#the rage i felt like HIS VISION WAS BLURRING HE WAS SEEING SHIT

[univemma]

Finally watched 'Not Lout' the other day,,, Spitelout Jorgenson count your days

(Context i adored httyd years ago and watched rtte but recently im hyperfixating on it and rewatching it, and i literally remember nothing from the show its so fun being able to first watch again after years)

[astroboots]

Heatwave

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Santiago and you try to occupy yourselves during another heatwave in Florida.

Rating: Explicit, edging, bratty-ass behavior from one Santiago.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you)

Word Count: 4,000

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' masterlist

At what point does a spiking high temperature no longer count as a heatwave and just becomes the new average temperature for the local area. Is it after the third or sixth heatwave in a month? And for that matter, how many record breaking high temperatures can one summer have in store for a state that is already known for its hot climate?

Fuck! Why did he move back here again?

Santiago is melting. Lying slumped against the cool flooring of the bedroom where the breeze reaches. He's stripped off his clothes, wearing nothing but his boxers and staying far away from any walls because they are fucking radiating heat. At one point he's pretty sure he saw the edges of the walls wobble from the inferno temperature raging outside... either that or his vision is blurring out on him.

It must be what? 150 degrees, 200?? He doesn't care what the weatherman is reporting, there's no fucking way it's only 110 out there.

Leaning his head back down on the cold wooden flooring for reprieve, he can't remember the last time Florida got so hot. (If it has, he hasn't been here to see it).

Shit, it must be even hotter than that time you drove him down to the airport, what was it now, ten or twelve years ago? It got so fucking hot that the radio was warning about staying away from the highway because the tarmac was at risk of melting.

No one in their right mind would've gone out on the road that day. Except you of course. In your shitty little Volvo, with a broken A/C and a clutch that creaked with every change of gear. It's lucky the old piece of junk made it to the airport at all, and nothing short of a miracle that you made it there in time.

He can still see it in his mind's eye. The way your hair was matted with sweat as you pulled up to the drop off point. Still remembers how his old t-shirt was glued to every inch of his sweaty back as he peeled himself off the passenger seat. How, even as disgusting as the two of you felt, drenched in sweat and smelling like two dumpster diving raccoons, having been trapped on the highway for over an hour in that heat, you had held onto his torso as if you were never going to let him go. Your pinkie wrapped around his, so tightly, he was sure the blood circulation was entirely cut off as you told him in no uncertain terms: "You better fucking come back home in one piece, Santiago."

A smile breaks out across his face at the memory. From a distance he can hear the familiar sound of your footfall from the hallway, followed by your voice echoing all the way upstairs as you call out for him.

"Santiagoooo!"

If it wasn't for the heat, he'd call back in response to you. But all the strength is zapped out of him. Plus, he suspects that the reason you're calling for him is to rope him into helping Frankie with the latest crazy home project the man's set on finishing this weekend (and in this heat Santiago's not going anywhere near that).

"Honey." The endearing nickname has him smiling even wider. His mouth parts, just about to respond to you when he hears the rest of your sentence.

"Frankie needs help sanding down the fence."

Bingo.

No way in hell he's responding now.

He can hear you opening and closing doors all over the house in search of him. You'll find him eventually, but it doesn't mean he's not going to take his time enjoying the last few moments of being in the safe shelter out of the sun.

There's a soft click as the door to the bedroom opens. From his limited view on the floor, he sees glimpses of your feet from the corner of his eyes as you march in front of him until you're standing above, looming over his form.

"Santiago. I was looking for you everywhere."

He lets the hand resting on his thigh slide down to the front of his boxers without thought and that catches your immediate attention.

There's a sharp and sudden inhale from you, as if the air is spiked. You look like you've forgotten how to breathe properly.

You liked that huh? The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he holds eye contact with you.

"Sorry, must've dozed off."

"Har, har. Stop lounging around half naked and acting like a thirst trap. Frankie needs help with the fence."

"It's 200 fucking degrees. I'm not going to do that. Frankie can finish his home improvement project when Armageddon isn't happening outside."

You shoot him a small frown. Arms crossing in front of your chest.

He pats the space on the floor right next to himself, as he continues. “Come lay down with me for a second to cool down. You look like you might be overheating. Don’t wanna get heatstroke or anything. Frankie can wait a few minutes.”

