#but really i should force myself to practice hands more than I di

[amaryllis-sagitta]

DATV Varric spoilers

I saw spoilers regarding Varric's arc and...

I did not figure it out. I did not connect the dots before I spoiled it for myself.

On one side, learning about the conclusion is just perfectly emotionally devastating. They knew what they were doing when they made us develop this supportive, coaching relationship between Varric and Rook, giving Rook an opportunity to show vulnerability to someone who is also deeply vulnerable and compassionate.

But on the other hand, I can't help but think that the success of this twist relies on the technical and narrative failings of the entire game to some extent.

Companions vaguely speaking about Varric like he isn't there? This kind of vagueness that evades acknowledging things is ubiquitous in this game. I heard Teia say "when you died" right in Lucanis's face the other day. Sometimes Varric is mentioned in the past tense, something in the present. So maybe companions speaking strangely about Varric is just some editorial error.

Companions seemingly not noticing him in the library cutscene after the Minrathous/ Treviso choice? Characters in this game often fail to turn to each other properly. That scene was already struggling to get everyone in the frame and giving them a line to speak. Sure he got tired after walking down that staircase and having to go back with a brace on his leg.

One time Rook and Varric were talking and Varric said that Bianca was itching for action. "Bianca lies right there, shattered into pieces!" I shouted at the screen. STILL DIDN'T CONNECT THE DOTS.

But then, Varric supposedly is getting better, but he doesn't move around the Lighthouse. He stays stuck and complaning in the infirmary, talking to no-one else.

So, it took me a pretty straightforward spoiler to go back and have the realization.

What I really cannot believe about the twist isn't just the recurring NPCs failing to unambiguously acknowledge what happened. Though I feel we should have heard at least one "How is Varric doing, by the way?" from Maevaris, Dorian, anyone who met Harding and him in The Missing. He's been pottering about Tevinter throughout that issue. Even before that, since Knight Errant, he was involved in the (former?) Inquisition's endeavor of finding Solas. We definitely should have heard a "Where the FUCK is Varric" from the Inquisitor as they bring in the news of Kirkwall's fall.

But what really gets me is the companions failing to notice or acknowledge that Rook repeatedly goes off to the infirmary and has entire conversations with themselves in there. I refuse to believe Rook wouldn't slip once.

What if we had an entire arc for it: companions talking behind Rook's back, arguing on whether they should shake Rook up or leave it be until the situation becomes less perilous. The party has access to a professional necromancer and psychopomp. What if he could find a way for a wisp to take that image from Rook, to somehow instill it in the Lighthouse -- as a memory and as the biggest "fuck you" to Solas, to be eternally haunted by the visage of his dwarven divorcee if he ever dared to enter the Lighthouse again. I feel like this arc would not suffer if Rook was forced to break out of their denial earlier. This could have been such a great tie-in into Emmrich's arc of finding comfort in the sepulchral practice as a "monument more lasting than bronze".

For me, who would have likely been tricked until the very end, this is a lesson on how wishing something desperately is enough to fuel denial, blind us to evidence, and prevent the final inference from happening. (That or it's my braincell burnout speaking lol)

[mcmorare]

This is a strong contender for the least comfortable Katrina has ever been in her life. And the presence of her incredibly off-putting stylist isn’t doing her any favors. 

Anxious hands pull at the fabric of her dress, thumbs running across embroidered details. Her hair is so pulled and pinned into just the right arrangement that she can already feel the oncoming headache. It reminds her of the way her mother would always pull her hair into too tight of a braid when she was younger. She always hated that. 

She hates this. 

“And now, from the forests of District Seven, Katrina Brandle!”

The lights are nearly blinding. And hot. There’s a fucking sea of people out there, vague outlines of bizarre figures and bold colors just making it past the glare in her eyes. Applause so loud it fills the room. Everything feels dialed up. But maybe that’s just her. 

In this split-second, she’s reminding herself not to look too scared (everyone will think she’s copying Johanna’s strategy from last year), to try and smile (look approachable, likable), to stay steady in her heels (she had never worn them before, the stylist made her practice walking for hours even with her good balance simply because her walk “wasn’t proper enough”), remembering Blight telling them it’s good to be memorable. 

I don’t want to be memorable, she had thought. I want to go home. 

That thought had made the sixteen year old feel so childish. 

Anxiety anchors her so deeply into the present moment that by the time she sits down in the chair, she could hardly tell you what it was like to walk up there. It’ll come back to her later. 

As the applause dies down, Caesar Flickerman looks at her with that television smile. His hair is such an artificial yellow it almost makes her think of sickness.  “Now, Miss Brandle, how are you finding our Capitol?”

Be likable. Be yourself. Don’t be scared. Be honest. Be entertaining. Be real. 

“Um-”  don’t stammer  “I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well… like, this dress probably costs more than all my clothes combined.”  Fuck. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. That might be uncomfortable. 

“Yes, well, with fabrics like these, I should think so!”  Caesar says, and laughs. Any tension that may have come out of her response effectively diffused. For this capitol audience, anyways.  “Welcome to the life of luxury!” 

That laugh sounds so practiced, so intentional, so canned. It makes her want to scream. 

“They are really nice, yeah.”  It takes almost as much willpower to make that sound anywhere near genuine as it does just to force the words out. 

“Now, do you have any particular strategies going into the games? Any knowledge, any special tricks up your sleeves for us?”  

If I did, saying them now would make me an idiot.  “I know how to handle myself, I think. And I know nature.”  Ariane’s voice in those final moments comes back to her in a flash, that last hint of a joke they had shared.  “Plus, I hate losing.”  Yeah, because she looks like such a winner right now, desperately trying not to seem like easy prey. Every time she opens her mouth, she can’t shake the feeling that what she just said sounded so fucking stupid. 

“Ah, a survivalist with a little competitive spirit! I like it!”  The brightly-colored host sure knows how to keep the energy of his audience.  “And a training score of eight, that’s nothing to scoff at. Being from your district, did that give you any help at all when you were presenting your skills to the judges?”

“Oh, yeah.”  Finally, a question she can answer a bit more easily.  “I can use tools pretty well. I mean, I’m not an expert, but I know how to swing an axe.”  Her grandpa taught her. She’s not letting them have that memory. 

“Well, you’re already leagues ahead of me!”  His continuous attempts feel at once comforting and deeply disconcerting. Like it would be nice if these weren’t the circumstances, if the purpose of this wasn’t to make her the most sellable product possible.  “With these arms, I don’t think I could take down a sapling!”  He mock-flexes an arm to accentuate his joke, and the crowd is laughing along with him again. 

She should say something here. Anything. Play to the crowd.  “Of course you could.” 

Luckily for her, Caesar takes her rather matter-of-fact statement and turns it into a compliment.  “Oh, you flatter me,”  he says with a playful wave of his hand. She wasn’t trying to flatter him. A five year old could take down a sapling with their bare hands. 

“Well, Miss Brandle, if you don’t mind, I have to ask.”  His tone is a bit less flashy now, leaning in just a bit as he talks. She does mind, and she wishes he wouldn’t fucking ask.  “At the reaping, you volunteered for another girl. Why?”

Of course this was coming. Jaw clenches and unclenches, there’s conscious effort not to dig her nails into the chair. Be honest. This will be likable. They can sympathize with this. The need for survival is the only thing holding back the voice in her head screaming that they can take their pity and shove it. 

“She’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were seven.”  The one person who has been with her through everything. She’s miles away now. The audience makes their vague sounds of empathy. 

“To volunteer for a friend like that… such selflessness.”  Glaringly-yellow head of hair shakes. 

It didn’t feel selfless or brave. It felt desperate.  “I couldn’t just let her go.”  They don’t know how frighteningly true that statement is.

“And you have a brother as well, is that correct?” 

“Yes.”  By blood, at least. 

“And in those last moments, what kind of encouragement or parting words did either of them give you?” 

Julien had stood there awkwardly, crying. Told her he was sorry. She had a feeling he meant for more than the games.  “They told me to stay strong. That I can’t give up.”  Ariane had said something along those lines, at least. 

“Well, I for one hope that you take their advice,”  Caesar says, taking her hand and giving it what she’s sure is supposed to be a comforting squeeze.  “Unfortunately, that’s just about all the time we have, but I wish you the best of luck, Katrina Brandle from District Seven!” 

He stands before she does, holding out the hand still on hers, presenting her to the crowd one final time. Again, everything is too loud and too bright. But the knowledge that this is the end feels like a sigh of relief - the smile she gives the crowd this time is the closest to genuine she’s gotten since she left her district. And whatever mistakes she may have made, now it’s Wilhelm’s turn. He can be endearing enough for the both of them. 

Glancing out into the crowd, she can see Blight giving her a nod. You did it.

[artyandink]

we could be more | dean winchester | 12

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

PLAYTHINGS

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : DOLLS - BELLA POARCH

“That amulet protected the wearer from possession.” Dad repeated. “It was blessed, and I gave it to your mother until Ellen got it. Giving that up put you in danger. You wouldn’t even be able to know how long you have left.” 

“So you failed to mention in your little note to Ellen that the necklace was the ONLY thing protecting me from being possessed by a PSYCHO who’s been after my BLOOD for EIGHT YEARS?!” I burst out, karate chopping my palm. “Yeah, cause that’s not important.” 

“I wanted to tell you.” 

“No, you didn’t. Not until I went and faced Gordon Walker and suddenly I’m in immense danger. Two weeks, Dad. Two. Plenty of time for you to warn me.” 

“I wanted to, Ivonne.” He pleaded. “More than anything, but I didn’t know how you’d react-“

“Better than this! I’m now a walking death timer! I could even stick a knife in anyone and I wouldn’t even know it and I’d be blaming myself for this. When I should really be blaming you.” 

“I was dead for eight years!” 

“Yeah, dead for eight years while I had to pick up the pieces. The yellow-eyed demon chose Carter for his sick plan, but Carter’s dead, so I became the next contender. Because I was the last one standing. I lived with the guilt of Mom’s death, Lily’s, Carter’s, my baby brother’s and yours. Because you sent me that tape, told me not to look for you and I listened, stayed at home when I could’ve been the difference between whether you survived or not. A week after that tape, you’re dead and I knew that I could’ve done something but I decided to follow your orders like a good little soldier. Nothing in that tape explaining what I might be facing. Nothing preparing me for what’d happen a few months later.” 

“Ivonne-“ 

“THAT THING SLAUGHTERED MY FAMILY!” I yelled, completely losing it. 

“Our… family.” 

“You don’t get to call it ‘our family’ anymore.” I fumed.

”Oh, she went there.” I heard Sam whisper. 

“You weren’t there for the last few years before you died. You missed my graduation. My first prom. Hell, you even missed my eighteenth birthday in the name of killing the supernatural! I looked up to you more than anything, Dad, but our family was falling apart. I looked to you for help and you weren’t there. I look at our video tapes and I remember what we were like when I was growing up, but somehow I only remember the good parts. That’s cause I’m trying to find every excuse I can find to paint you as an amazing father  and somehow live up to the name of the great Mick Rainer, hunter extraordinaire.” 

Dad crumbled, starting forward. “Jellybean-“ 

I held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t ‘jellybean’ me. Just don’t. I’m done with you, Dad. I-I wasn’t even thinking when I made that deal and essentially traded my life for yours. I’m not your puppet. I’m…” I turned to see Dean and Sam at the foot of the stairs, watching everything with a bewildered expression. I grabbed my leather jacket, wearing it and grabbing my safe house keys and my satchel. I stormed out of the door, and I heard jogging behind me. 

“Beanie!” Dean called. I continued walking, not wanting to hear consolations or a ‘calm down’. “Hey, BEANIE!” 

“WHAT?” I yelled back, stopping and turning around.

“Where’re you going? It’s 8:00 in the evening.” 

“My other safe house here. It has more beer.” I replied, then started walking off. 

“Beer? Count me in!”

After locking the door, I went to the fridge and my cabinets, pulling out a casket of beer and a couple bottles of whiskey. “I’m gonna change, just make yourself at home.” I went into a bedroom, pulling my long pyjama shirt on and taking my bottoms off. I ran my fingers through my hair, then dumped my clothes on the bed in that room before coming back out. Dean gave me a once over, then passed me a bottle of beer. 

“I’ve been waiting for when you get here.” He cracked open his bottle and I did mine, both of us clinking them. “Cheers.”

”Cheers.” I took a large sip out of my beer, rubbing my forehead. 

“How much of a heavyweight are you?” 

“I’m not that heavy.” I chuckled. “I just want to get drunk so I can forget about this for the time being.” 

“I feel you.” He raised his bottle. “To forgetting about our problems.” 

“Touché.” I did the same, drinking. 

“What would you do if you weren’t a hunter?” 

“Complete my college course, make a name for myself, then find a guy, get married.” I shrugged. “But if I think about it, I wouldn’t have met you and Sam if I hadn’t become a hunter. If Carter’s abilities hadn’t been transferred to me, or if I’d gone dark side and done the yellow eyes man’s bidding. Now I can’t imagine life without you two bozos.” 

“Words hurt, but I get your point.” He got up, already swaying because he’d finished his first bottle. “I’m gonna head to the restroom.” 

“First door in the hallway opposite.” He nodded and then left, and Carl sprang up from my bag, writing on a sheet of paper. 

You like him. 

“No.” I refused. “I just can’t. Dean’s got too much going on and so do I, plus, I’ve learnt that short-distance relationships end up with me shooting them. Besides, there’s James.” 

No, there’s Dean. 

“Why are you so set on Dean? You talked to me about this last week!” 

You two are really protective of each other. 

“Yeah, and so are you and your precious refills. Doesn’t mean you’re dating.” Dean walked, or, more accurately, stumbled, back in, flopping down on the sofa. 

“Wanna crack open the whiskey?” He rumbled, and I grinned, taking out two glasses and filling them each up with whiskey, passing one to him. I sipped mine, my mind growing more cloudy than I’d intended it to. “Oh, yeah, that’s the good stuff.” 

Both Dean and I were laughing our heads off, collapsed against the sofa. 

“No way! That happened in T-Tampa?” I giggled, sipping my fifth glass of whiskey. “You’re mad.” 

“The waitress was h-hot!” 

“S-She turned out to be a witch… Dean.” 

“You’re a witch, but I don’t complain.” He smirked. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Am I a burden, Winchester?” 

He glanced at me with a look that I couldn’t really explain. His green eyes had a dark quality to them, his voice getting rougher by the minute. “Nah, you’re not. You’ve- you’ve been great.” 

“T-Tell me m-more.” 

“Well, y-you’re the b-best lady hunter I know. Probably gonna top most o’ the d-dudes I know. You always get S-Sammy and I o-outta fixes, I owe you for that. When y-you handle a gun… there’s this f-face that you make. You’ve got this… this… look in your eyes.” 

“That looks stupid, right?” I giggled airily, sipping some whiskey. 

“No, it’s… it’s goddamn sexy, that’s what it is. You’re goddamn sexy.” He downed the rest of his whiskey, him staring into my eyes with his pupils blown wide. My gaze flickered down to his lips, then I drank the rest of mine. “Beanie, I-“ 

“God damn it, Dean…” I whispered, grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a kiss. He pulled away, his hands cupping my cheeks. He took a breath, giving me the fifth once-over of the evening before something snapped inside him, and he hooked his hand under my knee, pulling me to straddle him before kissing me again.

His hands were like they were everywhere but at one place at the same time, one arm looped around my waist while the other held my thigh, occasionally squeezing as if to remind himself where he was. His lips were so soft and he tasted like whiskey, mint and something indescribable that was just very… Dean, while the scent of his cologne, something along the lines of gunpowder, cinnamon and leather made me feel dizzy in his arms. I didn’t really care, cause damn, it was intoxicating. He pulled back, eyes closed for a moment and out of breath as he leaned his forehead on mine. 

“Are you sure?” He asked softly, holding me in a way which told me that he wanted this too. 

“Dean, who kissed who first?” I smirked, my hands resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. I could see all his scars, faint scratches on his skin but they looked like they told a damn good story.

“You did.” 

“Are we gonna remember this after being black out drunk?”

“No.” 

“Then let’s make it count.” I grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it off his head in one smooth motion. He did the same to me, running his hand from my face, down to my arm, then my waist, hips, and ending on my leg. His eyes drank up whatever he could, his fingers lingering

“Damn.” He hesitated for a moment, the cogs visibly whirring in his head as his chest heaved. Then he let out an almost needy moan, lips kissing down my neck like I was his lifeline, propping himself up on one knee to switch positions and lay me down on the sofa, and I put my hand in his hair, thanking the whiskey cause boy this man knows what he’s doing. I gave him access to my neck, my lips parted as I gasped for breath, struggling to keep in my sharp moans. “This… this is just for tonight, right?” 

“Yeah.”

I woke up the next morning at 5am, rubbing my forehead and trying to ignore the hangover. I had my shirt on, but my hair was disheveled. Dean was asleep on the other sofa, a small smirk on his face as he slept with one arm under his head. I stood up, but I almost collapsed due to a feeling in my legs like they’d cramped badly throughout the night, making me grab onto the sofa for support. I shook my head, collecting the bottles and disposing the empty ones, pulling my workout clothes out of my satchel and quickly changing. I tied up my hair, glancing momentarily at Dean asleep on the sofa before going into my home gym and getting straight to doing pull ups on my bar. I got a call, so I dropped down, picked it up and held the phone to my ear, panting. “You’ve reached Ivonne Rainer’s cell.” 

‘I was half expecting you to decline the call.’ I heard James on the other end. 

