#my posture is sickening

[zubindailyarchive]

[colouredbyd]

"Tell Me I didn’t Lose You"

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After your vision reveals the traitor, you’re caught between clinging to what once was and the heartbreak that follows. The people you love are trying to hold you together—but healing only comes when you let yourself feel the pain first.

wc: 3.3k

warnings: themes of prophetic trauma, visions, emotional distress, and betrayal by a close friend. canon-typical violence, grief, and angsty angst but with fluffy fluff. hurt/comfort, mild language, happy ending

authors note: AHHH finally part part 2. i wasnt planning on writing it but many insisted in my dms. so sorry if its messy, tw: not proofread

part 1 masterlist

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as your body jolted upright, lungs burning as if you’d surfaced from drowning. Cold stone pressed into your spine, grounding you in a reality that felt almost as violent as the vision you had just escaped. Around you, a circle of faces swam into focus—James, pale and wide-eyed, mouth parted in quiet panic; Remus, kneeling beside you with hands trembling just inches from your skin; and Sirius—his grip on your wrist iron-tight, like if he let go, you’d vanish into the void that had just swallowed you whole.

Your heart was racing, throat raw, ears ringing with echoes that hadn’t even happened yet.

Blood. Screams. Smoke.

James falling, crying your name with his last breath.

Remus, voice breaking through sobs as he fought to hold the line.

Sirius, shaking, begging, clinging to your body like he could stop it from going cold.

You’d seen it all.

Death.

Betrayal.

And now you knew.

Your breath hitched as you forced yourself upright, ignoring the dizziness that tilted the room. Your fingers dug into the stone floor to keep you steady.

“She saw something,” James said hoarsely, his voice cracking around the words.

Remus nodded grimly, his gaze locked on yours like he was trying to pull the vision from your eyes. “What did you see?”

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes drifted over each of them—your boys, your lovers. James, still gripping the map like it might fix this. Remus, steady despite the panic hiding just beneath his skin. Sirius, closer than all of them, his hand warm on your wrist, his voice shaking with restrained desperation.

And then… him.

Your best friend. Peter.

Hovering near the back, half-obscured by shadow, hands tucked deep into his robes, fingers twitching. His eyes darted away when yours met his. Not with concern. Not with fear. But with something else.

Guilt.

Shame.

Recognition.

He wasn’t shocked by your collapse. He wasn’t surprised by your silence. He was waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t say it. Your heart thudded in your chest. A sickening weight settled in your stomach.

“Say something, love,” Sirius whispered beside you. “You’re scaring us.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “I saw it,” you whispered, voice paper-thin. “I saw what’s coming. What we’re walking straight into.” The room went still. The kind of stillness that comes before a storm.

James shifted uneasily. “What did you see?”

You looked right at him. “I saw it happen, Jamie,” you breathed, your voice cracking. “You die. Remus gets left behind. Sirius…” Your voice broke again. “I’m taken. And I know—I know—who leads them to us. Who betrays us.”

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.It clawed at the walls, thick and heavy and suffocating. Your eyes burned as they locked onto Peter again. And then, the words ripped from you like a wound bursting open:

“It’s Peter.”

The room freezes.

There’s no sound now. No breath. The world stops.

James’s face pales. Sirius stiffens, his hand twitching by his side, but he doesn’t move. Remus’s expression flickers between confusion and something darker—suspicion? Denial?

Peter, behind Sirius, looks… nervous. But that’s it. Just the faintest shift in his posture, like a man who’s just been caught in a lie.

“No,” Peter says, and the word is thin, a tremor of uncertainty beneath it. He looks to Sirius, to Remus, pleading silently with his eyes. “That’s—no, it can’t be. You’re wrong.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as if it’s trying to beat itself out of your body. You can feel the air crackling with tension, every breath more difficult than the last. You stand shakily, your legs weak beneath you, but the truth won’t leave you. It claws at you, dragging you up with it.

“I saw it,” you repeat, your voice sharper now, filled with something darker. “He’s the one who tells Voldemort about James. He’s the one who lets them in. He’s the reason James dies, why you run, Sirius, why I’m left behind.”

Peter’s face twists then, a faint flicker of panic crossing his features. He laughs, but it’s a strained, hollow sound. “That’s insane. This—this is just a dream. A bad one. You’ve been working yourself too hard, Y/N. Your powers are messing with your head.”

But you can’t let him dismiss you. Not this time. You step forward, pushing through the pounding in your skull, the weight of the truth grinding against your ribs.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Your voice is cold, cold enough to freeze the very air between you. You can feel your blood rushing in your ears, your hands trembling with fury.

“I felt it. I lived it. It was real. Everything I saw—it happened.”

James’s gaze shifts, his eyes glancing between you and Peter, then back to you. He’s searching. Looking for something that could make this make sense. “How do you know it’s him? How do you know it wasn’t just—just symbolic?”

The question hits you like a slap. The doubt in his voice, the way it hangs in the air, makes your throat close up. You want to scream, to tear this all apart and make him see. But you can’t. You can only show him the truth. Let him feel it.

But you can’t. Not with his eyes locked onto you like that. Not with Peter’s guilt weighing down on you like a shadow that’s been cast too long.

“Because I saw it,” you shout, the words burning in your throat, searing everything around them. “Because I saw you scream my name while they dragged me away. I saw Remus fighting. I saw you, Siri, running from me. You—” You stop, gasping, your voice shaking like a blade that’s lost its edge. “You left me.”

Sirius flinches as if you’ve struck him. His face crumbles in agony, and for a moment, you see the heart of him—the pieces of him that are still soft and vulnerable.

“I would never leave you princess.” he says, his voice cracking, desperate, like he’s trying to put the shattered pieces of his soul back together with words. “Don’t say that. Please, don’t make me believe I could.”

“You did,” you say, and the word feels like it’s made of shards of glass. It’s so final. So heavy. You wish you could take it back, but you know you can’t. It’s the truth, and it’s already carved into the air between you.

Peter’s breath hitches, his face contorting with panic, but you don’t look away from him. You won’t.

“I never—” Peter starts to say, but the words fall apart before they reach the air. His chest heaves with an almost sickening desperation. “I never meant to—Moony, please! You know me! I’d never—”

But Remus doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, his gaze colder than you’ve ever seen it. He doesn’t even look at Peter.

Sirius, though—Sirius can’t hold it in anymore. He steps forward, his voice low, shaking, filled with a rage that’s been building for far too long. “If I find out that even one part of her vision is true,” he growls, his eyes hardening like ice, “I swear to fucking Merlin, Peter—you will wish Voldemort had gotten to you first because i will burn you to death.”

Peter crumples. He falls to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably now, but there’s no more argument, no more defense. He can’t even speak through the sobs.

James is silent. His eyes dart between you and Peter, like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know who to believe. His face is twisted in agony, torn between trust and fear.

And then, finally, the dam breaks.

You scream, your voice tearing through the air, your lungs raw with it: “Do you think I’m lying about watching you all die?”

Sirius punches the wall. The crack of bone against stone is the only thing that cuts through the chaos. His knuckles break on impact, but he doesn’t stop. Blood drips, forgotten. He’s a storm, and nothing can hold him back anymore.

James collapses into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He doesn’t know what to do anymore. Everything is wrong, and there’s nothing left to save.

“You were never meant to know,” you sob, your voice breaking. “You were never supposed to believe me. That’s why I saw it. So I could change it. So you didn’t have to die.”

Peter doesn’t move. He sits there, trembling, on the edge of something irreparable.

And that’s when Remus snaps.

He grabs Peter by the throat, slamming him against the wall with a growl you’ve never heard before. The world explodes in chaos as Remus’s wand presses into Peter’s skin, the force of it enough to choke the air from his lungs.

“Let me go!” Peter gasps, his hands scrabbling at the wall, desperate for freedom, but it’s too late. Remus doesn’t hear him.

The room spins into madness, voices shouting, accusations flying, betrayal hanging thick in the air. The Marauders—broken, shattered—surround Peter, and he crumbles further under the weight of everything he’s done.

Sirius pulls Remus back, but even as they separate, it’s clear nothing can fix this.

And in the center of the destruction stands Peter Pettigrew. A man who was once a brother. A best friend. A marauder.

Now, he’s just a traitor.

A ghost in the ruins of your world.

The Marauders were once legends.

Now, they are just ghosts waiting to happen.

It’s been 62 days and two full moons since the incident.

Since the night truth shattered like glass and cut everyone it touched. Since the vision turned into revelation, and revelation turned into war. Since Peter ran away and fled to merlin knows where. Since Peter's trembling confession cracked the world open—left it bleeding, howling, wrong.

Since everything changed.

James hasn’t smiled the same since. He still jokes, still acts like the golden boy with the unshakable heart—but it’s thinner now. His laugh always comes a second too late, his eyes always look like they’re scanning for something just out of reach. Sometimes you catch him staring into the fire, as if he’s waiting to see his future burn before it happens.

He hasn’t touched his broom since too. It leans in the corner of the dormitory, gathering more dust than any magical object should. He still walks the corridors with that same messy hair and tired smirk, but there’s a hollowness behind his eyes, like the vision you showed him is still playing behind them. He pretends for everyone else, but not for you.

Not when you find him sitting alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower at dawn, robes tugged tight around his chest like armor, hands buried in his hair.

“I wasn’t supposed to survive that, was I baby?” he murmurs without looking up.

You sit beside him in silence for a moment. Then laugh softly: “You still might not. The future changes prongs, who knows you might die at my hands”

James lets out a hollow laugh. “That’s comforting.”

You nudge his shoulder gently. “You’re still here.”

He looks at you then, eyes glassy but oh so full of love, in a way only James Potter could have  “Only because you saw it first.” 

he kisses you, full of love and adoration. For the first time in 62 days , but oh who's counting anyways?

And then there’s Sirius.

Sirius, who hasn’t stopped moving in 63 days. He throws himself into anything. He paces the dormitory late at night, spells muttered under his breath, wand clenched so tight his knuckles are white. He’s put a crack in the boys’ dormitory mirror from throwing a textbook at it. Professor McGonagall hasn’t said a word about the new dents in the walls near the staircases—maybe she knows. Maybe she heard him whispering your name like an apology outside the Fat Lady’s portrait. Like a vow. If he stops moving, he starts thinking. And if he starts thinking, he remembers. Remembers that he left. That he was taken. That in your vision, James died, and you screamed his name, and he couldn't come back for you.

Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s watching, he kneels by your bedroom door with his head bowed like he’s praying. Or confessing. Or both.

“Say it again, please.” he begged you once, fists clenched. “Say you’re here. Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

“You didn’t,” you promised, pulling his hands to your chest. “You didn’t lose me, Siri.”

He kissed your forehead that night like it was sacred. “ I love you.”

he whispered it for the first time in 63 days, but oh who's counting anyways?

Still, you hear him sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep—soft and broken: “I left her. I left her.”

Remus… Remus is the one who’s changed the least—at least on the outside. He still sits with you in the library, quietly sliding a new stack of books toward you with a soft smile and tired eyes. Still takes his tea with a drop of honey. Still folds his robes neatly and corrects James’s essays when he’s too exhausted to think. He is quieter than usual, but steady—always steady. He doesn’t speak of the night it happened, but you know he hasn’t let it go. You see it in the tightness of his jaw when James mentions plans, in the way his gaze lingers on Sirius when they think you’re asleep. He’s the glue holding the pieces of this fractured relationship together. And he’s tired.

But there’s a weight in his eyes now. Like every syllable of your visions lives behind them.

“I should’ve believed you, dove” he says quietly one afternoon, fingers ghosting over the spine of a Defense textbook.

“You did,” you say.

“No, not soon enough.”

But something’s colder now. Like he’s holding himself in check. Like there’s a wolf beneath his skin, pacing, waiting. You think he hasn’t forgiven himself—for not seeing it sooner. For not trusting your visions. For needing the truth to bleed out before he believed it. For doubt–

–“Remmy, as long as we all are okay then that's enough, believe me moony” you held his face and whispered. And for the first time in 65 days Remus Lupin believed it, but oh who's counting anyways?

You all are.

The Gryffindor Tower feels different now.

The fire still burns, the armchairs still sink under your weight, the portraits still gossip among themselves—but the warmth is thinner. The laughter is quieter. Sometimes, late at night, you catch first-years watching the four of you from across the room, whispering to each other.

As if they know something’s been broken. Something sacred.

Peter’s his name isn’t spoken anymore.

Not out of forgiveness. Not out of fear. Just… because no one can bear to taste the bitterness of it again. It sticks in the throat. It reopens wounds. His absence is a presence all its own—hanging in the corners of the house like cobwebs no one wants to clean, lest they find something worse underneath.

Sometimes, when you’re walking past the black lake, you swear you see his reflection in the water. Like a ghost. Like a warning.

And yet… amid the wreckage, something gentle still lingers.

Hope.

You’ve counted each of those — now 67 days — in silence. And with every one, the scar in your heart aches a little less—but it never really stops.

Because you remember.

You remember Sirius holding your wrist like it was the only thread connecting him to reality. James breaking down in your arms. Remus’s hollow voice when he said, “We should have believed you.”

And you remember what it cost for the truth to come out. What it nearly cost all of you.

But even now, beneath all the sorrow, there’s still something that lives in the quiet.

It’s fragile. Flickering. But it’s there.

It’s in the way James slips an extra chocolate frog into your bag without a word.

“Don’t say I never spoil you,” he smirks, and when you raise a brow, he adds, “Oh baby, don’t read into it too much.”

You already have.

In the way Sirius grips your hand a little too tight as you walk through the corridors.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he mutters. “Don’t. I’m not losing you again.”

In the way Remus hovers in the doorway of the common room each night, just long enough to make sure you’re safe.

“Sleep well, my girl” he whispers every night, even when you’ve already shut your eyes.

And then—two weeks ago, a rare Hogsmeade afternoon.

Just the four of you. No purpose. No heavy silences. Just wool scarves, cold noses, stolen sweets. Sirius dared James to try firewhisky-taffy. James choked. Sirius laughed so hard he fell into a snowbank. Remus shook his head, but he smiled—truly smiled—for the first time in weeks.

You were sitting on the hill behind the Shrieking Shack, James beside you, Sirius tossing Exploding Snap cards into the wind, Remus pouring spiced cocoa into conjured mugs.

And then—

The world shifted.

The vision came like a soft breeze. No pain. No scream. Just warmth.

-

-

A house. Sunlight through old windows. James lifting a small boy into the air, laughter echoing off wood beams. Sirius in the kitchen with flour all over his apron and cheeks, a toddler tangled in his arms. Remus reading aloud with a girl curled up at his side. You stood in the hallway, watching them all, hand on your heart. Safe. Loved.

Home.

-

-

When you came back to yourself, they were already watching.

“Y/N?” James asked. “You alright baby?”

You nodded slowly, eyes full. “I saw something.”

Sirius tensed immediately. “Bad?”

You shook your head. “No. Good. For once… it was good.”

Remus exhaled, something quiet and reverent. James’s fingers found yours.

“Tell us,” Sirius said, his voice barely a whisper.

You looked at each of them. “We were older. Happy. Together. There was sunlight. And kids. And no war.”

Silence.

Then, James chuckled softly. “About bloody time you saw something good.”

Sirius laughed, too—wet around the edges. “Did I look hot as fuck?”

“You were covered in flour and biscuit crumbs,” you teased.

“Sounds right,” Remus murmured. “We’ll get there.”

And maybe—for a moment—you all believed it.

Because even now, after the betrayal and the bleeding truth, you still come back to each other.

Because love came before the fall.

And somehow, against all odds, it’s still there.

taglist: @theysaidhush @aelinwya @musiclover50 @lunavelhaha

[thbbie]

༄ jason todd x gn!reader

jason lovess when you hold eye contact with him, not many people do — not many can.

so when you do it means so much, simply because it is you. the effect you have on the man is clear as day to anyone who has eyes to see.

you don't take any of his shit, you don't shrink away from him when either of you are upset. you stand straight, keeping your posture up right and rigid, your hands crossing over your chest as you stretch your neck to appear taller.

jason cannot help but thing you're so cute.

he also cannot help feeling terrified, you never take any of his shit.

"hey baby" he tries to stretch the words out . making them sound sickening with their sweetness, sugar coat them to help soften their landing and your demeanour.

but you remain unwavering, "cut your shit jason, how many fucking times have i told you not to be so fucking reckless? what am i supposed to do when you come wandering in here at night bloody and hurt?!"

he zones out for a moment — you're good to him

"my whole apartment looks like a crime scene, or a slaughter house and my boyfriend. my boyfriendight be hurt and won't even let me see that he's alright"

"ya can't just- do stuff like this jay. " you voice softened as you said that still it's an exasperated tone.

the guilt settles in, the playfulness he carried at the start of your conversation long gone.

you're just so good to him. and that makes this all worse.

how is he to explain to you that yesterday while on patrol, he say you with some guy from work. nothing happened, nothing except you guys walking side by side on the busking street in broad day light, each holding a cup of coffee (he knows exactly what's in yours) and having what looked like a light hearted conversation. it felt like a knife twisting in him when he saw you break out in laughter at something he'd said. you looked happy with him on that street, and jason can't give you that.

all he ever does end up giving you is that deep furrow on your forehead and your arms crossed over your chest, playful though biting back and forth banter; it's all he knows how to. what could he even say to make uou smile like that. truly genuinely smile at him like that.

none of this shows on his face, he remains unreadable and his expression hardened like the rest of him.

"..jay?"

he starts towards you, steps heavy and deliberat. jason could be menacing with his enormous body and towering height, but you feel wholly unafraid. jason would never hurt you. the possibility of it doenst even cross your mind. ever.

he stops when he's right indolent of you your crossed arms pressed lightly to his torso, you have to crane your neck up to look at him. his hands come up to hold each side of your face, engulfing your head in his gentle hold, and jason leans down to kiss you.

it's short, shallow. almost shy as he does. he pulls away from you just enough to look into your eyes, he sees them looking right back at him in concern. god he hates that. the guilt of making you feel that way always eats him alive.

he leans down again, but you beat him to it this time. pulling him down by the collar and stepping up on your toes to meet him, your lips crashing together in the softest messiest way.

i love you, the words die on his lips, muffled by your mouth against his. you swallow them whole, all the love he has offering it only to you. and you take it, fractured and broken with missing pieces you still take it.

because you're just too good to him. for him.

and he's going to be selfish about it. keeping you by his side, loving you like he deserve to because you make it feel like he does.

you do when you whisper it back to him so genuinely, when your hands trace his rough scared body like it's made of the finest porcelain always so delicate and kind to a man who has only ever known aggression. anger

with you, jason gets to know love. with you he gets to know gentleness and kindness and eyes contact.

as undeserving of it as he may be, he won't let you go. jason could be selfish sometimes. and the only permission he ever needs is kept safe deep inside your heart where you know he'll reach it.

[joudeq]

sukuna x reader

~ strong enough

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sukuna x concubine!reader

tags - oneshot / fluffy sukuna / true form sukuna / x reader / no smut just SICKENING angst and fluff also a kiss at the end

a/n - uh for those of you who saw my deleted fic haha no u didnt (i got nervous)

context - hes been ignoring you for weeks, focusing most of his attention onto his other concubines

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The air is electric, charged with the weight of Sukuna’s presence as he stands before you, his silhouette sharp and commanding under the dim light. His usual arrogance clings to him like a second skin—the way he holds himself, the tilt of his head, the slight curl of his lips that speaks of unchecked power. But there’s something in the way his crimson eyes rest on you tonight. They’re unreadable, and yet, their intensity makes it impossible to look away.

He doesn’t speak immediately. He lets the silence stretch, lets it coil around you both like a predator toying with its prey. When he finally breaks it, his voice is smooth, deep, and cold enough to cut stone. “You know, this is beneath me,” he says, his tone casual, almost bored. But there’s a weight behind it, an edge that suggests something far more serious.

His eyes flicker, just briefly, to your expression, as if gauging your reaction without making it obvious. Then he steps closer, and the space between you seems to shrink under the gravity of his presence. “But I’m here, aren’t I?” he continues, his words measured, calculated. “If that doesn’t tell you enough, maybe you don’t deserve the effort.”

He doesn’t bother to explain himself, doesn’t offer any justification for the rare sight of him lowering himself to address you like this. But the unspoken hangs heavy between you—the memories of the lengths he’s gone for you, the blood he’s spilled, the way his wrath has spared no one except you.

“You can sulk, you can rage,” he says, his tone sharper now, though his expression remains unreadable. “But don’t think for a second you’ll find someone else who would dare cross me the way you have and live to tell about it.”

Sukuna takes a step back, crossing his arms, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as they lock onto yours. There’s no apology in his words—none that he’ll admit to, at least. But in the tautness of his jaw, in the way he hasn’t left, in the sheer fact that the King of Curses is even acknowledging your ire, there’s a silent message he won’t say aloud.

For a moment, his eyes flicker with something close to frustration, a brief slip that he quickly hides. He crosses his arms, his gaze narrowing in irritation. But there’s an unspoken hesitation in the way he waits for you to respond. His usual impenetrable mask falters slightly, and for a brief second, you catch the faintest glimmer of something… almost vulnerable.

“Tell me,” he suddenly asks, his tone harder now, but there’s an edge of something more petty buried in the words, like a child not getting their way. “What exactly did I do wrong? What’s so unforgivable that I’m here, standing like a fool?” His voice has taken on an unexpected, almost whiny quality toward the end, like he’s trying to hold onto his dignity but can’t quite keep the frustration from seeping through.

His arms drop to his sides, the tension in his posture increasing, his eyes burning into yours, as if daring you to offer an answer that would let him off the hook. But even though he’s trying to maintain his usual cold exterior, his patience is wearing thin, and the subtle flicker of his irritation becomes clearer. He won’t admit it outright, but for once, Sukuna seems to care—at least, enough to make this effort.

You know Sukuna better than most, don't you? You've seen glimpses behind that arrogant facade, the rare moments when he lets his guard down. And maybe, just maybe, that's why you're angry now. Because he's shown you enough to make you crave more, to make you believe that there's something real beneath all the cruelty and sadism.

But he's still Sukuna, the relentless, ruthless force of nature. And he's standing here now, awaiting your response, his patience wearing thin.

So you put him out of his misery.

"You want to know what you did wrong?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly but never losing that underlying strength. "You betrayed me, Sukuna. You betrayed my trust, my feelings..." Your voice cracks, just a little, but you push on. "You treated me like a toy, a plaything, something for you to use and discard as you saw fit."

