One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy
One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy
Synopsis: Draco and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy.
Draco Malfoy x Reader, female pronouns.
Warnings: There aren't any unless you consider silent pining bad. And angst, of course.
Words: 1,475
Masterlist
Draco knew he could never have her; his family would never allow it. Y/N was a blood traitor with her mud-blood friends and a lack of respect for her pure ancestry.
He yearned to return to the days of chasing each other through the old ornate manor, their laughter echoing through the tall chambers. They had always been close, attached at the hip. But as they grew and their parents bestowed their prejudice and hate upon them, Y/N rebelled whilst Draco conformed.
This difference acted as the catalyst for the decay of their friendship.
She had never seen the world like they did; she gazed upon muggles and their innovations in wonder and awe. Draco tried pleading with her to understand the importance of her status but to no avail. Y/N was an embarrassment to her family’s name and a stain on their bloodline. It came as no surprise to anyone when she was sorted into Gryffindor.
‘It’s better this way, Draco.' His father, Lucius, had said over an issue of The Daily Prophet one morning of his summer holidays,
‘Her family, your mother and I had been discussing an arranged marriage once you were older. It is good Y/N's true colours were revealed before we could have made that mistake.’
Draco’s heart had sunk at his father’s words. Her true colours did not matter to him; he wanted her anyway.
As Draco sat alone in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express, he thought of how his life would be different if that wretched sorting hat had placed Y/N in Slytherin. He would not have to hide his reddening cheeks when she spoke and avert his eyes as she looked his way. He would be free to love and be with her, have children and grow old with her.
It had been the longest Draco had gone without seeing her. In the last few years, domestic life had not been easy on Y/N; her parents finally kicked her out early in the summer. From what he had heard, she had stayed at the Weasley’s. He bet she had hated imposing herself on them.
That was the worst part about her being in Gryffindor; in their first year, she very quickly became friends with people Draco considered his enemies: Harry, Ron and Hermione. There were many reasons why Draco did not like these three, though he was too proud to admit that the main reason was that he was bitter; they got to be her friend, to know and love her without pressure from their families.
When he gazed out the window of the immobile train, he saw something that made his stomach contort in pain as though an unseen force was twisting his insides.
Her hands were intertwined with someone he hated more than anybody.
Harry Potter.
When had this happened? He thought they were only friends. Though the longer he watched them, the more the opposite seemed true.
They were together; Harry and Y/N were in a relationship.
As the aftershock of the pain he felt echoed hollowly in his stomach, he drew the blinds of the compartment shut; he could not bear to watch them any longer. But shutting them out had not been as easy as Draco had foreseen. Everywhere he looked, he saw her with him. In every corner of the castle, they stood, smiling at each other, holding hands and leaving small kisses on each other's cheeks. Draco saw them sit together in his classes, staring into each other's eyes in the great hall over meals. And though Draco tried not to let it bother him, he could not help but imagine himself in Harry’s place; she was supposed to be his.
It had been years since Draco could call Y/N his friend, and although he pined for her from a distance, he accepted that they were estranged. But the reality of her loving someone else rattled him to his core, and just like a spoiled child whose toy was being played with by another, he wanted her back, to snatch her from Harry’s arms and never return her.
He needed to speak with her, beg her to see reason. Surely, all those days of laughter and fun as children would amount to something; surely, she would remember the person he used to be.
He decided to speak with her after charms class; he noticed she was usually alone then, her friends heading to different lessons.
As Professor Flitwick called the end of their class, Draco watched as Y/N quickly collected her things and exited the classroom; he had to rush to put his belongings together and follow her.
But by the time he left the room, she was halfway down the grand hallway.
‘Y/N! Wait up!’ Draco could not remember the last time he spoke her name out loud; it felt strange on his tongue, as though it shocked him on its way out. She turned, skin creased between her brows, her face donning a bewildered expression. She, too, seemed shocked that he had called out for her,
‘Y/N, I need to speak with you; it’s important’ he pleaded,
With surprise still evident on her face, she opened her mouth to speak,
‘Draco, I don’t have the time, my next class is in ten…’ He grabbed her elbow and began pulling her to an empty classroom; despite her protest,
‘Draco… What are you…’ she trailed off, instead staring at him, eyebrows furrowed once more. Draco stood back and nervously scratched the nape of his neck, realising for the first time that he had no idea what he was going to say,
‘What is this about? I thought you didn’t talk to me anymore.’
Draco cringed, remembering how he had given her the cold shoulder in their first year. She had still wanted to be his friend, and he had pushed her away.
‘Look, I’ve noticed you’ve been a lot closer with Harry this year…’ Y/N's eyes sharpened, daring him to say more,
‘And?…’ she spoke carefully, with a warning; she already knew where this was headed,
‘I just think that… that,’ his words cut short; he knew he was out of line and had no right to have an opinion on the matter. He took a different route.
‘I just can’t believe you chose to be friends with him, let alone partners; you could have picked anyone in this school, and you chose him.’ His words made Y/N gasp in shock, but he continued nonetheless,
‘Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Did the fact I loved you mean nothing?’
Although Y/N looked angry, her eyes softened slightly,
‘Draco, did you ever stop for one moment and consider that this has nothing to do with you? You and I are not friends, Draco. You saw to that… I loved you once too, no, I loved a kind, sweet boy by the same name… but he died a long time ago, quelled by his very own father.’ Y/N's voice rose and trembled; Draco could see that talking about this upset her; once again, he felt the twisting pain in his chest.
‘None of this would have happened, though, if you were sorted into Slytherin…’
He continued, but Y/N interrupted,
‘But I wasn’t, was I? Don’t you see that our houses have nothing to do with this? You’re hiding behind them; you’re too scared to admit that we grew apart because you were a bad person.’ She took a deep breath,
‘Good people don’t bully and belittle first years and think people are lesser because of who their parents are. Good people don’t bully anyone; they’re kind and compassionate. And they’re selfless; not everything that they do is for themselves. And that is not who you are anymore.’
Draco could no longer see Y/N before him; she became shrouded by his tears, the truth of her words leaving him feeling winded, like blows to the stomach. Everything she had said was true. Of course it was; she had just unknowingly described herself.
Kind, compassionate, selfless.
Y/N was a good person; she was the best person in his life.
And he pushed her away because of one little difference.
As Draco stood in silence, unwilling to respond, Y/N’s frustration grew,
‘You know what? Forget I said anything; you won’t change.’ She muttered, ‘I need to get to class.’
She pushed past him to get through the door, looking back as though she were going to speak again, but decided against it. She shook her head and left.
Draco did not try to speak with her again; he knew nothing he could say would change her mind because she was right. He was a bad person, and she deserved better than him.
