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supercutszns · 9 months

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a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell #this is far longer than i wanted it to be so sorry.#don’t usually write in 2nd person or present tense so i’m just trying not to look at it #the evil men with curly hair have won again

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perlelune · 10 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent.

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been.

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally.

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues.

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends.

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually.

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight.

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation.

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath.

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs.

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time.

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you.

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point.

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.”

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene.

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to.

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done.

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room.

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs.

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t.

It makes you realize how much you missed.

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest.

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it.

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead.

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you.

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds.

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness.

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest.

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side.

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss.

He returns to the space between your thighs.

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs.

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core.

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t.

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling.

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles.

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him.

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead.

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted.

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone.

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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queenie-the-court-jester · 6 months

Note

HII, saw your post on wanting asks, well here 🫶 I love talking so, and specifically on playboy yandere!! I'm a sucker for angst and yanderes falling into insanity honestly, so let me ramble a bit

- imagine if reader graduates highschool and gets an overseas scholarships!! They also convince their family to move together with them so Kameron can't hurt or use them to blackmail reader. So with only a break up text saying like "bye manwhore 😍😍", blocking and deleting all their social media, I wonder how long and how far would he take to get reader back again? Would he inherit his parent's riches, hire some private investigatiors to find reader and find the country they're living in, expand his business over to their country in order to gain power to trap his darling. And I wonder how deranged his reaction would be to reader's text and be like no way, they're joking right, and runs to their house and whatever usual spots they're at normally, and just break down into insanity. would he try to use substitutes for reader to maintain his sanity or go fully devoid of emotions and start working hard to gain power and influence to find reader again!! I'm also curious how he would process his darling leaving him, would he become delusional first, saying they got kidnapped or something, or some ex or fling of his hurt reader, and then proceed to anger, depression, grief and then finally accept the reality!!

Ok that's a lot of rambling 😭😭 hope it's okay. I rlly enjoyed that fic, was rent FREE in my mind for a whole day

you know luci, you just gave me an idea. So have a part TWO of THIS DUMBASS HOE 🤝

Yandere playboy x reader

Tw: mentions of murder, kameron being delulu, yandere and obsessive behavior

💋kameron was having another breakdown. Sobbing pathetically on the floor of your old bedroom. Just how did you run away? And on such short notice too!? Didn't his love mean anything to you!? WHY DID YOU ABANDON HIM?

💋a million thoughts swirled through his head, until he finally got one that just... stuck. He had to get you back. No matter how long it takes. Getting up and dusting himself off, he kicked the front door open and quickly left the empty house

💋it was a shame really. The once sane and popular boy was struggling to keep his image. So he got help. Not professional as in therapists and medication. Just hiring other students to cover for him Incase he slipped up. all while snooping through the head teachers computer to see if they had any notes on where you might have gone. He almost got caught a few times

"shit that was close.. i can't believe these idiots leave their passwords just anywhere"

💋he knew he shouldn't be back at the school, especially since he graduated but he needs all the information he can get. Eventually moving onto private investigators and online stalking through multiple other accounts. He'd try anything just to see what his darling was doing without him. Were you enjoying making him suffer? You're so cruel..

💋hiring other people to befriend you and lower your guard, gathering any Information they can

💋 kameron who spent a while convincing his parents to let him take hold of the company. He had a degree, a bright mind, responsibility. He's perfect for the job! Oh if only they knew where his 60% was going.. funding multiple businesses across the world in exchange for keeping a careful eye. Making him quite the celebrity

💋look darling! He's on the news-! ...oh right you're not here.. one evening, while working in his office, a new secretary comes in to introduce themselves. They look just like you! He could only stare in shock.

"my love..? Is that you!?"

"..who?"

💋turns out it was just a doppelganger. But with enough time he'd delude himself into thinking it was you. Courting them with the same flowers, chocolates and jewelry he'd given you. It worked like a charm! Now you were back In their arms again. They felt whole..

💋he married your lookalike a year later, the poor fool being too naive and oblivious to think. He was happy for awhile.. or until one of his P.I's came in to show him they found you. His reality started to break.

💋no.. how could he do this to you. Replacing you with some cheap street whore. That night, when they went to bed, he gave them a cup of water and smiled sweetly. Watching as their face went red and they started to cough for air after gulping it down. Clawing at the sheets and staring at him with wide fearful eyes. Begging him to help them

"...slut."

💋 burrying the body in his backyard, he paid people with underground connections to cover for him while he was away. Claiming they suddenly vanished, having run away with a small fortune. How idiotic are people, to actually believe him..

💋kameron disguised himself and went straight for the country you decided to flee too. 5 years apart from you.. he had no idea how he managed to live so long without his beloved, but it was all worth it. Because now you'll be back where you belong. In his arms.

💋you were busy working at your job, running a small business was no joke but atleast the people in the area were friendly. So you didn't notice the suited figure Infront of your cash register

"thank you, please come again-"

💋you froze, looking up at the terrifyingly familiar face. He stared back at you with only glee and love

"hello my darling~ you've been on a naughty streak for a while Haven't you? That's okay, I'll just set you straight when we go back home."

💋big burly men all blocked you from escaping by guarding the doors. Dragging all the other customers out so you both could have your moment. Now you could never leaver leave him. Ever.

#yandere x reader #yandere x darling #queenie writes #queenie ocs #ocs #yandere #yandere male #yandere male x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #Yandere oc x reader #Oc x reader #Oc #Kameron the playboy #yandere headcanons

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fallingstqrss · 10 months

Text

kiss it better

request: can you do a one-shot just like the scene where coryo goes insane because he thinks that the reader left him in the cabin but she didn't and they just go to spend some quality time.

a/n: thank you so much for the request i love this idea!

summary: following the death of Mayflower and Billy Taupe you and coriolanus decide to flee the districts, hoping to avoid the persecution of the peacekeepers. however, when you seem to get lost in the woods coriolanus panics.

warnings: there is a brief description of mayfair's death but it's not detailed. coriolanus might be slightly ooc cause this is my first time writing him but i swear im trying my best.

Coriolanus had made a huge mistake. he hadn't meant to kill Mayfair, he just panicked. He was just going to let her leave but then you walked in, making you a part of Sejanus' horrible plan.

"What's going on?" You spoke, eyes moving from Coriolanus to the weapons that lay on the table. Coriolanus saw as your eyes widened and he hurried to comfort you. "Corio, what's going on?" You questioned again, clutching onto his bicep, hoping for reassurance.

"Y/n, it's gonna be fine-" Coriolanus started, attempting to soothe you as he ran a hand across your cheek.

"Oh, none of you are going to be fine. I'm gonna tell my Daddy what all of you did and he's gonna string you up!" Mayfair spoke in an almost taunting tone. Her threat casts a chilling shadow over the room. As Mayfair turned to leave Spruce, fueled by tension and adrenaline, raised the gun to her back.

"I can't let you leave," Spruce spoke. Y/n took an unconscious step back, recoiling from the potential for violence. Coriolanus could tell you were scared and he felt horrible for being the reason you were involved in this. His mind was racing, he knew he had to get you out of there.

"She's bluffing, she won't actually do anything." Billy Taupe defended, eager to avoid any harm that might come to his girlfriend and to deescalate the growing tension in the room.

"Really? Was I bluffing at the reaping? Tell me Lucy Gray, how did you like your time in the Capitol?" Mayfair spoke, eyes staring at Lucy Gray, who gasped. Mayfair smiled as she turned to leave. Coriolanus jumped at the opportunity, lunging for the weapon on the ground. In a single second Mayfair had fallen to the ground. You gasped, your eyes fixated on Mayfair's fallen figure. Coriolanus was quick to shield you from the unsettling sight, positioning himself in front of you.

"I need you to go home y/n. I'm going to get this figured out. But you need to go home right now and you can't look like anything is wrong," He spoke, his tone firm and filled with urgency. "y/n, please." Coriolanus spoke again when you didn't move. You had stood still, trying to process the events that had just unfolded in front of you. Finally, you looked up at Coriolanus, a nod of reluctant understanding breaking through your shock. You trusted Coriolanus, he would get you guys out of this.

Coriolanus watched you leave, a mixture of relief and worry painted on his face. Once you were out of sight, he turned back to the remaining people in the room. He was determined, now that your safety was at risk nothing else mattered.

That's how the two of you ended up here, walking through the woods, in search of life beyond the districts. Despite some attempts at small talk, the weight of the recent events hung heavily in the air. Coriolanus could sense you were struggling to come to terms with the deaths of Mayfair and, more importantly, your shared friend Sejanus.

"I just don't understand what happened. Sejanus' plan was horrible but he seemed like he was being careful," You rambled on, your voice heavy with confusion and grief. You were unaware of Coriolanus' involvement in the death of your friend. You also didn't notice the tension of the captured Coriolanus at the mention of Sejanus.

"He apparently wasn't careful enough," Coriolanus responded, his tone colder than usual, a deliberate attempt to steer away from the conversation surrounding Sejanus. He longed to focus on the two the two of you would spend together, the new life you could start. Coriolanus was taken aback when you came to an abrupt stop, forcing him to backtrack to stand in front of you. You stared up at him, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you not mourn for Sejanus at all, Corio?" You spoke, your eyes reflecting the sadness and confusion that weighed you down. Coriolanus felt a pang of guilt for being distant. However, the truth of Sejanus' death was a burden that he couldn't bear to share with you. He knew you would've never forgiven him.

"Of course, I do," Coriolanus spoke, his tone softer now in an attempt to console you. Coriolanus brought a hand to cup your cheek. "But, it was his actions that killed him." You still seemed unsure, offering a careful nod before turning your gaze to the ground. Coriolanus dropped his hand, moving to walk next to you again.

Eventually, the two of you arrived at the cabin shown to you by Lucy Gray and the Covey. Coriolanus couldn't shake the feeling of your silence, finding it unsettling. The two of you walked into the cabin, setting your things down. "We should fish for a while, we're going to need some food for the rest of the trip," Coriolanus suggested.

"Lucy Gray said there should be some poles under the floorboards," You spoke, avoiding eye contact with Coriolanus as you hung your belongings on the hooks by the door.

Coriolanus nodded, moving towards the boards he found to be loose. He lifted the boards, his eyes widening as he lifted the sheet to reveal the guns that had been used to kill Mayfair. You observed from across the room, a twinge of concern gracing your features. "What is it, Corio?" You questioned, his familiar nickname being a small sense of comfort in the moment of the unsettling discovery. He remained silent, picking up the gun as he turned to face you. Your breath caught in your chest as you saw the weapon, your mind flashing back to the violent events.

"It's the guns," Coriolanus stated, his eyes moving between the weapon in his arms and you. "This means we can go home," You hummed, nodding in agreement. The revelations held the promise of an escape. The promise of a way home. But, they also unearthed memories Coriolanus knew you could never fully forget.

"I'm going to see if I can find anything to eat around the lake, maybe that one root Lucy Gray mentioned," You spoke quickly, shaking your head as she grabbed one of the small shovels left near the door.

"Y/n, wait," Coriolanus spoke, sensing the uneasy energy that surrounded you. "It could be dangerous," Coriolanus spoke, his protective nature kicking in. You smiled as you recognized his instinct to protect you.

"Well, it's a good thing I've got this," You spoke, attempting a teasing tone as you held up the shovel. You could tell Coriolanus didn't quite believe you and you hurried out of the door. Coriolanus was worried for you but brushed off the interaction, trusting that you could take care of yourself. He rewrapped the guns, hoping to drop them into the lake, burying the echoes of the past.

Coriolanus stepped outside heading towards the boat. His eyes circled his surroundings, hoping to find you. However, he didn't see you. He looked around again, his breathing becoming more ragged as he called out for you. He was met with the horrifying echo of his own voice, no response from you.

You had ventured into the forest after finding that Katniss was not ready to be eaten. You had hoped to find some berries, remembering the ones Maude Ivory had collected for you to eat. You attempted to ignore the way the trees seemed to close in on you, the path you thought you knew being erased. You ignored those thought, you had been going in a straight line, there were no place to get lost along the way.

"They should be up here," You whispered to yourself, letting out a sigh as you hoped to break the silence that lay within the forest. The rustling leaves and distant calls of birds engulfed you as you moved throughout the forest.

You had been walking for a while, looking around you realized you have never been in this part of the forest, a sign that you had gone way too far. You turned in various directions, spinning around as you searched for the way you came. Panic began to set in as you quickened your pace, unfortunately leading you to venture deeper and deeper into the forest.

In her disoriented state, you failed to see the root sticking out of the ground. Her foot caught on the root, causing you to stumble forward. Desperation clawed at you as you tried to regain your balance. However, the forest had other plans.

A divot in the ground forced you to the ground as your hands reached out to break your fall. The forest floor met you with a sickening thud, your head colliding with a moss-covered rock. The world around you spun, the pain in your head intensifying with every breath you took. As your consciousness slipped away, the forest seemed to blur into a blend of green and brown, the shadows seeming to dance together in a mesmerizing rhythm.

Back at the cabin Coriolanus grew restless as he awaited your return. The seconds felt like hours as he stared at the tree line, willing you to appear. Finally, Coriolanus was sick of waiting and decided that he would find you himself.

As he ventured into the forest the trees seemed to swallow him. His breaths came out fast, each step propelling him further into the silent forest. Anxiety was clawing at his chest, hundreds of what-ifs raced in his mind.

"Y/n? Did something happen? If something happens we can talk about it!" Coriolanus shouted, pausing as he awaited a response. But he didn't receive one, he only had the rustling leaves to greet him. The silence that surrounded him was deafening.

"Y/n, please say something. I need to know you're okay," He pleaded again. The forest remained silent, offering no hope to comfort his growing concern. Fear painted vivid scenarios in his head, each one darker than the last.

"Please, y/n, if I did something I'm so sorry. We don't even have to talk about it, please just come back with me." Coriolanus pleaded. His pleas became more urgent. His mood shifted from worry to complete despare quickly.

"Please, I can't lose you too." He spoke, this plea much quieter than the previous ones. His voice broke as he spoke, his eyes searching for any clue of you. His steps quickened as he moved around the forest, his handles trembling as he pushed branches out of his way.

"Please, y/n," He called one more time, assuming the worst. He'd come to the conclusion that you left him. It was either that or you were dead, but he couldn't bring himself to grasp the idea that you were dead.

Unbeknownst to Coriolanus, you began to stir on the forest floor. The pain in your head still lingered but the sound of someone's voice distracted you from the pain. You listened more closely as you tried to sit up. Your senses were snapped back into reality when you realized that it was Coriolanus' voice you were hearing. The closer you listened you realized how distressed he sounded and it practically broke your heart. You listened again to his ever-present calls, trying to hear which direction they were coming from, his voice acting as a life-line.

"Corio," you called out weakly, standing as you braced yourself on one of the trees. Coriolanus' head snapped in the direction of your voice. He hurried in that direction, his eyes wide with fear and relief. "Coriolanus," You called out again, wondering if you had imagined him calling for you.

"Hang on y/n! I'm coming," He spoke. Relief washed over him when he finally saw you leaning up against one of the trees, Coriolanus rushed towards you. In your disoriented state you barely even realized he had found you until he engulfed you in his arms. Your senses finally started to come back to you as you reciprocated the embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Coriolanus pulled away for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, he could hardly believe he'd actually found you. He'd thought you were gone for good. Your eyes met his, being met with a vulnerability from Coriolanus you'd never seen before. Coriolanus hated the way you made him felt. He hated how worried he always was for you. But, he also couldn't deny how much he loved you.

"What happened?" Coriolanus finally spoke, brushing your hair out of your face to examine the cut on your forehead.

"I was looking for those berries, the ones Maude Ivory showed us and I got lost, and then I think I tripped," you began to ramble, stopping yourself to take a breath before speaking again, "It's all kind of a blur." Coriolanus nodded as he processed what you said, unraveling his arms from you as he wrapped an arm around your waist to help guide you back to the cabin.

"Well, I think we should get you back to the cabin," Coriolanus spoke and you laughed as you nodded. You'd had enough of the woods.

Back at the cabin Coriolanus used one of the med-kits you'd brought to clean you up. Your heart swelled at how gentle he was, his hands moving cautiously over your face.

"So, will I survive?" You questioned, a smile gracing your features.

"I think you'll be okay," Coriolanus responded, a smile of his own coming across his face. But, you could tell the smile didn't meet his eyes. You could tell something was still bothering him. The sunlight pouring in from the windows illuminated the worry that was still present in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the fear he'd felt when he thought you'd abandoned him in the forest.

When Coriolanus finished cleaning the wound he set the supplies to the side and leaned in, placing a delicate kiss on the spot he'd just tended to. The warmth of his lips lingered on your forehead, a comforting gesture that transcended the physical healing.

"There, kissed it better." Coriolanus whispered as he moved away from you, cleaning up the remaining supplies of the med-kit.

Despite his comforting gesture, you couldn't ignore the concern that was still etched on his face. As he finished putting the med-kit away he turned to look at you, being met with your questioning gaze. "Corio, you've been on edge since we got back. What's wrong?" You questioned him, taking a couple steps closer to him so you could wrap your arms around his waist.

Coriolanus hesitated, his eyes betraying his turmoil of emotions. He opened his mouth to respond but the words got caught in his throat. Tension lingered in the air as you searched his face for clues on what he was feeling.

"It's nothing, y/n. Just a scare, that's all. Everything is fine." Coriolanus spoke. However, despite his attempts to comfort you, you could still sense his unease. You reached upwards, cupping his face to draw his attention.

"Come on, Corio. Talk to me," You spoke. Coriolanus sighed, he was torn between his desire to shield you from his concerns and the intimacy the two of you had always shared. Eventually, he gave in.

"I just... I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you. losing you in the woods, even if it was just for a moment, it terrified me." Coriolanus confessed softly. Your eyes softened at his confession.

"I'm right here, Corio. I'm not going anywhere." You assured, he nodded. "I love you, Coriolanus. Wherever you go, I'm gonna be there." You spoke, his words caught him off guard. The two of you had never used the word love.

"Y/n..." Coriolanus started, his eyes moving away from you. However, your hold on his face forced his attention back onto you. "I've never been good at this, relationships. I'm afraid of losing you, of not being enough." You nodded, you understood Coriolanus' insecurities as he'd previously voiced some of his concerns to you.

"Corio," You took a step closer, "I love you for who you are. I don't need you to be perfect." You assured him. Your words hung in the air, in that moment, leaning into Coriolanus, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss. Coriolanus, having been initially surprised by the kiss, eventually surrenders to the kiss. When the two of you pulled away you spoke again. "I want to go back to the Capitol, Corio."

Coriolanus looked surprised but that was overtaken by a look of happiness. He wanted nothing more than to return to his home and family, and now that you did too there was nothing stopping the two of you. "Wherever you wanna go, I'll follow you." Coriolanus spoke, repeating the words you'd said earlier, you smiled at him.

The decision being made, the two of you faced what leaving the woods meant. Coriolanus worked to dispose of the guns while you packed the remaining items you had at the cabin. As you walked out of the door you saw him pushing the boat back to shore. Coriolanus jumped out of the boat, outstretching his hand for you. You smiled at the gesture, moving to meet him, enclosing his hand with your own.

