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kaiist · 1 day ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The forest was silent. Too silent. Xavier felt it in his bones before the emergency signal even reached his com-device. His muscles tensed, lowering his sword as the vibration against his wrist sent ice through his veins.

He abandoned the trail immediately, feet pounding against the earth as he raced back to the location informed about the injured hunters. His knuckles whitened as they dug into the skin of his palm until it almost bled. Despite never doubting your abilities for a moment, he was consumed by a desperate wish that he had been there to prevent this from happening.

When he finally reached the hospital, the fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his face. The sight of you, broken and bloodied on the stretcher, caused something to fracture inside him. He stood paralyzed in the doorway, watching as medics rushed around your unconscious form, their voices fading to white noise.

“Hunter down, multiple lacerations, possible internal bleeding...”

One step. Two. He was beside your bed now, his hand hovering inches from yours, afraid that his touch might somehow hurt you more. A nurse tried to usher him away, but the look in his eyes made her step back. He was trying so hard to pull himself together, but the facade was crumbling.

“I’m staying,” he said simply, the words leaving no room for argument.

Days passed in a sterile blur. Xavier didn’t move from the uncomfortable chair beside your bed. He didn’t eat. There was a day when he slept like he was dead, with your hand clutched tight in his to feel your pulse. He’d just watched your chest rise and fall, as if his vigilance alone could keep you tethered to this world.

When your squad members came to visit, they brought news—the mission area had been mysteriously cleared out. No Wanderers remained. Not one. The cleanup had been thorough, leaving no traces behind. Nobody had seen who did it.

One of your colleagues shifted uncomfortably under Xavier’s gaze. “Strangest thing. Like they vanished overnight. Even the nest we couldn’t breach was empty.”

Xavier simply nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.

When the doctor suggested he get some rest, Xavier simply shook his head, eyes never leaving your face. He wouldn’t leave your side until he was completely assured that you were going to be okay.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, the words meant only for you despite your unconscious state. “I’ll always be here.”

Only when you stirred slightly, days later, did something change in his expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest tremor in his steady hands. He leaned forward, close enough that only you could hear the whisper.

“I will always find you. Always.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The operating room doors burst open as another trauma case rolled in. Zayne was mid-consultation when his pager buzzed with the emergency code. Standard procedure—until he glimpsed your face beneath the oxygen mask. Despite his professional exterior, panic was building inside him like a storm, threatening to break through his carefully maintained composure.

His clipboard clattered to the floor. “Get Doctor Dean,” he ordered sharply, already moving toward the gurney. “I know this patient.”

“Sir, protocol states—” the resident began.

“Get. Doctor. Dean.” His voice cut like a scalpel. The young doctor scrambled away as Zayne reached for your hand, his practiced fingers automatically finding your pulse.

“BP dropping, multiple trauma, suspected hemorrhage,” the paramedic rattled off. “Combat injury, ambush scenario.”

Zayne’s mind raced. As a former combat medic who’d seen countless injuries, he’d treated soldiers under artillery fire, but this—this was different. This was personal. Seeing your blood soaking through the bandages twisted his insides in ways combat never had.

“Doctor Zayne, you need to step back,” Doctor Dean said firmly, already moving to intercept him. “You know protocol.”

“I’m her physician,” Zayne countered, his voice tight as he tried to get closer.

Doctor Dean blocked his path. “Your emotions will compromise your judgment. We’ve got her.”

Zayne’s fists clenched at his sides as they wheeled you toward the operating room. Every instinct screamed at him to follow, to take control, to fix you himself. Instead, he was forced to watch through the observation window, a spectator to your fight for survival, his mind a whirlwind of unbridled fear.

Hours passed like years. His colleagues offered coffee, suggested he rest. He didn’t respond. His eyes never left the monitors displaying your vital signs, gripping the observation window’s edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

In your recovery room, Zayne sat perfectly still, your hand clasped between both of his. His thumbs pressed against your wrist, monitoring your pulse as if the machines couldn’t be trusted. Others who passed by the room hardly recognized the distinguished cardiac surgeon in the haggard man who refused to leave your side.

Yvonne entered to adjust your IV, giving Zayne a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Doctor Zayne, you should get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep when she wakes up,” he replied without looking up, his professional demeanor completely abandoned.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, his composure cracked just enough for you to see the storm that had been raging beneath.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered hoarsely, “ever scare me like that again.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery was packed for Rafayel’s showcase, champagne flowing as critics and collectors mingled among his latest masterpieces. Thomas beamed at the turnout, already calculating the evening’s profits.

Then Rafayel’s phone rang.

The transformation was instant. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by an expression Thomas had never seen before—horror and fear combined. All thoughts of the gallery, the collectors, his artwork—everything disappeared in an instant.

The champagne flute shattered on the marble floor. Rafayel was already moving, shoving through the crowd without a word of explanation.

“Rafayel! Where are you—the collector from Rome is waiting to meet you!” Thomas called after him, but Rafayel was already gone, racing down the steps two at a time, car keys in hand.

The sports car’s tires screeched against the asphalt as he tore through traffic lights, honking frantically at slower vehicles, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. When another driver cut him off, Rafayel slammed his fist against the horn, a string of curses falling from his lips. His hands shook violently on the steering wheel, heart racing faster than the car.

“Move!” he screamed, swerving dangerously into the next lane. “Get out of my way!”

The hospital parking lot wasn’t meant for the kind of turn he attempted. The car scraped against a concrete pillar, but Rafayel didn’t spare it a second glance as he abandoned it half in a disabled spot, keys still in the ignition..

At the reception desk, his hands trembled so violently he could barely hold your ID card. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice cracking. “Please, I need to see her now.”

When they finally led him to your room, Rafayel froze in the doorway. Tubes and wires connected you to machines that beeped rhythmically, monitoring the life still flickering within you. Your skin was ashen, eyes closed, chest barely rising with each shallow breath.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, approaching slowly as if afraid you might shatter. He sank into the chair beside your bed, taking your limp hand between his. “Cutie, please. Can you hear me?”

A nurse offered him a blanket as night fell, but Rafayel shook his head. Hours passed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. There would be no painting, no eating, no sleeping—nothing until you were stable.

When his phone rang—Thomas, undoubtedly—he silenced it without looking.

As dawn broke, a doctor found him still awake, your hand pressed to his lips, whispering promises only you could hear.

“She’s stabilizing,” the doctor said gently. “But recovery will take time.”

Rafayel simply nodded, eyes never leaving your face. “Time is all I have to give.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The notification from Mephisto came during a crucial meeting with the N109 Zone’s security council. The mechanical crow landed urgently on his shoulder, displaying the screen that showed what had just happened. Usually, Mephisto watched over your missions, keeping Sylus informed, but this time—something had gone terribly wrong.

He stopped speaking so abruptly that everyone at the table turned to stare. The blood drained from his face as the footage streamed directly to his personal display—you, surrounded and overwhelmed, fighting until you couldn’t anymore.

“Boss?” one of them ventured. “Should we continue with—”

“Meeting adjourned,” Sylus declared, already on his feet. “Indefinitely.”

No further explanation. No delegation of responsibilities. The council exchanged bewildered glances as the leader strode from the room, his coat billowing behind him, a storm of fury and fear brewing beneath his composed exterior.

Minutes later, the distinctive roar of his motorcycle echoed through the compound as he tore toward Linkon City, weaving through traffic at speeds that turned the world around him into a blur. The only clear thought in his mind was reaching you.

When he arrived at the emergency ward you were in, no one dared question why this person with an imposing, dangerous aura was storming through their halls.

The doctor who approached him looked nervous when Sylus started to ask questions, not bothering to mention who he was. “Mister, she’s lost a significant amount of blood. We’ve managed to stabilize her, but—”

“Show me,” Sylus commanded.

Your room was silent save for the mechanical beeping of monitors. Sylus stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of you lying motionless, bandages covering much of your visible skin, an oxygen mask obscuring half your face.

Without a word, he pulled a chair to your bedside and sat, taking your hand in his.

“I need the names,” he said to the empty room, calling either Luke or Kieran. “Everyone involved. Every detail. Now.” Whether it was Wanderers or some shady people who did this, he would eliminate them all, leaving no traces behind.

As night fell, he remained at your side, one hand holding yours while the other tapped commands into his device, as he kept tapping his feet from either impatience or anxiousness. He wouldn’t let himself breathe peacefully until he knew you were okay.

Only when you stirred slightly, a small sound of pain escaping your lips, did his facade crack. He leaned forward, brushing hair from your forehead with such gentleness.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll handle everything else.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb’s comm device blared the emergency alert in his office—a sound it was programmed to make for only one person’s vitals. The color drained from his face as he stared at the readout, the severity of your condition displayed in harsh red numbers.

Nothing else mattered. Not Skyhaven, not his duties, not anything except reaching you.

The hangar technicians scrambled as he approached, his expression sending them into immediate action. “Prepare my craft for immediate departure,” he ordered, already climbing into the cockpit.

“Sir, the preflight checks—”

“Now!” The word echoed through the hangar, silencing all objections.

The journey that should have taken hours was compressed into a white-knuckled descent that violated at least six safety protocols. As the craft touched down on the hospital’s landing pad, security personnel rushed forward, only to stop short when they recognized the Colonel’s insignia.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the first orderly he encountered inside, frantically searching for you.

His uniform opened doors that would have remained closed to others. When he reached the ICU, the attending physician intercepted him, datapad in hand.

“Colonel, she’s sustained significant trauma. We’ve induced a coma to manage the—”

“Take me to her.” It wasn’t a request.

The sight of you connected to life support sent a visible tremor through his body. This was worse than any nightmare he’d ever imagined.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, sinking into the chair beside you. His fingers brushed against yours, then curled around your hand. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His mind was already calculating retribution. Whoever had done this—be it Wanderers or other enemies—they will pay for this.

Days passed. Nurses came and went. Messages from Skyhaven accumulated, unanswered. Caleb remained unmoved, his thumb tracing circles on your palm as if trying to coax you back to consciousness through touch alone.

“Colonel, you should rest,” she suggested gently.

“I’m fine,” he responded, voice hoarse from disuse.

When you finally began to stir days later, Caleb was there, his face the first thing you saw as consciousness returned. Relief washed over his features as he pressed his forehead to your hand, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Behind his smile, the knowledge that those responsible had already answered for their actions. But that was a conversation for another day. For now, you were awake, and nothing else mattered.

Another draft out. Also based on this request.

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caifanes · 2 years ago

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wattpad ass plot

#someone NEEDS to do a literary analysis of this vein of writing that’s obsessed with romance plots where the main threat to the hot #protagonist is not wanting to fall in love with a guy and getting kidnapped.#it’s so white woman coded #it definitely stems from the absurdity of melodramatic soap operas but the cast is no longer adults and all this crazy shit happens as the #wild fantasies of teenagers influenced by those soap operas

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fromdove · 3 days ago

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MY JASON TODD PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEADCANONS !

welcome to my ted talk. go ahead and sit your semi-literate goblin ass down and take notes, because i am about to paint you a portrait of this man so vivid you’ll think i dipped my brush in the lazarus pit itself.

HETEROCHROMIA. one blue eye & one green eye. im a very big and firm believer on this. this is my religion. this is my prayer. jason todd's eyes are my gospel, and I am the devoted disciple on my knees at the altar. he's always had them, before the lazarus pit & AFTER the lazarus pit. (although after the lazarus pit id like to point out that his eyes got a bit brighter especially the green!). i saw fanart once of this—just one image—and it was enough to send me into a trance. my jaw unhinged like a snake

LARGE SHARP ALMOND EYES. eyes sharp enough to cut!! real real real. sharp enough to gut someone in an alley. you get looked at by him and feel like you need to apologize for crimes you haven’t committed yet. yup that. they soften when he looks at you tho bc ur his amazing angel faced baby.

HIS GODDAMN JAWLINE. the kind you see on statues. could cut diamonds. so perfect. brutal. Pythagoras would rise from the grave with a boner, calculator in hand, shaking and crying overwhelmed by the sheer geometry of him. drooling. weeping & erect.

6'4!!!!!!!!!! MY MAN IS TALL. A GIANT. GARGANTUAN. and that’s the final word. idgaf. don’t come in here with that “canon says he’s 6’0” nonsense. fuck canon. canon is a lie built by cowards. they've screwed up my babies too many times to count. my Jason ducks under door frames and casts shadows over people trying to insult him. he intimidates every man in a ten-mile radius just by standing up.

BULKY. (not crazy bulky like those steroid obsessed body builder protein-powder-in-the-veins monstrous freaks but still jacked af. (like in this picture: click here and here) . he’s jacked like a Greek statue, like a renaissance painting of a war god.

white streak. white streak 24/7 for the rest of infinity. all night. every universe. every reboot. i don’t care. Non-negotiable. he got it from the one and only pit. he tried to cut it, dye it, tried everything to get rid of it at first but it just kept growing back and the dye would never work on it somehow ??/ so he just gave up lmao

OKOK his nose. my fave nose to picture jason with is an sightly upturned nose with a bump in the middle. do you guys know what kind of nose im yappin about? here is a visual: click here

ive seen fanart with jason with the j scar and i just think it fits his character and backstory. yes it was from that makeup-smeared tragedy of a circus reject. but fuck him!! this is about jason peter todd. my baby is still hot af anyways so.

SHARP CANINES. BITE ME WITH THEM. LORDDD MOTHERR GODDD. Carnivore-coded. was he born with them? is it a lazarus thing? either way theyre sharp little bastards. He tries to be careful, he reallyyy does but sometimes, mid-kiss, they slip. he nips you. he pulls back, eyes wide, guilt-ridden. you’re breathless. he spews like a million apologizes coz the last thing he wants to do it hurt u. but u dont care bc it feels so goddamn good... STOP ME)

Full lips that look like they’re always swollen from a brawl or a kiss.. with a slight cupids bow. god. yes. the corners/edges of his mouth are sharp (does that make sense?? help). he also has scars extending from the corners that look like smiles, they only stretch a few centimeters out. not that long at all. joker’s parting gift, poetic as it is cruel. OH AND he has the Toji scar !!! this one right here: click here

dark brown hair thats wavy & fluffy heeheheh (2c textured.) not straight, not curly, that luscious in-between mess that stays tousled and tragic and stupidly sexy no matter what. fluffy. thick. ruffles in the wind like he's some sad, angry prince. you run your hands through it and he pretends he doesn’t melt. he is NAWT a victim of the male pattern baldness epidemic. bye no no no no he doesnt bald thanks to the lazarus pit.

THICK DARK & FULL STRAIGHT BROWSSS. IDCCC THIS MAN HAS THICK BROWS. These brows have seen things. They furrow when he’s pissed (which is like always lmao), They’re intimidating, god-tier brows kinda brows. oh oh and theyre also kind of upturned !

his fingers. jesusususususus. Veiny. Long-fingered. Calloused. Worn. His knuckles are always scabbed (from fights). His nails are short, His fingers could snap a neck, but you just want them on your throat for different reasons. And the rings? Thick, heavy, sharp. Some brass. Some iron. they double as weapons. like i just know if someone pisses him off the rings are going to hurt like straight up fucking hell.

this man has long lashes. like long enough to collect dew. Thick enough to cast shadows. curled at the tips. his lashes are criminal. like wtf. theyre the kind that make mascara cry. they frame his eyes and face perfectly

scars all over. he has the autopsy scar on his chest, he has scars on his back too. his face, arms, legs, everywhere. bullet grazes, knife cuts etc..his entire body is a war journal basically

he has eye bags and dark circles which is a given considering what he does and his lack of sleep. They're not “oh, I pulled an all-nighter” eye bags, theyre bruised purpulish blue with a bit of red. u can seen some veins. his eye bags r a little puffy. this paired with his sharp eyes make him look very very intimidating to others but not to u, bc wdym intimidating? he's my angel?? he would never hurt a fly?? tf?

a few extra's!!:

A slight scar on his eyebrow from a fall off a fire escape in crime alley when he was 12. Never stitched it (despite the constant nagging from bruce & alfred). he said the blood made him look cool. (my angel baby i love him)

a voice that’s deeper than you expect. gravelly. like he chewed cigarettes for breakfast and chased them with glass. but it dips soft when he says your name. unbearably soft. traitorously tender.

faint cigarette burn on the inside of his left forearm. from back when he thought pain might be the only thing that made him real. said it was an accident. it wasn’t.