You step closer, until you're standing right in front of him, your body almost brushing against his. You have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact, but you don't back down. "I'm not just your favorite concubine, Sukuna. I'm not a prize to be won or a possession to be claimed." Your voice is low, intense, filled with a raw, honest emotion that even Sukuna can't ignore.

"And this..." You gesture around at the opulent room, the lavish mansion that surrounds you both. "This isn't enough! Throwing money at a problem doesn't make it go away."

His eyes narrow as the concubine speaks, a muscle in his jaw twitching slightly at the raw emotion in your voice. He listens, really listens, in a way that's rare for the man who sees most people as beneath him. When you finish, he's silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

"You think I don't know that?" he asks finally, his voice low and rough with an emotion he rarely allows himself to feel. "You think I don't see the way you look at me, like I'm a monster, a beast that can't be tamed?" He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the single tear that escapes down your soft skin.

Sukuna's eyes search yours, his gaze intense and consuming. "I'm not a good man, angel. I've done things, terrible things, that you can't even begin to imagine." His voice is low, almost a whisper, and there's a hint of something almost like vulnerability in his tone. "But with you... with you, it's different."

His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, cradling your face in his large hands.

"I'm... I apologise, my dear. I was merely trying to protect you from myself."

You lean into his touch, despite your anger and hurt, finding a strange comfort in the warmth of his palms against your cheeks. You look up at him, your faces close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Protect me?" you ask softly, a hint of a sad, incredulous laugh in your voice. "By keeping me in the dark, by shutting me out and pushing me away?" You shake your head slightly, your hair brushing against his hands. "That's not protection, Sukuna. That's fear."

You reach up, your small hands covering his larger ones on your cheeks. You could pull them away, could push him back, but your doesn't. Instead, you hold them there, anchoring yourself to the man you've come to love.

Sukuna's eyes flicker with a complexity of emotions he rarely allows himself to feel. His grip on your cheeks tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place as he grapples with your words. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, like he's forcing the words out through a clenched throat.

"You think you're ready? You think you can handle the darkness that follows me like a shadow?" There's a harsh edge to his tone, a challenge, but beneath it, a flicker of something almost like fear. Fear of your rejection, of losing the one person who sees beyond the monster to the man beneath.

His thumbs brush over the soft skin of your cheeks, a gesture almost reverent in its gentleness. "I've seen the world burn, angel. I've watched innocent lives be torn apart, all for the sick amusement of lesser beings than myself." His jaw clenches, his eyes hardening at the memories.

"But with you... with you, it's different." He leans in closer, until your foreheads are almost touching, until you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips as he speaks again. "You make me want to be better, to try to be worthy of the faith you have in me." He closes his eyes, just for a moment, a rare show of vulnerability. "But I don't know if I can be, beautiful. I don't know if I'm strong enough to protect you from the darkness in me."

Your heart races as he leans in closer, his words sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the turmoil swirling in his crimson eyes. It would be easy to get lost in those eyes, to let them consume you, but you know you have to stay strong. For both of them.

You reach up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the small scar just below his eye. It's a gesture of comfort, of understanding, and perhaps a silent promise. Your voice is soft but filled with conviction as you speak.

"Sukuna, listen to me. I'm not asking you to be perfect." You take a deep breath, your eyes never leaving his. "I'm asking you to be honest, to trust me with the truth of who you are. The good, the bad, and everything in between." You lean in closer, until your lips are a mere breath away from his.

"I love you, Sukuna. All of you."

Sukuna's eyes widen almost imperceptibly at your words, a flicker of something raw and unguarded passing over his face. He's not used to such open, unconditional acceptance. In a world of fear and hatred, your love is a foreign language, one he's struggling to understand but desperate to learn.

He squeezes your hand, his calloused fingers engulfing your softer ones, as if trying to anchor himself to you in the storm of emotions you've stirred up. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, but there's a new softness to it, a gentleness he's never allowed himself to express before.

"I... I love you too, angel." The words feel foreign on his tongue, clumsy and awkward, but no less true for their awkwardness. "I don't know if I deserve it, but... I'm going to try. I'll try to be the man you think I can be." He leans in, closing the scant distance between them to capture your lips in a kiss that's filled with all the pent-up passion and longing he's kept hidden for so long.

As he kisses you, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his hard, muscular body. He pours everything he's feeling into that kiss - his fear, his love, his desperate hope for a future he never dared to dream of before. And he knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that no matter what challenges lie ahead, they'll face them together.

Because in the end, it's not about being perfect. It's about being strong enough to love, flaws and all. And Sukuna, for the first time in his long, bloody life, feels like he might just be strong enough for that.

Strong enough for you.

[lucidlivi]

she calls me daddy now

popping in with the supernatural/true blood crossover you didn't know you needed!

Warning: not suited for minors, strong language, sexual innuendos, sex, slight threesome, violence, blood, gore, major character death, blood drinking, blood draining, mentions of death, staking, vampire burning, major angst, heartbroken Dean

I will be working on other prompt requests soon but I had this idea and didn’t want to lose it, I hope you guys love it as much as I do!

A switch in viewpoints will be indicate in bold italics

Reader

"Fangtasia? really?" I snort glancing at the boys beside me.

"Leeches with a sense of humor.. great." Dean grumbles.

"So much for mainstreaming, Louisiana has one of the highest disappearance rates in the country... 346 people in this last month alone. You and I both know what really happened to them." Sam says looking at the news article on his cellphone.

"And you're sure we're going to find help here?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I mean there has to be some sort of order to things, even for vampires.'" I shrugged.

"And since we're not scoring a date with the vampire queen , one of her pawns should work just fine." Sam said as I watched the eager humans line up to get in to the famous vampire bar.

It's been years now since vampires exposed themselves to the world.

Of course we already knew of their existence.

However, with the invention of synthetic blood the vamps decided they wanted to become part of society, mainstream they call it.

It took the world by storm.

People were lining up to meet and more disgustingly volunteer to get bitten by a vampire.

It was sickening.

As you can imagine this did not go over well with the hunting community.

It was a question on everyone's mind.

Could vamps really change?

Could they be functioning members of a society?

In Louisiana the answer was no.

"I still don't like this." Dean growled as we took our place in line for entrance to the bar.

"No one does, but we have to try to work out some sort of treaty, some sort of peace between us and them, too many people are dying." Sam said.

Oh Sammy.

As if peace between vampires and humans was possible.

We were a meal to them, nothing more.

I could feel Dean's anxiety pushing in to me, making me anxious.

I grabbed his hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. He was quick to lace our fingers together pulling me closer to him.

He instantly calmed a bit.

Dean and I had an interesting relationship.

Sam, he was like my annoying little brother.

But not Dean.

Dean and I shared a connection that went deeper.

He and I just got each other.

We weren't what you would call a thing though.

A hunter's life didn't afford us that privilege.

I knew that no matter what we would always look out for each other and if something were to happen to one of us, the other would never be the same.

It was a terrifying feeling in our line of work, since a brush with death was a daily occurrence for us.

As we got closer to the door I slipped my hand from Dean's.

I could see a lady at the door taking ID's, and from her too straight posture and her perfect looks I could tell she was one of them.

I had seen a vampire or two in my lifetime so they were easy for me to spot.

I felt the air shift as we got closer, causing me to pull my leather jacket tighter around my body.

"ID." she ordered extending her perfectly manicured hand towards me, her eyes focused elsewhere.

I sized her up, trying to guess her age. If I had to I'd say definitely over 100 years old.

She looked experienced, which is how you could tell a vampire's true age.

After a moment of stillness she finally glanced up meeting my eyes.

She glared at me, as if I was beneath her.

I simply stared back at her.

She flashed her fangs willing me to fall at her feet in submission.

I could feel Dean tense behind me, ready to pounce if needed.

"ID." She ordered once again with a southern drawl.

I gave her a forced smile, pulling out a fake ID card.

If she knew it was fake, she didn't say anything, just let me pass. Sam and Dean were let in without showing ID much to my annoyance.

As soon as we were past the rope, the woman at the door disappeared.

I could smell the stench of sex, sweat, and booze as the doors to the bar opened.

If I thought the name was ridiculous, the inside was even more ridiculous. It was decorated in reds and blacks, really selling the vampire theme.

I scoffed at the patrons who were clad in leather and lace. It was like they were proud to be flaunting their flesh for the bloodsuckers.

Perhaps though the most ridiculous and tacky thing was the throne in the middle of the stage overlooking the bar.

My eyes traveled up the throne before connecting with a pair of icy blue ones.

Suddenly it was as if I was being pulled into some sort of trance.

His eyes boring into my own.

I quickly broke eye contact taking a moment to take in his other features.

A mess of blonde locks lay on his head.

His jaw perfectly defined along with his other facial features.

His hands that were gripping the arm rests of the throne, large and lethal.

He was frighteningly tall, even taller than Sam, and he was basically Bigfoot.

It was however the smirk that played on his lips that made my blood boil.

He knew what I was, just as I knew what he was.

A vampire.

Just the pawn we were looking for.

I noticed the perfect blonde woman from the door suddenly at his side, leaning over and whispering in his ear.

I could see her glance in our direction.

She was trying to be discreet but I was on to her.

She was warning him.

Warning him about us.

I didn't get to see anything else as Dean pulled me towards a booth in the back.

I took this moment to study the people.

It was sickening seeing so many vampires and humans mingling like they weren't bloodthirsty monsters, and the humans eager to be their next meal.

"So I think the big blonde guy is who we need to talk to." Sam said looking between me and Dean.

I rolled my eyes.

Is he serious right now?

"Really Sam what gave you that idea huh? The throne in the middle of the stage? The way all the other vampires flock to him? Or, or maybe it’s the fact that he's glaring daggers at us right about now." I sassed feeling the blonde's eyes burning me from behind.

"Okay so what's the plan then, I don't think he's going to talk to us willingly." Dean said ignoring my attitude.

"Well maybe not us." Sam said pointing between himself and Dean.

Dean looked around seeing the blonde man's eyes devouring my form.

"No absolutely not." Dean interjected quickly.

"Dean, it may be our only shot I seemed to have peaked his interest." I said turning my body fully towards him.

"We can figure something else out then, this is reckless and you know that." Dean growled.

"I know but I don't think we have that kind of time, people are dying Dean, people we swore to protect." I shot back.

"Yeah well I swore to protect you." Dean gutted.

"So then protect me." I said rising from my seat.

Dean was not happy, that much was evident on his face. I couldn't focus on that right now though. I was doing this.

I took a deep breath straightening out my jacket.

I slowly approached the throne, center stage.I could see people eyeing me with envy. I was only focused on the vamp, whose eyes grew more curious the closer I got.

I was about to take another step but was halted by another man, who I could tell was also a vampire.

"Sorry no one speaks to Mr. Northman without his permission." He growled at me.

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at this.

Who the hell did this vamp think he was, god?

"Chow, let her through." A strong voice spoke.

It didn't take me long to figure out it came from the vampire on the throne.

The man grumbled something under his breath before stepping to the side.

I took another deep breath striding in front of the blonde man.

"Mr. Northman I presume?"

"Please, call me Eric, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" He smirked.

I thought for a minute if I should make up some fake name.

"And mind you I can tell if you're lying." He added, somehow reading my thoughts.

"y/n." I offered only my first name.

"What I can I do for you y/n?" He asked interested, as if I was going to offer him my neck.

"I think you know why we're here." I stated crossing my arms in front of myself as if it would put more distant between me and Eric.

"Yes unfortunately , it was only a matter of time before you hunters showed up."

"We wouldn't have to if you leeches kept yourselves in check." I bit back quickly.

"Well aren't you sweet." Eric smirked.

"Yeah not really."

I knew I should probably watch my tongue in a bar full of vampires. However, when my anger got the best of me, I couldn’t control the things that spilled from my lips.

"You have no idea who you're talking to do you?" Eric laughed, standing to his full height.

He towered over my short stature easily.

I wouldn't let him intimidate me though which is exactly what he was trying to do.

"So enlighten me then Mr. Northman."

"I'm a thousand year old viking darling, I'm not threatened by you or anyone for that matter."

"I'm not here to threaten you, I'm here to help you." I retorted quickly, acting unfazed by the declaration of his true age.

My statement resulted in another laugh from the viking vampire.

"Help me? Now what in that pretty little head of yours makes you think I need, or want your help." He whispered menacingly, clearly trying to threaten me.

I would have been a little more afraid had I not noticed the slight crease in his eyebrows as he spoke.

He was worried about something.

My guess, pressure from his boss to solve his little vampire problem.

Order.

Creatures couldn't function without it.

I couldn't fight the smirk that made it's way to my face.

"I think you're worried, 346 bodies is a lot of bodies to hide, I mean we know that they didn’t really disappear did they? Also isn't it your job to keep all these vampires in line? I'm guessing a bunch of rogue vampires going on a killing spree doesn’t exactly fair well with your boss." I taunted.

I knew I pushed it too far when his fangs popped out with a click.

He quickly wrapped a hand around my throat causing Dean to shoot up, pulling out his gun loaded with ultraviolet emitting bullets.

If Eric saw him, he was completely unfazed by his actions.

I gave Dean a look, telling him to wait before he starts blindly shooting in a room full of vampires.

I could handle myself well, Dean knew as much.

“Don’t you tell me how to do my job.” he growled his hand squeezing a little tighter around my throat.

"Do your job then." I spat, pushing him a little further.

Eric then looked deeply in my orbs as his glazed over.

He spoke in an enchanting voice.

"Now you and your little gang of hunters are going to leave my bar, but before you go, you're going to let me taste you while your boyfriend over there watches me."

I knew what he was trying to do.

He was trying to what they call "glamor" me.

Get in my head.

Control me and my thoughts.

No man controls me.

"No offense Mr. Northman but you're not really my type." I managed to squeak out, his hand still squeezing my throat.

Eric quickly released my neck with a confused look.

"Why can't I glamor you?" He growled in frustration.

I quickly turned around, pulling my shirt up slightly so he could see the anti-possession tattoo in the center of my spine.

"Turns out this isn’t just for demons, works for your mind tricks too. Eric this is my final offer, let us help you or we're gonna handle things our way, and then you'll have a lot more bodies to dispose of. We’ll be in town, it’s your choice." I threatened before turning away from the vampire.

I could tell he didn't take kindly to my threats but he didn't retaliate surprisingly, given his nature.

I could see the relief wash over Dean's face as I returned to his side.

"Looks like we aren't getting his help, let's go." I said knowing full well Eric could still hear me.

Dean tucked his gun away roughly grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the bar.

I could tell by his face that he was trying his best not to explode.

He was irate.

As soon as we were in the impala the floodgates opened and all hell let loose.

"Wow you've done a lot of stupid shit in the past but that has to be the most fucked thing you've ever done, what the hell were you thinking?" Dean growled.

I wasn't sure if it was directed at Sam for suggesting I talk to Eric alone or me for actually doing it.

“Dean come on it’s…” Sam started but Dean quickly cut him off.

“Stay out of this Sam.” Dean growled.

I guess now I knew it was directed at me.

“You can’t be serious right now?” I scoffed at his behavior.

“He could have snapped you like a twig, you gave him every opportunity.” Dean snapped.

I knew this was his way of saying he was worried about me but l didn’t like how he was going about it.

“I can handle myself.” I said with an eye roll.

“I mean what was your plan exactly? Badmouth him until he sinks his fangs in to your neck? You had no plan going up there, that was so irresponsible.” Dean continued.

“Yeah well he didn’t hurt me did he?” I scoffed.

“Your lucky he didn’t, you just act without thinking about the consequences.” He retorted.

“Yeah well sometimes you think too much and don’t act.”

“At least you don’t have to continuously save my ass!” He growled.

“Ugh would you stop treating me like a child!” I said my voice rising along with my anger.

“I will when you stop acting like one!” Dean yelled.

I rolled my eyes again, sinking back in to the seat. I was done talking about this. It was no use anyways.

I knew Eric wouldn’t hurt me.

I don’t know how I knew, I just did. He wouldn’t admit it but he needed our help.

I was extremely thankful to be pulling in to the motel parking lot. I jumped out of the car before Dean could bring it to a complete stop, slamming the door in a fit.

I could hear Dean throwing open his door and quickly striding up to catch me.

“We are not done talking about this.” He growled grabbing my wrist.

“I am.” I seethed snatching my wrist from him.

I walked in to my separate motel room, slamming the door in his face.

God!

Dean didn’t usually yell at me, I had no idea where all this was coming from.

"Fuck!" I screamed, before quickly stripping my clothes wanting to wash away this evening and everything it brought.

I turned on the shower, steam instantly filling the bathroom.

I stepped in, the hot water relaxing my tense muscles.

What the hell was up with Dean?

Why was he acting so, so possessive?

He knew I was strong enough to handle my own, yet he was treating me as if I were some stupid kid walking in to the lions den unprepared.

I knew how to kill vampires, this wasn’t my first rodeo.

I was angrily scrubbing my body and hair, too caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t hear my motel room door opening, or the bathroom door for that matter.

I washed the shampoo from my hair before noticing Dean’s presence. It made me jump but only momentarily. He was standing on the other side of the shower curtain, his shoulders slumped over.

“I said I was done talking about it Dean.” I bit quickly.

I was expecting him to start yelling at me again, tell me how stupid I was being, but Dean didn’t say anything instead just stayed quiet.

"Dean?" I asked softening my tone.

Dean was never quiet.

Only when he was in his head about something.

Like I said we just got each other.

It was a moment before he spoke.

“You have no idea how worried I was for you, fuck y/n why do you care so little about your life when to me it’s everything?” Dean said, his voice being overtaken with emotion.

My breathing stilled at his words. I felt tears gather in the corners of my eyes.

Dean wasn’t the vulnerable type, never admitting how he was truly feeling, but here he was laying it all out.

Before thinking I flung open the shower curtain looking at him. His eyebrows were creased with worry and hurt.

I suddenly felt extremely guilty.

I didn’t want to hurt him.

That was the last thing I wanted to do.

Dean was my person.

I jumped out and flung my arms around him, soaking his t-shirt. He didn't seem to mind much as he wrapped his strong arms around me holding me tightly to his body.

I buried my head in the crook of his neck, allowing a few tears to cascade down my cheeks. His hand found its way to the back of my head stroking my wet hair.

“I’m sorry Dean.” I spoke quietly.

Dean’s hand traveled down to the back of my neck, pulling my head up so he could look in my eyes.

Dean and I didn't need words to convey our feelings.

Our eyes alone did just that.

I could feel the heat spreading to my core as his eyes devoured me hungrily.

Dean and I didn't cross this line often.

In fact only once before.

It was a dangerous line to be flirting with.

But in this moment, I didn't care.

Dean didn't either, for a moment later he was crashing his lips on mine.

His lips had a petal softness to them, but he kissed like a man that had been starved for months.

I balled his t-shirt in my fists pulling him impossibly closer. Dean's hand gripped my neck harder as if I was about to float away and he was the only thing holding me down.

I broke away but only briefly to suck in a harsh breath.

Dean pulled me back in again, devouring my lips.

He kissed me as if I was oxygen and he was dying to breathe.

I couldn't help the breathless moans that fell from my lips as I felt Dean's trapped erection on my already burning center.

I wanted more.

Needed more.

"Dean." I panted, hoping he would catch on.

Dean didn't bother teasing. He picked me up quickly kicking the bathroom door open, before gently placing me on the run down motel bed.

He was quick to dispose of his shirt.

I trailed my eyes down his body.

Dean was the kind of handsome that got into my bones, that spoke to me before he'd even said a word.

I licked my lips as I admired him.

I sat up on the bed, not being able to stop my self from placing my lips on his perfectly chiseled jaw. He let out a guttural sound as my tongue worked down to his neck, kissing and sucking, marking him as mine.

He quickly disposed of his jeans, freeing himself at last. He gently pushed me back down hovering his body over mine.

Dean looked at me as if he applied too much pressure I might break.

He trailed his hand down my body painfully slow, stopping to brush gently over my aching core. I sucked in my bottom lip to try to stop the needy whine that wished to escape but I was too late.

I needed to feel him, all of him.

Dean leaned down once again kissing my lips tenderly.

"I promise." Dean whispered pulling away gently.

I shook my head in confusion.

"Promise?" I breathed out.

"I promise to make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you." Dean rasped.

I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

I grabbed his head bringing his lips back to my own.

I don't think I'll ever get over the feeling I get when kissing Dean, it was warm, it was safe, it was everything I needed, because with Dean, sometimes kissing felt like healing.

Dean grabbed his erection, slowly rubbing his tip up and down my folds, torturing me with pleasure.

He grunted pushing himself through my slickness all without breaking our hungry kiss.

Dean thrusted at a tortuously slow pace, hitting my sweet spot with every movement. Dean buried his head into my neck, heavenly groans fell from his lips.

I moaned a little louder with each slow thrust.

I couldn't take anymore, I rolled my hips up meeting his.

Dean pushed himself even deeper, causing a sensual whine out of me.

"So pretty when you're whining for me."

I could barely think straight from the fire burning in my veins. I closed my eyes digging my nails slightly in to his skin.

“Oh fuck Dean right there.” I moaned feeling my orgasm making itself known.

I could feel myself clenching around him causing him to cry out in pleasure.

“Good girl baby, cum for me.” Dean whispered in a husky voice.

His tone and praise alone was enough to have me soaking his length, my walls contracting all around him.

Dean began to thrust harder and faster, chasing his own orgasm. When his rhythm became sloppy I knew he was close.

Dean gave one last deep thrust before I felt white hot spurts of liquid coating my still sensitive walls.

Just when I thought Dean couldn’t get more attractive, here he was looking like a god as he groaned, riding out his orgasm.

I could cum again just from the sight of it.

Dean slowly removed himself, satisfied when his seed spilled out coating my thighs.

"I think you're gonna need another shower." Dean smirked.

Yep.

Dean was back.

I was about to make my usual snarky comment but a loud knocking on the door got my attention.

I thought it might be Sam coming to check on me, he has been on the receiving end of Dean’s wrath more than once.

I threw on a shirt and some sleep shorts before peeling the door open slowly.

I was not prepared to see Eric Northman behind it.

"You know for hunters you really need to cover your tracks better, wasn't all that hard to track you down, not with that sweet aroma you carry around." Eric smirked pompously.

I could hear Dean shuffling as he rushed putting his clothes back on.

He was suddenly at my side ripping the door open and glaring down the viking vampire in front of me.

It was the first time I saw them toe to toe.

Eric was definitely taller but Dean was unfazed by his size.

Dean was nothing to mess with either. He was lethal in his own right, and had more blood on his hands then he liked to think about.

