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azullumi · 2 months

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”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes

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star-girl69 · 4 months

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Let Me Love You Like A Woman

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

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synopsis: you and clarisse broke up two months ago, and when you’re selected to go on a mission together, clarisse just wants you to let her love you.

a/n: i feel feelings about this one….. anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

Let Me Love You Like A Woman - Lana Del Rey

******i want to make this clear: there is absolutely NO smut in this fic. terms like “fuck buddies” and “friends with benefits” are used but only bc i cant think of anything else lmao. all they do is makeout and it is suggestive at times but there is NO SMUT

warnings: this is so bad tbh, what is clarisse doing, she’s so confused my little ladybug, y/n my other ladybug is confused too, OH MY GOD THERES ONLY ONE BED, swearing, hate make out sessions but the hate is one sided, kissing obvi!, deep talks about our feelings which is hard for clarisse, angst, mentions of death blood and monsters, lovesick!! slightly desperate!!! clarisse my cutesy little ladybug, exes/enemies w benefits so like mentions of sex and such, very suggestive lol, as an actual server the restaurant scene hurt me to write lol, but for the plot, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The Big House is the one place in camp you’re really unfamiliar with. It’s not like you haven’t been there before, it’s just you don’t go there that often.

And unknown places scare you.

There’s hiding places you don’t know about, blind spots you aren’t aware of- corners and small secrets and rules that you haven’t learned yet.

You make your way up the steps and through the porch, the familiar part- you pass by the infirmary and the random office no one uses- until you make it to the connected gondola Chiron and Mr. D. spend most of their time at.

You’re about to turn and enter when a familiar figure appears in front of you.

It hurts to think about how you’ll always know it’s her.

She seems just as shocked to see you but covers it up quickly.

“Y/N,” she smirks, looking you up and down.

You stop, go to turn around and march off in the other direction when you remember you can’t.

Clarisse La Rue doesn’t deserve the dirt under your feet, even though she would probably eat it if you asked- charmspeak used or not.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, and she frowns. You never really called her by her name when you dated, and you know it bothers her now to hear you say it.

That’s exactly why you do it, of course, but the part of you that knows everything about her and will always love her squeezes at the sight of her poorly-hidden sad face.

She’s been slipping up lately. It warms your heart to know that’s because of you.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, genuinely curious.

As a cabin leader, it’s not unusual for Clarisse to be here. But she knows you’re scared of the unknown, and she knows it’s just not in your routine to come here.

“Dunno,” you shrug. “Got called here.”

Her eyes light up. “How funny, so did I.”

You roll your eyes, fighting against the parts of your body that want to run towards her and the parts that want to run away. Instead, you listen to your brain and feel her staring at you as you turn the corner into the gondola.

“Y/N, Clarisse,” Chiron greets with a pleasant smile, setting down a hand of cards face-down. You almost laugh at Mr. D’s disappointed look- Chiron isn’t the trainer of demigods for no reason.

“Yeah, yeah, welcome,” Mr D says, seeming entirely uninterested. You both stand there slightly awkwardly.

Chiron is known to be blunt, so he of course jumps right in.

“We have a mission for the two of you.”

“The two of us? Like, just the two of us?”

The words come out before you can stop them, fingers twisting together and mouth slamming shut. You’re fine, you try to tell yourself, even though your mind and body agree on one thing- being too close to Clarisse will just lead you right back to her.

Clarisse tries to hide her hopeful smile, but you see through it. You loved her for so long, of course you see through it.

“Uh… yes,” Chiron says. You clench your fists.

Mr D seems interested now, especially after your outburst.

“Oh,” he laughs. “I see.” He gestures between the two of you, “there’s bad blood.”

Chiron presses his lips together.

“Nothing that doesn’t make us capable of going on this mission,” Clarisse says, taking a step forward. She smiles at you, but doesn’t make a move to touch you. At least she knows some limits, even if they don’t matter now.

“Well,” Chiron continues, seeming to regret his decision but deciding it’s too late. “Y/N. Your charmspeak, I feel, will be extremely important to this mission. And, Clarisse, daughter of Ares- your skills in battle are nothing to scoff at. There is an item I require the retrieval of. A friend left it in a P.o. box in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. The journey is not particularly perilous, but being a demigod carries an affinity for danger.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I trust the two of you will be able to put aside your… ‘bad blood’ and complete your mission?”

Maybe this mission will be good for you. It certainly nowhere near the kleos of a quest, but more so gives you bonus points with Chiron. That could be helpful.

Clarisse looks at you.

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry.”

—-

“Y/N.”

You walk away from Clarisse pointedly, hoping she’ll take the hint.

You’ve decided you’ll do this quest. If you ever did want to be a cabin leader in the future- you either had to be well liked or the best. As a daughter of Aphrodite, you were already well liked- conversation and flattery came as easy to you as breathing.

Even before you learned how to use your charmspeak, you could sweet talk almost anyone into doing whatever you wanted. You really needed an A on that test? A few tears and some master manipulation- suddenly that A was yours.

But, Chiron needed to like you too.

You do this quest for him- which he choose you for- and then you earn even more of his respect.

It was such a simple exchange. It could be such a simple exchange, except if the girl hot on your heels wasn’t your partner.

She finally manages to grab your wrist and whip you back around so you’re facing her.

She smiles.

“I’ll always catch you, you know. No use in running, really.”

“At least I’ll go down fighting,” you say, looking anywhere but her eyes like portals that suck you in. She’s so close to you.

If this was the before you would wrap your arms around her neck and hers would go to your waist. Even if you were mad at her, she would press her body close to yours and kiss the corner of your lips- Clarisse made it her life’s mission to know every inch of you, and she succeeded. She would know the exact way to calm you down and get you to look at her and hear her out.

And most of the time you were being dramatic, or simply joking, and then she would kiss you and it would all be fine again.

Except it’s not the before. It’s the after, and your heart hurts being so close to her.

“What do you want, Clarisse?” you sigh.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

Your chest blazes. “Go talk to literally anyone else.”

Her face hardens.

“How many times do I have to tell you before you understand that you are the only person I care about?”

You rip your hand away from her grip.

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning and walking away.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at the gates,” you can feel her smile. “And then I’ll see you all on our mission, huh?”

“You’re crazy!”

—-

You walk into the Hermes cabin and fall face first onto your best friend Marley’s bed.

She looks up from her book and laughs.

“Oh, babe, what happened?” she asks, scratching the back of your scalp as you pull yourself up into your elbows and place your head in her lap.

“Mission,” you groan.

She stops. “A mission? For Chiron? Gods, Y/N that’s amazing-”

“With Clarisse.”

She takes her hand away from your scalp and moves to your chin, lifting you up.

As much as Clarisse hurt you and you hate her, Marley had always had a special sort of hatred for her. Even when you were happy and dating- you would tease her that maybe she’s actually a daughter of Ares, seeing how angry she was.

She was always overprotective, she insisted she just had a bad feeling about her- but eventually she stopped and you thought you could have it all.

“I’m sorry,” Marley laughs. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

You put your lips right up to her ear.

“MISSION WITH CLARISSE-”

“Y/N!” she yells and pushes you away, groaning as she holds her ear. “My ears are bleeding now, oh my Gods-”

“You’ll be fine,” you groan, settling back into her lap. “I’m the one who actually has to go with her.”

“Actually?” she whispers after a tense moment. “You actually have to go with her?”

“It’s fine,” you mumble.

“It’s not. Maybe I-I can talk to Chiron, or maybe I could come with you, huh?”

“No, thanks, Marls. It’s alright, really.”

She stares down at you, head tilted slightly to the side. Marley has always been exceptionally good at hiding her emotions. But you can tell she’s angry. She’s scared.

She’s your best friend and you will always love her in the most special way.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers.

The Hermes cabin is always a bustle of activity. But when you’re just here with Marley, it’s the two of you. It’s perfect. It’s what you’ve always wanted- selfishly- to feel special. You feel special with her eyes on you, your head in her lap. She’s your best friend.

You put your hand on her face.

“As much as I hate it, we both know Clarisse won’t let anything happen to me. I’ll be safe.”

“Yeah, but what if she does something to you?”

What if she does absolutely nothing and you fall in love with her all over again?

You always thought that all that stuff about feeling your heart physically break couldn’t be true- but you know it is. You felt it break and every time you look at Clarisse and it can’t be like it was before your heart breaks a little more.

Clarisse acted like you were some big secret that was a chore to hide, and then when you were in her arms she would call you the prettiest girl. It was like whiplash, feeling her touch so tenderly and then not even being allowed to look at her in public. And you wanted so badly to tell everyone that she was yours and you were hers- but she just couldn’t.

And you don’t care about the reason behind that, not after that one night, not after she told you she could never love you.

She doesn’t really want you. She acts like she does, but she only misses you on the surface. Sure, you miss her body, but you miss your late night talks and the way she was always there to protect you, the way she made you feel. You like the person you are with her.

She wants an idea of you, she wants you under her, she wants power and control.

You think maybe a part of her really does regret losing you that night. But, she laid it all out that night. What she feels doesn’t make up for what she said. She doesn’t love you because she’s insecure, because she’s self-serving and power hungry.

She makes you feel stupid waiting for her, but why would you wait for someone else when you could wait for her to come back? You don’t like the unknown, and Clarisse is the one thing you really know.

You look into Marley’s eyes now.

“It will be good for me,” you whisper. “I’ll earn Chiron’s respect.”

Marley kisses your cheek.

“I know. I just don’t want you to go, and I know that makes me selfish but- still.”

“I know, Marls. I know,” you whisper. But this will be good for you, and it’s already been done. You already accepted it.

Marley helps you pack and you watch her anger. You watch her roughness, you watch the fire in her eyes- and Gods, does it make you feel special to have a friend like her.

You only wish you could make Clarisse feel like that too.

—-

The bus ride is boring.

Clarisse, for some merciful reason, decides not to torture you and instead throw her dagger up and down.

But you’re bored.

You’ve been reading a book Marley lended you, something boring and wonderfully distracting about the history of the four wind gods- you think about the wind and not about the way Clarisse’s thigh is pressed up next to yours.

It’s only been two months.

As much as you hate it, you won’t even admit it to Marley, but you’ll admit it to yourself in the quietness of the back of the bus.

You close the book and stuff it into your backpack.

You miss her.

“I’m bored,” you announce before you can second guess yourself.

“Okay,” Clarisse hums, picking at a speck of hardened dirt on her dagger. “I know a lot of things we could do to remedy that.”

Your cheeks flush, but you hold your ground. “I’m not going to kiss you. One, it smells like shit back here and two, we’re not dating anymore.”

“True, but doesn’t that just make it more fun?”

“What?”

Her hand moves to your thigh and you let yourself sink into the before.

“We aren’t supposed to- your best-fuckin’-friend would skin me alive. But we both know you want to.”

“I don’t want my lips anywhere near you.”

She just smiles at you, and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring into her eyes this entire time.

She takes her hand off of you and turns away, and this part of you aches so badly for the before- but it’s after. But she doesn’t love you and she just wants you.

But you want her too. You want her so bad, and maybe if you just let yourself sink into her one more time then you can move on. One good goodbye and you’ll be fine.

“Take a nap, then,” she suggests. “We still have another hour before the next rest stop, I’ll wake you up.”

“Okay,” you mumble, a part of you loathing listening to her, but a nap sounds good.

—-

You sleep the best you ever have since you broke up.

Clarisse was always sneaking into your bed, or you into hers, and she was always so warm and made you feel so safe. You always slept with her. And while you could still fall asleep fine without her- it just wasn’t the same.

You wake up to the sound of the bus doors opening and people talking around you.

“Y/N,” Clarisse whispers. “Wake up.”

You realize your head is on her shoulder.

You push her away from you, she just laughs and stands up.

“So stubborn,” she mumbles, leaning down to dig into her bag for the money Chiron gave you.

You resist the urge to say something snarky back, instead choosing to squeeze past her and out into the aisle.

She’s following behind you in a second, her bag zipping up and getting thrown back under the seat.

She’s right up in your ear.

“I know you hate me,” she whispers. “But you can’t just go running off. What if there was a monster right outside the doors?”

The two of you step off of the bus, the bright sunshine making your squint.

You pull up your shirt and pat your hip where your dagger rests.

“I’d kill it.”

You both know you probably couldn’t.

She laughs. “Is that the dagger I gave you?”

Your face freezes but you keep walking into the rest stop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff.

She sticks her fingers through the loop of your jeans and pulls you into an aisle filled with chips. You suddenly find a bag of Cheetos very interesting.

She looks at your face, into your eyes, and traces her fingers over the dagger’s handle.

“Hm, mine.”

You miss her so bad. You never knew it was possible to miss someone this much. You miss her body and her mind and her voice. You miss her hands and her lips and the way she made you feel.

You don’t pull away. How can you pull away?

It was easy to ignore her when she wasn’t right in front of you, but there’s this part of you that loves her and wants to believe her. Then there’s another part that wants to see her suffer like she did to you.

You push her off of you. “Don’t touch me.”

Again, she just smiles, and that’s really starting to piss you off.

—-

You’re somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania at a bus stop, waiting to cross the lonesome highway to the other side of the street where a train station awaits you.

“Are you okay?” Clarisse asks, and you realize she’s already stepped out onto the road and you’ve been staring off into nothing. You quickly follow her, half running across the road until you get to the sweet, sweet air conditioned station.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

In reality, you have to keep yourself distracted so you don’t fall back into her. You’ve decided it not about whether or not you love or want to hear her out- it’s about the way she kisses you and the way her skin feels against yours.

You can want her, here, where no one will know.

You’ll swear her to secrecy, and she’ll shut up just for the chance of more. And you don’t know if you’ll give it to her.

The station is oddly busy.

You have this horribly uneasy feeling.

You make your way into the line anyways, snatching the tickets from where they’re scrunched up in her hand, trying your best to flatten them again.

She laughs. You refuse to feel the way it makes your heart ache. You think about the other reasons she makes your heart ache.

You see something, shiny and black out of the corner of your eye. When you look over, the indented entrance to a janitor’s closet is marked in shadows.

But you trust yourself.

“I think I just saw something,” you whisper.

She still makes you feel safe. She’s one of the most talented warriors at camp and she loves you- even Marley admitted she won’t let anything happen to you.

She follows your gaze. And she doesn’t see anything.

“Okay,” she murmurs. She trusts you too. Her eyes flick between the shortening line and the shadows. “Maybe one more minute then we’re on the train.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slipping your hand into hers. You can hear her inhale sharply. She’s not phased by a potential monster, but you holding her hand makes her face flush.

Why is she so fucking confusing?

As far as you can tell, she just wants to be fuck buddies- so why is she blushing as you hold her hand?

She squeezes your hand, and Clarisse is right, you make it to the front of the line. The man checks your tickets and hole punches them, welcoming you back into the outdoors.

You look over your shoulder, and something shiny reflects in the sunlight, still in the shadows of the building.

“Clarisse.”

She seems to see it too.

“I can’t tell what it is,” you say.

She tugs you along. “I don’t want to find out.”

When you finally step foot onto the train you take your hand from Clarisse’s and look down at the tickets. Cabin 4A. It’s near the front, so you find it fairly quick- just a simple one room cabin.

You quickly barricade yourself inside, drawing the curtains and setting your stuff on the floor.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“That was tense,” you mutter. Clarisse holds her wrist. She nods, staring down at your feet before sighing.

Somehow, it’s six o’clock. You dig into your snacks, neither of you feeling like leaving the safety of the cabin to go to the dining cart.

The train car has two benches facing each other, overhead storage and a large window. There’s practically no room in between the two benches- the car is maybe 5 feet wide.

You miss Marley. You could always talk to her from across the pavilion during a meal- entire conversations with just your eyes. You miss your siblings, their conversation filling up the silence. Here, there’s nothing.

It’s so silent, and yet it’s that comfortable silence with Clarisse. It makes you miss the before.

That’s all you’ve been doing- missing things and wishing they were different.

The train starts and you stare out the window, the rolling hills and the trees and the small creek. You can feel Clarisse looking at you. You try your best to ignore the way her gaze makes you feel- but you’re alone in this cabin. There’s no one else here. There’s no one else to know if you give in one time.

Something slams against the door.

You breathe in and Clarisse grabs her spear.

“Should I open it?” you whisper, standing up. She sticks out her spear to stop you from moving forward.

The two of you listen, but nothing else happens.

It wasn’t a knock. It sounded sort of like a ball being kicked into the door.

“I’m opening it,” you decide, curiosity killing you, pushing Clarisse’s spear aside.

“Y/N,” she warns, but you’ve already slid open the door.

Absolutely nothing is there. You look out the adjacent windows, down the hallways lined with red carpet.

You shrug. “Nothing’s here-”

It’s cold and scaly when it lands on you.

The same black shiny thing you saw, it’s slithering around your neck, cutting off your air supply immediately. You can’t even scream you’re too scared, hands clawing at your neck but it squeezes and one of its heads rears up to attack your chest-

Clarisse’s spear sails right through its raised head.

It drops, you fall back, gasping, watching as she pins it under her boot and lifts the spear out of it. It’s wriggling and trying to break free- but she stabs it through its other head.

It’s an amphisbaena. A horrible, scaly black snake-sort of thing with a head on each end.

You rub your chest, swallowing a lump in your throat as Clarisse casually picks up the now dead monster and opens the adjacent emergency exit window in the hallway- throwing it out into the middle of nowhere.

She turns back around, frowning at the blood coating the ends of her spear-

You slam into her. You’re breathing so heavily, you still feel like it’s around your neck, but Clarisse carefully wraps her arms around your waist, letting you lean against her as your shaky hands massage your neck.

No one would know.

Her spear falls to the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s dead,” she whispers, kicking the cabin door closed with her foot.

No one would know.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “Oh, Gods, thank you, Clarisse.”

“No problem,” she says.

No one would know.

“Clar,” you mumble. She stiffens at the nickname. She tenderly brings one hand up to your face, and she wants you just as much as you want her- that’s all this is about. An exchange. You’ll kiss her for the last time and you’ll finally get over her.

“I know,” she mumbles, she feels the burning in her stomach too. You’re connected by that in this one moment, your mutual desire and need. Except she has a need for a new beginning, and you have a need for an end.

It’s so simple.

You both can get what you want from this trip.

“I know,” she says again, her nose touching yours. Your breaths mix in the air. “I know, I miss you so much… so bad, Y/N, you don’t…”

“Show me,” you whisper against her lips, and she does.

You can feel it all, the regret you don’t care about, and the desire and want and need you do care about.

You need to feel more of that. You need to feel special, so when your back hits the the door and her hands are all over you, you tilt your head back and look up at the ceiling, mouth twisted into a moan.

You need her to make you feel special. You don’t feel special without her, without her rough hands and her soft lips. It’s the one trait from your mother that you somewhat despise- the innate need to be the center, to be the focus, to feel special. She’s the only one who has ever made you feel like this.

No one else will ever come close.

“I hate you,” you breathe. You can’t think, all your walls are down. “I hate you so much and I still…. I still…”

She kisses you again so you don’t have to say it.

—-

The bed is scratchy and uncomfortable, but there’s only one- and it’s so tiny you’re pressed right up against Clarisse. She doesn’t wrap her arm around you, even though you wish she would, if only because you’re cold.

Not because you’re still irrecoverably in love with her and you know she won’t. And even if she does, it won’t be in the way you want it.

How can she kiss you like she loves you yet claim she never will? How can one kiss make you so weak in the knees that you’re genuinely considering doing this for any scrap of her you can get?

You stare up the ceiling for a long time, until you come to that weird space where you’re so tired you can’t move and your eyes are closed, but you’re still awake.

She wraps her arm around your waist and kisses your temple.

—-

The next time she kisses you you’ve gotten used to this whole making out with no strings thing.

You’re about to get off the train, so you tidy your stuff and head to the dining cart for pretty pastries and bagels and some fruit. On your way back, maybe 15 minutes left in your ride, someone in a uniform sees two teenage girls heading alone into a room.

When he asks where your parents are, can he see your tickets, you panic and charmspeak him to forget he ever saw this and walk away.

“Close,” you laugh, and Clarisse mumbles some sort of noncommittal agreement before smashing her lips onto yours.

You gasp but kiss her back, just reveling in having her hands on you. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging back so she has better access to your neck- the side of it already sporting a hickey from last night.

“Did I ever tell you how fucking hot you are when you use your charmspeak?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because you can’t think of anything when her lips are on your neck.

—-

The station is luckily only 20 minutes away from the P.o. box, so the walk is quick through the streets of Myrtle Beach. It’s so loud here. There’s cars constantly whizzing past you, people yelling and honking, sirens in the distance. It’s confusing. It’s so different from Camp.

“I fucking hate this place,” you mumble, fidgeting with a loose string on your backpack.

“I do too,” Clarisse answers, but not for the same reasons. Her eyes whip around, searching for anything hiding in the shadows- but the sky is so blue and the sun makes your skin so warm- it seems unfathomable that any monsters would be here.

Of course, they’re here. They just haven’t come out yet.

Clarisse has been angry at the world for as long as you can remember, but you always thought her roughness balanced out with your softness. Ares and Aphrodite, love and war, peace and violence.

You always thought you could bring out that little bit of softness in her.

“On your left!”

Clarisse drags you out of the way just for a man on a bike to speed past you- your eyes flick to the perfectly usable bike lane on the street.

“Asshole,” you mutter.

“Asshole!” Clarisse shouts after him at the same time. He flips you off and continues shouting at more people to move.

