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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 ao3

Steve gets quiet.

They’re not talking about it, but Eddie can read more than enough into the silence, into the way Steve gets a fixed look in his eyes, keeps going to some place that he cannot follow. His jaw clenches a few times, as if he’s trying to hide how his breath starts to catch every so often; it’s such a subtle movement, but Eddie notices.

He can’t afford to not notice.

It feels too familiar. Feels like a clock ticking.

He slips away when a nurse brings up some dinner—tries to justify his exit as Steve is seemingly distracted, shooting the shit with her. The excuse is weak even in his own head; it doesn’t stop a nasty inner voice from whispering venomously, That’s right, run away. You’re a coward.

But his skin is crawling, and he can’t—He needs—

He presses the phone firmly against the side of his face, so that it feels as if each dial tone reverberates through him. He’s lucky, in the end, that Wayne picks up, caught in a lull between volunteering and his night shifts starting again. Eddie tries to crack a joke about how it didn’t take long for mundane routine to return, but his heart isn’t in it.

And of course Wayne can hear that. “Eddie,” he says, “what’s wrong?”

Eddie swallows. “I—I can’t stop thinking that—that something’s going to happen.” And the phrasing sounds childish out loud, but he can’t think of another way to put it. Can’t stop feeling that a part of him has never left the RV, still on the precipice of knowing…

“Saw that Nancy Wheeler at the trailer park,” Wayne says mildly.

Momentarily thrown, Eddie frowns. “Oh?”

“Mm-hmm. There was a big group of folks cleaning up there—I thought I’d shown up early for it, but she looked like she’d been there for hours.” Before Eddie can even ask how she was, Wayne goes on: “She smiled at me, but she was really quiet. Got her a coffee just so she could hold onto it, you know?”

Eddie smiles. “That’s… thanks, Wayne.”

“I think she was waiting for something to happen, too,” Wayne says, gentle.

Eddie breathes in and out.

“That kinda feeling doesn’t just leave you overnight, Ed. Even if there’s nothing left to—”

“But what if—” Eddie has to cut himself off, frightened suddenly that he will speak it into existence.

“Talk to him, Eddie,” Wayne says.

Eddie stands there holding the phone long after he’s hung up.

He moves the couch so it sits flush against the side of the hospital bed. Steve watches him absently; his eyes keep drifting over to Eddie’s guitar.

But Eddie doesn’t pick it up. He sits down on the couch, faces Steve. Tries to be brave.

Steve isn’t looking at him now; he’s staring at some fixed point in the distance. The sight makes Eddie’s stomach clench.

“You have to tell me,” he gets out.

Steve blinks, turns to him. His eyebrows furrow slightly. “…What?”

“If it’s—if it’s not over,” Eddie says. “If you’re… if you’re seeing… fuck.” He shakes his head, his attempt at seeming even remotely calm shattering all at once. “Look, I-I’m sorry, I just—I can’t do it again.”

Steve stares at him.

“Please don’t make me do it again,” Eddie pleads. His voice breaks at the end.

Silence.

“Oh,” Steve whispers. Then, louder: “Oh, shit. No, Eddie, that’s—God, I’m sorry. That’s not it.”

Air leaves Eddie’s lungs in a dizzying rush of relief. “N-no?”

“No. I don’t—he’s gone, I don’t feel… there’s nothing there. Nothing.”

“Okay, that’s… okay.” Eddie nods repeatedly, reaches for the guitar—it doesn’t need tuned but the pattern of it helps to hide the residual shake to his hands. He feels a bit foolish now, but he’s fine with that, honestly. Better that than…

“I’m… I’m really sorry, Eddie,” Steve insists. “You weren’t supposed to see, like, any of it.”

Any relief Eddie might have felt evaporates. He feels suddenly very cold.

“What,” he says flatly. Has to set the guitar aside again. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The worst thing is that Steve just looks confused, like what he’s said is meant to have been reassuring.

“What do you…? It’s not a riddle, dude, I just meant it wasn’t for you to—I should’ve—”

“Oh my god,” Eddie breathes. “Oh my god.” He feels like he’s just been pushed off a cliff, like he’s in free fall.

He can’t avoid the thought, now: that, if he had fallen asleep in the RV, if Steve was alone when…

Eddie makes an involuntary, despairing noise—not quite a whimper, but close enough to it that Steve’s expression softens despite his lingering frown.

“Eddie,” he says, far too kindly. “I don’t… I’m kinda lost here. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me,” Eddie manages.

“Tell you what?”

Eddie gives a shaky sigh. “Just—tell me you wouldn’t have—if I hadn’t heard you… Please. Please tell me you wouldn’t have—you wouldn’t have just gone off fucking quietly.”

Steve glances away.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says.

Because he can see it now, can imagine blearily waking in the RV along with everyone else; can see the driver’s seat lying empty.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Steve says, and his voice sounds strange—choked with something Eddie can’t truly place.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s some…” Steve exhales, and he sounds almost angry. “I don’t know! Like it’s some big thing.”

Eddie laughs in disbelief. “A thing.”

“Yeah! Like it’s something—fucking noble or—”

“Then what is it?” Eddie counters, heart pounding.

“I—”

“’Cause from where I’m standing, Harrington, it seems like—”

“Look, would you just—”

“—you’re the only one who can play the hero card, is that it?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he laughs harshly. “You know what? Yeah, that’s exactly what I—Stop looking like that, you’ve got no fucking right to judge what I—”

“I’m not judging, I’m—”

“Just shut up!” Steve says, eyes wild; and Eddie has the sinking feeling that he’s somehow missed several steps in this conversation. “I don’t care what you think, ’cause even if I’d—no matter what, I’d choose it. I’d choose it fucking gladly.”

“How can you say that?” Eddie says, hushed. “How can you even—”

“Because it had to be me!”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Eddie laughs again, but it barely counts as one; the sound equal parts tired and devastated. “You realise that’s not a fucking answer, right?”

Steve’s hands are clutching the sheets with a vice-like grip. “Because,” Steve says, suddenly very, very quiet, “it couldn’t be anyone else. I… I couldn’t handle it, okay? I’m not… I’d never forgive…”

“Steve—”

“And he knew that,” Steve says. He sounds close to tears. “He knew.”

A long, long moment.

Eddie sighs. “Jesus. I’m—okay, okay. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Can you just…?” Steve’s jaw clenches again. “Please just play.”

Eddie hesitates. Thinks of when he played the song this morning, Steve’s thousand-yard stare. “Not if it’s hurting you.”

“It helps,” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help thinking that it’s not quite a denial. “Helps me… remember.”

Eddie plays the song, but he doesn’t sing. Instead he searches and searches for something to say. He thinks of Chrissy. Fred. Patrick. How perhaps no-one had ever… noticed. Had never asked them.

But, faced with Steve, he doesn’t know where to start—instinctively feels like a question that’s too open-ended will seem too daunting to even begin to answer. So, he tries to keep it small. One step.

“How long did what?”

Steve blinks back into awareness. “Hmm?”

“This morning,” Eddie says. He slows his tempo until the song sounds almost like a lullaby. “You were gonna ask something, and you stopped yourself. How long…?”

“Oh.” Steve sighs. “Yeah.”

Eddie waits patiently, plays right through another verse until…

“How long did it take?”

Eddie hears the question, but he doesn’t understand. He continues to strum, replies, “How long did what take?”

“In your trailer,” Steve says, “for me to…?” And he must see something in Eddie’s face, because he’s quickly saying, “You don’t need to—Christ, I’m sorry.”

“No, I just—” Eddie drops the guitar, swallows through the sudden light-headedness, the nausea. “Just gimme a second.”

He must not be doing a very good job at collecting himself, because Steve looks stricken. “Eddie, you don’t have to—”

“Just gimme a second,” Eddie repeats, because if Steve withdraws now, he’ll never forgive himself. He covers his mouth with his hand for a moment, then says, “It was really fucking quick, man. Like…” He clicks his fingers, and it seems as if the sound echoes in the silence between them.

“Oh,” Steve says again. He pushes a palm briefly against his forehead, as if he’s the one to now feel light-headed. “That’s… Jesus, that’s really trippy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Felt like I was… Um. Felt like it went on for a… A lot longer.”

Eddie reaches out, slowly, slowly, to where one of Steve’s hands is gripping onto the sheets. He places his own hand on top, squeezes once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You were…” Steve relaxes his hold, then pushes the back of his hand up against Eddie’s palm, like he’s leaning into the touch. “I remember, you were making me laugh. And then…”

The sight of the white film across Steve’s eyes flashes through Eddie’s mind, as harsh as lightning. He doesn’t allow himself to flinch. Keeps holding Steve’s hand.

And he gets it, suddenly. Because whatever is in Steve’s head is killing him, hurting him deeper than any physical wound ever could.

“Steve,” he says softly. Begging. “Please.”

Tell me.

Eventually, Steve nods. He smiles, of course he does, even through his fear. Takes a deep breath, then lets it out slow. “Okay.”

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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alexagirlie · 1 month

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We Share Spit like Venom and Call it a Kiss

A/N: another cross post, this time a lil feyd/paul number I wrote back before the trailer for part 2 was released and we still hoped for a Feyd with hair. Header by Me. Divider by @zaldritzosrose

A little drabble sequel HERE that I did for Kinktober 2022. Featuring threesome and DP.

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Feyd Rautha x Paul Atreides, Duncan Idaho x Paul Atreides

TW: Omegaverse. Omega Paul. Alpha Feyd. Alpha Duncan. Arranged Marriage. Secret Lovers. Consensual Drug Use. Drug Induced Mating Cycles. Implied Mpreg. Insults.

Summary: Paul could see Duncan from where his cheek was pressed to the sheets. Could see how hard his alpha was from watching Paul and Feyd together. Duncan had a hand around his cock, the tip looked red and angry, wet with precome.

Paul reached out with one arm and called for Duncan, called for his alpha, even as his husband licked a path up one thigh and curved his chest over Paul's back. Feyd's hard cock nestled against the crease of Paul's ass.

Taglist: @succnfuccubus @gatoenlaciudad @softhecreator @almostg

Paul had been sure the night was going to end in blood when he had greeted his new husband, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, from their marriage bed with his swordmaster's cock still buried balls deep inside him. Paul had been seated in Duncan's lap, his back against Duncan's chest with his head resting on the bigger man's shoulder. He was leaking a mixture of slick and cum and the smell filled the room, pungent and thick.

Paul had watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as the Harkonnen alpha had taken in the scene before him and for just a brief moment rage had filled Feyd's face. It had twisted the handsome features into something ugly and hateful before it smoothed out into a cocky smirk.

"Should have known you would be a greedy little slut of an omega."

Paul imagined that Feyd had meant the comment as an insult, Paul should have taken it as an insult but strangely he didn't. Instead the comment rekindled the fire in his gut, the fire which had been banked from the thorough fucking Duncan had just finished giving him. His soft cock gave a twitch against his thigh and began to thicken, taking a positive interest in where the night needed to lead.

Feyd's gaze locked onto Paul's hardening cock and his smirk slid from cocky to lecherous. He took a step towards the bed, his body language predatory and filled with intent before he froze as a deep rumbling growl sounded from within the broad chest pressed to Paul's back. Paul may need to play submission to his new husband but he already had an alpha and Duncan was not at all pleased with the proceedings. Duncan hadn't been pleased with the proceedings since the day they had been announced.

When Paul had presented as an omega just after his 18th birthday it had been a surprise, everyone had expected for him to present as a beta, like his mother. It was not an entirely unwelcome surprise though, as omegas were highly sought after for their fertility and were rare among noble bloodlines. Paul's presentation as an omega had given the Atreides family an incredible bargaining tool when it came time to negotiate for his marriage.

Marriage proposals began filling in before he had even reached a marriageable age and after several months the Emperor himself weighed in and made the decision for them.

