#kicked deeper into the mud

[rottiens]

PREY┊RYOMEN SUKUNA

tags. (18+). read part one here (optional), fem reader (she/her), mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, modern au, primal play, marking (biting), unprotected sex, he cums inside, breeding kink, lowkey exhibitionism, praising, pet names (bunny, puppy, sweet girl, good girl), spit as lubricant, clit slapping, aftercare. — wc: 2.8K

In the darkness of the forest any sound in the distance is heard as Sukuna. Your mind plays tricks on you and turns the sound of your breathing into footsteps and the distant bustle of people into voices. 

Out of the corner of your eye you think you see a shadow moving around. Without leaving your hiding place you cling to the trunk of the gigantic tree and peek around the sides to check that no one is really there. 

You swallow saliva to eliminate the dryness that fear has caused but you find your mouth dry and your throat uncomfortably tight and, when you pay attention to your back, you realize that the world is silent for a brief moment to allow you to hear a branch breaking under the weight of a predator. 

Sukuna is nearby, he was running or walking behind you and was going to catch you if it weren't for the dry leaves that give him away. You flee from your hiding place like a slippery rabbit, being careless in your steps and alerting your pursuer to where you are headed, you run in a straight line, hitting branches and small bushes that cross your path. You no longer cared about being discreet, he is close and you need to put distance between you as fast as you can. 

As you move deeper into the large trees their canopies cover the sky more and more. You realize you are so far away from the city that you barely hear the festival which makes you feel uneasy and fearful.

You could give up and let him win, yet there is an insistence inside you that pinches you to keep running regardless of the discomfort of your non-running shoes.

"Do you want to keep running, little bunny?" you suddenly hear from behind a tree, you look in all directions in the gloom and your eyesight tires as you try to search for a body in the dim presence of light. 

Sukuna could be anywhere. 

"I can smell you, you know?" his deep voice is an echo in the abyss of darkness. So you cling to the tree, your nails digging into the wood trying to hold on to something tangible to help you stay in the present, to pay attention to your senses and focus. Though you didn't understand what he meant by what he had said. "I can smell you..." he repeats, closer this time and it's as if you feel his presence above you like a suffocating thick aura, you're frozen in that moment. "Your fear, your excitement. I'm going to find you and it's okay, you can admit you want me to catch you, I know you're anxious to know what will happen when I do..."

It was only a matter of time before he caught up with you, you knew it, you hear his voice closer and closer so your survival instincts lead you to the last logical reason for that moment: you have to climb the tree. 

"Why don't you be a good girl and come out? You're making it so easy for me."

You hear his words before you can feel him, blowing hot air on the back of your neck as his claws drag you away from the tree pulling at your waist. You scream trying to struggle against him but any tantrum you can muster becomes insignificant in his presence, his stronger arms cover yours and your kicking feet are suspended in the air and in one sudden movement you both fall to the ground.

Your body kisses the earth with little delicacy in a rumble, you don't feel the sting of the stones from the amount of adrenaline coursing through your blood as Sukuna continues to sink his weight on you. There are branches and leaves in your hair and caught in your clothes (now dirty with mud), after a while of struggling in vain you convince yourself that he really has you. Just like when you were children, just like when you struggled until you had no strength and Sukuna only teased you... he re-enacts the scene. 

Your hands are trapped painfully on your lower back as he pulls his body closer to you, his face lowered to your neck, his voice hoarse and broken from the chase mixed with adrenaline. 

"Gotcha," he teases. 

You swallow your pride and drop your face to the ground to rest, your cheek sinking thanks to the tiny stones and at the same time you are grateful for the coolness they bring which manages to soothe your burning a little. 

"What do you want?" You were referring to his prize. 

Sukuna's throat makes a sound you can only categorize as a growl. He almost sounds like an animal, while you close your eyes and enjoy the sting of his grip on your wrists. 

Sukuna struggles to be sincere or hold back, alternately squeezing and releasing your hands to release pressure, he swallows before responding. 

"I want to mark you. That's my prize." 

"Mark me?" You repeat the words, confused. Choosing to ignore what his words really denote. 

You are aware that this is not what you would do with any of your friends. By this point you would have stood up, you would have shaken the leaves out of your pants and laughed at the scream you gave when he caught you however this was not what you wanted, you needed to know what his limit was, what yours was. 

"I want to bite you. Mark my teeth into your skin, I want people to ask you about it and tell them what a sore loser you are." 

Sukuna snorts hotly at your neck, a puff of air exhaling self-control (which hangs by a thread). You force yourself not to thrust your hips into him and instead you give him your throat like the good loser you are. You tilt your neck sideways, showing him the soft skin to mark. 

"Tell me if I'm being too rough," Sukuna manages to mumble, before closing his eyes and sinking his teeth into the area in the middle of your shoulder and neck without wasting any time. 

You groan involuntarily at the sensation, he pushes his hips hard against you dragging your body a little under his weight. It's the first time you realize he is enjoying this as much as you are. 

It's at that point you wish you had your hands free to pull on his pink strands and push him into you.

"Harder," you ask as you realize he wasn't biting you, his mouth was hovering above your skin, showing you only the feel of his teeth. 

You swear you can hear him curse with the next growl that vibrates his vocal cords and without wasting any time he digs his teeth into you until it hurts, you gasp, being absolutely certain that it would leave a mark that would remain on your skin for about two, three more days. 

The area that has been bitten burns, you feel it throbbing under the tender kisses he gives your injured skin and it is as if he is trying to make it feel better. 

Your pants become uncomfortable, as does the posture of your hands which begin to feel ants scurrying around them and uncomfortable as your sticky panties sink annoyingly into your slit with every involuntary movement of your thighs or hips. 

His lips are soft with each new kiss, carrying butterflies in your stomach and a little lower each time you feel the piercing in his lip tingle on your skin. Sukuna occasionally uses his tongue in swirls until the burning sensation is less intense than the flares that seem to burn your skin. 

Sukuna pushes against you again, his erection restrained against the tight jeans feels annoying. I'd like to rip them into a thousand pieces, I'd like to rip your shirt into a thousand pieces, is all he thinks about— marking your collarbones and following the stroke across your breasts and tender nipples. 

Your bodies begin to rock against each other, at first it could be interpreted as him fixing the grip of your wrists on your back but soon the friction doesn't feel so innocent. Sukuna is increasingly rubbing harder and harder, a little more needy while you on the other hand find yourself playing along by raising your hips in search of feeling something more.

However the pleasure is static, Sukuna realizes this will go nowhere when his cock starts to ache and frustration makes him moan. 

"I need to take you," Sukuna speaks, finally breaking the silence. 

"Do it." You reply almost immediately in a raspy voice, choking on another inhale. 

He seems to regain that confident, assured personality you seemed to have forgotten, very caught up in the moment. Sukuna chuckles. 

"Here? In the forest? Are you sure?" 

No, you weren't. You were in the middle of nowhere, darkness surrounding you from every corner not knowing who might be lurking from afar but if he didn't touch you you were sure you were going to explode and his heat, the hardness of his body pressing against yours, his defined abdomen sweaty, sticking to your back and the hardness of his cock in your ass were all that mattered now. 

"Yes," you say dryly, catching a moan between your teeth and lower lip.

"Ask me." 

"Take me. Fuck me, I— I couldn't be more sure." 

Sukuna doesn't make you beg anymore. He just needed to hear you be sure you wanted this as much as he did. 

Then he lets go of your hands finally which take a moment to realize they are free and that there is blood running in them again to bring them to each side of your trembling body. His languid fingers are on the button of your pants pulling it halfway down along with your panties and almost immediately you feel his fingers plunge into the wetness of your pussy. 

You both moan in unison. Three of his fingers explore the expanse of your folds up and down as you raise your hips to give him more access to your core and your face gets a little more lost inside the stones that now feel almost non-existent, any pain is overtaken by pleasure. 

His rough fingers stumble over your clit and play with it for a while, back and forth and up and down with a flat hand until your arousal spills down your thighs and makes a mess that manages to be heard like a wet echo in the abyss of silence. 

"Can you hear that?" Sukuna asks lewdly, more to himself really. With his free hand he spreads your ass cheek apart to get a better view of the poor sight the moon was giving him of your pussy. "Hm?" He again insists and not content with the amount of lubrication naturally produced by your body, he spits directly into your pussy taking you by surprise. "I'm going to put them inside..." he warns you, almost without giving you time to process his words, two fingers find themselves forcing their way inside you, scissoring inside your tight hole until you feel it relax enough to take a third. "Fuck. You're so tight."

You wanted to reproach him that it was because his fingers were too thick and maybe it was because he was fucking you with three of them but the words were cut into little pieces as you felt your orgasm hit you without warning. 

Your body jerks under his expert touch as his fingers continue to massage you through the waves of pleasure and his free hand pampers your back up and down. 

You moan as you feel his fingers leave you, your painfully empty and sensitive pussy waits patiently as Sukuna undoes his belt and jeans down to his thighs. You hear him unzip and fix his posture behind your back. You were ready, waiting with your heart beating fast for him when he takes your hand and pulls it behind you in his direction, you stutter his name. 

"Put it in." Sukuna commands. You say his name again, each syllable melting in your parched throat. Each time you call his name it seems as if a stream of pleasure hits your clit. Your fingers curl around the shaft and immediately you feel it throbbing. At that moment you hate being in the dark because you want to see him, to see his expression, to see his cock slowly slide into you and stretch you. "Put my cock in, sweet girl. There you go," he praises you sweetly, a contrast to the person he was a couple of minutes ago.

The fat head stretches your hole tentatively as Sukuna spits a second time. With another thrust from you and with the help of your hips moving back he slides easily and slowly into you, allowing you to appreciate every inch until Sukuna bottoms out and you let him go to fix your posture on the bed of rocks and leave him while he begins to pound you. 

His hips are heavy every time he thrusts inside you, pounding your ass intensely as his fingers aimlessly snake up your thighs until he reaches your plump and sensitive clit, Sukuna nips it between his knuckles then slaps it a couple of times laughing when he hears you moan and finally stimulating it in circles. 

Sukuna crawls along the length of your back to press his body to yours, his mouth is on top of his bite where he leaves a kiss before murmuring in your ear, "Can I cum inside?" your body responds physically, your swollen nipples inside your t-shirt ache, your pussy squeezes around his heavy dick. "Are you going to let me mark this pussy too? As part of my prize, hm?" You stammer an intelligible reply to what he grumpily responds by patting your tender clit to get your attention. "Focus. You want my cum in your pussy? You want me to breed you? But you have to be a good girl and take every last drop... It's a yes or no question, puppy. Use your words." 

"Yes, please! Yes." 

How could you tell him that was all you could think about? That it was all you could think about since you realized you were in love with him? Even though you didn't have to say it now, Sukuna knew. So your few words were enough to make him understand that you needed this as much as he did. So within a few more thrusts you feel him jerking inside you, choking his grunts into your neck as he massages your clit helping you climax soon after. 

Breathless and gasping for air, his cum sliding out of you, he lets himself fall beside you though he regrets it when the stones hurt his back and he whimpers, you laugh and he helps you closer to him, squeezing you to his body as if he never wants to let go. 

As you breathe in silence his heart stops being a violent drum to return to a quiet melody, similar to yours which unlike him is still somewhat unrestrained thanks to his gentle touch on your forearm and back and sudden kisses on your hairline that carry tickles all over your back. 

With the sky above your heads showing you a million stars that look like polka dots, with the cool breeze biting your skin, making you shiver every now and then against his body— your eyelids start to give way from his constant pampering. 

"I like you," Sukuna admits, interrupting the silence, his confession laden with raw sincerity, and though his words come with his trademark calmness and assurance, his heartbeat says something different. "This... it wasn't just about fucking you," he adds. 

"I like you too. I thought it was obvious," you confess a little sheepishly. Ironic, after the events that recently transpired. Although it was always harder to bare your soul than to bare your body. 

"I mean, it was but I was also afraid I was imagining things," with a low chuckle, sukuna pulls you closer to his body. 

You lean in to look at him, for a moment he purposely ignores you until he decides to return your gaze and silently cup your cheeks. His fingers push your skin until your lips stand out in an exaggerated pout and he moves in to leave a quick kiss which you catch and deepen, tasting his lips for the first time, melting at the sensations of having him suck and bite your bottom lip. 

"Do you want to go back to the festival?" Sukuna asks, in a somewhat sleepy voice. 

"Let's go back to my place."

[toppersbitch]

sebastian sallowxF!reader with the prompt ❛ keep it. it looks better on you. ❜

Keep It, It's Yours // Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Characters are not aged up here, there is nothing 18+

Summary: Sebastian just loves the way green looks on you!

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none this is just fluff

Prompt: “Keep it. it looks better on you.”

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You lay on the lawn just near the lake on the Hogwarts grounds, watching the clouds hurry by. Sebastian was dead asleep, his body resting just beside yours. It was a warm day, the last day before summer break began. You would go back home and so would Seb, far away from each other. It was heartbreaking; the two of you had been close since you started in year 5, and now it was the end of year 6. Your teachers despised the two of you, you got in double the trouble. No real feelings had ever been spoken between the two of you, little touches of the hand and knee, words were spoken during late nights and in hidden tunnels. 

“Seb,” you said lightly, pushing your shoulder up against his. He opened his eyes, turning his head to make eye contact, “I think we should jump in the lake,”

“But it is forbidden,” he was mocking one of your teachers, he rolled over onto his side, and you did the same. 

“Who told you that?” no teacher had ever said that and unless it was told to him before year 5, you’d never heard it.

“I don’t know,” he rubbed his eyes with his hand. You smiled, Sebastian always assumed everything at the school was off-limits, that's what it seemed like to him. 

You sat up, untying your boots and setting them to the side, evening was approaching. The sun has almost gone behind the outline of the castle. Seb sat up groggily, following your steps. You had already packed your robes into your trunk, your clothes being strictly casual since then. Why not jump in your clothes? It was shower day anyways. Seb stood up, waiting for you, his hand outstretched. His foot tapped impatiently, mocking you as you placed your hair up. 

Grabbing his hand you hoisted yourself up, holding tight and running towards the lake. You waded in quickly, pulling Seb behind you. The mud squished between your toes, moss, and lake vines snaking up your body.

“I sure hope the squid doesn’t get us,” Seb pinched at your legs, and you squealed, kicking at his hands. You splashed each other, the water feeling refreshing over your sunbaked skin. Laughing at little jokes and such. He lifted you throwing you deeper into the lake, swimming with ease out to you. You held onto each other, the sadness of this week's end events. 

“Seb,” you pulled his eyes from the ducks her was watching, “ I hate summer.”

“Why on earth would you hate summer?’ his eyes carried nothing but confusion.

“I hate not being with you,” you felt your heart grow heavy, “it's so boring.”

“Floo powder is a thing you know,” he had a sarcastic tone, his house fireplace wasn’t connected to the network and neither was yours. 

“Seb you know what I mean,” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“Yeah I know,” you both trailed off, looking around. Night had fallen fast and it had grown surprisingly cold. Your body shivered, teeth chattering involuntarily. However, you stayed, anytime with Sebastian was worth it's total in gold. The bell rang, meaning it was time for dinner, no matter if you two actually made it, Sebastian had an in with the house elves and they’d do just about anything he asked.

“Let’s go back,” you said, your voice quivering from the cold. You swam back, every motion sending chills. The outside air wasn’t much warmer, the air consuming your body. You shivered, tying your shoes and waiting.

“Here take my sweater,” Sebastian offered his knit sweater had been wearing all day. You pulled it over your head, the smell of Seb filling your lungs. 

“Why don’t you wear green more?” Sebastian was staring at you, his robes hanging over his shoulder like a used bath towel. 

You were a Slytherin of course, but you opted for the least amount of green in all your clothing, black fabrics being the majority in your closet. You shrugged, in response beginning the walk back to the castle. 

You both skipped dinner,  opting to take showers and sneak out again later for a snack, possibly in the restricted basement of the library, this was a favorite meeting spot for the two of you. You dressed, pulling over Sebastionas sweater again. It was possibly the coziest thing you’d ever put on, the Slytherin rooms were known for being cold, the walls being all stones. 

“I got us lamb chops and eclairs,” Sebastian sat roughly on the floor, a bag of food falling into your lap. You emptied out the contents, chowing down. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jokes and laughs, even snorts echoed off the cement walls. It was late, even the ghosts were quiet and you no longer had to occasionally hide from them. 

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said, your head resting on Sebastian’s shoulder, his on top of yours. You twirled your wand in your hand, watching little sparks fly with just your thoughts. 

“Either do I, but we have to,” his words were tired and slurred, he was half asleep and you knew it. You stood up, pushing your mess back into the bag, and helping Sebastian stand, you both stood facing each other, tears welling in your eyes. There was no promise you would be able to say goodbye tomorrow. You wiped your eyes on the sleeves, the green fabric soaking the up. 

“Oh here's your sweater,” you pulled it over your head, wadding it up and stuffing it into Sebastian’s hands, he grabbed it tightly, letting his hands graze yours. He pulled you into a tight hug, beginning to sniffle himself. 

The next morning was hard, shoving the rest of your belonging into your trunk, and finding places for the trinkets you collected this year. Moving onto your desk you saw a specific green sweater folded neatly, a note pinned to it. You hurried over grabbing the note eagerly. 

It read: “Keep it. It looks better on you anyways” signed Seb

His sloppy handwriting is barely legible. How on earth did he sneak this in here before leaving? He was such a mysterious being.

You folded the note, slipping it into your journal, holding the sweater to your chest. Seb had already gone home, and this was all you had of him for the summer, other than the letters of course.

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God this is so cute!!!!!! I hope this everyone enjoys <3333

Find my other stuff HERE

[liz-on-leash]

Did you know?

The 4th idol on your Tumblr Dashboard once stopped to help a homeless person, who then pulled them into an alleyway where they and a couple friends had fun using them.

I started this with Chaewon before I had to go and came back. The idol on my dashboard changed to someone else but I figured continuing with Chaewon would be better.

T/W: anal rape and nasty stuff.

Chaewon's nightly run through the city streets was a routine she cherished, a moment of solitude in her otherwise busy life. But tonight, as she approached a dimly lit alley, a figure emerged from the shadows, huddled and hunched over. Her kind heart couldn't ignore the apparent distress.

"Are you okay?" she asked, slowing to a stop, her breath forming clouds in the chilly air. The figure, a man with ragged clothes and unkempt hair, looked up, his eyes wild and desperate. "Please... just a little help..." he rasped.

Chaewon's empathy took over, and she reached into her pocket to retrieve her wallet. But as she did, the man's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. Alarm flashed across her face. "Hey! Let go!" she cried, attempting to pull free.

Before she could react further, two more figures emerged from the darkness, blocking her escape. "What the...?" She tried to back away, but they had her surrounded.

One of the men, tall and muscular, grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground. "You're gonna be a good little runner for us tonight, sweetheart," he growled, his hot breath on her face. Chaewon kicked and struggled, her eyes wide with fear. "Let me go, you bastards!"

They dragged her deeper into the alley, the rough ground scraping her knees and elbows. The homeless man she had tried to help now stood, revealing a sinister smile. "You'll learn not to trust anyone, bitch," he hissed.

Ripping her running tights with a sharp knife, they exposed her slender thighs and firm ass. Chaewon's screams echoed off the alley walls, attracting no help, only the caws of distant crows. One of the men forced his thick, calloused fingers into her mouth, muffling her cries as he pinched her nose, cutting off her air supply.

"P-Please- I can't..." she begged, tears streaming down her face as she nodded, desperate for oxygen. They released her nose, and she gasped for breath, coughing violently.

Without further delay, they flipped her over, pressing her face into the filthy pavement, still wet from the evening's rain. The cold, grimy surface pressed against her cheek, filling her nostrils with the stench of garbage and urine.

The man with the knife stepped forward, his erection straining against his dirty pants. "You're gonna take this up the ass, bitch," he spat, grabbing her hips and positioning himself at her tight, quivering hole.

Chaewon's body tensed, and she tried to clench, but he was relentless, spitting on her asshole and forcing his thick cockhead past the resistant ring of muscle.

"Nooo!" she wailed as he penetrated her, stretching her painfully. He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. "You scream, and we'll make it worse, you hear?"

The pain was excruciating as he thrust forward, his cock pushing past her sphincter, making her eyes water. Her body shook uncontrollably, and she bit her lip, drawing blood, trying to stay silent.

Another man stepped forward, his cock already glistening with pre-cum. "My turn for this pretty hole," he said, slapping her bruised cheek with his thick shaft. The homeless man held her down, his weight pressing her face into the mud, making it hard to breathe.

"Please... Stop– it hurts..." she whimpered, her voice hoarse from crying. The second man spat on her abused hole, then lined up his throbbing cock, slamming into her with one powerful stroke. Chaewon's body jerked, and she screamed into the dirt, her ass clenching involuntarily around the invading cock.

"You like that, huh?" he grunted, pounding her mercilessly. She felt his balls slapping against her swollen pussy lips, still covered by the torn remnants of her tights.

The men took turns, each one using her ass with increasing savagery. Chaewon's cries turned to sobs, then to whimpers as they showed no mercy, each taking their pleasure from her tight, clenching hole.

As the last man finished, he pulled out with a wet, sucking sound, and Chaewon felt something warm and sticky dribble from her gaping hole. She was left trembling, her body covered in dirt and cum, her asshole throbbing painfully.

One of the men delivered a final kick to her stomach, causing her to curl up, gasping for breath. "Remember, bitch. No one gives a fuck about a kind-hearted slut like you."

They left her there, face down, ass up, her body twitching and convulsing. Chaewon's eyes rolled back as she lost consciousness, her prolapsed asshole leaking yellowish cum. The sound of her weak, pitiful whimpers and the warm trickle of her piss mixing with the dirt beneath her marked the end of her horrific ordeal.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Warm Me Up

Summary: Illyria is cold, Rhys has some ideas on how to stay warm.