A barely-there tremor in his right hand. Old injury. Nerve damage.

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noorpersona · 27 days ago

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Rivalry: Iwaizumi Pt. 3 (NSFW)

The overhead lights in your office buzzed faintly, casting a sterile sheen across your desk, your tea, your meticulously arranged files. Every folder sat aligned at a perfect angle, every spreadsheet tabbed and color-coded to hell and back. You had done it all this morning, trying to distract yourself—trying to settle your mind with clean lines and predictable logic. The problem was, your hands weren’t moving. Your cursor blinked on the empty field of the player report form, waiting for an input that wasn’t coming.

You were still in last night’s gym.

You could feel it—his hand at your waist, his breath ghosting along your neck, the focused burn in his eyes like he’d been trying so hard not to look and failing anyway. That single brush of his fingertips over your lower back had lingered longer than it should have. You’d felt the press of his palm even after the janitor’s voice startled you both apart.

You clicked your pen hard against the desk, leaving a dent in the paper beneath it. No. You are not spiraling over Iwaizumi Hajime’s fucking triceps. This wasn’t high school. You didn’t have a crush. You had standards—and a job to do.

So why the hell couldn’t you stop replaying how his eyes had dropped—not to your clipboard, not to your notes—but to your mouth, right before the door opened?

Another sharp click. Another unfinished line of text. The memory flushed through your chest like static, and you were just about to stand and walk it off when a knock sounded on your door.

It was brisk. Familiar. Firm.

You barely managed to school your features into something neutral before the door cracked open—and there he was.

Iwaizumi Hajime, looming like a storm cloud, his Olympic-branded laptop tucked under one arm. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, veins tracing his forearms like tension maps, his jaw tight, unreadable. He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped inside your office with the restrained efficiency of a man too used to high-stakes situations.

“I’ve updated the training program,” he said, voice rough and clipped, as if last night hadn’t happened. “Based on what you showed me yesterday.”

He moved toward your desk, tilted the screen toward you. The moment the spreadsheet opened, your eyes skimmed the rows—and your stomach tightened.

Komori’s lateral sequences had been scaled down. Hyakuzawa’s overhead load was decreased. Flexibility modules were individualized. The wording was precise. The ratios were accurate.

You couldn’t believe it.

“It looks… solid,” you said, cautiously. “You actually listened.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth quirked. “I always listen.”

“You just don’t usually believe me,” you muttered, fingers tapping the edge of the keyboard.

He shrugged. “I believe you when you’re right.”

You were about to fire back when the door slammed open.

“Whoa—no yelling?” Bokuto’s voice rang out with playful disbelief as he peeked in, already grinning.

Behind him, Yaku gave a nod like he’d seen this coming from a mile away. “Told you they’d mellow out eventually.”

You crossed your arms, glaring. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“Seeing if the explosion already happened,” Bokuto chirped, eyes darting between you and Iwaizumi. “But this? You’re practically cozy. Suspicious.”

“Get out,” Iwaizumi growled, his voice all grit and warning.

“Wait, are you two—” Bokuto began.

“Absolutely not,” you cut in, sharp enough to decapitate.

Yaku raised a brow. “You’re denying it a little too fast, Doc.”

Iwaizumi’s glare could have melted iron. “Say one more thing and you’re benched for the week.”

“Okay, okay!” Bokuto backed up, laughing. “Damn. Just saying—it’s new energy.”

You stood, jaw clenched. “Out. Now.”

The two Olympic players exchanged a final glance before Bokuto tossed over his shoulder, “If it does happen, call me for the wedding.”

As the door shut behind them, you exhaled sharply. “They are insufferable.”

Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “Because we let them be.”

He turned toward the door, laptop still under his arm. Before leaving, he hesitated—just for a beat—and looked at you over his shoulder.

“Seriously. You were right. Yesterday.”

The words landed heavy. Too heavy.

“…Thanks.”

He nodded once, then walked out. Door closing on his way out.

And you didn’t move for a long time.

Not until your pulse calmed and the sound of his voice stopped buzzing in your ears.

You’d barely made it back to your office from your lunch break and shut the door behind you before there was another knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That rhythm was far too obnoxious to belong to anyone else.

“Doc!” Atsumu Miya strolled in like he owned the place, grinning with all the charm of a cat who’d just knocked something off a counter. “Got a second? My shoulder’s actin�� up again—figured you’d be thrilled to poke around in it.”

You rolled your eyes, but gestured toward the exam bench anyway. “Sit. Shirt off. Keep the commentary to a minimum.”

“That’s no fun,” he mumbled, but obeyed, peeling his shirt off with the practiced flair of someone who knew exactly what his arms looked like in fluorescent lighting.

You slipped on your gloves, moving around him with practiced ease. “Still some impingement from the inflammation?”

“Mmhm,” he replied, rotating his arm slightly. “Worse after I sleep on it wrong.”

You pressed gently along the front of the shoulder, assessing the rotation with subtle shifts. He winced once, which you noted.

Then, predictably, the smirk returned.

“Ya and Iwaizumi-san looked cozy earlier,” he said casually, not even trying to be slick. “Should I be worried?”

You froze for half a second, just enough for him to catch it.

“Worried he might kill me?” you deadpanned, fingers still pressed to his deltoid. “Absolutely.”

Atsumu huffed a laugh, but his eyes narrowed, too observant for your liking.

“I was thinkin’ the opposite,” he mused. “Didn’t look like hate to me.”

Your brows twitched.

You narrowed your eyes. “Did the rest of the team put you up to this?”

Atsumu’s smirk deepened. “What? Can’t a guy notice things on his own?”

You scoffed and reached for his shoulder again. “I’m going to press deeper into the joint now.”

Atsumu, still grinning, relaxed his shoulder—and immediately yelped when your fingers dug just slightly harder into the inflamed tissue.

“Still tender, I see?” you asked innocently, lifting a brow.

“Ow—damn, Doc!” he hissed, rubbing the area as you pulled back. “That was a low blow.”

You offered a thin smile. “Consider it a reminder to keep your theories to yourself.”

He winced, stretching his shoulder slowly. “You wound me. Here I am, bringin’ you a little entertainment in your dull clinic, and you repay me with violence.”

“I repay you with diagnostics,” you replied coolly, stepping around to the back of his shoulder. “And unsolicited opinions get the treatment they deserve.”

“Don’t know why you’re actin’ like this is such a scandal,” he muttered. “Half the gym’s been waitin’ for you two to snap and jump each other.”

Your glove-clad fingers stilled mid-rotation.

Atsumu grinned like a shark. “C’mon, you mean to tell me ya don’t see it? All that arguing—feels like foreplay.”

"It is not in your best interest to continue that train of thought."

You moved to the back of his shoulder and rotated the joint again, this time met with less resistance.

But your heart was suddenly in your throat.

Atsumu didn’t push further—blessedly—but his silence was far louder than any teasing remark. He watched you finish the check-up with a strange sort of calm, the air between you humming with something unsaid.

“You’re good,” you said finally, peeling off the gloves and tossing them into the bin. “Still keep the compression sleeve on when you’re not on court. I’ll send you some updated stretches.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He hopped off the bench, slinging his shirt over his shoulder. But just before he stepped out, he paused at the door.

“Y’know,” he said, almost too casually, “it’s kinda wild. Iwaizumi’s been here for years, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

The door shut behind him before you could ask what the hell that meant.

And you hated—hated—the way your face warmed.

The lights in the hallways were dim, the soft hum of the facility settling into its nightly lull. Most of the staff had already cleared out—offices darkened, doors locked, the echo of your footsteps the only thing keeping the silence company. You rolled your shoulder, spine aching after another long day of meetings, treatment notes, and dodging the smug glances Atsumu kept throwing you every time he passed your office.

You were halfway to the exit, bag slung over your shoulder, keys in hand, when something made you stop. A dull, rhythmic sound. The muted clang of weights meeting padded flooring.

Your eyes cut to the side.

The training gym was lit only by a single overhead bulb in the far corner, flickering slightly above the racks. Inside, shirtless, sweat-slicked, and visibly focused, stood Hajime Iwaizumi. Alone.

You didn’t mean to stop. But your feet planted themselves anyway.

He was mid-lift—some kind of upright barbell press—and the curve of his back shifted with every rep, sweat rolling down between the muscles that flexed and released with practiced rhythm. His sweatpants clung to the powerful line of his hips, and a notebook sat open beside him on the bench, filled with scrawled corrections and diagrams. He wasn’t just working out. He was testing.

Your breath snagged, and before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out to gently push the door open.

Iwaizumi looked up.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t blink. Just kept lifting, jaw tight, eyes catching yours.

"You just gonna stand there," he said, voice gravelled with fatigue and something warmer, "or you planning to come in?"

Your heart gave an inconvenient lurch.

You stepped in. Slowly. The door clicked shut behind you, the echo bouncing off the gym walls like a warning shot.

"Didn’t think you’d still be here," you said, keeping your voice neutral.

He lowered the weights, rolling his shoulders back with a grunt. "Didn’t finish the work. That thing you won’t stop nagging me about."

Your lips twitched. "Right. That thing."

A beat of silence. Thick and heavy.

You moved closer, eyeing the open notebook.

"You’ve changed a lot," you said, voice quieter.

He arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

You pointed at the program updates. "The circuits. You adjusted the progression intervals. And you finally stopped overloading the endurance drills."

A shrug. "You were right."

Your eyes flicked up, surprised to hear it from his mouth.

"Don’t get smug," he muttered.

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

The corner of his mouth quirked, and for a moment, the silence between you was less heavy. Just taut. Like a pulled wire.

You pointed to the bar. "May I?"

His brow raised, but he stepped aside. You brushed past him—just barely—but the heat that rolled off his skin followed you like static. You wrapped your fingers around the bar, adjusted your stance.

"Like last night," you murmured, reaching back with your hand, brushing your palm across the taut muscle of his abdomen. "You’re still tensing too soon. Posterior tilt’s off."

He let out a rough exhale. "You always this picky?"

"You always this stubborn?"

He caught your wrist. Not hard—just firm enough that your eyes snapped to his.

"You know what you’re doing."

Your pulse jumped. "Do I?"

His mouth crashed into yours before you could answer.

Everything went hot and messy.

His lips were rough, desperate, teeth scraping your lower lip like it was a grudge he meant to settle. You gasped into his mouth as his hands found your waist, calloused fingers digging into the soft give of your skin like he could anchor himself there. The gym’s cold air was a distant thing, barely felt beneath the furnace of your bodies colliding, friction turning tension into fire.

You didn’t remember moving, only the wild clutch of your limbs and his, the stumble of your shoes across the floor. One step. Two. Then you were walking him backward toward the center mat, his chest rising beneath your touch. He was tugging your shirt up, shoving it over your head with a grunt of impatience, and it hit the ground somewhere behind you. You didn’t care. You needed more—needed his skin under your palms, needed to feel him, solid and hot and here.

"You’re such a pain in my ass," you growled, teeth flashing as you wrestled with the waistband of his sweats.

"Yeah?" he rasped, his hand already sliding past the waistband of your leggings, fingers curling possessively around your ass. "Then why do you keep showing up?"

You shoved him. Hard.

He hit the mat with a thud, breath whooshing out of him—and still he grinned like the bastard he was, even as he yanked you down on top of him.

Your thighs spread across his hips as you straddled him, your palms braced on his chest, feeling the flex of muscle beneath each ragged breath. You kissed him again—slower this time, deeper. Your tongue slid against his, your hips beginning to roll, teasing friction where your bodies met. His cock strained against his sweats, thick and hot and barely contained.

"Take them off," you muttered.

He obeyed. Sweats shoved down, boxers next, and his cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and ready. You stared for a beat too long.

"What?" he panted, eyes dark and glassy.

"Nothing," you lied. "Just shut up."

Clothes hit the floor in a trail of skin and fabric. Your leggings. Your panties. His shirt. Everything discarded in your frantic need.

He sat up just enough to run his hands up your sides, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts, then down to your thighs as you shifted above him. You held his gaze as you reached between you, guiding him to your entrance. Your breath caught at the first stretch—then you sank down, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you.

You both froze.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body adjusting to the thickness of him. The sensation was overwhelming—stretching you open, the slow drag of every inch sending a shiver down your spine. It had been too long since something felt this good. Since someone felt this good.

He groaned, hands trembling against your waist, gripping you like he might come undone.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You—"

"Don’t talk," you snapped, breathless.

You rocked forward, and he moaned. A sound from deep in his throat, guttural and raw. You did it again—slow, dragging circles with your hips, feeling every ridge, every inch, the way he filled you so completely you could barely breathe. The pleasure curled through you hot and tight, blooming in your belly, liquid heat spreading with every thrust.

His mouth found your neck, tongue tracing the line of your throat before he bit, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you whimper.

"You drive me insane," he muttered against your skin, and this time, you didn’t argue.

You set a rhythm, your hands on his chest, his hands on your ass, guiding you down harder, deeper, every motion building heat in your belly. Sweat slicked your skin, your thighs trembled, and every thrust sent sparks up your spine. The tension climbed higher, unbearable, addictive.

He met you thrust for thrust, rising to meet you, hips snapping up as you dropped down, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the gym walls. You felt yourself unraveling around him, muscles tightening, your body shaking.

"You like this, don’t you?" he growled, voice low and fucked out. "Being in charge. Getting your way."

"Shut up, Hajime."

He grinned—and flipped you.

You hit the mat with a gasp, his body heavy and hot above you. He braced one arm beside your head, the other slipping under your thigh as he pulled your leg higher around his waist.

"Not gonna let you win everything, Doc."

Then he was pounding into you, unrelenting, deep and fast, and your fingers clawed into his back, desperate to hold onto something as pleasure overtook you. Each thrust filled you to the hilt, your walls fluttering around him, slick and tight and aching.

You cried out, eyes fluttering shut, hips canting up to meet his every thrust.

"There," you gasped. "Right there—"

He didn’t stop. Not until your back arched, legs locking around his waist, and you came with a broken moan, pleasure snapping through you like lightning. You pulsed around him, body locking up as ecstasy tore through you.

He followed seconds later, groaning into your neck, his body trembling with release.

For a long moment, all you heard was breath. Harsh. Labored. Yours and his.

He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his hand tangled in your hair.

You stared at the ceiling.

Oh, fuck.

What now?

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hesperisms · 6 months ago

Note

hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?

i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..

// Safe Haven

"You're not fighting alone this time..."

// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...

// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?

// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.

He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.

DING.

Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.

He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.

DING.

Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.

Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.

He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.

"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.

Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.

"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.

Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.

Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.

"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.

"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.

Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.

"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.

Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.

"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.

Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.

He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.

Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.

"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."

Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.