“James!” I grinned, wiping the sweat off my forehead with a towel. “How’ve you been?” 

‘Good, yeah. I’m not interrupting something important, am I? You sound… uh… out of breath.’ 

I got what he was insinuating, panic striking through me. “Oh, no, no, no, I’m not getting laid. I was just doing pull ups in my gym.” 

‘Your house doesn’t have a gym. Are you on a hunt?’ 

“No, just recovering from an argument with my dad.” I sighed. “I decided to have an early morning since I got wasted last night. Hell of a hangover, though, so I’m working it off.” 

‘That’s good, and bad, cause I found something.’ He paused. ‘Two freak accidents at a hotel. One woman drowns in her bathtub, then soon after a man seemingly falls and his head makes a one-eighty. Isn’t normal, so I called you to see whether you’d check it out since I was swamped with work.’ 

“Can you email me images of the accidents, or is that out of your jurisdiction, police boy?” 

‘I can make a few calls. By the way, dinner was great.’ 

“It was. Love you, bye.” I cut the call, looking up to see Dean at the door, still shirtless and looking impressed. He was leaning against the doorframe, running his hand through his hair while his shirt was hanging from his other hand. This kind of felt like a cliché bad boy sitch.

“What happened last night?” He asked, walking in and whistling when he saw the plates on my bench. 

“We got wasted.” I shrugged. “At least, that’s what I remember.” 

“I did have really bad breath this morning.” He stared at a stack of gold medals in a box and a set of pointe shoes beside it. “Gymnastics gold medals? And… ballet shoes?” 

“I used to be a ballet dancer and gymnast.” I explained. 

“And you chose hunting? Bold.” 

“Bold was my only option, Dean.” I chuckled, then loosened my hair. “Anyway, James called. He said there’s an inn with two extremely unlikely freak accidents. Woman drowns in a bathtub, and a man seemingly falls and his head’s been snapped the full 180.” 

“Let’s go get Sammy.”

“Dude, this is sweet. I never get to work jobs like this.” Dean grinned as we got out of the car. 

“Like what?” Sam chuckled, glancing between Dean and I.

“Old school haunted houses, you know? Fog, and secret passageways, sissy British accents. Might even run into Fred and Daphne while we're inside.” He chuckled. “Daphne. Love her.” 

“Of course you do.” I laughed, then spotted something, kneeling down. “I'm not so sure haunted's the problem.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That’s a quincunx.” I tapped the symbol. “Typically used for hoodoo spellwork. If you fill it with bloodweed, you have a five-star way of warding off enemies.” 

“Yeah, except I don't see any bloodweed. Don't you think this place is a little too, uh, whitemeat for hoodoo?” 

“Maybe.” I stood up. “Alright, you two go in first and book a room, and I’ll go after.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause I want my own room. And I don’t want to owe you money.” 

Sam shook his head, laughing. “Fair enough.” They went in, and I walked in afterwards, looking around.

“Hey, Carl?” I whispered. “Notice anything?” Carl wiggled in my pocket, tapping out ‘no’ in Morse. “Ok, but keep lookin’.” 

“May I help you?” The lady at the front desk asked, looking at Sam and Dean amiably. 

“Hi, yeah, I'd like a room for a couple of nights.” Dean smiled. Then a kid ran past him, bumping into Sam with a giggle and running off.

“Hey!” The lady snapped, then sighed, as if she was tired. “Sorry about that.”

”No problem.” Sam grinned. 

“Well, um, congratulations, you could be some of our final guests.” 

“Sounds vaguely ominous.” Dean chuckled. 

“No, I'm sorry, I mean we're closing at the end of the month.” She took a look between them. “Well, let me guess. You guys are here antiquing?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“You just look the type.” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. The type? “So, uh, king-sized bed?” 

Sam blinked, realising what she was saying. I bit my lip to hold in my laughter, but a quiet giggle did manage to escape me. “What? No, uh, no, we're, we're… two singles. We're just brothers.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” 

“What do you mean, ‘we look the type’?” Dean asked curiously. The lady struggled to form an answer, so Sam jumped in. 

“You know, speaking of antiques, you have a really, really interesting urn on the front porch.” He stammered, fiddling with his hands. “Where did you get that?” 

“Oh, I have no idea, it's been there forever.” She handed Dean a key, dinging a bell. “Here you go, Mr Mahagov. You'll be staying in room 237. Sherwin, could you show these gentlemen to their rooms?“ An old man with thinning grey hair and dressed in a black blazer showed up, taking Dean’s duffel bag and starting to limp up the stairs. I went to the desk, handing the lady, whose badge read Susan, my fake card under the name Lily Carter. 

“A room for one, please.” I smiled, and she gasped upon reading the name. 

“You don’t need to pay.” She informed. “A gentleman by the name of Fred Jones came and said that a lady by the name Lily Carter would be showing up soon. He also said to give you this.” She pulled out a gardenia and a rhododendron, giving it to me along with the key. I grinned goofily, biting my lip again. A rhododendron. I knew exactly who this was. “He really loves you. I gave you the best suite, by the way.” 

“I’m sure he does, and thank you.” I chuckled, taking the key from her and going upstairs. I unlocked the door, finding an all-too-familiar man lying on the bed. He smirked at me, holding an orange gladiolus in his hand, green eyes glinting mischievously and his expression highlighting the intense shadow on his cheek. “And here I thought you were swamped with work, Fred Jones.” 

“Come on, I don’t wanna pass up the chance to see you in a haunted inn.” James stood up, handing the gladiolus to me. “Milady.” 

“Did you have to do the theatrics?” I sighed. “First a Scooby Doo reference, then giving me a rhododendron, couldn’t be more obvious as to what that meant, a gardenia, meaning joy and sweetness, and finally a gladiolus. An orange one.” 

“Meaning that you’re strong and capable.” He winked. “I studied up on my botany.” 

“So, how’s your… police work… going?” I picked up the files with the crime scene photos from his bedside table, flicking through them. 

“I’m off-duty, obviously. But I’ve been a bit distracted. Got this mystery girl on my mind.” James gave me a once over, biting his lip for a split second. 

“Oh, really?” I fake-gasped, raising an eyebrow. 

“Mhmm. Diana knows who she is, but everyone else wants to know who’s gotten my attention.” He continued. “Naturally, I can’t tell them she’s a girl running around with a felon wanted by the Feds.” 

“Naturally.” I smiled, putting down the case files and the flowers in a vase. “I’m glad you’re here, James. Really.” 

“Good, cause I was wondering whether you’d pull a gun on me for stalking you.” 

“More so pull that tie off.” I teased, pointing at the tie he was wearing with his suit. “That Trinity is killing me.” 

“I knew I should’ve done a half-Windsor.” He pouted like a little baby, undoing his tie, then folded his arms. “So, uh, I got you the case files, I learnt that Susan has a little girl called Tyler, and I got you here. Albeit with Sam and Dean.” 

“Thank you for that. I owe you one.” 

“Yeah, and I’m gonna have to cash that in. Do you have any spare men’s clothes? Cause, i, um, didn’t exactly think the whole romantic gesture thing through and didn’t pack anything. And I really don’t wanna sleep in a suit.” I buried my hand into my satchel, pulling out some spare clothes for him to wear, shoving them into his hands. “Thanks, beautiful.” 

“You’re welcome, handsome.” I winked. He hesitated for a moment, then threw the clothes down and put his hands on the small of my back, kissing me while my hand instinctively cupped the nape of his neck. After a few seconds, I pulled back, grinning. “Bold move, Serge.” 

“I learnt from the best.” He pulled the rubberband from my plait and took my beanie off my head, letting my hair fall loose. He then picked me up, laying me down on the bed before climbing on top of me, taking off his suit jacket before he claimed my lips again.

I was sitting in James’ lap, studying the case, when someone knocked on the door. “Beanie?” It was Dean, and when I opened the door, his eyes immediately landed on James. “Oh, hey, Serge.” 

“Dean.” James nodded. 

“Hey, James.” Sam popped his head around the door. “How’re you doing?” 

“I’m good, you?” 

“As well as I can.” 

“Alright, get in here, then.” I beckoned them inside. Once they were in, I closed the door and locked it. “What’ve you guys got?” 

“We figured that someone might be using hoodoo to fight off people who want to sell the home. Y’know, cause that quincunx wards away enemies.” 

“But that doesn’t make sense, exactly.” I frowned. “Quincunxes would prevent the enemy from entering entirely, let alone kill them if they got too close.” 

“So then what’s the plan?” 

“I’ll lay it on Susan.” I said matter-of-factly. “It’s gonna be harder for two men to do it than it would be for one woman. Besides, she seemed to take a liking to me. She thought you two were gay.” 

“That’s settled, then.” James got up. “I’ll go over the cases a few more times, see if I can find anything interesting.” 

“Thanks.” I picked my room key up, going over to the door. “Behave, while you’re at it.” As soon as I stepped out of the room, however, I saw Dad standing there, looking apologetic. “Geez, who brought the buzzkill?” 

He sighed, reaching out. “Jellybean-“ 

“I made it very clear yesterday that I don’t want anything to do with you.” I retorted. “And here you go, tracking me.” 

“How else am I going to help my only daughter?” He pleaded. “I can’t leave you out there, alone, with the chance that someone could take over your brain while you’re sleeping.” 

“I have three very strong men to restrain me if things go wrong, Dad.” I frowned. 

“I trained you to be stronger-“ 

“You trained me to be you.” I sneered. “All people say of me is that I’m Mick Rainer’s girl. That’s my identity, because you raised me in your image. And I realised that eight years too late.” I knocked on Susan’s door, and she opened it, smiling when she saw me. 

“Miss Carter!” Susan grinned. “How can I help you? Is your room alright?” 

“I just came to thank you for the surprise.” I grinned, slipping on a fake ring I kept in my pocket in case of emergencies. “My fiancé and I recently got engaged, so I think he just wanted to surprise me.” 

“Well, you’re such a lucky person.” She appraised. “Well, I was, I was just in the middle of packing.” 

“Are those antique dolls?” I gasped, spotting one. “My grandma used to own some.” 

“Really? Come in!” She let me in, and I looked at the dollhouse. 

“Is that-“ 

“A replica of the hotel? You guessed right.” I bent down, picking up a doll. 

“This one’s broken.” 

“That’d be Tyler.” 

“Mommy!” Tyler ran in, stroppy. “Maggie’s being mean!” 

“Tyler, tell her I said to be nice, okay?” Susan lectured, and I knelt to Tyler’s height. 

“Hey, Tyler.” I smiled. “I’m Lily, and I see you broke your doll. Want me to fix it?” 

“I didn’t break it.” She grumbled. “I found it like that.” 

“Maybe Maggie did it.” 

“No, neither of us did it. Grandma would get mad if we broke 'em.” 

“Tyler, Grandma wouldn’t get mad.” Susan sighed. 

“Grandma?” I asked politely.

”Grandma Rose. These were all her toys.” 

“And where’s she now?” 

“Up in her room.” Tyler smiled. 

“How is she? Doing well?” 

“She…” Susan paused, “she barely comes out anymore. Never takes visitors.” The way she said it made me intrigued. And suspicious.”

“That’s sad to hear. Give her my well wishes.” I clicked my tongue, then stood up. “Anyway, I better get going. My fiancé’s probably waiting up for me. It was great meeting you again, Susan.” 

“You too, Lily.” I hugged her, and she patted my shoulder. “Call if you need anything.” 

“I’ll make sure of it. Bye, Tyler.” I waved, then left the room and ignored Dad, going into mine and meeting the boys. “I got the info I needed, and look what the cat dragged in.” Dad entered behind me, and Dean and Sam instantly stood up, the air becoming tense. 

“Mr Rainer.” Dean nodded coldly. 

“Sir.” Sam gulped. 

“Boys.” Dad coughed.

”Ok, so there’s a Grandma Rose here.” I flicked through my hoodoo book. “Lives in practical solitary, doesn’t take visitors. I think we found our hoodoo and voodoo lady.” 

“All right, I'll see what I can go dig up on boomin' Granny.” Dean agreed. “Sam, James, you go get online, check old obits, freak accidents, that sort of thing, see if she's whacked anybody before.” 

“And me?” Dad asked. 

“You sit there and do nothing.” I snapped. 

“There's been another one. Some guy just hung himself in his room.” I sighed, walking back in with Dean. James and Dad were in the other room.

“We saw the guy being carted off.” Sam grimaced. “Bad business.” 

“We've gotta figure this out, and fast.” Dean frowned. “What'd you find out about Granny?” 

“You’re the boss.” 

Dean stopped. “What?”

”You're bossy. And short.” Sam giggled. I raised an eyebrow, walking over to Sam and lifting up his face so he could face me. 

“Are you drunk?” I scrutinised, checking his eyes for his focus. Then I saw the empty bottles of beer.

“Yeah.” He snorted. “So?” 

“We’re on a case, Sam.” 

“That guy who hung himself. I couldn't save him.” 

“You couldn’t have done anything, Sam.” Dean frowned. 

“That's an excuse, Dean. I should have found a way to save him. I should have saved Ava too.” 

“You can’t save everyone, Sammy.” I hugged him, smoothing his hair down. 

“No, you don't understand, all right? The more people I save, the more I can change!” 

“Change what?” Dean groaned. 

“My destiny!” Wow, that’s dramatic. Or not so much, but I stand my ground.

“O-kay, Sasquatch, time for bed.” I laughed, hauling Sam up and putting his arm around my shoulder, limping with him to his bed. I threw him down, pulling the blanket over him. 

“I need you to watch out for me.” Sam whispered. 

“We’re doing that, Sammy.” 

“No, I mean, watch out for me.” He groaned. “If I go the wrong way, Dean, I need you to… to kill me.” 

“Sam, no.” Dean refused. “I’m not doing that.” 

“You have to.” 

“No-“ 

“Dean!” Sam grabbed Dean’s collar. “You’re the only one who can do it. Please.” 

“Sammy, I-“ 

“Do it.” 

Dean conceded, nodding. “Ok. I’ll-I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you.” Then Sam fell asleep. Dean rubbed his face, gritting his teeth. 

“I can’t kill him.” He muttered, voice breaking. “Why’s he asking me to do it?” 

I frowned. “Because you’re his brother.” 

“Dad asked me to do it, but I just can’t-“ 

“I’ll do it, then.” I ran a hand through my hair, biting my lip. 

“What?” 

“I’ll do it.” I

“But… but why?” 

“You’ve got enough of a guilty conscience, Dean.” I crossed my arms. “Sometimes it seems like I don’t have enough of one.” 

“I can’t let you do this.” 

“It’s going to be a hell of a burden to carry!” I snapped. “You’re already half-killing yourself for John’s death. If Sam dies by your hand, I don’t know how much longer you could take that kind of thing.” 

“What about Carter? Lily? Your mom? Xavier?” He frowned. “You carry the guilt of their deaths too, right?”

“Every damn day.” I nodded. “But you deserve to live a happier life than I do.” 

“You don’t have to live that life! Beanie, you deserve much more than I do-” 

“Dean!” I cried out, silencing him. “Why do you think so low of yourself? You are the bravest person I’ve ever met. You don’t hesitate to save the people you love. No matter how many times I yell at you, you always rush to my side when I’m hurt and don’t leave until you know I’m ok. You may be tough, but you’re also sweet and caring and charming. The one thing wrong about you is that you don’t know your own self-worth. But, somehow, I do.” 

“Beanie-“ 

“I’ll do it. I’ll pull the trigger, Dean, and if the same happens to me, I’ll pull it on myself.” 

“Iv-“ 

“That’s final.” He stayed silent, so I calmed down. “I’ll watch over Sam. You go milk more information outta this place. Maybe try Sherwin.” 

“Ok.” He went to the door, but then stopped and turned around. “For what it’s worth, Beanie, I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Dean and Sam came back to my room, looking guilty, and I groaned. “You didn’t just go talk to Gramma Rose, did you?” 

“We did.” Sam sighed. “And now we’re kicked out.” 

“Well done.” I stood up, flicking through files. “Whatever I’m thinking, is that Rose is somewhat connected. I also know that the next closest person associated with selling the inn is Susan. So I’d wager she’s next.“ 

“Now what?” Dean asked. 

“I’ll keep as close of an eye on her as well. But… uh… Maggie seems a bit off to me. Haven’t seen her, but I think she’s Tyler’s sister.” 

“You do that.” He held up his hand. “Beer me.” I chucked him a beer, then looked out of the blinds. Susan was lugging boxes into a red car, but then I heard the EMF scanner whir, and I knew something was up. 

“It’s happening. Go, go!” We ran out of the door, and we sprinted across the field to get to Susan just as the car started on its own. I managed to get there first just as the car almost rammed into Susan, taking her out of the way just in time. “Are you ok?” 

“I think so.” She gulped. 

“C’mon, let’s get her inside and fast.” Dean ordered. “Let’s go!” We walked Susan into the inn, where James was waiting for us. 

“Whisky.” 

“Sure.” Sam nodded, passing her a glass of whisky. “I know the feeling.” 

“What the hell happened out there?” 

“You want the truth?” Dean asked. 

“Of course.” 

“First we thought it was a hoodoo curse, now we’re sure it’s a spirit.” I explained. 

“You’re insane.” She scoffed. 

“Yeah, we get that often.” I laughed. “Also, Fred here isn’t my fiancé.” 

“What?” 

“Look, I'm sorry, Susan. We don't exactly have time to ease you into this, but we need to know when your mother had the stroke.” 