"Now if you're done fucking your play thing, I'd like to talk." Eric said completely ignoring Dean’s threatening demeanor.

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

Oh god he heard that?

Of course he did, fucking super hearing ability.

"I think that opportunity has passed, we're no longer interested." Dean growled slamming the door but Eric’s vampire speed won out and he caught it seamlessly.

"If you could do me a favor sweets and calm your guard dog here, I believe you and I can help each other." Eric said once again ignoring Dean completely.

"I thought you said you didn't need or want my help?" I finally spoke, feeling my anger rising again.

"Oh don't be smug, it's humbling enough having to come to a breather for help." Eric said rolling his eyes.

I could feel Dean stiffen beside me.

He didn't trust Eric that much was obvious.

I didn't trust him either.

I was realistic though, and I knew our odds would be better with him on our side instead of in our way.

"Hypothetically speaking of course, let's say I was still interested in helping you, what then?" I inquired.

Dean growled from beside me.

“Excuse us for a moment." Dean said through clenched teeth, shutting the door, this time Eric allowing him to.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath preparing his lecture but I quickly cut him off before he could deliver it.

"Look before you yell, let's be realistic here, I think we're in way over our heads and having Eric on our side instead of in our way is an asset, even if I don't trust him, keep your enemies closer right?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed knowing he couldn't argue with my logic.

"You were mad before because I didn't have plan, this time I do." I promised.

Dean placed a gentle hand to my cheek pulling my lips to his.

He knew Eric would be listening behind the door.

He wanted to make it known I was his.

I would definitely have to unpack this situation later.

Dean removed his lips resting his forehead on mine.

"Fine we can talk." Dean reluctantly agreed.

I gave him a small smile as I opened the door, seeing Eric standing there looking completely uninterested in Dean's show of affection.

"So then let's talk." I said nodding my head at Eric.

"Just you, no offense but I don’t think your guard dog will fit in with where we’re going, also you might want to shower first, if you’re going to be with me I can’t have you smelling of another man, and one more tip try not to look so much like a hunter, I’ll be back in thirty.” Eric ordered before speeding away.

“Fuck this, no way in hell am I letting you go anywhere alone with him.” Dean said.

“The idea doesn’t thrill me either but I’m just going to need you to trust me.” I said quickly going towards the bathroom.

Dean didn’t say anything instead followed behind me sulking. He shed his clothes stepping in the shower after me.

He huffed pouting as he took his hand washing his seed away from my body. I moaned as his fingers dipped in my folds cleansing me.

“I can trust you if you promise me you won’t do anything reckless, I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt and I wasn’t there to help.” Dean said.

I quickly turned around facing him.

“I promise you Dean, nothing reckless.” I said standing on my toes to place a soft kiss to his mouth.

I finished washing myself quickly, then stepped out and towel dried myself.

I looked in my suitcase trying to find clothes that didn’t scream hunter. I settled for a sundress, this made me look more innocent, more naive.

Exactly thirty minutes later on the dot their was another harsh knock at the door. I took a deep breath opening it. Eric stood smirking behind it, clearly trying to provoke Dean. He let his eyes drift up and down my form very noticeably.

“If I didn’t know any better I would say you almost look normal.” Eric joked, that ever present cocky smile still on his face.

Dean wrapped a protective arm around me.

“I swear if you fucking hurt her..” Dean started but Eric cut him off.

“Down boy, she’ll be fine, besides I already ate this evening, though I wouldn’t say no to some dessert.” Eric taunted him.

I rolled my eyes at the pair.

I quickly turned around grabbing Deans shirt bringing him in for a feverish kiss.

Dean smirked in to the kiss hearing Eric sigh in annoyance.

I pulled away letting a hand linger on his cheek.

“I’ll be back.” I assured.

I turned towards Eric ignoring the arm he offered me.

“Well after you.” I gestured.

I saw the the expensive bugatti now parked outside my motel room.

A little over the top I thought, although I guess when you’ve been alive for so long your wealth is vast.

Eric smirked at Dean as he opened the passenger door gesturing for me to get in.

I gave Dean one more soft look before climbing in.

Eric zipped around clambering in the drivers seat. He peeled out of the motel at inhuman speed, making me grip the seat.

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked annoyed.

“A tribunal meeting.” Eric simply answered.

“A what?”

“You people really don’t know anything do you?” He jabbed.

“Look if that’s how this is going to be you can just take me back.” I said rolling my eyes.

“You know your cute when you pout.” Eric laughed.

I rolled my eyes again ignoring his flirtatious comment. He was trying to get under my skin, and he was doing a damn good job at it.

“Listen just stay close to me, and don’t talk to anyone but me.” Eric said glancing at me.

“Eric..”

“No this is serious okay, for me to keep you safe you have to listen to me.” He said.

I glanced at his eyes, and for a moment just a moment I saw some of what I believed to be sincerity. It made him almost seem…. human.

“Fine.” I grumbled.

He pulled in to a field in the middle of nowhere.

I really wasn’t thrilled with this idea now.

I took a deep breath feeling the silver dagger Dean slipped in to the waistband of my underwear. It wasn’t much but it could help me out, give me some leverage.

Eric got out zipping around to open my door.

I got out of the car looking fully at the scene.

There were a few other vampires there, most looked pretty ancient. It wasn’t their looks per say, but their demeanor, the way they carried themselves.

I saw a few humans too, one vampire was openly feeding on a girls neck. If I had eaten I was sure it would come back up at the sight. The worst part is the girl moaned as if she was enjoying it.

Eric smirked as he wrapped an arm around my waist leading me towards the group of vampires.

"Remember what I said, be a good breather and keep quiet." Eric said.

"Fuck you." I cursed under my breath knowing full well Eric would hear me.

Eric's presence instantly got the attention of a man dressed in an expensive suit.

"Eric welcome, and who is this lovely thing you've brought with you, she smells delectable."

"Easy now magister, she's mine." Eric said.

His?

Oh hell no!

"Yours the fu.." I started but Eric quickly clamped his hand on my mouth.

"My apologies sir, quite the mouth she got on her, though it does come in handy." Eric joked.

I nipped at his hand covering my mouth as if telling him he was really pushing it.

"If you'll excuse us sir.." Eric said leading me away from the man.

As soon as he took his hand off my mouth, I raised my hand to strike him but he quickly caught it.

"Yours? What the fuck was that!? I am not now, nor will I ever be yours!" I growled.

"It's my way of protecting you, it's an unspoken rule for vampires that we can't harm or feed from another vampires claimed human, now that I openly claimed you, nobody can touch you or they have to deal with me."

I was still pissed at him but I shook my head in understanding.

"These guys, they're the authority?"

"Well sort of, we work for them, that guy was the magister, the judge of my kind, if you will. The others are area sheriffs like myself, we keep order in our area, and we're all here to talk about our little problem." Eric explained.

"And the humans are privileged to this information?" I questioned.

"No, you’re here to satiate us, but it doesn't matter what they hear they'll just be glamoured to forget, but since you can't be glamoured you better be good at acting." Eric said.

I nodded my head finally understanding.

I would be the only human to remember this meeting.

He was giving me information, leverage.

Eric was about to say something else when the magister cleared his throat getting the attention of all vampires present.

"Now stay close to me, and for fuck's sake act like you can stand to be near me." Eric whispered once again wrapping a cold arm around my waist.

I knew if Dean were here right now he'd be furious at Eric for even daring to touch me in such an intimate matter.

In fact Dean would probably kill him first and ask questions later.

Eric was right, Dean definitely wouldn't have fit in here.

I didn't fit in here.

I grumbled, leaning in to Eric's side, cozying up to him.

I had to pretend.

It might kill me.

But I had to pretend.

I could feel Eric's stupid smirk without seeing it.

"Stop enjoying this." I growled causing a chuckle to fall from his lips.

"Sheriffs, it's great to see you, unfortunately I wish it could be under better circumstances. You all have been gathered here because as you know your state has managed to gain the attention of the authority, and I can tell you they aren't happy. You were put in a position to keep order, lay low, push the movement along, so please someone tell me why it's a goddamn circus out here?" The guy who I now know as the magister yelled.

I could feel Eric tense beside me, his arm getting a little tighter around me.

I could tell the magister was in a significant position of power even without Eric telling me so.

"Sir it's the newborns, they're insatiable, unsupervised." One vamp spoke up.

"And who's fault is that, isn't it your job to handle problem vampires?"

"You wish us to kill our own’s progeny's?" Another quipped.

"Do you dare defy my order?" The magister threatened.

"No sir."

I was taking in all the new information.

It seemed that new vampires were being made, "progeny's" and being left unsupervised after their creation.

It was not only reckless, it was cruel.

"Well maybe the humans have it coming, all they've ever done is hunt us down and lynch us." A vampire beside us spoke.

I glance at him.

He was tall, not as tall as Eric but tall none the less.

He clearly thought he was holier then thou.

I guess he hadn’t come face to face with hunters yet.

"I mean we do kind of deserve it." Eric spoke, surprising me a great deal.

I didn't think he was capable of any compassion towards what he calls “breathers.”

"Wow I can't believe my ears, Eric Northman, the ruthless viking prince suddenly gets himself a human bitch and now he's mr. mainstream?" The vampire spoke turning and taking a step towards us.

Eric let out a warning growl.

"I would watch your next words sheriff, I’m not known for my patience." Eric said baring his fangs.

His hold on me got tighter, if that were possible, I was already trapped against his body as it was.

I could feel the tensions rising as both vampires hissed at each other.

I took my hand squeezing Eric's.

I was surprised when I felt him calm slightly.

It was a simple gesture that always worked for Dean, and seemingly Eric too.

It was a little way of wordlessly saying “I’m here, I got you.”

"ENOUGH both of you! Eric’s right, we all knew coming out of the coffin there would be risks involved, if you can't keep order the authority will come and eradicate your regions."

Eradicate?

As in kill them all?

I was all for killing vampires, but that seems a little excessive.

I worried for Eric.

Wait.

What the fuck am I saying?

I don't worry about vampires.

Vampires are nothing but killing machines.

They don’t have feelings.

Or do they?

I don’t know what I believed anymore in this moment.

"With all due respect magister this is complete bullshit." the previous vampire spoke again.

I could see the magister getting visibly angry.

"We are apex predators, the top of the food chain, and you expect us to just lay down and take it from a bunch of blood bags?" He continued.

I could feel myself getting heated at his words.

He was the epitome of the vampires we killed.

No regard for human life whatsoever.

"We don’t take it, we learn to control ourselves there’s a difference." The magister corrects.

He was all about pushing the mainstreaming movement along, that much was clear, but he could care less about humans as long as all killings and feedings were done in secrecy and done so as not to draw too much attention.

He was just another two faced authoritarian, pushing something he could care less about.

"You and the authority are out of your goddamn minds if you think..." He started.

In an instant the magister zipped over to him, producing a wooden stake before driving it straight through the vampires heart. The vampire exploded sending guts flying everywhere.

Eric quickly turned us around so I wasn’t hit by the debris but he was.

I let out a shaking breath as blood splattered the side of his face.

I didn’t think I would be getting this close to vampire politics tonight.

I was officially over it.

Eric looked in my eyes as if assuring me everything was alright.

The magister wiped some vampire guts from his suit before turning back to everyone.

“I think we’ve all learned our lesson yes?”

No one dared to speak so the magister continued.

“You,” he said pointing at one vampire, “clean up this mess’ and you,” he said now turning to Eric who was cleaning the blood from his face, “glamor your human and then come with me.”

Eric turned to me giving me a look, guess now it was time to put on an act.

How does one even act glamoured? A mindless zombie I guessed.

He stared at me with that glazed look in his eyes, the same one from the bar. He also had something else in there, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was; mischief maybe?

Next came his enchanting voice.

“y/n.”

“Yes.” I spoke quietly as if I was under his spell.

“Nothing happened here tonight, you don’t remember any other vampires being here, you don’t remember anything that was said, do you understand?” Eric ordered.

“Nothing happened here.” I repeated.

“Good…” Eric smirked pompously. “Now kiss me and wait in the car like the good little breather you are.”

I felt my insides boiling.

What the hell was he doing?

He knew I couldn’t say no to him.

It was either that or blow my cover to the magister.

I trusted my skills but not enough to take out an ancient vampire with a simple silver dagger, not while so many others were around.

I realized I was already taking too much time to think. If I didn’t act soon it was over, I was made.

I glared at Eric with furious eyes before leaning in.

He grabbed the back of my neck joining our lips.

I kissed him back with much reserve but he didn’t seem to notice.

He however kissed me gently to my surprise.

In fact he was kind of good at kissing.

What the fuck?

Shut up brain!

This was a vampire for fucks sake!

I willed the moment to be over but Eric was taking his sweet time tasting my mouth.

As we were kissing I tasted something metallic on my tongue.

I knew that taste.

Blood.

I swear if he bit me, I don’t care who’s watching I’ll kill him.

I was confused when Eric pulled away and it wasn’t my lip that was bleeding but his own.

It was his blood?

I quickly turned around walking back to his car as instructed.

I was trying to soak in all the information.

At least now we knew what we were up against.

A bunch of unsupervised baby vamps.

Great.

Eric came back moments later getting in the car. I held my breath until we were far enough away from the field before speaking my thoughts.

“I don’t understand, why are there unsupervised baby vampires allowed to run amok, they need to be taught, isn’t that a little cruel, illegal?”

“It’s unfortunate not every vampire has such a responsible maker.” Eric answered.

“And your maker?” I wondered.

I heard the vampire call Eric a viking prince, I wondered just how he came to be what he was now.

He hesitated a moment before he spoke.

“Godric, he’s gone, he saved me from dying on a battlefield.”

I scoffed a little catching his attention but kept my comment to myself, further annoying Eric.

“Go ahead, say what you want to say.” Eric pushed.

“I don’t know how he saved you, making you crave blood to survive, making you a slave to the night, making you practically immortal, I mean that has to be really lonely, eventually everyone you know will be gone and then it’ll just be you.” I said glancing at him.

“It’s a good thing I don’t care for mortals then.”

“I don’t believe that.” I quipped.

“And I don’t believe you actually hate vampires, I saw how you reacted when the magister spoke of the authority eradicating our regions.” Eric pushed back.

“About that, can they actually do that?” I asked.

If vampires had enough power to eradicate entire regions I think we had bigger problems to worry about then a bunch of baby vamps.

“Yes, they can and they will if the problem isn’t solved.” Eric said slowly pulling back in the motel parking lot.

“So what do we do about it so that doesn’t happen?” I asked turning my body towards him.

“We?”

“Just shut up, and tell me!” I said rolling my eyes at him again.

“I guess the only thing we can do, go on a hunting trip. If we can’t control them we have to eradicate them.” Eric said.

“Alright we’ll be ready then.”

“You and your dog can meet me at fangtasia tomorrow night, sunset, we’ll formulate a plan from there.” Eric nodded.

“Sunset.” I confirmed turning to get out of the car.

“Oh Eric, one more thing.” I said turning back around.

Before he could realize what was happening I balled my fist, sending it flying in to his nose. I heard a satisfying crunch as it connected.

“ If you ever trick me into kissing you again, I’ll kill you myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I smirked getting out of the car.

“You broke my nose!” Eric yelled out the window.

“Eh your a vampire, you’ll heal.” I shrugged, glancing once more at him.

“I know I’m a vampire but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He growled pushing his nose back in to position.

“Goodnight Eric.” I called one final time.

Eric rolled his eyes before peeling out of the parking lot, the sound getting Dean’s attention. He flung open the door pulling me to his chest. He inspected my body for any signs of injury but found none.

“Dean it’s okay, I’m okay.” I said placing a hand on his cheek.

I took him inside telling him everything that happened.

Well almost everything.

I left out the kissing part.

It would just further cause problems between the two, and besides I handled it.

He groaned when I told him we’d be seeing Eric tomorrow night.

He didn’t want to work with him but he agreed with me, that if we didn’t take care of this little problem we’d have a much bigger problem on our hands, i.e. an authority of ancient vampires that could eradicate entire populations.

“It’s nearly dawn, we should get some sleep.” Dean said stroking a hand through my hair.

I looked at Dean’s face, he had a slight crease in his forehead that only showed up when he was worrying about something.

“Dean what is it?” I asked.

“Who’s to say we don’t help him and then he turns right around and tries to kills us? I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” Dean says sincerely.

“I know your worried but I don’t think he’ll try anything, he needs our help, besides he had every opportunity to kill me tonight, but he didn’t. Instead he gave us some pretty valuable information, which I’m suspecting he could get staked for if someone found out.” I said my mind traveling to the blonde haired vampire.

I had no idea why he was on my mind right now.

“Are you concerned for him?” Dean asked a look of jealousy and disgust on his face.

When I didn’t answer immediately, Dean continued.

“He’s a killer y/n, a leech, you can’t seriously be worrying about him?” Dean growled.

“I’m not.” I told a half lie.

“What is it then?” Dean pushed.

“It’s just everything might not be as black and white as we think that’s all.” I said trying to carefully chose my words.

“I mean they drink human blood to survive how is there any grey area in that?” Dean retorted.

“Some of them didn’t ask for this life, you know they thought they were being saved..” I trailed off thinking of the story Eric told me of his creation.

“It doesn’t change what they are.” Dean said.

I shrugged my shoulders. I guess he was right. At the end of the day they would still be feeding on humans to survive.

We were prey to them.

“I think we should get some sleep.” I said leaning up and pecking his lips quickly.

Dean was not satisfied with how we ended things but he didn’t push further to which I was thankful. Instead he pulled me in closer so my head was laying on his chest.

I felt the exhaustion starting to take a toll on my body, and the darkness starting to envelop me.

I reached my hand up to touch Dean but was surprised to feel the space empty.

Suddenly fingers were hooked in to my sleep shorts pulling them slowly down my legs. I groaned as lips kissed tenderly up my thigh, making my core burn with pleasure. I cast my eyes downward, meeting a pair of green ones.

“Dean.” I moaned as his head dipped down, his breath fanning over my center.

I didn’t know how Dean slipped down there without me noticing but right now I didn’t care.

Instead of devouring me like I wanted, his lips trailed back down to my thigh.

I could feel my blood pumping with need and desire.

“Beg me for it.” Dean commanded.

Didn’t need to tell me twice.

“Oh god please Dean.” I begged running my hands through his hair.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my thigh.

I gasped looking down but instead of Dean, Eric was there with extended fangs, licking blood off his lips

What the fuck is going on?

Am I dreaming?

I’ve got to be dreaming.

A million questions surged through my head.

How?

When?

Why?

“Eric?” I blushed trying to hide my body from him.

“The femoral artery, like the jugular if pierced wrong can cause you to bleed out in mere minutes.” Eric said licking my thigh.

I looked down realizing blood was seeping out from too little pin pricks. I could feel my heart start to race but it wasn’t from fear… rather excitement.

What was wrong with me?

Was I turned on by this?

“It is indeed the best place to draw blood, so pleasurable and not just for me.” Eric said dipping his head back down, sinking his fangs in to my thigh.

I threw my head back with a moan as Eric drank my blood. His long fingers trailed up my thigh, dipping in to my folds that were already slick with arousal.

Oh god this was so wrong.

But it felt so good I didn’t want to stop.

But Dean?

Fuck!

As I was about to push Eric away, I felt lips against my neck, a hand trailing down my shirt to play with my hardened nipples.

I sat up a little seeing Dean now behind me.

Okay now I know I am in fact dreaming. These two can’t even be in the same room together, let alone take turns pleasuring me.

Eric removed his fangs and started to devour my core, his tongue working expertly up and down my folds.

“Oh god.” I moaned, biting my lip.

Dean trailed his fingers down further and started rubbing circles on my bundle of nerves, making my body writhe with pleasure.

“Mmm such a good girl, wouldn’t you agree Eric?” Dean whispered with a husky tone that made my legs shake.

"Mmm, the best girl.” Eric said removing his mouth from my folds momentarily before diving back in.

I felt the coil in my stomach winding tighter and tighter, begging to spring free. The sensation of Eric devouring me with his mouth while Dean worked me with his fingers was too much to bare. I was so close and then….

I sprang up, gasping for air.

The room was still dark, however sunlight started filtering through the curtains.

I guessed it was just after sunrise.

I looked to my left seeing Dean sound asleep. Eric was nowhere to be found.

“Of course not dummy, he’s dead during the day” my brain screamed at me.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead trying to calm my racing heart.

Why in the fuck would I dream of Eric pleasuring me?

Dean makes sense but Eric?

Eric?

A thousand year old vampire?

What the fuck was wrong with me!?

The worst part is he bit me, he bit me and I enjoyed it.

I deduced I was in need of some serious therapy and counseling.

I took a few deep breaths before laying back down next to Dean. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally succumbing to pure exhaustion.

I woke up to a hand running through my hair. I was hesitant to open my eyes, my dream still at the forefront of my mind.

I was relieved when all I saw was Dean.

“It’s almost sunset.” Dean said placing a soft kiss to my forehead.

I groaned in response causing Dean to laugh.

“I’m not looking forward to this either.” Dean said getting out of the bed and heading towards the bathroom.

I sat up stretching my limbs. I was dreading having to face Eric after the impure dream I had about him.

I was still struggling to understand why I was dreaming about him in that way. I mean sure he was attractive, but he was a monster and I was the one who hunted him.

I didn’t realize how long I sat there in my head until Dean was coming out of the bathroom freshly showered.

I quickly collected myself so I didn't look like a mess.

Dean could NOT find out about this.

I rushed in to the bathroom turning on the cold water. I splashed my face a couple times trying to calm my shaking hands.

Fuck.

Get it together.

I stepped out getting dressed for the night. Dean was already ready to go, reloading uv bullets in both guns.

“Sam?” I asked lacing my boots.

“He’s keeping the police off our backs for now, he’ll meet up with us later.” Dean said tossing me my weapon.

I grabbed some colloidal sliver as well as a couple silver daggers.

“Alright, let’s do this.” I sighed.

Dean grabbed my hand pulling me to his chest.

“If shit goes down, you get out, and I’ll come find you.” Dean said placing a gentle hand on my cheek.

“You and I both know that isn’t happening, we’re in this together, until the end.” I said looking deeply in his eyes.

Dean leaned down capturing my lips in a passionate kiss.

I wished desperately we could just stay in this moment but that was a fairytale and our lives were anything but. It was more like a constant nightmare if you asked me.

Dean pulled away giving me a silent nod.

It didn’t take us long until we were sat in the fangtasia parking lot.

“If he tries anything, I will kill him.” Dean said pulling the safety off his gun.