Her hand is digging into your arm. She lets go after she huffs, muttering a few more choice words.

She keeps glaring at every honking car and random pedestrian. You roll your eyes when she yells at some random car to go die, laughing.

“Always fuckin’ honking,” she mutters. You know if she ever got behind the wheel, she would do the exact same thing.

“You’re not any better,” you tell her, nudging her hand that’s currently balled up into a fist.

“Yeah, well, I have a reason to be mad.”

Clarisse is angry at the world, but you know she has reasons. She’s not just angry for the sake of being angry, although she finds comfort in the familiar just like you, she is angry at the world that has done nothing but wrong her time and time again.

Sometimes you wish you could have as much fire in you as her. And two months ago, you thought she had enough fire in her for the both of us.

“Why don’t we grab the box and then go to lunch?” you suggest, getting the feeling that Clarisse is about to explode. She looks at you. “We have a few hours until our train back, hm?”

“Yeah, okay.”

—-

Chiron said this mission wasn’t going to be that dangerous, but you are surprised when it really is that easy. You take the key out from the envelope Chiron gave you, opening the blue box and coming out with a small box. It almost looks like some sort of fancy necklace- a long black box with a silver bow on the outside.

“This feels too easy,” Clarisse says as you lean down to carefully place it in your bag.

You shrug. “You’re always so paranoid, just let it all come naturally. Some things are easy, Clar.��

She stares at you for a moment.

“I guess,” she says, sticking out her hand to help you up before you both make your way back out onto the streets.

Her spear is hidden by the mist, strapped to her back, and you’re sure she has a bunch of little daggers strapped all over her. You scan the busy street.

Clarisse snorts at a restaurant called “Mother Earth Green Food” and her eyes light up at the sight of a 80’s style diner- “Mr. Steve’s Burgers and Bacon”.

“We’re going there,” she declares, and you roll your eyes but follow her across the street. It’s not that busy, seeing as it’s still early, so you’re seated quickly. It feels so good and so wrong to be here across from her like this.

It feels like before. Except some sort of alternate reality, where you actually left camp and got to be like this. You still want her and your trip’s not over yet, so you sink into it.

“Hey guys, I’m Miley and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you for drinks?”

She’s got long dirty blonde hair, tied up in two very neat and impressive space buns. Her skin is tan, but you suppose if she lives near the beach then everyone’s skin is tan, really.

“I really like your hair,” you tell her, pointing to the side of her head. She smiles and bounces one of them in her hand.

“Took me forever,” she chuckles. “I love yours, such a pretty color.” You cheeks blush as you thank her.

She smiles at you and goes off to get them, so you turn back to your menu. Clarisse’s foot taps against the floor.

“What are you thinking of getting?”

She sets her menu down and points to some sort of monstrous burger called “The Bomb.”

You laugh. “The Bomb,” you mock. “Will it explode in your stomach, or something?”

She mumbles something under her breath, staring off towards the counter, and you can tell by the look on her face it’s not anything nice.

“What was that?”

She presses her lips together. “Nothing,” she hums.

You shoot her an odd look but she pointedly looks away, and as much as you want to, you decide not to push.

Miley comes back with your drinks, and you thank her as she sets them down. Clarisse mumbles a thank you too after you kick her foot.

“Okay, and what can I get you guys to eat today?”

You have to kick Clarisse again to remind her to say please.

You smile apologetically up at Miley for Clarisse’s sour mood, but she seems not to care, smiling back at you and saying something about how she’ll make sure it’s out quick for you.

“‘I’ll make sure it comes out quick for you,’” Clarisse mocks, her voice a pitch higher.

“Yeah. Isn’t she so nice? And yet here you are treating her like shit.”

“She’s sucking up for a good tip.”

“Or maybe she’s just nice, Clarisse. There are nice people in the world, you know. Not everyone is all dark and brooding or bitchy.”

The silences stretches for a second too long. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

You hum, sitting on your hands and staring out the window. It’s times like this your miss your mortal childhood, having access to electronics meant you were never bored. You debate taking out the book Marley loaned you, but you don’t get the chance to.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Clarisse announces. “Come with me.” She’s already walking away.

“Who’s gonna watch our stuff?”

“Tell fuckin’ Miley to do it, I don’t care.”

You look around. There’s not many people in the restaurant, and you’re curious and bored- so you follow her. The door swings closed behind her, and it takes you a second to follow her in.

You think she’s disappeared, the bathroom empty with two open stalls. The door is kicked closed behind you. You turn around and Clarisse pushes you into the nearest bathroom, her hands on your waist- you moan in surprise, letting her flip the two of you around and press you against the door, her hand leaving your waist to make quick work of the lock.

“Clarisse,” you breathe. “What’s going on?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

You don’t answer and she kisses you deeper.

—-

“Clarisse.”

She’s been smiling at your neck a little too obviously, and when she finally lets you out from under her lips and hands, you immediately turn around and head for the mirror.

“Clarisse,” you repeat.

She’s looking at you in the mirror and smiling. Actually fucking smiling.

“What is wrong with you?!” you yell, turning on the cold water and frantically bringing it to the red hickies on your neck. “Are you a vampire? Oh, my Gods, Clarisse, this is so fucking embarrassing!”

“It’s not,” she huffs. “You’ll be fine.”

“Cl-” but she’s already left. She really has to stop doing that.

—-

Lunch is fine, you leave Miley a nice tip, even though Clarisse scoffs and mumbles that she wasn’t that good- but you feel so bad that she had to watch you wiggle in your seat, desperately trying to hide your neck as Clarisse ran her foot up and down the side of your leg.

You ignore her the entire walk to the station, she barely hides the smug look on her face. Is she just intent on making you seem stupid and weak? Does she want to embarrass you? She knows. She knows you’re still in love with her and she’s playing you like a fiddle.

You thought Clarisse to be a lot of things, and you know she’s cruel and ruthless- but you never thought she could be this way towards you.

You make it onto the train with no problems, and you’re desperate to just get out of this place and back to camp where you can ignore her. You had one last final hurrah, and now you need to forget her.

You stare pointedly out the window. You ate dinner in the dining cart in silence, Clarisse didn’t try to touch you again, but she seems bored of letting you sulk now that there’s nothing else to entertain her.

It’s only about 7:00 pm- you still have an entire night with her, and a bus ride the next day. Why are the Gods torturing you like this?

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. You’re sitting across from each other. Her foot kicks at yours. “C’mere,” she pats the space next to her on the bench.

You snort. “You’re crazy. I’m not sitting near you.”

She shrugs and stands up, sitting next to you while you gasp in exasperation.

“Bitch,” you mumble, clenching your fists at you stand. She plants her hand on the window, trapping you in with her arm.

“Don’t be mean.”

You fold your arms and stare out the window. She’s right at your shoulder, whispering in your ear even though your alone- it makes you feel so special your head gets all dizzy.

“I want you, Y/N.” Not the way you want her.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

She laughs. You can see her reflection in the mirror, she’s laughing and smiling fondly- staring at you.

You whip around and point your finger at her.

“I won’t let you treat me like a rag doll anymore.”

Her smile falls.

“I used to be something you could just swing around, but I’m not anymore. I won’t ever be a toy for you, Clarisse. These past two days were fun, but they were goodbye. When we get back to Camp I’m getting over you, because I’ve spent too much time waiting for you.”

Her hand falls from the window, and she backs away from you.

—-

When you realize that this train also features another small, single bed, you resist the urge to stomp your feet like a child. Instead, you pretend like it’s all fine, a part of you pretends it’s that alternate before- Clarisse turning around while you change and you leave to brush your teeth and then you come back to her in bed.

You lay down, body unwillingly pressed up against hers. She doesn’t touch you, at least, and it’s tense and silent until she breaks it. Her hand finds yours through the sheets and blankets.

“Y/N.”

You try to shake her hand off of you, mumbling that she’s using your tiredness to manipulate you.

“Do you really think that’s all you were to me?”

You’re frozen, she’s right up against your back, breath tickling your shoulder and voice in your ear again.

Your hand still fits perfectly in hers.

“A toy?”

“What else was I supposed to think?”

She utters the two words you never thought you would hear her say.

“I’m sorry.”

Your breathe hitches.

“I-I know I’ve been stupid, I’m not totally dumb. I just, I had it in my head that I could make you fall in love with me all over again. And then I could do it right, I could fix it, and you could teach me how to love you and I would do it right, Y/N. And then I… I got jealous. Because that fucking server was flirting with you, she was, and I got fucking jealous and I fucked it all up.”

She’s breathing heavily at your shoulder.

“I was scared, Y/N. And that… I didn’t know how to deal with that. I was scared because I love you so much I know I would do anything you asked me too. So, I said those stupid things that night, I just lied because I was scared, and I’ll never forgive myself for the way I made you feel. I don’t deserve another chance, but I want to show you that I can do it right. I can do it however you want me too, as long as you teach me.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“I want you to let me love you.”

She lets go of your hand.

“You don’t have to say anything, I guess,” she swallows. “I mean, if I was you I would have killed me-”

“Really?” you voice comes out like a broken whisper, sitting up so you can look into her eyes. You try to tell if she’s lying, but you can’t. It hurts and it aches so good and she’s not lying.

“Y-yeah, I would have killed me.”

You smile. “No, dumbass, do you really love me?”

“Oh,” she blinks, sitting up too. “Y/N, I love you so much that I’ll never be the same person again.”

You don’t want to kiss her. All you’ve been doing is kissing her, sinking into that hard and rough side of your relationship that’s just hot desire.

But there’s a soft part to Clarisse that you bring out. And you bring it out now, winding your arms around her neck, breathing heavily as you rest your head on her shoulder. She hugs you, her arms are so strong, she always gives the best hugs- and kisses your temple like she did when she thought you were sleeping.

She loved you even when she didn’t know you would feel it.

Your fingers dig into her back.

“I love you,” she says again, softly, like she’s caressing the words with such a reverence that they were bathed in golden ichor. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you say back, you let her love you, and it’s the most true thing you’ve ever known.

—-

“Ah, young warriors!” Chiron says, holding his hands out.

Of course, on the tail end of your trip you had encountered tons of little monsters- more amphisbaena, even a juvenile drakon that could barely spit acid. Clarisse had made a dazzling show of killing all of them, and unlike the first amphisbaena- none of them got close enough to touch you.

You had to charmspeak the train conductor, the police officer at the station, and the bus driver. You wonder faintly if your mother had been looking out for you, helping you love Clarisse again.

Of course, all of those instances ended in Clarisse pulling you into the nearest corner.

It’s different, now that you know that you live each other. She still kisses you with that rough deepness, like she’s starved, like she’s trying to breathe you in, but her hands are so soft around you. She holds your waist close to you, not like she just wants to feel you body, but like she just wants to be close to you.

You swing your backpack off of your shoulder, you can feel your mascara smeared down your face from the heat, digging into your bag for the black box.

Chiron smiles and holds his hands out for you to place them in. “You have my thanks,” he says, laying the box into his hand.

You’re surprised when all he does is take out a simple pen. It looks like a nice pen, sure, but still just a pen.

He uncaps it, letting it fall to the concrete, when it suddenly transforms into a sword. You yelp and jump back, Clarisse puts her arm in front of you, and Chiron laughs triumphantly.

“Beautiful!” he says, admiring the carefully crafted sword.

Mr. D dissolves into a fit of laughter. “No more bad blood, huh?”

Clarisse drops her hand from where it reaches for her spear, and her other arm from across your body. Her hands drop to her sides, her face turns back into a mask of indifference and she shrugs.

Mr. D seems to find that even more funny, and Chiron dismisses you with a wave of his hand, staring in awe at the silver sword.

Clarisse presses her lips together into a tight line until you smack a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you,” you sing, and her face breaks out into a wide smile. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and it’s the only thing you ever want to know. All you need to know is her and her love.

—-

marley when she finds out clarisse and y/n are dating again: if you EVER and i mean EVER hurt her again i will torture you in ways not even imagined yet.

clarisse: ok yes i promise 😟😟

—-

clarisse when she realized she was in love with y/n: NO NO NO NO NEW FEELINGS NO I REJECT THIS AND I MUST RUN AWAY IN FACT THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

also clarisse when she realized she just broke up with y/n: OH GODS NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO WHAT HAVE I DONE NO NO NO NO PLEASE NO NO NO

—-

honorable mention to y/n fuck em’ and hate em’ l/n

another honorable mention to clarisse “none of them got close enough to hurt you” la rue

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

@sincerely-silk @lacytalks

—-

pls ignore it’s for the acc aesthetics thank you!!

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

1K notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

———

“Hm,” Piper says, fingers steepled. She looks very intently at the air in front of her. “Hm.”

Nico scowls impatiently. “Feel free to be helpful at any given time. Now, even, if you’re so inclined.”

“Have you considered that the reason you’re so infatuated with Will is because you may be blessed by Apollo?”

“I’m infatuated with Will because he is the physical manifestation of everything I value in a person,” Nico says automatically. Then he frowns, processing the rest of Piper’s sentence. “Wait, what?”

Nico understands his error as the grin on her face stretches into something truly grotesque. “I was going to make a joke about your drama levels, but thank you for that. I’m really looking forward to telling several dozen people and delighting in the knowledge that you’re going to curl up into a bundle of humiliation under your bunk tonight as you think about it.”

Instead of answering, Nico decides to walk away. Since there is so much blood concentrated in his skull, resting mostly around his face region, he takes two steps and begins to pass out, but luckily Piper has followed him and impedes a head injury by gripping his arm and merrily forcing him forward.

“So,” she says, steering them towards the amphitheatre, “what’s Plan B?”

“Bold of you to assume there was a Plan A.”

“You like Sunny Boy way too much to walk in there blind.”

“…Touché.”

She’s smug enough to be silent, slinging an arm over Nico’s shoulders as they walk. The closer they get, the harder Nico is forced to grapple with just how godsdamn much he’s softened. I want you to be happy, Father had said. Camp will be good for you, Chiron had agreed. You’re a little twit and need socializing, Mr. D had snipped.

Nico needs a better father figure. He wonders if Paul Blofis’ offer is still open.

The amphitheater is not, of course, empty when they arrive, because Nico knows the Fates personally and each of them despises him. The actual training part is empty — unsurprising — but the stands are moderately filled, with people gossiping, braiding hair, and if Nico is not mistaken, a small, pop-up nail painting salon. Mitchel lifts a purple-smeared hand in an absentminded wave as they step onto the packed dirt.

Nico ducks under Piper’s arm, turning to face her. “I need to fight you,” he informs her. “For my own personal pride.”

She nods thoughtfully. “It does indeed need restoring.” He curved, icy blade gleams in the early afternoon sun, mirroring her dangerous smile. “Square up.”

Since honour is for nerds, Nico doesn’t bother waiting. He simply attacks, lunging for the left side Piper always leaves open. Unfortunately for him, her recent meddling in his love life means her mother has blessed her with a little sprinkling of extra verve, and she dodges easily and cheerfully.

He sends a glum mental prayer down to his father.

Anytime you’re feeling generous, Pop, he grumbles, I would love a boost.

There’s an actual rumble to the ground, as his father laughs at him.

“Real kind,” he says out loud. “Dick.”

“I wonder if you would have more success in the wooing department if you had conversations outside of your own head,” Piper says sweetly. She spins her sword in a neat little circle by his face. “All bay brooding makes you look so…broody.”

Nico scoffs at her. “Will seems to like my broodiness. For some reason. So there.”

“And yet…” She trails off, shooting him a teasing look. Nico is unfortunately very easy to tease (thanks, Bianca) (and for that measure thanks, Hazel) (Reyna too, probably) (and honestly Annabeth) (gods, and Percy) (don’t even get him started on Leo) (really, it would be more prudent to name the people who do not take sick pleasure in driving him up the wall) and as such succumbs easily to her tormenting, taking a hard hit to the side when he’s too keyed up to avoid her spinning slash.

“Note to self, don’t let the monsters know about big embarrassing crushes,” she muses. “They make Nico sloppy and will get him killed in battle.”

She mimes writing something down. This, thankfully, leaves her distracted enough that Nico gets his sword levered against hers, twisting until she’s disarmed. She lifts both hands up in surrender when he points a sword at her throat, but remains entirely unaffected by his glare.

“Pride re-instated?” she asks.

Nico huffs. “No.”

…Yes.

“You’re such a grouch,” she says fondly. She tries to ruffle his hair and is forcibly stopped by his jab to her ribs. Unfortunately, Piper McLean takes no shit sitting down, and in a minute they’re on the floor, getting caked in dust, trying to see who can leave the most bruises on the other. Nico would wager that they’re just about tied.

“You have a list,” Piper grunts, muffled as she bites his bicep. He shouts, wrenching his arm away — she is pointy. “I have no idea what you’re all mopey about.”

He digs his knee into the small of her back. “I gave him flowers! He made a poultice out of them!”

“Technically, you made the poultice.”

He elbows her in the stomach. She shrieks and jabs her knuckles right under his eye.

“You’re so annoying!”

“Ugh!”

Every part of Nico’s body aches. So badly. He’s not sure which one of them won their brawl, if either, but he knows for sure that he is actively turning purple. He feels like the first time his nonna gave him a hammer and a piece of cutlet — he was maybe five years old — and told him to flatten it. (He remembers, now, the look on her face as she wiped pulverized chicken flesh from her eye. Oops.)

“Go to Will and get healed up?”

Nico huffs a laugh, immediately wincing at the strain on his tender ribs.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

The walk is miserable and bruised. And slow, since both of them are limping. Several campers walk by snickering, since apparently Saving The Entire Damn World, For Real And Actually, You Ungrateful Brat, Should I Just Destroy It Again Then earns you no permanent respect.

It’s not too bad, though. Nico would rather chomp on concrete than admit it out loud, but Piper isn’t horrible company, and she hums when she walks. Bianca did the same thing. For once, it’s a pleasant reminder, although he does wonder if Nico will ever be able to look at the women in his life and not think of her.

(In all honesty, probably not. He sees her in the clouds, in the gnarled bark of the trees; feels her in the warmth of the sun; hears her in every snorting laugh. He likes to imagine how much she would love these women, though. If she were alive they would be her friends first. He knows she was happy with the Hunters, however briefly. He thinks he can maybe forgive himself if he thinks of her without weeping.)

“Least it doesn’t look too busy today,” Piper comments. She purses her lips at the Big House, which for once seems quiet. Perhaps Will made good on his threats and finally dosed the Hermes’ table breakfast spread with Benadryl. Nico would be proud. He deserves a day of peace.

“Great. That means we get the full force of Will’s bitching on us alone.”

Piper scoffs. “Please. You like it when he yells at you.”

Nico almost kills her for real. By the time she manages to kick him off of her, still snickering to herself, they both have a new layer of bruises on top of the old ones.

“Gods, di Angelo, you make it so easy —”

“Shut up,” he says hotly. “You are literally the most annoying person in this stupid camp.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He scowls, kicking a rock to avoid kicking her and setting both of them off again. It rolls over the grass, pinging off the side of one of the many braziers and rolling finally to a stop back at his feet. In its new position, it perfectly catches the brightly shining sun, refracting the light in a dandelion-esque burst.

“Huh,” he murmurs.

Wincing at his stiff joints, he crouches, vaguely registering Piper pausing somewhere to the left of him. He scoops the little thing up, bringing it close to his face to inspect.

It’s roughly cut, so it’s not anyone’s jewel or anything. Some of the pieces are textured with tiny little divots, like a regular stone, but some are straight and flat and catch the light. Some kind of crystal, then. It’s dense, about the size of a walnut, and shaped kind of like a brain. It is a very familiar shade of blue.

“Holt Hades, you are sappy.”

Nico flushes, shoving the rock into his pocket. “Nobody asked you, Piper.”

“I asked me! I am always asking me.” She jogs to keep up with his suddenly speedy strides, gripping onto the elbow of his shirt when he tries to move faster. “Is this Plan B? Little gifts.”

“It’s a rock,” he says shortly.

“Diamonds are rocks.”

“I didn’t get him a diamond.” He pauses. “Should I get him a diamond?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not the one in love with him.”

“Who said anything about —”

“Nico! Piper! Hey!”

“Notice who he called first,” she whispers, right in his ear. She grins over at Will before he can say anything. Or curse her. “Hey, Will! How are you?”

It is unfair for a person to look good in mint scrubs. They don’t even suit him, not really, but he still looks — well, he’s beautiful. His hair is poofier than usual and sticks out like he stuck his finger in a socket, and his beam is so bright Nico has to genuinely squint to look at him, and how is it, honestly, that his freckles look like dappled sunlight? That’s not normal.

“I’m okay.” He waves them inside, not bother to close the door behind them — it’s nice out, and Nico knows he prefers the breeze and sun. “Bored.”

“Not enough ocular surgery to perform?”

Will’s grin turns wry. “Nope.” He reaches out to brush his thumb across Nico’s eye scar. He freezes, holding his breath, hyperaware of those callused fingers as they approach the ever-warming skin of his face, heart galloping in his chest. As soon as Will makes contact — because of course the touch was to get his vitals, c’mon, Nico, head in the game — he frowns.

“Why are so many of your capillaries burst?”

Piper smiles guiltily, holding up a hand.

“I beat him up.”

“Wha — you did not!” He turns to Will, indignant. “We beat each other up! She’s lying!”

Will sighs. He glares at them both for a full forty seconds, then turns his face up to the heavens, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like I do not deserve to be surrounded by this kind of dumbassery. Send lightning through the sky if I should let them suffer.