You don't move from the spot, making no move to join him. "Poor Frankie is doing all the work."

Santiago's itching to retort that there's nothing "poor" about Frankie's situation. Man is having the time of his life out there. He loves doing these projects.

But Santiago keeps his mouth shut. Because he knows if he doesn't, he'll inevitable set you two up for a back and forth of who's right and wrong, who wins and who's losing the argument, trying to one-up each other the rest of the afternoon. And it's not that Santiago doesn't absolutely love doing that with you but...

Peering up at you, the way your lips are swollen with heat and parted as you look at him, Santiago has a much better idea of how he wants to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

"Just a little bit, sweetheart," he says, doing his best to sweet talk you as he pats his free hand over the same spot on the floor in invitation. "Come sit with me for one minute, and I promise I'll go help Frankie okay?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you throw a quick glance over the window, probably to check in on Frankie.

"Just a minute, okay?"

"Mhmm. Just one."

It doesn't take more persuasion from him than that. Next thing he knows, you're walking over to him. Soft steps and an even softer gaze in your eyes. Then you sink down on the floor and sit down on the spot right where he patted.

That was... surprisingly easy.

He'd expected more resistance from you. Was fully prepared to do a filibuster marathon to try to convince you to join him. Hadn't quite expected you to just... give into him the way you just did. He blinks up in surprise, at your face mere inches away from him. He's not fully sure what just happened. You've never turned down an opportunity to put up a fight with him before.

You stare down at his chest and bare stomach, lingering there. You swallow down reflexively as you take him in with heated eyes.

Huh...

Santiago knows the effect he has on women. He just never knew he had that effect on you.

As arrogant as it sounds, he knows he's a good looking man. Knows that he's charming to boot. But the relationship between the two of you, for all the love that you had held for each other, had always remained platonic back in the day. You don't look at him the way other women do. And Santiago doesn't flirt with you the way he does with other women. Those were the unspoken rules you two had set for each other from the start and it's all you two have ever known.

And while things have changed now. While Santiago's seen the heated looks you give him when he's in bed with you, your relationship has remained largely unchanged outside of it.

You still pull him up on his bullshit when he's earned it. Never hesitate to square up with him in a competition for anything.

This... This is new.

He taps his bare thigh, almost experimentally to test his theory. He doesn't miss the way your pupils dilate with interest, and as always he can't resist the urge to goad you.

Not when you're eyeing him so appreciatively, in a way that you've never done in the past in all your years of friendships until recently. He figures he's earned the right after all this time to be a little bit obnoxious and revel and preen in the attention from you.

"Cariño," he calls out, until your eyes pulls back up to his face. "Eyes up here," he teases.

You roll your eyes, smacking him in the chest. It's supposedly a playful gesture, but you do it with enough strength that it knocks the breath out of him.

"I know," you retort, but your eyes drift back to his chest and then continue downwards and the attention has heat spearing through his limbs.

"You're still looking," he teases, and his hand snakes down over the plane of his thighs, reveling in your attentive gaze. "Didn't know you were such a perv."

By now you'd usually retaliate or cuss him out, but you don't.

Instead, you continue to stare, eyes blown wide as if you've been cast under a spell, mesmerized.

He palms himself through the front of his boxers, and he can feel the rush of blood rushing down and away from his head as his cock stirs to hardness. If Santiago was considered full of himself before this, it's nothing compared to how he feels in this moment with the way you're looking at him. Your expression blank, like the sight of him has made you lose your ability to speak. Mouth parted, the glistening pink of your tongue peeking out, as if you would devour him if he'd let you.

"Should I give you a show then?" he asks.

After all, if you want to look, he's more than happy to give you something proper to look at.

You nod with an eagerness that has your head bouncing up and down like the bopping bobble head toy Frankie keeps on the dashboard. Santiago lets out a laugh that's more breathless than he had expected from himself. He blames it on the heat.

Dragging down the edge of his boxers, he keeps his eyes on yours as his fingers wrap around the base of himself and his cock jumps in response to the touch.

Shit, that's good. A sweet spike of pleasure runs through him at the languid touch, and he feels breathless with it. His cock is slick with precome that drips down the length with each slide of his hand.