“I know you will, you’ve only been chomping at the bullet to since we’ve met him.” I said mimicking his actions.

Dean shrugged knowing I wasn’t wrong. I saw the blonde lady from before opening the door. I guess that was our invitation to go in. I tucked away my gun, climbing out of the impala.

“Oh great they’re back.” The blonde lady spat sarcastically.

“It’s nice to see you again too.” I bit back.

“Pam, play nice now, these humans are here to help us.”

I gulped as soon as I heard his voice.

My mind flooded with the images of him tucked between my legs, my blood dripping off his fangs.

Dean must’ve noticed my unease. He put a hand on the small of my back giving me a reassuring pat.

I pushed past the blonde lady, Pam I now knew was her name, and I walked in to the empty bar. It sure looked a lot different with the lights on. Eric once again was sitting on his ridiculous throne. He smirked at me as soon as our eyes connected.

Dean was quick to catch up with me.

He stood so his shoulder was slightly blocking me from Eric.

“So what’s the plan?” Dean growled.

“Oh no formal introductions, straight to the point huh.” Eric taunted looking at me.

“Eric please, save the jokes, let’s get this over with.” I sighed.

“I for one had a great time last night.” Eric smirked.

I glared at him, silently telling him to shut up.

Dean didn't know about the kiss, and if he found out now, he'd kill Eric and then maybe me.

“Well except for that little part where you broke my nose.” He said.

As he said this the blonde lady flashed her fangs at me. Dean immediately shifted pulling his gun and aiming it at Pam.

“Pam stand down.” Eric commanded.

Pam was protective of him, that was abundantly clear.

I was starting to put the pieces together.

Pam was his progeny.

He created her just as Godric created him.

Dean slowly lowered his gun once there was no threat to me anymore. He gave me a incredulous look as I hadn’t told him that part of the story.

“It looks to me you healed just fine, now please let’s get on with it.” I sassed him.

“As you wish, follow me.” Eric said standing from the throne.

“Where?” Dean quickly ordered.

“What you don’t trust me?” Eric taunted him.

“I don’t trust bloodsuckers no.” Dean retorted.

“Ha, I could snap you in half in just a matter of seconds” Eric threatened.

“I’d really like to see you try, give me a reason to fry you.” Dean growled cocking his gun.

Ugh these two were incorrigible.

“Ok enough of the dick swinging contest are we doing this or not?” I asked rolling my eyes at the men.

I could see Pam for once in agreement with me.

I gestured for Eric to show us what he wanted to. He walked down a hallway leading us to a stairwell.

“Is this your dungeon or something?” I joked.

“Yes.” Eric answered seriously.

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.

“You first.” Dean growled not trusting Eric to go behind him.

“Guests first, I insist.” Eric said opening the door.

“Seriously?” I groaned, pushing past both men, and starting to walk down the steps.

I heard footsteps following behind me, they weren’t heavy like Dean’s so I knew they were Eric’s. He was close behind me.

I felt a chill run down my spine the closer he got.

“So, tell me y/n have any good dreams lately?” Eric whispered in my ear.

I about lost my footing, as my face went pale.

He knew?

How the fuck did he know that?

I quickly pulled myself together, I wouldn’t let him get under my skin.

“Yes in fact, Dean was in all of them.” I bit back.

“I bet he was.” Eric smirked.

I could hear some low growling sounds as we got to the bottom of the stairs.

He wasn’t kidding it really was a dungeon down here.

I felt Dean once again at my side.

Eric disappeared for a moment pulling a lever.

I heard the growling get louder, a vampire descended from the ceiling suspended by silver chains.

He thrashed around trying to break free, the silver burning his skin as he did so.

“I found this one feeding on a human right outside my bar, he’s new, not yet a month old.” Eric said.

“A newborn, I’m guessing his maker is nowhere to be found.” I said eyeing up the vamp.

He looked weak, I would guess he’d been down here for a few days, starved of blood.”

“Oh on the contraire, his maker is very much around, in fact he’s responsible for the surge of newborns, that’s where we need to go.” Eric said.

“How do you know that?” I asked him.

“We’ve been spending a lot of quality time together lately.” Eric joked.

“Where’s his maker?” Dean asked.

“Only thing I can’t get out of him. What do you think she’s for?” Eric asked nodding at me.

Dean was quick to put an arm out in front of me.

Before Dean could protest Eric spoke.

“Tell me guard dog do you know her blood type?” Eric asked Dean.

“AB Negative.” Dean answered quickly.

I was a little shocked that he knew that, but I guess I had to be given blood a time or two since we started hunting.

“Yes, the rarest of all blood types, a delicious treat for a vampire, a treat that is very very hard to resist.” Eric answered.

Oh great so basically I was crack for vampires.

“I’m not giving any of my blood.” I growled.

“Oh you won’t have to.” Eric said stepping closer to me. “Just your scent alone will drive him mad.” Eric added inhaling.

“Fine.” I said rolling my eyes.

“If it even moves an inch, I’m shooting.” Dean says taking aim at the newborn vampire.

I took a few steps closer to the still thrashing vampire.

Eric was right, as soon as I was within distance, his fangs popped, his neck craned to hiss at me.

“I don’t think you want to do that.” I warned.

He hissed again in response.

“See that gun, it’s loaded with uv administering bullets, it’ll feel like the sun is invading every part of your body, it will be a most unpleasant sensation.” I explained.

Dean aimed the gun a little higher, waiting for the vampire to make a wrong move.

“Don’t make him have to use it, all you have to do is tell us where your maker resides, and all this can go away.”

“Fuck all of you.” The vampire spat.

“Why are you protecting him?” I asked circling him.

“He’s my master.” He answered.

“Well he clearly doesn’t care about you, he left you to fend for yourself.” I pushed.

“He released you?” Eric questioned coming closer to me.

“Yes.” The vampire answered.

“You are no longer his problem then.” Eric said.

“You have no loyalty to him.” I added.

“Shut up all of you please.” The vampire cried out.

Eric and I were trying to break him down, and it was working.

“He wouldn’t care if we killed you right here right now, in fact he wouldn’t even think twice about it.” Eric pushed farther.

“In fact he’ll probably just make another to take your place, it’ll be like you never existed.” I said.

“I think we’ll go ahead and do just that.” Eric said popping out his fangs.

“Alright stop, please I’ll tell you, just don’t kill me”.

Eric gave me a satisfied look before going in the newborn’s face.

“Where is he?” Eric growled.

“He’s got a whole nest next to the old cemetery, he’s stashing humans there to feed us. Please now let me go, I did what you wanted.” He begged.

“You’ve been a great help.” Eric said putting his hand through the newborns chest producing his heart.

I could see betrayal flash on the newborns features as blood seeped from his mouth.

I turned away as Eric crushed his heart in his hand, causing the newborn to explode in to pieces.

“Was that necessary?” I asked kicking a chunk of vampire guts away from me.

“Yes, he broke the law so he must suffer the true death. It was either this or let your boyfriend fry him from the inside, I gave him a quick way out.” Eric said.

I took a deep breath, I needed to get out of here, the smell of vampire guts was starting to make me sick. I ran up the stairs, hearing both men trailing behind me.

“You mortals have such weak stomach’s.” Eric said going behind the bar.

He quickly produced a glass of water for me. I took it gratefully, choosing to ignore his comment.

“I need to go call Sam.” Dean said.

“I’ll be fine, go ahead.” I nodded.

“It’s not you I don’t trust.” Dean said glaring at Eric.

“If I wanted to kill either of you I would’ve done it by now.” Eric shrugs.

“Yeah well I’m still debating about killing you.” Dean said.

“For once we agree on something.” Eric retorted.

“For the love of god both of you stop acting like children!” I said slamming my hand down on the bar top.

I walked to the other side of the bar taking a seat in an empty booth. I was tired of the back and forth. Dean gave me a apologetic look before stepping out to call Sam.

I rolled my eyes as Eric joined me in the booth.

“What do you want now?” I groaned.

“Quite a temper he’s got on him.” Eric said.

“I can see you got your own guard dog.” I said nodding my head towards Pam who looked like she wanted to rip my head off for even daring to breathe the same air as her maker.

“Yes Pam, she’s my..” He started.

“Your progeny.” I cut him off.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m not completely dim Eric, I put the pieces together. I saw how you looked when talking about your maker, it’s the same way Pam looks at you.” I shrugged.

“Jealous?” Eric smirked.

“Did you save her too?” I asked ignoring his comment.

“Yes in fact I did. I didn’t set out to create Pam, but if I didn’t turn her she was going to die, and Pam had a hard life, I thought she deserved a little good.” Eric spoke tenderly.

“I guess you didn’t leave her at least.” I said.

“I never would, I made her this way, it’s my responsibility to look out for her, teach her, just as Godric did me.” Eric said.

“Hmm so you can insightful, good to know.” I said offering him a nod.

“You never answered my question earlier, any good dreams lately?” Eric smirked.

I rolled my eyes at his teasing.

“I guess you’ll never know.” I shrugged.

“I have a feeling your boyfriend doesn’t know either.” Eric pushed.

“Okay I’m debating on killing you now.” I said annoyed.

“It’s okay if you did dream of me, I mean it is a side effect of taking my blood after all.” Eric said nonchalantly leaning back in the seat.

I spit out the water I was drinking as the words left his lips.

“Wait what?”

I don’t remember taking his blood.

I remembered then the kiss, when I pulled away Eric had blood on his lip.

“You see when we kissed, I accidentally cut my lip on my fang and you drank some of my blood. It was what allowed you to break my nose, it gave you a boost of strength. Unfortunately it does come with a few side effects.” Eric explained.

Accidentally?

I somehow didn’t believe that.

“You mean when you forced me to kiss you.” I growled.

“Ah yes forgot about that little detail.”

“Yeah what else did you forget to tell me?” I asked balling my fists.

“You see now that you have my blood inside you, I’ll be able to locate you quickly, and I can feel the things you feel. In return your innately more attracted to me, dreaming of me. You and I are bonded now.” Eric explained.

I suddenly felt very violated.

“I didn’t want that, I didn’t want any of this.” I bit.

Eric chuckled and leaned in close.

“Oh come on you’re not fooling anyone.” He whispered.

I could feel my heartbeat uptick just from his proximity to me. I couldn’t control it, it was as if it completely shut my brain out and was thinking on its own.

“I don’t want anything to do with you, in fact I can’t wait for this whole thing to be over so I never have to see you again.” I growled.

“I think you’re forgetting I feel what you feel, I know that’s a lie.” Eric said sliding a little closer.

“It’s not.” I defended.

“I know you want me.” Eric said placing one of his large hands on my thigh.

I sucked in a sharp breath trying to calm myself.

“You want me just as much as I want you.” Eric added trailing his hand upwards.

I quickly jumped up causing his hand to fall.

“Sorry you’re dead wrong I love Dean.” I growled walking away from him.

I was relieved when Dean came back. I quickly walked over to him wrapping my arms around him. He was surprised for a minute but hugged me back.

I can’t believe I admitted my love for Dean, to Eric of all people.

I seriously needed some therapy now.

“Sam’s going to meet us there.” Dean said.

I nodded my head.

“Let us get a few things and we’ll meet you there.” I nodded to Eric. 

“No chance, I’m coming with you. I don’t trust you mortals either.” Eric said grabbing his jacket.

I guess that was fair.

“Eric, I’m coming with you.” Pam spoke.

“No Pam, I need you to stay here and handle opening. I’ll be fine don’t worry about me.” Eric said walking over to her and placing a kiss on her forehead.

Pam gave me a look, one that said if he gets hurt you’re dead.

I gave her a silent nod that it would be fine. I wouldn’t let Dean kill him.

I might still kill him, but Dean won’t.

Eric followed us back to the impala.

I opened the trunk where we stored all our weapons, or most of them at least. I grabbed a silencer putting it on the end of my pistol, the last thing we needed was to attract more attention.

I grabbed some silver chains as well as some silver bullets in case we ran out of the uv ones. I grabbed a wooden stake, before turning back around.

“Really?” Eric asked rolling his eyes.

“I would stay out of the crossfire if I was you.” I threatened.

Dean smirked as he shut the trunk.

Eric zipped to the old cemetery while Dean and I drove. I could see headlights at the entrance belonging to Sam.

It was eerily quiet.

Eric led the way as Sam, Dean and I aimed our guns, taking in our surroundings.

We walked a few steps seeing and hearing nothing.

“I don’t think anyone’s here.” Sam said.

Of course as he said that, a newborn came out of the dark and lunged towards my neck.

Eric was faster and caught the newborn by the neck while Dean shot a bullet through it’s chest. It immediately sank to the ground in agonizing pain as the uv bullet pulsed in its chest.

As if on queue we were surrounded by insatiable newborns, all looking for one thing, our blood.

I took a deep breath.

“Dog, keep her close, her smell will drive them mad.” Eric said pushing me closer to Dean.

Dean gave Eric an almost silent thank you.

It was as if they were suddenly given a silent command to attack, the newborns rushed towards us fangs bared. I fired multiple rounds finding a different target each time.

I could feel my ears ringing from the gunshots as well as the wailing of newborns who were being fried by the uv bullets.

I stumbled crashing in to Eric.

He caught me quickly standing me up on my feet.

I ran out of bullets shortly after, having to resort to the stake and silver daggers. I was wrestling with a particularly strong vampire, my silver dagger doing little to deter it’s advances. I lost my footing falling to the ground with the vampire. I held an arm to it’s throat keeping it’s fangs away from my face.

It was getting harder and harder to hold it back. I suddenly felt blood splatter on my face as a wooden stake stuck out of the vampires chest.

“Oh fuck.” I heard the vampire groan before exploding.

Dean quickly picked me up brushing me off.

“Dean watch out.” I called.

A vampire was approaching him quickly.

But this one wasn’t a newborn.

It moved far better, it was more experienced.

It was the maker we had been looking for.

And it was coming straight for Dean.

I didn’t know what I was doing until I was already moving.

I quickly shoved Dean out of harm’s way.

 I felt a hand go around my neck and teeth sink in to my flesh.. and then I felt nothing.

Dean

“Dean watch out.” I heard her voice call.

Before I had time to react I was being shoved to the side. I looked up to see a vampire grab her by the neck and sink his teeth in to her throat.

“No!” I screamed, grabbing my gun and firing six or seven silver bullets in to it’s chest.

Eric noticed the commotion and ran up behind the vampire pulling it’s heart out ultimately ending it.

I quickly ran over as y/n slumped to the ground, her hand going up to try and cauterize her wound. I quickly replaced her hand with my own, putting as much pressure as I could to stop the bleeding. I felt the tears already welling up in my eyes as the blood gushed from her neck despite the pressure I applied.

“Dean.” I heard her gasp, her eyes filling with tears.

I was soon joined by Sam.

“Dean, her jugular is severed, what do we do.” Sam panicked.

I didn’t know what to do.

She was losing too much blood too fast.

I let out a sob running my other hand down her cheek.

“It’s okay baby don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.” I sobbed kissing her forehead.

“Dean it’s okay I’m not afraid.”

How could she say it’s okay.

Nothing is okay!

“It’s not okay, please just hang on.” I cried.

“Dean, I’m in the arms of my first love, I’m with the only man I’ve ever loved, I’m okay.” I could hear her choke barely getting it out.

She loved me?

It was the words I had been longing to hear for years, but not now.

“I love you too, I love you so much which is why you can’t leave me.” I begged.

I looked over seeing Sam now crying too.

I looked back to her face, noticing it go paler and paler.

My hand was doing little to stop the massive blood loss.

Her eyes slowly fluttered shut as she lost consciousness.

She was dying.

My love, my world, dying in my arms.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I wouldn’t.

I gently laid her down, grabbing my gun.

I pointed it at Eric who was standing there just watching with furrowed brows.

He acted like he was hurt by the situation, like he cared about her.

“Change her.” I growled.

“Dean, you can’t.” Sam said as he started standing up.

“Sit the fuck down Sam.” I screamed at him.

I turned back around to Eric who still hasn’t moved.

“I said fucking change her, now.” I hissed.

He made no movements.

I fired a single silver bullet right in to his shoulder making him hiss in pain.

“I’m not asking again fucking do it.” I screamed.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for.” Eric said.

“I don’t care, I’m not losing her, do it.” I said.

I wasn’t thinking straight, all I could think about was that I didn’t want to live without her.

“I don’t even know if it’ll work.” Eric growled getting closer.

“Try, you fucking owe us that much.” I growled.

Eric gave me one last look before sinking his fangs in her neck wound, completely draining her of blood.

I sank to my knees as he bit his wrist forcing it in her mouth.

“I need you to start digging a hole big enough for the both of us.” He said once her heartbeat stopped.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“It’s either that or she dies from sunlight exposure.” He growled dripping more blood in to her mouth.

“Sam go.” I growled.

“Dean you can’t be serious with this?” Sam protested.

“Goddamnit Sam go.” I yelled.

He gave me one last look before running off to dig a hole. Eric finally yanked his wrist away going to help Sam dig. I crawled over to her now lifeless body.

“I’m so sorry baby, this is all my fault.” I sobbed on her chest, not caring that I was getting covered in her blood.

I didn’t protect her.

I should’ve protected her.

It should’ve been me.

“Alright move.” Eric growled pushing me off of her.

I grabbed my gun pointing it at him. I wanted nothing more than to kill him right then and there, but if this worked, she would need him.

He lifted her carefully in his arms jumping down in the hole that was dug. He gently laid her down, before laying down himself and cuddling her body to his chest.

I couldn’t stand the sight,

“Now cover us up. No sunlight can seep through or we’ll both die.” He growled.

“How will I know if it worked?” I said utterly defeated.

“If she wakes up tomorrow night, you’ll know.” Eric said.

I grabbed a shovel dumping dirt over them.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as I buried her.

Once I was sure she was far enough underground I collapsed as my body racked with sobs.

“Dean what did you do?” Sam questions sitting down beside me.

“I don’t know Sam, I couldn’t let her go.” I cried.

“It would’ve been better than this, Dean she wouldn’t want this.” Sam said.

I felt rage cloud over my eyes. I turned around shoving Sam.

“It wouldn’t have been better how can you say that?” I seethed.

“Dean I loved her too.” He started.

“No you didn’t, not like I did.” I whispered.

“So what you’re just going to wait here until tomorrow night?” He scoffed.

“If I have too.” I snapped.

I didn’t care what it took.

I was going to see her again.

“I’m sorry Dean but I can’t be part of this, I won’t.” Sam said.

I didn’t answer him.

If he didn’t want to be apart of this then he can go.

“Dean?” Sam pushed again as if he was going to change my mind.

When I didn’t answer him for the second time he finally left.

I brought my knees to my chest laying down beside the pile of dirt that contained her. I felt as if I died right along with her.

Reader

Am I dead?

Is this what death is like?

A permanent darkness?

I felt something cold and heavy on my body.

Where was I?

I can’t remember anything.

I felt something stir beside me alerting all of my senses.

I tried to move my hand and realized I was surrounded by dirt.

Was I buried alive?

What was going on?

I was panicking now.

I quickly started digging trying to free myself.

I was suddenly being ripped from the dirt by a strong hand.

Moonlight flooded my eyes as I took a sharp breath in.

It however provided no relief to my burning throat.

“It’s okay, everything is okay.” I quickly flipped around seeing a tall blonde.

I felt my memories come back like a flash flood.

Eric. Dean. Vampires. Death.

I died.

But I was still here.

That’s impossible.

Unless….

“I’m a..” I started too stunned to speak.

“A vampire.” Eric finished.

I looked at him, suddenly feeling a pull towards him, an unexplainable urge to protect and care for him.

I realized then that he was my maker.

He did this to me.

“I don’t understand.” I said grabbing my throat that was still burning.

“I saved you, you were dying and I saved you.” Eric said taking a step closer.

I found that my vampire self didn’t want him to step away, I wanted him to take me in his arms and tell me everything was going to be okay.

“I’m so..”

“Thirsty, I know, I’m going to take care of you.” Eric said.

Thirsty.

For blood.

I craved blood.

It made me sick, but I needed it.

Eric was about to take me away when a voice caught my attention.

“y/n?”

Dean

I laid by the freshly dug grave until I could see the sun starting to set.

If this worked she’d be up soon.

Please god let it work.

I sat up when I heard something stirring.

Eric arose out of the grave, eyes clouding with fury when he saw me standing there.

“You need to leave now.” He growled.

No fucking way.

“I’m not leaving.” I pushed back.

“Look she will be insatiable, and you’re covered in blood, so unless you want her to have your death on her conscience for eternity you’ll leave.” Eric said this time putting his hands on me and shoving me away from the grave.

“It worked?” I asked ignoring his request.

I couldn’t believe it worked.

“I need to see her.” I said, standing my ground.

“I need to feed her, so unless you want to become her meal you’ll leave. This is the last chance I’m offering you!” Eric growled.

I hesitantly backed up.

I didn’t want to torment her new senses.

I sighed before jogging off in to the tree line so I was out of sight.

I watched as Eric stuck his hand in the dirt pulling her out.

She still looked like herself, but everything was more defined now.

I felt my heart break as her eyes looked around terrified.

Oh god..

What did I do?

“It’s okay, everything is okay.” Eric assured her. 

Her face contorted with realization.

“I’m a..”

“A vampire.” Eric confirmed for her.

I could see her heartbreaking for just her face.

She didn’t want this.

I did this.

Oh god.

What did I do?

I felt the tears start to cloud my vision.

I was completely selfish.

Sam was right, she didn’t want this. But I wouldn’t listen.

“I’m going to take care of you.” I heard Eric say as he went to leave with her.

I couldn’t let him.

I stepped out of the tree line.

“y/n?”

She quickly whipped around in my direction. I saw her eyebrows contort in pain as she looked at me. Eric grabbed her hand bringing her to his side.

“It’s okay y/n, come here, I’ll help you.” I said taking a step closer.

She didn’t budge. Instead just stared at me with longing eyes.

I heard Eric chuckle making me growl.

“Remember that part where I said you had no idea what you were asking for?” Eric taunted.

“y/n come here.” I said again choosing to ignore him.

“Sorry, she only listens to me, she calls me daddy now.” Eric jabbed.

No.

This was all wrong.

This isn’t what I wanted.

I felt my hands shaking.

What did I do?

Part Two: Coming Soon!

[livelaughlovesubs]

HI NINIII i know i havent been back in a while but i saw your event post, could i request 'forcing them to beg' and 'mocking them for involuntary reactions' with my beloved poet poe

and if you're feeling extra generous maybe throw in some nice aftercare because im a soft dom deep down 💕

-🫶

Hey heyyyy!! Welcome back 🫶 anon :D glad to see you hehe. One Poe request? Right away~

Dom!reader x sub!poe - reader is gn

Warning: teasing, begging, light degration?

