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littlemissmentallyunstable · 4 months ago

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there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2 part 4

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it��s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

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mangosrar · 11 months ago

Text

call it what you want part 10

short ass chapter yall i’m sorry i’m going through it

“considering she’s such a slut, i don’t think she minds who bothers her”.

oh shit.

before you could even react it was happening. there was no way you could stop it.

matt had sent a searing punch straight to elijahs jaw and there was nothing you could do about it.

and by the way elijah landed straight on his ass, he didn’t see it coming, but this was no surprise to you, matt was predictable and you knew it was going to happen, you just didn’t know it would be this abrupt.

“matt!” you screeched, with wide eyes.

in no time matt was on top of him sending hit after hit, beating elijah to a bloody pulp.

a crowd had gathered, but your ears were ringing, and for a second it was like time had stopped.

it was carnage, there was blood all over matts hands, and there was a splatter across his face as elijah lay there, desperately trying to push matt off but he was out for blood. you felt your stomach churn at the sight.

all of a sudden, matt stopped, he grabbed the collar of elijahs shirt and pulled him up slightly.

“stay the fuck away from my girl whitlock” he spat before pushing elijah back down on the floor, leaving him to groan in pain, clutching his face.

you watched with a look of pure horror on your face, as matt stood back up, chest heaving. he turned to you, while wiping his face with the back of his hand.

when his eyes found yours, they were cold.

“now we’re even” he mumbled, letting his gaze linger on yours before darting his eyes down to elijahs weeping frame, and walking away, pushing his way through the crowd and out of sight.

you couldn’t move, you expected matt to punch him, but you didn’t exactly think he would beat the living shit out of elijah.

you had to go after matt. that’s the least you could do. elijah deserved every single piece of what he got. and that’s exactly why you walked away without a second glance and headed straight in the direction of matt.

“matt?!” you yelled, opening the front door of the house.

you were met with nothing but silence, but you knew he was here, his car was in the drive way and the lights were on.

by the time you had gotten out of the party. he was no where to be seen and neither were nick and chris, so you had opted for an uber, but the whole way to the house, you were chewing on your nails in anticipation for what you were about to face.

you made your way up the stairs, and down the hall to his bedroom to find him sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

you couldn’t see his face, but you could see his bloody knuckles.

“hey” you whispered, making his way into the room. you saw him tense up at your presence.

“you shouldn’t be here” matt muttered, not looking up.

you sighed, before making your way over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to sit up.

his expression was sad and his eyes were full of something you couldn’t decipher.

“come on” you whispered, pinching your eyebrows together and pulling him towards the bathroom.

he followed after you, letting you drag him along.

neither of you said anything as you sat him down on the toilet and began rummaging through the cabinets.

“you don’t have to do this y/n” matt stated, watching you.

you ignored him as you pulled out supplies from the first aid kit.

“i know you’re still mad at me” he spoke softly.

you still didn’t look at him as you grabbed his hand and started cleaning off the blood. “this might sting a little”

matt hissed, but kept his hand in yours.

“i’m sorry i kissed you” he said, keeping his eyes trained on you.

his words stopped you in your tracks, after everything that happened tonight, that was the last thing on your mind.

“i don’t know why i did it, i know you want to be with elijah, and like i said before. none of that was true, i didn’t mean a single word i said to you that night” he spoke. you could hear the sincerity in his voice.

you sighed before looking up at him. “it’s fine matt, we just got a little caught up”

he nodded and pursed his lips before looking down at the bandage you were wrapping around his hand.

“we just got ahead of ourselves that’s all, we still hate eachother” you shrugged, continuing to avoid his eyes.

matt sucked in a breath, and the air became thick, the two of you not daring to even think of saying what needed to be said.

you has both trespassed on forbidden ground, and there was no coming back from that, no matter how much you tried. between the two of you, the boundaries and lines that were there had become blurry.

“do we?” matt whispered, causing your eyes to snap up to his and suddenly your throat ran dry. you hadn’t realised how close his face was to yours.

his gaze was boring into yours, and it felt like he could see right through you with the way your soul was reflecting off of his eyes.

silence rained down over you both, the only sound that could be heard was your laboured breaths and maybe the rapid beat of your heart from how little space there was between you.

matt stood up abruptly, but you didn’t move, and his eyes stayed on yours. you swallowed and looked up at him with those big round eyes that made matt want to melt.

his hand came up to your face, as he gently rested his palm on your cheek. your chest was pressed up against his and the heat radiating off of him and onto you was making you swoon.

and yet again like clockwork, that look appeared in his eyes but you couldn’t place it.

matt moved his face closer to yours, and the urge to give in and kiss him was overwhelming, but this wasn’t fair. matt wasn’t yours and you weren’t his.

“i can’t do this” you whispered, looking down and stepping away, as matt let his hand fall by his side.

“we hate eachother, and nothing good is ever going to come of this” you said motioning between the two of you, looking back up at him. “we need to stick to the plan, i piss off my parents, and you get jessica back. that was the deal”

you watched as matt pressed his tongue against his cheek and dropped his head, nodding slightly.

“yeah, ur right” he murmured, crossing his arms across his chest, and lifting his head back up, looking everywhere but at you.

you didn’t know why, but there was a dull aching pain in your chest, and you didn’t know if it was because he had agreed with you, even though a small part of you was hoping he wouldn’t, or because of how fast your heart was thrumming agains your rib cage.

you stared at him with furrowed brows as he brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his jaw.

it broke your heart a little that he didn’t care. he was happy for you to push him away, he didn’t even try to stop you, but little did you know, matt wanted to reach out and grab you. he wanted you kiss you and pour every ounce of remorse he has in his body into you, to try and wash away years of cruelty.

the regret inside of him was growing teeth, and he could feel it chewing on his stomach as he stood quietly in-front of you desperate for something he would never admit to.

you knew he wasn’t what you were looking for, at all. but you were cold, and a fire is a fire.

——————————————————————————

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lorelune · 1 year ago

Text

hell is a hound without a chain

|| blade x gn!reader || M || yandere wolf hybrid blade || wc: 3.8k || ao3 ||

A bite is quite a burden.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: folds hands man ... hybrid blade is sure something. i chewed on this au for a minute because truly hybrid blade is such a flavor. a toothy one. enjoy loves!!

CW: dark content, hybrid AU, wolf hybrid blade, yandere blade, reader is not a hybrid, biting, claiming bites, caretaking, victim blaming, injured reader, references to reader drinking casually

You ache.

Your neck hurts.

It’s hurt for the past few days, and you imagine it will continue to hurt for the next several weeks, considering that Blade is not allowing you to heal in any meaningful capacity.

You sit on the bathroom counter, a bit teary-eyed, with Blade standing between your legs. A scented candle sputters on a small shift. Blade’s tail swishes. Annoyed. Ears twitching and jaw locked. There’s a first aid kit open beside you and it's running low on gauze and antibiotic ointment.

You sniffle as Blade pats at the wound on your neck. He’s being… gentle. For him anyway. The contact and disinfectant still sting and you hiss at the sensation and jerk away.

Blade stills.

"I’ll bind you again." His hand cups your jaw— too tightly. "Would you like to force my hand?"

"No, n-not really.” You sound pathetic. You want to cry. You probably will. "It hurts. I'm sorry."

Blade sighs but doesn't press you. He trades the disinfectant for a slather of ointment and prepares a gauze pad. The piece he cuts is larger than normal. It’s the size of his palm. You suppress the urge to feel for the wound on your neck and check its size and depth. You haven't gotten a good look at it yet. Judging by the red stain soaking down the front of your shirt, it’s a worse wound than normal.

Blade has made it a routine to freshen the bite mark on your neck at least once a week. He always sinks his teeth into the same spot while other, less severe marks decorate your throat and shoulders (and chest and stomach and thighs, but those are easier to dismiss.) The mark he worries the most, the one that you know he associates with some animalistic claim, is on your side, broken flesh splitting where your neck meets your shoulder.

...

You first... 'earned' it after leaving Blade to his own devices for a weekend.

It was just a beach trip with a few friends. Kafka encouraged it— you needed to stretch your legs. ‘Bladie’ as she so affectionately referred to your hybrid, was more than capable of taking care of himself. He was doing so long before you came into the picture and formally offered your home up to him. Besides, he’d had several months to settle into your home, hadn’t he? Kafka goaded you into accepting a “well-deserved” break. Himeko seemed... hesitant about the arrangement at the time. She warned that hybrids can get a bit prickly about being left alone, even if they are independent.

("They tend to hold grudges.")

The trip was a mistake.

It had been a lovely weekend. Kafka had thrown her card down for a beachside cabana at a resort. Drinking sweet fruity cocktails, lounging in the sun, and generally relaxing. It was... nice to be out and not worried about Blade. He knew where you were. He had a phone with an internet connection that he knew he could use, and he didn't bother to contact you. You figured he was enjoying the break from his typical vigilance. Perhaps he was enjoying not having an owner to stalk around and guard.

You were wrong. Wildly.

The moment you arrived home (you hadn't even set your bags down—), Blade was on you. Pressed into your own door, he growled and spat that you smelled “wrong”. You asked him what he meant— you nervously joked you could take a quick shower and make dinner. Whatever he wanted. Your voice had trembled, and your breath had started coming too quickly.

His gaze pierced you a moment later, a growl ripping from his mouth, lips curling back.

Nothing could have prepared you for the way he grabbed your jaw, jerked your head to the side, and buried his teeth in your neck. He covered your mouth with his palm when you screamed. Muffled any shout or cry for help. You knew Blade was strong, but you hadn't ever realized how strong. You were immobilized between him and his teeth and the door.

By the time he withdrew and lapped at the wound he'd made, you were sobbing, scrambling to get away, run, shut yourself in your room, and try to figure out how the fuck to handle this situation— but Blade hadn't let you far. He cleaned the wound first with his tongue, then a damp rag, then dressed it properly as has become routine. He carried you to bed and curled around you. Arms locked around your waist, legs tangled. It would’ve been sweet if he was your lover.

(But, he is not. He is a wolf you foolishly allowed into your home.)

The reality of your situation began to sink in then. Slowly. Bit by bit.

Blade freshens the bite about once a week, give or take. If he's feeling antsy, it's less. If you're more compliant, more tethered to home, or dare to take him in public with you, he leaves it alone. Allows it to almost heal before digging his canines into the rapidly thickening layers of scar tissue.

It's awful of him, but you don’t think he'll ever stop now that he's intent on marking you. You had been stupid to think of yourself as anything other than a claim to him, hadn't you?

A few tears drip down your cheeks as Blade secures the dressings. He dabs them away with the side of his finger, careful not to scratch you with his blackened claws. He brackets you in on your sides. He tips his forehead against yours and deflates.

"Bed," he says. It's something akin to a request. He'll take you there, anyway, but being given a warning feels like a luxury.

"Okay." Your voice is quiet. Scratchy from shrieking against his palm less than an hour before.

Blade scoops you up and ferries you to bed. He pauses to throw an extra blanket onto his... nest (even if it's on your bed). It’s a quilt he favors, worn through but soft. His preference for it would be endearing under different circumstances.

He runs a hand through your hair, trailing his touch down to the wet collar of your shirt, “You need to change. You’re dirty.”

As is routine, he pulls your shirt off as you squirm. You lightly shove at his chest, if only to make yourself feel better. Resist a little for your own pride, despite knowing it’s useless. Your modesty doesn’t matter to Blade (not if it’s just him and you in the room. He’s permitted himself to your skin in the most non-traditional ways.) Regardless, you aren’t bare for long. He replaces your shirt with his own. It’s warm and too big. His frame is almost inhuman, and it gapes around your shoulders.

Blade cajoles you to the headboard and lets you fuss a bit along the way. He sits behind

you and settles you between his thighs. The knit blanket is pulled over your lap and his arms wind around your waist, unyielding. Locking you there. Blade tucks his face into your neck on the... less injured side. He scents you there with a half-there growl.

You rub at your puffy eyes. Your chest hurts.

"You need to rest." Blade tells you. He tells you this often. He's more in tune with your physical state than you are these days, so you appreciate the reminders. You feel half out of your body.

"... Oh yeah?" you laugh, voice wobbly. "I should, huh? Don't I need to make dinner?"

"Unnecessary." Blade replies. He squeezes you. "You need to rest, first. I will prepare a meal."

"... Sure." Blade doesn’t do particularly well in the kitchen. "I can rest, then cook, okay? If you can wait that long? Otherwise, I can cook then rest later too—"

Then Blade really growls. It’s the kind that you feel between your ribs and makes you go stiff. His mouth opens, too hot against the fragile skin near your neck, and the points of his canines rest. Idle. You start to shake.

"You will rest." Blade tells you. "I... went too harshly on you. You are weak. You need to rest. I will cook so you do not need to. I cannot guarantee that it will be any good, but you should not be on your feet."

You laugh. something rotten curls in your belly.

There’s care in the way that Blade speaks about you. He rarely speaks in such a forward way— it’s hard for him. You can hear how he struggles between certain words. How the sentences are harder for him to construct. The sentiment of care is not easy for him. This makes sense— as he is a wolf that has you in his jaws. There is not care in slaughter. An animal’s claim is just that. A claim. Baseless. Primal. A twitch that follows an instinct, maybe.

Hearing him say things that could be kind makes you want to vomit.

You dig your nails into Blade's forearms. His hold constricts.

"Why would you care?" You snap. "Don't act like you give a shit about my wellbeing, as if you didn't just take a fucking chunk out of me."

It's the wrong thing to say. You know this. It’s better to not anger him. But it's hard to care when you’re this tired and worn down. Self-preservation is an afterthought. You feel spiteful, terrified tears burn your eyes. You wait for a wolf’s violence as Blade tenses and goes still behind you.

Preparing for the kill, you presume.

Instead, however, his mouth closes, and soft lips press into your throat. No teeth. No apparent ire. No mouthy attitude. And he stays quiet. Somehow drags you closer into the solid, warm line of his front. He is solid, maybe a little softer than when he first moved in with you.

"My mark on you is protection, even if you do not realize it." Blade tells you. You figured as much, but it doesn't justify it. "Anyone who smells or sees you knows that you are claimed."

"Yeah, so everyone knows I've got some bully of a wolf at home, ready to tear my throat out?"

(You've read his file, you know he's capable of it.)

"I wouldn't." Blade's voice grates, low and angry. “I... I wouldn't. Not to you."

"If you say so."

"I mean it." He punctuates it with a kiss. He's half-hard against your lower back and you swallow. "I... I do not know how else to convey to you that you are cared for. That you are mine."

(You’re not sure you believe him. There are other, crueler ways he could. On your more anxiety-ridden nights, you’re grateful that Blade’s touch hasn’t strayed there. Never. He hasn’t ever touched you like that, with that part of him. Anything below your neckline is all teeth and tongue. Violence is his language of physicality, you've found. Pleasure he seems foreign to.)

"I'm yours?" You dig your nails in and his tail slaps the bed. good. You'll bear the consequences later. Best to get it all out of your system. "When did I agree to this?"

Blade thinks, for a moment. You doubt he'll be able to find when you did agree because you haven't.

"You allowed me into your home. Bed. I wear a collar with your name on it when I must leave this place." Blade tells you. His hand cups your chin, turning your face toward his, and his nails tease over your cheeks. "What did you think all of that meant?"

Your stomach drops.

"... A kindness?"

“An offering." He corrects. He noses into your jaw, scenting again. His touch drifts under your soft shirt, resting over your tummy. "One that was accepted."

"Oh."

It hits you. All of it. Awareness is like being dunked in ice water, suffocating on it, and throwing it back up. Kafka had once warned you that hybrids think so differently from humans. You figured the differences would be... obvious. Easy to sort through.

You were, once again, so wrong.

You want to tell Blade that that's not what you meant. That you opened your home and heart because he was a beaten down stray who clearly needed a home— one where he was the only one of his kind. Where he had the attention he needed to thrive, and the space to do so too. That you signed your name on the necessary paperwork not as a proposition but as a gesture of care.

In the same moment, you realize that even if you do tell all of this to Blade, it wouldn’t matter. This misunderstanding has been steeping for months beyond your control. You feel stupid. Foolish. So naive it hurts. There’s a bite mark dug into the flesh of your neck that will never really scar. If Blade can help it, it will never fully heal. You’ll bear it bloody... forever.

“You smell wrong.” Blade huffs against your neck. He squeezes over your hips, rubbing little circles into the soft flesh.

Can he smell when you’re upset?

Probably. Blade always got particularly cagey when you would return home from the rare trip into the office. You were always exhausted, on edge, and overstimulated from a full day of endless everything. Blade would follow you around on those days, never letting you out of his sight. He’d wrap you up in blankets from his bed. Shove you in his clothes. Hand-fed you in his lap despite the fact his hands were too big and arthritic.

Was that care?

(So, so clearly.)

You don't realize you're on the verge of tears until you open your mouth to speak and nothing comes out but a wounded, awful cry. Like you're the pained animal and not Blade.

"Hush." Blade tells you. He smooths your shirt— his shirt over your front, over your chest in a way that makes your breath hitch and squirm uncomfortably. He’s burning hot against your back. "You are safe. You can rest now."

Is that care?

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes. They’re angry, tired, and sad all at once. You try to suck them down the best you can.