Content Warnings: Smut; dirty talk; little bit of cursing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Illyria was a wasteland, nothing but frigid mountains and harsh winds, you'd never understood how anything survived here. Your mate had flown you in an hour ago, you'd immediately had to sit in front of the cabin's fireplace, smothered in blankets, a warm cup of tea in your hands to avoid your teeth chattering and your fingertips from turning blue. The boys were somehow training outside shirtless. You could see them from the window, sparring, even as the relentless wind continued to beat against the windows.

You furrowed deeper into your mountain of blankets, still so damned cold. How were they managing that? How had Cassian survived his childhood, alone and hungry in this for so long? Was there something built into Illyrians to help them survive?

You tapped a mental hand against the bond hesitantly, worried you might distract your mate and he'd get hurt... again. Rhys had gotten used to your random questions, but thd first couple of times had been so sudden he'd lost focus, Az had clipped him across the shoulder, drawing blood. It hadn't even scarred, had healed with the help of his powers in less than hour. He'd probably forgotten about it. You hadn't.

Your mate responded with a gentle caress against your mental shields, like he'd brushed a hand over you mind, urging you to come forward.

"Do Illyrians run hot?" You asked.

A dark chuckle ran across the bond, sending a shiver over your spine. "Why don't you come out here and find out?"

You rolled your eyes. "And freeze to death? No thank you."

"It's not even snowing yet.," he let your peer through his eyes, the landscape dripping from yesterday's rain, but it was more mud than anything.

"I've seen warmer places in the Winter Court."

"There are plenty of ways to stay warm up here," Rhys purred, his voice a playful caress against your mind. "You're welcome to join us in the birken when we're done."

"And leave the safety of my little nest by the fire? I'll have frostbite by the time I make it there."

"Give me five minutes." The bond snapped closed and then Cassian was screaming obscenities from where they were sparring near the side of the cabin.

"THAT'S CHEATING YOU BASTARD!" Azriel shouted.

"RHYSAND I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!"

You pulled the comforter off the top of your head to try and get a good look through the closest window, but there was nothing but darkness against the glass. It was still too early in the day for the sun to be going down, the darkness outside rattling against the windows like a harsh wind. Rhys very rarely unleashed that much power, but you felt your own flare to life in your chest at the sight of it. Like calls to like, and your starborn powers had always risen to the challenge it found in Night Triumphant.

It wasn't even a full five minutes before the back door was thrown open so fast the old wood cracked against the wall. The wind came in with it, making you burrow deeper into your mound of blankets to avoid it.

Rhys must have kicked off his boots at the door, because you heard it slam shut and then nothing until large hands settled on your blanket clad shoulders.

You jumped with a shriek of surprise that had your mate bending over the back of the couch to kiss your barely exposed forehead apologetically, his skin colder than the wind beating against the walls.

"Ack! You're an ice cube!" You hissed, twisting to get away.

He chuckled as he pulled away and went to the closet near the front door.

"Don't bother, I've already raided it," you warned.

He opened it anyway, then frowned at all the empty shelves. "You weren't kidding." His next move was to go to the stack of wood neatly organized by the fire place and throw more in, the blaze illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, training leathers hanging low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat making his bronze skin glow in the firelight.

Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped right on him, ran your tongue over his abs, traced the swirl of ink across his chest. Something about him in leathers made you weak in the knees, all rational thought out the window. The only thing keeping you in place this time was the thought of loosing the little pocket of warmth you had created.

He felt your gaze of course, turning away from the fire to look at you. "Better?" His voice had gone down an octave, his pupils dilating.

"Little," you admitted, though him being so close, looking like that might have been more of a reason for the heat you were starting to feel than the fire.

He walked to you slowly, intently, violet eyes fixed on you.

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest as he knelt in front of you.

"Think you can make room for me in there?" He kept his hands on the top blanket of your little cocoon, waiting for permission.

"I don't know, how cold are you?" You teased; this would be the last little bit of your resolve.

He slid a hand under the blankets, fingers dragging up slowly, intently over your calves.

"Cold," you whimpered, but the shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with the temperature, not as he traced his way up your thighs, only stopping when he found the hem of your sweater.

He leaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose first, then the corners of your lips, his breath warm against your face, the contrast between the two temperatures making your head spin. You wanted to reel away and lean in all the same time.

"Just for a second," he promised, "then I'll get you nice and warm."

You opened the blanket, and that intense violet gaze took stock of your attire: His old sweater, so loose and baggy it looked like a dress on you, and knee high, fuzzy pink socks. Pants had felt like a waste of time, not when sifting through the dresser meant time spent away from the fire.

Rhys all but jumped on top of you, pushing you down into the couch cushions, the blankets tangling between you as he crashed his lips against yours.

Rhys, as High Lord, was always so poised and put together, everything about him calculated and curated to create the necessary masks of court duties; but alone, like this, when it was just the two of you, no masks necessary, he let that unending restraint slip, kissing you and running his hands over your body like a man starved. His tongue swept into your mouth as he slid a hand under your sweater, deft fingers dragging up your skin to cup your breast.

He'd kept his promise about the cold, you'd only felt it for a moment before he'd settled between your legs, using a bit of magic to untangle the blankets and rearrange them over the two of you. You ran a hand through his hair, scraping your nails lightly over his scalp as he playfully gave your nipple a tug.

"Better?" He rasped, lips barely off yours like he couldn't bear to be that far from you.

The warmth of his weight on top of you would have been enough, but the way he kept running his hands over any bit of you he could reach, the way he kissed you again and again and again was enough to make you forget you had ever been cold in the first place.

"Much better," you confirmed as he broke away to nip at your neck.

He chuckled as you arched into his touch; whimpering lightly as his tongue laved over the sting of his teeth on your throat.

"Can't decide," he murmured into your skin, "if I should fuck you in my sweater or not?"

Heat coiled between your legs, even further when he rocked his hips into your center, even with the clothes separating the two of you, the friction was enough to make you moan.

He nipped under your jaw, "Look so pretty in it, but I gotta get you all warmed up don't I? My poor little mate, not used to the cold."

Now that he was with you, you wanted, needed, every bit of contact with his body you could get. The sweater, so warm and comforting before, now felt like a tremendously itchy obstacle keeping you from him. "Want it off," you complained, trying to find your voice around another moan as he rutted his hips into you again, hard even through his leathers.

He chuckled as he fisted the hem and started pulling it up your body. "Wear it again for me later?"

You nodded as he pulled it over your head and tossed it over the back of the couch. Distantly, you hoped Rhys had the good sense to send his brothers away for a little while since you had stopped hearing them moving around outside, but had no time to ask as he started kissing his way down your body, pausing to give some attention to your peaked nipples. A whine tore from your throat as he swirled his tongue over one and then the other.

"Love when you make those little noises for me," he purred into your mind, not wanting to remove his lips from your body to speak.

"Rhys," you whimpered, body arching into him as he nipped at your sensitive skin.

"You're gonna look so pretty, all marked up under my sweater later," he sent an image of you, covered in hickeys from your throat to your hips down the bond as he continued to move slowly down your body.

Rhys liked to push you, liked to see how worked up he could get you, first with that silver tongue of his, then his hands, he could keep this up for hours. You, however, where so desperate for more friction, to fill the ache now burning between your legs, bucked your hips, squirming underneath him now. "Please. Need you."

He scraped his teeth along he hem of your underwear, humming his approval. Rhys grinned against your skin, all male satisfaction as he held your hips in place. "So impatient. I thought you were freezing to death in here? Don't you want to get warm, Darling?"

Warm? Your skin was on fire in every spot he had touched, the warmth of his body spreading to every point of contact he gave. It was becoming too much and not enough, you needed more, more, more.

"Please!"

He caught the hem of your panties in his teeth and pulled them slowly down your hips, hands skimming your hips and thighs, kneading soft skin. Your legs widened for him automatically, instinctively, despite the fact that you were now uncomfortably wet from his ministrations.

He ran his tongue against your center, humming his approval, blasting it down the bond. "So wet, and I've barely even touched you."

You pinched your eyes shut, overwhelmed already. He really was too damn good at this. No amount of time would ever be enough to satisfy the well of need you had for him. You blasted that desperation, that ache for him right down the bond as words failed you, as he continued his exploration of your dripping core with his tongue. Stars erupted behind your closed eyelids as he chuckled down the bond, pleased with your reactions to his body.

You were sure you were begging for him, whimpering and pleading nonsense as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, but the words faded in and out of your consciousness. There was only Rhys, the movements of his tongue, the feeling of his fingertips digging pleasantly tight in your hips, the heat of skin wherever it touched you. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body arching, hands tangling in his hair as the edge rose up to meet and you and you toppled over it with a scream that sounded an awful lot like your mate's name.

"Such a good girl," he purred as he lapped up the evidence of your pleasure.

You're whole body shook as he kissed his way back up your body, grinning against your flushed skin the whole way. He was so warm, when he kissed you again, the taste of your release still on his plush lips, your only thoughts were on how you could get more of that warmth, until it has seeped into your bones, erased any trace of the cold that had laid so deep beneath.

You threaded your hands in his hair, now a mess across his forehead, whimpering. "Need you still."

He grinned as he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a playful nip. "I know, love."

You moved a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

"You'll have me until there are no longer stars in the sky." The bond flooded with more warmth and affection, as deep as your need for him ran, his was equal, there was no end to what he could give you.

You kissed him again, even as your legs wrapped around his waist, a bit of magic finally removing those damned leathers. Maybe you'd ask him to put them back on later, so you could enjoy the sight of him in the aftermath as much as he would you, but those were questions for later.

"I love you," you whimpered as he finally slide into you, slowly, casually, like there was all the time in the world for the two of you to enjoy each other.

He fit like he was made just for you, the stretch just uncomfortable for a moment before the pleasure made your back arch and your toes curl. He moaned into your throat, pushing his nose into your sweat dampened skin, inhaling your scent as he pushed all the way in to you.

You wondered, distantly, if the stars you were seeing were his making, or something that appeared for him too. The way he panted into your skin as he rocked his hips, testing you, made you think he saw them too.

"So perfect," he moaned as he slid almost fully out.

Your nails clawed at his shoulders, begging for him to come back and he plunged back in a little more forcefully this time, the couch groaning beneath the two of you.

You rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, hands still trailing down the contours of his spine in a move that would be sure to leave marks of your own. He nipped at your neck and shoulders when you pushed too hard, skin breaking beneath your fingertips, but you knew he didn't mind, know he relished in being marked up by you, like it was a badge of honor. You'd leave hickeys on him afterwards, when the pleasure building between your legs wasn't so white hot, when you could focus your attention somewhere other than the need burning it's way through you.

His hand snaked down between your legs, drawing you closer and closer to the edge again.

"Rhys," a prayer, a mantra, the only thing that made sense as pleasure turned all rational thought to mush.

"I've got you," he rasped in your ear, every muscle taught as he rocked into you again and again and again. His pace was quickly becoming more frantic, his breath hot on your throat as he moaned into your skin. It was that sound, so desperate and low right beneath your ear, coupled with the movement of his deft fingers, the angle of his cock inside you, all hurtling you so quickly towards the edge that you didn't notice it was there until you toppled over it. Your mate followed with a roar, his own release warm inside you.

You clung to him, trembling, panting, as you came down from your high, the familiar weight of him atop you grounding in the aftermath. He snaked an arm around you as he positioned the two of you on your sides, sharing the couch now. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head, gently.

"Warm now, darling?" He asked softly, a hint of teasing still there, even as he recovered his breath.

He hadn't pulled out of you yet; you bit your lip in thought as you tossed a leg over his, bringing you flush against his hips. You were sensitive, the movement made you wince a little, but even after all that, you still wanted more of him. Perhaps it would never be enough. Like the Illyrians that called this frigid place home, there was always going to be something that pushed you back towards the fire, that damned insatiable need to get warm.

"I think I'm still a little cold," you purred, eyes glinting playfully.

Your mate chuckled at the challenge in your tone, violet eyes narrowing into where you were still joined. "Can't have that, can we?"

The fire roared in the fireplace, a bit of your mate's magic flaring, making sure there was more heat in the cabin, before his lips were on yours again, chasing away any hint of cold before it could touch you.

[mintmatcha]

Your daughter returns home the following night, her slumbering form thrown over her father's shoulder. Her backpack is slung over the other, artwork and other miscellaneous kindergarten papers jammed into the stuck zipper. They're two hours later than promised, but, for once, you don't say anything. You just open the door and let him walk in.

"I think she's getting sick." Bakugo kicks his boots off as he walks. His voice is soft enough that you can hear the bits of dried mud spatter against the carpet. "Snottier than usual."

You hum an acknowledgement. Bakugo looks different every time you see him. Sometimes his haircut is fresh or his outfit is new. Today, the creases in his smile liners are deeper, like he's been enjoying life without you more than ever. His brow is always pinched tight in a constant wrinkle, but today it's looser, and it looks more like it did when you were young.

"Little fucker sneezed right in my mouth yesterday." His daughter shifts a bit and he drops his voice even lower, even softer. "Don't know how she did it."

Even with his baby on his hip, he maneuvers around the house with ease, swaying his hip to avoid the table and even skipping over the horrible third step and it's awful creak. You follow him, padding quietly behind the two as they head to her room. He places her on top of the covers with a kiss on the forehead, lingering for a moment before backing out into the dark hall again.

He handles her with such a delicacy that, if you were a worse person, you might be jealous. It's a tenderness you fought our, you once begged for- and she gets it effortlessly.

Which is good, you remind yourself. She deserves to be loved correctly.

So do you. That's why you left.

"Are you dying or something?"

Bakugo's voice snaps you out of your thought process. He's watching you, brow furrowed just as it should be.

"You're being real quiet."

You shrug. When you head back down stairs, he follows. You both skip the noisy step.

"I'm being serious." You swear you feel the ghost of air on the back of your shoulder- the echo of him reaching for you, but not connecting. When you turn, its still there, hanging in the air, still as a deer in the high beams of an eighteen wheeler.

"You better go home before your girlfriend gets pissy."

He exhales through his nose, shoulders and hand falling. You wait for the anger, wait for the fight, but the impact never arrives.

"Nah, we ain't-" His earnestly surprises you. "It's done."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's fine."

He shrugs with one shoulder, adam's apple bobbing. There's so much to say, there's nothing left unspoken. Soon, he'll go home and sleep in his own bed. You'll sleep in one you used to share. There's no reason to stay, but you both linger.

[frost-queen]

Tear the world apart (Reader X Elijah Mikaelson)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , 

@harleyquinnswifeyfrfr  , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m

You could already smell the blood, coming from a mile. The scent mixed with the forests fragrance. That damp mossy smell after the rain hat hit in a morning glow. Your senses kicked in, turning your eyes yellow. Leaving the cabin, you started running. No human could keep up as you rushed through the bayou. The earth squishy underneath your feet. Last night was a heavy rain fall in the bayou. Sending the river banks higher than normal. You and your pack had taken shelter for the night. Eye colour a bright yellow.

The scenery flashed by as you covered your grounds quick. The smell of blood becoming more vivid. The forest reeking of it. Already slowing a bit down, you knew you were getting closer. A flock of crowd made you snap your head back up to the sky. They were circling above your head. Cawing loud. Seeing one dive down. It made you widen your eyes, jumping over a mossy log to get closer to the blood smell.

Stepping deeper into the swamp, you were overwhelmed by the smell. There came a clearing as your eyes widened. Growing larger with the shock. A repulsion came over you, almost making you want to throw up. It was hard to swallow it down seeing the massacred pile of human. A few flies already buzzing around them. Amongst the pile, you recognized a face that wasn’t so heavily covered in blood. – “Ben!” – you screamed out, running over to the pile.

It was then that you recognized more of them. Your pack. Slaughtered. You shoved a body off Ben, wanting to check on your alpha. You were a small pack of wolves. Mostly existing of wolves no one else wanted to take. Those who found refuge with Ben in the bayou. You couldn’t control your tears as you wiped the blood of his face. Wanting him to be clean. Mud mixing with blood as it stained your clothing and limbs.

It was then that your eyes fell on the two puncture holes in his neck. Your hands clenched into fists, catching some mud with it. Letting your head fall back, you screamed your lungs out. Sending the flock of crows above your head fleeing. Every fibre in your body trembled with the intensity of your scream till your body fell forwards from exhaustion. You hadn’t heard them going out. Not remembering much from last night.

Like lambs they were slaughtered and there was only one who could’ve done this. Vampires. Your sworn enemies. Wiping the back of your hand against your cheek, you left an unwanted bloody mud smudge. Getting up, you backed away from the bodies. Knowing what you had to do. You snapped a branch, pointing the sharpy end at the sun. Lowering your hand, you set out on your war path. Hungry for some vampires. Specially those originals.

The looks the locals gave you, didn��t bother you. Not even their pulled up noses from the smell. You kept walking with one goal only. The Mikaelsons house clear in your vision. You didn’t care who was at home as someone was going to pay for this. Letting the wooden spike twirl in your hand, you weren’t afraid of them. At this point you weren’t afraid of anything. Savages they were. Rebekah smelled it first, pulling her nose up. – “What is that ghastly smell?” – she asked moving her hand in front of her nose. – “It smells like a swamp.” – she added as Klaus laughed loud.

“Is that you? You pig?” – she accused him. Klaus held his hands up. – “Do not look at me.” – he said, suddenly jumping up when someone entered their family home. – “Mikaelsons!” – you shouted loud. Rebekah quirking her eyebrow up at you. Clearly having found the source of smell. Klaus rushed over to you, stopping you before you could enter more. – “Out!” – he ordered with a glare.

You rose the wooden spike at him, your eyes flashing yellow. – “Make me.” – you replied firm. – “You seem a bit lost Wolfie?” – Kol appeared behind Klaus, crossing his arms. You bared your teeth at him making Kol snap his mouth teasingly at you to mimic a bite. – “What do you want?” – Klaus called out. – “I want your head on a pike!” – you made clear moving the spike closer to his throat. – “Get in line for that.” – Kol answered behind Klaus. Klaus curled up a smirk, finding you very bold to threaten him like that. – “Brothers, let’s be civil.” – Elijah Mikaelson came down the stairs, already taking out a handkerchief for you.

Needing to out your anger, you threw the spike at him. It hit him in the shoulder making him grunt. He slowly pulled it out making it clatter to the ground. In a matter of a second he was at your side. Having grabbed you as your back hit the wall making you gasp loud. He was already showing you his fangs out of spite. – “Why are you here?” – he asked looking at you with those darkened eyes. – “To kill you!” – you replied receiving a hard push back against the wall.

“You killed my pack!” – you made clear. – “You blood suckers slaughtered my pack last night and you are going to pay for it!” – you shouted pushing Elijah off you. He stumbled backwards a bit shocked by your accusations. Panting loud, you watched as the four Mikaelsons came nearer. – “Y/n?” – Hayley’s voice broke the tension as she appeared between Klaus and Kol.

“What… what happened?” – she asked worried. – “Did you set them up to it?” – you called out to her, taking a step as Elijah reached his hand out to keep you at a distance from her. – “To what?” – Hayley replied confused. – “They slaughtered my pack!” – you screamed out. – “Last night at the swamp. Massacred them after they sucked them dry!”

Hayley gasped loud in shock. – “I… I have no pack…” – you hated yourself for getting emotional, but seeing their mangled up bodies in your mind, made you want to cry your eyes out. Hayley rushed over to you as Klaus tried to hold her back. Elijah noticed her, grabbing her by the arm quickly before she could reach you. – “Typical wolves to blame any murder on us.” – Elijah said with disgust. – “I saw the puncture holes!” -  you let out, pointing at your neck with two fingers. – “Wiped your own memories for that?” – you mocked. – “We didn’t kill your pack.” – Rebekah said loud making you puff loud.

“Liar!” – you yelled, wanting to have something to throw at them. – “All you ever do is kill… my family… you killed my family…” – your voice fading out a bit. Staring heartbroken down at the ground. – “Mark my words Mikaelsons. I’ll have your heads.” – you threatened taking your leave as you knew you were outnumbered now. Elijah scoffed loud, slowly letting go of Hayley. Hayley stared questionable at her friends. – “What?” – Klaus asked. – “Did you? Did you kill Y/n’s pack?” – she asked. -  “Why should I be bothered with a nameless pack?” – Klaus said back with a devious smirk.

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

Elijah gasped loud seeing his sister’s neck broken. He rushed over to her, seeing the rip marks at her shirt. Three tears going from her stomach to her back. It made Elijah worry, making him lift her shirt up to see the damage. Three scratches of nails crossed into her skin. It made Elijah only think of one person who could’ve done this. He waited till his sister woke up and the scratch marks disappeared as they seemed to be of no harm.

As soon as Kol could watch their sister, Elijah set off on a path of war. He reached the swamps quickly. The smell of blood clear on his senses. He first went to the cabins knowing you’d be there. Except you weren’t there. Listening, he heard shovelling. He fled over to the sound. The first thing he did was cover up his nose at the smell from the blood that has been cooking under the glory sun for a day now. Looking around, he saw several dug out pits. In one of them sand flew up.

Elijah made his way over to the pit, looking down in it. There he saw you shovelling. Face dirty with sand. As the sun got blocked from you, casting a shadow over your face, you looked up. Coming face to face with Elijah. – “What do you want!” – you called out. Elijah jumped into the pit, grabbing you by the arms. He then jumped out, slamming your back against the ground as he sat on top of you. – “I know you hurt my sister!” – he spitted out with anger. Eyes already darkening at you. – “What?” – you replied confused.

“You said you’d have our heads, so you must feel glorious for hurting my sister.” – Elijah set more pressure on your shoulders, pushing them firmer onto the ground. – “I have been here all day and night!” – you shouted at him, trying to get him off. – “Shovelling graves to bury my pack, the pack you killed!” – you made clear, pushing him off you. Elijah fell backwards as you got up. – “Have a look around idiot! You really think I dug all those graves in five minutes?” – you yelled making him take another look. There were indeed a number of graves already dug. – “I didn’t hurt your sister.” – you told him annoyed. – “And I didn’t kill your pack!” – Elijah answered equally bothered.