Anniversary event

What a sly thing you were.

Sneaking up on him while he was brainstorming for new ideas to add to his novel. You couldn’t help it, he was too adorable to resist. Sitting at his desk, head in the clouds while he tightly clenched his fountain pen. When you were close enough, standing right behind him, you glanced over his shoulder to see him doodling down random notes. Despite how close you were, he still hadn’t acknowledged your presence. How concentrated he was~

Which is why you leaned forward, to whisper into his ear, “Poe~”. The boy jumped immediately, shrieking like a kitten as he turned to look at you. His pen made a ‘thud’ sound as it hit the floor, and he rushed to pick it up, “uuahh..! Y-y/n? Ah- w-wait..” He bend over as he reached for it, and since he was presenting you with such an opportunity you just had to strike.

Wrapping your arms around his body, feeling him shudder due to your touch.

“Heh, so sensitive aren’t you?” You teased while he was still bend over, now hesitating to slump back into his seat. “Y/n… t-that’s not…” He began, but stopped midway. “not what?” You heard him gulp loudly before he answered meekly, “not true.”

“Are you sure about that?” A fun idea popped up, and you began massaging his sore shoulders. You pressed down on the cramped muscles, hands skilfully kneading him. His posture is bad, that’s why his neck’s almost always cramped. Once again he yelped, making you chuckle softly. “Because if not, why are you whimpering like a girl?”

You knew he was blushing, even if you couldn’t see his face. The quivering of his body was also a sign of it.

“It’s because you are touching m-me..” Poe managed to squeeze out, but he knew from the beginning he couldn’t win against you. “Oh? So it’s my touch that makes you all sensitive? Not because you’re a lewd boy?” How were you expecting him to not get flustered when you were using that tone, all while tracing one hand down his spine? And using the your other hand to brush your fingertips across his chest?

Seeing him all speechless was cute, but not fun. You wanted to make him cry out and beg, to plead like how you taught him. That’s why you tugged his hair behind his ear and blew hot air against the reddening shell. “Ngh…!” He tried so hard to muffle that moan, knowing you’d mock him for it, but it was all in vain.

“Will you admit how perverted your body is now, Poe?” You rested your chin on his shoulder, both hands now travelling up and down his body in a sickening slow motion. “I-I..” he stuttered, stumbling over his words. “You what?” The feeling of your breath tickling his skin got him squirming around all crudely, it made him want to curl up into a ball and disappear.

While your eyes scanned his body, noticing his crotch, seeing his reacting to your relentless teasing, you smirked again, “Haha~ how perverted indeed. You are a dirty, dirty boy Poe.” He shuddered, shaking all over as he whined, head turning minimal to look at you. “Don’t just stare, use your pretty little mouth.” You demanded, still groping him all over, enjoying the reactions of his body.

“P-please..” He begged, though too embarrassed to continue his request. “Go on, tell me.” You reassured him, playing with the jungle of hair on his head. “T-touch me more.” Poe eventually mumbled, and he instantly regretted it, too ashamed of his own desires. On the other hand, you scoffed at him, “c’mon sweetheart, you can beg better than that.”

Yes, maybe, but no. He has a way with words, only when he writes them down not when voicing them! “Y-y/n..!” He called to your name, too humiliated to obey your orders, even though he wanted to be your good boy so bad. “Acting cute won’t help now.” You reminded him. Defeated, he quickly gazed over his shoulder, tears already forming in his eyes as he whispered a sweet plead, “t-touch me.. a lot, please, I-i beg you..”

What a cute thing he was.

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - In Shadows and Chains

Summary - In a kingdom fraught with power struggles, a woman trapped in a marriage to Daemon grapples with humiliation and betrayal. Yearning for freedom, she finds solace in her secret affair, forcing her to confront her dark reality and the secrets that bind her to Daemon.

Pairing - Criston Cole x reader

Warnings - Mild language

Word count - 2069

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I could feel her eyes on me long before I ever saw her. Judging, scrutinizing—always watching. It was as if she could sense that I was everything she despised. 

And why wouldn't she? I was the woman who had taken what she held most dear: her precious uncle.

But she was wrong about me. I didn't want him the way she wanted him. 

If I had my way, she could have him. I would gladly hand him over and run off with the man I truly wanted, the man I would choose. 

The man who wouldn't humiliate me the way my husband had, and still does.

"Hands off," I hissed, as Daemon's hand snaked around my waist. He groaned softly at my words, a sound that made my skin crawl.

"You're my wife," he whispered back, his voice tinged with irritation as if that simple fact gave him all the rights in the world.

I rolled my eyes. "Was I your wife when I found you buried between the legs of a brothel whore not so long ago?" I shot back, venom dripping from every word. 

His hand fell from my waist as though my words had stung.

"It was a moment of weakness," he muttered, trying to justify the unjustifiable.

Weakness? The very word made me want to strike him.

"Oh, of course," I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm. "How convenient that your moment of weakness involved a woman with silver hair and blue eyes... much like your niece."

His breath caught, a sharp inhale that told me everything I needed to know. 

We both knew the truth. The sick, twisted truth that he didn't desire me at all. His lust was reserved for his niece, Rhaenyra. 

It was shameful, and yet here we stood, pretending to be the perfect couple as if the filth of his desires didn't cling to us both.

I had once dreamed of love and loyalty, of a marriage built on trust—not the mockery it had become.

I leaned in closer, my voice low and laced with malice. "You embarrass me tonight, and I swear I'll cut your cock off while you sleep." 

A smile immediately spread across my lips as we approached the king, the perfect mask of a dutiful wife and loyal subject.

"Don't play the saint, not with me," he snarled, his smile as fake as mine. "I know about your little affair with that Dornish knight."

I met his gaze, my eyes turning cold as ice, burning with anger. "Good," I replied calmly. "I wasn't exactly hiding it."

We turned our attention to Viserys, who was babbling on about something meaningless, oblivious to the storm brewing between us. 

I smiled and nodded, playing the role I was meant to play, even as I plotted my escape from this wretched marriage.

We were both liars, both traitors to vows we never should have made, and in that moment, I realized just how far I was willing to go to finally be free of him.

As the evening wore on, the tension in the grand hall thickened, the air heavy with the scent of wine and the low hum of murmured conversations. 

I could feel my husband's eyes wandering, his gaze lingering far too long on Rhaenyra, his niece—his obsession. 

It sickened me, but I kept my mask intact, smiling and nodding at courtiers, pretending not to notice the growing strain in Daemon's posture as the wine continued to flow.

By the time the feast was in full swing, Daemon was several goblets deep, his tongue loose and reckless. He staggered toward me, a smug grin plastered across his face, eyes glassy with intoxication. 

He leaned in too close, the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.

"Look at them all, playing their little games," he slurred, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "Kings, queens, lords, and ladies—none of them half as interesting as you and me, eh, wife?" 

He laughed, loud and obnoxious, drawing the attention of the table.

His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, roved the room until they inevitably landed on Rhaenyra. He leered at her in that way that made my stomach twist, and the familiar, acidic burn of humiliation crawled up my throat.

It was as if everyone in the hall could sense it too. Eyes flickered in Daemon's direction, nobles whispered behind raised hands, casting sidelong glances our way. 

Every gaze felt like a dagger aimed at me, not at him. 

I could feel their judgment, their disdain for the spectacle he was becoming, and yet they would never say a word to him. Not to Daemon Targaryen. 

Instead, their eyes fell on me—on the poor wife who was forced to endure his public unravelling. Always me.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to lash out. "Daemon, lower your voice," I whispered harshly, trying to keep him in check.

But he was already too far gone. With a drunken wave, he knocked over a goblet of wine, sending red liquid splashing across the table. Several guests gasped, and I felt a flush of humiliation creep up my neck.

"And what of our king?" Daemon continued, ignoring my warning entirely. 

"Our beloved Viserys, so blind to everything around him, especially the fact that his throne is slipping right through his fingers!" His voice rose, and now, eyes across the hall were fixed on us.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that lingered before disaster struck. 

I could feel my pulse quicken, the flush of shame creeping up my neck as Daemon continued, oblivious to the damage he was doing. 

Even Viserys, across the hall, had noticed now—his kindly eyes narrowing in concern as he glanced between Daemon and me. 

How many times had I had to play the dutiful wife in the wake of his chaos? How many more nights would I be forced to endure this mockery?

I shot him a warning glare, but it was no use. Daemon's smirk widened as he swayed on his feet, clearly relishing the attention.

I couldn't take it anymore. Without another word, I grabbed his arm, yanking him from his seat. 

"Enough," I hissed under my breath, pulling him toward the exit. He staggered beside me, grumbling incoherently as I dragged him out of the hall, past the curious and judgmental eyes of the court.

"You're embarrassing yourself, you drunken fool," I whispered harshly. "Come with me now before you cause more damage."

We barely made it out of the hall when Daemon stumbled again, nearly crashing into a nearby column. His mouth opened, likely to unleash some venomous retort, but I cut him off with a glare. 

"Not another word," I spat, waving over two guards stationed outside. "Take him to his chambers," I ordered, my voice cold and commanding.

One of the guards hesitated, eyes flicking between us. "My lady, are you sure—"

"Take him," I repeated coldly, my voice leaving no room for argument. 

Daemon stumbled into the arms of one guard, still muttering something about treason and thrones as they led him away. 

I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

As the sound of Daemon's drunken ramblings faded into the distance, I leaned against the cold stone wall, pressing my hands to my head. The night had been a disaster, yet again. 

Every public appearance with him was a humiliation, a reminder of the farce our marriage had become. 

I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm inside me, trying to keep the tears from falling.

When I finally dropped my hands, I saw him.

Criston Cole, lingering at the edge of the shadows, his eyes dark and full of concern as he stepped forward. 

"He's made a spectacle of himself again," he said quietly, his voice gentle but carrying that underlying tension he always had when it came to Daemon. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

I exhaled slowly, shaking my head as I tried to push down the rising frustration. 

"It's nothing new," I muttered, my voice barely hiding my anger. "Every time, it's the same. He humiliates me, and I'm the one left to clean up the mess."

Criston stood there, silent for a moment, his gaze searching my face. 

His presence was always a strange comfort—solid, unwavering in a world that felt like it was constantly shifting beneath my feet. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine. 

"You don't deserve this," he murmured, his hand brushing against my arm in a way that was familiar, intimate.

"I know," I whispered, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin, soothing the raw edges of my emotions. 

This wasn't a new conversation. We had been here before, too many times to count. The secret, stolen moments where I could let the mask fall, if only for a little while. 

Where I could feel like myself again, not just Daemon's wife.

Criston's hand moved to cup my cheek, his thumb gently brushing over my skin as he studied me with that intensity I had come to crave. 

"You don't have to keep putting up with this," he said softly. "Every time he drags you down, it gets harder to watch."

I could hear the restraint in his voice, the anger he kept bottled up for my sake. He never said it outright, but I knew how much it pained him to see me tied to Daemon. 

It pained him because I was his, in secret, in shadow, but never where it counted. Not in the eyes of the court. 

He hated Daemon for that.

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch for just a moment, letting myself feel the tenderness in his hand that was so different from Daemon's rough, selfish grip. 

"And where would I go, Criston?" I asked, my voice small, my frustration leaking through. "What would I do? My life is tied to his. If I leave, I lose everything."

"Not everything," he whispered, stepping closer, his lips just a breath away from mine. "You wouldn't lose me."

I opened my eyes and met his gaze, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us. 

We had been lovers for months now, sneaking away when we could, sharing these moments in the shadows. 

But it was different when we stood like this, on the edge of something more dangerous, more permanent.

"I can't," I said, but the words felt weak, hollow, even to me. "Daemon may be a fool, but he's still powerful. If he found out—"

"He won't," Criston interrupted, his hand slipping from my cheek to rest at the small of my back, pulling me closer. "You're too careful. And even if he did... he doesn't deserve you. None of this is your fault."

I let out a shaky breath, my head dropping to his chest as I allowed myself a moment of weakness. 

"I don't know how much longer I can live like this," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Criston's arms tightened around me, holding me close, his breath warm against the top of my head. 

"Then don't," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my hair. "We could leave, you and I. Start over somewhere far from here. You wouldn't have to live in Daemon's shadow anymore. You could be free."

The words sent a shiver down my spine. 

It was tempting—so tempting to imagine a life where I wasn't tied to Daemon's cruelty and endless embarrassment, where I could be with someone who truly cared for me. 

Someone like Criston. But the risks were too great, and I knew it.

I pulled back slightly, looking up at him, my heart aching with the impossibility of it all. "It's not that simple," I said softly, shaking my head. "You know it's not."

Criston's eyes darkened, but he didn't argue. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to my lips, his hands steady and sure as they held me. 

"I'll wait," he whispered against my mouth. "For as long as you need. I'll be here."

His words lingered in the quiet hallway, and for a moment, I let myself believe in the possibility of something better. 

But as the noise from the hall grew louder, pulling me back to reality, I knew that tonight, like every night, I would return to the prison of my marriage.

But in Criston's arms, just for a little while, I could dream of escape.

A/n - Worked a 13 hour shift and edited this through half opened eyes apologies for any mistakes!

[ju-liczka]

When it comes to Morgott we all can agree he is just build... different✨ (that shoulders five times his head *shivers*) So there are some of my thoughts if u wanna read them because they kinda explain my take on him in this drawing lol

I was thinking recently more about his fur and how it looks on his body. It's patchy, It looks rough and uneven... Even his tail when you look closer, It's shape is more defined by the muscles rather than the hair on it. Every artist drawing him gives him much more fluff and I truly think it's well deserved. And from the game design/lore perspective it's completely understandable. He is made to look grotesque, deformed, aged and ugly even... That's all intended... BUT!

I was thinking... What if it's mostly just lack of... maintenance? Lack of care. Malnourishment and neglect of a kind? We know that the Erdtree has a kind of sickening effects on Omens as well. Mohg is for sure holding up much better and I kind of don't believe they would be so much different from eachother (the influence of Formless Mother on Mohgs looks is after all not entirely known). He has more pride in himself and so he carries himself better than his brother that is still loyal and so close to the Golden Order. Mohg took his chance at getting away from the Erdtree and I think it is obvious that this freedom did him some good. I personally belive that Morgott could also achive such change if it wasn't for his deep rooted loyality to the Order and crippling self-resentment.

So to sum my thoughts up... What if he's just not thriving?

Just imagine this kind of idealistic scenario when he can finally put his needs first. When he can take care of himself or let others care for him. He puts on some more weight, rounding up his already muscular body giving it softer, healthier look. His furr thickens and follows up to the rest of his body not just limbs (could be just as thick as the rest or more like a soft fuzz maybe idk). His posture straightens, as with healthy body comes healthy mind. Of course, he is still an old man at the end of it. The years made their mark on his features and some of them are irreversable. But he is healing~

And I personaly love imaginging him in this healing state that unfortuntly is impossible to get in game. But game is game and fan work is fan work. And in my tiny rotten brain I give him little forehead kisses and tell him how precious he is uwu

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 15 - Y/N moved to escape some of their looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

TW: Just angst. Layin it on thicccck

Word Count: 2.2K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE Read Pt. 8 HERE Read Pt. 9 HERE Read Pt. 10 HERE - Read Pt. 11 HERE - Read Pt. 12 HERE - Read Pt. 13 HERE- Read Pt. 14 HERE

You Might As Well Be Six Feet In Dirt

It was about a week before Val reared her head again. You had been working hard to win back Wanda's trust, helping her around the house, cooking dinner, and slowly incorporating date nights further out of town to avoid any potential run-ins. Wanda had started to come around, her laughter filling the house again, and her eyes no longer filled with doubt. But you had the gut feeling that the calm was only temporary.

And then the call came. It was a Tuesday evening, and you were both sitting in your living room, Wanda engrossed in a book, her lips stained from her glass of cabernet left over from dinner. While you were scrolling through potential projects on your work laptop, your thoughts wandered to the weekend plans you had made. The phone vibrated on the coffee table, and Wanda looked at you expectantly as you picked it up. The name on the screen made your heart sink.

Wanda watched as your demeanor changed, and quickly bookmarked her spot, setting the hardback on the table next to your recliner before leaning forward towards you. "Who is it?" she asked, her voice tentative. You didn't answer, your thumb hovering over the 'ignore' button, not wanting to burst the bubble you had worked so hard to create.

"It's Val," you said finally, your voice tight with tension. Wanda's eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening. "What does she want?"

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice calm. "I'm not sure if I want to know." You looked over at her, hoping she could read the silent plea in your eyes. "I should probably take this."

Wanda nodded, her jaw tight, and you settled the phone between Wanda and yourself. Sliding your finger to hit 'answer' with a trembling hand. "What do you want, Val?" you snarled into the phone.

Her voice was sweet and sickening, like honey over rotten fruit. "I just wanted to see how my favorite person was doing," she said, her tone mocking.

You clenched your fist. "What do you want, Val?"

"Oh, I just wanted to remind you of our little agreement," she sang into the phone, her voice echoing with malice.

Your stomach dropped. The agreement was a part of your past that you had hoped to keep buried, but Val had always had a knack for digging up your darkest secrets. "What are you talking about?"

Wanda's eyes bore into you, her grip on the blanket tightening.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Val purred. "You owe me, Y/N, and I've come to collect."

You felt the walls closing in, the warmth of the room suddenly stifling. "Val, I can't—"

"You can and you will," she interrupted. "You know the rules of the game."

You looked over at Wanda, her gaze unwavering, filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. You knew you had to get off this call. "We're not playing that game anymore," you said firmly.

Wanda's eyes widened at your words, and she sat up straight, her grip on the blanket turning white-knuckled.

"Oh, but we are," Val said, a chuckle escaping her lips. "If you don't hold up your end, I'll make sure everyone knows the truth about what you really did in Westview. And let's not forget about the little...incident with the police."

The room grew colder, the warmth of the fireplace suddenly forgotten. Wanda's eyes searched yours, desperation etched into her features.

"I'll think about it," you managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time.

"You do that," Val said before hanging up.

The silence was deafening as you set the phone down on the coffee table. Wanda looked at you, her eyes filled with unspoken questions. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in your chest.

"What game?" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It's complicated," you began, hoping she would understand without you having to say too much.

"Complicated?" Wanda's voice grew louder, the hurt and anger returning. "Is this about me? Or did you make a deal with her to stay away from Piet?"

You shook your head, "It's not like that. It's about protecting you and Pietro."

Wanda's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about," you said, trying to reassure her.

"Apparently it is," Wanda retorted, the hurt in her voice palpable. "What kind of deal did you make with her?"

You took a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of your past threatening to crush you. "It's complicated," you repeated, trying to find the right words. "But I need to handle this first, for you, and Piet."

Wanda pulled away, her eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. "I want to trust you, Y/N, but you're not making this easy. Like at all."

You nodded, understanding her frustration. "I know. And I'm sorry." You took her hand in yours, feeling the warmth of her skin against your cold palms. "But I have to do this. Unfortunately, past me didn't have much foresight."

The following weekend, you found yourself back in Westview, standing outside the dilapidated bar where you had spent too many nights with Val. The neon sign flickered ominously, casting a garish light on the puddles of rainwater on the pavement. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come.

Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap liquor. The same faces that had watched you and Val's tumultuous relationship unfold were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and contempt. Val was at the bar, looking up at you with a smirk that made your blood boil.

"You're late," she said, sipping on a neon-blue cocktail that matched her mood perfectly.

"I had things to do," you replied, keeping your voice low and even.

"Oh, I bet you did," she sneered, sliding off the barstool. "But I'm not here to talk about your new life in Foxwood."

You clenched your fists, trying to keep your cool. "What do you want?"

Val sauntered closer, her eyes gleaming. "I want what you promised me," she purred, her voice like a knife sliding against your nerves. "I want my cut of the action."

You knew what she was referring to—the deal you had made with her to keep your past in the shadows. A deal that had kept you in her clutches for so long. "That's over," you said firmly. "I'm not playing your games anymore."

"Is that so?" Val's smile grew wider, revealing a set of teeth that could cut glass. "What if I told you that I've been keeping tabs on your little neighbor?"

Your heart stopped. "What have you done?"

"Let's just say that if you don't start playing ball, sweet Wanda might get a little surprise from her past," she sang, her eyes gleaming with malice.

The blood drained from your face. You had to protect Wanda at all costs. "What do you want?"

"A favor," Val said simply, her eyes never leaving yours. "One little favor, and I'll leave you and your precious Wanda alone."

The thought of Wanda getting hurt made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn't let Val win. You had to find a way to outsmart her without compromising your new life. "Fine," you gritted out. "What's the favor?"

Her grin was victory incarnate. "I'll tell you tomorrow," she said, turning to leave. "And don't be late, this time."

The drive back to your hotel was a blur of anger and fear. You couldn't believe you had allowed Val to hold this power over you again. But as you pulled into the parking lot, you imagined pulling into the driveway in front of Wanda's house. She would be waiting for you to come home, curled into the corner of her patio swing with a cup of hot tea and a book, her luminous smile greeting you as you walked up to her.

You wanted that. Needed that. You could not let Val take that away. Nor could you let her harm or affect Wanda in any way. The thought of Wanda in pain was more than you could bear.

The next day was a blur of nausea and dread. You met Val at the same time in the same bar, feeling like a pawn in her twisted game of chess. She sat there, legs crossed, sipping a drink with a little umbrella in it, looking every bit the villainess she was. "Ready to play?" she smirked as you slid into the booth across from her.

You nodded tersely, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. "Lets get this bullshit fucking over with." You growled, sitting yourself across from the foul woman. She tisked at your statement, shaking her head.

"Now, now, Y/N, is that any way to speak to your old flame?" she smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement.

"I think you need to emphasize the 'old' part a little bit more, Val," you leaned in, steeling your gaze towards the woman. "But then again, you've never acted your age."

Val's condescending smile never faltered, "Alright, cut the shit, Y/N," she said, setting the drink down with a clack. "I need you to do a little job for me. Nothing too difficult, I promise."

"Well, you were known for being easy," you muttered, trying to keep the contempt out of your voice. "What job?"

Val leaned back, a smug expression on her face. "Just a little errand. I need you to pick something up for me. It's a...package, let's say. It's at an old warehouse on the outskirts of town. You remember the one?"

"You're going to need to be a little bit more specific, Val. There's a whole ass district of them on the outskirts of town. Or has your Alzheimer's begun to set in at your age?"