Running his hand up the rigid length, the calloused skin graze against the sensitive skin. Pleasure ooze and drips inside his chest and down his limbs, until his legs tremble with it. Santiago's touched himself countless times before but it's never felt like this before.

Maybe it's the heat that's getting to him. Or maybe it's the way you're inching closer with each passing second until you're practically straddling him on his lap. You and your soft and perfect thighs pressing down on his own, keeping him pinned onto the floor as he tries to keep going. The heat he can feel from between your legs, through the thin layer of cotton that's pressed onto his bare skin. Yeah... maybe it's that.

Santiago goes slow and languid as he touches himself for your benefit. And as ridiculous as it sounds it is for you. Because if it wasn't for you, there's no chance in hell he'd be going this slowly. He'd be fast and almost sloppy, squeezing down on his cock until the desperate need that's riding his spine lets go with his climax. If you weren't here, gorgeous eyes all focused on him, with a look that he wouldn't even let himself dream of in the past, he wouldn't want to prolong it the way he is.

Even now, with the strained effort of taking it as slow as he can possibly stand, he's not entirely sure how long he'll last. He feels like he's on a precarious edge, his climax taunting him, swelling up and simmering with a slow burn in his stomach.

Your torso tilts forward, squirming in his lap, with the tiniest movement every time his hand moves upwards, in time with his strokes.

You're practically riding his thigh, and Jesus fucking christ, that isn't helping Santiago's situation right now. At this point you're both going to come dry humping each other like horny clueless Mormons on their wedding night.

"Sweetheart, wait--" he tries, but you press yourself down on his thigh all the same, and he can feel your sweet slick drip down on his thigh and coat him with it. All he's capable of is a deep and shameless moan.

His cock twitches in his hand, and for several alarming seconds, Santiago thinks that's it. That it's already too late and he's going to come right then and there, spilling himself all over his hand and stomach.

Santiago squeezes down hard around the base of his cock to stave off the needy sensation.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuck. fuck. Sweetheart, gonna need you to--" he doesn't finish his sentence. Can't spare the seconds it would take to properly think. One hand is already reaching out under your dress (thank god you're wearing a dress) wedging your panties to the side, his other pulling you closer by your waist until your pussy is lined up with the swollen head of his cock.

He doesn't even have time to move his hand in place to grip at his cock before you push down on him. Heat streaks through his insides until his lungs feels like they're burning. Your perfect pussy envelops all of him, every single throbbing aching inch with slick warmth and perfect pressure until his vision whites out.

Fuck, why is he so fucking sensitive.

He can't... fuck, he can't hold on. A desperate groan tears out of his throat and he buries his face into your neck to hide from the sensation that has him surrounded.

He thrusts upwards, canting his hips until you're taking all of him.

Pleasure singes his entire spine, and it burns him alive with it. The heat is unbearable, sweat is plastered to his back, but it doesn't matter. Santiago's skin is damp and sticky, but he's still pressing you closer. Wants every inch of you, warm and gorgeous and so fucking soft, pressed against him in every way he can have you, and he's still not sure if that'd be enough.

Wants to make up for every year, hour, minute and second that he'd wasted of his life, being away from you. Wants all of that even if it kills him.

Planting his feet on the wooden floor for leverage, he grabs your hips to force you down as far as you can take him. Until your head throws back with a high-pitched whine, palms pushing down on his chest as if it's too much for you to handle, and he lets go, sinking down his hips back towards the floor, until only the tip of him rests inside you.

He gives you a handful of seconds to catch your breath. Then he grabs your waist and push you down on his cock. Again, and again. To the gorgeous sounds of your keen moans and whines all blended into one, as you're sobbing out his name.

Forceful, deep thrusts that has tears pushing in the corner of your eyes. He keeps going as the sweet aching heat has him drunk and euphoric on you, with each and every rise and cant of his hips.

He's not going to last. Shit, shit, he's not going to last like this.

But that's okay. Because judging from the way you're grinding against him. Needy and desperate. Your cunt squeezing so tight around his cock it makes it hard to breathe, you're not going to last either.

His hand strays down below your stomach, sliding between your legs until his thumb catches at your clit, slippery and wet, and absolutely dripping for him. You sob at the contact, wracked in shivers as he continues to rub smooth little circles over it, and he can feel just how close you are.

