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perlelune · 6 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

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

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

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

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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

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

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

His visits grow more frequent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words make you sit up straight.

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

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

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

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

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

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

He immediately stops.

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

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

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

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

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

He tilts his head and laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you.

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your brow arches in question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

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

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

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

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

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

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

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

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

“Wait, Coryo…”

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

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

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

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

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do but…”

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

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

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

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

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

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

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

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done.

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

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

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

“I promised I would,” you defend.

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

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

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

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

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

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

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

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

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

It makes you realize how much you missed.

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

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

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

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead.

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

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

“There’s something in it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy.

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

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

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you.

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

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

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

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

“Head…heavy.”

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

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

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

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

“Coryo, what is happening-”

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

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

He returns to the space between your thighs.

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

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

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

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

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

“I…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

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

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

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

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

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

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

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

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

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

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

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

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

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

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burst-of-iridescent · 6 months

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i love the ballad of songbirds and snakes for many reasons, but my favourite has to be its complete and utter repudiation of the myth that humanity is inherently evil.

the first person to raise this idea is dr gaul, who uses it as justification for the games. if savagery is the unchanging, brute nature of human beings, then it must be kept in check; if chaos is inevitable, then so is control. the hunger games are a leash, necessary only because of the rabid dogs it's forced to keep in hand.

but of course, we know both from the original trilogy and tbosas itself that this simply isn't true. over and over again, there are people in the games who choose kindness and compassion and empathy, from lucy gray to jessup to reaper to katniss and peeta. the games reveal the best of humanity even in circumstances specifically curated to bring out only the worst. contrary to what dr gaul believes, they're actually testament to the innate goodness of humanity and its ability to thrive even amidst every attempt to quell it.

and multiple people, including coriolanus himself initially, point out that the worst aspects of the games are largely due to a lack of choice. none of those tributes would be murdering each other if the capitol wasn't forcing them to. but that highlights the very reason that this argument about the nature of humanity is used in the first place: to absolve those who choose to do evil from the guilt they should rightfully bear for that choice.

by the end of the book, coriolanus gives in fully to dr gaul's way of thinking simply because it excuses him from accepting blame for his actions. if he killed sejanus, it's because he had no choice. if he betrayed lucy gray, it's because she would've betrayed him first. coriolanus refuses to believe in the goodness of humanity because that would have meant accepting the goodness that existed within him, and with that came the potential for making a different, better choice - potential that he knew, deep down, he had wasted. attributing his crimes to an innate evil that no one can overcome means that he can't be held accountable, because it's out of his control. and ironically, it is this supposed lack of control over the fundamentals of oneself that coriolanus uses to justify his love for control and authority in all else, even to the bitter end.

the hunger games books have always been a love letter to humanity and the importance of believing in the goodness of your fellow human beings. but in tbosas collins shows you the flip side: that the only people invested in declaring the inherent evil of humanity are those who have no interest in bettering it.

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #it always irks me so bad when people peddle that humanity is inherently bad nonsense #when it's really nothing more than an excuse to never try to be better or do better

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delusionalfanficwriter · 3 months

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Accident: part 2

Leah burst through the door of Y/n's hospital room, her breaths hurried and eyes wide with worry, having just landed in the States, thirty minutes ago.

"Shhhh," Maya hushed her, her voice a gentle command cutting through the tense air of the room. "We just got her to settle and sleep after another panic attack. She's not in good shape, but she's awake and coherent, which, considering the crash she had, is nothing short of miraculous."

"Another panic attack?" Leah's disbelief hung heavy in the air. "What's that, the seventh one in twenty-four hours?"

"It might've been more if we hadn't insisted she close her eyes and try to rest," Carina chimed in wearily, her hand rubbing circles under her tired eyes.

The exhaustion was palpable in the room, a heavy blanket draped over each of the women as they gathered around the young soccer star.

"Did Dr. Shepard give any update about her legs?" Leah's voice wavered, the question a lifeline thrown into the swirling uncertainty.

Maya and Carina exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before Maya took the lead, her voice steady but tinged with concern. "Dr. Shepard said the scans show inflammation compressing the nerves, but she's hesitant to jump into surgery just yet. The risks outweigh the potential benefits. She's not confident Y/n will regain feeling in her legs, but she did offer a glimmer of hope."

Leah sank back into her seat, the weight of the news settling heavily upon her shoulders. She turned her gaze to Y/n, sleeping peacefully amidst the chaos of uncertainty. "Fucking hell. She doesn't deserve any of this. She fought so hard to rebuild her life and soccer keeps her sane..."

"Maya and I are terrified," Carina added, her voice barely above a whisper, "the mere thought of not being able to play again... it's tearing her apart."

Leah's eyes widened in disbelief. "You mean you haven't told her?"

Maya shook her head, her expression pained. "We couldn't. Not with everything she's already been through. The stress, the trauma... telling her now would only push her further into despair. Y/n's mental state is fragile, Leah. We haven’t seen her in that mental state in such a long time. We had to protect her."

“I understand. I haven’t really seen or known of her life before soccer. She still hasn’t shared much of her past despite our two year relationship.”

“Can’t blame her. It took a lot of time for her to trust us enough to let us in even partly but don’t feel any way about it. She doesn’t like dwelling on her past life but I think this might be triggering her to life before soccer.” Carina explained.

The three women conversed in low whispers until a change in the monitors caught Maya and Carina’s attention. A sudden shift in the monitors' readings drew Maya and Carina's attention like a magnet, their heads snapping in unison towards the glowing screens. Leah, sensing the change in atmosphere, followed their gaze, her heart rate picking up as she struggled to comprehend the significance of the sudden activity.

With a sense of urgency, Carina rose from her seat, her hand outstretched toward y/n's shoulder. Her touch was gentle yet firm, a silent plea for the slumbering figure to awaken. Meanwhile, Maya leaned in towards Leah, her voice a soothing murmur amidst the tension, explaining the possible cause of y/n's distress—a nightmare, triggering an alarming spike in her heart rate.

"Bambina, wake up," Carina's voice cut through the silence, laced with a mixture of concern and reassurance. "Everything is alright. Maya and I are here. Leah is also here with us, but you need to open your eyes to see she really is here. You are okay. You are okay. Bambina, c’mon."

As sweat glistened on y/n's forehead, her features contorted in the grip of her subconscious torment, she struggled to surface from the depths of her nightmare. Carina's words echoed faintly in her mind, but it was another voice—a voice she recognized and cherished—that pierced through the darkness, calling her back to consciousness.

"Hey cookie monster," Leah's voice was a beacon in the darkness, a lifeline for y/n to grasp onto. "I’m here. I just landed not long ago, but I am here holding your hand. I need you to open your eyes."

With each word of encouragement from Leah, y/n felt herself slowly breaking free from the nightmare's grasp, her consciousness emerging. And then, with a sudden jolt, she jerked awake, her eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings until they landed on the familiar face of her girlfriend.

Leah's hands cupped y/n’s cheeks, their foreheads pressing together in an intimate gesture of comfort. "You’re hot," Leah remarked, a hint of concern tainting her usual playful tone.

"I’m in a hospital gown," y/n chuckled weakly, trying to brush off Leah's observation with humor. But Leah's expression remained serious as she turned to Carina, voicing her suspicions.

"I think she’s running a fever," Leah said, her voice tinged with worry.

Carina wasted no time, her movements swift and decisive as she pressed the back of her hand against y/n’s forehead, confirming Leah's assessment with a muttered curse in Italian. Without hesitation, she retrieved a thermometer, her brow furrowed in concern as she watched the digital display reveal a temperature of 102.1.

“I’ll go grab a nurse to page Shepherd and Bailey.” Maya rushes out.

“Y/n, do you feel off at all?” Carina asks.

“I’m just exhausted and cold. Leah, hold me.” Y/n pleads. Leah doesn’t hesitate to sit on the bed and pull y/n in her arms, feeling her visibly shake.

As y/n's fever began to become known, she found herself sinking deeper into exhaustion, the weight of her illness pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. Despite Leah's comforting presence, a sense of unease gnawed at her insides, the fear of the unknown threatening to overwhelm her fragile resolve.

Leah sensed the shift in y/n's demeanor, her brows furrowing with concern as she watched the color drain from her cheeks. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.

Y/n forced a weak smile, but her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. "I'm just tired," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the hum of activity in the room.

Leah's grip tightened on y/n's hand, her concern deepening with each passing moment. "You're not alone, you know," she said gently. "We're all here for you, whatever you need."

Y/n nodded faintly, but a flicker of panic danced in her eyes as a wave of exhaustion washed over her, threatening to drag her under. "I don't know if I can do this," she confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "I'm so tired, Leah, and I'm scared."

Leah's heart clenched at the vulnerability in y/n's voice, her own fears momentarily forgotten as she focused on comforting her girlfriend. "You don't have to do it alone," she reassured her, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. “One step at a time. You worry about kicking that fever off first.”

But even as Leah spoke the words, she could see the doubt lingering in y/n's eyes, the fear of what lay ahead threatening to consume her from within. With a heavy heart, Leah leaned in closer, her forehead pressing against y/n's as she whispered words of comfort and reassurance.

Meanwhile, Maya and Carina exchanged worried glances, their hearts heavy with concern for their friend. Despite their best efforts, they could see the toll y/n's accident and now fever was taking on her, the exhaustion evident in every line of her face.

"We need to keep a close eye on her," Maya murmured, her voice tense with worry. "The fever seems to be exacerbating her anxiety, and if she's not careful..."

Carina nodded grimly, her thoughts mirroring Maya's. "We can't let her slip through the cracks," she agreed, her gaze never leaving y/n's pale face. “We will handle this together, my love. We won’t have her go back to that mindset. We have done it before.”

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #uswnt fanfic #carina deluca #maya bishop #station 19 #greys anatomy #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson

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starker-raving-mads · 2 months

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For You: Part I

This is for @spiderlinging who decided this level of angst needed to exist.

Have thoughts on a follow up, unsure if I'll do it.

Edit: decided to make this multi-parted.

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It had been a week since the last battle with Thanos. A week since the Blipped had returned everyone, a week since Peter awoke to Dr. Strange leading him through a portal straight into battle.

A week since Tony died.

It's all Peter can think about. The only thing he can think about. Not how traumatizing two battles back to back was, not the chaos and insanity of war, not even of how happy he should be that May and Ned and MJ are actually okay.

Instead, it's Tony, Tony, Tony. His thoughts had revolved around the older man for years now, so it wasn't new. But normally it was excitement, arousal, anticipation, joy. Now, though, it's hugging him as he felt like he was being ripped apart by the Blip. The joy of finding him and being dragged to him in a fierce hug, mid-battle, the billionaire's hands running through his hair. His voice, soft and full of this sort of grieving happiness.

"Peter," he'd said, "oh god, Peter."

And finally it was Mr. Stark's face as he sat dazed against a piece of wreckage amidst the chaos. How blank his eyes were, how little of the man was left, barely hanging on.

That face haunted his dreams, the emptiness filling up his nightmares.

And now here he was, at a lake house he could've never seen Tony living in, with people around him crying and mournful. Like they'd lost a friend when Peter felt like he'd lost a limb. Like his whole heart was being shoved out onto that lake with the last part of Tony Stark he'd ever get to see. Behind him, Happy was talking quietly to Morgan, Tony's kid - Peter's goddaughter, apparently.

He never knew you could make a dead person a godparent before, but there's a lot of things Peter never knew.

Like the thing is - Peter thought he knew grief, knew loss. His parents when he was a kid, Uncle Ben just after he'd gotten his powers. These were huge, space-taking people in his soul but losing Tony? Losing Tony was worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. He felt bad about it, sometimes. Because shouldn't his family have been the ones that meant the most, hurt the most? But then again, Tony had been everything. He'd always sort of thought he loved Tony in the way someone might love an idol, like his feelings were somehow offset by hero worship and being a teenager but it was so much more than that.

It might've started off that way, but after years of knowing him, being his friend through tough times and glad ones - it morphed along the way without him really noticing it. Got deeper, got more meaningful with every lab session and every time Tony said, "Just stay the night kid, you know where your room is. Aunt Hottie doesn't need to be woken up at 3AM with you coming home anyway."