Val rolled her eyes at your sarcasm, but the twitch of her lips suggested she was slightly amused. "Very funny," she said, sliding a crumpled piece of paper across the table. "Here's the address. You'll know what to do when you get there. Do not, whatever you do, try and get cute. There will be hell to pay if you do."

You took the paper, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. "What's in this package?"

"What did I just say, Y/N? Don't get cute." Val's voice was like a whip crack in the tense silence of the bar. She took a long drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling around her fingers like a serpent waiting to strike. "You just pick it up and bring it to me. That's all. What's in the package is none of your concern."

You clenched your fists, trying to hold onto your anger. "Alright," you forced out. "But if it has anything to do with hurting Wanda or Piet—"

"It doesn't," Val cut you off. "It's just business. But if you want to keep playing house with Wanda, you'll do exactly as I say."

You took a deep breath, feeling the paper in your pocket like a ticking time bomb. "Fine. I'll get the package."

Val's smile widened as she stood, walking around to where her perfume invaded your senses. She patted your cheek before leaning over and grazing her lips against your ear. "Good girl," she said, patting your hand. "You always did know how to make a woman happy."

You resisted the urge to throw your drink in her face, instead nodding and watching as she left the bar with a sway of her hips that had once made you weak. But not anymore. Now, it just made you sick. Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a text from Wanda.

This is when you were glad you told Wanda your plan and that you were coming out here to deal with Val. It was a risky play, but you trusted her. And if you had lied to her about coming here, you could only imagine the guilt you would feel and the hurt it would cause her.

"How did your meeting with the she-devil go?"

"About as good as I expected, to be honest, Wands."

Those familiar three dots popped up, then disappeared, and showed up again.

"Please, be careful. I don't trust this situation. I have a bad feeling about this."

Your stomach sank at the thought of her sitting alone in the house, wondering what you were up to.

"I'll be careful," you texted back, trying to keep the anxiety out of your voice. "It's just a package, I'll grab it and be back before you know it."

Wanda's response was quick. "I would say to not do anything stupid, but you already are."

You couldn't argue with her, so you sent back a thumbs-up emoji, with "I'll be back soon, I promise." The dots appeared again, before disappearing.

With a deep sigh, you left the bar, the cold Westview air a stark contrast to the stuffy warmth you had just left. The drive to the warehouse was tense, the GPS in your phone the only noise in your car. Rain pattered against the windshield, the rhythmic sound adding to the anxiety building in your chest.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

COMING DOWN

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - When Jackson's on a comedown, he can't help but to find his way back to you.

Warnings - ANGST (AHHH), toxic relationship, break ups, attachment issues, past abuse, vague sexual descriptions.

Word Count - 1.7k

Notes - I hate angst.

The black Mercedes Benz flew down the empty highway within a blink of the eye. The sun had set long ago and Jackson felt the darkness infest his empty soul. Jackson was all alone with his thoughts again and it boiled his blood. When he smacked your number in again only to ring out, again, his polished shoe pressed harder on the accelerator. Knuckles as white as snow from his grip on the steering wheel, his teeth gritted together like rusting gears. Why couldn’t you pick up the phone? He knew you were awake, you were always awake. 

Typically, the consumption of drugs, alcohol and reckless sex only expanded the void. Increased the starvation of you. Those solutions never fix anything for him. The images of you flashed across his mind painfully. He needed you, again. 

As he pulled up to your complex, he almost jumped out of the car window from impatience. As he glanced up to your condo, he straightened his jacket, the side of his hand rubbing against his nose as he sniffed deeply. He pulled out your apartment key to get inside. Note, you moved into this condo after you had broken up. Yes, you did not give him this key. 

There was no need for silence, he wanted you to know he was here. The door creaked loudly, his shadow entered your home first. When it was confirmed that you were out of sight, he slammed the door shut. Gradually, the sounds of your footsteps increased so he threw his jacket onto the couch. The only source of light was the moon illuminating through the open windows. 

“Jackson” you sighed, your arms crossed over your chest as you leant against the door frame. 

He mumbled your name as he waltzed through your apartment, his hands running across your furniture. Nothing was in good sight, you could only see his figure, likewise to you. The both of you seemed to prefer it that way, the less seen was the less it hurt. 

“You didn’t answer my calls” he exhaled, leaning against the dining table, only a few meters away from you. 

The comment went ignored as you slowly approached him, only wearing your silk night dress that barely covered your ass. Jackson believed you did it on purpose, wearing those clothes to tempt him, as if he wasn’t already nose deep in infatuation with you. 

“How are you?” You whispered as you stood before him, looking up to him with those tortuous doe eyes and an innocent tilt of the head. 

No answer. The pain was coursing through his eyes, that much you could see. As you teased him by brushing the back of your hand over his thigh, he grunted. His hand ran up his face and through his soft hair as he tried to remain emotionless. The temptation to devour you in this moment was sickening. But Jackson’s ego wanted to stand in the way. His emotions often felt like a broken dog forced into obedience.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked softly, your hand rubbing against his cheek, his lips shifted into your hand as he inhaled the reminder of your scent. It was only ever the smell of sandalwood. He kissed your hand softly, his eyes closed. 

He never liked talking about his profession with you. Vulnerability was a man’s greatest weakness and Jackson was no ordinary man. Blinking back to his common sense, he pushed your hand away and straightened his posture, hoping to intimidate you. 

“Have you done something bad again?” You sighed, planting your hands on the small of his back. 

“Nothing new” he replied coldly.

It was easiest when Jackson was working. All of his distractions were pushed out of the picture. He was able to be his alter ego, a callous murderer whose only concern was a paycheck. However, when he sunk back into society, the morality of it all could hit him like a freight train. 

Your mouth sucked onto his bottom lip. He remained like a statue momentarily, unsure if he really wanted to do this. But he knew he’d always go away with it. He kissed you back passionately, squeezing your ass firmly as his growing erection poked against you. 

“Are you mine?” Jackson murmured, his lips trailing down the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. 

“Yes Jackson” you admitted. 

He pulled back slowly as he tried to look at you through the darkness. His breathing slow but heavy as he let his darkest thoughts run free. 

“But you’re not really mine…” Jackson countered slowly. 

“No” you admitted through teary eyes.

“Why did we end it again?” He questioned. If his tone wasn’t full of despair, you’d call him out for sarcasm. 

Jackson knew why it ended, it tormented him. All because you begged him for love. Even though you had accepted him wholly, shifted your principles to be able to include him, he couldn’t give you what you deserved. When you reached breaking point, it pushed him over the edge, he almost killed you in a fit of rage. The guilt smacked him like a truck. You didn’t need him, at all. There was no dependance on him, you had a high paying job, a healthy social network of friends. You had a well off life, he was your only baggage.  

But your ex knew you had a soft spot for him. So he’d always come back, as if this was your shared home. Only because he missed your comforting touch, the warmth of being in your aura. Jackson would always crave your love, the only woman who would ever accept who he was. 

The attachment you were both stuck in - an endless loop - was sickening. No one else could compare to what sensations you have brought each other. Whenever the both of you thought of the concept of love, you thought of each other. But yet again, when you both thought of each other, it never brought positive feelings and emotions over your state of mind. 

His hand trailed over the scar across your breast, the cut he inflicted on you. As he felt the bump, his breathing hitched. A reminder that he could not ever keep his promises with you, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

“Jackson, when you go back to work you’ll remember why” you explained, your tone saddened. 

“What if I don’t want to go back to work?” Jackson brought up, his hands massaging your scalp. 

“You always do” you sighed. 

“I’ve been thinking about you… About us” he admitted, his voice powered by a glimmer of hope for change. 

“Are you still high?” you half joked. 

“No, no” Jackson assured, his lips pressed against your forehead. “I miss you” he confessed quietly. 

You shuddered out softly, the tears swelled at your orbs. Silence filled the dark apartment, you took his hands in yours and squeezed them firmly. 

“You say this every time” you judged. 

Jackson huffed at your answer and pulled his hands free. He shook his head to try to shake the thoughts out. When he took a step back, he stared down at you. 

“You’re not sleeping with anyone else are you?” Jackson questioned, his voice dripping with jealousy. 

It was typical of him to accuse you of that. Not that you had any more obligations to him. Likewise to him not having any towards you.  

“No” you answered blankly. 

It was a lie, he knew it was but it was easier for him to just go along with it. To live out the fantasy that you were both still dedicated to one another. A reality where you were destined for eternity. 

“I want to change for you” he declared. 

“Okay” you answer, a glimmer of hope that this time would indeed be different. 

But yet again, this happened every single time. Both of you just liked to deceive each other to be able to hold onto your past. Jackson Rippner will never change. His name was cursed even though you liked to pretend it was a blessing. 

Slowly, he kissed you again, murmuring against your lips as he remembered your taste. Slowly yet surely, you both spreaded across your bed. He kissed every inch of your skin, wanting to remember every detail of you. As he gradually striped himself, he climbed over your figure and pressed his aching cock to your gushing entrance. 

His hand slipped around your throat. He often wondered if his torment would end if he just killed you. With a gentle squeeze, he buried his large size inside of you. Your sweet moans relaxed his tormented mind as he exhaled in pleasure. 

“How do you want me to fuck you sweetheart?” Jackson asked softly. 

“Slow” you moaned slowly.

He kissed your heated cheek and followed your wishes. He fucked your senselessly. Hearing his name being moaned over and over again was all he wanted to ever hear again. The both of you climaxed multiple times. But you couldn’t get enough of each other. At the back of your heads, you both knew that this wouldn’t last forever. By the time the first peak of light appeared, your bodies were exhausted by pleasure. Both of you smiled weakly as you laid in his arms. As your consciousness tipped over into the depths of sleep, you confessed your undying love for Jackson. He laid stiffly, stuck in a loop of his most conflicting thoughts. 

When he woke up hours later, he squinted his eyes in the sunlight. Turning his head over to you, his cold features analyzed your warm ones. Breathing out slowly, he felt this invisible weight on his chest. Jackson forced himself to get up. Without awakening you, he dressed himself and crept out of your room, giving you one more painful glance.

As he slid into his seat and shut the car door, he opened his phone and looked at his notification. Another job, but these days he just found it as a way to escape the memory of you. He looked up to your condo one last time before speeding off.  When you woke up in your bed, yet again alone. The tears were uncontrollable as you hoped that this was the last time that he was coming down to see you.

[m1ssu2p1an0]

OMG HELLO!!! I have a request...

you dont have to do this if you dont want to! but basically, can you do PLATONIC awakened pure vanilla cookie comforting anxious/quiet!reader?

Things have been tough and honeslty I think we all need to cry into his arms and be comforted by him </3 fatherly pv hugs would be so soothing and could make anyone feel better,,,

Of course I can, my friend! I truly hope you feel better, we all love PV around here (Because gender isn’t specified, reader will be GN!) But I hope you enjoy it, and hope you feel better as well, only wish the best for you! <3

“I am here..”

Awakened PV & GN!Anxious/Quiet reader

To say you didn’t feel great was an utter understatement. It’s like you fallen ill. Ever since arriving to the kingdom, it’s like you couldn’t help but have sickening thoughts cloud your senses. The mere feeling that someone’s watching you and judging your every move gets so draining, even tiring.

Your behavior slipped past many as you just adjusting to everything around you and what’s ahead for you in the following days, but your actions didn’t seem to go unnoticed by the sweet cookie that had nothing but worries for you.

You were sat at a bench, looking into the water, sub-cautiously looking around as you let out a small huff that could pass as a sigh. The previously mentioned cookie had approached you unknowingly as it took you a bit to notice him. Looking to your left you see him facing what was ahead before turning to look at you, noticing your tensed posture and anxious actions.

“Well hello, my dear. I apologize for startling you, it truly wasn’t my intention..”

His voice was smooth like butter as it seemed to ease your worries a tad, your mind racing as you began to overthink before you were interrupted by his voice once more.

“What seems to be the matter? You always seem so.. scared.. is there anything wrong?”

His question overwhelmed you, causing you to cower away slightly, saying nothing. It was like there was a lump stuck in your throat, no matter what you did you couldn’t seem to escape it. You watched as he eased up, as if he was shrinking himself to look less intimidating, the bright light that seemed to emit from him dimming. Yet the warm feeling from it was still very evident. Your mouth opened but no words, causing you to hesitate as you shook your head.

“I really don’t try to pester, but just know I’ll be here as a shoulder to lean on, and even cry upon..”

Those simple words made your chest clench, your hand coming up to grasp right over your heart. It was pretty cheesy, yet nobody has ever tried to even attempt to ask if anything was wrong. But that was probably due to you being like a turtle in a shell. You’re always clammed up, too afraid to say or do something wrong. Just thinking about it brought you to tears as they slowly fell down. The sight caused him to worry, hesitantly getting closer, unsure if you were okay with it. But not seeing you move away, and instead lean in was practically a green light for him.

He placed his staff down, hands going up to, very carefully, hold you in his arms. His fingers ran through your hair in a soothing way as you softly mumbled small things, about how you felt, your worries, your fears. It was all too warm, like a parent’s hug after you fell and hurt your knee. It only made tears fall quicker.

“It’s okay, my child.. I’m right here..”

Small hiccups left your lips as your hold tightened around the king, his hold unwavering as well.

“There’s nothing to worry about, you’re safe here.. you are a blessed child of light, never let worries drag you to your lowest. Trust me, my child, I’ve been there before.. Now, when you’re ready to continue talking about how you feel, I’ll be here still. I’ll wait for you.”

I apologize if this was too short, or it wasn’t amazing :’(

I attempted to do it within the reach of my abilities, but I hope you still enjoyed it! I’ll never stop repeating this, but you are loved, nothing on earth will change that. There’s always someone who loves you, even when you don't realize it. You are infinite <3

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

not much of a prompt but, doctor!L maybe?

I love this!!

I got a few suggestions, and I'm currently working on all of them when I get the time. This one is just the quickest to write, so it ended up being done fastest. Hope you enjoy:

Doctor!L lawliet x Reader: Checkup

warnings: possibly bad use of medical terms, reference to reader being involved in oral sex, reference to menstrual cramps/possible endometriosis, reference to blood tests, reference to gagging, all in all SFW with sexual themes

"The doctor will be in shortly."

"Thank you."

You shift uncomfortably on the white paper of the exam table. You've been having some issues with period cramps lately, it's been so painful it's literally sickening. You don't want to have to visit a gynecologist, so you're hoping the clinic doctor can help you. The paper robe the nurse had you strip into was itchy and uncomfortable, especially against your neck. Hopefully he would actually be in soon.

You sit there, ten, twenty, thirty minutes. No doctor. You almost consider leaving, until there's a quick rap at the door, followed by the instant turning of the knob. If you were actually changing, you'd have no time to tell him.

In walks a man you're sure isn't your doctor. He's wearing jeans and a white shirt, as opposed to a doctor's coat or scrubs, and his black hair is unkempt and messy. He looks incredibly young, too young to have finished med school. He doesn't look at you, only rolls up his sleeves and moves to the sink. His arms are pale, milky white, though there's a hint of lean muscle beneath. You suppose anyone that thin would have visible muscle.

He pumps soap into his hands, and turns on the water. "What are your symptoms?" His voice is flat and monotone, so dry and bored you hardly believe he's asking you.

"Uh...are you my doctor?"

"Yes. What are your symptoms?" He doesn't sound annoyed by you asking, but he does sound like he's got somewhere to be. "Um...I have cramps to the point of sickness, they make my legs weak, they make me feel dizzy, I can hardly walk-"

"These are menstrual cramps?" He's fiddling with something at the sink, though you can't see well with his back turned to you. He has such horrid posture, doesn't he?

"Yes. My flow has also been extremely heavy, lately."

He whips around, and holds out a flat wooden stick. "Say 'Ah.'"

Your eyes widen, but you comply. He shines a light into your mouth, looks inside, and then throws the stick away.

"I don't have any issues with my mouth or throat-"

"It's standard procedure. Turn your head to the left, please."

No nonsense, you guess. You turn your head, and he grabs an otoscope. He carefully sticks it into your ear, and almost as quickly pulls it away.

"I-"

he doesn't let you finish, a cold hand coming to your jaw to gently push your face to the other side, and repeat the process. He had no bedside manner.

"Do you listen to music often?"

"Yeah..."

"You have an exess of ear wax. I recommend you limit your usage of earbuds or headphones."

Your face heats at the words, it was embarrassing to be called out like that.

Before you can say anything else, he reaches for the collar of your appointed "dress."

"Hey," you snap, a hand rushing to block him.

His large, dark eyes flick to meet your. "I need to listen to your heartbeat."

You glance to his stethoscope, which was currently held at the ready in his other hand. "Oh. Sorry..."

Your hand lowers, and he presses the icy metal to your skin. "Breath in," he orders softly. You take a deep, slow breath in, and release it just as slowly.

He gives a curt nod of approval, and comes around your side to place the device on your back. "Again."

You breath in and out, nice and slow.

"Good," he praises.

Something about his smooth, low voice sends goosebumps across your arms. Now was not the time.

He takes off his stethoscope, and steps to the computer. You watch as he types, his spindly fingers fast and efficient. Not once does he need to hit the back button.

"How old are you," you ask. You don't know why, this wasn't the sort of thing you ask your doctor.

"Twenty-three. How old are you?"

That was it??? He was young for a doctor. "Twenty-one."

He types it in. "Date of birth?"

You tell him, along with your name, family history, and current medications.

"Are you sexually active?"

"No," you deny immediately.

"No...?" He looks over to you suspiciously. It's in those damn eyes of his.

"N-no!"

He hums in thought. "There are abbrasions at the back of your throat. Do you...eat popsicles in an odd way?"

You can feel your entire face, neck, and ears warm with embarrassment. "No...I- there's not a chance of me being pregnant or anything, I've never..." you lock eyes with him. Not like that.

He reads your expression, looking from one eye to the other, before nodding. "Thank you for your honesty."

As he types, you take a moment to examine his side profile. Full lips, long lashes, long neck...arched, sloping nose...he really was good looking, if you got past the certain oddness to him.

"Is there any chance of your past sexual partners having an STD, STI, or something of the like?"

You open your mouth to deny again, but...you don't actually know. "I don't think so..."

He frowns at your uncertainty. "Would you like to get tested for various conditions?"

"Um, maybe, what does this have to do with my cramps?"

He looks back to your document, and types in a few more things. "I recommend birth control, as a form of hormone blockage. You may also want to consult a gynecologist for more accurate treatment."

"Okay..."

He wordlessly leaves the room, and returns 5 minutes later with a printed note. He signs it, and hands it to you. "This is your prescription, for the pharmacy downstairs. You can get it filled today."

You take the paper. "Thanks...could we actually do those tests, like you said?"

He nods and glides back to the computer. "We can conduct a throat swab for gonorrhea and chlamydia. Everything else requires a blood test."

"Well...I'm not feeling any symptoms, could we like...just do the throat swab tests? Just to be safe?"

"If that's what you'd like." He turns to the sink, and opena a drawer. There, he takes two long cotton swabs, along with two capped cylindrical containers.

He places them by your side. "Open your mouth, please."

You open for him.

"This may cause you to gag." He takes one swab, and collects the mucus-like saliva at the back of your throat. To his surprise, you don't react.

"Interesting..." he mumbles. He takes the swab from you, and encapsulates it in one of the containers.

"What?"

"Nothing of importance. Again?"

You nod, and open your mouth. He repeats the test, making sure to get coverage of as much of your throat as possible. "Very good."

You can feel those goosebumps return. He sticks the swab in its accompanying container, and closes it. Now, he goes back to looking through the drawers, this time acquiring a pen.

"So are you my doctor, or do you just float around the clinic?"

"I care for many patients." He quickly scribbles a lable on one of the containers.

"Yeah, but like, if I came back, would I definitely get you, or just whoever's available?"

"Whatever doctor is available at the time."

"And I can't...request you, can I?"

He pauses halfway through writing on the second container. Nobody has ever requested him. Requested him fired, perhaps, but not as a caretaker.

"...if I were available, you could, in theory, request me. Do you have any questions pertaining to your treatment?"

You shake your head. You forgot this was a visit about cramps, for a moment.

"See the front desk for information pertaining to billing and insurance. I'll give you a moment to get changed." He closes out of your file, rolls his sleeves back down, and leaves with your throat tests.

You stand from the exam table, and begin to put on your clothes. Your body was going through the motions, but your mind was elsewhere. You walked out of the room, talked to the front desk people, went to the pharmacy, and eventually ended up sitting in wait for your new birth control.

So...what would it be next time?

Strep?

Stress?

Headaches?

Anything to get in his office again.

[cyripticchronicler]

The Things Unseen - Part 2

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Words were powerful and Remus knew it well. After weeks of sending meaningful poems to each other, you're finally ready to talk to the man who’s saved you in person.

TW: Reader has bad mental health, kissing, Remus also having bad mental health

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post, I got back into my Sims phase. Luckily, Happy Feet got me out of my writing slump (Yippiee). Thank you @amatoanima and @mayuwolfstar for asking to be tagged. Your support means a lot <3

Part One

Masterlist

You had been pacing so much that you were scared you were going to burn a hole in the worn carpet. “I shouldn’t do this. This is so dumb,” Your hands shake at your side as you fiddle with the parchment in your hand.

Lily, who's been watching you with an amused eye as you freak out, stands up from her spot on your bed and rests her hands on your shoulders, successfully preventing you from moving. You had told her everything; the letters, your not-so-little crush on Remus and how he’d been helping you. After a momentary shock, she helped you write the letter you’re going to give him.

Said letter now rests in your hand, scrunched tightly in your fist and you debate whether or not you should rip it up. You don't; you want him to know that you know - you want to form a connection with the man who has helped you in so many ways.

I see the lines between the lines,

The words you wove, so well-disguised.

A gentle hand, a softer heart—

How long have you been cast as “part”?

Your words have lingered, light and near,

Yet now they’re clear—I know you’re here.

You leave these notes in shadowed halls,

Your voice a whisper, your steps a call.

So meet me where the willow bends,

By moon’s first light, when evening ends.

Let masks fall off, let secrets end,

And let me greet the poet, friend.

“Don’t stress, it’ll all be okay,” Lily mutters, taking the parchment from your hands and tucking it into a random book on your nightstand. “If he’s been sending you these notes then it’s obvious he wants to talk to you! Just give it a go.” You stare at her for a moment and chew your lip in contemplation.

She pressures you with another look and you roll your eyes, yanking the book from her grip and hurrying downstairs to go to the library.

⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.