When Paul came of age at 21, House Atreides and House Harkonnen would finally put aside their feud and be joined in union. Paul would be wed to the Baron's alpha nephew, Feyd-rautha. As an added incentive, the Emperor decreed that once Paul provided an heir, the emperor would grant him and his new husband the planet of Arrakis as a new seat of power. Feyd's homeworld, his birthright, Geidi Prime, would pass to his brother, Rabban, and the Atreides homeworld of Caladan would pass to Paul's young sister, Alia.

Many had been outraged at the Emperors decision, no one had wanted to see Paul wed to a Harkonnen, but to deny the Emperor would have been suicide. No one had been more outraged than Paul's most loyal protector, his swordmaster Duncan Idaho. He had spent weeks fuming and prone to bursts of rage that often left broken furniture in his wake.

It had taken Paul confronting his dearest friend in private late one evening for the true depth of Duncan's outrage to be known. For the true depth of both their feelings towards one another to be known. That night Duncan had taken Paul to bed and had shown him all ways an alpha could love their omega. All the ways an alpha could please an omega.

They kept their relationship a secret and as the date of Paul's marriage loomed ever closer he hatched a plan.

Paul told Feyd what was going to happen in no uncertain terms. Feyd would be allowed to fuck Paul, he would be allowed to knot Paul but Duncan would be the one to bite his claim. They would consummate their union, and Paul would continue to lay with his husband during each of his heats until he provided the Harkonnen alpha with an heir. They would receive their new serfdom on Arrakis with no one the wiser and then Feyd would never touch Paul again.

"What happens if I do not agree to these terms?"

Paul had expected an angry outburst, the rumours regarding the Harkonnen alpha suggested he was prone to fits of rage and violence. Instead his question was asked in a soft tone, though Paul could still detect the threads of anger under the calm.

Paul let his own wicked grin spread across his face.

"If you do not agree then I am going to claim that you attempted to assault me and during the altercation Duncan heard my calls for assistance and came to my defense. You were fatally wounded and bled out. A tragedy."

There was a minute of silence, no one spoke again until Feyd threw his head back and laughed. It was loud, full bellied and was a surprisingly joyous sound. Paul stared, stunned as Feyd's laughter trickled off into mirthful chuckles.

"Oh Paul, I had heard you were cunning but you really would have me assassinated on our wedding night."

Feyd's voice was filled with amusement, which Paul thought was a very good sign.

"And what? I get to be celibate for the rest of my life while you get dicked down by big and dumb here?"

Paul decided he would ignore the insult to Duncan's intelligence. Just this once for the sake of this transaction going smoothly.

"As long as you're discrete, and everyone consents, you can fuck whoever you want. That isn't me."

Paul let Feyd have a couple minutes to think about his offer before he decided to play just a little dirty. He detached himself from Duncan, rose up and off his cock and crawled forward on his knees. He tilted his head back even further which exposed the long line of his throat. Paul's cock was fully hard now and the tip was wet with precome.

He knew what he looked like and he hoped that an aroused and available omega would help sway Feyd's decision towards his plan. Paul wasn't against using biology in his favour when he needed too.

Finally Feyd huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Knock that shit off. Fine, fine I agree to your plan. We will do what is needed so we get Arrakis and you get to keep fucking the giant."

Paul grinned and slapped Duncans thigh and at his lover's chuckle, motioned him to get out from under Paul. Duncan moved to a chair next to the bed so he could observe and make sure Feyd doesn't do anything that Paul does not consent to.

On the bedside table there are two glasses filled with water and two small pills, one red and one white. Drugs designed to induce mating cycles in alphas and omegas. To increase the chance a child is conceived on the first go and to eliminate any hesitations when love is not a factor. Paul and Feyd both took their pill without comment.

Paul crawled back towards the headboard, leaned back and spread his legs in invitation. Paul was surprised but delighted to learn that Feyd was a very talented and generous lover. He crawled between Paul's thighs, pushed his legs up and out of the way and just dived right in.

He spends over 30 minutes just eating Paul out. His tongue moved in him just right, made Paul even more wet and open until Feyd could slip his fingers in too. One after another until he had four perfectly long digits fucking into Paul smoothly. They pressed against Paul's prostate with each thrust, shooting sparks up Paul's spine.

Feyd was determined and fucked him with his tongue and fingers until Paul came. That didn't even slow Feyd down, he kept moving his fingers in and out of Paul before he wrapped his mouth around Paul's half hard cock and sucked him down. He brought Paul back to full hardness and managed to coax a second orgasm out of Paul. Only then did he let Paul slump back against the sheets, sweat drenched and panting.

Paul was relaxed from two back to back orgasms, the drugs had finally kicked in and he could feel as the artificial heat gained strength. The urge to roll over and just take it, to beg for an alpha's knot. He just wants a knot, he needs a knot.

Everything had started to get fuzzy and Paul had a hard time focusing but he could feel that he was soaked. His inner thighs were slippery and wet with his slick. His body had decided he was more than ready to get on with things.

He whined and arched his back enticingly, and let Feyd manhandle him over until Paul was on his hands and knees, chest pressed down to the bed. Ready to be claimed.

Paul could see Duncan from where his cheek was pressed to the sheets. Could see how hard his alpha was from watching Paul and Feyd together. Duncan had a hand around his cock, the tip looked red and angry, wet with precome.

Paul wanted that cock inside him, wanted the promise of a knot inside him but he needed Duncan first. He needed his alpha to say it was okay. That it was okay for Paul to have another alpha inside him, to let another alpha fuck him, to knot him.

Duncan came to him, knelt at the side of the bed and cupped Paul's face in his large hands.

"What do you need my boy?"

"Tell me… tell me I can. Please alpha I need…"

"It's okay Paul. Go ahead. Take what you need."

Paul could see Duncan look at Feyd, and could only assume they had made eye contact over his back.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Fuck him."

Feyd listened. The press of his cock inside of Paul stole his breathe, whiped his thoughts and consumed him with the need to be fucked. The need to be knotted, to be bred and bitten and claimed.

Paul knew he begged, he could feel his mouth move but he couldn't make out the words. He just knew he needed more of that cock inside him. He knew he needed his alphas hands on him.

A well aimed thrust made Paul wail, the sound filled the room, high and needy and drove the alpha behind him to fuck him harder. Paul could hear himself begging now, begging to be knotted, to be filled, to be bred.

"Please! Please, I want your knot! Fuuuck! Alpha please, please, please!"

Paul registered the press of Feyd's knot against his slick hole and he barely had the presence of mind to push back, to push until it finally popped inside of the omega and he was locked in place.

He came around the alpha's cock, came from the feel of that knot inside him and the warmth that flooded his insides. He barely registered the press of Duncan teeth against his mating gland, the burst of pain as his skin ruptured and then he was flooded with pleasure as his orgasm crested and he was claimed.

They went several more vigorous rounds before Feyd was spent and the alpha was kicked out of Paul's bed. A servant was summoned to show him to his new private chambers in the Atreides household.

Sated and sticky with drying cum and slick Paul finds himself held securely in his lover's muscled arms. Duncan had taken him again after Feyd was done with Paul. While the drugs had still been riding the omega's body and making him pliant and eager. Once they were both sated they fell asleep pressed together and exhausted.

The seed did not take during this first artificial mating between Paul and Feyd, nor the 2nd, 3rd or even the 4th heat Paul shared with his husband. It was not until the 6th heat he spent tied between his husband and his mate that Paul felt his body accept what had been offered.

Paul grew large and there was much celebration when he finally gave birth. Twins. Both had Paul's sea green eyes and pale skin but one bore fine wisps of fiery red hair, the same as his husband's. While the other, thick curls of deep rich chestnut brown. Most would assume the babe has Paul's hair but only three knew the truth.

Only three knew the truth that it was not Paul's husband that shared his bed every night or that Paul didn't spend his heats with a single alpha but that he was lucky enough to spend it with two.

#kirstin's chronicles #dune #dune fanfiction #paul atreides #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #duncan idaho #feypaul #atreidaho #feyd x paul #feyd/paul #duncan x paul #duncan/paul #omegaverse #omega paul #alpha feyd #alpha duncan

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arekayic · 7 months

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it’s so funny that i’m the ads and trailers for spider-man 2 they are just absolutely WAILING on venom but meanwhile in usm (cartoon) peter makes sure never to really hurt harry and nearly ruins missions because of it

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ohtobemare · 9 months

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When Hell Comes, part 1 • Doc Holliday x Reader

Series warnings: attempted rape, time travel AU, swears, smut

Word count: 6k+

Part 2

Do I know what this is? Not entirely. This idea has been racing through my head like a thoroughbred, so I decided to tackle it. Stupid long, I'm planning a Part 2 because Doc didn't creep in here nearly as much as I wanted him to, so, next time 'round, for sure. moodboard by the lovely @your-local-crzy-lady

When Hell Comes, Part 1

Arizona wilderness courses by in a blur of gold and blue, the line where the horizon meets the sky nothing but a wash of shimmering heat and speed. Hell has come to this desert it’s so hot, the devil himself a stone’s throw of a few yards behind you.

Dry, sinful heat licks at your face. Stings your eyes as the animal beneath you shoots through the sand like time itself is running out, the horizon beyond the only salvation. The bones in your chest rattle every time hooves thunder against the ground, and you hit the saddle hard every heartbeat or so, th-thunk th-thunk, th-thunk.

Feels like you’ve been flying forever, outrunning the shadow of Tombstone that lurks behind you like a vision of death and despair. It’s maybe only been a few handful of minutes, but time is an illusion. Survival has spiked your blood with adrenaline, though the chill across your skin rattles your teeth, a wash of goosebumps the only evidence that you are, in fact, more alive than you feel.

Reins in your hand are slick. Either with the sweat of your palms, or the well-oiled love of attention, you’re not sure which. And your legs burn as if they’ve been simmering in venom. Muscles could, at any given moment, detach from your legs and hit the dust beneath Viper’s ground-moving hooves.

The first shot explodes from a pistol, filling daylight between you and the Cowboys. Zips past you to what you assume is your left, but you wouldn’t know regardless. It rips a shriek of panic from the back of your throat that could cut glass—they are shooting at you.

Moments before, in the sands beyond this wilderness they’d been coming onto you—and now they were drawing iron. Unbelievable.

Terror spikes up into the back of your neck like a tomcat, claws bared against your flesh.

You duck forward in the saddle, hoping it’s enough to make a smaller target. It’s difficult, being low over the horn that’s cutting up into your ribs every time Viper’s hooves find the earth. Your core is on fire with the effort to stay balanced. Stay in the saddle. White-knuckling the reins like they are a lifeline, you can feel Viper’s tense mouth—it ripples through the animal like water.

What you wouldn’t give for a cell phone right now, any sign of life in this wilderness. But reality digs between your ribs like a starving wolf—you remember where you are. How’d you arrived here, two weeks ago, like something from Dickens or Verne or a Disney epic.

It still didn’t make sense, but nothing had since being thrown back in time nearly hundred and fifty years. Tended to throw a wrench in things, even though wrenches hadn’t been invented yet.

Unappreciative of the added pressure in your hands, Viper snorts roughly; you feel it in the depths of his chest. Out of habit your hands relax, instead mix with the flow of his thick, sweat-slick mane for stability, the leathers now rubbing searing blisters in the webbing of your thumbs. Every ounce of upper body strength funnels into gripping the stallion’s thick locks, your shoulders burn with the hot buzz of muscular effort.

You haven’t ever ridden this hard, Viper has never carried you this hard.

Viper isn’t conditioned for this. Arizona heat coupled with your body mass is not promising for the horse. He isn’t a horse of 1881 western America—he is a horse of the modern world. Grains and air conditioned trailers, not trail broke and tack-fed is the life Viper knows.

His breed shouldn’t be anywhere near the desert, something Wyatt had so aptly noticed when you’d stumbled into town after two days of barely surviving the shrub and desolace of the Arizona wilds.

Another cruel joke in the twisted deck fate has dealt you.