The teen thought he'd cried every ounce of pain from him in the week since the battle, but as his eyes misted up again, he turned and headed around the back of the cabin. It was empty of people on this side and he slid down in the corner where the porch extruded out of the building. Hands covering his face, barely aware of the rotting, damp leaves under him. He just needed a minute to get it together. Just one minute and he'd -

A sound of footsteps approaching, light ones, made him stand back up again and wipe his face free of tears. He knew from experience that his eyes would be a horrible red against how pale his skin was, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Around the corner came Pepper in her funeral clothes, looking at him blankly. It was clear she'd been looking for him but he couldn't figure out why. They just stared at each other for a second, neither moving, and as the moments ticked on he got increasingly uncomfortable and awkward around this powerhouse of a woman he'd never really spent time with.

"Sorry, I just needed to step away for a - "

"He did it because of you, you know," she said, voice as neutral as her face. He blinked at her.

"I'm sorry, what - ?"

"He did it for you." And there was the anger. Her face transformed with it, skin flushing a red that clashed with her hair in a way that was still, somehow, beautiful. It was easy to see why Tony picked her out of everyone. Before he could say anything, she continued. "He told me," she said, tears clouding her voice, nose stuffing up with emotion, "that he'd figured it out. Figured out how to save everyone."

She laughed and it was the most hateful sound he'd ever heard. Shaking her head, smiling in a way that said 'fed up', she said, "But I knew. I knew he didn't do it to be the savior of humanity. His ego was always big, and he was always willing to sacrifice if he thought the price was worth it." She stopped again and stared at him, face contorting.

"He saved a lot of people," Peter agreed, spidey-sense screaming at him and he didn't know why. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt like he was being bombarded. It was nauseating.

"He didn't save people, Peter," she screeched, stomping toward him, hand fisted around a cloth handkerchief, finger pointing at his face. "Tony's ego was always enough to think he could save the world," she continued, voice as mad as a wolf's growl, "but he didn't do it for them. He did it for you." She hissed out, "He kept your picture in the kitchen and just stared at it - all the time! Stared at it like you were some missing part of him and if he just looked long enough you'd reappear." She laughed again, rolling her eyes.

Behind her, a crowd was appearing. Sam and Bucky first, eyes scoping out the situation like the heroes they were. Then Happy, peaking around. The other teenager - Harley, Peter remembered - was further back, near the trees, watching with a ducked face, riveted.

"Tony saved the universe," she agreed, voice even more watery. "But he didn't do it for them - he did it for you." She had moved forward enough now to jab her finger into his chest. "He could've killed everyone with his stupid time travel bullshit," she spat, jabbing harder. "He could've undone reality with it, he could've made it to where Morgan never existed." She sobbed and the anger started to drain from her, head bending. "But it didn't matter as long as he got you back." She sobbed again and as much as his heart was rending itself atom by atom by what she was saying, he couldn't fault her anger, her rage, her sadness.

He stepped forward and she dropped onto him, letting him hold her weight up as she continued to sob.

"He did it for you."

And Peter had never heard anything worse in his entire, fucked up existence.

How was he ever going to live with himself now, knowing this.

How?

#ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #starker #tony stark x peter parker #iron man #peter x tony #peter parker #spiderman #tony stark #pepper potts #tony stark x pepper potts #angst #no beta we die like men #for you fic

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joelswritingmistress · 2 months

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 53

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

My brain couldn’t accurately comprehend the reality of the situation. It was like a wall went up in my mind to protect me from the horrors that were happening before me. Amidst the paused chaos I somehow could hear Dr. Miller’s heavy breaths. They were deep and consistent, matching up with the heaving of his shoulders. And then I heard the numbers 9-1-1 being said in the background.

Will suddenly whipped around to face Carol, who held a phone to ear in her bloody hands. Chas lifted an arm, pointing in Will’s direction as he turned to charge in her direction. And then..

Bang!

That sound. I will never forget that sound. My hands moved to my ears and my breath was lost when Will stumbled forward and toppled over, half in the pool and half out. Watching blood fly into the air was like something out of a movie.

“The spa in the basement!” Carol shrieked into the phone and then it fell from her hand as she stared at Will - the man she loved, the man she was about to marry. It was utter heartbreak.

When Will moved, Dr. Miller suddenly breathed again. It was a gasping breathing, one I could tell he had been holding in.

Carol dropped to her knees beside her father, pressing both hands against the wound again. From then until the first responders arrived, nobody moved. It was as if someone had halted all of us.

Stretchers carted away Chas and Will. Police had Carol, Dr. Miller and me wrapped in blankets as they attempted to seek answers.

“Is my father okay?” Dr. Miller asked. “Where’s Mom? Carol where is she?”

Carol couldn’t speak. All the color had drained from her face and she just stared ahead, unable to respond to any of the officers’ questions.

“She’s in shock,” I heard one of them say.

“Carol.” Dr. Miller put a hand on her face and only her eyes moved to glance at him before a paramedic intervened and helped to escort her away from the scene.

He turned to me and we just stared blankly at one another. I couldn’t cry or scream or comprehend. But when Dr. Miller pulled me to him, my eyes closed and I melted against him.

“We have to get you to the hospital,” one of the officer’s said.

“I-I’m fine,” I choked out. And then I motioned to Dr. Miller, “Will drugged him. He couldn’t move.”

“I’m fine,” Dr. Miller said quietly.

“Come with us,” the officer said, and then added, “Please.”

Dr. Miller kept me close and we walked back through the salt caves. The smell would forever be ingrained in my mind and paired with this gut-wrenching night. I wanted to rewind. I wanted it all to be okay the way it felt just a few hours before. I wanted Carol and Will to be happy. I wanted Chas to be okay. But that was all gone now.

“Is my father dead?” Dr. Miller asked.

“He was shot in the shoulder,” the officer escorting us away from the pool area explained.

“Will tried to kill us,” I blurted out, though I knew they already had that information. “He drugged Joel. He shot Chas. He lured me down here at gunpoint.” After feeling like I could never speak again, word vomit began to parade out of my mouth in ways I was certain made me sound delirious. “He threw him in the pool. He killed all those girls at Woodbridge. He wasn’t who he said he was. He could’ve killed us. He tried to kill us. He ran after Carol.”

What was I blurting? I couldn’t keep up. My brain was in overdrive and I didn’t snap back to reality until I felt Dr. Miller’s hand came to rest on my cheek while the other began to brush back my hair.

“Joel.” I shook my head and my bottom lip trembled. I attempted to hold it in place with my teeth but it escaped and I began to cry. “Why did he do this? Your dad.. your sister..” I shook my head and he pulled me in close as I cried some more. And then my head snapped up and I whipped around to face the closest officer, “You can’t let him out. Will did this. He needs to go to jail. He can’t be near Carol.. or Chas. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

I didn’t realize I had grabbed the man’s arm until we both looked down and I immediately released him.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out, wiping my eyes with a trembling hand.

“He won’t be able to hurt you or anyone, anymore,” the officer assured me, placing a hand on my shoulder, “Okay?” His eyes met mine and in the moment, it was enough. It had to be.

“Is he dead?” Dr. Miller asked.

“Both men were shot in the shoulder area. I don’t know the extent of the injuries, but they missed the major organs and arteries. That’s all I know.”

We piled into the elevator and when we got to the main level, police tape secured a perimeter where medical personnel and law enforcement had taken over. A small crowd of patrons couldn’t help but rubberneck from the outskirts, creating their own scenarios of what had taken place in their minds.

“Carol.” Dr. Miller rushed to her when he saw her again, standing under the arm of the paramedic who had initially approached her.

The pair exchanged a long hug and I saw her eyes glisten for the first time. “What’s happening, Joel?” She sobbed.

“It’s over now,” her brother said back. “I’m so sorry, Carol. I didn’t want to shoot him.”

“I’m cursed,” she cried out. “My life is a curse.”

“You’re not cursed.”

“I am.” Carol continued to cry as she nodded to herself. “I am, I am, I am.”

“No.” Dr. Miller shook his head in response.

I couldn’t watch. I moved off to the side by a large pillar, away from the crowd, and buried my face in my hands. And I just cried. I cried and cried until my lungs hurt and I couldn’t keep up anymore.

Why? My quiet one-word thought manifested out loud. “Why? Why? Why?” I whispered the word to myself.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” Dr. Miller’s voice snapped my burning eyes open and he squatted before me. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. You never should’ve been involved in all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I choked out. “It’s his fault. It’s not your fault.”

“Honey.” A woman’s voice made Joel whip around again and he rose to greet his mother, who held Carol’s hand.

“Mom.” Dr. Miller gasped her name and pulled her in for a hug.

“I knew,” she whispered. “I knew something was wrong.”

“I didn’t kill anybody,” he whispered back. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t want to shoot him.” Dr. Miller looked to his sister now and tears fell from his eyes. “I couldn’t do that to you. I didn’t want to shoot him.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Carol assured him, shaking her head.

Frankie held Joel hard. “You’re okay. We’re all going to be okay.” Her eyes met mine as she looked over her son’s shoulder and she waved a hand for me to join them.

I rose to my feet and allowed Frankie to pull me into embrace with the rest of the family.

“We’re going to get through this together,” she whispered. “We always do.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

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defectivevillain · 1 year

Text

this broken design

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary:

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

word count: 2.3k [ao3 version here]

Reader’s pronouns are unspecified but masc-intended. You take the place of Will Graham, essentially. [Will is the mf blueprint and I love him,, I just wasn’t creative enough to think of a way to fit the reader into the story without replacing him ;( ]

Since Hannibal is your therapist, the relationship [although ambiguous] is ethically questionable. That’s par for the course to many Fannibals, but I’ll put this here in case you’re new to the fandom.

warnings: canon-typical violence, dissociation, breach of doctor/patient boundaries, insomnia, sleepwalking, cannibalism, spoilers for episode 1.

Jack Crawford can’t take no for an answer. That’s nothing new, of course. However, it’s frustrating to constantly be on the receiving end of that disappointed glare of his. You can’t take it much longer. He seems to recognize that you’re beginning to break, because he calls in a doctor for your psychiatric evaluation: Doctor Hannibal Lecter. There’s one unspoken statement lingering in the air when you walk into the room: “You will pass this exam and return to the field.”

Against all odds, Dr. Lecter seems to be one of the more competent medical professionals you’ve worked with. He doesn’t poke or prod at things that make you uncomfortable, testing your limits to the maximum. He doesn’t look at you with the patronizing gaze you’re so used to receiving from your peers. Lecter looks at you and, sometimes, it feels as if he’s looking straight through you.

After passing the psychological evaluation—you have a strong suspicion that Dr. Lecter lied on those forms—you’re back on the field. Before long, Jack Crawford is ordering you to look at mangled bodies once more. You notice that it takes more out of you each time you look. Looking is exhausting and the longer you look, the more time it takes to return to your own body.

You’re able to cope until your encounter with the Minnesota Shrike. You feel your composure beginning to slip as you frantically look through files in the office of his construction site. Thankfully, you can finally put a name to the killer: Garret Jacob Hobbs. He’s a construction worker, a husband, and a father. The guy is entirely ordinary, almost scarily so.

When you arrive at the Hobbs’ residence minutes later, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s expecting you. The house is eerily silent and when you walk in, his wife is already dead. Dread churning in your stomach, you turn the corner, only to find Hobbs holding his daughter Abigail captive. There’s a knife pressed to her neck. The betrayed yet horrified expression on her face cements itself in your mind. You point your gun at him, but he slices her neck before you can shoot him. After firing one, two, three, nine shots, you kneel down and try to stifle Abigail’s bleeding. Your heart races in your chest and there’s a roaring noise in your ears. Amidst all the chaos, however, you can still sense Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at you with a sickening smirk on his face.