The library bustles with students, despite it being the weekend. The room is thick with tension, the upcoming OWL making everyone stressed.

You hope Remus is here; you can’t imagine him being anywhere else because he only visits Hogsmeade when with friends. James is with Lily and Sirius is in detention, leaving Remus alone and hopefully in the library.

You scan the well-lit room, eyes narrowing as they land on the man you’ve been looking for. He sits at a table in the corner, head down and shoulders hunched while he works.

His hand furiously scribbles in a notepad while he reads from the textbook beside it- seemingly doing schoolwork. Your stomach twists anxiously, creating a sickening dizziness that travels up your throat.

You begin to shake your arms out beside you in an attempt to rid yourself of your nerves, but after receiving a cruel, judging look from a random person walking by, you fist your hands together and wrap your arms around your stomach.

With your nails scratching at any skin they can reach, your feet move and create slow, shaking steps toward Remus. He’s clueless-too caught up in school work to notice your shaking body getting closer.

It’s only when you reach the table, thighs hitting the rounded edge, do you speak. “Hey.” Your voice is a desperate whisper and is too quiet to snap Remus out of his working headspace as he shows no acknowledgement of you standing there.

You take a deep breath and speak louder. “Hey.” You cringe at the loudness of your voice, having talked too loud and captured the attention of the students at the next table.

Remus finally looks up from his book, his calm eyes and posture turning into one of panic as he recognises it's you. The way he sputters and the red flames on his cheeks is adorable and you can’t help but melt, shoulders slumping slightly.

After seconds of awkward silence and Remus opening and closing his mouth like a fish, he finally pauses and takes a deep breath, recollecting himself. “Hi,” he finally mutters, voice breathless.

It’s flattering, how much you seem to affect him. He’s never acted like this around you before- yet again, you’ve never randomly visited him before. However, you decide to blame his shortness of breath on a potential panic attack due to him not understanding the work he was doing. Sure. That seems probable.

Smiling through your awkwardness, your shaking hand slowly reaches into the bag slung on your shoulder and pulls out a worn book. His shimmering, caramel eyes track the book that’s clasped tightly in your grip. You're too scared to give it to him. Too scared to see what happens next because what’s been happening has been good. So good.

He gulps- a nervous tic that you don’t miss. His nervousness gives you enough courage to finally speak again. “I-,” you shake your head, hair falling in front of your face and shielding your pink cheeks, “I want you to have this. The, uh, note is on the first page and in case you don’t understand what I’m trying to say-not that I’m calling you dumb or anything, you’re literally smarter than me-“ you swear lightly under your breath, annoyed at your rambling. You carelessly drop the book on the table and rub a hand down your face.

“I’m inviting you to hang out with me. By the weeping willow-“

“When evening ends. After dinner?” Too preoccupied with trying to get out of the embarrassing hole you dug yourself, you failed to notice Remus pick up the book and read the note. You nod quietly.

He now sits there with a goofy sort of smile and a lighter pink to his cheeks. He seems calmer, and more relaxed. You don’t know if you should be scared or not; you can barely handle a shy Remus, how will you deal with a confident one?

“I’ll be there. Of course, I will.” He smiles brightly, glowing with glee. “Don’t feel like you need to hang out with me because I wrote you poems- I purely wrote them to cheer you up. I had no expectations for what would come out of it, besides your happiness.”

“I want to get to know you better, Remus. You’ve helped me a lot more than you could have ever possibly imagined. Let me thank you and maybe learn more about your shadows and scars.”

You find confidence in the sparkle that shimmers in his warm eyes and use it to throw a wink his way before hurrying to the door. You pray you don’t trip over your own two feet because, if the goosebumps appearing on your back are any indication, you get the feeling Remus is watching you leave.

⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.

Is it embarrassing to admit that you rushed through dinner? And by rushed you mean, you gave your tongue third-degree burns from how hot the food was and choked from the amount of food you were shoving down your throat.

The only reason why you slowed down was because Remus was watching you from further down the table all night. Every time you tried to sneak a peek at him, he was already looking at you. And every time it caused you to blush fiercely and seek out your drink because your mouth suddenly got dry.

He’s never had such an effect on you before. Sure, you couldn’t look him in the eye or hold a long conversation with him, but now you’re so unbelievably infatuated with him and the way he cares for you without being asked to. He knows your deepest secrets and your vulnerabilities, and it scares you.

Standing up from your spot at the long, wooden table, the hall still rings with the loud voices of students, but you want nothing more than to leave. You don’t bother waiting for dessert, even if the cupcakes look scrumptious. Instead, you begin to head towards the whomping willow. It's earlier than you and Remus planned but you’re prepared to wait.

Rabbits frolic through fields and the hiding sun paints you a warm, orange glow as you walk, eyes trained on everything and anything. The school grounds are quiet due to dinner still being on, though you spot some stragglers on your way.

You let the short walk calm you down. The chill air sends goosebumps down your arms yet you welcome the feeling as you're feeling dangerously hot. By the time your eyes land on the twirly roots of the tree, your heart rate has slowed down and you’re able to pull more air into your lungs.

Making sure you don’t get too close to the murderous tree, you take a seat on the ground and draw your legs up to your chest. Silence envelopes you, not even the crickets keeping you company tonight.

Your surroundings don’t stay silent for long as the sound of leaves shuffling fills the stillness not five minutes later. You hurry to stand up, unsure if the intruder is Remus since it’s earlier than you specified.

You quite literally jump when you realise it is Remus, his scarred figure emerging from behind a tree. He chuckles at the scared look on your face, his voice of honey reaching your ears. “Sorry if I scared you. And if I showed up too early,” he walks over to you before plopping himself down on the ground in front of you, careful not to drop the cupcakes in his hands.

You follow his lead and sit across from him, legs crisscrossed with your knees gently touching his. “It’s okay, I just didn’t expect you to be here this early.” He tilts his head and smiles, brown eyes a shade of gold in the fading sunlight. “I saw you leave the hall early and I wanted to see you as soon as possible so I left early, too.” Unaware of the blush that coats your cheeks, he gently places a cupcake in your hand. “You also missed dessert-which was insane, might I add, so I brought you your favourite.”

“Thank you, Remus. You didn’t have to.” His eyes are genuine and kind, staring right back into yours. “But I wanted to.” To hide the squeal that’s begging to break out of your throat, you take a bite of the cupcake in your hand, trying to not devour it like you would if you were alone.

He takes a bite of his own cupcake, humming in enthusiasm. For a couple of seconds, it’s just silence as you both eat your cupcakes. Due to the silence, your mind races, your eyebrows furrowing when a question pops into your head. His eyebrows lift in question at your furrowed brows and you finish your cupcake before answering.

“How did you know cupcakes were my favourite?” Gone was the confident Remus you were eating cupcakes with, replaced with a more bashful one. He shyly licks the icing off of his finger before scratching his eyebrow and avoiding your eyes.

“I-uh-“ he takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “I’ve always been…interested in you? You’re quiet, always there for others and seemingly always happy. You have this way of captivating others, including me, and I just wanted to learn everything I could about you. In other words, I’ve been charmed with you for years now.” By the end of his speech, his words are a mere whisper and you wouldn’t have heard them if everything else weren’t so quiet.

He takes your silence, born from shock at the thought he liked you back, as one to be worried about and panics, forcing himself to look into your eyes and scoot away in case he makes you uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I know I’m creepy and a loser-“

“You scare the shit out of me,” you state honestly. His eyes flash with pain, laced with apology and he opens his mouth again -presumably to apologise-but you interrupt him before he can.

“You scare me because you know me so well,” he looks up, eyes still wary but now filled with hope, “when you gave me that first poem I was distancing myself from everyone. I was skipping classes because I was so tired. I missed out on dinner and breakfast because I had no appetite. And I thought I was okay, just stressed.” You fidget with a hair tie on your wrist, twisting and pulling. “You know me better than I know myself and it’s so scary.”

He pulls your hand away from your wrist and clasps it into his own. His grip is warm and gentle, loose enough to give you enough room to pull it away, but tight enough for you to feel the ridges of his scars in your palm.

“You scare me, too.” He states honestly, pulling at your hand so you finally look up at him. His jaw is clenched, a stray hair falling in front of his eye. He looks so handsome.

“Yeah?”

“Merlin yes,” he scoffs a laugh, “you have so much power over me. I would fall to my knees in front of you if you asked. I want to tell you about my past, and how I got these scars. I want to tell you my problems and my dreams. I want to open up to you, more than I have anyone else. And that scares me.”

You’re left breathless, heart in your throat as you try to battle away tears. “I want you to open up to me.” You mutter that first thing that comes to mind, unsure of what to say but wanting to say something.

He smiles sadly, “I’m not sure you’d like me much if I told you everything, though.” You shake your head immediately and tighten your grip on his hand. “There’s nothing you could say to me that would make me like you less.”

He nods his head at your words and lays down on his back. Before you could even blink, he’s pulling you down with him, your head resting on his chest and listening to his heart. By now the sun is gone, replaced by thousands of glittering stars that shimmer in your eyes.

“There’s this man, Fenir Greyback, and when I was four…” you cling to every word he says, knowing that whatever he says to you won’t change what you thought about him.

⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.

Remus’ voice is raw from hours of speaking once he’s finished pouring his heart out. He holds his breath, ready for you to stand up and walk away at any moment.

He feels you pull away from him and has to bite back a pained cry. He knew you’d leave. That the truth would disgust you. Push you away-

The feeling of your warm and gentle lips on his has his thoughts racing away. A gentle palm moves to cup your cheek, calloused thumb stroking the soft skin ever so gently. Your quiet groan has him deepening the kiss, tongue mixing with yours.

You pull away ever so slightly, resting your forehead on his and opening your eyes. “I told you. I could never like you less.” His throat bobs with a mix of emotions. “Well then I guess we have each other now, don’t we?”

You smile. “I guess we do. Thank you.”

“What for, love?” You can feel his smile against your heated cheek as he rubs the side of his nose against your cheekbone lovingly. “For giving me those poems. They helped. A lot.”

“I guess that means I have to keep writing them for you, huh?”

“I’d like nothing more. I’ll make sure to write back.” You kiss him again, ready to get lost in his warm lips and kind hands. He’s yours and you are his.

[galadrieljones]

My immediate endgame reaction:

I think that after everything, I hate Mythal most of all. "She was the best of them." Was she though? His posture in the end, when she released him really sickened me. How many others did she do this to? As usual I'll just deal with it in fanfiction. That whole thing really messed me up. I have so many feelings. I need to think on it.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Only One Target”

Captain Rex x Sith Assassin!Reader

Enemies to lovers. Slow burn. Tension, action, and banter-heavy.

⸻

Red lights flashed down the corridors as you rand through the Resolute. Alarms howled like wounded animals. Klaxons screamed warnings that had come too late.

You moved like a shadow, your twin blades igniting in a blur of crimson, slicing through the bulkhead doors as if the metal were paper. The heat of your lightsabers glowed against the durasteel corridor walls, the hum a deadly harmony beside the shriek of chaos.

Asajj Ventress moved beside you with elegant brutality, deflecting blaster fire, her snarling grin twisted with pleasure.

“The bridge is ahead,” she hissed.

“I know.” You moved low, quick. Efficient. No wasted energy.

Unlike Ventress, you weren’t here for blood. You were here for one thing.

Skywalker.

Your boots echoed against the floor as the pair of you tore through the security wing. Clone troopers scrambled to set up a defensive line, but Ventress was already leaping through the air, spinning and slashing with savage glee. You ducked left, deflecting two stun blasts aimed at your side and pressing through the chaos.

Your comm crackled with Dooku’s voice: “Your objective is Skywalker. Eliminate him if possible. Delay him if not.”

Simple. Clean.

But Jedi never made things easy.

A roar of deflected fire and steel clashed ahead—the bridge was sealed tight, but Skywalker was already on the move. You could feel it. That sickening shine in the Force. Hot-headed. Reckless.

Perfect.

Ventress cackled as she carved her way through a unit of troopers. “Skywalker’s mine, little assassin.”

You didn’t bother replying. She was always talking. Always posturing.

But Skywalker—he came for you.

He landed in front of you like a meteor, lightsaber igniting in that garish Jedi blue. His padawan flanked him, smaller but no less lethal.

“Stop right there!” Ahsoka barked.

“You should run, youngling,” you said calmly, blades still humming in your grip. “You’re not my target.”

“Good,” Anakin growled. “Because I’m yours.”

Your blades clashed.

He was every bit as unhinged and unpredictable as the reports had claimed. Each swing was raw power. Unfocused. A battering ram of fury and precision. But you weren’t trained for brute force—you danced. You flowed. And you matched him blow for blow.

Behind you, Ventress laughed, engaging Ahsoka. “Don’t get killed, darling!” she called to you.

You didn’t have time to respond. Skywalker was pressing harder now, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

“Who sent you?” he snarled.

“Ask your Council,” you hissed, pushing his blade aside with a sharp twist and driving a kick into his side. “Maybe they already knew.”

His anger was your shield, your rhythm. You circled him like a predator, redirecting each strike. But he was wearing you down. Sweat beaded on your brow. Your ribs ached from a graze. The hum of the ship told you more clones were closing in.

This wasn’t going to plan.

Suddenly, Ventress snarled. “We’re pulling out!”

“What?” you snapped, narrowly dodging a swing that would’ve taken your shoulder.

“The ship is crawling with clones! We’re surrounded!”

You turned—but it was already too late.

A stun blast hit your back like a hammer, and you crumpled to the floor with a gasp. Your vision sparked, flickering red and white.

Through the haze, you saw Ventress leap into the air, somersaulting toward an escape hatch. “Try not to die, sweetling!” she called before vanishing into the smoke.

Coward.

You tried to rise—only to find yourself staring down the barrel of several blaster rifles. White and blue armor surrounded you.

And in front of them stood a clone captain.

Helmet off. Jaw clenched. Eyes sharp.

He didn’t look at you like a person.

He looked at you like the monster under the bed had crawled into the daylight.

You smirked through the pain.

“Captain,” you rasped, voice dry and tinged with blood. “Nice to finally meet face-to-face.”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t shoot you either.

⸻

The cell was cold. Not the biting kind of cold, but that artificial kind—clinical, heartless, and designed to make you uncomfortable without leaving bruises.

You sat calmly, arms cuffed to the table in front of you, ankles bound beneath. Bruised. Bleeding. But your chin was high and your mouth curved in something far too close to a smirk.

Across from you stood Anakin Skywalker, pacing like a caged animal.

“Why were you here?” he demanded. Again.

You gave a long, slow blink. “Nice to see you’re up and walking. That kick to the ribs must’ve hurt.”

He stopped pacing, turned on you.

“Who sent you?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you replied sweetly. “But you’re not interested in truth, are you? Only revenge.”

He bristled. You leaned forward, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“You’re predictable, Skywalker. So much fire, so little control. I don’t even need the Force to see through you.”

He slammed his hand down on the table. You didn’t flinch.

“I will get answers out of you.”

You tilted your head, voice dropping like silk.

“Is that a threat? Or a promise?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t play games with Sith.”

“Oh, but I do love when Jedi pretend they don’t have teeth. You came at me like a storm, Skywalker. That was personal. So… who did you lose?”

He stared at you for a long, tense beat.

Then he turned sharply and stormed toward the door.

“Rex!” he barked, voice echoing. The clone captain was already waiting outside.

Anakin didn’t look back. “She’s done talking. Make sure she doesn’t try anything.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you in quiet, satisfied amusement.

⸻

Captain Rex entered the room like a soldier born from the word discipline itself. Helmet off. Blaster at his side.

You watched him with interest. The curve of his jaw. The quiet rage simmering beneath the armor. Fascinating.

“Still scowling,” you murmured, leaning forward. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you missed me.”

Rex didn’t move.

“I don’t have time for your games.”

“No?” You arched a brow, voice smooth. “I thought I might be growing on you.”

“You’re lucky to still be breathing.”

You chuckled lowly, the sound almost intimate. “So I’ve been told. And yet… here I am. Alive. Tied down. At your mercy.”

Rex narrowed his eyes, but you saw it—the flicker. Just a twitch. Something unreadable passing through him.

“I’m not interested in whatever this is,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Your voice dropped to a velvet hush. “Because you keep coming back.”

Rex stepped forward, setting your stun-cuffed hands more firmly on the table.

“I’m only here because the General told me to keep you contained.”

You leaned in as far as the cuffs would allow. Close enough for him to feel the whisper of your breath against his cheek.

“And here I thought you were starting to enjoy our chats.”

He looked down at you—fierce, unreadable.

Then his voice dropped, cold and quiet.

“I’ve lost too many good men to people like you.”

Your smirk softened. Just a bit.

“I told you already,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t kill your brothers. Not one.”

“Convenient.”

“True.”

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire. Dangerous. Tense.

“I’m not who you think I am, Captain,” you said finally. “But I won’t pretend I’m innocent.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned, walking toward the door.

You watched him, something unreadable flickering in your gaze.

“You can lock the cell, Rex,” you called after him. “But you’ll be back.”

He paused in the doorway, head tilted.

“Mark my words, Captain… you’ll come back. Even if you don’t know why.”

The door hissed closed behind him.

But you knew.

You always knew.

⸻

Captain Rex hadn’t come back.

Not once.

And it was driving you crazy.

Not because you missed him—no, that would be ridiculous. But there was something about the way he looked at you. That loathing. That fire. That control. You’d tasted the edge of his patience, danced along the blade of his restraint. You wanted to see what would happen if it snapped.

But instead, all you got were cold meals, cold walls, and clones who wouldn’t meet your eye.

Something had changed.

The cruiser was quieter than usual. Too quiet.

You sat in your cell, half-meditating, half-stalking the Force for answers—when the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Then the alarms started.

Again.

You stood.

Outside your cell, down the corridor, came the distinct snarl of sabers cutting metal.

Then the scream of a clone dying.

You felt it before you saw her—Asajj Ventress.

So dramatic.

She moved like smoke—feral and graceful and cruel. Cutting down everything in her path.

“(Y/N), darling,” she sang, dragging her saber across the bulkhead. “Dooku thinks you’ve said too much.”

You arched a brow. “I’ve been locked up for two days.”

She grinned wickedly through the security glass. “He’s not much for trust.”

You stepped back as the wall next to your cell exploded inwards, shrapnel slicing through the air. A second later, the blast door behind Ventress burst open—and Rex charged through with a small squad, blasters raised.

“Don’t let her escape!” he barked. “Ventress is here—get the prisoner secured!”

Ventress hissed. “So much fuss.”

She threw out her hand, sending two clones flying down the hallway. Blaster fire lit up the corridor. You ducked as sparks rained from the ceiling.

Chaos.

And in chaos… came opportunity.

Your bindings were fried in the blast. Ventress might’ve been here to kill you—but she’d cracked open the door for your escape.

And you intended to walk through it.

You sprinted through the smoke just as Rex spotted you.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Stop—!”

But you were already lunging at him.

The fight was brutal.

He was stronger than you remembered. Faster. Smart. He fought with precision, training, and raw determination.

But you were sharper.

He aimed a blow to your ribs—you twisted, elbowed his jaw, then landed a swift kick that knocked him to the floor. He groaned, dazed.

You stood over him, panting, blood dripping from a cut above your brow. He looked up at you, chest heaving.

Disgust and fury warred in his eyes.

You knelt down beside him, fingers brushing the edge of his pauldron, and whispered:

“You really are hard to resist, Captain.”

Before he could speak, you leaned in—lips brushing his cheek in a slow, mocking kiss.

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

You smirked, breath warm at his ear.

“Tell Skywalker I’ll be seeing him soon.”

And with that, you were gone—vanishing into the smoke and fire.

Rex slammed his fist into the floor, jaw tight.

“Damn it.”

⸻

The shuttle descended through the clouds like a dagger slicing through silk.

You stood in the shadows of the ship’s hold, arms crossed, silent as Ventress piloted the last stretch home. Her usual smugness was absent. She hadn’t spoken since the escape. A rare show of restraint—for her.

You’d barely had time to process it all. The cell. The explosion. The fight with Rex.

The kiss.

You could still feel the heat of his skin under your lips. Could still see the fury in his eyes when you left him there, bruised and stunned.

Why you’d done it, you weren’t sure.

Maybe it was to mock him.

Or maybe it was something else.

You pushed the thought away.

The ship landed with a soft thrum. Dooku was already waiting.

He sat on his elevated seat, shrouded in darkness, back straight, fingers steepled. Regal. Cold.

The air buzzed with tension as you stepped before him, Ventress half a pace behind.

He stared at you for a long moment, then finally spoke.

“So,” he said, voice deep, smooth, laced with disapproval. “You return.”

“Alive,” you replied, offering a slight bow.

“For now.”

Ventress stepped forward. “Skywalker and his men nearly had her. I had to extract her myself.”

You snorted. “You also tried to gut me in the process.”

Dooku’s gaze slid to you, unmoved. “Your mission was simple: eliminate Skywalker.”

“I almost had him,” you said. “He’s just… more unhinged than I remembered.”

Dooku’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you engaged no clones. Left them alive. Odd, for an assassin.”

You met his stare. “They weren’t the target.”

“They were in your way.”

You were quiet.

Dooku stood, descending the steps like a judge preparing a sentence.

“You toyed with them.”

The words sliced like ice.

“You played a game you were not ordered to play. Especially with that clone—Captain Rex.”

You tensed.

Ventress glanced at you from the corner of her eye, smiling faintly.

Dooku continued. “Your emotions are tainted. Distracted. You lingered in the Force, and I felt the fracture.”

Your voice was soft but steady. “I completed the mission.”

“You failed the objective.”

His voice rose like thunder.

“You kissed the enemy.”

You blinked once. Slowly.

“I did,” you said.

Ventress gave a small, wicked chuckle. Dooku, however, was not amused.

He stepped closer.

“If you’ve grown soft… if you’ve begun to let sentiment guide you…”

“I haven’t.”

He leaned in, towering.

“You walk a knife’s edge, assassin. The dark side does not abide confusion.”

You tilted your head, voice low. “And yet it thrives on conflict.”

He studied you in silence. Measured. Calculating.

“Then make no mistake,” he said at last. “If you wish to remain useful… stop playing with your food.”

He turned, walking back to the shadows of his seat.

“Next time, you kill him.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you weren’t sure you could.

⸻

The holomap flickered blue, glowing across the surface of the table. Separatist movements. Naval placements. An entire campaign laid bare in lines and symbols.

Rex wasn’t looking at any of it.

He stood at attention, eyes fixed forward, jaw clenched.

But his thoughts were elsewhere.

Back in that hallway.

Back in the smoke.