You're perfect. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back in surrender, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat and oh fuck Santiago was not prepared for this.

His brain stalls out, hand stopping as his movements comes to a still to take in the sight before him because...You are so fucking beautiful like this.

"Santiago, what the fuck, make me—" you're slapping his shoulder, voice high pitched and desperate that makes his spine tingle as you grind on him. "Fuck make me cum, don't be an ass."

Fuck what is he doing?

Santiago's not sure. Not sure why he's stopped, even as every nerve and muscle in him is screaming for him to chase after the pleasure until both of you are coming.

Not sure why he's just sitting there dumbfounded. Except, this is everything he's wanted for so long that he's denied himself and he realizes that right now— it's here, landed in his very lap. You're the woman he's loved for so long, no matter how much he's denied it to himself, and he just wants to make this moment last.

All he knows is that he doesn't want this to end.

"Wait, sweetheart," he murmurs, even as you squirm from his grip pinning you in place. "Just give me a second. Want to remember this," and he means it with more sincerity than he ever thought he had left in him as he stares up at you in complete awe.

He wants it to last.

Not just out of a ill-placed sense of pride. Not just because he knows you're going to give him shit for coming too fast.

He just wants this to last. Wants you in his arms like this. Wants you to look at him, just like this, like you need him to survive, more than your next breath. This. This. This. He wants it to last forever.

You don't listen to him though. Of course you don't, because you never make it that easy for him. Your hips roll against him, grinding with desperation until his cock nudges something devastatingly perfect that has him convinced his brain is melting.

Shit, he has to stop. Oh fuck oh fuck, he's too close—

"Stop stop," he warns, hand gripping down on your hips to stop you "Boa, Stop— fuck you're gonna make me—"

But it's too late. It's already happening. He can feel his cock pulse and throb as he spills himself inside of you, shuddering through his orgasm— and fuck this was not how it was supposed to go down.

Everything slows. It's everywhere, rushing through him with a chaotic frenzy as it wrings him dry. The euphoric sensation overcrowding everything else, and his head feels like he is going to split with it. He can't think. Can't breathe.

But even in his post-cum haze he knows you still haven't come and he can't have that.

Santiago grits through it. Biting down and clenching on his jaw to ride through the over-brimming sensation that threatens to burst out of his skin as he continues to thrust into you.

Oversensitive and overstimulated. Every slick slide of your perfect pussy has him gasping for air. It's too much. Like live wires are running through his skin and every cant of your hips against him sets every receptor in his brain on overdrive. His cock is so sensitive, he can feel every fraction of you wrapped around him.

And it's perfect and it's good. And it's just so fucking much.

You're burning hot. He feels feverish and on the brink of delirium from the heat. Like he's inside a live furnace, but he doesn't want to stop. Can't stop. Not until he's seen your eyes roll into the back of your head. Not until you've come apart for him.

Locking his arm over the small of your back, he flips you over, onto your back. Pushing his free hand between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing rough little circles on your clit again.

He keeps going, pushing inside even as every nerve at him is screaming for respite. Santiago doesn't stop though. You're so close, and he just has to hold on even as each flutter and squeeze of your cunt is pushing him over the edge of too much.

Doesn't stop even as your gorgeous eyelashes flutter dramatically, your eyes rolling back as you kick your leg out and finally, finally comes on his cock.

The sensation of your climax punches the last breath out of him. He can hear himself whine pathetically into your neck.

The overwhelming tightness of you, your pussy squeezing and clenching down over and over, as if you're trying to wring and empty him out of anything he has left him. It brings him to his knees and collapses into you.

Everything feels sticky and clammy. Both of you drenched, as he's pinning you down with his weight. He feels weightless and heavy all at the same time. It doesn't make sense and shouldn't even be possible. But it certainly didn't help him in his efforts to move

To the protest of his exhausted limbs, Santiago rolls over to lay on his back next to you there on the floor. Both of you sweaty and panting.

God this might have been a bad idea.

It was too fucking hot even before all the physical exertion, now it's like an inferno. He's seconds from passing out. But at least the floor is marginally cooler against his back than the surrounding air, while you're laying there catching their breath.

Every inch of him thrums with pleasure, and his body practically tingles with the afterglow of his climax. But he can't help the scowl on his face. He's mentally cringing.

He came too fast.