“See?” The man had asked, as the light faded from his eyes and his body slumped against the cabinets. You turn your attention back to Abigail, who is now gasping and panting heavily. Your hands shake as you desperately try to stop the bleeding. You’re too rattled to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer until there’s a hand on your shoulder. Dr. Lecter and you lock eyes and, even in the swirling mess of emotions running through your mind, there is overwhelming clarity. Dr. Lecter’s expression is far too calm. Just before you can contemplate that further, he’s gently pushing you to the side and tending to Abigail.

Everything after that passes in a blur. Abigail is taken to the hospital and Dr. Lecter accompanies her in the ambulance. Jack seems satisfied and disconcerted all at once. He pulls you aside and starts talking your ear off, but you admittedly can’t process anything of what he’s saying. Eventually, the agent gives up and leaves you to drive home. Even when you go to work the next morning, you can’t shake the grey haze that clings to your very being. “See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs’ voice rings in your ears. You did see; you only wish you hadn’t.

You begin to have weekly sessions with Dr. Lecter. Jack all but forces you to attend, but the sessions actually prove to be helpful. Dr. Lecter is certainly an eccentric character, that’s for sure. You’ve never quite met someone like him before, and you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. The therapist is certainly mysterious. You want to figure him out, but, at the same time, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that is still wary around him. You haven’t necessarily forgotten the strangely calm look on his face in the Hobbs house, the mechanical way with which he accepted the pervasive aura of death all around him.

As great as Dr. Lecter is, he can’t fix everything. Your sleep, for example, is continuing to tank by the day. Since your return to the field, it’s difficult to fall asleep and even more difficult to stay asleep. After the Hobbs incident, you’re plagued with nightmares of dark crimson rivers. A few times, you’re even forced to relive the encounter: the moment Abigail slumps to the ground, the moment you shoot Hobbs again and again and again-

The moral of the story is that you’re not sleeping well. Your sleep has never been great, but it’s also never been this bad. You muse on that thought as you lie reclined on your mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Exhaustion tugs at your very core, but your mind refuses to slow down for even a moment. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you shouldn’t even try to go to sleep, unless you want to slip into a killer’s skin once more. After staring up at the ceiling for an immeasurable amount of time, your eyes finally begin to fall shut.

Shadows seep into your eyes, coloring your vision dark. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness. Garret Jacob Hobbs greets you like an old friend, his whispers ripping through your skin and into your very core. You claw at your head and close your eyes, desperate to rid yourself of his haunting voice. Somehow, your effort seems to work and you can’t hear his murmurs anymore. You want to drown in the shadowed void that stretches around you but, suddenly, there are two lights ripping through the blackness. You put a hand over your eyes as the brightness burns holes in your vision. Your eyes water and it takes several seconds for the graininess around you to disappear. To your surprise, there’s a car parked just to your left. You take a step forward and squint at the driver. The window rolls down slowly and your breath catches. A shiver rolls down your spine, and it’s not just the cold air that causes it.

“I-” You try to say, but the words are stuck in your throat. His statement prompts you to look around and find out where exactly here is. Ultimately, you realize that you’re standing in the center of a road. It’s pretty dark outside. You look down and find that you’re still wearing your pajamas—a ragged shirt and sweatpants. Furthermore, there are scrapes lining your arms. You inhale sharply, beginning to feel panic seep into your bones.

Hannibal’s car door swings open and he moves to stand next to you. The therapist is dressed nicely, as always. You’d be more self conscious about your own attire if you didn’t feel so discombobulated. “What is the last thing you remember?” The man asks. You pause to ponder the question.

“Falling asleep,” you answer, after thinking about the past few hours. You were staring up at your bedroom ceiling. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point. There’s an infuriating lack of information- a gap from when you fell asleep to when you found yourself staring at the headlights of Hannibal’s car.

Silence settles in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You don’t know what to do or say, that could possibly justify this. Truly, one moment you were in bed and the next, you were standing in the middle of the road. You don’t exactly want to tell Hannibal that, but he seems to recognize the sentiment anyway. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed as he stares at you. His gaze is insistent and heated, so much so that you have to look away—lest you get burned.

“Come on,” Hannibal says. There’s an authoritative tone to his voice and you follow along instinctually. He helps you to his car with a hand on your shoulder. For a moment, you shiver in the passenger seat as he stares at you. Hannibal then shakes his head and takes off his jacket, putting it around your shoulders. You vaguely recognize that you must look truly pathetic, but you’re too cold not to burrow into the smooth fabric.

The moment he starts driving, you begin to remember your exhaustion. In actuality, you never got that much sleep. Judging from the radio in Hannibal’s car, it’s only two in the morning. You were only asleep for two hours and, yet, you walked all the way outside to the road. Gritting your teeth, you decide to look out the window. Despite your fatigue, your body doesn’t want to succumb to slumber. You have to settle for staring bleakly out the window.

“We’ve arrived,” Hannibal later announces. You blink dazedly, looking out the window to find a beautiful gothic home looming over you. Just before you can grab the door and get out, Hannibal is on the other side opening it for you. You fall in step beside him and allow him to lead you down the walk towards his home. He opens the door and allows you to enter first.

You feel extraordinary out of place here, as you usually do in Hannibal’s presence. The foyer has an elegant fireplace and deep blue accents. Paintings decorate the walls and there’s a vase of freshly trimmed flowers on one of the tables. You can see Hannibal having an internal debate with himself about giving you a formal tour or telling you about the pieces. He turns back to you expectantly and you follow him into the living room. You freeze in the doorway, upon realizing that you’re still wearing your shoes (which you don’t remember putting on in the first place). You quickly bend down and try to untie them, but your hands are trembling too much to do it.

“Allow me,” Hannibal says, getting down on one knee. To your horror and humiliation, he proceeds to help you untie your shoes. You avert your eyes, feeling as if your skin is on fire. He must sense your discomfort, because he arches an eyebrow at you before untying them a little faster. Thankfully, Hannibal doesn’t offer to fetch you clean socks- you’re certain you’d die of embarrassment. Instead, the moment your shoes are off, he guides you to sit on the finely trimmed settee.

For a fraction of a second, when you look up at Hannibal, you see the cold, calculated gaze of a practiced killer. “You’re freezing,” Hannibal remarks. You swallow hard and watch with bated breath as he leaves the room. Perhaps you just imagined that. You look around the room, unsurprised to see hints of animals everywhere—what with the mounted antelope head and various skulls resting on the table behind you.

The Chesapeake Ripper sees his victims as animals, as pigs. You’re not quite sure why the killer comes to mind now of all times. Even so, you try to think about what you’ve gathered about him so far. He’s a middle-aged man with no current family. His tastes are eccentric and his murders are artistic performances. Furthermore, the killer is slippery. You’ve only found clues because, you suspect, he wanted you to find them. The killer is narcissistic; he knows he won’t be caught and prides himself on that fact.

Your head aches with the sleep you haven’t gotten. You rub at your eyes roughly, unable to shake the feeling that you’re on the crux of a realization. The Chesapeake Ripper… The killer refuses to leave your mind. Why is that thought plaguing you here, of all places? You’re in Hannibal’s residence, staring at the rather macabre animal imagery around the space, when it hits you. Everything clicks into place: the conveniently timed dinner parties, the luxurious lifestyle, the entire lack of shock on his face at the Hobbs’ house.

It appears you’ve found the Chesapeake Ripper.

Hannibal chooses that exact moment to reappear. There’s a blanket folded over his arm and a mug in his hands. He seamlessly weaves through the room, coming to a stop over you. You look up at him from your position on the couch. “Are you alright?” You nod mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The clock on the wall ticks ominously. Your hands are still trembling at your sides, so badly that Hannibal reaches out and cups them in his with a worried expression. You’re certain your teeth are chattering in your mouth. You’re going to die. You’ll be the next Chesapeake Ripper victim. When you close your eyes, you see your colleagues from the Behavioral Analysis Unit staring down at your corpse on the investigation table. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. Your heart is thundering away in your chest and you know you must look suitably harrowed.

Hannibal extends a hand and you realize that the Chesapeake Ripper is giving you a cup of tea. You watch mutedly as an organ harvester gently cleans the scrapes on your skin. A coldhearted cannibal is placing a hand on your cheek and looking into your eyes, searching for something. A murderer is placing a blanket over your shoulders.

Hannibal sits down after his thorough investigation. Meanwhile, there’s one thought running through your mind: You can’t fall asleep here. You absolutely can’t let your guard down in front of the Chesapeake Ripper, the very cannibal you’ve been chasing for years. You sip the proffered tea and pretend that everything is alright. Hannibal seems content to sit with you in silence, although you can sense his gaze burning into the side of your face. Stay awake, you tell yourself. Stay alive.

Your eyes slip shut of their own accord

chapter two

Mwahahahah. AHAHHAHAHH…. Yes. I had to get that out, lol.

The untying of the shoes scene is a slight allusion to the Death Note scene in which L washes Light's feet. That's one of my favorite scenes in the series, as it hints at the parallels between L/Light and Jesus/Judas and the idea of recognizing betrayal before it comes. [Unfortunately, feet also gross me the hell out, so I settled for the untying of the shoes. Haha.]

This is entirely unrelated, but i got my dna results back and apparently i’m lithuanian 😏 [it’s not that significant or specific of a percentage, but just lemme have this 🙏]. hannibal, if ur reading this, i’m just like you frrrr 😮‍💨 except minus, yk, the cannibalism.

anyway, thanks for reading <3

#hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x masc reader #male reader #masc reader

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rubyarrows · 4 months

Text

Impulsive Decisions

The fire raged on with a ferocity that seemed to devour everything that was in its path. Amidst the chaos, YN Voight stood on the opposite side of the street, her pounding against her chest as the sound of everyone’s cries filled the air. But there was one cry in particular that caught her undivided attention. The wails of a small child out of a second story window were the only one the young woman could focus on during all the commotion around her, fueling her determination as she watched the firemen around her scramble.

Without a moment of hesitation, YNN dashed into the blazes of the inferno, ignoring the calls of her to stop what she was doing and having her senses overwhelmed from the heat and smoke that now surrounded her. The intensity of her surroundings fueled her focus as she navigated the burning structure, each step being coordinated and careful maneuver. The child’s cries guided YN’s way through the billowing smoke and constant falling debris.

With adrenaline as her only ally through the blazing heat and flames, she found the little boy, trapped in the far corner of his family’s apartment. Fear was etched across his tear-stained face. The Voight girl scooped up the small child, shielding his fragile frame from the danger that surrounded the two of them. As they made their way back out of the fiery blaze, YN passed a few other people that hadn’t quite yet found their way out of the building and continued to guide them out.

When they all finally emerged from the roaring inferno, her heart raced as she cradled the child protectively in her arms close to her chest. Will Halstead, seasoned doctor at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center as well as her boyfriend, and her father, Sergeant Hank Voight, dashed forward with evident concern etched upon their faces.

“My god, YNN!” Will voice cut through the chaos that surrounded them all. His eyes instantly began scanning over her body as well as the small boy’s for any injury that could have come to them as they braved the blazes. Relief flooded his expression as he found the two relatively unscathed.

Hank’s voice bellowed soon after, his authoritative tone laced with worry and anger towards his daughter. “What the hell were you thinking, YN?” He questioned her as Dr. Halstead took the child from her arms to return him to his parents who awaited off to the side. “Running into a fire like that? That was a careless and stupid move on your part?”

“I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done yourself.” The YHC girl said as she looked into her father’s eyes and tried to catch her breath from the adrenaline high she was coming down from.

“Excuse me, Serge, if I may,” Will said as he stepped back up to the two of them, his voice firm but calm. “If it wasn’t for your daughter’s bravery all those people would have burned up in the flames. She saved them. YNN, saved a lot of people today. People who were trapped in their own homes and couldn’t find a way out. It takes a lot of courage to do what she just did. She only did what her father has taught her.”

The gravity of his words hung heavy in the air between the three of them, testament of his girlfriend’s strong will to be an ally to those less fortunate than her. Hank’s expression soften as he looked around them at the dozens of people his daughter helped, including and especially the little boy she came out carrying.

He looked back at YN with with gentle eyes, now that he had thought about everything that had transpired within the last half hour. “Get her checked out, will you?” He asked the Halstead man, in a slight grumble. “With how long you were in the building, the amount of smoke you inhaled isn’t good for anyone.”