He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.

"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.

"She's awake?"

He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Go to your woman, Zayne!"

Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."

"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.

"Terrible?"

"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."

You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.

"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."

As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.

Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.

He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.

Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.

"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.

The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.

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tisthenightofthewitch · 23 days ago

Text

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Walking into the light, a robed, long-haired man steps out from his seat, arms-outstretched to the crowd before him, sparking a deafening round of applause. ‘Jesus has returned!’ shouts a corpse-painted nun. On this (un)holiest of Easter weekends, the O2 arena finds itself transformed into a biblical fever dream, as throngs of vestment-clad glitter-covered devotees await the arrival of their true idol of worship, Tobias Forge, the frontman of visionary occult party-rockers Ghost.

It’s been three years since the clergy’s last “ritual” in London, with 2022’s critically-acclaimed album Impera heralding their previous tour cycle. Now ushering in a new era - one manifested by a metallic new wardrobe and plenty of purple - unlike their last appearance here, tonight’s performance arrives unusually ahead of the release of their latest offering, Skeletá, giving fans the rare chance to experience multiple new tracks before the rest of the world.

That sense of exclusivity is amplified by the evening’s phone ban, which sees fans forced to lock away their devices in sealed Yondr pouches. Though it certainly feels like a dystopian move - can’t we really just ask gig-goers to abstain from filming? - the payoff is undeniably worthwhile.

Undistracted by the tempt to film, the room buzzes with transfixed glee, as Ghost open the set with the entirely new Peacefield, a glossy 80s-coded anthem that lands somewhere between Journey and Kiss. Expanding on the retro tenor is the recently-released Lachryma, Forge decorating the fist-pulling ballad with actorly poses and marvellously camp crooning. Later, Skeletá’s first single Satanized arrives with its galloping offbeat riff, initiating larger movement from the audience, before its lovably ridiculous chorus ignites crucifix-like stances and joyous exclamations of 'blasphemy, heresy!'. The final new track, Umbra, is utterly synth-drenched and neon-coloured, the venue’s lights casting the stage in a deep purple hue to match.

Coupled with the band’s new look - the nameless ghouls forming a troupe of bejewelled top-hatted skeletons and Forge evoking some kind of modern-day, satin-suited reiteration of Death, and the Skeletá era already feels a lot slicker, even sexier. The set is also mostly kept minimal, Ghost’s logo fixed above the stage in an arrangement of lights, before inflated church pillars and digital stain glass windows portray epic, evangelical scenes that further emphasise the religious and ritzy mood.

For most of the set, Ghost dip into their older, heavier hymnals, the majority of songs played from Meliora such as Cirice, Mummy Dust, He Is, Majesty, Devil Church and Spirit, their darker, doomier natures filling the arena with thunderous drum thumps and booming bass lines that feel as though their vibrating deep into your bones.

Meanwhile, Forge flaunts around the stage, skipping and rocking, his devilishly thespian bravado an ever-transfixing sight, as confetti and bursts of air explode out for that final theatrical punch on closing songs Mary On A Cross, Dance Macabre and Square Hammer.

Though the night was missing most songs from the much-loved Impera, with the upcoming Skeletá album seemingly carrying on its 80s vein, Ghost are band that needn't rely on the excitement of newer releases or fan-filmed footage on social media. Instead, they’ve created a sacred - and superbly-fun - world of their own, one run by its own rules and enchanting lore, and after performances like tonight, it feels like a privilege just to be let inside.

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Ghost setlist: O2 Arena, London – April 19, 2025

Peacefield Lachryma Spirit Faith Majesty The Future Is A Foreign Land Devil Church Cirice Darkness At The Heart Of My Love Satanized Ritual Umbra Year Zero He Is Rats Kiss the Go-Goat Mummy Dust Monstrance Clock

Encore: Mary on a Cross Dance Macabre Square Hammer

Metal Hammer

#ghost band #the band ghost #ghost #tobias forge #nameless ghouls #ghouls #Skeleta #papa perpetua

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eulogybaby · 9 months ago

Text

thinking about loserboy!neo and his office siren boss!reader. is it ethically unacceptable to call him into your office at least once a day and scrutinize him for ‘inadequate’ coding? no. you’re his boss after all, and it’s your job to encourage him to do better. did you secretly go in there and delete chunks of what he programmed just to have an excuse to have him stand there in front of your desk all quiet and sullen with those big beautiful brown eyes? maybe. i mean, fuck, that big, pretty poindexter is just way too good at what he does. how else are you gonna come up with an excuse to start making home visits?

then, when you have him where you want him; laying under you, moaning pitifully on the bed of his nerdy hovel, adam's apple bobbing as he tries to desperately swallow back gasps of air, the flickering green fluorescence of his collection of CRT monitors casting pretty shadows over his features, you ride him even faster. knowing he's sensitive to that, knowing you'll get to see the veins in that pretty long neckline of his bulge and pulse with effort to keep from cumming too quickly as his head falls back. your wet thighs meet as you use his pale cock for your own pleasure. what a fucking virgin. maybe you'll let him cum inside as a reward if he holds out long enough...

#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʟ0s3ʀʙ0ɪ.#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴇᴛᴄʜɪɴɢs ᴏғ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ.#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʟᴏᴠᴇ & sᴇɴsᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ.#(i ate with this one i fear)#neo x reader #neo anderson x reader

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starhvney · 4 months ago

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𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝟑 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟕: 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝐂𝐖: ptsd and anxiety, hints to reader being malnourished and scarred, descriptions of reader’s hair being cut into a choppy ass pixie cut

𝐀/𝐍: happiness is on the bleak horizon

𝐖𝐂: 6,100+

𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑: the incredible @arienic! she basically coauthored this chapter so incredibly huge shoutout to my amazing friend ^^

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒

Rain patters on the windowpane, the rhythmic tap tap tap of the drops soothing against your ears. You always loved it when it stormed back home. The world always became so quiet when it rained, the pure water washing away the dirt and making the greenery flourish. The rain lilies that would pop up the next day were always so beautiful. You remember studying under your window and…

Wait… window?

Your eyes snap open as your heart begins to speed up uncontrollably, provoking an uncomfortable tightness in your chest. Slowly, you sit up, feeling the firm hospital bed mattress below you. The room you're in is dimly lit, but there’s no blood dried on the sheets, or bars caging you in. No, there's a window on the wall next to you with cards arranged across the sill, and vases filled with flowers alongside them.

But you aren't safe. You aren't.

Where are you?

When you swallow there’s a horribly unpleasant feeling in your throat, invading your nostrils and restraining your breathing. Reaching up, you feel a plastic tube line that’s been inserted in your nose. With a sense of urgency, you tug on it, the feeling of plastic sliding up your throat making you want to gag. Still, you keep going until you've relieved yourself of the unnatural feeling, then toss it to the side.

“Miss?” A hand lands on your shoulder, clasping against the bone that now forced your skin to stretch over it.

You can’t control the reaction that comes out of you: as pure fear shoots through your veins, so does a scream through your throat; one that tears at your vocal chords and sends you flailing over the edge of the bed.

“NO! DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

There has to be something you can use to defend yourself—you skitter back on the cold tile, searching the room desperately.

“Code Violet… I repeat, Code Violet—Ma’am, you can’t be in here!”

Water splashes on you as you stumble to your feet, the nearest flower vase clenched tightly in your hands. It reels up behind you as you raise your arm, ready to be thrown.

“That’s my daughter! Yes I can!”

Your breath immediately catches, a knot twisting in your throat as the familiar voice of your mother echoes against the sterile white walls. It freezes you in your tracks, and through the watery film cast over your eyes, you see her, staring oh-so-desperately at you as a nurse attempts to hold her back.

“…Mommy?”

You’re not sure if your voice comes out loud enough. The childish name had fallen from your lips in a hoarse whisper. But she hears it, and with every ounce of strength she can gather she pushes past the nurse again, plucking the vase right out of your weakened hands and pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe.” Her words are choked as loud sobs and quick breaths ring loudly in your ears. You're not sure where they're coming from—you can't tell if anyone else is in the room, with your vision so blurry. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Shhh, my sweet girl. Shh…”

Why is she telling you to be quiet?

Oh.

The loud sobbing was coming from you.

A prick in your arm makes you gasp, and it feels as though a large wave crashes over you, gradually forcing your muscles to relax. Your breaths slow and a pain you didn’t realize had been squeezing your lungs slowly dissipates.

With your mother’s arms still hosting you dearly against her, you turn sluggishly to see the same nurse from before backing away from the two of you with a wary look in her eye, an empty syringe situated between her gloved fingers.

“Ma’am, could you please return your daughter to the bed? She ripped out her IV line; she needs to finish this drip.”

The nurse is at least gentle with her words, this time, gesturing to the hospital bed as she moves back to the other side of the room, giving you both a respectable amount of space. At least four other staff members are standing in the doorway to your room, you realize, but most importantly your dad was pushing through them, eyes glued to you.

“Okay. Come here, sweetheart.” The arms around you lift you up, and like a child, you let them, legs giving in as you’re placed back onto the mattress.

You feel relieved.

Strong, calloused hands of your father gently pull you to lay back down just as a small wave of dizziness swirls your vision. Even now as you lay down, he squeezes your smaller hands in his, a strange mistiness in his eyes you haven't seen before.

You feel suffocated.

There’s too many people, but whatever the nurse gave you in that syringe keeps you from expressing your panic. Your humiliation. Your fear. Why are those other people still in the doorway? You want them to leave.

Still, they stay, and the nurse from before cautiously approaches your side—squeezing beside your mom as she grabs the IV line. You hadn’t even noticed it in your skin, or registered or getting ripped out in your fall.

You feel confused.

But… your parents are here, and they don’t lean back from the woman in scrubs or scorn her. So… she must be safe, right?

“Miss, I am very sorry for startling you. It was my honest mistake for touching you without consent. I deeply apologize,” she starts, lifting a hand over her heart. “I understand you must be very disoriented and scared, but I assure you I won’t harm you, and you are completely safe here. You’re at the Nahakra Hospital. Today's the third of August, and you’ve been unconscious in our care for two days now. Is it alright if I touch your arm to hook the IV line here?”

Her voice is calm and soothing, and while something about her still has you cautious, there’s a warmth in her words that makes you nod.

“Thank you, miss. It’ll only take a second.” She nods, blue latex taking gentle hold of your arm. “Now, we’re going to have everyone here—including your parents—leave the room so that you can have a moment to process everything and calm down. Is that alright?”

Slowly, you nod again.

The IV is attached again, and after she turns to the panel and makes adjustments you don’t understand, she and your parents—reluctantly—leave the room. You’re left alone, just the pattering of rain left from the crescendo of chaos.

You’re in Nahakra Hospital.

It’s the third of August.

It’s August? You came back from vacation on… July nineteenth. That’s two weeks.

Everything between Then and Now is so patchy. A damp room. Lights that were much too cold and much too bright. Something… blue. And pain. So much pain.

The more you think about it, the more your head spins, and the more the memories slip just past your fingertips. You remember... You remember something. Something important. Very important. Something you had to tell everyone... But what is it?

A deep breath leaves your lips as you start to look around again, now with the knowledge that you at least weren’t in immediate danger. Your throat is sore, you realize, when you glance at an unopened water bottle on the bedside table. You practically jump at it, cracking open the lid and chugging the liquid life. The hoarseness is at least slightly alleviated by the coolness, and it calms you down even more in combination with whatever medicine that nurse had nicked you with.

The flower vase you'd grabbed is back in its spot, the pretty flowers inside now smushed and some even snapped from your mistreatment. A small wave of guilt washes over you as you glance over the window sill. Did people visit and leave you these?

You stand, a bit shakier this time, setting down the empty water bottle and grabbing on the metal of the IV stand. You pull it with you as you walk over to the display, a deep frown on your face. On one of the snapped flowers is a note, with bubbly, cursive handwriting on it.

If I’m not here when you wake up, talk to me as soon as you can. I’m so relieved you’re back, lovely girl!

Much love, Cadenza

You swallow thickly, an indecipherable emotion rolling over you as you reread the words. Holding the note to your chest, you let go of the IV drip and move on to the next note, attached to a stuffed bear.

Hey, I’m sorry I wasn’t allowed to come but I had Travis deliver this. Hope I can see you soon.

-Dante

P.S. Gene helped me pick out the bear, so it’s a gift from both of us!

And then you pick up the next.

Here’s a picture of us at prom that I really loved. I thought you might want to have a print of it, maybe. I love you.

<3 Luci

And the next.

I made you cookies but they didn’t let me bring them in for you! I can make them again when you’re feeling better. Or maybe even before you feel better! I really missed you.

Love, Nana

And the next.

I consider you one of my not-alone buddies, even if you and Katelyn thought the title was a little goofy. I’m happy you’re back. :)

-Travis V.

I know we aren’t super close, but you’re still a friend who means a lot to me. Thank you for being so kind to me and everyone. I’m glad you’re okay.

Sincerely, Nicole

I’m sure some things won't be the same when you’re back. Regardless of what happened or what you feel when you see us again, I will always be here for you.

Love, Laurance

I love you so much. I can’t describe how sorry I am that we couldn’t stop this from happening. But I will always protect you from now on, and I know you’re strong enough to get through this.

Love, Kate

I’m so sorry about everything. I hope you’re okay. I’ll be downstairs every day until you’re awake. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, I want to see you as soon as possible. I left these flowers for you! The pretty pretty dark red ones reminded me of you.

Aphmau <3

You have no idea how hard I cried when I found out you were here. I can’t wait to wrap you in a big hug again when I see you.

Love you dearly, Teony

You mean a lot to everyone, and especially to me. I’ve thought about you every day. I’ll be here for you if you ever need anything.

Vylad

I’m so sorry that I

Please forgive

I’m sorry.

Garroth

Several notes find themselves crumpled and clutched over your heart as your hands tremble. This is real. You were gone, and everyone was worried about you. They wanted you back.

You want to see them.

You remember that you'd wanted to see them again. That they were the light at the top of whatever dark place you were in; the light at the end of your long, dark tunnel.

You glance over to the IV. For a moment, you hesitate, but not even a second later you've pulled it out. It tugs uncomfortably on whatever part was connected to your arm, but you barely flinch at the pain. There’s a small voice in your head telling you that you shouldn’t have done that, but right now you just want to get out of this room. You need to get out of this room.

You’re not sure why you feel the need to be quiet, but the closer you move to the closed door the more your ears ring—a voice whispers: this won't end well. The blocked doorway makes you feel trapped, like you need to break free and run. Your vision locks on the handle, everything else blurring around you as you grasp onto the cold metal.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips when the door gives smoothly, opening without even a squeak.

Why were you worried? You’re in a hospital, not a prison.

When you step out, you quickly scan the hallway—thankfully, there’s no nurses around to stop you from leaving. But even still, where are you supposed to find your parents? Were they down in the lobby—wherever that was—or somewhere in another room near you?

Your thoughts are put to a halt when you hear voices chatter around the corner, one of them rising high enough for you to hear before lowering again. They sounded… worried. Angry?

As you inch closer, you’re grateful for the socks you were given; they help silence your steps. The voices become clearer as you reach the end of the hall. The first you hear is an unfamiliar man’s voice, his tone assertive, the sort that commands respect.

“…And just what are we supposed to do about this? We can’t send our son back to that school. What if he’s taken by those psychos, too? That girl is lucky she made it back in one piece!" The man pauses for a moment, then scoffs. "Then again… based on her reaction when she woke up, I'm not sure she did.”