Shot his load like some overeager virgin.

And there's no fucking way you wouldn't have noticed that he came before you. It's only a matter of you catching your breath, before you start giving him shit about it.

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, preemptively trying to come up with some kind of defense or comeback but nothing comes to him. The only thing that fills his head is the image of your eyes from seconds ago, gazing down on him, looking at him the way that deep down, through all those years of platonic friendship, for all the way he's tried to repressed it, he's always wanted you to look at him.

It's so fucking stupid, but his stomach flutters pleasantly at the memory.

"Hey, Santiago...?"

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face trying desperately to pull himself together. Because even though he knows it's coming. Right now he feels too naked and raw, without protection to brace himself at whatever joke you're sure to make next at his expense.

Feels a little bit too exposed after that perfect moment of having everything he never let himself acknowledge that he wanted right there in his arms.

He swallows, bracing himself for the witty remark, as he responds to you with a weak, "Yeah?"

You don't say anything.

Instead, he feels just the barest touch against his hand, and he looks down. Your fingers slides against the heel of his hand, searching for his hand before you find his pinkie and curl around it. He drags his eyes back towards your face and you have the softest smile on your sweaty, gorgeous face.

"I'm glad you're here," you say, there's no sarcasm there. Your voice is soft and quiet, and so sincere.

He doesn't know what is happening to him but his chest constricts and is drawn so tight it's painful. And suddenly he's blinking back tears. Call him dramatic, but for a brief moment Santiago swears the chest pains are a sign of cardiac arrest, until you grip his pinkie tighter and the pain eases.

"Yeah...." Santiago nods. Has to clear his throat before he can get the rest of the words out from the lump that is lodged in his throat. "Yeah, me too. Sweetheart. Me too."

Sweat sticks to his back, and the heat is unbearable. But he doesn't want to move. Doesn't ever want to leave this spot with you lying next to him.

He'll never admit it out loud. But he knows why even though he hates Florida with every inch of his soul, he'll always find his way back here. Why no matter how far away he goes, a part of him will always be left behind here. A long long time ago in the drop off zone of Miami International, on a disgusting hot and sweaty day just like today, he made a promise. He promised that he'll always came back home to you.

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproiblemss who came up with that DEVASTATING concept of the pinkie holding post-sex.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[undercover-marshmallow]

For a few moments, all Adam could do was stare numbly as the crimson liquid traced a thin line down the side of his finger, forming small droplets on the edge of his knuckle.

Was that... blood? his brain wondered. 

Not knowing what else to do, he licked it. Yep, definitely blood. But whose blood? Where did it come from? He was the only one in the kitchen, and he would have noticed if someone had started to bleed all over him.

So where did it...

The realisation hit him like a hammer to the gut. He felt his legs give way under him and next thing he knew he was on the floor, his bleeding finger still held up as if he was pointing an accusation at the sky.

Red blood. He knew what that meant. Everyone did. Angels' blood was golden, hellspawn bled black, and red was for - red was for - 

'Demons'. The word echoed through his mind like a wicked laugh. 

Adam suddenly felt old.

Just how many millennia had it been since Eden? Could he even remember? He scrunched up his eyes tight in concentration but he knew it was useless. He'd given up counting long ago. 

How many of those years had been spent killing, he wondered. How many lives had ended at the edge of his blade? How much blood had he spilled? Sinners' blood. Red blood. Red like his.

He was one of them now. The first human, the once-proud leader of one of the mightiest  forces in Heaven, was now just another cursed soul in a land bursting with them.

"Dammit!" he yelled, slamming a fist into the side of the counter he was sitting against.

The counter shook, there was a hum of something rolling across the top, and then with a thud it landed neatly in Adam's lap. It was a single, bright red apple.

Adam felt a smile begin to creep across his face and then, unable to help himself, he burst out laughing.

"Oh I see, is that how it is?" he said to the empty room.

With a grunt he pushed himself back up to his feet and waved the apple to the sky.

"Let me guess," he said, still laughing so hard his sides were beginning to hurt. "This is another one of your tests, huh?" 

He was in absolute hysterics now, the tears streaming down his cheeks and blurring his vision.

"Just another test, right? This is some cryptic vision, or prophecy of the future, or... or part of your big, cosmic plan, that totally exists."