Getting home is the goal, getting out of Arizona is the reality. But there’s nothing to bet on, no bluffs to call. No moves to make. This is a game of another kind, entirely.

Nobody in the history of the known universe has seen what you’ve seen, felt the jolt of time passing through your blood. You, and Viper, are the only known bodies in the universe that have even been wretched through the wormhole. And you hope you’ll be last—you wouldn’t wish this on any one.

Another shot pops off behind you, this time hitting the dirt to your right. Closer, too close and Viper knows it—he locks up, skidding to a stop through the thick, searing sands of the wilderness to throw back in a hard rear. You hear the party behind you, hooves of their animals barraging the earth like a volley of gunfire, their hoops and hollers ringing hollow off your ribs.

“Th’r she is, boys—get up there and get ‘er off that sonuvabitch!” You don’t have to see him to know who it is.

Curly will haunt your dreams for the rest of your living days, if there are any after today. Ringo alongside him. Together their cold fingers spin through your fear, like bloodthirsty dogs lapping at whatever show of terror you’ll throw their way. Wolves that lay at the door, haunting Arizona lines.

And it isn’t just you—everyone respects the presence of the Cowboys. Well, rather everyone fears them. They’re unpredictable, like snakes. Jumping any which way they please, nearly without warning.

They’d killed Frank, the sweet sheriff who’d opened his home to you. Word had it that one of them had offed Fabian, too. The beautiful actor who’d blown in with the winds of change that sweet soul Josephine Marcus had ushered in. They’d enraptured the entire living populace of Tombstone in their short time—they’d listened to you. In ways that only people of interest and compassion would.

The red sash has been a thorn in your side since arriving in Tombstone—more interested in Viper, having never seen anything like him before. Less interested in you, until.

Well, that was it. Until.

Until he had made a show of you in front of the entire casino. An object, a trinket of fanciful display—Holliday’s sweet little nothing that made his eyes blaze and your face light up like the fourth of damn July.

They’d seen. Ringo had seen, Curly had seen—the entire damn Cowboy posse had seen. And, like all men of this century, they lusted over what wasn’t theirs. One weak moment beneath Doc Holliday’s enchantment and you’d shown your entire hand, cards down and heart ripped wide open for anyone and everyone to study. Then it tasted sweet, like wine. Ended up a sour poison.

Poison currently rotting a hole through your gut.

Front legs cutting through the air as he launches back, Viper releases a shrill, blood-chilling cry that shakes his entire frame. You feel it into the fiber of every muscle as you white knuckle the horn, legs locked around his barrel in an effort to keep yourself up. Eyes pinched closed, every one of their horse’s hooves hitting the earth race up your spine, rattle off at the base of your neck as they get closer.

Sour bile jumps up the back of your throat as Viper starts beneath you, ripped with nervous energy and on the hair trigger of flight. God he’s never been this skittish. Unpredictable. He rears again, and when his front legs find the earth, you kick at his sides. Attempt to launch him forward again.

“C’mon, Vipe–we gotta move!” His head pulls down sharply. Down, back—stubborn thing, he won’t move. His protest is stronger than your will, he’s got nearly two thousand pounds on you, and he plants his hooves. Stumbles back into shrubbery that makes him huff. “No, no no we can’t do this right now—Viper!” The words are bitter, panicked on your tongue. Nearly cracking.

He’s beyond argument. And for good reason—attempting to circle him, he paws at the ground. One check down his side and he’s complete foam, like someone has lathered fine suds over his chocolate coat. Feathered hair about his shine, nearly gleaming like he’s crossed the swift waters of the Colorado. Sweat ravines down his sides, carved muscle of his physique, like rivers. Fat drops rain to the earth around him, he’s hot. Lathered.

There’s nowhere to go, no way you can get him to move. He is trembling with exhaustion as he gnaws at the bit rolling about his mouth, and you really can’t tell where the animal’s fear ends and yours begins as you watch the dry cloud of dust roll in with the approaching horses.

Eyes burning with the granules of dust, your hand slides down and back, to your saddlebags—but there are none.

Virgil had warned you, but you’d been stupid. So, so so dumb.

Crescenting around you in a half moon, their animals fall into order, stepping forward to press a tight circle around Viper as your attention whips between them all, trying to keep track of the sun-leathered faces, dark eyes all bearing down like hawks.

Curly is the first to break the line, spurring his animal into a crisp trot up to you. Angling, his leg brushes yours as he comes up beside your animal, smirk twisting his sweat-slick, dripping mustache.

“Well look what we have here,” he chuckles, head bobbing with the loose effort of effervescent arrogance he’s displayed since the moment you’d been so graced with his presence, “seems that stud finally caught up with you, darlin’—figg’rd you couldn’t keep a handle on ‘im, cock an’ all. Mighty big horse for a pretty thing like yourself.”

His hands fall over one other on the horn of his saddle as he sits deep and low, brows lifted knowingly. “Will give it to ya, though—made it a ways out here. I’m more impressed than I thought to be, pretty.”

“Surprised you managed a thought at all, Curly,” you bite back, pulling back a little roughly on Viper’s mouth. Your glower is firmly planted at the man’s smirk, as if it will viscerally rip it right off his face, “Seems it didn’t last long though. What was your fine plan there, cowboy? Thought you wanted my horse—he isn’t much good shot dead in the middle of the damn desert.”

Low calls and cackles around the circle snap Curly’s attention back to Johnny Ringo, who’s tongue skips through the seam of his mouth to skate his bottom lip. His gaze diverts down to the dust, tempest of dark eyes lost beneath the brim of his hat.

Curly quells the murmurings of the group with a hellish glare.

Without warning whatsoever, his rough hand reaches across the space between his animal and yours, for the reins. You snap back and away, Viper sidestepping. Unbalanced for a brief moment, Bill catches himself in the saddle, his hard glare hitting you between the eyes with the force of a locomotive.

Not rattled for long, he gathers up his own animal at rein, comes about sharply, and before you know it the back of his hand cracks across your cheek.

The smack of skin on skin is sharp. Echoes through the blood in your ears, white hot pain zinging through your face as your hand comes to cover the sure mark he’s left across skin. It stings triumphantly, your distraction enough for him to rip Viper’s reins from your hand.

Youwatch the animal attempt to look back at you, then Curly—he’s confused by the transfer of power.

Curly’s strength and bitterness in his mouth is unfamiliar. Different.

Pulling sharply, he brings Viper under collection. Only after a few heartbeats can you hear the group of them chuckling at you, ribbing and elbowing each other knowingly.

With a sharp pull, Viper is spurred into a brisk walk as he guides up beside Ringo, you little more than a bobbing trinket in the saddle, hands on thighs and probably looking as whipped, and raw, as you feel.

“Let’s get movin’,” Curly barks to the group, face pointed southwest, not even bothering to register his group of followers, “We’ll camp southwest’a here—move on tomorrow.”

“Aint’ we gonna make tracks?” That’s Ike, though you can’t see him. His grating whine is enough to shatter the rest of your confidence as you all but feel his gaze slide down your form. “Earp and his boys’ll come lookin’ for her, Curly Bill, and I reckon—”

“You reckon shit all, Ike,” Bill snaps over his shoulder, “If Holliday wants his pretty thing back, well the sonuvabitch can come get her.” Shifting in his saddle, dark eyes glint over you. Smirk twisted in a coy, wolfish way, “Or he can try. His sorry lunger ass couldn’t make it halfway out of town before needin’ a got’damn siesta.”

The mention of Holliday makes your chest fly with living color for all of lightspeed before the sensation crashes to your knees, Curly’s brows wagging lasciviously.

Chin lifting as you rub at the mark on your face, your gaze is sharp enough to cut the pistol at his side.

“Doc is more of a man than any of you idiots put together,” you hiss at him, eyes narrowing against the sun threatening to blind you over his shoulder, “And you will rue the day you cross pistols with Holliday, Wyatt, or any of them boys. History remembers them as great men—you, well. Any of you morons—not so damn much.”

Ringo snorts beside you, shaking his head as he adjusts whatever is rolling around his craw with the tip of his tongue, “That’s right,” he draws the consonant in that dark way of his, brow crooking up knowingly, “little miss time travel’rs got it all figured out, boys. Hear that? Nobody remembers us in the future.” He cuts his horse between Curly’s and Viper, and without any warning whatsoever, his thick hand lashes out to grab you fully by the jaw.

“Ain’t that right, desert flower? Nobody remembers us, huh. Well—books and shit may not ‘member me all that well, but let me just tell you, bitch—by the time I’m finished with ya, you won’t know a word other than John Ringo.”

His slow smile claws at your soul, cold as it rips the air out of your chest with all the force of dark, testing eyes behind it, “Sweetest name I reckon I ever heard, comin’ out the mouth of a sorceress whore like you.”

Fuming, you seethe at him and rip his hand off your jaw, pulling back sharply. Cackling catcalls and low whistles bristle down your spine as the group spurs their animals into a trot, the air shaken with the movement of horse flesh and muscle. Gaze shadowed by the brim of his hat, your jaw is nearly breaking as you set it firm, unwilling to draw his attention.

You bob to a stop suddenly as he pulls up. His horse fidgets, his arm brushes against yours harder than you appreciate, the contact like an inferno on your skin.

Flinching, you consider your bare arm—it’s already pink, sure to be flaming tomorrow with a sunburn. In your fluster you hadn’t even bothered with any of the clothes Wyatt had passed to you—you’d just gone. Little more than a t-shirt and jeans, boots to carry you through the desert. How far you’d get without protection hadn’t even been a thought in the empty canoe of your brain.

Getting out of Dodge had been the only thought, Viper the answer to actually make it happen.

Touching your fingers to it, the white of pressure vanishes immediately and your eyes flutter closed at the sharp zip of pain that flares across your skin. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand rubs over the sensation. And Ringo does notice, his eyes moving to your bare arm, canting to consider your choice of modern clothing—clothing he’s likely to have never seen.

None of them have—you’d all but dropped jaws when you’d staggered into town, Viper at reign, two weeks ago. Nobody could make heads or tales. Twenty-twenties fashion is a far cry from the elaborate gowns of yesteryear.

You notice his eyes fall to the cut of your hip, which is more than filled out in your favorite jeans. They do make you look sinful, that was the point of buying them. At least, in your world.

Now they were little more than an unwanted neon sign that called to attention the fact of your sex, your desirability. There’s one woman for every dozen men in the West, you remember hearing. And that’s never been more apparent than in the hollow, cold look of John Ringo’s face.

Shifting in the saddle, you can’t miss the rub of his fingers over his cock.

Before you know what’s happening, Ringo is bent over in his saddle, rummaging through a saddle bag. Seconds, maybe, and he’s flung a threadbare ball of something at you—it brushes your arm, falls into the cradle of your legs. Not daring to touch it, your gaze drops to it.

“Unless you wanna die’a heatstroke,” he gestures up to the sun with a nod, “no good to anybody if you're suncooked.” Snapping Viper back into compliance, his gaze pulls ahead.

Your abs are on fire the entirety of the ride southeast, low back burning as your legs buzz with hot ache from trying to keep yourself in seat.

The afternoon has been no less than torture—between the heat, the merciless ride, and the unforgiving gazes of the posse all but eye-fucking you in the saddle, you’re more than raw by the time Curly calls for dismount out in the middle of hell-all nowhere.

As if you haven’t been riding for hours, nearly starving and on a brutal pace, Curly and Ringo dismount to the ground on strong, unphased legs. Immediately setting to drop tack.

Hands numb from white-knuckling the Circle Y’s horn, you carefully release your grip. Fingers burning as you flex life back into them, Ringo drops the rein of his animal before gathering Viper’s into a short lead. The Clydesdale still hasn’t settled, foam all but cooked onto his flesh as Ringo’s hand smooths down his neck, whispering softly up into the animal’s ear.

With a snap of the reins, Viper’s head jerks up at alert, Ringo’s hot eyes cutting up to you all too quickly.