“What does that have to do with any—” 

“Just answer the question.” Sam persisted. 

“About a month ago.” 

“When the killings started happening.” Sam deduced. 

“See?” I stared pointedly at Dean. “So what if Rose was working hoodoo, but not to hurt anyone. To protect them.” 

“She was using the five spots to ward off the spirit.” Dean agreed.

“And then the stroke, so now she can’t.” Sam nodded. 

“I don't believe this.” Susan whispered. 

“Listen, sister, that car didn't try to run you down by itself, okay?” Dean stated. “I mean, I guess it did, technically, but, but the spirit can- forget it.” 

“Look, believe what you want.” James spoke up. “But the fact is you and your family are in danger, all right? So you need to clear everybody out of here: your employees, your mother, your daughters, everyone.” 

“I only have one daughter.” Susan frowned. 

“I thought Maggie was Tyler’s sister.” 

“Maggie’s imaginary.” 

My blood ran cold, sharing a look with the boys. “Susan, where’s Tyler?” 

“TYLER!” Susan screamed, and we ran up to the playroom, which was empty and littered with broken dolls. “Oh my god. Tyler.” She ran out of the room for a moment. “Tyler!” She came back. “She's not here!” 

“Susan. Tell us what you know about Maggie.” 

“I don’t know. Tyler’s been talking about her ever since Mom got sick.” 

“Okay, did you ever know anyone by that name?” Sam asked. 

“No…” 

“Think, think, I mean, somebody that could have lived here.” Dean urged. 

“Someone that might have passed away?” James added. 

“Mom had a sister named Margaret.” Susan gasped. “But she barely talked about her. She died when they were kids.” 

“How did she die?” 

“She drowned in the pool.” I instantly started running to the pool, my head pounding as I made my way to the pool, the boys not far behind. There were three doors to the pool, and Susan and Dean took one, James and Sam another while I took the last. I picked up a garden chair, slamming it against the glass. Just then, Tyler screamed, falling into the pool. I slammed harder, while Dean, James and Sam tried their hardest to break the other doors. I could see Tyler’s attempts to fight become weaker, and then they stilled completely. 

“Damn it!” I growled, then pulled out my gun and shot the door twice, cracking it. I busted it open with one ram of my shoulder, taking my jacket off and throwing my gun down as I ran to the pool and dived in, grabbing Tyler and pulling her to the surface, holding on tight as I swam to the edge, laying her down on the tiles. Dean, James, Sam and Susan ran in through the door I’d busted, while I turned Tyler to the side, waiting for a moment. Then Tyler coughed, spitting water out and making Susan cry out in relief. 

“Thank god! Thank god, thank god.” She sobbed, running her fingers through Tyler’s hair. 

“Mommy!” Tyler cried. 

“I’m here, baby.” 

“Tyler, do you see Maggie anywhere?” I asked. 

“No, she’s gone.” Tyler answered. 

“Let’s get you guys back to the inn.” Before we all stood up, however, Tyler hugged me tightly. I returned the hug, patting her on the back. “Hey, it’s ok.”

”You saved my daughter, Lily.” Susan said. “Saying ‘it’s ok’ is an understatement.” 

“We should probably get away from the pool.” James chuckled. 

“Don't worry, honey, we're leaving in two minutes, we've just got to get Grandma.” Susan soothed, and her and Tyler left to get Rose. 

“I don't get it, did Maggie just stop?” I frowned. 

“Seems like it.” Sam shrugged. 

“Well,” Dean bristled, “where the hell did she go, then?” Just then, we heard Susan scream. We sprinted upstairs to find Grandma Rose dead, motionless with no mark on her body. I dialled an ambulance, while James brought Tyler and Susan away from the scene in time for the paramedics to arrive. When they did, Susan came back to us with the report. 

“Paramedics say another stroke.” She whispered. “Do you think ... Margaret could have had something to do with it?” 

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. 

“We can’t be sure.” I sighed, “But it’s possible. I’m sorry, Susan.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for. You've given me everything.” She smiled. Tyler came out, and she took her daughter’s hand. “Ready to go, kiddo?” 

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded. 

I knelt to Tyler’s height, tilting my head with a smile. “Now, Tyler, are you sure that Maggie’s gone?” 

“I’m sure. I’d see her.” 

“Alright.” She hugged me again, and when I stood up, Susan hugged me too. 

“Any other thing I should know about you?” She asked.

“My name isn’t Lily Carter.” 

“Then?” 

“Ivonne Rainer.” 

“Then your name,” She turned to James, “isn’t Fred, right?” 

“Nope.” James grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Detective Sergeant James Rhodes at your service.” 

“For what it’s worth, you two still make a cute couple.” She got into her taxi, driving off. Dad showed up, and the three boys slipped away. I turned to Dad, frowning. 

“What do you want?” I grimaced. 

“My daughter back.” He begged.

“That ship sunk a while ago.”  

“You meant the world to me-“

”I know. But I was also your soldier, even more so when I grew up.”

”You were my daughter first.” 

“You first taught me how to shoot when I was six.” I gritted my teeth. “Made my first explosive at eight. Killed my first spirit at nine. All while listening to your stories. You put me into martial arts so I could be more capable at hunting. Mom was a hunter, but at least she didn’t force me into it. She didn’t make me read the monster encyclopaedia and memorise every detail I could. She actually made me feel like I was a girl. You made me feel like a soldier. And you made Carter feel like he would never live up to my standard, which chipped at him every day.” 

“Jellybean-“ 

“I’m not ungrateful for the preparation you gave me, but I’m not grateful for what came out of it.” I walked away, joining the boys in the car. 

Sam joined Dean in the kitchen back at the safe house, where Dean was just staring at a bottle of beer with a weird expression. “What’re you doing?” Sam blinked, sitting down. 

“Thinking.” Dean replied, looking up. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“It’s not important.” 

“Humour me.” Sam persisted, and his brother conceded.

“When you were asleep cause you were wasted,” Dean gulped, “Beanie and I had an argument. She told me that I don’t know my own self worth.” 

“Well, you don’t. What else did she say?”

”That I was the bravest person she knew.” He continued with a small smile. “That I’m tough, yeah, but I’m also sweet and caring. I’m not sweet… am I?” 

“Oh. My. God.” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “You like her. You like Ivy.” 

“Beanie?” Dean scoffed. “Pfft, no.” 

“Yeah. You’re making practical heart eyes right now. In fact, you make them every time she opens her mouth.” 

“No.” 

“Dean, you’ve literally done it together.” 

Dean blinked, confused. “No, we haven’t. Seems like you’re hopped up on somethin’.” 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” 

“Know what?” 

“The night you both got wasted. In her safe house. Together. When you came back with the case, Ivy was somehow wearing your cologne. You know, the one Dad got you for your birthday?” 

The realisation struck Dean, and his eyes widened. “Damn.” 

