#mixed together with misery and angst

[prideprejudce]

i actually may just skip this episode until tomorrow because i have truly no interest tonight in seeing crispy coldsore and alicent go at it like freaks again or to see rhaenyra and her children almost murdered in bed

[wearywinchester]

Soft Touch

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Comforting Dean might seem like a hefty task, but all he needs is you.

Requested by Anonymous: “request!! can you write something where the reader comforts dean after a bad day, it doesn’t have to be major trauma or anything just dean needing physical touch and not knowing how to ask for it and the reader making sure he’s comfortable and okay and just a bunch of fluff and comfort”

Warnings: angst, language, injury, alcohol, fluff

The bunker was fairly quiet, near completely. Sam was tucked away in his room, and if you had to guess, he was probably doing research. It’s what he’d been doing in the library for a little while, sitting there quietly with a few lore books and his laptop before he gathered his stuff with a polite goodnight and went to his room.

Sam Winchester is the only person you know that decompresses after a hunt by researching for the next.

You heard the sound of his tv when you walked by, muffled and soft. The sound of your footfalls accompanied it, a soft set of taps on the cold floor as you wandered about in search of your beau.

He hadn’t been in bed at all, his side still made. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not really, but he’d had a rough day.

It was a seven hour drive back to the bunker, and he was damn near running on fumes because he hadn’t slept well the night before. The motel bed was not doing any favors, stiff and thin enough to feel the springs dig into your muscles. The dip in the center made an uncomfortable pit, and he was just about ready to snag you and sleep in the Impala. He couldn’t sleep nearly as well without you.

He was sore from the hunt, muscles aching and begging for a bath, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of them. He’d obtained a myriad of injuries, none serious or major, but the combination was a melting pot of misery when you put them together. Not to mention the constant state of war he’s in with his own mind.

The halls still smelled like dinner, pizza and a mix of burgers, something quick and easy. None of you had the energy to do more than takeout.

You heard the quiet hum of the lights lining the hall, and your sigh upon seeing an empty library, and an empty map room. The bathroom was empty too, and the Dean cave he’d set up. There was no note on the desk by the bed, so that was an indication he was still there.

But your search wasn’t very lengthy much to your relief, a simple glance into the kitchen revealing just the one you were looking for.

His back was to you as he stood at the sink. He’d discarded his shirt after dinner, a habit he’d gotten into as of late. He got hot very easily, and it was a simple and more comfortable solution. Besides, you wouldn’t complain about that.

The muscles in his back tensed and moved as he washed the dishes in the sink, those damn hotdog pajama pants sitting on his hips.

His hair was a bit tangled and mussed, brushing against the nape of his neck and curling outward. He’d been growing it out, same for his beard, a mixture of not having as much time to handle it and wanting to try something new.

You saw a half drank glass of whiskey on the table as you passed it, the uncapped bottle sitting next to it.

He knew you were there, heard the soft pattern of your footfalls, not to mention he could sense your presence regardless of hearing you or not. But it was confirmed when you reached up and tucked his hair behind his ear.

He pulled his gaze from the plate in his hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Thought you’d run off for good,” you teased, your eyes meeting his.

His chuckle was soft and sweet, accompanied by a shake of his head. “Ain’t runnin’ off without taking you with me, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’t that a relief?”

You notice the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, tired but surely present.

He rinses off that last plate, sticking it in the drying rack on the counter before wiping his hands dry on the tea towel draped over the sink. He turns to you, hands settling on your hips before they glide forwards, snaking themselves around your waist and tugging you closer. They were warm and calloused, the perfect combination.

You rested your hands on his chest, his skin warm and radiating to you. Your gaze shifts to the scrape on his shoulder, fading into a cut. He hadn’t tended to it, not really, nor did his mess with the one on his bicep and just above his beard on his cheekbone.

“How about we get you cleaned up, then head to bed?” You say, tipping your head back to look at him.

He took one of his hands from where it rested around you to settle by your cheek and tangle with the hair at the nape of your neck.

“You sayin’ I didn’t do a good job?” He asks, and you just barely saw the raise of his brow under the hair that fell over his forehead.

“Pretty much,” you answer with a shrug, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of his frown and crease between his brows.

He tugged you in closer abruptly and you made a delighted noise of surprise, moving your hands from his chest to wrap up around his shoulders. His nose bumped against yours, the brush of his lips gentle before he they pressed a kiss on your own. It was lingering and sweet, borderline steamy before he parted, only to press one, two, three more to your lips.

“Trying to distract me?” You ask, furrowing your brows with a soft smile as you look at him.

He chuckles as he shakes his head, brushing your hair out of your face. “Oh sweetheart, I wouldn’t have to try to do that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile, instead rolling your eyes as you wriggle from his arms.

“Sit down, Winchester,” you say, walking towards the cupboard.

You hear his sigh as you grab the first aid kit, freshly replenished a few days ago. You hear that sigh but when you turn around, sure enough he’s taken his seat at the kitchen table, swirling his unfinished glass of whiskey in his hand before gulping it down and pouring another.

Now it’s your turn to sigh, head shaking softly and he most definitely heard it.

You open the lid to the kit, pondering over what you wanted before it came to mind. You snagged a package of an alcohol wipe, and the small bottle of antiseptic, grabbing a small stack of gauze.

None of his injuries were severe, but it’s no good for any wound, superficial or not, to have dirt trapped in it while it tries to heal.

Anyone knew that. Anyone except Dean Winchester.

Well, it’s not that he didn’t know, he very much did. He just lacked a certain caring when it came to himself. And by lacking, he didn’t care at all. He was always that way. He cared enough to eat and bathe, to brush his teeth and at least have you brush his hair, though that was purely because he secretly not so secretly enjoys how it feels. But in actuality, he didn’t care much for himself, didn’t see a reason to.

In fact, the only reason he cared even a little bit was so he could be around to protect you and Sam, didn’t have anything to do with himself.

“No more liquor, De,” you sigh, capping the bottle and pushing it away from his reach.

You didn’t fail to notice the way he looked at you for it, brows furrowed and gaze narrowed. And you didn’t fail to notice the way those dimples formed by the corners of his mouth, barely visible through his beard but you knew with one hundred percent certainty that they were there.

That was his form of self care. A bottle of whiskey or a six pack of beer. But that was no form of caring at all, no form of soothing.

You simply lift your hand and run it over his head, caressing over his hair, your thumb brushing over his cheek softly. Your hand drops to rest under his chin, tipping his head back to drop a soft kiss to his lips, something that made your words sound not so bad to him now. So much so that he made a noise of discontent when you pulled away to tend to those wounds of his.

He didn’t care about a damn scrape or two, he wanted you.

You sigh as you tear open a couple packets of alcohol wipes, plucking one from its package and unfolding it.

You started with his arm, holding his bicep in your hand, cumbersome at best because he’d become quite muscular as of late. You noticed the slight twitch he’d made in reaction to the cold alcohol stinging the open scrape, but it’d barely shown on his face, hard for anyone but you to tell.

You cleaned away the excess dirt and blood with gentle swipes. You set down the dirtied wipe on the table, reaching for the gauze and bottle of antiseptic. You squeezed a generous amount on, returning your grip on his arm as you dabbed it directly on the scrape this time.

He may think you were being dramatic, you knew it did. It was only a few scrapes, the most superficial of injuries you can get. The equivalent of a paper cut in the world of hunting. But you were all about caring for your big, strong tough guy even if he couldn’t give a damn about any of it when it came to himself.

“You should really take better care of yourself after hunts, De,” you say, beginning to repeat the process on his shoulder.

“I ain’t gonna die from a couple of scrapes and scratches, sweetheart,” he says, as careless as ever, his tone lighthearted.

You exhale a huff, tossing the second wipe down in a more obvious show of your frustration.

“Would you want me to say that about myself?” You ask, brow raised in challenge.

“Y/n,” he said sternly.

You could tell he was angry, or the beginnings of it. His jaw was tense, along with his shoulders. You could feel it under your palm, a noticeable difference. Not to mention the look on his face alone was enough of a giveaway.

That crease between his brows never left, only deepened by your words. Those dimples were still adorning the corners of his mouth unable to be masked by the beard that framed his jaw. Nor could it hide the subtle flush in his cheeks, tinged with anger and frustration.

To him, the comparison was incomparable. So ridiculously, unbelievably able to be compared because he was not in the same bracket as you. He’ll, he’d die for you, and has. He’s sold his damn soul to a low life demon just so you would be okay, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d rather get torn to shreds by a werewolf, become some wendigo’s dinner, be made into some monsters toy than have so much as a hand laid on you.

The comparison between you and him was one he could not make. Because you were the world, a radiant being and far better than the angels he’s seen in his lifetime and he knows it for a fact. You were his world and he was simply a fleck in it. He’s always felt that way, and the whole idea has been putting a strain on him for as long as he can remember.

He always hated that you were a hunter, because dammit it scared him more than anything. He’s seen what monsters do to people, innocent lives. He’s seen what the life does to those who enter it, how it changes them, he’s one of them. He’s seen the sheer trauma it’s put you through, the agony and pain. He sees it with every case, every hunt that’s added to the endless chart.

If he thinks about it for too long, it’ll drive him insane, push him over the edge of emotion and into a fit of rage. And that, that reaction alone only adds to the self hatred he feels. To be an angry person when you’re so delicate and everything he wishes he could be. It spirals into every avenue.

He couldn’t bring himself to put caring about a scrape on himself at the same level as an injury on you. He couldn’t do it. Even so much as a paper cut on you would have him furrowing his brows. It’d need something as simple as a bandaid and he’d be sure to put it on, giving you hell if you tried to brush it off.

No matter the severity, if you were hurt in any way, shape, or form, it mattered to him.

He didn’t give a damn about himself, he gave a damn about you.

He didn’t say anything else, and you sighed, softening your glare and settling your hand on his other cheek.

You noticed the way he leaned into your touch, however, his hair falling in the direction it so pleased as he tilted his head and tipped it back, his eyes falling closed.

Dean Winchester was rough, tough and rugged. There was no denying that. He was stereotypical, and put up every front he felt he needed to. But when everything is stripped away, when it came down to it, Dean was a man of comfort. That’s really all he’s ever wanted, no matter how much he refused to say it.

But it’s a trait that’s guarded with extra security, one he tries to keep on lock down from you even, but he can’t keep that from his source of comfort. He’d be foolish to think he’d be able to keep that from you.

The subtle flush in his cheeks had accentuated his freckles, soft flecks kissing along his skin, almost comically delicate in contrast to the tough persona he puts on. Especially the way his lashes curled over top of them when his eyes were closed.

You were gentler this time if that were possible, gentler in comparison to the other two you just tended to. His skin was angry and red around the uneven scrape, some of it smudged lightly with blood and some not.

His beard felt prickly and soft all the same against your palm, the longest he’s ever let it grow. His hair fell over his eyes, glimmers of green breaking through as he opened them to look at you.

He didn’t say anything, just looked. His gaze is softer than it was moments before, looking at every detail he can soak in as if he’d never see them again. Quiet as he admired. His expression was unreadable, yet so openly blatant all the same.

You knew he’d calmed down from a couple minutes ago. You knew it with the way his hands grasped your hips and pulled you closer. You sat down on his lap, a soft sigh exhaling past your lips.

“Well, I was all done anyway,” you say, tone lighthearted and teasing as you toss what was in your hand to the side.

“Oh good,” he says, pulling you all the more closer.

He tucks you into himself as tightly as possible, and you feel how deeply he inhaled as his face settled against the crook of your neck briefly, felt his exhale against your skin.

This. This was all he ever needed. All the comfort he’d known and cared for.

His warmth was unbeatable, his skin smooth and heated as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“I could get used to this no shirt thing, you know,” you said, soft but mischievous, that smile of yours plenty proof of it.

You hear his chuckle, see that half grin of his as he looks at you with half open eyes, a chunk of hair dipped between his brows in a damn prince charming sort of way.

“Yeah?” He inquires, though he knows your answer already.

You simply respond with a nod and a soft laugh that sends a feeling of warmth through his chest like it’s the first time he’s heard it. Nearly sent over the edge when that laugh presses to his lips and dissolves into a kiss.

Damn was he ever lucky, any tension he’s carried having long since dissipated just from your mere presence.

He’d felt absolutely miserable, purely stuck below the surface of his thoughts that never fail to drown him. But in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter so much. They could be thoughts to worry about some other time.

Because right now he’s got you.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana @iprobablyshipit91

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[xprakzif]

a new kind of love m.sturniolo

the sequel to tell him.

pairings: matt x fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n, some angst, cursing, mentions of anxiety, cheating, mixed feelings, drinking/alcohol

summary: matt and y/n can’t confront eachother after she cheats on her boyfriend with him. but what happens when he finds out..?

“..but i can’t”

it’s been 2 weeks since that day. they couldn’t avoid eachother forever.

before this, the night ended with matt going to the bathroom to clean up. he returned to see y/n gone from his room. he assumed she went back to nick’s.

she was out before he woke up the next morning, no explanation left.

“what’s up with you?” nick shouted.

matt had just had a sudden outburst on his brothers while filming a new video. they were in the car talking, chris telling a story about one of their friends.

he was upset, no he was pissed. pissed at her.

he didn’t want to hate her but he felt like he did. she kept playing games with him.

“hello?” nick smacked matt’s shoulder from the backseat to awaken him from his mind.

“what, bro?!” matt replied sternly.

“dude, turn the camera off for a second.” chris obliged nicks words and reached over to press stop recording. “seriously, matt. i get like the whole attitude and misery is your thing, but that wasn’t for show. i could tell.”

“yea, you good?” chris added.

matt was still with his head low, avoiding their stares. he couldn’t just tell him he fucked their bestfriend, now he thinks he’s in love with her. especially when she just announced her new relationship.

“i’m good..” he whispered. nick and chris spared a glance that read he was lying. but being so tired and ready for bed, they excused it and continued filming.

the ride home was almost fully silent, occasional conversation from nick and chris along with the radio, but matt stayed silent and went straight to bed once they arrived.

meanwhile, y/n was stressing hardcore. what could she expect? she did it to herself.

she’d been distant from the triplets as well as kian. her phone would display messages from nick, or their group chat, but she would swipe them away and continue her day.

it was around midnight when she received a message from a unsaved number.

:hey i’m having a party at this club that was rented out. would love for you to come!

the next message was the address and other details. she never gave her number out to anyone, so she knew it was someone of acquaintance.

a party could clear her mind. one night of fun wouldn’t hurt right? …

“girl where have you been? i haven’t heard from you in a minute!” tara was at the party and the first to greet y/n. they didn’t know eachother that well, only meeting a few times because of the triplets, but they still clicked.

“just trying to get by honestly, but you look hot!”

the two embraced, tara smelling of strong liquor.

“jake is over there, if you wanna say hi. not sure where anyone else is though, i’m drunk!” she shouted playfully and ran away to get more drinks.

standing in the corner of the dark club, lights flashed around her and the bodies present. she stood mostly to herself after saying hi to some friends.

she didn’t really wanna drink, though it would pause the constant anxiety running through her body.

but something made her really wish she did.

“y/n! hey- i’ve missed you!”

it was nick. thank goodness. for a second she thought it was matt. they look nearly identical.

“oh! hi nicky!” they squeezed eachother in a tight hug, soothing her nerves just a little.

a party always brings people together! even the ones you try to avoid.

trailing slowly behind him was chris. he hadn’t noticed her, too busy greeting people along the way. she was mentally praying and begging to god matt wasn’t with them.

nick brought her back to life, “what have you been up to? i really wanna catch up!”

“yea- it’s only been a few weeks nick,” she gulped

“i know, but we usually talk everyday?”

“i’m sorry, i just.. i have so much on my plate right now,” she peered behind nick to see chris had disappeared.

“totally understandable. maybe we could hang- or do you wanna come spend the night? if you’re not busy, i have so much to tell you!” he appeared excited to catch up with her, smiling with each word.

she wanted to throw up on the spot. spending the night was a terrible idea. but she couldn’t decline, it was her bestfriend and she never knew how to say no.. clearly.

“yea, i can..” she let out regretfully

nick couldn’t tell this over the colors swishing past her face and the blaring music, so he nodded gratefully.

he stood by her side for a while, swaying to the music, she was looking around the room.

spotting chris, she quickly looked away noticing he saw her.

once she checked back, he was coming toward her and nick. but matt was right behind him. of course he was there, any other time he hated partying, but he was in the same boat as her.

panicking, she grabbed nick by the wrist and pulled him to the middle of the crowded dance floor. she started moving to the song, signaling him to follow her lead in which he did.

chris on the other hand turned back to matt confused if he’d seen. matt played it off. shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

in reality, he saw it all. he had his eyes on her the moment they walked in.

his chest tightened, he didn’t expect her to be there.

his head started spinning all over again. he wanted to leave so eagerly, but he couldn’t let her win.

he knew how he felt, he was just in denial.

chris began walking the opposite direction, making matt follow along before losing him.

in y/n’s head, she remembered the offer nick gave her. she’s going to have to ride home with them. awesome.

nick grew tired of dancing. he shouted for her to follow him but she couldn’t hear. he then put his arm around her shoulder to guide her through the crowd.

he led her to a small booth, the seats were glossy black with a few strangers occupying them. sitting down, “i’m so glad i caught you here, but i’m honestly ready to go”

“agreed. i miss my baby”

“kian? girl have you been too busy for him too?” nick asked

“no! i mean shadow!”

“oh the cat! sorry, lowkey forgot matt got you one”

speak of the devil! chris appeared around the corner from the booth, matt trailing behind like a shy child.

“i’ve been looking for y’all!” chris yelled. he sat between nick and y/n, giving her a quick side hug by throwing his arm over her shoulder.

matt took the seat on her opposite side, being sure to leave a gap between them. she knew he was there, she just couldn’t bare to look.

nick and chris joined conversation about their experience and if they were ready to head out.

chris whipped his head around to ask the two next to him if they were ready as well, only gaining nods.

“what’s wrong, you always sit in the front?” nick concerned as y/n started for the back seat of the suv. she knew it was common for her to fight with chris for the passenger seat, this time she didn’t fight.

“nothing, i just know chris is gonna cry over it.”

“it’s fine, you can take it tonight” chris added, lightly pushing her aside to climb in the backseat.

she smiled sarcastically and he shut the door.

sitting in the seat, matt was already behind the wheel starting the car. he didn’t bother asking if everyone was good like he usually did. he just pulled off.

arriving to the home after an awkward ride, nick brought her to his room to change and sleep.

she wore one of his t-shirts and a pair of fluffy pajama pants with some type of animal printed all over them.

nick crashed as soon as he finished showering. she joined him when she was done hers, trying her best to fall asleep.

all she could think about was how things would go the following day. nick planned for them to all go out to eat and catch up. she knew something would probably go wrong.

on the other hand, she wondered how she truly felt about kian. he was so nice, he cared about her, and he was loyal. unlike her.

he was currently at his apartment, watching over shadow while she went to party.

she texted him on the drive back to the triplets place that she would be hanging out with them the next day, but she would be home after. he didn’t mind.

suddenly she felt nauseous. becoming aware that matt was just a room away. the room she was once in. she knew if she wanted to stop feeling this way, she had to confront them both.

she didn’t know if it was because she was sleep deprived, or just delusional, but she found her self sneaking out of nicks room.

soft socks hit the floor as she tip toed into the hallway. standing in front of matt’s bedroom door, she hesitated seeing the lights off from underneath.

she lifted her fist ready to knock.

the feeling of nausea suddenly went away, she came to her senses. she couldn’t do it.

maybe it was her guilt, maybe it was her subconscious telling her matt was on the other side of the door, waiting to exit his room to talk to her too.

she would never know that though.

sunlight peeked through the curtains in every room of the house. nick was the first awake and went on his phone immediately. opening tiktok, the volume was on full blast, waking up the girl next to him.

“i’m so sorry” he giggled while she groaned.

“what time is it?” she rubbed her eyes and sat up.

“9am, no one’s gonna wake up anytime soon” he reassured knowing chris and matt would wake up around noon after staying out late.

“oh.. well i’m up now.”

“oh- i was gonna ask you where’d you go last night but i’m assuming it was to the bathroom or something?” nick asked, switching to instagram in the process.

the sound of her heartbeat could be heard in the quiet room, remembering what happened last night.

almost choking, she nodded, “yea.. bathroom”

around 1:30pm, nick and y/n sat in the living room with chris. nick was on his laptop editing a video for their channel, chris was nearly falling back asleep on the separate chair, wrapped in a blanket.

she layed back with her legs curled to her side, watching nick work his magic.

matt was awake. he knew they were all in the other room. he just couldn’t take the anxiety building up in his chest. he stood sitting on his bed, trying to clear his mind tapping through stories, though it only made things worse.

on nicks story was a selfie of him and y/n, the next was a video of her dancing and laughing at the camera last night.

he closed the app and threw his phone on the bed. he had to face it one way or another.