Blade pulls you at you, sinking you into the sheets. He spoons you, flush against your back, hot and soft in all the ways that matter. You bury your face into your pillow when he runs a soothing, clawed hand up and down the back of your neck.

For a moment, you consider your options. It’s immediately overwhelming. Defeating.

You know that there is nothing you can do about your position. You could rear up, slap Blade, and scramble for the door. There are organizations. Sections of government that handle situations like this. You might be able to get to your phone. At least text someone that things have gotten out of hand.

You also know that Blade would not allow this. He'd not allow you out of bed, let alone this room. He'd have you pinned, belly to the bed with a hand dug into your hair to brace you there. He'd let you squirm and kick and scream. He'd bruise you in return— leave his own marks. another set of molted hickeys across your shoulders.

He'd probably push at the freshly bloodied claim on your neck too. Never mind that he just patched you up.

It's hopeless, and the knowledge hits you so hard that you feel winded. You scramble against the bed to grab onto the sheets, and you cry. It’s in your chest. You sob and cry so hard it hurts. The sounds you are making are ugly and broken. The feeling between your eyes is burgeoning into an acidic headache, and your mouth is somehow dry even as you get spit on the soft sheets.

Despair is not beautiful. It’s toxic and infecting.

Despite this, Blade does not move away. He is steadfast, and curls overtop of you. He hushes you with his simple, curt words and a low rumble in his chest that's hard to identify. It soothes something in your hindbrain you wish you could kill. His lips press into your hair. His touch is solid, bruising, but not maiming

Violence... shouldn't be comforting.

And yet— yet it is. When the tears come slower, and morph into hiccups as you desperately try and catch your breath, Blade... helps, you realize. His mane of hair spills over your face, like a curtain to darken the room. His hand slips to your front, under your shirt once more so it's his palm against the clammy skin of your chest.

"Breathe." He tells you. It's a command. "Like this."

His hand strokes up and down, in time with his own slow, deep breaths. There's the terrifying edge of his claws, blackened and sharpened, but they never cut in enough to gore. Only enough to remind you that they’re sharp— to maim, to protect— (what’s the difference to a wolf like him?) You're drained, and you can only follow his lead, sucking in breaths that become more steady with each one.

There's nothing left in you by the time you settle. You're wrung out, emptied and so tired. It's clarifying, maybe. As Blade pets you into sleep, you shakily bring a hand to press over the covered, weeping wound in your neck. A full moon of teeth marks. Even the light touch aches.

Blade nips at your hand, nosing it away.

(How terrible, really. To be cared for by a beast who believes love and violence are one in the same. How terribly idiotic of you to not notice. How... cruel of Kafka for never connecting the dots for you. You’re sure she must’ve taken note, at some point, of Blade’s claim on you and its implications. She was once in your position, but knowing her own disposition, Blade never took her like he’s taken you.)

(Himeko probably noticed as well. But, she’s the type to only step in if she thinks she can make a difference. She has her own self-preservation in mind, and you can respect that. Mostly. Perhaps she saw Blade’s claim taking shape and realized that a Wolf’s bite is not something she had the claws to interfere with. She has her own hybrids to take care of. You ignored her words of caution in the beginning when she first offered them.)

(It’s hard to fault her.)

(And how can you fault Blade for his instincts? Perhaps you were too kind. You lacked caution— self-preservation— whatever you wish to call it. You put your own soft throat in the line of Blade’s bite. In retrospect, it’s frighteningly clear. It guts you. Over and over. The only thing that tethers you is Blade’s touch and breath against your neck. A reminder.)

(A reminder that you are his to tug and push and pull as he pleases. That he’ll leave bite marks where he desires, never to gore, but to show that you’re... protected.)

Isn’t there something alluring about that?

It makes you shake all over again. It makes you muffle a fresh sob into your pillow and you beat your fists against the mattress. Blade lets out a growly word or two you can’t make out as he pins your wrists to the mattress.

It makes sense, now, why Blade always wanted to accompany you out on errands, if only to growl and bark at anyone who looked at you too long. You had thought he was just poorly socialized (partially true) — but he was snapping at strangers to make sure no one even thought of looking at you for too long. Let alone touch. Pursue.

You have a hazy memory of a night at the cocktail bar. Kafka had asked you to come alone— ‘girls night’ again. Blade had given you the cold shoulder when you told him sheepishly that you’d be leaving him at home. Whatever alcohol dulls the memory, but you can recall Blade had thrown you over his shoulder the moment you had come home. You swayed and slurred your words and Blade looked ready to gut you. He threw you in bed, tore off the pretty dress that he had said was “far too revealing” and shoved you into one of his sleepshirts without listening to a single one of your protests. Your fighting and punching didn’t deter him— it didn’t make him any more aggravated.

(“You’re stupid.” Blade had told you, roughly wiping a soft cloth over your face. Makeup smears on the fabric. “Why are you out in the dark? How did you get home?”

“... You’re silly. I took a cab.” You tell him with a frown. You bat at his ears and Blade grabs your arms with such force you’re scared they’ll break.

“You’re reckless.” Blade had growled in your ear. “Do you know what you invite when you’re in this state?”

“... A hangover?”

Blade had stared at you, fuming. The next moment, his teeth were embedded in your neck and a pillow was shoved over your face as you wailed. Your vision swam as he pulled away, lips and chin smeared red.

Blood stains his teeth as he drags you up by the collar, and spits— “Do you know how many men would eat you alive like this?”)

You realize now that there was an implicit— “And I’m not there to keep it from happening.”

There’s comfort in it. You feel disgusting, but the roiling behind your eyes is cut by how warm Blade is behind you. That he’s good at patching the wound on your neck, and attentive when you let him be.

If you really can't escape Blade and your mutual incidental claim... maybe it could be okay. There’s some assurance that Blade will not gore you, only tenderly hurt for the sake of some instinct you will never feel, but are coming to understand. He is honest too. His words are solid. He is too straightforward to mince his words. They are never a riddle. There's safety in being underneath him as you are now.

There's safety in him. You almost cry again. He'll hurt you but never rend apart into pulp as you know he could. He'll sink his teeth in but as a claim. His slaughter is accompanied by care— for you. Slaughter inflicted on others is instinctual violence born from different baser needs. It hits you, like a blow to the chest, that whatever brutality he could inflict on you, is only a fraction of what he would inflict for you.

"Oh," you say, so softly, as you realize. You feel foolish all over again.

Blade makes a contented sound against your nape. Mouthing at you. His palm is settled at the base of your throat. "Your kind can be so slow. Now rest."

You laugh, blurting it out into your buttery sheets. There are specks of blood dotting the cream fabric, new and old. Fresh and faded.

You'll have to restock your first-aid kit.

#lore writes #blade x reader #blade x you #hsr x reader #blade reader insert #ANYWAYS #:3cccc #blade chomps: the fic and subsequent the emotional turmoil

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clangenrising · 5 months ago

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Month 18 - Greenleaf

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Ghost was struggling today. His right ear hurt like a motherfucker, deep inside his head, and it was taking half his mental capacity to refrain from pawing at it which was making him a miserable hunter, on top of any aches and pains that normally slowed him down. He thanked the Folk for Jagg who was managing to keep the hunting party on task and in control for him.

“Leave that one,” he heard her call over to Mulch, startling the bird that he had been stalking. Mulch spat in irritation, tail bristling as he turned back towards them.

“Why’d ya do that?” he grumbled, “I almost had it!”

“We’ve caught enough robins in this area,” she said. “Remember, we have to be careful or we won’t have any prey come next year.”

“I still don’t buy that shit,” he huffed, slinking back over to them. “There’s no way we could kill all the birds forever. They’ll just come in from other places.”

“You may not like it, but that’s the rule,” Ghost said firmly. “We’re looking out for the future and making sure everyone stays fed long term.”

“Is that why we don’t hunt over the road anymore either?” Mulch raised a brow skeptically.

“That is so no one gets killed by wild cats,” Ghost scowled. Mulch didn’t seem convinced and Ghost wished quietly that the half truth was more convincing. Flick bounded back over to the three of them and dropped a shrew at their paws.

“I thought you liked the wild cats,” he said.

Ghost huffed, guilt exploding in his throat, and said, “I think they should mind their own business and we should mind ours. Everyone should leave everyone else alone.” Then he winced as his ear throbbed painfully.

“Okay, old man,” Mulch rolled his eyes. “I’m sure those kit-stealers will just ‘mind their own business’ if we leave them alone.”

“I dunno,” Flick shrugged and then said something that Ghost couldn’t quite pick up even though he wasn’t speaking particularly softly.

Whatever it was, Mulch rolled his eyes and swatted his brother over the head. “Would you shut up, Flick?”

“Hey,” Jagg stepped in sharply. “He’s allowed to speak his mind just like the rest of us. Why don’t you go grab Lizzie and Wicket and start collecting today’s catch, huh?” Mulch shuffled a bit and mumbled something before padding off towards where the other two hunters had gone. Ghost frowned as he once again failed to hear what was said, a common occurrence these days that only served to make him feel even more like an out of touch old man.

Flick flashed Jagg an awkward smile and said, “Thanks, Jagg.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a breathy, nervous laugh. Flick bobbed his head a few times, chewing his bottom lip, then cast a brief glance at Ghost before bounding after Mulch.

Ghost sighed. “Thank you, Jagg. You handled that well.”

“Did I?” she said, blushing shyly and he nodded. She smiled under the praise, seeming to glow, which managed to coax a bit of a smile out of Ghost as well. The evening was warm and muggy but she was like a breath of fresh air in the summer heat. What, he thought, would I do without her?

There was a pleasant, peaceful moment, before Ghost voiced the thought, “What did Flick say just then?”

“Thank you,” Jagg answered.

Ghost shook his head, ear throbbing, “No, before that.”

“Oh,” Jagg’s ears twitched backwards a bit but she still repeated the words clearly and precisely so he could hear them. “He said the wild cats they met seemed pretty alright.” Ghost’s stomach tightened miserably.

“Ah,” he nodded slowly. “Thank you.” Jagg simply laid her paw over his own. Despite the grief the words had given him, he was grateful that she understood he would rather hear them than be left in the dark. He knew that she would never lie to him which was a relief. He deserved to hear every terrible thing that was said to him anyways.

Jagg glanced over her shoulder after a moment and said, “I think they should be pretty occupied now. Are you ready to go meet with Goldenstar?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. He took a step towards the road but stopped with a hiss as his ear pounded again. “Fuck! This damn earache…”

“It’s pretty bad, huh?” Jagg winced sympathetically.

“Worse than last time,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

“Oh, dear,” she fretted. “Do you need to go home? I can handle the meeting on my own if you need to-”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I’ll be fine.” What sort of man let a woman do his work for him just because he had an earache? He wasn’t a perfect man by any means but he at least still considered himself a gentleman in some regards -- or, he wanted to consider himself one.

The two of them made their way towards the road without much trouble or conversation. Soon enough, they were dashing across the empty asphalt, Ghost’s old bones aching in protest. They pressed onward to the little tree they had set as their meeting place and settled down to wait for Goldenstar to arrive. Ghost closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing to block out the pain in his ear.

After a while, Jagg nudged him gently and said, “They’re here.” Why did she sound guilty? Ghost grunted in affirmation and opened his eyes only for the answer to smack him directly in the face. Goldenstar had Scorch with her, of course, but he hadn’t been expecting to see the two adolescent cats walking beside them, one a speckled grey and the other a distinctive white tabby.

He was dumbstruck.

“Evening Ghost,” Goldenstar said, clearly picking up on the uncomfortable tension in the air. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this but Fogpaw and Slatepaw were very eager to meet you so I agreed to let them come along. I hope that’s alright.”

“No, yeah, that’s fine,” he said, stumbling over the words. He sat up straight and looked the girls over, unsure what a father was supposed to say when meeting his already half-grown children for the first time.

Goldenstar hadn’t been lying before, they were the spitting image of him and Smokyrose. Slatepaw, the one that looked exactly like her late mother, was smiling shyly, her ears pressed backward, while Fogpaw, his own doppelganger, stared blankfaced at him with her speckled eyes.

Then she spoke. “I’m Fogpaw,” she said. “You’re Ghost?”

“That’s right,” he said thickly.

“This is Slatepaw,” Fogpaw said, twining her tail with her sister’s.

Slatepaw mumbled something that Ghost was pretty sure was, “Hi,” and batted her lashes at him. Ghost couldn’t read their expressions right and it was all he could think about. What did they want from him? What did daughters expect of their father? Did they hate him yet or were they too young to know they should? Was he supposed to try and change their minds if they did?

Jagg interrupted his spiraling thoughts by saying, “Hi girls, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Jagg.”

“Are you Ghost’s new mate?” Fogpaw asked flatly and Ghost felt like his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

Jagg flushed bright red and shook her head. “Um, no, no, we just work together.” Not for lack of trying, Ghost thought and then quickly squashed that little bitterness. Jagg was smart, it was no wonder she had told him she wasn’t interested, even if she’d been kind enough to pretend he might have a chance sometime down the line.

“Is he trying to court you then?” asked Fogpaw.

“Not currently, no,” Jagg answered, shuffling her paws.

“Well, you don’t have to let him if you don’t want to,” Fogpaw said. “You can say no.”

“Fogpaw,” Scorch said softly and the girl looked at her with a furrowed brow.

“I’m aware,” Jagg laughed nervously, “but, uh, thank you.” Ghost shut his eyes and tried to focus, earache pounding. What a strange child. This, he thought, is why I don’t stick around for the kittens. I don’t understand children at all.

“You’re welcome,” nodded Fogpaw, seeming satisfied. Slatepaw, who had been side eyeing her sister, looked back at him with big, round eyes and his resistance wavered. What a sweet little girl -- his little girl. Despite himself, he smiled a bit and Slatepaw smiled back.

Predictably, Scorch scowled. “Right,” she said, “Now that we’ve done introductions, can we get to business?”

“Yes, of course,” he cleared his throat and gave his head a hard shake in a futile attempt to do something about the itching pain in his ear. It was time to shift his brain into a more professional mindset.

“How is the new hunting program going?” Goldenstar asked with a pretty smile.

“I think it’s going well,” Jagg said with a glance back at Ghost. “I mean, there’s definitely some resistance but I think for the most part people are adapting to the changes smoothly.”

“The worst of it is coming from the Exalted and the cats who really worship them,” he nodded. “They think we should be hunting over the road specifically to starve you out. Some of them even think that’s all the more reason to overhunt the area. I’ve been trying to play it off as a safety issue but there’s only so much I can do.”

“Well, we appreciate whatever you can do,” Goldenstar said.

“What about the fight for Speaker?” Scorch said sharply, ever the mood killer. “Have you and Schmidt made any progress there?”

Ghost huffed a bitter laugh. “No, not really.” Scorch glared at him.

“There’s been a… development,” Jagg said carefully. “Bella Swan, do you know her?”

“Yes,” nodded Scorch.

“She got Portia to back her claim for Speaker.”

Scorch opened her mouth but no words came out. After a moment she shut it and looked down at the space between them, eyes flitting over the grass as her mind went into overdrive. Goldenstar glanced at her with a slight look of concern then over at Ghost.

“Portia is the Interpreter,” he explained. “She supposedly understands the will of the Folk so her saying Bella is supposed to be the next Speaker has a lot of weight to it.”

“Oh!” Fogpaw said, surprising Ghost. “Like a sign from StarClan!”

“Shh!” hissed Slatepaw quietly.

“Yes,” Scorchplume said, laying her tail against Fogpaw’s leg to quiet her. “Like a sign from StarClan.” Ghost heard the undertone of ‘and exactly as fake’ in her voice and felt a fleeting moment of connection there. When it left, it left him aching. How he had enjoyed being a skeptic with her when they’d met. Now they were both still skeptics but they were lonely ones.

Fogpaw didn’t seem to notice though and nodded in serious understanding.

Goldenstar shifted forward as she said, “So, how does this change things?”

“Well, she’s got a big leg up on Sardine now,” Ghost said. “His claim was basically ‘I was here first’ but since we’ve never had a Speaker besides Razor, it’s kind of anyone's guess as to how we’re supposed to choose the next one and if Portia says it’s Bella then she’s gonna have the hard nosed spiritualists in her crowd whether she’s a woman or not.”

Fogpaw scrunched up her face in confusion. “Why does it matter if-”

“Shh!” Slatepaw whispered harder. Ghost winced.

“Fogpaw, save your questions please,” Scorchplume said firmly. “I’ll answer them when we’re done but right now we need to focus on staying on topic, okay?”

“Okay,” Fogpaw frowned but fell quiet. Slatepaw had puffed up in indignation and set about smoothing down her hackles with her tongue. Ghost groaned softly. Of all the days to have a terrible earache, it had to be the one where he really needed to be patient with children.

“Okay, so she has a leg up on Sardine,” Goldenstar said, bringing them back to the conversation. “What does that mean, practically?”

“I’d say that within…” Ghost paused to think, “a few weeks -- maybe a month? -- she’ll have enough support to fully cement herself as leader. Sardine’s a good thinker but he’s just not a big enough personality to get the support that he needs.”

“What about Rudy?” Scorch asked.