That is what she had with Harry Potter.
And as much as it killed him to watch, he could admit that.
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PART FIVE OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x SupernaturalMini-Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Descriptions of violence. Words: 3,127k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist <Previous Part | Next Part > A/N: I am so sorry this part took so long to come out.
Dusk set over Mystic Falls as Damon and Y/N made their way to the founder’s ball, the street lamps they passed under casting a golden hue against them. Y/N could feel her heart beating in her throat. Three times she had attempted to take a peek at Damon on the sly and three times he had already been looking her way. She did not know what scared her more; his lack of attention for the road ahead, or the fact he was seemingly staring at her. Y/N’s heart leapt as she discerned Damon’s hand lying open-palmed beside the handbrake, she knew he meant for her to grab it, but she could not force her suspicions out of her head. The calmness his presence brought her could only be short-lived. What if her unwilling intuition was right? What if he was a vampire? Once again, she thought back to the archives in the civil hall, one of the documents, dated 1864, had displayed both his and his brother's names.
Y/N swiftly quelled this concept, she was being ridiculous. Damon was a Salvatore, one of Mystic Fall's most cherished founding families, she had spied him with Liz Forbes working to eradicate vampires; she had known all this since the day she met him.
But she also recalled her original assumption, from their first meeting at the grill; she had thought he was one of them. But no, he could not be.
For a town so engrossed with tradition and heritage, would it be so outrageous to assume he and his brother were named for their late ancestors? And besides, a hunter could not love a vampire; it would go against her very nature. Her very reason for existing.
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat after this internal admission; love. She loved him. Warmth unfurled in her body like the first summer day after a most grim winter. She was in love with Damon Salvatore; everything about him.
She loves his stupid jokes, his dark hair and crystal blue eyes, and the way he looks at her with them. She loves the things he says, and everything he does and every time they part she loves knowing she will see him again.
She took a quiet breath and placed her hand in his, fingers entwining. When she peeked at him once more his lips were turned into a smile that creased his eyes, and she realised abruptly that she also loved his smile; more than she had ever loved anything. No, she did not believe he was a vampire.
Y/N let her love for Damon settle into every alcove of her being, she felt it from her fingers to her toes. But most of all she felt this love proliferate in her heart. It was something she had been so sure she understood. She loved her brothers, and although it had always been harder to admit, she also loved her father. But this was different, it was all-consuming, so insufferably intense, yet despite all this; calming. She had never felt she belonged anywhere, never found her place in this world. And somehow, in this uncanny town that she had only planned to inhabit briefly, she had found a home in the comfort of Damon's presence.
She could not believe, after everything she had been through and everything she had witnessed, through all her short-lived stays in unfortunate towns, that she would fall for someone so easily. For the longest time, she had held herself aloof from relationships; as though she was above them. Y/N understood that any bonds she formed would never amount to anything more than ephemeral, fleeting. But Y/N had also known falling in love with Damon would be as easy as the phrase proposed; as effortless as falling; and fallen she had. Her love for him was now as certain as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, and she did not want to believe it.
‘You know, I thought you’d never take the hint’ He said, smirking now, and brought her hand first to his lips and then to rest upon his knee. She felt a blush flood her cheeks and she was sure they glew vermillion. His affections had never been this blatant before.
‘I love how easy that is.’ He continued when she did not speak and with her most recent revelation fogging her thoughts, she realised suddenly that she had no notion of what he had meant.
‘How easy what is?’ Her breath came in quickly as she tried to function normally. To behave as though she had not just become aware of the certitude with which she loved the person sitting beside her. Though when his smile faltered, she knew she had failed, and she wanted nothing more than to see him smile again.
‘It’s easy to make you blush, it’s become a pastime of mine… something I’m very good at.’ He said this earnestly, though there was an air of jest to his comment. Her cheeks felt hot again, this time in embarrassment; after all, she did blush a lot.
He removed his hand from hers leaving it feeling cold and vacant, and lifted it to her face, reposing the back of his fingers against her cheek. He stared ahead at the road, with one hand on the wheel and an expression seemingly far away, and just as she dared thought he would mutter something profound, he opened his mouth to whisper,
‘Exhibit A, you’re blushing again. I get it though… I’m charming.’ He turned to her again, his smirk returning, and this time Y/N smiled with him. He always had something stupid to say.
The rest of the drive to the venue had been silent, though Y/N's thoughts had never been more deafening. She loved him. She loved Damon. She ran away from home and fell in love with the first man she saw. Y/N suddenly felt sick. If Dean were here right now she knew she would never live this down, she supposed that would mean her brothers could never find out. They pulled into a car park.
‘Y/N, are you alright, you’ve been acting strange.’ Her performance had not been as foolproof as she had thought.
‘Yes, I’m fine, it’s just… I’ve never been to anything like this before.’ She was surprised with how natural the lie came across, she could tell Damon believed her. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand again.
‘You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you embarrass yourself.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and gave a sweet kiss, never breaking eye contact. Heat flooded into her cheeks for the umpteenth time that day and she wondered if she had gotten it all wrong, maybe this supposed love was nothing more than a school-girl crush; she was certainly acting like a school-girl.
Damon let go, got out of the car, and began making his way to the passenger side. Y/N knew what he was doing and quickly rushed to get out of the car herself, despite everything that had happened and everything she realised about him, she was not going to let him dote on her; she was too proud.
‘Won’t you let me be a gentleman for once?’ He groused in fake chagrin.
‘But Damon, that would be unlike you…’ She smiled easily like everything was right in the world.
‘Why must you always offend me?’ He admonished, as he linked his arms with hers. Y/N’s attention quickly shifted to the sound of music and chatter coming from the ornate Lockwood mansion. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, only now becoming aware she had not lied before, Y/N was nervous; socialising had never come easy for her.
‘Don’t worry Y/N, you’re fine.’ Damon used his free hand to lift her chin, and he smiled at her encouragingly,
‘If we stand around any longer, we’re going to be late.’
The ball was already in full swing as the unlikely couple, arms linked, made their way through the grand doors. Y/N gaped in awe at the opulent chandeliers and sweeping floral arrangements adorning the sumptuous room; she had never beheld anything like it. For a moment she allowed herself to ponder all the period dramas she had watched in dingy motel rooms depicting such scenes, standing in this grandiose setting made those childhood evenings seem a lifetime ago.
The dulcet tone of one of Chopin’s many waltzes flowed from a piano standing in the corner of the makeshift ballroom and Y/N observed as gowns twirled in a beguiling amalgamation of colour, she shuddered at the thought of joining them; she would not be caught dead dancing.