“good-fucking-afternoon sleepyhead!” matt walked into the living room gaining remarks from nick.

matt hummed a response. the only seat available was right next to y/n.

they both swallowed nerves as he took the seat, leaving a distance.

nick interrupted this awkward moment, “i made reservations at 5 for us to eat, nothing too fancy but i wanna catch up!”

“sounds great..” she was barley moving, yet alone breathing. trying her best to avoid looking in matt’s direction.

chris groaned from his spot still trying to wake up.

minutes went by in silence. something unusual for the group.

“was the hangover that bad? y’all barely even drank last night why are we so quiet?” nick blurted out.

no one responded. she finally turned to matt, he was already looking at her. she felt a different feeling this time. a mix of nervous and ..love?

it couldn’t be. she loved him, but wasn’t in love. right?

she took a shower, put on some spare clothes nick had of hers, and finished getting ready to go out.

she stood in the room until it was time to go. in fear of another weird encounter.

“are we ready?!” chris yelled out from the hallway.

“yes, yes we are.” nick opened the door to his room revealing himself and y/n. they were matching in all black outfits.

“y’all are ridiculous,” chris laughed looking them up and down.

they arrived to the dim restaurant and were seated in a booth.

nick was next to her while chris and matt sat across. nick caught her up on his love life and some drama while the other two were on their phones. after ordering, they enjoyed their meals together and shared other stories.

matt was quiet. almost completely. he would chime in here and there, or if he was asked a question.

she noticed this and felt guilty.

they collected the bill and payed, getting out the booth. it was a decent walk to the exit, they were on the upper level.

“y/n, how’s shadow? you need to bring him over before he gets too big!” of course chris had to mention the one thing that tied her to matt.

his head shot up to look at her waiting for her response.

“yea, he’s good, a little bit of a trouble maker though. he’s um.. he’s with kian right now..”

matt felt like he’d been punched in the gut. why did he expect any less? he wished that day he got shadow from the shelter, when he surprised her with him, she would finally be his. but kian was in the picture.

he was so deep into his thoughts he didn’t notice chris and nick walking away from them.

“hold on-matt!”

“where you going?”

“bathroom. did you not just hear us?” chris barked. him and nick just explained they had to use the restroom.

matt stopped in his tracks, y/n assumed he would go with them. he just stood in front of the hallway to the restrooms, leaning against the wall across from her.

she looked anywhere but at him.

“y/n..” his voice was soft, almost a whisper

barley heard from the faint music and talking. there was no one else in the area they were in.

finally making eye contact.

“hmm?” she felt like crying.

“uh- where’ve you been? you didn’t call or anything- you just disappeared,” he started, expecting a response.

“i’ve been.. busy. you know that.” she looked down.

“y/n.”

nothing.

“really? too busy to call- let alone text? the bare minimum!” his voice raising a bit as he stepped closer.

“matt, why do you care?” she didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

he was taken back a bit, “what? why do i care?! you know why i care, y/n. i care becaus-“

“alright! let’s go.” chris interrupted matt’s speech walking out the bathroom with nick following behind.

they walked right in between the two.

y/n looked at him before following them out.

matt drove them back to the house.

he went to his room, but so did chris and nick, y/n joining nick. “wanna help me edit this video? i’m kinda stuck and i want it to be fun.” nick mentioned. he grabbed his laptop and layed in bed next to her.

she wanted to confide in him about what’s been going on. it wouldn’t be a good idea though, he already knew too much about kian. she told nick everything. almost everything.

she was lost.

going to an outsider wouldn’t help. a female friend would only encourage her to do the wrong thing. a family member would judge her. her only other choice was chris.

he knew matt more than anyone, but she couldn’t just straight up tell him she fucked his brother, now she thinks she’s in love with him.

“yea- hold on i’ll be right back, i wanna ask chris something.. about shadow,” she lied. she didn’t want nick to think she had a secret. he would force it out of her.

“chris?” she pushed the door that was already half way open. he was sat in the middle of his bed with music playing from a speaker.

he looked up and turned it down, “what’s up?”

“can i ask you something? like in a serious matter.”

“of course. wait, as long as it’s not about like female body parts-“

“chris!” she shut the door, running over and smacking him on the arm.

“okay- okay! what is it?”

she thought for a moment on how to word it.

“have you ever had to chose between two important people?”

“dude, i’m a triplet. what you think?” he replied sarcastically.

“you’re so annoying. i’m serious, how do you know.. like who to chose?”

he looked her in the eye, “you kinda just.. feel it? its kinda like knowing what’s best for you- or them- who are we talking about here?”

nearly blurting out their names, she bit her tongue.

“um..”

“you can tell me. i won’t snitch.”

“no- it’s confidential, just go on..”

he nodded, he examined her face for a second before continuing, “well, you know how when you really love someone, nothing else matters but their happiness? if you feel like you’re falling for someone else, then you would chose that person, ‘cause if you truly loved the original person, you wouldn’t think you love someone else.”

she took in what he said. it was rare to have conversations like this with chris, she enjoyed it.

“let’s say.. you love someone, but they love someone else, then what?” she added.

“you let them be happy. even if you’ve loved them for years and now you’re too late..” his gaze trailed down to his hands resting on the mattress. his expression saddened, he seemed to be familiar with the feeling.

she brushed it off, thinking it wasn’t anything.

“oh.. thanks, chris. i really needed to just ask someone.”

he looked back at her, she was getting up from her spot ready to walk out.

“mhm. wait- y/n?” he stopped her.

“yeah?” still turned to the door.

“this about matt and kian?”

frozen in her stance.

her chest nearly exploded from fear. “w-what? what do you mean? i- um, did he s- tell you something?” she faced him again.

“nah, i just know you guys fucked that day i came in his room looking for my hoodie. i just didn’t wanna embarrass you..”

there’s no way. he knew all this time.

“chris..” she didn’t know what to say. she was terrified he’d ruin all of this.

he got up from the bed to walk toward her. “i didn’t tell anyone, and i won’t. okay? don’t worry.”

she nodded in relief.

“but y/n,” she looked up at him. “you need to make up your mind. i love you, but he’s my brother.”

sighing, he was right. chris loved his brother and didn’t want him hurt in the end. regardless of how he felt on anything.

“i know..”

the night ended. she was back at her apartment. it was early morning around 7am.

the buzzer sounded in every room of the apartment.

“coming- hold on!”

the door opened to reveal kian with shadow in a small black carrying bag.

“my boys! come in,” she moved aside fighting the knot in her stomach. today was the day.

“he was really fun, i noticed he loves tearing apart curtains.” kian stepped in having a seat in the living area. he took shadow out the bag letting him roam free.

“tuh! look at those!” she pointed to the white curtains covering the sunset window which had tears and scratches at the foot. kian chuckled, she leaned down to kiss his cheek before sitting.

“so, i wanted to talk to you..” she began. she trembled a bit with anxiety. kian was gentle when it came to serious topics, why was she terrified of his reaction? something was telling her this wasn’t gonna go well.

“i wanted to talk to you too- you go first though.”

odd, what could he have to tell her?

she let out a breath, “okay! kian, i really love being with you.. i do, you’re amazing really and i appreciate everything you’ve done for me but-“

the buzzer went off.

“oh, were you expecting someone?” he questioned, about to get up to answer for her.

“no.. i got it. one sec,”

she unlocked the door, slowly pulling it open trying to see who it was.

“matt? what are you-“

his face was red, eyes were puffy and clear signs of stress was visible when he interrupted her, walking in a bit.

“i- i love you, y/n. i can’t get you out of my head- it’s driving me insane! i don’t know what you’re doing to me- ever since we had sex- even before that, i’ve been so down bad for you!” he sobbed.

she was stunned.

she looked to her left, kian was stood up. she never seen him look so hurt, so betrayed. did he hear matt correctly?

matt turned to see what made y/n look so horrified.

kian and matt made eye contact.

“what?”

“kian.. i-”

YALLLLLL don’t hate me 😭

tag list: @jcrabtree11 @xaristhings @4iriss @045696 @fallingforfalll2 @starzinasblog

[yerrmar]

❧THROUGH THE CRACKS☙

warning: angst, swearing, talks of violence, lowkey sexual tension, she/her usage for reader.

summary: you hate Luke Castellan and he hates you, but when you see him in the woods crying your gentle nature slips through… just a bit.

Luke hissed in pain leaning against a tree, he squeezed his eyes shut which only made the pain in his face worse. His new scar throbbed as the stitches begged to burst, and his head was pounding like it had never before. He had run out of his cabin so he didn’t disturb his siblings and the other sleeping campers in there with his whining, so he was currently sobbing from pain past curfew and hoping that the harpies wouldn’t hear him.

It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep anyway tonight, he didn’t want to face the nightmares waiting for him when he shut his eyes, he was grateful for the pain he was suffering from at that moment too because every time he shut his eyes shooting pains shot across his face.

He reached up to touch the cause of his misery feeling the rough fabric of the stitches and his bumpy skin that had been deeply sliced, it only made him sob louder. The feeling of pain, failure, and hunger mixed together, he hadn’t eaten for a while and he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach a meal, he’d just be picturing what he looked like in a mirror and it would all come back up instantly.

He’d been avoiding seeing people lately too, specifically you. Luke could already imagine the jokes you’d make and the look of disgust that would be plastered on your face, it made his stomach turn. You both made harsh comments at one another, no stone was left unturned when you two were being rude to one another, but he hoped you’d at least leave this situation alone when you finally saw him face to face.

You knew what had happened, word got around quickly at camp and you even felt a little bit bad for Luke, till the feeling of pity wore away and you started to get frustrated that he was ignoring you. You enjoyed picking a fight with the boy, he felt like the only one that could match you in a fight or argument.

That night you couldn’t sleep either, not for any specific reason you couldn’t seem to fall asleep so you took a walk in the woods, like you usually did when you felt restless. You expected to get caught by Chiron or Mr D catching you outside past curfew, but you didn’t care because you knew there wasn’t much they could do other than slap you on the wrist and ask you not to do it again.

What you didn’t expect was to hear soft sobs coming from behind a tree, and you definitely didn’t expect to see the noise coming from a teary-eyed Luke Castellan whose tear-stained cheeks turned bright pink when he locked eyes with you.

He groaned embarrassed and annoyed that he’d been caught, even more annoyed that it was you that had found him breaking down. Luke was waiting for a laugh to come out of your mouth or for a witty comment about how weak he is.

But you didn’t open your mouth at all, you were just in shock. Luke Castellan the camp’s golden boy who hasn’t stopped fighting since the day he was born, probably one of the toughest people you know (though you’d never admit it) was crying.

“I’m waiting.” He spat, sniffing and wiping his face preparing to be verbally abused by you.

You noticed how tired his eyes looked, he was paler than usual too, and it made your stomach drop. “For what?” you frown.

“For you to make fun of me, what else?” Luke didn’t look at you in fear of what your expression would be, disgust, joy or even worse pity.

“You think that low of me, Castellan.” You scoff crossing your arms, you then look around you for the possible chance of another camper popping out from behind a tree and catching the both of you. And when you realised that wasn’t going to happen you slowly sat down next to him.

Luke shivered, you weren’t the most comforting presence. You both sat in an awkward silence for a while, before you broke the ice with a stupid question. “Um- why… why are you crying?” You mentally curse yourself because you already know the answer to that but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“What do you think?” Luke snapped, he wasn’t in the mood for your games and he definitely was too mentally drained to play into them. He hissed again, his scar mocked him properly like how you were.

You frown again, catching a glimpse of the scar on his face, it looked swollen and incredibly painful. It reminded you of the time Chimera stuck its claws into the side of your thigh and every step you took made it feel like you were stepping onto millions of knives. The only thing that soothed it was this weird cooling cream the Apollo cabin made for you. And you were pretty sure you had some left in your cabin.

“I have something that will help calm that down.” You hum softly it not only surprised you but Luke too, why were you being so nice? Was it something to do with him being so broken that you just felt like you had to? Yeah, it had to be because of that.

“Really? You want to help… me?” Luke raised his brow hissing in pain completely forgetting his scar was there.

You rolled your eyes and got up off the floor crossing your arms, “You gonna accept my help or what, Castellan?” you stood over him but not in your usual intimidating way, actually, nothing about how you were acting right now was like how you usually acted and it was creeping him out.

He thought for a moment trying to ignore the possibility that this actually might be a plan to murder him and decide to place his trust in you it’s not like he had any other choice anyway, he was in pain and would do anything to get rid of it. He got up off the floor and followed behind you with his head down so that if he was caught they wouldn’t be able to see his red and puffy eyes.

When you got to your cabin you opened the door carefully and quietly so nobody would wake up, and dragged Luke over to your bed. He cautiously sat down looking around the quiet and dark room feeling extremely out of place sitting on your bed.

You open your bedside drawer wincing every time it made a noise and swiftly took out the ointment. Luke scrunched up his face when you opened the tub and a strong scent filled his nose and made him hold back a gag. “Smells like you.” You smirk slightly walking over to him and gathering some of the cream with your fingers.

Luke would’ve fought back but the words were unable to come out when he realised you were going to put the cream on him. You didn’t specify at all when you said that you were going to help him, you didn’t mention that you were going to be touching him, touching a specific spot that was extremely painful to be exact.

He backed away slightly from instinct and you huffed, “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m trying to show you how to use it, dummy.” You hadn’t really been planning on putting it on his face either, you just got carried away but you didn’t want him to know you made a mistake. You never make mistakes.

Hesitantly, he leans back in and you slowly move your fingers to his scar gently spreading the cream around and soothingly rubbing it in. It was cold but soothingly, he couldn’t smell it anymore once it was on his face and he also slowly started to not be able to feel the strong shooting pains across his face.

You were being so gentle and so soft, Luke had never seen you like this or act this way with any and if you ever did he never expected it would be him you were doing it too.

You were focusing so hard on not hurting him, and Luke noticed, you cautiously softened your pace when you got near spots that were even more tender than the others and made sure you put more of the cooling cream on those spots.

Luke didn’t know where to look, you were filling his view and everywhere he seemed to look felt inappropriate to do. At one point he felt his eyes lingering on your plump pink lips that always seemed to be stuck in a pout, he felt himself start to think about what they’d feel like and internally screamed when he realised what he was doing and tried to avert his eyes behind you.

“Stop moving.” You hissed quietly getting annoyed at his head moving around so much, that you didn’t wait for a reply and held his face still with your other hand not noticing how he shuddered at the contact.

“Why do you hate me so much.” Luke suddenly blurted out, not even knowing what he was saying till he said it. He was curious though, there wasn’t a day you weren’t mean to him, even the first day you both met you were so nasty and you didn’t even know his name. “I don’t even remember doing anything wrong, you’ve just always been such a… bitch.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing “You're not the only one, so don’t feel too triggered.”

“Wow, good to know i’m not special.” Luke sarcastically gasped acting hurt, but when he realised you weren’t bothered one tiny bit he sighed and went back to his question. “Still, why?”

“Why what?” Your tone was sharp and harsh but your fingers stayed so gentle.

“Why are you so mean?” Luke asked hoping to get a breakthrough, seems though you were acting like a completely different person today maybe he could get some truth and vulnerability out of you.

Silence filled the room once again, not because you didn’t answer but because you genuinely didn’t know the reason. You just shrugged and continued to work, but Luke wasn’t satisfied with your answer. “Angel, be real for once. You owe it to me for seeing me… you know-”

“Cry?” You slightly grin and Luke groans the look of embarrassment on his face again, it makes you frown you didn’t mean to make fun of him. So you let out a loud quiet sigh and suck up every thought that was screaming at you to stay quiet. “I don’t know, I guess I’m like… scared.”

Luke raised his brow, surprised that he got you to open up even if it was just a tiny bit. “Scared? Of what?” You being scared was something Luke thought that could never be possible, you were the most fearless person he knew.

“Getting close to someone i think… trust doesn’t come easy for me.” You try not to look at his eyes to see if you could tell what he was thinking, but the temptation was driving you crazy. He probably thought you were so stupid and weak for thinking that, that being the reason you mean to so many people is pathetic.

But he didn’t, Luke thought the opposite. He’d never seen you be so honest and open, and he loved it, in some weird way he enjoyed seeing you be so soft.

“I get it.” Luke hummed softly.

You were taken aback by this, he agreed with you? “You do.”

Luke nodded because he did understand the person he was supposed to trust most in this world, his dad, was a complete asshole who sent his child on a dangerous, impossible quest that had already been done.

You bit your lip to stop you from trying to smile at that, you were probably going to hate yourself in the morning for this because Luke would definitely use it in the future against you and embarrass you in front of all your siblings who look up to you.

His eyes darted to your lips, you were driving him crazy right now and he hated it, he hated that you didn’t even realise it too. He finally stopped looking around and just settled his eyes on your face, softly smiling at how focused you were on his own face too. The pale and radiant glow that the moon shone into your cabin lit your face up, making you look so angelic which was fitting for the current situation.

Luke smirked, “Never thought you’d be helping me, and I’m on your bed. What has possessed you tonight, angel.” he teased. The Luke that was crying in the woods had disappeared and the cocky, arrogant Luke you absolutely despised was back.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, your nostrils flaring as you grit your teeth. But your actions weren’t acting up with your expression and tone because you continued to treat him like he was made of glass.

“Never thought our faces would be this close either.” You felt his hot breath on your face and the feeling of your noses just barely touching, you hadn’t noticed how close you seemed to be moving to him and you also didn’t notice how his eyes were piercing into yours.

It made you shiver, why did it make you shiver? And why did your stomach flip when he let his gaze drop back down to your lips and then back up to your eyes? You hated this, you hated every second you spent with his eyes on you, looking at you like you weren’t you, like you weren’t his enemy. Yet you also didn’t feel like moving anytime soon, it was like you were too magnets just begging to be even closer than you already are.

You’d stopped touching his wound at this point, your body had frozen all together the hold his gaze had on you was frightening. Your heart felt like it was doing flips and you just wanted to bang against your chest till it stopped beating.

Luke didn’t seem to mind how much his mind was currently racing with thoughts of you and nothing but you, he so badly just wanted to place his hands on your waist, your hips just anywhere he could, anywhere you’d let him.

You were supposed to hate each other yet in this moment hate was nowhere to be found, the air was thick with something entirely different and it scared you both but it felt so intriguing.

Unconsciously the hand that was on his scar slowly started to move down accidentally brushing his lips in the process, the action drove Luke even crazier because he wanted to do the exact same to you. But it made you snap out of whatever trance you were in and you backed away from him.

“All done.” You blurted out ready for whatever that moment was to be over and done with for Luke Castellan to be off your bed and out of your cabin, and for him to stop looking at you like you're a gift from the gods.

“Uh- yeah, cool.” Luke shot up off the bed, praying that you couldn't see how hot his face was right now. He scratched the back of his neck that awkward feeling creeping back up on him, “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Castellan. I mean it, don’t ever or I’ll kill you.” You warn him, and he knows you meant it. You handed him the tub with the ointment and told him the instructions for putting it on when and how too, and after that, he rushed out your cabin leaving you flustered and so very confused.

[hermaeusmorax]

In Their Shadow

CHARACTERS: Viktor x reader x Jayce

SUMMARY: Viktor entertains a one-sided love with his two best friends, Jayce and you.

WARNINGS: angst with NO happy ending and NO comfort, I wanted to try something different!

A/N: fortunatelly the Arcane brainrot brought me back from my cave, be nice 'cause I'm rusty af in writing atm (as expected after 4 years!). I am also taking more Arcane requests yay! (rules for requests)

Viktor, Jayce and Y/N. The Three Musketeers. If you saw one of them around, no doubt the other two were somewhere nearby, inseparable as they are. What others looking from outside didn't see though, was Viktor's growing resentment towards his two best friends.

It didn't start like this, Viktor used to love them. Love, love them. He still does, but it's twisted now, love and anger so mixed together it's impossible to distinguish which is which. His affection began souring through disappointment at first, Viktor felt disappointed in Jayce for being distracted, their - yours - project suddenly wasn't Jayce's main concern anymore, you were.

When you weren't around Jayce would pester Viktor with daydreams and questions about you "Can you help me find out what's Y/N's type, man? You're way closer to Y/N than I am, please?". Jayce's eyes would shine and his cheeks flush, so enthralled in his own feelings he failed to notice Viktor's growing irritation.

Along the many years the three of you spent together working on Hextech, Viktor couldn't help but be in awe of his two companions. He fell in love with Jayce's passion and with your bright mind. Viktor wanted nothing more than to spend eternity alongside you, picking your brains. But as the two of you grew closer, specially after Jayce's reciprocated advances towards you, you both naturally drifted apart from him.