You dropped the shovel, walking up to the bodies you had separated form each other. Having laid them carefully beside each other with a sheet over them. You pulled one of the sheets back, pointing down. Elijah neared seeing the puncture wounds as well. – “I did not kill them.” – Elijah reminded you once more. – “Then who did? Fairies?” – you replied sarcastically. Elijah knelt down to the body, moving his two fingers at the same length of the puncture holes.

“They are too close together for bite marks.” – he informed you. – “Bull! You are just calling things to deflect your murders.” – you told him as Elijah pulled himself back up. He pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to you. – “I do not.” – he responded. You puffed loud, pushing his hand away. – “I don’t need your tissues.” – you made clear. Elijah offered it again. – “You have dirt on your face.” – he informed you. Bothered you took the handkerchief from him, wiping it across your face. – “Oh look you are capable of having a clean face.” – he teased as you shoved him aside.

You pressed the handkerchief against his chest walking back to the shovel. – “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have more graves to dig.” – you jumped back into the pile to shovel more. Elijah looked briefly at the heavens before taking off his jacket. He rolled his sleeves up, grabbing another shovel to help you. You blinked surprised when you saw him jump down the hole with you to shovel. He didn’t say a word, just shovelling. He even helped you lay the bodies down to bury.

After a proper burial, you returned to your cabin as Elijah followed. You threw a clean shirt and vest at him to change in. Elijah went to the bathroom to clean up as you washed yourself a bit at the sink. Putting on clean clothing that didn’t were stained with dirt and sand. Elijah returned as you were sitting down. – “I find it very strange.” – he started, arms crossed. You flashed your gaze up to him. – “How the puncture holes clearly tried to resemble teeth, but they were too close together for that.” – he went on.

“Are you saying you didn’t kill them?” – you joked out. Elijah looked down at you. – “Yes.” – he let you know. You got up coming to face him. – “And I didn’t hurt your sister.” – you told him making him roll his eyes at you. – “Do you see that!” – you pointed out some scratch marks on the farthest wall. – “Did the scratches look remotely like that?” – you asked loud. Elijah stared at the marks, as they were nothing alike. He started thinking. Pacing around the room.

“If we didn’t do this… then someone must have gone through a great length to put us up against each other.” – Elijah explained thoughtfully. – “We are each other’s enemies.” – you stated sitting back down. – “Yes and what common enemy do we have?” – Elijah asked gesturing at you. It made you widen your eyes. – “Witches.” – Elijah spoke as it all made sense now. – “The question is why would they do this?”

You pulled your shoulders up, feeling a bit tired from shovelling day and night. – “Tired Wolfie?” – Elijah teased. – “Bite me.” – you responded snappy. Elijah was about to leave as you got up, holding him back by his arm. – “I want to kill them. Do not take this hunt from me.” – you told him. – “Afraid I wouldn’t share furry?” – Elijah responded with a chuckle. – “Watch it sucker before I actually rip your chest open.” – you threatened back.

You let go of his arm, taking a step back. Elijah looked up to the ceiling, knowing what kind of night it would be. – “It’s a full moon tonight.” – he said. – “I’ll be fine!” – you told him picking your dirty cloths. – “Without your pack?” – he asked concerned. It made you furrow your brows a bit. – “I’ve been on my own before.” – you answered walking past him to the laundry basket. Dropping the clothing in it. – “Go home.” – you told him leaving out the door to go collect some fire wood.

You were surprised to see Elijah had stayed despite you telling him to leave. – “I thought I told you to leave.” – you said dropping the firewood before the stove. – “You shouldn’t be on your own.” – he responded. – “I don’t need your babysitting.” – you snapped annoyed at him. Elijah walked up to you, kneeling beside you to help you out. – “I could bite your head off.” – you warned him. Elijah chuckled loud. – “I’d like to see you try.” – he responded. – “You should’ve told me, I would’ve dug another grave just for you.” – you teased flashing a smile at him.

The two of you sat down, waiting for the moon to come. You felt it was close, getting up. Elijah got up as well with a worried expression. – “Stay inside!” – you ordered him, heading for the door. He took a step closer to you, making you make your warning even clearer. – “I said stay!” – with a glare, you wanted him to listen. – “Woof.” – Elijah answered bursting in laughter as you didn’t find it funny at all. You left the cabin, taking your distance from it. Moving more towards the riverbanks. The first crack of your bones, made you scream loud, sinking to the ground. A second and third crack dislocated your arms.

Screaming loud in terror, your eyes flashed yellow. Elijah rushed outside, coming to your aid. – “Y/n.” – he said with worry. – “Leave!” – you cried out to him, panting from the pain. Another crack in your back made you scream in agony. Teeth bared as you pushed Elijah back. Elijah fell back, staring with wide eyes as you transformed into a wolf. He held a protective hand in front of him as you snarled at him. Teeth bared as you slowly approached him. – “Y/n…” – Elijah said gently not sure if you would hear him. He kept moving his head back as you neared.

Seeing the wild in your eyes. He gulped soft thinking you were truly going to bite his head off. Your nose neared his hand, sniffing his smell. Growling loud, your body purred with vibration. Then your mouth closed, your eyes seemingly softening up to him. Elijah’s eyes stood wide as you licked his hand. Lowering his hand, he saw the gentle change in you. You seemingly seemed to bow your head at him. Elijah exhaled loud as you brushed past him, running into the wilderness. Elijah returned to the cabin, waiting on the porch for your return. He staid up all night, waiting for the early morning glory. From between the trees, you returned.

Panting loud as your paws tripled back to the cabin. Exhausted you laid yourself down in front of the porch, changing with the morning sun back into yourself. Elijah undid his vest, laying it over your naked body. You pulled his vest closer around him as he picked you up. Carrying you back inside. He laid you on your bed, placing a blanket over you. Returning to the living room, he waited for you to return.

You had woken up and got dressed. Shyly you presented yourself to Elijah. – “I still have my head.” – he chuckled out. It made you chuckle back. Elijah approached you, placing a hand on your arm. – “How are you feeling?” – he asked. – “Like hell.” – you told him with a faint smile. You caught yourself staring at him, tearing your gaze away from him. – “You… you should go home… I’m out of the clearing so… no… no need to babysit me anymore.”

Elijah looked pitiful at you. Missing your gaze as he wanted to hold it a bit longer. – “You are still not fine Y/n.” – he said reaching out to you. – “Elijah.” – you responded moving his hand away from you. – “We… we are enemies.” – you reminded him. – “We don’t need to be…” – he responded. – “Let’s… let’s just find those witches.” – you answered as Elijah took a step back. – “Of course.” – he said.

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

 “You are dead!” – you called out, eyes flashing a bright twinkling yellow. Elijah bared his teeth beside you, his eyes darkening. The witches in front of you screaming loud. You started running for one of them. Elijah reached one of the witches in seconds, snapping their neck before she would utter a word. Her lifeless body dropped to the ground, making some of her sisters scream in tears at the loss of their sister.

You jumped on a witch, wrapping your legs around her as you dug your teeth into her neck. Ripping a piece of her flesh off. She screamed loud, sinking to the ground as you went down with her. Elijah was fighting off a witch as another one focused on you. Hand out as she said some magic. A deafening sound made you press your hands against your ears in terror. Crying loud at the immense pain she was causing you. Elijah grunted loud, rushing over to the witch. He broke her hand making her scream in pain. He then bared his teeth at her neck, biting through her neck.

“Y/n!” – Elijah rushed over to you, kneeling. – “Are you alright?” – he asked, holding his hands against your cheeks. You noticed a witch behind him with a dagger. Ready to throw it as you shoved Elijah aside, rolling over with him. The dagger flew above your heads, clattering to the ground.

Pushing yourself off Elijah, you ran up to her, punching her across the face. She stumbled back as another one wanted to approach you from the back. Elijah grabbed them firm by their clothing, tossing them back against a wall. Not one needed to lay a finger on you. Kicking the witch in her stomach, she stumbled back.

Elijah came standing behind her, breaking her neck as you heard the crack. Her body dropped before you to the ground. Elijah and you panting loud as you stared at each other. Elijah rushed up to you, grabbing a hold of you as he pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back, feeling the world melt around you.

-------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my��Masterlists!

[itsgivingmami]

Hey I’m in the mood for some hurt/comfort soooo

Reader is the new intercontinental champion and doesn’t know rhea very well since the world champion has taken so much time off, during a press event for the royal rumble Rhea and reader are alone backstage, reader has a severe panic attack…

-thank you queen

Ooooooo you already know I’m on it✨

I’ve Got You- Rhea Ripley

Warning: Panic attacks and skin scratching!

"Watch your step," the p.a tells you, if only he knew. Every time you placed a foot on the ground you felt like it was sinking into mud and your legs felt like jello. "Just wait here," he tells you quickly before running out somewhere else. Where even the fuck was here? You'd rarely been to this stadium not to mention it was under construction and half covered in tarps that all looked the same. You felt like the halls you'd gone throw to get here were a maze and your vision felt like looking through ski goggles.

    You hadn't even realised it was happening, one moment you were celebrating one of the biggest wins of your career. You'd fought hard for it and soaked it in but as the crowd became muffled and your adrenaline came down the reality of such a title started to cloud your thoughts. Had the belt been this heavy a minute ago? It felt like a fucking anchor on your waist but you can't seem to get your hands to unclasp it.

     Your gear feels like it's strangling you and you reach up to scratch at your chest, your cold hand meets hot skin. Feeling your sweaty hair sticking to your neck is making you tense at the shoulders and closing up your body makes it feel like you can't breathe at all. You can hear people talking around you but they sound like they're underwater and you're drowning. You hit a folding chair as you stumble towards a corner and it takes every ounce of control left not to scream at send it flying with a kick.

    The room feels like it's spinning and you have no clue where the door you came in through has gone, you're trapped and exposed at the same time.

    "Congratulations," it's the first thing you hear clearly and it's because it's inches behind you, accompanied by a hand on your shoulder you immediately shrug off and spin around ready to throw your fist. "Woah there mate,"

    You knew who she was, god everyone knew who she was but up until now you'd never seen her face to face. 

    "Fuck," you say realising you just pretty much threatened her, "sorry I just... uh.. thanks," you spit out all at once keeping your wobbling gaze on the floor.

     "Are you okay?" she asks leaning down to your height trying to look at your face, it's then it finally catches up to her  what's happening when you don't answer. Your eyes finally meet but you're staring through her and your chest is moving way too fast, nails leaving red marks as you scratch at yourself.

     You don't even realize she's moved closer until your pressed against her body, her arms secured tightly around you. The fear in you recoils as you resist against her.

    "You're having a panic attack," she whispers gently, something you hadn't expected from someone you just met, no less the brutal eradicator who'd fought her way back from injury and ripped the women's world championship from Liv. "But you're safe,"

     Despite being held with your head against her chest you feel like you can breathe easier, the sensation of little spikes on her gear gives you something to focus on other than the way your skin itches. Her hands are heaving on your back as you get used to their presence.

     "Can you hear me?" She tries and you nod gently, she relaxes but keeps her embrace strong making eye contact with a staff member and mouths 'ice pack' to them. "That's good, really good,"

    In any other instance praise from such a dominating woman would send you gasping and flushing in another way but the way her deeper voice hums in her chest seems to soothe you. A young brunette comes rushing up to Rhea with an ice pack and as she reaches a hand to grab for it she feels your hands start to grip at her clothes.

    "I'm not going anywhere, I've got you," she recoils her hand before grabbing the ice pack and runs it comfortingly down your hair. "You fought hard but I'm protecting you now love," the young brunette stares at the scene and wordlessly puts the pack on a folding table nearby. Ignoring the questioning glances of people around you feel her moving you both and she gently pulls you from her.

“Sit down I promise I’m staying,” her eyes don’t leave yours as you shakily find the chair below you, the cool metal is a relief. Rhea turns to grab the ice pack then squats down infront of her, her hand immediately grasping yours as she maintains her promise to stay. “Put this over your cheeks under your eyes,”

She places the ice pack in your other hand and you friend it loosely, hands shaking.

“I’m not injured,” you try to tell her, imagining your make up looks like bruises around your face.

“I know just trust me,” she prompts the ice towards you and you let her go to place it, “deep breathes with me,” and though you can’t see her with the ice pack she keeps her hands on your knees you steady them, gently tapping her index finger to keep your air flow steady. You don’t know how long it’s been when you lower the ice but she’s still infront of you giving her full attention.

“Hey pretty girl,” she greets and gently takes the ice from your hands before wrapping them in hers to rid you of the cold. Your cheeks feel frozen in a good way, your vision seeming to focus. “You did good,”

“You helped me,” okay, well, maybe not the most smooth greeting, observing the obvious but hearing you talk to her made a soft smile cross her lips. “Thank you,”

“I’ve been there,” she admits and you smile, the world still feels a little fuzzy and your body occasionally trembles. “Is it the press conference?”

“Maybe? I think so,” you shake your head trying to clear it but her hand in your peripheral stops you, she tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and keeps you looking forward.

“I hate them,” Rhea dead pans and it makes you sniff and smile at her, “half of them don’t even watch I mean you saw Iyo and that guy who asked her about back up as if she didn’t have a well known established faction,”

“She broke you,” you agree and Rhea nods. The sound of people filing into the room behind the curtain makes Rhea turn around. You stand slowly making sure your legs hold you and Rhea keeps her hands out just in case. “Good to know you can spot,” you joke, a good sign.

The sound of Triple H speaking fills the room and it’s getting close to your turn, Rhea undoes the belt and helps you lay it over your shoulder.

“I’ll be in on the side okay,” she tell you firmly and you nod, “I’ll stay until you’re done,”

“You don’t know me?” You question turning to look at the chair and ice, this woman you’d rarely interacted with had just seamlessly brought you down from a full fledged panic attack and though you were grateful, you didn’t understand. She holds out a hand to you which you take quickly,

“Rhea Ripley,”

Thanks for the request! Hope you enjoyed! I realised at the end I didn’t even mention the rumble my bad 😥

Anxiety peeps! Fun-fact using an ice pack or doing an ice dive can bring your distress tolerance levels down! It’s called temperature regulation. Healthy brain things ✨🧠

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part nineteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: i'm sorry it took me so long to post this omg i am behind on writing bc i'm so sick but i'm also trying to get ahead on requiem BUT-

Important Announcement!!:

cold nights will officially have a season 3! i wasn't sure but i had a good idea for what the epilogue would be and then i realized it would be so much better as another fully developed idea. so, that will be coming soon!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo smiles as you run up ahead of him, picking up his pace slightly and dropping his bag next to yours.

Some of the others are already stripped down to their bathing suits and running down the dock. It is beautiful here, not that he ever doubted you.

He watches as you peel off your dress, another short one similar to the one you had worn for most of the time he'd known you. This one wasn't sewn in at the middle, so you can slip it quickly over your head. Your bathing suit must have been homemade, too, and it allowed him to see how the bruises and scratches on your back were all but healed while you toss your dress to the ground. He notices quickly that it was exactly the same as Lucy Gray's, maybe your mother had made you matching ones. That's so sweet.

Your skin looked so beautifully soft- just like it should have the first time he saw it, spare for the scars on your calf and your arm, it was just what he imagined.

You kick your shoes off, and the wood of the dock is hot against your bare feet as you run down to the end, diving head-first off to the side to avoid jumping right onto any of your friends.

It seemed to Coryo that you weren't afraid anymore as you briefly looked back at him while you were running. The excited scream you let out when you lept from the dock made his heart flutter. This is exactly what he had wanted, from the very beginning.

When Coryo jumps in behind you, you can hear his shout and feel the water shift around you as his body breaks the surface. You turn under the water, its clarity allowing you to see where everyone is. You loved this. The memories of this lake kept you safe, almost. You can hear muffled laughter above the water, deciding to take your time before coming up for air. You didn't need it just yet.

You swim away from everyone deep under the surface, scanning the lake floor for anything interesting. Really, it was just sticks and rocks and mud, but one day you may find something else exciting, but not today.

"Where is she going?" Coryo comments, watching your body as you kick away deeper under the water.

"Wherever she wants." Lennox answers plainly, treading water as he stares at him.

"She's looking for secrets." Maude Ivory giggles, splashing him in the face. At least she gave him somewhat of an answer.

He quickly lifts an arm to block the wave, but it fails miserably. "What kind of secrets will she find at the bottom of the lake?" He coughs out, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Once we found a watch." Lucy Gray shrugs, looking from him to you. "Which is odd because we didn't know anyone else knew about this place. The secrets are what happens when we aren't here."

You hardly noticed the lack of oxygen until it almost felt too late, quickly swimming up and pushing your hair out of your face so you don't inhale it by mistake.

"Anything good today?" Lucy Gray shouts over to you as soon as she's noticed you've come up.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so!" You pant, pushing yourself through the water back toward her.

"So, that's a no?" Sejanus asks and you laugh, shaking your head.

"Just rocks and sticks." You explain, joining them again and bumping shoulders with Lucy Gray. "Some weeds, if that's your fancy."

"Oh, yes, that's right up my alley." Sejanus chuckles, cupping his hands to block out the glare of the sun as he looks down into the water anyway.

"I've never been to a lake before," Coryo says, breathing heavily as the waves from the kids splashing keep coming up too close to his face.

"What? Really?" Lucy Gray and Sejanus ask in unison, and you smile at him.

He nods, eyes locking with yours. You feel the need to say something. "Is it everything you dreamt of?" You ask.

"Just about." He grins.

"Oh? What's missing?" You giggle.

Oh, only being able to hold you without retraumatizing you.

"It's not that anything is missing," He comes up with as an excuse. "There's just more birds than I expected."

"Oh, yeah. They like it out here." You hum, looking up at the trees while Lucy Gray whistles out a tune for them to mimic. You smile. "Why, you don't like birds either?"

"Never been the biggest fan, no." He chuckles.

The birds echo her song back to you repeatedly. Coryo turns around to watch as if there was anything to see besides these black birds flitting around the trees and above the cabin. "What kind of birds are they?" He asks. "I've never seen that before."

"We call 'em Mockingjays." Lucy Gray tells him.

"'Cause they'll mock ya if you mess up the song!" Clerk Carmine jumps in, climbing onto Lucy Gray's back under the water.

"Oh, I wouldn't know." Your friend teases him, gripping tight onto the boy's legs as he starts to shout. He knows what's about to happen, and clearly you do too as Coryo watches you and your brother quickly swim out of their reach and closer to him.

You laugh, watching as Lucy Gray takes a big dramatic breath in and sinks under the surface of the water, pulling CC down with her as he screams and splashes.

The sun dried you quickly after you decided you had had enough of the water, climbing back out onto the dock and deciding to just lay your blanket there to dry off on while you took the book and snacks from your bag.

Coryo had been sitting with Lucy Gray and Sejanus, but they were just talking to each other more than him. Not that he could have paid much attention. He was just watching you.

"Can I go talk to her?" He asks with little regard for the conversation that he was interrupting.

They both look over at him. "I mean, you could try. Would that be okay?" Sejanus answers, looking to Lucy Gray for confirmation.

"No. Let her have her peace and quiet." Lennox interrupts as he walks back up in front of them, pulling his shirt back onto his now fully dried skin.

Lucy Gray sighs."Just... Don't be stupid." She advises Coryo, nodding him on. "Len, we'll be right here."

Your brother shakes his head slightly, glaring between the three of them with nothing short of adamant disapproval.

Coryo nods slightly, taking the preferable answer by getting up and heading back down onto the dock.

Lennox looks back over his shoulder to where he just was with Maude Ivory looking for katniss, before taking Coryo's spot on the deck.

"Did she not tell you anything about him?" Lennox mumbles to Lucy Gray, eyes locked on his sister and her 'friend' as he stands over her. "No, she must have- because you were at The Hob last week. You saw it."

"I saw a girl with a lot of unresolved trauma have an episode." Lucy Gray explains, watching Lennox take Coryo's spot next to her. "He made a mistake, but he wouldn't ever hurt her."

Your brother opens his mouth to argue, but Sejanus interrupts. "I know it isn't my place, but Lucy Gray is right. He would sooner die than hurt her."

"Okay, well, explain how he's sitting right next to her when he's already hurt her so bad she may never recover!" Lennox whispers, gesturing to the dock as if they couldn't already see you there.

"I'm not defending anything he's done. That's not what I meant." Sejanus explains. "I just mean he would never do it on purpose."

"Accidents are clearly bad enough."

"Len, he just wants to make amends now." Lucy Gray insists. "And she wants that. I know she does, she's really trying."

"Listen, if it helps..." Sejanus starts, looking back out at you and Coryo on the dock. He can tell how nervous his friend is, watching you intently as he picks at the wood finish beneath him and listening to you talk. "He really loves her. I know it's not my place to tell you that, but it was bad when she was gone. He hardly spoke a word to anyone, he wouldn't put her book down- it was really hard on him. We weren't sure if she had been executed for cheating, and it was killing him to be left in the dark."

"That's not love, that's guilt." Lennox mutters, watching you closely.

"What's the difference between love and guilt?" Lucy Gray asks him rhetorically. "He wouldn't feel guilty if he didn't care."

"The difference is he wouldn't have come here and made the same mistake again."

Lucy Gray bites into her lip, slightly shaking her head. That was an honestly good point.

"I was in the arena, too. I saw what he did." Sejanus says after a moment. "He saved my life, it was my fault. It was shocking... you know, the overkill, but I can't say for certain I wouldn't have done the same thing. We were both pumped so full of adrenaline that I truly believe that's what it was." He explains. "I mean, I was behind him, so I don't know what she saw- but it looked like adrenaline to me."

"How do you think she felt?" Lennox asks, eyes wide. "She was in there for three days! You and him were there for what, ten minutes?"

"Wait..." Lucy Gray backpedals, looking at Sejanus. "Sejanus, what do you mean you thought he was executed for cheating? Like, in the games?"

Sejanus swallows, nodding. He looks over at you but quickly looks away. "Yeah, uh... Coryo told me that she used rat poison to kill two of the others. And he did something to keep the snakes from biting her, but I don't think he was caught for that."

Your brother and best friend look at each other like they'd just seen a ghost before their eyes simultaneously track to you. You were laughing.

"She didn't... She didn't tell me that." Lucy Gray says quietly. "Did you know, Len?"