“Eh, it’s hard to say,” Ghost frowned, pawing at his ear. Jagg gently swatted his paw and he quickly put it down, chastened. Clearing his throat in a way that only served to make his inner ear itchier, he continued, “Sardine and Oreo have been doing a lot of damage to Rudy’s gang lately. A lot more of his supporters are Chaff than Bella so Sardine has more license to do whatever he wants. They killed a good six or seven cats just last week, them and a group of Exalted purists.”

“Uh, is-” Jagg nervously cut in, glancing between Goldenstar and the two adolescents, “is this appropriate to discuss around children?”

“Oh,” Goldenstar blinked as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

“It’s fine,” said Fogpaw with a confident grin. “We’re warrior apprentices, we already know about that kind of stuff. Let’s stay on topic.” Scorch sighed a little through her nose but Ghost swore he caught a glimpse of a smile on her face.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Goldenstar said when Jagg didn’t look convinced. “Please, continue.”

“Right, uh…” Ghost couldn’t help but give Fogpaw a bit of a concerned stare. She smiled back at him. He decided to just ignore it and move on. “Rudy. Right. Basically, he’s got more support but the other two have more power and with Bella closing in on Sardine, pretty soon it’ll just be her versus Rudy and that will either be a bloodbath or an immediate victory.”

“But, wait,” Goldenstar frowned, “what about Schmidt? Is he not in the race?”

“Not really,” Jagg shook her head apologetically.

“He had me in talks for a few days,” Ghost sighed, “talked about all the changes he wanted to make and asked me how to make them work. But that’s just the thing: cats like things the way they are, for the most part. Rudy’s gang want to let Chaff hold positions among the Exalted, but otherwise they’re not radical at all. Most everyone still hates wild cats and wants them dead, even if they disagree about whether we should stay in the city or not. Most cats don’t like ideas like food shares and kitten care programs and it’s not even like Schmidt and his reformer friends can agree on their own ideas anyway!”

He huffed loudly and took a deep breath to calm himself from the little rant he had gone on. Things like this always got him so worked up, it was honestly annoying. Fogpaw was squinting at him while Slatepaw stared wide eyed. Once again, he wished he could understand what they were thinking behind their expressions.

Jagg laid her tail gently over his and said, “That’s all to say that Schmidtt’s platform is a lot less popular and a lot less clear cut than the others. It’s extremely unlikely that he’ll be able to make a run for Speaker himself with any success. Right now, he and his base are talking about trying to get in with Rudy but it’s a… controversial idea.”

“They’ll spend all their energy fighting each other and get nothing to show for it,” Scorch scoffed disdainfully. Fogpaw opened her mouth and then shut it again.

Goldenstar glanced briefly at Scorch, worry tugging at her features and said, “Well, is there anything we can do to help them?”

“You?” Jagg asked with a nervous wince. “Um, not likely. If you got involved with them, that would only make them more unpopular, unfortunately.”

“What if we kill Bellaswan or somebody?” Fogpaw offered.

“Fogpaw,” Scorch said curtly.

“What?!” Fogpaw bristled. “It’s not off topic!”

“Something like that would be incredibly dangerous,” Scorch said, “and very complicated. It’s not just a simple thing to-”

“Why not?” pressed Fogpaw. “We killed Razor for you!”

It was Scorch’s turn to bristle. Ghost raised a brow at her. The Clans had killed Razor for Scorch? That was news to him.

“Fogpaw, stop it,” whispered Slatepaw, ears pressed flat against her head.

“I’m not-” Fogpaw started then gave a frustrated shout through her teeth. “I just don’t get it! If these cats are a problem then we should do something about it, right? That’s what warriors do!”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Jagg tried, “but Scorch is right. These things are really complicated. This whole power struggle started because Razor died. We don’t know how much more complicated things will get if Sardine or Bella or Rudy are killed.” It seemed to be working, to Ghost’s surprise. Fogpaw’s hackles had started to lie back down and Jagg had her full, undivided attention.

Jagg continued, emboldened. “And besides, a lot of city cats see you all as bloodthirsty savages. If you came in and killed another one of their leaders, it would only make them scared and angry and then they’d try to come for you.”

“If we want to avoid more cats dying, cats who don’t need to die, then we need to let the city handle this through politics,” Scorch said, having managed to pull herself together again. “Bloody solutions usually return bloody results.”

“Oh,” Fogpaw nodded slowly. “Right…”

“Slatepaw, are you alright, sweetheart?” Goldenstar asked. “Do you need to step away?”

Slatepaw opened her mouth, glanced at Fogpaw and then Ghost and then shut it again, shaking her head mutely.

“Okay,” said Goldenstar, “just let me know if you do, alright?”

Slatepaw nodded.

Goldenstar turned back to Ghost and said, “If there is anything we can do, just let us know.”

“We will,” said Jagg and Ghost was grateful. He wasn’t sure if he would have been able to say anything.

“Is there anything else we should know?” Scorch asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ghost shrugged. He went through the list of things in his head. He’d already told them about the kit stealing rumors last time. He didn’t think they needed to hear every detail of who thinks they should do what and who (namely Jo) thinks that’s all stupid. As far as he could remember, that was everything relevant to the conversation.

“Great,” Goldenstar said. “In that case, the girls wanted to talk with you, is that alright?” Ghost glanced at Jagg and felt guilty when she caught his eye and gave him an encouraging nod. Tooth and claw, he was pathetic.

“Sure,” he said weakly, pawing at his ear before Jagg stopped him again.

“Go on, girls,” Goldenstar smiled.

“Okay, but are you guys gonna get mad at me about it?” Fogpaw asked, glancing between Scorch and Slatepaw.

“No, go ahead,” Scorch said evenly.

Slatepaw mumbled something Ghost couldn’t hear, looking at her paws, and Fogpaw frowned.

“No,” she answered her sister, “why would it be embarrassing?” Slatepaw’s response was too quiet for him to hear again.

“How about this:” Goldenstar cut in, “Slatepaw, why don’t you and I go on a little walk and let Fogpaw talk with Ghost and then when we get back it can be your turn. Does that sound alright?”

Slatepaw pouted up at him with her mothers big, golden eyes, and then nodded. Standing, she slank over to Goldenstar’s side, casting him another glance, and then they walked off together, Goldenstar giving words of encouragement that Ghost couldn’t hear. Damn these ears of mine, he thought and his earache throbbed in response.

“Alright,” Scorch said to Fogpaw. “Go ahead and say what you wanted to say.”

Fogpaw tore her eyes away from Slatepaw’s diminishing form and nodded seriously. “Okay… Okay.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, staring at him like she was about to chew him out. He braced himself with a slight wince.

“Did you really love my mom?” Fogpaw asked. Not what he had been expecting.

“Um,” he tried to think of how he was supposed to answer that. “I… I think so.”

“What do you mean, you ‘think so’?” Fogpaw said with the same determined expression. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“It’s not always that simple, Fogpaw,” Scorch interjected smoothly. “Sometimes cats don’t understand their own feelings well enough to say.” For once, Ghost was grateful that Scorch had spoken for him. Her response was much more eloquent than the one he would have likely stumbled through.

Fogpaw’s brow furrowed upward a touch but she wouldn’t be stopped. Turning back to Ghost she asked, “Okay, but then why didn’t you come back? Why did you make her think you didn’t love her?”

Ghost felt like an icicle had fallen straight through his throat. Had he made her feel that way? Of course he had! What girl wouldn’t feel unwanted if a tom just abandoned her without a word?! He swallowed thickly and tried to find words. Jagg pressed against his side and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t brave enough to risk a glance at her face.

He did look at Scorch’s, though, and he was met with an intensity he hadn’t been expecting. Despite her placid expression, her eyes were burning holes through him. Those eyes clearly wanted something from him and it was silence.

“I didn’t want to put her at risk,” he said and it wasn’t a total lie. “If I kept coming back to visit, cats would notice I was missing and come looking and she wouldn’t have been safe.” He cleared his throat and added, “You wouldn’t have been safe.”

“But we weren’t safe,” Fogpaw said. “They still found us and she died.”

He swallowed, saliva feeling sickly sweet. “Yeah…” was all he could say.

“You leave all of your mates, don’t you?” Fogpaw was relentless. “Did you love all of them too?”

“I-” Ghost floundered. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?” Fogpaw asked again, more incredulous this time. “Did you like them or not?”

“Sweetheart,” Jagg said gently, “Ghost has, uh, courted a lot of different women. I’m sure every situation was unique, it’s not that easy to say yes or no to a question like that.”

“Why not?” Fogpaw scowled. “Why would you be someone’s mate if you didn’t love them?”

“Fogpaw,” now Scorch interrupted, “we discussed this.”

“Ugh, fine!” Fogpaw lashed her tail and stood up straight again. “Did you know that Scorch didn’t like you back?” Scorchplume bit her lip to keep herself from interjecting again.

Ghost couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “No,” he said, a bit of ire creeping into his voice, “she sure had me fooled.”

“Like it was hard,” Scorch rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Jagg said uneasily.

“Well, she didn’t,” Fogpaw said firmly. “But you wouldn’t have kept her safe if you knew the truth so she lied and that’s foxdung.” Ghost raised a brow at the odd curse -- at least, he assumed it was a curse.

Fogpaw kept going. “You should take care of cats even if they don’t want to have sex with you, you know that right? Isn’t that your whole job, taking care of cats?”

Ghost shifted. “It is.”

“Well, you’re bad at it,” Fogpaw said. “If you were better at it, people wouldn’t have to lie to you about how they feel. You wouldn’t hurt them like that.”

He’d hurt Scorch? The thought was ridiculous! Laughable, even! She had taken advantage of him and then left him the second she had a chance to trade up! He found his hackles rising. The absolute gall of this child to lecture him on his job -- on his love life. He looked at Scorch, expecting her to shut the child up or maybe even be smiling smugly at him for his troubles.

He did not expect her to be looking anywhere but at him with her paws tucked close together, her throat laboring.

Wait -- had he hurt her? No, he thought, surely she was acting now, pretending like she had as long as he had known her. Still, he couldn’t deny that she seemed genuinely withdrawn. Stupidly, he glanced at Jagg and the absolute sorrow and pity on her face was like a punch to the gut.

Fogpaw hadn’t stopped talking, only growing louder. “You keep hurting cats -- cats I love! Slatepaw thinks you hate us! Mom thought you didn’t love her! How many other cats have you hurt and left behind, huh? All because you’re too selfish to help them when they need you! Are you even sorry?!”

There was a long, quiet moment and Ghost felt like he was in freefall. What could he say to all that? What could he say that wouldn’t get Jagg to finally throw him away? What could he say that would make his daughter feel any better?

His voice was hoarse and sluggish as he mustered up the courage to say, “I’m… trying to be.” Scorch scoffed.

“He is,” Jagg said, her voice too angelic to bear. “He’s really trying to be better.” She swallowed and met Scorch’s gaze. “I know it might be hard to believe but he is trying.”

“Good for him,” Scorch growled coldly.

Ghost watched Fogpaw’s face. She was studying him, staring hard as if she could look straight into his mind. After a long, very tense silence, she sighed a little, seeming to deflate, and looked away. Ghost didn’t know if he was grateful or distraught.

“Come on, Fogpaw,” Scorch said. “I told you it wouldn’t make you feel any better.”

“No,” Fogpaw said. “I wanna wait until Slatepaw is done.”

“Alright,” sighed Scorch. “Slatepaw is going to want to talk with him on her own though. We should give them some privacy.”

“Fine…” Fogpaw said slowly, glaring at Ghost. Scorch cast her gaze over the grass to where Goldenstar and Slatepaw were walking nearby and waved her tail to get their attention before laying it over Fogpaw’s shoulders and shepherding her off to the side.

As Goldenstar and Slatepaw approached, Jagg leaned into him and said, “Ghost, try not to be too hard on yourself. She’s clearly got a very black and white way of seeing things. I’m sure she means well.”

“She’s right,” he shrugged in defeat. “I mean, tell me I didn’t do all of those things.”

“You’re working on it,” Jagg said. “That’s what matters.”

“Not to them,” he said, thinking back to Tadpole’s bitterness. How many cats despised him like Fogpaw did and just didn’t say it to his face? The thought was soul crushing.

“You can’t control how they feel,” Jagg said firmly. “You’re trying to be better and that’s all you can do.”

And when it’s not enough? He thought but Slatepaw was already approaching and he didn’t have the heart to say it in front of her.

“Alright, Slatepaw,” Goldenstar said. “This is your time. Say whatever you want to.”

Slatepaw shuffled her paws, glancing over to where Fogpaw was scowling at them. She mumbled something to the ground and Ghost squinted as if that would improve his hearing.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Ghost can’t hear very well,” Jagg said clearly, “You’ll have to speak up for him.”

“Oh, sorry,” Slatepaw said, trying to mimic Jagg’s volume and diction. “I said ‘I’m sorry Fogpaw yelled at you.’”

Ghost sighed. “That’s alright, uh…” He struggled for what to call her -- her name was too formal but he didn’t think she would buy something like ‘sweetheart’ coming from him -- and settled on, “kiddo.” Regretting his choice, he glanced away and said, “I deserved it.”

“Really?” Slatepaw said on the bottom edge of his hearing.

“Yeah,” he nodded, trying to think of what a good father would say. “Apparently, I’ve made you think I hate you and that’s…” he paused, then finished with, “Well, I’m sorry.” Jagg’s tail brushed comfortingly against his.

Slatepaw’s big golden eyes shone like she was about to cry. “Th-that’s okay! You don’t have to be sorry!”

“Well, I am,” he committed. Goldenstar wore a sentimental if sympathetic smile. Slatepaw sniffled and moved like she was about to rush him before holding herself back.

“Um, okay,” she said, smiling despite her tears. “Maybe, um, you could come back with us and we could share tongues or something?”

“Share… tongues?” Ghost glanced at Goldenstar in concern.

“Groom each other and share gossip,” Goldenstar laughed. “We’d be happy to have you.”

“That’s… that’s alright,” Ghost said. “I should probably be getting back to the city.”

“Oh,” Slatepaw’s smile faltered and faded. Great going, dumbass, he thought.

“It’s not that we don’t want to,” Jagg said. “We’re just very busy. And Ghost has an ear infection, so he really should go get some rest.” Ghost groaned as her reminder seemed to redouble the pain in his head.

“Wait, really?” Slatepaw’s eyes got big and wide. “Then you should come back with us and get it seen too! Oddstripe will make it feel much better, I promise!”

“I… I don’t know,” Ghost said, feeling very old and tired.

“If left untreated, an ear infection can be very dangerous,” Goldenstar said with a serious expression. “Please, you don’t have to stay long but I’d really appreciate you letting our healers take a look at it.”

“Please,” Slatepaw said in the most adorable pout he had ever seen. Fuck, she looked just like her mother. How could he say no to a face like that?

“Alright, alright,” he laughed a little, “if you insist.”

“Yay!” Slatepaw cheered a little, her tail unfurling over her back. “Thank you, papa!” Ghost blinked. No one had ever called him that before.

He nodded stiffly and said to Goldenstar, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Scorch and Fogpaw seem pretty mad at me.”

“It’ll be okay,” Goldenstar said, glancing over at them with a sympathetic frown. “They just need their space, I think.”

“If you say so,” Ghost said, not sure how this was ‘giving them their space’.

“Come on,” Slatepaw said, “it’s this way!” She reached out and wrapped her tail around his foreleg to guide him and he held his breath.

The first step was the most difficult. After that, his body took over, trudging after his daughter as she led him deeper into wild territory. Goldenstar explained the situation to Scorch and Fogpaw who didn’t seem pleased but neither complained enough to stop it from happening.

When they reached the camp, Ghost was suddenly overwhelmed with memories from the last time he had been there before. It had been almost a year, hadn’t it? And still, the smells were the same, the shape of the place the perfect background of a picture that Smokyrose was missing from. He took another deep breath, hoping no one noticed the way his chest trembled, and let himself be guided into a burrow that smelled strongly of herbs where a molly nearly as old as he was insulted his appearance while a confusingly androgynous cat rubbed chewed up garlic inside his aching ear.

After that, Slatepaw dragged him to pick an animal from the prey pile and then shared it with him on the big flat stone he had sat with her mother on all that time ago. Fogpaw made sure to share a piece of prey with Jagg and watched him the entire night which was unsettling to say the least. She wasn’t the only one either. A big ginger tabby in particular scowled at him from across the camp throughout the entire meal. Still, he tried to make the best of things and listened to whatever Slatepaw said and tried to respond in the way a father should. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it right but Slatepaw seemed happy and that eased his aching heart.

By the end of the night, his aching ear had eased too. Slatepaw made him promise to come back if it ever started hurting again. Fogpaw made a point to tell him that this was what it looked like when cats took care of each other. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

When they finally let him go and he and Jagg set off for the city again, he gave a heavy sigh of relief. He’d known being a father was hard work but he’d never thought about how much hard work there was in just sharing a meal with his kittens.

Jagg leaned against him, purring reassuringly, and said, “That was very sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbled.

“No, it wasn’t,” she shook her head. “You did something difficult, Ghost. You should celebrate that.”

“I just want to go to sleep,” he groaned, glad that his earache had numbed enough that he might actually be able to.

“A perfectly fine way to celebrate,” she chuckled and Ghost wished he could make her laugh all the time. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Shit,” he frowned. “We’ve been gone so long… people are going to assume…” He glanced at her but didn’t have the energy to finish the thought. He just hoped her reputation didn’t suffer too much on his account.