#coriolanus #coriolanussnow #snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #president snow x reader #president snow #ballad #balladofsongbirdsandsnakes #thehungergames #hungergames #lucygraybaird #sejanus #sejanusplinth #corio x reader

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cherryheairt · 24 days

Text

Dragon Dreamer pt. X

cw: disordered eating (but not intentional ED), mention of not canon targcest? (not Daenys she doesn't fw that)

tags: @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @thelastemzy @fall-winter-heart97 @pedro-pascal-love @thatkindofgurl @theadharablack @reyndaisy @littleblackcatinwonderland @hueanhdang @purple-1995

As Daenys expected, she was summoned to the Painted Table in the morning. Dressed in a fine dark purple dress, she stood in her place next to Jacaerys, Rhaena, and Baela. She was secretly pleased to see Daemon's bruised face seated next to Rhaenyra.

Maester Geradys, who had been the first to recieve the raven, spoke. "It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy's head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession."

Rhaenyra looked stunned at the news, agasp at the accusation and murder itself. "And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?"

"It appears so." He replied solemnly. "There have been messages sent of that affect...throughout the realm."

His words rung uncomfortably, a foreboding warning that the tides may shift in favor of the Greens when people were told Rhaenyra ordered a child to be killed.

She nodded firmly, "we must send our own messages, denying this vile accusation." She paced around the front of the table slightly, wringing her hands.

The Maester nodded. "I will do so at once. But, I'm not sure they will be recieved in good faith."

"And we must double our guard. Here and in Driftmark." The Queen insisted, finally sitting to stop herself from appearing anxious. "There will be swift retribution in one form or another–"

"I have seen to it, Your Grace." Lord Baltimos interrupted. Daenys glared at him, almost reprimanding him for his disrespect. It seemed to be a common thing around the Council. Many of the lords were old and believed themselves more experienced and knowing in war than Rhaenyra, though none had seen war themselves.

Especially Ser Alfred Broome, who sat himself at the edge furthest from The Queen. He was an advisor for Arms to Rhaenyra, yet he thought himself most important and all-knowing.

Jacaerys spoke up, "Let me fly out on Vermax. Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from King's Landing." He offered.

"No." Rhaenyra denied immediately.

Jace shifted on his feet, clearly irritated at the rejection of offered use. He was eager to help, to make himself useful for his mother's cause. Daenys understood both sides, knowing Rhaenyra would be overly cautious when it came to her remaining children's lives.

"It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable. At a time when we most need loyalty to our cause." Baltimos spoke up again, his own irritation leaking into his tone as if he were scolding the Queen.

She scoffed a disbelieving laugh, "but it is a lie."

"Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helena of all people?" Her council stood silent, avoiding her gaze. Eyes shifted between her and Daemon. All knew her genteel nature, and all also knew of his reckless one.

Alfred Broome spoke up from his spot at the end of the table. "The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution." He boldly stated, causing Rhaenyra to push up from her seat offendedly.

"Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?" Her mother looked much like a dragon, then, with bared teeth and a predatory look in her purple eyes.

"I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste." He cleared, though he did not look apologetic. Jace clutched the pommel of his sword tightly, mirroring Daenys' dislike for the older man.

"Mind yourself." Princess Rhaenys spoke up from her seat beside Ser Alfred.

Rhaenyra settled into her own seat, after glaring Ser Alfred down into his own. Rhaenyra's own gaze landed on her husband, a realization settled on her features. Fury gleamed in her eyes.

The council was soon dismissed. Jacaerys and Baela went off together to do their own things. Rhaena left with her grandmother after bidding Daenys a farewell. Daenys found herself simply waiting for Rhaenyra to finish her talk with Daemon before they could finally have their own conversation.

🗡

Cregan leaned back in the uncomfortable steel chair, cursing his decision to use the Maester's chair instead of bringing the stationary supplies to his temporary chambers at Castle Black. He decided to stay there for a few days, should any ravens be sent to him from the Queen or Daenys.

He had already finished drafting his many letters to his sworn houses in the North. He summonded his 2,000 greybeards from the places he knew housed the most of them and carefully decided which of the younger men he should send out to war. He divided the numbers up immediately after Daenys left the castle, wanting to send them marching as soon as they received word. The walk from the North to the southern allied houses was great, and the more time they had, the better. Taking all those men over The Twins was already a headache. Cregan still needed to decide if he should lead this march or await Daenys in Winterfell.

He decided to send his men straight to the Riverlands to station themselves until word came from Rhaenyra on which battles to fight or which holds to defend. He assumed that Harrenhall would be easily taken by the Blacks, and the lands surrounding it would be a good vantage for his men to set up such large camps. Harrenhall, though, lied dangerously close to the crownlands, which would be swiftly conquered one by one by the Greens, if they hadn't already sworn allegence. North of Harrenhall might be better, closer to the Tullys or Freys. He needed to know their allegences quickly. He started to write another draft to the Queen, asking for a list of her sworn houses. He ignored the crick in his back that was forming due to the chair.

Up in the tower, the ravens were able to be sent at once after he finished writing and sealing them. He informed the queen to send all future ravens immediately to Winterfell. He would be leaving after all of his tasks were done at The Wall.

After sealing the scroll, he attached it to the foot of a raven, who squaked at him as if annoyed before flying out of the open sil. Another raven landed in his place, a sealed green Targaryen symbol on it. He sighed, rubbing his forehead at the sight.

Cregan's heart dropped to his stomach at the contents. Jaehaerys was murdered in his bed, supposedly by 'Rhaenyra the Cruel', who ordered it. He knew it was a false accusation. Daenys had dreamt of it only the night before she left. A man was responsible, if Helena's words were anything to go off of, not the Queen. He silently prayed for the peace of the mother and hoped the boy did not suffer too much.

He threw out the letter, knowing his oaths would forever be tied to the Blacks, whether in matrimony or in pure honor.

Cregan had sent out all the letters he needed to, packing up his bag in his quarters. Dusk was a missing presence, having been sent ahead to Winterfell by Cregan. Perhaps, he thought, he could send his direwolf in his place at the march, being able to see through Dusk's eyes at any time he pleased while diplomatically leading from Winterfell. There, he could wait for Daenys to come back to him. He found himself missing her presence already, feeling a gap in his soul from her departure.

Lord Stark left Castle Black on Red, Mylo trailing behind him ever so faithfully. In the back of his mind, Cregan thought of the white steed making a good wedding gift for Daenys, who had taken quite well to him.

🗡

Daenys passed Daemon in the hall on her way towards her mother's chambers, Baela at her side. He looked feral, a pissed off look on his face as he passed his daughters. He ignored Baela's call for him, striding past them both without a glance.

One less dragon for Dragonstone was all Daenys had to think about it. She knew he was on his way to Harrenhall after the scolding Rhaenyra gave him, he'd been impatient to go ever since the damned war started.

Baela and Daenys entered the chambers, following Ser Erryk. They curtsied politely together, the Queen first addressing her stepdaughter. "When morning comes, take Moondancer, and keep a watch on King's Landing. I must know which course they take next." Stress was clear on her face, likely because of Daemon's antics.

"I will be vigilant." Baela replied firmly, glad to be given a task by Rhaenyra. She'd been as impaitient for one as her betrothed.

"I depend on you, Baela. Stay high, and keep your distance. We can afford no further mistakes."

A pang of jealousy ripped its way into Daenys heart against her better judgment. Of course, Baela was a skilled rider and a fiecely loyal Lady to Rhaenyra. Daenys knew that. She also knew of her mother's hesitation to get her children into further mishaps, but she couldn't help but feel untrusted and useless. She was not the weak little girl that everyone seemed to think she was. Perhaps—in personality—she had always been quiet and non-confronting. But she was still a dragonrider like her kin. Daenys was inherently useful with Morningstar at her command. If only Daemon and Rhaenyra would see that.

"My father?" Baela brought up hesitantly.

Rhaenyra sighed, "he must follow his own path." The vague words hardly help sooth Baela's fears, but all in the room knew of his headstrong behavior.

Baela bowed and left. Daenys nodded to Swe Erryk, dismissing him behind Baela to speak alone with The Queen.

She sat herself down in front of Rhaenyra, picking at her nails.

Rhaenyra waited, used to her long pauses for thinking over her words carefully.

"There was a fire." She started. "I cannot say anything more, except that it was Morningstar's."

"A fire?" Rhaenyra asked, only more confused by her elaboration.

"It burned me. Well, my clothes. It totally engulfed me, for however long it took for the clothes to turn to ash. For that whole time, I simply laid there, on the ground, thinking I was dead. I felt no pain, got no burns, and obviously am still alive." She gestured to herself. "I know for certain that I had not read about anyone on our bloodline being immune to dragonfire, or fire in general speaking.

Rhaenyra leaned back, hand rubbing over her mouth in a thoughtful gesture. "You did not feel it, at all?" Daenys was grateful that she believed her so quickly. She was not known for being a liar, after all.

"None."

"I have not read such things, either." She stood, bringing Daenys to the lit hearth. With a firepoker, the mother carefully brought out a smoking piece of wood. Catching on fast, Daenys gingerly moved to touch it, jumping back when it seared her fingertips. Cursing, Daenys placed her fingers in the water basin that Rhaenyra kept in her room.

Rhaenyra hummed. "What was the situation."

"Mother, I can not tell you that. You would not see me the same way." Daenys pleaded, clutching her throbbing fingers to her chest and shaking them slightly. The pain was short-lived, fortunate.

"Did you...order Morningstar to burn you?" Like Laena, was left out.

"Not in the way that you are thinking. I will always return home to you, mother. I did not wish to die, only knew in the situation that I had to make my choice." Daenys told her. She grabbed her mother by the wrist, suddenly invigorated. "Let's try it with Morningstar's fire." She said, guiding her mother to the dragonpits.

Rhaenyra haplessly followed, thoughts jumbled. Morningstar was in the shallow part of the cave, near the perch. Her breakfast was currently being served by the Keepers. "Dracarys!" One commanded, a brilliant blue light filling the cave.

"Morningstar, do not eat!" She commanded

Reluctantly, the beast obeyed. Daenys climbed down the steps, Rhaenyra close on her tail. Slowly, she approached the burning sheep, waving her hand over it. When she did not feel the searing heat, she placed her hand on the sheep's flaming cost. She looked back to Rhaenyra, who's eyes were wide in awe. Even Morningstar tilted her head curiously, but was more concerned about finally getting to eat without hunting her own food.

After Rhaenyra and Daenys left, back to the chambers, they sat in silence for a moment to take the information in. "I cannot tell you why this has happened. Perhaps it is your bond–Morningstar is a unique dragon already with her blue flames–or perhaps it has something to do with your connection to Old Valyria and its magic."

"Magic?" Daenys asked.

"Your dreams. Of course, there is no studies behind them so there is no explanation. The closest one I can give you is the Blood Magic of Old Valyria, which was rumored to be used by dragonriding families. Perhaps that is what gave your ancestor Daenys her gift, too."

"I'd hardly call it a gift. I am wrong, sometimes. I can not trust my mind to tell me the truth. Not after father." She sighed, slumling into her seat.

Rhaenyra sat up straight in her own, an odd look in her eyes. "Have you been wrong again?" She asked tentatively.

"Not in the important matters. I saw...Luke. That night, being chased by an unidentified dragon. Then, days later I saw you, wanding the beaches of the stormlands to find remains of him." She shook her head. "I thought they were tricks. That Lord Borros would never let such a thing happen under his roof. I was wrong."

"I also saw Jaehaerys. I tried to stop Daemon, but he gave the order before I could stop him." She confessed, feeling guilty for not being able to stop what that time she truly believed.

Rhaenyra was quite for a few minutes after, the guilty look now apparent on her features.

"Mother?" Daenys asked quietly.

"My sweet girl, your dreams have never lied to you." She said, confusing Daenys.

"How do you know?–"

"Laenor's death is the only one that you could not forsee."

Daenys furrowed her brows, bemused at her mother's words. When she only kept her gaze on the wall behind Daenys instead of looking her daughter in the eye, Daenys felt her heart drop. "Father...did not die in the fire?" She whispered.

Rhaenyra's silence was deafening.

"You have lied to me for nine years? Almost a decade?" Daenys asked, voice calm and steady. She felt rage rising in her chest, this time not caring.

Rhaenyra placed her hand over her stomach soothingly, watching Daenys stand up, chair falling to its back behind her.

"Does this have anything to do with your and Daemon's timely wedding? Did you two force Laenor to leave us all so you could finally have your uncle all to yourself?!" She shouted, pacing in front of the table.

"Laenor left on his own accord. We did not force him. He lives his life peacefully in his own corner of the world, unknown to even myself and Daemon."

Daenys stilled, disbelieving her mother's confession. "He left us? He left me?"

Rhaenyra nodded, twisting the ring on her hand. "He loved you more than anything, sweet girl."

"Would you leave us?"

"Of course not!" Rhaenyra insisted, offended at the very thought.

"Then why would our father? Because we are not truly his? Did he ever see us as his own?" She panted out, tears falling from her cheeks onto the stone floor. "It is not our fault we are bastards!" She shouted, tugging wroughtly at her loose hair.

"Daenys," Rhaenyra stood, moving to comfort her daughter. She was pushed away swiftly, Daenys running out of her chambers, past Ser Erryk waiting outside of them.

She spent the rest of the day in her chambers, buried under Cregan's pelt cloak. She wished to escape, even temporarily. She wished she could be back with him. Cregan wouldn't lie to her. He wouldn't convince her that she was insane for half of her life. She couldn't trust anyone, apparently. Not even her mother, who was supposed to look out for her.

Or her father, who left her to be with his forbidden lover.

Daenys didn't know if she hated him or herself for his leaving. Or her mother. It was not Daenys' fault that Laenor wasn't her father, though she desperately wished him to be.

A maid knocked at her door around supper time, entering without word from Daenys. "The Queen has sent me. She recieved word from the kitchens that your plates have gone untouched since you arrived."

She wasn't aware that there had been plates in her room, nor was she aware of how many days had passed since she arrived. "Put it on the table." She mumbled from beneath the fur.

Franny, her usual maid that had been helping Daenys every day since she first moved to dragonstone, shook her head. "The Queen has instructed me to watch you eat, and to finish the plate."

"I instruct you to leave it at the table." Daenys firmly said, lifting her head from the cover.

Franny shook her head again, planting herself firmly by the door. "Queen's orders, Princess. We are all worried about you."

"You can worry about me from outside." Daenys said, throwing her head back onto the pillow. She willed herself to ignore Franny's stares. The door opened, Franny whispering to someone outside of it, then Daenys yelped as the pelt was ripped off of her. "Hey!" she shouted, sitting up and meeting whoever had disrespected their Princess to brazenly.

It was Jacaerys and Beala, both matching in their pitiful stares. Jacaerys guided her up from her bed, plopping his sister down on her seat and sitting in front of her. Baela stood by the door, detering her from leaving. She felt sick. What was the point of this? She would eat when she felt hungry, but she had not felt hungry since her last night with Cregan.

"Jace." She hissed out, "get out. I'm tired and I wish to sleep. I will break my fast with all of you on the morrow."

"We're not leaving until that plate is clean." He said, relaxing into his chair.

She was reminded of her time at the Red Keep, where feasts where held in the grand hall, and Daenys sat with her siblings at the high table with all the other royal blood. All she could feel was the stares of hundreds of people, whispering about her and her family. The way they walked, talked, ate.

She learned that if you don't give them anything to judge you for, then they grow bored of you. She took to eating in her chambers, avoiding walking in crowded areas, did not speak with strangers, and made sure that she did not scream in her sleep.

All perfectly cultivated. Daenys had only eaten with Cregan because she had grown so comfortable with him. He never stared while she ate, never had that judgmental stare. Jacaerys and Baela did. Franny did. She felt like curling up and disappearing again. She felt like she was in King's Landing again. "Don't force me to, Jace." She pleaded. He faltered a second, sympathy replacing the hard look in his eye, before he shook his head.

They sat there for almost an hour, simply in silence. Daenys crossed her arms, refusing to even look at the other's. "Sister, if this continues I will have to force—" Jacaerys was cut off by a maid screaming in the halls.

They all jumped to see the threat, Jace drawing his sword. On the steps of the dining hall, Ser Alfred Broome lie dead, skull bashed into the stone stairs. "There's an intruder in the castle!" Jacaerys declaring rushing towards their mother's chambers immediately. It was most likely to be her as the target to any assassin's attempts. When they got there, they were already too late.

Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were dead on the floors of Rhaenyra's chambers.

🗡

The funeral was small, only attended by a few people, including Jace, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, and Daenys. The Queensguard and the gravedigger, too, but they did not add to the conversation.

"He is the basest of Villains." Jace insisted that they bury Erryk and Arryk separately, so the traitor did not taint his brother's grave, who had loyally protected the Queen with his life. He was denied by Rhaenyra herself. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"I cannot fault him for keeping his oath." The morning sun was blocked by a sheet of grey clouds, ever setting Dragonstone's mood to somber.

Jace, leaning in so others could not hear, "and what of those who sent him?" He was frustrated, furious even, that Rhaenyra refused to retaliate on an assassination attempt on her own life, obviously made by the usurper. Daenys, though silent all night and morning, was torn between both sides. Jace was right to want to send out their full force, surround King's Landing with their dragons and armies before they could amass any more men themselves. Rhaenyra wished to keep the peace, find any way to take her throne back with the least amount of bloodshed.

Rhaenyra was silent, and Jacaerys began walking away to go back inside the castle. Daenys, with some reluctance, followed. She did not have the energy to speak with Rhaenyra alone after their conversation last night.

"She is being foolish, merciful on the very men who murdered Luke—almost murdered her!" He said, slowling for Daenys to catch up.

"Mother is being cautious. They do have a large support, now that people believe her to be a babe killer. They also have Vhagar." Daenys reminded him, though her own blood ran hot at the idea of Aemond and Aegon, laughing in the throne room at their hardships.

"Even Vhagar cannot face all of our dragons." He sniffed.

"If we sent all of our dragons to beat one, it would be a bloodbath of them all. The dragons follow commands, not sides. Who knows if they accidentally attack an ally who got in their way?" She mused, placing her hands behind her back as they walked along the beach.

Jacaerys conceded, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing his head back, knowing his elder sister was right. "I only wish to bring them to justice. For all of this to be done with."

"Me too, Jace." She smiled softly, patting his bicep comfortingly.

"So," he turned to her, disregarding the serious topic of discussion for a lighter one. "What truly happened in the North? You leave for nearly three weeks, then come back betrothed. You didn't look too pleased with it." He frowned.

Daenys defended Cregan quickly. "Cregan is kind and understanding. We spent much time together on our travels to The Wall. I understand why he would want my hand in exchange for more men, I am content with my decision." She left out most of the details, figuring he need not worry about her two near-death experiences or the fact that Cregan confessed his love for her.

"Hm. If he wants a Targaryen, I can make a different offer. You don't need to sacrifice yourself to a Northman so easily." Jacaerys fretted, apparently having selective hearing when Daenys told him about Cregan's qualities.

"As I said, Jace. I am content. Believe me when I say that. You are happy to be betrothed to Baela, yes?"

Jacaerys nodded, pursing his lips into a fine line.

"I believe you. Can you believe me?" She asked teasingly, laughing slightly when he gave her those pathetic puppy-dog brown eyes.

"I do not wish to see my only sister sent off so far. I thought you had no wish to be married?" Daenys knew his words came from a place of concern, but she couldn't help but feel like he simply didn't expect anyone to make an offer.

"Feelings change. You once thought Helena to be your future wife once, didn't you?" She snorted.

He blushed, embarrassed at his past crush. "That was many years ago. Of course, I do not feel the same way now. I'm talking about you, Dae. Do not change the subject. You mean to tell me, that in a mere few weeks, your feelings have completely changed?"