As YNN sat in the ambulance, she couldn’t help but feel a storm of emotions swirling within her. Will stood by her side in a silent form of support, his presence a reassurance in the midst of everything going on. She knew her impulsive actions worried not only her father but him as well, but her sole focus had been on saving the boy.

“Thank you,” she said pulling the oxygen mask away from her face slightly. “Not only from saving me from Daddy’s lecture, but for just being here.”

Will smiled and reached out, taking her hand in his. “Babygirl, no matter what you do, I’ll support you. It’s just unfortunate that when dating a Voight, her dangerous and impulsive decisions come with the territory.” He stated with a small chuckle which in turn made the yea eyed girl let out a giggle of her own as she placed the mask back in its spot.

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #will halstead imagines #chicago med fanfiction #will halstead fanfiction

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radioactivepeasant · 12 days

Text

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Well, not a snippet. A whole durn one-shot. No title yet, so let's just call it "Responsible Adults, or, Damas Wants A Raise"

(This mentions a hilarious headcanon that rose from a discussion of game weapons with @troblsomtwins829 and @segaphantom , one I intend to use from now on, where it was decided that red eco shockwave ammo is what Wastelanders give their kids when they're first learning trigger discipline, and Jak is the equivalent of a kid bringing down a grizzly bear with a plastic baseball bat. Also featuring swears borrowed from Watership Down because rabbit language is a lot of fun tbh)

It should have been a perfectly straightforward event. Fourteen candidates who had finally passed the initial terrain tests to Kleiver's satisfaction, finally able to go at it with weapons. Only Scatterguns for now, of course. Live ammunition would wait for those who passed their first trial. Those left standing would receive their gate pass and first amulet, everyone who had dodged the lava but not their comrades' shockwaves would be scraped off the sand and delivered to the on-site hospital. They would have to wait another month to retake their trial.

It was standard procedure.

They'd done it hundreds of times.

But this time, it was immediately apparent that something was amiss.

One man broke out of the pack before Damas could even explain what was expected of a first trial. He ran between the cover provided by the matter formers like his life depended on it, gun swinging uselessly on his back.

Well. That one probably wasn't going to last.

Damas sighed and checked the tiny screen that showed him the Arena from a closer view. Oh. That was the Krimzon Guard who had turned up at the temple, begging for clemency in the wake of Praxis's death.

Well if he survived this, his record was clean. But if he didn't-

Well that was one less Krimzon Guard in the world.

Behind him, down the stairs leading to the interior corridors of the Arena, Damas heard an alarm siren. He frowned. What could be so urgent as to sound an alarm back there? Was a patient coding?

The king twitched one ear back to listen for details while glancing periodically at the ring.

"All personnel, all personnel, be on the lookout: an unaccompanied minor is missing from Ward 2. Light hair, underweight, believed to be experiencing medical distress-"

Damas blinked. How on earth had a patient gotten out of the children's ward without someone noticing? Oh, Dr. Petros was going to spit fire when he found out.

"It's going to be one of those days," Damas grumbled, rubbing his forehead, "I can already tell."

He was correct.

A chorus of surprised voices began shouting in the stands, and Damas squinted down into the Arena. Amidst the chaos, the tattooed soldier formerly of Haven was still fleeing for his life. He occasionally fired behind him, but focused mainly on looking for a way out of the Arena. And now Damas could actually see his pursuer.

The figure was small -- tiny, compared to most of the candidates in both height and weight. It wove in and out of the combatants with an unusual speed and grace. But something was wrong.

"What the-"

Damas stood.

"Asa," he said into a handheld radio, "Don't activate the lava. Can you get eyes on the field and tell me if I'm actually seeing someone in hospital scrubs out there?"

"If what?!"

The man running the matter formers went silent as he peered out of his booth further down the wall.

"Bloody Frith! That guy doesn't even have a gun! They're not allowed to be unarmed for trials!"

"No, no they are not." Damas tightened his jaw. "But if he's unarmed-"

Then what's the Krimzon so afraid of?

The mystery candidate passed near the drone camera, and Damas almost dropped the screen entirely.

"Embleer Frith!" he swore, "It's that kid!"

It was the boy he'd found in the desert, barely alive, the one with a dead man's beacon in his hand. It had only been two days! Foundlings weren't permitted to take Arena trials until they had been declared medically sound for three consecutive days after their rescue!

Damas suddenly remembered the call from Petros, informing him that the young man was not, in fact, an adult from Haven. That he was in reality a young boy, covered with some deeply concerning scars. And the doctor had been very insistent about the foundling not being of age for combat trials.

The alarm from the hospital continued to blare, and Damas had a sinking feeling that the unaccompanied minor and the kid he'd hauled out of the desert were one and the same.

Who had allowed this?! The foundling definitely hadn't passed the terrain test yet -- he hadn't even reached the minimum age allowed to compete yet! He never should have gotten past Kleiver in the waiting hatch!

"Oh don't tell me," he breathed.

The Arena had been compromised. And that meant that the results of the fourteen candidates' initial combat trial were compromised. If Kleiver didn't have an incredible explanation for this, heads were going to roll.

Below, the boy had caught up to his quarry. Every single blast of the Scattergun, he dodged. Then the former guard shouted something; Damas couldn't make it out, but from the footage his lips seemed to be forming the word "free" or "freak".

Yells of both excitement and alarm filled the stands as the renegade patient just

Changed.

Purple sparks flickered over his body, like lightning. Every part of his body the sparks touched drained of all color. This was not the pallor of the dead, this was the white of bleached bone, and teeth. Black horns rose from ragged hair. Black claws were barely visible on each hand. At this distance, even his eyes looked black.

What. Was. That.

The KG screeched, firing without aiming. But the demonic boy launched too quickly to be tracked by the drone, taking the guard to ground. Damas knew without looking that the man was dying. He didn't even scream. There was only a pitiful gurgle as claws pierced his throat.

Damas turned the volume as far up on his screen as he could, just in time for the monstrous form to recede, to vanish as though it had been a mere hallucination. Spattered with blood, the boy from the desert stood up on shaking legs. Just barely, the drone caught his vicious hiss.

"Not so funny when you're the one with a mouth full of blood, huh, Tyber?"

He spat on the dying man.

And then his knees buckled.

Damas had seen enough.

"Stop the trial!" He commanded, waving guards towards the Arena. "The Arena is compromised! Get the candidates back to barracks, and send Kleiver to me, immediately."

He started to leave the booth, then turned back to the radio again.

"And find whoever was in charge of Ward 2 this week! And for the love of the Precursors get that kid out of my Arena!"

Oh, heads were going to roll.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Jak could hear shouting long before the creaking wooden platform reached the top of the shaft. He'd already been tense when the two big Wastelanders pulled him off the cot someone had dropped him on. If one of them hadn't been carrying Daxter, it was very likely that Jak would have tried to kill them, too. Now he started tugging experimentally at his arms, checking their grip.

"Quit!" One of them scowled at him. "The king’s mad as it is, don't make it worse!"

"-Didn't drag that kid off death’s doorstep just for you two to send him right back!" A raspy voice was yelling, "So you tell me, Rezzik, how a patient -- who Petros already told me was a minor based on musculoskeletal scans -- got into the Arena -- unarmed -- during a combat trial!"

The voice that responded was the skinny guy Jak had shoved away from him when he first woke up.

"Sire, the boy just-"

"I didn't ask about the boy! Tell me what you did! You were in charge of the children's ward this week, not the boy! When I want to hear the boy's side of things, I'll ask him myself!"

The other guards holding Jak's arms sucked on his teeth nervously.

"Oh, he's pissed," he whispered. "I wouldn't want to be the nurse right now."

"Or Kleiver. They're in deep weeds," the other agreed.

The elevator locked into place and, for a moment, Jak forgot the shouting. They were inside. And there was water. Water. Inside. Vast pools of it like an indoor oasis. Trees lined the room, dropping the temperature by several degrees. And this had been built by hu'men hands! How?!

"Well there he is." The raspy voiced man -- oh, Jak had seen the guy with the staff on that balcony of that stadium -- made an impatient gesture in his direction.

"Back from the dead, are you? You've certainly caused a fuss, young one. Care to tell me exactly what you were doing unarmed in a combat trial?"

"A combat what?" Jak answered the question with a question.

The man with the staff steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He inhaled sharply and wheeled to face the skinny medic.

"Rezzik!"

Rezzik put his hands up defensively. "He was unconscious, my lord! He wasn't expected to even be lucid until Se'enday!"

The king dropped his face into his palm.

"Oh my gods," he groaned, "He doesn't even know where he is, does he?"

"Uh, "he" is right here," Daxter snapped.

Every person but Jak jolted.

"It talks?!"

"Oh what the rot what the rot-"

"Oh that's so cursed-"

"Why does it talk?!"

Daxter whistled sharply.

"Yes yes, I'm a miracle of premodern medicine. Moving on! Who are you mooks, where are we, and what's all this about Jak and a combat trial?!"

Jak glowered at the ground.

"Saw Tyber. From the prison. He's dead now."

Daxter's ears drooped and his eyes widened. "Oh..."

He reached down to pat Jak's shoulder.

"The creep had it comin', Jak. You did good."

"Well. Considering you apparently weren't conscious until now, you can't be expected to have known," the man who was probably the king groused, "but entry into the Arena is restricted to those aged eighteen and older for a reason. So. What I need to know is who let you through that gate."

He pointed at the sullen man with the big mustache.

"Did he or did he not make any attempt to stop you?"

Frankly, Jak couldn't remember much about how he got onto that field.

"Wouldn't have mattered if he did or didn't," he muttered, "he couldn't have stopped me."

The king narrowed his eyes at him. Then he seemed to actually see him.

"Ah, what are we doing- Jin, Faro, let go of the kid! Get him some water for the gods sakes, he just passed out on the battlefield!"

Then he turned to look at the guy he'd called Kleiver.

His voice was much quieter now. And somehow that was more frightening.

"Kleiver, you know the procedure for new arrivals," he said softly. "Three days' recovery and approval from Maud or Petros before First Trial. So what made you let a boy in hospital clothes through that gate?"

The big man sneered. "Did you see the anklebiter?! He was out for blood! He ended up fine, di'n't he?"

"Fine?! Look at him!" The king gestured sharply in frustration. "He's wearing pajamas!"

"If he'd passed out two minutes sooner he could've died!" Rezzik gasped, appalled.

"Sire, this clearly wasn't the hospital's failure," he said, turning to the king. "This oaf put my patient in danger and-"

"Enough." Damas held up his hand, face hard.

"You are both to blame for what ultimately derailed the trials of fourteen candidates. Rezzik, I leave your penalty to be decided by your superiors. But Kleiver-"

He glared.

"Your only chance at retaining your position is if that boy had an extremely valid reason for hunting down that candidate."

Jak edged away from the guard offering him a canteen. "What counts as valid to you?" he asked pointedly.

The king paced to the edge of his dais, watching Jak with eyes a little too knowing. He folded one arm behind his back and studied him with none of the fire that had been directed at his own people.

"Newcomer, I will ask you only once, and you need only answer once. The man you killed: did he give you those scars?"

Jak went rigid.

They'd seen his scars.

They knew.

Nausea rocked him, crawling up his throat and tasting of shame.

"Boy?" The king pressed, "Did-"

"No." Jak practically spat the word out. "He kept me from escaping. He laughed. And now he's dead. Got a problem with that?"

The king scoffed slightly. He glanced back at Kleiver.

"You are fortunate today. I will retroactively approve an exception for the boy this once as a case of justified retribution. Do not let it happen again."

"Sire," Rezzik piped up again -- guy just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut -- "Arena exceptions must have signed affidavits from the guardian of the minor, mustn't they? As the attending physician, shall I-"

"Don't be a pot-stirrer, Rezzik," Damas said flatly.

Jak muffled a snort and exchanged amused glances with Daxter. At least he wasn't the one getting yelled at.

"No," Damas said, tense again and gritting his teeth, "Since apparently I am the only reasonable adult in this entire godsforsaken room today, I'll complete the affidavit."