“Off,” he barks, jerking his head in a poignant way that indicates compliance. For a bleeding second you hesitate, uncertain if you can dismount without crumbling into the dirt on the gelatinous, goo-ish noodles your legs have become. But he doesn't give you a choice—”I said off!” His voice rips through the hollow of your gut as he grabs at your shirt, sharply tugging you out of the saddle.

You have no time to collect or swing off before he’s ripped you out of seat—your frame sinks off all 17 hands of Viper’s form, through the air, for all of a few seconds. Ground comes up hard, fast.

Head cracking against the dry earth, the air knocks out of you with a sharp whistle as your left side takes all of the weight of gravity—cheek roughly kissing the dirt, sand all but leaps up into your scalp as you slack into the ground. Ringo is amused, shaking his head at you as he clucks coquettishly.

Moaning, pain rings up through your arm and collarbone, slices from your hip to your ankle like a hypodermic needle through bone. Viper startles, huffing out a strong breath as he considers you, his trusted friend, in the dirt. Lifting your head to consider him, Ringo works at the latigo of your tack. Has Viper unsaddled and your thousand-plus dollar gear hitting the dirt in record time.

Before you manage to push yourself up on an elbow, thick fingers wrap through your hair and pull sharply, igniting your entire head with fresh, shooting ache that makes you shriek. White hot pain cocktails with the fear in the pit of your gut, which threatens to send up through your throat.

Clawing up at the hands tangled in your hair, spittle flies from your chapped lips as you attempt to writhe away from the effort hauling your ass through the said, “Let go of me, you disgusting cocksucker—let go of me!” Like a pig he is snorting at every attempt your body makes to snap out of his holds.

“Cocksucker? Ha! Hear that, boys? That’s’a new one—oooheee, ain’t that just sound like somethin’?” He goads you, creeping fingers cutting into the curve of your sides, attempting to brush beneath your ribcage greedily, “Head’s up—Billy! Get yer ass over her and grab her legs, fore she kicks the will out of the devil!”

Nails gouging at the hand buried in your hair, you realize it’s Ike that’s issuing orders, his comrade’s head snapping up to consider his proposition from his own animal. He drops you roughly into the dirt, your head kicking back into the crags of desert soil as Ike stares down at you, hands slung over his belt.

He licks at the spit across his chapped lips, heavy eyes dragging over you like frostbite slowly eating away at your flesh. Even fully clothed, he looks at you like you’re naked as the day you were born. Cold fingers of realization claw at the back of your head, attempt to throttle you as you can’t draw enough air into your chest beneath his gaze. Rung tight with adrenaline, fear chases through your blood, bringing new life and strength to exhausted muscle that’s flaming through every inch of you.

He drops into a crouch, nails scratching through the unshaven, slick stubble across his jaw. Crooked, infectious teeth appear through a thin, steely smile that’s meant to take you apart. It does, in all the wrong ways, and you work yourself up to crawl backwards, away from him. Any and all daylight between you and Ike will never be enough, and his eyes flick to your tits, which rise and fall with the effort of shallow, shaking breaths.

Every one of his movements are sharp and defined, like living color as Billy comes up beside him, hands lazily slung over his own belt as he stares down at you from beneath the brim of his own hat. Both of their intentions may as well be written as bright as Vegas neon across their faces, though Billy does a better job of containing himself. You swallow a thin breath when Ike palms over his cock, the quiet squeak that pops from the back of your mouth amusing them both to the point of chuckling.

Standing slowly, Ike swipes that hat off his head, passing it to Billy easily, brows lifted in the air as he considers you down in the dirt. “Think it’s some kind of bad luck to fuck a sorc’ress, Clanton?” His eyes drag over to the other man, who’s head cants to the side as he considers you on the ground.

He thinks about it for a minute, your eyes moving between the two of them. The rustle of leather and the clink of a buckle snap your gaze back to Ike, who’s already got his gunbelt, and chaps, well past still on. He wets his lips as you hustle back a few inches, fingers biting into the ground.

“You even think of touching me, and so help me God—”

“Shut yer fucking mouth!” Ike scrambles over you, stoops low, his stained fingers savagely taking you by the chin and squeezing hotly around the bone of your jaw, “You say one damn word other’n what I tell ya and I’ll cut that damn tongue right out yer damn mouth and shove it up your ass, fuckin’ whore.”

He releases you roughly before swinging from over you, ripping the hem of his shirt up and out from where it’s been tucked into his pants. Cutting Billy a look, the other man’s face is riddled with amused surprise, before he shrugs. Ike swings his belt off, moving to drop it beside his hat.

“Reckon it works the same way, sorc’ress or not,” Billy saunters up beside Ike, rubbing at his jaw before he squats and reaches for your booted foot, “And you ain’t one to worry over bad luck, Ike. Never met an unluckier sonofabitch than you.” His gaze breaks back over his shoulder to Ike, who’s glaring daggers at this cohort with enough weight that it may as well drag the sun from the sky.

You see your chance—distracted, you kick your foot up and slam the toe of your boot beneath Billy’s chin, the man howling and dropping back to his ass under its force as you writhe beyond reach, twisting in the dirt to haul yourself out of the sand. Rock and shrub and sharp sands grinds beneath your nails to the point of blood, but you can’t feel a thing except the buzzing electricity of adrenaline kicking like a mule through your veins.

Square-toed boots grinding through dust as you bolt for Viper, you barely make it to speed before someone attacks you from behind. Tackled nearly to the dirt, the arm that snags around your waist is like iron, clamping tight around your hips as the other swings home around your neck.

Tight, you can feel the constricting cut of muscle against your throat as the chuckle comes low over your ear, smelling like tobacco and whisky. You’re fairly sure your heart will launch out of your chest and to the ground beneath you at any second as you claw at the arm around your neck.

“Goin’ somewhere, desert flower?” It’s Ringo. His other hand dances over the low of your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the band of your jeans as you attempt to arch forward, away from his chest pressed hot and flush against your back.

“Anywhere that isn’t with you, you sonofa—” his hand clamps down around your mouth, and you attempt to kick your head back to break free of it. No such luck—his grip is like bronze, hard and warm, and his hand burns with the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and animal as it bites into your flesh.

His chuckle rattles around his ribs and you feel it more than you want to against your spine before his arm drops away from your throat. His arm at your hips loosens only enough for his fingers to find your belt hoops and bring you about sharply, any and all daylight that’s separated the two of you gone as he crowds you up against the side of his horse, his face merely inches from yours.

“I’ll give credit to Holliday,” he speaks in low, cold tones that feel like hot coals down the length of your spine as every fiber of your being attempts to reel back, against his horse, away from him, “good taste in women,” his tongue skates his bottom lip as his dark eyes flick down to consider your mouth, “tell me—you whore for that lunger? He tasted you with that poison mouth of his?” Face twisting with seething, dark anger, his hand shoots up from nowhere to grip your face again, his knuckles ghosting with the effort as his nails bite into the flesh of your face.

“Tell me, you cocksucker—you let Holliday part those pretty legs of yours? Fuck that tight little cunt of yours?”

That’s enough.

Wrenching out of his grip, you reel back far enough to land a sharp blow to his jaw—it isn’t enough to send Ringo reeling, but it's enough to turn his head. And within heartbeats the mark on his cheek matches the one that’s started to ache from Curly on your skin, and you offer him a sneer that curls your lips just enough to give you a flare of superior confidence.

Ringo isn’t rattled. Actually, he looks impressed as his hand smooths over the kiss of red lighting up the line of his jaw.

From nowhere, light eyes and fevered sweat cut through your mind like a dagger, for a moment separating reality with fantasy.

It’s impossible for your body to disengage Holliday’s hands at either of your hips, anchored like they’ve always belonged there. The way his heat rushes through you like wind. Enchanted is only a mild way to put it—you’d been enamored with him since he’d pulled you out of your saddle the first day Viper had wandered into Tombstone. You all but delirious, half dead.

You'd thought he was an angel.

“My, my—fortune does spring eternal. Wherevah did you come from, dahlin’? Pretty thing, blowing in on a shallow wind and tangerine skies an' all,” his chuckle had melted over you, feet finding ground, “Must be nothin’ short of heaven bound—and you’ll be closer still, if we don’t get you looked ovah.”

Lusty eyes and his arrogant smile had swiftly changed your opinion of him—he was the devil, you nothing short of temptation. In the best way, of course.

You can still feel his chest brushed up against yours, the th-thunk of his heart perfect between your ribs—the way he looks at you, crowded anywhere anyone else isn’t. Those inferno lips, sucking deep marks into your skin. Lewd, sinful. Unforgiving. With any and all strength God put into his soul he had kissed you and God, was it wildly magnificent, far more perfect than it had rights to be.

Your eyes blow wide thinking about him, knowing he isn't here. Can’t be here, won’t be here. He could be, perhaps would move heaven and earth—-if you weren’t foolish. So quick to run the hell away.

Holliday still on your tongue cracks a bolt of lightning down the length of your spine.

“Who I let ride this tight little cunt is my business,” you seethe at him, a hot smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as his eyes track yours, discerningly, “there, Ringo—look at that. We match.” Proud at the mark on his face, your tongue skates over the bottom of your teeth.

Movement over his shoulder tracks your attention, and your eyes move to watch Curly’s feet weave a careful path to the two of you. Looking amused and smug, he rubs the cut of his hip. Deliberately.

His tongue clicks off his cheek, matter-of-factly. “Alright, Ringo boy, that’s enough,” a hand on John’s shoulder snaps him back a half step, opening up the air between the two of you. Only enough for Curly to angle in. “Had quite enough of your filthy little mouth, young lady. I suggest you play nice,” his index finger and thumb hooks your chin, tipping it up and back a little, “or I’ll feed what’s left you of you to my hogs, if anythin’.”

And before you know what happens, he clips you at the shoulder and shoves you forward, away from Ringo’s horse. You’re forced to the ground in a sitting position, Curly snapping sharp orders for you to be left alone until he gives word.

Ringo dishes out orders for camp, the men muster to duties as you attempt to will the throb of a headache out from behind your eyes.

You sit there, cross-legged and observed, trying to calm the heart kicking at your ribs. Watch as Viper is hobbled expertly into compliance, nose wriggling against whatever shrubs the desert has to offer as he investigates the night’s accommodations. Foam has all but melted off of him to the desert floor. He’s shining with sweat but has stopped heaving for air, at least.

Blinking the sweat from your eyes, Ringo drops the blanket by your side. Hesitation stops your breathe for a minute. Eyes scraping up his form, he smirks at you, shrugging a shoulder.

Dragging the back of your hand over your mouth, your fingers twist into the material. Draw it around your shoulders, bonelessly and complacent. It’s thin, tawdy, reeks to high heaven and back again. But it’s protection from the taskmaster sun hanging in the sky nonetheless.

Fortressed within the folds of the material, you can’t really say how much time slips through your fingers as red sash’s move to and fro about the makeshift camp. Bedrolls snap open, saddles are arranged for sleeping. Hard tack is passed around, booze and smokes. Horses passed handfuls of whatever trail provisions any of them have managed to pack, and much to your relief, Curly does order for Viper to receive rations.

Barely able to grip the hem of the sheet, though it may be a courtesty to call it even that, it takes herculean effort to stay awake. Aware. Alert. Because soon, every one of these Cowboys will be piss drunk and passed out, hopefully—and if you can manage consciousness, even for a while, there’s a good chance in hell you can swipe a pistol, mount up, and leave.

Once the heat of the desert acquiesces to the cool of night, stars make their way out among the canvas of black desert. Breathless sky hangs overhead and you sit motionless, staring into the twisting, licking flames of fire jutting up from the rocks and brush these idiots have gathered.

Your tongue rolls thickly through your mouth, over your bottom teeth as your toes curl and uncurl in your boots. Reminded that you’re alive, your skin is all but burning. Sweat has been chased even from beneath your clothes, but you’re slick with grime and the heat of the day as you sit, sunkissed and caked with dirt, on the desert floor.

