed standing, there was something in them that wasn’t quite as it should be. Something…something-

Magnetic. That was what you had first thought of Father Pa-

John Pruitt.

You corrected yourself mentally. There was no Paul Hill.

Another lie from a pious man.

Then after another few minutes came the begging. The “Please don’t hurt me.” And “Mommy it’s me.” And the calling of names. The crying. The screams. All at once. It was so loud; you could hardly think. Impulse and instinct kicked in when Sarah came to you and Leeza and helped you tear her away from Dolly as she smelled her daughter’s neck.

You were pushed and shoved amongst the chaos of it all until Hassan grabbed your waist and pulled you through to the church vestibule, then hauled in Sarah and Leeza and Annie and Erin. You all piled into the small room and knocked into the wall and the table. You heard Annie sob for Ed as the door shut…and your heard broke even more.

After a second, you looked around to see tins of rat poison on the table. But it wasn’t that that made you go stock still. It was the cowering figure of Bev Keene at the end of the room that made you all stop.

“That’ll all be over soon. And they’ll all wake up, eternal.” She said like she was trying to justify the hell on Earth that was unravelling just feet from you.

“You hid?” Sarah asked in disbelief.

Then as you all stood in silence, Bev caught sight of the gun Erin held in her hand, “What are you gonna do, Erin Greene?Guns? Those things don’t matter anymore, “she egged her on, “Not in the new world. The world without death. You could shoot me right now. It would mean I’m five minutes behind-“

Erin fired, and the bullet tore right through Bev’s chest.

You all stood there stunned.

“We have five minutes.” Erin said calmly.

And just like that, you all ran.

Keeping off the main roads seemed the best route, so you sprinted through the trees and tall grasses into the heart of the island to get some distance. After several long, exhausting minutes, you all seemed to slow and duck into a thicket near town square.

“We need to get to the boats…” Annie panted.

Hassan nodded, as did you, but Erin and Sarah shook their heads, “They’re not working. Sturge disabled them all.” Erin looked out over the landscape.

“How did…?” You started to ask.

“We…we knew something was wrong…tried to leave this afternoon but it was too late.” Sarah chimed in grimly.

And suddenly, you felt as if you could weep. You weren’t crazy. It wasn’t just you who didn’t feel right.

“Anyways…we’re going to have to figure out a strategy. We can wait them out until morning…then we can radio for help.” Erin sighed.

“Erin?” You asked, and she turned to you, “I don’t think you should be running so much what with baby-“

“She’s gone.” Erin muttered.

You went pale, eyes wide. Sarah nodded in your peripheral, and you felt your gut twist painfully, “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Better than her getting stuck on this fucked up island.” She shook her head.

“We should burn down any empty houses…try to warn as many people as we can.” Hassan said. His voice was thick with emotion, and it took all of your strength to not hold him and weep.

Instead, you nodded.

“Y/n, you take Leeza and Warren to the Uppards…hide there. Take one of the row boats out into the water if you need to.” He stared into your soul, and you nodded.

“I want to help-“ you tried.

“You will be. Keep those two safe.” He said, and you finally nodded.

“Atta girl.” He said, “Alright…Annie let’s go find some fuel.”

Your throat went tight when he spoke to you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of hyperventilating, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You all stood up together, and you gathered the traumatised teenagers. You all stood there for a moment looking eachother over.

“Be- be careful.” You forced out as tears began to rise in your eyes.

“You too.” Annie smiled tightly, and kissed Warren’s head, “I love you my boy.”

No one hugged aside from Annie and her son, no one said much of anything. There was so much you all wanted to say to each other but there were not enough words to say it. You cast Hassan one last look and offered him a small, tight smile before your groups parted. He returned it with a nod, and you patted his arm before you grabbed the children by the hands and began leading them back towards the church to get to the Uppards.

Once you were halfway through your journey, something caught your attention, and you quickly yanked both teenagers down u to the high grass with you for cover.

“What’s wro-“ Warren started to ask, but you put your finger to your lips for him to be quiet, and you all listened. You could hear feet on gravel. Several pairs of feet…meandering down the road not far from you. You felt a wave of nausea crest through you. They let them out of the church.

On the loose to feed.

Adrenaline had been pumping in your bloodstream for well over an hour now, and it told you to run. That you could make it- that they wouldn’t catch you. But you weren’t about to risk it…not with Leeza and Warren with you.

Minutes ticked by, and your muscles ached from being in the same position, but after a long while, you didn’t hear anyone else. You smile rose your head up and sighed a breath of relief that was short lived. Just moments after you had deemed it safe to run, a new sound reached your ears.

Faint screaming.

You turned and looked back towards the town. Small plumes of smoke had begun to spiral into the sky. You sucked in a breath, and steadied yourself before taking the hands of the teenagers and pulling them up and began running again. You moved deeper into the trees, and twigs scratched your legs and face as you pushed on, gasping for breath as you tasted iron.

Tears began to sting at your eyes again. You wished you could have told your friend’s how much they meant to you. That you would see them after. But it all seemed so empty in hindsite. Even just telling them that wouldn’t have been enough.

As the three of you began to pass the church, you slowed your pace amongst the trees to stare at the glowing building.

You didn’t know why you needed to go there, but you felt that pull inside you.

One more time.

“What is it?” Leeza asked when she noticed you had stopped.

“Nothing. Go. Go I’ll meet you there okay?” You whispered, “If I’m not there in twenty minutes, you push one of the rowboats into the water and you get out into the bay, and you pray to God. Okay?”

They both nodded, and you returned the gesture before shooing them away. You watched them go for a few minutes- the sound of screams growing more constant all around you.

The possibility of death was not so horrible as you strode through the woods that thinned at the back of the rectory. You had accepted your likely death back when you had been sitting on your pew.

Be not afraid…

How ironic that indeed you no longer held any fear for your end.

You slowly walked through the grass, down the side of the church, and up the stairs. With each step you saw more and more of the remanence of the carnage that had taken place. Bloody handprints streaked the doorway and the floor, and various articles of clothing were left strewn around. You looked at the pews that you had sat in since childhood, and at the windows that you used to stare out of. A flood of memories you had from St.Patrick’s invaded your head, and you felt a single tear roll down your cheek.

Your gaze moved down the aisle, taking in what was left of St. Patrick’s. Then as you reached the stairs of the pulpit, you stopped.

There sat John Pruitt and Mildred Gunning, both staring back at you.

You sucked in a breath.

There were no words you could say to that man. Not anymore. You might have spilled your heart out to him at one point not long ago, but whatever it was that you needed to say to him didn’t matter anymore.

John heard a heartbeat approaching from outside, and waited as it approached. He felt his gut twist at the prospect of it being lost islanders who didn’t understand what was happening. How did this all go wrong?

But he wasn’t prepared for it to be you. There was so much he needed to say to you…so much you needed to know, but he had never seen you cast such a cold look before.

Father Pruitt went to stand, “Y/n-“ he called to you, but you were gone just as fast as you had appeared.

Hearing him say your name was like a blow to your stomach. You spun around and bolted outside and into the bushes to save a life you barely had. Your lungs burned painfully but you didn’t dare stop running until you were on the sand of the Uppards. The trees thinned into high grasses, and you slowed your pace as you walked out to the shore. You looked out at the water, and saw Leeza and Warren in a small boat in the water. You saw them spot you, and you waved, which they returned.

You thanked God that they were safe.

There was still a couple hours left before sunrise and the safety it brought you, so you found a softer patch amongst the thick brush, and you sat down. Either you would be found and killed, or you would live another day. There wasn’t a great deal you could do to avoid the former, so you waited.

Waited for that sunrise of revival that you used to love as a little girl.

You rocked back and forth, and sang gently to calm yourself as the world began to glow. Smoke from the town had begun to fill the air, and you wondered if you would be able to say hello to your friends again. You were anxious to walk back into town; you just wanted to know who survived. You needed to see Hassan to radio for help or see if he had any connections to the coastguard. You knew he would be alright…he had to be. Even if he was turned you were certain he would try to help you get away.

You stayed in your place until Leeza and Warren returned back to shore. The sky was a bright blue then, with fading pinks and oranges- colourful just like the Easter eggs you used to hunt.

The teenager’s eyes were just as bloodshot as yours, and you were certain there were no more tears left in you to cry.

The three of you began walking back down the island. You tried not to focus on the blood stains in the dirt and grass every so often, and the other two didn’t seem to wish to comment on it either.

You came to the church, and the other buildings there, and noted that the windows were all covered and boarded up aside from the rectory.

You looked back at Leeza and Warren, and they both stared at the buildings, lost. You knew what they were thinking. “Our parents are in there.” But they didn’t say it. You pursed your lips and began guiding them along, down Main St.