‘May I…’ Damon unlinked their arms to instead hold his hand up in an offer, he wanted to dance,
‘No… Absolutely not…’ Y/N gasped, ‘I need to have at least 20 more drinks in my system before I do something like that.’
‘Come on Y/N, you’re at a ball, live a little.’ Damon’s mouth turned into a lopsided grin, she assumed he was happy to discover something that unsettled her, her responding look was scathing.
‘I wasn’t kidding about the drinks.’
The Winchester grabbed his still outstretched hand and guided him to the bar she had spied opposite the dancefloor. Already placed upon an embellished silver platter sat countless glasses of champagne, she grabbed two, and turned toward her dark-haired date.
‘Champagne is crucial for a great evening’ She said mirthfully, handing him a glass,
‘I suppose we better have some then’ Damon's voice turned grave, his change of tone startling her. She gazed up at him in shock, Damon looked over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed; she followed his line of sight. A man had just walked into the building, he had dirty blond hair that sat in curls upon his forehead. She was bemused to realise she had never seen him before; was he new in town?
Damon grabbed both their glasses, eyes lingering on the man and placed them back on the platter.
‘We’ll have some later… May I?’ Finally breaking his gaze, he held his hand out for her to grab, his tenseness unsettled her, she could tell he was making an effort to remain calm. She took his hand and together they walked past the make-shift ballroom and towards a hallway, Damon leading her away by the small of her back, but when the enigmatic man from moments earlier turned the corner behind them, his grasp shifted further around her waist,
‘Klaus… What a nice surprise.’ Y/N noticed the way Damon’s tone turned ever so slightly at the word ‘nice’, as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. She wondered who this man was, and why his presence had Damon tightening his grip on her waist, pulling her closer. She watched in trepidation as his stance became more guarding, shifting forward marginally so that he was now standing between them. Her stomach dropped, Damon was scared of this man, and that scared her.
‘My date… was just leaving, going to get us drinks.’ He lied easily, gesturing to the bar the way they had come, now letting go of her completely to instead stand between them.
‘Damon… I…’ Y/N started,
‘I would like a bourbon, neat.’ He turned to face her fully, eyes pleading, she had never seen him this timid.
‘She can get drinks in a minute, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, my name is Klaus Mikealson.’
Klaus held out his hand for her to take, and if Damon had not been acting so strange she would not have thought twice about taking it. He was perfectly charming. However, he also gave the impression that this introduction was not merely optional, so with a deep breath and one last look into Damon’s beseeching gaze, she connected her hand with his.
‘Y/N Walker.’ She said simply, not wanting to grant Klaus any more than this.
‘You look lovely this evening, Y/N.’
She felt his eyes look her up and down, measuring her and when his gaze promptly halted on her upper left arm dread washed over her being like a torrent. He lifted his hand once more, moving the fabric of her sleeve upward. The body tape she had carefully placed had seemingly come undone.
‘An interesting tattoo…’ He spoke his words inquisitively, though a divergence in his tone told the young Winchester that he knew exactly what it was. Klaus’s grip shifted to above her elbow as he turned to Damon,
‘A hunter… you brought a hunter into our midst.’ Damon took a step back from him, a feeble attempt at getting closer to the girl, but it was redundant. After months of no detection, Y/N could hardly believe her cover could be thrown so easily, by something so negligible. Klaus quickly pulled Y/N towards him and placed his hand under her chin as if in a caress, but the seething look in his eyes told her it was anything but.
‘This isn’t personal, love, consider it housekeeping. I prefer to keep my town hunter-free.’
His other hand cut into her chest, like a hot knife through butter, a feat she did not believe possible. She looked down at her body, her stunning crimson gown growing a darker red beneath his hand and acknowledged what she had known from the moment he had seen her tattoo, Klaus was a vampire, and she was going to die. He had chastised Damon for bringing a hunter with him, and she could think of only one reason why. All along, her intuition had been right and she had deluded herself into thinking otherwise; all because she loved him. As she looked into the harrowed expression contorting his features, she considered for a moment that maybe he had loved her back; but none of it mattered now.
The taste of blood on her tongue was accompanied by the appearance of a searing white-hot pain now strewing through her chest. It was agony like she had never known. Pain she would not wish on her worst enemy.
Y/N knew she could not survive this. Dark spots replaced all colour as her vision began to recede, and her knees collapsed beneath her. Before the world could fade completely the pressure of Klaus's hand disappeared, followed by a crash opposite them; she imagined Damon must have torn him from her, as she was now being held up by his shaking arms. She opened her eyes long enough to spy all her closest friends making their way towards them, the commotion must have caught their attention.
Their faces were grim but unsurprised, and she wondered dejectedly how many of them were in on this secret. How could she be so out of touch? To not suspect her own friends? They made their way straight to Klaus, to restrain him, she presumed.
The world blurred fast around her and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe that this was the end. But with the feeling of a cool breeze shifting her hair, she realised she was being moved. Towering trees enwreathed her peripheral and her rapid breath turned to white vapour in the air. Damon, hands quivering, placed Y/N delicately on the damp forest floor as though she would break at the slightest touch.
‘No… Y/N…’ Damon winced, it was the most dreadful sound she had heard. He was hurting. She forced her eyes open to look at him and immediately wished she had not.
Black veins appeared beneath the eyes she had come to adore, but they were no longer the pale blue shade she loved, the whites had turned red and inhumane. He lifted his wrist to his mouth which, to the young hunter's horror, had formed fangs and made a small gash. Y/N pressed her eyes shut again; she did not want to believe it. She felt Damon clutch onto her jaw, and despite forcing it open, his touch was benign, as though he worried she would disappear under his grasp.
She tried to close her mouth, she understood what he was doing, but her attempt was futile; he was too strong.
‘Please Y/N… You need to drink this… Please. ’ He shook her shoulders in desperation and she felt her whole body moving with his disruption, the pain in her chest intensifying. She told herself the pain was a good thing, it meant she was alive. He forced her jaw wider trying to force down his blood; she was not cooperating. Sobs quaked in his chest as he persisted in his pleading,
‘Please Y/N, I’m trying to help… Please.’ His weeps were gut-wrenching, and despite everything she had learned, what she now knew about him, she still did not want to hear him hurt like this. She stopped struggling and let the awful, hot, liquid pass her lips.
Her affliction receded and the relief was beyond anything she had ever experienced. The heavy state of stupor Y/N had just been under seemed to subside immediately. She lifted her hand to examine her chest and its stark bareness unsettled her; as though everything that had happened since she met Klaus had been nothing but a horrendous nightmare. But then she discerned that blood had defiled her stunning gown, beneath where his hand had been. Klaus had tried to take her heart, but no such wound was in sight; she felt sick.
Damon had healed her; he was a vampire.