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me." Sejanus shrugs and they both look at him, shocked and confused. "Well, she doesn't know either. I don't think, definitely not about the snakes, but she told the Dean it was salt. That I gave her." He laughs slightly at the end, but they don't find it funny. "By the time she left, she was fully delusional about it. She knew what it was, Coryo gave it to her to protect herself because he needed her to win. She was really upset by the insinuation that it, in fact, was not salt."

Lucy Gray and Lennox look at each other again, unsure what to say. It must have been worse than they thought. Regardless, they knew it must be eating you alive.

"Can I join you?" You hear Coryo's voice above you after about ten minutes of listening to the mockingjays sing Lucy Gray's song back to her as she sat on the porch of the cabin. The sun was so warm on your skin that you could have fallen asleep here if you weren't reading your book.

You squint against the sun as you look up at him. "Yes, you may." You agree, and you feel him sitting down next to you as the wood creaks below him.

You find yourself holding your breath, even as you return to your book to try and remain relaxed.

He's not going to hurt you.

"What are you reading?" He asks after a moment, thinking your arms must be asleep for using them to hold the book and support your weight for so long.

"It's called 'Much Ado About Nothing'." You answer. "Another Shakespeare piece."

"Do you like it?" He asks, lifting his leg to rest his elbow on his knee while you sit up, crossing your legs and letting the book fall into your lap.

"I do." You smile down at the page. It is much more lighthearted than Romeo and Juliet, as much as you would have loved to come home and drown yourself in your favourite book- the boy next to you unintentionally made it impossible. God, you were so embarrassed by the letter you wrote to him. Your cheeks flush just think about it. All you did by surviving was make everything weird.

"Another tragedy?" He inquires, attempting to read some of the words on the page as it's opened on your lap.

"No." You chuckle, shaking your head. "It's a romantic comedy, actually."

"Oh, wow. You changed it up?" He asks, only somewhat shocked. It would only make sense that you couldn't handle much more tragedy since you've been home.

"I did." You smile. "It's quite funny."

"Will you read me your favourite part?" He suggests, watching your eyes as they light up with excitement from the request.

"Okay, so..." You quickly flip back through the pages and into the first act, scanning for the lines you're looking for. "Okay. Here." You pretend to clear your throat.

"In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature." You recite, dragging your finger along the page so he can track what you are reading. You remembered it, but it might have been easier for him to follow that way.

Coryo watched you the whole time, and by the end, you were a giggling mess. You thought it was absolutely hilarious, and he smiles at that.

"What does that mean?" He chuckles.

"So," You laugh, a hand pressed to your chest. "Basically, she's talking about how she was arguing with Benedick and won. The punchline is that she let him keep one of his wits, because if she didn't no one would be able to tell him from his horse."

Coryo laughs at that, shaking his head. "That is good." He agrees.

"Isn't it?" You smile. "It's a welcome change of pace."

"Yeah, Romeo and Juliet was... yikes." He says, ticking his jaw and peeling up some of the wood from the dock between you.

"You read it?" You ask quietly, eyes widening as you look over at him. It shouldn't shock you, he told you he would, and that he even looked forward to it. "What did you think?"

"Of course I did," Coryo nods. "I really enjoyed it."

"It doesn't seem like it..." You laugh nervously, looking down as you flip back to the page you were on before closing the book.

"No, truly. I did." He insists. "Just... for lack of a better term, it was tragic."

"Yes, well..." You chuckle, shrugging slightly and tucking your book back into the bag next to you.

"It was heartbreaking!" He laughs suddenly. "And that's your favourite?" He looks at you then, head tilted as he slightly shakes his head.

"Okay, so," You laugh, rolling your eyes. You were used to defending this to others who have tried reading it. "That's what makes it so beautiful. It's so touching, they died for each other thinking they were in love, but they also hardly knew each other. It forces you to wonder what could have been, and I like that."

"Okay, well, you're right." Coryo agrees. "I didn't like the ending, but that's the point, I suppose. The rest was good, it reminded me a lot of you."

"I think I forced a bias onto you. My apologies."

"You didn't force anything on me." He smiles, shaking his head. "All I knew is that you loved it, and that made it so much better."

Your cheeks flush as you busy yourself by pulling out the bag of cherries. "Would you like some?" You offer the bag to him and he reaches in, taking just a couple out and popping one into his mouth.

"I finished it all before you left." Coryo tells you, and you hold him out another empty paper bag to spit the pits into.

"That good?" You smile and he nods.

"Can I..." Coryo starts, and you tilt your head at him. He doesn't want to ruin your day by bringing this up. Everything on your face shows hope, even excitement for what he is going to say. "If you can't hear this stop me, but the book made great company in the mentor hall."

For a moment, he saw nervousness flicker behind your eyes, but still, you nodded. You wanted to hear anything he had to say- you just hoped you could stomach it.

"Oh, that's fine. I'm... I'm glad." You try and smile, distracting yourself by popping a cherry into your mouth.

"I was alone most of the time. I didn't go home." He tells you, trying to say what he wanted but still be as vague as possible.

"It must have been so horribly boring." You laugh nervously, swallowing the cherry pit as you reach for another of the small red fruits, picking the stem from it and flicking it into the lake.

"I wish it was." He replies, watching you closely to see if and when he's crossed a line. You nod in understanding, and he takes a nervous breath in. "I... The alternative was that I got sent home like some of my classmates. I wasn't going to leave until I had to."

'Until I had to.'

So he was forced to go in for Sejanus. Why on earth would they not send peacekeepers? Why another child?

"I... I appreciate that." You stammer out, looking down at your lap, noticing for the first time that your hands were trembling. "That must have been uncomfortable. I apologize."

Coryo furrows his brow at you. "No, I'm sorry. Why would you apologize to me?" He asks. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you. That I couldn't get you out."

"You did more than you had to." You say, voice quiet with your honesty.

"No." He shakes his head. "I had to do everything I did. I couldn't let you die."

"You saved my life, and... and-" It happens very suddenly when a tear falls down your cheek; you didn't even notice you were starting to panic.

"No, wait, I'm sorry, hey, don't cry..." Coryo says quickly. He wants to help, to do something, but he feels helpless. Again. He feels sick with the knowledge that he always says the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." You mumble, trying to wipe your eyes but you're finding it hard to speak.

"Don't be, please don't be sorry." He pleads with you, shifting so he's kneeling next to you, placing a hand on your back.

You almost jump away, head flying to look at him. He's just rubbing your back. He's only trying to help.

Instinctively, your eyes search for his. They aren't hard to find, and all you can see as you search them is worry. Nothing malicious. "I... Do you want me to get Lucy Gray? Or your brother?" He offers, grabbing your shaking hands in his free one. "Just take deep breaths."

You nod, scared to look away for even a second. So he has to.

Coryo turns back, swallowing his pride. "Lennox! Lucy Gray!" He shouts, drawing their attention quickly.

He accepted the berating he was about to get from your brother before it even came.

"What did you do?" Lennox asks him, forcing himself between the two of you.

"We were just talking and I think I said something- I don't know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Coryo answers honestly, standing up and taking a step back.

You're watching him, intently, despite Lucy Gray taking over holding you and talking to you in hushed tones, trying to ease your mind.

"I'm okay." You tell her, nodding. You don't look at her, only watching him. Watching his eyes- but nothing changes. Baby blue. Worry. More worry.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[altcvnningham]

adler can’t stop holding bell’s face when he kisses them.

and not gently, either, not the caress of a flower petal, delicate and sweet- bell’s barely a rose if not for all their thorns, and he wrings a hand round their jaw like one might wrench out a weed. rid and tossed to the dirt with all the rest. with all the red. with all that makes them wrong. with everything that came before.

if he can’t muzzle his dog, who can?

he bends their head upward in the interrogation chair, thumb dug into their cheek, squeezing the blood from their mouth into a sanguine rivulet between the web of his fingers; he jerks bell’s face toward the evidence board when their empty eyes fix on him a moment too long, enough to unsettle him; he stamps their chin under a hard thumb when he turns them to the light, soft pupils blown wide as he watches the sweet drug take hold; he digs his fingers into their jaw when they bark too loud at their duly master, shaking sense into his dumb mutt’s whistling hole of a head.

when he deigns to let them go, he makes a point to tear his hand away, sharp and spiteful, so even with the sting they still manage to find suffering in the loss. to yearn for the hand they bit back.

so the rest comes violent, too. the rest comes hungry. the rest comes when he wants it, and he wants bell, with such a blind fervour it drives him mad. where better men might leave, kick their losses to the curb and go elsewhere to get their fill, adler digs his heels deeper in the mud, the dirt where he buries all that red he carved out of them. if it’s tenderness he wants, he can take it for himself, and leave them with the hurt. it isn’t stooping to their level if he’s the one with the leash.

he kisses bell like he’s eating them from the inside. one hand squeezed tight around their flushed face, mouth forced open into an o-shaped pucker. he nicks their lip as smirking proof of his callousness, snags it on his sharpest canine. a peck that mocks affection. licks his way inside their mouth like it’s a threat, a proclamation. you let me do this to you. you let me in, bell. let me in, let me in. such a good dog when they do, loll their tongue out pathetic and starving. he drives his thumb inside, hot, wet, forces their mouth open by the hinge of their stiffened jaw- the last laughable vestiges of their reluctance, crumbling into dust fine enough to sift like sand between his fingers. guess science still has its limits, but so do you.

when he’s worked bell’s mouth nice and wide, he flattens their tongue with a thick finger, face clamped between the rest, and while they’re just about learning to make peace with it all- the humiliation, the degradation, submission made sanctification through the eager expectation of praise- he spits inside, and makes them swallow.

[electronicwitchcollection]

~* Primal Grimmjow Smut*~

Because there can never be enough Grimmjow 😂

I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while of a primal/hunting fic, but kind of put it to the back of my mind. Recently been inspired to finish it. Hope you enjoy 💜

Run

The sound of your bare feet rapidly running through the dense Forrest, leaves crunching, twigs snapping under your weight drowned out only by the sound of your panicked breathing. Your chest was burning, throat raw from the desperate breaths you pulled through parted lips. Adrenaline pumping through your veins heightened your senses making the branches flicking against your skin feel like little whips, small painful stings you payed no mind.

Run. The word echoing in your mind, every survival instinct, every Fibre of your being demanding that you run. Hiding wasn't an option, he would find you. Fighting wasn't an option, he could easily overpower you. Your heart was thundering behind your breast, skin prickled and alive, tasting the air around you. You could sense him, he was out there, stalking you, chasing, hunting.

The hunter relished in the thrill of the hunt, chasing down its prey, ready to devour his winnings. Claim what he had earned. Your eyes darted wildly around the thick greenery, searching for a flash of colour, signifying your impending capture. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, howling wind sending a chill up your spine. Pushing you forward, deeper into the darkening forest, guiding you with an insistent push at your back, helping you to escape.

An animalistic cry of rage roared out behind you, echoing through the trees as they whizzed past your vision. Close, he was getting closer, had you locked in his vision. You pushed yourself faster, darting and weaving between the bark, serpentining in your escape, not giving up without a fight. Your arm circled a nearing tree, using the momentum to spin you round to a different direction. You heard a rush of air, a heavy body hitting the ground where you were moments before.

Run

Narrowly avoiding capture, you raced on, feeling his murderous eyes locked onto your back. You could hear is rapid chase, feet thundering on the overgrown brush littering the ground. Hear the clack of snapping teeth as he snarled, tasting your desperation. He could smell your fear, the perspiration dampening your skin as you ran for your life. You could feel his feel his insatiable hunger motivating his powerful pursuit, energy coiling in his large muscles, exploding in a release of raw power.

A warning growl, low and guttural, exclaiming his victory seconds before you were airborne. The momentum in which he used to leap into you, knocked you off your feet, air being forcefully pushed from your lungs. His arms snaked around your middle, cutting off your escape. At the last second he twisted violently, the darkening blue sky filling your vision before you both slammed into the ground. He took the initial force of the hit, softening the blow as you tumbled across the leaf covered floor, clawing at the arms keeping you prisoner.

Screeching to a halt, you writhe in his grasp, desperately bucking against him, searching for an escape. Throwing your head back, you hear a pain filled hiss, pushing through the relaxed hold encasing you. You scramble in the dirt, clawing through the dried mud in an attempt to get back on your feet, to escape his clutches. A vice like grip encased your ankle, tugging harshly to land you face down in the dirt.

Desperately you try to drag yourself away, fingers digging long claw marks into the ground in a futile attempt. His heavy weight loomed over you, crawling over your form. Eye wide, pupils blown, you were roughly pushed to your back. Grimmjow caged you between his arms, legs spread either side of your own, no place to escape. His eyes were wild, pupils narrowed into feline slits, hungrily, darkly staring at you. You whimper, feebly trying to find purchase with your feet, trying to inch yourself away from under him.

Grimmjow snarled aggressively, baring his pointed canines and snapping warningly at your face. Hands planted on his naked chest, you push back against the wall of solid muscle, wriggling in the dirt, every instinct screaming at you to get away. His hands planted themselves next to your head with a powerful blow, a display of power, of superiority. He was waiting for you to submit, to give yourself over to your capturer.

You whimper softly, searching for any salvation. Grimmjow lowered his head to your neck, growling demonically, snapping his teeth in a vicious warning. A deep, rumble in his heaving chest, growing impatient at your refusal to submit. The hot, wet breath dampening your neck, an indication of how close he was to your jugular vein. You try to inch away slowly, last futile attempt to not fall victim to the predator.

Grimmjow pushed himself closer, trapping you under his weigh, rabidly growling, Patience reaching their absolute limit. You still beneath him, quivering with adrenaline. Defeated, you raise your head with a whimper , exposing your neck in the ultimate display of surrender, submitting yourself to him. The hunter had won, captured his prey. He claimed his prize, sinking his teeth into your exposed neck, groaning as the first droplets of blood coated his tongue.

You cry softly, high pitch keen brought on by the animalistic ritual, staking his claim, leaving his mark. You held perfectly still, not daring to move even an inch with his teeth baring down into your flesh. Grimmjow sucked hard, drawing blood the the surface of your neck, pulling the next droplets to ignite his pallet with the tangy, sweet metallic flavour profile. The taste of victory, of complete domination.

Not allowing even a morsel of the delicacy to waste, Grimmjow lapped at your neck, thick tongue slowly dragging over the burning mark, savouring every last drop of your life's essence. Satisfied he hadn't missed a single smudge of your blood, Grimmjow nuzzled into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent, tainted with blood and the earthy woods, called to him on a primal level. It was intoxicating, addicting. His.

The chase had been exhilarating, blood pumping through his veins as he exuberantly displayed his power, his prowess as a hunter. Top of the food chain, undefeated, and here you were, proof of his skills. The adrenaline and thrill ignited his body, drew power and blood to his muscles, including his cock which had become engorged with blood at the sight of you submitting.

A deep rumbling purr echoed in his chest, instinctively pinning you in place. His nails grew in length, hardening into claws as he lapped at your salty skin.Another weapon in his arsenal to keep you compliant. His teeth scraped over your neck, nibbling on your collar bone. You moaned, back arching at the sensation of his teeth, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Grimmjow pushed on his hands, hovering himself over you with a predatory look in his eyes.

With a rapid swipe of his claws, Grimmjow ripped through the flimsy material of the negligee covering your body, dirtied with grass and mud. With accurate slashes, Grimmjow ribboned the material, watching hungrily as it revealed more of your unmarked skin to his sharp eyes. Fisting the ruined material, Grimmjow ripped it from your form, chucking it uselessly to the ground besides him.

His eyes raked over your naked body, indulging in your heaving breasts, lingering on your erect nipples. Unable to deny himself any longer, Grimmjow licked his way down your body, lapping up the salty reminders of your chase. Reaching your breasts, Grimmjow licked up the valley between them, the soft plush mounds brushing against his cheeks. One hand supported his weight as the other cupped the jiggly weight of your tit, squeezing around the flesh. His claws raked over the taut skin, red marks appearing where they traced over.

The calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your dusky pink nipple, circling the sensitive bud. You cried out softly, bucking underneath him. A warning snarl had you stilling, anticipating a punishment. With a satisfied huff at your compliance, Grimmjow lowered his head to your neglected breast, swirling his tongue around your tight nipple, tracing around your areola before sucking it into his mouth. You whined at the hot wet tongue rolling against your nipple, the pinch of nails digging into your flesh.

Grimmjow breathed hard through his nose, rush of arousal going straight to his throbbing cock. He rolled his hips, seeking friction as he indulged in your breasts. With a wet pop he released you from his mouth, saliva coating your darkening nipple. Nudging it with his nose, Grimmjow bit into the underside of your breast, leaving an angry red mark.

His hand slowly traveled down over your breast, nails gently digging into your skin, red rivets following the lines he drew down your body, standing out brilliantly in contrast to your pale complexion. Inching his way down your body, Grimmjow sat back on his haunches, pulling your legs from under him, spreading your feet to lay either side of him. His hands smoothed up your legs, soft subtle skin gliding easily under his palms. Reaching your thick thighs, Grimmjow pushed them open, keeping you splayed for his eyes only.

Transfixed on your glistening cunt, Grimmjow licked his lips as the smell of your arousal was realised freely into the air. He inhaled deeply, tasting you in the back of his throat. Musky and sweet, the same saltiness that stained your skin. Feeling exposed you attempt to close your thighs, meeting the unmovable force of Grimmjows grip. His hands tightened on your thighs, digging in painfully.

You whimper, exposing more of your neck, a reminder of your submission at his darkening eyes. Lowering himself eye level with your open Cunt, Grimmjow breathed in your musk, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the heady, mouthwatering smell. Unable to resist he delved in, sucking up the wet arousal coating your pretty pink lips. Noisily he devoured you, slurping and grunting into your pussy, hands tightening on your thighs, dragging you across the forest floor closer to his ravenous mouth.

You mewled, assault of messy pleasure rippling through you, fingers gripped into the floor, mud getting buried beneath your nail beds. Grimmjow licked his way through your folds, eagerly nosing his way deeper into your delicious cavern, unable to satisfy his incurable hunger for you. Your release coated his tongue, dripped heartily from his chin, flooded his sensitive nose with your delicate aroma. Grimmjow was focused purely on your silky hidden walls, rolling his tongue, further searching for the centre pool of essence he was tasting. Wanting to drink from the fountain itself to quench his burning thirst.

You moaned loudly, eyes screwed shut in pure bliss. Grimmjow was attacking your pussy with ferocity, forcing you at a rapid race into an orgasm. You could feel the coil in your lower stomach contract, building up its energy ready to release in an unbelievable wave of raw pleasure. Your feminine, throaty moans were fanning the embers of desire, igniting a raging inferno of lust through Grimmjow.

Tongue darting in as far as it could reach, flicking tantalisingly against your pleasure spot had you seeing bright stars behind your closed eyelids. The relentless lapping against your core, encouraging a gush of slick arousal to flood through you, quickly being drank down by the insatiable beast. Grimmjow roughly shook his head between your legs, grunting into your swollen lips, pushing you over the edge.

Light exploded behind your eyes, a wall of sheer white blinding you as you succumb to a consuming orgasm. Mouth open in a silent scream, your hips bucked wildly, pushing your throbbing cunt further into the hungry mouth drinking down his reward. Fingers squeezed into your thighs, forming fingertip bruises into the skin. Grimmjow kept you in place with his superior strength, noisily eating through your come down, not letting you breath until he was finished with his meal

You were tender, over sensitive, pussy throbbing through the onslaught of attention he bestowed upon you, tongue dragging through your walls, savouring every sweet drop of your release. You keened, high pitched and needily, begging for mercy. Seeking a reprieve in the painful pleasure. Your plea went ignored, Grimmjow slowly exiting your centre, strong steady licks cleaning up your folds as he reluctantly left you.

With a final sure swipe up your middle, Grimmjow nipped at your mound in parting. Tongue circling his lips, chasing the remainder of your nectar coating his mouth, Grimmjow watched you, panting in the dirt below him, eyes glazed over in post orgasmic haze as your body weakly trembled and twitched. Grimmjow roughly pushed away his loose fitting bottoms, exposing his large, engorged cock, bobbing heavily between you.

Grimmjow crawled up your body, nuzzling into the side of your neck, coaxing you back down to earth. You stirred at his encouragement, rubbing your cheek against his own, sighing softly. Holding himself above you, Grimmjow positioned his cock at your opening, wetting the bulbous head with your arousal. He took hold of your neck, squeezing tightly at the sides. Forcing you to maintain eye contact as he slowly pushed his cock forward, inching its way through your folds. You choked on a rough inhale, gasping as he filled you completely, burning stretch blazing through your walls.

Grimmjow froze you to the spot with his intense eye contact, daring you to look away as he filled you, twitch of his thumb reminding you of how easily he could choke the life out of you. Only when he bottomed out did Grimmjow ease up on the pressure on your neck, allowing you the chance to gasp, fully inflating your lungs. The rumble echoing in his chest vibrated through his body, pressing down on you with the full weight of an alpha.

Grimmjow pulled back his hips, dragging his cock back through your tight cunt, leaving only the head buried. With a rough snap, he impaled you, starting a rough pace in his rutting. You clenched around him perfectly, squeezing around his rigid length with every thrust. A constant stream of whines from you accompanied the wet slap of his balls hitting your ass, spreading the wetness forcibly being pushed from your centre. Grimmjow pawed at the ground besides you, nails teasing through the soft soil as he mindlessly chased his most primal desire, rutting into his submissive mate, almost trance like in the back and forth motions engraved Into every fiber of his muscles.

Your soft mewls, stroked his alpha ego, driving him wild with lust. His relentless rutting had the head of his cock slamming against your gspot with impeccable accuracy, tightening the coil of pleasure ready to snap in a wave of Ecstasy. Head thrown back you moaned, hips rolling up to savour every inch of his rapid motions. Grimmjow took the invitation, burying his head into your exposed neck and clamping down with his teeth.