Nico waits. No lightning comes forth.

Will sighs. “Cot, let’s go, y’all know the drill.”

Piper mouths y’all as she sits down. Nico mouths eat dirt back at her.

“Now, I could hum sum’n and —”

“Sum’n,” Piper whispers delightedly. Nico ignores her.

“— get y’all fixed up good, but y’all’ve pissed me off good —”

Nico takes the initiative to pillow-smack Piper in the face while Will’s back is turned. Luckily, it muffles her shriek.

“— so I’m not gonna do all that.” He closes the cupboard with his hip, hands full of vials. “Ain’t even gonna waste ambrosia on y’all, honestly. Y’get some bruise ointment and a Tylenol ‘cause I know y’all were up to shenanigans.”

He puts a lot of emphasis on ‘nan’. Nico knows he is trying very hard to be stern, but he is in fact very cute, and Nico is putting a lot of his brainpower towards memorizing the specific wrinkle pattern that Will’s nose gets when he’s annoyed. If he says that Will looks like a bunny he might actually get shot, no matter how much Will allegedly seems to like him, so he manages to choke down the sentiment. But it is indeed there.

“— and take it easy, y’hear? Bruises don’t heal in a day.”

Gods, his eyes are really, really pretty. He’s almost tired of thinking it, but they match the sky exactly, all the time. Poets write about sparkling eyes and pretty faces all the time, but all of them can choke because all of them are liars. Will Solace has the prettiest eyes of anyone who has ever lived. They are indeed the windows to the soul, and his soul is just —

“This is for you,” Nico blurts. Essentially acting on its own, his hand slips in his pocket and draws out the blue stone, holding it out. “Um. I saw it and —” He glances at Piper, panicked, and she kicks him in encouragement. “Thought of you. So.”

Will stares at the stone for a moment. Nico sweats.

“Nico di Angelo,” he chides, hands on his hips. The panicked look he flits in Piper’s direction grows tenfold. He is not at all comforted by the grimace she sends back. “Do you think I’m so corrupt as to accept a bribe?”

“Um.” Nico hesitates. Piper smacks her face onto her hands, groaning. “That’s not what I —”

“Well, you would be correct.” Quick as a bird, Will darts out and snatches the stone, sliding it into one of his many (many) shorts pockets, nodding in approval. “I don’t have any aventurine. I’ve been looking for it. Good bribe.”

He sets down the ointment and Tylenol, gesturing for Nico to hold out his hands. Nico sighs, then complies.

“I mean, he didn’t destroy it, this time,” Piper whispers as he begins to sing, enveloping Nico’s body in a warm, golden glow. “So…progress?”

“Progress,” Nico agrees. He glances over at Will, eyes squeezed shut in focus, and rolls his eyes fondly. “Who knew it would be so hard to convince someone who already likes me to go out with me.”

———

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morganski-19 · 22 days

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 6

part 1, prev part

cw: brief mentions of blood and injuries

The next morning, Dustin convinces his mom to drive him to the hospital. Anxious the entire way there. Begging the nurse with the look in his eyes to be able to go see Steve. It’s not like his parents would come home anyway. He needed family right now.

Robin jolts awake in her chair when he opens the door. Wincing at the crick in her neck. “Dustin, hey.”

“How is he?” He sits down next to her. Staring at Steve, fast asleep in his hospital bed. Listening as the monitor beeps. And beeps. And just keeps beeping. Each one a beat of his heart. He’s alive. That’s one crossed off his list.

“Fine. They had to give him some blood, he lost a lot. But they gave him stitches, there was nothing internal, which is good. There was a slight infection in the wounds, so they want to keep him here a few days to make sure it doesn’t get worse. And with all his head trauma, they want to give him a few scans to make sure nothing got worse there.”

Dustin nods along, half listening. Just focusing on the fact that he’s alive. Right here. Alive. “He should have listened to me.”

Robin scoffs. “Yeah, he should have. But you know Steve. He doesn’t ask for help even when he’s dying. Dumbass.” She blinks away the tears that gloss over her eyes.

“Did I,” Dustin starts to ask, the words getting caught in his throat. “Was this because of me? If I hadn’t of jumped through that portal again, Steve wouldn’t have collapsed.”

“No,” Robin stops him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “No, this was not your fault. Even if you didn’t sprain your ankle, Steve still would have insisted you get looked at first, you know that. And Eddie’s here now, because of you. Because you made sure we found him.”

The room stills, sounds fading into the background. “Eddie’s alive?” Dustin asks is disbelief. In rising hope that something good happened in the chaos last night.

Robin nods with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s alive. Right across the hall, actually. The nurse told me about it this morning when I came in. There was a surgery, he lost a lot of blood, had some damage to his nerves, to some of his organs. They went a lot deeper than they did with Steve, they were angrier. But nothing some time can’t heal.”

Dustin starts to stand, ready to run across the hall. “I have to go see him, can he have visitors?”

Robin stands to catch up with him. “He can but-.” She takes a deep breath. “Dustin, there’s no easy way to say this. Eddie’s in a coma. They’re not sure how long until he wakes up.”

The hope drops to Dustin’s feet. “A coma?”

“But he’s alive. That’s what important here. He’s alive because of you, Dustin. Because you didn’t give up on him.”

“Will you come with me, to see him?” Dustin hates the vulnerability in his voice. How it makes him sound like such a kid. Too afraid to do anything by himself.

He is afraid. Images of Eddie’s dying frame still resting in his arms. The weight pulling him to the ground. The dread resting in the pit of his stomach. And tears pooling in his eyes. Repeating pleads of staying strong. To keep eyes open and breathing slow. Even if they were shallow.

Robin nods again. “Of course.”

They head across the hall, knocking on the door to see if anyone’s in there. The room is empty except for Eddie.

The blood is washed off his face, and he’s in different clothes. Dirt and grime of the previous week washed out of his hair. Fingers stripped of the chunky rings that normally adorn them. Visible stitches on his arms, some on his neck. More resting under his clothes, down his legs. So many tubes going in every direction. Keeping him alive.

Dustin’s eyes travel to the ring of silver trapped around Eddie’s wrist. Bound to the rail of the hospital bed. After all he’s been through, they had the audacity to chain him to the bed. He doesn’t even have the strength to breath on his own properly. How could he do anything to warrant being chained?

Tears fall down Dustin’s cheek. Seeing Eddie’s lifeless form as Steve performs CPR. Counting to thirty under his breath before giving Eddie more air. Repeating until his heart started pumping again. Seeing his body get picked up and carried back to the gate. A new rope made of upside-down stained fabric. A makeshift ladder built to transfer him over to the real world with the least amount of damage. Just to see the horrors of the world spit in two as they speed to the hospital.

Robin’s arm wraps around Dustin’s shoulder, holding him close. He forces himself to turn away, unable to see his friend like this anymore. Knowing that he’s alive, but at what cost. Will he ever open his eyes the same as he did before? Will the smile he carried to death ever have the same shine?

Will Eddie look at Dustin the same again? He was part of the reason he got dragged up in all this shit anyway. If he hadn’t gone searching for him, Eddie would have never been part of the plan. Never had been the distraction. Never have run right into the danger to lead the bats away.

“Are you ok?” Robin asks softly.

Dustin shakes his head. “He looks so helpless right now.”

“Maybe. But we both know that he is fighting as hard as he can to wake back up again. It’s just going to take some time.”

He nods, ready to leave. To let Eddie rest. Robin leads him out of the room. That two people crossed off of Dusin’s list. Both alive. Only one more name left.

A man is being led down the hall by a nurse, stopping in front of Eddie’s room. Holding the door open as the man takes in the person inside it. As Mr. Munson sees his nephew for the first time in a week, barely alive. Nancy comes down the hall a few minutes after him, two coffee cups in hand.

“Thought you could use it.” She hands a cup to Robin.

“I see you found him,” Robin says, cocking her head towards Eddie’s room.

Nancy nods. “Yeah. Took a while, but he deserved someone who believed him to tell him. Not the bastard cops.”

Dustin walks away from them as they continue talking. Knocks on Eddie’s hospital door, it squeaking open. “Excuse me, Mr. Munson.”

Mr. Munson looks up from the hands his face was rested in. Wiping away lines of tears. “Yes.”

“My name’s Dustin. I’m a friend of Eddie’s, was with him when he came in.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the guitar pick necklace. “I think this belongs with you.”

He steps closer to hand the necklace to Mr. Munson. Who takes it, letting the chain slide across Dustin’s fingers. A silent goodbye. It was burning a hole in his pocket anyway. Reminder of the time before.

Mr. Munson nods in thanks as Dustin backs out of the room. “It’s just Wayne.”

Dustin stops, turning around in confusion.

“Just call me Wayne, not Mr. Munson.” There is a recognition in Wayne’s eyes. He knows who Dustin is.

“Ok, Wayne,” Dustin smiles.

He heads across the hall again to Steve’s room, sitting in a chair. Robin and Nancy still talking outside the hall.

Steve stirs in the bed. Head turning to the side as his eyes start to open. Taking a deep breath. “Hey, Dustin,” he whispers quietly.

The tears start up again. “You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that.”

“Language,” Steve fake scolds. He doesn’t get to tell that to Dustin right now. Not after what he’s put him through.

“I hate you.” Dustin gets to his feet to awkwardly give Steve a hug. Steve half returning it, still tired.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Alive. “Love you too.”

Next part

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

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#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #dustin pov #pre steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #wayne munson #post season 4 #hospitals #everyone lives/nobody dies

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 4 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 78

Part 1 Part 77

Eddie always thought he’d be in jail before all this hard labor bullshit starts. Still, here he is, chipping away at the cold earth with a shovel Mama Byers stole from Merill’s shed. And it’s all to save the same man who’s busted his balls more times than he can count.

But Steve had pointed, and Eddie’d started digging.

He’s sitting now, criss-cross as he stares down at the ground like he can see through it, feet crossed, and t-shirt on backwards. Eddie had thrown it over his head as Steve walked out of the house, while While stuffed his sockless feet into his tennis shoes as best as he could. It’s not right. He’s not right.

Eddie can still feel the thread tying them together, but it’s brittle now, obvious next to the nylon still twined between Eddie and Will.

Steve’s barely there at all.

He’s always lived in an empty house, been an empty house. The thing inside him is just the first to take up residence – to fill the vacancy.

Eddie wants his empty house back.

He’d spent a year watching Steve blossom, filling that emptiness with laughter and cooking and someone to come home to. Eddie’d helped Steve move in, rearrange the furniture in his mind and feng shui that shit until the sun was always shining. He’d seen the curtains begin to open.

It’s jarring, now, to look into his eyes and see the glassy windows of an abandoned home.

So Eddie does all he can; he digs. The hole grows bigger and bigger, growing at the same rate as the blister on the side of his right thumb. He takes turns with Mama Byers, her lithe frame hiding surprising strength.

She’s the one at the mantle when the shovel strikes air. She pushes it down hard, gasping as it falls straight through, clattering somewhere below with the dull thud of metal on packed earth.

“Well, shit,” she says, staring down at the far-too small hole in the earth, just big enough to lose a shovel in.

Eddie peers down with her, eyeing the loosened sides and the distance of the drop. “Think we can stomp the rest out?”

“I don’t think that’s–” Mama Byers starts, but Eddie’s already stomped down.

The dirt crumbles easier than he expects, like all it wants is to tumble down into the unknown with the shovel. Eddie’s whole foot goes through, and he tumbles down with it.

It’s not far, but he lands on the handle of the shovel, feels it reverberate up his spine. He closes his eyes against the pain, groaning as he rolls away from the impact site.

“Eddie?” Will and Mama Byers both call down to him. He opens his eyes to look up at their worried faces, haloed by the dim gray of the November sky. Steve doesn’t make an appearance, but he can still dimly feel him up there.

“I’m fine!” he calls, hoisting himself onto knees and hands and hoping it’s true.

His ankle twinges as he gets it under him but it holds his weight as he levers himself upright. He barely even notices the pain because then he sees him: Hopper. He’s on the ground, and he’s not moving, as the vines writhe around him.

“Shit!” Eddie cries, rushing over and dropping down next to the man. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He says it like a mantra, barely noticing Mama Byers calling down at him, demanding he tell her what’s happening.

Eddie yanks at the vine, trying to wrench it from the man’s throat with little success. He sobs when Hopper croaks out a quiet, “knife.” It’s the first sign of life the man’s shown and Eddie will take it with both hands.

“Where?” Eddie cries. “Where is it?”

“It’s there!” Mama Byers calls. She’s collapsed on the ground, winded from her own fall into the tunnel. Eddie follows her pointing finger to his right.

He lurches for it as Mama Byers crawls up to take his place holding the vines away from Hopper’s windpipe.

Eddie saws at the vine around his neck, around his torso, around his wrists. He loses time to hacking away, barely noticing the viscous black blood that oozes out of it and splatters his clothes, hands, face.

All he knows is Steve’s barely there at all anymore, and this is the same fucking thing that had slithered down his throat

and made its home inside him in the first place.

He can hear Hopper coughing, Mama Byers calling his name, but it’s all muffled, like he’s under water. Like he’s still in the Harrington pool, drowning. Like he never made it to the other side.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he’s still down there, sucking down chlorine like it’ll quench his thirst. At least down there, he’d had a hold on Steve. But, now, he can feel the tether turning to ash in his mouth. He’s so thirsty. He wants to swallow the world.

“Munson”

He keeps hacking away at the vines, like they’ll stop strangling Stevie. Like this will be the thing that saves them.

“Eddie.”

Like they’re what’s strangling him, smoke and helplessness clogging Steve’s esophagus and making a home within him.

“Kid!”

There are warm hands gripping his wrist, hard. Warmer than Steve’s been. Eddie looks up, and Hopper’’s staring at him, ragged and dirty and panting, but alive. Eddie looks down at the wrist he’s holding. Hopper’s knife is clutched hard enough that it hurts.

“You got them,” Hopper says, voice that soothing, gruff timber he uses on little kids, and victims. “You can let go.” He squeezes Eddie’s wrist before loosening his hold and running his thumb up the veins of his inner wrist. “You saved me, kid. You did good.”

It hurts when he drops the knife, tendons protesting the change of position after he knows how long clenching down. Hopper drops his wrist, clasping his shoulder and squeezing that instead. “You did good,” he says again, and then again, like that’ll stop Eddie’s shaking. It doesn’t.

Eddie nods, still looking down at the knife. His hand clenches on air. He feels bereft, so he pulls on the threads that bind. One made of titanium, and one made of dust he can barely feel at all.

He jerks his head up at the ceiling, straining his neck to see Steve and Will’s faces. He needs to know that they’re both still there, waiting for him to come back. That Steve’s still Steve, waiting for Eddie to save him.

Steve’s always dying. Eddie’s always trying to save him.

But Steve’s not there at all.

There’s just dirt, only a shovel as proof of the morning spent digging a hole. Digging a grave for them to disappear in.

“No, no, no!” Eddie cries, scrambling up.

“Munson, what–”

“He’s gone!” He lurches forward, grabbing for the shovel, like he can somehow dig his way back. He hears Mama Byers gasp as he pushes the shovel up into the dirt. It doesn’t give. He pushes harder.

“Eddie, sweetie.” Mama Byers says, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Will’s got him.”

Will’s got him. Will, who’s bright light he can feel at Steve’s side, just above. Will’s got him.

Eddie drops the shovel on a sob, still looking, up, up, up.

“But how are we going to get out of her?” Eddie asks. No one answers because no one knows.

Digging a hole and escaping a grave are two very different things.

Like the answer to a prayer Eddie would never send up, there’s a shout behind him. “Go!”

Eddie spins, and there’s a man in a Hvac suit, with a gun pointed straight at him. He stumbles back, feels Mama Byers’ steadying hands on his lower back.

“Get out of here!” the man calls, voice muffled through his helmet. He gestures with the butt of his gun behind him. “Go! Go!”

Eddie flits by him, keeping as much distance as the small tunnel will allow just as something inhuman begins shrieking behind him.

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. He bolts, Mama Byers and Hop hot on his heels, visions of Demogon’s on his heels pushing him faster.

He passes more suits and more guns, and keeps going. The ground begins sloping upward toward the light of an open tunnel. He stops for a second, shocked by an end to the darkness.

The safety of right-side-up is steps away. The warmth of light and air and his people are so close, he can almost taste it.

That’s when the screaming starts, from a voice he would know anywhere. Even like this. Even loud and wretched with pain.

Eddie runs toward the sounds of his angel screaming.

Part 79

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #will byers #sorry this is late!!! my power went out on thursday and came back on today and my phone died!#thank god for restored heating <3<3<3

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

Text

Datura Pt 8

Author’s Note: Ya girl finally got a new laptop and can get this fic back up and running! It’s a little short, but more updates to come! 😁 For a quick reminder of what happened here’s Pt 7 and the rest of the series can be found here.

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain, you make a bargain with a certain High Lord to try and gain your freedom.

————————————————————————

“I want you to help me kill Amarantha.”

“Bargains don’t come for free, Darling,” Rhys rasps, voice so ragged it has you leaning in to try and get the ruined collar off him. There are open blisters, bleeding across his throat, skin an angry shade of red from how hard he’d been pulling on it. “And you don’t have anything left to bargain with.”

You huff a laugh as you inspect the rusted metal.

He winces as it comes in contact with his skin, bleeding hands coming up to grab yours. “Don’t bother with it.” It looks like it takes all his effort to move off his knees into a more comfortable sitting position, battered body held up only because he’s now leaning against the wall. Amarantha and her guards had taken the light with her, it is hard to see just how injured he is in the dark, but that doesn’t stop you from leaning in, hands resting on his sides like you might be able to find them with your hands. His skin is flushed, dirt and sweat and what you can only assume is blood mingling into a fine film across his exposed body. He’s got to be freezing, wearing nothing but last night’s dress pants.

“I have everything I need to make a bargain,” you say carefully.

Rhys braces his head against the wall, shutting his eyes, breath rasping out of him.

There are sure to be things listening and reporting to the evil queen this deep in the dungeons, you have to be careful with your choice of words; if Rhys wasn’t looking like he would pass out at any given moment you would have asked for him to slip into your mind, but you know, somehow, as if you can feel it, that it would be the last of his power. That close to the edge a simple slip into your head could kill him.

“She didn’t take everything,” you start.

“Not yet,” he warns.

You shake your head even though he can’t see it with his eyes closed; you’ll have to find another way to explain it. A quick glance at the door confirms the two of you are still alone--though the shifting of things with claws outside the door is slightly concerning--and you focus your mental energy into dipping into the power well in your chest. This is not the place for a free fall, you focus your breathing, steadying yourself, willing the drop to come slower, less rushed. Darkness rises up to meet you and you reach out for it. For so long, it had been you against the thing that slept in your chest, but these last few weeks, learning to embrace it, to get to know it, perhaps it is not as intimidating as you had always made it out to be. Perhaps it was meant to help you; it deserved a chance, right? If you could give the High Lord of the Night Court a chance after all the stories you’d heard about him, you could give the thing in your chest one too.

“Just a little,” you whisper to it.

It threatens to overtake you like before, but you grab a mental hold of it, still focusing on breathing evenly, on learning to hold on instead of submit. It is yours to wield, not just to overtake you.

It manifests in your eyes, you feel them shift and change until you can see into the dark corners of the cell. There’s old hay scattered across the scarred stone floor, covering centuries of stains and filth.

Rhys cracks an eye open like it takes all his strength, but just can’t help but look. When he sees the shift, he pushes himself up off the wall to grab your face. “But you took the vial?”

“And I gave what I had taken from her first,” you whisper as his thumbs stroke over your cheeks. Your fangs threaten to poke out, jaw aching under the strain of holding it all at bay. It’s a skill you haven’t yet mastered, you’ll need him for that too you suppose.

“You can siphon?”

Was that what it was called? “I think. It was an accident, I couldn’t really control it. One minute she was on top of me-”

Rhys stills, the kind of stillness you’d often seen on fae males before they became very, very aggressive, whole body tense like a predator ready to pounce.

“She’d summoned some fire and got a hand around my throat and it was so hot..” There hadn’t been time to stop and think about it before, but recalling it now makes you shutter as the reality of what could have happened if your powers had not intervened settles in. “I thought it would kill me, and I don’t know what happened. I blinked and suddenly I had her fire in my hands and I’d thrown her into a wall.”

It’s only as you finish the sentence does Rhys release a shaky breath, hands once again stroking against your cheeks, as if he’s assuring himself that you’re ok. You find yourself leaning into his touch; it’s grounding, makes you feel more centered than you have in days.

“I thought it would disappear when I smothered the flames, but I still felt it until I took that vial.”

One of his hands slides lower, stroking over your throat to check for damage. The way he insists the wounds at his own throat are nothing while simultaneously checking on yours is not lost on you.

“Blisters healed right up as soon as I held the flame, like they couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

“If you took enough of them it wouldn’t,” he confirms.

A useful skill you think you might need later, but figuring out how to do it again, how to wield it to your advantage is a problem for later. First, you need to get back to the matter at hand while you still have the time to do so.

“So, with what I do have, I want to bargain. I’ll give you half of my powers-”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I won’t take them from you.”

“Are they so terrible that you’d refuse to be responsible for them? Or is it me that’s the problem?” The words are out before you can bite them back, because despite all he’s done for you, that last conversation in his room still rings in your head.