The laughter died down as suddenly as it arrived. In its place came anger, an anger so hot that it threatened to burn Adam from the inside out. 

"Well you know what?" he hissed. "I am done playing your stupid fucking games."

He glared up at the ceiling, as if his anger was enough to pierce the heavens above.

"I did everything you asked, didn't I? I followed your rules, I looked after the garden, I did what you told me to."

A dam had been burst and now there was no stopping the words that raged out Adam's mouth. 

"And don't bring up that fucking tree, you manipulative piece of shit. You knew we'd eat it eventually, didn't you? You don't dangle something like that in front of your kids and expect them not to try. No, you knew exactly what you were doing!"

He hurled the apple he was still holding against the wall as hard as he could, and grunted in satisfaction as it exploded in a pulpy mess.

"Oh but that wasn't enough for you was it, you sick freak? You then had to go and act all high and mighty, like you hadn't planned all of this from the beginning. You took everything from me, do you hear? Fucking everything!

"You took Lilith, you took Eve, you took our home, you even took my fucking kids! What else could you possibly want with me, huh? What else do I have to lose before it's enough?"

Silence.

"Well?" he yelled. "What's the matter? You too scared to even look me in the eye, you chickenshit?"

Silence.

"Answer me, you coward!"

Silence.

Adam fell to his knees once more and buried his head in his hands. Before long, the sound of muffled sobs could be heard through his fingers.

"Please," he begged. "Please, just tell me what you want. That's all I'm asking. Just tell me what I have to do."

Silence.

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

Inspired by this comic by @rius-cave

[oliversrarebooks]

Apparently I went ahead and just wrote "villain being drugged and taken care of by hero doctors" because why not.

Masterlist

TW: injury, concussion, drugging, abuse

Oh, he'd really fucked up this time. Already so weary, at the end of his rope, he failed to notice the energy blast coming from the youngest member of the hero team, the one who struggled to keep her powers under control. He knew how badly he'd fucked up when his back hit the wall, pain exploding from every muscle, especially the parts of his back where his boss had already punished him. His head impacted the concrete with a sickening crack that made him see stars.

Villain sank helplessly to the sidewalk, his body refusing to obey his commands. Through his blurred vision, he could see the painfully bright costumes of the hero team, and he tried to struggle to his feet. He couldn't fail here. It simply wasn't an option. Failure meant risking the wrath of his boss, or worse, being captured and at the mercy of the heroes.

Pain radiated from his knee as he tried to stand. It was broken, maybe. Even more urgently, every tiny movement of his head caused a wave of dizziness, the world tilting and spinning in a nauseating blur. He searched for the word. Concussed, he was concussed. Shit. This was bad.

"Oh god oh god oh god." That was the high pitched voice of the young hero. "Oh god, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit that hard -- oh no oh no --"

Villain tried to answer, but his tongue was thick in his mouth.

"Step aside."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt him that bad --"

"It's okay, Youngest. Step aside and let me take a look."

Villain would know that voice anytime, anywhere, the smooth and confident voice of his nemesis, the city's most beloved superhero. Powerful, upstanding, and disgustingly rules-abiding. Villain hated him. Hated that he had so much power and had the luxury of helping people with it.

"Villain, speak to me," said Nemesis. "Stay awake. Talk to me. How bad is it?"

Nemesis' face swam into view before Villain's eyes. Fuck, this was really bad. He tried hard to focus. He had to slip away, couldn't let himself be captured. Boss would be furious. He'd hurt Villain so much worse than he'd already been hurt.

"Let me go," Villain managed, but it sounded weak and pathetic.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Villain. You're severely injured. I'm going to get you medical attention."

Villain tried to shake his head no, but all it did was make him twice as dizzy. He felt on the verge of passing out.

"Stay awake, Villain, please, keep those eyes open. Can you see my fingers? How many fingers am I holding up?"

The fingers were nothing more than an indistinct blur. Villain couldn't answer. All he could think of was his boss's unquenchable rage when he learned Villain had fucked up so badly. He could feel it now, power suppressants strapped to each of his limbs, the way the smooth metallic floor of the lair felt against his face as his boss mercilessly beat him for his failures.

"Get up, Villain," said the cruel voice of his boss, as he delivered a sharp kick to Villain's ribs. "Get the fuck up. I don't pay you to cower on the floor." 