She smiled, nodding firmly. "Yes, I do."

He sighed, resting his hand upon his sword pommel, as he has grown into the habit of doing (much like Daemon, though Daenys did not mention that similar aloud). "Very well. I suppose I do not have to fight any Northern Lords this sennight. But, if he does anything untoward, I will."

Daenys giggled, shaking her head in amusement. "I could not watch such a fight."

"Why not? Wouldn't you like to see the man who disrespected you be cut down?" He puffed out his chest dramatically.

"It would not be much of a fight, dear Brother. I'm afraid I might die of embarrassment when you are disarmed in a second."

He visibly deflated, shocked at her lack of faith.

They reached the doors to Dragonstone's castle, having taken the leisure way around while they chatted. Both separated for the day until the meeting would call upon them.

Daenys went to her chambers, making sure to lock the door behind her this time. She glanced at the cold plate on her table, throwing its contents into the bin nearby. She sighed, dropping the plate with it too, covering it with soft paper. Daenys hated to waste food at such a time, but it would only make her ill. She chose to sleep, feeling the exhausting weighing on her shoulders.

In the afternoon, she was awakened by a soft knock on the door, and Franny's voice told her of her summoning. Daenys quickly fixed her ruffled dress and hair, walking downstairs to the council hall.

The Painted Table was being lit for the council meeting, Rhaenyra standing at its head solemly. The Maester informed her of Daemon's silence, but made an educated guess that he was occupied greatly by Harrenhall.

The table was missing Ser Alfred Broome, though Daenys guessed none truly mourned him. What friends could an arse like him keep? Still, his station needed to be filled.

Rhaenyra started, "Today, we all mourn the loss of Ser Alfred Broome and Ser Erryk Cargyll. Their absences will ring deeply in our hearts, but we must not dwell on it. We need another, to sit on the council, an advisor of Arms." Rhaenyra left it open, for anyone to suggest a knight or lord.

When it remained silent, Daenys was the one who spoke up. With all eyes turned to her, it was hard to stay focused. She took a deep breath in, "perhaps Lord Stark could be summoned to be your Master of Arms? He does hold your current largest force, Your Grace. He knows his men well, and I believe could advise you even better."

Lord Gormon Massey laughed, shaking his head. "Lord Stark is but a boy, he has no experience in war."

Daenys sharply turned to glare at the old man, "tell me, what experience do you have, Lord Massey? What battles has your sword seen?"

He coughed, sitting back in his chair awkwardly. "Does the young Lord send you back to Dragonstone as his betrothed to gain a spot on the Queen's council? What is next, will he demand to be made her Hand?" Gormon tried to recover.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had a thoughtful look on her face. "Thank you, daughter. I believe it is worth a try, many other lords allied to us would see themselves...occupied at their own holds nearby. He is far enough to not need to defend Winterfell from any rogue attempts for the Greens to take it." She nodded, dismissing what futile arguments her council might have.

"It will take him two months to travel here, though. I need a filler immediately." She continued.

Daenys nodded. "I can get him, bring him back on dragonback in a full day if I fly with no rest." She said her mother confidently.

"Very well. Go and bring Lord Stark back here, but do not linger at Winterfell. We need Morningstar stationed here, she and Meleys are our biggest dragons." Rhaenyra agreed to the terms, ending that conversation.

The council moved on, Daenys breathing a small sigh of relief. The men of the council bidded Rhaenyra to send out all her dragons at once, ending the war there and then, to which she refused smartly. Every Targaryen and Velayron knew that once you fought with dragons, it did not end so easily. Their house would invite its own destruction once all its dragons and riders were dead.

Another lord made a suggestion for Rhaenyra to hide herself away while they conducted the war without her. She shot that down, too. Irritated, the Queen dismissed her council for the day. There was nothing new to do, besides her own private business that only she could conduct in King's Landing.

Daenys rubbed at her temples, feeling her growing headache pound away sharper at her head. She walked back to her chambers, settling in to attempt to wait it out before she took flight. On her way back to her room, she asked Franny to order for Morningstar to be well-fed for her flight.

She sat on her bed for hours, well into the night, while she waited. What little sleep she got was contantly interrupted by the buzzing of her mind. Come the morning, Daenys still had not left. But, she was glad for it.

Rhaenyra was sending her youngest siblings away, as well as her step-sister Rhaena. Though she understood the reason, she still mourned them as though she might never see them again. As the guards escorted the crage of dragoneggs towards the docks, Daenys held little Viserys in her arms.

She watched absentmindedly as Rhaenyra bid her goodbyes to Rhaena, comforting her, although anyone could tell the young Lady was deeply bothered by being sent away simply because she was the only Velayron to not ride a dragon.

Daenys briefly hugged Rhaena, wishing her a safe journey before stepping aside for Baela to have a more meaningful parting with her sister. The twins shared a great bond, one that Daenys was grateful for. At least they would know they always had each other, no matter how far apart they landed.

Rhaenyra kissed her two baby son's goodbye, hugging Joffrey who was the only one able to stand and speak.

Daenys held Viserys tight one last time, kissing his whispy white hairs before handing him off to a maid. She did the same with little Aegon.

At Joffrey, she knelt. Daenys took his chubby little hands in her own. "Don't worry, sweet boy. I will see you soon, and take you for a ride on Morningstar."

He nodded, tears filling his little brown eyes. They hugged for a while, only forced to part when Jace wanted his turn.

Daenys walked back to the castle, leaving to the dragonpits without saying a word to Rhaenyra. Her mother knew where she would be, there was no reason to say goodbye.

Daenys greeted Morningstar with a girlish laugh, the white dragon nudging her rider as if to ask where she had been the past days since she visited during meal time.

She rubbed at the scaled snout gently. "We're heading back North, my girl."

Morningstar trilled happily, crouching to allow Daenys to mount. With a loud roar, the dragoness took flight back towards where they had come from. To the North they went.

🗡

Daemon had never been in worse company in his entire life. Or seen a castle in such conditions. And he had seen a lot of shit. Harrenhall was a disaster. What once was a great and honorable keep in the Riverlands, had been reduced to leaky roofs and crumbled towers.

It was easy enough to claim, he supposed. But was the repair even going to he worth it? Simon Strong had told him of Larys' hold on Harrenhall's coin, leaving none for the castle to be cared for or repaired. The only people who lived there seemed to be cravens or creeps.

But he'd rather sit here in the ghostly castle than admit defeat and come crawling back to Rhaenyra before he had anything to show for it. Currently, Willem Blackwood and Lord Grover Tully were being summonded to Harrenhall to declare for Rhaenyra and report to Daemon of their houses' available men.

While he waited, he refused to eat or drink anything that the old Strong gave him. He would not succumb to such follys so easily. At night, he found more trouble sleeping than he had before. Daemon found himself unknowing if he was in a dream or wide awake.

In what he suspected was a dream, Daemon looked up at a loomed weirwood tree that was as unkempt as the yard it was planted in. The crumbled stone walls outside, weeds growing everywhere, and dead grass were a testiment to its abandonment. Daemon turned from the tree, looking to go back inside and away from this grey place. He was met with a woman standing at the bottom of the slope. Long, straight, inky black hair flowed all the way to her waist. Her pale skin and green eyes were a stark contrast to the black surrounding her. Her clothes were that befitting of a servent or a bastard.

"You will die in this place."

The woman did not wait for a reply, merely lifting her skirts and walking back beyond the stone walls, leaving Daemon to stare after her.

He woke from the hazy dream only to the sound of droplets hitting the buckets he had placed around his room. Sighing, he wondered if that vagueness was something Daenys had always felt or if hers were more clear. He shook his head, clearing the dream from his mind. He did not have prophetic dreams. It was Harrenhall simply playing tricks on his mind.

Outside of his room, a shadow approached from the crack beneath the door. Daemon stilled, awaiting the action of the unknown person. It stayed silent. The door began to push in and out, an outside attempt to jam open the door–only being stopped by his sword hanging from the handles. Daemon carefully approached it, waiting for the jerking to stop before he removed the steel.

Holding Dark Sister tightly in his hand, he slammed the doors open, only to find no one there anymore. He peered out, waiting for the person to make themselves known. He walked down the hall, more relaxed now in stance as he wandered to the nearest open door.

A hearth was lit in the room, making it appear quite pleasant compared to the rest of the castle. Daemon slowly opened the door more from its cracked position, revealing whomever was inside. A familiar tone played in his mind.

It was the Valyrion song he had learned from his mother and father, from Viserys. He had hummed it to his own children, as all Targaryen parents did when soothing their babes to sleep. How did a lowly creature plaguing this damp castle know High Valyrion?

He stepped inside, meeting a room that was entirely unlike Harrenhall. It was warm, free of all damage. Homely. A white-haired girl sat on a chair, babe clutched in her arms, fast asleep. Daemon stepped closer, right behind the girl. A Targaryen bastard of Harrenhall?

The girl turned to him, ceasing her pretty humming. It was Rhaenyra, no older than nine and ten years of age. The spitting image of her younger self, naive and demanding as she had been back then.

"Always coming and going, aren't you?" She asked bitterly.

Daemon stared in horror, leaning over to see the white-haired babe in her arms. He lowered his sword.

"And I have to clean up afterwards."

He sucked in a harsh breath, a rush of guilt and regret sinking in his heart. "I tried, Rhaenyra. I asked Viserys for your hand—" He sounded desperate for her forgiveness, an image of his younger and more insecure self coming out to show its ugly face.

She ignored his words, humming again and stroking the babe's soft face. It's eyes opened, revealing soft lilacs that matched her mother's–and her father's.

🗡

Eek what do yall think about Rhae's confession? Finally, Daenys finds out that shes never needed to doubt her mind. But, at what cost? Her trust, her loyalty? find out next time on total, drama, island.

hel and jace would've made a fine pair, he is much kinder than Aegon and it might have stopped the war if alicent knew her kids were not threats to Rhae.

important below

🌟- I killed off Broome because he is arguably the most useless and disrespectful of the Black Council. He wasn't a lord, so no plot is lost if he dies. I wanted to note that none of her council has titles, like Viserys' council had. There's master of ships, master of coin, grand maester, master of arms, master of laws, and the Hand.

Rhaenyra only has the hand, maester, and a bunch of advisors, to a reason I do not know. So, I am trying to fill it in as I go. The other will not be given official titles, but I can assume Rhaenys and Corlys kind of unofficially share the Hand spot, since Corlys is often gone. Rhae can't name a woman her hand when her reign is already so fragile unfortunately, so Corlys is her next best.

did y'all know Elinda is a highborn lady? I must have missed that, because I thought she was only a loyal maid to Rhaenyra for years. She is her lady-in-waiting, and her father sits on Rhaenyra's council, Gormon Massey. I dunno how I went two seasons and rewatches without figuring that out without Wiki.

I know Daenys' most anticipated father was Harwin-sue me. I adore Harwin and his bond with Daenys. He took care of her like she was his own/like her brothers. But I feel like Daenys being an outlier from his siblings is a reflection of having a totally different parent from them (not counting the two youngest boys). Her Valyrion features, being a dreamer, her bond with Morningstar, being born a woman, and I'm sure other things I'm missing off the top of my head. All make her different from her brothers. I thought it was fitting of her to have a different father, too. The only one still alive, and the only one who 'stayed' unlike Laenor. Their relationship has always been complicated whereas Laenor and Harwin held a pure and unconditional love to Daenys. Harwin is the dad who stepped up 🙏

Daemon holds a guilt at always knowing he had a daughter in King's Landing but was never able to raise her or acknowledge her existence. He did not form an immediate connection with her like the others did, it took a while and a lot of trust to be built. Even now, Daenys does not love him like she loved the other dads.

Fathers are complicated 😪

#cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #dragondreamer #cregan stark x oc #hotd fanfic #cregan stark

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sprite-writes-fanfic · 7 months

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When the ‘03 Turtles are in love!

🐢💙❤️2003 TMNT x Reader💜🧡🐢

Word Count: 889

CW: Gender-neutral reader as always, referred to as ‘you’, my underrated beloveds ong, (especially Donnie 💜), nothing but fluff! Turtles realizing they’re in love with you and how they act around you!! (+ confessions because yes <3)

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 With Leo, it takes him a good while to realize he’s in love with you. It just randomly hits him when he’s meditating, the comfort you bring, the way he can lean on you, the way he’s always seemingly drawn to you! It hits him like a bus.

💙 He gets a little shy and distant with you, but don’t give up! Continue coming to him and acting like yourself, he’ll feel a bit guilty for avoiding you, but you still coming to him makes his heart flips and he’s feeling those butterflies.

💙 That’s when Leo can’t take it anymore and finally confides in Master Splinter, (which we both know that man knows when his sons are in love). Splinter is pleasantly surprised! But he’s happy to help his son sort out his feelings and even devise ways to confess to you.

💙 Finally, Leo works up the courage and asks you to go to the training dojo with him alone, to train. You two do train and by the end of it, Leo finally spills it, confessing his love to you, but also expressing his understanding if you didn’t feel the same.

💙 Pleasantly surprised when you admit to feeling the same way! Man is fist-pumping the air mentally when you confess. After that, you two spent more time together in the dojo, just talking things out and making it official with a hug, (a kiss will come later, Leo’s not ready to make that quick of a step!)

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ With this emotional turtle, Raph is quick to realize, unlike his brothers, and at first; he’s frustrated. He didn’t NEED feelings, especially not towards a family friend, a human… A very beautiful human at that—

❤️ Okay, he gives up and comes to terms with the fact, Raph, the tough guy with anger issues, has soft feelings for YOU. (Bro went through the 5 stages of grief because of this/j)

❤️ And after coming to that conclusion, man is always trying to impress you, he gets closer to you, wants you to depend on him because he wants to be that someone for you! It strokes his ego quite a bit too.

❤️ It’s when he finally realizes he wants to be with you he shoots his shot. What’s the worst they could say? No? So, one night when you join him on patrol and you two are chilling on a roof, he finally confesses. And he’s straight to the point like, “Look uh, this is gonna sound weird, but I have feelings for you.”

❤️ Dude is so hyped when you say you feel the same way too. Raph isn’t the type to wait around either like Leo, on that rooftop was where you two shared (his) your first kiss.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 When Donnie realizes, he panics a little actually. YOU are his best friend, and he’s completely shocked when he realizes that his heart thunders in his chest and his palms get sweaty when YOU are around, (*slow fade-in of the demi-romantic flag*).

💜 He tries to shut down these feelings as best as he can by working on his technology more and being distant with everyone, and I mean EVERYONE.

💜 Even then he can’t stay away for too long, he’s back to ranting and rambling about his inventions to you, and his breath hitches whenever you smile at and tell him, “Go on”, whenever he pauses and apologizes for rambling again.

💜 Donnie has to tell you, if he gets rejected now, hopefully these feelings will go away, right? He didn’t even consider the fact that you could possibly like him back, according to his statistics, the likelihood of a mutant and a human together is low!

💜 Well, when he sat you down for a serious conversation, going on to admit his feelings and saying he wouldn’t be hurt if you said no— Wait what? You were quick to interrupt him and tell him you liked him back?? He had to process a moment before he would shyly ask if you wanted to go for a small ride in the Battle Shell around town. (You two held hands while he drove. <3)

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 Woof, Mikey on the other hand is a bit of a wild card, at first he confuses platonic with romance, but when his brothers point out to him the obvious, he’s all for it!

🧡 Mikey is the type to start reading comics and watch movies that involve romance so he has an idea of what to do, (and yes, he kicks his feet all giddy-like when he’s doing this).

🧡 After he’s obtained his knowledge, he’s quick to try and impress you and reenact some moments from the movies he’s watched, always saying quotes you probably wouldn’t understand. And when you don’t get it at first, thinking he’s just being Mikey, he’s a little bummed…

🧡 Then Raph has to point it out to him why his advances aren’t working, because he’s not really acting any different, and just tells Mikey to grow a pair and to tell you honestly. And that’s when Mikey’s new plan is sent into action, operation confession is a go!

🧡 Still a little confusing because he’s still making references but he’s got the spirit. Eventually he ends up forgetting the movie references and out-right tells you. And it’s safe to say, you guys have a roof-top date coming up here soon.

Gaaah, I’ve been obsessing over TMNT good lord. I wanted to write about them, and I’ll probably write more about them too 😭💙 Love turtle pookies ong, hope you enjoyed, and yes I posted the same day, I am motivated to write. ✍️

#sprite writes #fanfic #tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2003 x reader #leo x reader #raph x reader #donatello x reader #mikey x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #2003 leo #2003 raph #2003 donnie #2003 mikey

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rin-may-1103 · 1 month

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The Wrong Robin Au (Part Six)

Previous | Master Post | Next AN: Because I wanted Danny and Jason to be the same age, I've moved the DP timeline forward six years. (If we go with their canon ages and timeline, Danny's the same age as Dick.) I'll make it make sense, but until then please ignore the possible confusion it might cause😅.

Turning, Danny held the picture frame up to show Bruce who he was talking about. Bruce glanced up and studied it for a moment before he looked at Danny. His eyes were calculating just like they had been for the past ten minutes, which might Danny add, was really annoying.

"That's my eldest son, Dick." Bruce finally answered, continuing to watch for Danny's reaction.

Danny blinked, looked down at the picture then turned to put it back. why in the world was his name Dick? like, was that actually his name or was it a nickname? it's not like Danny was judging the kid for it, but seriously, who names their kid dick?

sure, Danny used to fight ghosts named Skulker and Technis all the time, but they chose their names. Did the kid willingly choose to go by dick or were his parents unaware of what the word meant? Danny's really hoping the parents weren't aware of what it meant, because if they were? oh boy was that a bag of worms Danny wanted nothing to do with.

How old was the kid anyway? That looked like an older picture, so he probably wasn't that young anymore.

"How old is he?" Danny asks, turning to study another picture. this one was of Jason hanging out with Alfred in what looked like a kitchen. The kid was covered in flour while Alfred didn't have a single speck of dust on him. They both looked happy.

Bruce was silent for a moment, so Danny turned to look at him. Confusion and shock swirled around him, making Danny frown.

"you don't know how old he is do you?" Danny asked, glaring at Bruce. As much as Danny promised to help him, the man was making it extremely hard to do so, when every time he learns something it makes him want to punt the man into the sun.

alright, so forgetting when someone's birthday is sucks but doesn't make sense for someone like Batman, so it wasn't that exactly it's probably more along the lines of grief messing with his perception of time. yeah, that makes more sense. because if it's not, Danny's not afraid to punch the man again.

"Alright, what's his birthday?" Danny asks, making his way to sit back in the chair he had used previously.

"march 20th," Bruce grumbled, turning to glare out the window like the emo bat he was. And see? He didn't forget the date, which means, Danny was right.

"year?" Danny pushed, slumping down in his chair. It felt like he was pulling teeth with how trying to get information from the man was going. Ancients, Danny was going to go gray before they got anywhere.

"1990," Bruce replied, still glaring out the window like he was in some emo music video.

"Alright, it's 2013, so doing some basic maths, Dick is" Danny pretended to do a drumroll as he quickly calculated the dude's age. and he was a dude because he's definitely older than Danny.

"23," Danny finally announced, looking up to watch as Bruce's emotions spiraled in the air. Anger, hurt, annoyance, guilt. Yep, a full-blown meltdown is on the horizon, everyone. let's back it up, Danny's seen enough grown men cry, he doesn't need to do it again.

"Alright!" clapping his hands, Danny stood up and made his way to the door. opening it, Danny glanced out the hall and spotted Alfred finally making his way back toward them. looks like that blood analysis Bruce definitely ordered Alfred to do finally finished. good.