He growls, actually growls, the sound low in his ruined throat as he grips your face a little more firmly. “No, because I would be just like her if I took them from you,” he snarls.

The anger that had been bubbling up in your throat sours in the pit of your stomach as you put yourself in his place. Amarantha has chained and abused him for fifty years, shackled to her by the very powers that were supposed to protect him from her and even though you knew he wouldn’t use yours on you like that, the wounds she’d made would be too deep. Would only remind him every day of her and how sick it had made him feel.

“Then what do you want, Rhys?”

His hands shake as he grips your face a little tighter. With your eyes shifted like this, you can see the way his own rove over you, the way he bites his lower lip in thought. It is the same longing you had seen in the cave on Calanmai, when he’d kissed you all those weeks ago.

“I want…” You can practically hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Was he… nervous?

“I don’t care what it is,” you say softly, and you mean it.

“Come back to the Night Court with me,” he says. “When this is over, when we’re free, come home with me.”

Back to the Court that had inspired Amarantha’s Mountain palace and the lovely court within. The stories of the Night Court had not been pretty, but could they really be worse than this place, if Rhys was their High Lord? Certainly the male sitting here on the floor with you couldn’t run such a horrific place as the stories said. Besides, when it was all said and done, could you bear to go back to the farmhouse and face your uncle? After all his lies could you bear to live with him? Could he bear to live with you either?

“You’ll help me train my powers then?”

“As best I can.”

“I want to see her head roll off her shoulders,” you saw lowly.

“I’d give it to you on a platter if I could, Darling.”

You huff a laugh, “Deal.”

A tingling sensation shoots its way through your body, clustering square in the center of your chest. The sensation swirls across your skin as it settles, angling its way over your heart. You peel what’s left of your dress back to assess your stinging skin, and half hidden by the dried blood crusted to your own skin are now whorls of what look like ink across chest and ribs. Above your heart sits a swirl of ink, of vines surrounding the blooming petals of a flower you know you’ve seen before, a cluster of three stars in its center.

“Bargains are made in ink in the Night Court,” Rhys says a little too smugly for your liking.

“Always on the chest, Rhysand?”

He shrugs. “I thought you’d appreciate the discretion.”

“I don’t think that’s the word I was looking for.”

“I liked the irony.”

“Of what exactly?”

He traces a finger over the edges of the flower and you can’t help but shiver. “It’s datura, a night flower, it grows best in the dark.”

A flower that would grow in his court; a flower that would bloom against all odds, in secret, while the rest of the world slept. A secret, lovely thing. You did, unfortunately, like the irony. You were not going to tell him that. “This isn’t the only flower you’ve been leaving me.”

He went still again. “No. No it’s not.”

“Why?”

“Thought maybe, I could get you out.”

“Careful, you sound like you care about me, Rhysand.”

He swallows, throat bobbing with the effort. “Would it be so bad?”

Your own words. Not quite the apology you should have gotten, but you supposed, here in this place, some cruel words were the last of your worries. With the bargain in place, you were not enemies. You could put it behind you.

“No, I don’t think it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all of it.”

You pull away to sit down against the wall, exhausted. “Tell me again when we’re free.”

He grunts as he sits down next to you. When he leans his head down against your shoulder, you don’t stop him. In fact, it’s you that slowly, dragging your hand inch by inch in the dark, takes his hand. This is a deal you can live with, a deal that doesn’t make you feel like you’ve sold your soul, but there is still an uneasiness here. You hope you both survive long enough to see it through.

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#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #rhysand x y/n #ACOTAR rhys #ACOTAR x reader fic #ACOTAR fic #UTM!rhys #ACOTAR fanfic #my writing #my fanfic #Rhys smut (eventually)#Rhys angst

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papaver-decervicatus · 9 months

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot.

But he never is.

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night.

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet.

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out.

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what.

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots.

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge.

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes.

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful.

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation.

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in.

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts.

It’s a game of cat and mouse. They’ve got their own little rules, too.

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell.

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters.

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just-

“König?”

“Maus?”

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers.

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and-

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort.

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself. Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for?

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit.

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will.

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy.

The Mouse saves the King.

But a game is no fun with only one player.

The King also saves the Mouse.

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there.

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers.

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow.

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync.

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands.

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company.

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first.

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself.

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree.

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop.

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot.

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her.

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground.

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse.

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams.

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed.

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out.

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps?

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm.

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds.

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says.

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio.

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by.

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid.

She shouldn’t trust him.

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling.

It’s snowing hard.

She kicks off the tree and into the air.

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking.

He does, indeed, catch her.

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air.

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up.

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death.

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned.

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him.

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over?

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger.

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster- he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care.

She realizes she’s thankful for him.

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other.

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down.

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket.

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are.

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke.

They breathe in time.

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her.

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse.

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing.

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed.

“Wait!” She calls to him.

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it.

She tosses it to him.

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal.

Her lucky charm.

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object.

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock.

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back.

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be.

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp.

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning.

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago.

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up.

“What?” He hums back.

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.”

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently.

“Because I am not.” Is his response.

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio.

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere.

But God, she wants him all the same.

It’s dangerous to be at war.

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse.

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two.

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#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

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sserpente · 1 year

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The Demobat Queen

A/N: Okay, hear me out. I got this idea from the app that shall not be named and then it suddenly turned into 10k words. Classic.

Synopsis: After the Demobats attack Eddie, you find him dead in the dirt. At least that is what you think he is. But when he coughs, you see a chance. A chance to be less lonely in this dark and gloomy dimension. You feed him your blood to heal him and, after some initial suspicion, he warms up to you. For the first time ever, you get to experience what it’s like to have a friend. But before you can explore your growing feelings for Eddie, the desire to be close to him, to kiss him even, he makes it his mission to return back to Hawkins, to leave you behind for good. You don’t really blame him. He doesn’t belong here. And after all, a bat’s love can never be reciprocated… right?

Words: 10669 Warnings: fluff, angst, blood and feeding, near-death experiences, violence, burns/fire, vampire/bat!Reader

“I made this world mine. I own it. I own you.”

“You don’t control me, Henry. You never did. We struck a bargain and we agreed to live in peace after that. Remember that.” Your eyes flashed red as you spoke, the veins under your eyes protruding and giving you a downright eerie look, you could see it through the dirty mirror in the house you resided in.

Henry—or what was left of him—remained unfazed. Growling, he turned away from you.

“I’ve kept my word so far. You let them come too close,” you stressed.

His flesh was singed, soot covering his half-rotten limbs from the burning petrol. Tilting your head, you narrowed your red eyes at him and dug your nails into your fists until they stung.

“Your thirst for revenge will kill you eventually and you know that.”

“You dare threaten me?”

“I have no desire to kill you, you know that. So why would I threaten you with it? The girl you’re after… she can’t be worth all of this trouble. I want a way out. I want to be up there, I want a real life.”

“You don’t belong there,” he growled.

“You are the reason they would hunt me down like a rabid animal now.” This time, his growl practically tore through the cool darkness around you. Turning on your heel, you marched away from him, feeling his burning gaze on your back as you conjured your bat-like wings, spread them, and took off without looking back.

You counted a dozen or so bats dead on the cold and uneven ground of the trailer park. Stabbed, beaten to death, or sliced open by a sharp object. Your heart bled upon seeing their lifeless bodies, yet more victims of Henry’s thirst for vengeance.

He might not have controlled you… yet even though the bats listened to you and did your bidding based on trust and likeliness, it was Henry who controlled what happened in this dimension. You took a deep breath, the metallic smell of blood filling your nostrils and igniting your hunger.

You landed, scanning the ground for the source when you spotted a young man, bloody and torn open by the bats, with three of them still feasting on his flesh. He was alone—collateral damage after a failed assassination attempt. If anyone had been with him when he died, they’d had to leave his body behind. A sigh escaped your lips as your feet touched the ground and you tucked your wings away, your head whipping in his direction when he coughed with a start, blood presumably pooling in his lungs and choking him from the inside out. Your lips parted. He’s still alive.

“Shoo! That’s enough!” The bats didn’t listen. Not until you flung them out of the way with your bare hands. “I said that’s enough! Off with you now!”

His eyes were closed, his white and ripped shirt drenched in blood and revealing the countless bite marks all over his chest. More blood was dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he coughed again. You knelt next to him, indecisiveness creeping up your spine.

You could heal him with your blood. But if you were too late, if he was too close to death already… Henry would kill you if you turned him, made him part of this world. You cursed under your breath when your fangs forced their way past your lips, causing you to hiss. Only another heartbeat passed before you brought your wrist to your lips and sunk your canines into it, drawing blood to feed him.

His eyes remained shut even when he felt your cool skin against his mouth. He gagged soon after your blood poured down his throat.

“Drink… drink it,” you whispered. Henry could not hear you—he had long stopped keeping tabs on you. There was nothing you could do, after all. But you could tell the boy was scared. He was young, on the verge of proper manhood, twenty-two at most. As you drew away, you wondered just how he had winded up in this fruitless conquest to kill a monster who controlled an entire dimension.

“Help me carry him home,” was all you said when he lost consciousness again. The bats hissed before obeying you, digging their claws into his clothes to carry him off. You followed suit.

Your so-called home must have been a lively house up in the light dimension, as you liked to call it. Inhabited by a happy family, perhaps. Here, it was but a depressing and empty place to retreat to, a mere illusion of civilisation. This dimension was a lonely one, after all.

You flinched when the young man who now recovered on your bed finally gasped for air a few hours later and sat up straight as if awoken by a nightmare. You hurried over to his side, gently forcing him back on the mattress. It had taken him long enough.

“Easy… easy! Take it slow.”

“W-wha…” He coughed, eyes widening when he noticed you properly. Your smile was hesitant, timid.

“Welcome back. I was worried you wouldn’t make it. You lost a lot of blood.”

“W-hat the hell… happened?”

“Well, you almost died. And you took down quite a few of my bats with you.” In an instant, his expression grew harder. Coldly, he scanned your form, hostility radiating from him. Granted, you probably looked quite intimidating, dressed all in leather and a long coat made of the same material. He sat up again.

“You need to rest.” When he simply stared at you, you pushed him back into a lying position. “I said rest. I healed you with my blood,” you continued. “I don’t just do that lightly, it’s incredibly risky. You need to rest for it to circulate through your body properly. It will take a while. Be patient.”

“You… fed me your blood,” he stated then. To be honest, it sounded more like a question. You nodded matter-of-factly.

“Who are you?”

“I haven’t used my name in so long that I think I can’t remember it anymore. Why don’t you give me one?” It was true. Your real name was buried along with those you had taken to the grave. Creatures, humanoids with a thirst for blood like you before they’d cast you out of what little of a society this dimension possessed. Your name was there, of course. You hadn’t literally forgotten it. But it sounded so foreign and strange to you that it felt wrong to still use it. Especially after making a deal with who could only be compared to the devil.

“Then what are you?” he asked instead. He swallowed thickly, noticing only now that you had cleared his face of all the blood. You had taken his bandana off to clean him up while he was still unconscious. It was currently in a pile with the rest of the bloody shreds of fabric you had used.

“I believe you can answer that question for yourself. But I don’t have powers like Henry does.”

“Henry? You mean Vecna? You’re with him?” he bellowed.

“Vecna? Is that what you call him up there? I’m not with him. I struck a deal with him out of necessity. I wanted to survive when he showed up, much like you now,” you snapped.

“What the hell does that mean then, am I turning into a vampire?”

“More like a humanoid bat but… no… it’s more complicated than that. You would have to die with my blood still in your system. You didn’t. Give it a few days and you’ll be fine, Eddie.”

The young man blinked at you. “How do you know my name?”

“What, Eddie? Is that really your name? I was making a joke. It’s a reference. Eddie Van Halen, you know? You look a little like him.”

Eddie stared at you for a moment, unable to return the smile you offered him. “Was there… was there anyone else there? When you found me?”

You shook your head. “No. You were alone.”

Eddie nodded, realising it was probably for the best that whoever had left him behind had done so for their own good.

“You must be famished. We need to find you some food. Can I trust you’ll stay here and won’t wander off? I can’t guarantee my bats will leave you alone when I’m not near.”

“You gotta get those fuckers under control then…” he mumbled, sitting up for the third time. You raised your eyebrows.

“If you are referring to the lake, you intruded on their territory. They were just defending it. Besides, I don’t control them. They just… choose to do as I say.”

“They almost killed Steve!”

“Whoever Steve is, I’m sure he won’t make the same mistake again then. Nor will you. Stay put until I’m back. If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have already. Besides, I can’t risk Henry finding you here.”

It sounded absurd but the restaurants in the light dimension… threw perfectly consumable food out, more than you could count. Eventually, it would appear here as well and if you were fast enough, you would be able to take it with you for Eddie to eat and regain his strength before it went rotten. You flew off outside your house, praying that the metalhead would listen to reason and do as he was told.

About twenty minutes or so later—time was relative down here, after all—you returned with two pizza boxes containing leftovers that were still warm when they appeared in between some black plastic bags.

The air had cooled it all down only a moment after but it would do. For just a brief moment, as you dug your hands into the bins behind the restaurant, you wondered why you bothered helping him in the first place. But the answer was obvious, was it not? You were lonely down here. Henry was not one for company and he was not one for chit-chat. Decades in solitude were gruesome, besides… you were not him. You might have been what Eddie referred to as a vampire but that did not make you a ruthless killer. You were a survivor.

“Eddie?”

“Still here…”

Relieved, you walked up the stairs and back into the room you had chosen for your bedroom, pizza boxes in hand.

“You are indeed.”

“There’s not exactly… lots of places for me to go, so…”

You smirked. “Fair point. And a wise choice. It’s not safe out there if you don’t know your way around.” You placed the cardboard boxes in front of him. “It’s not much but… it’ll do.” Eddie stared at them for a second. Next thing you knew, he opened them both, brown eyes widening. He dug in as if he hadn’t eaten in ages. Well, he probably hadn’t. You didn’t stop him. He needed all the sustenance he could get until your blood was out of his system.

“So, uh… you’re Vecna’s right hand then?” he said almost casually with his mouth full.

“I happen to exist in the same dimension. He doesn’t control me, we came to a more or less peaceful agreement. I mean you no harm, Eddie. I have no desire in destroying Hawkins, not like him.”

He swallowed. “Do you… consume blood?”

“I do. Occasionally. I need it to survive but I can go without it for a long time. It gives me… strength. And if I don’t feed for a while, I do get fatigued and burned out but other than that… I’m just like you. Well… minus the wings. I’m sure you don’t have those,” you added, winking at him.

“Who… or what… do you feed on?” he asked suspiciously in return.

“Creatures from this dimension… until, um…”

“What, like Demogorgons and shit?”

“What?”

“Those huge things with fangs for a face that looks like a flower? I’ve never seen one myself luckily but I’ve been told they’re quite terrifying.”

“I… if that’s what you want to call them. But I… I did try human blood when a few poor unfortunate souls ended up here against their will. I have no desire to make that a habit though just in case you’re still worried I am fattening you for slaughter.”

Eddie gave you a silent look before he continued eating. You watched him quietly with your arms crossed after sitting down at the small vanity in the room. The bats outside your house screeched, making you sigh.

“I’ll be right back…”

They knew he was in there, hungry for his blood and eager to feast, assuming he was as good as dead and that his body shouldn’t go to waste.

“Shut it! He’s off limits, do you hear me?” The bats flew around you in circles, following your every movement. One of them landed on your shoulder, screeching loudly as if to complain.

“No. He’s alive and well. Besides, he has my blood in his system at the moment. Stay away from him.” The bats flew a few more circles around you, following your hand as you pointed at the dark and gloomy sky.

“Kas…” Eddie suddenly said. You spun around, not having realised that he had followed you outside, hiding behind a garden rock. No wonder the bats were almost going insane.

You frowned. “Kas?”

Eddie slowly emerged once the last bat was out of sight. “You said you don’t have a name. That’s what I’m gonna call you. I figured… that fits?”

“Kas…” you repeated the name as if tasting a piece of candy. “Okay… I like it.”

“Is this because we are in a darker version of where you come from or is your room really this chaotic?” Grinning, you followed after him. Eddie’s room was plastered with metal band posters and a huge hand-drawn flag reading “Corroded Coffin”. Clothes and other bits and bobs lay scattered all over the place, along with the odd guitar pick, questionable décor, and… condoms on the nightstand. You blushed.

“Come on, it’s not that chaotic.”

Eddie had insisted on returning here and, after having him practically beg you for two days straight, you had agreed to accompany him. Even though the bats had kept their promise and did not lurk around for him anymore, it was still way too dangerous to let him roam freely around here. You liked the goofy metalhead, truly. Eddie was a deeply misunderstand young man with a knack for theatrics and for making people laugh. You shook your head, clearly disagreeing with him here. The room was an utter mess.

“So… you’re saying they blamed you for the murders in Hawkins? Because of a game you play?”

“Yepp… they needed a villain to hunt down and I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he mused, kicking a stool out of the way to reach for a guitar. It wasn’t the one he’d used on top of his trailer—you had heard him play, provoke the bats and their sensitive ears to distract Henry.

“They’re gullible…”

“Yeah, they think I’m a satanic cult leader and worship the devil.” He strummed the guitar once. It sounded horribly off, so he sat down to tune it.

“And do you?” you joked.

“Only on Sundays,” he replied, making you laugh while exploring the room some more.

“Do you live here alone?”

“Oh no, with my uncle. He works nights so I’m alone a lot.”

“Your uncle… and you’re still at school?” The schoolbooks on one of the shelves gave it away.

“I was supposed to graduate almost three years ago but…”—he drew the word out—“I guess we can’t all be Albert Einsteins.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. Even though this room is three years younger than that. That’s a pity. The new Metallica record would have made this place a lot better,” he added looking around.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, tilting your head with your arms crossed.

“Oh, Metallica is only one of the best metal bands in existence.”

“No, not that part, I know who Metallica is, believe it or not.” In fact, you knew a lot of bands. That restaurant you got your pizza from for Eddie had an old jukebox with dozens of records on it. It didn’t work down here but at least, it gave you some sort of idea of pop culture and music trends. “What do you mean by ‘this room is three years younger than you’?”

“You didn’t know that?” Eddie looked up from his guitar. It didn’t sound like a question. You still shook your head.

“No, I didn’t…”

“This place is quite literally three years behind. I mean, it’s a parallel world, right? Everything that happens up there in the real world, happens here as well. Only three years later.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Right. So then that means the food you ate earlier was three years old. Sorry about that.”

Eddie chuckled. “I’ve eaten worse stuff. Wayne and I are horrible cooks.”

“Your uncle?”

“Yes.”

“What about your parents? Where are they?”

“Well…” Avoiding your gaze as if he was ashamed all of a sudden, his fingers played around with the tuning pegs. “My mum left when I was just a kid… I don’t really remember her and my old man… is currently in prison.”

“Oh.” You weren’t going to ask why. By the looks of it and Eddie’s darkening expression, it couldn’t be too good.

Eddie strummed the guitar again, satisfied with the sound this time. The chords he played to follow up sounded beautiful—so melodic and calming compared to the screeching of your bat friends and the hungry growls of the other creatures residing around here. Not to mention the sounds Henry made every now and then, thinking he was scary. Well, not to you. To those kids, to Eddie… definitely. You shuddered.

“How… how long have you been here?” he suddenly asked.

“It’s hard to say… now that I know that I’ve been living in the past but… I’ve… just… always been here. My whole life. It’s always been… I’ve always been… like this.” You gave him a dramatic half-bow, pushing away the thought of the few like you that remained and that would kill you on sight.

“Shit, how old are you?”

You shrugged. “Judging by the calendars you humans started to make… I would say a couple of hundred years.”

Eddie nodded, processing your words all but flabbergasted. “And you never thought of leaving?”

“I didn’t know I could. Not until the veil between our dimensions cracked and opened up gates for the first time. But not all of them are the same, not since Henry started killing.”

“I need to get out of here,” he said. Another strum, as if to emphasise his statement. Your heart almost skipped a beat. He wanted to leave. But of course he did. There was nothing here for him. In fact, as a human, the atmosphere would sooner or later kill him. He didn’t even know you that well, he had no reason to stay, and even if he did… some depraved and delusional part of you had imagined that for the first time in over a decade, you’d have a friend by your side. You swallowed. Perhaps even more. The way his fingers played that guitar, a stark contrast against the black colour of the instrument and the handmade writing on it… That simple action hit you square in the face like a blow. Eddie was bloody handsome.

“You… want to go back,” you finally choked out just to say anything at all.

“Yeah…?”

“No, of course you do. You couldn’t possibly stay here.”

He nodded, slowly. “They all think I’m dead, that should give me an advantage for a while. I’m still… wanted for murder, after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Another thoughtful nod. This young man was carrying a burden far too heavy for his age. He paused when you said nothing else. “You said there were cracks… now… between the dimensions?”

“There are. But they would literally tear you in half if you attempted to walk through them. Even… what did you call them the other day? Demogorgons? Even they couldn’t make it through. Henry can. He is the only one who can. You need a smaller gate. I know where to find one.”

Eddie looked up. “There used to be one here. And at the lake and… and the forest. There’s different ones now? More?”

You nodded.

“Can you take me there?”

“I can but not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Eddie, we need to wait for my blood to be out of your system entirely. If something happens to you when you’re back… if you die… you’ll turn into a vampire just like me.”

“Right… How long do we need to wait then?” The suspicion in his voice was clearly audible, eliciting a defeated sigh from you.