The closer you got to the town, the more bodies and…remains you saw. You steeled your nerves and kept going, hoping and waiting to see someone else alive.

Various buildings were still smouldering. You walked past the general store, and stopped short when you came to your little shop. Or what was left of it.

You thought you might burst into tears at the sight, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. You couldn’t feel anything. It wouldn’t matter if you did or didn’t. Everything was gone.

“Warren?” You muttered.

“Yeah?” He said, tearing his eyes from a bloodied shirt on the ground.

“You know where my house is right?”

“Yeah it’s-“

“Go there.” You breathed out, “Check if the windows are covered…if not, go inside and wait for me. Don’t go anywhere else. There’s food in the fridge.” You gave them both a tight smile and ushered them away. Leeza took his hand and cast you one last look before hurrying to keep up with Warren’s stride.

As they disappeared down the road, you started to look around the town more carefully. You weaved through buildings and along the shore, calling out for anyone.

“Hello? Hello!” You yelled as you trudged along the sand. But on seagulls cawed back to you, “Hassan?” You tried.

You walked further, and came to a pause as you stared out over the water. You had always liked how quiet Crockett was, but now it was silent.

You sighed, and turned back towards the bushes to find a break in them so you could survey the damage further. Just a few meters away there was one, and you began trudging towards it. But as you grew closer, your steps slowed.

There was a body lying there.

You hadn’t noticed that you were walking again until you stopped cold. You had thought that you couldn’t feel your stomach drop anymore, but it seemed that you were able to one more time.

It was the blue denim jacket that stopped you.

You knew that jacket. You saw it almost everyday. You made jokes about that jacket.

“No…”

You took the remaining steps to it, and collapsed to the ground- knees colliding with the earth painfully.

Your friend. Your coffee buddy. Your ally.

Hassan Al Shabaz.

Your throat was tight and dry as you wept. Rivers of tears flooded your cheeks as you knelt over his body, and gripped his limp arm.

“Wake up…Hassan wake up…pl-please…don’t leave me alone…” you sobbed, shaking him.

Out of everyone you thought he would be the last to go…and never like this.

You wished you had told him what a wonderful father he was. You wished you had hugged him. You wished you had told him that he did all he could and that was enough. You wished you told him he was loved by God. You wished you had been able to say goodbye.

You wished none of this had happened.

You wished John Pruitt had stayed lost in that desert. You wished you had told him to leave and never look back.

You wished you had done better.

But now all you could do was roll him over, and push his hair from his face. You took a shuttering breath when your eyes caught the bullet wound in his stomach with the halo of blood around it that saturated his clothes.

You could have sat there until night fall to let the islanders have you. But you knew Leeza and Warren were waiting for you, and you were going to keep them safe.

When you walked to your house, Warren asked you what you were doing as you grabbed your shovel. It only look one grim look for him to understand.

“Need a hand?” He asked you.

You shook your head, and walked back to where your friend laid. It took the remaining daylight for you to bury him. You placed a halo of stones around his grave, and retrieved a photo of him with Ali from their house. You placed it directly over him, and let out your last few tears before returning home and reinforcing your house.

It took an hour past sunset for the power to be restored. You hid in the basement that night. You could hear the Flynns and Scarboroughs pounding on your door begging to see their children. But they didn’t break the door down. They understood.

It wasn’t until a couple days later that the islanders got the kids.

You were out during the day when their parents called your landline, begging for them to see them. It was likely with good intent, but while their parents might have meant well, there was dozens and dozens of hungry islanders who didn’t.

You had felt so numb when you returned to find them gone.

You would survive purely off the idea that one day your rage would be witnessed by the man who made your life putrefy from the inside out.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02

#midnight mass #father paul hill #hamish linklater #father john pruitt x reader #father paul hill x reader #midnight mass fanfiction #flanaverse #father john pruitt

[rukia-writes]

hello !! i’ve been reading almost all your vinland saga posts, they’re AMAZING !! could i request a teenager!thorfinn x fem!reader headcanons about being in a relationship for the first time? such as how affectionate would thorfinn be, would he be shy around his gf? would they step any further into the relationship? basically like teenager!thorfinn x fem!reader relationship headcanons. thank you sm !!<3

Well… his gf definitely has their work cut out. Because Teenage! Thorfinn is not affectionate. He’s going to have to be re-introduced to that affection because it’s just not him…right now.

The most affectionate side would be covering his gf from the cold; however! He would be protective of his gf and not the over bearing jealous kind but he’s like “Did you eat today or not?” Or fighting any guy that’s being rude to his girlfriend. Doesn’t like his gf hanging around a certain bald man. 😭 he’ll pout his lip.

If his gf plays her cards right Thorfinn would be willing to sleep on her chest.

Would he be shy? Yes and no. Like hand holding? No he’s not shy. But if his gf asks for a kiss infront of the other Vikings Yes he’s going to be shy because he would like a kiss but he has a reputation to uphold so you’ll see his cheeks turn pink a bit. Bathing together? He’s beyond shy and his gf just has to know to be cool with it.

Askeladd probably tells him that he needs to be kinder to his gf and while it may look like Thorfinn would rather not listen to Askeladd’s advice he knows he’s right. So lol ..Askeladd tries give him good advice last time he just casually said and wasn’t really thinking “slap her on the behind. that always get the girls in London.” And Thorfinn actually does it! (Hopefully his gf likes it 🤷🏼‍♀️ ) So, Askeladd tries to give Thorfinn good advice. ♥️

But! Thorfinn would be very loyal to his gf. No matter if a pretty girl tries to flirt with him he’ll be loyal to his gf. (Probably scares her away when he scratches his hair and fleas come out 🏃🏼‍♀️ girl PLEASE BRUSH THIS MAN HAIR)

Ooo and he’s going to say woman …a lot! But he thinks it’s a pet name 😭 because that’s what other Vikings call their lady of the night, so Thorfinn just calls his gf that a lot. If they like it, that fine but if she doesn’t she’ll have to be the one to say don’t call me this or call me that.

Again, and this has to do with a later chapter but. When I say Thorfinn’s gf has their work cut out for them lol she really does. Thorfinn believes women can just shoot out breast milk..so he’ll casually ask for some. “Give me some milk, (Name). Squeeze some out for me.” (😭😭😭) she has to explain how that works, but hey! Thorfinn learns something new.

Kissing? His gf has to teach him that too, and Thorfinn is an okay learner. He’s very rough and if he’s mad he’ll gently bite her lower lip. His gf has to teach him! Kissing 101!

Thorfinn picks on his gf a lot too; like if they are shorter than him he’ll pick on their height. If they are taller he’ll tease her too. (It’s his first time dating go easy on him)

All in all he’s a great boyfriend; the pros outweigh the cons. ♥️

🍂Rukia-Writes🍂

#thorfinn x reader #vs x reader #vinland saga x reader

[phoebe-delia]

Phoebe Delia's 2023 Fics and Reflection

Thank you to my lovely friend @geesenoises for the tag!! Check out Goose's post here.

I didn't do much writing this year. If I'm being honest, writing has been very hard for me this past year. I don't have the kind of free time that I used to, and I've just had such little inspiration. It got to the point that I actually considered quitting a couple of times. I want so, so badly to get the kind of stamina I used to have. When I started out, I was writing 3-5k fics in the span of a couple months and cranking them out pretty consistently.

This year, I didn't add a single fic to the Drarry as Taylor Swift Songs series. I did a couple fests, a gift fic, and my Hanukkah series. I also did drabbles and microfics. I spent much of the year being SO mean to myself about my writing and my lack of progress. l all but forced myself to write my fest fics, agonized over them not being "perfect," and obsessed and compared the stats to other people's fics until I wore myself out. I wondered why I seem unable to write the longfics that my friends are capable of. I wondered whether I'm really cut out for this, after all.

Now, my god, please don't give me your pity. This isn't me fishing for compliments. This is me being honest and reflecting on the year, and I don't want any of this to come across as self-pitying or whining. My point is that I don't know what the future holds for me. I know that I love this fandom, and I love all of you, and I want writing to always be something I love.

I think I'm going to spend 2024 repairing my relationship with writing, and being kinder to myself. And so, in that spirit, I'm going to celebrate the work I did last year; because I still created things this year. And I'm going to be proud of that.

That said, thanks to everyone who held me up this past year. Thanks to everyone who read my fics. Thanks to my friends who kept me sane. In particular, I gotta thank @basicallyahedgehog, without whom I doubt I’d still be writing.

Just Take Me Home (4.7k)

When Harry drinks too much at a pub one night, Hermione decides to use a new service offered by the Ministry: a team of Apparators dedicated to helping transport Wixen who cannot safely travel on their own. Of course, Draco Malfoy answers the call.