‘Damon… you…’ She started but Damon grabbed her head and pulled her in for a desperate kiss, his tears mixing with the blood on her cheeks. All at once, the world fell away and the sole thing she cared about was the blue-eyed man before her. But all too soon, with a relieved exhale, he broke their kiss and placed his forehead against hers holding either side of her face tenderly.
‘You’re okay… you’re okay…’ The words were directed at Y/N but it sounded like he was reassuring himself, like he was trying to convince himself she was truly there.
‘I thought you were… I thought…’ He mumbled, she cut him off,
‘I’m fine Damon, I’m okay… I promise.’ She whispered.
It was at this moment that the full events of the day struck her. She recalled all her late father’s lessons, everything she had learnt from him to make her the hunter she is today. And despite all these lessons, and all his warnings, she loves Damon; she loves a vampire.
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✢ The Vampire Diaries ✢ Masterlist ✢
Just a little disclaimer, all my works use female pronouns for the reader. Besides this, I keep the reader undescribed, the only filler I use being 'Y/N' <3
D A M O N S A L V A T O R E
One-Shots:
The Day Before |Part 2 ✢ The reader knows she is dying, and to save Damon from the pain of her death, she makes an extremely difficult decision. However, the aftermath of this decision takes a great toll on Damon and the people who know him.
Series: Revenant ✢ Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? (This is a supernatural crossover)
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
Headcanons:
Coming soon...
E L I J A H M I K A E L S O N
One-Shots:
Ephemeral ✢ Elijah Mikaelson reflects on how knowing Y/N L/N has transformed his centuries-old existence. As he battles his deep feelings for her, he grapples with the stark reality of their pivotal difference: he is an immortal vampire, and she is a fragile human.
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
Headcanons:
Coming soon...
S T E F A N S A L V A T O R E
One-Shots:
coming soon...
Drabbles:
Coming soon...
Headcanons:
Coming soon...
Enjoy <3
DC ✢ When he realised he loved you
Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.
B R U C E⠀W A Y N E
The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again.
You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.
You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.
Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.
She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.
He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.
It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.
He had never been the same since.
D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N
It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.
You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.
And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.
But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.
He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.
That was when he knew.
Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.
The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.
J A S O N⠀T O D D
Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.
You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.
Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.
His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.
But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’
After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.
He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.
A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.
He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.
T I M⠀D R A K E
It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’
Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered.
Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.
He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.
He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.
Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.
But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.
He did not tell you. Not for a long time.
But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.
This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.
D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)
It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.
Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.
And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.
At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’
And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.
He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.
That was the beginning. The fracture.
He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time.
And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.
He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.
He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent.
C L A R K⠀K E N T
He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.
It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.
You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.
And he realised then — you are his tether.
He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was.
You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.
Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.
He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.
And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.
You are his home.
If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
The Halloween Jack ✢ Main Masterlist
All my works, minus headcanons, use female pronouns for the reader. Besides this, I keep the reader undescribed, the only filler I use being 'Y/N'.
Where you can find me: 𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫
D E T E C T I V E⠀C O M I C S
External DC Masterlist
T H E⠀V A M P I R E⠀D I A R I E S
External TVD Masterlist
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
One Little Difference ✢ Draco Malfoy and Y/N had been friends as children; their families were of high status, and it looked like they would spend the rest of their lives together. But all of this changed when Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor and became estranged. Worst of all, she fraternised with the enemy.
Other characters I will write for: Thomas Shelby, Peter Parker, Charles Xavier (McAvoy), Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Gendry Baratheon, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester.
C U R R E N T⠀S O N G⠀F I X A T I O N
The Day Before ✢ Damon Salvatore ✢ Part Two
Synopsis: The reader knows she is dying, and to save Damon from the pain of her death, she makes an extremely difficult decision. However, the aftermath of this decision takes a great toll on Damon and the people who know him. Damon Salvatore x Reader, female pronouns. Platonic!Stefan Salvatore x Reader. Platonic!Caroline Forbes x Reader. Warnings: Angst, Death. Notes: This is part two to a one-shot I posted a while ago, this piece will not make much sense without having read it.
Masterlist |Part One
Words: 1,859
Stefan could tell something was awry the moment he stepped through the doors of the old boarding house. The air inside was palpable, as if every molecule was weighed down with a tension — a stillness that pressed against his heightened senses, thick and unnatural. Damon was sitting in front of the fireplace, his silhouette stark against the warm glow of the flames, though there was nothing warm about this scene. His posture, Stefan noted, usually so full of restless energy, was eerily composed. Too composed. His gaze was fixed ahead, unblinking, the light flickering in his eyes was like a dull echo of something that had long since burned out.
Stefan took a careful breath; he was not sure why, but his instincts screamed that something was wrong.
The blood on Damon’s hands was subtle at first, easy to miss, but it did not take long for the dried crimson to catch Stefan’s eye, it crept up Damon’s knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.
‘Damon?’
Stefan called out, his voice cautious, wary, like he was approaching a predator lying in wait. But there was no answer. Damon did not so much as flinch, his expression a mask of chilling indifference, eyes as lifeless as the logs slowly burning to cinder before him.
Stefan swallowed hard, the dread inside him growing heavier by the second.
‘Damon,’ he repeated, stepping closer, his shoes tapping softly against the hardwood floor. He kept his voice calm, but he struggled to hide the tension underneath.
‘What happened?’
For a moment, it was as if Damon had not even heard him. He remained silent, his face void of any feeling; it was as if he was not even present in the room—like his body was there, but his mind, his soul, had retreated somewhere unreachable. The lack of reaction was more terrifying than any outburst, more unnerving than any fit of rage. Damon, who thrived on conflict, on drama, was sitting there… deadened.
Stefan clenched his fists, trying to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t suppress his rising panic.
‘Damon, talk to me. What did you do?’
Stefan’s gaze shifted, once again glancing at the blood-encrusted upon the hands of his brother.
Still nothing. It was as though Stefan’s words were dissolving into the suffocating silence of the room. And then, finally, Damon’s eyes flickered, just barely. He turned his head slowly toward his brother, his movements languid, almost robotic. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of the usual sarcasm and wit that would linger in his tone. It was flat and mechanical.
‘I did what I had to.’
Stefan’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. That lifeless tone, the vacant look in his eyes—it was all too familiar. He had seen this before. Damon had turned it off. He had flipped the switch, shut down his emotions, locked away everything that made him… him. Stefan’s stomach twisted with dread.
‘No,’ Stefan whispered, more to himself than to Damon. His pulse quickened, the realisation like a slap to the face, stinging and sharp. Damon had turned it off, but why? What had driven him to this point? What had happened?
He took a step closer, his voice firmer now, though his urgency seeped through.