"Alright, mister anger issues. you need to go to bed." turning back to the room, Danny pointed at Bruce. the man stared at him, his emotions freezing in their downward spiral as he processed the words.

"I agreed," Alfred cut in before Bruce could argue against it, making Danny grin. Oh, he was so going to get along with Alfred, he just knew it.

walking over to the desk, Danny snatched one of the sticky notes and a pen. Writing his number on the paper, he handed it to Alfred, "Here you go. you get to keep it because I have a feeling you'll actually use it properly. it's my number, call me tomorrow after he gets some rest. I'll come back and we can discuss how to go about the Batman business from now on"

"you can't just-" Bruce started, cutting himself off when Alfred took the paper and promptly started guiding him out of his own office. "honestly, Master Bruce. You need your sleep, you've gotten so bad lately, that you willingly fought a child."

"I'll show myself out!" Danny called after them, watching as they turned a corner. glancing at the clock, he noticed a green sticky note. blinking, Danny made his way over. nothing was written on it. which means this was just a hint to start looking around here.

intrigued, Danny started studying the grandfather clock, wondering what clockwork could possibly want him to find. The wood overlay looked fine, and the upper door looked freshly polished. The Moon Dial and clock face looked normal, though the hour and minute hands looked slightly worn down. the glass side access panel looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

hmm, strange. the toe molding had slight scuff marks on the corner like it repeatedly hit against something. glancing around, Danny spotted matching marks on the bookshelf next to the clock. crouching down, Danny studied the marks. it was like Bruce had repeatedly moved the clock around like a door...

standing up, Danny studied the clock handles again. worn down like they had been repeatedly rearranged, but the side access panel looked practically brand new which meant the internal workings of the clock worked perfectly fine. so then why would someone have to reset the time if it wasn't broken?

unless...

carefully opening the glass upper door, Danny studied the clock face closely. the oil from human fingers usually damaged the pearl facing used in most clocks, so all Danny had to do was...

there! right below the X that meant ten, and again slightly behind the XI for eleven. which means...

moving the hour hand to right before eleven, and the minute hand to right before ten (so around minute 48.) Danny heard a click. stepping back, Danny watched as the grandfather clock swung open and revealed a passageway. glancing back to the door Alfred and Bruce had left through, Danny smiled.

"Thanks, clocky," he whispered, heading inside and closing the clock-made door behind him. If Tim was right, and he definitely was, the bat cave was below the manor, and with his enhanced eyesight, Danny could see an elevator at the end of the dark hallway, which meant this was one of the secret entrances. (he's pretty sure Batman's smart enough to have more than one entrance. it'd be pretty stupid not to.)

he had plenty of time to snoop around the Batcave now, which meant he had plenty of time to figure out how it worked and how to use that to his advantage. Bruce can't ignore him and his advice if all the bat suits go missing now, can he?

#Post Jason's death #The Wrong Robin Au #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #tim drake #Wrong Robin Au #bruce wayne #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #clockwork #sam manson #tucker foley #Apperently i don't know how to tag??#sorry????

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mrs-hatake · 15 days

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JJK Men Crying

genre: hurt/comfort. warning: mentions of injuries, grief & loss, and self harm. relationship: m x afab reader. a.n: i love it when pretty men cry. also i didn't put sukuna cause i don't think he'd cry. he'd make you cry lmao

Toji:

Disinfected clinging heavily in the air has Toji’s nose scrunching at the foul odor. Though it is a scent of cleanliness, to Toji, it smells like death.

Patients, doctors and nurses blur into faceless silhouettes as Toji hurries down the hallway, a sickening wave of terror welling up from his stomach with each steps.

He stops in front of the room the nurse has directed him to earlier. Toji’s chest grows tight, making it hard to breathe, at the sight of the room number; gold faded around the edges.

Toji’s hand slips when he grabs the door handle, his palm too clammy to grip anything. Trying again, he pushes the door with so much force that it nearly bangs against the wall.

The rhythmic beeping reaches his ears yet Toji doesn’t move an inch. There’s a haunted look in his eyes as they stare at the unmoving form on the hospital bed. His tensed muscles only relax when he catches sight of a chest rising and falling. He moves to the bed.

“Toji?” A voice calls his name, sounding rough from disuse. “Hey.” It continues.

Toji stares at the woman in a catatonic stupor. Though the woman is smiling weakly at him, vibrant blues and purples steals her beauty.

“I was worried.” That one simple statement, loaded with so much care and love, has Toji closing his eyes, going silent as he tries to drag emotion back under where he doesn’t need to feel it.

“What’s wrong?” The woman asks, so scared, her tone voicing the fear Toji is feeling.

A cold hand cradles his cheek, shocking Toji, forcing him to open his eyes. Her usually soft thumb is dry, riddled with tiny cuts, as it caresses his skin.

“Don’t cry.” The woman sounds distressed now, the heart monitor showcasing her heart palpitation.

Toji doesn’t know when he started crying but it is at that moment that he cries harder, his legs giving out, forcing him on his knees as he desperately holds onto his lover’s hand, “I thought I lost you.” His fear is hidden by his lover’s palm, as if ashamed to show the world his bleeding heart.

“Oh, angel,” the woman breathes, “I’m right here. I’ll never leave you.” Though her words are quiet, small, the warmth burns bright, like the early morning sun Toji sees every day at the construction site.

Toji doesn’t stop crying but his heart does feel lighter at the promise.

Satoru

Opening his eyes, Gojo Satoru is greeted by the concerned stare of his lover.

“Were you crying?”

Satoru blinks slowly, processing her question. A hand tentatively reaches out to him, brushing a stray tear. Satoru’s blue color is the teardrop on his fingertip.

In a blur, his lap is occupied by a small frame. His lover’s arms wrap around him tightly like a warm blanket protecting him from whatever nightmare that has been haunting him the past several nights.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t usually dream when he sleeps, let alone have any nightmares. But every year, every summer, for the entire season, Satoru’s concerningly short hours of sleep are haunted by the ghosts of his past, making his sleep even shorter. Yet, he never lets them affect him.

Until today.

“I’m fine.” Satoru mutters but his body betrays him as he presses his lover closer, burying his nose into her hair. Coconut and vanilla replacing the stench of his fears as Satoru inhales the intoxicating aroma.

“You sure, baby?” Comes the woman’s muffled question. She tries to push herself off of his chest but Satoru has her trapped. Eventually, she gives up.

They don’t know how long they remained sitting in that expensive leather chair Satoru insisted on getting despite having any free time. Though the room is silent, Satoru’s lover’s reassurances are loud. They remind Satoru that he is not alone, everyone, including herself, is here for him. That whatever has happened in the past is not his fault.

Though the words don’t breach through his thick skull, Satoru appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Kento:

Spring, the season of love and pretty flowers.

When the cold retreats into the void and warmth slowly starts spreading its way across the air.

The trees gaining their leaves, the floors showing off their pretty petals.

Spring, the season that symbolizes rebirth but, to Nanami Kento, reminds him of death.

Which is why he finds it incredibly ironic for the living to gift the dead flowers. Regardless of the language they spoke, the message they tried to convey, the dead cannot hear the living and Nanami Kento hates this tradition.

A soft hand sliding into his larger one does not startle Kento. The gentle squeeze to his hand doesn’t blow away the dark cloud hanging over Kento’s head. His world is painted gray despite the colorful palette next to him.

“Ten years…”

Her voice is distant and near, whispered yet screamed. It’s all that it takes to have Kento choking on a sob.

Kento’s head is heavy on her shoulder but she continues to support him. Kento’s gasps between cries is a haunting melody that she cannot bear to listen to yet she continues being the rock Nanami Kento leans on.

Haibara Yuu’s gravestone is decorated with Kento’s tears and flowers from his parents. It’s a pretty sight but to her, it is disgusting. Oh, if she can only remove it and hide it somewhere far, far away where Kento cannot find it.

Suguru:

The banging on the wooden door is a translation of her heart beating erratically. They speak of fear and dread, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

She tries the door knob again and again but the door still won’t open.

She shouts Geto Suguru’s name repeatedly like a mantra asking for salvation but her prayer is lost in a song she doesn’t recognize sung in a foreign language.

It is only when the landlord of the apartment complex that her boyfriend is residing in that she is able to rush into his home, screaming his name as she frantically searches for him.

She finally finds Suguru in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor by the bathtub. Crimson liquid is dripping down his arms, falling like tear drops on the same shirt she has seen him in a week ago. His often shiny hair is matted and greasy. The shine in his beautiful purple eyes have diminished, they look empty.

Swallowing the thick bile that threatened to spill over, she takes cautious steps to where Suguru is staring into space.

“Baby,” she kneels in front of him, gently prying the razor blade from his hand, “Suguru?”

The shell of a man turns to face her but his eyes are unseeing. They don’t even notice how her dainty hands are now painted with his blood.

“Let me see.” The woman speaks in a calm and controlled voice, masking the turmoil roiling within her as she fights back tears at the sight of her lover harming himself.

Suguru’s wrists are marred by a disturbing array of cuts, lines slicing across the milky skin. Though the wounds aren't deep, the sight of them is enough to plunge her heart into despair.

With a steady breath, she kneels over Suguru to open the cabinet under the sink and retrieves soft hand towels. Her hands move quickly but with deliberate care as she wraps them around Suguru's wrists, staunching the flow of blood, transfixed over the white fabric instantly turning red.

“Why would you do this to yourself, Suguru?” Though her voice is steady, a faint whisper of heartache lingers beneath the surface.

When Suguru doesn’t respond, she continues, “My sweet baby boy, why?” she chokes on a sob as she pulls her lover into her warm embrace.

“I hate it.”

Quickly but with gentleness, she pulls back to stare into Suguru’s eyes that are rapidly filling with tears, “I want it to stop.” he continues.

“What…” The woman still refuses to cry. She needs to be strong to help Suguru. “What do you want to stop?”

That one simple question has the words cascading from Suguru’s lips like a rushing waterfall, each one tumbling forth with an overwhelming force and vivid clarity.

“My thoughts…too loud…I can’t take it anymore.”

Suguru’s desperation feels like a fist is slowly closing over heart. Her heart cries for him and she can’t help but to pull him back in her arms, lovingly kissing his forehead.

“Suguru,” she chokes on his name, but she continues, “give it to me.” She pulls away to cup his face, staring deep into his eyes. “Okay?”

It is hard to see her past the tears clouding Suguru’s eyes but her words reached his ears, his soul.

“Your pain, your suffering, give it all to me.” Her thumbs wipe away his tears. “I can handle it.”

Suguru’s breath hitches, his heart fluttering at the fierce determination radiating from his lover. It’s bright, so bright that he looks away.

A small nod but it is enough to give her hope.

#toji x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #toji x you #gojo x you #nanami x you #geto x you #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles

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alyrasturnz · 2 months

Note

can you make a sad matt blurb about reader having a miscarriage?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎SHATTERED DREAMS

❐ summary » the bond between a mother and her child is a force of nature, unyielding and profound. yet, the anguish that engulfs a mother upon losing her child is an abyss of sorrow, a pain that defies the very essence of strength. it's a heart-wrenching paradox, where the depth of love amplifies the depth of grief, creating an emotional chasm that words can scarcely encompass.

❐ pairings » husband!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » miscarriage, angst, mentions of the hospital

❐ a/n && w/c » lowkey shed a few tears writing this • 3.53k

as the evening sun dips below the horizon, it stretches its golden fingers through the windows, casting elongated shadows that dance across your living room. you find yourself perched on the edge of the couch, a cup of tea nestled in your grasp, its warmth fading with each passing moment. an almost palpable sense of unease lingers in the air, weaving itself into the very fabric of the room, a whisper of discomfort that you can't quite decipher.

the discomfort in your gut swiftly morphed into a searing pain, causing you to wince involuntarily. it felt as though an invisible hand had twisted your insides, each movement sending sharp, relentless stabs through your abdomen.

you decide to head to the bathroom, hoping that the solitude and the cool splash of water might clear your mind. perhaps, you think, it could wash away the layers of anxiety that have been steadily accumulating throughout the day, like dust settling on a forgotten shelf.

as you step inside and close the door behind you, your eyes are drawn to a small, ominous stain of blood on your underwear. your heart seems to halt in its rhythm, a cold grip of fear tightening around your chest. the sight sends a shiver down your spine, the implications swirling in your mind like a dark storm.

the sight of the blood sends a wave of panic crashing through you, your mind spiraling with a thousand terrible possibilities. you struggle to maintain a facade of calm, whispering reassurances to yourself that it might be nothing, yet a deep, gnawing certainty tells you that something is profoundly wrong.

you hastily clean yourself up, your hands trembling as you fumble for your phone. with shaking fingers, you dial your doctor's number, your mind a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts, barely able to focus on the task at hand.

each second stretches into an eternity, the uncertainty gnawing at your very core, making it difficult to draw a steady breath. when the doctor's voice finally breaks through the silence, you can scarcely find the words, your voice quivering with an almost palpable dread.

“i found blood on my... underwear,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. the silence on the other end of the line is deafening, and you can almost feel the doctor weighing her words carefully. she asks you a few questions, her tone gentle yet serious, and you answer as best as you can, your mind still reeling from the shock.

after what feels like an eternity, the doctor speaks again, her voice laced with a somber gravity. “i'm sorry, but based on what you've described, it sounds like you might be experiencing a miscarriage. i need you to come in as soon as possible.” the weight of their words hangs heavy in the air, each syllable sinking into your heart like a stone, the reality of the situation slowly unraveling before you.

the words hit you like a tidal wave, the world around you blurring as you struggle to process what you've just heard. you sink to the floor, the phone slipping from your grasp, tears cascading down your face in relentless streams.

the dreams you cherished, the plans you meticulously crafted, all dissolve into a painful void as you grapple with the overwhelming grief that now envelops you. every heartbeat echoes with the ache of shattered hopes, and the room, once filled with the warmth of your aspirations, now feels cold and indifferent.

as the reality of the doctor's words settles in, you find yourself adrift in a sea of sorrow, each wave pulling you deeper into the abyss of despair.

you immediately grabbed your purse and dashed out of the house, your heart pounding in your chest. with trembling hands, you fumbled with your keys before finally getting into your car. the engine roared to life, and you sped down the streets, your mind racing as fast as the vehicle, every second feeling like an eternity as you rushed to the hospital.

you felt a sense of fear gnaw at your very being, a relentless anxiety that seemed to consume you from the inside out. your mind was a whirlwind of dark possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. you couldn't bear the thought of something happening to your baby, the mere idea sending shivers down your spine and tightening the grip of dread around your heart.

when you arrived, you didn't hesitate for a moment. you immediately sprang out of your car, the door slamming shut behind you with a resounding echo that reverberated through the parking garage. the urgency of the situation propelled you forward, your footsteps quick and determined as you dashed towards the hospital entrance, the weight of your fears heavy on your shoulders.

your heart pounded with an almost unbearable intensity, each beat a stark reminder of the fear coursing through your veins. the sterile smell of the hospital, mingling with the cold, clinical atmosphere, only served to heighten your anxiety. every antiseptic scent and every stark, white surface seemed to amplify the dread that gripped your soul, making the air feel heavy and suffocating.

you sat alone in the waiting room, the incessant ticking of the clock mirroring the frantic rhythm of your racing heart. the walls seemed to close in on you, their oppressive presence amplifying the suffocating silence that was almost deafening. every second stretched into an eternity, the stillness of the room magnifying the turmoil within your soul.

the doctor had finally called you in, breaking the agonizing wait. you immediately rose from your seat, your movements swift and purposeful, as you walked into the office. each step felt heavy with anticipation, the gravity of the moment weighing on your every stride.

you sit down in front of the doctor, her eyes brimming with a mixture of concern and understanding that seemed to pierce through the tension in the room. "can you tell me about the symptoms you've been experiencing?" she asks, her voice gentle and soothing, as if trying to ease the weight of your worries with her empathetic tone.

you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before you begin to explain. "i've been experiencing some bleeding and cramping," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "it started a few days ago and hasn't stopped." each word feels heavy, laden with the anxiety and uncertainty that has been gnawing at you.

the doctor nods, her expression one of focused attentiveness. "how heavy has the bleeding been?" she inquires, her tone measured and deliberate. "and are the cramps constant, or do they come and go?” her questions are precise, each one delicately probing the depths of your discomfort.

"the bleeding is more than just spotting, but not as heavy as a period," you reply, your voice tinged with unease. "the cramps come and go, but they're quite painful." each word you utter feels like a small release of the tension that's been building inside you, as you lay bare the nuances of your symptoms.

"i understand," the doctor says softly, her voice a gentle balm to your frayed nerves. "have you noticed any tissue passing?" she inquires, her eyes searching yours for any sign that might provide further insight into your condition.

you think for a moment, gathering your thoughts before responding. "yes, i did notice some tissue," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "it was small and grayish." the memory of it sends a shiver down your spine, the image lingering in your mind like a shadow.

the doctor takes a moment, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and professionalism. "i'm sorry you're going through this," she says softly. "we'll need to conduct a pelvic exam to determine if your cervix is opening or if there's any remaining tissue. is that okay with you?" her words are gentle, yet carry the weight of necessity, each one carefully chosen to convey both concern and the importance of the next steps.

you nod, a tumultuous blend of anxiety and relief coursing through you. "yes, that's okay," you murmur, your voice tinged with apprehension yet underlined by a quiet resolve.

“alright then,” the doctor says, their voice steady and reassuring, a calm anchor in the storm of your emotions. "we'll also perform an ultrasound to check for the baby's heartbeat and development. in addition, we'll take some blood tests to measure your hCG levels. this comprehensive approach will help us understand what's happening and guide us in providing the best care for you."

you nod once more, feeling a wave of appreciation for their calm and compassionate approach. "okay, let's do it," you say, your voice steadying as you draw strength from their reassurance.

the doctor smiles gently, their eyes reflecting a warm reassurance. "we'll take good care of you," they say, their voice imbued with a comforting steadiness. "let's get started."

»--•--«

after the tests are done, the doctor returns to your side, her expression thoughtful yet kind. "we've completed the pelvic exam, ultrasound, and blood tests," she begins, her voice carrying a gentle gravity. "i know this has been a lot to go through, and i truly appreciate your patience throughout this process."

you nod, feeling a complex mix of exhaustion and anxiety swirling within you. "what did you find out?" you ask, your voice tinged with a quiet urgency.

the doctor takes a deep breath before speaking, her eyes reflecting a profound empathy. "the ultrasound revealed that there is no heartbeat, and your cervix is beginning to open," she says, her voice gentle yet steady. "the blood tests confirm that your hCG levels are dropping. i'm deeply sorry to inform you, but it appears you are experiencing a miscarriage."

the words hit you with the force of a tidal wave, and an overwhelming wave of sadness washes over you. the doctor places a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch a small anchor in the storm. "i know this is incredibly difficult to hear," she says softly. "we'll discuss the next steps and ensure you have all the support you need during this challenging time."

you nod, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of uncertainty and sorrow. "what do i need to do now?" you ask, the words escaping your lips like fragile whispers in the wind.

the doctor explains gently, her voice a soothing balm to your raw emotions. "we have a few options," she begins. "sometimes the body will naturally pass the tissue on its own, but we can also use medication to help expedite the process. in certain cases, a minor surgical procedure called a dilation and curettage (D&C) might be necessary. we'll take the time to discuss which option feels right for you and ensure you are fully supported throughout."

you take a deep breath, struggling to process the torrent of information and emotions swirling within you. "i'll need some time to think about it," you say, your voice tinged with both hesitation and resolve.