“Just a couple more days to be sure, please. Then I will take you to a gate, I promise.”

Eddie nodded once more, strumming another chord.

“We should head back soon. The bats get hungry around this time. I don’t want to draw any attention to you.”

“Why can’t we just stay here?” he asked. The innocence in his voice nearly had you melt… and the canines hidden away in your gums pressing to the surface eagerly.

“Here? Are you sure?”

“Yeah… unless you, uh… sleep in a coffin?”

“Oh, ouch, wow, that is an awful stereotype.” You grinned. “I don’t sleep in a coffin. I do sleep upside down sometimes though.”

“Wait, really?” Eddie’s eyes widened, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“No! Don’t you have sarcasm up there?”

Eddie put his guitar away and made himself comfortable on his unmade bed. “You’re uh… welcome to join me then. Bed’s big enough.”

Tilting your head, you took a hesitant step forward. “Aren’t you afraid I’m gonna bite you in your sleep?”

“I’d be as good as dead down here without your help, so uh… you might as well.” His bitter smile broke your heart but then again, what did you expect? That he’d fall to his knees before you in gratitude? You might have saved him but he had no reason to believe you had not done so for your own selfish gain, to keep him as a living blood bag. While a dark and malicious part of you buried deep in your heart rejoiced at the thought of that, the butterflies in your stomach stopped the dangerous thoughts from crawling to the surface.

“Alright then… only for a few hours. Then you grab what you need and we head back. It’s not too safe in this area.”

“Neither here nor in the real world…” he muttered. Eddie closed his eyes, his body relaxing almost fast enough for you to be taken aback by it. He’s still exhausted. Of course he was still exhausted. He almost fucking died and was now regenerating with your blood. You’d truly taken a risk with him—and you could only hope that Eddie wasn’t going to take any damage from your emergency medicine.

By the time you finally laid down next to him, the cute metalhead was sound asleep.

You knew you were in trouble when the butterflies in your belly fed on Eddie’s presence as if he was a drug, sweeter than any blood you had ever tasted. Over the next few days, long talks, and more three-year-old pizza, Eddie quickly became the closest to what you would call a partner in crime. You’d never had one—you wouldn’t know what it was truly like but if there was one thing you were certain about it was the fact that you were not supposed to desire a friend the way you did. To want to be close to him, listen to his heartbeat, feel that lively vein pulse beneath the sensitive skin of his neck, and find out if his lips were as soft as they looked…

“… so each class has different attributes and skills and weaknesses.” For the past hour, Eddie had been attempting to explain Dungeons and Dragons to you. You only understood half of what he was rambling but his passion for the fantasy game was reflected in every single word he spoke. He was sprawled out on the bed with an old D&D handbook he had found under his bed, one he had lost around two years ago, so he’d told you.

Very soon now, you’d venture out to the gate you had promised to bring him to. You’d wanted to wait until the equivalent of daytime just in case your bats decided to disobey you after all.

You’d miss him. As if he’d been in your life for years, you could already feel your heart tearing, leaving a void that would never heal. Were you being dramatic? Yes. But that changed nothing about the fact you were slowly realising that you, in the shortest time possible, had fallen in love with him.

“Eddie? Why don’t you tell me about those warlocks on the way to the gate?” you interrupted him gently. If you ripped him out of your life like a plaster, quick and easy, perhaps it’d hurt less. The sooner he was gone, the sooner you could learn to forget him.

Keep him with you. Feed him more of your blood. Make him stay. Your primal instincts mixed with your growing feelings, making your canines press against your gums almost painfully. Stop. It’s time to say goodbye.

Eddie paused, glancing out of the window. Daylight was barely distinguishable from the night down here but the look of relief and excitement that washed over his face felt like a dagger lodging itself deep into your gut.

“Okay. Let me, uh… grab my things.” You did, watching each and every single one of his movements with curiosity and fascination. If you asked if you could come with him, what would he say? Would he laugh at you? Look at you incredulously? Both?

“You think I could just take that D&D book with me?”

You chuckled. “I don’t see why not. No one will miss it here.”

“Then, um… I’m all set.”

“Good.” You smiled sadly. “Then let’s go.”

Perhaps you’d just stay in Eddie’s room, make it your new home. No one else was going to claim it once he was gone and that way… that way you could keep him in your memory. Your link to the outside world, the one friend you’d ever had down here in this lonely hellhole. You were like a lovesick puppy, detached from reality and what could and could not be, weren’t you? You were pathetic.

You shook your head to chase away the thoughts as Eddie followed you through the gloomy dimension you’d learned they called the Upside Down towards one of the more hidden gates in the forest you had discovered on the same day you had found him after hunting.

And by the time you reached it… he might as well take your heart with him too.

“Here. You’ll have to crawl through. I… I’m not sure what you should expect on the other side but… good luck. You’re innocent, Eddie, I refuse to believe you won’t be able to clear things up.”

“Yeah… maybe. I hope. Uh…” He stared at the hole in the tree stump as if it’d disappear if he took his brown eyes off of it.

“Thanks. For uh… everything. You saved my life.”

“My pleasure. Oh… you might want this back before you leave.”

Your hands were shaking as you pulled his bandana out of your back pocket. You’d tried to clean the blood off of it but you assumed that up in the real world, they’d have functioning washing machines.

Eddie reached for it with a smile. “Thought I lost it.”

“Well, you didn’t.” You stood on your tiptoes then, gently placing your palms on his chest to press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Ask me to come with you. Ask me to stay with you. Please… tell me you don’t want me to stay here all on my own…

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked, tilting his head when I pulled away again, reluctantly removing my hands from him.

“I’ll… be fine. I’ve always been here, remember? Good luck, Eddie.”

“B-bye,” he said, waving awkwardly before getting to the gooey ground.

And with every inch he crawled forward, your heart broke a little more until eventually… he was gone.

Fuck, were those tears? Your eyes were burning, your vision was all blurry. You blinked, frantically, to scare them away. It was for the best. Eddie didn’t belong here. Sooner or later, he would have faced the consequences of staying down here. The atmosphere was toxic to humans, you reminded yourself, the lack of sunlight and vitamin D a constant threat to his well-being, not to mention his poor nutrition if he had kept eating leftovers from literal trash cans.

And yet… yet a part of you had hoped that, even after such a short time, Eddie would want to stay with you. He was an outcast in Hawkins, feared and hated by the majority of its people but here… here, he had someone who cared. Was that selfish? Probably. If only… if only you had bothered to find out if his lips were as soft as they looked. If only you had been able to capture the moment of sleeping in his arms forever. But the memory would fade, just like your real name. Kas. You smiled to yourself. That was who you were now. You would use his name for you with pride.

When you shoved your hands into the pockets of your leather coat, something hard and cold brushed against your knuckles. Frowning, you blinked once more, pulling out a tiny silver object. Your lips parted when you realised that it was one of Eddie’s rings. A silver cross surrounded by four skulls. Don’t forget me. He must have slipped it in your pocket when you’d kissed him goodbye. A sad smile tugged on the corners of your mouth before you slid it on.

Then your heart sank. You felt his presence before you glanced behind you. You didn’t turn around to face him.

“What do you want, Henry?”

“You hid a boy here. Nursed him back to health. What for?”

“Leave him out of it. He was just collateral damage to you anyway. And it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone now. He’s back in Hawkins.”

“Then he will die regardless. They will all die. Remember what you promised me.”

“I did my part, Henry. The bats did what you asked them to, they protected your precious home and they will wreak havoc once the cracks are safe enough to… travel through. There’s nothing more I can do to help you.”

Henry growled and you spun around, fuming. “Thanks to you, I’ll never be able to have a life up there. That was the one thing you promised me. That I would be able to leave this place.”

“You will, bat. No need to remind me.” Bat. Not Kas. Not what Eddie had named you.

“Yes. I will return to a pile of ashes and decay.” To a place where, even if Hawkins’ people mysteriously survived, you could never be with Eddie simply because of what you were. “They’ll start another attempt, you know,” you insisted when he turned to leave. “They will not stop until you’re dead. If I have learned anything about Hawkins, it’s that they will fight back until their very last breath.”

“Then their very last breath it shall be,” Henry responded. You flinched when he made the gate disappear with but a flick of his wrist—long, gooey vines annihilating the only way up that you knew currently existed. Your only way up should you ever decide to take the risk and leave, hoping the humans would not hunt you down simply because you came from the Upside Down. Not if, you realised. When.

You hissed at Henry, baring your fangs before he vanished, and twisting the silver ring on your finger. You had to warn Eddie. You owed him that.

Before the goofy metalhead came into your life, you hadn’t known your heart to be capable of so many emotions at once. You longed for him, missed him with every fibre of your being, and yet, with every step you ventured out further away from his trailer in search of another gate to reunite with him, the more your heart bled for your bats.

Leaving them behind and to their fate after what you had asked them to do… it felt wrong to leave them in the lurch but what other choice did you have? Hundreds, if not thousands of people would have to let their life up in the real world where, according to Eddie’s stories, there were oceans and actual sunlight. You had needed a push, something to finally pick up the courage and get away from this bleak existence. But you’d never considered paying a price this high.

The fire hit you out of nowhere. Hot and scourging, it singed your skin, blinding you and throwing you to the ground. You covered your face with a shriek, the burning and unbearable sensation having you thrash on the dirty ground in pain.

Your lungs filled with hot hair, the crackling and windy sounds drowning out even your own screaming. But then you suddenly heard his voice.

“Harrington! Stop! Stop it! Steve, please, stop!”

Were you hallucinating? Perhaps you were dying. Perhaps you were already dead. Perhaps Henry had killed you and your mind attempted, frantically, to make the traumatic experience more endurable.

Eventually, the fire ceased in a way it almost appeared like your attacker was being shoved away, with only the sizzling of your burned skin remaining. Angry red marks and blisters formed wherever the flames had tasted you and licked across you, including your cheeks and palms.

Trembling, you curled up on the ground, still too blinded to make out the person who knelt down beside you and cradled you in their arms. Those hands, however, adorned with cool silver rings… Eddie.

“Shit, shit, shit… Kas, are you okay? Look at me. Hey… hey! Are you okay? Open your eyes, Kas, please open your eyes!” His panicked voice made you want to calm him down, providing you with just enough energy to do as he asked.

“Oh, thank god… are you okay? I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Y-you’re back,” you choked out, taken hostage by a coughing fit only a fraction of a second later.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m back.” You felt his palm against the side of your cheek that was not burned, calloused fingers stroking over your cheekbone.

“W-what can I do? Are you gonna be okay?”

“…n-need… -ood…” Talking was exhausting. Keeping your eyes open was exhausting. Fighting against the pain was so tiring it would have been so easy to give in to cool darkness and slip into blissful unconsciousness.

“What? What do you need? Speak up, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You didn’t care you probably had an audience. You could sense them. More humans besides your attacker, at least two.

“Bl-…ood… I need blood.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Could you… I mean, could you drink from me? Would… would that work?”

You nodded—barely visible to the naked eye, your chin moved up and down once. Eddie caught it nonetheless. Without any hesitation whatsoever, he leaned down to you until your warm and shaking lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, his long hair acting like a curtain and shielding you from the eyes of his friends.

This time, as soon as your instincts took over, you let them. Your fangs appeared within a second, your eyes turning blood-red. Your mouth watered in joyful anticipation when you opened it, sinking your pair of sharp teeth straight into his neck, breaking the skin, and… fuck, he tasted divine. So good and sweet and rich and…

Eddie flinched when you bit him but, albeit carefully, held you even tighter, mutely urging you on.

“Shit, what the fuck is happening here? Eddie? Eddie!”

“No, Steve, stop! It’s fine.” The metalhead did not elaborate, not for now and not until you had enough of your strength back to dig your fingers into his shoulders, feeling the cool leather of his jacket under your fingertips.

You promised to yourself that you would take five more sips—one, two, three, four… five… Reluctantly, you pulled away and licked your lips. You’d left a bite mark on him—one he quickly covered with his hair.

“A-are you good? Do you need more?” You shook your head in response, feeling your fangs retreat and your eyes, hopefully, returning to their usual colour.

The one with the fire—Steve Harrington—glared at you suspiciously, holding a lighter in one, and a can of hairspray in the other hand. The other two were young women—strong, intimidating almost. One more so than the other.

“Everyone… this is Kas.”

“Kas?” one of the girls repeated. “She’s the one who saved your life?”

Eddie nodded. “This is Robin,” he said, nodding towards the girl who’d spoken up. “And this is Nancy, and this… is Steve.”

“Sorry about that. I thought you were…”

“It’s fine… Eddie told me you guys are generally suspicious of everything down here.”

“Can’t blame us. Last time we were everything tried to kill us.”

You blinked at him before turning your attention back to Eddie. “Why did you come back?”

“That’s a long story but…”

“One we don’t have time for right now,” Nancy interrupted. You felt the urge to snap at her and you probably would have if you didn’t still feel weak. Your wounds were regenerating but it would take your body some time to fully recover from the attack.

Fire… the one lethal thing that could kill you instantly. If Eddie hadn’t stopped him…

“Henry closed the gate you escaped through. He’s gonna make his move. Soon. I tried to come and warn you, find another one.”

“We need to get you out of here then, sweetheart.” There it was again—that adorable nickname that you liked even better than Kas. You nodded once more, too weak for your mind to toss around all those thoughts you’d surely have if you hadn’t just escaped death by a smidge.

“I’ll uh… I’ll take her back.”

“Back? You want to bring her to Hawkins? What if she—“

“She won’t, Steve,” Eddie snapped at him. But when he turned to you again, scooping you up like a bride, his voice instantly became softer again. “Can you walk?”

“… don’t know…”

“It’s okay… I’ll carry you.”

His kind offer was the last thing you heard before you finally succumbed to the welcoming darkness.

“Kas? Like the vampire Kas? She’s Kas? Dude, I thought you were talking about some eerie humanoid bat person, not… not a girl!”

“Yeah no. No, that’s who I meant. I know how fucked up this is, man…” Eddie’s voice became muffled for a moment, almost as if he was hiding his face in his hands.

“So… she’s not… is she linked to Vecna? Because if she is and we kill him, wouldn’t that mean that she dies too?”

“No,” you croaked out before Eddie could respond to the other person. Two heads whipped in your direction instantly, one of which you did not recognise. You shifted uncomfortably. You were lying softly, covered with a blanket that smelled like Eddie and cigarette smoke. Someone had removed your leather coat too.

“W-where am I?”

“You’re in my bed… again.” Eddie’s cheeky grin warmed you from the inside out, even more so because he blushed. “Welcome to Hawkins, sweetheart. You’re in the real world. The Up… if you will.”

“You said… you said you wouldn’t die if we kill Vecna?” the boy with the curly hair and a hat that read Thinking Cap asked.

“That’s Dustin,” Eddie explained. “He’s a friend.”

You nodded. “No. I’ve been in the Upside Down for much longer than Henry. He’s… made this world his master but not me. I just happened to be in it when he arrived.”

“You were… born there?”

“Yes.”

“So there are others? Like you?”

You shot Eddie a hesitant glance. You hadn’t told him about that—you hadn’t wanted to freak him out even more. “There are. But not in the upside-down version of Hawkins. I was the only one there.”

“So… so you don’t have to go back eventually to not… drop dead if the gates close?” Dustin probed.

“No.” At least, that’s what you hoped. You had no solid proof that you wouldn’t turn to dust once the first ever sunbeams you had ever seen with your own eyes hit your skin either. You already had a feeling you would have to remain in the shadows as best as you could but unlike Eddie in the Upside Down… you were pretty certain you could survive in this dimension. You were not human, after all. It was in your very nature to adapt. The question was… would the humans tolerate you after all the evil that Henry had brought upon Hawkins through the gates?

“The others,” you started then, “Nancy, Robin, and Steve… are they still down there?”

“Yeah. They should be back anytime now. We uh, found another gate—by chance, really. They went back to the Creel house. Vecna’s house, trying to find… something. Anything that could help us stop him. We don’t have a lot of options left at the moment.”

You nodded once more. “What happened here in the meantime? Were you able to clear your name?”

“Not… really. Yet. I’m still in hiding, technically but uh… Hopper’s working on it.”

“Hopper?”

“He’s the Sheriff of Hawkins. Or he used to be,” Dustin intervened.

A third nod. Quite frankly, you were overwhelmed with being in a different dimension altogether—you finally understood how Eddie must have felt, especially after almost dying. You almost laughed out loud. The exact same thing had happened to you now. The irony was truly hilarious.

The noise that came from outside the trailer was audible to you first. With your enhanced hearing, you instantly made out the voices of Steve, Nancy and Robin. Moments later, the front door opened. Dustin sped out of the room, closing the door to Eddie’s room in the process.

“How are you feeling now?” Eddie asked.

“Better but… still weak.”

“Do you need more blood?”

Guilt washed over your entire body as you bit your lower lip. You were hesitant to nod for a fourth time. Eddie caught the hint nonetheless. But just when you were about to ask him to bring you an animal or a blood bag from the hospitals in this dimension, he spoke up again.

“Drink from me again.”

“Eddie…”

“Just do it, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. You need your strength back.”

Finally, the metalhead sat down on the bed with you. Your heart sped up when he pulled you onto his lap and your legs hugged his hips, his calloused fingers exploring your back.

Biting back a moan, you brushed his lovely hair out of the way—and as soon as his scent hit you, it was game over, and sunk your fangs into him and drank.

Eddie’s grip around you tightened, almost as if he was unwilling to let go of you anytime soon. Almost as if… almost as if he was enjoying it. But that was impossible, right? You were hurting him. You were sucking the very essence that kept him alive out of his body…

In your hungry haze, you noticed the door opening again only a few seconds too late. Dustin walked back in, followed by Robin, Nancy and Steve. You looked up with your teeth still lodged deep inside Eddie’s neck, noticing their horrified expressions.

I must look like a monster to them. Red eyes, dark purple veins under them, sharp fangs, and a murderous, famished expression…

You forced yourself to pull away, bloody fangs and lips surely glistening in the artificial light in Eddie’s room. You covered your mouth quickly and licked yourself clean, turning away so you wouldn’t have to face them again for a brief moment.

You could tell that Eddie was about to ask if you’d had enough or if you needed more when he too realised that you had an audience.

“Did you find anything?” Eddie asked.

“Nothing.” Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you. You leaned back again, covering yourself with Eddie’s blanket so you’d have something to do with your hands, making it clear you didn’t want any attention, especially after what they’d just witnessed.

Steve nodded towards you nonetheless. “Are you sure we can trust her, Munson? I don’t care if she’s like one of your D&D characters.”

“Wait… what? You named me after a D&D character?”

Eddie blushed. “Uh… yeah… a vampire who works for Vecna but eventually betrays and kills him.”

“Oh. Well, that sounds about right.”

“So you’re on our side.”

“Of course I’m on your side. Steve, is it, right?”

“You said you wanted to come to warn me. Us. Vecna’s gonna make his play soon?”

“I… yes. The bats will be first. Henry’s planning on opening more gates to let them all through. To let them loose in Hawkins.”

“But I thought he doesn’t control them. You do?”

“That’s… I… I wanted to tell you but…”

“You told them to attack Hawkins,” he concluded.

“No! I mean, I… I told them to invade the town once he opens the gates.”

“What! Are you crazy?” Steve bellowed. You flinched, the loud noise hurting your ears a little.

“That’s what your deal was about? You didn’t tell me that. You said the bats were harmless if they’re not provoked.”

“Eddie, I’m sorry… I couldn’t… that’s why I was about to come here. I wanted to give you a headstart, all of you. I wanted to make things right because…” Because I’m falling in love with you. You stopped yourself before you could end the sentence and embarrass yourself even further.

“So when they make it through… can you stop them?” Robin intervened. In the meantime, Nancy and Dustin only glared at you all but speechless.

“I can try.”

Eddie reached for your hand. “You said they listen to you.”

“They do but… they are simple-minded creatures. Once they’re up there, there will be more prey for them than they’ve ever known to exist. They might not aim to kill but they will attack when they get hungry. Not out of malice—simply because it’s in their nature. They want to survive. And the more food they have available to them, the more strength they can build.”

“Well that’s just great,” Steve remarked with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Okay, you know what… let’s call it a night. Nothing good will still come out of us arguing with her. Let’s meet again tomorrow and plan our next steps then,” Nancy said.

“Yeah… it’s a little awkward all of you standing around in my room like that.” You chuckled to yourself when Eddie grinned at them. Seeing him smile was not only a relief, it was a revelation.

“Okay, I don’t mean to freak anyone out but do we still have until tomorrow?” Robin argued.

“I can sense the bats. I’ll know. We’re safe, for now.”

“Good to know. You’re right. Not you, Munson, Nancy. We’ll catch up tomorrow. Are you sure you’re gonna be fine here… all alone… with… with Kas?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll behave,” you added, daring a little smirk.

Steve and Robin blinked at you as if you’d just admitted to killing a puppy.

“Okay… good night, Eddie. We’ll call tomorrow.” Dustin was the only one who waved before they all staggered out of the room one by one and Eddie shifted on the bed so he could lie down next to you. You still waited until the door fell shut to scoot closer and place your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Even after only such a short time… you had missed the sound of it.

“I’m… I’m really happy to see you.”

Eddie smirked. “I’m really happy to see you too. You kept my ring,” he remarked, nodding at your hand which was tracing the print on the band shirt he was wearing.

“I found it in my pocket after you’d left.”