Stars by the Pocketful (2k)

Draco arrives first, to scope out the place and pick the best bed before Potter can beat him to it.

Can I Go Where You Go? (1.8k)

Harry presses a kiss to Draco's lips before pulling away with a pout. "I'm so glad you've got this opportunity, really. And America sounds amazing, even if it is just for a conference. But Godric, I'm going to miss you." Draco hums. "Me too." Then, he blinks and looks up at Harry. "You know. We don't have to miss each other." Harry frowns. "What do you mean?" "Come with me." "Wait, really?"

2023 Eight Drarry Nights fics are on AO3 here (masterlist on Tumblr is here)

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco and harry #harry and draco #draco x harry #harry x draco #draco/harry #harry/draco #draco malfoy and harry potter #harry potter and draco malfoy #draco malfoy x harry potter #harry potter x draco malfoy #hpdm #drarry squad #drarry fic recs #drarry fanfic recs #drarry fanfiction recs #hp fic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction #drarry ficlet #drarry drabble #hp fandom #harry potter fandom

[bitterpotionn]

Johnny Slaughter - No Escape Now

This is one of my favorites. Played around with some new elements in this fic. Let me know your thoughts.

As always any comments or constructive criticism is welcome!

Warnings: no smut but not SFW, mentions of kidnapping, violence, name-calling, drinking, slapping, dark content

She stared at the peeling wallpaper in the corner. The camper was humid, it made her sweat. It uncomfortably ran down her back, making her thin shirt stick to her.

There wasn't much to do other than just sit in the small booth table. Either staring out the window or staring at the peeling wallpaper. She didn't know what day it was. Didn't matter anyway. She had no use for time anymore.

She tried before to pry open the windows, but no use. Johnny bolted them shut. The fresh breeze outside mocked her. She can't remember the last time she was allowed outside. Only catching small breezes when Johnny swung the door open.

She was sitting quietly at the booth, staring blankly at the wall. Her head hurt, and she was hungry. She hadn't seen Johnny all day. She didn't want to see him. She got this sinking feeling every time he was around. When he was around, he was overbearing; suffocating. His hands were constantly on her, whether was was grabbing or squeezing, it didn't matter to him. As long as he was humiliating her in some way.

As she stared out the window she heard the familiar sound of Johnny's truck coming down the dirt driveway. Her heart dropped. She watched as Johnny sauntered to the door. He fumbled with the multiple locks he installed. Sometimes she wondered where he got the money to buy them, but she just figured they were stolen.

The door slowly creaked open. Johnny ducked in the doorway, being careful to lock the door behind him. In his hands, he held two grocery bags, a large grin plastered on his face.

She watched as he held up the bags. "Got ya some dinner," he set the bags on the table and began unpacking them. She noticed how he got some more beer.

His eyes flicked toward her still figure, he motioned for her to get up and come to him. Like a well-trained dog, she got up and shuffled to his side, watching intently as he unpacked. He wasn't great at grocery shopping, that was evident by the food he decided to purchase. Mainly frozen dinners and some canned goods. It's not like she could make a good meal out of any of this.

Once he was finished, he handed her one of the frozen meals. "Be a doll and warm that up for me, I'm awfully tired," he leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to her cheek as he sat down on the small couch the camper provided. Like usual, she did what he said.

--

At this point in the night, Johnny was three beers in. She sat next to him quietly, watching him as he watched the small black and white TV he stole from a garage sale, periodically sipping at the can. She wasn't allowed to watch the TV when he wasn't home. Sometimes she thought about it, maybe just to see if the news was still showing her missing poster. But, she never did. Somehow she knew that Johnny would find out and she didn't want the stress of his cruel punishments.

Sometimes she preferred Johnny when he was drunk. He was easier, almost lighter in the way he carried himself. His words weren’t as harsh, as cutting. His legs were spread wide as his arm was hooked around her waist, keeping her nice and close to him.

She sat there quietly. He preferred that. After all she was only there to please him. He drank beer after beer, and she didn’t say a word. His words became more slurred and his kisses more sloppy. It’s been a while since he drank like this.

“Mmm kiss me,” he grumbled out, his lips already trailing up and down her neck. She let her hands stroke through his hair. He let out a low groan at the feeling and tipped his head up to look at her. “Beautiful,”

Johnny was kinder when he was like this. Complimenting her and touching her gently. It was a nice refreshing from his usual bone-crushing grabs. Johnny grinned widely, a dumb look on his face as he collapsed into her chest.

She sat there frozen. Waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to move but he didn’t. His eyes were closed and soft snores fell from his glossy lips. Her eyes widened as she gently leaned him back on the couch; he was passed out.

Her heart began to pound in her chest. This was the first time he was completely out of it. Even when he was sleeping, she knew he was still somewhat aware. Years of killing people made him the lightest sleeper known-to-man. She couldn’t even get up to pee without him shooting back up and grabbing her wrist.

She chewed on her lip as she patted his scarred arm. “Johnny…” she called out softly. Nothing. “Johnny!” This time she was louder, shaking his arm. Still nothing.

She quickly shot up and looked around. She knew he had keys to the door somewhere. Her hands wandered into his jeans pocket, her fingers were met with the cool metal of the key. Her heart skipped a beat.

She carefully made her way to the door. She looked back at Johnny, still passed out. She quietly unlocked the multiple bolts he had on the door, letting out a small gasp when the door creaked open. She spared one last glance to Johnny's sleeping figure before stepping out.

The cool breeze hit her face, she smiled and took a deep breath in. She quietly shut the door again and began running. She ran faster than she ever thought possible. She was unfamiliar with the area. The few times Johnny let her outside she was either blindfolded or not allowed more than 5 feet from the camper.

She steadily made her way down the dirt driveway, heading toward the paved road. She heard the crickets chirping and the sound of frogs in the trees. It was music to her ears.

Once she finally got to the paved road she took a right and began running. She didn’t know how long she had until Johnny came to and realized what was going on. After what seemed like miles of running she saw an old brown and white station wagon make its way down the road. She let out a gasp of relief as she frantically waved her hands, trying to get the attention of the driver.

The vehicle slowed down to a halt as it pulled up beside her, the window was rolled down. She panted as she turned to greet the driver. It was an older woman, with shorter black hair with glasses. “Oh gosh, honey. Are you alright?” Her face was painted with concern. She let out another pant as she nodded, leaning against the vehicle. “I just need help, I need a ride into town or-or a police station, please help,”

The woman nodded and unlocked her car. “Please get in! You look awful, hun” her voice was laced with an almost suffocating amount of concern. She got in with a thank you and leaned her head against the seat of the car. “Thank you so much, ma’am. Sorry, I'm in a rush. I’m Y/N,” she turned and gave the older woman a smile. The older woman smiled at her, “That’s okay, hun. I’m Nancy,”

—

Her eyes were closed as they made their way down the road, still trying to regain her energy. Some old church song played in the radio as Nancy made her way down the road, gripping the steering wheel. “So, what happened to you, hun?” Her southern accent made her words seem a bit harsher than she intended.

She peeked open an eye and looked toward her. “Oh…” she bit down on her lip, unsure of how she was supposed to explain what exactly happened to her without sounding absolutely crazy. “My-my boyfriend, he uh. Wasn’t the nicest man and I was able to finally get away,” she explained nervously fidgeting with the end of her shirt. Nancy tsked and shook her head. “That is just awful, simply awful,”

She looked to gaze out the window. Her eyes suddenly widening. They were going right back the way she came. “Uh-hey ma’am. I think you’re goin’ the wrong way?” She turned toward her. Her blood ran cold when a smile adorned the woman’s face. She stayed silent.

“Ma’am?” Her heart-rate quickened as she tried the door handle of the slow-moving car. It was locked. “Okay, please let me out. I can find another way,”

Nancy grinned wide. “I don’t think so, hun,” her hand reached down next to her, and she pulled out a large mallet. Her eyes shot wide open as she pounded against the door, screaming. “Johnny ain’t gonna be too happy,” her blood ran cold at the mention of Johnny. What did she get herself into?

The last thing she remembered was the mallet swinging toward her, knocking her out cold.

—

Her head pounded. There was an annoying ringing in her ear as she willed her eyes to open. Like some sort of twisted nightmare, she was back in the camper. Only this time she was lying on the couch, her legs laid in Johnny's lap as he absentmindedly stroked her skin, his eyes fixed ahead on the TV. It was playing some church service.

“Whoever is captured will be thrust through; all who are caught will fall by the sword,” the preachers voice was laced with static.

She opened her eyes fully now, she could feel a deep throbbing at her forehead. She let out a small groan of pain as she tried to move her hand to her forehead. Only to be stopped by rope wrapped around her wrists. Her heart sunk.