You haven’t stopped studying Viper across the camp, who’s mingling innocently with the other horses. Standing like a behemoth among the paints and quarters of the herd.

Why Curly Bill wants him is no mystery–Viper stuns. Steals the breath from your lungs. Living color to a world that’s never seen his kind before. A glittering jewel. You’d mentioned how much he was worth to Wyatt that day in the stables and the entire town had nearly combusted—twenty eight thousand dollars was no small change, not in the 19th century.

“All the more reason to get you back where you belong, sweetheart,” Wyatt had looked at you with sympathy, rough hand clapping on your shoulder, “Helluva stud, though. Never seen someone ride nothin’ that big. Especially not a thing like you,” he’d winked at you and you’d blushed.

He didn’t let it slide. “Don’t you ever lose that color, pretty girl. You know what it does to us men? Cuts us at the knees—can’t hardly breathe when a thing like you lights up so nice.”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. Wyatt is nothing short of character. Charming, enigmatic. Handsome in all the right ways, dangerous in many of the wrong ones. Walking antithesis of Doc Holliday, but they were a fine pair—a romance of opposites, apologetically friends but at distance, not much more than enemies.

Their friendship was the stuff of legend—history remembered them both fondly, and to know them? To have witnessed their revolutions around the same sun that is Arizona history?

It’s gripping, soul-changing. You’ll never be the same. knowing you.

Your throat closes a little as you pull in a slow breath, bottom lip rolling beneath your teeth for you to gnaw. Curling tighter into the blanket, your eyes close for a minute, the cool darkness immediately chasing tension from the base of your neck.

Ike and Billy’s game of cards is loud, but it fades beneath the kicking heartbeat between your ribs. Focusing on the blood in your ears, the tension rolls through muscle. Attempt to breathe—but it hurts. Locks up your chest, spins tightly through your lungs so much that the effort makes you cough.

Curling forward, your arms draw your knees as far forward as your body will allow. Head lolled to the side, your cheek rests against the muscle of your arm as you stare blearily into the serpent-like flames that bite up to the sky, smoke curling around them almost rhythmically.

Tongue skating between your lips to wet at chapped skin, you rake a hand down the length of your face in an attempt to stir life back into your veins. It does little, only ignites the hot burn on your skin. Dropping your gaze to your lap, your eyes slip closed.

And you wait.

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hellhue · 2 years

Text

𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒊 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ⋆ steve harrington x reader

wc: 3.6k

summary: you can’t stop thinking about steve after that night in the upside down, and you aren’t sure if you want to. part 2 to hidden keepsakes

tags: frenemies to fwb to ??, p in v, unprotected sex, mid smut, weird tentacle/vine stuff (<- im so sorry about that one, it’s brief i swear!)

tw: vomit mention, weird tentacle/vine stuff

minors dni 18+ below cut

The knots in your stomach twisted and warped while you watched Steve help Nancy, jealousy eating through stomach lining as his fingers brushed against her. Your eyes bounced back and forth between the two, noticing the accidental touches, lingering brushes, how his eyes never left her face as she made her way through the portal cemented on the trailer ceiling.

“What’s that look for?”

His question startled you, drawing you from your simmering haze, so lost in your head you hadn’t noticed that Nancy was safely on the other side, joining everyone else as they stared down at you, judgment in their eyes while they waited.

Play it cool.

“There’s no look.” you spat defensively, mentally face palming at the failed attempt of nonchalance.

You reached for the bedsheets in front of you, twisting your hands into them before anything worse tumbled from your lips.

“And don’t go getting all handsy with me like you did Nance,” your brows furrowed, eyelids pinching closed tightly. Seriously?

It wasn’t for lack of trying, it wasn‘t your intention to make things even more awkward after you just had weird drugged upside down sex about 20 minutes ago.

“I don’t need your help.” you added on autopilot, for good measure. It felt like your brain was still scrambled, unable to control the venomous tone smothering your words.

Okay, babe, time to get out of here. Now.

“Wh- no one got handsy with anyone.” Steve guarded, ignoring the way you flinched from him in spite as he reached for you.

You huffed in response, attempting to pull yourself up the rope, wanting to get far away from his brown eyes and that stupid little curl that bounced over his forehead.

Hey…” he trailed off, his voice gentle as he reached for you again, one hand tugging at the hem of your shirt by the small of your back, the other covering yours on the bedsheet as he tried to pry your hands from their white knuckled grip, “don’t be like that.”

You let him loosen your fingers, instantly melting into his touch, his warmth chasing your coldness away, sending shivers down the nape of your neck as you thawed. His fingers twined between yours, and he used the grasp to anchor your body into his, unbothered by the prying eyes above.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, gesturing to the dark outline of your friends from over his shoulder, all of them peering curiously at how touchy Steve was being with you. This was far from playing it lowkey.

“I don’t really care.” he shrugged his shoulders, arms wrapping around you as he used his body to push you backwards until you were flat against the vinyl wallboards of the trailer living room.

“Jus’ need one more taste before we leave.” he muttered into the crease of your neck, his lips pressing hot kisses to your skin while one hand trailed down your back, giving your bum a light squeeze before trailing around front to cup the aching core between your legs.

You pulsed as his hand held your heat through the denim, his fingers already prodding at your covered entrance, “don’t think I can take not having this sweet thing on my mouth,” he continued, voice gruff, hips thrusting into the softness of your thigh.

Warmth spread through you at his words, from both the excitement of feeling him against you again and the embarrassment of your friends watching from above. Your heart pounded in your chest like a heavy drum as he rubbed you harder through your jeans, the pleasure already causing your hips to jerk in rhythm with his palm, your head spinning at the fast pace.

He used his free hand to hold your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, holding it in place as he pressed kisses across your jawline until meeting your lips, “what do you say? One more taste?” he whispered against the plump of your mouth.

You were still, entranced by his touch, overwhelmed by his breath brushing against you. It didn’t take much for you to fold, before all notions of your prying friends left your head, no longer able to even think about stopping his advancements.

And in that moment of weakness you nodded, thoughts swarming on how you’d give Steve anything he asked for as you closed your eyes, shortening the gap, pressing your lips into his. It was softer than before, but growing just as hungry as your lips moved against his.

It went by in chunks, you weren’t sure how or why, if it was the particles still affecting your brain or some other unexplainable variable of this alternate dimension, but suddenly you stood there completely undressed, balancing on one leg, while the other was hooked over Steve’s shoulder, his body settled between them, face deep in your cunt as he lapped at your juices, circling around the small bundle of nerves.

The empty black chunks of your memory was just another thing you couldn’t bring yourself to care about, as you moved your pretty cunt against his face, letting his nose nudge against your special spot. You couldn’t think, could barely breathe between soft oohh's and aahh’s as he chased your sweet taste he was so desperate for, not stopping.

He tongued your insides, dragging between your lips, sucking your folds, sucking your clit. It was overwhelming, it was euphoric, even better than before. His mouth brought you higher than before, and you couldn’t hold off as the coil tightened in your lower tummy, your muscles flexing tightly as your fingers tangled into his thick hair, your legs beginning to tremble as they tried to hold you up, “Steve -ahh, cum- I’m cumming.” you whined, head thrown back against the wall as the coil finally popped and released, your juices covering the lower half of his face as he tried to desperately drink every last drop of your nectar.

And then your legs were suddenly folded tightly against your top, another chunk, you realized as the crook of your knees rested over the center of his elbows, black vines wrapping around your torso two to three times, holding you to the wall, the tips of the vines sliding around your breasts, toying with your pebbled nippes as Steve gyrated his hips forward, his thick mushroom head sliding back and forth between your lips until it caught the edge of your seeping entrance.

You twitched as his curly pubes tickled against your sensitive clit, waiting in anticipation as he slowly pushed upwards, the tip of his dick slowly stretching your hole as he pushed further, and further, inside you. The stretch stung in an appetizing way, and all you could think about was the want for him to be fully inside you, to fill you up until you bursted, and he gave you exactly what you wanted, as his hips finally met yours, his cock fully buried in your entrance.

He sat there for a moment, letting you adjust to his thickness before slowly dragging out, your spongy walls tightening around his length, “god, so fucking tight.” he grunted, before snapping his hips upwards, filling you once again.

You gasped at the tight feeling of him inside you, the collision of his hips against you felt delicious. He kept a steady, average pace, but snapped his hips hungrily, his cock pistoning inside you, while he hunched over to kiss, and gnaw at the bare skin of your shoulder, wanting to devour every possible piece before you were stuck back in Hawkin’s, hating each other, never to touch one another again.

The wetness from your pussy sloshed as he slammed himself in and out of you, you could feel the splashes of your juices splatter against your legs and the bottom of your bum from the force as he held you up, you were nearly folded in half as he pushed his weight against you. Your arms wrapped beneath his shoulders, scraping against his back for any sort of hold as he thrust in your tight hole, his hair bouncing against his forehead, matching the way your tits bounced up and down against your chest, “you make me feel so good, Steve.” you whimpered.

Your words only encouraged him, his pace quickening until his hips were jackhammering into yours. You could feel your thighs tighten at the speed, your climax growing once again as he pounded into you unrelentlessly, like a starving man, “yeah baby, I can feel you tightening around me.” he grunted into your neck, “go ahead and cum, make a pretty little mess all over me.” he egged, his thrust becoming slightly more sloppy as his high nearly reached a tumbling peak.

“Code RED! Code RED!” you heard a loud echo from above, the voice penetrating the rousing bubble between you and Steve, the noise drawing your attention from the pulsing in your core.

“Code RED! Code RED!” it rang again, the voice moving all around you, flying around the circumference of the trailer.

You felt vulnerable, scared, as a red flashing light bursted from above, blinding you as it pulsed over and over, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

You cried for Steve, trying to grasp him closer for protection, or to get him to stop, something, but all you felt was a warm, sticky goop when you made contact. A tight gasp left your lips as you looked down. Steve sat there, his limbs gooey, like freshly poured tar.

“Help me.” he croaked, finally dropping you to the floor as he began to lose his form, the liquid of his former self soaking into the carpet below him.

“Max’s been bugging me about y/n again. Like I’m her keeper? Why am I supposed to know where everyone is at all times?” Dustin complained from the passenger seat of the burgundy BMW, digging through the bag of snacks he and Steve had just acquired from the gas station.

Steve stiffened at the mention of your name, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the steering wheel tighter, “tell me about it.” He tried to play it off, adding a chuckle to really sell it, but his tone was off, sounding tight, high pitched.

“Steve.. Why do you sound like you’re in pain? Do you know something? Did you do something?” Dustin’s questions became more frantic as he picked up on Steve’s discomfort, his attention fully leaving the plastic bag on his lap as he turned his body towards his older friend, the seatbelt twisting at his neck from the weird angle, “y’know, she did start being super weird ever since you all got back from the upside down.. Do you think Vecna got to her and she doesn’t want to tell anyone?”

“I didn’t do anything to her! And Vecna didn’t get to her.” Steve used his free hand to point at Dustin in frustration before wincing at his tone, he sounded more defensive than he wanted to, and he really hoped Dustin wouldn’t notice.

But it’s Dustin,and he’s a kid genius, so of course he noticed. The younger boy narrowed his eyes at Steve accusingly from the passenger seat, “right….whatever you did or didn’t do, fix it. It’s dangerous to be split up like this.”

Steve knew Dustin was right, it was safer being all together or atleast having some sort of contact with everyone now that Vecna’s digging into everyone’s brains.

“She won’t talk to me.”

“Oh, she’ll talk to you.” and he pulled out his walkie.

Steve!” you screamed, sitting up abruptly as you woke up. It took a moment, but as you sat there you took in the familiar surroundings of your room. You were in bed, not getting head from Steve. The same Steve you haven’t seen since a week and a half ago. The same Steve that you keep having these stupid raunchy dreams about, that seem to always end with you unsatisfied.