"I -- I can't --"

"Yes, you can, Villain. You can keep your eyes open," said a much gentler voice. "You can stay awake for me, please, stay awake. The medic is almost here."

It sounded nice. The voice was familiar. He felt himself nodding. A medic. That sounded good. 

"That's good, Villain. Stay awake. Just a little more." 

A strong hand squeezed his, warm and comforting. Everything hurt except for that. He tried to squeeze back.

"Yes, that's good. I'm here. You're gonna be okay, Villain, we're gonna keep you safe."

Safe. What the fuck was safe? When had he ever been safe? Safety was for people like -- like -- His sluggish mind placed the voice and face. Nemesis. Fuck. He instinctively backed away. 

"No, no, it's okay! Just try to relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"No -- no --" If the punishment Villain's boss doled out was bad, he couldn't imagine what Nemesis might do to him. He'd been a thorn in Nemesis's side for years.

"The medic's here, Villain. Just try to stay calm. I've got you."

Before he could protest further, Villain felt arms picking him up and laying him down on a gurney. His struggle against them was fruitless, his limbs weak and uncoordinated.

"Should we strap him down?" said a voice.

"I think you'd better. He doesn't seem to be all there. And even if he was..."

"Please --" said Villain, too quiet for anyone to even hear, as he felt pressure against his chest and legs, holding him down. 

"The concussion seems to be very serious, and there are multiple fractures at a minimum, not to mention the possibility of organ damage and internal bleeding," said a serious voice. "We'll have to administer painkillers and sedatives, and prepare an OR for emergency surgery."

"No!" Villain called out, a surge of adrenaline giving him the strength to fight. "You can't -- you can't capture me -- don't drug me -- let me go!"

Nemesis' firm hands pinned Villain's shoulders to the gurney. "You're going to hurt yourself, Villain. We're getting you medical attention. We're not going to hurt you, I swear it."

Incoherent nightmares filled Villain's foggy mind. "Yes, you are! Yes, you --"

His voice was suddenly muffled by a black rubber mask, and he gulped down a chemical-smelling, drug-laden breath before he realized it. He fell back against the gurney, his head much woozier and dizzier than it had been even a moment before.

"Just try to relax, Villain," said Nemesis. "It's just going to ease your pain and make you drowsy, okay?"

Villain shook his head in a vain attempt to get the mask off his face, but Nemesis' hand was holding it firm. Incapacitating him. Placing Villain at the mercy of the man who must hate him more than anyone. And his struggles were useless, the mask not budging an inch. 

Exhausted by his attempts, Villain stopped struggling for a moment and allowed Nemesis's face to come into focus. He didn't look angry. He looked... sad? Villain blinked, and he realized that his eyelids were so heavy. The sedative was kicking in. He was utterly helpless. And he should be terrified of that, but his fear was starting to feel foggy and far away, almost as if he was watching himself from a distance.

"That's good, Villain, you're doing okay. Just keep breathing," said Nemesis.

He sounded so... reassuring. Villain wondered briefly if that was how he sounded when he rescued civilians. Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, he wondered how that would feel. Being an innocent civilian safe in Nemesis' arms, as opposed to a villain fighting tooth and nail just to survive.

"You can shut your eyes now," said Nemesis. "You can go to sleep if you're tired. It's okay. You're safe."

Villain wanted to laugh. He never got to sleep just because he was tired. He was so, so tired, all of the time. And he was so impossibly, incredibly tired now. His knee hurt, his back hurt, his head felt like it was being jackhammered. His heavy eyes wanted so badly to close and stay shut. He just wanted to sleep. But he was in danger, wasn't he? He couldn't sleep here. Boss would kill him. He couldn't... sleep...

"...stronger sedative to put him under..." a voice was saying. 

There was the unmistakable feeling of a cold needle in the crook of his elbow. Villain wanted to fight it, stop it from happening, but all he could do was blink his heavy eyelids. "Don't..." he muttered. "Please don't... please..."

"Ssh, Villain, it's okay, I swear," said Nemesis. "I swear no one here is going to hurt you. You're just going to go to sleep, okay? The drugs are going to make you feel really warm and nice and then you'll go to sleep, and nothing bad is going to happen. I promise."