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 21

Chapter 21 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve gets dragged through the portal, the five teens end up in the Upside Down. They try to make it through together, some people growing closer in the process.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: general season 4 shenanigans, injury, homophobia mention, f-slur, hate-crime mention

~~~~

Chapter 21: The Meeting with Bats

Pain is everywhere.

Steve knows what is happening, but he can’t wrap his head around where he is and what is going on, all he knows is pain. His back is getting ripped open, bits of dirt and little rocks getting lodged in the flesh.

He is about to get his bearings and fight back to whatever is dragging him suddenly throws him into the air and sends him flying.

The air is forcefully expelled from his lungs and his brain is scrambled. It again takes him a moment to climb off the vine like nest he’d been thrown on and take in where he is. The Upside Down. Like genuinely the Upside Down. Red lightning in the air and dust floating around like it was in the tunnels.

In a way, Steve can’t believe he is actually here, but a creature shrieking behind him makes him snap around as he searches for the danger. He doesn’t have time to think about whether or not he is really here. The Upside Down is practically synonymous with danger.

He only sees a smaller than the demodogs bat-like creature fly towards him, but he isn’t fooled by its size, especially when more and more come closer. Surrounding him.

Quickly he grabs an oar from one of the boats nearby him and starts swinging as the bats descend on him with sharp fangs and little claws. Plus way more force than any creature should have. How these winged beasts are so muscled, Steve doesn’t know, but within seconds he is down on the ground.

One of them wraps their tail around him and pins him down as it chokes him. He struggles against the bat as more start to eat at his sides.

A small frenzied part of his brain whispers that this is quite similar to how Jonathan was pinned down and helpless in ‘83. However, there is no Steve to come running in this time. He knows he can’t expect any of the others to follow him in here and he is glad that he won’t be saved, that those he cares about will be safe. But still…

Steve can’t help but mourn – for as far as that is possible while being eaten – that he will die alone and there will be no one to hold his hand as he does. He’ll just be by himself, struggling against these bat monsters until he can’t anymore and dies.

It hurts so so bad. His sides are burning and he feels like he can’t breathe. He is desperately clawing at the tail as he tries to eject himself out of his body.

He’s been through too much to stop fighting now, but he’s also been through so much that he doesn’t want to be here right now either. So, he fights and tries to picture Robin. Not worried Robin in the boat from earlier, but Robin laughing so hard she starts snorting at something stupid he did at work.

Then he works to put Chrissy in there next to her. She’s smiling in his imagination. She’s not that gaunt scared girl of the past few days, instead brightly looking at him. Flying. God, he wishes he could have made her fly again.

With Chrissy and Robin firmly in mind, he sets to color in the kids, ignoring the stab that goes through his gut when another bat joins the feast that is his stomach.

Little Dustin at the snowball, Max showing him a new trick on her board, Lucas practicing basketball with him, the way Will thanked him after he ensured the kid knew he wasn’t alone, Erica looking smug while eating ice cream, El so strong and happy, Mike in the back of his car, trying to look annoyed but failing.

After that, Eddie.

Eddie, who has been on his mind for longer than he cares to admit. Eddie, who is so full of life with dramatic gestures and big grins. With his deep soulful eyes and sweet dimples. Eddie, who gets him, who has been there for him. Who he will never get to tell how much he means to Steve. Who he will never get to kiss.

Frustration bubbles up at the situation, but more importantly himself. In that Russian bunker he had decided not to let the world get to him. That he didn’t want to live like that. Yet at the slightest hint, he’d gone back to his old ways of hiding, of living in fear. Of pushing people away and retreating back in safe conformity. He hates it. He hates himself. He didn’t want to die then and he doesn’t want to die now.

He starts struggling harder again, new vigor flushing in his veins at the thought. However, that just shows him how futile his situation is.

Right as he thinks he might have to give up, despite not wanting to, tears springing into his eyes. A bat flies away.

No, not fly. Gets hit away.

For a second, Steve follows it, before he realizes what has just happened, before looking back. There are the others, they have come to save him. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the sight of them. Though neither is an option with how he is choking.

At the center is Eddie. He is the one that hit the bat away, in his hands in the nail bat Steve had left in the boat. Eddie is breathing heavy, looking at the bat as if he can’t believe that just happened, despite him being the one doing it.

Steve only has half the brain cell to register how cute and fucking hot that is, before the fight starts up in full. Everyone is batting the creatures away, giving him a fighting chance against the one that is choking him.

The whole fight is like a blur. It’s as if Steve has entered some sort of raging stage wherein he is just ripping, slamming and biting anything in the vicinity just to make it out. A feral tussle for his life that he only comes out of when the danger is gone and suddenly he can taste blood in his mouth and the burning in his sides.

He makes eye contact with Eddie, who is still holding his bat, a detail he isn’t focusing on (or at least he tells himself that). Eddie is wide eyed, a little scared and a little blood splattered, as he pants, his chest distractedly moving up and down under his Hellfire shirt.

Thunder crackles in the sky above them pulling them all back to the moment. Nancy pushes through the group gathered and it hits Steve suddenly that everyone in that boat followed after him to save him.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, a bit closer than Steve would like her, but she is clearly worried and Steve can’t blame her since the wounds on his stomach look about as bad as they feel.

However, he doesn’t want to be vulnerable about that now, show all the emotions that strike through him. How he thought he was going to die, how badly he wanted to live, how he is so glad they came and how guilty he feels about it. So, he merely jokes: “Well, they took about a pound of flesh, but other than that, yeah, never better.”

Nancy is leaning close and Steve isn’t sure what to do with her. She has been sending weird signals all week and it’s starting to get on his nerves.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to decide what to do, because Robin is out of her stupor and scrambling to get to Steve as she freaks out: “Uh, do you think these bats have like rabies?”

“What?” Steve laughs, more because of confusion than amusement.

“It’s just that rabies are like my number one fear,” she says, poking his arm as she scrutinizes the wounds on his stomach without touching them. “And I think we should get you to a doctor soon, because once symptoms set in, it’s too late. You’re already dead.”

“Is it really that bad?” Chrissy asks, worrying her lip as she leans over Robin’s shoulder to look at Steve’s stomach.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Steve assures her. He doesn’t want to worry Chrissy, because while he doesn’t think he’s going to get rabies, they do hurt pretty bad.

Robin clearly wants to protest that, but creatures start chittering and all of them snap their heads in the direction it has come from. Eddie is the closest and cautiously raises the bat again as he peers into the distance, the action makes Steve’s heart skip a beat.

Then he spots the few bats coming their way. They settle down over the portal they came through, still making those horrid sounds, as they seem to guard it.

A smart impulsive side of his brain wants to see Eddie fight while using his bat again, better this time, since he won’t be actively getting strangled. So, in a bout absurd thinking, he says: “Alright, there’s not that many. We can take them.” All look at him like he’s hit his head too hard, which is fair. Feebly he adds: “Right?”

As if to make him look even more silly, the few bats now get company from a swarm that they definitely can’t take. Beside him, Robin sarcastically asks: “You were saying?”

Eddie swings the bat down again and turns around with a little smirk as he says: “Maybe not, big boy.”

Steve feels a swoop through his stomach that momentarily washes the pain away, before there’s a harsh pat to his arm pulling him out of it. Nancy is pointing behind them and exclaims: “The woods, come on!” as she tugs Steve with her.

Behind them the others follow suit as they dash madly towards the woods. Faintly he hears Robin complain and the familiar footfalls of Chrissy as well as the jingling of Eddie’s jewelry.

However, he can’t concentrate on any of it. Nancy’s grip on his hand keeps him moving, but that is it, he is just stumbling along. With every thud of his feet on the ground, pain shoots up in his abdomen, leaving his eyes blurring with unshed tears.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve ran. He just needs to push through and focus on making it to wherever they’re going. Steve can’t allow himself the luxury of watching his surroundings, no matter how anxious that blindness makes him.

So, when Nancy stops, he nearly bowls her over, before practically collapsing, only holding himself up with the knowledge that he can’t show weakness in this place.

“Under here,” Nancy directs, pointing to an enclave.

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice, glad to collapse and roll under it, blearily blinking as a voice with soothing timbre asks: “You good, sweetheart?”

A curly haired head swims into his line of vision and he gives a too dopey smile for the situation to Eddie as he assures him: “I’m good.”

Eddie doesn’t look like he believes Steve, but this isn’t the time to talk about it as the others press closer into the enclave to get out of sight from the bat. Chrissy bumps his shoulder, herding him back, Robin right beside her, as Eddie also pulls him along, until the five of them are huddled under – what Steve now realizes is – Skull Rock.

The second he given to breathe helps in getting his head on right. His sides still hurt like a motherfucker, but he thinks he can probably push it away, especially with the creatures still making noise above them. They don’t have time for him to be hurt. It’s just like a cheer meet, if you hurt yourself keep smiling and keep going.

This works for approximately four seconds as they wait out the bats. Robin gets out first and Chrissy follows apprehensively, Nancy right behind her. Robin says: “Oh, okay, that was close,” as she looks around, obviously scared.

“Too close,” Eddie agrees, voice cracking a bit.

Steve goes to follow them, wanting to say something encouraging to comfort them. He hates seeing Robin scared and he doesn’t like Eddie’s tone. However, he practically collapses against Eddie, who is walking next to him as he gasps: “Oh sh- shit,” the pain becoming a bit too much.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie says as he catches him, concern taking over as he asks: “Steve?”

“Jesus,” Robin exclaims.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Steve assures everyone, knowing how much of a lie it is and how much he isn’t fooling anyone. It still feels good to try.

“No, no, no,” Nancy says coming forwards to support him on the other side. “You’re loosing blood. Come on. Sit. Alright?”

She and Eddie guide him down along the wall so he can lean against it, the wounds on his back hurting as he slides to a seated position with a heavy groan.

He places a hand against his stomach and hisses against the pain it launches through him as blood slides down his stomach. He still feels pretty horrible, but he thinks he should be good to go after a few seconds of rest.

The hurt doesn’t compare to moving through those tunnels after Billy beat his face in. His head is still on straight. And if he can drive a car after being tortured and drugged, he can walk a little with a few wounds in his sides.

Still, he latches onto Eddie’s hand, which is on his shoulder, squeezing it to offer comfort as he chews his lip. It’s easier to look at Eddie, than to focus on his stomach, or to Nancy, who is taking the zip up Chrissy offered and ripping the sleeves off to make bandages.

“Okay,” he hears Robin say and looks her way. She is crouched down next to him and trying to put on a brave face, even if Steve knows she scared. In true Robin fashion, she rambles: “So, the good news is, I’m pretty sure wooziness is not a common symptom of rabies, but if you start having hallucinations or muscle spasms or if you start feeling really aggressive, like you wanna punch me or something? You should totally let me know.”

“Robin,” he gets her attention, having to admit to himself that her voice brought him back considerably and made him feel more at ease.

“Yeah?” she asks, attentive and alert.

“I kinda wanna punch you,” he tells her, giving her a soft smile to tell her he doesn’t mean it, but that he is trying to calm her nerves. It’s no good if she’s freaking out.

At that she laughs. It’s a little desperate kind of laugh, but it is a laugh and that is enough for Steve, especially when she smiles back: “Sense of humor is still in tact. That’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, immediately groaning when he sides protest the action.

“Okay,” Nancy says, determination in her brow as she holds up the makeshift sleeve bandage. “You ready?”

Steve knows Robin doesn’t do too well with blood, but he still holds out his hand to her, a bit of hopefulness in his eyes. He can’t go through this without her comfort. Or Eddie’s, the man a comforting warmth behind him.

However, right now he is more focused on Robin. Her shoulders set and she takes his hand, grabbing Chrissy’s with the other for her own support. Chrissy looks at their intertwined hands, then up at Steve, then away quickly. Steve can’t follow her thoughts, but he is just glad for Robin’s fingers between his own as he turns back to Nancy. “Just do it.”

She efficiently starts wrapping him up and he tries not to think about the wet noises he hears coming from down there as he grunts. His one hand tightens his hold on Robin’s and the other flies to Eddie’s arm, clinging to it as he turns his head and bites the leather of Eddie’s jacket to keep quiet, unsure if anything can hear them.

Faintly he hears Nancy apologizing, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to be done and never have to touch his sides ever again.

After what seems like eternity, Nancy stops moving, blessedly leaving his sides along as she asks him: “Too tight?”

“No, that’s good,” he replies with a strained voice, after having to force his teeth to let go of Eddie’s sleeve. Fuck, that might have been weird to do now that he can think clearly again.

“Alright,” Nancy says, tying the last knot in the bandages, which sends that thought flying again until she finishes with an: “Okay” and a small smile.

“Thanks,” he smiles back crookedly, still panting a bit and coming down from the whole thing as he stares at her, since he is too tired to move his head away.

He’s pulled out of his staring trance when Eddie pulls away and starts looking around for god knows what. Steve doesn’t know, but he appreciates the view of Eddie’s backside. “So, uh, this place is like Hawkins, but with monsters and nasty shit?” Eddie asks.

“Pretty much,” Nancy replies, before quickly exclaiming: “Wait, watch out for the vines! It’s all a hive mind.”

“It’s all a what?” Eddie asks, looking back at them.

Steve has been helped up by Chrissy and Robin, leaning against Skull Rock again. He remembers how confused he was when the kids explained, so he simplifies: “All the creepy crawlies around here? They’re like one or something. Step on a vine, you’re stepping on a bat, you’re stepping on Vecna.”

“Shit,” Eddie replies, eyebrows high on his forehead, which highlights his pretty eyes that Steve gets lost in for a second.

Then he gets distracted by Robin, who asks: “But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people? Obviously.”

And Steve is reminded how little the others have been involved with this except for him and Nancy when she answers: “As far as I understand it, yeah.”

“So, theoretically,” Robin starts and Steve knows it’ll either be very stupid of genius by the way her voice sounds, “we could go to the police station and steal guns and grenades and whatever we need to blow up those bat things that are guarding the gate.”

“I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robs,” Steve tells her a little bitchily perhaps, but he is hurt and tired, so he cuts himself some slack.

“But they probably do have guns,” Chrissy says, which is true and could be useful. Fuck, now Steve has been bitchy when Robin had a good idea. He’ll buy her favorite candy to make it up to her later… if they make it out of here at least. Maybe there is Upside Down candy? But that probably isn’t safe to consume.

Next to them is Nancy, who has been pulling a thoughtful face ever since Robin first spoke up. She says: “Well, we don’t have to go all the way downtown for guns. I have guns in my bedroom.”

“You,” Eddie speaks up, like he can’t believe it, probably can’t, he hasn’t been through what she has been through, though he is getting close, “Nancy Wheeler,” he chocks his hip in a sexy way, “have guns – plural – in your bedroom?”

“Full of surprises, isn’t she,” Robin blurts out in her Robin-esque way.

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver,” Nancy continues, ignoring Robin’s little outburst.

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one,” Steve bitches, finally feeling good enough to stand. He still remembers that, haunts some of his nightmares. He hopes Nancy has better gun safety protocols now.

“You almost deserved it,” Nancy counters, batting her eyes at him and he can’t believe that he recognizes her flirt face in this situation, regarding that.

There have already been a few weird moments of tension between them before and Steve has no clue why she is doing this and what is driving her. He just stares at her a little confused as Nancy stares back, smile still on her face.

They’re snapped out their half-confused, half-flirting moment when something heavy hits his face, which he instinctively catches.

He looks down and a DIO logo is staring back at him. It’s Eddie’s vest, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie without it, except that day on the roof. He even told Steve once how important it was to him when he was high. So, of course he looks up to Eddie a mixture of emotions playing over his face.

Steve doesn’t know what Eddie sees there, but he looks away after saying: “For you modesty, dude.”

A bit of awe floods through Steve at that, he can’t help it. It feels like something more. Something he can’t quite put his finger on, but something that feels good as he slips the vest on. It is practically infused with smoke as well as sweat and weed. Eddie. Steve has to fight himself not to inhale too deeply, lest he comes across as creepy.

Nancy walks past Eddie and starts to lead the way to her house, Steve following to close the rear, when the ground suddenly starts to shake.

It’s enough to knock Steve over, right into Eddie, who snatches him by the upper arm and holds him close so they won’t fall. A little ahead, Robin and Chrissy fall on top of each other and Nancy hits the deck too.

The shaking continues for a second longer and Steve tries to focus on how scary that is instead of how warm Eddie feels next to him, how comforting it is to be held by him.

When it’s finally over, they all just lay on the ground and stand for a few seconds. Loud, terrifying noises come from all around them and now Steve wishes he could focus on Eddie instead of how scary it all really is.

“Yeah, so guns seem like a really good idea to me,” Eddie breaks the silence when it seems like nothing is going to come charging out of the woods and attack them.

Robin clumsily gets up and hauls Chrissy to her feet as well as she agrees: “Yeah, me too.”

“Lets go,” Nancy says, taking the lead again. She is so headstrong and Steve mourns for what made her like that. He might not appreciate her flirting, but he can ache as he recognizes the girl she used to be, before the Upside Down turned her spine to steel and her blood cold.

He clicks on the flashlight and gestures for the others to follow. He is determined to take the rear and Robin staring him down for a second won’t change that.

She seems to get that too, because she rolls her eyes and starts walking, dragging Chrissy along since they’re still holding hands from when she helped her up. Robin notices and blushes, letting go with a little flail.

Steve shakes his head fondly at her, before Eddie is distracting him. The guy holds out the bat that he had been carrying before now, he gives Steve a crooked grin and says: “This belongs to you, I think.”

“Ah, thanks, man,” Steve replies gratefully, exchanging the flashlight for his bat that he twirls to get a feel for again. He meets Eddie’s eyes and Eddie is a little flushed, which makes Steve’s inside twist up in a good way as he cheekily grins: “Good as new.”

“I’m glad,” Eddie squeaks and Steve desperately tells himself that it is just nerves from being down here as he watches Eddie scurry after the girls, he himself following after Eddie.

Thunder continues to boom above them as they make their way through this alternate dimension. It makes the sky flash red and Steve already knows this is going to be a new backdrop for his nightmares if they manage to make it out of here.

In front of him are the others. Nancy is leading, her back straight as she walks with her head held high, fear will not get the best of her today. Robin – his lovely clumsy Robin – is carefully walking through the vines, Chrissy hovering around her to steady her if she stumbles.

A while ago Steve would have said she is totally straight, but watching her dance around Robin he isn’t so sure anymore. But Steve isn’t going to say anything until she does. He of all people knows how scary it is to have someone ask about your sexuality or make assumptions about it when you aren’t ready yourself.

So, he tears his eyes away from the pair to focus on Eddie, who has been walking in front of him in a way that is close enough to steady Steve without crowding him. Steve isn’t sure if he’s grateful or offended.

He decides to be grateful, maybe even touched that Eddie lets him have his independence yet watches out for him too. It’s sweet. Eddie is sweet. In the humdrum of it all, he hasn’t gotten much time to think about Eddie. About their talk.

They made up now. Eddie is his friend again. Eddie has always wanted to be Steve’s friend. It makes him feel all fluttery and happy. That plummets away when he remembers what he told Eddie about after, how he ran into his father, the fears he has about the kids finding out. Fears Eddie shares, fears that are real for both of them after what happened to his cabin.

Though, Eddie never told what happened there.