“Enough!” Is that… Garte’s voice? “Fact is that she is back. Alive. That’s what we should be focused on. Besides, we can’t know for sure if she was the one who took her.”

“Who else could it be? You heard what the cops said. She was found near the same exact lodge. Is that just a coincidence? You seriously believe this isn’t exactly what we think it is?”

A heavy silence falls over the group. You lean against the wall, straining your ears to make out every word. Were your parents with them?

“Quiet, Derek. This isn’t helping,” a woman’s voice speaks up coolly. “We need to focus on what to do with the kids now.”

“…Rachel is right.” Sylvanna, too? “And… since we can’t know for sure—”

“We do know for sure. You can't all be ignoring the signs like this.”

“Derek!”

“…We need to think about if it was her,” Sylvanna continues. “Or… Zack. There’s no telling what their next move is, especially if she got away from them too soon. We’re going to have to be extra protective of them.”

“We can’t possibly uproot our babies.” …That’s Zianna. “This is already hard enough on all of them, and there’s no telling what kind of trauma…”

Her voice breaks, and the group is silent again.

“They clearly tracked her down after you both moved back here. There's no guarantee they wouldn't do it again, even if we all moved. We need to keep our kids together, and we have to decide if we’re going to tell them about all of this sooner or later. They need each other, especially now, after all that's happened. Don’t you all think so?”

You swallow. They’re talking about you, you're sure, but you can’t make any sense of it. Do they know who was responsible for what happened? How? Why didn’t they do anything?

Breath caught in your lungs, you lean forward, peeking around the corner. Your parents, Garte, Zianna, Sylvanna, Eric, a white-haired man, and a couple you haven’t seen before are gathered in a circle, all with grave looks on their faces.

“I agree. It’s hard enough moving schools at their age without this whole mess,” your mom speaks up, hand on her forehead, head hung low, “let alone now.”

“So, what? We’re just supposed to sit like ducks in a pond, wait for them to take another one of our kids? And we won't even tell the kids why they're getting targeted? Stalked? Hunted down? No way.” Now that you're seeing everyone in the group, you're able to connect the stern voice from before to a man with dark hair standing closest to… Rachel? His face and outfit matched his voice: harsh. Corporate. Authoritarian, and demanding of respect. “Aaron won’t be staying anywhere near that high school or your kids.”

“Listen, as many issues as I have with your son making moves on my daughter, pulling him out of this is too harsh,” Sylvanna snaps, pointing at him. “How is sending him off going to help anything?”

“Excuse me?” The man’s nostrils flare in annoyance. "At least he won't be lined up with the rest of your kids, waiting for his turn to get whisked away and experimented on."

“Enough,” the white-haired man says, his voice cutting across the conversation. He looks… directly at you. Something about his gaze pierced through you and was distant at the same time, like something familiar and far off was looking through his eyes instead of him. It sends a shockwave of paralyzing fear through you, and you can’t bring yourself to hide from his sight. “We have an eavesdropper.”

All nine adults are now looking at you, and you can’t help but flinch as you’re discovered.

“Oh, sweetie,” Zianna calls, her voice delicate. “It’s okay. Come here.”

You know these people. You know them. Yet your steps are hesitant as you approach them, a heavy sense of unease slowing you. They all look… horrified as their eyes stay locked on your form. It definitely didn’t help the sick feeling in your gut.

“It’s okay, mija,” Sylvanna reassures when you pause, walking closer to you and holding her hand out.

You stare at it—her small, tanned hand oh-so-familiar and comforting in your cold, white surroundings. Reaching out, you place your hand in hers, letting her pull you closer to their group.

“Oh…” Zianna gasps lightly, reaching up to touch your hair. Her fingers feel strange against your scalp, and you realize it’s because the longer length that used to be there now only grows a couple of inches from your head.

As her hands gently move down to your wrist, you turn your attention to the rest of the group; your parents start hovering close to your side.

“…What were you all talking about?” you ask, ignoring their fussing as you look each one in the eye. They all startle, a mix of guilt and upset written all over their faces. When neither Sylvanna nor Zianna say anything, you look to your parents for answers. It takes a few moments for you to realize that you won't be getting any; they only walk to your side to pull you under their arms.

Why are you getting nothing but silence? They know more about something awful that happened to you that you can’t even remember! Resent builds in your chest when you’re met with nothing but pitiful eyes.

“Excuse me.” A woman announces herself quite suddenly, making you jump in place.

You turn to see a tall, blonde cop, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Her face is kind, but stern—it's clear she takes her job seriously. A younger-looking man stands next to her, who, from the look of it, likely works under her.

“I’m sorry for interrupting this talk, but we heard she was awake and wanted to ask some questions to help close out the missing person's file, if that’s alright?” she says to your parents shortly, before glancing over to you. “My name is Detective Azura from the Phoenix Drop Police Department, and with me is my colleague, Detective Gale.”

“I don’t know if now is the best time. She’s barely awake…” your mom says, turning to look at you with a deep frown on her face.

You glance around the group. They should be the ones answering the questions, shouldn’t they? Clearly, they knew more than you did.

“...It’s okay. I don’t mind,” you say quietly. “I don’t know how much I can tell you, though. Everything is kind of… gone.”

“That’s alright. Whatever you're able to recall would be more than enough.” Detective Azura nods, giving you a polite smile. “Would you like to do this in a room, for privacy?”

The offer makes your heart rate spike, and you quickly shake your head. “No, I can answer them here…”

“Okay, that’s fine, too.” She pulls out a notepad. “So, what can you tell us? Do you think you could begin by telling us what you were doing before the incident?”

You swallow, looking down at the lines between the tiles, tracing each outline as you attempt to pull anything.

“I… had just gotten back from a trip with my friends, and wanted to walk home to take a shower and get some things from my house."

“And—sorry to interrupt—you were at Ms. Salome’s house at this point, correct?”

You nod, and she gestures for you to continue. “I felt like something was off, but I shook it off because I thought I was just paranoid. And then—” You suck in a breath. Suddenly, talking isn't as easy as you thought it would be. “I saw the black SUV and started freaking out. I tried rushing—running to my house, but a woman was standing in my way.”

“And what did this woman look like?”

“It was too dark, but…” you trail off, thinking back to that moment. The memory is so hazy, so far away, but you remember the rough asphalt digging into your skin as you looked up at the silhouette of the woman above you; a head of blue hair hanging over her shadowed face. “...Her hair was blue.”

“Blue hair? You’re sure of that?”

“...Yeah. The street lamp was shining on it. It was light blue.”

Either the air surrounding the group shifts, or you’re imagining the eyes of the parents darting at each other in… panic? Fear?

Detective Azula quickly scribbles something onto her notepad. “Okay, I see. But you don’t remember any other details about this woman? How about where you were held?”

The more you try to think past that point (your cheek, scraping against the pavement; your limbs, impossibly heavy), the more the thickness in your throat grows. Like the fog over your memories is filled with poison, stinging your hands any time you reach in.

After a deep breath, you start again. “I only remember… everything hurting… and I think I was in a room with bars, but…" You exhale sharply, reaching up to massage your temple. "I don't know. I'm sorry, I don't know, it’s—it's all blurry.”

Your head hurts.

“I see. Can you recall anything else?”

“I don’t think I can… I just remember there was something very important I needed to tell everyone, but—” you look down, “—I can’t remember what it was.”

“No worries, miss. It’s quite common for people in missing cases like yourself to block off traumatic experiences,” Gale speaks up.

You nod, eyebrows pinching as you look at the white tiles under your feet, missing the harsh glares the man receives from the group of adults behind you.

Detective Azura clears her throat. “We won’t bother you anymore about it, miss. If you ever do remember something in the future, please contact us. We want to prioritize your safety and the safety of anyone else who could get involved in this case, especially as your kidnappers are still at large.”

But… the adults around you know more! Why weren’t they saying anything? How are you supposed to figure out what happened if you don’t even know how you got here?

“Thank you for your time. We’ll be leaving, now.” Detective Azura nods, then spins on her heel and gestures for Detective Gale to follow.

“Wait!” you call out. “Could you tell me who found me? I… I want to thank them.”

She looks back at you. “It was a couple who found you. I’ll let them know you’d like to speak with them and send their number to your parents if they want to talk.”

“...Okay. Thank you.”

Once the detectives have rounded the corner, a silence settles over the group, and the man with silvery white hair from before steps forward, holding his hand out to you. His hair color might've aged someone else by a few years, but it didn't seem to affect this man at all. If anything, he looked pretty young; it's possible that he's one of the younger men in this group, even if only by a couple of years.

“Hi, there.” He offers a smile, the curve of it strangely familiar. “I’m Terry Valkrum, Travis’s dad. We’re both glad that you’re back. It’s nice to meet you.”

While you shake his hand, it's hard for you to return the smile or the greeting. This is just too weird.

“Yes, excuse us for not introducing ourselves earlier.” The dark-haired woman you didn’t recognize earlier leans forward, a hand curled delicately over her stern-looking husband’s arm. “I’m Rachel Lycan, and this is my husband, Derek. We’re old friends of your parents. It’s good to see you safe, though I'd hoped to meet under better circumstances.”

Lycan? As in… Aaron Lycan’s parents?

“...What are you all doing here?”

“Well, they wanted to see if you were alright. And your friends did, too,” your mom begins, her hands gentle on your shoulders. “We're all just trying to figure things out.”

You step away from her, brushing her hands off your shoulders. “Didn't sound like anything needed figuring out—not when you were talking like you knew all about what happened to me.”

Your mom's hands hang in the air for a moment before she tries moving closer to you, hurt flashing across her face. “Baby—”

“Excuse me! You aren’t supposed to be out of your room,” a nurse calls from the end of the hall. “You still need to finish your IV drip and get a check-up!”

☆

Your eyes droop as you stare blankly at the TV screen. It's been hours since you were escorted back to your room, and then poked and prodded at by three different doctors and several nurses. Between the anger you felt towards the adults and the bouts of anxiety you felt any time another doctor came in—well, it wasn’t long before your energy had been depleted once again. It seems three whole days of sleep can only do so much for you.

One of the doctors who'd come to see you was a psychiatrist, who—despite your reluctance—was a lot more helpful than the others you’d talked to.

“...showcase symptoms of retrograde dissociative amnesia, with your difficulty recalling memories about the incident. You also exhibit signs of PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Neither are directly curable, but treatments and a good support system go a long way.

Of course, getting better will take time, patience, and keeping on top of the meds I’m going to prescribe you. The good thing is that if you keep up these meetings with me and a therapist, your symptoms will become much easier to manage. In fact, it's possible for symptoms of PTSD to fade away. At least to the point where they won't affect your daily life…”

The corny drama movie characters were fighting about something on screen in a language you couldn’t even understand. The volume was low, and you hadn’t even bothered to turn on the subtitles; the drone of their voices and trying to guess what was happening had provided you with more entertainment and distraction than anything else that could be offered in this room.

“No! Shh…”

Your eyes snap towards the door, muffled voices making themselves known on the other side.

“You’re… literally going… us caught!”

“Just… in, stupid!”

You flinch back when the door is practically thrown off its hinges, the faces of familiar teenagers toppling over one another to get a look at you. Aphmau is the first to rush forward, and she doesn't seem to care about sneaking around when she yelps your name. You sit up just in time for her to throw herself onto the bed with you, pulling you into a tight hug.

Her hands are impossibly gentle over your shoulders, like she's almost afraid of hurting you, but then at the same time her arms are wrapped just as impossibly tightly around you—like she's almost afraid of losing you. For a moment, it's only Aphmau hugging you. Then someone else's arms wrap around your back, and another pair around your legs. Cheeks rest against your skin; feeling your pulse, hearing you breathe. It's almost too much, but you can’t bring any complaint to leave your lips, eyes drifting shut and taking in this warmth, this peace. Quiet hitches from in-between people's cries interrupt the delicate silence.

This whole time, even the faces that have been familiar to you your entire life—your mom, your dad—have given you a sense of unease. You're still disoriented, still unsteady. But this... it was right.

You trust them.

You pull away to look across the group. There's Aphmau, clutching onto your hand as you pull away; Zane, standing in the middle of the room; Travis and Vylad leaning in from the foot of the bed; Garroth, looking down at the floor with furrowed brows.

You know them.

But then, as you're about to call Garroth over, you see her. She's there—she's there. To your farthest right, caught in your peripheral: a pale face, waves of light blue hair, and those piercing features—so, so piercing—as she hovers over you, stretches a hand out to your face—

Your breath catches. You flinch back, hard.

But you blink, and it's not her—it never was. It's only Katelyn. And after you jerk away from your best friend's touch, her face twists in hurt. In concern. In hesitation. In desperation. It twists with the crushed hope that you would return the sentiment of sisterly love overflowing from her fingertips.

It's only Katelyn. Just your best friend, Katelyn. And just like how you know the rest of them, you know her.

“...Are you okay?” she whispers, hand hovering over your shoulder, afraid of being rejected again.

You swallow, then reach out to grasp her hand in your clammy one. “I think so.”

The group watches you intently as you take a moment to look over them all. They wore comfortable clothes; clearly, they’d been waiting around here for a while.

“I mean… I can’t exactly answer that yet,” you murmur after a moment. “I feel okay now, but I'm kinda tense. It’s just hard to explain because I don’t—I can't remember what happened, or what I’m supposed to be feeling upset about. It’s just… there.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Vylad assures you, glancing between everyone else before giving you a soft smile. “We'll understand, no matter what you do or don’t say. We’re just glad you’re back with us.”

How is it that the kids your age are less demanding than the adults?

“Yeah, we really wanted to see you so we kinda snuck in,” Travis adds. “But if you want us to leave, we can.”

You shake your head at that. Though you aren't sure of your exact feelings right now, one thing you are sure of is that you want them to stay.

The silence that follows lasts almost long enough to be awkward before Aphmau speaks up again.

“What do you want to do when you get back?” Aphmau asks, scooting closer to you.

What to look forward to? The quick and rather abrupt change of subject was obvious, but you still send her a grateful look.

“Take a long shower,” you say quietly. “And I want to see everyone else, too, I think.”

“We could all hang out at one of our houses, maybe!” she suggests, and Katelyn is quick to nod along. “When you’re ready, of course.” Travis and Vylad nod as well.

Everyone's heads snap towards the doorway, however, when the door's pushed open and a doctor steps in—and immediately gapes at the sight of your friends scattered around the room. “You kids aren’t supposed to be in here. How did you even…?” he trails off expectantly. When no one offers up an answer, though, he shakes his head.

“Never mind,” he sighs, stepping all the way into the room to reveal your parents standing quietly in the hallway. “All of your tests went well and future appointments are set. You are now free to go home. Now if all of you would give her some privacy to change back into her own clothes, please.”

Reluctantly, everyone stands, save for Garroth, who lingers by your side. He hasn’t said a word until now, but with the way his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, you can see he wants to.

“Sir,” the doctor calls by the door, the poor man likely exhausted from everyone—including you—refusing to follow instructions.

“Just one second, please,” he calls back, fingers digging into the bed sheets anxiously.

The doctor glances over at you, dark brows furrowing as he searches for your consent. You nod, and he relents with a sigh, shaking his head and closing the door on you both. Silence falls over the room as you slowly look back at the blond.

His mouth twists as he stares down at your hands, shoulders slouched under some invisible weight. With his hair unkempt and his eyes red and swollen—from what you assume to be a lack of sleep and an inordinate number of tears—he's a far cry from the Prince Charming you’d met on your first day of school. You can practically see the crown falling from his head as his lips wobble, the usually bright color of his irises misting over in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“...What?” you breathe, confused.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks as he leans forward and drops his head into his hands, “that I didn’t go with you. If I did—”

“Stop.”