"of course," the doctor replies softly, her voice a gentle whisper of reassurance. "take all the time you need. we're here for you, and we'll support you through every step of this process, ensuring you're never alone in this journey."

you nod, feeling a small measure of comfort in her words, like a warm blanket on a cold night. "thank you," you murmur, your voice carrying a blend of gratitude and vulnerability.

as you sit there, the room feels heavy with unspoken emotions, each breath laden with the weight of the moment. the doctor's eyes meet yours, her gaze steady and compassionate. "it's important to take care of yourself during this time. lean on your loved ones for support, and don't hesitate to reach out to us if you have any questions or need anything."

you nod once more, feeling a tear slip down your cheek, tracing a path of sorrow. "i will," you whisper, your voice trembling. "i just... i never thought this would happen."

the doctor squeezes your shoulder gently, her touch a comforting anchor in the storm. "it's a heartbreaking experience, and it's okay to grieve," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "everyone's journey through this is different, and there's no right or wrong way to feel."

you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle within you. "thank you for understanding," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with gratitude and sorrow.

the doctor stands, her presence a quiet reassurance. "i'll give you some privacy now," she says softly, allowing you a moment to gather your thoughts. "when you're ready, we can discuss the next steps in more detail."

you watch as she leaves the room, her footsteps a fading echo. a mix of sorrow and relief washes over you, intertwining like the strands of an intricate tapestry. the path ahead seems shrouded in uncertainty, yet a glimmer of solace resides in the knowledge that you are not facing it alone.

»--•--«

you stood in the kitchen, stirring the pasta in a rhythmic, almost mechanical motion. tears streamed down your face, each one a silent testament to the grief that clung to your heart. the memory of your miscarriage loomed large, an unshakable shadow that clouded every thought and movement.

you both had envisioned a different reality, one filled with laughter, tiny footsteps, and the joy of nurturing a new life. instead, you were left grappling with the heart-wrenching void, questioning the fairness of a world that could give so much hope only to take it away. it wasn’t fair, and the weight of that unfairness pressed heavily upon your spirits, leaving you to navigate the murky waters of grief and loss together.

the scales of justice seemed to have been tipped against you. it was an unfathomable cruelty that your baby, so full of potential and promise, was taken in such a manner. the dreams and aspirations you had for that precious life, the myriad of possibilities that could have unfolded, were unjustly extinguished before they even had a chance to bloom.

“i’m home!” matt announced, his voice echoing through the hallway as he gently closed the door behind him. he casually tossed his bag onto the couch, the weight of the day visibly lifting from his shoulders, and made his way towards you with a warm, familiar smile.

"hi baby," he whispered, a tender smile playing on his lips as his arms snaked around your waist. his hand found its way to your stomach, caressing it gently, a gesture meant to comfort but only serving to deepen the ache in your heart.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses. “how are my two babies doing?” he chuckled softly, his voice a tender blend of affection and humor. the words, meant to be endearing, caused your emotional defenses to crumble, the weight of his love and your own heartache intertwining painfully.

you put the spoon down, a pathetic sob escaping your lips, shattering the silence. matt immediately halted his actions, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, concern etched deeply into his features.

“hey, hey,” he murmurs, gently turning you to face him, his hands coming up to cup your face with tender care. “what’s wrong, hm?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing the contours of your features, his eyes searching yours for the source of your distress.

you shook your head, leaning deeper into his touch, the tears still streaming down your face like a relentless river. his warmth was a fragile solace, yet it couldn't stem the flow of your sorrow.

“matt,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you struggled to steady yourself. “i... i lost the baby.” the words tumbled out, each one heavy with the weight of your grief, your voice a fragile echo of the heartbreak that consumed you.

his eyes widened, the color draining from his face. “what? no, no, that can't be,” he stammered, his hands trembling as they held your face. “when? how?” his voice was a mixture of disbelief and desperation, searching your eyes for answers that seemed too cruel to be true.

you couldn't hold back the sobs any longer, collapsing into his chest. “it happened this morning. i tried to call you, but you were in the meeting. i didn’t want to leave a message like that.” your voice was barely a whisper, each word laced with the agony of the morning's events, your tears soaking into his shirt as you clung to him for support.

matt's arms tightened around you, his own tears falling silently. “oh, god, y/n, i’m so sorry. i should have been here. i should have...” his voice cracked under the weight of his guilt, each word a testament to the anguish he felt for not being by your side when you needed him most. his tears mingled with yours, a silent promise of shared sorrow and unspoken regret.

you shook your head, clutching his shirt. “there was nothing you could have done. it just happened.” your voice, though filled with sorrow, sought to absolve him of the guilt he carried, knowing deep down that fate had spun its cruel thread beyond anyone's control.

he pulled you closer, his voice a choked whisper. “we’ll get through this together, i promise. i love you so much.” his words, though strained, carried the weight of his unwavering commitment, each syllable a desperate plea to hold onto the love that bound you both in this storm of sorrow.

the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing the weight of a loss that words could never fully capture. the silence between you was profound, a testament to the shared grief that transcended verbal expression, each heartbeat a silent acknowledgment of the deep, unspoken bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain.

as the minutes passed, the silence between you grew heavy, each breath a reminder of the emptiness that now filled your hearts. matt's fingers gently traced patterns on your back, trying to soothe the unsoothable.

“i keep thinking about the nursery,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “we were so close to finishing it.” the unspoken dreams and hopes that room represented now hung in the air like a specter, and his words were laced with a poignant mix of love and sorrow, each syllable a painful reminder of what could have been.

you nodded, your tears soaking into his shirt. “i know. i was just looking at the crib yesterday, imagining...” your voice trailed off, choked by the weight of unspoken dreams and the cruel reality that had shattered them. each tear that fell was a silent testament to the myriad of hopes and visions that now lay in fragments, scattered like fragile pieces of a once-bright future.

your voice broke again, and matt held you tighter, his own tears mingling with yours. “we’ll find a way to honor them,” he said softly. “somehow, we’ll keep their memory alive.” his words, though whispered, carried the weight of a solemn vow, each tear a testament to the profound love and grief that bound you both.

time seemed to stretch and compress all at once. you could hear the distant hum of the city outside, life continuing as if nothing had changed. but for you, everything had. matt's hand found yours, squeezing it gently. "remember the first time we found out?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "we were so scared, and yet so happy." his words, laden with a bittersweet nostalgia, transported you back to that moment of fragile joy and tentative hope.

you managed a small, sad smile. "i remember. we stayed up all night talking about names and dreams." your voice, though tinged with sorrow, carried the echoes of those long, hopeful conversations.

each name and dream you had whispered into the night now seemed like distant stars, their light dimmed but not extinguished. the memory of those hours, filled with laughter and anticipation, stood in stark contrast to the present, a poignant reminder of the fragile beauty of hope.

matt's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "those dreams aren't gone, y/n. they're just... different now. we'll dream new dreams, together." his voice trembled with a mix of lingering sorrow and resilient hope, each word a delicate thread weaving a new tapestry of possibilities.

you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence. "i don't know how to move forward from this, matt. it hurts so much." your voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of your anguish, each word trembling with raw emotion.

the warmth of his presence was a fragile anchor in the storm of your sorrow, a small solace amidst the overwhelming pain. as you nestled closer, the unspoken understanding between you deepened, a silent acknowledgment of the shared burden and the uncertain path ahead.

he kissed the top of your head, his voice tender and resolute. "we'll take it one day at a time. some days will be harder than others, but we'll face them together. we have to believe that there's still light ahead, even if it's hard to see right now."

taglist — @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @stinkytinkywinky @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturniolos

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band--psycho · 29 days

Text

Zayne x Reader - Stars

Main Masterlist / Zayne Masterlist / Join My Taglist

This is my first Zayne story and I'm so excited to share it with you all, and it's also my first story on here in nearly a year!

Please be kind; reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continues support and I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death and injuries, spoilers for LaDS

It wasn’t often, if ever, that Zayne felt scared, but when he saw that the bed you were meant to be in at the hospital was empty, it made his heart panic.

You were in no condition to be out of bed after what you’d been through.

You needed to rest and process what had just happened.

His mind was racing through hundreds of scenarios as he began checking round the hospital for you.

What if you’d collapsed somewhere and no one found you?

What if there were injuries that they’d missed that caused you pain later?

What if, to avoid everything that happened, you went back to work after nearly being blown up?

He could feel his heart rate quickening and it wasn’t just because he was speedily walking around the hospital.

He needed to find you.

He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you, especially while you’re meant to be under his care.

He’d tried calling you, but every time your phone just kept on ringing, you never answered it.

He’d pretty much given up all hope when he started to call Tara, but then out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone sitting on a bench shadowed in the darkness of the night sky.

He stopped calling Tara as he walked over the figure sitting on the bench, trying not to get his hopes up, knowing that it could be anyone sitting outside.

But when he heard a quiet sigh traveling along the wind, he knew it was you.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave as he got closer to you.

You were still here.

You were still safe

And you were okay, besides the superficial injuries you’d obtained during the incident.

Zayne cleared his throat slightly, in a way to make himself known before he sat on the bench next to you.

You didn't say anything.

You didn’t even so much as acknowledge him.

You just continued looking up at the stars, glimmering in the darkness of the night sky.

“Are…you okay?” He knew it was a stupid question to ask the moment it left his lips, he knew how close you were with your family and that he could only begin to imagine how painful it was to lose them the way you did.

But he just needed to hear your voice.

He needed you to tell him that physically you were okay.

But for the next few months all he was met with was the same familiar silence he was greeted with when they first brought you to the hospital.

“The stars look lovely tonight,” you said eventually; keeping your eyes fixed to the sky, completely avoiding Zaynes question.

“I meant physically,” Zayne clarified, his eyes quickly scanning over you, in an attempt to make sure you weren’t bleeding from any of the cuts you’d gotten from the explosion.

You tore your eyes from the sky and looked at Zayne.

You could see in his eyes how worried he was about you; it made your heart ache knowing that you’d worried him like that.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, forcing a small smile onto your lips, before turning your attention back to the stars.

You weren’t fine, not even physically.

Your body ached like you’d just done an elite hunter’s training course, twice. Your hands kept shaking, the nurses said that this was because of the shock. And there was a large bruise that covered the entire right side of your torso that hurt every time you moved.

But that was nothing compared to the pain of your grief stricken heart.

Zayne knew your words were a lie, he could always tell when you were lying, even when you were both younger.

All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around you and hold you as you let out all the emotion that was festering away inside of you.

But he was at work.

He had to remain professional, no matter how much his heart craved to comfort you.

“It’s getting cold,” Zayne began, his voice once again making your attention turn back to him, “we should go inside.”

The last thing you needed to get was an illness from staying out in the cold for too long, that’s why he was trying so hard to get you to come back inside, willingly.

“Grandma used to tell me when I was younger-” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, glancing at Zayne and then back at the stars, “that when people die, their souls become stars.”

It was something she told you as a child when you first went to live with her after her parents' deaths.

Of course, as you got older, you realized that tha couldn’t be possible and that stars were just suns burning up far away.

But now; after losing the last few members of the family you had left, you wished you could be a child again and solely believe that their souls were stars so she could stare up at the sky and feel close to them.

“Just because they’re not stars, doesn’t mean they aren’t still with you,” Zayne softly said, placing one of his hands over yours.

It wasn’t until you’d felt his touch that you realized his truly cold outside it actually was.

“How long until I can go back to work?” You asked, hoping that he would say that you could leave in the morning

You needed to distract yourself, keep yourself busy and find answers to the questions that raced through your mind, seemed like a good way to start.

Zayne knew this.

And he wanted to give you the answer you so clearly wanted, but as a medical professional he could not, in good conscience, do that.

“We’ll discuss it after a few days of rest,” he answered, hearing another sigh slip past your lips.

“We should go inside,” he repeated, lifting his hand off of yours as he rose from the bench.

You took one final look at the stars before you nodded your head in agreement and stood up from the bench, wincing slightly from the bruise in your side as you did so.

“You need to rest,” Zayne stated in his doctor voice, as he slowly began to make his way back inside the hospital.

You followed him.

You followed him all the way back to your hospital room.

“I trust you not to go wandering again,”

You simply nodded again and got into bed, not wanting to argue with him about how much you hated in hospitals.

“Perhaps, if it’s warmer, we can look at the stars together tomorrow,” he offered with a soft smile.

“That’d be…nice,” you answered, shocked yet undoubtedly grateful at Zaynes sudden offer.

“Rest,” were the last words he said to you before flicking off the light switch to your room and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

You tried.

You really did try to rest; to close your eyes and just let sleep take over.

But your mind wouldn’t let you sleep, no matter how exhausted you were feeling.

So instead you just lied there in the darkness, watching as the hours went by.

Watching as the stars slowly faded away and the sun slowly began to rise.

And all that time, Zayne stayed close to your room, just in case you needed anything, or in case you decided to wander off again, at least that way he could accompany you if you did.

Tagging some people who might enjoy this :

@xacatalepsyx @book-dragon03 @little-diable @cyberhexed @withmyteeth @worm-in-a-bug @secretsandwriting @shardsaq @tasha-1994 @milkteeboba @mrdarcyifhewere21stcentury @ollieneedsamilkshake @hiqhkey @fangirlsfandomsss @arcadia-of-pluto @cute-little-crow

#zayne x reader #zayne imagines #zayne imagine #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds #l&ds x reader #l&ds imagines #l&ds imagine #zayne x you #zayne x mc

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sabyfangirl · 7 months

Text

Stay With Me

Summary:

Let's just say that sometimes, when you're having an atrocious night, you need that special someone to be there for you...

“Chris!” Martin called for his brother. “Chris?!”

He was nowhere to be found.

Martin was running through a forest, unlike any other forest he’d ventured in before. He dodged branches, jumped over fallen tree trunks... It seemed as though the trail would never end.

The sun was shining through the tree leaves, making his surroundings all but beautiful. Yet, it all felt so... ominous.

Finally, he slowed to a stop. He thought he had caught a familiar shade of green from the corner of his eye.

Maybe even a hint of red.

He backed up and went to take a look.

…

His face dropped at the sight of his brother lying unmoving on the ground, like a marionette with no puppeteer.

“CHRIS!!!” Martin cried out as he dropped to his knees.

He quickly held his little brother in his lap, and nearly screamed at the sight of blood covering his abdomen. It didn’t take long before his shirt got stained, though it was the least of his worries at the moment as he was too busy trying to put pressure on the wound.

Chris gave a faint whimper. His eyes were closed, almost in a lifeless way…

With a bloody, shaky hand, Martin felt his brother’s pulse: it was weak. Nearly non-existent.

“No, no, no- ” In a wave of panic, Martin held his brother’s face close to his. “Chris, look at me. Look at me, I’m right here!” He begged him as he swiftly brushed his brother’s hair back. He held his hand tight, heavy tears forming in his eyes.

Only two barely audible coughs came out.

“Y-You’re gonna be just fine, I-I promise!” his voice cracked hard.

What even happened? Was it a wild animal?!

“M-Martin…”

Martin gasped softly hearing his brother’s frail voice.

With the little strength he had left, Chris forced his eyes half-open, barely . He was terrifyingly pale; he had lost a lot of blood…

He met his brother’s tormented gaze and, without a word, he simply smiled bittersweetly.

Martin’s eyes grew wide.

No. This couldn’t be happening .

“Chris…” Martin shook his head, his little brother still smiling at him. “Don’t do this to me.”

Chris’ eyes began to close, his hand gradually losing grip on his brother’s.

“Chris?”

Finally, his fingers were resting on the edges of his brother’s palm.

Martin was left staring at his little brother’s lifeless face, eyes wide from shocked despair.

“Christopher…” A pained cry escaped his chest. “Don’t do this to me, bro. Come on…” He gave his body a vain shake. “No, no…” His voice was feeble, nearly broken.

With trembling hands, Martin slowly cupped his little brother’s bloody face. His poor, precious little brother . His tears began to pour down harder than they ever did. He gasped silently as he buried his brother’s numb face in his shoulder. He soothingly ran his hand through his hair, his lips pressed against his forehead. His glassy eyes wandered into nothingness as he painfully processed the fact that he was no longer there, no longer with him.

“No, no, no… Please. Please, don’t do this.”

Eventually, his sobs became louder and interminable, tightly hugging his dear little brother’s limp body in his arms, his tears falling onto his hair.

“ Oh, God. ”

He could already feel the crushing weight of grief pushing down on him, life seeming to have lost all meaning all of a sudden.

“Please, God. No…”

What would he do without him?!

His companion. His best friend.

The world around him began to spin, his tears blinding him from looking at his brother’s face. Then-

“AH!”

Martin’s head was pounding. His entire body was soaked with sweat. He was gasping for air, clenching his chest hard. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest any moment. Tears were stinging his eyes and staining his face. Heavily disoriented, he couldn’t even make out where he was, and the darkness in the room didn’t help much.

“Martin?”

He suddenly heard him, his eyes growing wide in the dark. That voice .

As he looked to the side, Martin found a pair of brown eyes glowing in the dark. He wanted to say something, but it almost felt like his voice had been stolen. He was paralyzed .

He sensed someone getting out of bed on the other side of the room.

Click .

A night lamp was turned on.

Chris, who looked very much alive , went over to check on his brother. As he sat on the side of his bed, Martin’s eyes remained fixated on his brother’s visage.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chris asked with concern, as his brother only stared at him like he was a ghost. “Martin, you’re kind of freaking me out,” his voice cracked a little.

Martin was pale as a sheet. His eyes scanned Chris’ abdomen: no blood.

At that moment, the image of his brother’s blood-covered body flashed before his eyes.

“ AHH! ” he let out a loud, panicked CRY .

“Martin!” Chris immediately tried to calm him down.

Martin kept screaming, hot tears flowing down his face.

“HEY! Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. Breathe. Breathe.” Chris held his brother’s hands tight, trying to look into his eyes.

“I-I can’t! I can’t!” Martin was practically gasping for air.

“I’m right here, shh…” Chris slowly leaned in for a hug. He gently rocked him back and forth, just like Martin always does to him when he’s in distress.

It took a while, but Martin finally started to calm down a bit, his eyes now bloodshot from all his tears. He held onto his little brother as if the whole world was about to fall apart.

It was a miracle that none of the crew members had woken up so far. (Although Jimmy could be cast aside for that.) It had been a long day, after all.

Chris subconsciously slid into bed, his brother’s arms locked around him as though he was a treasured possession.

In a way, he was .

Chris tried to get his brother to lie down. He could hear his heart pounding hard; he frowned. His brother’s tears had really soaked his hair. Nonetheless, he didn’t mind. The bed was shaking from his brother’s agitation.

Several minutes later, Martin let out a prolonged, heavy and shaky sigh. He sniffled as he wiped his face in his pillow before taking a deep breath.

“Sorry- I-I’m so sorry- ” his voice was terribly raspy.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Chris rubbed his back comfortingly. “I’ll go get you some water.”

As soon as he shifted to get up, Martin instinctively locked his hand on his brother’s wrist like a handcuff.

“ NO! ”

Chris nearly jumped at his reaction. He looked down at his brother’s pleading eyes, his hand tightening on his wrist so hard that he winced from the pain.

“Martin?” Chris’ brows furrowed.

“S-Stay with me,” Martin begged.

Reading his brother’s eyes, Chris understood. “Okay, then. I’ll help you get to the main room and grab a glass of water,” he suggested with a tender tone.