A need to know bubbles up and he quickens his step to catch up with the other boy as he calls out: “Eddie. Eddie. Hey, man, uhm,” he has no clue how to ask what he really wants to, so instead he says: “Listen, I just- I just want to say thanks. For saving my ass back there.”

“Shit. You saved your own ass, man,” Eddie replies and Steve tries not to miss the sweetheart. “I mean, that was a real Ozzy move you pulled back there.”

The name sounds familiar to Steve. Countless nights of listening to Eddie on the couch has rubbed off on him, but he can’t quite remember who Ozzy is again. “Uhm, Iron Maiden guy?”

“Close, that’s Bruce Dickinson, Ozzy is from Black Sabbeth. He bit a bat- Doesn’t matter,” Eddie cuts himself off. “It’s very metal, what you did. That’s all I’m saying.”

Steve preens a little at that, he knows what a high compliment that is from Eddie, so he smiles: “Thanks.”

“You know, Henderson told me you were a badasss. Insisted on the matter, in fact,” Eddie tells him.

Vaguely Steve wonders where this is going, though he can’t help but touched. Dustin can be an arrogant, sarcastic little shit. They all are. So it’s nice and a little wild to hear that. “Henderson said that?” he hears himself asking, sounding pathetically hopeful.

“Kid worships you, dude,” Eddie assures him, not commenting on the tone just taking his question seriously. Steve appreciates that about Eddie. How he takes everyone seriously. “Like you have no idea. It’s kind of annoying to be honest. I didn’t really believe him either, I mean, no offense, but I saw your cafeteria fights.”

At that Steve snorts. He knows he should be offended, but after all he has seen, he can’t bring himself too. So, he just nudges Eddie and says: “It’s easier to swing a bat really hard at a monster, people ask questions if you do it to a high schooler.”

Eddie laughs at that – the wonderful deep laugh Steve loves so much – and nods: “That’s fair. But I would pay to see it.”

“Me too, honestly,” Steve replies, seeing an opening. “And it might happen.”

“Yeah?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah, man, they destroyed my home and- Hell, I don’t even know what they did to you, but I’m not just going to let that happen,” he tells Eddie and he isn’t lying either. He is fuming about his home that they wrecked, his friends that they hunt.

“Fuck, sweetheart, don’t look so intense,” Eddie jokes, though he looks a little on edge and Steve feels a bit bad about it, though thrilled at the return of sweetheart.

“Sorry, I just- Eds, I came home to find my place smashed to bits and you missing,” he says, meeting those brown eyes as he tries to convey all he felt. “Do you have any idea how terrifying that was?”

“I’m sorry too, Stevie,” Eddie replies. “I’m totally fine, I promise, but-” he hesitates, “but they said some things I didn’t wanna repeat.”

Worry creeps down Steve’s spine as he imagines what that might be and tentatively he asks: “Do- do you want to tell me?”

Eddie looks around to see if anyone can hear, the two of them stopping for a second to create some distance. Then Eddie lowers his voice and says: “I heard them talking about why they were at the cabin looking for me. They said: A fag will hide a fag. I don’t know how they got there, but they did. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The words send a chill down Steve’s spine. He has already heard from Lucas how the basketball team hasn’t let his second half of senior year go and Chrissy told him about the hatred Jason carries towards him ever since she turned him down for Steve, but this is kind of terrifying. Like, maybe avoiding the streets for a bit terrifying.

However, Eddie’s eyes are filled with guilt and Steve doesn’t like the way his mouth is pulled down instead of showing his dimples. He isn’t going to let Eddie feel guilty about something out of their control, especially when it might not even matter. They might die and never make it to their world where the basketball team might target him.

“Give yourself a break, Eddie,” he tells the other guy. “It’s not like you have any control over what they think. I’m just glad you made it out of there unscathed.”

“Tsk,” Eddie makes a disappointed noise. “Don’t be so nice, dude. I let them do that to your house. I just took the evidence I was there and ran for the hills. Outside of DnD, I am no hero. I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least, that’s what I’ve learned about myself this week.”

“Stop that,” Steve catechizes. “Are you for real right now?”

Eddie looks a little cowed at that, head cocking to the side in a mix of remorse and confusion. It makes him look a little like a puppy, but Steve will never tell Eddie that, especially not after their fight at the quarry.

“Eds, you jumped in after me and fought a bunch of crazy demon bats with this thing right here,” he swings the nail bat to get attention to it. “That’s really fucking brave and heroic.”

At those words Eddie bites his lip and looks away. Sullenly he says: “The only reason I came in here was because those ladies came in straight after you. Robin was jumping before I could even comprehend what had just happened, man. I wasn’t the brave one there. I was just too ashamed to be the one who stayed behind.”

Steve thinks what Eddie is saying is utter nonsense. And he lets him know. “Don’t be fucking stupid. That is very reasonable to do. You’re in the midst of all this,” he gestures to the red lighting above them and the dead trees around them, “Of course you’re not thrilled to put yourself in danger.”

“Everyone else is,” Eddie replies still a little morose.

“Everyone else is just as scared as you,” Steve corrects him. “Trust me, I did the very same thing you did.”

“What?” Eddie perks up, sounding like he can’t believe his ears.

“Yeah. ‘83,” Steve answers, hoping this will cheer Eddie up. “When the demogorgon crawled out of the Byers walls, I panicked and did jack shit. When Nancy told me to go, I fucking ran. I was nearly in my car before I got the courage to go back.”

“But you went back,” Eddie points out.

“And you came too,” Steve shoots right back at him.

Eddie is quiet for a second, just looking at Steve, who stares right back, determined to get Eddie to understand that the shit they’re in is fucking horrifying and he is allowed to be scared. Luckily, Eddie admits defeat. He throws up his hands and exclaims with a pout: “Okay. Fine! You’re right. Happy now?”

Steve grins and nods. “Very,” he tells Eddie, before he starts walking again, Eddie now next to him instead of ahead.

As they walk, Eddie’s elbows keep knocking into his and his knuckles brush along Steve’s with how close he is. Steve soaks in the attention, the closeness. He wants to take Eddie’s hand, but he doesn’t want to presume or make Eddie step away. So, he takes what he has and keeps orbiting ever closer to the sun that is Eddie Munson.

Since, Eddie is himself, Steve is waiting on the other to break the silence again. He doesn’t have to wait long, before Eddie says: “Did Nancy really nearly shoot you?”

It takes Steve a little by surprise, before he realizes that is a pretty valid thing to get hung up on, but he doesn’t want to put in a bad light. So, he shrugs: “Yeah, it was a high stress situation. No big deal. She and Jonathan were waiting on the demogorgon, I got there and wouldn’t leave, so she pointed the gun at me so I would go. It was for my own safety really.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe,” Eddie replies, looking highly skeptical of Steve’s story. Which is fair, Steve also thinks it wasn’t safe, that he nearly died there. How much guns still scare him and how desperately he tries to forget.

Involuntarily his hands tighten on his bat and he looks at the back of Nancy’s head as he replies: “It wasn’t safe. If she’d startled, I would’ve been dead. And so would she and Jonathan.”

“Fuck, man,” Eddie whistles and it doesn’t feel dismissive just like he is being seen. “And she jokes about it? Are you okay?”

Steve looks down, his hand fingering one of the buttons on the vest – Eddie’s vest, he tries not to think about it – and looks to the ground, stepping over a vine as he sighs: “Not really, but it’s not a good time to start something about it now.”

“I guess,” Eddie agrees and it feels like it pains him to do so. And he doesn’t let his agreement linger for long, because he immediately adds: “But you shouldn’t have to put up with things that make you uncomfortable, Stevie.”

There is a layer in his answer that Steve picks up on instantly. Probably, because he’s been thinking about the same thing. He glances sideways and asks: “Are you talking about the eyes Nance’s been giving me?”

Eddie cringes and looks at Steve guiltily, though he doesn’t understand why, before Eddie asks: “Is it obvious?”

“Nah,” Steve assures him, not liking Eddie’s tone. “Was thinking the same. It’s been happening all week.”

“Really?” Eddie asks, curiosity and something else coating his voice.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s gotten into her and how to tell her to stop without seeming like a douche,” Steve admits. It feels good to admit it, to talk about it with someone who knows. Robin is there too, but they haven’t gotten a moment alone together. With Nancy at the wheel, they seemingly always end up on a different team. He supposes she doesn’t view Eddie as a threat. She should be. Not that she’s even close to being in the competition.

“Why would asking her to stop make you seem like a douche?” Eddie wonders, frown on his forehead.

It reminds Steve again of how different their lives have been as he fondly smirks: “Because I would be telling her that I think she is still into me, even if she is now with a guy that she left me for. It’s douche-y to assume a girl is into you. Especially when it’s your ex.”

“Even when the girl is flirting?” Eddie asks like he can’t really believe what he is hearing.

“Yeah,” Steve nods, then shrugs: “She’s doing it in a way she can deny and then twist to make it seem like I’m imagining things, because I’m still into her. Which, I’m obviously not. But girls can be fucking twisted when it comes to guys.”

“Really?” Eddie sounds a bit blown away, like he has discovered a new part of the world. Or more accurately the high school ecosystem.

“For sure,” Steve tells him. “Sofia gives Greg his favorite candy every time she sees him, so he’ll associate it with her and be happy when he sees her. She’s trying to make him believe that happiness is tied to seeing her, instead of the candy, so he thinks he’s into her. She told me that when she helped me study. She is terrifying.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, turning to stare at the back of Nancy’s head and shuddering, probably imagining the sort of terrifying shit she could do compared to that.

Steve feels a little guilty about implanting those ideas in Eddie’s brain, but he never said much about Nancy herself, just general observations he’s made and one example. Besides, he can bitch a little in private about his ex throwing herself at him and making him feel bad about it.

Still, he wants to play it off, making it less of a thing then it is. But before he can, they have gotten to the Wheeler house, here covered in vines, dark and uninviting, and before he can say anything more to Eddie, Nancy is already calling him over.

~~

A/N:

Idk, I love Nancy just being a little bit insane, like this girl in canon is wild with her choices and we don’t talk about that enough

[aplusod]

have a doodle of anjing.

also, artfight’s happening soon too so feel free to add me there. I’m on team sugar this year.

[astolfofo]

content warning: full on smut, no consent, somnophilia, forced relationship (not really), GN reader, uhh you know the drill. It’s dark content. 

I want to add people need to stop asking me if this is yk... because it’s literally in the warnings. If you do not know what no consent/non-con means, please search it up. This post is serveral months old, and I’m tired of having to defend myself and argue with people. Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Block me and move on. 

Kurapika x Reader

oh yeah, this is uneditied word vomit, so um lmao. I just reread this and died of cringe. Leave me alone pls stop liking this.

I am down bad. I am horny for him. I want him. I need him. His hands. His hands.  I love him, i breathe him, i look at him, and i think about him constantly. 

Kurapika, who’s so madly in love with you, yet you don’t return the feeling.  He loves you so much.. it drives him to the point of insanity. Yet you’re still clueless. He couldn’t resist for much longer.

But it doesn’t matter as he looms over your unconscious body.  You look so peaceful sleeping... so innocent. He can practically see and smell your purity.

That’s why he feels guilty about what he’s going to do. The drugs put you under a deep slumber for serveral hours, so he should have enough time. He adjusts you into a position he likes, and stares at you from a distance.

He feels his face getting hot. He feels a weird sensation creeping up to him, like a throny chain taking over his body. He feels hot and bothered. All from just touching you a little bit.

It takes over him. Not waiting much longer, he grabs your face and kisses you. Just one kiss, he tells himself. Just one kiss, and I’ll stop.  One kiss becomes two, and two becomes four. Your taste is addictive, and he must have more of it. If he doesn’t it might drive him over the edge. 

Slowly, he peels off the blanket and your clothes. He likes you like this. Compliant, and completely to bend under his will.  He knows this is wrong. He can’t help himself. He can’t stop himself. He wanted this for so long, and he can’t back down now.

Once he has finally tooken off your shorts, he inserts one of his chains into your hole. He watches fasinated as it expands to fit the size. After a few minutes of this, he can tell you’re nearing your high. Selfishly, he pulls out the chain, and uses his right-hand fingers instead. 

You feel so tight around him. It feels unreal. 

He can’t wait any longer. His paitence was getting thinner. Pulling out his fingers, he inserts his cock into your pussy.  Slowly, but surely he reaches his high. Pure euphoria runs through his veins as he forgets everything about him. He wants more of this feeling... he wants to feel infinity and beyond. His own grunts slowly become moans, and they get more high-pitched. 

Eventually he reaches his climax, coming inside of you.  Then he pulls out. Your face hasn’t changed one little bit pretty much. The drugs must’ve been strong enough to knock you out cold. That was okay though. He didn’t mind. It was better if you didn’t know.

He dresses you up again, and quickly leaves. There would be nothing remaining, other than the soreness between your thighs the next day. 

[anime-rambles]

“Welcome Home Omega”

Pairing: Alpha Bakugou x Alpha Kirishima x Omega Reader

Type: ABO Dynamic, SFW  

Word Count: 2700+

A/N: I’m new to all this, but I dreamt about this the other night and really wanted to share this with everyone. I have a tone more to write, so please follow along and any feedback would be hugely appreciated. Thank you so much.

Summary: Omega y/n returns home to her pack after so many years aboard being a successful hero, now they fear begin rejecting by her pack and more importantly her alpha’s.

 *****************************************

“Everyone please welcome to the stage, the one you’ve all be waiting for, Pro-Hero Shadow…” a loud voice spoke into the microphone as I waited backstage. Once my name was called, I left the spoke I was hiding in and joined them. The crowd was screaming and shouting, holding banners of my name and posters with my face. This was something I didn’t expect to happen when I returned home to Japan from my many years abroad. I smiled towards the women on stage, already determining her as a beta.

“Welcome Shadow, to your first ever hero-con” She spoke to me looking in my direction. I brought my mic to my face,

“It’s so good to be here, look at all these people wow.” I smiled towards the crowd. The cheering began again.

“So shadow, how are you feeling being back in Japan and being high on the hero board, especially as an omega…” she continued on looking at me, this was something I was used to.

“It feels so good being back, I left Japan 6 years ago after I graduated with my friends/pack members from UA, which many of you know...” I waited for the screaming to stop before I continued. “I was faced with two choice really, be a omega hero that would only get 2 years in hero work before being forced to stop by the hero commission or I could leave my pack and go to America and have a really good hero career helping other omegas reach their potential and then come back home, I think you can guess what I chose” I said, and turned to the interviewer waiting for her reply.

Being an omega in Japan and America is very different from each other, especially in hero work. In Japan, you get an unspoken max of 2-year work and then often omegas go to desk jobs in hero agencies. In America, you can be a hero no matter your 2nd gender but the chance of being taken seriously as an omega is very slim and was something I worked hard at. During my time in America, I created an omega hero agency and left it all to the very capable hands of my sidekick, frostbite. It was my time to come home, I need my family back.

“So, tell me, does you pack know your back?” She asked with smile in her eyes.

“I mean, yes and no. Our pack is a big one and it was created when we were back in school. The time that I left, I had an agreement with the unmarked alphas that I would not contact them at all, but to know I was safe, I was only allowed contact with the omegas. So, they know” I replied, laughing slightly back.

“So, a lot of alphas in your pack, how does that work?” she pushed for an answer.

“I can’t really say, our pack dynamic is private, so I won’t tell you who or what position everyone is but, we have a main alpha who us our leader, they have a second and then we have one alpha that doesn’t really care and then one alpha who gave up their position years ago.” I replied smiling hoping she would not ask any more questions about the pack.

“That’s fine, tell me about your work as a hero omega and how difficult is” She asked again. This is something I could talk about openly. I took a deep breath and began to speak about the importance of separating your 2nd gender, from your workplace, and they it does not define you. Yes, you can still have a timid nature but do not let it halt your growth as a strong independent person. That if you want to be head of heart surgery you do it and tell those Alphas/ beats to shove it, its your time to shine. I continued until I felt the interviewer wanting to ask another question.

“Although I’m strong, I would not have gotten to where I am today without my pack, in public they treat me like a hero, not an omega. I mean it didn’t take long to do bu…” I went to say but was cut off.

“What do you mean, didn’t take long?” she interrupted. I hesitated for a bit, and then looked out into the crowd.

“Okay, I really should not be saying this, but he won’t mind. Okay so when our pack was created, I was never allowed to do anything, and it really annoyed me. So, when our first Alpha was being chosen, I kind of challenged Pro-Hero Dynamite…. And won.” I replied looking out into the crowd and everyone started cheering.

“Since then, I was treated like a person, not an omega. Well not in public, in private we still use the proper greetings.” I smiled and turned to the interviewer again.

“Wow, you are amazing. We all know your now number 5 on the hero board, can you remind everyone your quirk again.” She asked gesturing to my hands. I look down and noticed the black sut coating my fingers. I nodded and began to explain. I can create my own smoke from my body and ignite it. From this smoke I can create solid weapon and if I have enough smoke in the area, I can tell a person’s movements. I do have a drawback; the smoke uses up the oxygen from my blood and can make me pass out or it stains my skin with black smoke.

The interview continues and eventually is opened to fan questions, near the end of the questions. I notice the back wall starting to fill up with tall dark figures, already guessing that my pack got word I am here. Excitement rises through me, and I find it hard to sit still.

“Well, I think the cats out of the bag your home, Shadow” the interviewers says to me gesturing to the back wall. Light shines to the back wall, standing there when their arms crossed is Pro-heroes Dynamite, Red Riot, Deku and Chargebolt who is waving crazy towards me. I laugh to myself, locking eyes with Bakugou lowering my head slightly.

“I guess so” I reply, and the cheering slowly dies down.

 ************************************

While sitting at my signing booth, listening to some amazing stories from fans. I hear my name being called the curtain behind me. I have a break from the fans for a second and approach the curtain.

“Hello, little omega.” The voice says, as I instantly know its Bakugou. I smile to myself, wanting to rip the curtain away and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Hello Bakugou, don’t move the curtain, I can’t look at your right now” I say honestly.

“Okay, at least put your hand through the curtain, Kiri’s here to.” He replies nudging the curtain. I sigh, it’s been 6 years and I can barely hold myself together with he thought of being back with my family but being a hero right now is what I need to do.

“Okay, but only quickly I have to get back” I whisper, and slowly put my right-hand backwords them. Instantly I can feel like touching my hand and kissing it.

“Can’t smell you omega, how come?” Kirishima asks.

“Stupid American pheromone blockers, I’ll take them off later at home, promise.” I say and pull my hand back to finish quickly and get back to my family and quickly as I can. I can hear both alphas walk away, and I pull my hand to my chest.

*********************************************

Hero-con is over, and I can finally come home. After we all graduated, everyone pulled their money together and we bought a huge house together which allowed all of us to live together as a pack. Before I left, I entered a relationship with Bakugou and Kirishima but now I do not know if they still want me in a dynamic with because they’ve been an Alpha/Alpha relationship for 6 years. I don’t’ even have a room anymore, Denki took it when I moved to America. There might be room, I think, Midoriya (A) and Todoroki (A/O) have a room, Sero (B) and Mina (B) have a room, Shinso (A), Jirou (B) and Denki (O) all have separate rooms even though they are together which leaves Bakugou (A) and Kirishima (A) who have the biggest room. I could always share with Denki until I find a new place, I say to myself as I knock on the front door.

I wait patiently, until the door is opened revealing a very excited Denki. Practically jumping on the spot.

“Y/N YOU’RE HOME.” He shouts while throwing himself into my arms. I hug back, I breath him in and tears start to fill my eyes.

“Oi sparky, you know the rules. She needs to follow the greetings as she’s been away for so long.” Says Bakugou with his arms crossed. I enter the house and look around seeing everyone in their groups. I cannot believe I am home.

I quickly great Mina and Sero first, presenting our pack mark and then onto hugs. Next, I go straight over to Shinso, presenting my neck to show I am not a threat to his omega or beta. Which he simply nods and as these dynamics, Shinso does not really care for. I great Jirou and then great Denki properly by touching our noses together. I approach Midoriya next as he used to be the main Alpha who brought us all together, I greeted him the same way as Shinso but instead Midoriya threw his arms around me puling me into a hug.