You're both surprised by the power in your voice. The pure conviction, the wholehearted belief: that he was wrong. Slowly, Garroth looks back up at you, eyebrows pulled together as he swallows thickly.

“Even if you'd gone with me, who's to say it wouldn't have happened anyway? You might’ve even gotten hurt trying to help me.” You reach out to grab his hand. “I don’t remember much, but I know that’s true. Not a thing about this was your fault.”

“It was—”

“No. It wasn’t. How could you even think that?”

He closes his eyes. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again and closes again. He's left to purse his lips, unable to come up with a good enough response. All this guilt, this blame, with nowhere to put it. He seems confused by your response, like this wasn't the reaction he’d thought up in his self-deprecation. Had he let this guilty turmoil brew in his head? Blamed himself for the entire two weeks you were gone? The dark circles under his eyes say enough of an answer, and it’s not one you like.

“How are you not mad at me?” he whispers. “You could be. You should be.”

“Because you’re one of my closest friends. And this was something that was going to happen eventually.” You lean forward, pulling him into your arms. Strong shoulders tremble and shake, and the boy cannot hide the sniffles and choked breaths as he breaks down. “How could I be mad at someone who wants to protect me so much? Seems counterintuitive.”

He shakes his head, tucking it over your shoulder, and in one quick motion reaches out, returning your hug desperately. His arms curl tightly over your back; his fingers crumple the fabric of your hospital gown; his tears wet your neck, a rare show of vulnerability even from him, who doesn't shy away from expressing his emotions at all.

Oh, Garroth. Sweet Garroth.

“Hey. I’m back and alive and you’re crying?” You poke his side, attempting to lighten his guilty shoulders with a tease. “You could at least pretend you’re happy, you know.”

Quiet, breathy laughter hits your shoulder, his trembling shoulders switching from shaking with tears to shaking with amusement. After a moment, he pulls away, hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he sucks in a sharp breath, you assume to control what must be an intense storm of anxiousness piled up in his chest.

“I am happy.” His eyes search yours.

You smile at him the best you can. “Then I am, too.”

Garroth gives you a shaky smile of his own.“Hey, I…” He pauses, looking off. “I overheard some things about what happened to you. When the doctors were talking to your parents…" He frowns, shaking his head. "Maybe it should wait until you’re feeling better.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

There’s a knock before the door's pushed open, the doctor from before peeking in. “Mr. Ro’meave, was it? Please, you can continue this conversation later.”

Garroth gives you a last, tentative smile. "...I'll tell you later."

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

tag list: @orinlin @pain-in-the-ashe @youmake1mistake @arienic @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @remiechu @valentique @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz

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jeffhardyjams · 4 months ago

Text

“a midnight spark” ☆

- jeff hardy x reader

(��𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 - 5.0k +)

Description : On 2002 New Year's Eve, Y/N attends a party invite from Randy Orton, where she reconnects with her friends and catches the eye of Jeff, a mysterious and charismatic figure. As the night unfolds, their initial tension gives way to a passionate and unexpected romance, culminating in a steamy encounter in the hot tub under the fireworks-lit sky.

"You got a light?" you asked, flicking a fresh cigarette out of the pack. The smoke from Lita and Matt's cigs hung in the air, a hazy veil that matched the tension in the room.

Jeff looked up, eyed the cigarette, and smirked. "For you? Nah, I don't think so," he said, not even bothering to hide his hostility. His emerald eyes remained fixed on the TV, ignoring you as he took a drag from his own cigarette.

"Come on, Jeff, don't be such a hard-ass," Lita chuckled, nudging him playfully. She knew how much he liked to needle you before every match.

Matt, ever the peacemaker, handed over the lighter with a shrug. "Here, Y/N. Happy to help."

You took it with a smirk, lighting up and blowing out the smoke in Jeff's direction. "Thanks, Matt," you said sweetly, turning away from Jeff without acknowledging his snub.

The day had been a whirlwind. You had just come off a victory that left the crowd roaring. The adrenaline still buzzed in your veins, mixing with the exhaustion that came from weeks of intense training and preparation. But there was no time to rest; Randy's text had come through with the party invite, and your mind was already racing with what to wear.

The night had a crisp chill to it, a typical New Year's Eve in the early 2000s. The dress code for Randy's place was casual, but you had other plans. Your vibrant purple hair was already a statement, so you went with a black fishnet tank top, a pair of black leather jeans that hugged your curves just right, and some kick-ass boots that added an extra inch of confidence. The outfit was finished with a leather jacket thrown over your shoulders, the smell of fresh paint and leather mingling with the lingering scent of sweat from the match.

You pulled up to the party, the gravel crunching under your tires. The house was already alive with music and laughter, lights spilling out onto the lawn. You took a deep breath, feeling the cold metal of the zipper against your throat, and headed inside.

Lita was the first to spot you, her eyes lighting up like the fireworks that would soon fill the sky. "Damn, Y/N! You look like you could headline a queen of the damned rock concert or some shit," she yelled over the noise, wrapping you in a tight hug that spoke volumes of their friendship. She was tipsy, but not sloppy, a perfect mix of fun and carefree.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Lita. You're looking good too girl” You said, taking in her friend's sparkly top and low-cut jeans. Lita rolled her eyes and playfully shoved you towards the bar. "Come on, let's get you a drink."

The party was a blur of familiar faces, old rivalries, and new alliances. You threw back shots with Lita and Matt, the alcohol warming your stomach and loosening your tongue. The room spun with the rhythm of the music and the clinking of glasses. And through it all, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jeff was watching you from the corner, his gaze a silent challenge.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the flirty glances between you and Jeff grew more frequent, the electricity in the air thickening. You found your self leaning against the wall, watching him across the room as he talked with Christian. The flicker of the candles cast shadows across his face, making his green hair seem almost black.

"What's his deal?" You murmured to Lita, who was already three shots ahead and giggling at everything. She leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear.

"Jeff's always had a thing for the mysterious types," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But don't worry, you can handle him. Just be yourself, and maybe don't throw any chairs."

Lita's words stuck with you as the countdown began. The room erupted into cheers, and you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you found Jeff standing there, a knowing smirk on his face. "Happy New Year, Y/N."

You took a step closer, the heat from his body seeping into your own. "Is it really going to be?" You asked, a hint of challenge in your voice.

He shrugged, his eyes locked on the glowing embers of his cigarette. "Only if you make it interesting," he said, taking one last drag before flicking it away. "I heard Randy's got a hot tub out back."

The suggestion hung in the air, a dare. Without a second thought, you took Jeff's hand and led him through the crowd, the music pulsing around you like a heartbeat. Outside, the cool air hit your flushed skin like a slap, sobering you up just enough to remember the thrill of the chase.

The hot tub was steaming, the water reflecting the multicolored lights from the house. “You got any swimsuit?”Jeff jokingly said as you reached for the sides of your shirt. You laughed, “No, but I do have the sexy underwear set.” As you took off your shirt and pants only to be left in your stripping underwear set. Jeff’s mouth opened a bit in awe. His eyes were hungry for you. Jeff then took off his shirt. His torso a canvas of tattoos and muscles, his hair a dark waterfall down his back. Man, you thought he was so hot. Jeff entered the hot tub. Jeff's hand was warm and firm in your grasp as he helped you in, the chill of the metal steps forgotten in the excitement of the moment. The water enveloped your legs, a stark contrast to the cold air. He sat down across from you, the dim light playing off the beads of water on his skin.

You reached for the bottle of whiskey that someone had abandoned on the side, the amber liquid sloshing as you poured a generous amount into the plastic cup. "To new beginnings," You toasted, taking a sip and passing it to him.

Jeff's eyes searched your face, the smirk replaced by something softer. "To new beginnings," he echoed, clinking cups with you before taking a drink. The moment stretched out, tension coiling between them like a living thing. And then, as the first firework of the year burst overhead, painting the sky in a shower of gold, Jeff leaned in and kissed you , the sweet burn of the whiskey mingling with the salt of his lips.

You melted into the kiss, the warmth of the water and the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool December air. Hands roamed, exploring the contours of each other's bodies beneath the water, the sound of their breathing and the distant laughter from the house the only noise in their little bubble. The kiss grew more urgent, Jeff's hand sliding up your thigh, the roughness of his fingers sending shivers down your spine.

The music from the party grew muffled, the world outside the tub fading away until all that remained was the two of them. His mouth followed, kissing a trail from your collarbone to your sternum, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make you gasp.

You pulled him closer. The whiskey had loosened your inhibitions, turning the flirty banter into something more primal, something that you hadn't expected but couldn't resist.

As the fireworks display reached its peak, lighting up the sky in a symphony of color, Jeff's hand found your hair, the purple strands a vibrant contrast against his tanned skin. He gripped it gently, pulling you in for another deep, hungry kiss. The glow of the tub lights painted them in an ethereal light, their bodies moving in a silent dance of desire.

You could feel the world spinning around you. The water sloshing as you straddled him, the softness of your skin sticking to his wet skin. Jeff's eyes never left yours as he kissed down your stomach.

The water grew warmer as their bodies entwined, the chill forgotten in the heat of their kisses. Jeff's hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of your body with a familiarity that belied the animosity of their past. “I’m gonna put it in okay?” He asked out of breath. You nodded. And when you felt him enter you the sensation was so intense, you had to bite your lip to keep from screaming out.

The fireworks reflected in your eyes, each burst of light illuminating a new expression of pleasure on your face. Jeff's breath was hot against your neck, his whispers of "fuck" and "yes" echoing in your ear as the rhythm of their bodies grew faster, more demanding.

As the last firework faded, the night grew quiet, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the soft slap of water against their skin. Jeff's eyes searched yours one last time, and you knew, in that moment, that the New Year had just begun in the most unexpected of ways.

#2000s #jeff hardy #jeff hardy x reader #wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagines #wwe x reader #x reader #2000s aesthetic #fanfic

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reiniesainyo · 1 year ago

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IN BETWEEN. charlie bushnell x reader – 01

01 | SPARKS FLY previous | next | masterfile

SYNPOSIS. when a girl's co-star is good to her and now she wants it more than everything in between. (smau)

A/N. this chapter is more like world building (it's where i explain what the fuck i'm doing with the YN okay)

The "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" series at Disney+ has added an unexpected pick to its growing cast.

The new live-action series is based on the hugely successful novels from author Rick Riordan of the same title. We will be seeing YN LN join the series as Rina Velasco, one of the supporting characters of the show.

LN's Rina Velasco is referred to as "the offspring of The Muses, goddesses of the sciences and the arts." Unlike most other demigods, she is born out of the artistic and scientific output of the muses. When the moral ingenuity of humans meets the divine musings of The Muses. Her character is described as a unique allrounder who becomes a mentor figure to our main cast as they embark on their journey.

This will be LN's first on-screen role of her career. LN's experience mostly lies in Broadway, she is known for playing Kim in the Miss Saigon revival on Broadway. LN was nominated for a Tony in 2022 for the same role. She is repped by Salonga/Chien Entertainment and B817 Agency.

Riordan posted on the Meta app, Threads, about this update to the casting saying: "YN was one of the actors we didn't expect to see a tape of but when we saw it, we couldn't help but fall in love with her. She embodies the spirit of Rina so well and is such a kind spirit, we can't wait for you to fall in love with her too! Welcome to the cast, YN!"

The live-action show is based on Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson book series. It tells the fantastical tale of the titular 12-year-old modern demigod (Scobell), who's just coming to terms with his newfound supernatural powers when the sky god Zeus accuses him of stealing his master lightning bolt. With help from his friends Grover (Simhadri) and Annabeth (Jeffries), Percy must embark on an adventure of a lifetime to find it and restore order to Olympus.

Production on the show is now underway in Vancouver. Riordan and Jon Steinberg are writing the pilot with James Bobin directing. Steinberg and his producing partner Dan Shotz are overseeing the series and serve as executive producers alongside Bobin, Rick Riordan, Rebecca Riordan, Bert Salke, Monica Owusu-Breen, Jim Rowe, Anders Engström, Jet Wilkinson, and Gotham Group's Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Jeremy Bell, and D.J. Goldberg. 20th Television is the studio. Salke was formerly the president of Touchstone Television and originally put the show into development.

liked by percyseries, iamcharliebushnell, and 37,789 others thelnarchive the child of the muses @percyseries

percyseries OUR MUSE!

user1 this is literally perfect casting who cried i did ↳ user2 she's so rina coded! thank the gods for the casting directors

iamcharliebushnell only muse in my life ↳ thlnarchive only traveler in my life ↳ user3 the way filming hasn't started and they're already like this ↳ user4 their chemistry is chemistry-ing

user5 roman empire. she is my roman empire.

dior.n.goodjohn i LOVE LOVE LOVE women ↳ thelnarchive HELP i love you

user6 this is so fcking random but i NEED her in a taylor swift music video

A/N i truly hope you guys can forgive the horrible editing in the pictures. the article portion is based on (and has some parts that are directly pulled from) this article from variety ! here's some succint information about rina velasco, the PJO character YN LN plays (and is my childhood OC!) - rina velasco, filipino, 18 years old (year younger than luke) - she's an offspring of the muses, not directly a child or daughter, though she may be referred as such - by her being an offspring of the muses, i mean that she was born in the same way athena's children are born. - but in rina's case she's more like a weird conglomeration of each muse. her birth is a rare event, but her mothers are honored as minor goddesses so she stayed in the apollo cabin (connection to music) - rina operates as a guidance figure for the main trio, especially annabeth - she's also luke's love interest, there's a lot of tragicness and doomed romance stuff with those two - and for the sake of everyone, we pretend like the weird i love you from the books didn't happen !

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ellswritings · 4 months ago

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Code Breaker 1x12

S2 Cast

S2 Episode 1

“No, I’m not letting you leave them here,” Stiles shakes his head, his voice breaking at the thought of leaving them here to die. He couldn’t look Michael in the eye and tell him that he let his daughter bleed out on the lacrosse field.

Peter wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, “You don’t have a choice, Stiles. You’re coming with me.”

“Just kill me!” Stiles screams. “I don’t care anymore!”

Peter walks over to the boy, sticking his claws under Stiles’ chin, lifting him up by simply using just the tips of his fingers. “Call your friend. Tell Jackson where they are. That’s all you get.”

Stiles pulls out his phone, his hands shaking as he calls Jackson. The explanation is rushed, leaving the blonde with a plethora of questions Stiles didn’t have time to answer. He feels like his world is falling apart every time his eyes meet Fallon’s form. He can’t even tell if she’s breathing. A few tears finally slip from his eyes, him quickly wiping them so Peter wouldn’t see. He just hopes that Jackson brings Issac or someone to get them both to the hospital.

The only thing Stiles didn’t seem to notice was the way Fallon slowly sits up as soon as he and Peter turn to walk away. Her mind is fogged, nothing making sense to her. There’s a dull sting in her side, she feels like she’s walking through a dream. The world around her seems to be in a purple haze. Every direction she looks is covered by the pretty color. She’s not quite sure if what’s happening is real, or if she died when Peter bit her. Lydia lays still beside her, shallow breaths leaving her body. Fallon tilts her head, feeling the urge to reach out and touch her, but a more primal need fills her. She has somewhere she needs to go. Someone she needs to find.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The woods were a maze of twisting shadows and silvery moonlight, and Fallon stumbled through them, disoriented, her mind fogged with confusion. She could barely remember how she’d gotten here. One moment she’d been at the dance, the next... darkness, followed by pain. Everything after that was a blur.