‘Damon, what did you do?’
Damon did not respond immediately. His gaze drifted lazily back upon the flames, as if Stefan’s question was of no consequence, as if nothing mattered anymore.
‘What I had to,’ he repeated, his voice cold and empty, devoid of the fire that usually burned beneath his words.
‘What I needed to. It doesn’t matter now.’
Stefan’s hands twitched, frustration boiling beneath his skin. He could feel Caroline approaching behind them, her presence like a ripple disturbing an already tense atmosphere. He did not turn to look at her, but he could feel her eyes on Damon, wide and fearful.
‘Damon?’ She whispered, her voice soft, hesitant, as though she was afraid to speak too loudly. She took a cautious step forward, her gaze shifting between the brothers.
‘What’s going on? Why—' She broke off, noticing the dried blood on his hands. Her face paled.
‘Why do you have blood on your hands?’
Stefan shook his head slightly, his thoughts racing. He felt sick; unease crawled up his spine in an icy shiver.
‘He’s turned it off,’ he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Caroline’s breath hitched, her eyes growing wide with alarm.
‘No…’ Her voice was thick with fear as she looked at Damon, whose expression remained indifferent as if none of this concerned him.
‘Why? Why would he do that? What happened?’
Stefan’s heart dropped. The pieces were falling into place, but he did not want to believe it. He did not want to accept what Damon’s cold demeanour was screaming to him, wordless. He needed to see Y/N.
Damon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, his eyes not even bothering to focus on Stefan or Caroline.
‘I wouldn’t wait for her,’ he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion as he turned toward the door. Stefan shuddered, it was as though Damon was in his head, maybe he had been. Then his body tensed, Damon's words registering with him; a rush of panic flooded his system.
‘Damon, what did you do?’
He did not answer. Without another word, Damon disappeared in a blur of supernatural speed, the door slamming shut behind him with an ominous finality. The room fell into a suffocating silence once more, but now the silence was darker, heavier with the weight of what they did not know. What they did not want to know.
Caroline’s voice trembled as she turned toward Stefan.
‘What does he mean? Stefan, what happened?’
Stefan clenched his jaw, his chest tightening as dread settled over him. They needed to find out.
The sun was setting as Stefan and Caroline approached Y/N’s home, as they got closer, it became apparent what was wrong, it hung in the air like an unspoken fact, they knew there was only one thing that could push Damon to this state, one event that could force him over the edge. Neither of them wanted to admit what it meant; they evaded this truth so its awful pending reality could not hurt them, but the silence around the house was heavy with foreboding.
‘Do you smell that?’
Caroline asked, her voice shaking as she stepped inside the house, the faint scent of blood hitting her like a physical blow.
The knot in his stomach tightened as they ventured deeper into her house, everything was still and quiet; his senses told him no one was there, but the lingering smell of blood stood in sharp juxtaposition, unmistakable and overwhelming. Every creak of the floorboards, every gush of the wind against the windows, seemed so much louder with the absence of life; it felt like a warning.
The bedroom door was left slightly ajar, and Stefan hesitated, his palm on the handle, before pushing it open.
His breath caught in his throat.
There, crumpled on the floor, lay Y/N’s confronting form, still and cold, her skin as spectral as the moonlight now filtering in through the curtains. Her hair was splayed out across the floor, and her eyes were gently shut, as though she were only sleeping, but the sight was uncanny, they would never open again. Her limbs were unmoving, her chest motionless, and the scent of blood, stronger now, lingered around her like a haunting reminder of what had happened.
Caroline gasped, stumbling back as tears sprang to her eyes. They had already known this, but they did not want to believe it; the confrontation had been too much to behold.
“No... no, no, no...” she whispered, her voice breaking as she brought her hands to her face.
“Oh my God, Stefan…”
Stefan could not speak. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside the girl, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch her. Her skin was cold, by now, the warmth of her vibrant life was long gone, perpetually a memory. His throat tightened, his chest heaving with a deep, aching sense of loss.
Not only was she his brother’s love, but a friend of his own, and he had cared for her deeply. Y/N had made his brother happy in a way he had never known, a fact he was grateful for, but she had also been there for him, her kindness and compassion knowing no bounds.
He stroked her hair and tucked it behind her ear, while a terrible burn at the base of his throat rose and shifted into a choked sob. He realised at once that she must have died alone.
And Damon had found her like this, horribly sallow and confronting.
He must have tried to save her; Stefan’s eyes numbly caught the dried blood upon her lips. He had given her his blood, but it had been too late. The emptiness within Damon’s eyes, the cold detachment—it made more sense now. Damon had not just lost her. This was not just death.
He had failed her.
‘She was trying to leave,’ Caroline whispered through her tears, her gaze locked on the half-packed suitcase on the bed. She was trying to look anywhere but the girl lying lifeless on the hard floor.
‘I think she knew she was dying... and she didn’t tell us.’
Stefan closed his eyes, the weight of this truth crashing down upon him, she had knowingly left without a goodbye. Damon had found her like this. He had tried to save her. And when he was unable, when he finally realised he was too late, it had ruined him. The love he had for her, the hope he had surely held onto—only made this so much worse. Stefan found himself wishing he had been there for him, even if it did not change anything, and he imagined it would not have, Damon would still be gone now.
His chest ached with the knowledge that his brother, despite not being there at the time, would have felt every second of her death because he could not save her. Damon had turned off his humanity because the idea of living without her had been too painful. It had destroyed him.
Caroline wiped her eyes, and her voice trembled with fear.
‘What are we going to do? If Damon has no humanity... Stefan, he’s dangerous.’
Stefan’s fists clenched, and his mind raced. Damon had always been volatile, but this was different. He had nothing left to lose now.
‘We have to find him,’ Stefan said, voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
‘Before he does something he can’t take back.’
But his words were meaningless, as he glanced towards Y/N’s desolate corpse, Stefan could not shake the gnawing fear, or rather, the fact that it was already too late. Y/n was dead, and Damon had gone with her. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead in farewell, knowing full well that he was kissing his brother goodbye along with her.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
I really enjoyed reading your DC headcanons! Your characterization in particular is really really great! I'll be looking forward to reading more as you post them :)
Ahh thank you, you're too sweet!! I'm glad you've been enjoying them. Hopefully, I'll have some more out soon! <3
This is seriously the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you 🙏
DC ✢ When he realised he loved you
Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.
B R U C E⠀W A Y N E
The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again.
You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.
You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.
Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.
She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.
He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.
It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.
He had never been the same since.
D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N
It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.
You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.
And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.
But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.
He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.
That was when he knew.
Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.
The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.
J A S O N⠀T O D D
Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.
You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.
Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.
His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.
But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’
After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.