Martin scanned his brother’s eyes deeply, and with the soreness in his throat, it was all enough to convince him. He gave a small, quivery nod.

Carefully, Chris reached out two hands, one to hold his brother’s, and the other wrapped around him for stability.

Martin’s knees were trembling so hard, doing an incredible job at making the trip from the brothers’ room to the main room a challenge of its own. He felt weak, so close to just collapsing onto the floor right then and there. Despite the fact that his brother was heavier than him, Chris was determined to support his weight as much as he could.

When they made it to the main room, Chris led his brother to the center table where he could rest while he went over to the sink to fill him up a glass of water.

That small, insignificant distance between the sink and where Martin was sitting were enough to make him dreadful to the core. He couldn’t even swallow anymore. His shoulders were tense. He kept his drowsy eyes on his little brother, refusing to even blink , fearing that in that minuscule fraction of time, he would just vanish into thin air.

He watched as Chris brought him a glass full of refreshing water before sitting next to him. It took him a few seconds before having a good hold of the glass; his hands were still a bit shaky. But the cool liquid was all but soothing for his throat, making that small “trip” all worth it.

Putting the glass down, Martin sighed heavily. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Chris put a hand on his shoulder and, thanks to the bit of moonlight shining through the rooftop, Martin was able to see his smile. A smile he wouldn’t trade for the whole world.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Chris finally said in a hushed tone.

Without another word, he accompanied his older brother back to their room, Martin seeming a little less shaken. Regardless of how small the change was, it made Chris feel a little at ease.

Once they made it back, Martin lay down in bed, refusing to let go of his brother who had no choice but to stay by his side. He ran his hand through Chris’ hair as a coping mechanism of some sort, cherishing each second of it. Normally, Chris would be giving him a hard time for touching his hair, but this was an exception he was more than willing to make.

Silence.

“You wanna… talk about it?”

Martin’s heart skipped a beat. He shook his head hard, tightening his arms around his little brother.

Chris sighed. “You don’t have to... But it might help you feel better?” His voice was calm and soothing.

Martin swallowed hard.

“I- ” he found it hard to talk. His eyes began to water again. “I’m just glad you’re here. With me .” He pulled Chris even closer.

Chris felt another tear fall on his hair. His brother’s words deeply perturbed him. He remained silent, snuggling deeper into the embrace.

All through the night, Martin was almost certain he’d never be able to go back to sleep. But Chris refused to fall asleep before he did. He could tell Martin was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“You need sleep, bro,” Chris finally said.

Martin didn’t say anything.

…

“I was running in a forest,” he suddenly started.

Chris was all ears.

“And I was looking for you…” His voice was getting more shaky with each word. “And when I found you- ” A small squeak escaped his throat. “You- ” He swallowed hard. “Y-You were- ” He began to tremble again, sounding as though he would burst into tears once more.

Chris could feel his fingers digging into his shirt and arms. “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay now.” He brushed his hand against his brother’s agonized face. “Whatever happened to me, just know it was never real.” He looked up to find tears already seeping through the corners of his brother’s eyes.

“But i-it felt so real ,” Martin’s lips were shaking badly. He never sounded so scared, so vulnerable.

It almost made Chris burst into tears.

“Hey, look at me.” Chris held his face and looked deep into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?” His voice was comforting and reassuring. “When you wake up, you’ll find me right here.”

Martin looked down at his brother for the longest time, sensing the sincerity in his eyes. “Promise?” He gave him a longing look.

Chris caressed his hand. “I promise.”

With a tear-stained face, Martin gave him a somewhat relaxed smile. “Okay.” He seemed a little pensive.

After a while longer, Martin finally yawned. “Thanks, Chris.” He gently rubbed his face against his little brother’s hair, scooching as close as possible.

It didn’t take long before Martin gave in as he was drifting back to sleep.

Soon, Chris could hear him snoring softly. With a tired smile, he carefully pulled the blanket over them both, his brother’s arms strongly locked around him.

Chris hid his face in his brother’s shoulder and curled into a little ball, Martin now seeming at peace for the first time since he’d woken up.

At last, Chris closed his eyes, and whispered, “Good night, big bro.”

Notes:

Thank you @littlecrittereli for the wonderful cover you made for this fic!

#wild kratts #chris kratt #martin kratt #kratt brothers #wild kratts fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst #brotherly fluff #nightmare #one shot

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laelior · 3 months

Text

The ride back from Rift Station is eerily silent.

Liara sits near the back, contemplating the hands folded in her lap. She’s earned the numbness that radiates from her.

Shepard might as well be a statue at the front of the tram, her back ramrod straight and her shotgun slung across her lap, one hand resting on the stock. She keeps a quiet vigil, her eyes continually scanning the track ahead of them for signs of danger. Kaidan hasn’t seen her move once since they’d boarded the tram, in a stark departure from her typical restless energy. He puts it down to deference for Liara’s grief and the unnerving encounter with the rachni.

Kaidan is somewhere in the middle, pacing from side to side while keeping an eye on both Liara and the peripheral sight lines as the tram hurtles along back toward the central station.

The tram lurches around a bend, and the statue at the front of the tram winces. It's subtle, as is the way she shifts her left shoulder. Someone else might not have caught it. But Kaidan does.

He sighs and makes his way to the front of the tram to kneel down in front of her, looking her over critically for the source of her wince.

“Alright, show me where it is,” he says, quietly so as not to disturb Liara.

“Where what is?” She barely looks at him, eyes flicking down to him before resuming their scan of the horizon ahead.

“Whatever injury you’re trying to power through. Let me take a look at it."

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Go check on T’soni, she could probably use it.” She waves her hand, shoeing him away like she would a fly, but Kaidan is having none of it. Not today. Not after all they’ve been through.

“Liara’s in shock. She needs time to process what happened, not a medi-gel patch. Now quit being stubborn and show me.” He stares her down, unwilling to concede this battle of wills to her and her mulish pride. Before she can protest, he takes the shotgun from her lap and places it on the floor–easily within reach for someone with a normal range of motion. Her nostrils flare in annoyance but she finally meets his gaze.

“For fuck’s sake, Alenko,” she snaps quietly. She moves her left arm away from her side and Kaidan sucks in a breath. There, the plates of her Onyx armor have blackened and cracked, leaving a fist-sized dent right over her ribs.

Carefully, he picks at a piece of ablative ceramic and it flakes away in his hand like so much tissue. The undersuit is tattered, showing the bruised expanses of her skin underneath and two bony knobs sitting close to the surface. “How…?

“One of the commandos. Hit me with a warp and shotgun blast right after.” Her accompanying shrug is not effortless. “Maybe shorted out the medi-gel delivery system, too,” she concedes with a quiet grunt.

He pulls a spare medi-gel pack from his own armor and breaks it open, gingerly applying the clear, viscous substance directly to her skin. His field medic training had never specifically advised this particular method of applying medi-gel, but there had been a number of edge cases that training had failed to cover. She hisses when he presses just a little too hard.

“Sorry,” he murmurs reflexively. He peels off his gauntlet for a gentler touch and sets it next to her shotgun. The medi-gel is cold on his fingers, a sharp contrast to the heat of her skin under his touch.

“These look broken, Shepard.” He hovers two fingers just over her fifth and sixth ribs, careful not to touch.

“I’ve had worse.” It takes all of Kaidan’s self-control not to grind his forehead into his palm.

“The moment we get back to Port Hanshan, you’re going to see Chakwas,” he says flatly. It is not a request.

“Are you giving me orders now, Lieutenant?” There’s a cold edge to her voice and a look of hard steel in her eyes. Another time, that would have made him back off. But now…now, he meets her hard stare with one of his own.

“I don’t have to. Chakwas can still countermand you on medical matters.” She glares down at him, using that look he’s seen a hundred times now to bend others to her will. But he refuses to break under the weight of it.

And then she does the last thing he expects.

One side of her mouth turns up in a dry, lopsided smile.

Kaidan quickly drops his eyes, feeling a flush start to creep up his neck, and finishes applying the medi-gel. He fumbles to get his armored glove back on once he’s done. He resumes his place in the middle of the tram, but somehow he just knows she’s still smiling that little smile of hers.

When the tram finally slows to a stop at the central station, he’s still not sure who won that round.

#mass effect #shenko #beth shepard #kaidan alenko #a.k.a. the story of how she broke her ribs on noveria #been meaning to write this down for a while #ficlet #my writing #lae writes #pre-relationship #beth can be a real ass #and of course vulnerability is to be avoided at all costs

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awkward-tension-art · 4 months

Text

Clones and Your Grief HC's

I’m coping with the fact that a family member died by writing headcanons for copy-paste-men. Yes, this is entirely self indulgent. Yes, I am writing based on what I had felt/gone through in the last 24 hours.

CW: Death of family member, reader is gender neutral, This isn’t proofread at all, grief, mourning, If i miss a tag lmk

Clones: Rex, Fives, Wolffe, Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair

Minors DNI

You got the call this morning. Right before you got ready for work, you got the call of your family member passing away in the night. no warning. all so sudden.

It felt like you were struck with a speeder. Then, you felt nothing.

Logically, you knew it was shock. Your brain was overloaded, and you were unable to process. You weren't incapacitated yet, so you got up.

You have work to do.

So you went to work, shutting down and doing what you needed to do in order to make it through the day. You were in a daze the entire time.

Time went by too fast but also too slow.

You don’t even know when you got home. You just know that you clocked out and walked into your apartment. Unsurprisingly, your clone lover, who had a key, wanted to see you that night.

He took one look at you and knew something was seriously wrong.

When you told him, the grief finally hit you.

Rex

Will hold you, remaining silent.

He's lost brothers on the field and was forced to continue as if nothing happened. He knows why you shut down due to shock that morning.

So he understands.

He's just going to hold you tightly, and not let go until you do.

Rex is well aware that sometimes talking about it isn't going to help. So he keeps quiet and lets you speak when your ready.

He's a silent comfort. Let's you come to him if you need him to hug you, listen to you or cuddle you.

Fives

Immediately his arms are around you and he's whispering comfort

He might get teary-eyed too out of pure empathy.

He knows grief. he knows pain. and he knows what your feeling. So he wants to help you through it.

He had shut down too before, and only truly felt the emotion afterward. He gets how numbness might hit you in waves.

He'll go with you to the funeral if you want. he just wants to be by your side to help you.

Expect a lot of cuddling, honestly. He just wants to hold you and not let go until he's certain your alright.

Wolffe

He was one of 4 survivors of his entire legion getting killed. Trust me, he knows the feeling of grief.

His brothers and him all leaned on each other through their grief, and he's going to do the same for you.

He'll ask what you need, and act accordingly.

He's a steadfast shoulder to cry on. Like Rex, he doesn't talk much.

You'll have to go to him, he isn't going to push or pry. He knows if he tries to force you to feel what your not ready to feel, it'll do more harm than good.

He'll hold you, keep you close and try to give you everything you need.

Hunter

He knows something is wrong even before you walk through your door.

He's the type to try and comfort with the usual words of 'It'll be ok' or 'they're in a better place.'

If this doesn't help you much, he's flexible and patient. He'll adapt to what you need from him. Space? you got it. Closeness? he's there.

He's going to catch on very quickly if you don't eat or drink properly, so he's going to be pushy in that regard.

Hunter isn't going to let you abandon yourself because of your grief.

Like I said, he's patient and flexible, he'll do whatever he needs to help you through your grief.

Echo

He's the softest out of all of them. He's going to hold you, kiss your face and just be there for you.

Like Fives, he's extremely empathetic. He'll shed a tear just because your crying.

He'll take care of you, honestly. bring you meals, brush your hair (if you want), help you to bed, everything.

Your his heart, and he's in actual pain that your grieving.

Though, if you shut down the same way you did that morning, he's going to worry

He understands how quickly someone can spiral in grief, and he's going to move the entire galaxy to help you.

Wrecker

Like Rex, he's holding you and never letting go.

He's going to try and distract you, make jokes, get you outside into the sun, or get you moving at the very least

He won't allow you to close yourself off. He'll give you space, but he won't let you shut him down completely.

Also wants to attend the funeral with you, if you allow him. He'd be holding your hand the entire time. Though, if it's a family-only event, he understands.

He's pretty quick to pick up on what you need. You need someone to hold you? he's there. You need to get your grief-driven anger out? He's got a pipe ready and some scrap piles that need beating up.

He's going to be by your side through it all.

Tech

First thing he asks is 'What happened?'

Admittedly, he gives some standard responses, such as 'I'm sorry for your loss' and other things like that.

If it doesn't help much, he stumbles slightly. He knows your going through mourning. He knows whats happening logically. but he can't logic his way through this.

So, Tech is going to act with his gut feeling, and try his best to help and comfort you.

He does some researching and looks more into how best to help you through your grief. He's fully prepared depending on the stage of grief you've hit.

He'll talk you through the bargaining phase. Help you get your anger out. Make sure your eating and taking care of yourself through the depression phase.

He's with you, to the best of his ability.

Crosshair

He's not going to say a lot. his words are minimal at best, instead opting to physically comfort you.

He becomes...protective. more so than usual.

It's because your at an extremely vulnerable position emotionally and mentally. He'll be damned if he lets something or someone cause you any more pain and grief.

He's going to attend the funeral with you. if its family-only he's going to go anyway and remain at a distance. Practically shadow you.

Crosshair is going to be extremely sweet and soft holding you. He doesn't want you to bottle up your emotions, so he's going to just wrap his arms around you and let you cry.

Again, his comfort is more physical rather than verbal.

#reader insert #tcw x reader #captain rex x reader #fives x reader #hunter x reader #echo x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #commander wolffe x reader #tbb x reader #tcw x you #star wars tcw #star wars the bad batch #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #star wars headcanons

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impala-dreamer · 3 months

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Blind Faith

A Supernatural Story

~What if the cure was never really a cure? What if the curse was too strong and her love was too weak?~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester.

9,760 Words

NSFW, Dark Fic, DbCn, NCn, Extreme Violence, Blood, Extreme Angst, Major Character Death.

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo - my prompt was "He gave her 36 hours"

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

She hadn’t been there when he died.

She hadn’t seen the blade disappear into his chest, didn’t watch the blood bubble up around it like a geyser. She hadn’t heard his painful cry; hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.

Y/N stood frozen next to the glowing table, her eyes wide with disbelief as Sam carried his brother’s limp, broken body into the Bunker.

He wasn’t safe, but he was home.

“Sam- what-”

Her voice was a distance crackle in the grief surrounding them both and Sam couldn’t find an answer that would soothe the break.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at her with red, tear-soaked eyes. His lip quivered and he sucked in a quick, aching breath.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Shock crept through her bones and twisted every vein until the blood stopped flowing. She felt her heart stop short as if it had been slammed into a wall, crushed by an anvil, or trampled by a herd.

Time slowed. She shook her head, unable to process the sight of Dean’s left arm falling from his chest as Sam’s knees buckled. Blood dripped from his fingertips and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his watch. Of all things, she focused on that stupid black watch. She could hear it ticking over the lack of breath and each click brought her closer to insanity.

Sam’s balance shifted and Y/N broke free of Chrono’s paralyzing curse. She rushed to his side and put her hands beneath Dean’s cold form.

He was heavy but she insisted on helping.

She kept her eyes on the watch as they carried him through the hallway.

“I wanna clean him up,” Sam whispered. “I… I gotta clean him up.”

Y/N could barely breathe as they laid him down on the icy bathroom tiles. She couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t believe that it was Dean. She regarded him as an object while wiping the dried blood from his face and carefully dabbing his lips with a damp cloth. She gazed at the wound in his chest with vacant eyes as if it were merely a tear in a shirt she needed to mend.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

She smoothed out the beige blanket on his bed; fluffed the pillow and placed it in the middle, just as he would have. Dean always liked a tidy bedroom.

Sam carried him in and gently laid him down.

Standing back, Sam gazed at his brother and broke. Tears swept down his cheeks and his entire frame shook with tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors.

Y/N touched his arm, gingerly reaching for her friend while the world shattered around them.

He jerked away from her touch and turned, leaving her alone with the body.

With his body.

With Dean.

Finally, she let herself look, really look at his face. His skin was bruised and broken, sliced open by Metatron’s fists. For a moment she worried that the cut above his eye would scar, but it never would. The flesh would never heal; the marks would never fade.

“Dean…”

His name had left her lips a million times before but this felt like the last. Her breath caught deep in the back of her throat and her body crumbled. She fell beside the bed and grasped his hand, tugging it to her lips. She kissed his bloody knuckles, cradled the stiff joints, and left her tears on his palm.

The Mark was there, forever tattooed on his arm, looming over her like some sinister warning. But it meant nothing. The threat was gone. Without Dean, it had no power. Without Dean, it was nothing more than an ornate laceration.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually, she got up. Somehow she released his hand and placed it at his side. By some Grace of Heaven, she managed to turn her back on the man she loved and walk out of the room.

Sam was drunk.

Y/N found him sitting in the dark at a table in the Library, a bottle of whiskey slowly emptying into his veins.

She tried to say something, to make her presence known, but nothing came out. Her words were trapped, and her thoughts were a mess.

She sat down next to him at the head of the table and reached for the bottle.

The cheap whiskey was poison and she wanted it to do her in.

“What do we do?”

Sam stiffened at her question and scoffed. “We?” He turned and snatched the bottle out of her hand. “We do nothing. I find a way to bring him back.”

The offense tightened in her chest. “I can help,” she whispered. “I want to help. I have to.”

Sam filled his glass to nearly overflowing and drank it down in two swallows. “No.”

“No?”

He wouldn’t look at her. The wood creaked as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out, purposefully turning away.

“You’re not part of this family.” His voice was soft but the tone was viscous. Drunk and distraught, he aimed to take his pain out on anything he could. Y/N was the only one there.

“Sam-”

“You’re not.” He poured another drink and lifted it with a shaking hand. “Never were.”

Y/N’s stomach cramped. “Don’t say that. I’m as much a part of this as-”

“As what?” Sam turned, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocked the chair over. Hazel eyes narrowed on her face; pink lips formed words she’d only heard from the mouths of demons. “As me? As Dean? Cas? No. You’re nothing. You’re not family. You’re not even really a friend. Just some girl Dean picked up on the side of the road and forgot to drop back off. You’re here by accident. By circumstance. Not because we want you here.” Licking his lip slowly, he dragged a drop of whiskey into his mouth. “You’re here because he was too nice to tell you to leave.”

It was everything she thought to herself when the nights got bad; when trauma and depression worked together to try to bring her down.

She held her breath in a feeble attempt to keep her voice steady. “You don’t mean any of that, Sam.”

He laughed. “Wow. You’re as dumb as you are useless.”

A sharp pain spread up her arms and Y/N realized she’d been gripping the armrests of her seat so tightly her nails had dug into the wood, forever marking her presence and Sam’s evil words.

She stood up with fists and jaw clenched tight. “You’re drunk and you’re in pain.”

“Oh, I am drunk.” He shrugged and took a long sip. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

Her palms suffered the same fate as the armrests. She cringed at the sting. “Why are you doing this?”

Slowly, he stood and stumbled a bit as he turned to look at her. He towered over her, a giant blocking out the light and all hope.

“I want you out.” His tongue was slow but his teeth were sharp. “I want you out of the Bunker, out of Kansas. Out of my life!”

Y/N couldn’t move. A tightness inside was forcing a disconnect between her mind and body. Her legs felt like dead tree logs, her arms like lead weights pulling her down. Unable to blink away the tears, she turned her eyes towards the rows of books on the walls, the artifacts gathering dust on the lower shelves.