Grimmjow pushed harder, impossibly increasing the power behind his brutal thrusts, chasing his high. Your neck was burning, stinging with delicious pain. Panting with exuberance, saliva pooled in Grimmjow's mouth, sliding it's way past his teeth, dribbling down over your skin. In one fluid motion, he slinked one arm under your leg, hoisting it up over his bulging bicep, pushing it further to your chest.

The change the angle made was blinding, pushing him in deeper, reaching the deepest parts of your womanhood was suffocating. Grimmjow's thrusts turned friezied, erratically nearing to his own completion as you exploded around him. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as a hot wave of paralysing pleasure surged through your body. Muscles stiffened and strained, trembling under the weight of your release. Endorphins flooded through your system, threatening to render you unconscious with the overwhelming force in which it consumed you

Grimmjow growled into the bunched up flesh he was biting into, the feel of your pussy clenching around him impossibly tight, the hot, slick rush of your orgasm hugging over his cock as it rushed through you, spraying over his thighs in a basic animalistic display of marking. Pride swelled in his chest as he chased his own completion, needing to mark you internally with his own thick seed. The primal instinct to fill you to the brim, paint your cunt with his essence, make your stomach bulge with his potent seed.

With a grunt he came, plastering your walls with searing spurts of his ejaculate, mixing with your own release in a thick, creamy mess covering you both. He jerkily rutted through his orgasm, your spasming Cunt greedily milking every last drop of his cum from him. Releasing your neck, Grimmjow lazily lapped at the dark purpling bruise, lovingly soothing away the sting as his heavy weight fell into you.

Grimmjow nuzzled into your neck as he came down from his high, purring contently with his rumbling baritone. Panting softly you wrap your heavy, uncoordinated arms around him, soothingly stroking his sweat stained back with your fingers. The chill of the night being kept at bay with his warm muscled body covering you, blanketing you from the elements. You raked your fingernails through his hair, giving him the time to slowly come out of his primal mindset, always needing longer than you did to make the shift.

You felt his chest swell with his laboured breathing, slowly falling into a relaxed rhythm as his body unwound. Kitten licks turning into gentle kisses, peppering your abused skin with tender displays of love. Grimmjow forced his arms to take his weight, hovering above you he kissed your lips soundly, pouring his adoration and gratitude silently into your mouth. You smiled into the kiss, needing no thanks, you were more than happy to indulge in your partners more animalistic desires. Especially when the results were as mind blowing as the sensations you had just experienced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As always, likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! 💜

[medusapelagia]

26 The night we met

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: The Night We Met – Lord Huron ), @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt:Victorian Era ), and @aug-kissed (prompt: Kiss Goodnight) Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: omegaverese Words: 1431

The rain is pouring and the streets are covered in puddles deeper than Mr. Harrington's fancy fountain, but Eddie is standing in the farthest corner of Harrington’s garden, his eyes pinned on one room, waiting for two flinches of the little lamp in front of the window.

Not one. Two. One close to the other. A signal that everything is quiet and that his lover is alone in his room. 

Eddie’s soaking wet, his long black curls dripping water, his hands cold and wrinkled, but he can’t move, not before seeing him one last time.

He still remembers the night he met Steve Harrington for the first time. 

It was raining, just like today, and Harrington’s already skittish horse was scared by a rumble of thunder, bolting toward the woods to find shelter, not caring about the raider on his back who kept hitting the lower branches, trying to halt the horse who was too scared to follow any kind of direction.

The horse abruptly stopped, but only once he reached the part of the park that everyone avoided during rainy days because it became a marsh. The horse reared and the rider fell in the damp, with Eddie the only witness to the scene.

Unsure of what to do, he was just a stable boy while the rider was his lord’s son, Eddie got closer and his eyes met the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in his life.

Even covered in mud, with eyes filled with tears and terror, Steve Harrington was the most beautiful person Eddie had ever seen in his life.

Eddie knows now that he should have gotten back home and asked for help, but that night, he didn’t. He stepped into the damp, grabbed the other man by his arm, and miraculously managed to pull him out of the damp.

They both fell on the ground in a mix of limbs. Steve elbowed him in the stomach and Eddie kicked him, but they hugged each other, while the rain kept pouring and the horse was so far away they couldn’t even see his silhouette in the dark.

But that was then and this is now.

The lights in the room on the second-floor twinkle two times, and Eddie slowly moves from his hiding place, climbing the wisteria pergola and slowly climbing to the window he was looking at with so much longing.

The ajar window opens widely and Eddie jumps inside the room, quiet like a cat. He’s dripping water, but Steve already has a warm towel waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry. Dad wanted to give me the entire ‘be a good omega’ speech and he didn’t let me go to my room till he was finished.”

Eddie shrugs, he would have waited forever if Steve asked him to, but tonight is their last night and he can’t avoid wishing he could turn back time and get back to the night they met. When they spent hours under the pouring rain, holding onto one another, until finally help came and dragged both of them back to the mansion with warm towels around their shoulders and as close to the fire as humanly possible.

That was the only time Eddie was allowed to step inside the mansion. It was a way to thank him for saving the family heir, or so Mr. Harrington said. No money, of course, even if his son’s precious life was priceless. 

But even with all their care, Steve grew feverish and collapsed to the ground, scaring everyone, Eddie included.

That’s how the young alpha discovered that he could get to Steve’s room by climbing the wisteria pergola. For a week, every night, Eddie stayed outside Steve’s window, hidden in the darkness of the little window balcony, staring at his sleeping figure on the bed, praying for him to get better, till the day Steve finally opened his eyes and saw him standing outside his window.

He didn’t call for help, he opened the windows and let the alpha inside, offering him a warm blanket and thanking him for saving him in the woods.

And then they became closer, and closer, sharing stories, cuddles, and kisses. 

But tonight is the last night they’re spending together. Tomorrow Steve will get married to Nancy Wheeler with a big ceremony everyone will attend, even the queen herself, but not Eddie, who is just a stable man and has no reason to attend such a pompous ceremony.

“You could come with me,” Steve whispers, while they hug in the darkness of Steve’s room and Eddie’s wearing Steve’s warm clothes.

“You know it’s not possible. You’re going to get married and be really happy with your wife.”

“I can’t be happy if you’re not with me.”

Eddie can’t be happy either, but he can’t stand the idea of seeing Steve walking hand in hand with another person, kissing her, giving her children they could never have.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Both.” Eddie sincerely admits.

Steve sighs, nodding, “I get it and I respect that. But I’m sad we won’t see each other anymore.”

“Do you… Do you ever wish we could go back to the night we met?” Eddie asks, nuzzling at Steve’s neck, breathing in the sweet scent of fancy French cologne.

“What for?”

“Don’t know. Maybe just stay there forever? When we hadn’t touched yet and things were easier?”

“Things were never easier, Eddie. We were just younger, that’s all. But this is real life. Tomorrow I’m going to marry Nancy and move to her mansion and whatever that was…” Steve says moving his finger between the two of them, “will be gone. Forever.”

Eddie nods. He knows he’s right, but he can’t avoid imagining different scenarios. Scenarios where they run away together, where they find happiness in little things. Where Steve won’t get married to another person. But Steve’s destiny is that, and Eddie can’t do anything to change it.

For the last time Eddie tilts Steve’s chin, smiling at the soft flame reflecting in his eyes and at the gentle way Steve moves his head a little bit to the right because he knows that Eddie is going to move and kiss him goodnight for the last time.

Steve’s hands grab Eddie’s hair and pull, just enough to hurt him, and Eddie scratches his teeth against Steve’s neck, leaving a red angry scratching.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” he whispers, before getting up, grabbing his clothes and leaving from the window without giving Steve time to reply.

When he turns one last time, Steve is standing on the balcony, shielding his eyes with one hand and letting the water pour down on him.

He should go back inside, he always had a delicate health, but he’s not Eddie’s business anymore. He never was, if he is honest with himself.

***

The next day, when Eddie comes back from his errands, there’s a great commotion.

Harrington's heir didn’t show up at his own wedding and his horse is gone as well. Some say he got cold feet, others that the Wheelers called off the wedding when they found out Richard Harrington wasn’t as rich as he pretended to be. 

Eddie doesn’t listen to the gossip, he saddles up the old nag resting in the back of the stable and gallops as fast as they can toward the woods, the very same place where he met Steve for the first time.

“Did you mean it?” Steve asks, sitting under a tree, holding his horse by the rein.

“What?”

“Did you mean it? When you said you love me, did you mean it?”

“Of course I did! We have had this thing going on for years!”

“I thought… I thought it was just a game for you. The stable boy who conquers the rich son of his lord. Not…”

“I mean it. I always meant it. Sorry if I was too cowardly to tell you.”

Steve steps closer, yanking Eddie toward himself and kissing him harshly and strongly.

“I love you, Eddie Munson. My father is fucked, we’re going to lose everything and all I can offer you is my affection. Will you… will you still love me? Even if I’m poor?”

“I would love you even if you were a worm, Steve Harrington.” Eddie replies, kissing him back and pushing him against the tree.”

“What… what now?” Steve asks when their hunger for physical contact is finally satiated.

“Now we look for a job somewhere. We find a place to stay and we live happily ever after, or we try to.”

[whatshehassaid]

The fact that Daniel has more experience as a journalist than in the books and interviewed a disgraced archbishop just tells me everything I need to know about how he’s gonna react to Marius. The minute Louis & Armand recited that Louvre scene to him… the minute they were out of the room he was researching Marius in the Talamasca files like “okay, who is this fucker?”

And now it’s even gonna be more intense cause Armand is his maker now…. Not just his (maybe current or definite to be) lover (past lover maybe also?)…

I have a feeling he may have looked a little deeper into the files on Armand than we think. He’s been absolutely intrigued by him since the minute he set foot in Dubai (even from the moment they met in San Fransisco “Alright it’s you who’s fascinating! You can read minds right?”) to the point where he’s distracted from the MAIN REASON he’s there. Which is LOUIS’ story. And if part of the Alice memories are actually Armand memories and he has that much of an emotional reaction to his past relationship with Armand? I just know that man is gonna kick some Roman vampire ass. Drag him through the mud and call out his shit in front of god and all the vamps.

I just know that old man vampire is gonna fuck Marius’ shit up… I feel it deep in my bones.

Show Daniel is MUCH more established in himself than book Daniel is… because he’s been through more and been around longer.

[skyward-floored]

I wrote a little something with swamp Link... this was mostly an exercise to try and figure out his and Zelda’s characters a little more, and though I miiiiiight change a few things, I like how this turned out so I’m sharing it 👍 please enjoy the sillies

————————————————————

Zelda’s heart pounded as she ran across peaty grass and mud, dodging hanging moss and tall reeds.

Her foot abruptly sank into a deeper spot of mud, and Zelda yelped, pulling at her boot and soaking her skirts in muck in the process. The mud refused to give up her shoe no matter how hard she pulled, and when she heard an excited snarl, Zelda tore her foot free of it and kept running in her sock, her foot immediately soaked.

She felt like an idiot.

Why had she decided slipping away from her entourage for a few minutes would be okay? She’d just wanted a few minutes to herself, and gotten so absorbed in sketching a lovely pond she’d come across that she hadn’t seen the monsters until they were nearly upon her.

Now she was bolting through a swamp with no idea where she was going being chased by at least three bokoblins—

A root caught her foot and Zelda cried out as she fell, landing on the peaty ground with a squelch. She heard the monsters approaching, much too close for comfort, and twisted around, scrambling back against the trunk of a tree.

There was water on either side of her, greenish with all sorts of plants growing on and in it, dark and murky in other places. She’d inadvertently cornered herself, and Zelda could only watch as the monsters crept closer, slobbering grins on their faces.

The biggest one was only a few feet away now, and Zelda swallowed, heart beating like a drum as she braced herself against the tree. She would go down kicking at least.

Something made a strange noise, and Zelda glanced beside her, spotting a few bubbles rippling in the water below.

The fear already in her throat tightened even further, and Zelda looked frantically between the pond and the monsters stalking her, sure that something even worse was about to come from the water.

I shouldn’t have slipped away!

A shadow burst from the pond beside her with a tremendous splash, and Zelda shrieked, covering her head.

But instead of leaping on her like she thought it would, it rammed into one of the monsters, yelling wildly while doing so.

The bokoblin snarled and fought back, but the figure pulled out a dagger and began swiping and stabbing with it, purplish monster blood spraying through the air. The fight was hard to follow, all four combatants moving fast, and Zelda remained frozen at the base of the tree as a monster howled.

The strange figure easily took on the three monsters at once, stabbing and slashing and yelling all the while. It killed one and quickly moved on to the other two, fighting with a mix of hand-to-hand and the dagger that flashed silver in the dappled sunlight.

Zelda squinted. Wait... is that a..?

It was a mere matter of moments before all the monsters were dead, and the figure dusted its hands (hands! She was right! It was a Hylian!) off, replacing the dagger at its hip.

He, Zelda now saw, turned towards her and Zelda stared.

He was coated in an awful lot of grime, but he was Hylian, Zelda was almost totally sure. He even seemed to be about her age, though not very tall, and again, covered in muck. Long blondish hair hung loose and fell halfway in his face, still dripping from his abrupt exit from the pond.

And though he was covered in mud and plants and blood both monster and human, Zelda made out two grey-green eyes through it all, and a somewhat curious look.

He stepped closer to her, and Zelda stiffened. He had protected her from those monsters, but still. She was alone in a swamp with an armed and messy stranger, one who had just proven he could easily overpower multiple assailants.

But all he did was extend a hand towards her, a grin on his face.

“Those monsters are getting worse, huh? Well you don’t need to worry about them anymore,” he said cheerfully, quickly swiping some blood off his arm. “You okay?”

His voice was quiet, and had a lyrical quality to it, one Zelda hadn’t been expecting, and she gaped at him while her brain processed the words and the strange swamp man in front of her. It didn’t help things when she also noticed he wasn’t wearing anytging resembling a shirt, and Zelda’s face went pink.

Then she remembered he’d asked her a question.

“Oh, I-I’m,” Zelda squeaked, then drew in a shaking breath, trying to reign in her pounding heart. That had been way too close. “Y-yes. I’m... I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh yeah, this is nothing,” the teenager shrugged, looking at the scratch on his arm. “I’ve had worse.”

Zelda didn’t doubt that.

She hesitantly took his offered hand, slimy and wet as it looked, but her gloves did a good job of blocking that. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped her up, and Zelda cleared her throat as she released his hand. Her face felt hot, but she would blame that on the adrenaline from her chase and certainly not anything else.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she apologized, dropping a quick curtsy. It wasn’t too shaky, which she counted as a success, though the swamp man tilted his head at the gesture, looking a bit confused.

“Nah, not really,” he shrugged. “I was on the lookout for monsters anyway, you led them right to me. Made the perfect ambush!” he grinned. “I should be thanking you.”

“Oh, well... you’re welcome?” Zelda offered, and somehow the teenager’s grin widened.

He leaned against the tree Zelda had been cowering beside, stretching his arms and tilting his head to the side until his neck cracked. Zelda took the opportunity to shake some of the muck off her dress, glad that at least it was one of her traveling ones and a little less delicate than some she owned. There’ll still be a fit when I return looking like this though.

“So what brings a fancy lady like you to the Great Zoran Swamp?” he asked, scanning her dress as she messed with it. “I’ve never seen anyone like you here before. Only visitors we really get are traders, convicts, or freaks, and you don’t look like any of those.”

Zelda found herself blushing again as he studied her, and she fiddled with her gloves.

“I’m looking for a temple,” Zelda admitted, picking at a torn thread on her glove. “The temple of Farore?”

He hummed consideringly, and Zelda swallowed. She hadn’t really planned on telling a complete stranger anything, but it wasn’t like it would do much harm giving him that. Plus if he’d wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty opportunity to do so, and hasn’t.

She continued. “I was heading there to pray when... well. I wandered a bit away from my guides, just for a little while, and then those monsters showed up, and I ran...”

“And you got lost,” he finished for her with a smile. It was a nice smile, even despite the handful of green flecks she noticed stuck between some teeth. “Easy to do in the swamp if you don’t know it. Or if you do. It’s confusing. You’re lucky you didn’t go east, I found a nest of violet ropes that way.”

“Violet what?” Zelda asked, and the muck-coated teenager grimaced.

“Violet ropes. Venomous snakes. A bite from them can easily kill you if you’re not careful. Luckily they’re bright purple so you’d probably see them,” he said with a smile. “So long as you didn’t confuse them with any orchids. Anyway, we should get you back to your guides. No fancy ladies should be wandering in the swamp alone. Which way’s your group?”

Zelda looked around. “Ah... I’m afraid I have no idea.”

He tapped a finger to his chin. “Right. Lost. Uh... well I can get you to your temple,” he offered. “There’s a lot of ruins around but I think I know the one you mean. Can you swim?”

Zelda balked, then looked down at her dress. “I... don’t think I’m very well-equipped for swimming at the moment.”

“Okay, long way it is. Hope you like frogs!”

“I’ve always liked sketching them?” Zelda said hesitantly, and for some reason he laughed.

“Well just don’t touch any unless I tell you you can. C’mon!” he said, and grabbed her hand, tugging her along the marshy ground.

“Whoa wait!” Zelda said, planting her feet into the grass, mud chilling her bootless foot. The teenager stopped and looked back at her, tilting his head. “I... um. Could we pick up my shoe on the way?”

He blinked at her, looking at her socked foot, then down at his own feet, which merely had some kind of thick fabric wrapped around them.

Then he abruptly dropped her hand and walked away, staring at the ground.

Zelda stared, wanting to call after him, but not sure if she should. Was he... leaving? Had she offended him? Was the word shoe offensive? Or maybe the fact that Zelda had only one of them on? Or maybe she’d insulted him since he only sort of had shoes, and she did?

He’d disappeared from view, and Zelda stood uncertainly, listening to a bird cry somewhere in the distance.

Had she really chased away her guide by simply worrying about her shoe?

“Here.”

Zelda shrieked, whirling around to see the swamp man had somehow circled around behind her. There was a grin on his face, and he had a triumphant glint in his eyes as he held something out to her.

Her lost boot.

“Shoe,” he said, and stood rather close as he held it out to her. “No detour needed.”

“O-oh, thank you,” Zelda spluttered, hurriedly taking it and shoving it on her foot. He kept smiling at her as she straightened, and Zelda cleared her throat and inwardly shook herself. Goodness. What a mess she was.

“Ready?” he asked, and Zelda nodded, then hesitated.

“Yes, but before we go, I’m... my name is Zelda,” she said, and his smile changed a bit, less teasing, and more... sincere.

“I’m Link,” he replied, and took her hand again. “Let’s find you your group.”

And he tugged her forward, leading her through the swamp.

[curiositydooropened]

Wildfire • Ember

When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 11,315

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Two: Spark

---

THEN

March 1988

A strong forearm caught your waist, ripping you backward and back to reality. The ringing in your ears faded to the crackle of fire, the roar of an engine, the gut wrenching wails of heartache. You resisted the force at your ribs, rooted to your spot, slack jaw tightened, hands clenched into fists, but they were stronger. You were lifted off your feet, kicking, clawing at the air, desperate to reach the figure thirty feet in front of you. Your best friend lay there, pale skin to asphalt, shock of red hair caked in mud, a pattern of thick black veins across freckled features. Your nostrils filled with the acrid stench of charred flesh. Your mouth tasted of blood and ash and bile.

“She’s gone,” Harrington’s voice roared in your ear, chest pressed to your back as he wrestled you toward the Getaway. “We’ve gotta get out of here. We can’t risk infection. Let’s go!” He loosened his grip to hoist himself into the truck bed, extending a hand to help you up.

You had every reason to stay, every reason to hold her head in your lap and scream and sob and apologize for what happened to her, for what you did to her. 

Harrington yelled your name, drawing your attention back to him. His skin was stained black around the edges, coated in grime and oil slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched, hand still extended, and you noticed the flash of his eyes into the bed behind him.

Wheeler was there, and Byers, both staring at you wide-eyed, jaws clenched. Wheeler’s hair had never been bushier. The circles beneath Byers’s eyes never deeper. And in their arms, Robin buried her face and muffled her sobs in the crook of an elbow, blue eyes flooded, tear stains streaked through ash and char across freckled cheeks and down her chest. 

What had you done?

You swallowed.

Then, Robin reached a hand out, beckoning, commanding, begging for you to get in the truck. Her fingers trembled. 

Something deep, something hidden, subconscious, compelled you to grip Harrington’s forearm and allow him to hoist you into the truck bed, and with two slams of Byers’s fist to the roof, you were off, nearly teetering off the side as you found your seat on a wheel well. Fingers found your palm, wet, and you glanced up to gape at Robin, throat filling with too much emotion to make sound. But she held your gaze, those soulful blue eyes locked on yours so you couldn’t look away, couldn’t watch the figure of your best friend’s lifeless form fade into the horizon.

—

FIVE MONTHS LATER

August 1988

The smoke from Hopper’s cigarette wafted passed the bottle brush mustache and receding hairline until it hit the yellowed ceiling of his office and permeated the room in a thick fog. The smell, acrid and unfiltered, reminded you of your paternal grandmother’s kitchen, and it mixed with the spice of sweat from the boy perched beside you. 

Harrington sat too far forward, broad shoulders hunched, apparently fresh from the gym. You spotted the wet patch staining his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and under his arms. Beneath an elbow, his hairy thigh bounced at an unrelenting pace. You thought his sneakers might rub a hole through the linoleum flooring, clear to the Upside Down.

It took everything in your power not to slam a hand down to his knee to stop the anxious movements, your own hands clamming with sweat. You restrained, remaining poised, stoic, as you peered over Harrington’s shoulder while he rubbernecked the paperwork Hopper leafed through.

A photograph had been paper clipped to the inside cover of a forest green envelope. Two faces, pinched in stifled laughter, stared back at you, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You recognized yourself and your best friend, full of innocence and zest and life. Hop’s meaty fingers slammed the folder shut. You swallowed.

“What’s going on, Hop?” Harrington finally vocalized, his voice a little strained. 

Hopper didn’t acknowledge him, merely stared right through the younger man to make eye contact with you, steely blue with a hint of mischief you’d maybe once appreciated. Now it made your blood run cold. “You passed your psych eval. Flying colors.”