Viktor was forced to watch on the sidelines, drowning in the darkness of the long shadow your bright relationship cast over him. Left only to daydream about what it could've been like, had he had the courage to tell you or Jayce of his true feelings. Left only to reminisce about the early days of your shared research, when he indeed had the both of you to himself. As an attempt to anesthetize his festering wound, he threw himself at his work on the Hexcore.

Yet another day comes to an end, with Jayce leaving the laboratory with you glued to his arm, both dressed in fancy clothes for a dinner party you were supposed to attend, together, of course. You wave a gloved hand at Viktor, bidding him a gentle goodbye. It irritated him how oblivious you both could be to his true feelings, scientists of the damn year! As the door closed behind you, Viktor was left alone in the dark of the laboratory, so focused on his own misery that he missed when Sky knocked at the door. "Viktor? You still here?" she shyly called from the other side, smile faltering at the deafening silence that followed.

Sky knew he was still there, as it was an habit of his. The tinkering sounds and occasional curses that echoed through the door were just extra proof of his presence. Viktor was so preocuppied with the shadow your and Jayce's love had cast over him, he didn't notice he had cast one of his own. Such is life.

A/N: it physically hurt me to do him so dirty I'M SORRY! Promise to do lots of indulgent and Viktor-focused pieces too, I'm getting my writing groove back on ;).

[hoony2k]

THE LOOKING GLASS

Synopsis: You've never had the best luck with love or in life, maybe that's why you're being comforted by your boyfriend's brother who happens to look identical to him.

Pairing: sunghoon x reader

Genre: a mix of fluff and angst, sunghoon is a twin, right person wrong time trope,

Warnings: mentions of being cheated on (reader)

Word Count: 1k

Note: hii another sunghoon post! I enjoyed writing this so much..why'd i eat with the title need to pat myself on the back

library

It's strange seeing your lover but not truly seeing them. Next to you under the dim porch light , sits Sunghoon with a cold glass of water.

The glass is frosty with condensation, droplets trickle down the boy's fingertips and your throat is flooded with an onset of emotions. His wrist must hurt from being in a rigid position for so long but there is no courage inside you that could take the glass from him.

It should be Sungjin next to you, but it's not- it's his identical twin brother. Park Sunghoon. The shadow. The ghost. The one no one talks about in family dinners, and often forget to message Happy Birthday!

Sunghoon lingers a comfortable distance, near enough for you to feel his warm yet far enough for you two appear as friends. He's always been respectful towards you, never dared to bring you discomfort, subtly looked out for you when he knew his brother was ignorant to your moods. Though, his kind actions never missed your radar.

Common sense urges you to thank him for the water, take the glass from him and down it in one go to prevent another pitiful crying session. But, your eyes are already misty. Sunghoon seem to doesn't mind the wait. You sniffle.

For eons the silence between your bodies stretches on. The house is vibrant with life and colour, muffled cheers and laughter resonate periodically. The wooden floor you took salvation in vibrates with bass.

Inside everyone in the Park family is celebrating Sungjin's new job across the country and you're bleeding out on the porch. Not alone in misery though, as it seems.

You almost don't recognise yourself when you speak, voice scratchy.

"I wish I never found out".

"Don't say that", Sunghoon whispers harshly. It almost floats away in the breeze but you catch it. You always caught his low murmurs and comments whispered under his breath.

Head heavy with shame you bow to nothing in particular. The deities must be laughing at you. How stupid were you really?

There's a shuffle as Sunghoon comes closer, his dry hand rests on your knee, warm, anchoring. the flame in your heart flickers dangerously.

From your peripheral, you eye him up and down.

His features look exactly like Sungjin's. Soft sloped nose sealed with a beauty mark near the ends, strong prominent eye brows and pouty plush lips. Though Sungjin has shorter hair that doesn't curl behind his ears, bleached so many times in his youth the ends are dry. Sunghoon doesn't have a mole on his left ear, a slight crooked canine or a rumble in his voice.

But Sungjin doesn't look at you like this. Hasn't looked at you like this- in years.

Brown eyed Sunghoon looks at you as if you're the most wonderful person he's ever seen. What swims in his pupils is fondness and a hint of worry, of protectiveness.

Sungjin looked at you as if he wished you were someone else. Almost as if he was trying his hardest to envision the doe eyed girl-who lived across the country-you caught him with.

And maybe you're a hypocrite for crying over him and whining about how he wronged you. Because your mind reels you back to occasions where you met his family, in those small moments where you disappeared in the background as Sungjin took the stage, or when Sungjin wasn't breathing down your neck for wearing a sleeveless dress, you caught yourself staring at Sunghoon.

Alone and silently wandering near the kids table. In those moments, it was only you and Sunghoon, trapped in a second together. A sweet secret moment where you truly saw him. Even if the adults didn't. Though, those moments lasted short, filled with Sunghoon rapidly asking you questions and your responding as quick, throwing in a joke or two, aware that something in the interaction would eventually become a secret inside joke. A fond jest he'd refer to during the next reunion, perhaps when he'd find you in the kitchen or when he'd raise his eyebrows at you from across the room. The pair of you trapped in time as all around you blurred past.

The feeling was mutual, it was pure, it was fondness, it was nothing serious.

"I wish I fell for you instead", your body moves on autopilot and you can't believe what you had just said. Shocked at the self discovery, a battle begins within you. Your face is warm with shame and guilt for roping him in your emotions, but you're relieved at the birth of the sentence. It was like finally confronting your reflection. Your heart felt lighter but your face heat up with shame.

Saying it out loud unsheathed the hidden truth, forced you to come in terms with the bitter reality. Sungjin stopped loving you when he was accepted as an intern in another city, maybe along the quiet days and lonely nights, you forgot how to love. Confused love for a routine, to be the polite, pretty partner wrapped around his arm.

Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath. His blown out pupils hide under his lids, lips pulled in a taunt line. Then he goes limp.

He slouches over his long legs clad in a black trouser, elbows resting on his knees.

Sunghoon's head hangs low, dark hair covering his face yet through the gaps of locks you see his eyes and his long yearning desires. His fingers, red from the cold sensation are numb, intentionally tipping the glass until water splatters on the chipped off wooden stairs. He lets the angle of his hand pour water until the amount doesn't reach the tip. Until it stops and the liquid can only slosh in the container.

Half full, half empty.

You glance at the small darkening spot, the wood dutifully soaking it all in. Then, stare at Sunghoon. Lip caught between his teeth, his eyes stare blankly at the ground but you drown in the abyss of despair and temptation inside them.

"I wish you fell for me too".

thank you for reading! Please do not edit/translate/copy.

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us IX

Summary:

In the wake of Y.N's departure, Aemond wallows in his heartbreak until a surprising person comes to his aid and as certain revelations come to light Aemond is determined to fight for his relationship and show Y.N how much he loves her.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Fluff, Tension, Swearing, Idiocy, Revelations, Memories, Kissing, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 7340

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

The days that followed Y.N.’s departure blurred into an agonizing haze for Aemond. He spent most of his time on the sofa, whiskey bottle in hand, sinking deeper into despair.

The once pristine penthouse was now littered with empty bottles, discarded clothes, and half-eaten food. He hadn't showered, hadn't gone to work. He was lost in his grief, his regret festering with every passing hour.

He lay face down on the sofa, the leather cold against his skin as the weight of everything bore down on him. His thoughts spiralled as the familiar sting of tears pricked his eye again.

The door creaked open, but he didn’t bother to move. He assumed it was some kind of hallucination, a product of his misery coming to taunt him.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and solid. Startled, he turned his head and blinked up at the figure standing beside him.

It was Aegon.

Without a word, Aegon knelt down beside him and wrapped his arms around Aemond’s trembling body, pulling him into a tight, protective embrace.

Aemond’s resolve crumbled completely. The sobs he had been trying to suppress for days burst out, raw and broken, as he clung to his brother like a lifeline.

Aegon held him firmly, his hand gently running over the back of Aemond’s head, hushing him softly. "It’s okay," he whispered. "Just let it out, Aemond. I’ve got you."

Aemond's words were barely coherent through the tears. "How-how did you know?" he choked out, his voice thick with sorrow.

Aegon sighed softly, still holding him. "Y.N”

Aemond pulled back slightly, his swollen eye searching his brother’s face. "Is she with you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, desperate for any hint of hope.

Aegon shook his head, his expression soft with sympathy. "No, she’s not. She called and asked me to come check on you”

“D-Do you know where she is?” asked Aemond.

“No. She didn’t tell me where she is. She just-wanted to make sure you were okay."

Aemond’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. She hadn’t abandoned him completely—she still cared enough to send Aegon.

But the uncertainty of where she was, whether she’d ever come back, gnawed at him like a festering wound.

"I’ve lost her, Aegon," he whispered, his voice broken. "I’ve lost everything."

Aegon looked at him with a mix of sadness and frustration. "You haven’t lost everything. You’ve still got a chance to fix this, but not if you keep drowning yourself in booze." He glanced around the messy penthouse and sighed. "You need to pull yourself together, brother."

Aemond shook his head, tears spilling down his face again. "I don’t know if I can. I pushed her away. I let Alys-I let her ruin everything."

Aegon tightened his grip on his shoulder. "You made a mistake. But you don’t get to give up now. Not on her, not on Jack." His voice softened, filled with an unusual tenderness. "She loves you, Aemond. I’ve seen it. And you love her. So, fight for her. Fight for your family."

Aemond swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe the tears from his face. He was a mess, broken beyond recognition.

But Aegon’s words pierced through the fog of despair just enough to remind him of what he still had—a chance, however small, to make things right.

"Where do I even start?" Aemond whispered, more to himself than to Aegon.

Aegon gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Start by cleaning yourself up. Get back on your feet. And when she’s ready to listen, you tell her everything. You show her how much she means to you. But first, you need to be the man she fell in love with—not this."

Aemond nodded weakly, the weight of his guilt and sorrow still heavy on his chest, but for the first time in days, a faint glimmer of hope flickered inside him.

He wasn’t ready to give up on Y.N. Not yet.

After days of wallowing in self-pity, Aemond finally stood up, determined to clean himself up—both literally and figuratively.

The penthouse was a disaster, a reflection of his inner turmoil. Empty bottles, crumpled clothes, and discarded takeout containers were strewn everywhere.

He started with the mess. Collecting the bottles, he threw them into the recycling bin, tidied up the living room, and straightened the cushions on the sofa.

With each action, he felt a sliver of control returning, a faint hope that he could fix not just the penthouse but his life, too. When the living space was back in order, he made his way to the bathroom.

A long shower followed, steam filling the room as he stood beneath the hot water. Afterward, he shaved, carefully watching his own reflection in the mirror.

His face, now clean-shaven, still bore the marks of sleepless nights and too much drinking, but it was a start. He dressed in a crisp suit, as if putting on armour, preparing for the day ahead.

The next morning, Aemond arrived at the office, trying to compose himself. He sat in his chair, hands on the desk, staring blankly at the papers in front of him when the door opened.

Rhaenyra walked in, her presence commanding the room immediately. She shut the door behind her and gave him a stern look, arms crossed.

"Where have you been, Aemond?" she asked, her tone sharp. "You’ve missed the last few days without a word."

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his freshly washed hair. "Y.N. left me," he admitted, his voice quiet but heavy with pain. "She took Jack and I didn’t take it well."

Rhaenyra’s expression softened slightly. "Does this have anything to do with Alys?" she asked, and Aemond’s head snapped up in surprise.

"How do you know about that?"

"I overheard Larys arguing with her. I’m sure you’re not surprised, considering how intertwined our businesses can be."

Aemond frowned, leaning forward. "What was said?"

Rhaenyra sat down across from him. "Larys wasn’t too happy with her vendetta against you. Apparently, he warned her off a while ago. When she wouldn’t back off, he cut ties with her."

Aemond’s expression darkened. "She told me she parted ways with Larys to pursue her own career."

Rhaenyra scoffed. "Not exactly. She was trying to go it alone because Larys ended their partnership. He didn’t want her personal issues interfering with his deals, especially with Targaryen Inc."

Aemond felt a deep pang of humiliation. "I feel like a fool. I even recommended clients to her."

Rhaenyra gave him a pointed look. "It’s a shame then that the clients you recommended had contracts signed with Targaryen Inc, not with Alys’s company."

Aemond blinked. "How?"

"It was a mix-up with one of the assistants. They handed over the wrong contracts for the clients to sign. A total misunderstanding, of course. The assistant has been reprimanded, but the contracts remain valid."

Aemond shook his head. "So, I’ve been recommending clients to her, but they’re still contracted with us."

"Exactly. But you need to cut ties with Alys—completely. She’s not going to be happy when she realizes those clients aren’t really hers."

Aemond nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’m done with her. I should’ve been done with her the moment she reached out. I was trying to right a wrong, but all I did was make things worse."

Rhaenyra regarded him thoughtfully. "Don’t be too hard on yourself, Aemond. Any man who tries to fix his mistakes isn’t a total fool."

Aemond scoffed. "Well, I sure feel like one. It’s cost me Y.N. and Jack."

Rhaenyra smiled faintly. "Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Y.N. is entitled to feel angry and hurt, but it’s because she loves you. I could tell by the way she talked about you."

Aemond furrowed his brow, hope flickering in his chest. "Wait-how do you know?"

Rhaenyra slid a piece of card across the desk toward him. Aemond picked it up, staring at the address written on it.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"It’s where Y.N. and Jack are staying."

Aemond’s heart pounded. "I didn’t know where she was," he said quietly, almost in disbelief.

"That’s why Y.N. came to me," Rhaenyra explained. "She needed some time away to think things through. She just needed space."

Aemond met Rhaenyra’s eyes, his voice softer now. "Why are you helping me? We haven’t always been close."

Rhaenyra’s smile was gentle, almost wistful. "No, we haven’t. But we’re family, Aemond. And perhaps if things had gone differently in the past, we would’ve been closer. Nothing can make up for the loss of your eye, but maybe this is a start."

Aemond watched her rise from her chair, and as she reached the door, he called out, curiosity tugging at him.

“The assistant that mixed up the contracts-who was it?"

Rhaenyra smiled as she turned back to him, amusement in her eyes. "It was Jacaerys." With that, she left the office, leaving Aemond to stare after her, the card still clutched in his hand.

He looked down at the address, hope swelling in his chest once again. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to fix everything.

Aemond stepped into the elevator, the metallic doors sliding shut behind him with a soft ping. He glanced up and froze when he saw Jacaerys standing at the far end of the lift.

For a few long seconds, silence stretched between them, thick and awkward.

Aemond cleared his throat, breaking the tension. "Rhaenyra told me what happened with the contracts for Alys."

Jace shifted slightly, crossing his arms. "Yeah, unfortunate mistake," he said casually, though the underlying meaning wasn’t lost on either of them. "Guess I wasn’t paying enough attention."

Aemond's gaze sharpened, and he turned to face Jace fully. "Why did you do it?"

Jacaerys sighed, his eyes fixed on the floor before he met Aemond’s one-eyed stare. "My mother wasn’t the only one to overhear Larys and Alys arguing, I heard what she said about wanting to get back at you-”

Aemond was taken aback. He hadn't expected Jace to get involved in this, not after everything between them. "But-you hate me," Aemond said slowly, narrowing his eyes.

Jace shook his head. "I don’t hate you, Aemond. I just really dislike you." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Aemond huffed a quiet, surprised laugh. "There’s a slight difference."

Aemond looked down, almost disbelieving at this turn of events. He hadn’t expected Jacaerys of all people to interfere in a way that helped him. "Thank you."

Jace shrugged, his tone dismissive. "I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Y.N." He paused, his voice softening slightly. "I thought that she was the love of my life. But I’m not hers. You are"

The elevator doors pinged open at the ground floor, revealing the lobby ahead.

Aemond stood there, stunned, processing Jace’s words. He blinked, still finding it hard to believe.

"Even after everything that’s happened?" Aemond asked, his voice low.

Jace gave a small, encouraging nod. "Yes. Even after everything." He met Aemond’s eye seriously before jerking his head toward the exit. "Now stop wasting time talking to me and go get your girl."

Aemond nodded, gratitude bubbling up inside him as he stepped out of the lift. "Thanks again."

Jace smirked and called out after him, "Let’s not make a habit out of this."

As the elevator doors slid shut behind him, Aemond felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest.

The world seemed a little brighter, and for the first time in days, the path ahead didn’t feel so uncertain.

Jace's words echoed in his mind, propelling him forward. It was time to fix what he had broken, he just needed to figure out how.

Aemond stood in front of the modest block of flats, feeling a lump form in his throat as he stared up at the building. This was the address Rhaenyra had given him.

He clutched a bouquet of pink roses tightly in his hand, trying to steel his nerves.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the blare of his car horn startled him. He whipped around to see Aegon leaning out the window, impatient.

"Come the fuck on, Aemond! Get up there, I’m bored of waiting," Aegon called out.

Aemond snapped, "It’s been five minutes!"

"More like five years with how slow you’re moving. Just get up there, and text me if she agrees or not." Aegon flicked through the car’s radio as if this was just another one of his casual outings.

With a huff, Aemond turned back to the building and walked through the entrance, leaving Aegon to amuse himself.

Inside, the place was quiet, starkly different from his sleek penthouse or even Y.N.’s old apartment. This was simpler, more modest.

He called for the lift, his heart pounding as it carried him to the fifth floor. He stepped out, taking slow strides down the hallway until he reached apartment 143.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing Y.N. standing there, looking as beautiful and calm as ever despite the tension between them.

Aemond cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"

Y.N. stepped aside, silently motioning for him to enter. As he walked in, he handed her the bouquet. "These are for you."

She accepted them with a small smile. "Thank you." As she moved to put the roses in a jug of water, Aemond glanced around the apartment.

It was bare, minimal, but it felt warm and lived in. His gaze fell on Jack, nestled in a small pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, wide awake and squirming.

Aemond’s voice softened. "May I?"

Y.N. nodded. "He just woke up."

Aemond knelt beside his son, feeling a surge of emotion as Jack recognized him, flashing a gummy smile.

His little legs kicked in excitement, and Aemond’s heart melted.

He scooped him up, holding him close and inhaling his baby scent. "Daddy’s missed you so much, little one."

Y.N., meanwhile, busied herself with arranging the roses in a jug. "I don’t have a vase," she explained almost apologetically. "I don’t have much of anything here, really. Just the basics."

Aemond glanced at her. "Are you okay for money? For things for Jack?"

"I’m fine," she assured him, though her voice was soft, almost distant. "I figured you came here to talk."

"I did." Aemond nodded, still cradling Jack in his arms as he paced around the apartment. "What made you turn to Rhaenyra for help?"

"I went to Helaena first," Y.N. said, not meeting his gaze. "But it was her who contacted Rhaenyra. We both knew you’d come around eventually, and I didn’t want to bring trouble to Helaena’s door."

Aemond frowned, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "I would never hurt Helaena."

Y.N. finally looked up at him. "Just like you wouldn’t hurt Aegon? He told me you punched him in the face."

Aemond grimaced. "I thought Aegon didn’t know where you were."

"He didn’t." Y.N. raised an eyebrow. "There is such a thing as text messages, you know."

Aemond sighed, bouncing Jack gently in his arms as he moved around the apartment, trying to find the right words. "Did Rhaenyra tell you about Alys?"

"The mistake with the contracts or her vendetta against you?" Y.N. asked, her voice steady but edged with hurt.

Aemond let out a humourless laugh. "Both."

"Yes, she told me," Y.N. said, her tone shifting to something softer.

Aemond nodded, guilt gnawing at him. "I feel like a fool," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "I just-I thought I was making amends for what happened, trying to right my wrongs. But I see now how wrong I was."

"I know," Y.N. said quietly, watching him as he held their son. There was no malice in her voice, only weariness.

"As angry as I am at you, I’m angry at myself too," she added after a beat. Aemond looked up, surprised.

"Why?" he asked.

"For letting Alys drive a wedge between us," Y.N. explained, her voice trembling slightly. "What you did was stupid, yes. You should have just apologized and sent her on her way. But you didn’t. And it allowed her to come between us."

Aemond’s heart clenched. "I’m sorry. I should’ve seen through her manipulation. I never meant to hurt you."

Y.N. sighed, her eyes meeting his, filled with conflicted emotions. "I know," she whispered.

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the soft gurgles of Jack in Aemond's arms as they stood together, caught between love and uncertainty.

Aemond stood there, the weight of uncertainty heavy in the air. His gaze was locked on Y.N., his heart pounding with a desperate question.

“Is there any hope for us?” His voice was almost a whisper, thick with emotion.

Y.N. looked down, her fingers twisting together as she struggled to find the right words. "I-I don't know," she said softly, her voice tinged with the pain of their shared past.

“Please,” Aemond implored, stepping closer, his voice raw and vulnerable. “Just give me a chance to prove how much I love you.”

Y.N. sighed, meeting his eye. “And how are you going to do that, Aemond?”