Back to her lips brushing his cheek like a brand.

It made no sense. She was an assassin. A killer. She should’ve slit his throat when she had the chance.

Instead, she kissed him.

And now she was out there.

Alive.

And he hated that he kept thinking about her.

Across the room, Skywalker watched him with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“…You’ve barely spoken since the attack,” Anakin said at last, breaking the silence.

Rex blinked out of his haze. “Sir?”

“I said,” Anakin repeated, stepping forward, “you’ve been quiet.”

Rex shifted. “Just processing.”

“Hm.”

Skywalker studied him with that Jedi look—the one that peeled you apart without touching you.

“She messed with your head,” he said casually.

Rex stiffened. “No, sir.”

“She kissed you, didn’t she?”

That made him flinch. Just slightly. Just enough.

Anakin grinned, triumphant.

“Rex… my most dependable, rule-bound, chain-of-command clone… got kissed by a Sith.”

Rex scowled. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Anakin leaned on the table. “You’ve been off since it happened. You volunteered to lead the recon mission to track her. You haven’t even joked with Fives.”

“That’s not evidence of anything.”

“You’re obsessed,” Anakin said bluntly. “And obsession leads to mistakes.”

Rex stepped forward. “I won’t make a mistake.”

Skywalker’s brow furrowed.

“Then tell me the truth. What happened in that hallway? Before she escaped.”

A pause. Tense. Thick.

Rex looked away.

“I hesitated.”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“…I don’t know.”

It was the only honest thing he could say.

Skywalker exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I get it,” he muttered. “You see something in her that doesn’t make sense. It throws you off. Makes you wonder if the whole enemy line is as black-and-white as they drilled into us.”

He looked at Rex again, this time with less judgment. More understanding.

“I’ve been there,” he added quietly. “Trust me.”

Rex met his gaze. “What do I do?”

Anakin stepped forward, voice low and deadly serious.

“You find her.”

A beat.

“And next time… you don’t let her walk away.”

Rex nodded once.

But he wasn’t sure which part of that command he’d actually follow.

⸻

“Sir, you’re gonna wanna hear this,” Fives said, stepping into the room with Jesse right behind him, both looking far too smug for just a routine debrief.

Rex didn’t even glance up from where he was cleaning his blaster. “If it’s another story about how you two flirted your way through an outpost again, I’m not interested.”

Fives smirked. “This time it wasn’t me doing the flirting.”

Jesse elbowed him, grin wide. “She’s alive, Rex. The Sith.”

That got his attention.

Rex set the blaster down slowly. “Where?”

“Outer rim—some cragged little rock of a world,” Fives said, tossing a datapad onto the bunk. “Scouts clocked her landing in a stolen Separatist fighter. Alone. No guards. No backup. Like she’s hiding.”

“She is hiding,” Jesse added, more serious now. “She’s off comms. No Dooku, no Ventress, no Separatist chatter. It’s like she vanished off the map and doesn’t want anyone to find her.”

Rex stared at the datapad. Her face flickered on the holo.

Still dangerous. Still wanted. Still—

He clenched his jaw.

“She’s bait.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Fives asked.

“She got away once,” Rex said. “She could be luring us in again.”

But he wasn’t sure he believed that.

Because something about the reports didn’t match the woman he’d fought. The woman who’d kissed him like a dare and disappeared in smoke.

She wouldn’t hide.

Not unless she was hiding from them too.

⸻

You stood at the edge of the jagged cliff, cloak wrapped tight around your shoulders as the wind howled against the rocks below. Blaster in hand. Saber hidden. Breath shallow.

Every shadow was a threat.

Every sound could be them.

You hadn’t slept in days.

Dooku’s disappointment had been quiet—crushing in its indifference. He hadn’t hunted you.

He hadn’t even tried.

You were nothing to him now.

Ventress had left you for dead. The Separatist cause—what little you’d clung to of it—was gone.

And yet, part of you was relieved.

No more commands. No more darkness threading your every breath.

But freedom came with silence. And silence, with ghosts.

You kept expecting to feel him—Dooku’s presence, that icy command in the back of your skull.

Instead, all you felt was that clone captain’s eyes on you, burned into your memory.

Rex.

You hated how often your thoughts returned to him.

To his defiance.

His strength.

His disgust.

That heat in his stare when you kissed him.

You’d told yourself it was just a game.

So why did it still make your chest ache?

You swallowed hard.

And then you felt it.

A presence in the Force. Close. Familiar.

And getting closer.

“They found me.”

⸻

Rex stared out the viewport, helmet clutched in his hands.

“Think she’ll fight?” Jesse asked behind him.

Fives leaned back with a grin. “She’ll flirt first.”

Rex ignored them.

“She’s changed,” he said, more to himself than to them.

Jesse raised a brow. “You sure about that?”

“No.”

But something told him this wasn’t the same assassin who once whispered threats like poetry and left him bleeding on the deck.

This woman was running.

And maybe—just maybe—she was running from herself.

⸻

The air was thin. Cold. The kind that bit into your lungs and forced you to breathe slow or not at all.

Rex moved like a shadow, rifle low, boots silent on the cracked stone. The trail was faint—half-buried footprints, a heat signature already fading. Whoever she was now… she was trying not to be found.

She should’ve known better.

She was good.

But he was better.

A flash of movement to his right.

He turned, fast—blaster raised, ready to fire.

And there she was.

Perched on the edge of the cliff like some half-feral creature, cloak torn, hair wild in the wind. Her saber was clipped at her hip, untouched. Not lit. Not raised.

She didn’t flinch when he pointed the blaster at her.

In fact—she looked tired.

“…Rex,” you said, voice rough, wind-swept.

The way his name sounded from your mouth—it sent something low and confused curling in his gut.

“Drop the weapon,” he barked.

You raised your hands. Slowly.

“I’m unarmed.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You tilted your head, voice softer. “If I wanted to kill you, Captain, you’d already be bleeding.”

“And if I wanted to take you in,” he countered, stepping forward, “you’d already be cuffed.”

You smiled—sharp. Tired. “Then why aren’t I?”

Rex didn’t answer.

He studied you.

No backup. No escape route. No fight.

This wasn’t an ambush.

This wasn’t a trap.

This was… surrender.

“Where’s your army?” he asked.

“Gone.”

“Dooku?”

You scoffed. “Didn’t even notice I left.”

“And Ventress?”

A beat. Your jaw tightened. “She tried to kill me.”

That, at least, made sense.

Rex lowered the blaster just an inch.

“I’m not with them anymore,” you said, voice low.

“Why should I believe you?”

You looked at him.

Not smiling. Not teasing.

Just looking.

“I don’t care if you do.”

Another beat of silence.

And then, you stepped forward—only once, hands still raised.

“Just don’t call it in,” you said. “Not yet.”

He stared at you.

One word. One plea.

“Please.”

It wasn’t seductive.

It wasn’t tactical.

It was real.

And Rex felt something twist in his chest—guilt or rage or something else entirely.

The wind howled between you.

And he… didn’t pull the trigger.

Rex’s hand hovered over his comm. He could feel her eyes on him—watching, weighing. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

The truth sat thick between them.

“501st recon team,” he said into the transmitter. “Target trail went cold. Tracks disappear into the ridge. Visibility’s dropping—might have to call it for the night.”

There was a pause.

Then static cracked and—

“You lost her?” Fives’ voice came through, incredulous.

“Lost or let go?” Jesse muttered, too close to the mic.

Rex closed his eyes briefly. “Negative. She’s not here. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

Before they could push back, he shut off the comm and tucked it into his belt.

When he turned, she was already walking toward the small cave behind the outcrop, half-collapsed from age, half-hidden by a rockfall.

“Storm’s rolling in,” you said. “If you’re going to arrest me, you’d better do it inside.”

Rex followed without a word.

⸻

The wind screamed outside, carrying dust and rain in harsh gusts. But inside, the air was still—tense. Dry. The flickering firelight cast your shadows long against the stone.

You sat cross-legged near the flames, cloak shed, arms bare beneath the loose black tunic. Scars crossed your skin like old lightning—some faded, others fresh. A lifetime of battles carved in silence.

Rex sat across from you, blaster close, helmet beside him. Watching.

Always watching.

“You don’t trust me,” you said quietly.

“No.”

“Good.”

You smirked, dragging a finger along the edge of the cup you were warming with tea.

“But you didn’t call me in.”

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

You looked up. Eyes meeting his.

And for the first time, neither of you looked away.

“I’m not your enemy anymore, Rex.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“No. But I can stop pretending I’m something I’m not.”

You exhaled, slowly.

“I left Dooku. I left the war. Not because I grew a conscience—but because I realized I was disposable. Replaceable. Just another weapon to him. Just another broken thing.”

Rex’s fingers twitched at that. He knew what that felt like.

You leaned back, gaze drifting to the fire. “I always thought loyalty was earned by killing for someone. But it turns out, it’s just something you can lose when you stop being useful.”

The cave was silent, save for the crackle of flames.

Then—

“You were never useful to me,” Rex said flatly.

You huffed a dry laugh. “No. I was a headache.”

“A dangerous one.”

“And yet… you didn’t shoot.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Why?”

Rex looked at you then. Really looked.

You weren’t the same woman who’d cut down Jedi guards in the halls of the Resolute. You were raw now. Scuffed. Not harmless—but maybe human.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s honest,” you said softly. “I thought clones weren’t allowed to be.”

He flinched at that.

“I didn’t kill your brothers,” you added, more serious now. “I swore I never would.”

Rex didn’t respond right away.

Then, finally—

“I believe you.”

The words hung in the air like a confession.

You looked at him again, eyes darker now. “You gonna let me go in the morning?”

He hesitated.

“…I don’t know yet.”

Another pause.

Then you leaned forward, across the firelight, voice low.

“I still think about you, you know. About that kiss.”

His jaw tightened. “You only did that to get under my skin.”

You smiled. “Did it work?”

He didn’t answer.

You were closer now. Too close.

And maybe it was the firelight. Or the silence. Or the ache of too many choices unmade.

But Rex didn’t move when you reached out.

Your fingers grazed the edge of his jaw, feather-light. “You ever wonder if this would’ve been different… if we weren’t on opposite sides?”

He met your gaze.

“I don’t have time to wonder.”

“Maybe you should start.”

You leaned in—close enough to steal his breath.

Then, at the last second, you pulled back.

“Get some rest, Captain,” you said, curling into your cloak near the fire.

Rex sat stiff as stone, heart pounding like war drums in his chest.

And outside, the storm raged.

⸻

Fives squinted up at the ridge through his electrobinoculars.

“No way he lost the trail,” he muttered.

Jesse nodded. “You felt it too, right? The way he said it? That pause.”

Fives smirked. “He found her.”

“And didn’t bring her in.”

They shared a look.

“Think we’re gonna see her again?” Jesse asked.

Fives clicked his tongue.

“I think he hopes not.”

⸻

The storm had passed.

The wind was still sharp, but the sky was clearing—streaks of pale blue bleeding into the clouds like a fresh wound, wide and open. Sunlight spilled over the stone like a promise. Cold, but clean.

You stood near the edge of the ridge, cloak fluttering behind you, face turned toward the sunrise.

Rex approached, slow. Steady. Blaster holstered. Helmet tucked under one arm.

You didn’t look back at first. Just spoke, voice low.

“They’ll know soon enough.”

“I know.”

“They’ll think you let me go.”

“I did.”

Finally, you turned to him.

Eyes locked. That unspoken thing still between you—never named. Never safe enough to be.

“But you’ll lie for me?” you asked, more curious than hopeful.

“No,” he said, firm. “But I’ll say I hesitated.”

You smiled, just a little. “That’s fair.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then you stepped forward. Closer.

“This is the part where I disappear again.”

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t step forward.

Didn’t say stay.

Because he couldn’t.

You leaned in, eyes searching his.

“I meant what I said, Captain,” you murmured. “About thinking of you.”

And before he could say a word, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek—right over the scar that ran along his jaw. It lingered longer than the first. Not teasing this time. Not taunting.

Just real.

Warm.

A goodbye.

Rex didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And then you were gone.

Cloak over your shoulders, vanishing into the canyon beyond. No sound. No trace.

Like you’d never been there at all.

Except he’d never forget.

⸻

Jesse looked up first. “Incoming.”

Fives leaned on a crate, chewing rations. “He better not say she vanished.”

Rex stepped through the brush, helmet under his arm, face unreadable.

“You lose the trail again?” Jesse asked dryly.

“She was never there,” Rex said.

Fives snorted. “Yeah, sure. The wind just happened to blow out tracks in one direction.”

“I didn’t find her,” Rex said again, firmer. “She’s gone.”

They watched him.

Said nothing.

Jesse raised an eyebrow, but Fives elbowed him, letting it go.

And as Rex walked past them, calm and steady and very clearly not okay—Fives caught a glimpse of something under his ear.

A smear.

No, not a smear.

Lipstick.

Fives blinked.

Then grinned like a menace.

But before he could say a word, Rex tossed his helmet back on.

And muttered without looking back—

“Don’t.”

[cherriecove]

Fine Line Between Duty and Oaths (Part 7)

Gwayne Hightower x Targ!Reader

Summary: The second born daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma is just as brave, beautiful and stubborn as her older sister but cannot deny her growing love for a certain red haired knight who just so happens to be a dear friend's brother. Cherrie's Note: The Valyrian may not be correct i used a translator, please let me know! Use of she/her, mentions of injury with some descriptions, birth, death and child death. Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

The atmosphere of the tourney was electric, filled with the clamour of cheering crowds, colourful banners, and the resounding clash of metal on metal as knights battled in the lists. You sat in the royal box, your eyes flickering between the spectacle in the arena and the uneasy glances exchanged by the lords and ladies around you. The Queen was in the birthing bed, and though the event was meant to celebrate her labour and the anticipated birth of a new royal heir, an undercurrent of anxiety was palpable. 

Your sister, Rhaenyra, sat beside you, her posture rigid, her face tight with concern. Despite her efforts to appear composed, the tension between you both was tangible. The cheers and festive air of the tourney seemed overshadowed by a growing sense of unease.

Leaning towards Rhaenyra, you whispered in Valyrian, "Ziry dōrī nykēda, issa mandia?" She’s not well, is she, sister?

Rhaenyra's lips tightened as she gave a small shake of her head, replying softly, "Ñuha prūmia iātykes. Rāelagon īlva sīmonagon." My heart is heavy. Let us hope she is strong.

The trumpets blared once more, signalling the next round of jousts, but your mind couldn’t fully focus on the tournament. The clash of steel and the roar of the crowd felt distant, drowned out by the growing dread gnawing at your heart. As the tourney continued, your eyes instinctively searched for Gwayne in the lists, a fleeting distraction from the heavy weight of worry for your mother.

Just as the next match was set to begin, a runner entered the royal box, breathless and pale. He knelt before your father, King Viserys, whispering something urgent in his ear. The King’s expression darkened immediately. Without a word, he rose and departed, his absence now noticeable. The lords and ladies exchanged anxious glances, the festive mood dipping. Your hand gripped Rhaeynera’s tighter.

The air was heavy, but the crowd quickly erupted into excited cheers as your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, rode out onto the field, his dark armour gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. The Rogue Prince's reputation preceded him—brilliant in battle, unpredictable, and dangerous.

Next came Gwayne, his green and white banner fluttering proudly as he took his place on the field. A pang of pride mixed with apprehension tugged at your heart. Gwayne was a skilled knight, but Daemon was something else entirely. You glanced at Rhaenyra, her expression mirroring your unease, though her fondness for your uncle was no secret to you.

The joust began with a thunderous charge, both knights hurtling towards each other with lances aimed true. The first clash sent a tremor through the stands as Daemon’s lance splintered against Gwayne’s shield. Both men remained upright, but the raw aggression in Daemon’s attacks was unmistakable. With each pass, his strikes grew sharper, faster, and more brutal. Gwayne held his ground, but Daemon’s relentless assault began to wear him down.

On the fourth pass, disaster struck. Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne square in the chest, the force of the blow sending him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. You leapt to your feet, heart hammering in your throat. The arena was a blur of noise as the crowd cheered, oblivious to the danger.

“Gwayne!” you gasped, gripping the edge of the railing.

Rhaenyra’s hand shot out to steady you. “Stay calm,” she whispered, though her voice trembled with worry.

Maesters and squires rushed to the field, but you could already see how Gwayne lay motionless, his armour dented, blood seeping from beneath his breastplate. You cared little for propriety or the eyes of the crowd as you hurried down from the royal box, your heart racing.

By the time you reached him, Gwayne was conscious but clearly in pain. His face was pale, his breaths shallow, and a trickle of blood ran down his chin. The maester bent over him, assessing the wound as you knelt by his side.

“Gwayne,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for his hand. “I’m here.”

He managed a weak smile, his eyes finding yours through the haze of pain. “Princess...we need to stop meeting like this,” he murmured, his voice strained but laced with a flicker of humour.

Tears stung your eyes as you squeezed his hand, managing a dry laugh. “You’ll be fine,” you whispered, though fear gnawed at you. “You’re going to be fine.”

The maester worked quickly to stabilise him, instructing the squires to carefully lift him from the field. You followed closely, ignoring the rest of the tourney, your thoughts consumed with worry for Gwayne and the dread hanging over your mother’s labour.

Hours later, as Gwayne was being tended to in the keep, word came.

Rhaenyra found you in the hallway, her face pale, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She didn’t need to say the words—your heart already knew.

“The Queen... our mother,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She’s gone.”

The shock hit you like a blow to the chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. The world spun, the walls of the keep closing in around you. Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Both of you clung to each other in shared grief, tears flowing freely.

The news of your mother's passing weighed heavy on your chest, a burden too vast to comprehend in that moment. Rhaenyra's arms tightened around you as your legs threatened to give way beneath you, both of you trembling with the shock of the loss. The Queen—your mother, who had been so strong, so regal—was gone, swept away by the very event that was supposed to bring joy. The child she had laboured to bring into the world, the son your father had so desperately wished for, lay in his cradle, struggling for life.

Tears blurred your vision as you pulled away from Rhaenyra, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Anger mixed with sorrow, and your thoughts darkened. Your father’s obsession with a male heir has cost you your mother. You could not suppress the bitter thought, no matter how much you wanted to. It felt as though this had all been for nothing, as though her life had been sacrificed in a desperate attempt to fulfill his need for a son.

Rhaenyra, too, looked stricken, her usual fire dampened by grief. She shook her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was all for him... for a son." Her eyes flickered with hurt as they met yours. "Father... he never stopped, not once, even though Mother could hardly bear it. He would have kept trying, no matter what it cost her."

You felt the sting of tears once more, biting your lip to contain the sobs rising in your throat. Your father’s love for your mother had been real, but it had been overshadowed by his desire for an heir—a boy. A son to sit on the Iron Throne. The ache in your chest swelled, a painful, gnawing sorrow. “She was more than just a vessel for a son,” you murmured, voice breaking. “She deserved more... she deserved better.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her lips tight with unshed tears. "I know," she whispered. "And now she's gone, and all he has is..." She trailed off, her voice faltering as if she couldn’t bear to complete the thought. The child, the boy, was innocent in all of this. It wasn’t his fault, and you both knew it.

Together, you made your way to the chambers where the babe lay. Despite the hurt in your hearts, you could not bring yourself to blame him. The baby boy, your brother, was a tiny, fragile thing swaddled in silk. His breath was shallow, his tiny fists curling and uncurling with each laboured exhale. The sight of him stirred something deep within you, a love that overcame even your deepest grief. He was so small, so helpless. He had taken your mother from you, but it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked to be born into this world of crowns and kings.

Rhaenyra stood by his crib, gazing down at him with a mixture of sorrow and tenderness. "He's beautiful," she whispered, her hand hovering over his small form as though she feared touching him might cause him more harm. You nodded silently, your heart aching for the brother you would barely get to know. His tiny breaths, each one a struggle, filled the room with the sound of a life hanging by a thread.

Without thinking, you reached down and gently stroked his cheek. His skin was soft, warm, and beneath your touch, he stirred ever so slightly. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of your lips. "He’s a fighter," you whispered, hoping, praying that somehow he would survive.

Rhaenyra’s voice was thick with emotion as she added, “He shouldn’t have to fight this hard just to live. He’s only a babe.”

The silence in the room was heavy as you both watched him, two sisters standing on the precipice of a shared grief that neither of you had wanted. The baby’s breaths slowed, becoming more and more laboured as the hours wore on. His little body, too frail for this world, finally gave in, his chest rising one last time before falling still.

The room was eerily quiet in the wake of his passing. You felt Rhaenyra’s hand slip into yours, her grip tight as tears streamed silently down both your faces. Your mother, your brother, gone within the span of a day. It was almost too much to bear.

The day of the funeral arrived, shrouded in the somber rituals of Targaryen tradition. The Red Keep was draped in black, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and the solemn hush of mourners. The Queen and the babe-prince were to be laid to rest in a ceremony befitting their royal blood, their bodies to be committed to the flames, as was the Targaryen way. The funeral pyre stood on the cliffs outside the city, overlooking the sea—a place of both beauty and sadness.

The sky was grey, clouds swirling ominously overhead as the dragons circled above, their low, mournful cries echoing across the cliffs. You stood beside Rhaenyra, your hand clutching hers as the ceremony began. Your father, King Viserys, stood at the forefront, his face a mask of grief and regret, though you couldn’t shake the lingering bitterness you felt towards him. His love for your mother was evident in the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes stared blankly at the pyres, but his relentless pursuit of a son had led to this moment.

The fire was lit, the flames licking hungrily at the wood piled beneath the bodies of your mother and the babe. The Queen’s face, serene in death, was still as beautiful as you remembered. The small form of your brother lay beside her, the two of them consumed by the fire. The smell of smoke filled the air, and the heat from the flames washed over you, though it did little to thaw the coldness in your heart.

You watched as the fire rose higher, its crackling roar swallowing the prayers of the septons and the low murmurs of the gathered lords and ladies. As the flames claimed the bodies, your mother’s soul and that of your little brother were sent to the gods, to join the legacy of your ancestors.

The dragons let out another mournful cry, their wings casting shadows over the cliffs as they flew low over the flames. You closed your eyes, a silent prayer forming on your lips, hoping your mother had found peace in whatever world lay beyond.

Rhaenyra’s hand tightened in yours, and you turned to her, both of you finding solace in each other’s presence. The funeral was a blur, but the bond between the two of you had never felt stronger. The pain of losing your mother and brother was a shared burden, one you would carry together.

And as the flames died down and the sky grew darker, you both knew that nothing would ever be the same again.