He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.
A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.
He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.
T I M⠀D R A K E
It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’
Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered.
Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.
He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.
He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.
Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.
But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.
He did not tell you. Not for a long time.
But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.
This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.
D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)
It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.
Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.
And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.
At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’
And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.
He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.
That was the beginning. The fracture.
He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time.
And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.
He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.
He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent.
C L A R K⠀K E N T
He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.
It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.
You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.
And he realised then — you are his tether.
He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was.
You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.
Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.
He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.
And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.
You are his home.
I'm going to post a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' sometime soon, if you want to keep an eye out. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
Revenant ✢ Damon Salvatore ✢ Masterlist
The Vampire Diaries and Supernatural Mini-Series
Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it?
Important Note: This is a mini-series, I have come up with an original line of events as it is not set during any particular plotline for either show, I wanted this fic to remain as spoiler-free as possible while also making the two source materials easy to incorporate.
Disclaimer: I will probably write more parts for this series than I have listed below, though I currently only have planning and material written out for the chapters already listed.
Table of Contents:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine (Coming Soon)
ｒｅｖｅｎａｎｔ - ｏｎｅ
PART ONE OF 'REVENANT' SERIES Damon Salvatore x Winchester!Sister!Hunter!Reader The Vampire Diaries x Supernatural Mini Series Synopsis: Y/N Winchester was tired of living in her brothers' shadows; she needed to do something for herself for a change. When she heads to Mystic Falls, a town she was always warned to stay away from, she finds she may have taken on more than she can handle. Will she be able to eradicate the supernatural from the uncanny town? Or will she find herself tangled amongst it? WARNINGS: Drinking, Descriptions of Violence. Words: 2,257k Blog Masterlist / Series Masterlist Next Part>
Y/N Winchester’s brothers always warned her to stay away from Mystic Falls; if a hunter crossed its border, they may as well have been signing their death certificate, but, of course, she did not listen. Y/N wanted to prove herself and show them that she was not second-rate. And besides, would it not be immoral to allow these killings to continue unchecked?
Y/N glanced down at the evidence she had gathered about the town; it was apparent that the area was plagued with vampires, and the authorities had an abominable habit of covering it up. Coroner reports were sprawled across the small motel table in front of her, all claiming the same thing: that its victim died of an animal attack. However, reports of punctured necks and bloodless corpses affirmed otherwise.
The vampires of Mystic Falls were careless yet evaded scrutiny effortlessly.
Speaking to the locals achieved little, and she always walked away empty-handed. They had no accounts of antisocial behaviour or people who only seemed to make appearances at night. When speaking to witnesses, they stood unsure and dubious, as though blank spaces riddled their memories. Something else was at play here, and Y/N would uncover it, no matter the cost.
Her phone's small screen flashed again, accompanied by its trilling ring for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, vibrating and moving against the table it lay upon. The name ‘Dean’ was written in large letters across its display. Y/N sighed and lifted the device to her ear.
‘What do you want?’ She grilled in annoyance,
‘Oh, she finally answers,’ His voice heavy with the sarcasm the young Winchester had grown accustomed to over the years.
‘Yes, I finally answered, though that didn’t answer my question, what do you want?’ Y/N reprised
‘Y/N, you know exactly what Sam and I want. We haven’t seen you in weeks, and we have no idea where you are and if you’re safe; before you picked up the phone, we had no idea if you were even alive. You need to end this stupid kamikaze mission and come back to the bunker. It’s stupid to hunt alone; you could be killed; don’t pretend that’s not what you’re doing. We aren’t stupid.’ His lecture rolled off his tongue hot and fast, Y/N rolling her eyes in response, wishing for a moment that he was there to see it.
‘No need to worry about me, brother. I can handle myself, and you know it.’ She countered,
‘Y/N…’ But before he could continue, she hung up, putting her phone on silent and shoving it into her jacket pocket.
Only two seconds passed before it began to ring again, though she ignored it just as thoroughly as all his previous calls. Typically, Y/N’s brothers would have just tracked her down, though she was smart enough to disconnect all means of GPS location and give them and everyone they knew a wide berth. She even had precautions in place that prevented them from finding her by means of magic, reducing them to countless feeble attempts of merely asking her for her location, and she would never waver.
If Y/N had a dollar for every time Sam or Dean rang or texted, she could stop all the credit card fraud she was committing and live the lavish life a hunter could only dream of.
Once again, she looked down towards her incongruous evidence; she had reason to believe the town council was an inner circle of people in Mystic Falls responsible for the lazy cover-ups and the nugatory upkeep of the town’s safety. The council consisted of members from a group called ‘The Founding Families’, and her research showed they had occupied the small Virginian town since its forming in the mid-1800s, and it seemed to her Mystic Falls has been having occasional run-ins with vampires ever since. Suddenly, both of her brothers' warnings began to make more sense.
Y/N sighed and wrapped an overcoat around her jacket. She could do with a drink; besides, it wouldn’t hurt to try and gather more information about this uncanny town.
The door of the grill whined as she pushed it open, the crowded chatter of the busy Friday night meeting her ears immediately. She forced her way through the traffic of the locale and straight to the bar, deciding to sit next to a dark-haired man clad in a leather jacket with his shoulders hunched over a glass of whiskey. She looked toward the young bartender cleaning out a crystal glass with a towel he had just pulled from his shoulder; the sound of her stool being dragged from under the bench brought his attention to her.
‘I’ll have a double shot of Jameson, neat, please.’ She asked sweetly, hoping the boy would not ID her. She was already 21, though the nature of her pastimes meant she only had fake identification, and any excuse not to use it was excellent in her eyes. Much to her relief, the boy placed the glass in his hands before her and began to pour her drink. She pulled her phone from her pocket, a feeling of exasperation making itself known as she gazed upon the nine missed calls from Dean and the four from Sam. Answering the call earlier had only made them worse. She had barely brought the glass to her lips when the dark-haired stranger spoke up,
‘I can’t help but notice you’re a new face around these parts; what brings you to Mystic Falls?’ His accompanying smirk was flirtatious, and though only an idiot would overlook the apparent sublimity of his features, she was in no mood for mucking about. She returned the smile regardless, hoping to scour him for more information.
‘What makes you think this is a new face?’ She asked, using the same sweet tone she used with the bartender.
‘Trust me, I’d recognise a face like yours if I’d seen it before.' She wanted to ignore the cheap pickup line, though she could sense a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Y/N could hardly believe that this man she had only just met could affect her so quickly,
‘Well, I’m not exactly new; I’ve been visiting for around a month.’ Y/N didn’t want to say too much; she had not yet developed a backstory. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue,
‘I was thinking of moving here permanently, though, now I’m not so sure with all these killings… by animals, of course…’
Y/N decided it was best to get straight to the case; she was not here to waste time. Average eyes would not have noticed how his eyes tightened ever so slightly when she mentioned the animal attacks.