Without hesitation, Aemond pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text. “I’m going to show you,” he said simply, his voice filled with quiet determination.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. Aemond opened it, revealing Aegon, who immediately reached for Jack with a grin.

“Look at my little buddy!” Aegon cooed as he scooped Jack into his arms. “I’ve missed you so much” as Jack gurgled happily, clearly thrilled to see his uncle.

Aegon then handed Aemond a carrier bag.

Aemond turned to Y.N. and, with a gentle smile, held the bag out to her. “Go get changed.”

Y.N. blinked, a mix of curiosity and reluctance in her expression. She glanced between Aemond and Aegon before taking the bag and disappearing into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, she re-emerged, wearing a stunning blue chiffon lace midi dress. The delicate fabric flowed around her, and the soft lace highlighted her elegance.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed at her. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with awe. A faint blush spread across Y.N.'s cheeks as she looked away shyly.

Aegon, ever the distraction, chimed in with a playful grin. “Well, I’m here to babysit Jack, so you two better get going and have a great time.” He paused, glancing around the apartment. “Now, where are the takeout menus?”

Y.N. laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t actually have any, but you could always google some.”

Aegon stared at her in mock disbelief. “What kind of person doesn’t have takeout menus? Honestly.”

Aemond smirked. “One who doesn’t live off takeaways, like you.”

Aegon scoffed, shaking his head. “Pot, kettle, brother. That’s all you’ve been eating lately.”

Aemond winced slightly, catching Y.N.’s curious glance. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly admitting, “I didn’t feel like cooking.”

Aegon let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Didn’t feel like showering either. Honestly, he was rank”

Y.N. chuckled softly, shaking her head at the brothers’ banter. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Jack’s head, her voice soft and maternal. “Food for Jack is in the fridge, and you just need to-”

“—heat it up,” Aegon interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. We’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Aemond leaned over to bid Jack farewell, pressing a gentle kiss to his son’s head. Then, he turned to Y.N., extending his hand to her. “Shall we?”

Y.N. hesitated for a split second before placing her hand in his.

The moment their fingers intertwined, Aemond felt his heart skip a beat. It was a simple touch, but it was enough to fill him with hope.

As they walked out the door, Aegon called after them, already settling into the sofa with Jack in his arms. “You better text me if this goes well! I’ve got a bet going with Daeron”

Aemond ignored him, focused entirely on Y.N., as they stepped into the hallway. His heart raced with anticipation.

Whatever happened tonight, he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.

Aemond led Y.N. through the grand gardens of Targaryen Manor, the evening air cool and soft against their skin.

Y.N. glanced around, admiring the place, but a flicker of curiosity crossed her face as she asked, "Why have you brought me here?"

Aemond smiled gently, his grip tightening on her hand as they continued walking. “You’ll see,” he murmured.

"Is Otto going to be here?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Aemond shook his head. “No. He’s away visiting Gwayne, and my mother’s having dinner with Helaena tonight.”

“So, it’s just us?” Y.N. asked softly.

“Just us,” he confirmed, but instead of leading her into the manor, he took a turn and guided her toward the sprawling gardens.

Y.N.’s breath hitched as they stepped into a secluded area. Laid out before her was an elegantly prepared picnic, illuminated by soft lanterns hanging from the trees, casting a warm glow over the scene.

A blanket was spread neatly on the grass, adorned with a variety of delicacies, surrounded by delicate flowers in bloom.

“Aemond,” Y.N. gasped, taking in the sight, a smile tugging at her lips. “You did this?”

“I had a little help,” Aemond admitted, his eye glinting with affection.

“Helaena?” Y.N. guessed, knowing his sister's touch was all over this. Aemond nodded, smiling.

As they stood there for a moment, Aemond moved behind her, gently turning her to face the manor.

He rested his hands lightly on her waist, his lips close to her ear. “Second floor,” he whispered, pointing toward the house. “Third from the left.”

Y.N. squinted, trying to figure out the significance. “It’s-a window?” she asked, confused.

Aemond chuckled softly. “Yes. That’s where I was standing the first time I saw you.”

Y.N. gasped, her head snapping toward him. “Really?”

He nodded, his voice low and reminiscent. “I was lying on my bed, and I heard you laughing. So, I got up, went to the window, and watched you. You were with Helaena, completely mesmerized when that butterfly landed on your hand. She wanted to keep it, but you-” he paused, a small smile playing on his lips, “-you let it fly free.”

Y.N. smiled at the memory. She had always loved butterflies, and the way Helaena cherished each one.

Aemond then led her toward a nearby hedge, stopping once they reached it. “And it was here,” he said, tracing his hand over the leaves, “-that you first saw my scar.”

“The wind blew your hood off,” Y.N. remembered, her voice gentle.

Aemond’s eye locked on hers, his voice soft. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Y.N. nodded, her throat tightening as she whispered, “I told you not to hide. That your scar showed that you were brave.”

Aemond swallowed hard, the emotion in his chest swelling as he guided her back to the picnic blanket.

They both sat down, and after a moment of silence, Aemond opened the basket and pulled out an old, worn notebook.

“This-” he said, handing it to her, “-is where I wrote down all the things I wanted to say but couldn’t.”

Y.N. hesitated before gently taking the notebook from him. As she opened it, the sight of Aemond’s messy scrawl made her heart flutter.

She began reading through the childhood musings, and each entry hit her like a wave of nostalgia.

The early entries were sweet, filled with the innocent thoughts of a boy. Aemond had written about how pretty he thought she was, how special it made him feel when she called him brave.

Then she read about how much he liked her but was too afraid to tell her, fearing rejection.

As she turned the pages, she came across entries about their childhood, how she would read to him during sleepovers to help with his headaches.

Each word tugged at her heartstrings.

Then, the tone changed as they got older. Aemond’s words became more conflicted, expressing frustration.

He wrote about how he picked on her, not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t know how to get close to her.

There was a passage about how much he hated when she smiled at Aegon or laughed at his jokes.

And then there was the entry about the night Aegon kissed her during a game of spin the bottle.

Y.N. paused, looking up at Aemond. “I totally forgot about that,” she said, her tone light and a little embarrassed.

Aemond smiled slightly, encouraging her to continue. “Keep reading.”

The later entries were more sporadic, reflecting their time apart as they grew older. Aemond lamented about feeling like a coward for not telling her how he truly felt.

He wrote about the attention he received from other girls, but how none of it mattered because none of them were her. And then came the entry that talked about her leaving for art college.

His pain was palpable as he wrote about not knowing when—or if—he would ever see her again.

Finally, she reached the last entry. It was short, simple, and yet devastatingly sincere: No matter what happens, my heart will always belong to her.

Y.N. closed the notebook, her hands trembling slightly as she handed it back to him. Tears welled in her eyes and slowly began to fall, the weight of his feelings over the years crashing over her.

Aemond took the notebook from her but didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The rawness of the moment, the vulnerability he had just laid bare before her, spoke volumes.

After enjoying the spread of food laid out for their picnic, Aemond and Y.N. packed up, the soft glow of lanterns fading behind them as they walked hand-in-hand back to the car.

The air between them was filled with a sense of calm and a quiet closeness that neither wanted to break.

As they got in the car, Y.N. smiled. "Where are we off to now?" she asked playfully, watching him from the passenger seat.

Aemond gave her a knowing smile but said nothing, only shaking his head as he started the engine. The hum of the car and the soft tunes from the radio filled the silence as they drove off into the night.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up in front of a familiar building—The Dragon’s Den, the very place where their story had taken a significant turn all those months ago.

Y.N. furrowed her brows, glancing at Aemond. “I think it’s closed,” she said, a slight chuckle in her voice.

Aemond smirked and pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, jingling them with a grin. “Not for us,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise as he unlocked the door and gestured for her to step inside. The space was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual bustling crowd and vibrant atmosphere that she remembered from that fateful night.

After locking the door behind them, Aemond led her towards the dance floor.

“How did you get the keys?” she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Aemond gave her a sly look. “I know the owner,” he said with a casual shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He left her standing in the middle of the dance floor for a moment as he made his way toward the sound system. Y.N. watched him, her heart beating a little faster with each passing second.

Then, the melody of the song they had danced to on that unforgettable night filled the club, the music wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

Y.N. giggled softly as Aemond returned, removing his jacket and tossing it to the side. “Care to dance?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

She slipped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her body against his as they began to sway to the music, just like they had that first night.

As they moved together, Aemond's eye never left hers.

“Do you ever think about that night?” he asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the music. “About how much our lives have changed since?”

Y.N. nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “All the time,” she admitted. “I almost didn’t come out that night. Helaena had to convince me.”

Aemond’s hand tightened slightly around her waist, his lips curving into a tender smile. “I’m glad she did,” he murmured, pulling her just a little closer.

They continued to dance, their bodies swaying in time with the rhythm, a comfortable silence settling between them.

Aemond’s hand came up to cup her face, his thumb gently brushing across her cheek as he leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, the raw emotion behind his words evident in his voice.

Y.N. smiled, her heart swelling with affection. “I love you too,” she whispered back before closing the small distance between them, their lips meeting in a passionate, lingering kiss.

As the music played on, they melted into each other, their bodies still moving in sync with the slow, sweet melody. Everything else seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in that quiet, intimate moment.

Aemond took a small step back from Y.N., his chest rising and falling heavily as he gathered his thoughts. His eye, filled with raw emotion, searched hers, and he exhaled deeply.

"I know that I’m a complete idiot," he began, his voice thick with regret. "And I’m so sorry for what happened. Please believe me when I say I will never hurt you again."

Y.N. looked at him, her heart pounding, as she listened closely. Aemond continued, his voice steady but laced with emotion, "You and Jack mean everything to me. I swear I will spend the rest of my life making sure you both know that—every single day."

Without breaking eye contact, Aemond gently took her hand in his. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box.

The movement was careful, nervous, but determined. Y.N.’s breath caught in her throat as she realized what was happening.

Aemond, never taking his eye off her, slowly descended onto one knee, his heart racing in sync with hers.

"Y.N.," he said softly, opening the box to reveal a beautiful, glimmering ring nestled inside. "Will you marry me?"

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the gentle hum of the soft music still playing in the background.

Then, Y.N.'s lips parted into a radiant smile, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, I will marry you."

A wide, joyous grin broke out across Aemond’s face. With trembling hands, he slid the ring onto her finger, and once it was in place, he stood up, pulling her into his arms.

In one swift motion, he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around in circles as they both laughed, the sound of their joy echoing through the empty club.

When he finally lowered her back to the ground, they were both breathless, their laughter fading into quiet, intimate smiles. Aemond cupped her face, brushing his lips gently against hers in a sweet, lingering kiss.

"Mrs. Targaryen" he whispered softly against her lips, his forehead resting against hers.

Y.N. giggled, her heart bursting with happiness, and she kissed him again, her fingers gently running through his hair.

In that moment, with Aemond’s arms wrapped tightly around her and their love stronger than ever, they had found their way back to each other.

And this time, it was forever.

Aemond and Y.N. arrived back at his penthouse, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement after their evening together.

As they stepped inside, Aemond closed the door behind them, and his eye flicked to Y.N., a smile playing on his lips.

“Well,” Aemond began with a teasing tone, glancing around the familiar surroundings, “since you no longer live at your old apartment, we can’t replicate that night exactly. But this will do.”

His smile grew wider as he shrugged off his coat and moved to the drinks cabinet.

Y.N. chuckled, slipping off her heels as she watched him. Her eyes sparkled with a playful glint, the night’s events still coursing through her, making her feel bold.

She leaned against the wall; arms crossed loosely as Aemond rummaged through the cabinet.

He turned around, bottle in hand, raising a brow. "What would you like to drink?" he asked, though his grin hinted that he already knew what her answer might be.

Y.N. smirked and echoed the words that he’d said to her that fateful night, her voice soft but filled with playful intent.

“We both know I didn’t come here for a drink.”

Aemond’s eye darkened with the same intensity she remembered from that night. He set the bottle down without hesitation, crossing the room to her in long, purposeful strides.

His hands reached for her, fingers gently gripping her waist as he pulled her against him.

“Is that so?” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips, his face mere inches from hers.

Wasting no time, Aemond pressed his lips to hers in a deep, hungry kiss. Y.N. melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as their kiss deepened, fiery and intense.

In that instant, everything else faded away. The penthouse, the memories, the past—they all vanished, leaving only the present moment.

Aemond kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Then Y.N slipped her fingers under the strap of his eyepatch and pulled it from his head.

She stood silent she stared at the scar the bisected his cheek.

The sapphire glinting in the low light.

“You are still so-beautiful” whispered Y.N as she leaned forward and placed a number of kisses along his scarred cheek and over the sapphire.

Aemond closed his eye in delight at the tender gesture, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he ran his thumb over Y.N’s bottom lip, his eye going wide as she opened her mouth and nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

“Please-“ moaned Y.N

"I’ve waited too long for this, Y.N."

She smiled up at him, her heart racing. "Then don’t make me wait any longer."

Aemond growled as he took her hand and pulled her to the bedroom, he all but kicked the door open.

He turned to face her, and he put his arms around her waist and kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue pushing against hers.

Y.N ran her fingers across his lithe body. His muscles rippling under her fingertips.

She finished unbuttoning the shirt he wore, placing feathery kisses on his sparsely haired chest as the shirt was removed.

Her fingers toying with the silver cross chain he still wore.

Groaning against her creamy smooth skin, he kissed her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh as she leaned into him, enjoying his every touch.

Her dress felt heavy on her. She wanted to be rid of it. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She reluctantly broke free of his embrace and turned her back to him moving her hair out of the way.

His fingers trembled as he grasped the zip to her dress and pulled it the rest of the way down, the sound echoed through the quiet penthouse, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

Using his long fingers, he freed her from the confinements of her dress, and it fell to join his shirt on the floor.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, which excited him.

Goosebumps appeared where his fingers moved over her. Cupping her ample breasts from behind, Aemond pulled Y.N against his chest.

Burying himself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin whilst his fingers massaged the soft mounds and played with her hardened r nipples.

Aemond turned her to face him. Kissing her again, he trailed kisses down her body and took a rosy nipple in his mouth.

Sucking on the bud, he bit down lightly, earning a low moan from deep within her.

He continued his actions on the other breast and kissed past her stomach until he knelt before her.

Her fingers in his hair tightened as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core.

Slowly he grasped the lace of her knickers and ripped them from her, pressing the ruined material to his nose and inhaling her scent before standing up.

Y.N reached forward to undo the buttons on his trousers, then she directed him backwards towards the bed.

Her fingers stroked his body, not missing an inch of flesh, admiring the way his muscles twitched under her touch.

Biting down on her lip, she knelt between his legs, and pulled his trousers and boxers down his shapely legs and threw them to the floor.

Aemond reached forward and pulled her onto the bed.

He manoeuvred her onto her back and covered her body with his as he sucked and licked at the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Y.N moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Y.N as he moved down her body, nibbling her at her skin as he went.

“Still such a pretty pussy " breathed Aemond, spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up her soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Y.N her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my darling. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Y.N.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Y.N, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Y.N. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Y.N; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me baby,” moaned Aemond, his face pressed between her shaking thighs.

Y.N arched  her back and screamed as her climax washed over her.

Aemond moved his fingers slowly and lapped at her centre as she squirted all over his face.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y.N.

Aemond rose to his knees, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth.

Aemond moved up Y.N’s body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the rosy nipple, his teeth grazing the stiffened peak.

“Oh-yes“ gasped Y.N, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention.

Aemond then grabbed her around the waist and manoeuvred her body on top of his.

“I want you to ride me-wife” exclaimed Aemond as he lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Y.N moaned as she rolled her hips against Aemonds, his cock moving in and out of her.

Faster and faster. Harder and deeper, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Please don't stop," cried out Y.N

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the bed to allow him to increase the intensity of his thrusts.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he quickened and angled his movements, so his cock rubbed on that special place inside her.

Aemond seemed mesmerized by the sight of her breasts bouncing in front of him as he surged forward, his mouth wrapping around one rosy bud.

His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Y.N as she bounced on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it baby-take it-take all of me” growled Aemond leaning back as he moved Y.N’s hips in time with his thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Y.N.

“That’s it-FUCK Y.N” groaned Aemond as he took hold of her and quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, his cock never leaving the warm wetness of her as he began to pound into her, the sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing around his bedroom.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Y.N.

“Come for me baby-come for me” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as she exploded, her nails digging into his back.

Aemond held back for as long as he could, but his release was upon him.

With a final hard thrust, he spilled rope after rope of his seed inside her.

He muffled his groans into her mouth as she hung onto him, kissing him fervently.

She held him close to her body, whispering words of comfort and satisfaction while running her fingers down his back.

Afterward, Y.N. and Aemond lay together, their bodies tangled in the soft sheets, a warm silence settling over them.

Aemond's hand traced lazy patterns on her skin as he leaned back, his silvery hair spilling over the pillow. He turned his head toward her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re still taking the pill, right?” he asked casually, though there was a hint of something more serious in his tone.

Y.N. giggled softly, her fingers brushing over his chest. “Yes, I am.” She noticed the subtle sigh of relief that left his lips, and her grin grew wider.

“As much as I want more children with you,” Aemond murmured, his voice deep and warm, “I’d like us to be married before the next one.” He smiled, his hand resting on her stomach as if imagining the future.

Y.N. raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “You want more children?”

Aemond nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Yes. You’re a fantastic mother, Y.N. I can’t wait to see you all round and swollen with my child again-just not yet.”

Y.N. chuckled, shaking her head gently. “I think I can agree with that.”

Aemond leaned over, reaching for his trousers where they were discarded on the floor.

He fished out his phone, quickly dialling a number. Y.N. listened in curiosity as the phone rang, and moments later, Aegon’s voice was loud enough for her to hear.

“Bring Jack to the penthouse-” said Aemond.

“So, did you ask her?” Aegon asked eagerly.

Aemond grinned. “I did. And she said yes.”

There was a loud cheer on the other end of the line, followed by Aegon’s voice exclaiming, “Ha! Daeron owes me money! Tight git best pay up.”

Aemond chuckled as he ended the call, tossing his phone onto the nightstand. Y.N. raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?”

“Just my brothers being idiots,” Aemond replied with a grin, though his eye twinkled with amusement.

Y.N. laughed softly, teasing him. “Must be in the genes.”

Aemond feigned offense, rolling on top of her with a playful growl.

“Careful now.” He kissed her deeply, his lips warm against hers, his hand sliding up her side. He pulled back slightly, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “I wonder if we can manage another round before Aegon gets here with Jack”

Y.N. laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m fairly certain I can manage it, but the question is-can you?”

Aemond smirked, his lips brushing against hers as he replied. “I’ll show you exactly what I can manage.”

TBC

[marksbear2]

Hi Papa bearrr!! I was wondering if I could request a John Price x Vampire Male Reader, like the reader could be like Lestat de lioncurt! Like a sassy vampire!

John Price x Vampire Male reader

I live and breathe Iwtv!! I absolutely love vampires and all sorts of vampire related shows and stories. At the end I took inspo from Bones and all.

⚠️Fluff- to angst!! Vampire reader, could be GN! Blood, killing, bloody kisses, mentions of jealousy. Angst at the end!!⚠️

— Not only he has to deal with his team and the military in general he has his own personal boyfriend.

— He’s very protective of you.

— Price he helps you keep your vampiric identify a secret. He keeps your nails sharp and taken care of as well of your health.

— He also tries to stay up just a bit to interact and spend time with you before falling asleep letting you feee roam.

— He tells you to be careful while you kiss or leave a hickey on his neck. He actually doesn’t mind if you nibble him with your fangs.

— He has scars from your nails and fangs on a daily basis his soldiers began to think that he actually has an cat.

— If you have vampirec powers like mind reading for an example he always think “Stop listening to my thoughts.” In his mind to gain a reaction out of you.

— He forgets sometimes that you’re awake during night. He’ll come home super late just to met with the sight of you in the living room relaxing.

— He has mixed feelings of you killing people.

— He’s gets a little bit jealous seeing you take time feeding off another guys neck. It feels to intimidate for his standards even though your quite literally sucking the life out of someone.

— He scolds you for being awake whenever the sun is up.

— You two having nightly dates almost every weekend. Though you can’t eat any of the fancy food you two smoke together and have expensive wine.

— He just has his arms crossed whenever your throwing a huge tantrum/ mental breakdown.

— He holds and cuddles you until he can fall asleep. He keeps his grip tight so you won’t runaway.

— At first he wasn’t really into kissing you whenever you have a mouth full of blood. But now he is he’s super it especially if you lick his mouth clean afterwards.

— Feeling your fangs against his skin turns him on.

— Even when you get exposed for being a vampire he stays with you until the very end.

— In the way back of the mind the thought of you being immortal and forever will out live him saddens him.