You collapsed back with a huff, still rolling through the euphoric high you were just denied in dreamland, it felt so real - maybe I should just finish the job, you thought as you snaked your hand downwards, no harm in a little self satisfaction.

“Hello?! Code RED! Code RED! We have these for a reason people!” Dustin’s staticy voice blasted from the walkie sitting on your bedside table before you could get any semblance of relief.

You jerked your hand back up, like you were caught red handed, heart racing once again. God dammit Dustin. You sat up, rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t all a dream.

You coiled backwards, giving yourself some reach as you stretched your arm to the nightstand, patting the wooden material until you made contact with the clunky walkie.

“Okay, Dustin, got it.” you rasped into the microphone, voice laden with sleep as you hung from the bed.

“Did you just wake up?” he questioned incredulously, judgment thick in his tone. Steve snapped his fingers at him from the driver’s seat, reminding him to stay on target.

“Harrington’s in 15.” he added quickly before severing the connection.

The idea of having to go to his house was tantalizing, you could already feel the anxiety bubbling in the pits of your stomach, the aching need to touch yourself quickly replaced by the need to vomit or die, possibly.

When you first got back from the Upside Down, you both tried to act like everything was normal, but it was just weird. Like really weird and tense. Not to mention the fact it was growing more obvious to everyone that something happened.

So instead of tiptoeing around livewires, doing everything you could to not jump his bones, you avoided nearly everyone instead, opting for updates from Max or Lucas instead of the others who were in the Upside Down with you. It was working for the time being, but if it was a code red, it had to be important. You had no choice but to go.

After a long 45 minutes of getting ready and finding an outfit that didn’t scream ‘trying too hard’, you found yourself standing awkwardly on the front stoop of Steve’s house, switching your weight between your feet as you waited painstakingly long for someone to answer the door, praying it would be Dustin

And for the first time these last few weeks, your prayers were answered as the door clicked open to reveal the curly headed boy.

“You’re late.” he grumbled.

“Hello to you too.” you greeted, following closely behind him, taking a deep breath in hopes to find some molecules of confidence hidden within the air as you walked through the entryway, into the living room.

It was a lot emptier than you were expecting. Usually, you’d be met with a circle of your friends, all bumping shoulders to look at whatever plan was being developed for the day, but this time, it was only Lucas, who was sitting alone on the couch, face glaring at Dustin as he appeared. He definitely wasn’t here voluntarily.

You spared a quick glance towards Steve as he lingered in the corner, suddenly enraptured by a small scrape in the plaster of the walls as he ran his fingers over it.

“What am I doing here?” you questioned, hovering behind the couch. This was definitely a trap.

“You,” Dustin pointed at you, much like an angry dad, before moving his finger to the couch, ”sit.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, but still rounded the couch, sitting on the furthest cushion from Steve.

“And you,” he was now pointing to bumbling Steve, “sit.”

Steve followed suit, taking a seat on the opposing cushion from your own. Dustin didn’t continue until you were both seated, still as statues while Lucas sat awkwardly in the middle, leg bouncing a million miles a second.

“Lucas and I are leaving to do actual important stuff, like saving Hawkins from Vecna, while you two sort whatever the heck is going on between the two of you” the attitude was heavy in his voice. He may only be 15, but there was a hardy no nonsense air about him.

Lucas jumped up at the mention of his name, mumbling what sounded like a ‘thank god’ under his breath as he followed Dustin out, looking back only once to mouth a silent ‘good luck!’ and thumbs up to you.

It was silent as they left, both of you avoiding looking at the other as the sound of the front door echoed through the home.

Steve broke the silence first.

“Dustin thought it would be a good idea to talk about it, y’know.” he tried, still staring straight ahead, but tilting his head towards you on his left.

“I gathered that.” you stated plainly before fully absorbing what he said.

Talk about it?

“Wait-” your head snapped to him, eyes filling with anger, “he better not know, Steve.” you seethed. You swear, he couldn’t keep anything to himself, and to tell a 15 year old? It hasn’t been 5 minutes and he’s already reminded you of how idiotic he his, how could you even dream about wanting him?

“What? No? No! Dustin doesn’t know!” he amended, turning to face you as he slid half an inch closer, hands up in surrender. “He just knows that you’ve been acting super weird, which you have, by the way.”

“I’m not acting weird. You’re acting weird.” you threw back at him.

Steve rolled his eyes, “whatever. We’re both acting weird. Hence the reason we’re here.” he motioned his arm in the empty space between you.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” you shrugged.

A humorless laugh left his lips, “um, I think there’s something to talk about.”

Your eyes finally met his, as you both silently taunted the other to back down. Typically, you won these, always a bit more intimidating than Steve, but you couldn’t help as your thoughts began to travel back to your dream, how his brown eyes stared at you just like this, how his fair flopped so effortlessly over his forehead in real life and dream life.

You had to break eye contact.

“This is ridiculous.”

You stood up, ready to beeline for the front door. Why would you subject yourself to this awkwardness when you could hide away at home instead?

But Steve quickly clocked your escape, and he followed, swooping between you and the archway to your escape, your freedom being taken away as he outstretched his arm across the open space like a human barricade.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Steve. Move.” you tried again, more forceful.

“I said no.” he challenged back, feeling more confident after winning the stare down.

He took your silence as an okay to continue, “I’m sorry, we need to hash this out. It’s dangerous out there right now. You can’t just avoid everyone because of some stupid mistake we had no control over. I know we hate each other- errr, you hate me, but I couldn’t live with myself if something actually happened to you and we had no idea.”

Your arms folded across your chest, hands hidden in your armpits. The sincerity in his voice made you feel weird, and you wanted it to stop.

For once, he was right, and you were going to have to fess up sooner or later.

“I just don’t think it’s possible to ‘hash it out.’” your voice was meek.

“Why not?” he lowered his arms hesitantly, making sure you weren’t going to bolt.

“Because,” you whined miserably, turning your back to him, dropping your arms to instead cover your face with your hands, hiding behind them like a weeping angel. “I think about it, like, all the time. I hate it.” you admitted, shoulders hunching as the embarrassment from your confession flooded through you.

A pause.

“What do you mean?” he asked wearily.

“What do you think I mean? Like I’ve been dreaming about it and whenever I look at you it’s just - ugh!” you threw your hands up in frustration from both yourself and his question.

“Like- you liked it..?”

“Stop being cruel.” you felt morose. You wanted to get out of this house, away from Steve, and back into the safety net of your bed where your feelings could be hidden another day.

“No I just..need clarification, before I say anything you might kill me for.”

This caught your attention, finally turning your head towards your shoulder to cast a small glance at him, a small glimmer in your eyes peeking from behind your lashes, “Like what?”

“Like I might’ve liked it too, and also can’t stop.. thinking about it.” he was still hesitant in his confession as he took a step towards you, placing a gentle hand on the dip of your side, “and trust me, I’ve tried everything to stop it. No luck.”

You let him encourage your body around, facing him head on as his hands grazed the softness of your hips.

“Yeah?”

He nodded, “yeah.”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide the pleased smile behind it.

“Get that look off your face.”

You shook your head, teeth pinching the plump of your bottom lip, “there’s no look.”

He squinted down at you, “Since we’re being honest here, I never really hated you. Just kinda hated that you hated me.”

You rolled your eyes, he would hate someone just because they hated him.

“I don’t hate you, Steve.” you looked up at him, moving your hands to rest at the top of his shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his polo.

He tilted his head lower, angling his lips closer to yours until they were centimeters apart. That confession would stick with him.

“I just don’t like you.” you finished with a soft smirk.

His eyelids fluttered, letting out a chuckle through his nose, unsure why he expected anything different, “I can live with that.” he agreed, before pressing his lips against yours.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔥𝔲𝔢 𓄅 writes

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daily-crowley · 5 months

Note

TELL ME ABT YOUR OTHER HYPERFIXATIONS!! Mine are currently Loki, ofmd, good omens, and Hozier :D

THANK YOU FOR ASKING, THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG!

There’s a few hyperfixations of mine I’m always talking about but right now there’s 3 main ones.

1. The Boys

2. Invincible

3. Peacemaker

The Boys is the main one; I loved it since it came out back in 2019. I moved on sometime after S3 ended and I found another hyperfixation but now new content is coming out with S4 so I’m back on my The Boys bullshit. I’m a Butchlander shipper, BILLY BUTCHER AND HOMELANDER CONSUME MY THOUGHTS. I AM BEYOND OBSESSED WITH THOSE TWO! I need them to kiss…. And-and more. Anthony Starr and Karl Urban are my current celebrity crushes that I’m only able to think about. If you follow me in insta it’s just been The Boys 24/7 that I’ve talked about since new content started dropping thanks to S4. HOMELANDER IS MY BABYGIRL I WILL DEFEND HIM I DON’T CARE FOR HIS CRIMES I DON’T CARE IF I’M SUPPOSE TO HATE HIM, I LOVE HIM. BILLY BUTCHER MY GOTH BOYFRIEND I WILL DIE IF YOU DIE. HE CANT DIE, HE JUST CAN’T. S4 teaser was insane, so much was going on, Black Noir is back?! And Jeffrey Dean Morgan is joining the cast! AND TEAMING UP WITH BUTCHER?! They said that trailer was just a scratch on the surface of what happens, wasn’t even a trailer just a teaser but it had so much going on WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT’T JUST A SMALL TASTE OF S4?! I’m scared but excited. I’m nervous but excited (Billy if you fucking die on me- that’s what I’m most worried about)

Invincible is my other current hyperfixation, S1 was so good and I can’t wait for S2 to continue. They should’ve dropped all the episodes at once that way I don’t have to wait but whatever. Vigilante is my little meow meow from Peacemaker. I love Adrian so much, hate that I gotta wait till like 2025-2026 for S2 possibly.

My other interests that I talk about all the time (not currently much though thanks to The Boys) are:

• NATM/JedTavius

• Venom/SymBrock

• SamBucky/Marvel in general

• FNAF

• Who Framed Roger Rabbit

• Maleficent

• The Simpsons

Night at The Museum came out when I was 7, I’m 24 now, I haven’t moved on. It was my first hyperfixation and ship before I even knew what that all meant. I’ve written like 30 JedTavius fics. I’m a Venom fan first and a Spider-Man hater second. I will defend Venom at all times and Eddie and him are definitely in love. When the FNAF film came out it brought me back to my FNAF phase, Foxy’s my favourite with Bonnie being second. I watched the film about 20 times. Then in November I started a personal rewatch challenge on Insta where I watched it all month long. Meaning I’ve probably watched it at least 50 times and I still haven’t gotten sick of it (also I love the Josh Hutcherson whistle meme. I don’t care how much people hate it I think it’s funny.) I’m a huge Marvel fan, I literally grew up with the comics, I’m not kidding those were read to me as my bedtime stories. My favourite characters are Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes as a result I ship them. I never shipped Stucky, that never made sense to me whilst Sam and Bucky have so much chemistry. Sam Wilson is everything to me, I adore SamCap he’s MY Captain America (still love Steve though!) Roger Rabbit is my favourite fictional character of all time, my biggest comfort character. Growing up I really tried to base my personality off of him, the world might be obsessed with Jessica Rabbit but I’m obsessed with Roger. People need to draw, edit, and cosplay him as much as they do Jessica. I’ve been a huge Simpsons fan since I was like 10 and my mother dropped me off at my aunts house and she left leaving me alone with my cousin who was watching The Simpsons and it took off from there. Nelson Muntz is my funky little son and they need to make Nelisa canon. Maleficent is my favourite Disney character (actually like quite a bit of Disney, second favourite character being Donald Duck) I based a lot of my style around her, and I have a lot of Maleficent collectibles. I absolutely love the Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent films (totally ship her with Diaval).