“Please never leave again, Bakugou’s been impossible” He whispers into my ear. I laugh looking over his shoulder to a very anger Bakugou. I turn to Todoroki who is half Omega/Alpha, I greet him the same way as Denki, I know he prefers that greeting than the alpha one. Its finally time to see if they still want me. Kirishima is practically beaming at Bakugou side. I approach with my head down; I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I approach him. As he is lead Alpha, I must wait to see what he will do.

“Still can’t smell you omega.”  Bakugou announces loudly.

“There’s a pheromone implant in my neck, Alpha, see you can feel it.” I reply, taking his hand to my neck. In American you are not allowed to use pheromones in public, so for hero work you must use an implant to block it. Bakugou feels my neck and I can tell he is not happy. He grabs me by my neck, slamming me on the wall behind him. Everyone runs forward but Kirishima stands forward stopping them. Telling them it must happen and that Bakugou won’t hurt me, much.

With his claw Bakugou cuts into my neck to pull the impact out, I do not make a sound and only look at him in the eye. It must be done, and I know he will not hurt me. Once the implant is out. Bakugou lends forward and breathes me in. He hesitates, and calls Kirishima over. Kirishima looks between the two of use and breaths me in.

“Oh, y/n, you should’ve come home sooner.” Kirishima says, pulling me towards him for a hug.

“Please, Bakugou, get rid of the rest they can’t see me like this.” I whisper.

“Oi, extra’s don’t you have a party tonight. Your hotels have your clothes, now get lost.” Bakugou calls out, looking at them all. No one moves.

“NOW!” Bakugou yells, using his alpha voice and everyone leaves.

As soon as the door closes, I start to cry. Six years of being all alone hit me at once, yes it was my plan to be a strong hero, its hard to do it without your pack or alphas.

“The first sign of your omega depression, you should’ve come home little one.” Kirishima says whispering into my hair.

“How could I, I would’ve let you all down and all other omega’s out there without a voice, so what I had to go through omega depression….. more than once.” I say back looking up into Kirishima’s eyes. Bakugou stands beside us, looking slightly smaller.

“Bakugou, go run a bath,” Kirishima calls out and Bakugou follows his orders.

“Wait, what’s going on. Bakugou what are you doing” I ask, looking confused. Bakugou leans over the stairs to look at me.

“Kirishima’s the Alpha now, we’ll the others haven’t picked up on it yet because we haven’t publicly fought, but he’s been the main Alpha for a while now, I can’t be number one all the time now can I.” Bakugou replies with a smile. I look to Kirishima who still holds me but is beaming with love as he watches Bakugou. I try to pull away from his arms. It is stupid why did I think this would work. They do not want me anymore, I just know. Kirishima noticed how I suddenly changed but decided not to say anything.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and smelling natural.” He says, picking me up with no issues. He climbs the stairs and I place my head into his scent gland in his neck. I notice that neither him nor Bakugou do not have a claiming mark yet. Once we reach the top of the stairs, I see my old bedroom door and ask Kirishima to put my down, he walks ahead to the double doors at the end of the hallway. Which is their room.

“I’ll only stay for tonight, and then I’ll find somewhere else to live, I don’t even have a room here anymore.” I say to Kirishima which makes him freeze.

“Silly omega, come here.” He replies, gesturing me to follow. I start to hear the water running in their private bathroom. Kirishima opens the door and lets me enter the room first.

The first thing I can smell is the strong smell of Alpha but slowly a familiar smell enters, I look around the room and see my stuff. Things that I had left behind, my paintings, photos of the three of use. The queen size bed with three sets of pillows, big enough for all of us. I look around and notice a curtained canopy hiding something. I look to Kirishima who leans on the door frame by the Bathroom and nods. I breath in again and noticed the familiar smell but I am not able to pinpoint it yet.

I pull back to curtain and freeze. “Is that m..” I say unable to finish as I look down, tears filling my eyes. Bakugou comes out of the bathroom and leans on the opposite side to Kirishima. I look at the two of them and then look down at my old nest, they kept it, they really kept it. I can’t speak, only cry. Bakugou comes over to me and hold me bringing me towards the bathroom. Kirishima entered first. He began to undress and tied back his long hair, He entered the bath first, as Bakugou began to undress me as my emotions were betraying me at his moment. There was nothing sexual about this moment, it was about Alpha’s taking care of their Omega. Bakugou lifted me and lowered me into the water to sit in Kirishima’s lap, he quickly undressed and joined us.

I started to calm down, feeling I could now speak. “So, you mean, you have forgotten me, and you still want to be with me.” I ask looking down at my hands. Kirishima wraps his arms around me more and places his head into my scent gland breathing me in, tickling me slightly.

“Of course, silly omega, we’ve wanted you since the day you knocked me on my ass.” Bakugou replied leaning in to kiss me.

[thedeviltohisangel]

I Heard From The Heavens//2

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. She noticed the way it strained him to look away. She noticed the way he hit the pool balls with more force than necessary. She noticed the way he had to focus on not looking her way more than the game in front of him. Jake noticed that Daphne had blossomed in front of Bradley the moment she had seen him. Noticed that the walls in front of her heart that she had told him scared her spared no chance against the mustached pilot. Noticed she said his name like it was something fucking biblical.

Bradley & Daphne’s Infinite Playlist: What About Love? by Heart

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

this was a request to write about daphne and the other pilots. please send more!

The basement of the church was exactly how one might imagine it. Out of data tiled floor, flimsy paneling for the ceiling and lighting that washed out any semblance of life that could’ve been breathed into it. This was the setting for the grief counseling Daphne was currently keeping secret from Bradley. 

“Daphne, how about you start us off this week? Last week, you touched on the notion that your grief might be a cover for some other feelings.” She picked at the cardboard ring around her coffee cup and took a deep breath. Her friend from school had died and Bradley hadn’t been there. She had been sad and lost and alone and she resented him for it. It wasn’t his fault. But she told herself it was sadness over her friend’s passing to cope with the increasing anger she felt for the man she loved and was trying to solve it on her own.

“I think I’m lonely. I think my grief is really anger.”

“Is your anger targeted?” Her eyes flicked around the room. The conversations were meant to be kept inside of these four walls. Nothing scared her more than the idea that they might escape.

“Yes.” The facilitator looked at her like she wanted more but Daphne didn’t budge. She couldn’t verbalize her resentment and anger. There would be no coming back from that.

“I’d like to second something she said. When I lost a family member last year, I used grief to allow myself to act any way I wanted. I used it to amplify other actions or behaviors. It became a fragile shield in a way.” That was Jake. He had been a member of the group before her. Had helped her with the coffee machine at her first meeting. Had jumped in to talk every time the words died in her throat. She smiled at him gratefully as someone else took his words and carried the conversation away from her chair. He smiled back.

----

“Thanks for saving me back there. I should have never verbalized all that last week to you guys instead of the person I’m actually upset with,” Daphne said as Jake poured her a fresh cup of coffee. She had torn the other cup to shreds during the previous conversation. 

“That’s what the group is here for. Maybe it’s good practice so you can tell them,” he said, “Not to pry but sounds like boy problems.”

“My…boyfriend,” she grimaced as the word fell. That word had been the reason she had gotten no sleep the night before.

“Sounds like vinegar coming out of your mouth,” he teased as he took a sip of his own drink.

“Story for a different setting,” she answered. A quick glance at her watch said she needed to get home soon. Her excuse of working late at the office was only going to last so much longer. 

“Let me walk you to your car,” Jake offered with an extended hand. Daphne nodded and led him in the direction of the parking lot, chatting about simple things as they made their way outside. 

“My two cents, Daphne, is that you talk to him. Keeping it inside is tearing you up more than the actual emotion. And if you love him-”

“I do. More than anything,” she interrupted. She couldn’t let the universe think for one second her heart had faltered.

“-then he’ll help you heal,” Jake finished with a smile as they reached her car. “I’ll see you around.” She swallowed as the air between them suddenly felt thick. It made her heart tighten, the way he was looking at her. It was too intimate. Too vulnerable. Too honest. All she could do was nod and look away as the heat of his gaze became too much. Driving home that night, she couldn’t get the weight of his eyes off her skin. Couldn’t get the way his muscles strained as he stopped himself from touching her out of her mind. Couldn’t play her music loud enough to get the words he spoke of acknowledgement to stop them from echoing around her mind. The words she so badly wished she had the courage to say to Bradley but had only said to Jake. And the words he had said back that soothed an ache within her. And the way it was just one more secret she had promised never to keep.

----

Her and Bradley had been two ships crossing in the night for the past week. She had spent every day working herself up to finally talk to him about the lead of emotions sitting in her stomach only for him to get stuck doing extra PT or taking a new candidate on a certification flight or or or. It had only served to exacerbate the exact reason she had been dying to sit and communicate with him. But he had promised he would stick to their plans to meet at the Hard Deck Friday night so here she was, in one of his favorite shirt dresses with orange and purple flowers, nursing a beer at the bar. She was staring into space in the direction of some naval officers playing pool when she felt a towel hit against her arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Daphne smiled. Even though the on and off between her father and Penny Benjamin was in an off phase, she had always found her presence to be warm and welcoming. Especially now that she was here with Bradley while he worked to graduate TOPGUN, she could use all the familiar faces she could find.

“Bradley is meeting me here. Haven’t been seeing much of him lately,” she mused. 

“Training must keep him busy,” she offered. Daphne nodded, only imagining the picture of melancholy she was currently painting at the bartop. Did she expect too much of him? Was she not as understanding of this life as she thought she was? Was her mother right all along that it wasn’t worth loving a man who would always love the sky more?

“Must be,” she spoke back without any inflection in her tone.

“Well, well, well, I told you I’d see you around.” Her neck almost cracked from whipping around to see the voice behind her.

“Jake,” then her eyes absorbed his uniform, “you never said you were Navy.” It sounded like an accusation rolling off her tongue. 

“Not part of the program,” he smirked back. “Besides, you’re in a Navy bar.” He leaned on his forearms next to her and signaled for two beers.

“Don’t tell me you’re a pilot,” she groaned as he handed her one of the glass bottles and clinked their necks together.

“Best there is, sweetheart.” This was an entirely new Jake to her. He was self-assured, openly flirtatious and carried himself like the weight of the world on his shoulders was a single feather.

“Hate to break it to you, Hangman, but that seat’s taken.” She doesn’t think Bradley could have had worse timing. If she could crawl inside of her dress and never face the world again, she’d be happy.

“Bradshaw.” Jake’s eyes flicked to Daphne’s and lingered. “This your girl?” 

“More than that,” he replied evenly. Jake, for his part, stayed silent as he took a large swig of his beer and tried to read her expression. It was pleading. Pleading for him to walk away. Forget everything he had ever heard her say at group. Forget that he now connected a live wire.

“Enjoy the night, beautiful.” He winked and followed her wishes by departing. Daphne could finally breathe again.

“You good? If he was bothering you or tried anything-”

“You’ll shoot him out of the sky for me tomorrow?” she smiled as Bradley took Jake’s place and leaned on the bar next to her.

“Something like that.” He leaned in to kiss her hello, her hands interlocking at the nape of his neck to keep him there longer. Life always seemed simpler once they were together. As if the times they were apart allowed the shadows to creep in. “I’ve missed you lately,” he murmured as she let him come up for some air. 

“Me too. I don’t like this distance between us,” she whispered as if it was the most sacred thing. 

“I’ve felt it,” he admitted, all of sudden focusing on her fingers in her lap and twisting them with his. “I never want to let you down.”

“I’ve been letting myself down,” she chuckled as tears began to prick at her eyes. “I’m so lost here.” Moving to North Island has been hard.  Not only had she lost a close friend but Bradley wasn’t around to keep her busy. And everywhere she looked were memories of her parents. Her father, who had distanced himself after a particularly taxing interaction with Bradley last time he visited, and her mother who had grown to hate the man she met here. Bradley had noticed her struggling. Longer nights at work. No more dancing with him in the kitchen. The smallest of tasks exhausting her. He had noticed but he hadn’t wanted to ask. He was scared. Scared that this life wasn’t for her anymore. That he was on the verge of losing the one thing he had left. That was a loss he knew he would never be able to move on from.

“We’re gonna make it better. You and I are gonna fix this. I’ll fix it, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe here.” She nodded as the tears trickled down her face. “I can’t fucking lose you, Daph.” Bradley quickly pinched his nose to keep his own tears at bay. He hadn’t realized how much he had been keeping locked away himself.

“You won’t. Not ever, Bradley, I promise.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her as tightly against him as their rib cages would allow. Over his shoulder, she caught eyes with Jake. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. She noticed the way it strained him to look away. She noticed the way he hit the pool balls with more force than necessary. She noticed the way he had to focus on not looking her way more than the game in front of him. Jake noticed that Daphne had blossomed in front of Bradley the moment she had seen him. Noticed that the walls in front of her heart that she had told him scared her spared no chance against the mustached pilot. Noticed she said his name like it was something fucking biblical.

And when Daphne held tightly to Bradley’s arm as they walked to his Bronco later that night, Penny noticed another pilot’s eyes trailing after them. And she knew heartbreak when she saw it.

[elysiadjarin]

Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

~

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

~

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

~

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

~

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.

[ray-ray-writings]

Defending Family-Technoblade, Wilbur Soot, and Tommyinnit

This is a Brother!Technoblade & Brother!Wilbur Soot &Brother!Tommyinnit x gn!reader. This is not in the dreamsmp but it is in the SBI AU where Philza is the father of Wilbur, Technoblade, Tommy and in this imagine, Y/N! In this, Y/N is younger than Wilbur and Techno but older than Tommy

When Y/N hears the school bully talking shit about their family… Well it’s no surprise when that bully gets hit. 

Y/N’s POV

“Y/N! Wake up!” The annoying voice of my even more annoying brother sounded as a pillow smacked me in the face waking me from my sleep. My eyes shot open and I made contact with Tommy’s blue eyes, “Ow Tommy! What the hell?!?” I exclaimed, sitting myself up, rubbing the bridge of my nose trying to ease the throbbing pain. Tommy simply threw his head back and cackled before bolting out of the room. 

I let out a sigh before throwing the blankets off of me before getting out of bed to get ready for the day. It didn’t take long. I stripped off my PJs and threw on a random outfit before making my way to the bathroom to do my business. As I was brushing my hair, Tommy pounded on the door, “HURRY UP Y/N! I need in there!” He yelled from the other side of the door. I rolled my eyes and yelled back, “You should have thought of that before you woke me up! You can wait!” Tommy continued to knock on the door, annoying me even further. 

Finally, once I was done, I swung the door open causing Tommy to stumble forward. I smirked as he caught himself and looked at me in annoyance, “Finally!” He let out, walking further in while I walked out. “Shut up,” I responded, the door slamming closed behind me. 

I made my way downstairs to the kitchen where I found my father over the stove and my two other brothers sitting at the kitchen island waiting for my dad to finish making breakfast. “Good morning,” I beamed, sitting on the stool in between Wilbur and Techno causing everyone to turn to me for a moment. Dadza grinned at me before going back to his skillet, “Morning honey, how’d you sleep?” “I slept fine. I would have preferred a different wake up call though,” I answered, rolling my eyes at the thought. My older brothers both let out laughs as Dadza sighed, “What did he do this time?” Dadza questioned, turning around, bringing the pan with him. “He smacked my face with a pillow and yelled at me… Nothing new, but still not something preferred.” Dadza nodded as he scooped eggs from the skillet onto the plate before me. He then proceeded to turn and also place a pancake and a couple slices of bacon on my plate as well. “Thank you,” I thanked sincerely, picking up my fork and knife, digging in. “Anytime kiddo.” 

As the three of us ate, footsteps bounded down the stairs behind. “Morning,” Tommy called, sitting on the open stool next to Wilbur. “Morning,” the three responded. Dadza moved quickly and filled Tommy’s plate with breakfast before moving to fill his own. “Sleep well Tommy?” He asked, sitting on the one stool that sat across from us. “Yep! Had an amazing dream where I married a hot woman and then I woke up and smacked Y/N in the face to wake them up. Pretty Pogchamp morning,” Tommy babbled, his mouth full of eggs as he spoke. Dadza made a face of disgust, “Please don’t speak with your mouth full Tommy. And please stop smacking your sibling in the face to wake them up, you know they hate it.” “Oh I know they hate it. That’s why I keep doing it,” Tommy announced, smirking at me from the other side of our brother. “If Wilbur wasn’t here right now, I’d smack you,” I hissed, glaring at my little brother. “But he is and so you can’t do anything,” Tommy teased, sticking his tongue out at me. I looked up to Wilbur, my eyes pleading at him to do something. Wilbur got the message and raised his hand and smacked the back of Tommy’s head, causing him to yelp. “Hey!” “You asked for it!” 

“Kids! Kids! Please, can we just have a calm morning for once?” our dad slightly pleaded. I let out a deep breath and nodded, “Anything for you dad,” I muttered before shoving more pancake into my mouth. Tommy huffed, but also went back to his breakfast. “Now that that’s over, what are you doing today?” Techno questioned, looking to our father. Philza smiled at the change of topic, “Well there are a few new clients at work that I have been in charge of so I’ll mostly be pretty busy all day. I’ll be home in time for dinner though, do you guys want me to pick something up or can you handle it.” Before Tommy or I could ask for pizza, Techno and Wilbur spoke up at the same time, “We can handle it.” I couldn’t help but huff and slightly pout. I really wanted pizza. 

I didn’t have time to dwell on it though because an alarm went off causing the four of us kids to jump into action. The alarm was set in order to get us out of the house because if we didn’t leave at that specific time, we would be late for school. Techno and Wilbur no longer went to high school, they both graduated three years ago. But the two still took us to school everyday so Dadza wouldn’t have to worry about it. Wilbur was the only one that could drive, and as much as he hates to admit it, Techno hates being left alone so he always came along. 

The four of us finished the food on our plates, placing them in the sink. “Bye Dadza,” I chimed, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before heading to the door. I could hear the other three doing the same before they joined me by the door. I slipped on my back pack, Tommy doing the same, before exiting the house and piling into Wilbur’s car. The ride to school consisted of Wilbur, Tommy, and I screaming along to whatever music was playing, and Techno pretending to be annoyed by the three of us. 

“Alright. Get out,” Wilbur demanded, putting the car in park outside the front of the high school. “Thank you Will. Bye Tech! Love you both!” I chimed before getting out of the car. “Bye Y/N, love you too” They responded before I shut the door. Tommy echoed what I had said, getting the same response before he closed his door as well. Wilbur drove away leaving Tommy and I standing there. “Come on Tommathy” I stated before walking toward the entrance of the school. “Don’t call me that” Tommy demanded, but followed close behind me. I threw my head back in laughter and shook my head. “I’ll do what I please thank you.” 

Once we were inside, Tommy and I went separate ways. He went to his locker to meet up with his best friend, Tubbo and I went to mine meeting up with my best friend, Sapnap. Sapnap and I became best friends due to our brothers. Dream and George were pretty good friends with Wilbur and Techno and when they went places Dadza sometimes forced them to take me with them so he could take care of Tommy. Dream and George would in turn bring their younger brother, Sapnap, so that we would stay out of their way. We grew very close through all the hang out time and it was like I had yet another brother. 

“Hey dork,” I greeted my best friend as I opened my locker. “Hey loser. Have a good night?” He greeted back, leaning against the locker next to me. I hummed and nodded at his question, “Yeah, it was pretty good. Did you get the math homework done?” I asked, closing my locker and turning to him. A panicked look over took his face, “We had math homework?” I couldn’t help but laugh at my best friend’s forgetfulness. “Yes we did. And lucky for you I did it… Yes you can copy it.” I answered his unasked question. Sapnap immediately relaxed. A chuckle escaped his lips as he slung an arm around my shoulder, “You’re the best.” “Yeah, yeah.” 