— He listens to your stories and experiences since you has hundreds of years above him. Tries not to get jealous whenever you mention an ex, even if it was before he was born.

— Even when you’re growing old together you suggest that you could turn him into a vampire he tells you a hard no.

— You went through many lovers during your lifetime but for Price you’ve never had this much love and loyalty to a mortal like him before. So once he died, a part of you died as well.

— You were unable to move on, you already experienced the result of falling in love with an mortal but you’ve come to hate love and mortals forever.

— Or another fear you have is that you pray that he won’t end up being dead whenever you enter a bloodthirsty rampage or state.

— You often wake up thinking the worse, waking up to the sight of John laying in his pool of blood his body on display with obvious sight of a gore feed.

— Or whenever he’s heavily injured near the blink of death he wants you to kill him, if he cannot be saved. — He’ll beg for you to put him out of his misery he’ll hug you tightly with his grip slowly loosening as he dies in your arms.

THE END

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: A New World {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Two more races closer to the end of the season and all that means is the competition is fiercer than ever and every point is a battle to win. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, assault, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten

Round Sixteen - Singapore GP

Charles was worried about you. You had barely said a word since the race ended, only congratulating your boyfriends on their great results. You were disappointed in yourself for finishing last place. Technically it was 15th place but everyone behind you had DNF’d so you were the last one to cross the finish line.

The bath did little to ease the tension embroiled in your body and you sank down beneath the surface. A wavering image of Charles filled your vision as he took a seat at the edge of the bathtub and trickled his fingers through the water. Only when your lungs began to burn did you resurface with a deep gasp for fresh air.

“You’re going to catch a cold, ma chérie,” Charles said softly as he wiped away the rivulets of water. It was almost like he knew they were mixed with your tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you whispered. “I think I am just going to stay in tonight, I don’t want to hold you back from celebrating. You guys did great today.”

“You are being too hard on yourself. It sucks, Lando and I know that first hand,” he chuckled, referring back to the first half of the season. “But you’ll come back stronger, I know you. You’ll be back in the points next week.”

You smiled weakly at his confidence and accepted his hand that helped pull you from the bath. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

“D'accord,” he nodded, wrapping you tightly in a towel before kissing your forehead. “I have faith in you, mon amour.”

“That makes one of us,” you joked, feeling a little better now that you were wrapped in his arms. “You should get ready to go, Lando is going to need you to carry him home tonight.”

“Mon Dieu, him and Carlos drinking together,” Charles groaned as if just realising what he was in for. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

You nodded and stepped out of the bathroom to grab your phone. “I think there is another Verstappen somewhere around here feeling sorry for himself too, and misery loves company.”

Max arrived before Lando had finished styling his hair and he came bearing gifts, a bag of mouthwatering food packed full of local dishes in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. 

“Now it’s a pity party,” you laughed as he made himself comfortable in the living room. He didn’t even bother with plates, just eating straight out of the containers while he changed the channel off MTV. “Are you planning on sharing or do I need to order my own?”

“Depends if you care what Kristian thinks,” he shrugged, pushing a container aside. He grinned knowing you couldn’t turn down the grilled kebabs slathered in a sauce that would give your PT a heart attack. “Live dangerously, zusje.”

You snorted and dropped into the seat beside him, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and the dish from the coffee table. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, heard that before,” he teased as continued to flick through the channels until he hit the movies. “Fast X?”

“No,” Lando answered for you as he finally appeared from the bathroom with his hair perfectly styled and his shirt half unbuttoned. He explained that it was to combat the humidity in the country but you and Charles knew it was because he loved to flash his tanned and toned chest, almost as much as you liked to see it. “She’ll get pissed off that it is too unrealistic.”

“It is unrealistic,” you pointed out.

Max laughed, “It’s a movie.” But he still changed the channel. “Maverick? The original.”

“Sure,” Charles said with a grin as he pulled his shoes on, “if you want to comfort her when Goose dies.”

“You are impossible.” Max shook his head and tossed the remote on your lap. “You choose something.”

Ready to leave, Charles looked like he was going to ask you if you had changed your mind before thinking better of it. Instead he kissed you as innocently as he could manage with your brother sitting beside you. “Je t’aime.”

“Love you too, have fun.” You held your hand out to Lando and pulled him down to your height for a kiss too. “Not too much fun. I don’t want to wake up to any new CarLando rumours.”

He knew you were joking and he nipped your bottom lip for it before pulling away and holding his necklace up. “Holy trinity, baby: you, Charles and me.”

“That’s why you are missing your top three buttons,” Charles teased as he slung his arm over Lando’s shoulder. “All for the necklace and definitely not vanity.”

“Me? Vain? Never,” Lando scoffed. “I am humble, thank you very much.”

“Mhmm, so humble, mon cher,” Charles agreed sarcastically as he led them to the door before blowing you one final kiss. “Bonne nuit.”

Round Seventeen - Japan GP

Lawrence wanted to speak to you after the race finished and you hoped it was because he had some answers as to why the car was struggling. The upgrades seemed to make it worse and it was a hell of a push just to get back in the points, but you had made it like Charles assured you would.

Walking into Lance’s side of the garage, you assumed his father would be nearby. What you didn’t account for was Lance storming through the engineers after his DNF. It was a moment of wrong place at the wrong time that put you into his path and you felt the need to at least say something to him.

“Sorry, man, that was a rough one.” Hindsight was a real charmer as his green eyes narrowed with rage and you were shoved to the floor. Your ass met the hard concrete and the garage fell silent as they witnessed the attack.

Your shoulders ached where he had pushed you, but your butt would surely have bruises come morning. Calmly, you swallowed down the pain as the cameras waited for your reaction and you rose to your feet. You wiped the dust from your backside and looked at Lance. “At least I know how you injured your wrists, you’re a real fucking wanker.”

Word spread like wildfire as the footage was shared around the paddock and the world and your call to the Stewards came before Lando finished his podium celebration, the first you hadn’t been there to witness. It only added to your sour mood as you stepped into the meeting room and found an empty chair opposite Lawrence and Lance. You were by no means alone but everyone who had been asked to come as witness were all on Lawrences bank roll so you might as well have been.

The tedious hearing details were read by the Stewards, along with footage that showed the push that put you on your ass. They turned to Lance first, asking for his take on the event and whispered with his father before sitting back.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see her there.”

You scoffed under your breath but caught the look Lawrence sent you as the Steward asked you the same question. It was a look that everyone had warned you about. It was the look that drew the line in the sand of who had his support, and why wouldn’t he take his son’s side - he was a father first and a principal second. It was a look that said you would be finding another team next year if you weren’t careful.

Looking down at your hands the words tasted like ash. “Like Lance said, it was an accident.”

The steward nodded and typed some notes on his laptop. “Then the matter is settled, you will be fined €20,000.00 for unsportsmanlike behaviour.”

You lunged out of your seat and slammed your hands on the table at the ruling. “For what!”

“You saw the same evidence as I did,” he said, ignoring your outburst. “You clearly called Mr Stroll, Lance, a ‘fucking wanker’ on live tv. If that is all, we have another review about to begin.”

You left the room to see Bottas and Sargeant waiting with their team representatives and kept your head low as you passed by, feeling their curious eyes following. Lawrence kept pace with you as you left the building, Lance lagging somewhere behind, and you debated breaking into a sprint to see if the old man could keep up.

“Thank you,” Lawrence said, nearly making you trip over in surprise.

“Thank you?” you growled as you turned on him. “I saved your toddler’s career, you can do better than a fucking ‘thank you’.”

“Lance is struggling and it’s affecting him badly, but that’s no excuse for how he treated you.” Lawrence placed a hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off as you remembered the look in the meeting room. You may both be wearing the same colours but you were not on the same team.

“You can still be a good father and not protect him from everything. In fact, it might just do him a lot of good in getting his head out of his ass. Now, I am going to go and take an ice bath and you are going to pay my fine. If there’s a bonus in my bank account when I get back to the hotel, we’ll call it even.”

You left without giving him the time to respond and jogged back to hospitality, an unfortunately long distance from the FIA building. Some of the teams were already starting to pack their motorhomes down but Aston Martin was still lively, even more so when you stepped inside and saw Charles, Lando and Max looking tense amongst a group of Lance’s friends that travelled with him .

“Woah, stand down, killers,” you teased with a flippant attitude you didn’t feel. “Shouldn’t you take it out to the parking lot?”

“Too many witnesses,” Max muttered.

“I was joking, we can all relax. You three, my room. Now.” You pointed your finger to the stairs and waited for them to start walking before you followed, glaring at the rest of them. “Don’t you have more important things to do, like I don’t know, check Lance has warm milk in his sippy cup?”

“Little bitch.”

“Fils de pute, va te faire enculer!”

You blocked the stairs but Max had already grabbed Charles and held him back. “That’s an insult to his mother,” you said as the door opened and Lance arrived. “It’s not her fault her son is a sycophant, and here’s his sugar daddy now. Tighten the leash on your little friends, Lance. It’s the least you can do since you owe me.”

His lips twisted into a grimace at the reminder but he jutted his head to the other end of the motorhome and his friends followed him, their disappointment palpable. You could only imagine what he had been telling them in private to create that sort of reaction and realised why the driver had gone through so many teammates on the grid. He was insufferable.

You gently pushed on Charles’ arm when he didn’t move, he was intently watching the group leave and the staff return back to their jobs as if nothing happened. “Come on, babe, let’s just get my stuff and go home.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Max asked as he led the way with Lando and left you to hook your arm with Charles and follow.

“Maybe I’m finally maturing.” you said with a grin that finally had the tension lifting as they all started to laugh. “Rude.”

Click here for the next part.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Wants, Part Three (Finale)

Summary: Dean’s experience with the wrong hormone suppressants makes him feral. The only person who can get him out of it and save his life is Y/N, the omega he had been mating with for years until she left six months ago. Without a claim and with no prospects of Dean ever giving her one, Y/N finally had enough and broke the bond they’d forged in their years together and left him, but with Sam now begging her to go to Dean and save his life, will she go, or will she leave the green-eyed alpha to his biological fate?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Alpha Gone Feral for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: dub con claiming, omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, language, ruts, feral alpha, agitation, aggression, smut, rough sex, biting, oral sex (f rec), fingering, p in v sex, hair pulling, heavy angst, aftercare, fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Here we go… the super angsty finale of this alpha!Dean mini-series! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

You can catch up here!

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Y/N’S POV

The knocking on your motel room door startles you, and you grab your gun from the waistband of your jeans and cautiously step towards the door. Flicking the safety off, you place the barrel onto the wood and cautiously open it just enough to see who’s on the other side.

“Sam? Cas?” you gasp, throwing the door open wider.

“You should be more careful, Y/N. We could be demons or shapeshifters or any other kind of monster,” Cas speaks first, and you blink at him, amused, as always, by his directness.

“Nice to see you, too, Cas,” you smirk, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam says as he leans down to hug you. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Sam,” you smile as you close the door behind them. You know whatever this unplanned visit is, it’s about Dean.

“You seem healthy,” Cas states, tilting his head to the side and frowning as if searching for something. “And yet—”

“So!” Sam interrupts quickly. “How have you been?”

“Fine…” You narrow your eyes at the alpha’s strange behaviour. “This isn’t a social visit, is it?” You finally ask.

“No,” Cas confirms, and you don’t know if you’re glad he’ll get straight to the point or if you’d prefer Sam to dance around it all a little more.

“Dean.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. You knew from the way your stomach dropped the second you saw them that this wasn’t a good news visit.

“I asked Cas to find you,” Sam said softly.

You and the younger Winchester have stayed in touch since you left the bunker, but you agreed you wouldn’t tell him where you were, and he wouldn’t ask. It was one thing for Dean to find out they were talking, but it’d be another entirely if he knew Sam knew where she was.

“What happened?” Your mind goes to the worst possible scenario, and you try to fight the rising nausea. 

“Dean has been taking store bought suppressants,” Sam says, and you feel your blood boil.

“What? Why? Why would he be so goddamn stupid? Did he know what they’d do to an alpha in his situation?” you fume at the men as you pace the threadbare carpet.

“No. He knew they weren’t suitable long-term, but the side effects he experienced weren’t typical,” Cas answered.

“I thought it was a mix of the drugs and rejection sickness and that it’d ease over time,” Sam says calmly and quietly. “But I think he suffered some kind of chemical reaction to them, and by the time I found out what he was taking, it was too late.”

“Too late? Sam, what are you saying?” You’re terrified of what he’s so anxious to tell you.

“He’s feral, Y/N,” Cas finally puts you out of your misery, and while it’s bad news, it’s not the worst thing they could’ve told you. “But I don’t understand why you are not.”

It’s not an accusation. The angel is just curious about alphas who mate with but don’t claim omegas. To his literal knowledge, an alpha finds an omega, they mate, there’s a claim, an unbreakable bond, and pups. Your situation with Dean had always intrigued the celestial being.

“Because I’ve been taking the suppressants I should. Prescribed by a doctor. Why didn’t he do the same thing?” Contrary to the angel’s question, yours is accusatory as you look between Sam and Cas.

“You know what he’s like, Y/N. He doesn’t talk about these things, and I didn’t know until a few days ago. He’s been overcome with guilt for how he treated you, and I think…” Sam trails off, noticing from the look on your face that you know what he was alluding to.

“You think this is some kind of self-sacrifice?” you ask in disbelief. Dean is well known for his self-depreciation, and it’s something you’ve seen and heard from him many times, but this? “No… No, I don’t believe that. Why would he put himself through that just to go feral anyway? Why not just lie down and let it happen on its own?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Sam asks, and you frown.

“Sam, you can’t be serious! Dean is not doing this to punish himself for hurting me. There’s no way,” you argue, but you know the green-eyed alpha better than he knows himself. It does sound like something he’d do to himself—some kind of fucked up repentance for his behaviour.

Sam only shrugs, and you sigh, knowing you’ve both come to the same conclusion.

“So, what? You want me to go to him? Get him out of this mess?”

“You’re his mate. Only you can get him back from this,” Cas says, and you laugh bitterly, taking the angel by surprise.

“I bet Dean loves that!” you scoff. “Anytime I told him that like it or not, we’re mates, he shot me down in flames!”

“I know he hurt you, and I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, and Dean knows it too. He told me not to look for you. That he doesn’t deserve your help, but I’m asking you to think about it. Please?”

“I don’t know, Sam. If I go to him, you know what it means, right?” you check, not convinced either of them fully understand what they’re asking of you.

“I do,” Sam responds.

“And you know it’s pretty much a done deal that he’ll claim me in his feral haze? And then when he comes to, he’ll regret it and reject me? You’re asking me to sacrifice myself for him? Because I won’t survive his rejection, you both know that, right?”

“He’d never reject you, Y/N,” Cas confirms what you know in your heart, but it brings no comfort.

“Oh, because a forced claim and being stuck with someone who doesn’t want me is a better fate than dying from rejection!”

“He does want you. He loves you. He just can’t—” Sam starts, but you interrupt with a scoff.

“Give me what I want. I know, Sam. He’s told me that so many times it’s imprinted in my memory!” You huff, quickening your pacing.

You want to say no. You want to protect yourself and your fragile heart that’s still trying to heal, but you know if you were the feral one, Dean would already be here, doing everything he could to get you through it—even claiming you just so you’d survive.

He doesn’t deserve to die, and yet, you don’t deserve to be someone’s mistake, but you can’t see any other option. If you don’t go to him, he’ll die. If you go to him, and he doesn’t reject you, you’ll be miserable, but you’ll both be alive.

“Fuck!” you yell in frustration. Once again, you feel that self-loathing that only Dean seems able to bring out of you. You hate yourself because you still love him even after everything, and you’d sacrifice everything to save him.

“Where is he?”

Walking up to the secluded cabin, you shiver at the deathly silence surrounding you. As if being this deep in the woods isn’t ominous enough, there isn’t even a bird chirping or an insect buzzing in the heavy air.

You’re so deep in the woods that the midday sun can’t even breach the trees. You drove as close as you could, but you’d had to abandon your car about a mile back. This is probably the safest house Bobby had ever found, and you have to admire Dean for choosing this one to hide out in.

Sam had given you the key. At first, you’d been shocked he’d lock Dean in with no way to escape, but you knew feral alphas aren’t to be taken lightly. There had been cases of ferals going on murder sprees, and the green-eyed hunter would never risk putting people in any kind of danger.

“Dean?” you call out as you knock on the door. “It’s Y/N. Sam found me. He said you need my help.” With no response, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for being too late, and put the key in the lock.

Pushing the door open slowly, the sour smell of Dean’s feral rut slams into you, and immediately your body begins to respond to the distressed alpha. Your skin tingles, heat floods your veins, and slick pools at your entrance. You’ve never been more grateful for a heat to come on as you are now. If it didn’t, Dean could seriously hurt or even kill you trying to get himself out of this.

“Omega,” Dean growls from the doorway of the bedroom and with one look at his bloodshot eyes, you know there’s little to no humanity in him right now.

“Alpha,” you whimper and bow your head in submission.

“Mine,” he groans in front of you, and you jump, having not heard him move across the room.

Dean buries his head in your neck and inhales your scent, gasping as if he’d been suffocating, and your scent is his oxygen.

“My ‘mega,” Dean snarls and slams you against the wooden door. You whimper at the pain and remind yourself not to fight. If you fight, things could get ugly.

Pawing at your jeans, he tries to undo them, but in his desperation to get at you, he can’t grasp the little brass button and punches the wall next to your head in frustration.

“Hey,” you purr, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling as he leans into your touch, “It’s okay, Alpha. Let me.”

Loosening the button and pulling the zipper down, you kick off your shoes, slide the denim from your legs and step out of them. Moving to your shirt, you begin pulling at the material when Dean slaps your hands away.

“No!” he growls. “Mine.”

Dean isn’t gentle when he claws at your shirt, grabbing the neckline with both hands and ripping the cotton from your body. The groan that rumbles from his belly when your lace-covered breasts are exposed to his gaze has slick soaking through your underwear.

He wastes no time placing his lips on the tops of your breasts, biting and sucking the sensitive skin, marking you in a way he never has before. Dean pulls the cups of your bra down and quickly finds a hard nipple, and you groan from his overzealous assault.

You whine as the alpha pulls away from you, but before you can complain further, Dean lifts you on his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom.

“Strip,” he orders as he places you back on your feet, and you don’t dare disobey or take your time removing your bra and panties. 

“Good girl,” he praises as he takes his clothes off, and you wonder if just being here is making him a little less feral. “Get on the bed, Omega.”

Again, you don’t dare take your time and quickly crawl onto the bed and wait for his next instruction. Dean kneels at the bottom of the bed, pulls you down by your ankles, and pushes your knees down to the mattress.

“Mine,” he growls as the scent of your slick reaches him, and he lowers his head between your legs. He’s not gentle, anything but, and his longer stubble scratches and jabs at your soft, sensitive skin. It’s sore, yet you quickly fall apart on his mouth.

Before you fully come down from your high, Dean’s fingers are inside you, and he’s sucking and biting his way up your body. When this is over, your skin will be an interesting spectrum of colour; you can already see patches of red on your breasts from earlier, and Dean’s not done with them yet as he goes back to sucking and biting your nipples.

As your forced heat takes over, the pain from Dean’s bites and rough hands ease, and all you can feel and hear now is desire and pleasure and growls and snarls, and Dean, mumbling mine over and over again while his teeth nip at your neck.

“Present, Omega,” Dean growls as he pulls back from your body just enough to let you turn around. You crawl further up the bed and lean forward onto your elbows. You unintentionally wiggle your ass as you get comfortable in your new position, making Dean growl deeply and spank your round cheeks.

You feel his hands slide up your thighs and over your ass. His touch soothes and cools your heated skin. When he finally slams into your slick, aching pussy, it’s hard, rough, and deliciously painful.

Dean is fully feral, and there’ll be no stopping him until he comes out of the rut in five or six days. You know it won’t be pretty, and you won’t come out of this unscathed. At least your heat is making you feel like a wanton whore.

As your humanity is overtaken by omega, much like Dean’s is with alpha, your last thought is being grateful for being in a cabin in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

It’s been six days, and Dean still pounds into you like there’s no tomorrow. Your heat is starting to wane, but hasn’t subsided so much that you won’t still be pliable under his hands. Still, at least the heat fog is beginning to lift, and you hope it’s a sign that Dean’s rut is finally ending.

It took four knots to get him out of his feral state, but his rut is intense, and he’s insatiable. You suppose the combination of suppressants and being feral will do that to an alpha. 

“‘Mega,” Dean grunts as his hand slides up your spine and grips your neck. “So good for me, baby girl.”

His praise makes you purr, and you feel his hand slide from your neck into your hair and wrap his fist around it, making your body turn to jelly. Dean tugs your hair, and you’re forced to raise to your knees, your back pressed against his chest, and he pulls your head to the side by your hair, exposing your neck to him.