“Sam…”

He would not be stopped by a display of tears or the meekness in her stance.

“I said get out!” he roared, arms waving as his voice boomed through the empty rooms. “Now!”

Y/N flinched, sure that he meant to strike her.

When he saw the fear in her eyes, he stepped back, but not down. He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, chugging down more than he should have.

“Just go,” he sighed. “Please.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, needing a little pain to help her do what she needed to.

She nodded.

He turned away and slumped back into his chair, giving up on everything but the whiskey.

She walked up the short steps and pressed her hand against the stone archway, saying goodbye.

“You’re gonna regret this, you know.”

He laughed bitterly. “Doubt it.”

It didn’t take long to pack. Most of her stuff was already in her car, ready for a case or an easy escape. What she did have in her room, she crammed into a backpack.

Leaving behind the place she’d called home for three years was hard.

Leaving him behind was worse.

Y/N stood in his doorway and said her silent goodbye.

Dean was right where they’d left him; head on the pillow, bowed legs slightly bent, sleeping forever.

When her eyes began to burn, she wiped them with the back of her hand and turned to leave. Sam was right. She was never really part of this.

It was time to go.

How long had it been? A month, two? She’d stopped counting after two weeks. It seemed pointless by then. Dean was gone, and Sam had kicked her out. There was nowhere to go, no place to call home. With no one waiting up for her, time didn’t matter.

Y/N could tell that the summer was close to beginning its descent into autumn as she tracked it across the country. She drove relentlessly, pushing her beat-up white Tucson from its namesake to Annapolis and back again. The roads were too long; the future so unclear.

She needed a plan for the rest of her life. Should she keep on hunting? Maybe try for that picket fence life she’d only seen on TV? A passing dream brought her to Costa Rica, but her Spanish was rusty and the Expat life seemed lonely.

She needed to stop and figure things out.

The only problem was, when she stopped, she had to think. And thinking was something she wasn’t too fond of.

Whenever she closed her eyes she was met with beautiful memories of her time with Dean; of late nights cuddled in the back of the Impala, talking about life and counting the stars when they came out. If she tried hard enough, she could feel his calloused fingertips drag across her cheek, taste his bourbon-stained kiss.

But, even the sweetest memories faded into blood-soaked dreams. She watched Dean’s death on repeat. Each time was slightly different, tiny details shifting and expanding here and there. She hadn’t seen it, she didn’t know the truth. She’d only seen the aftermath, so her horrible imagination filled in the blanks.

Sometimes he reached out for her, screaming her name as Metatron plunged the blade into his chest. Other times, he was racing with her toward safety when she let his hand drop, losing him to the Scribe’s murderous intent.

She never slept much anymore.

The third week of August found her sweating in the muggy heat of Savannah, a city she’d always loved to breeze through but never had the chance to visit.

Now, she was falling in love. Walking the brick-laid sidewalks of the historic district made her feel at ease. The dense air seemed to warm something frozen inside, and the weeping willows mirrored her heart.

She breathed a little deeper, walked a little slower, and took her time exploring.

She rented a tiny apartment in the attic of a little house on the border of town by charming the owner into a week-by-week lease. There was no way to tell how long she would stay, but the city was as haunted as any she’d seen, so if nothing else, there were a few weeks of cases she could work.

Days were spent napping and pondering the existence of a real life out of the shadows and nights were draped in them. When the sun sank below the trees, she went out, walking the streets without fear or obligation. She followed the heavy wind and the sounds of music that pulsed from bars and clubs late into the night.

One Tuesday evening, a mournful blues riff pulled her into a bar and she sat at a table in the back, nursing a cocktail that made her nose crinkle up after every sip.

“Looks like you’re not a fan.”

Y/N swallowed a bubbly sip and shook her head before looking up. “Not really,” she answered. “But hey, when in Rome.”

She set the glass on the little square napkin and sighed as the band hit a crescendo. The music was blaring and it was hard to hear below a shout.

“You should try their bourbon. I hear it’s amazing.”

The voice tugged at her brain and Y/N finally looked up, nearly jumping out of her skin when she did.

Dean Winchester stood before her, alive and well with a sparkle in his eye and a smirk upon his lips.

Her heart pounded, her limbs tingled.

“What the fuck-”

Her entire being tensed and her feet prepared for a quick escape.

The door was forty steps to the left- she always counted when entering a room. There were three tables in the way that she’d have to weave through, and only two people in danger of being knocked over. She could make it quick.

Dean smiled softly and placed his hands on the back of the chair closest to him. He leaned down a bit and sighed.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N/N.”

She flinched at the sound of her nickname and reached for the knife in her jeans.

His eyes went right to her hand.

“Come on, babygirl. You don’t need that.” He laughed sadly and licked his lip. “It’s me.”

She laughed sarcastically. “You’re dead.”

Comically, Dean looked down at himself and then stood up straight. He patted his chest and shook his head.

“I don’t appear to be.”

Wide eyes studied his face and scanned his body for anything out of place. He looked a little bigger than last she saw as if he’d been working out or at least eating a little better. His hair was longer and stuck up on his head a little higher, but he moved the same; smiled the same. His voice-

“Look, I know this is insane, but- come on, kid. It’s me.”

She shivered. Everything she knew, every part of her said to run. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she held some blind faith that said Dean would never hurt her. Even if at his worst, he’d never raise his hand against her, never do anything but keep her safe.

She prayed that her heart knew best.

“I can’t-” She paused and looked around at the crowded bar. “I can’t do this here.”

He nodded in understanding and gestured towards the door.

“You first,” she insisted.

Dean smiled and led the way.

“How are you here? You… you died, Dean. I washed the blood off of your face myself,” she asked once the music had faded and the crowd had vanished.

They stood in an empty lot behind the bar, two old friends amongst broken bottles and thriving weeds.

“Thanks for that,” he said with a gentle laugh.

“That’s not funny.”

He sighed. “I know.” Dean kicked at a shard of glass with the tip of his boot, searching for the words she needed to hear.

Impatient and brimming with nerves, Y/N took a step away. “Talk. Now. Or I’m out.”

“OK. OK.” He held up a hand, begging for patience. His eyes were sad, his voice cracking. “It was Sam,” he said slowly. “Sam brought me back. He uh- he made some deal with Crowley and-” He looked off into the darkness and chewed his lip as if worried. “I don’t know the details, they wouldn’t tell me. But- I woke up in bed and… not even a scar.” The Mark burned his forearm and he covered it with his left hand, rubbing the ache beneath his shirt. “Well, except that one.”

Hesitant, she moved closer. “How can I believe you?”

Dean shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I believe it. But, I feel fine. They- Sam and Cas- they did all the tests. Holy water, silver… Fuck- Cas even did that reach into your chest and feel your soul thing… It’s all me.”

He sounded so sad, like her disbelief was breaking his heart. She took a breath and then another step in.

“Dean, I-”

Green eyes filled with tears, and Y/N held her breath.

“I woke up and you were gone,” he whispered. “Why did you run away?”

Sam’s hurtful dismissal echoed in her head, but she didn’t want Dean to feel any worse than he already did.

“I uh…” She looked down at the broken concrete, unable to watch his tears fall. “You were gone,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t see any reason to stay.”

When she looked back up, he was impossibly close, his lips drawing ever nearer. She held her breath and wished for the strength to run away, but it was Dean. He was alive. He was really fucking alive.

He brushed his fingertips over the apple of her cheek and she closed her eyes at the touch. It had been too long. Her soul was reaching out to him and she knew she was stuck.

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” he breathed. “So fucking much.”

She kissed him before he could get there, popping up on her toes to press herself against him. His hand came to rest on her cheek and his thumb massaged her temple like it used to. His tongue was just as warm and needy, his taste was still the same.

When she let him go, she smiled and the tears came. When he kissed her again, that old familiar heat returned.

“Dean…”

She led Dean to her apartment, too drunk on the moment to do anything but revel in the fact that he was alive.

“What was the deal, do you know?”

“Crowley’s been kind of a dick lately, are you sure there’s no catch?”

“What did Cas say when he soul-scanned you?”

Dean laughed sweetly as he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her attic rooms. “Calm down, Y/N/N. I’ve already told you what I know.”

When they reached the top landing, Dean grabbed her by the waist and tugged her to him. She gasped as her back hit his chest and his lips found her ear.

“Why don’t we just focus on us for tonight?” he breathed. The tip of his tongue shot out to trace the shell of her ear and Y/N’s eyes rolled back in pure arousal.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Us…”

Begrudgingly, Y/N pulled herself away long enough to unlock the door. Stepping into the dark living room, she flipped on the light and tossed her bag onto the kitchenette counter.

Dean was hovering outside the door with hands on the frame, pondering something. He scanned the room and cocked a brow.

“What?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. “Did Crowley bring you back as a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?”

Dean laughed darkly and licked his lip. “No. Just, uh-”

Y/N’s nerves kicked up. “What’s wrong?”

“You stay here all by yourself?”

She laughed and let out a calming breath. “Yeah. And? I’m a big girl, Dean.”

He nodded with a smile. “Oh, I know you are. I’m just… worried. Ya know, about…” His face darkened slightly. “...Things. I don’t see any safety precautions.”

Y/N felt her cheeks blush. “Aww. You worried about me?”

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s my job.”

With the movements of Vanna White, Y/N moved about the small room, showing off her hidden stash of supernatural weaponry. A silver knife tucked beneath the couch cushion; a bag of goofer dust in a decorative box on the bookshelf. A spare gun in the corner top cabinet of the tiny kitchen; a spray bottle filled with holy water by the aloe plant in the window.

“Impressive,” he admitted.

Y/N beamed with pride and then held up a finger. “Oh! And… so I don’t lose my security deposit by fucking up the hardwood…”

Rushing to the door, Y/N lifted the small, brown welcome mat and flipped it over. On the underside, crafted in bright orange spray paint, was an intricate Devil’s Trap. She winked up at him and tossed the mat to the side.

He seemed impressed. “Smart.”

“I got it all covered.”

Dean smiled and stepped inside. “You absolutely do.” He reached for her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m glad. I don’t wanna lose you. Not again.”

Her heart ached for him, for the months they’d lost. “I’m so sorry I bolted, Dean. I just - I didn’t know what to do without you.”

Gently, he framed her face in his big hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ll never have to find out, OK? I’m not going anywhere ever again.” He kissed her softly. “And neither are you.”

Each kiss was like magic. Every sweet memory was birthed into life and every nightmare faded away.

They fumbled in the living room, kissing like teenagers while stripping layers of clothing away. He kissed the redness her bra strap left behind and pinched each nipple in turn. She dragged his jeans down to his calves and licked at his boxers, covering his clothed dick with her hot mouth. It swelled against her tongue and she hummed hungrily.

Dean swayed above her and dropped a hand to her head, massaging gently. “Fuck, I missed you.”

She looked up with wide, innocent eyes and wet lips. “I want you,” she mewed. “So, so bad.”

He held her chin between two warm fingers and urged her to stand. “You’ve got me, babygirl. Always.”

She fell forward against him and went limp, her mind swimming with shock and desire, love and hope. He kissed her slowly and lifted her in his strong arms. She gasped as the floor fell away and looked at him in awe.

“I’ve got you.” He grinned.

Her bedroom was small, nearly filled wall to wall by the full-sized bed.

Dean laid her down and fell over her in one motion, suddenly between her thighs and rocking slowly.

Y/N moaned into his mouth and drew her hands over his body. Warm, solid. Alive.

He tugged at her panties and she shimmied herself free as he kicked his shorts away.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, babygirl,” he moaned, staring at her soft body, her vulnerable position spread open wide for him.

Her eyes fluttered, her nipples hardened. She arched her back and reached for him, but he had other plans.

Instead of returning to her arms, Dean slid down onto the bed and grabbed at her hips, tugging her close and locking her pussy against his mouth. He licked a hard stripe up her slit and her jaw dropped. He nudged her clit with his nose and her vision blurred. He dipped his tongue into her cunt and her hips bucked.

“God, it’s been too long,” she cried, squirming against him, desperate for him to devour her.

He took his time, expertly using all his knowledge of her body to drive her insane. Each breath, movement, flicker, kiss: it was all designed to edge her to the point of breaking. Up and down, like a coaster, he drove her need higher and higher only to drop it back down again until she was shaking and sobbing his name.

When he had licked every drop of will from her soul and her lips could no longer form the words her mind was screaming, Dean crawled over her trembling body and pressed his cock against her slit.

“P-plee-”

Dean thrust gently and circled his hips. “What’s that?”

Y/N shivered and licked her lips, desperate for some moisture to return to her mouth. “Pleea-”

“Try again.” He grinned. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

Clenching her teeth, Y/N lifted her shoulders from the bed and clawed at his broad shoulders. “Fuck me. Please.”

Her begging made him growl and Dean dipped down to suck at her mouth as he pressed into her.

She screamed into his mouth as the fullness of his cock buried deep in her cunt spread pleasure through her system. She tightened around him, dug her heels into the dimples of his lower back, and nipped at the thick muscle of his throat.

“Missed… every… part… of this…” Dean's thrusts quickened with each word and Y/N broke, cumming hard and milking his cock with her pulsing muscles. He grit his teeth and let out a deep grunt as he came, flooding her cunt and settling against her.

“Jesus, Dean…”

They lay in quiet bliss, her back curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her body. She traced the lines in his left palm with a delicate fingertip and sighed at the warmth pulsing off his skin.

It felt like Heaven to be back in his arms, so close once more. Safe and smiling, she started to drift off next to him, each rise and fall of his chest against her lulling her to sleep.

“So glad you’re here,” she whispered.

Dean kissed her shoulder and dragged his hand down her arm. “Me too.” When he reached her elbow, he moved down to her knee and lightly scratched up the side of her thigh and into the curve of her waist. “I would have come sooner, but I had some things to take care of first.”

She hummed happily at the tingle radiation from his touch and snuggled a little closer.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Another kiss on her shoulder, one on her throat. “Some things couldn’t be avoided…” His nails ran down her thigh and back up again, the pressure increasing slightly.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “What were you doing all this time? It’s been months… you could have called or something.”

His touch hardened and she cringed as his nails scraped hard against her hip bone.

“I told you, I was busy.” Another scratch over her belly, a jab on her ribs. “People to see, places to burn.”

She stiffened. “What?”

Dean sucked hard on her pulse and clawed at her leg.

“Hey! Ouch!” Y/N squirmed and tried to pull away, but he kept her there, held captive by his strong arms. “Dean!”

He hissed into her ear and cut the skin on her hip with the blunt nail of his index finger. “Stop. Squirming.”

“What are you doing? Stop!”

She thrashed against him and his hand clamped down into the meat of her thigh and tore until she felt a gush of warm blood.

“Dean!”

Y/N slapped at his arms, bucked her hips back, and fought against his hold, but he wouldn’t be moved.

Annoyed, he sank his teeth into her shoulder and broke the skin, forcing a cry from her lips. He licked the wound and swirled his tongue into the grooves he’d made, laughing.

“You stupid cunt. You should know better than to invite a dead man into your bed.”

Pain and fear flashed through her and Y/N managed to get away and turn over.

Blood dripped down his chin and he moaned in ecstasy as he licked a drop from his lips.

Her heart pounded. Her skin crawled.

“What are you?”

In a flash too quick for her to register, Dean was on his hands and knees, stalking toward her like a lion.

“What am I?”

He grinned as she cowered and set his hands on either side of her hips. He leered down at her, upper lip twitching and breath heavy.

“I’m Dean 2.0, bitch.”

He blinked and her world shattered.

Icy black ink flooded his gorgeous green eyes, eclipsing every bit of him, body and soul.

Y/N sucked in a terrified breath and he laughed wildly.

“You thought I was back from the dead? I never died. This- thing- this mark on my arm- it kept me alive. It gave me a new life.”

“It made you a monster,” she spat, determined to go down swinging if she was indeed headed that way.

Dean exhaled hard and his glee turned to devilish anger. His face turned as dark as his eyes and he sneered. “It made me better.” Reaching down, he cupped her left breast and circled the globe with his fingers splayed out. “All the fun, all the charisma, and sex appeal… None of the pesky guilt or morals…” His hand flexed and each nail ripped deep into her flesh, opening new wounds and drawing fresh blood.

He covered her scream with a kiss and Y/N tried with all her might to kick him off, bite his tongue, anything to get him to back up. When he jabbed his tongue down her throat, she gathered up every ounce of strength and brought her knee to his crotch, smashing his sack upwards.

Demon or not, he felt it.

Dean let out a roar and released her, rolling onto his back and grabbing himself in pain.

“You bitch! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!”

Shaking, she bolted, running through the closest door she saw.

The bathroom was old and ill-lit, but the cabinets were deep and filled with supplies.

Grunts echoed behind the door as she quickly wrapped a bandage around her shoulder and poured a painful ounce of alcohol onto her chest. She hissed at the sting and held onto the edge of the sink to catch her breath.

“Did you really just run into the bathroom? I can break down that door with my pinky finger.”

He was closer, surely stumbling through the messy bedroom. Y/N looked at her reflection and held back a stream of tears.

“Just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened!” She shouted at the door. “I won’t tell if you won’t!”

Laughter answered her. “And who the fuck do you think you’re gonna tell? Everyone you know is gone!”

Her stomach flipped. She froze. “Sam?”

Dean jiggled the doorknob. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Casually, he turned and leaned his back against the door. “Sam’s out of commission. Permanently.”

“You… you killed him?”

“Nah. Just put the fear of God into him. Sent him off for a little me time in the I.C.U.”

Y/N yanked open the cabinet under the sink and pulled a worn leather toiletry bag from the back.

“See, he and Cas, they got stupid. They thought they could cure me. Rip the demon outta me.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh? How’d that go?”

“How do you think?”

Just for fun, he jiggled the locked knob again, making her jump.

“Tell me all about it. You know I love a good ritual!” Trembling, she pulled a pistol from the bag and loaded it with bullets from the medicine cabinet. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow him down.

Dean knew she was stalling, trying to keep him talking while she regrouped. Hell, he’d taught her that. Still, he enjoyed fucking with her, so he played along.

“That whole closing the Gates of Hell thing? The last trial was curing a demon. You remember. You were there, cheering Sammy along.”

Y/N shivered at the memory of the dank chapel and Sam nearly collapsing with each syringe of blood she extracted from his veins. “I remember. So what, it didn’t work on you?”

Dean turned and pressed his palm to the door. “Not. Even. A little.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. They tried.”

Y/N withdrew an old metal canteen from the bag and shook it. A tiny wave of holy water sloshed inside. It was enough, she hoped, to get her out the door and down the stairs.

Dean ran his finger down a groove in the door and pushed his ear against the wood, listening for her racing heart.

“Did a good job of it, too. Tied me up in the dungeon… big Devil’s Trap on the floor. I was stuck for a while, I’ll admit that. Good old Sammy coming in for the save. But ya know something, Y/N/N? I just couldn’t let him do it. I like what I am now. It’s fun. Hell, I feel like I’m on a permanent fucking vacation! This is great!”

Ready to attempt an escape, Y/N tugged on a dirty shirt and a pair of shorts from the floor and braced herself.

“So what happened? How’d you get out?”

He laughed. “Oh, you know me. I always find a way out. And trust me, when I did… Sammy was not happy. Neither was I. Not until I bashed - his face in - with my boot.”

Every pause was a punch against the wood and Y/N felt each in her gut.

She swallowed hard. “And what about Castiel? You said he was there.”