“Nah, yeah I thought I’d leave you a little something so you wouldn’t forget me.”

“I don’t think it’s physically possible to forget someone like you, Eddie. At first… at first, I thought I’d never see you again. That’s stupid, right? We met only a couple of weeks ago.” Just say it. I like you. Three little words, so easy. Fuck… you were no silly teenager with a fear of rejection. You were a goddamn vampire, for Heaven’s sake! You could deal with a human boy not reciprocating your feelings. Feelings that seemed to consume every fibre of your being and…

Your heart stopped when his lips landed on yours. Suddenly. Out of nowhere. The kiss was almost too brief, with no tongues attempting a battle for dominance.

When he pulled away, he instantly panicked. “Sorry… was that too much? Or too soon? I… fuck, I thought I lost you there when Steve didn’t put that fucking hairspray away.”

“I guess we’re even now then. I want you… no, I need you to kiss me again.” That made him grin, mischievously so. “I wanted to stay with you. But I also wanted to go back home, you know?”

“Eddie… staying would have killed you.”

“I wanted to ask you to come with me.” Slash. Like a dagger twisting in your heart.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because… I don’t know, isn’t it like… a big thing to ask someone to leave their dimension to live in another?” His breath was warm against your lips. You let your fingertips trail over the two bite marks you had given him.

“I had been hoping to get out. Ever since that first gate opened a few years ago. I just… didn’t have the guts to do it yet. Because of Henry… Vecna… what do you think will happen when they find out what I am, Eddie? Your friends clearly don’t trust me, in fact, I’m absolutely sure they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you. They’re… suspicious? I mean, so was I… you can be pretty mean and scary.”

You gave him a weak smile. “What about the other humans? They’ll hunt me down and shoot me dead, or lock me up in a lab to experiment on once they realise where I came from.”

“I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Promise?” you breathed out.

“Promise…” And with that, his lips were back on yours, more eager this time to drink you in like you were his last meal. Eddie’s left hand came around the back of your neck, pulling you even closer to him all the while you hooked one of your legs over his lower body, your right hand grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt.

His mouth tasted almost as divine as his blood. You could make out cigarettes, a faint hint of weed and… some sort of honeyed cornflakes and pizza. Fuck, you wanted to devour him whole.

Getting a little braver, you crawled on top of him so you could straddle him, your hands exploring his clothed chest all the while your tongue teased his soft lips, asking for entrance. Eddie’s mouth opened wider and you sought out his tongue, starting a passionate fight.

By the time he pulled away out of breath, his hands still stroking your back, you were almost too far gone to remember the threat that was lurking in the Upside Down.

“You still hungry?” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m starting to think you like me drinking from you.”

“Yeah, well, uh… it’s pretty hot… to be honest. Very metal. I… kinda enjoy it.”

Hearing those words from his mouth… fuck, you wanted to pounce on him, feed on him and fuck him all at the same time. Tilting your head with your eyes turning red, you trailed your fingertips over the side of his face, making him shiver. His brown orbs widened as soon as he noticed the colour change in yours.

“I need you to rest. I can’t take so much at once. Let your body recover first. I… could be persuaded to have another sip tomorrow.”

“But are you gonna be alright?”

You nodded. “The wounds have healed well. Perks of not being human. I’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” There it was again. Sweetheart. You suppressed a sigh.

“I’m sure. Let’s… let’s get some sleep.”

Eddie stole another kiss from you before he obeyed, draping the blanket over the both of you. You fell asleep in his arms, listening to his breath slowly evening out as he too wandered off to dreamland.

Steve kept his promise. The next morning, it had barely struck eight am before Eddie’s phone rang, ripping you both from your slumber. The metalhead almost fell out of bed when he went to answer it, quickly barking a few words into the little construction before leaning his forehead against the wall, still half-asleep.

By the time he finally brought himself to crawl back into bed, you too managed to open your eyes, wrapping your arms around him to stay warm. You never thought you’d enjoy body heat so much. You were used to the cold, used to sleeping alone—and even though you knew that there was only so much heat that you could take, cuddling with Eddie made your heart pound and put your mind at ease. You felt safe, protected…

“Hey…”

“You hungry?” You giggled like a little girl, burying your face in his neck. His excitement was tangible—in fact, you were certain you would be able to taste it if you bit him right now.

“How about you have some breakfast first? I don’t want you to faint on me.”

“Yeah, coffee and a cigarette actually do sound like a great idea.”

“A cigarette? For breakfast? I mean real food, Eddie. No wonder humans have such short lives.”

He grinned and you followed him into the kitchen. The fridge didn’t have much to offer. There was some open yoghurt in there that, according to the smell, had expired already, a half-empty egg carton, some milk, and some leftover pizza on a plate with some cling foil on top of it. Unceremoniously, Eddie took it out and chucked it in the microwave. You scrunched up your nose. In the meantime, he made sure to make himself some coffee and finally, lit himself a cigarette.

“I’m pretty sure the food I got you in the Upside Down tasted better than what you’re consuming right now.”

The metalhead shrugged. “Wayne’s gonna bring some groceries home when he gets back from his shift. Since I still can’t just… you know… stroll into a supermarket and stuff.”

“How… how did he react when he learned you’re still alive?”

“He was… relieved. Hugged me. Even cried. The old man treats me better than my own father. He’s more of a dad to me than he’ll ever be.”

“I’m glad you were in good hands then when you left.” Me. The last word you almost choked on. The microwave started beeping just when he finished his cigarette and extinguished its butt in the ashtray on the kitchen table.

Growing a little more confident about your surroundings now, you hoisted yourself up on the counter all the while Eddie dug into his left-over pizza.

By the time he only had one piece left on his plate, there was a barely visible film of fat around his lips which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. You smirked. So he always ate like he was starving.

Raising an eyebrow, you slid off the counter, walked over to him, and sat down on the table next to his plate. His eyes widened and his smirk… downright mischievous, even more so when you reached for his wrist and held it with both your hands. You bared your fangs and sank them into his flesh.

You certainly did not imagine the moan that escaped his lips when you broke the skin, his own food and coffee quickly forgotten. When you released him, the look on his gorgeous face was so aroused, you could have pounced on him. Maybe you could. Maybe you should.

Licking the last droplets of his blood from your lips, you pushed yourself forward so you came to sit on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth was on his before he realised what was happening, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his long hair that was still completely dishevelled from sleeping.

And once again, you became so caught up in each other that you did not hear the knock soon enough—nor the door opening and Eddie’s friends spreading inside the kitchen and living room area as if they’d seen a ghost. The only one who was missing was the kid with the hat. Dustin. You liked him.

Eddie held you tightly when you attempted to move off of him. When none of them dared say the first word, you took the initiative, braver than yesterday now that you were feeling better again too.

“You all look surprised Eddie is still alive after spending the night with me.”

“Yeah… you can’t… really… blame us,” Steve choked out. Robin nodded with an apologetic expression on her face. Nancy was the only one whose poker face was so impenetrable you were starting to wonder whether she had slept at all last night.

“This is Jonathan,” she finally said, introducing you to the stranger they had brought with them. You tilted your head. Jonathan looked like social awkwardness personified. He nodded at you with half a smile.

They’re still scared of me, you thought, biting your lower lip.

Eddie cleared his throat so they would stop staring at you. “So? Any news?”

“Uh, yeah. Joyce is on her way with El and Will.”

“What about Hopper?”

“Says he’s currently busy with filing that police report on Jason Carver to prove you didn’t kill him.”

“Right.”

“In the meantime, we need to get back to the War Zone. We need more weapons. Like, now. Are you coming with us, Munson?”

“I want to stay with Eddie,” you instantly blurted out.

The metalhead reached for your hand and squeezed it.

“No offence… but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to roam freely around Hawkins… yet,” Steve said. He almost sounded a little like he was sorry. Perhaps he didn’t loathe you after all—even if he’d almost killed you last night.

“None taken. I don’t exactly feel ready to either. But I’m not staying here alone.”

“I’ll stay,” Eddie reassured you. “I’ll stay with you.”

“Um, Kas… we need you to tell us how we can get rid of your bats. I mean… I’m assuming you don’t want us to kill them,” Steve offered.

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s what we thought, so… is there a way to weaken them?”

You took a deep breath, contemplating whether you could trust them. If the bats got hurt, that would be on you—your fault.

“They don’t like warmth. They’ll steer away from it, just like me. If you found a way to keep Hawkins hot enough, they would retreat and hide in the woods. That’s the best advice I can offer you. I don’t want you to harm them.”

“Are they like… your children?” Jonathan asked carefully.

“No, they’re… we’re just very alike.” You didn’t elaborate and you were sure you didn’t have to, not really.

“So that’s nothing new then. Our next step should be to get in touch with Hopper, there’s gotta be a way to heat the city up so the bats will stay clear from everyone.” Nancy sounded determined, earning her an obedient nod from Jonathan.

“Just don’t… don’t make any loud noises, not like you did in the Upside Down. You’d want to get rid of what’s causing you pain too,” you added when they both turned to leave. They acknowledged it with a quick wave, leaving only Steve and Robin behind.

“That means Robin and I will head to the War Zone until El and Will get here. Take this.” Steve handed Eddie what looked like a portable phone. You realised quickly it must have been a walkie-talkie. And then, with a brief goodbye, they too were out of the door again.

For a few heartbeats, it remained silent. It was a comfortable and yet tense silence both at the same time. Eventually, you leaned your forehead against Eddie’s. You noticed only now that his wrist was still bleeding a little and he’d grabbed an old and probably used napkin on the table to cover it up.

“Who are they? El and Will?”

“El has superpowers, literally. Like… like Vecna.”

You gasped. “She must be the girl he’s coming after Hawkins for then.”

Eddie nodded, his hands caressing your waist. “And Will is the boy who went missing a few years back. Got possessed by the Mind Flayer and I think he can still… feel Vecna? I don’t know, it’s all so fucked up.”

“I’ve heard of him. I never saw him but there was this red-haired girl…” Guilt washed over you as you bit your lower lip. That girl had been one of those victims you had fed on—she’d been too far gone to stay alive for much longer and still…

“A… a red-haired girl? Was she… was she wearing a cheerleading uniform… by any chance?”

“I… no, she wore glasses and high-waisted trousers.”

“Oh…”

“Who is… was the other girl?”

“Chrissy. She… uh… she died right here in our… in our living room.” Eddie’s brown eyes trailed over to where Vecna must have taken her life, creating a gate and spreading fear and horror. Your lips parted the more distant Eddie became and you quickly realised why.

“You have survivor’s guilt…”

“What?”

“That girl… an innocent girl died and there was nothing you could have done to save her. Eddie, it’s not your fault. This is Vecna.”

“Yeah… yeah…” Clearing his throat, he tore his gaze away from the invisible spot in the living room. “I just wish I didn’t run away, you know.”

“Eddie… I saw you in the Upside Down. You’re brave. And… you’ve got a vampire sitting on your lap right now.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess… that’s true.”

“When does your uncle get home again?”

“Should be another hour or so.”

“Good. Then how about we continue where we left off?”

Eddie swallowed. As if you’d flipped a switch on him, his brown eyes glistened with unfulfilled desire yet again. “Are you sure?”

You let your eyes turn red. Eddie grinned when you bared your fangs at him and winked. “I’m sure. Are you?”

He nodded and you watched him frown when you gently pushed the wrist he offered you away to focus on his neck instead. His scent was intoxicating when your nose brushed against his sensitive skin.

Perhaps it would take a while longer for Eddie’s friends to accept you the way he had. Perhaps you too, much like Eddie, would have to live in hiding for a few months. But once Vecna was gone… once your bats were back in the Upside Down safely and all threats to his life, to all of their lives, were eliminated… then maybe you’d both get your happy end. You both deserved it.

A/N: I am more than inclined to write more vampire!Reader x Eddie. Perhaps one where RC turns Eddie after all? Or a Part 2 to this one? Hot vampire sex? Ohhh, the possibilities are endless! 😈

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #the demobat queen #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie the freak muson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #netflix #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson vampire #kas eddie #sserpente

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sailtomarina · 10 months

Text

Make it right

Draco spat the blood out of his mouth before wiping his chin clean. Shame burned low in his stomach at the reality of it all: his return to Hogwarts after the trial, his sentencing to ten years of Ministry work following graduation, and his inability to defend himself under the strict guidelines of his probation. Each day brought with it new tortures in the form of taunts, hexes, and fists. The worst part was that he didn’t even try to avoid punishment. He chased it the way his friends used to take potions—often, and in great quantities.

Like, for example, today.

He could have walked away the second class ended, made his way back to the castle and the safety of his dorm room. Instead, he’d watched Hagrid saunter off into the Forbidden woods to gather Acromantula venom, gathering his belongings in as slow a manner as possible.

He’d seen the way Finnegan glared at him throughout the entire duration of class, how he’d exchanged whispers and nods with the other wizards near him.

The jelly-legs jinx hit him just as he made to stand with his bag, sending him sprawling face first into the boulder towards which he faced. He’d turned his head just in time to avoid a broken nose, but the impact on his teeth still cut up the inside of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you move, or at the very least, block that?”

He didn’t have to turn around to recognize that voice. It was the voice he heard in his dreams tinted with screams and piss and so much blood.

It was the voice he most desired and feared. Of anyone, she was the one who most deserved justice against him. He wanted her to kick and scream at him, call him all the terrible names he knew fit.

“Because it’s the very least I can offer them.”

She cast the counterspell, and Draco stood to brush the dirt off his clothes, leaving smears in their wake. He could use a charm to vanish the mess, but he hardly ever used magic outside of classes anymore. The weight of his wand felt like clasping the hand of a stranger now, rather than the comforting friend it had always been in the past.

“Scourgify.”

The marks he’d left behind vanished. He turned around to yell at Granger for her meddling and complete lack of self-preservation. The words never left his lips, instead becoming trapped on his tongue as she moved the tip of her wand up to his face without the slightest hesitation. Was this the moment he’d been waiting for?

“Episkey.”

The sharp pain in his cheek faded to nothing, and he probed the spot with his tongue to verify the cuts had healed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Her actions didn’t make any sense to him. She shouldn’t be here, cleaning him up and casting healing spells.

“Righting a wrong,” she said, her voice calm and steady as if the response was only natural.

“Righting a wrong.”

He couldn’t help but repeat what she’d said, in utter disbelief at the implication. “Are you daft?”

“What’s daft, Malfoy, is you seeking out every single person looking for petty revenge.” Her rebuke was quick, slapping him with her disapproval.

“Finnegan deserves some satisfaction just as much as I deserve punishment,” he choked out. This was the first time he’d dared utter them aloud, even though he’d said them to himself a million times and more. He chanted them, repeated them almost like a prayer each night.

“Looking for pain the way that you are doesn’t make any of it right.” Her gaze, a clear shade of light brown like the honey he stirred into his tea, pierced him straight through. She saw too much.

Then again, she always had.

Trapped under his eyes the way that he was and feeling a rare moment of naked honesty, he again let out more of his true self.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

At that admission, she cocked her head to the side, chewing on her lip like she often did when considering a particularly trying problem. Her brows rose, lighting up as an idea came to mind.

“Catch.”

Not a half second later, her bag was flying towards him. He caught it just before it hit the ground, the weight of the shelf’s-worth of books she must have stuffed into it nearly knocking him on his arse.

“Bloody hell, Granger, this thing must weigh more than a hippogriff,” he grunted, hoisting the bundle more evenly into his arms. She smirked at the gripe, remembering a specific hippogriff and his specific blunder then.

“You’re my study buddy now, and you’ll accompany me to and from class and the library until graduation. Your choice, of course.” Spinning on her heels, she started her ascent back to the castle with the full expectation of his acquiescing to her offer.

Draco’s mind went through a series of mental gymnastics over the turn of events as he watched the distance increasing between them. He could drop her books and go his own way. Malfoys didn’t bow to others.

Unless they were Voldemort.

Or sentenced to Azkaban.

Or…

He could swallow his pride and follow the witch. Maybe she knew the real meaning of justice. Maybe she could help him figure out who he was outside of the family name and the Mark.

His mind made up, he grit his teeth and took the first step towards a future of his own making. He found Granger stopped and facing his way as she waited. The smile that stretched across her face when she noticed him moving hit him as hard, if not harder, than her ridiculous bag.

A smile for him rather than at his expense.

With she the giver and he the recipient, the smile took on a whole new meaning. Perhaps instead of seeking his own pain, he could seek joy for her and, just maybe, for himself.

WC 999

Juuuuuut shy of 1K, let's go!

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

#dramione #dramione prompt #draco malfoy x hermione granger #dramione prompts #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #draco malfoy

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tpotr · 4 months

Note

Can you make a short fanfic, in which area and Rhaegal wake up in Aegon and Helaena's body and they panic?

Ask and you shall receive! I really liked this idea tbh, this was very funny to me. I hope you'll enjoy this one! It's mostly humor with a tidbit of friskiness I suppose, but nothing grand. For peeps who find this in the wild without knowing the AU: the context is genderbent!helaegon (Aerea and Rhaegal) waking up in the bodies of their not-genderbent counterparts (Aegon and Helaena). Genderbent!Helaegon | Humor/Fluff | AU of a series | wc: 1243

Aerea doesn’t bother to open her eyes. It is a chilly morning, and she snuggles with the furs of the bed close, tossing and turning with them to achieve a few more moments of sleep. Despite having three different furs brought for the winter, those around her feel all too thin.

Rhaegal must’ve stolen the rest of them to himself again, she thinks to herself. He had the penchant to be at his most audacious when he dreams, after all. She turns to his side of the bed, fighting against the morning crust that formed by her eyes. Such robbery will not go unanswered, and compensation is well due. If she cannot have her blankets, he’ll have to offer his arms.

When she opens her eyes, however, an unfamiliar woman is laying beside her. Long silver waves falling unkempt from the bed, breathing softly through sleep with her hands tucked awkwardly by her body. Aerea stares for a few moments before snapping back into a sitting position.

“What the fuck?” she yells, and unfurls her furs from the offending lady. How did she even get inside here? Ser Willis Fell should’ve guarded the room. What is she even doing here? Where did she come from? Where is her husband?

Wait. Why is my voice so low?

The woman in front of her is swiftly awoken, eyes vividly violet opening. “What— who are…” she starts asking, but then reaches for her throat in a hurried panic. As her hands fall down her body, so does her gaze, her hands sliding down from her chest to her belly and hips. Finally, she holds on the end her long locks of hair, positively frightened. “What is this?! This is not…!”

At the same time, Aerea looks at her own hands. Pale with purple veins as always, yet larger than hers usually are, with some fine hair on their back and the rather unbecoming hints of dirt under the fingernails. The cold she has felt suddenly makes all the more sense when she realises that for the most part, she is bare. Unlike the lady in front of her, her hair is short, and with one hand coming to her chest, she screams.

She has never been considered well endowed, no, but her chest is gone!

Coming up from the bed, she rushes to the mirror. The room is all the same, but all is wrong. She holds onto the short oily hair, and the broadened shoulders of this body. The dark circles of the man she faces in the reflection only grow more pronounced as she feels the blood draining from his face. Her face.

“This is not funny,” she says, nearly on the verge of tears as she faces the woman on the bed again. “Where is my husba…” she stops herself, and examines that unknown girl again, who nervously played with the Myrish lace of the nightgown she seemed so pensive in. Rhaegal always plays with the lace trimmings of her dresses. “Rhaegal?” she asks.

“...Aerea?” is the woman’s reply and suddenly some air enters her lungs again; she nods, and the ‘woman’s’ eyes brighten too. “Yes, it’s me,” he says in that woman’s feminine yet husky voice. Her husband’s face is far more angular, but the appearance he dons now has a somewhat subdued angularity to match it, and an entirely softer looking body to contrast it with. His new form comes up from the bed and closer and it is almost surreal as he reaches out for her new body.

She looks down at herself again, thinking to take a peek at her breeches. She feels the absurdity of her new male effects, but isn’t she short for a man?

Rhaegal brings a dainty hand to hold her upper arm. “This is strange,” he says as he examines it until finally settles on a squeeze. “How could this be…”

Aerea, resigned, resorts to curling into him, demanding a hug. “Someone put a curse on us and made me a stubby sickly man,” she says in half desperation, leaning her head on her husband’s— wife’s? — shoulder.

“Don’t say that,” he wraps his hands around her, repressing a smile. “I think I may be considered the short one of us two, anyway.”

Aerea huffs as she sniffles. “You are as tall as any woman, and have gained giant teats for yourself,” she says. “Don’t you dare pretend to complain.”

Chuckling, he weaves a hand into her short hair, ruffling through it. “Neither should you, then. I think you make a pretty man.”

“Shut your mouth lest we stay this way!” she yells at him, only making him laugh. “I can’t believe this…” Tightening her embrace upon him, he squeals slightly, the way she often does when he locks on her firmly. He returns it quickly as he relaxes in her thicker arms, but it is strange to have him respond in that manner so easily.

Garnering some interest in that difference, she sets out to understand the situation in her hold better, and scoops him from behind into her hold.

“Aerea—” he yelps, quick to bring his hands to hold onto her body’s shoulder. She licks her lips and carries him around in her arms. She never quite understood why he liked doing it to her, but now she feels she does. It feels quite nice to feel him readjust his hold on her closer and closer.

“This is why you like to twirl me around so much, huh?” she asks. The girlish face he dons is beet red. The dainty fingers that on her nape play with her thin tufts of hair present there gently as he considers what to say.