It’s already black and blue from the gnawing he’s been doing there this past week, but this is different. He’s scenting you and licking your mating gland and whining. Dean loves licking and kissing your neck, but not like this. It feels different. There’s a change in the atmosphere, and his thrusts are brutal and stuttered.

You try to move, try and get him away from you, but he snarls and yanks your hair painfully, keeping a hold of it so you can’t move.

“Dean,” you whimper, and he snarls again at the use of his name, and you know he’s not as far out of this rut as you’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you beg, but it’s useless. He’s too far gone again. His mouth is sucking on your mating gland, and he’s growling and grunting as his knot swells and catches at your entrance.

“Please don’t do it, Alpha. It’s just the rut. You don’t want this… you don’t want me, please!” you cry. But as his knot slips inside, locking you together, your head falls back on his shoulder, and when his teeth break your skin, you scream your release and lose the little self-control you had earlier.

Coming down from your high, you notice that Dean is still latched onto you, and you can feel blood dripping down your neck. The sudden rush of hormones and pheromones from the claim makes you reach another orgasm, and this time, you take the alpha with you. Grunting and growling, Dean’s release coats your walls, and you let the blackness take over.

When you come to, you’re on your side, and Dean is cleaning and soothing the wound on your neck with gentle licks and soft kisses. You’re still locked together, and every twitch of his cock catches your G-spot and fills your womb with even more of his seed.

A brief thought that he could’ve gotten you pregnant crosses your mind, and you hope the fates aren’t so cruel as to have this be when you get your wish of pups; not like this.

The last week finally catches up with you, and the lullaby of Dean’s whines and whimpers, combined with his soft kisses, lull you into a deep sleep.

The sun’s warmth on your face begins to wake you from sleep. Your muscles feel heavy, and Dean’s lips caress your back and shoulders.

“Morning, Omega,” he rasps behind you, sliding a warm hand over your hip, and a pang of dread settles in your stomach. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is screaming at you, and your pussy is in agony from a week of rough pounding and knots courtesy of the alpha pulling you closer to his body. If he’s still not out of this rut, you don’t think you’ll survive another round.

“Don’t worry,” Dean chuckles. “I’m not feral anymore, and the rut has gone.”

You’re confused, wondering how he knew what you were thinking. You don’t think you groaned. In fact, you’re pretty sure you didn’t even move. Your body is too sore to even tense up.

Then you remember Dean claimed you and that he did it while in a feral rut. 

As your whole world comes crashing down around you, you do the one thing you’d rather die than do in front of Dean.

Cry.

DEAN’S POV

Devastation. That’s all he can feel radiating from the omega next to him. When he woke an hour ago, he’d been happier than ever. The second he claimed Y/N, there was a shift, and all felt right in the world.

He thought—naively, he now realises—Y/N would be happy. It’s what she wanted. What she needed, but the sheer anguish from her tells a different story. The worst part of all this is the shame he feels for claiming her without her consent and the knowledge that now, she’s stuck with him whether she wants to be or not.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay,” Dean tries to soothe her and presses his lips to her shoulder. “Y/N, look at me, please?” She remains on her side, facing away from him and crying, and the alpha in him takes over. His omega is in distress, and he needs to fix it. “Omega, look at me!” he growls lowly, and watches as Y/N obeys his order and timidly rolls onto her back.

Dean’s jaw drops, and he’s disgusted with himself as he takes in her abused torso. There are a couple of bites and bruises on her back and shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to what covers her neck, breasts and stomach. There’s so much bruising that barely any skin has been left unblemished. As he scans further down her body, he can see the same damage over the tops of her thighs and between her legs.

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I—” Dean can’t finish; he has no words for what he did to her. He immediately gets out of bed and fills the tub with hot water. There’s only so much he can do for her out here in the cabin, but the safe house is stocked with first aid supplies, medication and dry and tinned food. 

When the tub is full, he shuts off the water and walks back into the bedroom, seeing Y/N still lying on her back and seemingly void of all emotion. Whether it’s on purpose to shut him out or she’s in shock, Dean’s not sure.

Walking over, Dean lifts her from the bed and carries her into the bathroom. He lowers her into the hot water and bathes her gently, mumbling words of comfort, hoping she can hear him and that she can find it in her to forgive him.

Y/N’S POV

After tenderly bathing you, Dean left you to soak in the warm water a little longer, telling you there were clothes in the wardrobe and that he’d make something to eat.

“Please eat with me, omega. You need to get your strength up, and we need to talk,” Dean had begged before he left, closing the door but not fully so he could still keep an eye on you.

He was right; you do need to talk. And eat. You feel weak and lightheaded and desperately in need of something to take away the pain that’s pulsing through every inch of your body.

When the water has lost its warmth, you climb out and wrap yourself in a towel, avoiding the mirror in the corner. Dean’s reaction earlier is enough for you to know you’ll burst into tears if you see it for yourself. And you can’t bear to see his claim on your neck when it was given under duress.

Pulling clothes from the wardrobe, you choose the softest and biggest things you can find. You know from the smell that the sweats and t-shirt are Dean’s, but you’ve always gotten comfort from his scent, and you suspect you’ll get even more from it now.

Coming out of the bedroom, you follow the noise towards the main part of the cabin and find Dean spooning pasta into bowls in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, stopping what he’s doing to give you his full attention.

“Sore,” you chuckle, pulling out a stool. You hiss and wince, the throbbing—and not the good kind—between your legs getting worse for a few seconds as you sit.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean… I hate that I was so rough. That I’ve hurt you,” Dean says as he pushes a bowl and fork towards you.

“You were feral, Dean. It’s not your fault,” you reply, and you mean it. It’s really not his fault.

“It is, though, sweetheart. If I had taken the right suppressants, I wouldn’t have gone feral, and I wouldn’t have claimed you without your consent.”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. I’m just sorry you’re stuck with me,” you smile sadly. “And if you want to leave, I get it. I know I’m not what you want—”

“Would you stop saying that?” Dean interrupts. “I do want you. I have always wanted you. I’m scared that tying you to me will put you in danger.” The desperation rolls from him in waves, and you know he’s telling you the truth. You can feel it. “I want you, Omega. I want this. I don’t regret claiming you. I regret doing it against your will, and if you want to leave me… reject me… It’s what I deserve, and I’ll let you walk out of here right now, but please stop saying that I don’t want you, Y/N. You’re all I want.”

The chemical bond you now share with Dean is overwhelming. He feels more deeply than he ever lets on, and regret over the non-consensual claim is putting it mildly. He’s distraught over it, and his feelings are so strong that you can almost hear the thoughts in his head telling him he’s stupid and he’s fucked things up before it’s really started between you. You can’t take it. You can’t let him think you don’t want this too.

“You’re all I want too, Alpha. The reason I got so upset when I realised you could feel how I felt is because it was a rut claim, and we’d be stuck together and miserable and resentful, and I didn’t want that for either of us, but I could never reject you, Dean. I love you too much.”

The relief that washes over him makes you smile, and because of your new bond, you know he knows every word is true.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t admit it before, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you wanted sooner.” Dean slides off his stool and comes to your side with a tube of cream in his hand. “Now, let me see that claim. It needs something on it, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head to the side and pull the neck of the shirt down, exposing the angry, swollen bite mark. Dean gently covers the wound with the medicated cream, and you hiss at the sting.

“Sorry, baby girl.” Dean winces, feeling your discomfort as clearly as you can. “Now, eat and then bed, Omega.”

“Just to sleep, right?” you ask, scrunching up your face and wriggling in your seat at the thought of him going anywhere near your pussy for at least a week. “No sex?”

“No sex,” Dean laughs. “You need to rest, sweetheart, so just lots of cuddles and closeness and bonding and sleep.”

THE END

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[alcqraz]

★ summary — after his fathers death, anthony finds solace within an unexpected someone ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x sibling!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. mention of death, description of grief & death, teenage anthony being in shambles after edmunds death (rest his poor soul) ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.9k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. angst, so much angst. smidge of fluff, hurt/comfort? ★ authors note: anthony's story is actually so sad but i wanted to see more of how he dealt with everything and a deep dive onto what he felt of so... (also there are NOT enough anthony x sibling reader so here we are!!) ⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀ requests are open !!

Anthony had always believed that a profound sadness enveloped the body like a condecending fog, delving deep into the bones and clawing recklessly at the soul until it was a suffocating weight with no escape in sight. Yet now, as he stood amidst the bouts of chaos, he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no frustration. Just a vast, empty numbness that swallowed his entire being whole.

It were as if the world around him came to a grinding halt, and he had stopped with them—unable to escape the grasp of the coldness trickling up upon his spine. It felt as if his physical body had been frozen, but consciously, he had not—a distant observer in a weary state of forgery. The sheer oddity of it all left him out of it; an unsettling sense that he was lost in a dream too overwhelming to even comprehend was vastly disheartening. It felt like... a storm, a thunderstorm brewing inside of him, circling through and around his every vein and nerve until it ceased to exist.

He can briefly reminisce, pinching himself over and over until his skin turned blotchy red and had grown irritated in the area. The pain was a sharp reminder to him that it was a futile attempt at an escape, that it was not just some dream that he could simply wake up from. Yet, it could not be; Anthony wanted nothing better to do than just refuse. Laugh at the servants that crowded him with questions that he could not answer—the questions that he should not be worrying about at his age.

Their voices seemed to be distorted in a way that Anthony could not quite make out—a dissonant chorus, overlapping under the distinct rushing and ringing in his own ears. It was as if it went in through one ear and out the other, like water through a funnel. None of it made sense, despite it being more than natural common sense. He still isn’t sure how he managed to even utter a single coherent word; Anthony couldn’t even hear himself over the cacophony that tumbled through his mind. He couldn’t hear himself over the concious noise that screamed in his head and translated all the way to his entire body until it was the only thing radiating through his pumping blood.

In the mix of what seemed to sound like if someone had put all the most horrid sounds a man could hear and mixed them all together, jumbled and overwhelming, he could faintly hear his mother. His poor mother, screaming and crying, the sound so haunting and raw that Anthony wishes he could never hear again in his life, yet it lingered upon him like an uninvited shadow in the corner of his room. Even when it was not presently there, when he was stuck alone at night, his siblings sent off to bed by the maids, his mother nowhere in his line of sight, did he stare at the ceiling of nothing—hearing those cries replaying in his head again and again and again. It’s as if he wanted himself to go mad and Anthony must say, he was very close to so.

But the sounds were only a singular part of his torment. Lord, have mercy on his miserable soul; nothing could’ve prepared him for the sights that awaited him, that he was forced to face by nothing but himself.

His mother sprawled across the staircase, a flurry of maids assisting her but to no avail. There was no ending to her constant misery, and for a brief moment, a moment that Anthony must regret, he wished that his mother had an off-switch so he could just stop it. For her sake or his, he couldn’t quite say. 

His siblings, on the other hand, were a mix of emotions that Anthony was not qualified to handle nor care for. Was that not what maids were for? Daphne cried silently, dabbing at her tears cascading down her cheeks that failed to subside. He silently wonders to himself how many tears a woman could cry before her very essence would be evaported, while Colin and Benedict, although undeniably upset, managed to hide away their sentiments, at least towards Anthony. Well, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a tear roll down Benedict’s face, but there was nothing he could say nor do about that except pat him on the back a couple of times as a comfort of sorts before he’s again whisked away to care for something he knew little about. He wasn’t prepared for this; he wasn’t qualified for this. He was just a child. 

At least the younger ones were mostly oblivious to the situation that had wrapped around the mourning family. They all gazed up at Anthony, more confused than upset, and he must think that they would wonder why all their older siblings suddenly all looked so remorseful, cloaked with grief, and their mother a distant entity that was soon regarded as unapproachable. In the recesses of his grief-sorrowed mind, a feeble thought flickered for a moment's notice: how, he pondered, for any way to describe the gravity of their weighted reality. Could he even explain to them? Shield them from the truth, or perhaps let them burden down the knowledge that would take away their youthful innocence as it had done for Anthony as well? He felt like an abonomibal creature for even thinking about it twice.

One in particular, suggested to be more curious than the others. Y/N, her name was. Her curiosity stood out like a sore thumb, perhaps like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. He couldn’t help but to wonder at how she seemed so upbeat despite the dark and grim reality that faced her angel of a soul. She didn’t ought to know the truth. Each time Anthony called for her, the name rolling off her tongue with gilded ease. These times, unlike others, a gentle plea was slowly woven upon his voice that could speak no more as he edged her away from the chaos with a simple “Get away from there.” or “Come over here, Y/N.” In these instances, he always sounded so diminished that Benedict would end up swooping in and picking her up for some other sort of entertainment that was not so utterly upsetting.

This night couldn't be any different.

The thunderclap erupted like a cannon shot in the wild—a deep, profound, and resonant roar that rattled the air around them, the windows shuddering with every harsh punch of wind. It was, perhaps, a night of sorrows. As the rain splattered upon the house as if it were a hose, the wind howling in the near distance. Anthony swears for a beat that he can faintly hear the rain-shooken birds finding solace in their chimney. He wishes that he were a bird; at least he would be able to have some place to find tranquility that was not just the dreadful drag of the house, each lamenting moment drowning all the cheeriness that once stood in this very place.

Anthony taps his quill absently upon the polished wood of his late father's table, the designs that were so intricate, swirling under his fingers like echoes of the past that he could no longer reach but yearned for. It must’ve taken months upon months to create it. He found enjoyment in running his sullen fingertips around the smoothness of the edges, a contrast to the jagged edges that traced along his heart. Anything that wasn’t entirely dejectful felt like a cruel mockery of how he felt.

It was late—far too late for anyone in the house to be up, him included. And yet, Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to indulge in the luxury of being able to forget it all, even for a few fleeting moments. He had tried, laying upon his father's old bed in his old room, which smelled all too much like him, enveloping his entire being. A bittersweet waiver of worn fabric and a mixture of odd colognes and papers that had been burnt from days ago. It was haunting in a way that Anthony couldn’t quite place, as if his father were still next to him—an unseen presence, watching his every move. Every time he squinted his eyes shut, the image of his father in the garden flooded his mind, lying so freakishly still. It coursed through his thoughts. He had been well surrounded by vibrant blooms of the spring-induced flowers, which seemed much too cheerful under the circumstances, and Anthony disantely thinks if those were the flowers to be used for the funeral.

Those were no means to sleep, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He isn’t quite sure why he slips into his study rather than any other place for some sort of solitude. Anywhere would’ve been far better than his father's study; nonetheless, he finds himself sitting in the very same chair his father once sat in. Would he be proud? The words ring into his mind, digging as if it were like a tattoo within his brain. He had thought about it a select number of times over the course of a couple of days, yet the question remains unsolved. Anthony respected his father more than anyone else in his life, and putting words into his mouth that he could not say only made him feel bitter rather than better.

The silence is deafening—as if all of a sudden, the thoughts and ringing that took up his every moment had just chosen to dissapear. A harsh push back into reality is what Anthony would’ve guessed. 

Tap

Anthony furrows his eyebrows, knitting together to crease over his squinted eyes. The new, unfamiliar sound is something that he briefly wonders. He strains to listen for any hint of noise beyond the relentless screeching of the wind and the staccato rhythm of rain pellets up against the window, each drop intensifying as time dragged on. When there is nothing to hear to follow up with his thoughts, enveloping him in a wooful silence, Anthony, for a chilling interval, genuinely believes that he might be going insane. As far as-

Thump, thump.

He could no longer deny the truth that it was in fact, not his mere imagination. Anthony was more certain than the flourishing green of the grass outside the house that the sound echoing through the darkness was real and not just a byproduct of his sleepless night or the weight of horrors from the days that lay behind him pressing down upon his consciousness. He stands up willfully, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud that was met with a creak reverberating from the old wood panels. The candle that he had lit for comfort wavers precariously, the flame teetering on the edge of extinction from the sudden movement. It is no longer than a mere count of seconds before the light flickered back to light, casting an ominous glow throughout the room.

“Hello?” 

Anthony was a bit ashamed to admit it, but his words wobbeled as he spoke. A mirror reflection of how he truly felt. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath to steady and ground himself to the so little he had. The silence that he was met with was perhaps even more unnerving than before—not even a sinned whisper to break the heavy stillness.

“Who’s there?” He proclaims, this time louder, his voice firming itself as the time passed by cautiously slowly, like it was moving through sticky molasses. Anthony is a moment's reach away from venturing out of his study and investigating for himself, curiousity gnawing at him. It was soon deemed unnecessary when a familiar little head popped up from the right frame of the heavy wooden door, wild tufts of hair jutting out from all directions in a way that resembled . He can’t help but to let out a huff of relief when he notices that it is only Y/N and that he was, in fact, not crazy.

Relief then morphs into confusion within a snap of a finger. His eyebrows are met together again, except this time, not from any sort of paralyzing fear but in question. “Y/N, pray tell, what brings you out of bed at this unearthly hour?” Anthony is quick to step away from his desk, taking 3 large steps towards the younger sibling, looking down upon the half-shamed, half-curious look that had crossed her face.

He shook his head yet, bent down far enough to pick the little girl into her arms. She doesn’t protest, instead, nestling herself into his bigger body as if she were seeking some sort of comfort that Anthony could not find in himself to give. He had never been the best at offering solace to other people, nor himself, and especially not now, when his own heart felt too dim and restless to share.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbles, the words lost into the warm crook of Anthony’s neck. He sets the little girl onto one of the chairs that had been meticulously placed in front of the tidied desk. As he stands, his gaze drifts upward to the Renaissance painting hanging on the wall, overlooking the study—an eye-striking masterpiece from an era long before either of them had taken their first breaths. In truth, Anthony wasn’t quite sure how they even managed to get their hands on such an exquisite masterpiece, but it had been his father's favorite painting, so he didn’t dare ask. Every time he turned to face it, the vibrant colors and intricate details felt like a worn ghost from the past, fluttering memories that stung with longing. The image reminded him far too vividly of his father, pulling him into a clouded reverie that soured his mood.

Anthony’s lips are pulled into a drifted frown, eyes gazing over to the uncurtained window where darkness stared back at him, reverberating how the moment felt of. He unknowingly presses his fingers up against his hair, as if he were to adjust how it looked, although he never quite cared for how his hair stood. Is it the storm that troubles you?” He questions meticulously, knowing how fidgety Y/N got during those periods of weather; she never seemed to be a big fan nor curious of it, rather burying herself into a bundle of blankets in pillows. “You have nothing to fear from it.” 

The girl tilts her head to one side, as if she were pondering her answer. There is a brief moment before she slowly shakes her head to the side. “A bit, I suppose.” She mumbles, her fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown, the silk fabric one that was cooling rather than heating her up. She always preferred the material. “But…” 

His eyebrow arches in surprise at the answer, a rumble of perplexity stirring inside of him as he pondered what could be bothering her at this time of night. “Then what might it be if it is not the storm?” his tone softening as he addressed his younger sister, the usual edge in his voice fading into something gentler than usual.

“I…” She lets out a soft exhale, as though she were afraid of saying it aloud to Anthony. It struck him as odd, as well; Y/N was always more open towards him than any of his siblings, although he never understood why. He never brought it up in conversation, simply accepting her willingness to share with him. “I was thinking of father.”

The words spill out hesitantly, and Y/N looks up at her brother in a way that he could only describe as ashamed, though it was nothing to be ashamed of. Anthony’s breath catches into his throat, a reflex that had become all too familiar in recent days. He runs a hand over his face, appearing more dismayed than ever. “Whatever for?” He asks cautiously, unable to help the bittersweet modulation that came along with the sentence.

Y/N looked down, legs swinging over the edge of the seat, the motion that was so kid-like, reminding Anthony of the innocence of his little sister, how he needed to protect her from the cruelty of the world. “I miss him.” She finally says, though not confidently as she usually had been, as though she had chosen her words carefully, placed diligently. “Where is he?”

Where is he?

The words chime in his head persistently, the sensation of a dagger being strung into his heart. Anthony swallows the hardening lump in his throat. He had been able to answer questions and answer to orders his entire life, and yet– this simple question, was enough for him to falter in his step. He could not just simply tell her, Oh yes, our father. He is dead. Because, well, she was a child, and at her young age, Anthony would not know of what death was. It was the furthest thing possible from what he would’ve thought of, and yet, this was Y/N’s truth. She had to face the ridicule of death, not even knowing what it was than a melancholic goodbye.

“He-” The word floundered in his mouth, unable to correlate the thoughts in his brain to the words coming out of his own mouth. “He’s…” 

“Is he dead?”

Anthony almost chokes out a laugh, because what the fuck? Where did she learn of such? She was still so young; he didn’t get it. He was sure neither Colin nor Benedict would directly say it towards her, and Daphne wouldn’t have the heart to do so. None of the other children had much of a clue of what was going on, so it could not have been them either. “Y/N, I-” And yet, he is still unable to speak. He doesn’t know if it is because of the absurdity of the conversation, or if it really is the sleep deprivation messing with him, and if he’s being honest, Anthony doesn’t have it in him to care for the reason. Not when he had... this to worry about now.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” He’s unable to refrain from noticing the quiver in her lip as she spoke, albeit the even cadence. 