He waved dismissively at the group.

"Do not compromise the trials of our candidates again. Negligence costs lives, and weakens our city, gentlemen."

Kleiver looked like he had a few choice words to say about that, but he dipped his head respectfully and marched away without a word. Jin and Faro cringed at each other, then made to grab Jak's shoulder.

"Come on, kid. You need to go back to the doc-"

Jak shoved Jin away and stumbled back.

"Don't touch me!"

Rezzik raised his hands placatingly, approaching as if the boy was a frightened baby animal.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, we only want to help you! I know you must be scared, but if you'll just let us get you back on the IV-"

Jak didn't hear anything else after that.

They were going to inject something into him.

They were going to strap him down and inject something into him-!

His breath shortened as he ducked Jin again. Faro was surprised enough by the elbow strike to his gut to loosen his grip on his gunstaff, and that was all Jak needed.

He ripped the weapon from the guard's hands and swung it in a wide arc, eyes wild.

"Get. Back."

Daxter snarled next to Jak’s ear. "Nobody touches my pal. Keep your filthy needles to yourself, or better yet, stick them up your-"

"Hey! Come on!" Faro complained, "That's custom, kid! You can't just jack a Wastelander's peacemaker, that's just not on!"

"You're not taking me back."

Jak swung the gunstaff again.

"I'm not going back there!

You can't take me back! I won't go back!"

Damas frowned and started down the steps. "What the bloody bones did you people do to make him do...that?!"

"That's...that's what I was trying to tell you before, sire," Rezzik said meekly as he backed away from Jak, "We didn't release him from care, he had some kind of...panic episode. Ripped out the IV and nearly killed Jessop on the way out."

The grinding of teeth was audible even at the bottom of the stairs.

"Petros is going to strangle you if he finds that you didn't take precautions with newcomer trauma," Damas said sharply.

"But we didn't know-! He was unconscious!"

"Get out."

Damas pointed to the elevator.

"Send Petros up here with his file after he deals with you."

When the guards didn't immediately follow the medic, Damas growled. "All of you get out! I've had enough foolishness for one day!"

"Sire," Jin gulped, "The uh, the boy-?"

"He's fine. I have to ask him questions for paperwork now thanks to at least one of you."

That left Jak and Daxter alone with the really really pissed off Wastelander King. (He hadn't even known there were enough Wastelanders to have a king!)

For almost a minute the man paced, swearing very colorfully under his breath. After six or seven very slow, deep breaths, he finally seemed to get control of himself again.

"How do you see needle scars and not think "hm, perhaps someone should stay with him to explain when he wakes up"? It's not that complicated!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"Is it the full moon this week? It must be. Everyone's lost their twice-rotted minds around here."

He took another deep breath, and after letting it out slowly, he sat down on the edge of the dais.

"Well, I can hardly think of a worse introduction to Spargus than that, but I hope you won't hold it against me."

Jak kept the staff clutched tightly in his hands, but didn't aim it at the man yet.

"Who are you? And what's Spargus? I know it isn't in Haven. Nobody cares what age you are in Haven."

"Definitely not Haven." Damas buried a curse in his hands.

"Gods I hate that place."

Daxter scowled. "Join the club."

"My name is Damas. I am the king of the territory of Spargus, and the man who pulled you out of the desert that surrounds us. And you are going to be an interesting case, I can tell."

Damas used his staff to drag a box from the side of the throne to just beside him. After some digging, he came up with an oddly shaped piece of metal.

"Ah. There it is."

He looked up.

"This is a battle amulet. Earning three grants adult newcomers citizenship and equal legal protections in the city."

"What if you're not an adult?" Jak challenged.

"Then you're already a citizen, but you can't vote until you're nineteen." Damas dismissed this as if it barely warranted mentioning.

"Now, understand this, boy: I am giving you your first amulet. And I will give you the modular gun. But you will not be allowed to take further trials until you pass eighteen years of age. I will hold your gate pass until such time as you can show me you have learned to survive in the wastes out there."

"You're keeping us here?!" Jak bristled.

"You're a minor. You had heatstroke. It happens. And since my people want to be idiots today evidently, you and I are going to be stuck with each other for a couple years. So you'd better get used to this place." Damas turned and stood up to stretch.

"Frith-rot-it. I have to go get the bloody intake forms, make a whole folder now- Do we even have more guardian ad litem forms?!"

He stepped somewhere behind the throne and seemed to vanish. "Amuse yourselves while I'm gone. No drowning in my throne room.".

And then he was gone , leaving the boys with more questions.

"What...what just happened?" Daxter asked.

Jak didn't have an answer.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #long post #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #jak and daxter au #free day friday #reluctant dadmas and even more reluctant son #Jak is stuck in the tower because they can't get him back in the hospital #playing with ideas for what would make messing up an Arena fight so serious #Kleiver almost got fired because of Jak and he holds a grudge #Damas thinks he and the kid will stay out of each others way but the kid has night terrors #Damas has been jumpscared in his own hallways 17 times and its been one week #Jak's never had real constructive rules and boundaries before he doesn't know what's going on

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godsfavdarling · 3 months

Text

01 new beginnings

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc

summary: After nearly two decades with the FBI, Dr. Spencer Reid makes a career shift to teaching at Georgetown University. There, he shares an office with Dr. Brittany Reed, a sociologist.

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist

warnings: none for this chapter

words: 3,9k

Spencer stood amidst the scattered boxes in the office, meticulously arranging his belongings on his new desk. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, signaling the start of a new chapter in his life. His gaze wandered to the other desk in the room, its pristine surface a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

The desk was neatly organized, adorned with a half-finished iced latte, stacks of glossy women's magazines, and an array of black pens. A closed laptop sat at the center, flanked by notebooks and a sleek black purse resting nearby. Spencer couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as he surveyed the items, each one offering a glimpse into the personality of his mysterious officemate.

Lost in thought, Spencer was startled by the sound of the door opening. He turned to see a woman entering the room, her presence commanding attention. She was tall and elegant, with long black hair cascading over her shoulders and piercing gray eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses. Dressed in a chic black blouse and wide-legged suit pants, she exuded confidence and poise.

The soft lighting of the office accentuated the delicate features of her face—the slight curve of her lips, the subtle arch of her eyebrows, and the gentle contours of her cheeks. Her long black hair framed her face like a cascading waterfall, adding to her allure.

"Dr. Brittany Reed, I presume?" Spencer said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

The woman flashed him a warm smile as she approached. "That's me. And you must be Dr. Spencer Reid," she replied, extending her hand.

Spencer shook her hand, feeling a surge of awkwardness at the physical contact. "Yes, that's correct. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Reed."

Brittany chuckled, her laughter filling the room. "Call me Brittany. And isn't it funny how our last names sound so similar? Reed and Reid!"

Spencer couldn't help but smile at the coincidence, though his mind was still racing with thoughts and observations. He watched as Brittany settled into her desk, effortlessly navigating the space with a grace he could only admire from afar.

"I hope you don't mind my mess," Brittany said. "They're doing some renovations in the department, so we'll have to make do with sharing for now."

"No problem at all," Spencer replied as he sat down, trying to sound more relaxed than he felt. He couldn't help but observe Brittany. She had an easy going demeanor, and her laughter filled the room as they kept talking.

"So, Spencer, what made you decide to leave the FBI and join us here at Georgetown?"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind racing to find the right words. "Well, it's... it's a long story. I suppose I just needed a change of pace, a new challenge."

Brittany nodded understandingly, her gaze curious but non-intrusive. "I can imagine. It must be quite a transition."

"Yeah, it definitely is," Spencer admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm still trying to find my footing, to be honest."

She chuckled and said, "Well, at least you won't have to worry about any serial killers lurking in the halls. Just your typical college students—though some of them could probably use a session or two with a therapist!"

"Actually, statistically speaking, there's quite a bit to consider regarding the prevalence of certain behaviors among college-aged individuals," Spencer began, his tone becoming more animated as he delved into his area of expertise. "For instance, did you know that approximately 10% of college students admit to engaging in some form of criminal activity?"

Brittany's eyebrows raised in interest, encouraging Spencer to continue.

"And when we look at specific types of crimes, the numbers are even more alarming," Spencer continued, his words picking up speed as he delved into his analysis. "According to recent studies, nearly 20% of college students report having committed acts of vandalism, while over 30% admit to underage drinking, and approximately 20% acknowledge using illicit substances."

He paused, taking a moment to gauge Brittany's reaction. To his surprise, she was listening intently, her eyes fixed on him with genuine curiosity.

"But it's not just about the crimes themselves," Spencer continued, his voice gaining momentum. "We also have to consider the underlying factors that contribute to this behavior. Academic stress, peer pressure, and socioeconomic disparities all play a significant role in shaping the choices students make."

As Spencer delved deeper into his analysis, he couldn't help but notice Brittany's attentive demeanor. She didn't interrupt him or try to redirect the conversation—instead, she seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"And when you factor in the influence of social media and online communities," Spencer added, his mind racing with data and statistics, "the potential for criminal behavior among college students becomes even more complex. It's a multifaceted issue that requires a comprehensive understanding of human behavior and societal trends... But you probably know about that because you are an expert in how technology influences society..."

He stared at her in awe, struck by her patience and genuine interest in his ramblings.

"Sorry, I started rambling," Spencer said, his voice filled awkwradness.

Brittany smiled warmly, her gray eyes meeting his with understanding. "No need to apologize, Spencer. I found what you had to say incredibly insightful!"

"Thank you," Spencer said, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude as he turned his gaze away from her. Despite his efforts to maintain composure, he couldn't shake the sheepish feeling that crept over him.

"Have there been any studies on the prevalence of criminal behavior among professors?" she asked him, as she walked over to his desk and sat on the edge, her thigh now partially resting on the wood.

Spencer couldn't help but notice the change in perspective, her presence suddenly more pronounced. From this angle, she looked even more captivating, and Spencer found himself momentarily distracted by her proximity.

"Um, well, criminal tendencies among professors are... um..." Spencer's words trailed off as he struggled to maintain his train of thought, his gaze inadvertently drawn to Brittany's intent expression. He could feel her eyes on him, watching him closely as he stumbled over his words.

"Sorry, I, uh..." Spencer felt a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks. He cleared his throat and continued.

"To answer your question, there have been studies that suggest... um, criminal tendencies within academia have been the subject of numerous studies over the years. While it's true that the vast majority of professors uphold the highest ethical standards, there have been instances where individuals within the academic community have been implicated in criminal activities."

He paused briefly, glancing at Brittany before continuing, captivated by her attentive gaze.

"But it's mostly cases of academic fraud, research misconduct, and even instances of embezzlement within universities," Spencer explained, his words flowing effortlessly as he delved into the nuances of the topic. "The pressures of academia, combined with the temptation of personal gain, can sometimes lead individuals down a dangerous path."

As he spoke, Spencer couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Brittany's genuine interest in the subject. Her unwavering attention fueled his confidence, allowing him to articulate his thoughts with clarity and precision.

"And while these cases are relatively rare, they serve as a reminder that no profession is immune to the influence of criminal behavior," he reiterated, his voice filled with conviction. "It's a complex issue that warrants further examination, both from a societal and institutional perspective."

He paused, his eyes lingering on Brittany for a moment longer before a playful glint sparked in them. "But not many serial killers," he added with a hint of amusement, a small smile playing on his lips.

Brittany chuckled softly, her own smile mirroring Spencer's. "Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that here," she replied, her tone light and teasing.

She gracefully turned and walked back to her desk. Spencer couldn't tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the effortless sway of her hips with each step she took. He found himself captivated by the fluidity of her movements, the subtle elegance that seemed to exude from every gesture.

Unconsciously, Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the contours of Brittany's figure as she moved across the room. He felt a rush of warmth flood his cheeks, his pulse quickening at the sight before him.

Once Brittany settled back into her chair, Spencer quickly averted his gaze, focusing intently on the papers scattered across his desk. He could feel the heat still lingering in his cheeks from his earlier observation, and he silently chastised himself for allowing his thoughts to wander.