“...I like it when you do this,” Rhaegal brings the hand back to her new face, cupping the round jaw and leaning down to kiss her slowly. Suddenly, her arms grow shakier. Gods, I need to go against a wall. She likes it when he gets her against a wall —

The doors to their room suddenly slam open, and she loses her grip on her husband-wife’s body. They manage to grip each other so he isn’t toppled backwards to the floor. Holding each other in some shock, they turn their heads to look at Mother, who seems exasperated enough to rip out all of her hair.

Alicent first seems flabbergasted to a degree, but recovers from it with a shake of her head. “Aegon, Helaena, I need you in the hall room,” she says as if she’s about to collapse. “Your brother has lost all of his wits. He woke up and started running around saying his name is Aemma and ogling his swords. Dress up and help me make him regain his sanity, I beg you.”

Aerea and Rhaegal share a prolonged look.

“Prince Aemond, please!” they hear Ser Criston’s voice from outside the hallway.

“I think our sister is going haywire with new opportunities,” Aerea says. “We better see to her, husband.”

Rhaegal hums, while Alicent’s eyes open like saucers.

“What are you talking about,” Alicent yells at her. “Aegon, if you are in on the same shenanigan—”

Rhaegal comes to Alicent, holding her hand with his own small ones. “Mother, we will sort this out. Do not fret a thing.”

Aerea never thought she’d see her mother that speechless ever again, but alas. Until they figure this out, such a world is filled to brim with entertaining opportunities.

#helaegon #helaena x aegon ii #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #*aereagal #*aerea #*rhaegal #*aemma #*alicent #*reqs #*fanfics #*answered

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kirnet · 2 months

Text

1.4k words. read on ao3

Rust Cohle lies in the dark and dreams of women.

He has since his wife, since his daughter, since the drugs and shell casings turned his neurochemistry into a nuclear holocaust. He sees things - the soft curve of Sophia’s flushed cheek, her lips stained purple by juice - in oncoming traffic, the headlights burning his eyes to the point of tears. Strands of hair dancing in the field of his vision against neon signs, soft laughter hidden in the beat of bird wings. Always intangible, always romanticized.

He doesn’t need to tell himself they’re not real. He knows.

He lies in the dark and thinks about women, the mattress springs digging into his bare back, watching the shadows under the crucifix nailed to the wall morph until he’s had enough. He’s not getting to sleep tonight, not anything deeper than a fluttering of his eyelids and the lucid dreams waiting in every corner. Pulls himself out of bed, lights a cigarette and sucks it down like oxygen as he stumbles through the blue light that fogs his hallway.

Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he pauses, but it’s just the small mirror nailed to the wall holding his askew reflection. He stops, leans forward, falls deep into the pit of his own gaze until he can feel the bottom. Good, there’s still a bottom to feel.

Realizing the cigarette between his lips has burned to nothing but a stub, he pulls back for another one, vertigo stretching his nerves to their thinnest as the air around him repressurizes. Fields of wheat sway in his vision, and for a moment he’s back in Texas, Claire’s fingernails tracing shapes in his arm as the truck stumbles down that dirt road-

He whips around. There is something there, not wheat, but a woman, her blonde hair tumbling down her front. A faux modesty, covering her breasts as she stands nude only a few steps from his mattress. The blindfold is still wrapped around her eyes, though he knows they’re an overcast blue, and the thorns and antlers are still tangled up in her scalp. They stand in silence, Rust trying to blink her away, but the murdered woman remains, the stab wounds in her stomach weeping congealed blood that drips to his floor. Her lips part - half smile and half scream - before they move, sounding out three silent syllables.

Rust narrows his eyes, steps closer, can feel the ice of her stare dripping down his spine when he can’t return it. “What?” he wants to ask, to grab hold of a ghost and get her to speak. But she just raises her arm to the side, burned dirt still trapped under her fingernails, her wrists bruised a midnight purple, and points to the wall.

When he turns to follow her gesture, all he finds is the simple wooden crucifix, the only adornment in a plane of impersonality. He knows she’s gone before he even looks, the smell of ozone lingering, but he still drops his gaze to the carpet, tries and fails to find dotted wine stains.

He checks his pulse. Doesn’t like what he feels.

She follows him around, a funeral procession for the living, always in late hours. Fluorescent bulbs at the station catching moths and buzzing at a frequency that makes him taste copper. He washes it away with coffee and another cigarette. She usually doesn’t pass the threshold through the front doors, doesn’t like all the noise or all the cops, Rust isn’t sure. But she enters when people begin to trickle out, keeps him company when Marty leaves to see his secretary. Or maybe it really is Maggie this time.

He knows her name now, Dora Lange, knows how she looked on her prom night, knows the gap-toothed smile she had when she was Sophia’s age. Right now she’s blue, bloated, her blood stuck in her legs when she was made to kneel. Her wounds have turned black, the once calligraphy-thin rivulets of blood staining wide marks down the length of her naked body. Sometimes he feels like a haruspex, studying the gore oozing from her gut as if it holds any answer, or sometimes he watches that strange swirl in between her shoulder blades long enough to make it move. It could hypnotize a lesser man.

Still can’t see her eyes through that blindfold, still doesn’t know what her voice sounds like. And maybe that’s a blessing, an interruption to whatever chains her to his side, something that stops her from haunting him completely. But Rust doesn’t believe in God or ghosts, so he ignores her, focus turned to the statements in front of him. Canvasing photos, her husband, her friend Carla. “Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there… He wasn’t there again today.”

He can hear her antlers scrape against the window blinds like a bird trapped inside. He has to remind himself that they are an addition, a defilement, not a thing naturally growing out of her skull. She’s a hallucination, an unreality to file away with the rest of the women he knows the names of. Nothing more than neurons misfiring.

“I wish, I wish he’d go away.”

Her father wouldn’t bathe her.

The temperature drops as she nears. She smells like pine and salt, an Alaskan chill fogging his breath, but it’s really just a cloud of cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air. Twists, bends until it's a jagged spiral. A rudimentary shape. Primal. Something a child would draw in crayon. A pictogram etched into a cave wall.

There’s breath on his ear, three short bursts - and then she’s gone.

He knows it’s the right church the moment he steps out from the car.

Even with his back turned towards the structure, his hair catching the breeze off the lakes, he knows. The blackbirds erupt up together, flock, whirl in turn into a spiral that he sees every time he blinks..

It’s Lange’s body sketched in his ledger, her wounds and marks. It’s her history printed out in color and taped up in his apartment where she first appeared. He stares at her and thinks, eyes darting from the two dimensional copies to the decaying corpse a few feet away, a beer in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. Flies buzz and land on her antlers, but she doesn’t bat them away, she just waits.

Sometimes he forgets the shape of Sophia’s nose. He can draw Lange’s lips from memory.

“Devil nets” is what that pastor had called the bundles of sticks they found Lange with. “Bird nets.” Catch the Devil before he gets too close. Trap a girl while she can still sing. Something to tie together to keep the hands busy. A cross. A cage.

She’s in the back of the car, leaking out all over the interior, not that Marty notices as he slams the door closed and strides to the husk of the church’s foundation. It would almost be funny, the way this woman made of smoke and vapor has to stoop to fit her antlers in this physical space, but Rust is too filled with electricity to care. He follows behind Marty, his ledger buzzing underneath his palm, the very fabric of the universe opening to welcome him in.

An owl waits in the charred rafters, watching the men below with half lidded eyes, some sort of angel above the sad mortality of men. Rust can feel Lange’s burning interest in the creature, jealousy maybe, before it spooks and flutters away, utterly silent. Marty doesn’t notice as he toes away at some debris, can’t smell the thunder-crack static in her hair even after she’s been tailing Rust for weeks. Lange pulls her blind but seeing eyes away, her bare feet gliding over splinters and nails, and points. Her jaw works, a fish gasping in oxygen.

She’s not real. They don’t talk; he won’t and she can’t. But there’s a trust there, a knowing in his ancient hindbrain that this is intuition, that this must be the religion that Marty and the other cops yap about. A truth that burns away any darkness.

She can’t talk so Rust does it for her, calls Marty over before he’s even started to move towards the mess of vines. She can’t touch, so he pulls the foliage away, revealing a crude charcoal figure drawn in the exact way she was found in; kneeling, naked, hands bound. But it’s faceless, no mouth given shape on the worn concrete.

Dora Lange’s mouth opens, and Rust cannot tell if she is laughing or screaming.

#true detective #rust cohle #dora lange #my writing #im gonna go apeshit abt dora forever now SHE COULD HAVE BEEN SO NUANCED

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comfy-whumpee · 8 months

Text

Lab Rat

Whumptober 7. Lab whump with extra dehumanisation and gore, this time!

There’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

The first experiment is simple. The muzzle is removed, and the body is fed water for the first time in days. It is helped to drink until it can drink no more, turning its head away from the feeding tube. Then, for the next twenty minutes, some mild acid forces the body to produce saliva, which is collected in test tubes on ice.

The body endures this placidly. It is cooperative with the cotton swabs placed inside its mouth. It holds still with its jaw wide, not needing to be forced. Maybe it is grateful to have been given water. Maybe it hopes, as the doctors do, that saliva will substitute blood in their treatments.

But the testing is done quickly and the results are clear. If there is power in the saliva, it is so diluted as to be useless.

And there’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

The second experiment is nails and hair. The body is unresponsive when the hair is trimmed. It looks to be sleeping, though nobody is sure whether it truly sleeps like humans do. It wakes up, as best they can tell, with no idea of what was done. But later that day, they trim its nails. The clippings are stored in another sample container and taken away for testing.

This is equally unimpressive. There was already significant doubt that such expendable parts of the body would contain anything of value. But it was proof of the previous experiment. Only things integral would be useful to gather.

And there’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

By the end of the week, Caroline has allowed another experiment, more invasive now there have been no ill effects from the others. The body still bleeds through the needle in its arm, and nothing else matters. So Caroline authorises a tissue sample.

The first one is small, just a scraping of dead skin from under their trimmed fingernails. The body barely responds to the dull shear on their fingers. The flakes are taken away in a petri dish.

Next is a slice of fresh skin. One hand is taken into a bowl of water to be thoroughly cleaned. This, unlike the rest, gets a response, tears leaking down its cheeks as if touched by the gesture. But it is done by uncaring hands, who only want to make sure the site of their sample is sterile.

Gloved hands press the knuckles flat on a rolling steel side table. Caroline does the incision herself, peeling back mere millimetres of skin with her sharpest scalpel. The blood, which cannot be wasted, is allowed to flow openly until it clots on its own. Caroline takes the sample off herself for immediate testing, while one of the acolyte doctors is responsible for soaking up every drop of blood.

Lachlan doesn’t know if the skin sample works or not. All he knows is that, the very next day, Caroline returns for more. As the body heals, and does not scar, she grows less and less worried that she will do something irreversible.

Kurt used to speak up. He is supposed to, if she risks permanent damage to the body, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s barely present anymore. He’s here because he was told to be here, and outside of working hours, he is gone.

Caroline stays. Caroline sharpens and sterilises her scalpels. She gathers her two favourite students, the brightest and most loyal. They cleanse the site of her next incision. She has chosen the thigh, and they make sure every strand of hair and speck of dirt is gone from the area she designs. No contaminants. Why stop at blood when flesh could yield better results?

The body knows it is coming already. Even as Caroline only prepares, it has clearly worked out the pattern. It keens in pain at the first touch of metal and doesn’t stop when it comes in earnest. She presses the scalpel into flesh, barely needing to push with as sharp as she has the blade. Blood wells up around it, and she cuts with confidence.

The body – Northlight – cries out through the muzzle, legs jerking and arms pulling at the restraints. The pain is audible in their voice. The tears flow from their eyes again, backwards down their face as their head is thrown back. Caroline is immune, extracting the gouged flesh and having it conveyed to be chilled and preserved for testing. One of her students is already stifling the bleeding. The other conveys the sample away.

Lachlan tries not to look at the blob of flesh on the tray, nor at the bleeding hole in Northlight’s leg. He looks at the body’s tormented expression, and tries not to listen to the whimpers low in its throat. It’s a sensible thing to do with the experiments, to build up like this. It makes sense. It’s scientific. The body was always going to respond like this. Simulating feelings. Like how trees bleed sap.

The…

Northlight cries in hopeless pain as the wound is tightly bandaged. Northlight shakes their head in plea when the doctor leaves. Northlight endures without painkillers, without even food. Northlight turns their eyes to him.

There’s a taste in Lachlan’s mouth that he can’t get out. Metallic and sour. He knows it can’t be real, but he can taste it all the same. He drinks it in his dreams and it makes him ache and shiver.

Every morning he goes to wash his face in the laboratory toilets, and he bares his teeth the mirror, to check them for sharper edges.

#whumptober2023 #lab whump #lab whumpee #fantasy whump #magical healing #vampire whump #gouging #my fic #whump #northlight #lachlan #caroline #dehumanisation #rehumanisation?#lab rat #alt.14 #gore

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mjolnirswriststrap · 6 months

Text

Haunted

“Oh, I'm holding my breath

Won't lose you again

Something's made your eyes go cold”

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Part 4/6, Bucky’s closer to figuring out the truth, and you haven’t thought about what’s his name in days.

Warnings: Nightmares and fluff.

Bucky watched as soft snores fell from your open mouth. Apparently today drained you, he understands, he feels like he just got hit by a truck. Everything is gone, everyone is gone, he doesn’t know how it happened. How did a lifetime disappear?

Bucky had plans, now there’s no chance they’ll ever happen. Him and Steve were gonna buy houses side by side when the war ended. Raise families together, bring up children together. But he doesn’t know if Steve even remembers him; he’ll find out tomorrow.

His eyes slowly drift closed, then he hears the front door swinging open. His body jerks, he looks left and right and you’re no where to be seen. Gusts of wind are blowing piles of snow through the door, he jumps up, looking up to the empty loft, the bathroom doors open and the lights off. You’re gone.

He feels a hand on his shoulder but when he turns around no one’s there. All of the blood in his body was now pounding through his ears, like a deafening throb. He runs outside, determined to find you. He quickly throws his right arm up, shielding his eyes from the shards of ice falling from the sky. The snow was relentless on the mountain.

Bucky squints into the dark woods, he swears he hears someone, but they’re too far away to make out what they’re saying. He bravely steps into the abyss in search. “Help, please, is anyone out there?”. The persons voice becomes clearer. Bucky is running through the woods, one boot in-front of the other. With the storm coming down it feels like that night he found the cabin.

A familiar pain of cold air stabbed at his lungs. He can’t see a thing, the moon bounces off some patches snow but the storm clouds make it an impossible labyrinth of trees. “Hello, can you hear me?” He bellows out, hopeful.

Bucky’s breaths sharpen, and for a second he hears someone else’s deeps breaths. He stops his trekking through the snow, turning his body in a full 360 degrees. Any moment now something would pop out at him. “Is there anyone out there? Where are you?” He tries one more time to make contact with whoever was calling out.

He hold his breath, and stands completely still, keeping the snow from crunching under his feet. He’s all alone, or so he thought. “Buck.” He whips his head around to see his friend reveal himself from behind a tree. “Steve?” Bucky can’t believe it, how did he get here so quick from New York? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since the call with Darcy.

“How did you get here so fast? What is going on? I met this girl, she tried to convince me you were frozen in ice for 70 years.” Bucky starts rambling. Steve just stoically stands there, face devoid of any emotion. Bucky’s relief starts to fade “Steve? What’s wrong?”.

It was as if the man didn’t see Bucky. He was looking right at him, but he was unwavering in his stance. “How could you?” He finally speaks up, but it doesn’t sound like him. Bucky’s brows furrow, “How could I what?”. He takes a step back, distancing himself.

Steve drops his gaze, slowly shaking his head. “All those innocent people. Brutally killed in their homes, in their cars, in-front of the world, you’re have no shame.” Bucky’s face contorts in horror. He would never, he has never, and he could never do that. “Stop, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Steve, you’re starting to freak me out.”

Steve lunges forward, reaching out. Bucky doesn’t let him get close enough before he breaks out in a sprint. “Steve! Please, just tell me what’s going on.” Bucky runs faster than he ever had before. Steve is right on his heels. His feet stutter under him and it causes him to crash into the thick snow, spitting out chunks on snow and dirt.

He rolls over to his back, his chest rising and falling, causing cloud of fog to emit from his mouth. Steve stands over him, raising his shield above his head, “Why Buck? Why didn’t you just die?”.

Bucky’s eyes widen as he watches Steve release his weapon, letting it fall down to slice him. He feels the ground beneath him start to rumble and then everything goes black. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes in this dark realm. When he opens them, he’s back in that cozy little cabin, you’re curled up under a heavy blanket. The golden lamplight made your skin glow. It was warm, and the tv quietly played the third Princess Diaries movie.

He reaches up with his right hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but he’s met with beads of sweat on his brow. That dream felt real, all of them till now felt like he was floating.

He stares out the window behind the tv. Watching as the snow rapidly falls; as the sun comes up and you start to rise. He’s in shock, why was Steve talking about innocent people? Why was Steve blaming him? That wasn’t the Steve he knows.

If he’s honest with himself, he was terrified. He didn’t see a soul behind his friends eyes. It was like Steve was a shark who just smelled blood. His heart continues to race as you rise from the couch, stretching your tired limbs. “Hey.” You say awkwardly. You don’t know what to say, you’d never had just a sleepover with a guy. Even under these circumstances you feel embarrassed by your puffy faced state.

Bucky looks up to your comforting presence, and he feels his nerves begin to relax. “Hey.” He replies. “Are you alright, you’re as pale as a ghost.” You say, waking into the kitchen to boil water for coffee. To you, the cabin was freezing, no golden warmth like how Bucky saw it.

He nods his head at your question. “Just a bad dream.”. Now it’s your turn to nod, “We still have a while until we hear any news from Darcy, it’s still night there.” You say, emptying left over grounds into the trash.

Bucky stands, holding his left arm close, “Anything I could do for you?” He says yawning. “I wanna earn my keep, I feel like I’ve been intruding too much on your space, the least I could do is make myself useful.”

You stop mid pour, you’d never had a man be so thoughtful. Your ex just knew how to take and never give; it was exhausting. “Um, firstly, would you like a cup of coffee Sargent?” You smile, sliding a blue coffee cup across the counter.

Bucky sips the dark liquid, the roasted flavor reminding him of early mornings with his ma. He sucks on his teeth, “Sounds nice coming from you, if I’m honest.” Bucky liked the way Sargent rolled off your tongue, like it was meant to be patronizing, but it sounded genuine.

If your cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold, Bucky would definitely be able to see the blush that overtook your whole face. “Like I said, I appreciate and respect a man in uniform.” You flirt back, unashamedly.

Bucky chuckles, finishing off his mug. “Seriously though, anything I could do?”. You look past him into the living room. The black stove sat in the corner, unused. “We need wood if we’re gonna warm this place with something other than space heaters.”

“That is all you had to say.” Bucky walks back into the living room, and pulls his blue coat over his arms. “I think I seen an axe out there somewhere.” He smiles walking towards the door.

“Wait, your arm looks hurt, are you sure you should be chopping wood?” You say in concern. Bucky watches your worried eyes fall to the arm he cradled, he noticed the nervous pitch in your voice. “If I don’t, who will? Can’t let you go out and do it, not on my watch.” He says, letting you know he’s too much of a gentleman.

You’re starting to lose count on how many times this man had surpassed your expectations. You know he’s just being old fashioned, if anything you should be offended. A woman could chop wood just as good as a man. But you just knew Bucky meant it differently, like you shouldn’t have to break a sweat, chopping wood was beneath you. He’ll bare the cold for the both of you.

You watch through the kitchen window as Bucky swings the axe with one arm, he doesn’t miss once. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way his hair fell in his face, making his perfect appearance look more disheveled.

Maybe you shouldn’t be checking him out, it’s not like you should be moving on so quickly. You need to find yourself before you get wrapped up in another person. You don’t even know your favorite flavor of ice cream, and there’s hundreds of flavors you haven’t even tried yet.

You want to help Bucky, but you’re putting yourself first, no matter what happens. If it gets too hairy or too serious, you’re out. You just want to be a good person, and good people don’t drool over their house guests. On that note, you walk over to the wood burning stove, opening the rusted door, you find a box of matches sitting on top. You light one and burn what dry wood was left from the previous owner. You needed hot coals to keep the fire going on the snow moistened wood Bucky was chopping.

You hold your cold fingers up to the cracking flames, it’s like blood was rushing back to the frost bitten tips. You close your eyes for a second to bask in the warmth you’d created for yourself, and then you hear a distant whooshing, you look out of the window to see the trees thrashing violently; snow blowing everywhere.

Bucky comes bursting through the door, axe in hand. “What is a helicopter doing all the way out here?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mcu #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers #fanfiction #fanfic #winter solider x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #cabin #supernatural #the winter soldier

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paristheonewhoreads · 4 months

Text

Cowboy and the Tigress

Chapter three 🌷☁️ 4.9k words

Warnings: torture. Heavy mentions of blood, and cutting. Physical pain is inflicted on character. A bit of a whirlwind or emotions. If I’m missing any tw please let me know. <3

Spring 2023, Central Boston QZ

It’s staring to get warmer. Either that or you’re just too hot. The trip down to central Boston took two days and one night. Hank was right, whole place is crawling with FEDRA soldiers. Apparently, the reason for this was the fact that rations had been lower than they’d been in years and they needed to reinforce their man power just in case people start to riot. That and the fact the fireflies had started to make quite the spectacle themselves. And it’s been far from just a pretty light show.