Anthony dips his head down, eyes gluing to the floor because he’s unable to look his sister in the eyes. Unable to break the news and her heart at all the same time. She loved Edmund dearly; she loved everyone dearly, and that was her problem. Letting go was always the hard part, for even just a couple of moments—how could she let go for an eternity? Y/N is far from stupid though, and she’s quick to get the message. She too, looks away, this time to somewhere that Anthony can’t quite place. Her eyes are distant, as if she were not there presently, and it scared him a great deal.

“Are you sad?” Y/N inquired, the question so basic yet so meaningful for Anthony, and he can feel the strings tugging at his heart. It’s almost laughable to him; a young child who barely understood the severity of the situation, was the first one to ask him about how he felt. Not his siblings, not the maids, not the butlers, and certainly not his mother. No one doubted him, and while Anthony knew his family cared for him deeply, it underwent as if no one really did. 

“I suppose I am, yes.” He answers honestly, given that he was tired of lying to himself and others. And well, he was sure Y/N would figure it out eventually. 

“It’s okay to be sad.” She whispers gently, her head inclining to the left, and then up to meet Anthony’s gaze. For a brief period of a second, he wonders if she could read him that well. If she could see right through his facade, and knew what he needed to hear to the brink. He refused to acknowledge it, but he was aware that the words had some sort of effect on him. In a manner that had hardly ever moved him before. 

He can do nothing but nod slowly, hesitant to speak upon the matter at hand. "You truly ought to be sleeping, Y/N.” Anthony breathes out, pressing his hand against his subdued jawline, an uneven beard already beginning to form from the days he hadn’t shaved. It was the only response he could come up with, the only response he could say without directly speaking on the matter. 

Y/N bounces up, and off of the chair, landing on her two feet that were padded with socks that went up to her knees. Her favorite pair that she refused to let go of despite the many holes that had broken into the fabric. She stood much shorter than Anthony, still in the very early stages of growth. “Maybe you would be less sad if you talked.” She states woefully, her eyes holding only the sincerest of truths to the point where even Anthony knew that she did not lie. 

“I’ll be okay.” Is his respondance, his words cutting sharp into the heavy air that had filled the room. Because deep down, Anthony knows that his sister is partially right, that he truly needed to talk to someone. The only problem that he now faced was his honor and the fighting fact that he had no one to talk to. “It will all be okay.”

It’s hard for him to even believe his own words. He hadn’t had a clue how Y/N, in all her young wisdom and pureness, could believe him either. In spite of what he thinks, she only agrees with him, already beginning to walk towards the door again, this time with Anthony trailing a meter behind her. He knows well enough to at least tuck her into bed this time, to make sure that she gets some proper rest for the day ahead, although there is hardly anything to do other than funeral planning, which she had no part in.

Before she managed to walk out, Anthony ruffled his sister's hair in affection, something they now both lacked tremendously. He wished upon those days when he was Y/N’s age, able to curl up in his mother's lap, or next to his father in his study, where none of these adult problems affected him and it was just pure bliss. A perception which he could no longer relish in at this point in time. 

“Will we talk tomorrow?” Y/N promptly solicits, something that Anthony could finally answer that wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’m sure of it.” Perhaps for the first time in days, it’s a truthful answer in what he regarded. He says it, not as an entire answer, but as a promise for himself, because although he could be the mouthful of things that his brothers had constantly reminded him about, he never truly broke his promises for those he loved. And as Anthony slips his way out of Y/N’s, his sister falling into a light slumber that he’s sure will keep her down for a number of hours at least. Her eyes fluttered with the weight of sleep, her breathing steadying as the rainfall began to die down during the late night turning into early morning. 

God, maybe he could finally get some much needed sleep.

[worriedvision]

Right place, wrong time - Sunday

Gender neutral reader, angst lol. Soulmate au.

--

Reading the words on your arm, you immediately knew who your soulmate was based on the fact there was only one man who took the job of "judging" peoples actions - how, you didn't exactly know. You did, however, know he was a very important man. Being a bodyguard working under Gallagher, you doubted your skills in relation to being worthy of association with Sunday.

Gallagher was a supportive dad to you - when he sensed you were off, he made you a drink on the house and had a conversation with you. When you show him your arm, he lets out a hearty laugh before beginning to pour himself a drink.

"It wouldn't hurt to strike a conversation, right?" He asks. "He probably also knows your first words, and he'll most likely believe you when you explain the arm."

"But what happens afterwards? It's not like he knows who I am, and he isn't really supposed to. It's kind of the point of these confession booths..." You trail off, taking a sip of the drink you have in hand. It is an odd mint taste - almost synthetic, this could be due to a herb thats also been thrown into the mix. It's...strangely clarifying, yet still you are left with questions.

Gallagher prepares a shot for you, almost like he knew this was going to happen, and he slides it over. Turns out, he decided to hydrate you with this shot. You down the show before rolling your eyes.

"Could you give me a glass of water next time?" You ask, Gallagher smirking as he pours some water for you.

"Here ya go, kiddo."

---

"Welcome to the confession booth. Please state the purpose of your confession, starting with the most pressing sin." Sunday asks, how looking down at your arm as you see the words glowing as he states them.

"This may sound strange...but you appear to be my soulmate, but I don't know what I can do with this information." You scratch the back of your head, Sunday pausing in thought.

"...I suppose this was going to happen at some point." He sighs out longingly. "Given my position, I'm afraid my responsibilities do not allow me the opportunity to indulge too much in relationships."

"I knew that - I'm surprised you didn't tell me to get out by now." You laugh, Sunday pausing once again.

"...I suppose you know more about me than I do if you. How about we spend this time we have to find out about you?" Sunday asks, a smile evident in his voice.

With a smile, you reminisce about general information about yourself - your career, your favourite things, your family, anything Sunday asked about you'd answer. Sunday seems to enjoy the conversation, throwing in his little parts here and there as well.

By the end of the conversation, you both round things off with a laugh before you both remember you likely won't see each other again. Hell, he's never seen you!

"I'm sorry fate has tied us together. Please proceed in your life knowing that in another life, perhaps we would have been very close." Sundays smile drops. "I'd like to ask your name, however due to anonymity I am not allowed to ask this. I wish you the best - if you find a special someone, don't wait for me."

You open your mouth to tell him off for telling you to move on, but then you realise you're asking him to prioritise you in the future.

So, you leave without another word, leaving Sunday to stew in his misery as you go to Gallagher to cry about it.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 19

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Every time I close my eyes , it's like a dark paradise"

summary: you met someone you thought you will never see again

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 19

masterlist!

previous | chapter 18

next | chapter 20

Joel’s days bled into nights, each second stretching painfully into the next as he searched for you, his desperation sinking into his bones, gnawing at the core of him. It had been a year—a long, relentless year without you. And yet, each time the sun set, he felt the ache deepen, as if it were the first day all over again.

He barely slept, barely ate, his mind only running through endless, frayed memories and half-seen shadows, trying to piece together the face of the man who took you.

In his hands, the maps were worn soft, smudged with the faint ink of hastily scribbled notes, each line a fragment of his obsession. Every lead brought him from one shabby motel to another, each with rooms that smelled of stale smoke and peeling paint, rooms that looked like places where people vanished.

And still, you weren’t there.

Each disappointment drove him further into the kind of desperation that made him push aside his pride and seek help. He went back to Frank and Bill. They did what they could to help Joel, sheltering him, keeping him out of the FBI’s reach, printing missing posters and scattering them across countless towns, reaching strangers who might hold a shred of information.

Anything to bring you back.

Back home, Tommy, Maria, and Ellie were waging their own quiet battle to find you, doing all they could without raising suspicion. Their quiet alliance held the family together as the months dragged on, sharing hushed updates through phone calls that grew more desperate, more strained.

Ellie tried to keep her hopes up, imagining you somewhere safe, waiting for rescue. But in her heart, she could sense the tremor of fear that everyone else tried to hide.

Alone, Joel grew unraveled, each night lost to bottles of booze that only burned his throat and numbed nothing. He let the papers pile around him, scraps littering tables and floors, covering the walls of Frank and Bill's guest room as if he could somehow will them into an answer.

Sometimes, he’d find himself whispering to the empty air, as though you could hear him, as if his voice might reach through the miles. He pictured your face—so vividly, it ached—wondering if you felt him out there, searching.

Joel held that crumpled, fraying photo, it was the photo of him and you in Houston night fair a year ago. His thumb brushing over your face frozen in that photo booth smile.

It was a memory he clung to in moments of weakness—when everything had been beautiful and right, when he still believed the world held space for happiness.

“Where are you, doll? Come back to me... I can’t do this without you.” His voice cracked, swallowed by the darkness. Every silence, every cold night, brought him closer to madness. He could almost hear you whispering back, as if in the ghostly hush, your spirit hovered just beyond reach.

But across that unseen distance, your reality was twisted, tethered to the darkest kind of survival. Negan’s shadow stretched over you, growing more sinister, feeding off your misery, his cruelty sharpening with every "client" he sent your way.

Each encounter made you sick; the nauseating dread gnawed at your insides until you turned numb. He forced you to swallow handfuls of pills, snort lines of powder until the world blurred, all to make you obedient.

And you were compliant now, the fight in you dimmed to a silent acceptance. Resistance meant pain, bruises, and the relentless smirk on his face as he reminded you who held all the power. So you learned to still yourself, to play dead, just to survive the hell.

Each night, you sank further, disappearing into the numbness the drugs provided, the feeling of survival slipping through your fingers. The hollow shell you’d become didn’t fight him, didn’t flinch under his gaze or resist when his rough hands traced over your skin, marking you in ways that left scars deeper than any wound. 

He raped you over and over again. Every night, almost every day.

One night, he gave you a room of your own. A twisted gift of “freedom.”, a mockery of comfort in this prison where he kept you. He still came to you each night, creeping into the darkness, and if you moved or whimpered, his hand would clamp over your mouth as he told you, sweet as sugar, not to fight, that “we’re just playing house.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, the haze of sleeping pills thick in your head. His sickly-sweet games bled into the hours until you lost track of time. By morning, your body felt like a shell, hollow and sore, skin pulled tight over bones.

And that smell—it clung to the air, especially strong near the heavy metal door down the hall that Negan kept locked tight. A rancid, metallic odor, a reminder of something you’d rather not know.

You avoided looking at the fridge, too, its shelves stuffed with slabs of meat that didn’t look like anything from a grocery store. Your stomach turned at the thought, and you took to cooking whatever you could, clinging to some shred of normalcy with pancakes and eggs, anything but that meat.

But when Negan stomped into the kitchen that morning and you put the pancakes on his plate, his face twisted with disgust. His hand shot out, sending the plate crashing to the floor as he barked, “You call this breakfast?” You flinched, heart hammering in your chest.

“There’s nothing left, just the meat,” you managed to whisper, trying to calm him, to avoid the sting of his rage.

But his face darkened, and he hissed, “Then eat the damn meat.” Nodding, you moved to the fridge, pulling it open, but before you could even start, the nausea hit you hard.

You stumbled to the bathroom, stomach heaving, bile rising as you clung to the edge of the sink. It had been days of this—dizzy spells, constant nausea, a weakness that wouldn’t fade.

You asked him, once, to take you to a doctor, but he’d only laughed, brushing off your words as if they were nothing.

But that morning, as you knelt there, Negan’s mocking voice drifted from the kitchen. “You sure got a weak stomach, sweetheart. Or wait,” he paused, as if a dark thought dawned on him.

“you wouldn’t be knocked up, would you?” His words sliced through the air, and in an instant, dread filled your veins.

Negan’s grin spread, a slow, dark realization flickering in his gaze. He tilted his head, studying the growing horror in your expression. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Got something to tell me?”

You tried to dismiss the thought, No, every clients always use condoms or pull out, there's rules, strict rules by Negan that everyone need to follow.

"Alright, tell me which one of ’em didn’t pull out, huh? You let one of ’em break the rules?” His tone shifting from amusement to something far darker, his voice is low, cruel and invasive, as if he could peel back your skin and see into every memory you wanted to erase.

You shook your head, unable to hold back the tremor in your voice. “No one… they all followed the rules..." Then the realization hit you.

No.

No, It couldn’t be.

You couldn’t carry his child.

Negan’s smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. “Guess that leaves only me, then,” His fingers grazed over your jaw, tilting your face up.

"Goddamn, I knocked you up, didn't I?" He mocked you with his laugh and a big grin on his face.

“Guess we’ll be a real family now, huh, sweetheart?” You shuddered listen to what he said, nausea twisting into a spiraling fear.

The room spun as panic clawed at your chest. A child bound to this, bound to him, a part of him, growing inside you, chaining you to this nightmare forever.

This couldn’t be happening. You can't bring a child into this prison, no. Not with him.

The thought ignited a fire of panic deep within your chest, yet you felt paralyzed, frozen in his grip. Your hands trembled, and a numbness spread through your veins. The world around you blurred, his face, his voice, everything distorting in a haze of disbelief and horror.

***

Tonight’s your last client for a while, he’d said, with a twisted grin that made you feel sick to your core. He wanted you to carry his child, to tie you to him with an unbreakable chain, to make you his forever.

The thought was unbearable, a darkness spreading through you, filling every corner of your mind with a terrible dread.

You kept your face blank, expression as smooth and placid as a lake’s surface while your insides churned. You couldn’t let him see the fear, the desperate calculations racing through your mind.

But every time you imagined the life inside you, growing, becoming a part of this nightmare, the dread swelled, crashing over you like a wave.

That afternoon, Negan took you to the grocery store, his hand firm around your arm as he steered you through the aisles. He had that sharp glint in his eye, the one that warned you not to cross him.

Normally, you did this on your own, gathering what you needed while he watched from his truck outside. But today, he hovered close, his presence a constant reminder of the leash you couldn’t see but felt tightening with every step.

The store was cold, the fluorescent lights harsh against your skin. You moved mechanically, plucking items from shelves, the rhythm of normalcy a bitter contrast to the chaos inside.

Your fingers shook slightly as you reached for a can, and you forced yourself to breathe slowly, in and out, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He was bored, restless, eyes scanning the people around you with thinly veiled irritation. When the line at the checkout stretched out, he sighed impatiently.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, leaning close, his grip firm on your face. “You try any shit, and you know what’ll happen. Got it, sweetheart?”

You nodded, throat tight, and he released you, storming out to wait in the truck.

The line crept forward, a snail’s pace that made your pulse thud in your temples. Each second felt stretched, unreal, the world around you moving in slow motion. You clutched the handle of the shopping cart, mind racing.

People milled around you, chatting, smiling, oblivious to the shadow that lingered just beyond these walls, waiting to consume you whole. You wanted to run, to disappear into the crowd and never look back, but his warning echoed in your ears, a brutal reminder that you were still chained.

When it was your turn at the register, the cashier was kind, offering a smile that made your heart ache with longing for something that felt impossibly far away.

You fumbled through paying, glancing nervously toward the parking lot where you knew he waited, his gaze a weight you could feel even from a distance.

You made your way to the truck, feeling his eyes on you, his smirk as you approached. You tried to keep your voice steady as you loaded the bags in. “They…they didn’t have pregnancy tests. They were out of stock.”

Negan chuckled, a sound that made your skin crawl. “Figures. Bet all the other sluts in this town already cleaned ‘em out.” He smirked, a gleam in his eye that held no warmth.

“Get your ass in. We’ll grab one at the gas station."

You climbed into the truck, feeling trapped, the seat belt tight across your chest like a noose. His words echoed in your mind, each one a nail hammered into the cage around you.

The plan he’d laid out twisted your insides, a sickness coiling in your stomach that was worse than anything you’d ever felt. You couldn’t bring a child into this—a child tied to him, a child trapped just as you were.

The weight of it settled over you, heavier with every mile you drove, until it felt like you could hardly breathe. Your mind raced, grasping for something—anything—to stop this.

You were spiraling into a dark pit of despair, thoughts swirling like autumn leaves caught in a tempest. The closer you got to the gas station, the more your heart pounded against your ribs, desperate for freedom.

As you arrived, Negan leaned back in the truck, his eyes glinting with impatience. “I’ll wait here. You go in, but be fucking quick.” His tone was as sharp as a blade, leaving no room for disobedience.

You nodded, pushing the weight of your dread aside as you stepped out into the sunlight, a harsh reminder of the world beyond this nightmare.

Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered above, cold and clinical, You moved for selecting the pregnancy test from the aisle, fingers brushing over it as an image flickered in your mind—Joel’s face, his soft smile, the warmth of his hand brushing over yours.

You bit back the tears that burned in your eyes, the ache in your chest deepening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

You always wanted a family of your own, but not like this. Not with him. A child tied to this nightmare would mean a lifetime under Negan’s thumb—a life bound to his sick, twisted idea of family.

You blinked back tears and moved toward the counter, your thoughts in turmoil, when a voice—a familiar voice—pierced the haze.

“Is that you?”

You turned, heart pounding, and there she was—Emma. Your best friend, the one you hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The sight of her sent a jolt of warmth through your veins, but it was quickly overshadowed by the shadows lurking in your mind.

Her face was lined with surprise and worry, and as your eyes met, memories flooded back—laughter shared in the hallways, secrets whispered under the stars.

She stepped closer, and you felt her arms wrap around you, a lifeline in a turbulent sea. The embrace was both a comfort and a reminder of everything you’d lost.

“Oh my god, it’s really you,” Emma whispered, pulling back to study your face, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. You felt the weight of her worry pressing against you, and you wished you could share the whole truth, but the words tangled in your throat.

“Where have you been? It’s been over a year…” Her voice trembled, and for a moment, you were lost in the familiarity of her presence, a beacon of hope in your dark reality.

You took a shaky breath, trying to piece together your thoughts. “How—how can you be here?”

After a moment, she explained, her voice rushing as if she were afraid time might snatch you away again. “After graduation, Jim and I moved to California. We just got married last month!” The excitement in her voice felt like a distant echo, contrasting sharply with your own turmoil.

But as quickly as the happiness arrived, it faded. “Are you okay? Where’s Joel?” Emma asked, concern etching deeper lines on her forehead.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of his name, the very name that felt like both a lifeline and a chain. “I got kidnapped,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

Emma’s expression morphed from surprise to confusion, and then to horror. “What? What are you talking about?” She looked around, panic creeping into her eyes, as if the very ground beneath you was about to give way.

“I can’t explain it to you,” you said, your heart racing. “He’s out there.” You gestured vaguely, your heart sinking as you glanced outside and saw Negan, an ominous figure lingering like a dark cloud over your thoughts.

Emma’s eyes widened as she took in the scene. “Wait, it’s not Joel,” she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Where the fuck is Joel? What is happening?"

"Didn't Joel fucking killed your parents and Jamie and Ben?"

“No! He didn’t kill them. Negan did." You said, "Please Emma, you have to help me,"

“Who’s Negan?” Emma asked, her brow furrowing with confusion and fear.

“He took me from Joel. He framed Joel,” you said urgently, dragging Emma to a quieter corner of the store, heart racing with the urgency of your situation. This was your chance, a lifeline thrown to you in the storm.

“Help me, please, please,” you begged, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t stay with him any longer. I need you to do something.”

Emma’s expression shifted as she processed your words, the gravity of your situation crashing over her like a tidal wave. “Can we call the cops?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“No, we can’t! He’ll kill us!” Panic flared in your chest, a wild beast clawing at the walls of your sanity. “I don't have much time, but you need to tell Tommy, Emma. Call him and say I’m in California. I don’t know where Negan’s house is, but his name is Negan Smith. The man who took me is Negan Smith. Tell him to find his address.”

Emma's eyes widened, the reality dawning on her. “W-we could just run away. My car is out there.”

“No! You don’t understand. He'll hunt us down. He’s dangerous, Emma. We need to be smart about this.” The words poured from you, desperation lacing every syllable.

“I just need to get out of here.” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I can’t stay with him another day.”

In that moment, she stepped closer, enveloping you in her arms. The warmth of her embrace was a balm against the icy grip of fear that had settled around your heart.

You could feel her tremble, too—an echo of your own turmoil. It was a shared sorrow, a recognition of the gravity of your plight.

“I promise I’ll get you out,” she whispered fiercely, her breath warm against your ear. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and you felt your own grief swell anew, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

The weight of everything—the fear, the pain, the uncertainty—pressed down on you both, and in that fragile moment, you wept together, two souls adrift in a storm.

“I can’t stay with him another day,” you sobbed, the truth cutting through you like a knife. You could feel Emma’s heartache mingling with your own, each beat a reminder of the love and hope you were fighting for, despite the darkness that loomed.