The only thing that seemed clear, cutting through the haze in her mind, was a single command that pounded with every beat of her heart: Find Derek.

But why? Why was that the only thought running through her mind? Her legs were heavy, her body exhausted, but she couldn’t stop moving. Fallon didn’t know how long she had been running. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. Time seemed warped out here, twisted by the shadows and the overwhelming sense of urgency that filled her.

Find him.

The thought echoed in her head, like a voice that wasn’t her own, yet completely hers at the same time. She didn’t understand it, but she couldn’t ignore it. The forest pressed in around her, branches clawing at her arms and legs, her footsteps uneven and unsteady over the rough terrain. The cold bit at her skin, but there was a strange heat radiating from inside her, a burning sensation she couldn’t explain.

Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, each inhale sending a sharp pain through her chest. She stumbled over a root, her knee crashing into the earth as she hit the ground. Fallon groaned, clutching her side as she gasped for breath, but the pain didn’t stop her from getting back up.

She couldn’t stop. Not yet.

The moon hung high in the sky, bright and full, casting an eerie glow over the forest. Fallon stared up at it, squinting against the light. There was something about the moon tonight. It felt... powerful. She could feel its pull, like it was connected to her somehow, drawing energy from it. The burning in her veins flared again, and she clenched her fists, trying to fight off the sensation.

She had to keep moving. She had to find him.

Derek.

His name pulsed through her like a drumbeat, and her feet moved forward before she even realized it. Her body felt different, almost like it was working independently of her mind. Her senses were sharper—she could hear every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, every breath of wind that swept through the trees.

But there was more than that. She could feel something else—something raw and primal stirring inside her. Something that both terrified and exhilarated her. It was as if her body was changing, becoming something new, something powerful. And it frightened her.

What is happening to me? Fallon wonders, her thoughts barely audible over the sound of her own rapid breathing.

The wind carried no answer, only the distant howl of a wolf in the night. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, her heartbeat quickening in response. She felt exposed out here, vulnerable, yet stronger than she’d ever felt before. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

She pressed on, her feet sinking into the damp earth as she moved deeper into the woods. The trees loomed over her, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to grab her. But Fallon barely noticed. Her mind was too clouded, too focused on finding him.

Derek. He was the key to this, wasn’t he? He had to be. Why else would her mind keep returning to him? She needed answers, and Derek was the only one who could give them to her.

But where is he? Why does she need to find him?

The moonlight flickered between the trees, casting strange shadows that danced across the ground as Fallon wandered deeper into the forest. Every step felt heavier than the last, her body aching from the relentless push forward. She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore. The forest seemed endless, and every direction looked the same.

Her pulse was racing, and the burning sensation in her chest only intensified the further she went. Fallon could feel it, that primal energy, bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin. She didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know if she could stop it.

The branches whipped at her as she broke through the thicket, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She had to slow down. Just for a moment. She needed to think, to figure out what was happening to her. But every time she tried to focus, her mind clouded again, that same thought overpowering everything else.

Find him.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Stiles stumbles into the hospital, out of breath and a strong feeling of panic in his chest. Nurses, Doctors, and patients all whirl around him, only making his anxieties grow. He just got away from Peter, the older man stealing his Jeep in the process. He got Derek’s location for the man and now his only priority is finding Lydia and Fallon. His only hope now is that they’re still alive for him to find.

He charges forward once he sees Lydia’s room, but is stopped by his father. Noah pushes him back slightly, jabbing his pointer finger into his son's chest. “You know what? It’s good that we’re in a hospital because I’m gonna kill you.”

Stiles stammers emotionally, “I’m– I’m sorry. I lost the keys to my Jeep. I had to run all the way here,” he explains trying to get a glimpse of the strawberry blonde. He hasn’t heard anything about Fallon yet.

“Stiles, I don’t care!” Noah exclaims angrily.

The boy finally sees Lydia in full, the girl completely unconscious, receiving her oxygen through a tube. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asks tiredly.

Noah sighs, looking back at the teenage girl with unsure eyes. “They don’t know…” he answers. “Partially because they don’t know what happened. She lost a lot of blood, but there’s something else going on with her.”

Stiles’ chest tightens, “W-what do you mean?” He asks broken heartedly.

“The doctors say it’s like she’s having an allergic reaction. Her body keeps going into shock.”

Stiles’ face falls as he realizes that means her body could be rejecting the bite. Suddenly a more prominent worry takes over his mind. “W-what about Fallon?” he asks with wide eyes. “Where is she? They told me Lydia was up here, but I didn’t hear anything about Fallon.”

Noah’s face scrunches in confusion. His own heart rate quickening, “What do you mean, ‘what about Fallon?’” He questions his son.

“Wait–” Stiles’ lip quivers. “Did Jackson not bring her in? I told him that Fallon and Lydia were on the lacrosse field,” his breathing quickens when he watches his dad get very worried in a short span of time.

“Stiles, Lydia was the only one Jackson brought in.” Noah reveals.

“No–” Stiles shakes his head, trying to keep his fear at bay. Where could she have gone? She was unconscious. “No. Dad, she was there, okay? She was hurt, bad. Like bleeding out from a wound on her side bad. She’s supposed to be here. Why– why isn’t she here? She couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away!”

Noah’s heart drops, but he calmly presses the button on his radio, “All units, I need an APB out on a missing girl. Brown hair, about 5’5, blue eyes.”

“She was wearing a pink sparkly dress with a slit on the side,” Stiles interjects, trying to give as much detail as possible.

His dad nods, ”Her name is Fallon Donovan. Was last seen wearing a pink dress with glitter embedded in it. She won’t have any ID on her, and according to a witness is injured. Wound to the side.”

Stiles runs a frustrated hand through his buzzed hair, his breathing more ragged than ever. He lost his best friend. His best friend since third freaking grade. He lost her. She could be dead, and it’s all because he let Peter control him.

Peter. Maybe he’s the reason she’s gone. Did he send someone to get her body? Why would he do that when he promised he wouldn’t hurt them? His mind runs at a million miles a minute until his dad pulls him out of the rabbit hole he’s going down.

“Stiles,” he snaps his fingers. “Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked them? We could use that to try and narrow down the search.”

Telling his father about Peter would mean revealing the entirety of the supernatural to him. He couldn’t risk putting his father in danger. “No,” he lies, hoping there’s another way to find Fallon. “No, I have no idea.”

“What about Scott?” Noah questions.

“What do you mean? What about him?”

“Did he see anything?” Noah elaborates, practically working with nothing to try and find his own best friend's daughter.

“What do you–” Stiles breathes out, confused. “Is he not here?”

“What are you talking about?” Noah furrows his eyebrows. “I've been calling him on his cell phone. I've gotten no response.”

That’s when Stiles remembers. Scott doesn’t have his phone. Derek does. “Yeah…” he mutters looking down to his feet. “And you’re not gonna get one.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon staggers, her legs nearly giving out beneath her as she pressed her back against a tree, trying to catch her breath. The world around her seemed to spin, the trees blurring into a dizzying swirl of darkness and light.

Her chest ached, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her skin prickling as that strange energy surged through her once again. It was almost too much, like her body was on fire from the inside out. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself.

The urge to give up is present, but she needs him. She needs to know where he is. If he’s okay. If he can help her.

She pushed herself off the tree, her legs trembling as she forced herself to keep moving. There was no time to rest, no time to stop. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep going, but she didn’t have a choice.

Suddenly, she heard it—a growl, low and menacing, echoing through the trees.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she froze, her eyes darting through the darkness. The sound sent a wave of fear through her, but there was something else, too. A strange sense of familiarity. The growl wasn’t just any growl.

It was Derek.

Without thinking, Fallon took off in the direction of the sound, her legs moving on instinct alone. Her mind was too foggy to fully process what was happening, but she knew she had to reach him. She had to find him.

Branches snapped beneath her feet as she raced through the forest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Fallon’s heart pounds loudly. She was getting closer. She could feel it.

The ground seemed to slope downward, and Fallon stumbled, her body careening forward as she slid down the incline. She hit the ground hard, her knees scraping against the dirt, but she barely registered the pain. She pushed herself back up, her pulse racing as she darted forward again.

The growl came once more, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, but it was closer now. Much closer. Fallon’s heart raced as she pushed herself harder, her legs burning as she sprinted through the trees.

The moonlight flickered overhead, casting strange shadows that seemed to dance around her. But Fallon didn’t care. All she could think about was Derek, and the primal, animalistic sound of his growl pulling her forward.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the growl stopped.

Fallon skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat as she stood in the middle of a small clearing. The forest was eerily silent now, the wind barely rustling the leaves overhead. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she scanned the area, her eyes wide with confusion.

“Derek?” Fallon’s voice was shaky, her body trembling from both fear and exhaustion.

But there was no response.

The silence was deafening, and Fallon’s heart sank as she realized she was alone again. She hadn’t found him. Not yet. But she was close. She had to be.

Her legs felt like they were made of lead as she took a few hesitant steps forward, her chest heaving with each breath. The burning sensation in her veins has intensified, and Fallon could feel her body vibrating with that strange energy. It was overwhelming, like her body was on the verge of breaking apart.

She staggers forward, clutching her chest as she gasps for breath. The moon seemed impossibly bright overhead, its light almost blinding as it bathed the clearing in an otherworldly glow. Fallon squinted against it, her vision blurring as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

She shakes her head, the purple in her vision becoming more clear as she tries to push through. A low growl emits from her own chest as a newfound energy finds its way into her veins. She sucks in a breath, the pine trees above making her chest pang from the freshness. The air is too crisp to avoid the jabbing in her chest, but she ignores it.

The growl she heard reverberates in her head as she tries to follow the sound. It scares her how her body seems to know exactly where to go just by sound alone. She replays it over and over again until her body halts in front of a familiar structure.

The Hale House.

Her brows furrow, until she gets a rather strong smoky scent of leather and pine. It fills her nose and she closes her eyes. It’s him. He’s here. That’s when she also notices a different scent lingering in the air. It’s familiar to her. Fresh soap, cedar, with a slight hint of eucalyptus. It smells energetic and warm. Much like Scott. He’s here too. He found Derek the same way she did.

She travels through an unnecessary amount of brush and weeds, finding an underground entrance. Her mind is still repeating the same mantra over and over again. The scent gets stronger and pulls her through the winding pathways of the underground looking jail. All of her senses are on overdrive. She can hear, smell, and see things that no normal human should be able to.

“Ready for some more fun?” A dark voice fills her ears. She assumes it’s a hunter. She’s careful not to give away her location, walking on the tips of her toes to remain unnoticed. “To be honest, my knuckles are kind of hurting... So, I brought some help. But, I need to warn ya– I used to play in college.”

She stops when she hears the sound of the bat being caught. Right before she turns a corner, she notices Scott standing in the middle of the hallway, no doubt staring the hunter down. “…I brought a little help too.” Derek reveals.

Scott moves smoothly into the room, eyes glowing yellow as Derek knocks the hunter out. Fallon wonders how neither of them have picked up on her scent, but that’s a question for later. She clutches her side, the bleeding slowing, but still rather prominent.

Chains rattle as she moves further down the way. The brunette stops right before the room Derek’s being held in. She peeks around the corner, watching Derek struggle to pull his other arm out of its restraint.

“Scott, help me with this,” he commands urgently, not wanting to get caught by Kate who is no doubt going to return soon.

“No.”

Fallon fights the primal urge to growl at the defiance. She doesn’t understand why her anger is so high, but what she does understand is that Derek needs help. And if Scott isn’t going to do it, then she will.

“What?” Derek looks at Scott in disbelief.

The younger boy takes a brave step forward, standing up to Derek, “Not until you tell me how to stop Peter.”

Derek tugs at the chain again, “You really wanna talk about this right now?” He asks exasperatedly.

“He’s going after Allison and her family. He’s going to kill them.”

“So what?!” Derek shouts, not exactly caring if the Argents end up dead. Fallon can feel his anger, the bubbling rage that he uses to keep himself human. The purple tint over her eyes makes the room around her look much more menacing, darker than it actually is. She hides in the shadows, creeping carefully against the wall, using the lack of light to her advantage.

“So, tell me how to stop him,” Scott demands calmly.

“You can’t!” Derek reality checks him. “All right?” He once again frustratedly tugs in the chains holding him in place. He angrily looks at Scott, “Now, I don’t know when Kate’s coming back, so just get me out of this right now! Get me out right now!”

“Promise you’ll help me,” Scott persists.

“You want me to risk my life for your girlfriend?” Derek asks furiously, baring his teeth at Scott. “For your stupid little teenage crush that means absolutely nothing? You're not in love, Scott! You're sixteen years old! You're a child!”

“Maybe you're right…” Scott nods, conceding to his point. “But, I know something you don't. Peter said he didn't know what he was doing when he killed your sister, right? He lied.” He pulls out a crumpled up autopsy report from his pocket, holding it up for Derek to read. “Remember this?” There’s a dead deer in the center, a spiral embedded into its side. “This is what brought your sister back to Beacon Hills, right?”

“Where did you get that?” Derek asks breathily.

“My boss told me three months ago, someone came into the clinic asking for a copy of this picture. Do you wanna know who it was?” Scott asks rhetorically, planning on revealing the information without an answer. “Peter's nurse. They brought your sister here so that Peter could kill her and become the Alpha, and that's why you're going to help me.”

Derek’s jaw clenches with anger, his nose flaring as he processes the new information. He balls his locked up hand into a fist, making Scott think he’s still being defiant. The boy turns around with a sigh, “Just say you’ll help me, and I’ll help you unlock your other–”

Fallon takes that as her opportunity, she sneaks up behind Derek, ripping the cuff off of his wrist. Scott stops in his tracks when he hears the metal hitting the ground. He spins around and sees Derek freed, with a very dazed Fallon standing behind him, her eyes flashing purple.

“Fallon?” Scott’s eyes widen. It takes Derek a moment to process that the girl is the one who just released him. He takes in her appearance. Still in her winter formal dress, the right side of it torn and drenched with blood. Her feet are caked with mud and dirt and that’s when he realizes Peter did exactly what he told him not to.

“He bit her,” Derek says angrily.

“Derek…” the girl mumbles, swaying back and forth on her feet. “Found… you,” she barely manages to get that out before collapsing. Derek surges forward, catching the girl in his arms.

He cranes his neck to fully assess the wound, his heart pounding rapidly. His breathing speeds up and his eyes grow worried at the thought of her dying from this. But he slowly calms when he sees that the injury is healing. Her body isn’t rejecting the bite. But she’s still in no condition to be running around in the woods.

“We need to get her out of here,” Derek says. “Now.”

Scott nods his head in agreement, leading the way out of the cellar. They climb uphill and out of the gate and begin trudging through the forest. Fallon’s limp body sways back and forth, Derek cupping the back of her head so she doesn’t accidentally break her neck.

“I don’t understand,” Scott turns to the man. “If he just bit her, how did she know where to find you? I didn’t even think people could adjust that quickly after being bitten.” He says, completely lost as he stares at his best friend with concern.

“I don’t know…” Derek mutters. “But she hasn’t completely adjusted, that’s why she passed out.”

Fallon’s eyes flutter open, but this time they’re her regular color. She groans as the pain in her side returns, no longer just a dull ache. It’s come back with a stinging vengeance. Though the wound is definitely not as bad as it would be if she wasn’t rapidly healing.

She startles when she notices she’s in Derek’s arms. The last thing she remembers was running outside to find Lydia. “Derek…?” She questions, voice groggy. Her head spins and that’s when she notices her best friend, “Scott?”