You could feel your heart in your chest, taste the smoke on your tongue. 

Harrington’s movements stopped in your periphery.

Hopper leaned back in his seat, the metal groaning beneath his frame, and he scattered a few ashes into a full-to-the-brim ashtray. “And, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Buckley retired last week.” 

Your heartbeat halted. You wet dry lips, ventured a glance Harrington’s direction. 

He rolled his eyes, looked away, caught. A scoff spilled from his mouth.

You hadn’t known. You hadn’t spoken to Robin in months. How could you, after what you’d done? 

Hopper continued before you could respond. “So I’ve called you here with good news.” Again, mischief. The man seemed as jolly as ole Saint Nick, downright chipper. “You’re going back out there, kid.” 

You’d been asking for months, begging on bended knee, desperate for a taste of that sickly sweet air, for ash in your lungs and sweat on your brow. You’d worked your ass off for months, and yet the news, matched with the look on his face and Harrington’s presence bittered the taste of relief in your mouth. 

Again, the commander spoke before you could open your mouth to respond, his words strained through smoke blown upward. “The two of you need to log a hundred training hours starting tomorrow. After that you’ll be trialed, and you’ll undergo a double psych eval. You know the drill.” 

As his words set in, with the curl of his upper lip, your words finally burst forth, spilling from your before you could hold them back. “Are you fucking insane?” 

Slow on the uptake, Harrington’s arms swung out in front of you, and droplets of sweat from his temples splattered against your cheek with the velocity of his head shake. “No, no way. Absolutely not.” 

Hopper sighed, sitting upright again to punch out the butt of his cigarette. He shuffled the papers on his desk once more, tossing them onto a nearby filing cabinet with a hearty thwack. “Knock it off.” A meaty finger pointed directly into Harrington’s face, and the boy merely gaped at it, all sass, no action. “You two will do this because I know how bad you want back out there.”

“Besides,” Hopper made eye contact with you again, over Harrington’s shoulder, and the mischief had burned to pity, “no one else has gone through the shit that the two of you have been through.”

It hurt too much to look at him, eyes bleary and throat lumped, so instead you stared at the back of Harrington’s head, where his hair stuck up at odd angles, where it met the collar of his t-shirt. A part of you, small, wondered what exactly he’d been through, if he’d held Robin while she wept, if he cried too. A much bigger part of you tasted the anguish as it burned in your lungs. You blinked away the emotion and tried to swallow back the disdain. He’d never understand, never know what you’d been through. 

“The good news is, you’ve got a hundred hours to learn to like each other. I want you closer than the fucking Sinclairs. You hear me?” Hopper broke the tension with another groan of his chair while he reached to another stack of file folders in a little metal inbox. “Bad news is, we’ve got northbound spread and my two best Scorchers have been out for months.”

You glanced at the map behind Hopper’s head, black spreading north to the lakes, vines creeping ever closer to Chicago, Green Bay, too far. No one was safe. 

“We’ve all got work to do. So get the hell out of my office,” the receiver of his phone rang when he picked it up, pressing the plastic to his cheek while he began punching numbers. 

Harrington was up first, an exaggerated sigh falling from his lips while his slender frame made for the door. His jaw and fists tensed, brows furrowed, and he glanced at you before eliciting an eye roll that would make Wheeler envious. He turned the handle and the smoke escaped from the top of the door in a pool above the bounce of his hair. 

You matched his sigh, peeling yourself from the vinyl chair backing to exit the office. You caught a few of Hopper’s grumblings over the phone in snippets before he called your name. When you turned on your heel, he held the phone between large hands and kept a crease between his brow. 

“I know you can do this,” he nodded,  “Munson said - “ He was cut off by the voice on the phone and waved you off before he could finish his thought. 

He’d said enough to get your blood pumping. You grit your teeth and exited, ready to make a B-line from Hop’s office to the War Room to enact revenge on one Edward Munson.

Only, one meathead stood between you and the stairwell, hands poised on hips, lips upturned into the bitchiest snarl you’d seen since junior high. 

“What?” You barked, no longer having time for him when you had flatter asses to chew. You slipped past him, barely, into the well, the slap of your sneakers echoing up and down tens of floors.

“I work out in the afternoons,” Harrington responded, long legs keeping pace.

“Yeah, no shit,” you gestured to his get-up, sweat stain on his tee now dried to a normal shade of blue. 

“So, sparring mats at 2?” 

You halted your mission at the floor you needed and barred him from exiting before you. The heavy door swung closed against your hip, and you crossed your arms over your chest with a snort. “No, no way. I run in the mornings and then do weight training. We’ll spar at 5.” 

“Absolutely not,” Harrington offered a sour laugh. 

“Scorchers drop at 4.” You hoped he didn’t notice your confidence falter. It’d been so long, months, you didn’t know if they’d changed it without you, accommodated others. 

“Fine,” he seethed. “Can you swim?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Relevance? No water in the Upside Down.” 

“Seventy percent of the gates are in bodies of water. If we get stuck on the other side, our best way out is up.” 

You hated that he had a point, hated the ice that filled your stomach at the thought, hated the way your mind flashed back to that place, that time, wondering if there were any gates you missed. 

“So we should split our hours evenly between the gym, swimming, and scorch.”

Your mouth went dry, considering the heft of a fuel pack, the trigger beneath your forefinger, the acrid smell of burned flesh, the screams. 

You stumbled back against the door, but the steel didn’t sway under your weight. Harrington’s oversized hand was holding it closed, his face inches from yours, dark eyes observing your features with scrutiny. 

“How’d you pass your psych eval?” 

You blinked back at him, chill ever-present at the base of your neck. “Excuse me?” 

He stared down at you like he could see her too, like he felt her lingering thirty feet behind him, fire red hair and a crooked smile - uncanny. His nostrils flared like he smelled her too, hair on fire, skin bubbling. 

You felt frozen against the steel door, stuck under his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the nightmare over his shoulder, the expanse of grey and red just beyond. 

“Nevermind,” he sighed, releasing the door and giving you a few feet of space. 

You stumbled when the door swung wide, but caught your footing along with your breath to watch him run two hands over his face, scrubbing at tired eyes. 

“Mats at 5.” He clenched his fists and made his way up a few steps, presumably headed back to his dorm. 

“Fine,” you shot back, hating the rasp in your voice, the saliva filling your mouth. 

He halted his movements, wrapping his knuckles against a metal railing before turning back to face you. “Do me a favor? Tell Munson I’m busy tonight.”

You wanted to retort, say something childish about not being a messenger pigeon, but the words stopped at your tonsils when you saw Harrington glance once more down the corridor, down to where you’d seen her, Vicki, mouth agape, hand outstretched, before he clambered up the staircase, leaving you all alone.

—

Munson hadn’t been in the War Room, but you’d managed to distract yourself by listening to a strategy lecture being bounced off a bunch of trainees. You’d disguised yourself well-enough to be called upon to offer a few ideas, and were pleased when the instructor awarded you with praise. 

High from your distraction and the news that you’d be out there again, fighting, burning, doing what you were meant to do, you’d almost forgotten about Eddie entirely until you’d punched your meal card for dinner and found his in your cargo pocket. 

“Have you seen Munson?” You asked the girl manning the machine, and she glanced around the room with pursed lips. With a sigh, you punched his card and loaded both arms with tonight’s slop and two cold beer cans.

You took the climb to the dorms two-at-a-time and wrapped your knuckles against the cold steel of his door until you heard a muffled commotion on the other side. 

“Eddie, it’s me!” You called, shifting the weight on the orange dinner trays to be easier to hold in two hands. You heard the buzz and waited for the door to swing open before you allowed yourself to step inside, placing both trays on a rickety card table that had been set up just inside.

“Sweetheart, to what do I owe this honor?” Your friend’s walker squeaked against linoleum at his approach, and you looked up to see that Cheshire grin spread across pale features.

“Brought you dinner,” you gestured to the stew and steamed vegetables partitioned on a styrofoam plate. “We got mystery meat and I hope that’s corn, and your favorite: sawdust mashed potatoes.”

He laughed that familiar, boisterous laugh, and shook the hair from his eyes. “As delicious as that sounds… I’m going out with Steve.” 

The mention of his name sent reality spilling back into your mind. You bit back the initial sting of betrayal and moved to fill yourself a glass of water from Munson’s room sink. The countertop was piled with dirty mugs, cigarettes, nudie mags. You waited to chug an entire cup’s worth of water before you responded. “Harrington’s busy.” 

“How do you know?” He asked, voice thick with the cafeteria food you knew he couldn’t resist. 

“He told me.” You explained, crossing back to pull out his chair for him. 

Eddie didn’t move. He just stared at you, hands gripping the handles of his walker, brown gravy on the corner of his mouth. A mouthful went down with a gulp, and he blinked back at you.

“Had a meeting with Hopper today.” You elaborated, helping Munson from his walker to his chair, carrying his weight with ease. 

“If you poisoned me, they’ll know it’s you,” he pointed out, poking through the sludge with a spork. “You have a track record.” 

“Fuck off,” you growled, joining him at the table.

He held his hands up in surrender, a bit of corn careening your direction. “Okay, too soon. I’m sorry.” He snickered anyway. 

You poked at your own meal, annoyed that you couldn’t stay mad at him, despite his betrayal. He was all you had left, the only one that understood. 

“So Hopper demanded you two kiss and make up,” Eddie reached across the table to crack the tabs off each of your beer cans. “And then what happened? Don’t spare the gory details.” He clinked the two cans together, and slurped the bubbles loudly from the top of his own.

You picked yours up with a sigh, adjusting the tab to align with the printing on the aluminum. “Nothing yet. We’re sparring first thing tomorrow.” 

“Ooooh, can I watch?” He cackled.

“Absolutely not.” You took a sip, the bubbles tingling your nose with a sense of nostalgia for what once was. You remembered early mornings at the mats, dripping with sweat, pinned and pinning, Munson taking bets left and right. You’d pinned them all: Wheeler, Byers, Harrington, Buckley. You took another drink.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Eddie touched you, a hand to your forearm, calloused fingertips and sad brown eyes. God, you hated that look. 

“How long have you known about Robin?” Your voice came out a croak, sounds your mouth hadn’t made in months.

He turned back to his meal, shrugged broad shoulders. The downturn of his lips gave it away. He’d known for months. “I didn’t think she was serious.” 

The betrayal stung. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It wasn’t my place.” He shot you a pointed look, sass that rivaled Harrington’s. “You should have heard it from her.” 

You weren’t here for a lecture. You snapped back, spooning yourself some potatoes. “But it was your place to tell Hopper to pair me with Harrington? When you know what I’ve been through with him?” 

Eddie slammed his can so hard against the table bubbles fizzed from the top. 

You startled, dropping your spork back to your plate. Gravy dribbled across your chest, up your forearm. 

“You’re the one who wanted to go back out there,” he pointed an accusatory finger your direction. “Your lucky I didn’t tell Hopper to bench your ass.” 

You scoffed, licking beefy juice from your fingertips before standing to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “Like that’d stop me.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughed wryly. “I know it wouldn’t, and since I can’t get my legs working enough to come after you, I had to find the next best person.” 

You looked up at him from the mess you were mopping and noticed the fondness in those big brown eyes, the crease carving itself beneath pepper speckled bangs. 

“I mean, think about it. Roles reversed, who would you partner me with?” 

Although you’d never admit it aloud, Harrington was the most capable fighter in your motley crew, second only to yourself. He was a tactical master, and his heart was unmatched. He worked with speed and precision, efficiency, and you’d never seen another person go that cold in the face of the evil you’d seen. 

“Besides, haven’t you two already fucked? Just stir up some of that old sexual tension and make peace with each other.”

You smacked him with your spork as hard as you could, just over his left eye, and he swatted your arm away with a voracious laugh. You fought back the warmth spreading up your throat and to your ears, drowning more memories in a gulp of beer before they could surface fully.

“Speaking of fucking,” Eddie changed the subject, eyebrows waggled beneath his curtain bangs. “I talked to Sandra today.” 

You smiled into your sweet corn, the gentle buzz of relief settling over your shoulders. “Don’t you talk to Sandra every day?” 

“Well, sure,” And Eddie Munson proceeded to tell you about the exciting escapades with him and one of America’s Finest. 

And although you chewed, and laughed, and swatted at his arm, you couldn’t help but feel the tug of nostalgia just behind your molars. The memories that fizzled their way to the surface, of girls touching and laughing and nose-to-nose, cheek-to-cheek. Of dares. Of too much beer and too little pizza. Of arm-wrestles turned to leg wrestles, turned to sparring matches on dorm room floors. Of the freckles that lined faces and moles that cast a constellation across cheekbones and collar bones. Of breathless laughs and wandering touches. Of heat like wildfire, that fanned your skin and spread. Spread like vines and decay and smoke and ash. 

—

Harrington beefed up, shoulders impossibly square, chest broad, centered on the balls of sneakered feet. And alongside the wall of muscles, he’d grown relentless. You swung again, and again, and again, huffs of disdain escaping your lips with each stuttered breath, and your fists were caught, forearms blocked, shoulders checked. He worked lithely, without effort, all defense, prepared, like he’d been studying, but not just the fight, studying you.

You’d sparred before, sure, dozens of times over the past two years, and you’d always managed to pin him. Your fights would end in cackles from onlookers and sweat wiped from his upper lip. You’d pull him upright with a grin on your face and pride fluttering beneath your ribcage. 

Now, all mercy had been removed, any friendliness left his dark eyes cold. His jaw flexed, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for you to take a drink of water, quenching the dryness at your throat. He even dared that signature Harrington eye roll, which had the water dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your throat, a soothing damp.

“What?” You snapped, chest heaving, plastic water bottle crunched beneath your fingertips as you sprayed more into the back of your throat.

“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, arms still crossed. 

You swished before your swallow and set your bottle next to the oversized cushion of the grey vinyl mats. The floor had already been sneaker-marked and sweat stained. You bounced on the balls of your feet, trying to bring feeling back into the numbness of your wrists and knuckles. 

Harrington readied himself, squared his stance, but remained limp. Honestly, he looked a little bored.

You grit your teeth and rounded to the right. 

He mirrored you, arms up, patient. 

You took a deep breath through your nostrils and released with a right hook. 

He dodged, caught your wrist, shoved you to the other side of the mat. 

You stumbled, caught yourself, took another deep breath, steadied yourself. 

“Again,” he called you, gesturing for you to go again, to come at him, arm’s swinging wildly without making purchase for the thousandth time. 

You were exhausted. You’d been exhausted for months, but memories crept along dorm walls the night before, and that familiar face smiled back at you from the far corner, ever-present, watching, waiting. You hadn’t sparred since then, hadn’t struck another human, hadn’t found purchase. Not since then. 

You shook it off, rounded to the left. “What’s the matter, Harrington?” Your voice brought some life back into his eyes, interest piqued. Yes, this was better, this was safe. “Scared to hit a girl?” 

You swung left, and he dodged, but you felt the hairs on his cheek prickle your wrist. You swung right, but he’d predicted it, catching both wrists and pulling them up and over your head. 

His face was inches from yours, glistening with sweat and rough with stubble. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance, and you wondered if he’d slept at all himself. “I want you on the offense before I even consider teaching you defensive moves.” He shoved you back again, readying his stance. “Again.” 

“Teaching me?” You balked, resting your hands on your hips to catch the breath that had slipped away. “I seem to recall pinning your ass on the regular.” 

He grimaced at that, upper lip upturned in disgust, and he shrugged, gesturing to the ground between you. “Feels like you’ve lost your touch.” 

You swung wide, angry, fist flying through the air toward his chest.

He caught your forearm. “Looks like I can still count on you to be hot headed.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, stepping back into a ready position. You hated that he was right, hated how he always managed to find his way under your skin. 

“Take a breath,” he took a step to your left. You countered. “Anticipate me anticipating you.” 

You kicked out, knowing he’d expect another swing, but he caught your calf at his waist and held it there, pushing you backwards until you’d nearly lost balance, hopping on one leg. 

“No,” he grit his teeth. “Come on. You’re being predictable.” 

“Let go of me,” you wrestled your ankle from his grasp, nearly falling on your ass in the process. 

“I know your moves,” he explained, voice unnervingly even. “You’re a one-trick pony.”

You released a grunt, threw elbows at his opposite side, and he managed to grab you around the ribcage, holding you tight to him, your back to his front, two feet off the ground as you struggled under a vice grip. You struggled, wind nearly knocked out of you.

“We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.”

“Fuck off,” you gasped.

He released you. 

You stumbled back to your water bottle, taking a few breaths until the blur left the peripheries of your vision. You gulped between gasps, trying to strategize, trying to ignore the heated emotion prickling at your throat, behind your eyes. You couldn’t look at him, feeling like a child scolded by a school teacher, and what gave him the right?

“Did she use it against you?” His voice came softer than before, just behind your left ear. You could barely hear it over the rushing of your pulse in your skull.

You swished, swallowed, took a moment for his words to sunk in before you turned to face him. “What?” 

“Your predictability. Did she use it against you?” Harrington stood with arms crossed over his chest again, the shield he bore.

Your mind flashed to that night, flames fanned your face, all encompassing heat, structure engulfed around you. You’d gone for a hit, frantic, not in your right mind, panic icing your veins, and she’d caught your fist, just as your new partner had. Vicki’s eyes were just as cold, just as dark, a black void where your friend used to be. 

You swallowed, blinked back tears, and tried to ignore the figure growing in the corner of your mind. Harrington came back into focus, arms folded, shoulders square, sweat staining the collar of his t-shirt a dark grey. 

With steady breaths, you crossed the mat to him until you were close enough to make out the pulse in his throat, a steady beat beneath a chiseled jaw. He stared down his nose at you, contempt across features you’d once swooned over.

You felt the emotion start to well, blinked back anything that threatened, avoided his frigid gaze for half a moment, and when you glanced back, you noticed the most minute indication that he’d softened. His shoulders relaxed, chin tilted downward to look at your properly, and you remembered that everyone has a weakness. 

You sucked in your cheeks and willed a single tear to fall, just one, a hot bead that mixed with sweat as it streaked down the plane of your nose and rested, salty on the bow of your upper lip. 

Harrington’s eyes were wide, brown, soft. His nostril flared, in pity or disgust, it didn’t matter which. You’d hooked him. 

You turned your back to him, allowed your shoulders to shake with your exhale.

A sound of indignation fell from his lips, a warm breath cast upon the small hairs on your neck that sent goosebumps down your spine, and then you felt it. The softest of touches to your wrist, fingertips to calm your pulse points.

You took the opportunity, grappled his forearm and sent him flying over your left shoulder until a large body hit the mat with a satisfying thud. While Harrington gasped to earn his breath back, you pinned his shoulder beneath the toe of your sneaker, holding him to the mat. You wiped the tear from your nose with the damp collar of your t-shirt and stared down at him.

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he spat, shoving your foot from his chest to sit upright.

With a sigh, you grabbed your water bottle and retreated, shoes scuffing the linoleum. “Same time, same place tomorrow, Harrington. Bring your A game. ‘We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.’” You mocked him as you sauntered off to the showers. 

You paused momentarily when passing the double doors that exited the gymnasium into a gravel parking lot. Rusted vehicles were cast in the tangerine light of golden hour. And just beyond, under the cover of dense woods, you swore you could make out Vicki’s proud smile, engulfed in flame.

—

“How are things with Mr. Harrington?” Linda asked as though she knew the answer, and Hell, she probably did.

You were sure the exhaustion dulled your features, if not the dark circles under your eyes then the bruises that skated your arms and legs. One shone in browns and yellows on your temple from where you’d taken an accidental elbow. You’d been lectured for that for not ‘watching your space’. That man was lucky you hadn’t throttled him right there on the mat, pulse echoing against your skull. 

“Fine,”  you lied through your teeth, something you’d grown accustomed to in this cramped office. 

Linda, the government appointed therapist, walked from houseplant to houseplant, watering until they’d overgrown the room like vines in an alternate dimension. Blinking fluorescents cast green across the walls, painting her pale skin, making you feel more sick than you felt when you entered on a weekly basis. It used to be three times a week, but you were let off on good behavior.

“How did you feel when you learned that Ms. Buckley retired?” 

Your stomach churned, sickly green, and you shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. It creaked beneath you. “I’m happy for her,” you maintained your voice, swallowed back a waver. “She weighed her options and chose a path that feels right for her.” 

Linda hummed from overtop a spider plant, seemingly satisfied with your answer.

You settled in your seat. 

“Did it make you question whether or not you’d chosen the right path for yourself?”

The fluorescents buzzed, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pinching the junction of your nose. Your temple began to throb again, and the muscles of your shoulders tightened. You were so tired, run-through, up too early all to get your ass kicked and up all night, contemplating whether or not you made the right choice.

“No one would fault you for wanting a little peace of your own. It’s not cowardly to want space from the things haunting you.” 

The monotone of her voice was like nails down a chalkboard.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I won’t find peace as long as the Ether’s still spreading.” A mantra you’d repeated time and time again, face pressed into a pillowcase to avoid the screams of horror plaguing your mind, to shield your eyes from the dense, damp expanse of forest. 

“Yes, there’s no doubt you’re dedicated to your cause.” Her tone seemed clipped, almost as if she’d picked up some of Harrington’s sass in their sessions. She set her tiny watering can atop a large wooden desk and moved to sit in the rickety chair across from you. “I just think it’s healthy for you to consider a contingency plan. What would you do if it all ended tomorrow? You’re on the sparring mats and they announce it’s done, they’ve got him, the Gates are closed. Then what?” 

You stared back at her, green blurring your vision as you mulled over her question. You’d never actually considered it, never thought what you might do should the fighting cease, should the fuel in your tank run out and you’d have to put away your worries altogether.

“What do you think Vicki would want you to do?” 

That stung. Each time her name was said aloud felt like a slice, death by a thousand cuts. You closed your eyes again, tried to will away the nausea, the smell of charred flesh, the screams.

You took a deep, calming breath and imagined a simpler time, soft hands massaging the worry from your scalp, thighs around your shoulders as you pressed tired muscles into the cushions of a threadbare couch. Sweet laughter echoed around you, the wafted smell of popcorn, truths shared under the flashes of a television screen. 