Jagg shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “There are worse things,” she said simply. He sighed with a little smile. What did I do to deserve your patience? he thought but let the thought go. No use in stewing now. Purring softly, he leaned his head over hers and let himself enjoy her company on the moonlit walk back to the city.

#clangenrising #clangen #clan gen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #Ghost #Jagg #Flick #Mulch #Goldenstar #Scorchplume #Fogpaw #Slatepaw #Greenleaf #swear warning

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ariesqueencobra · 11 months ago

Text

what we used to be | Vll

Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're going to your first high school party, who would've thought there'd be so much drama?

Warnings: underage drinking, mild violence, flashbacks to bullying, bullying, references to kissing

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Two chapters in a week?! Another short chapter but I do love this one! One of my favorite scenes to write so far!

Thank you to those who already reblog and comment, I see you and I love you all for it!

I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.

It was a nice day outside, and you and your friends decided to spend it at the park before the tournament tomorrow.

While your nerves were at an all-time high, you tried to keep focus on the moment before you, knowing it’d be better to worry about it when the time came. You sat between Miguel and Aisha, Demitri sitting next to the former while Eli continued practicing with Bert behind you all.

Aisha was on her phone and the rest of you were listening to Miguel talk about seeing another guy have dinner with the LaRussos. Of course, out of all the explanations, he thinks he was Sam’s side piece.

“All right, so you saw her eating dinner with some chode,” Eli said before kicking Bert in the face, causing him to fall to the ground.

You snickered at his words but quickly sent a reassuring glance at Miguel.

“It’s probably her brother or something.”

“No,” Miguel argued. “Brothers don’t look at their sisters like that.”

“Depends on what part of the country you’re in,” Demitri said.

You laughed at that.

“I don’t want what happened to Sensei to happen to me,” Miguel exhaled.

“It’s not gonna happen if you don’t communicate that to Sam,” you pointed out. “Tell her how you feel, be honest, she’ll appreciate it in the long run,” you offered.

Miguel pressed his lips together in defeat, unsure if he wanted to go your route.

“Nah, go over and beat his ass so he doesn’t have the chance,” Eli countered, walking over and leaning against the bench between you and Miguel.

You sent him a look.

“If someone was swinging in on my girl, that’s what I’d do,” he shrugged, sending you a wink.

You felt your cheeks heat up, ignoring what he said about beating up someone. Your mind was too focused on him calling you “his girl”.

“Don’t listen to, Eli,” Demitri said.

“It’s Hawk.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Demitri rolled his eyes.

You furrowed your brows, turning your attention back to Miguel. “She’s given you no reason not to trust her,” you said.

“I guess you’re right,” Miguel exhaled.

You were glad you got through to him when Aisha shouted at her phone.

“That little bitch!”

You jumped at her voice but were interested in what happened.

“Look what she commented under my post,” she held her phone in front of you, finding that Yasmine commented something horrible under her video of breaking a board.

“We gotta do something,” Aisha gritted.

“How about we kidnap her and have my boy Rico tattoo “bitch” on her face,” Eli smirked.

You snickered, not hating the idea. Yasmine deserved something worse than “bitch” tattooed on her face after all the hell she put you through.

“Calm down, Hawk,” Demitri mocked.

“I hear how you’re saying it and I don’t like it,” Eli spat.

You reached over your shoulder to squeeze his arm, calming him. Turning back to Aisha, you spoke, “She’s having a party?” You saw the Insta story.

“Not if we strike first,” she smirked.

You smiled, liking where this was heading.

A few moments later you found yourself at the convenience store. While everyone else was buying snacks, you were on the phone with your dad.

“It’s just a small party at the Canyon, I’ll be home at a reasonable hour,” you explained.

“You said you were gonna be at the park this morning, what changed?” He asked.

You sighed. “Plans were made,” you shrugged. “It’s just gonna be me and a few kids hanging out. Eli and Demitri will be there,” you chewed on your lip, hoping the mention of their names would make him more inclined to agree.

It didn’t.

“I don’t want you going to that party, I know there’s going to be alcohol there,” he said.

“No there won’t,” you said even though you knew there would be. “You and Mom said I could do whatever as I long as I let you know where I am and who I am with,” you reasoned.

You heard a commotion on the other side, knowing your mom was convincing him.

“Okay, fine, be home at 10 sharp, a minute late and you’re grounded,” he ordered.

You beamed before hanging up, just in time for your boyfriend to walk out with a case of beer in his hand and a bag in the other.

“I got you your favorites,” Eli smirked, handing you the bag.

You smiled, thanking him and letting him know your parents permitted you to go.

“I can’t believe you managed to get beer, when did you even get the fake ID?” You asked, leaning into his side as he wrapped his arm around you.

“I got my ways, babe,” he smirked. “Let’s have fun tonight, yeah?”

You agreed.

You’ve never been to a party before.

Jumping from your Friday movie nights with your best friends to attending a party in the Canyon where everyone from school was—the feeling was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

“If you were told a year ago that you’d join a karate dojo, dye your hair blue, get a back tattoo, and be dating me, would you believe it?” You smiled, hand intertwined with Eli’s as you sat in front of the fire.

“Nah,” he shook his head, a smile appearing on his face. “But I would be the happiest to know we’re dating,” he hummed, pulling you in close.

“You’re cute,” you booped his nose. “I’m gonna get a drink,” you said before standing up, passing Demitri on the way.

You joined Aisha, smiling as you approached.

“You seemed busy a few minutes ago,” Aisha chuckled. “Came to hydrate?” She joked as you grabbed a water.

“Haha,” you joined in but your cheeks heated up when you realized she saw you and Eli making out before.

“I’m curious, how did you handle the change from Eli to Hawk?” She asked.

“He’s still Eli to me, just with a different appearance,” you shrugged. “Sure sometimes I would like to run my hands through his hair, now I can’t,” you averted your gaze. “But he’s happy, who am I to get in the way of that?”

She hummed in agreement.

“It’s half past nine, should probably get you home before your dad gets mad,” Eli came up behind you, arm finding home around your shoulders.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” you smiled.

About to say bye to Aisha, you were stopped by Moon walking up to you two.

“Y/N, glad I found you,” she smiled. “I wanted to apologize,” she sincerely said.

You raised a brow, glancing at Aisha who sent you a reassuring look. Your composure was stiff and all you could think of was her and Yasmine laughing as they dumped your vandalized sketchbook in the trash.

“For all of it, I hope we could be friends,” Moon added.

You furrowed your brows, not understanding where this was coming from. You took a step back, Eli making sure you were grounded and you searched his eyes, wondering if he was hearing the same thing.

“Oh, hey! Y/N!” Yasmine beamed when she spotted you. “We’ve been looking for you,” she walked towards you with Moon at her side, her arms behind her back.

“We wanted to give this back,” Moon said just as Yasmine held out a similar yellow book with lavenders painted on it.

Your heart dropped and you froze.

She wagged it in your face but you couldn’t move.

Eli just stood beside you, his eyes trained on you, searching for any sign of expression.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want it, I guess it’s trash,” Yasmine shrugged, dumping it in the garbage next to you guys. “Later, slut,” she spat towards you.

The two began cackling like crazy, leaving you with tears welling in your eyes.

Anger bubbled inside you as that moment replayed in your head. All those years of torment and all she had to say was “sorry”? With a reassuring look from Eli, you spoke.

“I appreciate the apology, Moon, but I don’t accept it,” you frowned.

She was taken aback, even Aisha.

“I-,” she searched for words.

“You made my life miserable,” you stepped forward. “You destroyed my art and personal property, you slut-shamed me,” you narrowed your gaze, searching her face. “Your friends hurt my friends. One apology isn’t going to make it go all away.”

She paused before opening her mouth. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m sorry for thinking we could change things so quickly, but I do genuinely want to be friends,” she offered a smile.

You felt your composure fall and you let out a breath. You passed her a small smile. “Baby steps,” you hummed.

“Hey!” A wisp of blonde hair filled your vision and you backed into Eli when you realized it was Yasmine.

She focused her attention on Aisha.

“You think it’s funny crashing my party?”

“It’s not really your party ‘cause we were here first,” Aisha gritted.

“Yeah, well I know you and your little karate gang think you’re cool, but we all remember who you really are,” she smirked, gazing over you.

You tasted bitter, frown deepening as you made eye contact with her.

“You’re just a fugly bitch and all your friends are freaks,” she spat, calling Moon over to leave.

“No, I’m staying. I apologized to Aisha and Y/N, you should too,” she looked at her friend.

Obviously, Yasmine didn’t take that well, bumping shoulders with Aisha as she stalked off.

That wasn’t until Aisha called after her.

You watched as your friend reached down her pants, pulling her underwear up and giving her a front wedgie. You doubled over in laughter, feeling proud of her.

Your first highschool party was definitely one to remember.

#eli moskowitz x reader #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz imagine #hawk x reader #cobra kai

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ghost-whump · 3 months ago

Note

hello!! I saw requests are open and would be willing to write something with this prompt?

a character goes back in time and finds their enemy being tortured. now everything they knew that happens in the future makes sense and the situation provides some much needed context to fill in the gaps…the only thing is, after rescuing their future enemy from the torture, their enemy has now devoted their loyalty to their rescuer.

(@whumpwillow)

hi!! this ask was apparently sent last year, but it had not appeared in my ask box until now…

but i’ll try my best almost a year later! buckle up, it’s a long one.

Monster

Villain was a tough person. Angry at the world and at Hero, specifically. They’d been hell bent on destroying the planet (a bit clichéd, if you asked Hero, but fair) for so long and with such passion, that Hero had gotten curious.

As a government employee, they had access to the top secret time machine. One thing leads to another and then,

“Please! I’m begging you, please…”

Villain, albeit a much younger version, kneeled on the floor. They couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, lanky and pale. Dressed in dirtied and torn clothes that were clearly much too small, Villain clutched onto the legs of a woman that stood over them.

“I’m sorry, r-really, I am. I’ll be good and quiet and I won’t hurt anything ever again, I promise! Let me out, for just a minute, please, I-!”

They were cut off with a sharp slap. Hero held back a gasp. Though they stood in a dark corner, obscured from both of their views, they couldn’t help but feel too close to the scene. Like they were watching something they shouldn’t.

The woman kicked her foot, sending Villain onto the cement floor with cry.

“Don’t touch me, rat!” She held aloft a tin can, labeled as a vague mystery meat. The kind one would keep in apocalypse rations or a weird, evil boot camp. It didn’t look appetizing. As if she just stepped in a sticky puddle, the woman soured, “I’ve told you not to talk me like that. You know you don’t deserve my mercy. Not until you get better.”

Villain whimpered and held their cheek. “Sorry… I…” They scooted backwards into the wall.

The woman, stepping forward into the dim light of the room, placed the can on its side and lightly kicked it in Villain’s direction. It rolled until hit their shin, but they didn’t pick it up. Watery eyes stared at it, fingers twitching, but made no move to pick it up.

At first, Hero thought they might be afraid of it.

Villain looked up at the woman, then back at the can.

With a small grin, the woman said, “Good boy… Good restraint.” Then, silence. It dragged on for a minute, maybe more. “You can have it now.”

Villain lunged for the can, which had rolled away a little. They clutched it with shaking hands, pulling it close to their chest. Barely above a whisper, they mumbled, “Thank you, Mom.”

Spinning on her heel, the woman stormed off. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your mother,” She spat, “Not anymore.”

Her steps retreated as she ascended a flight of stairs, confirmed Hero’s theory that they were in a basement. Their attention was turned back to Villain at the sound of growling. Expecting a wild animal or beast, they were shocked to discover that it actually came from the teenager in the room. They had the can in their hands and teeth, trying to gnaw it open.

While Villain did… that… Hero’s eyes wandered the room. In the opposite corner was a worn and stained twin mattress, a thin blanket, and a pile of identical empty mystery meat cans. None have been opened the proper way, all are smashed, chewed, or other variously destroyed states.

Hero couldn’t help but think, as would anyone, “Poor Villain.”

They couldn’t just stand around and watch them struggle.

Cautiously, remembering that this Villain we’re talking about, Hero stepped out of the shadows. When the kid didn’t look up, they softly cleared their throat.

Villain’s eyes jumped up, scrambling back. They held the can, now slightly dented, like a weapon. “Who— Who are y-you? Get out of h-here!”

“It’s okay. My name is Hero, I’m here to help you.” They held their hands up, palms open. They’re no threat.

“N-no. You have to get away… You- You… I’ll hurt you! You can’t be here, i-it’s not allowed!” With a cry, they hurled the can at Hero, who reflexively caught it mid-flight.

Considering the can, rolling it over in their hand a few times, Hero appraised the damage. “Here, I’ll open this for you.”

Under Villain’s watchful glare, Hero reached into their pockets and pulled out a knife. They didn’t miss the whimper that came across the room at the sight. Stabbing the lid of the can, they jimmied it off with relative ease. Not a perfect cut, like they’d get with a can opener, but not bad.

Hero lowered to the floor, placing the can down. There was still a good ten-feet of distance between them, so they slid it across the floor. Villain snatched it and used their hands to shovel the mushy brown slop into their mouth. Between bites, they briefly looked back up at Hero. “Thanks,” They grunted.

“Yeah. It’s the least I could do.”

A minute passed in silence, occasionally broken by the horrible sounds of Villain devouring the meat like a wild animal.

“Do you want to talk to me now?” Hero asked, taking the smallest step closer.

Taking a pause from licking the inside of the can, “What?”

“Why are you here, I mean. Forgive me for saying this, but a dirty basement isn’t exactly the place to keep a teenager.”

Villain curled their knees to their chest, placing the can woefully beside them. “Why do you care? I don’t even — I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Hero. And you’re Villain. I know more about you than you think.”

“‘Hero’ is a stupid name.”

They grimaced. Charming as ever. “You’ll come around to it.”

Villain crawled over to their bed. They deposited the can with the others and flopped onto the mattress. It seemed to hurt them. “If you’re going to do something, would you just get it over with? I’m tired.”

“…”

“Well? Does a kid with an attitude not get your rocks off? Need something less mouthy?” They commented with a sneer.

“Why would I-” Hero cut themselves off, feeling even grosser than they did before. They steeled their face and pressed on. “Look, I’m just going to get you out of here. I don’t care about an attitude or why you’re down here, this isn’t right.”

Villain chuckled, “Good luck. I can’t leave here. It’s not allowed.”

“Why isn’t it allowed?” They questioned, taking another step closer. They were nearly at the foot of the bed.

“‘Cus I’m a monster,” Villain spat, grimacing at the word. “I hurt things, I just can’t stop myself. Animals, people, whatever. I’m not allowed outside because I’ll kill something, like I killed my sister.” Their voice got quieter as they spoke, less and less snarky with each passing moment. “Besides,” they sniffed, “I don’t even want to leave. I have everything I need here.”

Hero nodded along, contemplating. “Then why did you beg your mother to leave?”

Villain blanched. “That’s… That’s not…”

Without further prompting, Hero bent down and plucked Villain off the ground with surprising ease. The kid was light as a feather. The kid yelped but didn’t struggle. “Nope. You’re coming with me. No arguments.”

This was probably not the smartest decision Hero had ever made. Damned the consequences, the timeline, whatever. Hero took an oath to protect those in need and, well, Villain seemed pretty in need.

They pressed a few buttons on the time-machine on their wrist and in a flash of light, they were thrust forward in time.

The weight of Villain was gone from their arms, causing them to panic. They were supposed to be coming with them, but they just disappeared!? What happened, what —

“Welcome back, Hero!”

They stumbled, losing their balance from the jump. A hard grabbed their arm, keeping them steady. Hero looked up at this stranger. They didn’t have any assistants, there shouldn’t be anyone here, there can’t be…

It’s them, with shorter hair and rectangular glasses, they wore a lab coat and held a clipboard. But this was…

“Are you alright, Hero? It’s me, Villain.”

woof, that’s a long one. i wasn’t sure if i was going to finish it. once again, sorry it’s been like a year (unless it’s new and tumblr is wigging out on me) but i hope this is done to a good degree.

thanks for reading :]

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump #whump tropes #whump community #whump scenario #time travel #hero and villain #whumpblr #creepy whumper #minor whumpee #food whump

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scar-lie · 1 year ago

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I’m obsessed with your omega series<3

Omega Pt. 7 [Natasha]

Summary : They quickly rush Y/N and the twin to the medbay got quickly assisted by Dr. Cho and Banner, while they are waiting for Y/N to get out of Surgery, Natasha and Yelena got into a little argument and they didn't expect what they hear from Dr. Cho and Banner the news

Pairing : Alpha ! Natasha Romanoff x Omega ! Reader

Warning : Mention of Blood, Mention of attacked, Thought of violence, arguing,

Word count : 1,898

{OMEGA PT. 6} {OMEGA PT. 7} {OMEGA PT. 8}

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

"Get the fuck away!-"

"Get Dr. Cho and Banner-"

"Don't worry, we're here-"

""Clear the fucking way!"

"Oh my god, what happene-"

"Over here-"

All the words are muffled for Y/N, even the beeping sound on her head and the sound of the stretcher's wheel making a noise.