Johnny grinned as he turned his head to face her. “Look who finally woke up,” he cooed, his hands rubbing up and down her legs. “Johnny I-“ his harsh voice Interrupted hers. “Real smart, slipping out when I was drunk. You’re smarter than you look, doll,” he sighed and leaned back. “Just not smart enough,”

She stared at him with horror. “Ya know I was just beginning to trust you,” he tsked and shook his head like a disappointed father. “You had been a real good girl for me, real good,” his squeezed her calf. “Was even thinkin’ bout’ takin’ you out on a date, I wanted to spoil my girl for bein’ so good,”

“But, that just won’t happen now will it,” he met her horrified look with a smirk. “Dumb slut thinks she can just run off, like you could do something without my help. It’s pathetic really,” his nails dragged down her leg. She didn’t dare try to resist or kick him. She knew better.

“After all I do for you, feed you, clothe you, fuck you,” Johnny scoffed and wrapped his hand around her ankle, his thumb caressing her bruised skin.

She stared at him silently, she felt like she had just been approached by a bear and she was waiting for it to strike. Johnny's grip tightened around her ankle. She hissed out in pain and instinctually tried to move away from him, only to be stopped with a slap to the face. Tears were now running freely down her cheeks.

He continued to grip her ankle, the pressure only growing, and his grin grew as well. “Guess I gotta make sure you just can’t leave again,” with one last smirk his hands snapped her ankle. The nauseating sound of her bone snapping made her scream out in pain as she sobbed. She heard Johnny's laugh ringing in her ears.

She wailed in pain and thrashed on his lap, she glanced down at her ankle. It was twisted in an unnatural direction, the skin around it clearly irritated and mangled. She felt like she was going to throw up. As she sobbed, Johnny grabbed her face and glared at her. "Remember this next time you think bout' runnin',"

--

Again, she stared at the peeling wallpaper. She swore it changed colors sometimes. Some days it was yellow, some days it was green. Some days she wanted to rip it down.

She hadn't been doing much. Johnny had finally allowed her TV time while he was away but the only shows that played were church services. After so many hours of listening to the preacher, she found herself believing. Believing in something beyond this camper, beyond Johnny, beyond this life. Surely, something was waiting for her. Something warm and kind.

It was dark now. The yellowish glow of the overhead lights just barely lit the room fully. She heard the familiar jingling of keys in the door. Johnny stepped in, wearing the same stupid grin that never seemed to leave his face. Shutting the door behind him he turned to face her. "There's my girl, come here,"

Without any protest, she slowly slid out from the booth. She tried to regain her balance on her one good foot. She hopped over to him, her other ankle mangled and still. She had to hold onto the wall to keep her upright. He chuckled as he watched her. Once she reached him he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up for a deep kiss. He let out a low rumble as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. "Missed ya today, doll," he pulled his head back and met her gaze with a smirk. "You miss me?" he asked, his hungry eyes scanning her stoic face.

She nodded. "Missed you, too," her voice was monotone, she was broken. Past the point of saving. He collapsed on the couch with a tired sigh as she sat still in his lap. He leaned her body against his chest, stroking her hair. Her eyes trailed down to her ankle, it was almost lifeless.

Johnny gently took her ankle in his hand, stroking the disfigured appendage with a certain amount of care. He brought it up to his lips and peppered kisses around the flesh, grinning wide as he did so. "No escape now, huh?"

#johnny slaughter #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny tcm game #tcm #tcm game #johnny slaughter x reader #bitterpotionnfics

[rqgnarok]

orange juice - tommy miller (ii)

fandom: the last of us (tv show & video game)

wc: 7,664

warnings: mentions of alcoholism, ptsd, death and gore as seen on the show and games. no pronouns for reader.

summary: a surprising turn of events brings tommy back to your life and he won't let sleeping dogs lie.

sequel to dial drunk and loosely inspired in noah kahan's orange juice

masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi

“He’s looking at you again.”

“Let him,” you tell Maria, picking at your pancakes with your fork. It’s almost 10 PM and she took you out to eat breakfast for dinner, but it was enough incentive to get you out of the house after two weeks of no human interaction. That, and the fact that she’s paying. “He can stare all he wants, it’s not a crime.”

“Feels like one,” she shrugs, eyesight momentarily stuck to the corner of her eye where you know she’s scouting her target, her lips a tight, displeased line. “And your shoulders say otherwise, all up against your ears. You look like you���re waiting for the electric chair.”

You roll your eyes so hard it brings back to life the headache you’ve been nursing for the last couple of days. It had gently placed itself as a quiet dull in the back of your head and returns full force now. 

The diner is half-empty– not an unusual occasion at this time of night, but the voices and laughter from fellow Jackson citizens only worsen the ache of the giant bruise that is your body right now. 

“It would be a kinder fate, I think.”

Maria stands her ground, grimacing. “God, who even is this guy? When you said there was some bad history I thought you meant, like, a nasty ex. That man is looking like a cloud belongs permanently above his head.”

Who even is Tommy Miller? It’s a good enough question, one you never thought you’d have to answer in your life after the world ended.

You’d been in New York when the infected spread like wildfire across the country. There was barely enough time while running for your life to think about what might’ve happened to the Miller boys.

You hoped. By God, you hoped like you rarely dared these days that Joel, Tommy, and Sarah made it out safely. Guilt swallowed you whole the second you thought about it for too long. 

You relinquished any rights you had on them when you abandoned them. You ran out of Austin with your tail between your legs and cut off all contact with them, one last futile attempt to put Tommy’s life back together. 

Why are you being so fucking difficult?

I’m done watching you wreck your life, Tommy. I’m not picking up again tonight, or ever. Call Joel. 

The first time you saw Tommy Miller again after two decades you were too in the throes of a panic attack to believe he was real. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you confused the sight of a stranger for your long-lost friend. Freckles on fair skin, cow eyes so brown they could be black and broad shoulders under jean jackets; they’re more common than you’d think. 

But they always turn around and the illusion always breaks. It’s your designed personal penitence, to chase after the man that knew how to hurt you better than anyone in your life, and that you let because you loved him. Love, still. Time and distance and the fucking apocalypse weren’t enough to diminish what you’ve always felt for Tommy Miller. 

You loved him even when you left him. It’s why you left him, even if it killed you in the process. 

But this time it was him. Along with a group of newcomers, he stumbled across Jackson and you found yourself trying to blink away the sight of a ghost in the town square to no avail. His expression was tight and distrustful, so Joel it created a vacuum of longing in your belly even through the panic. 

And fuck, man, Joel. The last time you talked to Tommy was the last time you talked to his brother, too. A call right after you hung up on the youngest Miller that had him using all the curses available in his vocabulary on his brother’s name.

How many times has he done this to you?

Too many. 

Fucking dumbass. Hope you keep ‘im in the doghouse a little longer this time. 

I’m serious, Joel, I’m not picking after him again. 

Joel had tried to convince you otherwise, but you both knew his heart wasn’t in it. You’d both witnessed Tommy’s mishaps once too many times and he knew dropping Tommy wasn’t a decision you’d make lightly. 

Because it meant dropping him as well, and Sarah. It meant giving up on the realest family you had, most likely for good.

He’s gonna hate this. I think that boy would rather lose an arm than lose you.

He can live without me, Joel.

No, he’d said, oddly solemn, like he knew something you didn’t. No, he can’t. 

But he’d been wrong. Here Tommy was, stumbling into your life as if he hadn’t left it at all. He'd locked eyes with you across town like the sea of curious citizens peering at the dirty strangers from outside town didn’t exist. 

Even if it hadn’t been him those thousand times you thought you saw him, in your mind Tommy was everywhere: dead in some shallow common grave in Austin, turned and without any control over his body with a bite scar on his arm, running for his life with a gun in his hand and Joel by his side, hiding behind the alcohol like he’d been doing the last time you saw him.

The possibilities were endless and terrible, but they hadn’t killed you yet. 

The way Tommy’s face fell in realization almost did. You’d rubbed at your eyes and strained your eyesight as best you could, but the hallucination refused to fade. He was still there, standing tall, weary and tired and hopeful.

He’d opened his mouth, the shape of your name already on his lips when you turned around and ran for your life back into your house. Your lungs didn’t fill with a full breath until you turned all the locks and leaned against the door, heart hammering against your ribs and nausea crawling up your throat.

As if Tommy would chase after you, knocking on your door and demanding something from you, or maybe just to be mean about the same things he’s always held against you. 

But he hadn’t. Hiding worked. You didn’t hear anything from him or about him from Maria, so you stood your ground. You didn’t even throw a fit when she came to force you into the shower so you could have dinner together, only to avoid more questions you couldn’t answer.