Dean sighed. “Oh, I sent his ass packing. Little graffiti on the wall and bam! He got sent off to wherever the fuck angels go when they get blasted off the Earth. Sayonara, auf wiedersehen, good riddance.”

“And-”

The door shook as Dean slammed his hands into it, cutting her off.

“Can we just get to it, please? I’m bored with this monologue.”

She unscrewed the canteen’s cap.

“Actually, it’s a dialogue. If it was just you talking, it would be a monologue.”

Dean clenched his jaw and growled. “Oh, I am truly going to enjoy biting that tongue out of your mouth.”

Another slam on the door and the wood splintered. The cheap lock gave way and Dean pushed inside, grinning.

Not a second was wasted. With a nearly perfect mix of dexterity and core self-preservation instinct, Y/N lunged forward and swung the canteen, dousing Dean’s face with the blessed liquid. His skin burned instantly and he let out an aggravated roar as she spun around him and leapt for the front door.

He caught her before she reached the couch, roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her up off the floor. Her shriek echoed through the small attic abode and she grabbed at his forearm, desperate to hold herself up and relieve some of the pain spreading across her scalp.

Dean laughed and lifted her higher.

White flashed on the edges of her vision and Y/N swung her legs back hard, kicking down into the top of his kneecap, making him stumble.

His ire was evident. Effortlessly, Dean tossed her down and Y/N slid across the old hardwood floor as if she were a ragdoll. Her bare legs skidded on the thin planks, stopping her before she slammed into the wall.

Dizzy and aching, Y/N withdrew the gun from the waistband of her shorts and took aim. Heels dug into the floor and shoulders tight, she flipped off the safety and took a deep breath.

Her finger tensed on the trigger, but Dean was fast. A swift kick had Y/N screaming again and she felt the bones in her right wrist snap.

The gun flew from her hands and landed on the rug by the kitchen sink, too far out of reach.

Dean cocked his head, looking down at Y/N as she cradled her arm. “A gun, Y/N/N? Really? What were you gonna do, shoot me?”

Panting, she sneered up at him. “That is generally what one does with a gun.”

Dean sucked his teeth in annoyance and shook his head. “You’ve always been a witty bitch. It’s very annoying.”

“I seem to recall you liked it.”

Onyx washed over his green eyes again and her pulse quickened.

“Not anymore,” he whispered.

Her body was rigid with fear; her veins throbbed with panic. Dean shifted and bent down at her feet. Y/N jolted back, kicking at him while pulling herself toward the door. He grabbed her calf and yanked her back, nearly dislocating her hip.

His voice was steady, too calm, too sure. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I didn’t say you could leave.”

Shaking, she thrashed in his grasp, trying to twist her leg free. He held tight.

“Let me go!”

Dean laughed. “Oh… come on. You really think I’m just gonna let you walk out? Sweetheart, you’re not leaving here. Not breathing anyway.”

Knowing what was coming, Y/N took a deep breath and tensed her body inward.

His hands were impossibly huge, wrapping nearly entirely around her neck. His palms pressed hard into her windpipe and his fingertips dug in deep.

She slapped at his arms and kicked at his shins.

“Just stop,” he whispered. “It’ll be easier if you just stop.”

Going back to the playbook, Y/N brought her left knee high, but missed his crotch entirely, jabbing into his thigh instead.

Dean groaned and removed his hold on her throat.

She gasped in relief but the moment was short. Tangling his fist in her hair, Dean lifted her head only to knock it back down with a hard punch to her jaw. Sparks littered her vision and Y/N could feel the broken blood vessels under her eye leak.

Defiant, she blinked until her head was clear, and spit. “Fuck you.”

Another punch nearly knocked her unconscious and the third broke her cheekbone and shifted her nose out of alignment. Dean heard the snap and smiled viciously. He leaned in close and watched the bridge of her nose swell. Blood dripped from a cut above her eye and he pressed his tongue flat against it, licking up the mess.

“So fucking sweet…”

Dean let go of her hair and Y/N’s head crashed back onto the floor, her neck limp and useless like a crushed flower stem.

“Why?”

He sat back, pinning her legs beneath him, and pondered her question.

“I don’t know. Maybe you eat too much sugar…”

His laugh made her cringe and Y/N shook her head. It felt as if her brain was both swollen and sloshing around in her skull. It was hard to think; her thoughts were disjointed and fleeting.

“W-why are you doing this?”

Dean took a deep, satisfying breath and leaned forward. “Freedom,” he whispered, caging her head with his arms and moving in close, brushing his nose against hers. His eyes were still dark and he never blinked, looking deep into her aching soul. “Because I wanna be free from all the drama and responsibilities. Free from all the goddamned whining and guilt and love crap. I took out Cas, nearly killed my baby brother, and now it’s your turn. I can’t leave loose ends, Y/N. Don’t want any of you coming after me and putting an end to the fun.”

Darkness was gathering around her like a vignette closing in on the image of her life. She fought against it, ignoring the searing pain in her bones and the growing urge to let go and sleep.

“Someone will,” she moaned. “Might not be me, but someone’s gonna stop you. Cas will. Sam will. They won’t let you live like this. Not like a filthy fucking demon asshole piece of shit!”

Dean grabbed her throat again, squeezing tight with one large hand. “Knight of Hell, actually,” he corrected with a slick smile. “But that’s quite a potty mouth you’ve developed. I approve.” His thumb and index finger pressed into her artery, blocking the blood and making her head spin. She clawed at his wrist but her body grew weaker by the second.

Desperate, she looked up at the man she used to love with tears flooding her eyes and whispered his name with her last breath.

“Dean…”

The air returned in a rush as if someone had opened an airplane door mid-flight. She gasped and the color around her brightened, including the emerald of his eyes.

“Oh, I’m having too much fun with you, Y/N/N. Way too much fun.” He slid a hand slowly down her body, enjoying the look of revulsion painting her broken face. “I was planning on killing you outside that bar, but- I saw this… body again…” He grabbed her unmarred breast and kneaded it hard. “Saw these curves…” His fingers trailed downwards; his touch feasting on every ample curve. “I just had to have you one more time.”

“Get. Off. Of. Me.” Her words were clipped, her throat raw and bleeding inside.

With a smirk, Dean reached into her shorts and grabbed her pussy. His nails pinched the delicate flesh of her labia and Y/N grit her teeth at the pain.

“No,” he answered. “Don’t think I will.”

With demonic strength, he flipped her over in a split second and slammed her onto the floor. He held her down with a firm palm pressed between her shoulder blades while the other yanked her hips up high. He tugged down her shorts as she cried; slicked up his cock with a handful of spit while she struggled. Sharp, hot pain spread up her spine and down into each nerve. She screamed and he laughed, thrusting into her tightness without hesitation, violating her body without care. Her entire being revolted and fought, but it was no use.

She closed her eyes and tried to pray but the words were fading, her vision blurring. She held her breath, trembling while he finished, covering her lower back with a thick rope of his evil seed.

Momentarily satisfied, Dean dropped down on top of her, his full weight crushing her deeper into the unyielding hardwood floor. He licked the line of tears from her cheek and nibbled delicately on her ear.

“Ya know, I’m having so much fun with you, I may keep you around.”

Y/N shuddered. “I’d…I’d rather you killed me, thanks.”

Feigning compassion, Dean rolled off of her back and onto his side. He pressed his face to the floor, mirroring her position, and softly brushed the hair back from her eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.” He winked and pressed his lips to hers.

It took all her strength not to scream. “Please,” she choked, “just… end it.”

With a sigh, Dean popped up onto his elbow and debated. “I could. Very easily. Just one… little… twist of my wrist around your throat and you’d be dead. Clean. Easy.”

“So, do it.”

“No.” Again, he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “I think we’ll keep playing.”

Tears ran freely from her eyes. “Please, Dean-”

“How about this…” He laid back down and moved in closer so she could feel the breath of every word against her lips. “We’ll play hide and seek. If you can hide well enough, I’ll let you live.”

“W-what?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give you a head start. Thirty-six hours to hide and then… I’mma comin’.”

Before she could answer or even absorb his words, Dean pulled her head up and slammed it back down, shutting out the lights.

She was sure an alarm was going off. A high-pitched shriek pulled her out of the darkness and Y/N peeled her eyes open only to realize that the ringing was in her head.

Sunlight broke through the shabby window blinds and stabbed her eyes. She groaned at the pain and tried to sit up, but her head was throbbing, her body bruised and covered in scabs of dried blood.

For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The apartment looked strange, the air foreign. A rotten, metallic scent filled her nose. She cringed and sat up, instantly regretting it as pain gripped her body. Her ribs were cracked; her wrist shattered. Confusion tickled her mind like drops of acid rain. She closed her eyes and the blackness there brought it all back.

Coal eyes.

Ruddy lips.

Leather, and smoke, and cheap cologne.

Dean’s evil, blood-tinged smirk flashed in her mind and Y/N broke. Tears welled and fell without permission and her stomach emptied, washing the antique hardwood with hot bile.

When her body calmed and she could shift the pain enough to think clearly, his words came back to her.

“I’ll give you a head start… Thirty-six hours to hide…”

Thirty-six hours to run and try to hide from him. Thirty-six hours to figure out how the hell to come out of this alive.

For a moment, all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until zero hour, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

It took her twenty-two minutes to grab her Go Bag, pull on some clean clothes, and leave.

She left her interim life behind and headed out to meet her fate.

The roads were long and her body betrayed her at every turn. The face she was in the rearview mirror wasn’t her own. It was broken and flushed; her gaze devoid of hope.

Just outside of Alpharetta, she stopped for gas. She ignored the looks of concern from strangers and declined an offer of help from the station attendant. Breezing through, Y/N slammed two bills on the counter and left as quickly as she came, accompanied by a symphony of chimes that rang above the door.

Twice, she had to pull over to vomit. She retched onto the dusty roadside, heaving fluid and burning her throat. There was nothing left inside of her, nothing keeping her going but pure, dim-witted faith that everything would turn out fine.

She called Sam every few minutes, timing her attempts with the passing exit signs. There was never an answer, never a ring. Her calls went right to voicemail and after the twentieth try, she gave up.

When the pain was bad and her body cramped up, protesting the old car seat and the constant pressure of her foot on the gas, Y/N took a breath and closed her eyes. She prayed to Cas, begging him to help, to show up and heal her, to find Dean and…

She wasn’t sure what she wanted for Dean. He’d ripped her to the core and there was no coming back from what he’d done, but still- it was Dean. He needed- deserved- to be saved no matter what his slick black heart wanted.

And what he wanted right now was her limp, exsanguinated corpse at his feet.

Outside of Dalton, she changed course. Dean was a midwestern boy and most likely to keep to the west, so she headed east, aiming to land as far from the Bunker as possible.

Time was ticking away and her hope was fading.

Miles stretched on forever and her eyes grew heavy. Watching the sun begin to sink behind the lush mountains of New York State, Y/N felt as heavy as the sky. Struggling to keep her eyes open and consciousness with her, she dug her fingers into the wound on her shoulder, clawing at the skin his teeth had ripped. The surge of fresh pain pulled her awake long enough to get to the next exit, and the next.. and the next.

Sam never called her back.

Cas never showed.

Dean’s dark laughter and poisonous words echoed in her soul, haunting every moment.

Somewhere near Rockport, she collapsed. The blackness peaked around her vision and overtook her, knocking her out as the lights from oncoming traffic reflected on the windshield. She came to at the last second, pulling at the wheel and jerking the car away from the blue minivan headed straight for her. The vehicle left the road and slid across the rain-slicked shoulder into an open lot. Tires skidded on loose gravel; the air was silent as she held her breath.

She gripped the wheel tightly and slammed her foot onto the break, nearly busting through the floorboard.

The crash was quick. Silence was shattered by the sound of metal hitting concrete as the Tucson's front end crumpled against the corner of a building. The impact knocked her back out and Y/N slumped in the seat, her body held up by the seat belt, not will.

Ringing woke her again. Heavy head lolling on her shoulders, Y/N managed to quiet the noise as she yanked her cell from her back pocket. The screen was cracked but she could still read the message:

‘Time’s Up. Ready or not- here I come.’

Ice ran through her veins and she shook herself, desperate to clear her vision and think. There was no way he had followed her. Pointless turns, random exits, and twelve hundred miles left a mere dusting of breadcrumbs. It would be a hard path to track, even for a demon.

Another ding made her jump.

‘Better run ��’

Every joint protested; her flesh screamed. Y/N bit back a cry as she forced the door open and fell onto the damp stone ground. A light mist began to fall, peppering her bloodied face with cool droplets that offered a moment of relief.

‘I’d get away from that wreck if I were you - the engine could blow…’

Y/N fell back onto her ass when the text came through. Shocked and terrified, she scanned the open lot for any sign of him but she was alone. The only tracks were her own, the only sound was the busted radiator hissing behind her.

“Dean?” Her voice was weak. Fear leaked into every inch of her but she clutched her phone tight and struggled to her feet. “You don’t have to do this, you know!” Grimacing, she pulled open the back door and dug through her bag. “We can just- I don’t know- call it even and walk away.” She tucked a flask of holy water into her right back pocket and tucked an anointed silver knife into the left. “No harm, no foul.” She withdrew her pistol and checked the magazine. “What do you say?”

“I choose harm.”

He was close.

Y/N fumbled with the gun; hand shaking as her broken wrist sent white-hot shards of pain up through her elbow and beyond. Swinging around, she readied herself for the fight, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Dean?” She swallowed hard and dug deep. “I thought I was the one doing the hiding.”

His laugh wrapped around her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. That’s you. And you should hop to it.”

His voice was coming from every direction at the same time. Left, right, behind her, below her. It was like standing in a fun house full of mirrors and Y/N felt her stomach churn.

“Go on!” He clapped his hands and the sound thundered around her. “Run!”

Instinct drove her to the left and quickly she fit herself through the rotted planks of what used to be a door. She stepped inside and blinked into soft darkness.

A shadowed silhouette in the dim light, Y/N rushed through the ruins of the abandoned fishery. Thick steel columns rose from the concrete slab beneath her feet to high overhead. Wind hissed through gaps in the roof, slithered through broken window panes, and whirled around her like the icy breath of death. The stink of seawater and fish lived forever locked into the essence of the building and Y/N gagged as she ran through the space. There was nowhere to hide safely and the ache of pain and exhaustion threatened to pull her down.

Dean broke through the pitiful door with one swift kick of his right leg. He stepped inside, his shadow reaching across the gray stone floor.

In a panic, Y/N dove behind a stack of wooden crates and crouched down. She readied her weapons.

His boots fell like anvils and his steps echoed loudly.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…”

Y/N shuddered. Her breath was ragged and loud. She bit her lip to try and hold it in.

“Give up, Y/N/N- There’s nowhere else to go!”

He was right. She was fucked.

“H-how’d you find me, anyway?” she asked, lifting her voice and projecting to her left.

Dean turned towards her words. He walked slowly but deliberately and every step made her heart beat harder in her ears.

“I’ve got my ways,” he called back.

She could hear the smirk on his lips and it made her sick. “Oh? Do tell…” Carefully, she crawled to the right and slipped around another pile of boxes.

Dean searched for her around each column and stack, taking his time as if eternity was his to play with.

“I honestly thought it would have been a little harder,” he confessed. “But as it turns out, Little Miss Clever forgot to turn off her phone’s GPS.”

Y/N’s heart sank. “Fuck.”

“It’s OK. We all fuck up sometimes. Some of us more than others.”

He sounded far away, so Y/N stood up to peer over the crates. She saw him on the other side of the massive room and let go of a breath of momentary belief. When she turned back, her heel slid through a puddle of slimy muck and she faltered, tumbling into the crates. The topmost box careened off the pile and smashed onto the floor.

Dean’s head snapped towards the splintered mess and his green eyes flickered black. “Gotcha.”

They both ran. It was hardly a proper chase. Dean leapt across the floor with demonic speed as Y/N stumbled, her body too broken and twisted to perform beyond a halfhearted sprint.

Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair and whipped her backward, tossing her to the ground. She hit the concrete with a gut-wrenching crash that sent a shockwave of numbness down her spine. Her head bounced off the stone and she swallowed a scream.

“Wow.” Dean stood over her, looking down with a narrow, curious gaze. “You really look like shit.”

Blood pooled on her tongue and Y/N rolled onto her side to spit it out. “Me?” She laughed, pained but brave. “You should see yourself. The Hellfire’s not doin’ you any favors.”

A wide grin broke out across his freckled face and the demon ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on,” he teased with a wink. “I make this look good.”

The walls were spinning and Y/N was sure her time was up. She grit her teeth and pushed up with her hands, ready to spin and run if she could. “Hey, Dean? Fuck you.”

His grin morphed into a sneer. “Been there. Done that. Not lookin’ for a replay.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, rolling onto her hands and knees. “It wasn’t that great for me either.”

Irked by her nerve, Dean lunged for her but Y/N had other plans. His fingers curled around her shoulder, and as he jerked her back, she pulled the blade from her hip pocket and swung, burying it deep between his ribs. Dean lurched back, teeth clenched with a roar.

“You bitch!”

The blessed silver burned his flesh but he pulled it free and the skin closed easily.

It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave her time to get away.

Offices sat at the back of the building, their doors promising a moment’s reprieve. Y/N tried door after door in a panic, but each was locked. When she heard Dean’s approach, she gave up and slipped around a corner, doing her best to keep quiet as she pulled another trick from her pocket.

Dean grabbed her before she could get far, his nails breaking the skin on her left forearm as he hauled her back into the open. She spun to face him and spit a mouthful of holy water into his eyes. The water soaked into his demonic skin and burned him deeply. Steam rose from his cheeks, singed his lashes, and pulled a terrifying cry from his burning lips.

“Keep running!” he dared, doubled over as the flesh on his brow healed. “I’m enjoying this!”

Back into the night, Y/N ran from the building and down a long wooden pier. The derelict packing plant was situated on the edge of the Atlantic, with slips for fishing vessels still seated in the cold water. The gray ocean slapped at the aged wooden posts and the spray mixed with the rain, chilling Y/N to the core.

Hopping over broken planks and discarded hunks of metal, nets, and empty bottles, Y/N ran until there was no place left to run. The pier ended in a steep drop off with nothing below but the sea, and Y/N finally lost faith.

The pain was too much, the path too broken and pointless.

Looking out at the horizon, she prayed one last time. Not for herself, but for Him. She prayed that Castiel would return from wherever the hell he’d been blasted off to. She prayed that Sam would wake up and fight. She prayed that Hell would spit Dean out and Heaven would take him back.

She heard his footsteps; felt the danger on the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

He sighed. “You’re right. I don’t have to…”

A tiny spark of hope burned in her chest and Y/N turned around with a small smile percolating on her lips.

��But I want to.”

The First Blade cut through her like she was nothing. Dean pressed the bone deep into her stomach and lifted his arm, dragging Y/N up off of her feet. Her body tensed and then went limp, her eyes wide with shock, her lips parted with a dying breath.

“Dean…”

He caught her against his chest and cradled her head on his shoulder.

“Sorry, kid. I can’t leave loose ends…”

He kissed her forehead and then pulled back quickly. Her body fell at his feet and he wiped the blade on his jeans, smearing the last of her blood on his thigh.

Rain fell freely, washing the blood away and pooling it like a halo around her body.

Her phone rang, but the sound did not wake her.

Sam’s name flashed over the screen.

‘Y/N I’m so sorry. Stay away from him. He got away. We tried to save him but he got free. Please. If you see Dean-

Stay Away.’

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