Her effortless confidence and poise were a stark contrast to Spencer's own awkwardness, and in her presence, he felt acutely aware of his own shortcomings. Her warmth and charisma seemed to draw him in, yet at the same time, they left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

He busied himself with arranging the papers on his desk, his movements slightly fumbled as he tried to regain his composure.

Despite his best efforts to mask his unease, he couldn't shake the feeling of being out of his depth. It was as if her mere presence had a way of unraveling the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself.

But even as he struggled to find his footing, Spencer couldn't deny the strange allure of Brittany's presence. There was something captivating about her confidence and poise, something that drew him in despite his own insecurities.

As Spencer busied himself with organizing his desk, he felt the weight of Brittany's gaze upon him. Every so often, he would steal a glance in her direction, only to find her looking back at him with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

It was as if she could see right through him, could sense the flutter of nerves in his chest and the slight flush that colored his cheeks whenever she glanced his way. Despite his attempts to appear composed, Brittany's perceptive gaze seemed to unravel him with ease.

Spencer couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and intrigue at the way Brittany seemed to effortlessly read him like an open book.

After a while of engrossed work, a knock on the door interrupted their quiet concentration. Spencer and Brittany exchanged glances before Brittany rose to answer it.

Opening the door, Brittany greeted the woman with a warm smile. "Maya! Come in," she exclaimed, gesturing for the red-haired woman to enter.

Maya stepped into the office with a bright grin. "Hey, Brittany! How's your first day going?" she asked cheerfully, glancing around the room.

Brittany motioned towards Spencer. "Maya, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's our new colleague here at our department. And this is Dr. Maya Cooper, her office's next to ours and she's my friend!" she introduced.

Spencer offered a polite smile, feeling a bit self-conscious "Nice to meet you, Dr. Cooper," he greeted.

"Hello Dr. Reid. That's funny you guys share an office... You know... with the names..."

Maya's gaze shifted between Spencer and Brittany before she turned back to Brittany with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Hey, so I was thinking... Since it's the start of the academic year and all, how about we all go out for drinks later? A little professor integration, if you will," she suggested, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Brittany's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "That sounds like a fantastic idea! What do you say, Spencer? Would you like to join us?" she asked, her gaze lingering on him with a hopeful smile.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, feeling the familiar tug of apprehension in his chest. The idea of going out for drinks with his new colleagues made him feel slightly uneasy. But as he glanced at Brittany, her warm smile and genuine invitation softened his resolve.

"Um, sure, I... I'd be up for it," Spencer replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

The girls' faces lit up with delight at his acceptance, and Maya clapped her hands together excitedly. "Great! It's settled then. Adam and Carly are also coming! Oh, and Brittany, don't forget to ask Lawrence to come along. The more, the merrier!" she exclaimed before turning to leave.

Spencer fidgeted with a pen on his desk, his mind swirling with thoughts about the upcoming gathering.

"Do you and Lawrence know Maya well?" Spencer ventured cautiously, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

"Yeah, we've known each other for a while," Brittany replied with a smile, sensing Spencer's apprehension.

"It's nice that you include him and spend time with both him and your work colleagues," Spencer remarked, hoping to steer the conversation in a casual direction.

Brittany chuckled softly at Spencer's assumption, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh my god? Do you think that Lawrence is my boyfriend?" she replied, amusement evident in her voice.

Spencer's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. "Oh, I, uh... I see, I'm sorry. I just thought..." he stammered, feeling relieved yet still unsure of himself.

Brittany's laughter filled the air, her amusement contagious. "Don't worry, Spencer. It's okay. Also Lawrence is very much unavailable... in that way, at least," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Spencer's confusion deepened at Brittany's cryptic remark, but before he could inquire further, she offered a reassuring smile. "He's gay, Spencer. Very gay! And he's my neighbor and my best friend!" she clarified with a playful wink.

Understanding dawned on Spencer, and he couldn't help but join in Brittany's laughter. "Got it," he replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Brittany asked teasingly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What? No, of course not. Why would I..." Spencer started to reply, his voice trailing off as he realized Brittany was joking.

She laughed, the sound light and playful. "I'm joking!" she exclaimed, shaking her head at Spencer's earnest response.

Brittany continued to laugh, finding the idea of Lawrence being her boyfriend utterly hilarious. Spencer couldn't help but laugh along with her, grateful for her easy going nature.

After their classes concluded, Brittany and Spencer made their way to the metro station together, sharing casual conversation along the journey. The excitment of the evening's gathering filled the air as they rode the train to the bar where their colleagues were waiting.

As they arrived at the bar, Spencer took in the ambiance of the place. It was a cozy establishment with dim lighting, exposed brick walls adorned with vintage posters, and a lively atmosphere. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft melody of background music.

Brittany and Spencer found their colleagues gathered around a table in the corner of the bar. Maya and Lawrence were already seated, engaged in animated conversation. Two other individuals, Adam and Carly, joined them, completing the group.

Brittany intoduced Spencer with a warm smile as they approached the table, gesturing for him to take a seat beside her. Lawrence, a tall black man dressed in a bright dress shirt and colorful pants, flashed a friendly grin as they sat down.

"Spencer, this is Lawrence," Brittany introduced, her tone light and playful. "Lawrence, meet Spencer. He thought you were my boyfriend!"

Lawrence's eyes widened in mock horror, and he feigned a dramatic gasp. "Oh no, not another one!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I might just have to throw up if I hear that again."

Spencer chuckled nervously, feeling a pang of embarrassment at Lawrence's jest. He glanced at Brittany, who was smiling mischievously, clearly enjoying the exchange.

As Brittany turned to Spencer, her voice laced with amusement, she asked, "So, what'll it be? I'm heading to the bar."

Spencer quickly rose from his seat, a determined look in his eyes as he replied, "I'll order for us."

Brittany raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by Spencer's sudden assertiveness. "Oh, really?" she quipped, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Quit the gentleman act, Spencer. I'm perfectly capable of buying drinks. You can buy me coffee some day. Now, what are you having?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then replied simply, "Water."

Brittany's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of incredulity in her voice as she repeated, "Water?"

"Yes," Spencer confirmed, nodding firmly.

"You'll have water?" Brittany pressed, unable to hide her amusement.

"Yes," Spencer repeated, his tone unwavering.

"Okay," Brittany said, shaking her head with a laugh. "One water for Spencer."

As she made her way to the bar, Spencer couldn't help but smile at Brittany's playful teasing.

They sat at the table, enjoying their drinks and conversation and Brittany sipped on her second beer, the lively atmosphere of the bar enveloping them.

Spencer couldn't help but notice the way Brittany's hand wrapped around the cold glass of beer, her long coffin-shaped nails painted in a subtle beige hue. The soft clinking of her gold rings against the glass created a gentle melody that resonated in the air

Suddenly, one of the bartenders approached, placing a colorful drink before Brittany and pointing to a guy at the bar, indicating that it was from him.

Brittany looked at the drink with a mixture of surprise and mild disgust, then glanced over at the guy at the bar. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, her expression incredulous.

Maya and Lawrence burst into laughter at Brittany's reaction. "Why would he even buy me a drink? I'm drinking beer. Is he blind?" Brittany wondered aloud, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Well, it's not very ladylike of you. He knew better what you'd like!" Lawrence teased, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, how could you know what you should drink? He's here to tell you!" Carly added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Spencer watched the whole interaction unfold, intrigued by the dynamics of Brittany's friendship group. Brittany continued to stare at the drink, seemingly at a loss for what to do with it.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" she mused aloud, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Go to him and say thank you. He's not that bad looking," Lawrence suggested with a mischievous grin, eliciting laughter from the group.

"I'll take it!" Maya declared enthusiastically, already enjoying a similar drink of her own. Brittany pushed the glass towards her friend with a grateful smile, relieved to be rid of the unexpected gesture.

As they left the bar, Brittany lit up a cigarette, the glow casting a warm light on her face as they continued their conversation. They debated which way to go home, their voices mingling with the sounds of the city streets.

Suddenly, the guy from the bar approached Brittany, catching her attention. "Hey..." he started, but Brittany turned to him with a polite smile, saying hi.

"So, I was thinking..." he began, but Brittany swiftly interrupted him, her hand reaching out to grasp Spencer's arm as she came up with a quick solution to rid themselves of the unwanted attention.

"Sorry," she interjected, her tone firm but friendly. "I'm here with my boyfriend."

As Brittany's hand gently closed around Spencer's arm, a rush of warmth spread through him, unexpected but not unwelcome. Her touch, though brief, sent a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, stirring something deep within him.

And when she casually referred to him as her boyfriend, a small thrill ran down his spine, igniting a flicker of excitement in his chest. Though he didn't say anything in response, the subtle shift in his demeanor didn't go unnoticed.

The guy's expression shifted, his eyes widening in realization. "Oh, right! Sorry, man! I didn't know. Have a great night!" he exclaimed, before quickly turning and disappearing into the night.

"Okay, we have to go. Bye guys," Carly said quickly, her voice cutting through the chatter as she and Maya and Adam hurriedly hailed a taxi that had just arrived.

Lawrence also chimed in, "I gotta go the other way... I might... have a date..." With a wave, he disappeared into the bustling city streets.

Suddenly, Spencer and Brittany found themselves alone, the noise of the city enveloping them once more. Brittany turned to Spencer, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry for what I said back there... I didn't mean to imply..."

Spencer nodded understandingly, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's okay, Brittany. I understand," he reassured her, grateful for her quick thinking in diffusing the situation.

Brittany sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she visibly eased into the conversation. "You know, sometimes guys just let go easier when there's a threat of a boyfriend," she explained, a hint of frustration in her voice. "It's like they can't take no for an answer unless they think you're taken."

Spencer nodded in agreement, glanced at her ciggarete and remarked, "6 minutes."

Brittany furrowed her brow in confusion. "What?" she asked

"That's what I used to tell my mom when she'd light a cigarette," Spencer explained, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "A cigarette takes 6 minutes of your life, so every time she smoked one, I'd tell her that it's 6 minutes less I get to spend with her."

"That's sweet... I'm still gonna smoke. I only smoke when I drink. I don't know why..." Brittany trailed off, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Spencer interrupted her gently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Actually, there's a psychological explanation for that," he began, his tone measured as he launched into an explanation.

"You see, smoking and drinking often go hand in hand because they both activate the brain's reward system. When you drink alcohol, it increases the levels of dopamine in your brain, which makes you feel good. Smoking can have a similar effect, releasing dopamine and other neurotransmitters that produce feelings of pleasure and relaxation."

Brittany listened intently as Spencer continued to explain, his words weaving a fascinating narrative about the intricate workings of the brain and its response to certain stimuli.

"Additionally, there's also the social aspect to consider," Spencer added. "Smoking is often associated with socializing and relaxation, so when you're out with friends and having a few drinks, the urge to smoke can be especially strong."

Brittany nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Spencer's words with interest. "That makes sense," she mused, a newfound understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Yeah, it's all about the brain's response to different stimuli and the associations we make with certain behaviors," he concluded, his voice warm with enthusiasm.

He smiled as Brittany hummed in response, the sound of her exhaling smoke mingling with the cool evening air. He watched her for a moment, noticing the way her features softened in contemplation, her gray eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

As they continued walking, the realization slowly dawned on them that they were both heading in the same direction. Spencer cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"So, uh, which way are you headed?" he asked, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

Brittany glanced at him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Funny enough, I live just a few blocks from here," she replied, her voice warm with surprise.

Spencer's eyes widened in realization. "Really? Me too," he exclaimed, a sense of serendipity settling over him.

Brittany chuckled softly, a twinkle in her eye. "Looks like we're neighbors then," she remarked, her tone light and playful.

"Yeah, it seems that way," he replied.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds fanfics #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfic #i'm such a fool for you

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bookishcarmela · 2 months

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Shadows of Affection

warnings: none

Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 7: The explosion

authors note/ Hey everyone, Sorry for disappearing for a bit. I've been stuck with writer's block, but I'm getting back on track. Chapter 8 is in the works and should be out soon. Also, sorry if the last chapter was short. Sometimes, ideas come in small packages.Thanks for being patient and supportive. I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far and what you'd like to see in future chapters. Do you prefer Reader with Felix or Corio? Let me know in the comments.