Who is he? You looked like the Grim Reaper was walking into town, do you know him? Did he hurt you? I swear to God, if he did he’s not staying, hon, I promise–

An old friend, was the explanation you’d settled on, the biggest understatement of your life. We grew up together and went our separate ways way before the outbreak. Wasn’t really a clean break. 

Maria took it, albeit hesitantly, and the worried glances she’d been sending your way in the diner grew tenfold when Tommy walked in. He sat at the bar and ordered a drink with a piece of pecan pie. Something in your heart clenched when the waiter put a colorful drink in front of him and Tommy poured it down without even blinking.

So what if he’s drinking, still? It’s why you walked away from him, isn’t it? If your ultimatum meant nothing to him then that’s not your problem, even if it makes something sorrowful and ugly bloom in your belly.

You look away just as he turns his head towards your booth so he doesn’t catch you looking. Instead, you catch him more than a handful of times, his gaze hot and piercing. 

It’s always been unnerving, being under his careful eye. 

“I don’t think he’s gonna stop.”

Fuck, you think. “Then I will,” you sigh in mourning for your nice evening and hit the table lightly with your fist as you stand. Maria hisses your name and goes to grab your arm but you’re already walking towards Tommy. The next time he sneaks a look he finds you closer than expected. 

You would laugh at the look on his face if this were funny at all.

It’s not funny. Whatever bravado you might’ve put on in front of Maria is fake and gone by the time you reach Tommy’s side. He annoyingly smells of cologne, somehow a charming like hell scent even in a post-apocalyptic world. 

“You’re staring,” is your opener, less annoyed than you intended and a little bit too breathless, but a truth all the same.

The asshole has the decency to look amused, eyes glinting, and that terrible mustache he’s acquired since he got here moves in a way that indicates he’s smiling and trying to hide it.

“Hello to you, too,” he says, and the roughness of his voice sends thrills of warmth down your belly. He both did and didn’t speak like this twenty years ago, a harsher edge to his tone that you credit to the terrible decades spent between then and now. But underneath it all there’s something so indescribably Tommy that leaves you incredibly out of your depth for this moment. 

“Hey, Miller,” you say with a roll of your eyes at his sarcasm, but the greeting comes out too soft, too honest. You feel like the knots of anxiety inside of you are about to snap from how tightly they are woven. “You’re staring. It’s freaking Maria out.”

“Sorry to Maria,” he says without sounding even merely apologetic, and your heckles rise so quickly you’re practically blindsided. It starts with a few cute quips and ends with him calling you to pick him up from the bar fight he’s lost this time, breath reeking of tequila. “You look good.”

He checks you out slowly, brown eyes full of intent and lacking subtlety. It feels like you’re facing a shooting battalion, waiting for them to deem you guilty. 

There’s nothing suggestive or mean about it. It’s almost kind– wistful in a way you don’t remember him being. You're just having a casual conversation, even if there’s nothing casual about this encounter.

“So do you,” you say for lack of anything else, his honesty catching you off guard. His eyes fly to your face and scrutinize you like he’s trying to make sure you mean it. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes his smile widen, even if just by a little. “Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. Thought you would’ve moved on from Jackson by now.”

He shrugs, turning back to stare at his empty glass, still angling his body toward you where he’s sitting on a worn-out stool. “You don’t find this a lot these days.”

“Civilization?”

“Community,” his eyes twinkle, and, really, Jesus Christ, what’s up with the lights in this place? The man looks like a live-action Disney prince, all combed hair and bright eyes. “Reminds me of home, almost. And, well.”

He doesn’t say it, and you’ve long stopped trying to figure out what he keeps to himself, but you know what you want it to be. You’re too familiar with the way he stops himself from saying stuff he means– especially if it's kind. He’s saving himself the bashful blush that comes after but you desperately wish to hear it anyway.

And, well. You’re here, too. 

He clears his throat when you only nod in response, silence stretching between you painfully. “Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s your turn to bite back your words. A firm, offended fuck no rests on your tongue, and swallowing it back down feels like gravel against your throat. 

He’s trying, you guess. 

You wordlessly sit on the stool next to him, careful not to touch him even on accident. Nodding at the waiter, you say, “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” intertwining your hands nervously and feeling somewhat victorious for getting anything out.

The waiter nods, tilting his head in question. “Non-alcoholic alright?”

You blink, once again losing the slight footing you’d found just now. You don’t turn towards Tommy, but you feel him shift in his seat, silent.

“I- yeah, sure.”

He nods and walks away, and you and Tommy sit in silence until he comes back to place a glass in front of you. You reach for it only to busy your hands but don’t drink from it. Anything you might take is only gonna come back up eventually out of sheer nervousness.

Tommy speaks after a beat. The anxiety in your belly keeps pushing further. “You could’ve ordered something else if you wanted. Maybe with a little more kick?”

“I don’t mind,” you promise dryly. “I, uh. I don’t drink, really. Like, at all.”

“Me either, if you can believe it,” it surprises you enough that your head turns to him in disbelief. Tommy’s already looking at you with an expression you can’t name but unsettles you all the same. He smiles at whatever he sees in your expression, gently amused. “I know. Joel made the same face when I told him I wanted to quit.”

The mention of the eldest Miller would bring you to your knees had you been standing up. “Joel. Is he…?”

You trail off but Tommy catches your meaning and his amusement dissolves.

“Alright,” Tommy confirms with a nod, taking a sip of his drink and running his tongue over his lips after, chasing the flavor. He looks suddenly stricken, but like he’s had enough of that emotion that his features have grown accustomed to it. “As much as he can be, I guess. We... lost Sarah the day all hell broke loose.”

Whatever relief had filled you is immediately displaced by nausea. Closing your eyes tightly doesn’t stop the tears from burning or the wave of grief from washing over you.

“Fuck,” you say through feelings that are now stopping you from breathing freely. “Fuck, Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

“I am, too,” he says, quiet and thoughtful and familiar. Fuck, so fucking familiar that it both soothes and shakes you even further. You feel him move again, and open your eyes to find his hand closer to yours on the counter than it was a second ago, not touching you but offering some weird sort of comfort nevertheless. “I know you loved her. She loved you, too. So much.”

Love is an understatement. You’d been the fourth person to ever hold her after her parents and her uncle, and she had you wrapped around your finger the second she held it tightly in her tiny, baby fist. You watched her first steps and her first words, went to her first soccer game and gossiped about her first crush. Nursed her first heartbreak when the men in her life were too out of depth to really help.

She’d been your family as much as Joel and Tommy had been. Any issue you had with Tommy had nothing to do with his niece or his brother. You’d hoped; stupidly, blindly, selfishly, that she’d made it even if this was never the world you wanted her to grow up in.

“God, all this time…” you cut yourself off and fight the urge to reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers. You’ve never missed him from this close. “I mean– it was always a long shot, but I thought. I hoped… If anyone…”

“I know,” he acknowledges, fingers twitching. He lets a moment pass before he says, tentatively– “I hoped for you, too.”

It would’ve hurt you less if he had insulted you. At least it would’ve been expected.

“Tommy–”

He calls your name as he finally puts his hand on top of yours, pleading. It’s too warm, sweaty, and firm on your skin, and you pull it off the counter swiftly before he can do anything stupid like squeeze it. You stand, distraught, and Tommy follows suit.

“Sweets, please–”

“Don’t,” you snap, harsher and louder than you mean to, earning yourself unwanted attention from a few curious eyes in the diner. Maria, on the other side of the room, is standing and eyeing you worriedly.

Her eyes say blink twice and I’ll kick his balls but even her support is too much. The world blurs around you and Tommy’s words from forever ago echo along with the blood pumping in your ears.

Don’t be like that, sweets. You can act all high and mighty next time, alright?

God, you can’t do this. You left a small town once to avoid this exact confrontation. Maybe it’s finally time to leave Jackson and this is God laughing in your face, screaming at you to go. 

“This isn’t what I came for,” you say to the universe, to Maria, to Tommy, to whoever’s listening and is kind enough to get you out of your misery. “Just– stop it with the staring, alright? You can have my drink if you want.”

Tommy looks desperate and more unkept than he had a minute ago. His hair’s a mess even if he hasn’t even reached out to touch it, and the twinkle in his eye is made out of urgency rather than charm. 

“Sweets–”

“Fuck off,” you bite, eyesight blurry with unshed tears of frustration. Tommy reels back a little. He wasn’t expecting any aggression from you. “I don’t want you to call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that,” Tommy’s brow furrows in honest confusion. 

“Yes,” you say, because to you it’s as clear as glass cutting into your skin. “Yeah, that’s the fucking problem, Tommy.”

You can’t bear to look at him. How dare he be hurt about this after what he did? After breaking your heart, using your feelings against you, and then holding a grudge for two decades when you decided you weren’t gonna let him do that shit to you?