"Dr. Cho, she's opening her eyes." You don't know who said that 'cause your eyesight is getting blurry and you're in and out of consciousness, but you can outline the people around you, and even though you can't determine who's voice is who, all of them have their own opinions and keep talking.

You know Wanda, Natasha, Dr. Cho, Banner, Yelena, Steve, Bucky, Clint, and Tony are the ones who're wheeling you through the corridor, each voice echoing in your ear and making your head pound with pain.

Everything is blurry, and it's happening too fast for you; one second you're in pain, going through labor, and the next you're laying in your nest trying to stay awake and strong for your twin pups, and now here you are being wheeled somewhere you don't know, either in the hospital or in the medbay, until you lose consciousness.

Nat, go upstairs and clean yourself; it's going to be like... hours before she gets out of surgery," Steve said, worried for the redhead that's walking back and forth, anxious.

"No, I'm going to stay here; besides, the pups need me," Natasha said blankly while chewing her nails.

"We will take care of them while you shower; you're covered in blood, Nat; you can't look after them in your state for now." Wanda interfered, putting her hand on Natasha's shoulder and guiding her to sit down.

"N-no...no, I wanna be here when—" Before Natasha can finish her sentence, Yelena interrupts her.

"Just fucking go! That's the least you could do!" Yelena shouts, looking at Natasha across from her.

"You don't have the right to raise your voice on me! Remember, I'm still your head of— Natasha got interrupted again.

"A fucking useless head of Alpha, yeah, I know, if it wasn't for you, Y/N would have been fine! You shouldn't have marked her! mated her if you can't stand up as her Alpha that she deserved! You should have stayed away from her! Yelena gave her sister a death glare.

"Yeah, like you're a good and well-deserved Alpha! Remember, because of you, your mate nearly died by your own bare hands!" Natasha spat out, standing up, as does Yelena.

"That was a different story. Yelena tries to defend herself against the mistake she made years ago.

"Oh, really, 'cause as far as I know, she's your mission; you even sold her to her mother. Yelena wants to attack her sister, but luckily Clint and Bucky hold her back while Wanda, Steve, and Tony hold Natasha to attack her sister too.

"Get off of me; I'm going to show her what a real Alpha is!" Yelena is trying to break free, but the winter soldier is keeping her ground in her spot.

"Oh yeah, really? Let her be and see where you'll be going. Before Natasha can finish, Maria and Thor get in the scene with two cute pups in their arms.

"Stop it, you two! Aren't you embarrassed? Y/N is in surgery; Dr. Cho, Banner, and other surgeons are trying to save her life while you two are fighting. Maria scolds the two who stop breaking free but still look at each other with their death glare.

"Whatever's happening to you two, put it aside if you two can't be in the same room together! Y/N will be needing some support system, as were these two pups, Show some respect!" Maria added, then she looked at Thor, who was mesmerized by the pup in his arm.

The two are going to start arguing again, and when Wanda senses it, she quickly outsmarts them.

"If you two can't fix this out now, then the both of you should go leave this floor! The least Y/N and the pups need is you two fighting, so either figure it out and stay here or get out and don't come back until you two figure it out." Wanda snapped at the both of them, and they both shut their mouths and sat down on the bench in the hallway.

Good," Maria and Wanda said at the same time when they saw the two quickly behave well.

"Ca-can I hold them?" Natasha asked, looking at the pup in her arm with different emotions. Maria looked at Natasha.

"After you clean up, they are only hours old; the dirt and blood in your body could make them sick," Maria said firmly, and Yelena smirked, knowing Natasha would probably leave anytime soon now.

"But-" Clint quickly stops her.

"No buts, Nat, go and clean yourself; it's for yours and the pups safety. We will be here when you come back; they're not going anywhere, I swear." Clint patted her shoulder, but she's still unsure.

"Go Nat; you could use some fresh air and freshening up to clear your mind," Steve said to her, and she nodded, standing up and going up to her room to have a cold, needed shower.

"What have I done?"

The four words keep echoing in Natasha's mind while she's standing naked while the water runs down above her head, down to the ground, and down to the drain along with her salty tears.

She can't seem to move a single limp on her body; she feels numb. The scene keeps replaying in her mind.

"She's going to hate you."

"She will never forgive you."

"She's going to resent you."

"She'll never gonna let you near her and the pups."

It's like a devil that keeps whispering in her ears and blocking the angel's voice with their devilish sentence.

To Natasha, she's a monster who killed children and innocent people who asked for her mercy and is now causing her loved ones lives to be lost because of her careless decisions.

Looking down on her clean hands makes her feel sick. Even though she washes her body, especially her hands, multiple times, she can still mentally see the blood stain on her skin—a blood stain from her former mate.

Now that she thinks of it, Natasha has lost the right to be her Alpha. Now that their marks on their necks are perfectly gone, not even a single scratch of their mark can be seen.

It only means that her rejection of you is a success; she is now again an unmated Alpha who needs to look for an Omega, and so do you if you choose to look for one.

And the thought of you in someone's arm, wearing their mark, clinging to them, and going home in your nest with someone made her heart ache; she couldn't imagine how she could get past that without ripping their heads off.

Natasha, are you okay in there? It's been hours, and we're worried something will happen. " Natasha got out of her trace when she heard a knocking sound in the bathroom door.

"Ye-yes?" Natasha said back, enough for the person to hear from the other side.

"Are you ok?" Clint repeated, worried for his best friend.

"Yeah, Ye-yeah....yeah, I'm ok, I'll....I'll be out in a minute," Natasha replied, shutting the shower off and drying herself, applying necessity to her body and changing to a clean pair of fitted grey tank tops and black sweat pants without the garter on the ankle and coming down to her toes.

She then does a single braid to her hair so if she holds the twins, there's no hair falling to their faces that can cause a rash or itch. Then she comes out, looking at Clint with guilty eyes. Clint patted the space beside him on the bed, so Natasha sat beside him.

"Clint, I didn't—" Natasha stopped herself and bit her lower lip, trying not to cry again, so Clint patted her back and ran his hand up and down.

"I know........I know." Clint gave her a gentle smile.

"Yelena's right, I'm a fucking useless head of—" Clint quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear it.

"I may not know what happened between you two or why your sister wants to kill you, but I know who you are." Clint started looking at his best friend, who's clearly broken.

"You're the infamous Natasha Romanoff, a cruel black widow, the head Alpha, but a soft one, protective, caring, passionate, and protective to your people, especially to your loved ones. There's a reason why you're the head of Alpha besides Steve." Clint took her hand and squeezed it, giving comfort to Natasha.

"I'm not saying this because I'm on your side or on Yelena's side, but I'm saying this because you're my best friend, and I know what's going on in your head. Clint tapped her head with his pointer finger.

"You are worthy of your title, and to Y/N, we all know that you're not a cruel killer, you're not a monster. You're just a human Natasha. People make mistakes. Human Natasha and we're human. We made mistakes we didn't want nor intended. I know what you did to Y/N is not right, especially of what she's in now—I heard the side of the story of Yelena and Wanda." Clitn quickly said the last term, to make Natasha understand.

"But you have pups to look after, now that their mother is in surgery and in need of a lot of extra hands to take care of them. You need to step up and be there, even if Y/N don't want you to." Natasha has a small smile plastered on her face just at the thought of him saying her pups

"My pups," she whispers, but Clint hears it, and he can see a smile in her voice.

"How are they? and Y/N?" Natasha looked at Clint.

"Why don't you go and find out?" Natasha nodded, standing up with Clint and going back to the medical bay.

Once they entered the same hallway, they saw Banner and Dr. Cho get out in their scrubs. Once Natasha saw them, she quickly ran in their direction.

"How is she? Is she okay? h-how bad is her injury?" Natasha rambles, and the team is waiting too for the news.

"We've been able to get out another pup that has been stuck in her belly, which makes the pup weaker and needs to be examined and observed. We want to make sure that there's no birth defect. We also needed to open her up because she's hemorrhaging. We believe she fell or hit something with her belly, making her blood vessel rupture. She also dislocated her shoulder." Dr. Cho finished and looked at Banner, which makes Natasha get anxious, knowing there's something more.

"And did you see something or someone around the area?" Bruce asked. Natasha, Steve, Wanda, and Yelena look at each other.

"Yes, we didn't know who they were; we tried to chase after them, but they quickly vanished from our eyesight. Why?" Steve answered Bruce and put his hand on Natasha's shoulder.

"By her injury and deep wound, we believe she's been attacked....she has scratches, some deep, some not." Natasha clenched her jaw and fist, already planning many ways to kill the person who did this, and so was Yelena.

Taglist : @natashaswife4125 @fxckmiup

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reallyhatethiswebsite · 6 months ago

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wip wednesday

thought i would do this since it's gonna be really hot again over the next few days and heat always makes me super sick (i wouldn't last 5 minutes in avernus lol)

for context it's part of a fic i thought to write since i felt like i didn't fully explore the Raphael-hunts-Tav request i got from a lovely person (and i also wanted to write something dark again since i am not good at it)

welcome to me writing mean and angry raph lol (tbh can't be sure if i will finish this)

thank you laura for labbing raph's dialogue with me ❤️

“Why would a power-hungry magelet with a chip on his shoulder abandon decades of ambition for some little bint he found on the roadside, when he could have hundreds – thousands of warm and willing holes to wet his cock with if he becomes a so-called god? Do you think you’re worth that sacrifice? Does Gale think you are? I’m sure he says lots of sweet things when he’s inside you, just as I’m sure he said the same things to Mystra, and we all know how that worked out…”

“Stop,” Tav begged. Sobbed.

“No,” the devil sneered. Utterly merciless. “It’s high time you faced the reality of your actions. You have doomed a future for the githyanki free from tyranny, you have doomed your friends’ chance to escape the emperor’s machinations, and you have doomed yourself, sweet pet, to reap what you sow – all for the sake of a man who rolled over you because you were the first woman in years to say yes. You wanted to enter my house without permission? Then you’ll stay for eternity.”

“You can’t keep me here!”

“I think you’ll find I can, girl,” Raphael rasped, malicious, quiet. His gaze flayed her alive, peeled away layers of skin and muscle to stare at her very soul. “For in this house, in this pocket of Hell, I am the master, and that means I can do whatever I want.”

A sick, bitter pill to swallow: he was right.

“Fine!” Tav laughed maniacally, the futility of the situation driving her to anger. “Fine, you evil bastard! I suppose you’ll have a pet squid soon, then. Have you always wanted one of those? Was it a boyhood dream, if you were a boy once? I hear ink stains are a bitch to get out of silk rugs.” As soon as she said it, Tav wished she had kept her mouth shut. She’d done everything wrong since entering that portal. Everything. Raphael’s shrewd yellow eyes narrowed as he considered something. Tav watched him raise his fingers, ready to snap, with dawning horror; if he did this, she wouldn’t just be stuck with him forever. She would owe him forever. A fate so much worse. “No! Wait! You don’t – I’m sure I won’t transform! It’s different in Hell, right?!”

“I’d rather not take the chance,” Raphael murmured, enjoying this moment of despair. “I’m not too fond of tentacles, you see. And besides…I promised I could be your saviour, didn’t I? Even though you hardly deserve it, but I’m nothing if not magnanimous, after all.”

CLICK. Such a small sound heralding a monumental, irreversible change.

Agony. The likes of which Tav couldn’t comprehend. Her skull splitting apart, bursting from the inside, her brains chewed up and spat out, eyes and teeth and tongue destroyed, sinuses burning…it only lasted for a few brief seconds, maybe, but the next thing she knew she was on her hands and knees. Frothy blood and bile oozed from her nose and mouth. Her body shook violently. Her head felt like it was full of water. She wasn’t sure, but she might have pissed herself a little bit. She stared up at the devil through bleary wet eyes and saw him watching her. Savouring her suffering. Floating in his palm was her tadpole, sluggish and covered in gore. Covered in her brains.

“Hmmm…I suppose I could have used less force for the extraction,” Raphael mused, unapologetic. He squinted at the ugly cosmic horror larva with disdain. “I was lead to believe these things were near-impossible to remove. Clearly not. Such weak magic. That worthless boy still has a lot to learn.” He curled his fingers inward and the tadpole caught fire, writhing and screaming as it died. Rendered to ash. Then he smiled at Tav, placid, almost business-like, as if he hadn’t just up-ended her entire existence. Her suffering had greatly improved his mood. “There we are. Now you won’t have to worry about those lovely guts of yours dissolving any time soon. Not before I get to sample them, at least.”

“I’d rather be a mind flayer,” Tav slurred quietly. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She felt hollow. Without that tadpole – as awful as it had been – she couldn’t reach her friends or even the emperor to beg for help. She knew they were pragmatic. They’d realise something went wrong and cut their losses. They wouldn’t risk storming this infernal psycho’s little castle to rescue her, not when the elder brain was so unstable and they were so close to vanquishing the Absolute cult, but at least pretending it was an option would’ve given her something to hold onto.

“And ruin that delightful complexion of yours? Perish the thought.” The devil reached to wrap one big paw around her forearm and tugged her upright. Tav was too weak to pull away. She barely stayed on her feet. The room and everything in it swayed. Until it was forced to stop by his hot clawed hand holding her jaw firm. Raphael’s image swam into focus. He gently turned her head this way and that. He was examining her; examining his new property. “Can’t fault the magelet’s taste. You are a pretty little thing. And now you’re my pretty little thing.”

He pushed his thumb into her mouth. She could taste the sulphur and hellish magic even over the copper sticking to her gums and teeth. She bit him, tried to, but Raphael wasn’t phased. He dug his thumb claw into her tongue instead, pressing until he pierced the muscle, until Tav cried out. Fresh blood welled from the small puncture wound.

“Behave,” the devil simply said, like he was talking to a naughty puppy.

“Never,” Tav spat. Raphael seemed to like that answer, if the sparkle in his eyes and his rich chuckle were any indication.

“Oh, you’ll learn, my little mouse. One way or the other.” He dragged his thumb out of her mouth, smearing blood and spit across her lips. His pupils expanded as he looked upon her. He found this arousing, Tav realised, more repulsed than she’d ever been in her life.

“You make me sick,” she hissed.

“You have no idea just how sick I could truly make you,” he purred around a sinister smile, “but we have all the time in the world for that, don’t we, pet? Thanks to you, I’ve got a lot more work to do now. Plans to tweak, contingencies to set up, that sort of thing. I don’t expect you to understand, but unfortunately it means I won’t be able to break you in quite yet. But fret not, you shan’t be alone. Haarlep can keep an eye on you until I return.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #wip wednesday #current wip #fanfic #cringe

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deckerstarblanche · 4 months ago

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CSSNS 2024 Entry!!!!!

Hello, friends! After a year and some change, I’m finally back with the conclusion to “An Offer She Can’t Refuse.”

I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 3

As soon as he cracked his eyes open the next morning, Killian knew she was gone. With a frustrated groan, he glared up at the stucco ceiling and flipped over onto his stomach, pressing his face into her pillow and feeling like a fool.

Really, he should have expected this from the beginning. Knowing Emma, her heat had probably finished sometime in the early hours that morning, she took a look at where she was, and who she was with, and bolted.

It’s not like she would go to me as a first choice, he thought to himself. And so Killian closed his eyes, allowing him to feel the hurt and the anguish and the pain, until he stuffed them back down into the part of his brain, where he’d stored all of his worst thoughts about himself for so many years.

And it did hurt, a lot. He knew, deep in his gut, that they were supposed to be together. Her shell of self-protection might be too tough to crack, though. For him, Emma Swan – her laugh, the intoxicating sweet scent that he would be able to pick out blindfolded – would always be his ideal. Now that he had had the chance to actually be with her physically, Killian felt like he’d been granted access to heaven for three glorious days. How could any other woman compare?

Pathetically, he hoped that one day they could still be friends.

When he finally set foot back inside the dorms, the clean, familiarly blank scent in the air confirmed that the filtration system was running smoothly. It was almost as if the past three days had been neutralized as well, leaving only a possibly ruined friendship in its wake.

“Jones? Where the hell have you been?” David asked, concerned etched on his face as Killian entered their room, aggressively tossing his backpack onto his bed.

He narrowed his eyes at David’s suspicious tone, hackles raised. The other man clearly knew something, probably from Emma herself.

“Did you not get the update from your girlfriend?” Killian sneered, unable to resist recklessly channeling all of his pain and anger toward his roommate. “After she got what she wanted, Emma chewed me up and spat me out! Well, I don’t want to talk about it, and I’ll know that you're lying if you tell me otherwise…”

David’s surprise quickly morphed into hostility, and he rose from his computer desk. “What exactly are you accusing me of? Are you gonna cry because a woman finally rejected you? That’s why you don’t fuck around with your friends!” he roared back, forcefully pushing Killian in the chest.

“She needed it– she begged for it, Dave. What kind of a self-respecting Alpha would I be if I said no? It doesn’t matter if it’s your best friend or a complete stranger, right? You’ve got some experience with that yourself, don’t you, eh?” he said crudely, shoving David back as soon as he regained his footing.

“What the hell does that mean? If you want me to kick your ass, say one more thing about Mary Margaret…” David replied in a growl, putting his fists up.

Killian laughed, ready to hit something, preferably David’s face. “Listen, I’m done with every Omega at this school, especially Emma Swan. I’m not the simpering asshole she seems to think I am, and she can come apologize to me if she wants to go back to being ‘just friends.’” he sneered, building a wall of his own ego around his fragile heart.