Linda’s timer beeped, an alert that your hour was up. She let out a sigh as you bolted upright from your chair. “Think about it this week and get back to me.” 

“Unless it all ends tomorrow,” you promised, flashing a grin that you know exposed too much enthusiasm. 

She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “we can only hope.” Before she stood to usher you outside. “Have a good rest of your day.” She chimed, always the most chipper exchange of your interactions.

You saluted and B-lined for the stairwell, in desperate need of a meal and an ice pack for the knot between your shoulder blades. 

—

The dorm hallways were eery at night, the hustle and bustle of young adults silenced, lights out. Occasionally, a bluish glow would leak from beneath doors, but otherwise the halls were lit only by glowing red EXIT signs and the circle of your torch. You snuck past the common area on tiptoe, terrified of waking the occasional trainee who had fallen asleep during movie night, not interested in asking questions. You skirted around a corner instead, to the stairwell, and began your descent on the balls of your sneakered feet.

Your backpack slumped against a sore back with each step, full of supplies you weren’t even sure you’d needed, scrounged up from a supply closet Eddie snuck you in to loot. 

In your hurry downward, you took a wrong turn, exiting the stairwell too early, and stumbled upon too many offices with dust on desktops and upturned chairs. The stillness of this floor reminded you of there and then, everything twisted with vines, particles peppering the air. 

Nearly tripping yourself backwards, you kept one eye on your reflection in the glass, and made your way back to the stairwell to continue your run, a little more blind, a little more panicked. Two, three, four floors down you saw an indicator. The exit door was propped open on a brick. The window at a eye level exposed a long, pitch black hallway, and the very end sparkled in a pale blue glow. 

You swung the door open and ran, no longer minding the slap of your feet against the flooring, only wanting to be somewhere light, somewhere where you knew you wouldn’t be alone. You almost skid through double doors, humidity smacking you in the face, and you managed to stop inches from where the floor opened up, dark water rippled against aquamarine tiled walls. 

“You’re late,” a voice startled you, and you teetered further on the edge, turning to shine your flashlight directly into Harrington’s eyes. He grimaced, shadowing his face with his hand. His hair was already wet, throat beaded in water, droplets dampened and discoloring a red t-shirt. 

You clicked off the torch and let your arm fall to your side, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only illumination was from the depths of the pool, recessed lighting that glowed cyan. “It’s dark in here.” You voiced your grievance, shrugging your backpack off your shoulder and toeing out of your shoes. The tiles were frigid beneath the balls of your feet.

“It’s dark out there.” He explained and rounded the oversized pool to grab a handful of items from his own rucksack. “Are you ready or do you need to…?” He gestured to you, voice echoing off the rippled water, even soft.

You managed a few steadying breaths. You weren’t nervous, per se, but a certain anxiety fluttered beneath your ribcage. You hadn’t swam in years, not since summers spent at Hawkins Pool with Vicki. You thought she’d dragged you down there to gawk at Harrington in all his glory, red trunks and tank top and whistle and sun kissed skin. She admitted later it was Heather Holloway she’d always had her eye on. The memory of squirted sunscreen and the quench of lemonade on your tongue had your fists clenched. 

The splash of something heavy cutting the surface startled you back to reality, and your eyes scanned the wake to see what it was. Your heart raced in your chest. 

“We’re going to start with the shallow end,” Harrington explained, shifting your attention back to him. You watched as nimble fingers began undoing the buckle of his watch. He toed out of his sneakers. 

“I can swim,” you retorted, self-defense growing second-nature between the two of you.

He ignored you, tugging at the back of his collar to pull his t-shirt up and over his head. That soft patch of hair from his navel to the hem of his shorts stood on end beside the gnarled roots of scars that brought your own battle wounds to shame. 

He stepped to the edge of the pool, upcast in pearly blues, and dove in. The arch of his lithe frame was perfect in silhouette, minimizing the splash and the ripple as he went in fingertips first to break the surface. You watched the shape of him approach before his head broke through, hair in his eyes, mouth agape to refill his lungs. He scrubbed chlorine from his eyes and pushed wet hair back out of his eyes. 

“I dropped a brick at the shallow end, and you need to retrieve it,” he said, sidling up to the pool’s edge at your feet. “This isn’t about whether or not you can swim. You need to be able to get all the way to the Gate and all the way back up from it. This is about form and breath work.”

His voice was the softest you’d heard it, patient. It was the way he talked to the kids, without the snark and the sass of someone pretending to be irritated with them. It was unnerving.

“Can you dive?” He asked, combing his fingers through his hair to keep the front bits at bay, cowlick at the front fighting against him. 

“Yes,” you snapped, although no, you weren’t sure you ever really had. Maybe at swim lessons in the third grade, but how in the Hell were you supposed to remember the basics now? 

You took a step to the edge before remembering your clothes. You hadn’t brought extras, and you weren’t keen on sneaking back to your dorm sopping wet. With an sigh, you released the button from the fly of your pants, pausing the moment you realized Harrington was watching. “Do you mind?” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned his back.

You hated the static that prickled the stubble on your legs as you pushed your shorts down broad hips and thighs. You hated that it clung to the water’s edge, buzzed in your ears, fanned your chest with warmth as you lifted your tank top from over your head. You hated the lump your felt in your throat, exposed in underpants and a sport’s bra, not having owned a bathing suit in four years. 

“Okay,” you managed, voice thick, ready for the cool plunge to your heated skin.

Harrington turned back to face you but kept his gaze at ground level, slapping a wide palm to the tiled edge. “Step all the way up here, toes over the edge. Remember you want your thighs to power you, but you need your fingertips to break the surface first. Arms over your ears. Don’t stop until you can touch the bottom.” He spouted instructions too fast, moving to the side to give you room to position yourself for your dive. “The brick’s on the far end. Once you’ve gotten it, kick until you’ve reached the surface. Your lungs won’t let you go anywhere but up.” 

You couldn’t really hear him anyway, not over the buzzing of pool filters and the rapid heat rate in your ear. He made some minor adjustments to your stance, but you were on autopilot. And when you thought you heard the word ‘go’, you dove in. 

You felt a little awkward, but determined, the third grader in you stiffening. The water hit warmer than you anticipated, the stale underground air keeping everything tepid. When you were submerged, you kicked, lungs straining in a held breath. The faint pool light shined behind your eyelids, too anxious to open your eyes to the blur and sting of chlorine. You just ventured for the bottom, the plaster and tile that you knew would come. 

Only it didn’t. You kept kicking, and it was as if the bottom had fallen out, as if the world was swallowed whole, and panic fluttered once more at your chest. You opened your eyes, searching for a bottom, but everything felt too far. Then, a black shape entered your periphery, long, hulking, slender like a vine. Releasing bubbles, a startled scream exiting your lips, you kicked for the top, the sides, seeing the sparkle of the surface and begging for relief for the ache in your chest. 

Oxygen filled you, damp and sputtering at the moment your fingertips reached the lip. Panic stricken, you clung to the wall, knees scraping against plaster as you gasped for deeper breaths.

“That was good,” Harrington called from somewhere behind you.

You peered into the dark mist against the sting of your eyelashes. You released a shaky exhale. “I didn’t get it.” 

“I know, but your survival instinct kicked in. That’s important.” 

You felt uneasy about his comforting words, tones you hadn’t heard spill from his lips in almost a year. You rubbed at bleary eyes. 

“Come to the center and tread,” he commanded, softness replaced with the sass you were used to on the mats. “No walls in a lake.”

You grit your teeth and pushed off from the wall. 

Harrington had you tread water until your muscles burned, until that familiar hatred for one another stung in your chest and bit in exchanged words, at least then you felt more comfortable. You managed to dive properly a handful of times, making it farther and farther across the pool which each go until you’d retrieved the brick without coming up for air. He took it from your proud hand and tossed it to the deep end. 

Your lungs burned and your thighs ached, and he timed your held breath from the side of the pool, feet dangled in the water, broad shoulders slumped. You felt the heat of competition, the dopamine of getting better and better each time. Your final try, brick dumped beside him to scrape against the cold flooring, you wiped water from your eyes and had to fight back the smirk of success you felt itching at the corners of your mouth. 

Harrington sighed and slid into the water beside you, bobbing with his head just above the surface. He was close, too close, and you could just make out the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the blue light, the scar etched into his lower lip.

“I’m going to pull you down.”

You blinked back at him, seriousness in his voice tickling your nerves. “What?”

“There are things in those Gates that will try to latch onto you, to pull you into them. I’m going to pull you down, and I need you to fight me off.”

You knew he spoke from experience, you’d heard stories of the things he’d done. The idea of a large, black vine sent a chill down your spine, any competitive adrenaline replaced with cold, exhaustion, fear. 

“Go tread water.” He nodded back to the center of the pool, the expanse at which you’d finally warmed up to, a challenge you’d taken so lightly turned stone cold.

You did as he asked, pushing off from the wall until you found yourself in the center once more, legs kicking and arms pushing at the water around you, keeping you afloat. Your muscles ached with fatigue. Your entire being did, eyelids weighed by the sticky atmosphere.

Harrington’s head dunked and a chill shot through you. 

You weren’t sure if it was fear, the underlying unease you’d felt around him for almost a year now, that rivalry that turned whispered truths into snapped remarks. Maybe it was this unknown, this fear that he knew who you were, knew what you’d done, and now he’d convinced you to relinquish control. You gulped, glanced around, continued to tread. You could make out the shadow of him, just below the surface, streamlined and agile. 

You thought of him enacting revenge, on pulling you down and holding you in his vice grip. Hell, you’d do it if you were him. You’d thought about it already, imagined the swift crush of lungs as you held yourself beneath the surface. 

A creak sounded in the far corner of the room, and your eyes snapped to the double doors. They swung slightly, fog from the pool seeping through the cracks where tile met linoleum floors. You swam forward to catch a better view. You thought you saw a light just down the hall, the flash of red and orange, the crackle of lightning. 

You wanted to call out, but panic had settled too deep into your bones, and all at once a thick hand had found the meat of your thigh and you were being dragged downward, down, down, down. You gasped a deep breath, but couldn’t take your eyes from the swinging double doors, from the face that stared back at you from behind a window, wide-eyed in terror, just before you were submerged entirely.

The vine had a vice grip around you, and when you kicked, your opposite ankle was also grappled. You squirmed and fought, not-enough air choking at your lungs. Your toes felt the breadth of something wide, a chest, and you tried to push off of it, but down, down, down you went. Your arms struggled toward the surface. Familiar flames fanned the shoreline in oranges and golds, the smell of acrid smoke filling your nostrils, burning your lungs, blearing your eyes. 

You fought and fought, but she was staring back at you, that sickening smile on her face, and you knew you’d fought long enough. It was time to let go. You had no other choice.

Your back hit something hard, a crack that jolted the water from your lungs. You sputtered, eyesight dark around the edges, coughing in an attempt to expel whatever remained. You rolled on your side, hair strewn in tendrils beneath your mouth, body numb, mind numb. You weren’t sure where you were, only that it was freezing, and your muscles all began to spasm in an attempt to warm up. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” A familiar voice called out, garbled under the thunder of your pulse in your skull. 

You willed your eyes to open, to focus on the sparkling water beneath you, the cyan lights. Harrington’s face was inches from your own, eyes dark, a crease between thick brows. 

“Fuck!” He ran a hand down wet features, and you tried to regain any semblance of what had happened before he’d tossed you like a rag doll onto the side of the pool. He swam to the nearest ladder and pulled himself out. 

You rolled onto your back, stuttered breath gathering momentum again, and stared at the dark ceiling of the indoor pool. You were here, and you were training, and… You glanced sideways at the double doors. They were still, hall dark just beyond. You lifted a weak hand.

Harrington crouched at your side, pressing a wide palm to the curve of your throat, forefinger finding your pulse. He clicked the fingers of his other hand in front of your eyes, trying to get you to focus.

Annoyed, you swatted him away and tried to sit up. 

“Will you slow down? You hit your head.” He spat, pinning your shoulder gently to the tiled floor.

You did feel a pulse where his hand reached to cup your skull, and you reached back with shaky fingertips. The wetness was warmer there, knotted into the hair near the crown. You pulled your hand back to see your fingertips smudged with crimson. You winced. 

“Shit,” Harrington stood to procure something from across the room, his red t-shirt, and he shoved the material under your head, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. It just made the dull throb worse. “Can you talk?” 

His fingertips found your pulse again, large palm splayed out across your collarbone, honeyed eyes searching your own. His body was warm, ribcage pressed against your hip, and you wanted to curl into him, your teeth chattering.

“‘M cold,” you croaked, the sound producing another fit of coughs that burned like hellfire at your chest, rocketing you nearly into his nose.

He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand firmly to the t-shirt soaking your blood and stood to pull something from his bag on the floor.

Your coughs sent you sideways again, spewing more liquid onto the ground beside your head. The tiles had begun to swirl with blood.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His grip on your shoulder rolled you back to make eye contact. The room clouded around him, and you squinted, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Shit. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Your body rattled. It took too long to process that he had wrapped you in a towel and was trying to warm your arms with the friction of his hands. Exhaustion crept into your bones, a slip of warm darkness that you could find in his embrace, safety.

“Whoa, stay awake. Come on, let’s get you up. We have to take you to the Med Bay.” 

Your head throbbed as he pulled you upright, and you winced, pressure loosening on your skull. You groaned and tried to think through the fog, although exhaustion fought to win. 

Strong hands wedged themselves beneath your armpits and hoisted you upright, and you struggled to get your legs to carry your weight beneath you, but they did. Your body obeyed as your head throbbed, and you felt a trickle of warmth cascade down your spine while Harrington scrambled to grab the rest of your belongings. 

You stared back at the double doors, wincing as your torch lit up, light reflecting off of their insulated windows. “There’s someone out there.” You croaked, swaying on weak knees.

“It’s just the flashlight,” your partner snapped from beside you, one arm gripping your bicep, the other placing the ice cold metal of your flashlight into your weak hands. “Hold this.” His other hand met the t-shirt at the back of your skull to keep pressure.

“No,” you swallowed, throat raw, coughs emitting with each attempt to speak. “I saw them. I panicked.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” he scoffed, leading you slowly out of the room and into the black hallway beyond. “Hopper’s going to fucking murder me.”

You shined your light toward the stairwell, crisp white against a grey background. You saw no movement, heard nothing but the soft patter of your feet against the floor. 

“Nope, elevator. I’m not carrying you up fifteen flights of stairs.” Harrington steered you the opposite direction, toward a massive elevator on the North side of the building. It was old. The pulley system too loud against the thundering in your skull once the doors pulled themselves open.

You allowed him to lead into the square box, eyes wincing against the overhead lighting. You let him hold you upright against the railing on the back wall, relaxed easily into his hold, one hand catching on his forearm. 

He leaned forward to press a button, and just as the door slid closed, you saw a face, glowing blue in the light from the pool, eyes dark and smile menacing.

—

For the first time in two years, you’d managed to fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and what would have been the best night of sleep in your life involved a nurse coming in at every hour to wake you from your slumber. Your body ached, and your eyelids were heavy, and with every soft prod, you wished you had the strength to lift your fist and strike at the woman with brute force. 

You were released after twenty-four hours, lactic acid stiffening your joints and ten times crankier than before, and you limped from the med bay up the stairs to your dorm for some peace and quiet. 

Each dorm unit contained a bed, a closet, a sink and countertop, an aluminum table and chairs. Some people had couches, others managed lazy boys and a television set. Your new room had been kept at a minimum: bedding stark white, trash can piled in the corner, belongings shoved into a green duffle bag in the corner. The only bit of personality was tucked away beneath the covers of a photo album on top of your bedside table. You hadn’t opened it in months.

You shrugged out of your military issue clothes, peering at your reflection in the mirror above the sink. Your body, though stronger than you’d ever looked, was covered in bruises and scars. A long burn mark painted your left side, puckered skin. With a sigh, you pulled a tank top and sleep shorts from your duffle and stepped in, considering a shower when you’ve woken up.

You crawled from the foot of your bed to the pillow, sheets just as scratchy as those in the medical ward, but the mattress was far squishier. Your muscles begged for the rest, too stiff around the shoulders and thighs. You sighed and buried your face into the pillow, the throb in your skull only slightly subsided. 

Then, you heard a knock at the door.

The red numbers of your alarm clock indicated you’d slept for three hours. The ruckus in the hall indicated everyone had finished their breakfast. You groaned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, grabbing your second pillow to shove over your head, blocking the sun pouring in from an overhead window and the squeak of sneakers outside.

Knuckles wrapped a little harder. Your name was called along another few words muffled under the fluff of your pillow. 

“Go away!” You called into the abyss, and something in the back of your mind reminded you of the gruff man with the oversized mustache. You groaned and rolled, painstakingly, out of bed. 

The knocking returned, and you limped as fast as you could, calling over their yells for you to hurry up. You grit your teeth past the pain in the back of your head and swung the door open to expose Eddie Munson, hair pulled back into a ponytail, grin etched across sunken features. “Morning, Sunshine!” 

You had half a mind to slam the door back in his face. 

However, he raised his hand, shaking some poppy seeds off an everything bagel, and your stomach growled in response. 

You snatched the bagel from his hand and stepped aside to let him stumble in, walker almost too wide for the doorways. 

“Rumor has it Harrington carried you into the Med Bay in your underpants,” he said loudly before you had a chance to shut the door.

You caught the snicker of trainees, and you shot them death glares before slamming the heavy panel into it’s place. 

“Glad to see you two made up.” He pulled a cup of cream cheese from his pocket, and it clattered on your table beside a plastic knife. You helped him sit, both of your legs shaky on the descent. The table teetered under his weight, but he managed to remain upright in his chair. “Did he have to pound a concussion into you though?” 

You rolled your eyes, tried not to imagine a world in which his teasing could be factual, and shoved your thumb into the seam of your bagel to open it. “As much as I hate to pop your little fantasy bubbles, Edward, that’s about the farthest from what actually happened.” You seated yourself across from him and popped the top of the cream cheese container to start your spread. 

“So tell me what actually happened.” Eddie said, voice eerily even, “Because overhearing a total stranger say something about your best friend being held over night in medical is not how I wanted yesterday to go.”

You looked up from your spread and into big, brown eyes. Eddie Munson was known for his jokes, his pleasant demeanor, his incredible ability to strategize. He wasn’t known for his temper, but you’d seen it a handful of times, patience tested, that burn behind his eyes. 

You shirked under his stare, sealed the lid back on an empty container, took too big of a bite. You wedged the creamy goodness into one cheek, licking the corner of your lip to respond, hoping to sound more nonchalant than you felt. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We were training in the pool.” 

“This place has a pool?” He leaned forward, brows creased, arms folded across a slender frame.

You shrugged, swallowed. “Yeah, lower levels. Anyway, we were underwater, and…” You thought for a moment about what happened, everything blurred under the waves, the pressure in your chest, Harrington’s large hands gripping your thigh, the face staring back at you from the doorway. 

“And what? You went bonk?” Eddie snapped.

You blinked back to him and shrugged. The taste of garlic had turned to ash in your mouth. You tossed the remnants onto the tabletop and wiped poppyseeds off on bare thighs. They rolled onto the chair, the ground around you.

“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” His voice was quiet now, and when you snapped to meet his gaze, he was staring at the scrapes in the linoleum tabletop, knife wounds that had peeled through styrofoam. “Because I get it, you know? I’ve been there, too. After all those people I hurt…” He trailed off.

You reached across to grip his knuckles in your hand, pulling him to look at you. “Eddie, that wasn’t you. That was him. We all know it.” 

“And what happened to Vicki wasn’t on you.” He responded, nostrils flared, strong hand gripping your own. 

You swallowed back the lump growing in your throat. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” you said, and you wondered if you’d meant hitting your head in the pool or getting lost in the woods, getting Vicki flayed, pulling the trigger, watching the flames dance, hearing the screams.

You thought of the face above the water, the glow beyond the doors, this fear building in your chest like an ember of something you couldn’t put your finger on, this dull pulse you felt when everything else went away. You looked at your friend, dark hair and dark eyes and made a choice. “Eddie,” your voice shook. “I can still see her.” 

He squeezed your hand, nodded. “That’s normal. It’s a trauma response, I think, like a phantom limb.” He patted his thigh, and you recalled the mechanics of a prosthetic ankle beneath the hem of his pant leg. “What did Linda tell you?” 

You picked up your bagel again and tore it into halves. “I haven’t told Linda.”

Eddie breathed your name like a warning. “What do you mean you haven’t told Linda?” 

You dropped your bagel again and buried your face in your hands. The back of your head had begun to throb, and your eyes ached and crusted with sleep. “Eddie, come on. I had to get back out there, and you know I wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if the shrink knew I was hallucinating on a regular basis.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” 

“Eddie, you can’t tell anyone,” you reached out to grip his hand again. “Please, please. I’m sixty hours from reassignment. I just got a new partner.” 

“Does he know?” 

You scoffed, tried to mask your eye roll by throwing your entire head back into a stretch. The pounding on your head increased, and you had to cradle your head in your hands once more.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why have you now dragged me into this?” Eddie hissed, and when you peered through your fingers, you saw his stance mirrored yours, hands in his hair, annoyance stretched across thin features. 

And you debated keeping it from him, hiding that fear that had fanned the flames in the back of your mind for months now, but it was surfacing, each day coming closer and closer to having you by the throat. “Because I saw something else at the pool, someone else was there with us,” you let out a ragged breath. “And I don’t think it was…” Your throat caught on her name. “Her.” 

His expression dropped, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He glanced around your dorm room, crossing his arms over his chest before he looked back at you. “What are you talking about?” His voice trembled.

You shrugged, shook hair from your eyes. “I don’t know, Ed. There was someone else down there. I saw the door swing open. I could see a face staring back at me from over the surface. There was someone in that room, and when I came to, they were gone.” 

“Did Steve see them?” Your friend frowned, leaned toward your once more.