Together the two of us made our way to our first class, but a familiar voice caused me to stop in my tracks, “Come on man. Just give it back!” It was Tommy. Sapnap gave me a confused look as I turned around and marched toward the sound of my brother’s voice. My blood began to boil at the sight in front of me. There, in front of my brother, stood Chad, the school bully. In his hand was one of Tommy’s most prized possessions, his music disc. That was the last thing that our mom gave to him before she passed. He loved it so dearly and was very careful with it. Why was it here and why the hell does Chad have it? 

“Oh what? You gonna cry about it? Cry like you did when your mommy died?” Chad taunted, holding the disc close to his chest. It didn’t take a detective to tell that Tommy’s eyes were welling with tears. “Please, just give it back,” Tommy practically begged, holding his hand out. “Oh I’ll give it back alright. I’ll give it back in pieces.” Chad brought the disc out and put both hands on it. Before he could begin to bend it, I snapped. “HEY!” I shouted, stomping up to the three boys, Sapnap following behind me. Chad stopped what he was doing, surprised at the new voice, but the smirk returned to his face once he recognized who it was. “Well, looky at what we have here,” He taunted. Paying no mind to his taunt, “Give me the music disc. Now.” I demanded, glaring at the boy. Chad simply threw his head back and laughed, “No, I don’t think I will.” 

“You’re a jerk Chad,” Sapnap spoke up, momentarily distracting the bully, allowing me to rip the disc from Chad’s hands. “Hey!” He let out, his head whipping back to me. “Here Tommy,” I spoke gently, handing the possession back to its rightful owner. Tommy carefully took it before wrapping it back up and sliding it carefully in his book bag. “Thanks Y/N” Tommy thanked quietly. “Anytime Tommy. Let’s go boys,” I demanded before slightly pushing Tommy and Tubbo so they would walk in front of me. 

“That’s right! Run away! Just like your father did when things got tough!” Chad called from behind us. His words caused me to stop in my tracks. “What did you just say?” I hissed over my shoulder. Chad simply smirked and crossed his arms, “You heard me, your father’s a coward. So are your other brothers. Wilbur and Techno? Yeah they’re freaks and you’re just like them,” He responded smugly. I felt a tug on my arm. I looked back in front of me and found Tommy standing there with an extremely worried look on his face. “Come on Y/N. It’s not worth it.” I let out a deep breath before nodding and taking a few steps forward once more. 

As I was walking, a force shoved me from behind causing me to stumble, “That’s right, walk away.” For the third time today, I stopped walking. A smirk covered my face as I slid my backpack off of my back. I mean hey, he started it by pushing me. “What? Did I make you upset? What are you-” I didn’t let Chad finish. 

In one swift motion, I turned on my heel and punched Chad in the face as hard as I could. Chad stumbled back in utter shock, his hand coming up to cover his nose. When he pulled his hand back, it was covered in blood. “You punched me!” He shouted incredulously. “You punched me in the face!” “And I’ll do it again!” In one quick moment, we both rushed forward at each other. Punches were being thrown left and right. A few landed on me, but I didn’t care. The only thing I cared about was defending my family. 

At one point, I stomped on Chad’s toes causing him to lose balance and I pushed him to the ground on his back. I dropped on top of him, straddling his chest and just began wailing on him. “Y/N! Y/N stop! You’ve got him! Stop!” Someone yelled from behind me. I didn’t care to listen to them, the sight of Chad helpless under me too much to pass up. As I wound up for another punch, my arm was being pinned to my side and I was pulled off of the bully. “Let me go!” I screeched, trying so hard to wiggle out of the person’s arms. They turned me around to face them and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me slightly. “Y/N!” It was Sapnap, “It’s over. You knocked him out. It’s done!” His words finally hit me and I stopped fighting in his arms. 

I looked over at Chad and noticed his eyes were closed and his face was bloody and beaten. I looked down at my hands and found them also covered in blood and my knuckles were busted and would surely bruise. I also knew from the feeling that my face was also covered in blood. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at what had just happened. Sapnap looked at me like I was actually crazy. I gave him a little shrug, “Oops.” “Y/N MINECRAFT! TO THE OFFICE NOW!” 

So there I found myself sitting in the principal’s office, holding an ice pack to my knuckles. Tommy, Tubbo, Sapnap had given their testimony as to what had happened to the principal before they were sent back to class. Chad was still laid up in the nurse’s office. He was waiting there until his parents could come. They had informed me they had to call my parents as well. I begged them not to call my dad, I knew today was a big important day for his business. The secretary, who knew me very well and knew I was a good kid, agreed and instead called my big brothers to come pick me up. That almost made me more nervous than if my father were to pick me up. 

It didn’t take long for Wilbur and Techno to show up. Neither of them looked at me when they walked in, which caused a pit to form in my stomach. The principal gave them a very brief description as to what had happened, just that I had got in a physical fight and was suspended for today and the next two days. “Let’s go,” Wilbur muttered as he passed me, walking out the door, Techno following behind him. I scrambled up quickly, wishing the secretary goodbye before following my brother’s out the door. 

The car ride back home was deadly silent. The radio wasn’t even on. Wilbur and Techno didn’t talk to me or each other the entire ride. Wilbur pulled into our driveway, parked, and killed the engine. He remained in his seat though, and didn't make a move to get out of the car, causing me to remain seated as well. “This isn’t like you, Y/N. What the hell happened?” Wilbur asked quietly, not turning to look at me. “He took Tommy’s disc,” I murmured quietly. “What? Speak up,” Wilbur demanded, looking at me through the rear-view mirror. “He took Tommy’s disc!” I spilled, getting it off my chest. “He took Tommy’s disc and wouldn’t give it back. So I got it back and then when we were walking away, he made fun of dad and you two and Tommy pulled me along, but then Chad shoved me so I turned around and punched him. When he continued to come at me, I fought him. I knocked him out. But he deserved it. He can’t just make fun of you and Techno and dad and Tommy and get away with it and-” “Y/N!” Techno interjected, cutting me off. “Yeah?” I asked, kind of breathless. “He took Tommy’s disc? And then made fun of our family? And proceeded to shove you?” Techno questioned, making sure he understood the story. I nodded, “Yeah”

There was a brief moment of silence before Techno broke out in a laugh, causing Wilbur to grin. “Well good on you then!” Techno cheered, belly laughing. “You’re not mad?” I questioned, still a bit hesitant. Wilbur let out a sigh and shook his head no, “I was at first… Well maybe not. I think I was more surprised than anything. We’ve never had that problem with you and it shocked me to the core to get that phone call. If anything I thought it would be Tommy first.” We all had a laugh about that. “But hearing you did that to defend us. Our family. How could I be mad at that?” 

Wilbur took off his seatbelt and got out of the car, causing Techno and I to do the same. As I got out, Wilbur scooped me up in a big hug. Techno quickly made his way around the car and joined our hug. “I’m so proud of you for defending yourself and your family. Although, next time I would prefer it if you did it without the violence,” Wilbur claimed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I wouldn’t. The more violence the better!” Techno chimed in. Giggles escaped my lips at that, of course he would say something like that. “I think I’ll try and lay low for a while. Although now everyone knows not to mess with Y/N Minecraft!” The other two joined in my laughter. “Come on Y/N. Let’s get you cleaned and bandaged up and then we’ll go for ice cream.” Wilbur said, pulling away from the hug and dragging me toward the house. I raised my eyebrow as we got inside, “It’s 8 in the morning?” Wilbur shook his head and rolled his eyes as he sat me down in the kitchen, Techno leaving to get the first aid kit. “There is never a wrong time for ice cream”

There you have it! I hope you enjoyed! If so, please be sure to leave a like!!

[terry-perry]

i request romantic smut with steve rogers?

18+

Don’t know how I came up with this, but here you go!

You met Steve through those PSAs you wrote and directed. Those were so cheesy and lame, and you knew the students who were forced to watch them would only pretend to listen to what Captain America had to say. You did your best to make his lines as unpatronizing as possible, but your main focus became on Steve himself. He was such a good looking man, which you already knew, but to see him up close was a whole new experience. He was absolutely breathtaking, if not beautiful.

You felt that you shouldn’t do anything about it, however, due to many small reasons. And one huge one. It didn’t come out until he actually came to you with an offer to go out for drinks. The sheepish way he asked you out was pretty cute, but it wasn’t enough to have you say yes. You, at least, felt like you owed him an explanation.

“I don’t think it’s the best idea. You see, I was with someone, and...” you didn’t know how to properly word it, so you just decided to come out with it. “He died.”

Steve wasn’t expecting such a bombshell that had him stumbling with his words for a good minute until you decided to put him out of his misery. “It’s okay. Not a lot of people know, but it has kept me from getting close with people. Especially people I find attractive. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” he stated with a smile you weren’t expecting him to produce after getting rejected. But then he brought out an explanation of his own. “I met someone I thought was the love of my life before I came here, and it’s kept me from being with anyone.” He looked at you then with a certain stare you couldn’t quite define. “But that doesn’t mean I should stop myself from being close with certain people. And I really do like you Y/N.”

“I really like you too, Steve...” you stated softly, looking into his eyes to let him know how serious you were with your affections. You couldn’t have anything serious as what you had with your late fiancée, but you might as well have a taste.

Doing more thinking about this got you to finally say yes to drinks.

----

Later on, drinks and the continued conversation of your grief led to somewhere else.

The two of you went to the hotel he was staying at. As soon as you came into the room, he cupped your face and crashed his lips onto yours. You almost wanted to cry due to how this experience was beginning. It’d been so long. You don’t know if Steve was going through the same thing, and you didn’t bother to ask as you let out a moaning gasp when he lifted you up. 

You instinctively wrapped your legs around him as he put you against the wall. He rubbed himself against you, practically grinding against you, until he decided to take you to the bedroom to this in a proper setting. 

There was when the clothes piled up on the floor. First was his shirt, then yours, then your bra, and so on until you lied on the bed completely naked. You kissed one another with so much passion and longing that led to his large hand sliding down between your legs. A finger went inside while another rubbed outside. He muffled your moans with a kiss as he went on. He wanted you wet for the full encounter, so he continued until you were slick, gasping, and clenching. 

He didn’t want you reaching the top without him, however, and it was why he stopped so abruptly to put himself on top of you. His cock was between you and got you groaning as he thrusted in. His sculpted body hovered above you like he was some kind of god. Truth be told, he’d only done this a few times and hoped he was doing everything right. Judging by the way you kept moaning out so passionately while you arched up, everything was more than okay.

He was getting there, too, and even wanted to call out a certain name he shouldn’t. He thought for a second if you were feeling the same way when you wrapped yourself tighter around him and squealed. He pushed the thought out and just pumped you more full of life. Life that both of you placed on hold for so long.

You held onto his strong arms when your hands weren’t all over his taut back or tight butt. You didn’t want to think about what this could mean for the two of you afterwards. For now, all you wanted was to succumb to this. 

[lacontroller1991]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 24: Rick Flag x F!Reader

Febuwhump Master List || Main Master List

Day 24: Too Weak to Move

Warnings: medical jargon, mention of that one scene, language, blood, surgery recovery, pain medicine

If it had not been for the monitor constantly beeping at a steady pace, you would not be able to tell if Rick Flag was breathing, or if he was alive. The only indication that the colonel is alive is the increase/decrease of lines, displaying his slow, irregular heart rate.

After killing Starro, you went back through the rubble to find his body and to take him home to give him a proper burial, but when you found a very faint pulse, hope spiked up in you as you called over the medics, which leads to now, you sitting by his beside with your head buried in your arms.

“Ya know you should prolly get some rest sweet cheeks, we can watch Flag,” Harley comments empathetically, rubbing a soothing hand over your back but you decline her offer, having made a promise to yourself that you would not leave his side. Not again.

“Thanks Harls, but I think I’ll stay here.” She gives you a small smile before her and DuBois walk away. Gently, you take Rick’s hand in yours and softly kiss his bruised knuckles, wishing you could heal him with the power of your love. In that moment, you feel a slight twitch in your hand and immediately look at his face for any sign of movement. “Rick? Baby, can you hear me?” A small groan leaves his lips and you jump back in surprise, tears welling in your eyes. After his emergency surgery, the doctor had told you that it was a very low chance of him waking up, and even if he did, it would be an insanely long road for recovery. Rick’s career is practically over from a physical standpoint, he would no longer be in tiptop shape to do Waller’s bidding, and a sick part of you is grateful for that, but you know how much the Task Force meant to Rick. 

Slowly his hazel eyes open, eyelids rapidly blinking to take in the light and his surroundings before he attempts to sit up but you’re quick to push him back down. “Don’t sit up baby, just lay down.” You scoot your chair closer to his bed, a hand making its way to his hair and petting his matted hair as your lip quivers. He came close to death. Too close, and you don’t know what you would do if he had died. 

“Water,” you quickly reach for the jug of water and place the straw in his mouth, watching as he greedily sucks down the clear liquid. After drinking all the water, he lets his head fall back onto the pillow and turn to look at you. “what are you doin’ here?” The question takes you aback as you try to cover the hurt.

“What do you mean? Where else would I be?”

“Thought you said you didn’t need me. That I’m just your commander,” he attempts to sit up but the stitches on his chest make that an impossible feat, so instead, he just lays back and stares up at the ceiling.

You hang your head, bringing your lips to the back of his hand and leaning against his arm. “I’m sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean it Rick. You’re so much more than my commander. You’re my best friend. You’re my partner. I love you. And when I found out what that asshole did... when I heard about what happened from Cleo, I regretted every fuckin’ word. I thought I didn’t need you, baby. I really thought I could do everything by myself, but in that half an hour where I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, I realized how wrong I was. Because the truth is...” you turn your head, trying to usher the tears back in before returning to look at Rick, who turned his head once again to face you, listening to your proclamation. “I need you, Rick. I need you so bad, and I can’t live without you. I don't want to live without you. I am so sorry for what I said, and I really hope you can forgive me, because I am so in love with you.” 

His hand flips over so he takes your smaller hand in his, his thumb running over your knuckles as he ponders your words.

“What happened to the drive?” He asks casually as you bite the inside of your cheek. 

“DuBois used it to bargain for our freedom. I know you wanted it to be released to the press, but DuBois got all of us free. You and me, we’re free, Rick. I’m no longer a prisoner and you’re no longer commander of that hell,” his eyes find their way to yours, looking for the lie but finding none.

“We’re free?”

“We’re free,” you confirm with a smile as one traces it’s way on his face. “Well, in that case,” he groans in pain as he attempts to move again before giving up. “What the hell did they do to me?”

“You’re pretty high on pain meds right now, your body needs time to recover and it’s gonna be a while.”

“How dosed up am I?”

“High. I’m surprised you’re even conscious right now.”

“How long is recovery gonna take?” You sigh, grabbing his chart and reading it with ease, gulping at the prognosis.

“A solid 9 months baby. Most of that’s gonna be in a hospital,” you reply sympathetically as he groans, looking around the room.

“Well, I suppose we can plan a wedding in here.” You furrow your brows, looking at him in confusion. He nods to the bag that contains his clothes. “Look in the bottom right pocket,” you hesitantly get up and walk over to his clothes, pulling out his pants and fishing around until your fingers pull out a small box. Your head whips over to Rick.

“Ricky? What is this?” He smiles softly, slightly beckoning you over to his side and you’re quick to fall next to him, looking for answers. He weakly takes the box out of your hand and pries it open, huffing at the lack of mobility. Inside rests a thin gold band with a marquise diamond sitting on top, sparkling in the hospital lights. “Oh baby. It’s gorgeous.” He offers you the box and you take it, inspecting the ring.

“I was gonna propose to you once you were free, and I never knew when that was gonna happen so I always just carried it around,” he admits as tears of joy well in your eyes.

“What does this mean?”

“Will you marry me, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

@febuwhump 

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[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 5

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST. AND MORE TO COME! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @edlothia-baby @soul-end @willieoo @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy

Author's Note: I have nothing to say for any of the emotions y'all are about to get from this. Enjoy!-Thorne

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she sat down, but the stretching silence growing between her and her estranged family wasn’t it. She tried to look anywhere but them, not because she was ashamed—far from it. But it was more than awkward sitting across from three brothers and a father she’d not spoken to in three years, let alone tell them she was even alive.

Her eyes found Wally’s as he sat down beside her eldest brother and if looks could’ve killed, he’d been dead and buried.

“Glare at me all you want, but I’m not going to apologize,” he shrugged.

Scowling, she turned her attention to the skyline. “Fuck you,” she spat, crossing her arms.

“At least talk to them, (Y/N).”

“And why should I, Wally?” she questioned, glaring at him. “I don’t have anything to say. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in Central.”

“You’re not leaving until you talk to them,” he finalized with a firm look and she growled low in her throat and resigned herself to her fate.

Her eyes darted to her father’s and she couldn’t for the life of her decipher what was in them. “I’ll talk for an hour,” she told him. “I’m not talking about what I’ve been doing in Central City, so don’t ask. I’m not talking about the life I’ve been living, so don’t ask. You’re only allowed to ask me about my departure and that’s it. But after one hour is up, I’m leaving.”

“Who said you get to leave,” Wally questioned, and she shot him the darkest glower she could muster.

“So help me God, Wally West you’ll either take me home or you’ll fix that fucking elevator and I’ll walk myself home. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the world who every vigilante is at this table.”

For once she managed to stump him because his eyes went wide—so did her family’s but she didn’t care—and he finally nodded.

“Alright. One hour.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she turned back to her family, more specifically her father. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Maybe for you to come home, (Y/N),” Jason answered, and she glanced to him.

“Not a chance. Next?”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be hostile. We’re not going to force you here,” Dick said, and she looked at him now, eyes narrowing.

“The manipulation tactic isn’t going to work on me, Dick. I’m not here for to be tricked into coming back. I’m never coming back.” She cocked her leg over the side of the table and reclined, biting out, “Give me your anger. I’d prefer that instead of whatever this pitiful bullshit you’ve got going on.”

In the eighteen years they’d known their sister they’d never heard her say such a callous thing, but her words had practically slapped Dick across the face because hurt etched onto his expression, then immediately turned into anger.

“You want my anger? Fine.” He stood and pointed at her. “What the hell is wrong with you! Why would just up and disappear like you did! Do you have any idea how scared we were for you! How distraught!”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Knowing how you like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders because you can’t help but be a hero? Probably a lot.” She made a dramatic show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got forty minutes. Keep it up.”

Her eyes shifted to Bruce’s. “Did you let them read the letter? Or did you just throw it away after you read it?”

Dick, Jason, and Tim all turned to Bruce at that.

“Letter?” Tim repeated. “What letter?”

(Y/N)’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape and then she smiled knowingly. “Oh, you never showed them the letter, did you?” She looked to her brothers. “I wrote dad a letter the night I left to explain why I was leaving. It’s sugarcoated bullshit but it is the truth.”

Dick’s face contorted in anger. “(Y/N) left a reason behind and you didn’t tell us about it? Three years and not a single word?”

Bruce merely stared at her as he pulled the letter out of his coat pocket. “I was going to burn it when I found her again. Talk to her before anyone else could.”

Jason snatched the letter from his hands. It had faded a bit, softened around the hard edges, like someone had opened it and read it every day for three years.