David put his fists down, hands angrily balled at his sides.

“Fuck you, Jones. If you don’t have enough sense to fight for Emma, then you don’t deserve her!” David thundered, hurling the door open and slamming it shut behind him so hard that the wood nearly cracked off the hinges.

———-

About an hour later, after he had cooled down from his argument with David, Killian heard a hesitant knock on the door. Hoping it was Emma, but unsure, he got up to open it. There she was, standing awkwardly in front of him, shoving her hands in and out of her pockets.

“Killian, I came by to apologize. My leaving wasn’t your fault. I was a coward, so I’ll understand if—” Emma began, but he cut her off, shaking his head.

“No, you don’t get to do that— slink off like everything has been said. I was hurt that you’d left without a trace, and I let that morph into anger. A man’s ego is a fragile thing, Swan…but I want to be a better person than that,” he told her, his blue eyes locked on hers with a penetrating gaze.

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“Emma. The truth is, I care deeply for you. I have since the first day we met, so when you said that friendship was all you desired, I made my peace with that. But after what we shared last week, I knew that watching from the sidelines would never be enough.”

Killian looked away as soon as Emma did, color rushing to his cheeks. He readied himself for rejection: that speech, no matter how inauthentic it would sound about another woman, would definitely have anyone else melting in my arms, he thought to himself, barely suppressing a chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” he heard a small voice say, and he looked back at Emma, whose eyes were glittering with what looked like tears.

“Nothing, love. I’ve said my piece, and now I’ll give you your space. Hold on, why are you crying?” he asked her cautiously, furrowing his brow.

“I’m not crying, you idiot, I’m just emotional over what you said– there’s a difference!” Emma replied with a watery chuckle, raking her fingers through her hair.

Killian decided to throw caution to the wind.

“And what was it that I said? I want to know so that I can say it again,” he told her, summoning up his most rakish grin.

Emma rolled her eyes, but he knew from the way she blushed that things would be ok for them— maybe even better than ok. She hadn’t spurned him, and she hadn’t stormed out.

“Killian, I care about you too. I cared so much after our…um, time together last week that I freaked out. Big emotions are tough for me, you know that,” Emma admitted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets.

“I do know that, Swan. I think that’s why we’ve worked so well as friends— we’re both godawful at expressing our feelings,” he began, drawing a few steps closer to her. Emma looked at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights, but he wasn’t going to be put off by that anymore.

“Emma, I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never shared with anyone else before,” he murmured, close enough now that he could tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She was so attuned to him that she gasped at the innocent contact, making him smile.

“Being with you was the most intimate I’ve ever been, with anybody. I don’t want to go back to the way things were before, and I don’t want anyone else in my bed but you.”

Terrifyingly, Emma was silent, her gaze dropping away from his and going to the floor. Killian felt like his heart was pounding loud enough for her to hear, and that humiliation was imminent.

“Emma, I’m—” he began, but she looked back up, a huge smile lighting up her face. She flung herself forward into his arms, pressing her lips to his, kissing him with what felt like years of pent-up emotion. Then, she pulled away, almost reluctantly.

“I don’t wanna talk. I mean, I know we have a lot to say to each other, but not right now. Just kiss me, ok?” she said breathlessly, tearing off her jacket. Killian barely had time to agree before she nearly jumped into his arms, the force of her excitement knocking them over onto his bed. Clothes were shed quickly, and soon enough he was hovering over her, admiring her golden hair as it spilled out over his pillow.

After one more searing kiss, he rose up, sitting back on his heels as he stroked his hands down her thighs. Emma shivered violently under his touch, as a rush of slick coated her inner thighs from the fairly innocent gesture.

“Oh Killian, please do that again,” Emma sighed, opening her knees wider. Surprised, he let his hands glide from the tops of her thighs all the way down to her knees, watching rapturously as she thrashed beneath him. Every attempt she made to raise her pelvis, to seek him out, was caught by Killian’s firm but gentle grip as he grounded her to the mattress.

“Do you think you could come just from this, love?” he asked, breathing harshly, as it was taking every ounce of his self control not to sheath himself inside her pulsing cunt.

“I…I’m not sure,” she admitted, opening her eyes as she reached up, grabbing the hair on the back of his head to smash her lips against his.

Emma’s kiss was electric and confident, and it made him thank whatever higher power existed in the universe that she’d given him another chance. When she finally tore her lips away, he felt dizzy with anticipation.

“Fuck me, Alpha,” she commanded, grabbing the nearest pillow and shoving it under her ass. Killian’s eyes lit up with amusement at her take-charge attitude, but he was soon distracted by a small warm hand shooting out to stroke his rock-hard length.

“As you wish, Emma, always,” he purred, and without another thought, he plunged in, savoring the feeling of being inside of her again.

They matched each other stroke for stroke, and as the room filled with the sounds of their frantic coupling, Killian realized that it was her first time fucking him with a clear head. She was choosing him, and not out of any desperation.

He was determined to make it last as long as possible, so after a few more thrusts, he rolled them so that Emma was on top, her long hair surrounding them like a curtain. She yelped in surprise, but quickly gained control, setting her own rhythm as she clutched at his chest.

“I seem to remember liking this view of you in particular,” he teased, reaching up to gather her hair with one hand while kissing up the long column of her neck.

“Is that so?” Emma asked breathlessly, moaning as he hit a spot deep inside of her, pinpointing it so he could press up into her as many times as he could. “Fuck, yes… keep going right there, please!”

From the way her inner muscles fluttered against him, he could tell that it wouldn’t be too much longer before she came, so he kept his pace brisk, giving her exactly what she needed. Moments later, Emma exploded, shouting his name as she clamped down like a vise, spasming multiple times. He’d felt it during her heat too, but never with anyone else.

“So fucking tight you are, Emma…so gorgeous when you come,” he praised, murmuring in her ear as she came back to herself, dazed and sated.

“You’re the gorgeous one,” she mumbled, “all of the girls on my floor talk about you like a sex god.”

“And what, pray tell, would you tell them after all of this time we’ve spent together?” Killian asked her playfully, nudging his erection against her inner thigh.

“Hmm…well, I’d definitely mention your impressive stamina,” she quipped, pumping her hand up and down his shaft.

“And then I’d tell them that they’d never find out for themselves because you’re MY Alpha,”

The sound of those words coming out of her mouth set Killian’s libido on fire. Quicker than lightning, he flipped her over on the mattress.

“If I’m your Alpha, that makes you my Omega, does it not?” Killian thundered, using a tone that their kind referred to as uniquely Alpha. While it may have been used in the past to force Omegas to submit, contemporary couples used it to spice up bedroom play.

“Yes!” she squeaked with delight, lifting herself up to hands and knees.

“Then present for your Alpha,” he ordered, slapping her on the ass. Immediately, she knelt, pressing her chest down as she sank further back onto her heels.

“Is this what you wanted, Alpha?” she asked sweetly, playing along with the game, which was about mutual consent rather than domination.

“Bloody perfect,” he growled, easing himself into her channel inch by inch, trying to prolong the moment they gave themselves to each other.

They were both so keyed up, emotionally and physically, from the events of the day that Emma cried out almost immediately, unable to stave off a powerful orgasm. Killian held on, pumping into her with determination to satisfy her as much as he could.

“I want your knot, and if you’re really an Alpha, you’ll give it to me,” Emma faux-jeered from below, all a part of the game.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Killian bit out, watching as drops of his sweat beaded on her back.

“You fucking know it!” she shouted, clenching down on him as encouragement. It was an almost primal moment, the two of them acting on instinct instead of emotions; and moments later, he was coming, locking their bodies together as streams of cum filled her womb.

It took awhile for them both to come back to Earth, floating in a haze of post-orgasmic bliss. Killian felt her sigh contentedly, burrowing a bit closer as he covered them in his downy comforter.

“I’m so glad it’s you, Killian,” Emma told him sleepily, looking back so she could kiss him one last time. He smiled into her neck, gathering her into his arms with a feeling of completeness and affection.

“I couldn’t agree more, love.”

#cssns24 #cs ff #captain swan #ouatedit #captainswanfic #omegaverse #college #captain swan smut

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jumpywhumpywriter · 2 months ago

Text

Villain's Coffee Shop part 13

Warnings: none, really, this one's mostly passive

Three days passed. Three days of waffling, of thinking it over again and again.

Hero was giving him the chance to save lives with his powers, instead of take them. Despite the dark nature of his particular gifts. He was so indecisive and uncertain it was driving him crazy. There was a reason he was Villain - and it was because the world had rejected him. Did he really want to open himself up to potentially getting hurt again?

But... if there was even a slight chance...

Villain downed the last of his fifth cup of coffee for the day, and it wasn't even noon yet. It was the weekend, and his shop was closed. Giving him plenty of time to get lost in his thoughts, to weigh the pros and cons of taking up Hero's offer. Of giving this whole 'being a hero' thing a try.

He felt a little guilty remembering how he'd hurt Hero recently when the control over his powers had slipped. Would she even want him to join the hero team after that? He hoped he hadn't scared her too badly with his flashy show of power during their last encounter.

Villain jumped and turned at hearing something clatter to the floor and saw Mocha hop off one of the counters to land with a light thump next to the phone he'd knocked off it. He rolled his eyes with a laugh and walked over, petting Mocha on the head before scooping up his fallen phone.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I'm procrastinating,'" he sighed affectionately, and scooped the scruffy cat up in his free hand, helping Mocha climb to perch on his shoulders, draped across the back of his neck like a purring scarf. It was his favorite spot to lounge while Villain worked when there weren't customers around. It kept him out of the way and freed Villain's hands up to work, while Mocha was still able to get what he wanted too -- to stay near his owner at all times.

Villain waited until Mocha had settled down around his neck before unlocking his phone and going to type in a phone number. He hesitated with a finger hovering over the call button, chewing his lip. "What do you say, Mocha? Should I do it?"

Mocha booped his cheek with a wet nose, and Villain smiled.

"All right, guess I'm trying something new…”

-------------------------------------------------------

The call went surprisingly well, and Hero spoke as if nothing had happened between them -- as if Villain hadn't attacked her in his own coffee shop when she'd come to speak with him about the job offer.

But eventually, the meeting point was set. Villain half-suspected it might be a trap, so he made sure to be cautious when he arrived, in full civilian clothes. He wasn't wearing any facial-molding makeup -- scars out on full display. He wouldn't waste time with an organization that wouldn't accept him for who he was, hideous face and all. And he brought Mocha with him. The clever cat went practically everywhere with him, anytime he wasn't on-duty fighting heroes in the streets. This was no exception.

Mocha was also a frighteningly good judge of character, so it was convenient to bring him as a test to check out whoever his future employer was going to be. Villain would be able to tell from how Mocha reacted alone if someone had bad intentions. And he wouldn't associate himself with those who would judge a three-legged cat anyway.

Hero was already waiting for him when he arrived, standing outside a tall building Villain knew belonged to Agency. Being so close to the enemy's headquarters put him on-edge, but he firmly reminded himself that he was here to play nice.

Villain glanced briefly at Hero's wrist, which was wrapped in medical dressings.

"Still not healed?" Villain commented as he approached behind her.

Hero whipped around, startled, then relaxed at seeing who it was. She rubbed her arm sheepishly, glaring. "You fractured my wrist, jerk. Of course it's not healed yet," she spat.

"I suppose I do deserve that," Villain muttered.

Hero arched an eyebrow, glancing down at the black cat sitting next to him. "You... brought your cat?" She questioned.

Villain didn't bat an eye when he answered. "Yes. I did."

Hero's nose wrinkled in confusion, but she didn't argue with it, spinning around and gesturing beckoningly to him. "Come with me, I'll show you to the office you'll be interviewed in."

Villain strode after her, Mocha trotting next to him like a dog. Such a clingy little creature. But they shared a close bond, so it made sense that wherever Villain was, his cat could be found too.

Hero took them up an elevator to the fifth story, leading the way until they reached a large, empty office. There were two chairs on one side of a desk in the middle, and one chair on the other. Villain took a seat, and Mocha immediately hopped up into his lap. Hero took the chair next to him.

“My boss should arrive shortly,” she announced reassuringly.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@federthenotsogreat @everynameistakencarrots

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skyheld · 15 days ago

Note

( HOLD ) holding mine's arm, preventing yours (sender) from leaving. ( ARM ) letting go of a mine's arm, allowing mine to leave.

from emilie to gatt :)

TENSION STARTERS | @mercysought | accepting

She didn't understand why he had to do it.

And it made him unsure if he should. He knew it was the right thing, knew it like he'd never known anything was right except Emilie, but it wasn't right that he should leave her wondering why he'd gone. It wasn't right to leave her in tears, clawing at his chest, begging him to stay. It wasn't right to ask her to accept this. He looked at her hand holding his arm, her fingers digging into the muscle trapped by red rope. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want to hurt her.

But this chance would never come again.

The Qun had taken a small elven child, around the age Emilie had been when she was taken to the White Spire, and like the Circle it had taught her the world outside would hurt him if he left, that he should stay and be obedient. And he had. He'd worn those chains willingly, embraced them. There were so many others who did the same. Who'd still do the same for years, decades, ages to come. Some of them would be like him, people which the world had chewed up and spat out. Burnt children for whom the whole world was fire. Others would simply be born into it and never have a chance to know anything else. Born into those chains, they'd grow into their shape and never notice them. If no one broke them.

Maybe the Qun needed to break, just like the Circles had broken. But no one so far had come from the outside to tear them down, and if they did --- how many would die defending their own prison? Someone had to do it from the inside.

"Emilie..." He put his hand over hers. To keep it there or pull it away, he wasn't sure. "It's not about me, what I want. I want to stay here with you. I want--- this life that I have, that I could have..." He swallowed, blinking away tears. The knots he'd tied felt strange around his arms, like the first time he put them on and a tamassran showed him how to tie them and he was reminded of the chains which some slaves wore on the streets of Vyrantium. I know what this looks like, the tamassran had told him gently, but you have to remember you are with the Qun now. There's no such thing as slavery here. You are free.

She had been kind. Patient. She deserved better. There were so many who deserved better.

"I want you to be happy", Gatt said, tugging gently at her hand. "But it's not about that. It's--- it's about what needs to be done. What I have to do. This..."

She let go. And he felt his heart shattering.

"This is what it's all been leading to", he said, turning away. "It makes sense. Everything I've lived through, even--- even you. It taught me what I need to know. I'm meant to do this. The tide rises, the tide falls, the sea is unchanged."

He takes a breath. Reminds himself: she let go.

"I'm going to change the sea."

#mercysought #gatt:ic #gatt:verse:asit tal-eb #meme:answered #thanks i hate it :)

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sailtomarina · 1 year ago

Text

Make it right

Draco spat the blood out of his mouth before wiping his chin clean. Shame burned low in his stomach at the reality of it all: his return to Hogwarts after the trial, his sentencing to ten years of Ministry work following graduation, and his inability to defend himself under the strict guidelines of his probation. Each day brought with it new tortures in the form of taunts, hexes, and fists. The worst part was that he didn’t even try to avoid punishment. He chased it the way his friends used to take potions—often, and in great quantities.

Like, for example, today.

He could have walked away the second class ended, made his way back to the castle and the safety of his dorm room. Instead, he’d watched Hagrid saunter off into the Forbidden woods to gather Acromantula venom, gathering his belongings in as slow a manner as possible.

He’d seen the way Finnegan glared at him throughout the entire duration of class, how he’d exchanged whispers and nods with the other wizards near him.

The jelly-legs jinx hit him just as he made to stand with his bag, sending him sprawling face first into the boulder towards which he faced. He’d turned his head just in time to avoid a broken nose, but the impact on his teeth still cut up the inside of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you move, or at the very least, block that?”

He didn’t have to turn around to recognize that voice. It was the voice he heard in his dreams tinted with screams and piss and so much blood.

It was the voice he most desired and feared. Of anyone, she was the one who most deserved justice against him. He wanted her to kick and scream at him, call him all the terrible names he knew fit.

“Because it’s the very least I can offer them.”

She cast the counterspell, and Draco stood to brush the dirt off his clothes, leaving smears in their wake. He could use a charm to vanish the mess, but he hardly ever used magic outside of classes anymore. The weight of his wand felt like clasping the hand of a stranger now, rather than the comforting friend it had always been in the past.

“Scourgify.”

The marks he’d left behind vanished. He turned around to yell at Granger for her meddling and complete lack of self-preservation. The words never left his lips, instead becoming trapped on his tongue as she moved the tip of her wand up to his face without the slightest hesitation. Was this the moment he’d been waiting for?

“Episkey.”

The sharp pain in his cheek faded to nothing, and he probed the spot with his tongue to verify the cuts had healed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Her actions didn’t make any sense to him. She shouldn’t be here, cleaning him up and casting healing spells.

“Righting a wrong,” she said, her voice calm and steady as if the response was only natural.

“Righting a wrong.”

He couldn’t help but repeat what she’d said, in utter disbelief at the implication. “Are you daft?”

“What’s daft, Malfoy, is you seeking out every single person looking for petty revenge.” Her rebuke was quick, slapping him with her disapproval.