Arriving to the apartment you’ve got down here isn’t at all pleasant. It does however, conveniently happen to be close to the underground tunnels. You’ve started asking around for more information on Robert, apparently you’re not the only one the fuckers been nagging.

Setting down your bag on the old bed you’ve got, you start to look around the apartment. You’ve stashed quite the bit of goods all over this place. A hole behind the swan painting in the living room. That has a whole box full of ration cards, along with some fake documentation of your identification cards.

Another in the loose boards of the ceiling above the toilet, and two more under the floorboards. One in the bedroom closet and the other under the couch. All of which containing even more ration cards, all collected through the years, along with a couple of small hand guns and ammunition.

Once you check and confirm that everything is where it should be, you decide to take a much needed shower. You reek of blood from infected you’d had to kill on your way here, alongside dirt and sweat that’s accumulated on your body. This part of Boston, unlike the other you’ve made a home of, doesn’t have the peasantry of hot water, or much if any electricity.

You step into the cold water, your body tensing at first but inevitably adjusting to it and relatively relaxing itself into its harsh fridgedness. You let it run down your back and soak your hair, then begin to wash away all the filth. At first the water that goes down the drain is absolutely disgusting. A terrible color of swamp water is the best you can describe it.

Eventually however, once the water is just as clear as when coming out of the shower head, and your hair has been washed twice and conditioned, body free of any grime, do you finally turn the valve off and step out.

The cold draft in the otherwise empty apartment doesn’t help warm you up with the fresh cold water still beading down your skin. Yanking your towel off the hook on the door you wrap yourself up.

Taking a look in the mirror, you see yourself for the first time in what must be weeks. You look paler than usual, probably due to the winter. Your cheeks still hold their fullness. Curious, you let the towel fall from your form.

It’s been forever since you’ve looked at your body. You do a lot to keep it fit although not necessarily purposefully. All the walking, running, sometimes even climbing and swimming do you a favor in keeping a pleasurable figure. Sometimes you don’t feel as feminine as you would like, but in a world like this, with the line of work you’re in, that’s the least of your worries.

You brush your hair and lotion yourself up, finally settling in as you dress in some clean comfortable clothes. One of Hanks old hoodies and a pair of old shorts you’ve had for ages. Sitting yourself on old worn out couch, you gaze at nothing in particular.

You miss Ellie. Thinking back to how sad she sounded when you’d said your goodbyes before leaving, tugged at your heart strings. It feels selfish, and perhaps you were, for even coming on this trip. All because of the fact that you wanted to show this asshole who the fuck he was messing with.

You’d make it up to her, you decide. You’ll get her the book she wanted and maybe a couple other trinkets you can find. Bring a hand up to your neck you feel your locket. It had belonged to your mother once. You’d taken it from her as she lay dead in the floor of your living room as something to remember her by. That was a long time ago.

Now, in present time, it holds a picture of Ellie and yourself. It’s a fond memory frozen in time by the photograph. You remember it to the ‘T’. It’d been the first christmas after a year of getting into the business your so indulged in now. You’d worked your ass off for a year and it had paid off.

You were able to get Ellie actual presents for the first time. She was 10 at the time, she’d been so ecstatic when she saw an actual tree with lights on it and presents all wrapped up under it. The sound of her laughter and excitement fills your ears as you reminisce.

Smiling at the photo inside the small locket you start to drift into sleep. A much needed rest after your journey here, and for what’s to come.

You’re awoken by knocking at the door. The sun was setting, practically gone behind the horizon. Sky becoming dark and cold without its warmth. You get up from the couch, grabbing the hand gun on the small side table besides you. Second nature at this point really.

Walking towards the door you peer through the peephole and see that it’s Amy. A dear friend, Hank must’ve let her know you’d be coming. You hurriedly open the door, smile wide and bright on your face.

Once the door opens and she sees you she too smiles brightly at you. “Hello you.” She says in a terrible British accent. It’d become your own little greeting between the two of you. Putting the gun in the waistband of your shorts you open your arms and embrace her. “Hello you.” You say back in a just as terrible British accent.

She giggles at your impression, and tightens her arms around you. Both of you stay in this embrace for about a minute until you break away, taking her in you feel relieved that she seems healthy.

“Here, come in.” You tell her and she walked past you into the living room as you look down the hallway, double checking to see if anyone else is around, before going back inside yourself.

“Well I see you’ve settled in. I was supposed to stop by earlier but I thought you’d probably just want to settle in by yourself.” She chatters, taking a seat on couch you’d just been napping on prior. You hadn’t noticed she’d had a plastic bag with her until she starts to take tupperware out and places it on the coffee table. “I also thought that maybe you’d be hungry. It’s quite the trip from all the way over there to here.”

“Lucky for you I am actually starving.” You laugh softly. Walking into the kitchen real quick you get both of you plates and some glasses along with a bottle of old wine you’d had stored away god knows how long ago. Trailing back into the living room you see her starting to open the containers.

“How’d you even know I was here?” You ask, while sitting down beside her and passing her her plate and glass. “Hank gave me a heads up last night that’d you’d be here, and I obviously wasn’t about to pass the opportunity of seeing you up.” She shrugged. You hum in acknowledgment and open the bottle of wine, pouring her a glass and yourself one.

Taking a sip from her glass, “God that’s good, haven’t had wine in who knows how long.” She jokes, and begins to serve you a plate and then herself. “This smells so good, when did you make this?” you’ve stuffed some of the baked potatoes she’s made along with some chicken and veggies.

“About an hour ago, that’s why I was late.” She says sheepishly, but you shake your head and continue to chew “mmm don’t be sorry, this is apology enough.” You say through a full mouth while pointing at your plate with your fork.

You both talk and catch up on what is is you’ve been up too. She tells you how she’s met a girl, and that they’ve been dating for about 10 months. “She’s so sweet and caring. At first I was nervous, she’s the first girl I’ve been with so, it’s all kind of new in a way. But refreshing for sure.” You’re happy for her, and tell her about how your still as single as ever. She jokes that it’ll take either another apocalypse for you to find someone or that you’ll probably end up like Hank, old and with absolutely no love life.

She asked about Ellie, to which you inform her of how she’s back home, probably giving Hank a run for his money, poor thing. The good, and the bad. Both of you talk about everything and nothing at the same time. Well into the hours of the night. Once both of your bellies are full and your empty plates are left abandoned on the table, you begin to get into serious conversation.

“So,” she begins, “Hank told me you’re here because some dickhead has been taking from trades?” Quirking a brow and taking a sip of her wine. You hum and let out an exasperated sigh, “yeah, son of a bitch has been crossing me for a couple months now. Had to come down here to deal with it.” You shrug

Amy nods in understanding “well if there’s anyone who knows what he’s in for it’s anybody but him. God knows people on your bad side don’t tend to have the best time.” She laughs. “Or the longest time either” you add, laughing yourself.

She makes a noise once she remembers something, and starts digging trough her bag again and pulls out a file, you sit up at this. “Hank told me to give this too you, said it have pretty much everything you need to know about your guy.” Handing it over to you you grab it and open it up to look through it.

As you’re reading, it has everything there is to know about him. His age, who he associates with, who he’s been seen talking to within this past week. The trades he’s been making on his own accord, and the amount of supplies he’s been taking from yours. It’s mostly been pills, and a couple crates of guns and ammunition.

Amy looks over your shoulder and rests her head on it. She sees the photo of Robert and picked it up from the file. “This him?” She asks, you nods you head. Humming, “He’s kind of cute. Maybe you can enemies to lovers your way with him.” She jokes.

You face become one of pure and utter revulsion “There is actually no way you just said that.” you deadpan. She lets out a giggle before looking at the photo again. Shrugging, “Eh, your right, his eyes are too far apart.” she notices, before tossing the photo back onto the pile of papers in the file.

She stands up from the couch “Well, it's getting late, I'll leave you too it.”. You look up from the paperwork and quickly close the file, getting up aswell and following her as she walks toward the door. “Thank you for coming over, and for feeding me.” you smile and hug her and she returns the gesture.

“Of course, anytime. Make sure to save the left overs for tomorrow so you can at least have breakfast.” you nod and open the door for her. “I will,” you smile “and be careful, try to get home quickly.” There's a final hug between the two of you, before she's walking down the hall, you wait until she's out of sight before turning back into the apartment and locking up.

You walk back to the living room and sit back down. The file says that Robert will be at a warehouse in two days. That's where you'll find him. Two days. You could work with that. More time for you to find Ellie’s books and other things. After storing the food back into the tupperware and putting the dishes in the sink you go back to bed. Two days. You’d wait till then.

During said days, you do indeed end up getting Ellie a spiderman comic, along with some space pins so she could add to her backpack that you think she’ll like. Once it’s about 11am you head out with a group of men to where Robert is hiding. Hank had set it up to where their only job was to get you to Robert and you’d take care of the rest.

After making sure to avoid FEDRA within the city you take a route to the outside where you make your way to the warehouse. This place is riddled with men. Men that don’t know they’re getting paid nothing to risk their lives for this prick.

On the top floor of a building not too far away you stand with the group of men that have come along. It’s only four of them plus yourself. “My guy says that Robert is in the very back of this quadrant.” You explain as they all get ready to head out. “That means we’re going to have to make our way across the yard. Try to refrain from shooting. Last thing I need is letting this guy know we’re coming. Everyone and anyone that gets in your way is to be terminated. You guys get me to Robert and I will make sure you all receive twice the amount of what we agreed on. We clear?” a chorus of ‘yes ma’am’s’ go around and you nod once before you’re making your way out.

As you all make your way building by building, room by room, you eventually make it to an office. It’s empty, but by the documents scattered on tables along with a useless car battery and an ashtray you know this is his office. You decide to wait until his return. Making sure there’s two men posted by the door to tackle him once the bastard steps in. The other two stay by the desk while you sit in his desk chair and make yourself comfortable.

You’re mindlessly reading through some documents until rapid footsteps reach the door. You send a look towards the man by the door as you sit up and he nods. As soon as the door bursts open Robert comes stumbling in until he’s landed face first onto the floor.

Your men by the door yank him up by his arms as he thrashes against them. “Who the fuck do you- let me go! You Fuck faces have any idea who you’re-“ he goes dead still once he meets your gaze. “Oh shit.” you hear him mutter to himself.

“Hey-tiy-I’m ma’am I- what-“ he stuttered “That name,” you get up from his chair and make your way to where they’re holding him. You not to one of them, and they kick the back of his knees so that he’s kneeling. “are for those whom I trust. You are no man I trust.” You say calmly. You were never one to immediately shout or scream when making a point. You’ve found over the years that this tends to unnerve people much more.

“I’ve heard you’ve been making quite the deals here recently.” You say, looking around the room. You smile “It’s quite the place you’ve got here.”

“Tiy-“ he starts, but you’re quick to reprimand him. “DONT” your voice thunders through the doom accompanied by a loud crack of skin to skin. The back of your hand stings, but you can only imagine what his cheek must feel like.

You’ve busted his lip, you notice. As blood begins to dribble from the open cut. He looks at you with a pure furry. You take a breath. “You know, I could have made this so much more easier. I could have just sent someone down here to kill you without having get my hands dirty,” You shake you head to yourself, “but no. I wanted to hear what excuses a dumb fuck like you could possibly come up with.” you snicker.

Before he can open his mouth you speak “tie him to the chair” is all you say. “NO! Wait ti- MA’AM hey! Please man c’mon-“ he’s cut off by one of the men growing a punch at him to which it gives them a chance to man handle him into the chair. They go at him, throwing punch after punch. Some to his face, others towards his stomach. It isn’t until he’s hunched over, blood dripping from his open mouth, and his face swollen and bruised that you finally tell them it’s enough.

“Everyone out,” you turn to the men “stay by the door. Kill anyone who gets close.” You shrug off your jacket. This going to get messy. You think to yourself.

Pulling up another chair in front of Robert you sit while snapping your fingers in front of his face. “C’mon now baby don’t go all delirious on me yet.” you fake pout. “Fun hasn’t even started yet.”

He looks up to you, eyes fuzzy. “Now, why on earth out of all the people you could’ve fucked with, did you decide I would be your best option?” you question him again once you don’t get an immediate answer “hm?” You tilt your head. No answer again.

“Christ, and here I thought you’d make this easy for yourself.” you sigh. Grabbing an extra rope you wrap it tightly around your knuckles. Before grabbing the other end and walking around him quickly, the rope constricting his air way as you tug back harder, making him gasp.

It takes everything in you not to just snap his neck and be done with it, go home, and go see your girl. But no, you want him to pay. Once he starts thrashing against the ropes holding him to the chair you let the one around his neck loosen. He gasps for air and coughs, greedily sucking in air. His face is red, even slightly purple now.

“I’m not going to ask you again.” you wait patiently. He eventually stops coughing and looks at you, “I-I didn’t think you’d notice. Look-I’m sorry okay- I- I’ll pay back everything I owe you I swear it. I-“ you click your tongue and shake your head.

“See, now if I did believe you which I don’t. It still wouldn’t matter whatever lame ultimatum you’d try and offer me. I think we both know you’re not leaving here alive rob.”

“God no- please! I swear it to you. I-I’ll pay it all back ALL OF IT! I SWEAR.”

“For fucks sake..STOP WHINING!” You yell again. This time you take the knife on your belt and slash him across his face. Blood splatters from the wound that’s open from the bottom left of his jaw all the way across to his right temple. He lets out a shout of agony. His blood landing on your clothes from the gash.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug it back harshly. “You and me both know that your not getting out of this one Rob so why don’t you just do us both the favor of making this nice and quick.” you let go of his hair and shove his head back.

“Now, next question is really important for you to answer, okay?,” you ask “and if you don’t answer it, you lose a finger. Deal?” You take the knife and jab it into the middle of his back palm. He grunts in pain and barely nods.

“OK! Okay- fuck- I’ll tell you an-anything.” you give him a smile at that “okay, see? Good. Now, I need to know, who exactly it is you sold off my merchandise to.”

“I-I sold it to a lot of different people. I-I can’t remember everyone- I don’t know-“ he’s cut of my his own blood soaked scream as you pull out the knife from his hand as slice off not one, but two fingers.

“I didn’t like that answer. But it’s okay maybe you didn’t hear me correctly. I asked exactly who did you sell the supplies to. I want a name Rob cmon.” you chastise.

He’s full on sobbing now. Tears running down his face as he chokes on his own breath. “FUCK- I told you I don’t- I don’t know! I-it was multiple. I-I sold some to the-the fireflies- some to random people along the QZ I- I can’t remember their names.”

Him mentioning the fireflies has you perk up. You lean back in the chair your sitting in and hum. “Fireflies? What did you sell to them? Guns? Ammunition?”

“Y-yeah I sold them some ammunition- I-I sold them some guns too but those weren’t yours I swear.” your brows furrow. “Not mine? Who’s guns were they?”

“T-this one lady- s-she gave them to me f-for safe keeping and I sold em” you nod at what he says.

“And the fireflies, they know it was my shit you were selling them?” he shakes his head. “N-No they t-thought it was mine. I-I didn’t tell them it wasn’t my merchandise.”

Sighing, you get up from the chair. Thats enough. You think. As you go to call the men outside there’s gunshots outside. You tense, there’s multiple people, way more than your initial four guys.

Time to go then.

You storm over to Rob and jag his right thigh with your blade, while again yanking his hair back, forcing him to look at you. “When you came in you were running. From what?” You ask through gritted teeth. He starts to wheeze out a laugh and this gets your blood boiling. Grabbing onto the knife you twist it. While you give his hair another hash yank. “FROM WHAT?” You ask again

He grunts out and lets out a breath. More gunshots fire outside and shouting starts. “Those people who’s guns I sold off to the bugs. They ain’t take to lightly to me doing so, they’re looking for the battery, I tried selling it to em” He takes another ragged breath before continuing, making direct eye contact with you, “what? D’you think you were the only bitch that got her feathers ruffled?” He laughed as he finished his sentence. Jesus, he's going crazy.

The shouting and gun fire gets closer to the door. You grit your teeth again and untie the fucker from the chair and yank him up. He can hardly stand. “Get up.” you grit out, showing him towards the back door of the room.

You run and he has to practically be dragged by you. You run through the corridors till you make it to a back door that’s a dead end. You hear voices shouting behind you for rob. You look at him, he’s bloodied, from his face to his hand to his leg. It’s a mystery how he’s still even alive let alone standing.

Deciding that he really doesn’t hold any more value to you and that he’s just dead weight you kick the back of his knee and he tumbles over. You don’t think twice, you don’t flinch, you just aim your gun at him and pull the trigger. Good riddance.

You hear footsteps approaching you as you start to walk away. As you go to turn around the corner of the hallway, you see someone that you haven’t seen in years. Your gazes lock onto each other at the same time. On instinct you reach behind you and pull out your gun, pointing it at- “Marlene?” her name is coming out of your mouth before you could bite your tounge.

In seeing her, you falter for a second. Taking a step back, your eyebrows furrow. How many damn people knew that Robert would be here today of all days. “Well, this is a surprise.” her voice in monotone, sounds as if you being here was anything but a surprise. You start to slowly shake your head to yourself, not believing that she’s standing in front of you.

She takes a scan of you too. Almost as if she’s admiring how much you’ve grown in a way. Like a parent seeing their kid after being away at college for a year. Marlene sighs at you, nods and walks past. You watch her move like a ghost. And in a way she is, a ghost from the past come back to haunt you. “I needed him alive.” She tells the you.

You realize you’re standing there like an idiot, and snap yourself out of it, and stand up straight. “He would have been a waste of time if you were looking to talk to him.” She lets out a breath, before turning back to you. She’s injured, bad. Clutching her side as blood seeps through the thin material of her tank top.

“You look like shit.” you say, taking her in. The bags under her eyes don’t do her appearance any good; her bleeding out also doesn’t help. Marlene laughed through her nose and nods her head in agreement “yeah. You look…grown.” stating the obvious.

“Considering you haven’t seen me since I was 14, yeah, I have fucking grown.” You bite. Her eyes fall to the floor at your jab.Sighing, you move past it and try to make conversation “You still running this shit show?” you ask gesturing to the firefly symbol spray painted on the wall. She meets your gaze again, nodding again. “Yeah, or y’know, at least trying. Whole thing seems to be blowing up in front of my face” She breathlessly chuckles but winces half way through.

You cringe at how more blood seems to be flowing out of her wound. You point your chin at it, “you going to get that fixed up?” she looks down at it and then back up at you with a raised brow, “you offering?”. She can’t be serious.

Scoffing at her for even fathoming you helping her is delusional, “yeah not a fucking chance. I got what I came for,” you pause, “goodbye Marlene.”. You turn around and start to walk away, but she’s quick to take a couple of steps in a weak attempt at following you, “wait.” She rasps out.

You don’t know why you stop. You don’t know why you turn back to face her. But you do, and when you’re fully turned to her you can see the eagerness she has in her eyes. She wants to talk to you. “What?”

She licks her lips, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, “there’s- there’s something that I need to tell you. It’s about-“ you cut her off “Look, no offense, but talking to you is the last thing I need right now.” with that you turn once again and walk out.

“It’s about your kid.” your head turns harshly to look at her, eyes furrowed, getting defensive “My kid? Is back at home safe. Not that that’s any of your business.” but she just shakes her head. “God you don’t even know.” She mutters, staring down the hallway.

Your eyes narrow at this, “I Don’t know what?” you prod. She sighs, “Your kids not safe. And she sure as hell isn’t home.” the grip on your gun tightens, a wave of unease suddenly flowing through you. Your change in demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by Marlene, “Now don’t go making any rash decisions.” She slowly puts her hands up.

You ignore her request, “Answer my question. What don’t I know?! What the hell are you talking about? I swear to got if you’ve done something to her I’ll-“ she cuts off your threat, “Woah woah,” she tries to calm you down, as if your a fucking bull ready to charge, “I never said I did anything to your girl. Would you really think I’d stoop that low?” you scoff “Is that even a question?”

Her jaw ticks, “Alright, fine, I deserve that,” “oh you don’t have even the slightest idea of what you deserve.” You spit. “I’m done playing games, tell me what the hell you’ve done with my kid or I shoot.” You ease your gun higher, making your point.

“Your kids with me. I was out on a mission outside the QZ I was going through the abandoned mall, and I heard a commotion. Thought it was infected, and it was, but your kid was also there.” you can’t believe what you’re hearing. Ellie? Outside the QZ? No. It’s can’t be. She- she’s lying, she has to be.

“Alright look I don’t know what type of sick plan you’ve got or how you knew I’d be here but whatever this is your trying to do I-“ “I’ll take you to her.” She cuts in.

She lets out a painful breath, “she's been going crazy trying to get out of here. But she's smart, didn't give me her real name, said it was Veronica. Hasn't really talked either.”

Veronica.

Your mothers name.

“And before you go all mama bear on me, remind yourself that I am currently the only one that knows where she is and that I am also currently bleeding out.”

There’s a pause,

“Take me to her.”

Next Chapter

Chapter three omggg 🙈🙉🙊 This took forever to write and also I don’t even really like it… so I might come back and rewrite this chapter. I’m also working on expanding my vocabulary when writing as I feel sometime it sounds repetitive. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed!! 🫶🏼 again if you have any feedback I’d highly appreciate it! 💗 Thank you for reading 💌

P.s MY 100th POST 🥳🥳🥳

#ellie the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #the cowboy and the tigress

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