There’s a few other things that I really, really love. I’m also a huge horror fan my favourite being Chucky/Child’s Play as well as Killer Klowns from Outer Space, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (not 3D), Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, etc. Sanrio, Kuromi is my favourite second is Pochacco, I really love animated films and cartoons. IT, Monster High, and more. I’m also a collector of all these things.

So there you have it. Those are all my hyperfixation and fandom’s that I’m in. Right now especially those first 3 that I talked about (seriously can you tell I really like The Boys? Lol)

#got a little carried away at the end there and started talking about some other stuff that I love #you probably know a lot more about me than you wanted to I’m not sorry

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renjunniex · 2 days

Text

Thank You, For Being You

Isaac Lahey x Fem! Reader Series

Fury

Prompt: the killer now about to be revealed means things are about to get very interesting. how will y/n choose to deal with every problem she is currently facing?

a/n: heyyy guys, hehe.. I’m back. sorry for the long time away, it’s been… chaotic to say the least. I just barely finished the chapter before i posted it so it’s not edited so please excuse any and all mistakes. i plan to go in later and edit when i have a chance, just wanted to get a new chapter out since it’s been so long.

*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

You never got to have your morning kiss and you were definitely not happy about it. The boys had called you to tell you to get to the police station as fast as you could.

"(Y/N), you need to get here NOW!" The voice of your sarcastic friend made you have to pull your phone away from your ear.

"Jeez, okay, I get it. But I can't leave, I can't find Derek and they're barely keeping themselves under control."

You felt a hand grabbed you wrist and you knew it was Isaac's, "Go, it'll be okay, I can handle everything." You sighed and nodded before confirming you would be at the station as fast as you could.

That's where you were now, the lady at the front desk had let you in. You found Scott, Stiles, and the Sheriff staring at the computer screen. "Okay, what was so important that I just had to be here," your hands were on your hips and they all looked at you.

"The one killing people is Matt," Scott said. You swore you felt your brain explode, "I'm sorry, what?"

"Look he's on the video tapes," Stiles pointed to the computer. "We don't know that it's him Stiles," His dad exclaimed. You walked out to the computer and looked on the screen, you saw a nurse walk up to the boy on camera, "Well, hey, someone talked to him. Maybe you should try to get a statement." They're heads snapped to you and then back at the screen. That's when you got to take a closer look at the nurse that was talking to the supposed Matt.

"Oh, my god," you gasped.

"He's talking to my mom," Scott said horror dripping from his voice.

Scott had called Melissa, under the request of Sheriff.

"Scott, you know how many people I deal with in a day."

"This one's sixteen. He's got dark hair, looks like a normal teenager," Scott expressed. "Yeah, he looks evil," called Stiles.

"Scott, I already talked to the police about this."

Scott got his phone out of his pocket, "Okay, Mom, I'm gonna take a picture and send it to you." He snapped the picture and texted it to Melissa. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you recognize him? Do you remember him?"

"Yeah, I did. I mean, I remember I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Scott, what's going on?"

"It's nothing, Mom. I'll explain later. I gotta go," Scott stuttered ending the call before bringing his attention back to you guys. Sheriff shuffled through papers until he came across the ones he was looking for, "Alright, we've got shoe prints alongside the tire tracks outside the trailer."

"And if they match, that puts Matt at the scene of the three murders," Stiles exclaimed.

"The trailer, the hospital, and the rave," you listed.

"Actually four," Sheriff corrected, "A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed."

"When," asked Stiles.

"A couple hours before you got there."

"Alright, Dad, if one's an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what's four?"

"Four's enough for a warrant," Sheriff motioned to Scott, "Scott, call your mom back, see how quick she can get here. If I can get an official I.D., I can get a search warrant. Stiles, go to the front desk. Tell them to let Scott's mom in when she gets here."

Stiles dashed out the room, "On it!" Scott had started to call Melissa and with all the stress you couldn't help but pace around the room. "She's on her way here," you glanced up at Scott and then looked at Sheriff to see his expression change, "Sheriff, what's wrong-." When you turned in the direction his eyes were directed you saw Stiles come back in, only he wasn't alone. Matt was behind him, with a gun.

You moved slowly to Scott and Stiles while Sheriff began to try and talk to the striped shirt boy, "Matt? It's Matt, right? Matt, whatever's going on, I guarantee you there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun."

The boy waved the firearm around like it was a toy, "You know, it's funny you say that, because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are." You saw Stiles' head raise up slightly and despite the dangerous situation, you couldn't help the scowl that made its way onto your face.

"I know you don't want to hurt people," Sheriff tried to reason but something told you that reasoning wasn't going to get you anywhere, "Actually, I want to hurt a lot of people. You four weren't on my list, but I could be persuaded. And one way is to try dialing somebody on your cell phone, like McCall is doing. That could definitely get someone hurt. Everyone."

Stiles and you both turned your heads to Scott, who had pulled his hand out of his pocket. You took a deep breath as you felt your nerves shoot through the roof, your head was hurting. You knew you were losing control because of the spike in emotions. It must of been your intuition trying to take over.

Gripping your hands into themselves you tried to stay focus on the conversation, "Now!" The loud voice made you jump slightly, "Come on," Sheriff nudged his head you guys and you three threw your phones on the desk.

Matt had made Stiles handcuff Sheriff in the holding cell area, while you and Scott stood just barely off to the side. When he was satisfied with how tight the cuffs were set, he grabbed Stiles and jerked him forward causing Scott and you to follow close behind. You had reached a hallway and there were officers laying all across the floor, blood, from their fatal chest wounds, spattered all over the walls.

A loud gasp of horror spilled from you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "What, are you gonna kill everyone in here," Scott asked in horror.

"No, that's what Jackson's for," he answered, "I just think about killing them, and he does it." Matt roughly pushed your shoulder forward as he guided you back to the main office. He made Stiles go on to his dad's computer to delete any and all files having to do with him. Scott and you were given the job of destroying all physical files.

"Deleted. And we're done," Stiles stated pressing the key on the keyboard, "So, Matt, since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first, whatever that means, we're good here, right? I'll just get my dad, and we'll go, you know, you continue on the whole vengeance thing. Enjoy the Kanima."

Lights moved across the windows outside and you felt your breath stop, Melissa was here and there was really nothing you could to protect without risking everyone else. "Sounds like your mom's here, McCall," Matt taunted.

You shook your head while Scott had a destressed expression, "Matt, don't do this," he said, "When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave. I'll tell her we didn't find anything. Please, Matt."

The door opened in the distance as Matt scoffed a laugh, "If you don't move now, I'm gonna kill Stiles first, then (Y/N), and then your mom."

Maybe it was the adrenaline but you couldn't stop yourself from barking back, "You try to put one finger on any of us, and I'll send you through the wall so hard you'll forget who you are." Matt's head cocked to side as if he didn't understand what you meant but even then you could tell he was holding a brave face.

He once again, dragged you three to the front of the Sheriff's office, "Open it," he directed. Scott didn't look towards the door but showed his hesitation, "Please."

"Open the door."

You could practically feel all three of your heartbeats erratic from fear. Scott slowly reached for the doorknob, turning it to reveal not Melissa, but Derek. "Oh, thank God," sighed the werewolf in relief. That relief wore off sooner than it appear as Derek fell to the floor in front of you, he had been paralyzed. Jackson walked into the room standing where the Alpha werewolf once was. His eyes rolled, turning into his usual terrifying slits.

Matt stood over Derek, "This is the one controlling him? This kid," Derek observed in his monotoned voice. "Well, Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf. Oh yeah, that's right. I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, Kanimas. It's like a fricking Halloween party every full moon. Except for you two. What do you turn into?"

"None of your business."

"Abominable snowman. But, uh, it's more of, like, a wintertime thing, you know, seasonal."

Matt especially didn't like Stiles' answer, he tipped his head and instantly Jackson's claw swiped the back of Stiles' neck sending him to the floor and onto of Derek. You and Scott made noises of protest only for Jackson to mock you by wagging his finger.

"You bitch."

"Get him off of me," Derek gritted.

Matt laughed at the sight, "Oh, I don't know Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kind of suck, though, to have all that power taken away from you with just a little cut to the back of the neck. I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless."

"Still got some teeth," Derek quipped, "Why don't you get down here a little closer, huh? We'll see how helpless I am."

"Yeah, bitch," Stiles muttered out, his voice muffled.

More lights passed by and this time you knew it had to be Melissa. Matt had seen them too, calling out, "Is that her? Do what I tell you to and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

"Scott don't trust him!"

Matt grabbed Stiles' shirt pulling him over and placing his foot on the boy's neck. "Stop, stop! Leave him alone!" Scott had to get a hold of you to keep you from making any sudden movements. Stiles gasped and gagged for air, his face turning red, "This work better for you?" Matt had gone into a stare down with you two and you were seconds from losing control at this point. "Okay, just stop! Stop," Scott pleaded.

"Then do what I tell you to."

You glared at the boy, the amount of hatred you felt in this moment was unlike any other, "Let. Him. Go." You voice sounded so different and you couldn't tell if it was just your imagination or not. "Okay," Scott urged, "Alright, Stop!" The foot on Stiles' neck was released and the boy desperately gasped for air. Matt nudged his head in a direction as he commanded Jackson, “You, take him in there.”

“You…” Matt’s eyes locked onto Scott once more, “With me.” You had no ability to react as Matt grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back, preventing you from doing anything as he made you walk in front of him. He guided you both to the front where Melissa came into the police station.

“Mom?”

Melissa sighed at the sound of Scott’s voice and made her way around the corner, “You scared me, where is every…” She stopped speaking when her eyes fell on you both, Scott in front with Matt’s gun pointing at the back of his head and you locked in position guarding Matt’s body. “Mom, just do what he says he promised he wouldn’t hurt you.” Frozen from the shock of the situation you just stood silently your head hanging slightly. “He’s right,” Matt confirmed. Everything felt slow, your ears began to ring and your mind tried its best to process the next few seconds.

You watched as Scott hunched over and Melissa cover her mouth as you assumed she screamed, you didn’t know. Your ears were buzzing like a bomb had gone off right next to you. The smell of gunpowder filled your nose and the sight of smoke covered your vision. Tears seeped from your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. Rationally speaking, Scott was going to be okay, being supernatural had those perks but your brain didn’t seem to register that in the moment. You pulled your arms down trying to release the grip Matt had on you but that only resulted in you having a gun pointed at your head.

“Back, back!”

Matt screamed his voice making the loud bells in your ears ring more, “Mom! Mom, stop, Mom!” Scott covered his wound, the pain making him wince. “Scott,” Melissa said shakily. You felt Matt bang the side of your head harder with the barrel of the gun, “I said get back, unless you want me to blow her head off,” Matt spit venomously. You heard Sheriff called from the holding cells and it caused an explosive reaction from the troubled boy.

“Everyone shut up! Shut the hell up! Now get up or I shoot her next!”

Your eyes closed instinctively, you heard the rustling of Scott’s clothes as he stood slowly. Matt forced Melissa into a cell, she stood at the bars her face covered in her running makeup from her tears. You and Scott stood off to the side, both not moving afraid to cause everyone else to get hurt. You held up Scott as best as you could, your hand also covering his gun wound putting pressure the best you could.

“Please, he needs to see a doctor,” Melissa pleaded.

“You think so?” Matt whispered back.

Sheriff yanked on the handcuff keeping him on the wall, “Hey! Hey, you listen to me!”

Scott interrupted to reassure both his mom and the Sheriff, “It’s alright, I’m okay.” Melissa could handle her son’s words as she shook her head in denial, “No, honey, you’re not okay.” Scott continued on to tell her it didn’t hurt, Melissa again denying her son’s words saying it’s the adrenaline talking, she pleaded once more with Matt to let her stop the bleeding. It only caused Matt to look at you both taunting you, “They have no idea do they?”

“Please. Just let me take a quick look at him!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Lady if you keep talking, I’m gonna put the next bullet through his head.” Melissa finally conceded and Matt order you both to the front.