You leave the diner with those words, ignoring both Tommy and Maria calling after you. Only one of them tries to follow but you’re not in the mood to entertain either of them, even if Maria has nothing but good intentions. 

God, those free pancakes weren’t even worth it.

You hide at home again.

You hate that this is what its come to. Even if Jackson has become your home you’re the one who has to hide away because Tommy decided to parade in without a fucking care in the world.

It’s weird, you spent years trying to live with your guilt over ending your friendship the way you did, even if it was for the better, but now that he’s back you feel nothing but anger.

Anger over him putting you in a position like that. Anger about his own anger and inability to see how badly you were trying to put his safety over your friendship. Anger about ending up here anyway: breaking yourself in two for his sake.

Some things never change, apparently.

The weekend comes and goes after your valiant escape from the diner and this time there’s nothing Maria can say or do to get you to go out again. She leaves some groceries at your doorstep because she’s a fantastic friend, but after blatantly refusing to answer her questions about Tommy she leaves you alone, wearing a disappointed mother-like frown.

You’re trying and failing to read a book one of your neighbors lent you when there’s a knock at the door. Believing it to be Maria you stay rooted in your spot on the couch, knowing she’ll give up eventually.

Except the knocking doesn’t stop. 

It doesn’t grow more insistent or lose its intensity, but rather keeps its steady rhythm; three knocks, a moment or two of silence, and then repeat. It gets on your nerves sooner than later and you’re jumping off the couch to make it stop, clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks that almost got you shot when you were bargaining for them half a decade ago. 

By the time you reach the door, you’re about to pull your hair out. Maria’s name is on your lips when you come face to face with Tommy, his fist still raised mid-knock.

“Don’t close the door,” he rushes to say, hand settling on the frame just in case you decide to do it anyway. “I just want to talk, please.”

“What the fuck,” you answer out of mere surprise, body coiled tight as you try to keep your body language to a minimum. Any sudden movements and he’ll invite himself in, and then you really won’t be able to keep the line drawn between your past and your life here. “There’s nothing to talk about, Tommy.”

“Like hell, there isn’t,” he says with enough annoyance that you blink, reeling back a little. Finally, a taste of the Tommy you were expecting, short and mean and careless with your heart.

It’s almost a relief– the sweet facade was too good to be true and you didn’t believe it for a second. “We were friends once, or did you forget? And now you can’t even be in the same room as me for more than twenty minutes. I’m sure we’ve both got more than enough to get off our chests, sweets.”

“Don’t–”

“Don’t call you that, yeah, sorry,” he mimics your outcry from the other night, but he shrinks a little at the reminder, shoulders to his ears. It’s an honest enough apology that you refrain another biting comment from leaving your mouth. “See, I’d get a chance to understand why you hate it so much if you just talked to me–”

“I don’t want to fight with you, Tommy,” you say, more honestly than you mean to. He keeps pulling the truth out of you despite your best tries to give him as little insight into yourself as possible.

It comes out tired– reminiscent of the resignation you used to pick up the phone with whenever Tommy called late at night. 

“And I’m not here for that,” the way he’s meeting your gaze leaves you unable to look away. You automatically preen under the warm, molten brown of his eyes. “But I– you owe me some kind of explanation–”

“Jesus,” you laugh, the sound loaded with incredulity. Just when you think you know what to expect from him… “That’s really fucking rich, Tom, really, so much for not fighting–”

“You’re the one who insists on making everything a godforsaken argument–”

“Listen to what you’re saying to me!” you exclaim a little too loudly, catching the attention of some of your neighbors and shit.

Motherfucking shit, you have no other choice but to grab Tommy’s stupid flannel in your fist and pull him inside your home away from prying eyes. You close the door behind you and turn back to him, fire at your tongue. “Fucking listen to yourself, Tommy! What the fuck would I owe you after everything–” 

“Listen, just because you don’t like me anymore–”

“I don’t like you?” you say incredulously, stopping mid-path to the kitchen and trying to come to terms with Tommy standing in your home looking like he’s meant to be here. “Tommy, I mean this with the most respect I am capable of mustering for you right now, but are you high?”

It’s the sort of thing you would’ve told him when you were younger, unapologetically calling him out on his shit in the most picturesque way possible. Tommy’s eyes brighten with something– not quite glee, not quite fury– and he leans closer to you almost automatically, muscle memory pulling at strained, rusted pieces of him that are now awakening in your presence. 

“Fuck off,” he snaps, but there’s something resigned about it. He presses at his temples with his thumb and index finger, hand calloused and steady and too familiar for you not to ache for his touch. 

“You’re the one who dropped me like it was nothing,” he accuses. All the fight leaks out of him, leaving him curved inwards and small. “Like you weren’t my best fucking friend, like I– like I was always just– pulling you down, or some shit. Like you were just waiting for the right excuse to get rid of me.”

The words are a gut punch on their own but the way he says them– like he’s been thinking them to be true ever since you left– almost floors you completely. 

You say, “Tommy,” and you can’t help it. Some instinctive part inside of you has come back to life and doesn’t know anything other than his name. “Tommy, are you being serious right now?”

“Do you know why I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in over a decade?” he demands, looking straight into your fucking soul as he waves his hands around, trying to make a point. “Because after the world went to shit all I could think about was you. I thought of you, dead and mad at me, and I wanted to be wrong about that more than I wanted to drink.”

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.  

“You left me behind,” he says, an accusation, but it comes out too quiet for it to really be angry.  “And you just… moved on. Moved away. It felt like everything we went through meant nothing to you.”

You gape. The silence echoes in your ears along with the rapid beat of your heart and your blood rushing to your brain as you make sense of what he's saying.

“It meant everything to me,” you admit eventually, the weight of your decision still making your shoulders ache after all these years. “Jesus, Tommy, don’t you get it? That’s why I had to leave. It killed me to watch you fade away like that. And to think I was… aiding and abetting, somehow–”

Tommy shakes his head, stubborn. “The drinking wasn’t your fault–”

“You called me every fucking time,” you interrupt, voice hard. 

There’s little softness about the whole thing. He was your friend and you failed him by cutting him off and not being there when he needed you, but he wasn’t exactly pulling his weight. It was you on your own trying to maintain a friendship he wasn’t interested in saving.

“At one point I only heard from you when you needed me to bail you out. I got to know more about the sheriff on guard than about your own life. It wasn’t fucking fair, Tom. To either of us.”

Tommy doesn’t have an answer for that, arms crossed and glaring at your kitchen floor. His jaw quivers with emotion but his fluttering brows tell you it’s not anger. You know what he looks like when he’s trying not to cry. 

“I was a reminder of everything wrong with your life,” you continue, quieter, softened by his lack of retort and the absence of any fight. “I was stopping you from moving on by coming every time you called. As long as I came to get you you’d keep getting shitfaced. Driving drunk, getting into fights, hurting the people you loved. I couldn’t keep doing that to you.”

“Hurting you,” Tommy says, meeting your eye. There’s only a table between you now, but you’ve never felt further apart from him, and that’s saying something. “All that time, I was hurting you.”

You look away in embarrassment, even though there’s nothing about the statement that warrants it. “And Joel and Sarah. Your mom. But yeah. Yeah, you were hurting me.”

Tommy sighs. He’s looking every one of his years and reaching for one of your chairs, sitting like his body can’t hold him up anymore, his vices calling to charge their fees. 

You ask, curious, grief-stricken: “What happened to you, Tommy?”

“I don’t know,” he says, lost, the sound of his voice bordering on a break. He’s crying now, you realize, not shedding tears but trying to keep himself together and failing. “I don’t know, I was just so… angry. About everything. After I was discharged everywhere I saw, it was all red.”

You close your eyes at the mention of 22-year-old Tommy, some baby fat still clinging to his changing face that was hardened by his experience overseas. You’d gone with his family to pick him up from the airport, and he’d clung just as tightly to you as you did him when you ran to meet him on the tarmac. Your lungs had finally, finally filled with a full breath now that he was back home with you, but something was off and you knew it the second you saw him. 

His shoulders remained tense all throughout your embrace and the ride home. He was quiet during the welcome party in his mom’s house, and later you spent hours on his porch until the sun came back up again. Whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

You don’t want to hear about all that, he’d promised, arms around his legs and cheek laying on his knee, gaze on you and far away at the same time. Trust me, sweets, I’d take this fucking heat and some Willie Nelson over army shit every time. 

“I don’t know when I realized drinking made it easier,” he goes on, and you wonder if he’s stuck in the same memory as you. “I could be as angry as I wanted to and still not feel a damn thing. And I didn’t care who paid the price of it. I didn’t care about anything.”