His eyes scanned the paper, and he met her gaze, voice chock-full of hurt and she had to fight tooth and nail to keep herself from externally reacting. “You left because you thought we didn’t care about you?”

Dick reached over and took the letter. With furrowed brows and a frown, he started to read aloud, and Bruce gazed at (Y/N) as the memory came back to him.

***

Mornings at the manor were unusually quiet in comparison with the evenings. Everyone was typically too tired to argue so it accounted for a peaceful breakfast of soft words and chewing. Everyone had an assigned seat and every child had learned early on not to take the seat that belonged to another brother or their sister because there would be a fight about it.

Dick and Jason sat next to each other and (Y/N) took the seat at the end of that side; Tim and Damian took the other side—oldest to youngest, just the neat and even way Bruce liked it.

It was rare for any of the boys to be awake before him or Alfred and (Y/N) was usually the first kid to the table, the boys wandering in just minutes after her. Oddly enough, that morning she hadn’t come down for breakfast—which she always came to.

Bruce looked at Alfred. “Is (Y/N) coming down?”

Alfred hummed and gently maneuvered Tim’s arm to the side to he could set down the plate. “When I went to her door, it was locked, and I received no conversation from inside.”

Jason snorted and sipped his coffee. “Probably had a long night with her friends and is still out. I know I would be.”

“How would you know?” Tim interrupted. “You died before you got to the eleventh grade.”

“You’re one to talk, dropout,” Dick countered, and Damian sighed.

“Richard, you dropped out of college. The only son of Batman who has actually completed an entire bout of schooling is me.”

The three boys turned on him with scowls and retorted, “No one asked you, pipsqueak.” Damian glared back at them.

Bruce rolled his eyes, using the side of his fork to cut into his omelet. “Let’s try not to start a free-for-all here in the breakfast room, please.” He glanced at Alfred. “She’s probably tired from all the ceremonies. Let her sleep.”

Alfred nodded. “Of course, Master Bruce. She should be well rested this evening.”

But when the evening came, Alfred still hadn’t been able to get (Y/N) to unlock her bedroom nor speak to him. He certainly wasn’t worried, but it was off for her to be so reclusive. When Bruce and the boys came back from patrol, he mentioned it to him.

“Miss (Y/N) hasn’t come out from her bedroom, Master Bruce. Nor has she said a single word all day.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed and he tugged the cowl off, rising from the seat at the Batcomputer. “I’ll go check on her,” he replied. “You deal with…” his steel eyes drifted to Dick who had Tim in a headlock and Jason who was giving Damian a noogie. “Them,” he finalized, leaving the poor butler behind.

He knocked on the door to her room and pressed his ear to it. “(Y/N)? You haven’t come out all day. Is everything alright?”

Nothing. Not even a breath.

“(Y/N), are you in there?” he asked again and when he didn’t receive a confirmation, he raised his arm, running his fingers along the doorframe until he touched a small metal piece. He pulled it down and stuck it in the door, wiggling the knob for a second before it clicked, and he opened the door.

“Sweetheart, we’ve been trying to—” Bruce went silent when he saw the kempt room. Bed neatly made, everything organized and put away. Even her clothes hamper was empty.

He blinked and walked into the room, quickly heading to the bathroom to check for her there. It was empty as well, and just as clean, leaving him stunned as he exited the bath.

Wandering over to her desk, he saw an elegant envelope sitting on top of her laptop, his name written in beautiful penmanship. He picked it up and unfolded it, pulling out the multi-page letter. He drew his eyes along the golden lines, reading her words.

Dad,

I don’t really know how to start this letter. Truth be told I’ve written at least six before this one, and even then, I’m not entirely happy with it. But if you’re reading this, I’m not here anymore. I haven’t hurt myself in anyway, you don’t need to worry about Vicki Vale or Jack Ryder reporting the discovery of my body. I mean it in a literal sense—I’m not in Gotham anymore. Neither am I ever coming back.

Don’t think this is your fault. You’re a good father, the best I could’ve been given, and my brothers are good siblings. But the truth is that I’m not fit for this family of heroes. And I never have been. My best when trying to be what all of you are, was never good enough and I’ve spent eighteen years staring at your backs, waiting for you all to realize that I’m still here, that I still matter even if I’m not like you. And I don’t want to feel like a stranger in my own home any longer.

I don’t want you to look for me. I know you will, but I wish you wouldn’t. This isn’t some spur of the moment thing I decided to do the night after graduation. If you look at my bank records, I’ve been withdrawing cash from my savings since freshman year—this is four years of planning, so please understand that I’m doing this because I don’t want to be found—ever.

I’ll leave the story for the media up for you, though I doubt that they’ll care long enough to make a deal of it. It’ll pass like winter does spring and they’ll move on to the next bigger story.

Thank you for everything dad, and good luck with Gotham—keep it safe like you always have. And I hope that one day when you think of me, you won’t feel disappointment. I’ve only ever tried to be something that when you looked down on me, you’d only be proud, and I hope one day I’ll achieve what I always dreamed about. Eighteen is young to be on your own and I’m scared. But I’ll be okay—I always have been.

So do me a favor and don’t spend too much time over this. There are plenty more younger kids that need a parent’s hand on their backs to steady them like you once did for me. Find one and fill my spot. Let them shine brighter than I ever could. Let them be the one worthy to be a Wayne—I know I never was.

-(Y/N)

Bruce barely had time to grasp the back of her chair to keep himself from falling to his knees in shock. The letter was clenched in his hand and his lungs wouldn’t take in air like he wanted them to, his heart aching with each palpitation. He looked around the room to her dresser drawers, willing the strength into his legs to moved over to it. He opened every drawer and to his astonishment, they were empty. Hurrying to the bathroom, he noticed the drawers in there were empty as well. She was really gone. And he had no idea what to do.

***

Tears were in Dick’s eyes when he finished the letter and he looked up at her. “How could you ever think we didn’t care about you, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to sit there and explain every time she asked her brothers if they wanted to do something with her and they conveniently had something else to do. Didn’t want to explain every school and extracurricular performance that went unattended and left a little girl standing in front of a crowd barely managing to stave off the tears as she bowed and thanked them for coming. She didn’t want to remember all the memories that chipped away at her heart with every disappointment that occurred. All she wanted to do was leave.

(Y/N) had earlier returned to her original position, hands in her lap and she clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin of her palms, eyes directed anywhere but Dick’s.

“I think it’s time we call this little reunion done,” she said, standing to her feet. “We’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Not if you run again,” Jason muttered, unconsciously wiping a tear from his eye.

She pointed at him, hissing, “I didn’t run the first time, Jason. I left. On my own accord.”

“You ran instead of coming to us, (Y/N),” Tim said, and she threw her hands above her head in disbelief.

“What the fuck did you want me to do! Wander down into the cave and beg at your feet for someone to pay attention to me! To at least pretend like I was a sister! I did! Every day!”

(Y/N) picked up her purse and yanked it up her arm. “Cassandra seems to be fitting in better than I did. So go and dote on her as the younger sibling. I’m not interested in the position anymore.”

“It’s not a competition,” Dick explained. “We love you just as much as we love Cass.”

She paused and gazed at him, voice laced with disappointment as she disagreed, “Then you should make sure she’s content in the manor, because if you love her with any semblance of how you loved me? It’s not at all.”

Her eyes shifted to Wally’s. “Fix the elevator. Now.”

He stayed seated for a moment, the two of them staring each other down, then he nodded wordlessly and moved to the elevator, starting it again. Her family stayed seated, and she gave them one final look before she followed Wally, silently waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, she stepped inside and turned around, hitting the button. Just before the doors closed, Wally stopped them and murmured, “You’re making a mistake.”

“My worst mistake was becoming friends with you.” (Y/N) blinked at him, then reached up and shoved his hand away from the door and as it closed, she remarked coldly, “And you can go to hell for all I care.”

[drabsyo]

I was wondering...I was always confused about Narcissa’s hair. It’s been a while since I read the books. Did she color it blonde to show her now belonging to House Malfoys. Or was it naturally blonde? Movies confused me a bit I guess.

Yes, this had me confused too! I've agonized and toiled over it, more than I probably should, about how I should draw her hair because people have generally different views, which is totally understandable! 💕

And I've always wanted to discuss it, so now that I've been given a reason to... Well.

If you take a look at some of my Narcissa fanart, you'll notice the different ways I'd color her hair. I was so confused. Is she a light blonde? Dark blonde? A mix of raven hair and blonde hair? If she has blonde hair then why does her family have (mostly) dark hair? And WHY does she have blue eyes?! This woman is absolutely confusing! (Which is kind of, you know, fitting because Narcissa always loves to be a mystery to literally anyone lol)

So I did my homework, asked around, and scoured every bit of information, canon or otherwise, that I could find about her. It led me to this:

In canon, this is what the Black sisters look like. You can find the page here. Narcissa is a child here, and already has blonde hair. So we can go ahead and safely assume that she was born with natural blonde hair. But in the films, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. I don't actually know why they gave her that hair color, maybe so that the audiences wouldn't question her blood relations with the Blacks--I don't know. I really don't. But now we have a book version Narcissa, one who has full blonde hair. And a movie version Narcissa, one who has raven and blonde hair. At least, that's how the different hair colors started: a movie version, and a book version.

So... here's where it gets confusing.

To my knowledge, it isn't actually explained why her hair color is the way it is in both the movies and the books. Having blonde hair does raise many questions, how is she the "only" blonde in a family of dark hair and dark eyes? To top it all off, it gets even more confusing, because fanon writes and draws her either as a full blonde or a mix of raven and blonde hair. We just have this large pile to sift through of her having either hair color. No one actually explains anything. She's just... infuriatingly there. She's either blonde or raven haired and blonde. BUT fanfiction writers, as I've observed, give their own reasons why Narcissa's hair color is the way it is in their respective stories. And it's actually pretty creative and interesting! It adds even greater depth to her character, and it fits the narrative of the story even better. Remember, the character we're dealing with is Narcissa Black. One of her main traits is "she won't do anything unless there is a clear purpose behind it." This character is deliberate, meticulous, and she makes sure to plan ahead at all times. And so, some fanfiction writers decide to play on that.

You can skip this part if you want to avoid spoilers but I've compiled a small list of instances in (Cissamione) fanfiction where Narcissa's hair is mentioned.

🔹 In Extinction by rubikanon in Chapter 10: Build and Break, Hermione asks Narcissa about it. Here, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. She explains that she only decided to dye it blonde to "fit in with the Malfoys." We can gather two things from that alone, which resonates with her character perfectly: 1.) Narcissa is loyal and 2.) Narcissa purposefully wants to show the rest of the world how loyal she is by committing to having blonde hair. The woman has some serious commitment, and it shows. But now, the way that it's slowly growing back into her natural black hair color, hints that perhaps Narcissa no longer wishes to fit in with the Malfoys. However, if we take an even closer look, we can safely assume that Narcissa isn't the kind of person to just leave her hair color "unattended" like that. Remember, she's meticulous. And this is a big deal for her, the fact that she's just kind of letting it grow back instead of either fully dyeing it back to black, or dyeing it back to blonde. It suggests that perhaps she's a little unsure this time, perhaps it is her uncertainty that is the reason why it's now a mix of both. Another grey area? Or maybe it's actually something more deliberate? Maybe now, she likes that it's a mix of both. That other half now being solely for Draco, and not to fit in (completely) with the Malfoys any longer. Who knows why Narcissa does things the way she does? We can speculate to the ends of the earth, or be as smart as Hermione Granger (or with the case of Extinction, see Hermione's thoughts), but something tells me we'd still be a good step behind.

"Which one is your natural hair color?" I wondered aloud.

(Narcissa) She glanced up at the unexpected question. I was relieved she hadn't sensed my attention yet. It's not like I meant anything by it, I told myself. She was so beautiful, one couldn't help but notice. And feel physically drawn to her. And want to see her two-toned hair fanned across her back, slipping over the bare skin, silky beneath my fingers...

"Why do you ask?" Her query brought me back to reality, and I hurriedly corrected my imagination to include a pretty dress covering the rest of her.

"I don't know." I chewed the inside of my cheek, suppressing my other thoughts. "I'm just curious."

Her gaze returned to the fire. "You've seen enough of my relatives to guess which color is genetic. The blond is something I added to fit in with the Malfoys, after Draco was born." She was quiet for a moment. "He looks so much like his father. I suppose I wanted to share some resemblance."

🔹 In Killing Me Softly by Looktotheedges in Chapter 4: Nagging, Hermione suggests that perhaps Narcissa is part Veela because of her blonde hair and very attractive features, like Fleur. Which is this whole other theory/plot that's very interesting, but won't be discussed in this post. Narcissa tells Hermione that Sirius has always been blonde, and that it isn't out of the question for her to be blonde either. Sirius Black. A blonde. I know! Maybe it's there because it's funny that Sirius is actually blonde like Narcissa. Prissy, haughty, lady-like Narcissa. Arguably the 'girliest' cousin that he has. No, no, no. He doesn't want to be anything like Narcissa. Anyway, if that's the reason, I think that's hilarious and cute.

Narcissa turns away. 'I am aware my appearance is frightfully drab. Work has been…'

Hermione holds back a disbelieving scoff. 'Narcissa. You always look beautiful. And you’re talking to the witch with grass in her hair who practically lives in her office all week.'

Narcissa just leans further over the crib. 'A blonde little boy. It has been so long since… I can almost imagine…'

Hermione stands next to her. Looks down at the peacefully sleeping Louis. He does look remarkably like Draco. 'Are you sure there’s no Veela blood in you? You weren’t secretly switched at birth?'

'Like a changeling?'

'It would explain your blonde hair.'

'Sirius was also blonde, it is not completely out of the question for us Blacks.'

What?!

(...) 'I know. But it is the truth. He was blond until he was about seven… then it began to darken. Mousy. Dull. He wanted to look cool and brooding instead, so he got his hands on some kind of charm right before he set off for Hogwarts. A new, edgy Sirius. It was around then he forbade us from calling him Siri. Said it sounded too girly.'

🔹 In Fixed in Time by TheWorldsaBeastofBurden in Chapter 9: Sisters and Saviors, it's also tackled a little humorously. Andromeda let's a little comment slip while they're in the middle of trying to heal Hermione. Something funny, something that suggests Andromeda and Bella, when they were children, have always wondered why Narcissa is blonde unlike them.

The first words spoken occurred after they’d risen and attempted their casting. Andromeda’s preparedness to take on their task had been clear in her mind so Narcissa rose with her sister, wrapped an arm around her waist and held her near as the woman raised her wand to draw up the rest of the injury she’d dropped, half a slash across Hermione’s hip bone…

That remained half, as Andromeda growled out, “...it isn’t working.” she looked to Narcissa, “Why aren’t you powering me?”

What nonsense? “I am!” she insisted. She was! Or “I- I am trying to!” Her magic was active and alive, pulsing to rise from her skin and transfer into Andromeda’s but it- it wasn’t working! “Could...could it be that you were disowned?”

“Disowning doesn’t take away the fact that we share blood, our magic is directly related. Ugh, Bella always said you were adopted!”

“Oh ha- oh.”

“...oh?” Andromeda returned.

“...it’s not an issue of power. It is what I intend to aid in casting,” Narcissa slowly worked out. Oh, it was most blessed Mister Goyle could be brought to assist the present Hermione. If her present self had been brought to aid Andromeda? “...I cannot harm Hermione.”

Andromeda sighed with some frustration. “I understand you are so tenderly in love-”

“It isn’t- I’m avowed! I- when we arrived from the future we had to escape Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t bring Hermione through the wards without...I couldn’t add her directly, that would be visible. I had to...attach her permission to mine.”

🔹 In Glass Silence by Zarrene Moss (Menzosarres), which probably gives one of the most interesting backstories for Narcissa's hair, for why it's blonde. I can't put a clip of the scene here without hogging up a huge chunk of space on your dash, so I'll try to explain it as best I can instead.

Understand that these come with serious 🛑spoilers🛑 so please do read it at your own risk.

In Glass Silence, Narcissa's hair and eye color was black at birth. But after an accident with raw magic, something Bellatrix wasn't able to control when they were children, Narcissa almost dies. Bellatrix, using even more raw magic, tries desperately to pull Narcissa's "life force" back, but at the cost of losing the eumelanin that made Narcissa's eyes and hair black. Narcissa survived, but now has very little eumelanin left, which is why she's so pale, blonde, and has blue eyes. Every time Narcissa looks at a mirror, her reflection is a reminder of the day she almost died. Bella, on the other hand, is reminded of that day every single time she looks at Narcissa.

So! These are only a few fanfictions I could think of at the top of my head that tackles the issue of Narcissa's hair. In the books, to my knowledge, she is described as having blonde hair and very pale skin.

But let's take another deep dive, if you're up for it.

These are mostly theories, which are largely unconfirmed, but I think they're interesting to think about.

There's this description in the wiki:

"Narcissa Malfoy is described as tall, slim, "nice looking", and very pale, with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a clear, cold voice. Her hair colouring thus differs from most of the House of Black, who generally have dark hair, though Narcissa does possess the arrogant good looks characteristic of her family."

There's also this pinterest photo of the Black sisters being compared to each other side by side, descriptively and physically. I'm so sorry, I don't know who drew it, but here's a link to the post on pinterest.

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

Which is interesting because this hints that she's... different. It's a bit literal in this sense--she comes from a pureblood family, arguably the most influential and notorious one, the Blacks, who mostly have dark hair and eyes, and yet her physical appearance directly contrast that. There's also the matter of her namesake. She's the only Black to be named after a flower instead of a galaxy or a star. We aren't really given any explanation why she's the only one who's different. Even Sirius, who fought and died for the side of the Light, is named after the brightest star in the sky. Even Andromeda. It's been said that this is actually meant to be a parallel of some sort to Lily Evans. Narcissa and Lily are both named after flowers, even Petunia (Lily's sister). And I know there's this thing where it's a tie up to how Harry was ultimately saved by a mother's love: Harry lived at the beginning because of his mother's love, and Harry lives once again at the end of the books because Narcissa, a mother who wanted to save her own son, saved him.

If you read that scene in the books where Harry is saved by Narcissa, the whole scene is actually... pretty soft? There's that sort of disarming softness about Narcissa in that moment, where Harry expected to be callously dragged and prodded for a heartbeat. Instead, he gets a surprisingly gentle touch, a curtain of long blonde hair shielding him from the darkness, and the kind of tenderness he wouldn't expect from his enemies, "Is Draco alive?"

It's almost like Narcissa's appearance is something of a "tell". With Andromeda, she's described to have kind eyes, open, unguarded. She inherited her family's dark eyes and dark hair, and she even looks like Bellatrix's twin. I suppose we could say, Andromeda wants to fight that in any way she can by being openly kind. Narcissa is quite literally the opposite--guarded eyes, stoic expressions, cool and calculated emotions. We're veering into this fine line between fanon and canon in terms of their characterization (but only due to lack of canon materials) but personally, I think Narcissa having blonde hair and blue eyes is somewhat more fitting for her character. Again, this line:

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

It's like that one glaringly obvious hint that everyone overlooks simply because... because it's the most obvious one. "Me! I'm different! I'm the last person you'd expect, but it really is me!"

Anyway. I've rambled on long enough. Hope this clears up some of that confusion, anon. Hoping it didn't ADD even more confusion... 😂 At the end of the day, this is just me speculating, gushing, and being One Big Fool™. So.

But either way, blonde hair, dark hair, mix of both, I adore her. Pretty much.

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

*

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

*

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

*

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."