“Fallon!” Scott exclaims, practically ripping the girl out of Derek’s arms.

She wriggles her way out of Derek’s hold, planting her wobbly feet on the ground. She uses Derek’s shoulder for support. “What the hell happened?” She asks, looking at her own appearance with disgust. “And why am I in the middle of the woods?” That's when she suddenly remembers what Derek did to her a mere few days ago. She slaps his chest roughly, “And where have you been?! You sneak into my room and try to kill me only to disappear for two freaking days!”

“You tried to kill her?” Scott asks angrily.

“I didn’t try to kill her,” Derek rolls his eyes, annoyed. “I gave her a warning, one she clearly didn’t listen to considering the fact she has a whole chunk missing from her side.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to build a relationship with a whole family of hunters,” Fallon replies snidely. “I had about as much time as you were missing.” She looks down at her hip, swallowing thickly as she watches the skin literally mend back together. “So– I–” she sucks in a breath. “Does this mean that I’m…?” She looks at Scott and Derek, both of them sensing the fear in her.

“We don’t know yet,” Scott says comfortingly. “We didn’t see much, but you managed to find Derek on your own. You don’t remember any of it?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “The last thing I remember was going to find Lydia on the lacrosse field. She was looking for Jackson.”

“Well,” Scott sends Derek a worried look. The only thing they do know is that she’s not a normal werewolf. At least not one they know of. Her eyes were purple. “We don’t know for sure, but we do know that you’re something.” He watches as her face falls and tears begin to well up behind her eyes. Of course, being who she is, she tries to hide them. “I’m sorry, Fall.”

She sniffles, waving her hand in the air. “It’s fine,” she mumbles. “I’m fine. Can we please just get out of here?”

Derek has never felt more guilty. He told her he wouldn’t let her get bit. He might’ve threatened her, but that doesn’t mean he actually wanted this to happen. His goal was to protect her, and he did the exact opposite. The very person he’s been helping hurt her. Knowing Peter killed his sister and deliberately went behind Derek’s back to bite Fallon makes the man beyond furious.

Scott helps Fallon climb up the small hill that leads away from the Hale house. All the girl wants to do is sleep for the next twenty years. She’s never felt more exhausted in her life. But apparently, traveling with these two means that request is simply too much to wish for.

“Hey, hold on, hold on, hold on,” Derek stops them, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He analyzes the woods around them. “Something doesn't feel right.”

Scott slings Fallon’s arm over his shoulder, trying to ease the pain she’s feeling as much as possible. Now that her adrenaline has worn off, she’s going to feel the ache of the bite for the next hour or so. That's what happened to him. “What do you mean?” He asks, both him and Fallon trying to see what’s making him skeptical.

“ I don't know,” Derek exhales. “It’s- it's kind of like it was–”

“No!” Scott interjects loudly. “Don’t say ‘too easy.’ People say ’too easy’ and bad things happen,” Derek rolls his head to the side irritatedly. Scott raises his eyebrows challengingly, “What, do you think finding you was easy? Getting away from Allison's dad? Fallon getting bit by your uncle?! None of this has been easy!” He exclaims.

Derek nods his head with a sigh, realizing he might be being a bit over dramatic. “Fine. You're right.”

Scott throws his head back, “Thank you. Now can we please go–”

Scott is cut off by a loud and high pitched whirring. Fallon’s head snaps into the direction it’s coming from, and she gasps as an arrow lodges itself into Derek’s shoulder. He topples over weakly, the wind being knocked out of him as his energy is still depleted after being tortured for the past two days.

“Derek!” She yells, rushing over to him. Another arrow flies through the air, nailing him in the leg. She drops down next to him, moving quickly to try and remove the arrows. She glances in the direction where Derek once had suspicions of and she sees Allison with a large bow in her hand, Kate standing by her side. She whispers something into her niece's ear.

“Now the flash-bolt.”

Fallon’s eyes widen, “Scott!” She screams. “Cover your eyes!” She surges forward, hiding Derek and her own face with her arms, hoping Scott had enough time to do it for himself.

He didn’t. The arrow fires, hitting the tree next to him. A bright light flashes, momentarily blinding the werewolf as he also falls to the ground. He grunts out in pain, the bright light giving him an instant headache. Derek clenches his teeth as Fallon finally pulls out the arrow in his leg. “I know, I know,” she says. “I’m sorry. But you gotta get up.”

She pulls him to his feet, their combined strength being enough to get both of them up. They pull each other closer to Scott, Derek grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. They stumble and fall as they try to run away. Fallon trips over a branch on the floor in front of the Hale house due to Derek losing his grip on her. All three of them fall to the floor, incapacitated in some way.

“Fallon! Scott! Go!” Derek begs them, hoping that they can find a way to escape. Scott sits there, his vision still not fully focused as Allison comes out of the tree line. Fallon grits her teeth in pain, having fallen on the side that’s still healing. Once Derek sees the hunter coming, he pulls Fallon over to him, blocking her body with his own.

Scott scoots backwards as his girlfriend/ex-girlfriend continues stalking towards him. “Allison, I can explain,” he says in a panic.

“Stop lying,” the girl stops him, not interested in what he has to say. “For once, stop lying,” she hisses.

“I was gonna tell you the truth at the formal. I was gonna tell you everything... because everything that I said, everything that I did–

“Was to protect me,” Allison interrupts rudely. She tilts her head condescendingly as Scott looks up at her with pleading eyes.

“Yes,” the boy confirms.

Tears well up in Allison’s eyes. She shakes her head at his sentiment, “I don’t believe you.”

Kate groans in relief, nonchalantly waltzing over to the scene with a gun in hand. “Thank God,” she huffs tiredly. “Now shoot him before I have to shoot myself.”

Fallon feels Derek tense up when Kate draws near. The newly bitten girl reaches forward, gently placing her hand on Derek’s back to assure him she’s still there. She shuffles around, moving into a more defensive position. Watching Allison betray her friends so easily makes Fallon realize where her loyalties really were this entire time. They were never safe with her. Maybe Peter was right.

Allison looks back at her aunt nervously. She blinks a few times, not comprehending the request. “You… you said we were just gonna catch them.”

“We did that,” Kate nods patronizingly. “Now we’re gonna kill them.” She raises her gun, firing one shot at Derek’s chest, right where Fallon had just pulled out the arrow. Fallon goes to try and attack the woman, but Kate is quick to cock the gun at her. She tilts her head, a menacing smile covering her face. “Too bad you had to go getting involved in things that didn’t concern you,” she pouts fakely. “I actually kind of liked you.” That’s when she pulls the trigger, a bullet whizzing into Fallon’s thigh. She grunts in pain, falling to the floor as blood pools around the wound. She starts applying pressure to it, trying to get the bullet to come to the surface. She remembers Derek saying that it won’t heal unless the bullet is out.

Allison feels the urge to run towards Fallon, but stops when Kate approaches her. “She-she’s innocent,” Allison says with glossy eyes. “She hasn’t done anything. She isn’t a werewolf.”

“Oh honey,” Kate giggles. “Why don’t you look at that big bite mark on her side? I’d beg to differ.” She turns her attention back towards a terrified looking Scott. “Now kill him.” Allison shifts uneasily. Her mouth opens and closes, at a loss for what to do. She can’t just kill the boy she loves. Kate’s face falls, a small groan leaving her lips. “Oh no… I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re gonna have to do it yourself’ look.” She sighs, clicking her tongue, but doesn’t hesitate to hold her gun up, directly aligned with Scott’s head.

Fallon ignores the bullet still lodged in her leg as she tries to crawl towards Scott. However, Derek is able to gain enough strength to pull her back down. He tugs the girl into his chest, preventing her from going anywhere near Kate or Allison. She whispers Scott’s name, calling for him, telling him to run. She wants to protect him, to throw her body in front of his, but Derek’s tight hold stops her. He keeps his arms coiled around her midsection, not giving her any room to escape.

Allison surges forward, “Kate– Kate, what are you doing?!” She tries to stop her aunt, but Kate is quick to shove Allison to the ground.

The older woman tilts her head, “I love those brown eyes…” She cooes before placing her finger methodically on the trigger, but just as she’s about to shoot, someone calls her name.

Chris.

“Kate!” The man’s commanding voice gets all of their attention. His gun is gripped tightly in his hand as he stares down his sister. He takes a step forward, “I know what you did,” he says accusatively. “Put the gun down.”

As the chaos unfolds around them, Fallon lays on the cold ground, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The pain from the gunshot wound radiates through her body, mingling with the strange, pulsing energy coursing under her skin as the transition into a werewolf slowly takes hold. She clutches her thigh, her fingers slick with blood, as Derek pushes himself up beside her, his own pain evident but masked behind his usual stoic expression.

"You need to focus," Derek murmurs, his voice low, barely above a whisper as he presses his hand over her wound, applying gentle pressure. His face is tight with pain, but his gaze never wavered from hers. "You’re healing… but you need to control it."

Fallon clenches her jaw, fighting to keep the overwhelming pain at bay. “It hurts, Derek…” Her voice is strained, barely managing to push the words out as her body trembled. She could hear Kate and Chris arguing in the background, but it felt distant, almost like a blur compared to the searing heat of her wound.

“I know,” Derek replies, his voice still calm, though the urgency in his eyes was clear. "But you’re stronger than this. The moon is giving you strength. Use it."

She nods weakly, squeezing her eyes shut. The energy from the moon seemed to flicker within her, almost like it was waiting for her to take control, but it was slipping through her fingers. Her breaths were shallow, each one sending a sharp pain through her chest.

Derek’s hand moves to her cheek, forcing her to look at him. His face was closer now, his eyes piercing through the fog of pain clouding her mind. “Fallon, breathe. You have to let the pain fuel you, not overwhelm you.”

She opens her eyes, her gaze meeting his, the connection between them grounding her in a way nothing else could. For a moment, the chaos around them fell away, and it was just Derek—steady, strong, a quiet force anchoring her. Fallon took a shaky breath, her fingers curling around his wrist for support. The warmth of his skin against hers was the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment.

“I’m trying,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Derek’s grip tightened, a flicker of something almost gentle in his otherwise stoic expression. "I know you are. You’re going to heal, Fallon. You’re not going anywhere."

The sound of Kate’s voice rang out again, “I did what I was told to do.” It’s a harsh contrast to the moment between them, but Derek didn’t flinch. Fallon, despite the agony she felt, found strength in his words. She took a deep breath, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest next to hers, feeling the energy begin to shift inside her. The pain was still there, but it was duller now, less consuming.

"Stay with me," Derek murmurs, his voice low but firm. "Just a little longer."

Fallon nodded, her hand still holding onto him as the faint glimmer of healing began to take over. She wasn’t sure if she could fight off the transition completely, but with Derek beside her, she knew she wasn’t alone.

“No one asked you to murder innocent people! There were children in that house, ones who were human,” he stares at his sister with nothing but disappointment in his eyes. ”Look what you're doing now! You're holding a gun at a sixteen-year-old boy with no proof he's spilled human blood! We go by the Code– Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.”

“We hunt those who hunt us,” Allison whispers, suddenly regretting all of this evening's choices.

Kate rolls her eyes, moving to try and shoot Scott again, until Chris points his gun directly at her head. “Put the gun down,” he commands firmly. When Kate doesn’t surrender, he pulls the trigger, the bullet barely missing Kate’s face, launching into the tree behind her. “Before I put you down,” his voice is laced with warning.

Kate finally listens, allowing Scott a moment to breathe. Then there’s a small creaking sound that makes everyone tense up as they look to the front door of the burnt down house. Derek is quick to scoot him and Fallon back, both of them getting the sense that the following events are not going to be pretty.

“Allison,” Chris cautiously calls out to his daughter. “Get back.”

The door opens slowly, an eerie tone filling the atmosphere. Chris and Kate’s gun immediately goes to the door. Scott shoots up to his feet, claws out and ready for a fight. Derek and Fallon on the other hand stand up slowly and carefully. Derek’s eyes flash blue, “Stay behind me,” he whispers.

Fallon scoffs, her own eyes flashing back at him in offense. She can’t control them, but it was the perfect moment of retaliation. “No,” she defies him, moving to stand at his side. “I’m helping.”

He growls under his breath, but figures this isn’t the best time to lecture her. He rolls his neck, his Cannes slowly revealing themselves. Fallon gulps, realizing that might be her by the time the next full moon rolls around.

Instead of heeding her father’s warning, Allison gets up and grips her bow tightly. “What is it?” She questions.

“It’s the Alpha,” Scott answers.

One by one, the circle of people are taken down by Peter. Chris goes down first, then Allison, and then Scott. Which leaves Kate being the only one standing. She spins around, trying to catch Peter in a moment of weakness, her gun at the ready. “Come on!” She taunts the powerful man, urging him to try and get her. “Come on!”

For whatever reason, Peter leaves Derek and Fallon untouched. They both watch curiously, waiting for a moment to intervene. But watching Kate squirm wasn’t such a terrible thing. Fallon would probably have cared a bit more if the woman hadn’t just shot here a mere three minutes ago.

As Kate spins around once more, Peter appears in front of her. His hand grabs her wrist, the one holding the gun. She grunts out in pain as he squeezes her arm so tightly that his knuckles turn white. She fires her gun, desperately hoping one of the bullets hits him, but it’s of no use. Every single one of them fly in the air, the casings gracefully falling down to the floor.

Peter hits her hand roughly causing the blonde woman to scream and drop her gun. Her scream is halted by Peter wrapping his hand around her neck. Apparently the Hale’s have a thing for strangulation. She screams in pain as Peter chucks her across the clearing and onto the front porch of the house. She cries out, her back hitting the rotting wood with a loud thud before Peter drags her into the house.

“No!” Allison screams, running into the house in hopes of saving her aunt.

A lot of commotion goes on inside the house. Derek moves to go towards the front door, but once he notices Fallon trying to follow him, he stops. He grabs her by the arms, picking her up and setting her down far behind him. “You’re not coming with me,” he says.

“Yes,” she corrects him. “I am.”

“No,” he mocks her tone. “You’re not. You’re going to stay out here where it’s safe.”

“The second you leave I won’t be safe!” She argues with him. “Just stop being a stubborn ass and let me go with you!”

Derek lets out an annoyed breath, but nonetheless allows the brunette to follow him in. Scott also joins them as they dart inside the house, just in time as Peter starts to advance on Allison. Scott and Derek transform easily, baring their teeth as they get ready to attack Peter. Loud growls escape their lips as Fallon just stands there, struggling to even get her claws to show. They make this look much easier than it actually is.

Scott charges towards Peter, the two of them fighting which gives Derek enough time to help Fallon. “Stop thinking so much!” He yells at her. “It won’t happen if you overthink it.”

“I’m trying, Derek!” She snaps, ducking as a piece of wood flies at her head, courtesy of Scott and Peter. “Not exactly like riding a bike!”

Peter turns his attention towards his nephew after he’s satisfied with throwing Scott around. Derek grunts, “Dig deep!” He advises. “Find something that makes you angry. That makes your pulse rise, and lean into it.”

Peter laughs, punching Derek in the face with no remorse. “She’s not ready. You’re sending her to her death, Derek.”

Scott stands up and lunges at Peter, claws outstretched, but Peter sidesteps effortlessly, sending him crashing into the wall. Fallon watches, heart racing, knowing she needs to help, but her body isn't responding. She’s stuck between human and whatever she is, unable to break free.

“Fallon!” Derek barks at her. “You can do this. Focus on your heart rate. Get angry and use it.”