‘And now, why would that concern you?’ He used a light tone, though traces of accusation lay beneath. This did not go unnoticed by her; was it possible he was one of them? Her chest clenched; she had just met the man, though the idea of him being a monster saddened her in a way she could not have anticipated. She smiled nonetheless and made sure it reached her eyes.
‘I’ve made a hobby of hiking, and I think it would be unfortunate to have my cortical artery torn from my throat, wouldn’t you say?’ She did not know what possessed her to speak these words; could she have been any more obvious? He leaned closer, his piercing blue eyes adhered to her. Her breathing halted.
‘Yes, very unfortunate…’ he leaned back again before chuckling and exclaiming loudly,
‘How rude of me; I just realised I never introduced myself. I’m Damon Salvatore.’
Suddenly, it all made sense; he hailed from one of the founding families she had read about, Salvatore. Y/N felt a peculiar sense of relief. He was not a vampire like she initially suspected but rather part of the secret council hellbent on eradicating them, albeit not successfully. He held his hand out expectantly, and when she connected her own with his, she noticed a very conspicuous lapis lazuli ring adorning his fingers. It resembled that of an ancient family heirloom.
‘I’m Y/N, Y/N Walker.’ She thought it was best not to use her real surname; her family had gathered quite the reputation within the supernatural community, and this was the name printed on her fake ID anyway.
‘I think you’re quite right not to hike in the woods, Y/N, but I hope that won’t deter you from remaining in this town; it would be sad to lose a pretty face like yours.’ Y/N could feel her heart beating; she was sure the whole room could hear it. Y/N quickly looked down when she felt another blush forming. Damon turned to the bartender and slid her empty tumbler back over the bench,
‘She’ll have another Jameson, this time on me.’
From then, the conversation moved on to trivial topics, and Y/N found it difficult to proceed in her inquiry, given she was posing as an oblivious newcomer. A little while later, a woman clad in a sheriff uniform approached the pair, donning a solemn expression.
‘Sheriff Forbes…’ Damon nodded in acknowledgement; this was another name Y/N recognised from her research of the town, another founder. Y/N studied her face; she looked unsettled and nervous, as though she wished to speak with Damon but refrained in case of eavesdroppers.
She sent a pointed glare towards Damon and nudged her head ever so slightly in Y/N’s direction. Damon took this as an opportunity for introduction,
‘Liz, this is Y/N, she’s new in town.’ Liz smiled and sent Y/N a small wave,
‘It’s nice to meet you, though; I’m sorry to barge in like this. Do you mind if I borrow your friend for a moment?’ She spoke kindly, though her nervousness was present in her voice.
‘No, not at all; I should probably be heading off soon anyway.’ Y/N smiled at the sheriff before pulling her phone from her pocket and trying to seem engrossed in something displayed on the small screen. Though her attention was drawn entirely to the whispered conversation between the two founders
‘There was another body found earlier, ruled as an animal attack again; of course, though, there is only so long before people begin questioning these reports.’ Y/N could feel Liz’s eyes glancing toward her spot on the barstool; Y/N was careful to continue scrolling through her phone aimlessly until the sheriff looked away.
‘Liz, you know I’m doing everything I can to find these culprits; soon enough, they’ll make a mistake, and we’ll be able to make our move against them.’ Damon also looked at Y/N from the corner of his eyes before very deliberately looking back to Liz. Was it possible they could be suspecting her? She was new in town, after all. For the first time, it occurred to Y/N that maybe Damon had been investigating the ‘animal killings’ this evening as well, and now Y/N found herself in the middle of it. She took this as her leave,
‘I should probably head off now; it was lovely meeting you both.’ Damon and Liz smiled in response, traces of their secret conversation disappearing behind amiable façades.
Her brothers’ phone calls continued; Y/N was kicking herself for answering the previous day; she should have seen it would make them so much worse. Sam’s name illuminated the screen of the vexing device, and for a moment, she considered crushing it under her foot just to silence the inconsequential piece of plastic and metal. Though reason returned to her just as quickly as it left, and instead, she lifted the mobile to her ear,
‘Hello, Sam.’ She sighed into the phone. She knew the calls would not stop either way now; she may as well entertain them. She heard Sam give a subtle gasp as though the sound of his sister’s voice shocked him, and that was probably not far from the truth.
‘Y/N, hear me out before you hang up, okay?’ She stayed silent, waiting for him to continue,
‘Dean and I really need to know where you are; we’re supposed to look out for you, and before you give me that “I can look out for myself” crap, it’s irrelevant, we know you can look out for yourself, but you don’t need to, whatever hunt you’re on Dean and I can help you, we’ll do it together.’ Sam spoke sincerely,
‘It’s a kind offer, Sam, but seriously, I know what I’m doing, and besides, inviting you and Dean on the first hunt I’m attempting by myself defeats the whole “I’m going off on my own for a little while” scenario, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Please, Y/N, just tell us where you are,’ Sam implored. Y/N could hear the low grumbling of the eldest Winchester in the background, pleading for the phone she imagined.
‘I’m sorry, Sam, but I think I should do this alone’. She said, ‘I’m going to hang up now, okay?’
‘Wait! Y/N’ But before Sam could say anything more; she disconnected the call; Y/N closed her eyes and sighed. She hated going behind her brothers’ backs, but she was sick of her abilities being overlooked.
Going on hunts with them meant staying behind in the motels, researching, while her brothers went out and got their hands dirty, returning triumphant from defeating the monsters Y/N had helped them discover. What good was all the combat training and exercise she did if she could never put it into action?
No, she would not invite her brothers; she would do this alone.
A/N: I designed my own page break for this series; what do you think?
Next Part >
Ephemeral ✢ Elijah Mikaelson
Synopsis: Elijah Mikaelson reflects on how knowing Y/N L/N has transformed his centuries-old existence. As he battles his deep feelings for her, he grapples with the stark reality of their pivotal difference: he is an immortal vampire, and she is a fragile human.
Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, female pronouns. Warnings: Angst. Words: 1,549k Blog Masterlist
Elijah Mikaelson stood before the grand windows of his family’s ornate home, the cool evening air shifting past the open panels to brush against his skin as he gazed out into a darkening sky. He recalled the countless nights he must have done exactly this, looked out at the same unchanging ether; and he wondered how it could look so different now that he knew her.
As the day had faded, Elijah watched the stars emerge. Each one, ancient and arcane, acted as a reminder of the centuries he had lived, the countless battles he had fought; and the endless nights spent as alone as he felt in this moment.