“Finnegan deserves some satisfaction just as much as I deserve punishment,” he choked out. This was the first time he’d dared utter them aloud, even though he’d said them to himself a million times and more. He chanted them, repeated them almost like a prayer each night.

“Looking for pain the way that you are doesn’t make any of it right.” Her gaze, a clear shade of light brown like the honey he stirred into his tea, pierced him straight through. She saw too much.

Then again, she always had.

Trapped under his eyes the way that he was and feeling a rare moment of naked honesty, he again let out more of his true self.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

At that admission, she cocked her head to the side, chewing on her lip like she often did when considering a particularly trying problem. Her brows rose, lighting up as an idea came to mind.

“Catch.”

Not a half second later, her bag was flying towards him. He caught it just before it hit the ground, the weight of the shelf’s-worth of books she must have stuffed into it nearly knocking him on his arse.

“Bloody hell, Granger, this thing must weigh more than a hippogriff,” he grunted, hoisting the bundle more evenly into his arms. She smirked at the gripe, remembering a specific hippogriff and his specific blunder then.

“You’re my study buddy now, and you’ll accompany me to and from class and the library until graduation. Your choice, of course.” Spinning on her heels, she started her ascent back to the castle with the full expectation of his acquiescing to her offer.

Draco’s mind went through a series of mental gymnastics over the turn of events as he watched the distance increasing between them. He could drop her books and go his own way. Malfoys didn’t bow to others.

Unless they were Voldemort.

Or sentenced to Azkaban.

Or…

He could swallow his pride and follow the witch. Maybe she knew the real meaning of justice. Maybe she could help him figure out who he was outside of the family name and the Mark.

His mind made up, he grit his teeth and took the first step towards a future of his own making. He found Granger stopped and facing his way as she waited. The smile that stretched across her face when she noticed him moving hit him as hard, if not harder, than her ridiculous bag.

A smile for him rather than at his expense.

With she the giver and he the recipient, the smile took on a whole new meaning. Perhaps instead of seeking his own pain, he could seek joy for her and, just maybe, for himself.

WC 999

Juuuuuut shy of 1K, let's go!

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

#dramione #dramione prompt #draco malfoy x hermione granger #dramione prompts #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #draco malfoy

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mirkwoodshewolf · 1 year ago

Text

A departed farewell; Eddie Munson x reader

*Author's note*

To all out there, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! Okay so this one is kinda heavy but after getting reintroduced to the great film known as The Crow, this little fic was born and I wanted to post it up on Halloween night. But there is also some heavy warnings which I will say below, so to the faint of heart or those at are easily triggered, I won't be hurt if you decide to skip this fic. Have a happy Halloween (and if you don't celebrate it, have a good day/afternoon/evening).

Warnings: Eddie's death scene, drug use (not just weed, I'm talking hardcore drugs shown and mentioned here), depression, angst, some fluff, Vamp Eddie(? You decide), death.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

__________________________________________________________

Dustin Henderson and Steve Harrington walked out along the wooded trails all the way to Reefer Rick’s boathouse. In his hands, Dustin held some wild flowers that he had picked before he had Steve drive him up here. They stopped before the boathouse and Dustin placed the wild flowers amongst the pile of already decaying flowers that had been placed there throughout the year.

“I still can’t believe it’s been over a year since it happened.” Dustin said weakly. “He didn’t deserve any of this. And he deserved to have a proper burial. Why did I have to break my damn leg?!”

“You didn’t break it. But you can’t blame yourself for what happened Dustin. You didn’t know Eddie was going to do what he did.”

“I just……I just still can’t believe he’s really gone. He of all people didn’t deserve what he got. I mean the people we lost when all this started, they didn’t get any of the shit that Eddie got. This town—hates him. Still hates him. They really think he did all of this and we can’t change that.”

“It sucks, I’ll admit that. But small minded people can never be changed, no matter how hard we try. At least we know the truth that Eddie Munson went out a hero. A hardcore, metal hero.”

“Have you and Robin tried talking to (Y/n) recently?” asked Dustin.

“Do you really need to ask?”

“Right, dumb question.”

“As her twin brother I know we’re supposed to rag on each other at times, but now I really mean it when I say it. She looks like she’s been through hell, chewed up and then spat back up. She’s not sleeping, she’s barely eating. And what’s worse are the drugs.”

“You mean…..”

“I wish dude, she’s been at the hard stuff. Don’t know where she’s getting it but I’ve seen the syringes and rubber bands. I can’t stand to see her in that much pain. She needs help but everytime I try to talk to her about it she—”

“She was right there with him when he died Steve. Those bats literally held her back just so that she could watch as they devoured him alive. On one hand I don’t blame her for falling like that, hell if I were in her place and I saw Suzie die like that, I’d probably fall that hard too.”

“Don’t you ever say anything like that you little butthead! I don’t ever want you talking about drugs again understand?!”

“On the other hand, she isn’t grieving properly. And that’s on all of us, we were too focused on how we had to move on with the rest of the town after the earthquakes happened that we completely ignored (Y/n)’s feelings. And it’s not just your fault Steve.” Steve shook his head, stroking his fingers through his hair anxiously.

“I’m 12 minutes older than her. I’m her big brother, and—I wasn’t there for her. Not ever since we entered high school. These last couple of years we’ve managed to rebuild our sibling bond but now I……I’m losing her again man.” Tears started to build up in Steve’s eyes. “I can’t….I can’t lose another person.” He thought back on Max and how he had failed to keep her safe.

She was a sarcastic child who suddenly came in when she and Billy came by but after reading her note, she had admitted to him that he was the big brother she had hoped Billy could’ve been for her, and it all happened ever since he stepped forward to keep them safe when Billy came looking for her. Sure he got his ass beat but he was willing to keep himself in the line of Billy’s rage and not let any of the kids get a single punch. Now—now when she needed him most, he failed her.

Dustin looked up to see that Steve had buried his eyes behind his right hand and saw how his shoulders began shaking as he choked on his sobs. Dustin gave Steve a one armed hug.

“We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not. But it’s all that’s going through my mind. And I’m not gonna rest until we finally find a way to kill Vecna and send that son of a bitch straight to hell.”

“You’re a tough kid Henderson, hell of a lot tougher than me.” Steve ruffled his hair then the two of them left Reefer Rick’s boathouse and drove back to town.

*Halloween 1987*

It was Halloween night and unlike in the years before, Hawkins wasn’t celebrating Halloween this year. There was no yearly town hall Halloween party, no trick-or-treaters going out and about to get candy, not even the high schoolers dared to try and host a party of their own.

At Forest hill trailer park, the crack that had spread from this part of Hawkins had actually driven most of the trailer homeowners to leave Hawkins all together. Most took their RV’s and fled, while others just packed whatever they could and skipped town or ended up homeless and were currently staying at a shelter on the other side of Hawkins.

A hand suddenly shot up from the cracks and began crawling out from the earth. Groaning and grunting in agony as he pulled himself out from the red light of the Upside town glowing from beneath the earth. Once he was free, he lay there on his back exhausted and stared up at the night sky. The stars shining like diamonds high above the abandoned trailer park.

Suddenly the man heard a meow and when he opened his eyes, a long haired black cat stared down at him with piercing green eyes he could make out from the light of the full moon.

“Loki?” the cat let out a purr as his eyes squinted but then he licked the man’s finger before nuzzling into his hand. He lifted his hand and stroked through the cat’s long soft fur and asked. “Wha—what happened here?” suddenly something flashed before his eyes. A flash like seeing the tv suddenly go static after a power outage. He gripped his forehead before he found himself standing up and walking forward.

He stumbled about, falling a couple of times but as his vision kept flashing he kept standing back up and trudged onward. He saw himself standing on top of his trailer, shredding on his guitar. A swarm of bat-like creatures surrounding him and two other people, he then found himself falling down once more but he also saw himself falling, this time off a bike and he had been attacked by one of those bat creatures.

He saw himself stand up wielding a spear as well as a trashcan shield with nails sticking out and he stood up getting into the same position as he saw himself in that vision. He then saw the girl from before coming toward him calling his name.

“EDDIE! EDDIE!!!”

“(Y/n)?! What are you doing here?! You weren’t supposed to come back!”

“I made a promise Mr. Frodo! A promise! Don’t you leave him Samwise Gamgee. And I don’t mean to, I don’t mean to.” She told him. He shook his head and found himself saying as he heard himself in his vision say.

“Into the fires of Mount Doom milady?” She nodded and together the two of them stood as the bats swarmed around them before charging head on, the two of them using their trashcan shields to block off the attacks.

He copied his fighting movements of spear and shield, as he saw the girl, (Y/n) use a bottle of hairspray and with a lighter, she had created her own flamethrower to burn any bats that came near her. He then felt and saw himself being choked by one of the bats and felt himself being pulled to the ground.

His arms and legs were pulled outward and he saw the bats beginning to feast on his flesh. He saw and remembered the pain of their teeth piercing his skin and digging out chunk after chunk of flesh. All the while he could hear (Y/n) screaming out his name as she was forcefully held back by the bats. Their tails wrapped around her arms, legs, neck and stomach, even as she pulled to free herself, they pulled harder until suddenly they dropped dead.

She crawled over to his bleeding body whimpering out his name and picking him up into his lap.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no baby! Teddy-bear! Don’t you leave me don’t you die like Boromir did!”

“Bad huh?” he choked up. Soon another voice spoke up, this time a younger man’s voice assured him.

“No, no you’re gonna be fine we just need to get you to a hospital okay?”

“Okay.” He choked up. Together (Y/n) and the young man tried to pick him up but the pain in his body was too great as he pleaded.

“I-I-I think I just need a second, I need a second, okay?”

“Okay, okay we—we’ll give it to you.” (Y/n) assured him as she rested his head on her lap, stroking through his hair. He looked up at both (Y/n) and the young man and strained out as blood started coming up his throat.

“I didn’t run away this time right?”

“No. No baby, you-you didn’t run. Though I wish you did. Whatever happened to having no shame in running?” she asked him.

“You both are gonna have to look after those little sheep for me okay?” he told them.

“No! You’re gonna do that yourself!” the young man said but he found himself saying along with his vision.

“No man. Say you’re going to look after them. Say it Henderson.” He saw as the two of them were sobbing over him. (Y/n) took his left hand and raised it up to her face, the blood along his arm seeping into her hands but she didn’t care.

“I’m gonna….I’m gonna look after them.” Henderson choked out. He then found himself looking up at (Y/n), only at her even through his hazy vision as he asked her.

“And you…..fair Ravenna.” She choked out a sob. “Please smile for me…….please.” with as much strength as he could, he managed to move his index finger along her jawline. She kissed the back of his hand and gave a small, sweet smile. “Good…..cause I…..think I’m actually going to graduate. I think it’s my year sweetheart—Hen-Henderson. I think it’s finally my year……” he remembered feeling the blood starting to rise in his throat, preventing him from speaking full sentences but he did manage to make one last statement before he fell silent.

“I love you guys.”

“I love you too.” Henderson wept.

“This belongs to you Eddie Munson, and always will.” He felt her hand cup the side of his face, watched as she leaned forward and felt the soft touch of her lips on his bloody ones. Even with the taste of iron that was now seeping between her lips, she dared not move as she kept the gentle, loving kiss going until she separated from him.

And it was at that moment he had felt himself slip into darkness.

He remembered who he was. He was Eddie Munson, three-time senior of Hawkins High. Dungeon Master of the Hellfire club, and the love of his life was (Y/n) Harrington.

Eddie stood up and walked towards a trailer that had somehow miraculously survived the earthquake. He opened the door and knew that no one was home as the place had been ransacked and just left behind for anyone to have. Loki followed him inside, racing into the bathroom and hopped on top of the sink.

Eddie stared at himself in the mirror as memories of him and (Y/n) together flashed through his mind. Them cuddled on her bed when he’d sneak over to her house. The times they’d both try to cook something only to end up nearly burning the trailer down and his uncle having to stop the flames from spreading cause the two of them would be panicking too much.

Seeing her read all her favorite fantasy books from Tolkien to C.S Lewis and even J.M Barrie’s Peter Pan. Him hovering over her as she would be sitting on a chair while she read and kissing her neck and face, pleading for attention. And even though she tried to fight it, giggles would come out from her lips until she ended up succumbing to his will and they’d end up making out, or even going further beyond that.

The love he felt for (Y/n) both filled him with joy and agony. How could he leave her like that? He knew that she had many people in her life abandon her. Her parents, her friends, even her own twin brother had left her behind. He was all she had and he left her. His anger rose until he snapped and punched the mirror with his bare fist, breaking it in half.

His knuckles bleeding until he saw them heal up in the blink of an eye. He turned to Loki who merely looked at him and slowly blinked before letting out a throaty meow. Eddie dug through the cabinets and drawers of the bathroom until he had found some white base makeup and black lipstick. He dipped his fingers into the white base, rubbed his hands together and covered his face in white makeup.

With the black lipstick he drew down from his eyes what almost resembled tearstains, as well as covered his lips black and even drew a line upward at the corner of his lips. He stripped out of his torn and bloody clothes and managed to find a skin-tight along-sleeved black shirt, a long leather jacket, black pants and some old black boots. He donned on the new look before turning over to Loki who raised a paw at him letting out a small meow.

Eddie rubbed Loki’s head before picking him up and walked out of the bathroom.

“I blame myself for wrecking your home Loki. I’ll bet it hasn’t been easy for god knows how long it’s been. But I’m going to make this right.” Loki meowed and as Eddie sat him down, Loki ran out the trailer and he followed the black cat.

At the Henderson household, Dustin had been pretty much kept under his mom’s tight thumb. He wasn’t allowed anywhere unless it was school and back home. Hell he was lucky if he was able to even get to visit Max once if not twice a week just to see how she’s doing or if anything had changed (even though nothing had. She had been in her coma for over a year now).

As rain now began to pour down heavily on this Halloween night, he looked at his old Ghostbusters proton pack from three years ago and thought back to simpler times. He wished that those days would come back, long before the whole Upside down and he and his friends were the four weirdos who loved to play DnD all day and night at each other’s houses.

He heard a gentle rap at the window and when he turned around he saw Loki sitting right outside his window.

“Loki?” he remembered seeing the long-haired black cat over at Forest hill whenever he’d go to visit Eddie. He opened the window and allowed the drenched cat inside. “I thought you had gotten caught up when the Upside down opened up, guess (Y/n) was right to name you after the Norse god of mischief.” Loki let out a meow. “Oh yeah, think you can let me dry you off?” Loki let out a merp (a mix of a meow and a purr) and Dustin left to get a cat-sized towel that his mom uses on their cat whenever he got out.

When Dustin returned with the towel, he gently dried off Loki then allowed the cat to lick himself clean.

“What are you doing all the way over here anyways?” Loki paused and turned to the corner of Dustin’s room and there he saw a figure hidden within the shadows. Dustin jumped back fearfully and Eddie said.

“You know you gotta learn to shut your windows Dustin Henderson. You never know what freaks lurk in the night.” Dustin narrowed his eyes as he heard the voice.

“I can’t believe it…….Eddie?”

“Nice to see you again butthead.” Dustin took large strides across his room and embraced Eddie, tears falling down his face. Eddie hugged the young boy back and Dustin looked up at him.

“How did—I mean how is…..I saw you die. How are you alive? Does (Y/n) know? When did you get back? How long have you been alive? What happened?”

“Henderson, you’re rambling like a mad man.” Eddie stopped the young boy’s frantic question asking.

“Sorry.” Dustin said meekly.

“I honestly don’t know how it happened. One moment I was dying in (Y/n)’s arms and next thing I know, I’m crawling out of a gateway from hell. I don’t even know if I’m really alive or not.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie walked over to Loki and stroked down his chest before trailing his finger towards his right paw. He knew that Loki once had been attacked by another stray cat and his right paw never fully healed, so now anytime someone goes to touch that paw, he’ll bite since he had been declawed by his previous owners.

After Eddie got a nasty bite and Loki went over to sit on Dustin’s dresser now, his tail twitching.

“Eddie what the hell did…..”

“Just watch.” Eddie showed Dustin how the nasty bite wound now began to close up, just like what happened to his knuckles after he had punched the mirror.

“Holy shit.” Dustin muttered.

“But that’s my least concern right now. I need to ask you some questions. How long has it been since that day?”

“It’s been over a year. It’s 1987 now, Halloween. Of course no one really celebrates that holiday here anymore ever since the gates opened and split Hawkins in four ways.”

“I take it we didn’t kill Vecna?”

“Nancy, Steve and Robin definitely laid one on him. But there wasn’t a body after Nancy gave him one last shot to the chest. Will even says he can still feel him, that he is weak but bidding his time.” Eddie looked down grimly. “We…..also lost Max. I mean we sorta did but she hasn’t woken up yet. And I’m sorry Eddie, I’m really, really sorry. But the town put all of this mess onto you.”

“No surprise there. Last anyone knew of me, I was wanted for Chrissy’s and Patrick’s murders. Once the satanic freak, always the satanic freak.” Eddie plopped down onto Dustin’s bed.

“I’ve tried to get Hooper to work with the government to clear your name but they’re still in the processing phase, which is basically them saying they’ve got too much on their plate right now to deal with this specific request.” Eddie perked his head up. “Oh yeah, apparently Hooper was alive in a Russian gulag and Joyce brought him back along with Murray the conspiracy maniac.”