She pulled back, searching your eyes, and then her gaze dropped to the pregnancy test clutched in your trembling hands. “Are you…?” she began, her voice faltering.

“He raped me, Emma,” "Over and over again," you admitted, each word a raw confession, a wound laid bare.

“and he pimped me out. He made me into a prostitute.” The weight of those words crushed you, the reality so unbearable that you felt like you were going to shatter.

Emma’s expression shifted to one of horror. “Is it… is it his child?” she stammered, and you could see the disbelief in her eyes, the way your pain struck her like a physical blow.

“I can’t… I can’t, I can't have this baby,” you whispered, choking on the anguish. You could barely comprehend the gravity of it all, a future painted in shades of dread.

Just then, you caught a glimpse of Negan climbing out of the truck, and fear twisted in your gut like a knife. “Tell Tommy to find me,” you urged Emma one last time.

“And if you find Joel… please tell him I’m waiting for him. Always.”

With that you pulled away, forcing a smile to mask the turmoil swirling within you. You had to play your part. You turned away from Emma, letting the illusion of normalcy settle over you like a shroud.

Emma ducked into the shadows, her presence fading from your periphery, and you approached Negan, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

“What took you so fucking long?” he barked, irritation etched on his face.

You feigned confusion, forcing the words out. “I’m just… confused, Negan. It’s my first time.”

“Then just fucking pick anything! Jesus, woman.” His voice cracked like a whip, sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded, swallowing the knot of fear in your throat, feeling smaller than ever.

As he stepped outside, waiting by the truck, you turned toward the cashier, each step heavy with the weight of what you were about to do.

The store felt surreal, a juxtaposition of mundane normalcy against the tempest brewing in your heart. Each item on the shelves seemed to mock your despair, the fluorescent lights flickering like distant stars in a darkened sky, reminding you of everything you had lost.

Approaching the counter, the world around you began to blur, thoughts racing through your mind like a whirlwind. What if this was it? What if you didn’t escape?

The reality of your situation sank in, pressing down on you like a lead weight, suffocating in its intensity. You were here, a ghost of your former self, trapped in a nightmare of someone else’s making, and the walls felt like they were closing in.

As you laid down the items—each one a reminder of a life you once knew—you thought of Joel.

His warmth, his laughter, the way he made you feel safe against the chill of the world. Those memories glimmered like fragile stars in the darkness, a bittersweet ache that filled your chest.

You wondered if he was fighting for you, if he even knew what had become of you.

You took a breath, trying to steady the whirlwind inside. As the cashier rang up your items, your mind spiraled back to the pregnancy test, the weight of it pressing down on your conscience.

In your faith, it was a sin to kill a baby, a sin that echoed through your upbringing like a haunting hymn. The Bible spoke of life being a sacred gift, a trust from God.

But this baby is not a gift.

The thought of bringing a child into this world—a world filled with darkness and pain, where they could inherit a life as broken as your own—sent waves of panic crashing through you.

You steeled yourself, feeling the tremor of fear and guilt intertwining within you. “Do you have anything?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

“I want to get rid of it,” you said, your hand instinctively brushing against your abdomen as if to shield the burgeoning life from the shadows lurking in your reality.

The cashier’s eyes widened, shock painting her features. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I… I want to get rid of it.” You gestured to your belly, feeling the weight of your confession settle in the air between you.

The cashier hesitated, her expression flickering between concern and caution. “You sure about it?” she asked, her voice softening, an unspoken understanding passing between you.

“Yes,” you whispered, desperation threading through your tone. “Please, just anything.”

She studied you for a moment, weighing the gravity of your request. “Are you really sure about it? It’s none of my business, but you should consider going to a hospital for this.”

“No, I can’t. I—I just can’t,” you managed, urgency coursing through your veins. “Just give it to me.”

“Alright, but it ain’t my fault if anything happens,” she replied, her voice laced with a mixture of sympathy and resignation. You watched as she reached beneath the counter, pulling out a small, unassuming package that felt like both a lifeline and a curse.

As she handed it to you, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a blur. This was it—a moment carved in time, one that would alter your path forever. You grasped the package tightly, your fingers trembling as you felt the weight of your decision press against your chest.

You turned to leave, but just before stepping out, you glanced back at Emma. Her eyes were glistening with tears, her face a mixture of fear and heartbreak. The sight of her anguish sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you, a reminder of the innocence that had been stolen from both of you.

You wanted to reach out, to assure her that you were going to be okay, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you silently nod and gave her one last smile, you don't know if you're gonna see her ever again.

As you stepped out of the store, the fluorescent lights flickered behind you, casting long shadows on the pavement that stretched out before you. The outside world felt colder, more foreboding, as if it sensed the turmoil brewing within your heart.

Each heartbeat echoed the weight of your choice, the urgency of your situation clawing at your mind. You were standing at the precipice of an uncertain future, the horizon obscured by the storm clouds of despair and fear that loomed above you.

But amidst the chaos, a flicker of resolve ignited deep within. You thought of Joel, his strength, his unwavering presence that made you feel safe even when the world was crumbling around you. In your darkest moments, his memory became a guiding light, urging you to fight for the life you once had.

You needed to find your way back to him, to reclaim your story from the shadows that threatened to consume you. The road ahead was murky, each step a treacherous dance with danger, but you steeled yourself for the fight. The thought of Joel ignited a fire in your belly, a relentless determination to survive.

With each breath, you whispered a silent prayer into the darkening sky, clutching the small package against your heart as you resolved to face whatever lay ahead.

You would find a way to escape this nightmare, to reclaim your future, and to make sure that Negan would never have power over you again.

The night felt heavy with anticipation, the air thick with a tension that twisted in your gut. You stood in front of the hotel mirror, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on your reflection.

Each detail felt foreign—your skin, once vibrant, now dulled and pale; your body, a ghost of its former self, now a canvas marked by the weight of what you had endured.

Emma’s words echoed in your mind: “It’s been a year since I last saw you.” It means now it's been a year and a half. A lifetime spent away from Joel, the man whose laughter had once wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

You missed him so fiercely it was like a physical ache, a void in your chest that no amount of prayer seemed to fill. You whispered your pleas to God, each word hanging in the air like a desperate song.

But as the days blurred into nights, doubt began to creep in, gnawing at your faith like a hungry wolf. Was there even a God to hear you?

You glanced down at your stomach, where a life was growing inside you, innocent and unaware of the darkness surrounding it.

You remembered the test you took earlier with Negan, the little plus sign a cruel twist of fate.

Pregnant with his child.

The thought twisted in your gut, an iron weight pressing down, reminding you of everything you had been taught.

Your father’s sermons flooded your mind, words from the Good Book spilling into your consciousness like water from a broken dam. “Children are a gift from God,” he had preached, his voice booming with conviction.

But this child felt like a curse, a cruel reminder of the monster that had taken you from the light and plunged you into shadow.

If it was a boy, what hope did he have of escaping his father’s blood? If it was a girl, you couldn’t bear the thought of her living in a world ruled by a monster like Negan. You don't want them to live your life, no.

No, you couldn’t bring this life into a world so steeped in pain and darkness. You would save them, save them from their father’s sins, from your own sins.

In the solitude of the bathroom, you grasped the small package tightly, your heart racing as you decided to take four pills, hoping to end what had begun.

Your hands trembled as you swallowed them, each one feeling like a stone lodged in your throat, a final act of defiance against the life growing within you.

Almost immediately, pain erupted in your abdomen, sharp and relentless, as if the very fabric of your being was unraveling. You doubled over, gasping for breath, your body turning weak and unresponsive.

The world around you blurred, the edges softening into darkness.

Then, a sudden pressure built within you, an overwhelming urge that felt like it was ripping you apart from the inside. You stumbled toward the toilet, only to be met with the horrifying sight of blood—thick, dark clots spilling out between your leg. Dizziness swept over you, and your knees buckled beneath you.

A loud knock echoed from the door, a frantic urgency that barely registered in your foggy mind. You didn’t respond; you couldn’t. The world spun wildly, the darkness closing in as you finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

In those final moments, you caught a glimpse of a figure—a man, not Negan, shrouded in shadows—his face indistinct. A fleeting sense of fear gripped you before everything faded to black.

***

You jolted awake in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic assaulting your senses. Confusion clouded your mind, disorientation settling in like a thick fog. 

What had happened? The memories of the hotel room came rushing back, a torrent of pain and loss flooding your thoughts.

Then, you saw him—Negan. His face twisted in fury, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “What the fuck did you do?” he barked, the words sharp and menacing, cutting through the haze of your consciousness.

You were no longer in the hotel. Your heart raced, each beat a reminder of the choices you had made, the life you had tried to save, and the monster that now loomed before you.

"Wha--what happened?" you managed to stammer, confusion clouding your mind.

“Robert,” he spat, the name dripping with venom. “The man supposed to be satisfied by you found you passed out, blood coming from your fucking vagina.” His words struck you like a physical blow, and the reality of your situation settled over you like a shroud. 

“I lost the fucking money because of you!”

Your breath hitched in your throat as Negan’s hands closed around your neck, squeezing tightly. Panic surged through you, and your vision blurred as you gasped for air. 

"And you. You fucking killed it, you killed my child." he hissed, his face inches from yours, anger radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“I can’t… breathe…” you choked out, the world around you spiraling into darkness.

The realization crashed over you like a wave, and the weight of his accusation sank into your bones. He knew. 

You successfully killed it.

Desperation clawed at your throat as you felt the pressure tighten. “Please… let go…” you begged, tears welling in your eyes.

"I should have fucking killed you for it. I gave you everything. I gave you a house, jewelry, dresses—everything. And you... You can’t even say thank you to me." His voice was a storm, his breath hot against your skin, suffocating you with anger and betrayal.

“This is how you repay me? Murdered my child? You ungrateful bitch.” His grip was like a vice, unyielding and cruel, squeezing the breath from your lungs. Your hands flailed, grasping at his wrist in a desperate attempt to free yourself, but it was futile.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the pressure released. A sound echoed in the room—the quick, heavy footsteps of someone entering. The doctor. She rushed in, her expression a mixture of concern and urgency, breaking the spell of Negan’s rage.

Before she could assess the situation, Negan released you, feigning innocence as if nothing had happened. The mask he wore was chilling in its calmness, a predator in a sheep’s clothing.

“Good, you’re awake,” the doctor said, her voice laced with concern. “I’m really sorry to say, but you lost the baby.”

Each word was a heavy stone, dropping into the depths of your soul, sending ripples of anguish through you. You had made a choice, a choice steeped in desperation and fear.

You had committed a sin that now hung over you like a dark cloud, one that would shadow you for the rest of your life. The weight of your actions settled on your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs as effectively as Negan’s hands had.

You had killed a life that had barely begun, snuffing out a flame before it could ever flicker. The echoes of your father’s sermons filled your mind—his rigid beliefs, the scriptures twisted into weapons against anyone who strayed from the path.

You remembered the fervor in his voice as he spoke about children being blessings, gifts from God. But how could you bring a child into this world, into the clutches of a monster?

“It was three months old,” the doctor continued, her tone gentle yet firm. “You took too many pills. You had a miscarriage. We’re already getting everything out from you.”

With each sentence, you felt the ground shift beneath you, the world tilting as the weight of what you had done bore down on your heart.

"Now, your condition is not stable, we recommend you stay here or do you prefer to go home?"

Before you could respond, Negan’s voice cut through the room, harsh and authoritative. “No. We can take care of ourselves. We just need to go home.” His words dripped with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl.

The doctor nodded, taken aback by his decisiveness, and you could see the thin veneer of professionalism slipping away as concern flickered across her face.

As she prepared your discharge, a whirlwind of fear enveloped you. The idea of returning to that dark house, of being alone with Negan, sent icy tendrils creeping up your spine. You felt like a bird caught in a storm, wings clipped and unable to escape the chaos.

What would he do to you? The thought gnawed at your insides, a relentless whisper that echoed through your mind. You had already seen the monster within him, and now that you had taken away his child, you feared what lay ahead.

Would he unleash his fury upon you? Would he kill you?

The hospital room felt like a fragile bubble, a temporary refuge from the darkness that awaited. As the doctor handed you a few papers, explaining what to expect, you could hardly focus.

Your mind was a flurry of thoughts—about the life that had been extinguished, about the man who now loomed over you, and about the impending return to hell.

Every moment spent in that sterile room felt like an eternity, yet all too soon, the time came to leave. Negan’s presence loomed beside you, his anger barely contained, a smoldering ember threatening to ignite.

As you walked through the hospital doors, the world outside felt both foreign and suffocating. You stepped into the night, it only served to highlight the darkness within you.

With every step toward the truck, your heart raced, a drumbeat of dread marking the rhythm of your impending fate. You asked God this time.

***

The journey to his house was a blur, each mile a countdown to the inevitable confrontation. The walls of the truck felt like they were closing in, pressing down on you with an unbearable weight, and you fought against the rising tide of panic swelling within your chest.

Each bump in the road sent jolts of fear coursing through you, reminding you of the storm that awaited you in the shadows of Negan's world.

As the truck lurched to a stop in the driveway, dread coiled tightly around your heart. You were still weak, your body aching from the remnants of your earlier ordeal, but that didn’t matter to Negan. The moment the door swung open, he was upon you, his rage igniting like wildfire.

Without warning, he punched your stomach, the pain radiating through you like a shockwave. You gasped, doubling over as the world blurred around you.

He didn’t wait for you to recover, dragging you by your hair as your body felt the ground, from the truck with a brutal strength that made you feel like a rag doll.

“Get fucking inside!” he snarled, his voice a low growl, devoid of any compassion. The darkness of the basement loomed ahead, an abyss waiting to swallow you whole, and with each step, the walls seemed to close in tighter, the air heavy with unspoken threats.

Once inside, he unleashed the storm that had been brewing during the drive. “You killed my child!” he roared, his fury reverberating off the walls like thunder.

Each word was a strike, sharp and relentless, cutting through the fragile remnants of your spirit. “I SHOULD FUCKING KILL YOU FOR IT! YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!”

His fists rained down on you, each punch a testament to his rage, and the pain was a visceral reminder of your shattered choices. You cried out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to shield yourself from his wrath.

You felt small, powerless, as he pulled your hair, yanking you back into his orbit of violence.

“Please, Negan… stop!” you begged, but your words fell on deaf ears. Your pleas were drowned out by his anger, a tempest that raged against the fragile vestiges of your hope.

Then, in a terrifying twist, he dragged you toward the toilet in the basement. You knew what was coming, the reality of it sending a shiver down your spine.

As he held you down, your heart raced, fear curling around you like a snake. He plunged your head into the cold, unforgiving water of the toilet, and instinctively, you fought against him.

You screamed, the sound echoing in the confined space, desperate for someone—anyone—to hear you. Your voice was a fragile thread, straining against the suffocating darkness that surrounded you.

The water rushed into your ears, muffling the world, and in that moment, you felt like a drowning sailor, flailing against the tide, praying for the hand of rescue to pull you from the depths.

Each gasp was a desperate plea, each breath a struggle against the overwhelming force threatening to swallow you whole.

Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to survive, but in that suffocating darkness, you felt your resolve weaken. You were trapped in a nightmare of your own making, the very monster you had tried to escape now looming over you, and all you could do was pray—pray for an end to the torment, pray for mercy, pray for the light to break through the crushing darkness.

He pulled your hair, yanking you up and forcing you onto your back, the rough floor digging into your skin. The pain ignited your senses, but he didn’t stop there.

His boots connected with your body in brutal kicks, each impact sending shockwaves of agony radiating through you. “I keep you alive! I put a roof over your fucking head! And this is how you repay me?” he spat, venom lacing his words.

“I should have fucking killed you from the beginning!” With every kick, you felt your spirit crack, your body weak and unable to retaliate.

You crawled backward, instinctively trying to escape, but there was nowhere to go. You were a fragile leaf in a storm, tossed about and battered, your only response a quiet, desperate, “Please… stop….”

He advanced, relentless, an embodiment of fury, each blow a reminder of your helplessness. “Now I can’t fucking kill you,” he growled, eyes blazing with a twisted sense of satisfaction, “What a fucking waste!"

As he beat you, the world faded into a haze of pain and fear. You felt your thoughts slipping away, replaced by a singular mantra—God, please make it stop. 

You realized you hadn’t prayed in so long, hadn’t found solace in faith, and yet now you found yourself begging for a reprieve from this torment. “Why won’t you help me?” the question echoed in your mind, a haunting refrain amidst the chaos.

Negan grabbed you by the hair again, lifting your head as if to force you to confront the monster before you. “What should I do to you, hm?” His voice dripped with malice, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “You killed my child. You need to suffer.”

You were too tired, too hurt to even look at him, your body pleading for relief, but his grip was unyielding. "You would fucking regret this," he hissed, before he slammed your head against the wall, over and over.

Each impact sent a jolt of pain coursing through you, and you felt your vision blur, blood trickling down your face. The metallic taste of it mingled with the tears streaming down your cheeks, a bitter reminder of your despair.

“Stay fucking here!” he barked, his final words a command that felt like a death sentence. He kicked you one last time, a parting gift of pain, before he stormed out of the basement, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You cried out, the sound a desperate, broken thing, a haunting wail that echoed through the empty space. You were so tired, so desperately exhausted.

You felt like a wilted flower, struggling to survive in a garden of thorns, every breath a battle against the encroaching shadows.

With each sob, you crawled to the corner of the basement, seeking comfort in the darkness. You wrapped your arms around your knees, rocking back and forth, feeling the warmth of your blood seep into the cool concrete beneath you.

You didn't know what Negan would do next, but the fear of the unknown was almost worse than the pain you had already endured.

[shyinsunlight]

Thank you for the tag @xodahafez and @cindle-writes 🥹🩷

"Self-rec time! What are your favorite five fics that you've written and why? After replying to this ask, feel free to pass on to five other writers to spread the love. 💗"

Tagging: @marvolord, @catjar91, @noxxytocin

This made me realise that I don't actually have that many fics posted?! 😭

Not With Haste (Tom / Harry, E, 2,625 words)

Student/Teacher AU in which Tom grooms an abused sixteen-year-old Harry.

My first take on an unreliable narrator. This one's dear to me because it's as short as it is complex, and I was very conscious about its wording. Probably my favourite ending, too.

2. Heartbreak Prince (Tom / Harry, T, 12,749 words)

Coffee Shop AU with lawyer Tom and barista Harry. No big thoughts, just cotton candy.

This was originally written as a joke but somehow turned out to be strangely wholesome? This silly little thing made me smile when I was very deep down and I was told that it did the same to others, so how could I not love it? Also: my first English fic!

3. A Simple Request (Tom / Harry, E, 60,113 words, WIP)

Office AU with whining, pining, and a lot of eye-fucking.

This is an absolute joyride, and also the most unfiltered me. Admittedly a bit overwritten, but a great mix of obsessiveness, angst, overthinking, longing for being loved, laughing off your misery, etc. Big bonus: it helps me cope with my neighbours.

(Also, this is the one with the most engagement. I’m dying to talk to y’all but it’s hard for me to connect. ASR is cracking this glass wall a bit and it means a lot to me.)

4. Looking For A Place to Shine (Tom / Harry, T, 19,835 words, WIP, currently not posted)

Surf Camp AU about love, trauma, and healing.

This was originally a 2k word long crack fic that quickly grabbed me, shut itself down, then turned into a very emotional journey. I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with it because it makes me rethink many things about my writing, but I'm learning a lot along the way.

5. Slip Away (Tom / Harry, E, 44,384 words)

Student/Teacher AU, a sequel to Not With Haste.

I'm quite proud of the inner monologues in this one. Writing Tom's fully unhinged POV for 40k+ words within 5 weeks have done things to me. It wasn't an easy ride and the writing's a bit raw, but somehow it all fits together. Also, same as the first part, I like its complexity.

[poppy-metal]

i think the au of yours that i come back to the most is failmarriage bc it’s a perfect mix of angst and repression and sex and the patashi factor. like there’s so much to explore with it and it really builds off of how sexy misery can be and fucking art after all that emotional stuff would literally change lives… he would just be so pathetic and down bad

I miss her so bad I want reader and art to FUCK nasty I just love the idea of a relationship losing it's spark and then having to bring it back to life because you don't want to let go, because relationships aren't smooth sailing and constant passion you have to fight for that spark. you have to want it. you have to stoke the flames if you wanna keep the fire going. and fantasy and eternal passion is lovely to think about but it's much harder to attain in reality but it's possible and I think that's beautiful idk.

you're also never too old to discover new things about yourself and I think alot about what drew art and reader together in the beginning was how similar they were - and what got in the way was them becoming different. that's not a bad thing, it's just something you have to learn to do together. that's the hard part, I think. instead of communicating how she wanted art to show more passion towards her, she let her resentment build and drift her apart. when all along art was willing to meet her there - I love them so badly ugh.