Never in his millennia of existence had his thoughts been so entirely consumed by one person, Elijah was no stranger to affection, but he never would have thought it possible to long for someone so strenuously. Y/N L/N had unknowingly captured his heart, and it seemed to him that there was nothing he could do to emancipate it.
She was wholly unaware of the effect she had on him; he was confident of this. Their friendship was simple, filled with laughter and shared moments that left her satisfied while making his heart ache with bittersweet longing.
How could he justify what he felt?
She was human, beautiful and kind, fragile and fleeting. Elijah was a creature of the night, a thousand years old and burdened with the malice of his past; he was a monster. He had observed as the times shifted around him, and never once, through the ages he bore witness to, had he felt contempt at his affliction. Where once relished in his power and eternity, he now drowned in it.
Each day, as she grew closer to her inevitable end, he felt the smothering weight of his affections grow heavier. He could not bear to witness her aging while he remained unchanged and eternal. Their livelihoods contrasted so glaringly that it left a bad taste in his mouth; he could never have her.
Elijah could not quell a venomous voice calling for him to turn her. As much as the allure of her immortality beckoned, he felt the burden of this reality pressing down upon him. He could not shake the conviction that to grant her such a gift would be a selfish act; one that robbed her of the life she deserved. He envisioned her vibrant humanity, the warmth of her character and the fleeting moments that made her so undeniably precious. To turn her into something she was not, to take away her chance to live fully, to love and to age as she was meant to—could he truly bear that?
Elijah sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair as he took the final sip of amber liquid from his crystal tumbler. As much as it pained him, he kept his distance, aiming to shield her from the dangers that came in correlation with his world. He was a friend to her, but that is where it ended. He feared that if he were to reveal his affections, she might recoil, horrified at the thought of his love. But most of all, he feared his love would bring about her end; no one ever lasted long in Mystic Falls, and any connection to him would make her a target.
Elijah thought of when he first met her half a year earlier, a friend of people often his adversaries in this uncanny town. She had not yet known about the covert world she lived in, and he had watched as she took it in her stride amidst the disarray of Mystic Falls.
From the moment he had laid eyes on her at a gathering hosted by the Salvatores, he was struck by her effortless charm, at the time, blissfully unaware of the lurking dangers that danced at the edges of her reality.
As the weeks went, and the unsavoury pastimes of her friends became known to her, he noticed how she remained steadfast in her support, never flinching when they faced danger; an innate strength that both captivated and terrified him. Her involvement placed her in danger and he could barely stomach it, but he knew that any attempts at her preservation would break down his faux illusion of causal amiability.
What had surprised him was her sufferance towards his family, although they had her given plenty of ground for aversion, you would not have known it. Elijah found himself drawn to her, her honour and kindliness not only painting her as a person of trust and potential ally — but as someone who illuminated his perpetual existence.
He turned from the large florid windows and drowned in his dejection. Elijah closed his eyes and pictured a life with her, relishing the shimmering mirage of the woman he believed he should never have.
Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, flooded under the dim moonlight that illuminated her bedroom from her window. A familiar warmth was blooming in her chest in the wake of her dream. She had dreamt about him again, and although she was met with nothing but hollow images when trying to recall it, Y/N knew it to be true; she could feel it. Elijah was a figure of quiet strength, his kindness genuine but conditional, his presence commanding yet tender. She understood fully that beneath his charming facade lay a man capable of heinous things, artfully concealed behind layers of warmth and grace; it was this complex duality that both captivated and unsettled her — but people would never see this side of him had they not given him reason.
Y/N pulled her knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on them, staring out the window into the dark. It was late—too late for most people, but sleep rarely came easy these days. Not when her mind kept spiralling. Beneath the surface of her admiration lay a deep-rooted ache—a longing she feared would remain forever unreciprocated.
There were moments, fleeting but sharp, where she would catch the slightest glint in his eyes—an intensity and tentativeness that contradicted the calm and collected way in which he perpetually carried himself. She could not place its catalyst — never quite conclude the reason for his apparent indifference.
She watched him with others; he was always courteous and kind, and though he extended the same civility to her, it felt hesitant — as though he was keeping his distance. Not out of aloofness, no, that did not seem right to her. He was always kind, always careful with his words. He never pushed too close, never showed too much emotion, and sometimes it made her wonder whether all the little exchanges—their shared glances, the gentle touches on her shoulder—were nothing more than an act. A way of being nice out of obligation, out of courtesy. A politeness reserved for the human in the room.
Y/N sighed and her gaze dropped to her hands, maybe she had been putting too much weight into the moments when he had leaned in just a little too close, or the times he had lingered with her in conversation — the moments that had fueled her affections. After all, he is a man who had lived through centuries… what could a fleeting human like her truly mean to him?
She loved him; a love she had no right to feel and no place to nurture. Every time he looked at her, even from across the room, her pulse quickened and her breath hitched. She loved him in the way a person loves what they cannot have— she felt it in the back of her mind, like a dream that fades from memory in the first moments of the day, real but unattainable — lingering in the crevices of the mind. It was the gentleness of his touch, the way he always seemed to know exactly when she needed comfort and the way his presence made the world feel lighter. It was the quiet intensity of him, the way he carried the weight of centuries and still found space to be kind to her.
And despite everything—the danger, the distance, the uncertainty—she could not stop loving him. It was as if her heart had chosen him without rhyme and reason — irrevocably, nothing could alter it now. Even if he never knew, even if he never returned the feeling, she would love him.
In their quiet moments, she often imagined what it would be like to confess her feelings. Would his rejection give off the same biting sting as his indifference? Would he retreat into a demeanour even more distant? Would he disappear altogether, her confession too much to entertain?
Y/N bit her lip, contemplating the stark reality of their worlds. She was human, with all the fragility that came along with it. While he was a vampire, ancient, and burdened by its accompanying history and murk.
Their disparity was overwhelming, and Y/N felt as though she were drowning in it. She closed her eyes and sunk back into her pillows; picturing a life with him and savouring the fallacious warmth it designed. She wallowed in her desolation and the reality she believed she could never have.
I'm wondering if I should do a second part for this, let me know what you think. Also, this has been posted off of a relatively long hiatus, I recently started a university course which, unsurprisingly, has chewed up all of my spare time.
Anyone waiting on the next part of my 'revenant' series, I'm sorry for the long wait, I promise I'll dive right back into it when my holidays roll around soon enough. But with a spare week between countless assignments, I felt like writing something new, and this was the result.
Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3
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𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☀︎ 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ☀︎ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ☀︎ 𝐀𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 ☀︎ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐩-𝐭 ☀︎ 𝟐𝟏☀︎ 𝐈 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐂 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬
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