“All be damned. One of the only cops in this town I actually liked back from the grave. Guess we have that in common.” There was a brief moment of silence before Dustin said.

“Eddie……” Eddie looked up at Dustin and knew what the kid wanted to say.

“There’s nothing you can say Henderson. What happened, happened. Me being associated with you had nothing to do with my death.” He stood up and walked over to Dustin. He placed two firm hands on Dustin’s shoulders, looked him square in the eye and continued, “It was a shitshow there’s no question about it. But the fact that you were the first and only one to truly believe I wouldn’t do this besides (Y/n), I couldn’t ask more of a friend. Hell even a little brother. But don’t go getting a big head about it, okay?” Dustin slightly chuckled as tears fell down his face. He wiped them away and choked out.

“I’ve missed you Eddie.”

“Missed you too yah little shit.” Dustin immediately held onto Eddie as tight as he could. Eddie rested his head on top of Dustin’s as he patted the young man’s back.

“Eddie, there’s something else you should know.” Eddie separated from the hug and Dustin told him, “It’s about (Y/n). She…..she’s really spiraled ever since you—well you know. And I’m scared she’s going down a path she can’t come back from. It’s more than just shutting herself in or not talking to us. Steve told me she’s been getting into drugs. And I don’t mean the light stuff.”

“And what has Steve done?”

“He’s tried everything. And I know he doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s not just hurting him emotionally. I saw the faint scratch marks on his left cheek. I know she’s not doing it on purpose but…..I’m scared we’ll lose her too if she keeps going down this path.”

“I’ll get the info I need from Harrington. But this meeting never happened, understand Henderson?” Dustin nodded.

“Thank you Eddie. Love you man.”

“Love you too butthead.” With a loud boom of thunder and a bright flash of lighting, Dustin found himself once again alone in his room.

Over at the Harrington’s place, Steve was cleaning himself up in the bathroom. Once again he and his twin had their daily screaming match of (Y/n)’s wellbeing, this time she had given him a hard punch to the nose and he had finally managed to get the bleeding to stop.

He walked into the kitchen and got out a beer, needing to take the stress out of him.

“Might wanna take something a bit stronger if you wanna take the edge off after a fight, trust me.” Steve jumped back but saw no one there.

“Who’s there?” Steve called out.

“Surely you know, after all this isn’t the first time I’ve snuck into this house.” Steve’s eyes widened and he immediately raced up the stairs and opened up his sister’s room and saw Eddie stroking his hand along (Y/n)’s acoustic guitar which sat at the corner of her room.

“This-this—that’s not possible. How are you—”

“Henderson asked me the same question.”

“Wait you saw Henderson? I swear if you’re one of Vecna’s tricks I swear to god……”

“One way to prove it’s actually me is that back in 81, I snuck in here to be with your sister after she had failed the SAT’s. Poor thing was so devastated she wouldn’t come to school for nearly a week cause it happened to be the time your parents came for their daily check in and she had a screaming match with your old man. So I came here that night and stayed with her. Then you barged right on in and said to me ‘Get out of my house freak! And don’t show your face around here again!’”

“Jesus Christ…..it really is you.”

“Nice to know when it comes to your sister you’re not that clueless anymore Harrington.” Eddie couldn’t help but mock with a smirk.

“If you’re here to mock me for being a horrible brother I already know that Eddie.”

“No, no I didn’t come here to gloat or to mock. Henderson gave me a brief summary on all that happened, but I want to hear your perspective.” He fully turned towards Steve holding up the locket necklace he had given her for a 16th birthday present their junior year. “What happened to my best girl?” Steve sighed heavily. He sat down on (Y/n)’s bed and confessed.

“(Y/n) was amess. At first it started off with her barely eating, then it was the constant nightmares of seeing you die over and over again. Then I noticed how she’d end up disappearing at night. I didn’t know where she was going until I caught her sneaking back in and her nose was bleeding. But not in the way where she’d been in a fight, and I didn’t want to believe it but I swear I thought I saw some white powder under her nose. Then it was the injections on her arms, I’ve been trying to get her to get some help but she’s lost it Eddie. Your death seemed to really fuck her mind up.”

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie mumbled solemnly.

“Now I don’t blame you, no way in hell am I blaming you. I just….It just pains me to see my twin sister like this. It’s like I’m feeling her pain like some weird twin telepathy if that shit’s even real. But I can’t stand to see her in that much pain, and for her not to know that she still has people here for her. Hell Henderson was there when you died too, and she’s acting like he wasn’t. You don’t think he’s feeling the same pain as she is?”

“She always did tease that we should’ve just grown a pair and shared custody of the twerp.” Eddie softly chuckled.

“She’s always struggled with depression ever since middle school. Our parents chose to ignore it and kept telling her to get over it or smile more. You’re not depressed, you’re just being dramatic. When she met you, that was probably the first time I’ve ever seen her truly happy.” Steve walked over to an old picture of her and Eddie together at the junior prom. “Deep down I guess I also grew jealous of just how happy she was around you, and not me. Now I see that it was because of my selfishness that I drove her away. And even when I got our relationship back to the way it was before, I knew she’d put you over me in a heartbeat.”

“Your wrong.” Steve turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember how we were on Lover’s lake to find that gate where Patrick was killed?” Steve nodded. “And you remember how you were dragged under the water, and I told you that Wheeler didn’t hesitate to dive in after you?” Steve nodded again. “She wasn’t the first. In fact, the second you went down, your sister dove in straight after you. Even for not being the best swimmer, she dove straight in after you. She does love you Steve. Like you said, twin telepathy is a serious bond. Now old King Steve, he wouldn’t have dared try to help (Y/n) in her grieving stage. But you’re not him anymore, you’re her twin brother Steve Harrington. The one she always believed was still somewhere deep inside of you.”

Steve scoffed but Eddie came up to him and placed a hand over his chest.

“You’re still trying, still fighting for her. But before you can save her, you have to save yourself. Not just for what happened to me, but for all that happened. That includes Mayfield.” Steve’s eyes slightly widened. “I’ve seen how you are with her Harrington. Ever since that mall fire, I’ve seen how you’ve come around to check in on her, how you’ve always tried to be there for her at school, and how you’ve been with her since I found out about this Upside down and Vecna shit. How can you even try to help your sister when you’re clearly not ready to forgive yourself?”

Steve couldn’t believe it but Eddie Munson was actually making sense. Ever since he had been knocked back into reality since all of this began, and ended up forming a bond with the kids who started it all, he’s been trying to be the big brother he naturally was to the kids who began it all. He knew none of the adults (minus Joyce and Hooper) wouldn’t understand and that the kids needed someone to protect them whenever no one was around. So he ended up becoming the ‘babysitter’ as he was deemed at first.

And at first it was an annoying title but now, ever since their first big failure, he began to truly understood why he was called that. He felt a strong need to protect these kids because who else was going to when Joyce had moved, when Nancy decided to try and return to her normal life, who else was there to talk to about all this stuff? Only him.

“She’s been dealing with Daniel Thompson.” Steve told him.

“Daniel. If there’s any drug dealer that should be in jail it’s that prick. At least Rick and I never dealt to pre-teens.” Eddie hissed as he felt his teeth starting to grow a bit sharp before they receded. “Does he still live in Hawkins?”

“After the earthquake he moved over to the next county about 20 minutes’ drive from here. You know what, screw it.” Steve raced over and grabbed his keys as well as his bat with nails. “C’mon.” Eddie followed close behind them and Steve started up his BMW and drove out of his driveway and through the storm to get his sister back by any means necessary.

With Eddie’s abilities, they were able to track down exactly where (Y/n) had gone to see Daniel and to Steve, it looked exactly where a drug dealer would live. A very run down apartment complex in what appeared to be an unsafe part of town. The rain still pouring down as Steve grabbed his bat.

“So what, you gonna come with and we bust his ass open?” Steve asked.

“This isn’t West side story Harrington. Daniel isn’t one to be messed with especially if he’s using with her. You go in there ready to bust his ass in, he’ll have you shot dead before you can even blink.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Just follow my lead.” They exited the car and crept towards the fire escape on the side of the building. Steve then watched in shock as Eddie leapt up and across the railings of the fire escape with ease.

“That would normally scare the shit out of me but I’ve seen freakier shit than that to be surprised.” He climbed up the fire escape until he stood by Eddie as he looked into a darkened room. He placed his hand along the window and said.

“She’s in there. They’re both high as kites right now.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can smell the burnt spoons and blood inside.”

“Blood? Eddie are you—are you some kind of vampire or something?”

“Or something.” Eddie slowly opened the window and slipped inside like an assassin on a mission.

Once he was inside the room, he saw (Y/n) passed out on the bed while Daniel was up against his headboard staring up into space after getting his high. Eddie scoffed before letting out a low whistle that seemed to stir them both from their high. (Y/n) let out a groan and opened her eyes slowly raising her head while Daniel looked on ahead.

“What the…..fuck?” As Eddie continued to whistle, he noticed a lightbulb just hanging above him and trailed his head around it like a dazed man. He then once again felt his canine teeth grow into fangs as a sudden primal instinct came over him. He slowly walked towards them then once he got to the bed, he let out a leopard-like roar, baring his fangs which scared Daniel but startled (Y/n). “JESUS CHRIST MAN!! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“Are his…..eyes glowing red? Damn his costume is like…..all in.” (Y/n)’s tone was slurred. Eddie couldn’t believe that this was the woman he had fallen in love with. She had fallen so far and so fast ever since his death, but he was going to make it right. But first he had to get her away from Daniel for good.

“Just the morphine yah dumb bitch. This is just some….freak looking for some kicks.” It was then Daniel withdrew his gun out from under his pillow. “Time for you to get out of here psycho. I ain’t got no more stuff, me and the girlie here used it all up.” Eddie withdrew his fangs and his glowing red eyes turned back to his normal dark brown as he pulled up a chair and sat down. He pressed his palm against the barrel of the gun and dared him.

“Take your shot Thompson. You got me dead flank.”

“You are seriously fucked up.” Daniel said. (Y/n) laughed in her high as Daniel continued, “Like you really need psycho-therapy help you sick fuck.” It was then Daniel pulled the trigger making Eddie jump back holding his hand in pain.

Daniel stood up and cheered in his victory on a bullseye but after his brief cries of pain, Eddie soon began laughing as he showed them both his hand and he then let out a cheer as the bullet hole healed instantly. Daniel’s joy soon turned to panic and fear as he muttered.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus Christ. Stop me if you’ve heard this before; Jesus Christ walks into a hotel.” Daniel shot Eddie in the shoulder which made him lurch backward a bit but he recovered and started walking towards him, continuing with the taunting joke, “He hands the innkeeper three nails and asks,” another shot rang out this time to Eddie’s stomach.

(Y/n) got out from the bed staring at the figure in fear. At the second gunshot she ended up tripping over the bed sheets trying to get away but for some reason she couldn’t help but stare at the figure before Daniel.

“Don’t you ever fucking die!?” Daniel demanded.

“Can you put me up for the night?” in a flash, Eddie had forced Daniel to point the gun down at his own leg, the gun went off firing straight through Daniel’s femur, blood splattering everywhere. Daniel cried out in agony, clenching his bleeding thigh between his hands. “Hurts doesn’t it? When someone takes advantage of your weakness? Imagine what she’s gone through before you coaxed her into your web. In fact I’ll let you feel it.”

Eddie extended his hand and placed it over Daniel’s eyes and with a deep growl, Eddie allowed Daniel to feel every ounce of pain both he and (Y/n) felt on that day. Daniel let out a scream before he fell still and stiff as a board.

Once Daniel was taken care of, Eddie heard the bathroom door shut. He dropped the gun and slowly walked toward the bathroom. He opened it and saw as (Y/n) was waving her arms back and forth meekly holding what appeared to be an old razor. Her screams of fear piercing the bathroom echoing as she pleaded for her life.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!! STAY AWAY!!” Eddie grabbed both her wrists and got the razor out of her hands. He pressed her back against his chest as he dragged her towards the mirror, her wailing making his heart ache but he had to fix this. He had her stand before the mirror, one hand holding out her arm that had been filled with old and new puncture wounds, while his other hand held her across her forehead.

“You once said; What is grief if not love persevering? It is okay to cry and mourn for those we lost,” she then saw as the veins in her arm suddenly began to move and she felt the morphine slip down her arm. “Drugs however is not the way to grieve.” (Y/n) soon felt her mind starting to clear up and when she turned to the man, she swore she was seeing Eddie looking at her. He cupped her face between his hands and he said to her, “your brother is outside willing and ready to help you.”

(Y/n)’s lip trembled as tears poured down her face and she fell to her knees as she wept hysterically.

“Harrington!” Eddie called out and soon enough Steve came in and immediately he knelt down beside (Y/n) and held her in his arms. Even as she felt him drenched from the rain, (Y/n) gripped onto her twin brother as tightly as she could all the while weeping out Eddie’s name. As Steve rocked his little sister back and forth, he looked up at Eddie in sorrow but also gratitude while Eddie looked down at the sibling solemnly.

Eventually (Y/n) passed out from her hysterical sobbing.

Steve had taken his sister to the hospital to help get whatever else could’ve been in her system and she ended up sleeping all throughout the night, all throughout the rest of the next day up until it was nearly sunset. She stirred away to hear machines beeping and the sound of voices speaking over intercoms.

She looked over and saw Steve along with Dustin talking with one another in a hushed manner. When Steve noticed (Y/n) waking up, he came over to her saying.

“Sleeping beauty awakes. You okay?”

“A bit.” She said groggily. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital. Had to bring you here to get all that crap out of your body.” (Y/n) leaned up against her pillow shamefully.

“I am so, so sorry Steve. I am so sorry and ashamed of what I did. I know it doesn’t excuse me for my behavior, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I…..” Steve stopped her heartbroken confession by hugging his sister as tightly as he could. “How can you forgive me so easily? I thought you’d never wanted to speak to me again?”

“I was never angry with you for turning to the drugs. I was upset because I was afraid you were losing your way.”

“I did lose my way Steve.”

“But you found it again. And I swear, I’m gonna be there for you every step of the way. No matter what it takes to help you get back on your feet.” The Harrington siblings smiled at each other softly as they embraced one another as (Y/n) said.

“Thank you Steve. You really are the best big brother.” After a few visits from the kids, as well as the older members of Hellfire, (Y/n) would soon be on her way to recovery. After speaking with her doctor, he prescribed that she would need to go up to Indianapolis to their rehab center where she would get the coaching and help that I needed.

She and Steve signed a few forms and it was settled that after a couple of more days here for observation, she would take the first bus up to the capital for her rehab treatment.

Later that night as the hospital had closed down their offices to visitors and the night shift staff were doing their rounds. (Y/n) lay there on her bed watching the Golden girls on the tv. She was just about to fall asleep when she felt a cold brush of wind blow across her cheek, she turned and there she saw Eddie’s silhouette appearing from her window until he finally made himself known to her.

“Hello milady.” He greeted her with a warm smile and a gentleman’s bow.

“Eddie?” she softly whispered as her heart meter began to spike. Eddie raised a finger to his lips softly shushing her as he walked up to her.

“Guess when you say your heartbeats faster everytime I’m in the room, you’re not lying. But it’s best we don’t alert the staff about my presence sweetheart.” He stood at the foot of her bed.

“Is it…..is it really you? Were you there that night? Or am I going crazy again from the drugs?”

“It’s not the after effects of the drugs, nor is this a trick from Vecna. I am here sweetheart.”

“I…….” (Y/n) was speechless. “I’ve thought over a million, trillion things to say when I’d—” her breathing was shaky as she gasped softly, “How?”

“I had a mission to help three grieving souls who needed my words of wisdom. And you were the last one that needed saving.”

“So you’re…..you’re leaving again?” she asked sadly.

“Sweetheart I’ve heard and now seen just how my death has affected you. But there’s something you must understand. The Eddie Munson you once knew and loved has become someone entirely new. And I can’t let him near you until I’ve figured him out for myself.”

“But I…..I just got you back. Eddie I…..I see it happen every night when I sleep, and everytime when thunder rumbles, I’m back down there with you. Seeing those things rip you apart, not able to free myself or save you. Why must you leave me again?”

Eddie walked closer to her and hovered his upperbody over hers. He leaned towards her left ear and whispered to her.

“This belongs to you, and always will.” He came back up, cupped the left side of her face. His dark brown eyes staring down at hers as he leaned in closer to her face and captured her lips with his in a soft, hidden kiss. (Y/n) raised her hand up and stroked along Eddie’s face with the back of her hand and buried her hand underneath his curls.

As the clock by her bed chimed midnight, Eddie separated from the kiss and took her hand into his.

“Where can I find you again?”

“You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming?” he asked her. She softly nodded, “That’s where I will always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” He told her in a soft, loving manner. His eyes soon glowed red as he told her, “Sleep now meleth nin, sleep.” A feeling of exhaustion came over her as she soon fell asleep. “Sleep until dawn.”

Eddie placed into her hands her necklace he had taken from her room and rested her hands over her chest. He gave her one last look, almost as if he were taking a mental picture to keep forever in his mind before he forced himself away from her bedside and with the last chime of the clock, and a wave of the curtain, Eddie Munson disappeared from the hospital.

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