“That night, though,” he says, expression turning wary as if expecting you to make a run for it. You’ve tried to the last two times you came face to face with him, but you’re too tired now. You’ve picked too much at this scar to do anything other than let it bleed. “When you hung up on me, it all came rushing back. Everything I’d been tryin’ to avoid just crashed into me. Hurt a hell of a lot worse than the broken nose did.”

Your surprise bypasses your quiet grief. “You broke your nose?”

“It got broken,” he pulls a sour face that almost makes you smile. He rubs the crooked slope with his index finger, thoughtful. “Not that I didn’t deserve it, but I’m pretty sure Collins had had it against me since high school.”

You snort. You remember who he’s talking about– one of the officers you had to befriend in the hope he’d let Tommy go with a warning a few dozen times. He’d been a skinny kid with braces and a hero-like worship for the younger Miller before he graduated and signed up for the Academy. 

“I’m not angry anymore,” he admits, and you don’t realize how much that statement means to you until your next breath comes a little too easy, fills your chest the way air hasn’t for twenty whole years. “After the world ended, being mad about something like this felt…”

You try to help when he trails off. “Insignificant?”

Tommy’s smile is small but real, fond. “I was gonna say ‘stupid’, but yeah.” He nods at you, wistful. “Yeah, you’ve always been better at words than me. Better in every sense, really.”

You soften again against your will. “Tommy.”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, wiping some stray tears neither of you realized had fallen. He’s not gentle about it, and you itch to reach for his hands and do it yourself, remind him that the world has punished you both for long enough to have him be so rough on himself.

“It’s different now. Being sober,” he continues, nervous. He’s tapping the table, bouncing his knee, biting his cheek– a checklist for anxious tics. “Trying to get through the end of the world without booze was shitty as hell.”

He continues, ashamed– “I, uh, I fell off the wagon more times than I’d like. Definitely more than I can excuse, even with everything that’s happened.”

Guilt swells inside you and you’re unable to dial it back. You left him. He was in trouble without a way out and your response to that was to leave him. 

Even if you’d been right to do it, even if you indirectly saved his life, you’ve always been honest with yourself about how much it haunted you. It’s a small, worthless comfort, how the right choices usually don't feel so. 

“You kept calling me,” it escapes your mind without your consent, but now that you’ve put it out there you can’t stop thinking about it. “I didn’t pick up, but you kept calling at first. Always after midnight, always drunk. Always in trouble.”

You meant what you said when he first came in, you don’t want to fight, but you’ve spared his feelings at your expense for too long now, and you need to know. You never thought you’d get the chance to ask, so you have to. Even if Tommy hangs his head like he’s preparing for the guillotine, you need to lay this to rest now. For your sake.

“I know,” he says, soft and regretful.

“And then you stopped,” you recall, the hurt so vivid it’s still present, still clutching at your heart after all this time. “When you realized I was of no use to you, that I wouldn’t come to bail you out–”

He says your name painfully.

“I never stopped liking you, Tommy,” you tell him, a secret to apparently no one but him. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. It wasn’t me who stopped caring.”

“Me either,” he says, suddenly firm, looking up at you with a gaze made of steel that doesn’t leave any room for argument. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself as you lean against the counter, its edge jamming almost painfully against your back. “Please tell me you know that. I was a dick and I’m owning up to that but God, please tell me you know how much you mean to me.”

Mean, he says, your mind stuck like a broken record on the present tense as if you hadn’t told him you still loved him just a moment ago. Still, still, still. 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, literally having been rendered speechless. Tommy’s expression shatters.

“Sweets,” it’s a small, tender thing, but he corrects himself immediately even if you don’t complain this time. You’re too stricken by the turns of this conversation to do anything about it. He says your name and you pretend it doesn’t kill you, laughing to himself with every loaded emotion except humor. “God, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I fucked everything up, didn’t I?”

Your answer gets stuck in your throat. You don’t like any of the possibilities, saying either yes or no would be a lie. There are no absolutes in this, nothing crystal clear about this thing between you.

He reads your hesitation and watches you sit opposite to him like he’s exchanging words with a haunting, distrusting and hopeful all the same. 

“We were– we were good, though,” he says, like a question, voice dry. He sounds so different from the last time he asked something of you, and the dichotomy is a little too much for you to handle. “Weren’t we? For a while there, before we– I… we were good, right?”

You do the unimaginable and reach out your arm, palm up. Tommy looks at it and you back and forth, like he expects you to laugh in his face, but eventually he meets you halfway and intertwines your fingers together.

Your tears clog your throat. There are so many things you wish had happened differently. “Yeah, Tom,” you say, benevolent. “We were really good.”

His smile is sad and fleeting but his hand is tight around yours. You sit in silence on your kitchen table as the light drains from the sky, but neither of you make a move to leave or turn on the light.

Your life goes on. Surprisingly, with Tommy in it. 

It’s an adjustment, for sure. After your heart-to-heart, he promises he’ll stick around in Jackson indefinitely, but it’s still a shock every time he comes by to pick you up for lunch. With his hands behind his back and bouncing nervously on his tippy toes, he looks like he’s about to ask your mom if you can come out to play after you finish your homework. 

It freaks you out. The first time he walks you home after an awkward, stilted late morning at the diner your mind bombards you with worse-case scenarios:

Tommy leaving town without telling you, Tommy relapsing after two consecutive hours in your company, Tommy avoiding you around town for the rest of your days as if you hadn’t talked things out at all. 

But he comes back. Two days later and then the week after that and so on. Both your social skills slowly but surely begin to defrost and before you know it, you’re seeing each other almost daily for periods of time too long for mere acquaintances. 

You’re friends again. Still, he insists as he puts his jacket around your shoulders because a fifteen-minute walk before dinner became a three-hour talk about your years apart. We’re friends, still. I missed you every second I wasn’t with you whether I realized it or not. You were what was missing, sweets. 

Today, Tommy stares at you from the other side of the room, gaze clever and unashamed, and something inside you is filled to the brim, satisfied and content.

“He’s looking at you again.”

“Let him,” you say to Maria through the rim of your glass. 

She rolls her eyes in good nature and locks her arm around yours. Thus begins the slow walk around the room that inevitably ends, as everything in your life seems to, at Tommy’s side. 

She’d been the one who told you to invite him. It was her party, her choice, a private but grander-than-usual affair under the excuse that not many folks get to turn 40 these days. You knew Tommy knew about it because everyone in town did, but he didn’t talk about it until you brought it up yourself after a night together.

Sunlight had been streaming gently through the curtains that swayed with the spring air coming through the window. You’d blindly picked up the closest garment of clothing you found on the floor before you went down to make breakfast.

Tommy had taken one look at you in his shirt and intercepted your path before you could leave the bedroom, hand pulling you back into bed and, consequentially, into his lap.

He’d smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck and it was like the years vanished between you. You were young again and at the receiving end of Tommy Miller’s honest, boyish charm. Mornin', sweets.

Except you never had this before. Getting Tommy back as a best friend had been one thing, but venturing into this new chapter meant jumping in blind with only his hand in yours to guide you. 

He kissed you for the first time– since last time, of course– one early morning after patrol. He settled into the routine of it quite nicely, and he became your partner for it without complaints from, anyone, really. 

Stop me if you don’t want to, he’d said, close enough that his eyes were turning from side to side to stare into yours, half-lidded. It was such a callback to the last time that you had to blink several times just to check it wasn’t a dream. But when he finally cut the distance between you you realized it couldn’t be– your dreams never ended like this. 

Your dreams ended, but this didn’t. Tommy cupped your head tenderly yet with an intensity that hadn’t been there three decades ago. He licked into your mouth the second you shuddered and clung to the back of his jean jacket, heart hammering inside your chest. 

He’d kept his eyes tightly closed after you pulled away, out of breath and high on giddiness, his hands protecting your face from the biting, winter wind. 

You good in there, handsome?

Don’t wanna find out you aren’t real. I’ve dreamt about this, I’ll have you know. 

You started the kiss then just for that, the thought of Tommy yearning after you like you did him during your time apart driving you a little too crazy. 

So it’d been so easy, in the end, to let things progress the way you hadn’t had a chance to after high school. Within the year he was waking up at your place most mornings, coming over for dinner, and sinking into you when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, your temple against his back. 

What does a guy gotta do to get you to come home early tonight?

You know you’re invited, right? You can come with me instead of moping around. Maria said so and everything.

I don’t know. I don’t think she likes me that much still–

Bullshit–

–and I wouldn’t wanna embarrass myself askin’ for water all night. He’d rubbed your back tenderly, slowly, up and down strokes while you tangled a strand of his hair around your finger, meaningless touches full of meanings. You go have fun, baby, alright? I’ll stick around for the night and see you after. 

You understood and trusted him fully about it, of course. But you still couldn’t help yourself and dialed your home number during the party, hoping to catch him before he fell asleep waiting for you. 