As if on cue, a loud knock wrapped at your bedroom door. You both startled upright, your heart beat racing in your chest. “Who is it?” You called, hands gripped the tabletop to stop them from shaking. 

“Steve,” came the short response, muffled through the thick door. 

“Steve who?” Eddie joked, lifting himself from his chair with some difficulty, any worry or hurt erased from the expression on his face. You hurried to help him before using one hand to open the door. 

“Sorry, I can come back,” Harrington’s features were etched in that signature scowl, dressed in uniform, bright orange breakfast tray loaded under one arm. 

“No, no,” Eddie waved him off. “I was just leaving. You can have her.” He leaned to press his lips to the shell of your ear before whispering, “we’ll finish this later.” 

You squirmed under the heat of his breath, and Harrington stepped aside to let Eddie through and into the hallway. 

“Be gentle with her this time, will ya?” Eddie’s mouth split into a grin.

Your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull, and you flipped him the bird. “Fuck right off.” 

Once your best friend had cackled his way down the hall, sneakers and walker squeaking, and a familiar, anxious buzz had settled into your bones, you gestured for Harrington to enter your little apartment. You closed the door behind him and felt suddenly self conscious of the trash piling up and over the can, the dishes dirty in the sink, the cream cheese smeared across your tabletop. 

“You should be resting,” he chided, sliding the orange tray onto the table beside your breakfast.

“Eddie brought me food,” you explained, as though you needed an excuse.

“A bagel isn’t food. You need protein and electrolytes, vitamins.” 

You glanced at the plate he brought: bacon and eggs, roasted potatoes, a glass of milk, a small orange. “Thanks, Dad.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arm over your chest, suddenly aware of the breeze against your bare thighs, the pebbling of your nipples beneath a thin tank top. You swallowed.

“How’s your head?” He asked after a long moment’s pause, vowels stilted like he’d forgotten how to be nice to you. You suppose you both had. It’d been so long. 

You swallowed back an innuendo, shrugged, reached to itch at the bruised skin around the scab. “She said it just a minor concussion. Should be good to get back to work by Monday.” You felt yourself shift on uncomfortable feet, the air buzzing with that odd static you felt in the pool.

Harrington nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his tactical pants, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

You felt sick, knowing it’d come to this, that you’d been brought to awkward conversations and niceties. You used to be close, dangerously close. You used to be able to reach out and touch him, to push that stray hair out of his eyes. You used to make jokes, to laugh. You released a scoff, shook the memories from your pounding head. “Look, we don’t have to do this.” 

He looked up at you then, jaw clenched, broad chest steadily rising and falling. 

“You don’t have to pretend to care about me. They partnered us up because we both want to get back out there. We have sixty hours of training left. The rest of the time doesn’t need to be spent together. You can be my drill sergeant and after training, we go our separate ways.” You confirmed, crossing to your duffle bag to retrieve a sweatshirt. You shoved it aggressively over your head and put your arms through, sick of feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“Drill sergeant?” He seethed, rounding the table to meet you near the foot of your bed. 

“Oh come on, Harrington,” you rolled your eyes. “You’ve been chewing my ass like fucking beef jerky since we left Hopper’s office. You’re acting like you’re training me for the Olympics, and I’m letting you, by the way, because it’s easier to keep the peace and take your bullshit than argue with you.” 

“Oh, right,” he scoffed. “You’ve been ‘keeping the peace’. Please, explain to me the fight-back I get on everything I say. Enlighten me, princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you shoved at his chest.

He didn’t budge. “Push through me.” He instructed.

You grit your teeth and did as he asked. The heels of your hands made contact and had him stumbling back a good five feet.

He caught himself on your chair. It creaked under his weight. “Good.” 

“Shut up,” you stood at full height, clenched your fists at your sides, ready to swing.

“Did you ever consider that I’ve been bossing you around because I don’t know if I can trust - ” He swallowed, broad chest heavy, eyes scanning your features.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes, fear crawling up your esophagus, burning in your throat. 

“…you.” 

All of your fears confirmed, that you couldn’t be trusted, that it was all your fault Vicki got lost, all your fault she was flayed, all your fault you couldn’t handle her, couldn’t take her, all your fault she died. All your fault your friends abandoned you. All your fault you lost him, too.

Flames fanned your skin. Your eyes glazed over, your hands trembled. You tried to reason with him, with yourself. “I didn’t mean for… any of it. I didn’t ask for it to happen.” 

“But it did.” His tone was dark, low, unyielding. 

You glanced back at him in time to see his hand run through his hair. 

He released his shoulders in a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re better on the field than off. I was really just coming to see when you’d be ready to get back on your feet.” He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop.

You shivered under his frigid monotone. 

“We should start with Scorch on Monday. I think we’re supposed to get a heatwave, so let’s try for the evening again.” He was commanding, cold, walking to your bedroom door. 

“Okay,” you managed. Your neck ached from the whiplash of the encounter, of the last week of your life, the last year. 

“Get some rest.” He said before exited, a command. 

When the door clicked closed, you let out a yell of frustration, swatted at a nearby chair until it tipped to the ground, clanging loudly as the metal bounced.

---

Chapter Two: Spark

[A/N: I've honestly been working on this fic for so long. It's my baby. I've grown too attached. And I honestly cannot wait to share it with the world. Thanks so much for reading xo]

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 2.7k words | Darlin's POV

Home sweet home. Scrambled eggs, new phones, and unchanged offices.

TW: Conflict, arguments, mentions of abuse and manipulation, non-consensual tattooing.

You lost time somewhere along the stretch of road between the 10-19 and David’s uncomfortably plush suburban house. If you focused really hard, you could piece together where you’d been, the moments you’d brushed up against others. David’s spouse did surprise you a bit. Small. Sweet. Smiling. Somehow, that nickname sounded so familiar in their mouth. You wanted to pull the strings of it out from between their teeth. 

Instead, you went to bed. You didn’t stop at the adjoining guest bathroom, you didn’t shuck off the outer layers of clothes that were sticking to you with sweat in the balmy, heated house, you didn’t even untie your boots.

The guest room was lowly lit by a single, shaded lamp on the bedside table. A soft, lavender bedspread was laid out over the biggest bed you’d ever seen. There was a shelf on one wall full of decorative, leather bound books and knick-knacks you had no context for. A piece of dried driftwood. A mug advertising a local coffee shop. A half-burnt scented candle, vanilla sugar. You rubbed your hands over your face, your fingers catching over your scar-curled lip, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. 

You wanted nothing more than to strip out of your uncomfortable, DFD clothes and climb under those pretty lavender sheets and never emerge. 

But you were dirty. You still had dried blood and sweat everywhere. Your boots were laced so tightly you couldn’t kick them off, and you weren’t sure you could bend reliably at the moment. The idea of trying to undress was enough to make you shiver. Not to mention the fact that you might have to run in the middle of the night. You didn’t want to have to redress before you did. 

In the end, you sat heavily in the velveteen arm chair that was set next to the bed. You kept your boots on the ground, dusting off mud and blood on the hardwood floors. You had barely rested your head back against the back of the chair when you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

The moment something shifted in the house you jolted awake. Even this exhausted and bogged down by your injuries, you were a light sleeper. Quinn used to wake you in the middle of the night, drag you out to bars and hovels, to stranger’s houses and dingy basement apartments. 

Sometimes, you’d wake up with him on top of you, your arms pinned. He moved so fast or so quietly that he didn’t wake you. 

You scrunched up your brow to the memory of a tattoo needle carving through your skin, Quinn tutting at you for ruining his line when you startled awake. You scrubbed a finger over the raised, blown out word and tried to put that particular memory out of your mind.

Your legs were asleep, but you stood anyway, your ribs protesting as you forced yourself into a crouch. The door to the guest room creaked as you opened it. You held your breath. The shifting sounds deeper in the house didn’t let up. You hadn’t announced yourself. 

The door to the bedroom across from yours was ajar. The gentle light of the hallway fell on a sleeping form, bundled up in blankets on one side of the giant bed. You could see in the dents of the mussed sheets where David had lain, wrapped around them. 

You moved through the house silently, rolling your steps through your feet across the shiny, hardwood floors. Christ, this was the nicest place you’d stepped muddy boot in in literal years. You tucked your hands close to your body, rested your shaking palms against your thighs. You were afraid that, if you touched anything, you’d ruin it. 

David was in the kitchen, clinking away with some pots and pans as the coffee pot brewed. A knot of tension eased in your gut. He wasn’t here. He hadn’t found you. 

“On the table,” David pointed over his shoulder without looking at you. You turned slowly, your back stiff. There was a little white box next to a bag from Verizon on the Shaws’ quaint breakfast nook table. 

“Showing off your new toy?” You grunted. Your throat was hoarse and cracking. 

“Your new toy.” David replied. The coffee pot finished brewing. He poured two mugs, one left black, the other smothered in sugar. He held it out for you. “You need a phone.” 

“I have a phone.” You said. Your hand drifted to the pocket of your sweatpants. 

“You have a burner phone.” David said, his voice dangerously close to a laugh. He pulled a handful of ingredients from the fridge. “Like a drug dealer on Law and Order. You need something up to date.” You eyed it with suspicion. “I won’t take yours from you. Just… take that one, okay?” 

“So you can keep tabs on me?” You sipped at the coffee. It was perfect. How the fuck did he remember how you took your coffee? You didn’t think that David had ever given you a second thought. But he knew how you laced your boots and how much sugar you needed to make coffee drinkable and that you needed to hear he wouldn’t take your stupid burner to feel secure. 

“Kind of.” David shrugged. He cracked eight eggs into a bowl before whisking them together. A dash of garlic salt, some pepper, paprika. “I’m worried you’ll run again. I’m not trying to force you to stay here or anything, but… I’d feel better if I had a way to contact you if you decide to.” 

“So I’m not being held against my will in your guest room?” 

“No.” David sighed. “Although, if you were, pretty nice digs for a hostage.” 

“Hostage implies you intend to use me for leverage.” You grinned. “I’m not worth much as a bargaining chip.”

David looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed. He sliced through his scrambled eggs forcefully with his spatula. You were half convince that could be considered a deadly weapon in his hands. 

“I don’t like it when you say shit like that.” He grumbled. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“‘I’m not worth much.’” David growled. “That pisses me off.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, you moved across the kitchen and snatched the phone from the table. You sat heavily and rested your head against the cool wood. You drifted while David cooked. Somehow, it was easier to sleep here, bent uncomfortably over the breakfast table, than in the secure, lockable bedroom on the delta wall of the house. You didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of that. 

You woke again when a plate was sat down in front of you. It was piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, toast spread with soft butter and marmalade. Your stomach announced you loudly, and you ignored the smile that played across David’s lips. You hadn’t put it together before, but looking at him head on, the scar that cut through his lip was on the same side as yours. If you looked at each other head on, you were a mirror image. You wondered where his had come from. 

“What does your spouse do?” You asked around a mouthful of eggs, surprising yourself. David looked up from his own plate and eyed you suspiciously. He took a long swig of his coffee before nodding. 

“Copy editor.” He said simply. “For Vesta. Big company that just started up in town. Although I don’t think they’re even really sure what they do.” 

“Soulless corporate stooge.” You laughed softly. David cocked his head and shrugged. 

“They’re apprenticing as a tattoo artist.” He said, almost defensively. 

“Are they any good?” You asked. David met your eye as he pushed back in his chair and rolled up the hem of his  t-shirt. He twisted to angle his back to you, exposing a complex, beautiful, black and gray tattoo. You’d seen a few pieces like that, rings of eyes and wings spiraling towards a core in the dead center of David’s spine. It was American Traditional, thick, bold lines and stipple shading. The eyes and halos were dotted with highlights of white. 

“They said it was an angel.” David sighed. “I was expecting more choir robes and prayer hands but this is way better.” You nodded, fighting the urge to reach over the table and smooth your hand over his back, feel the healed ridges and test the line weight. It was cold out. The linework was most likely raised and itching like yours. 

“It’s good.” You huffed as David righted his shirt and resumed his breakfast. “I can’t believe they’re just an apprentice.” 

“They’ve been tattooing for years. They’re just doing it officially now.” He eyed you nervously for a moment before adding on; “You could ask them about some coverups.”

You looked away, a hand snapping up to scratch at the ‘Q’ on your cheek. Shame burned in your stomach, bitter and acidic. 

“Coverups for what?” You challenged. You wanted to hear him say it. He didn’t reply. 

You found out, while setting up your shiny new phone, that it was four-thirty in the morning, and this was a perfectly normal time for David to be up and moving. He dug out some of his own clothes from the back of his closet for you. Once upon a time, you and David had the same waist size. Now, he was thickened with healthy muscle, and you had barely been eating. You stole the lace out of one of David’s spare sneakers to cinch the waist of the jeans he gave you and tugged the oversized t-shirt and sweater over your head with only a small protest from your ribs. Across the chest that hung down too low on your chest, the worn logo for Max’s Rustic Pizza caught on your fingers as you brushed them down over it rhythmically. 

David stooped into his bedroom before leaving. You listened to his voice rumble through the walls, deep and indiscernible. His spouse’s high laugh brought a smile to your face, although you didn’t know why. 

Dahlia’s Firehouse 10-19 had changed since you’d last been there. You didn’t remember much of your hour-long visit after David had dragged you out of your apartment. It was all tinged with the fuzzy discomfort that blood loss always gave you. You walked the length of it as the sun rose, ran your fingers over the redone walls, laid out on one of the queen sized bunks for an hour or two, never quite sleeping but close. You passed by a wall of fallen brother’s pretty, dress uniform portraits. Gabe Shaw’s face grinned down at you, the only one of the lot with a smile. 

His office, now David’s, was still mostly the same. The carpet had been redone, and the fluorescent overhead lights were left off for a series of soft, warm lit lamps. You didn’t turn a single one of them on as you entered the unlocked space, let the darkness hide the few changes that had been made and let the memory of it fill in the gaps. 

Gabe raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 1019 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons. 

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of. 

Your dad was a gas station attendant who left as soon as you mom fell pregnant. She barely kept food on your plate. As far as anybody knew, you came from nothing. You were just a probie, a fresh faced eighteen-year-old still working out your baby fat who had never touched a rig. You applied with no resume, no references, just the certification that you’d passed the exam. Because you could haul equipment. You could scale a ladder in three seconds flat. You could throw a grown man over your shoulder without hesitation. 

You caught sight of the big, black office chair sitting behind the same cheap desk that had been sitting in that office since you first stepped foot inside. Gabe made that chair look tiny. He made you feel tiny. 

“You’re a good firefighter.” Gabe had said. “You’re ferocious. You’re not afraid to throw yourself into a call.” He grinned that stupid, bright grin. “We all trust that you’ll be the first one into a fire, the first one reaching to save somebody.” 

You remembered how proud you’d felt at that moment. How easy it was for Gabe’s praise to make you feel two feet taller. 

“But I don’t think you trust us.” His smile went soft then, a bit sad. “I don’t think you trust that we’ve got your back. And that’s why you’re so vigilant.”

“I trust you guys,” you had replied so quickly, so defensively. “I just know how to watch my own back.” 

“Trust is essential to what we do.” Gabe said. “When we put on our turnouts, when we put those numbers on our chests, we’re a unit, one machine. When one of the cogs of the machine starts to turn on its own, with no regard or acknowledgment of the others, the whole thing can fall apart.” 

You remember being so angry. You couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d stood, your arms light and body tensed, as though you were going to swing at him. Gabe rose with you, his shoulders relaxed. He knew what you looked like when getting ready for a fight. 

David had walked in on you two, interrupted what was likely to be a career-ending fight. You hadn’t realized until he walked in that you’d been crying. 

Knuckles rapped against the doorframe, jolting you out of the memory. You were in nearly the exact same spot, and when you turned, so was David. You shivered at the familiarity and tried to shake it off of your shoulders. 

“Refamiliarizing yourself?” He asked softly. 

“You really should lock your office door.” You replied. 

“My dad never did.” He shrugged and stepped deeper into the space. He looked around slowly, his eyes carrying a heaviness you couldn’t put a name to. “Open door and all that. I take it literally.” 

“You’ve changed everything else about this place. Except his desk. You kept that.” 

David locked eyes with you. The emotion drained from his face very suddenly. His walls slammed up the moment you tapped on them. He closed himself off to you so naturally, like it was his default state around you. 

You’d given him plenty of reasons over the years. 

“I did good by this house.” David said. “But there are some things I can’t…” He pressed his mouth into a tight line, unable to go on. 

“Yeah well… dead dad… makes it a bit more complicated than an office makeover.” You shrugged. It was the wrong thing to say. David huffed out a tight, tense breath. You watched his temple jump as he clenched his jaw. 

“I know the Captain’s death was hard on you.” There was something hollow in the way he said it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Frustration cut across his closed off features.

“Jesus Christ, David.” You snapped, scrubbing a hand across your face. “Hard? Yeah, no I would say your father’s death was hard.” You tugged on the hem of your shirt nervously. “Getting the call was hard. Recognizing Gabe’s car was hard. Knowing nobody could survive a crash like that was hard!” 

“Stop.” David said resolutely. You pushed through the urge to follow his orders. 

“But it must have been torture for you!” Your voice cracked. “Pulling your father’s body out of a burning wreck must-“ you couldn’t get the words out from around the lump in your throat. You slammed your fist into your thigh. David hung his head. His shoulders slumped. One big hand came up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop.” He said again. His voice was a ghost. 

“You stop.” You replied. “Stop trying to comfort me. God, David.” Your body twitched to hug him, to gather him up in your arms. You didn’t move an inch. “Save some of that for yourself.” 

You turned tail and closed his office door quietly, leaving him alone in the dark, silent room. It was the closest to comfort that you could provide. 

[lost-girl-2021]

Imagine part of why Neytiri is so insistent on Spider 'being with his own kind' is because Spider almost died in her arms when he was younger and it scared her so much that she closed herself off from him entirely. ik this doesn't super make sense canon-wise, but . . . idk, deal w it y'all.

Spider was maybe six or seven, barely old enough to go outside with the smallest size mask they had. He was with Lo'ak, Kiri, and Neteyam by the creek, Neytiri supervising from the treeline as she foraged. He was finally getting used to this whole outdoors thing, taking to it all quickly. His spare mask was glinting in the sunlight from the branch he'd hung it off of before joining his friends in the water. It was knee-deep for them, but nearly to his waist. Even though he was the oldest, the other three had already outgrown him.

It didn't feel like they were much bigger, though. After months spent together in the forest, it felt like the Na'vi kids had nearly forgotten he was human. Kiri had started helping him paint stripes on himself and Neteyam had promised to show him how to use a bow for his birthday that year. After a lifetime surrounded by adults in the lab, he was happy to be with his friends.

And then, he fell.

Neteyam had faked a lunge towards him and he'd tripped over a log in the water, falling head over heels into the currant. It wasn't bad at all standing up, but he was disoriented and the water was murky from all the mud they'd kicked up in their playing. His body was being sent further down the creek and it was suddenly too deep and Spider couldn't stand up and he didn't know how to swim. His mask hit something hard and came flying off, whisked away into the water. The sting of whatever hit his head was enough to make him gasp and then he was maskless and underwater—

It only took twenty seconds for a human to pass out in Pandoran air. Four minutes to die. That was for a grown-up and Spider was small for his age, Norm said so just the other day.

So, he shouldn't have been surprised when black dots filled his vision and he was just . . . gone.

—

Neytiri's children had been playing in the creek with the Sky People boy all morning. She was foraging for a specific herb, at her mother's request, and all four children were blessedly entertained splashing each other. She'd agreed to take Spider with them when she left the village that morning, Norm and Max looking beyond tired. Apparently, the boy had been staying up late to stargaze, meaning that they had to stay up late making sure he didn't decide to play with any of the lab equipment (again).

She looked over at the four of them, smiling softly as Lo'ak tried to climb up his big brother, slipping and sliding all over. A glint of yellow flashed in her peripheral and she turned away from them, smiling when she found the herb she'd been looking for all morning. It was perfect timing, too, right before they would head back to the village for lunch. She'd settle Lo'ak down for a nap, but Kiri and Neteyam would probably insist on trying to help her prepare their midday meal. She'd have to leave out some seasonings if she was going to feed Spider, but—

Kiri screamed. It wasn't the high-pitched squealing thing she'd been doing a few minutes before, when Spider and Neteyam had splashed her simultaneously. It was one of fear.

She whipped around, looking for an animal or injury or something. Her three children seemed uninjured, but they were splashing around wildly, looking for something.

For someone.

She was in the water before she could think, practically diving downstream. The water reached her knees at it's deeper point, too tall for the Sky Child. She should've known the current would pull him, that he was too small still, too young.

She caught a flash of pink skin and blond hair and reached down, pulling the limp boy from the water. His lips were turning blue and his mask was gone. She must've shouted for Neteyam to grab the spare hanging from the tree, because in the ten steps in took her to get back to her children, he'd climbed up and grabbed it, flipping switches on the battery back she didn't know he knew how to use.

She didn't let him go as she reached for the mask, able to hold him in one arm as she pressed the device to his face.

Please, please, she silently begged, praying. Her children were watching, the boy was . . . he was too fragile to be in such a place. She was foolish to bring him out of the safety of the lab.

Spider took in a sudden choking gasp of air, turning on his side. He coughed once, twice, water and spit hitting the inside of hie mask. He grimaced, before sinking into Neytiri's arms, falling back asleep instantly. She let out a sigh of relief, rocking back on his heels.

"He's alright, he's alright." She promised, looking at each of her children. Kiri was crying and her boys didn't look far behind.

She led the home without complaint from anyone, something that would be unusual under other circumstances. She went straight to the shack, meeting Norm inside the airlock. She handed him over easily, clenching her fists to hide how her hands shook.

She remembered Jake, nearly dying in his human body. Frail and desperate for air. Spider was a child, barely more than a baby. She could barely stand watching her mate suffer through humanity. It would be cruel to make her children grow up along someone bound to die painfully. (It would be unbearable for her to take in the human as her own, like Jake had been hinting at for years now, if she would just lose him).

Idk what this is, it's like 4 am and I had an idea. Please forgive any typos, I'm too tired to proofread atm.