Your heart raced, sweat dripping down your temple as your mind ran through every possible outcome. So far, not a single solution came to you, at least not one that allowed for most of you to get out of here alive. If only you knew of some kind of spell or chanting that could get you to call for help. Maybe a way to send a message mentally?

Every thought in your brain was cut off as Matt pushed you into Scott, nearly falling on your face had the werewolf not had caught you himself.

“The evidence is gone. Why don’t you just go?” Scott stressed to Matt.

“You think the evidence mattered that much, huh?” Your eyebrows scrunched at Matt’s reply, which only got you a look of annoyance back from him. “No, no, I want the book.”

The bestiary? Why would he need the Argent’s log of every creature?

You soon found out when Scott asked your same thought out loud and Matt lifted his shirt to show his ribs now scaly, reflecting the same sickly greenish gray that the Kanima did. You grimaced at the sight as if just the picture of it made you ill, which it practically did after everything you’ve been through this semester because of it.

You felt a grip on your arm pulling you more into a different room, Scott not far in front of you. You jolted as the cold metal of the gun Matt held to you touch your skin. Scott grimaced, leaning against the desk as he kept his palm on his bullet wound. You tugged at Matt’s grip on your forearm, “Let me try and heal him please,” you pleaded with not an ounce of venom in your words. Nothing but pure fear dripped from your lips, it was truly the first moment in your life that you felt helpless. Nothing, not Peter, not Derek, not even the death of your parents made you feel as useless as slowly watching Scott, who should be able to heal, die.

Matt tugged you away from Scott, twisting your arm as he spoke, “You know, I feel sorry for you, McCall, cause right now you’re thinking, ‘How am I gonna explain this when it heals?’ And the sad part is you don’t even realize how incredible it is that you actually are healing.”

Matt’s eyes were probably as wide as saucers, you hear the frothing that seeped from his mouth as malice flew with his words, “Cause you know what happens to everyone else when they get shot? They DIE.”

You flinched at his tone, trembling as the coldness that came with fear froze every nerve in your body. You couldn’t believe you were even thinking about this but in this moment you wished Isaac was here. Not even because you thought he could protect you from everything but just because you wanted him near you. As much as he continually pissed you off, now that he was working with you guys his presence had become much more comforting.

“Is that what happened to you,” Scott had cut off your panicked thoughts with his question to Matt. “You drowned, didn’t you?”

You watched as Matt took a shaky breath, “He shouldn’t have let them drink,” he muttered. Scott gave him a confused look, “What? Who? Matt, what do you mean?”

Matt’s voice boomed making you flinch once more, “LAHEY! He shouldn’t have let them drink.”

“Who was drinking,” you asked softly. Matt scoffed stepping forward a little, “The swim team you idiots!”

“I didn’t what was happening! I didn’t know that they had just won state, and Lahey, he’s letting his favorites come over to have a couple drinks to celebrate. Who cares if they’re seventeen, right?”

Your eyebrows scrunched up at Matt recounted his story, “Were you at Isaac’s?”

“He had this first edition Spider-Man, or was it Batman? And we were gonna make a trade. But then I’m over there and I hear music. And everyone’s having a good time and I see Sean. He throws Jessica in the pool. And then Bennett goes in and.. and…”

“Bennett, the hunter,” Scott interrupted his monologue. Matt ignored his question, nodding his attention on the floor, his eyes blurry from the light pool of tears he was started to collect.

“And then Camden. Isaac’s jarhead brother, he grabs me. He thinks it’s funny.”

You eyes widened in realization, the fear in your mind clearing when you connected the thoughts, “They threw you in.”

“I yelled that I can’t swim, but nobody listens. I go under and I swallow water,” Matt describes in detail, sweat dripping from his temples, “and no one cares. And I see these bodies underwater. I see Jessica’s got her hands down Sean’s board shorts. Tucker’s grabbing Kara. And I’m drowning. I’m dying, and they’re laughing. All of a sudden, I’m lying by the pool. And Lahey is right there right above me and he says…”

“You tell no one! This, this is your fault! You don’t know how to swim? What little bastard doesn’t know how to swim? You say nothing! You tell no one! NO ONE!”

“And I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. And I would see them at school and they wouldn’t even look at me. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, I’d gasp for breath. And my parents,” Matt spit out his story like he could taste the horrible memory, “They thought I was asthmatic. They even gave me an inhaler. They didn’t know that every time I closed my eyes, I was drowning.”

Matt finally turned to you and Scott, as if his trance had been broken, “You know about that little white light that they talk about, you see when you die? Well I didn’t see anything. Just darkness. Everything was dark. But then.. Then came the Argent’s funeral, and everything changed. I was taking some photos and they completely by accident, Lahey gets in one of the photos. I look down at the screen of my camera and I just had this unbelievable rage that fills up inside of me and I just… I look at him and I… I wanna see him dead.”

There was a moment of silence from Matt and that’s when you realized you had a tear trailing down your cheek. Was it for Matt, Mr. Lahey, maybe? Even despite what each of them have done, the raw emotion coming from Matt must have triggered some type of reaction from you.

“And the next day, he actually was. You know, Einstein was right. Imagination is more important than knowledge. It was like something out of Greek mythology.” He began to pace as he ranted some more and you took the chance to step closer to Scott, your hand coming to clench at Scott’s now bloodied shirt. “Like… Like the furies coming down to punish Orestes.”

He gave Scott an unimpressed look upon seeing the dull expression on Scott’s face, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Was he the guy who stabbed out his eyes?”

Matt’s face turned red as he marched up to Scott and you, waving around the pistol in his hand, “God, that’s Oedipus, you dumbass!” Clenching Scott’s shirt tighter in your hand, you jumped as Matt’s gun waved right in your face. “The furies are deities of vengeance,” you whispered, your voice shaky with horror.

Matt without so much as a beat of pause, continued on “Their tears ran of blood and they had snakes for hair. If a crime that had gone unpunished, the furies would do the punishing.” Matt looked off in the distance where Jackson stood, hovering practically on top of Stiles and Derek. “Jackson is my fury.”

“When I saw him the next night, it was like this bond had been cemented between the two of us. I knew he had killed Lahey for me, and I knew he would do it again. So I went to Tucker’s garage. I even paid for an oil change, and guess what? He didn’t even recognize me. So when he wasn’t looking, I took a shot of him with my camera. And in a few hours, he was dead.”

Matt grew this satisfied smirk on his lips as he glanced at both you and Scott, “So I took more pictures. All I had to do was take their picture and Jackson would take their life.”

As if on cue with the end of Matt’s speech, the lights began to flicker on and off. The alarm system sounding from the malfunctioning of the lights. Matt freaked out from the sudden obstruction, “What’s that? What’s going on?”

He pointed the gone at both of you as Scott tried to assure him that you two didn’t know what was happening. A light scanned across Matt’s face and when you looked out all you saw were burly men with automatics before they began shooting into the window. Without thinking, you grabbed Scott by the back of his shirt and pulled him back out of the line of sight. Glass flung everywhere, scraping against your arms. In your haziness you barely heard the sound of a clank before the fog grenade exploded.

Scott took off with the knowledge that now you two were hidden, his hand in yours as you both ran towards the door, smoke filling your lungs. You saw the glint of Jackson’s half turned figure within the smoke and you took a chance. You flung your arm to the side casting a blast that smacked Jackson into the wall, giving you both enough time to get to Derek and Stiles. Scott went to Stiles and you to Derek only for you to be pushed away from the now almost healed man.

“Take him. Go!” The Alpha werewolf commanded, you scrambled up just behind Scott and Stiles, leaving Derek behind. Jackson recovered finally, walking after you three. You ushered the boys into the hallway of many doors, closing each one behind you to gain even just a spare second away from Jackson. It was short lived considering how rapidly the lizard boy smashed each barrier. You turned once more this time not just closing the door but sending another blast into Jackson’s chest. It sent him back just long enough for you to slam the door closed once more.

Scott set Stiles down somewhere safe, considering that he still couldn’t move, Stiles would only slow you guys down. “Don’t move,” you said dumbly. Stiles gave you a straight and unamused look, Scott sighed, “You know what she means.” Stiles head slinked down when Scott finally let go of him and you two rushed out the door, closing it quietly to hide your location within the station as best as possible.

Scott ran ahead, you only a few feet behind, when you smashed into his back from an abrupt stop. Allison was the reason for the stop, her cross bow pointing directly at Scott’s face. You figured it was from the tense situation, that is until she spoke with such venom.

“Allison,” Scott breathed in surprise.

The dark haired girl disregarded his tone, “Where’s Derek?”

You looked at her with concern, “What are you doing?” Allison did nothing to acknowledge your existence, “If you’re not going to tell me, then get out of my way.” You could feel the sadness start to radiate off the werewolf as he whispered her name once more only to get cut off, “Where is he?” Her words laced with such venom even made you shiver.

“What happened,” Scott asked once again, this time taking a step towards her. She raised her crossbow again, practically pushing it into his chest, “Scott…” Her voice hissed at him, “Scott, you need to stay away from me right now. You need to go. Just stay out of my way.”

Allison pushed passed Scott her shoulder brushing against yours. You tried to reach out to her, calling softly, “All-.”

“Back off.”

It became hard to breathe for a moment as you watched one of your best friends brush you off so coldly, so callously, as if you didn’t even matter to her.

Reality was brought back to you as Scott gripped your forearm gently, leading you through the still foggy police station. You could hear Sheriff yelling as he tried to most likely free himself, with the frighten encouragement of Melissa. Shortly after you hear the terrified shriek of your only mother figure. Scott and you made eye contact before rushing faster through the halls. You found the Kanima hanging along the bars of Melissa’s cell and Derek on the ground. Scott unleashed his claw, piercing the scaly flesh, grabbing ahold of Jackson’s lizard form and threw him on the ground.

Melissa made relief gasps as she saw that you and Scott were okay, “Scott…” She breathed for a second, “Oh, god Scott are you okay,” she cried through her worried tears.

You stood just in front of Scott as the Kanima stood once more, lunging at you. Without a second thought, you felt your eyes flash, your left hand raising to smack the Kanima’s scaly forehead. Your magical glow ringed out in a ripple effect, making the creature stumble from the force of your power. With the extra bit of time, you placed your right hand of his chest and blasted him back. The loud boom from your power echoed in the holding cell room. It gave just enough time for Derek to recover as he snarled, jumping the desk and chasing after the escaping lizard monster.

While your abilities may have saved you and Scott from the scaly claws of paralysis, it did nothing to aid you in the fear in Melissa’s voice. “Scott? Y/N?” She called clearly terrified and exhausted. Your eyes hadn’t stopped glowing from the amped up power you just displayed but it wasn’t like that was the only thing that gave you away. You slowly turned, flinching as Scott rose and you witnessed Melissa’s scared expression. She backed away into the shadows of her cell, as if to try and disappear from the monsters that were her kids.

Monsters.

Huh?

You had never truly felt any different to how you were before until you saw the look on Melissa’s face, the only mother you’ve known since you were just a little kid and she looks at you like you had just crawled out of the depths of hell.

Scott looked at Melissa like a frightened puppy but eventually left, running off to catch up with Jackson and Derek you had assumed. You on the hand stayed frozen staring at the woman with a longing for comfort. You didn’t get it as she continued to shake her head and whisper a cry of, “No!” A tear whisked its way down your face as you stepped closer to the bars, your hands wrapping around the rusted metal. Melissa quickly turned, holding herself as if to hide from you.

“Mom, please,” you whimpered, your eyes cloudy from tears. When you got no response in return, you did the same as your best friend, turned and ran away.

*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧*⁠.⁠✧

a/n: …um was that good for a sad ending? idk lol i guess let me know. Hope you guys enjoyed!

taglist: @somiaw @vvicaddiction @mushroomelephant @breadbrobin @traumverloren-anderswelt @fandom-princess-forevermore @vanessa-boo @mxltifxnd0m @thepopcultureaddict @rachlovesactors

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