You can swing by if you want, you said into the phone, smiling at the sound of Tommy’s voice through the receiver and feeling a little too hot under the collar. Party’s practically over.

Am I gonna be peer pressure’d into party activities? Or do they know about my… situation?

It was a joke, but you could recognize the undertones of tension from miles away.

Yeah, honey, they know you’re sober, you soothed. I mean it, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, alright? But if you change your mind I’ve got some orange juice with your name on it. And Jamie’s kids’, but still. We’d be glad to see your face.

And so here you are. Maria giving you off to Tommy like one would deliver a bride at a wedding, stepping into his open arms and feeling something settle inside of you that’s been restless for over half your life. This love, this domesticity, you never thought you’d get to experience it, let alone with Tommy. 

You never thought you’d ever be this happy.

“I’m watching you, Miller,” Maria says fake menacingly as she points two fingers to her eyes and then at Tommy as a warning. “Both of you, hands above the waist, please. Keep it PG for the kiddos, would you?”

You wave her away with a loud, “Thanks, Maria. Bye, Maria,” that has her cackling with laughter all the way to her next conversation.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Tommy jokes, and any undernotes of nervousness left are washed away when you glue yourself to him, your sides touching. “You enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?”

You hum an affirmative, leaning your head on his shoulder. “More now that you’re here.”

Tommy grins down at you. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

 You smile back slyly. “I learned from the best. You alright?”

The sigh he lets out is big but honest, looking around the room with curiosity rather than like a caged animal looking for ways out. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Everyone’s actually really nice.”

“Told you,” you quip.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right,” he rolls his eyes in good nature, shifting so he’s got his arm wrapped around you. “Last time we were at a party together I had to be the jealous boyfriend.”

“I remember,” you do, Tommy twenty-five years younger with his arm around you just like this, a tad more possessive. It's been getting progressively easier to talk about the past and not be overwhelmed by it, and you're glad. It wasn't all bad. “Gotta be honest, honey, I like the real thing a whole lot better.”

You’d never seen him smile so much when you were younger. These days it’s weird to find him without his lips turned upward, like right now when he presses his smiling mouth to your temple. “That makes two of us.”

You fall into a lull of silence, the party going on around you, disturbed only by your content hum. Tommy nudges his nose against your temple, asking quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you murmur shyly, daring yourself to meet Tommy’s eyes even if there’s no judgment in his gaze, only warmth. You reach for the hand on your shoulder and he intertwines your fingers immediately, his hand warm and a little sweaty. “Just… it feels like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“This?”

“For you,” you shrug, squeezing his hand. “To come home. I didn’t think there was even a home to come back to, let alone a chance that we would. And now we’re here.”

He has to kiss you for that, rearranging your positions so he can cup your face in his hands and ignore Maria’s advice from earlier. He sneaks in a little tongue and kisses you with such force you have to hold onto him when you feel your knees go weak. 

You break apart when breathing becomes imminent, and he exhales against your mouth, freckled face flushed and pleased. “Now we’re here.”

He draws you back into his embrace and talks nonsense as he draws mindless shapes against your back. About what he did today and what he plans on cooking for dinner tomorrow after patrol as long as he finds the right ingredients. 

It’s so incredibly mundane that you can hardly believe it, but time ticks by and Tommy stays by your side, solid and real. He sips on his orange juice and life keeps on happening, your best friend lodged back into place after years and years of flying adrift. 

it's here and it's yours!!!!

thank you all for your patience! i've been so busy with college lately but i was adamant to get this one out before august ended and here we are! i hope y'all like it, i love writing for tlou and tommy!

idk when i'll be able to post next, BUT! commissions are open right now for anyone who's interested, info about it here!

thank you so much for reading and any kind words you might have for me <3

tags: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#tlou fic #the last of us #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #gabriel luna #joel miller #sarah miller #maria tlou

[writingsofwesteros]

You are crazy talented!!!I'm head over hells with your forbidden Daemon and bastard reader!!I picture that yn is a bastard because her father didn't want to marry her mom because she didn't give him a son, and when yn and Daemon marry and have kids, her heart rejoices because he treats their sons and daughters with the same love💖

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

You hated yourself for even thinking Daemon would be like this but you had panicked silently throughout your pregnancy. Your mother’s fears drifted onto you. Your own father had cut you both from his lives just because you weren’t born a son and now you feared Daemon could do the same.

You knew overwhelmingly that Daemon wasn’t your father; he was so much better, kinder but the fear was always there. Thankfully, he was distracted by worrying over you and his duties to see anything amiss. The joy of being delivered of twins distracts you from the idea of having both a son and a daughter. 

It had shocked the court; twins weren’t common in this house but Daemon was overjoyed and hovered around the birthing room. His protectiveness was as high as ever and he hardly allowed anyone near you afterwards; once you were all safe. The soft cries of the healthy babies lulled you to sleep. Daemon stayed on watch as you drifted in and out of sleep during the night. Like now, the soft sunlight moving in and waking you. You could hear soft cooing and you slowly moved in the sheets; a soft groan escaping you. The pain was dulled now but you were still so weak. “Daemon..” You whispered.

His attention was on the little bundle in his arms who was sleeping soundly. He slowly looked over his shoulder at you and you could see the tiredness in his eyes. “You haven't slept?” You softly whispered and he gently moved to sit beside you. You realised he was holding your daughter close to him. “I can’t stop looking at her.” Daemon softly whispered; moving to stroke her chubby cheek before he gently placed her into your arms to feed. “He enjoys his sleep.” He continued and you noticed your baby boy just sleeping away the night. “Like his father then.” You whispered your teasing as your daughter fed.

Daemon could sleep like the dead, especially when he felt relaxed. Which was almost always with you so the mornings were hard to get him up..unless you teased him awake. “You should rest.” You whispered as he placed his head on your shoulder. Your fingers moved into his hair for a moment. You softly smiled to yourself when you heard no answer. Daemon had fallen asleep on your shoulder and you gently moved the sheets around him. You moved back into the mountain of pillows and looked down at your precious girl.

2 YEARS LATER

Of course, the twins weren’t the only children to come. Daemon enjoyed the process a little too much. Another baby boy came your way not even a year later. You really were blessed, you thought to yourself as you watched the scene in front of you. Your daughter has stuck to her father’s side since she was born whilst your boy ran off into the world, well, as much as a 2 year old could. You watched the three of them chase each other as Caraxes seemingly watched over them. You couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. He really wasn’t your father. He was perfect and you worried for anyone who would ask for her hand in marriage. But that was long in the future and you could enjoy your family time now.

“Careful.” You softly called out as the twins moved quickly; running after each other as best they could anyway. Daemon only chuckled and made his way to you. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the baby’s head before gently cupping your face. Daemon captured your lips in a sweet kiss. You moaned and rested your heads together for a moment of peace. “Thank you for loving them.” You whispered into his ear. Daemon turned to you; his hand moved to stroke your cheek. He knew all about your insecurities and fears; “Always.” He promised you. “They are mine..you are mine.”

You ducked your head with a soft blush; his words still affect you all these years later. “You think your niece will argue for her claim?” You whispered your darkest fear into his ear. Daemon stiffened; it wasn’t something you hadn’t spoken about before but now there were children to consider. “I don’t think so.” Daemon replied; his fingers in your hair but he didn’t know for certain. And uncertainty was a dangerous place to live in. “Father…” Your daughter’s voice called out and you watched him softly smile and move towards her, picking both of them up in his arms as he tickled them.

You really hadn’t needed to be so worried in the end as he paid equal attention to the twins and all the love was there. In the end, you didn't need to worry so much. You watched the display of affection as you cuddled your youngest closer. He reached for the necklace Daemon had gifted you so long ago and began to play. “Sweet boy.” You hummed as his giggles echoed out and joined his twins as they raced around their father. “Come on now, we’ll be late.” You called over to them before they quickly returned to your side. “Are you going out tonight with the city watch?” You couldn’t help but ask; worry once more engulfing you.

“Just for a while. The townsfolk are concerned.” He hummed as the children ran ahead back into the palace. “Do you need me for anything?” You whispered up at him; concern for the people in your tone as always. “I can help.” You nearly pleaded; wanting to take some load off Daemon. “You do help.” He stroked your back; calming you. “More than others around here.” Those eyes of his moved around the guards you walked past. “You know the walls have ears.” You whispered into his own. “I’d cut them off.” Daemon purred and you softly slapped his chest. “Not in front of the children.”

Daemon could only chuckle. You really were the most precious thing to him. “Hmm, if you say so.” He whispered and moved to collect the baby from your arms and wrapped his free one around your shoulder. All you could do was watch and cuddle into his side as all your fears finally disappeared.

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#daemon targaryen x reader #request