The explosion ripped through the arena, hurling you off your feet and sending you crashing to the ground. The thunderous boom echoed as chaos erupted around you. You grappled to keep your balance, clinging to the trembling earth, desperately trying to push back the rising panic.

Memories of past horrors flooded your mind—the blood, the cold, the fear. You longed for home, for the reassurance of your father's presence, the soothing words that nothing could harm you. Curling into a ball, you sought solace in a moment of vulnerability, praying for the chaos to cease.

Amidst the turmoil, hands reached out, wrapping around you protectively, pulling you close. A voice whispered softly, reassuringly, promising safety in the chaos. Though the thick haze clouded your vision, you recognized the voice instantly. It was Felix.

His presence was a lifeline in the turmoil, a comfort that shone through the darkness. With his arms encircling you, he murmured words of solace, assuring you that you would weather this storm together. And in that moment, his presence felt like a refuge in the midst of chaos.

The deafening silence deceived them, luring them into a false sense of security as you cautiously began to rise. However, the illusion shattered with a final explosion that ripped through the stands above, sending debris, flames, and chaos cascading down upon you.

you stumbled, disoriented, attempting to regain your footing when a force pushed you, sending you sprawling to the ground. The impact slammed your head against the unforgiving surface, sending you spiraling into unconsciousness. In the haze between consciousness and oblivion, you caught fleeting echoes of someone calling your name.

When you emerged from the void, you found yourself in a starkly bright room, disoriented and groggy. But before you could make sense of your surroundings, darkness enveloped you once more.

As you gradually came to, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the room. Despite the light, your body ached, and each movement was a struggle. An uninjured Sejanus sat nearby, concern etched across his face. When he asked how you were, you attempted to sit up, wincing at the pain.

"Where's my mother? Did she come?" you inquired, scanning the room with a glimmer of hope.

Sejanus shook his head, his expression turning solemn. "No, Y/n. I'm the only one who's been here."

your heart sank at his response, but you pressed on, asking about Coriolanus.

"He took a hard hit, but the doctors are optimistic. He'll pull through."

When you inquired about Felix, Sejanus' demeanor turned even graver. "He's not doing well. He's in surgery right now."

you felt a pang of guilt, realizing that Felix had saved you, or at least you suspected he did. "He pushed me out of the way," you whispered, a mix of gratitude and concern coloring your words.

Sejanus explained the aftermath of the explosions, the chaos that had unfolded. "They didn’t know what triggered the bombs. The losses shook the Capitol. The casualties... they're devastating."

Your heart weighed heavily with the toll of the event. "How bad is it?" you asked, bracing yourself for Sejanus' response.

"District 6 tributes are gone. The Ring twins too," he recounted with a grimace. "Androcles Anderson and Gaius Breen are in critical condition. Gaius lost both his legs. It's a mess, Y/n.”

If Dr. Gaul wanted a makeover for the Hunger Games, she’d gotten it. You thought, Shortly after Sejanus departed, the doctor arrived with news about your injuries. According to them, the blow to your head required monitoring but wasn't too severe.You also had a bruised rib, prompting them to recommend a few days' stay for observation.

The following afternoon, a parade of well-wishers started with Festus, who bore a sling on his arm and a few stitches on his cheek from a shard of metal. He shared the news that the Academy had canceled classes, but students were expected to attend the Rings' funeral the next morning.

After a while, Sejanus made another appearance, this time with a stack of his mother's delicious meatloaf sandwiches. He stayed for a brief visit, offering comfort in the form of familiar homemade food, before taking his leave.

after a while of sitting in your hospital room and thinking you decide its finally time to do what you've been avoiding

As you entered Felix's hospital room, you found him lying there, seemingly in a peaceful slumber. Despite the visible cuts and bruises on his tan face, the nurse had informed you that he had already undergone surgery but had yet to wake up. A mixture of relief and uncertainty washed over you—glad that he wasn't awake to witness your vulnerable state, unsure of what to say to him even if he were.

You approached the bed and settled beside him, your hand reaching out to gently brush his dark hair away from his face. The tenderness in Felix's nature had always struck you, a stark contrast to your own soul tainted by the deeds and pain you had encountered. Though you cared for Felix, you grappled with the complexity of your feelings. Did you truly love him, or did you just love the way he made you feel.

You sat there, your lips forming a soft frown, eyes brimming with unshed tears you were determined not to let fall. "Oh, Felix," you whispered.

As you sat in silence, the sterile hospital room offered little solace as your thoughts drifted back to a time when everything seemed simpler. You reminisced about the days when You and Felix were just children, blissfully unaware of the harsh realities that awaited them in the years to come. Felix, always the sweet boy, had been a constant presence in your childhood. You thought of the innocent days when he used to pick pretty flowers for you, a gesture that somehow always went unnoticed.

You remembered how Felix would blush, a rosy hue spreading across his cheeks whenever you talked to him or merely glanced in his direction. Back then, You hadn't paid much attention to those signs of affection. After all, your focus was firmly fixed on Coriolanus Snow, Your childhood companion.

Your families had been close, Your parents best friends, and the idea of marrying the two of you seemed almost inevitable. You once overheard conversations between your fathers discussing the possibility of a future marriage between the two of you. It now seemed like a silly notion, a relic from a time when life was uncomplicated.

As the war unfolded, your visits to the Snows' penthouse became less frequent. After Coriolanus's mother passed away, those visits ceased altogether. Your own father's death marked a turning point, a moment that shattered the illusions of a carefree childhood. The memories of those simpler times clashed with the harsh reality of the present, leaving you lost in contemplation within the sterile confines of the hospital room.

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teriri-sayes · 6 months

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Reactions to the Lone Flame's Chapter 214

TL;DR - More background lore of Aipotu. Witira and Gashan are present. Cale asks the old man some questions.

Aipotu Lore This chapter was entirely Cale's conversation with the village chief, so it had a serious atmosphere and no funny moments at all. To narrate in a story:

Once upon a time, everyone lived in peace together. And then 200 years ago, the Purple Bloods decided to control the World Tree and the laws of the world. This caused a great upheaval.

The weather of the world drastically changed. And powers like mana and aura became unstable. As most of the world relied on magic, the loss of mana caused chaos. Magic and swordsmanship declined since then.

But there were people who remained strong even without mana and aura. They were the beastkin people. The hunters thought hard. They were dragons, and considered the strongest in the world. But there were beastkin races that were on par with dragons. And the beastkin population was hugely more than the dragon population. Thus, they considered the beastkin as a threat to them.

So disaster struck the beastkin. Those who had completed their first berserk transformation was suddenly afflicted with madness. Instinct drove them rather than reason. Their madness brought about destruction to their surroundings.

Then, a place called the Holy City stepped up, and together with the dragons, they subdued and massacred this mad beastkin people. The Holy City worshipped dragons as gods, so they had no qualms in eradicating the beastkin whom they considered as a threat to their god.

The Holy City grew and became the Holy Empire. And as if to pacify the people who lived amidst the chaos, they blamed the beastkin people for causing the weather, mana, and aura changes. They branded the beastkin as dirty bloods, and promoted hunting those dirty bloods.

The surviving beastkin fled and lived in hiding. Some of them lived in the Erghe Mountains. Archduke Snow might have died 200 years ago, but his place still considered the beastkin as their friends. So they secretly cooperated in hiding the beastkin despite the Holy Empire sending a subjugation force to the Erghe Mountains every year.

Suddenly, 10 years ago, mana and aura slowly stabilized. Mages and swordsmen reappeared again, though it was still incomparable to 200 years ago. If there were a thousand mages back then, there was only one mage now. This was great news for the empire. But the people of the deceased Archduke Snow were suspicious of it.

One night, the village chief of a village that once belonged to the archduchy had a dream. He dreamt of a red-haired man coming to save them from their troubles. And lo and behold, his dream turned out to be true! Indeed, a red-haired man, who for some odd reason greatly reminded him of the late archduke, appeared together with a black castle and scary companions. And thus the tale of Caleism in this world began.

Ending Remarks As I've said, today was mostly about lore. Witira and Gashan were revealed to be included in the 99 people too. Next chapter would be the old man's answers to Cale's three questions - why are dragons worshipped as gods, when would the subjugation force arrive, and did they know someone named Choi Jung Gun.

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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blkdaddie · 7 days

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A Day with Dr. Marcus

The Male Pregnancy Center was bustling with activity as Dr. Marcus stood at the center of it all, a beacon of serenity amidst the chaos of the delivery ward. His round belly protruded proudly beneath his scrubs, a visible testament to the marvels of modern science and the possibilities of male pregnancy.

His patients, fellow expectant fathers, found solace in his presence. They were comforted by the fact that their doctor understood firsthand the physical and emotional complexities of pregnancy. Dr. Marcus took pride in being able to guide them through each step of this extraordinary journey, offering not only medical expertise but also empathy and understanding.

On this particular day, the delivery ward was abuzz with activity. Daddies-to-be labored and delivered their babies as doctors and nurses moved swiftly to attend to their needs. Dr. Marcus moved through the chaos with a sense of calm determination, his focus unwavering despite the weight of his own pregnancy pulling at him.

As he entered one of the birthing rooms, he found himself face to face with a young man, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Dr. Marcus offered a reassuring smile, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of the storm.

"It's okay," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm. "You're doing great. Just breathe and trust your body."

The young man nodded, his grip on Dr. Marcus's hand tightening as another wave of contractions washed over him. Dr. Marcus guided him through each breath, each push, his own belly swelling in solidarity with his patient.

Finally, with a primal cry that echoed through the room, the young man welcomed his child into the world. Dr. Marcus watched with a heart overflowing with joy, tears glistening in his eyes as he witnessed the miracle of birth once again.

As the new father cradled his baby in his arms, a radiant smile breaking across his face, Dr. Marcus felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over him. In that moment, he knew that this was where he belonged, where his unique journey had led him – to a place of healing, hope, and new beginnings.

The day wore on, each birth a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the power of love. Dr. Marcus moved from room to room, offering his support and expertise, his own pregnancy a silent companion on the journey.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the city outside, Dr. Marcus finally allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. He stood by the window, a hand resting on his swollen belly, feeling the flutter of life within.

In that moment, surrounded by the gentle hum of the Male Pregnancy Center, he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be – a doctor, a father, a harbinger of hope in a world filled with miracles. And as he closed his eyes, a serene smile playing on his lips, he felt the weight of his pregnancy lift, replaced by a profound sense of peace and fulfillment.

#mpreg story #pregnant man #mpreg #mpreg art #mpreg kink #mpregnancy #mpreg birth #pregnant kink #pregnant dad

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delusionalfanficwriter · 8 months

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jealousy

The clinic at Station 19 was abuzz with activity, and Maya found herself in the thick of it, tending to one patient after another. The unending stream of cases had her juggling paperwork and patient care, and she couldn't help but feel grateful when Carina and Elena entered following a shift at the hospital.

Maya's face lit up with relief as she spotted them. "Carina, Elena, you have no idea how glad I am to see you both! It's been absolutely non-stop. We only had Warren for the past two hours and it’s been a LOT."

Carina leaned in for a quick kiss, and Elena greeted Maya with a warm hug. Their arrival was a welcome sight amidst the chaos.

As they exchanged pleasantries, their collective attention shifted toward the patients' waiting area. Carina took a patient with Maya while Elena took another.

"So, Dr. Rodriguez, I have to say, you're the prettiest doctor I've ever seen."

Elena, in her usual professional manner, handled the situation gracefully. "Thank you, that's very kind. Now, let's talk about your symptoms."

Despite Elena's attempts to redirect the conversation toward the patient's medical condition, her persistent glances and playful comments made it clear she was more interested in something other than her ailment. Elena played into it a bit, having a bit fun at work never hurt anybody as long as she stayed professional and didn't cross any lines.