Fallon squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself to block out the sound of Peter’s taunts, the chaos around her. She focuses on the rhythmic pounding of her heart, letting it grow louder in her ears. She thinks about the fear she felt for Allison, the anger towards Peter, and the fire in her blood when Derek yelled at her. The tension of the moment surges through her body, sparking something deep inside.

Her pulse quickened, and with it, she felt the shift. Her body responded, bones snapping and realigning as her form began to change. The pain is excruciating, but she embraces it, letting the power of the full moon wash over her. Her senses sharpening, her vision clearing, and suddenly, the wolf inside her is unleashed.

The energy coursing through her feels unstoppable, like she can tear the entire house apart with her bare hands. She locks eyes with Peter, her eyes glowing a bright shade of purple, her lips curling back into a snarl as she steps forward, her claws glinting in the dim light.

Peter’s smirk falters, just for a moment, as he takes in her form. “Interesting,” he muses, “but still inexperienced.”

Fallon charges at him, moving faster than she ever thought possible, her claws slicing through the air. Derek and Scott flank her, working together to keep Peter on the defensive. Fallon’s blows are powerful, each one sending shockwaves through the room, but Peter dodges them with ease, his experience as an Alpha giving him the upper hand.

Scott manages to land a punch to Peter’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. Fallon sees her opening and leaps forward, swiping at his chest with all her strength. Her claws meet flesh, leaving deep gashes across Peter’s torso, but it isn’t enough to bring him down.

Peter roars in fury, his red eyes glowing with rage as he swipes at Fallon, knocking her off her feet. She crashes into the wall with a grunt, the wind knocked out of her. Before she can recover, Peter is on her, his hand wrapping around her throat as he lifts her off the ground.

“You think you can fight me?” Peter growls, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re nothing but a child playing with power you don’t understand.”

Fallon claws at his arm, trying to break free, but his grip is like iron. She gasps for air, her vision blurring as the edges of her consciousness begin to fade.

Suddenly, Derek is there, ramming into Peter and knocking him off balance. Fallon falls to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. Derek stands over her protectively, his own body battered but still standing strong.

Scott joins them, standing beside Derek as the two of them face off against Peter. "Fallon, stay down!" Scott shouts, but Fallon isn’t done yet. She pushes herself to her feet, her body trembling with exhaustion but her determination unwavering.

Peter chuckles darkly, wiping the blood from his mouth. “Is this all you’ve got? Three against one, and you still can’t take me down?”

The three of them run at Peter together, their attacks coordinated, but it still isn’t enough. Peter is faster, stronger, and more experienced. He blocks their blows with ease, countering with vicious strikes that send them sprawling across the room.

Fallon tries to stand again, but her body wouldn’t obey. The shift has taken too much out of her, and her strength is fading fast. She watches as Derek and Scott continue to fight, but they are losing ground.

Peter grabs Scott by the throat, lifting him off the ground just as he had with Fallon. Derek tries to intervene, but Peter swatted him away like he was nothing. “This ends now,” Peter growls, his red eyes glowing with lethal intent.

He throws Scott out of what could’ve been the only window left standing in this house. His body hits the woodsy floor with a loud crash, leaving Derek and Fallon badly beaten on the floorboards inside. Peter jumps out the window, fully transformed as he focuses his full attention on Scott. Fallon groans as she tries to crawl over to Derek who is writhing in pain on the floor. She hears a loud honk from outside and immediately gets a whiff of Stiles’ scent.

“I’ll be back,” she whispers to Derek, placing her palm on his chest. “Don’t move. Let yourself heal,” she instructs him, leaving before he could protest.

Once she exits the house, she jumps backwards as a bottle of liquid flies past her and towards Peter. A Molotov cocktail. She smiles, happy Stiles remembered that little tidbit from the night in the school. Unfortunately, Peter catches the flask with ease.

“Oh, damn…” Stiles says weakly.

Scott’s eyes travel to Allison’s bow and arrow. His golden eyes light up with an idea, “Allison!” He shouts, throwing the weapon over to her. Fallon is quick to jump out of the way as the hunter fires an arrow, hitting the glass dead on. The collision causes the flask to explode, fire encasing Peter’s form.

Everyone watches in complete horror as the man tries to put out the flames on his arm, but it’s no use. Especially when Jackson chucks another flask at him, hitting his other side. His entire body is now on fire. He growls in pain, staggering aimlessly around the front yard of his old home. Fallon would feel bad for the man, he’s about to die the same way he did the first time, but he did try to kill her and her friends countless times. Her empathy can only go so far.

She notices the flaming Alpha about to attack Allison. A low growl reverberates in her throat as she charges at him without much thought. Scott does the same, both of them striking Peter harshly, which sends him spiraling into the trees in the other direction.

Peter shifts back into his human form, his skin completely torched. Scott and Fallon heave heavily where they stand, both of them still stuck in their werewolf form. Or in Fallon’s case, what appears to be a werewolf-like form.

Inappropriately timed, Allison carefully walks over to Scott, kissing him softly. Fallon looks away, not believing after just trying to kill them that Allison has the audacity to do this. Especially in front of her hunter father.

Stiles’ eyes glaze over Fallon’s form. He lets out a relieved sigh, knowing she’s alive and well. But he’s also slightly terrified. She’s a werewolf. At least, he thinks she is. He watches as the brunette closes her eyes, sucking in a deep breath and suddenly she transforms back. Not a trace of werewolf on her. She did that a lot quicker than Scott did.

Fallon twirls in a circle, wondering if Derek ever made his way out of the house. She gets her answer when she hears leaves crunching under someone’s heavy footsteps. Her eyes snap over to Derek who is stalking towards Peter, a clear mission to accomplish.

“Derek?” She calls out softly to him. He doesn’t stop moving. He doesn’t even look back at her. She furrows her eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

He stops over his Uncle’s twitching body, straddling him. The only thing on Derek’s mind is vengeance and power. His claws protrude out where his nails should be and Scott scrambles to his feet. “Wait!” the boy begs Derek, running over to stop him. “You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. Derek, if you do this, I'm dead. Her father, her family–what am I supposed to do?”

Everyone watches tensely. Derek doesn’t even bother turning around, he just keeps his burning gaze on Peter. No one’s sure what his next move will be. Most of them hoping he chooses the path to help Scott.

“You've... already... decided…” Peter says weakly “I can smell it on you...!”

Without even a second's hesitation, Derek raises his hand in the air, claws at the ready. “Wait! No, no! Don’t!” Scott shouts, but it’s too late. Blood flies through the air from Peter’s slashed throat. The man gurgles on his own blood before the red fades from his irises, the power transferring into Derek.

Fallon’s jaw is on the floor. She takes a step back from Derek, a small amount of fear creeping up inside of her. She didn’t think Derek would kill anyone. Even though Peter was a psychotic serial killer, she still never expected Derek to take his life. Let alone for the power of an Alpha. His eyes meet hers, his once blue irises turning into a deep shade of red. One that she isn’t used to.

“I’m the Alpha now.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

“Do we really think this is necessary?” Fallon asks Scott quietly as he unlocks the door to the animal clinic. “I’m really not that curious.”

“You might not be, but the rest of us are,” Scott counters. “And I think Deaton might be able to help give us some answers.”

“How could your boss possibly know what I am? Last time I checked, his specialty was dogs and cats, not were-people,” she says sarcastically.

“He knows a lot more than I do,” Scott tells her with a quickened tone. “Trust me. I think he can help.” He guides her to the back room where Deaton is already waiting. He has a small smile on his face as if he were already expecting them to come in.

"So," Deaton begins, his voice steady, “I hear you’ve had quite the night.”

Fallon offers a tired, sarcastic smirk. “You could say that.”

Scott, still trying to process everything himself, jumps in. “Deaton, you have to help her. She’s different. The way she shifted, the strength—everything’s just... different.”

Deaton’s brow furrows slightly as he looks from Scott to Fallon, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Different how?”

Fallon shifts in her spot, rubbing her hands together anxiously. “I don’t know… It was like I couldn’t control it at first, but then, when I finally did, it was… intense.” She hesitates, searching for the right words. “It felt like the moon was... in me. Not just influencing me but actually... fueling me. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Deaton leans back slightly, a rare hint of intrigue flickering across his normally composed face. “The moon was fueling you?”

Scott nods enthusiastically. “It’s not like how I turn, Deaton. She—she’s different. Like, stronger.” He pauses, “And her eyes are purple!”

Deaton moves toward one of his bookshelves, pulling down a heavy, worn tome. He places it gently on the table, opening it with care as Fallon and Scott lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever knowledge the pages hold.

“I’ve read about something like this before,” Deaton says, flipping through the pages. “But only in legends. The kind of thing passed down through the ages, not meant to be believed, just stories.”

Scott’s eyes widen as he stares at the book. “Legends?”

Deaton stops on a page filled with intricate drawings and old, faded text. “Lunar Sentinels. Guardians of the moon’s power. Werewolves unlike any others, tied directly to the lunar cycle. But not just influenced by it—amplified by it. The moon’s energy flows through them, granting them heightened abilities, strength, and instincts.”

Fallon blinks, trying to absorb the gravity of what Deaton was saying. “So… that’s me? I’m a Lunar Sentinel?”

Deaton nods slowly. “It’s incredibly rare. I’ve never encountered one in my lifetime. I’ve only read about them in texts like this, and even these are more legend than fact. Most werewolves don’t have such a strong connection to the moon, but you... you’re different.”

Scott shakeshis head in disbelief. “Wait, so Fallon’s... like a werewolf, but more powerful?”

“Not necessarily more powerful, but... unique.” Deaton explains. “She’s directly tied to the moon’s energy, which can give her abilities other werewolves don’t have, particularly during certain phases of the moon. But with that power comes unpredictability.”

Fallon’s brows furrow. “Unpredictability?”

Deaton closes the book softly, his gaze meeting hers. “The stronger the connection to the moon, the more volatile it can be. You’ll need to learn control, Fallon, perhaps even more than Scott did. The moon’s phases will affect you differently, and you may find yourself stronger during full moons... and more vulnerable during new moons.”

Scott rubs the back of his neck, still processing. “So, what do we do? How do we help her?”

Deaton smiles faintly. “You’ll need to train, both of you. Fallon will have to learn how to harness this power, how to control it. The strength that comes with being a Lunar Sentinel is a gift, but without control, it could be dangerous.”

Fallon swallows, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of everything is now suddenly overwhelming. She never asked for this, never wanted it, but now it was hers. The idea of being something so rare, so powerful, scared her as much as it intrigued her.

Scott reaches out and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re not alone in this, Fall. We’ll figure it out together.”

She nods, feeling a surge of gratitude for Scott’s unwavering support. “Thanks, Scott. I... I appreciate it.”

Deaton, ever the calm guide, stands once more. “I’ll look into more information about Lunar Sentinels, but for now, just focus on grounding yourself. The moon may fuel you, but you are in control of your own power.”

As they turn to leave, Scott couldn’t help but glance back at Deaton one last time. “This is crazy. We’re really dealing with something... legendary here, huh?”

Deaton smiles knowingly. “In Beacon Hills, Scott, legends have a way of becoming reality.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Returning home from the animal clinic felt odd to Fallon. She doesn’t know what to do with all this newfound information about herself. She barely even knew what to tell her dad about her disappearing after the formal. Thankfully, Chris Argent gave her and Scott a pretty good alibi, despite the older man pretty much hating Scott.

She collapses onto her bed, her eyes going straight up to the ceiling, “I’m a werewolf…” she mumbles.

“That’s one way to come to terms with it.”

Fallon shoots up in her bed, eyes widening as she sees Derek just casually sitting in her desk chair. He gently closes the book he was reading, his eyes meeting hers with their usual stoic glare. Yet his words have some sort of playfulness to them.

““Jesus, Derek!” she yelps, clutching her chest. “Can’t you knock like a normal person?”

He shrugs, his usual intense stare is locked on her. “I needed to see you,” he explains shortly.

Fallon rolls her eyes, her pulse still racing from the jumpscare. “Well, you scared the crap out of me. One of these days, you're going to actually give me a heart attack.”

Derek’s expression softens ever so slightly, but his eyes hold the weight of everything that had happened. “I wanted to apologize.”

Fallon frowns, crossing her arms. Apologizing isn’t exactly Derek’s thing, so whatever this is, it has to be serious. “Apologize? For what?”

“For killing Peter in front of you,” he says quietly, standing from the chair and taking a step towards her. “And for not being able to stop you from getting bitten.”

The sincerity in his voice hits her like a punch to the gut. Fallon shakes her head, trying to brush it off. “Derek, you don’t have to apologize. Peter was a psycho. I’m not exactly losing any sleep over him being dead.”

Derek’s jaw tightens, and he glances down as if weighing his next words carefully. “Still... I should’ve protected you better.”

Fallon huffs, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I don’t need protecting, Derek. And, in case you forgot, you were kind of busy getting your ass kicked at the time. I’m not exactly holding it against you.”

Derek looked back up at her, his eyes searching hers. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“Being bitten and turned into a werewolf? Oh yeah, piece of cake,” Fallon remarks sarcastically, though the smile on her face told a different story. She rubs the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, sure. But it’s not like I can change what happened. So, I just have to deal with it.”

Derek’s lips twitched slightly, a ghost of a smile. “You’re handling it better than most would.”

“Well, I’ve had good company,” Fallon replies, smirking. “Plus, Deaton gave me some... interesting news today.”

“About what you are?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding, the weight of the information still settling in her mind. “Apparently, I’m not just a regular werewolf. I’m a Lunar Sentinel.”

Derek’s brow furrows, though Fallon can see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “A Lunar Sentinel?”

“Yep, a living myth,” Fallon says with a wry smile. “Deaton said they’re rare. You know, super special. No big deal.” She shrugs with a polite brag.

Derek crosses his arms, leaning against her desk. “He’s right. Lunar Sentinels are rare... almost unheard of.”

Fallon raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. “So, you’re telling me I’m one of a kind?”

Derek’s lips quirk into a faint smile. “Always were.”

Fallon snorts. “Right. Because if there’s anything I needed on top of this whole werewolf drama, it’s a mystical title and the weight of centuries-old legends hanging over my head.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Derek says surely. “You always do.”

“I guess,” Fallon shrugs, a playful glint in her eyes. “But seriously, if I’d known turning into a werewolf would come with this much responsibility, I might’ve considered running a little faster when Peter came at me and Lydia.”

Derek’s expression shifts to something softer, almost amused. “You didn’t run.”

“Yeah, well...” Fallon waves a hand. “Maybe I should’ve.”

Derek shakes his head, stepping closer to her. “You don’t run from anything.”

Fallon glances up at him, her smirk softening into something more genuine. “Neither do you.”

For a moment, they stand in comfortable silence, the tension between them gone, replaced by something else. Something lighter.

“So,” Fallon says, breaking the silence, “are you done lurking in my room, or...?”

Derek smirks. “I don’t lurk.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Fallon teases. “Next time, try knocking. It’s a pretty standard practice among normal humans.”

“I’ll consider it,” Derek replies, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

Fallon can’t help but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one that keeps letting me in,” he shoots back, his eyes flicking over her face before softening again. "But seriously, if you ever need help... with the transition, the shifting, any of it... I'm here."

Fallon nods, her teasing demeanor melting away for a moment. “Thanks, Derek.”

Derek gives her one last lingering look before turning to leave, but Fallon calls after him. “And next time, I better hear a knock!”

Derek’s only response is a faint chuckle as he disappears through the window.

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