Carina, ever perceptive when it came to Elena, observed the patient's interest and the subtle undercurrent of tension behind the curtain. She leaned closer to Maya, her voice a whisper filled with playful jealousy. "Looks like someone has a little crush on Elena."

Maya's eyes sparkled mischievously as she glanced at the patient, then back at Carina. "Well, who could blame her? Elena is quite the catch."

But Maya's comment didn't go unnoticed by Carina, and she felt a twinge of jealousy herself. Her competitive spirit kicked in as she leaned closer to Maya, whispering. "Maybe I should remind you and Elena why you're lucky to have me."

Maya grinned, loving the playful rivalry between them. "Oh, please, Carina. You both are a handful." Maya and Carina treated their patient before making their way outside of Elena’s treatment curtain.

Carina watched the interaction closely, her jealousy growing more pronounced as she noticed Elena’s interest in the situation. She watched Elena's body language and comments in depth. Maya, sensing Carina's feelings, reached out to gently grasp her hand, a silent reassurance that everything was okay.

Maya's grip on Carina's hand tightened, and she leaned in to whisper. "Carina, let's not make a scene. Elena can handle herself."

Carina nodded, grateful for Maya's calming presence. She knew that jealousy was irrational in this situation, but it was hard to suppress.

As Elena completed her examination of the patient, she returned to Maya and Carina, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Well, that was an interesting case. She seemed more interested in flirting than discussing her symptoms."

Carina couldn't help but grin, feeling reassured by Maya's touch. "Can't say I blame her."

Maya joined in the playful spirit, giving Carina's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You've got quite the fan club, Elena."

Elena feigned exasperation. "Oh, please. You two are impossible."

The banter continued as they finished up their shift at the clinic. But as they made their way back to their apartment, the undercurrent of jealousy that had sparked earlier began to simmer beneath the surface. Maya couldn't help but notice that Carina's playful jealousy had taken on a slightly different tone.

As they settled into their cozy living room, the tension became palpable. Elena excused herself to take a quick shower, leaving Maya and Carina alone. Maya turned to her with a concerned look.

"Carina, is everything okay?" she asked softly.

Carina hesitated for a moment, her insecurity bubbling to the surface. "Maya, do you think Elena is more attracted to other people sometimes? Like that patient earlier?"

Maya was taken aback by the question but quickly realized that Carina's jealousy had triggered some deep-seated insecurities. She took Carina's hand gently, searching for the right words to reassure her.

"Carina, you know how much Elena loves you. We have a unique dynamic, and sometimes, playful flirting happens. But it doesn't change her feelings for you. She's madly in love with you, just as I am. We both are," Maya said earnestly.

Carina sighed, feeling a mixture of relief and embarrassment. "I know, Maya. It's just that sometimes, I can't help but wonder..."

Before Carina could finish her sentence, Maya leaned in and silenced her with a passionate kiss. Their lips met with a fiery intensity, fueled by a potent combination of love and desire. Maya's hands moved to Carina's waist, pulling her closer.

Carina responded eagerly, her hands roaming over Maya's body, igniting a passionate hunger between them. The insecurity that had momentarily clouded the atmosphere was forgotten as their desires took over.

Elena, having finished her shower and sensing the shift in energy, approached the living room. She paused in the doorway, a smile playing on her lips as she watched her two lovers entangled in a passionate embrace. It was moments like these that reminded her of the depth of their connection. She cleared her throat softly, announcing her presence. Maya and Carina broke their kiss, their flushed faces turning towards Elena.

"Looks like I interrupted something," Elena said with a smirk.

Maya grinned, pulling Elena into their embrace. "Not at all. You're just in time to join the fun."

Maya's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Carina's blouse, her eagerness making her hands tremble. The sound of fabric hitting the floor was followed by a momentary pause as Carina's bra joined the pile.

Elena, standing by the bed, couldn't help but watch with a hunger in her eyes. She had always admired Carina's curves, but seeing her now, in the throes of passion, ignited a longing that she couldn't resist. Her lips found Maya's neck, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses that made Maya's breath catch.

Carina's hands, determined and possessive, slid down Maya's back and gripped her hips. She pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together, a perfect fusion of desire. Maya's nails dug into Carina's shoulders as their lips met in a fervent, hungry kiss.

The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the soft rustling of sheets as they tumbled onto the bed, limbs entangled. The sensation of skin against skin sent electric shocks through their bodies, their moans of pleasure punctuating the air.

They weren't holding back tonight. The earlier jealousy had lit a fire in them, and they gave in to the primal need to possess and be possessed. Elena's fingers traced patterns of desire along Maya's inner thighs, while Carina explored every curve and contour of Elena's body with a fervor that left her breathless.

Hours seemed to blur together as they explored each other's desires. They switched partners, their lips and hands seeking out new heights of ecstasy. The room became a sanctuary for their passion, where inhibitions faded away, and they were free to express their deepest desires.

#maya bishop x carina deluca x reader #maya x carina #maya bishop x reader #maya bishop #carina deluca #carina deluca x reader #station 19 fanfiction #station 19 x reader #station 19 #fanfic

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aifanfictions · 7 months

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Write a story where Sherlock Holmes (BBC) falls in love with Rosie’s nanny. He likes that way she is so maternal towards Rosie that he starts thinking about having kids of his own.

Maternal Mysteries

Baker Street was as enigmatic as ever, and the legendary detective, Sherlock Holmes, was as brilliant and aloof as his reputation suggested. His brilliant mind was a whirlwind of ceaseless activity, constantly seeking out puzzles and mysteries to solve. But amidst the chaos of his tumultuous life, there was one mystery that had eluded him for far too long – the mystery of the human heart.

Rosie, the toddler daughter of Dr. John Watson, had brought an unexpected source of light and warmth into the once stern and stoic residence. Her laughter and curiosity were a stark contrast to the clinical and analytical atmosphere that usually permeated 221B Baker Street. It was her nanny, (Y/N), who bore the responsibility of caring for Rosie and taming the chaos of the household.

(Y/N) was a nurturing presence, her maternal instincts shining brightly. She was kind, patient, and endlessly gentle with Rosie, her soothing lullabies and loving presence a balm to the child's heart. Sherlock had never paid much heed to such matters before, but something about the way (Y/N) cared for Rosie intrigued him.

One evening, Sherlock found himself in a rare moment of reflection. He observed (Y/N) sitting on the floor, helping Rosie with a jigsaw puzzle, and a flicker of admiration lit up in his calculating eyes. It wasn't just her nurturing nature that intrigued him; it was the way her mind worked, the patience with which she guided Rosie through the intricate puzzle. (Y/N) was not just a nanny; she was a puzzle-solver in her own right.

Sherlock's curiosity was piqued. He decided to test her, setting up a complex puzzle that had left him momentarily stumped. With a subtle smile, he watched as (Y/N) knelt beside Rosie, taking a glance at the puzzle and its intricate pieces.

As (Y/N) examined the puzzle, her brow furrowed, and she started analyzing it systematically, just as she did with Rosie's puzzles. Sherlock's heart, a place he rarely ventured, skipped a beat as he realized that (Y/N) was unlike anyone he had ever met.

It took her only a matter of minutes to piece the puzzle together, and when she did, her eyes sparkled with triumph. "There you go, Rosie," she said with a soft smile, showing Rosie the completed puzzle. "We did it!"

Sherlock watched in silent awe, and for the first time, he realized that there were mysteries in life far more intriguing than crimes and conundrums. He was fascinated by the way (Y/N) approached life – with a motherly heart and a keen, analytical mind.

Over the following weeks, Sherlock found himself observing (Y/N) more closely. Her kindness, her maternal nature, and the way she solved puzzles with such ease fascinated him. He watched her teach Rosie about the world, and he saw how his once-chaotic life had been transformed by the presence of (Y/N) and Rosie.

One evening, as the embers of a fire danced in the hearth, Sherlock found himself alone with (Y/N) in the sitting room. He observed her gentle smile and the way she effortlessly cared for Rosie.

"(Y/N), you are truly remarkable," he said, his voice tinged with genuine admiration.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his. "Sherlock, what's come over you? You're not usually one for such compliments."

He cleared his throat and continued, "I've been observing you, and I've come to realize how extraordinary you are. Your patience, your analytical mind, your maternal instincts – they're all rather impressive."

(Y/N) blushed, feeling both flattered and surprised by Sherlock's words. "Thank you, Sherlock. That means a lot coming from you."

Sherlock's heart pounded as he searched for the right words, something that had always come easily to him, except in matters of the heart. "I've been thinking about… children, lately. It's a rather curious notion, I know, but I've been contemplating it."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Children, Sherlock? I never imagined you considering something like that."

Sherlock nodded, his voice softer than it had ever been. "Yes, well, you see, the way you care for Rosie, the way you approach life, has made me reevaluate things. It's a mystery I can't seem to solve, but it's a mystery that I find myself drawn to."

(Y/N) smiled warmly, her heart touched by his sincerity. "Sherlock, that's quite a revelation. Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved, but instead embraced."

In that quiet moment, the detective who had always believed in the power of logic and reason found himself facing the most enigmatic puzzle of all – the mysteries of the human heart. And in (Y/N)'s maternal presence and gentle spirit, he discovered a love and desire he had never known before.

As time passed, Sherlock and (Y/N) continued to care for Rosie, and their bond deepened. The mysteries of crime may have been Sherlock's profession, but the mysteries of the human heart were the most beguiling of all.

And so, as Sherlock navig

ated the uncharted territory of love and family, he soon realized that he had embarked on the most profound journey of his life.

One evening, as the city's mysteries called him away on another case, he left (Y/N) and Rosie behind, a familiar ache in his heart. It was during his absence that (Y/N) stumbled upon a new puzzle, one that could hold the key to their shared future.

A series of cryptic messages and strange occurrences had been left behind in their sitting room. The room was in disarray, with papers scattered, and books haphazardly arranged. Rosie had been drawing pictures, her scribbles and innocent creativity adding to the chaotic scene.

(Y/N), with her keen eye for detail, couldn't help but notice that there was something more to this apparent mess. The scribbles on Rosie's paper held an uncanny resemblance to symbols she had seen before, symbols that appeared to be part of a code.

Curiosity and a dash of excitement spurred (Y/N) into action. She began to piece together the clues, following the trail of enigmatic symbols left behind by the culprit. It was a puzzle that Sherlock himself would have admired, one that demanded a blend of analytical skill and creative thinking.

As she delved deeper into the mystery, (Y/N) found herself uncovering secrets that had eluded even Sherlock. The puzzles led her on a winding path through the city, and she was determined to get to the bottom of this cryptic enigma.

When Sherlock returned from his case, he found an expectant (Y/N) waiting for him, a glint of excitement in her eyes. She had cracked the code, and her heart swelled with pride as she unveiled the solution.

Sherlock, renowned for his ability to solve even the most perplexing mysteries, was taken aback. He couldn't help but be impressed by (Y/N)'s deduction skills. It was a moment that made him appreciate her even more.

With the puzzle solved and the case closed, Sherlock found himself looking at (Y/N) with newfound admiration. He was falling in love, not just with her, but with the idea of a family of their own, with children whose laughter and curiosity would fill Baker Street.

"(Y/N), you never cease to amaze me," he confessed, his voice carrying a warmth and vulnerability that was entirely unfamiliar to him. "Your maternal instincts, your deductive skills, your nurturing nature – they're all qualities I never knew I needed in my life."

(Y/N) smiled, her heart dancing with a newfound hope. "Sherlock, I never imagined that someone like you would appreciate someone like me. But I must admit, you're a mystery I'm willing to explore."

In the midst of the mysteries that had brought them together, Sherlock and (Y/N) discovered a love that was deeper and more profound than any puzzle they had ever encountered. Their shared journey of caring for Rosie and solving life's enigmas had led them to a love that was both unexpected and extraordinary.

Sherlock's heart had finally cracked the most enigmatic code of all – the code of love. And in (Y/N) and Rosie, he had found the most fulfilling and delightful mystery of his life.

As they continued their lives together on Baker Street, the detective who had once believed in the supremacy of reason and logic found that love was the most mysterious and enchanting puzzle of all, one that would unravel with each tender moment and cherished memory.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

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