That strong hand squeezed his again. Villain felt so safe, so comforted, and he was so sleepy now, so sleepy and relaxed. The world was just a fading blur beyond his half-closed eyelids. He couldn't feel the pain as much any more. All he wanted to do was sleep. He never got to just sleep. Sleep would make him feel so much better.

"It's okay to sleep," said the reassuring blur. "I'll be right here."

Villain remembered the reason he couldn't go to sleep. "Boss...?" he said weakly. "Boss is gonna..."

"He's not here right now, Villain. I'm here. And I'll protect you while you sleep. No one is going to hurt you."

This had to be a dream. A beautiful dream where he got to sleep and someone was going to protect him from his boss. But he never got nice dreams like that.

"Is it..." His mind was so hazy. He couldn't think of what he was trying to say. "I'm..."

"You're going to sleep, now, Villain. You need to rest. Go to sleep. Shut your eyes. Rest."

"Mmm." He was too tired to argue. It felt so, so good to close his eyes. He could feel his pain fading as he relaxed onto the gurney.

"...surgery... gonna have to..."

"...can't just let him..."

"...right thing to do."

That was the last thing he heard before the sedatives pulled him down into a dreamless sleep.

Masterlist

[imaginedreamwrite]

I am begging BEGGING BEGGING for protective Jake Seresin? PLEASE?!?!?!

maybe reader’s ex comes looking for her, finds her at Hard Deck?

I got you!

Your head felt like it was being split in two, you felt pain shooting up from your brainstem like a wicked fog until every inch of your brain was melded into one thick layer of searing agony.

And he stood there in the makeshift parking lot with a scowl on his face and his piercing eyes. He was waiting for you while you stood firm on the bottom step of the bar, knowing full well that eyes were on you from inside. The usual crowd, the men and women you’ve come to know while you were here, some more obvious than others.

Rooster and Vida, the two who were coupled together and inseparable, his hand on her back while she bit her tongue. It wasn’t her battle to face, it was yours, but seeing your cheating ex after he destroyed you it had pissed her off to no end.

He was back, declaring that he was going to take you home because he felt like he owned you. There was never a wedding, there wasn’t even a full engagement.

And he…he chose to break you when he brought another woman into your bed.

“Get your ass down here-“

“No!” You cut him off, your mind turning to mush. “I already said no!”

“Dammit, Y/N!” He raised his voice and even over the music you knew Jake was watching you, listening for the moment he needed to step in.

“Get your ass in the vehicle, right now!” Your ex-fiancé was now a brute and maybe he had always been one, or maybe it was a new symptom.

“I’m not going-“

“Your mama said you moved across the country. Why’d you do that, huh? Why’d you move so far from me?”

“Don’t make me fucking drag you-“

“I’m not going back! I’m not going back to you, and I’m not going back home!” You denied him, you denied him again and again.

In your denial, you had left yourself open. He stalked toward you and ripped you down the steps with such force that your legs gave way. You fought against him and felt the crack of flesh on flesh, the sting immediate.

One minute he was angry, the next he was soft after he let you fall and reached for you again.

You cupped your cheek, vision blurring and your eyes watering. You stumbled to your feet, hands bruised and cut from the pebbles and the small stones on the makeshift gravel road. You stumbled again, shock running through you and it took you a moment to hear the eery quiet of the bar, there was no music, and the weight of watchful eyes was more intense.

You could hear chairs scraping across the wooden floor, it cut through like a knife, and the door opened with a heavy thud. You knew who was there, you knew that Jake Seresin was standing on the edge of the door with a seething anger in his veins.

“Come back inside.” Vida had called for you, stuck and blocked from your ex’s view by Rooster. “Sweetie, come back inside.”

“Get in the fucking vehicle! You’re going home!” He screamed, he took another step toward you before strong, heavy footsteps came down the stairs and crunched gravel beneath them.

“Darlin’,” that soft and smooth voice came as he came to pass you, unafraid of your ex or his rage, “go back inside.”

“Jake-“

“I’m not asking.” He looked back at you, his eyes locking on your own. “Go back inside, darlin’.”

You turned, coerced by his voice and the soft demand that meant safety and security. You were met by Vida and Penny, the two of them stealing you away into the bar and a wall of pilots sealing off the entrance.

From behind you you could hear Rooster speak. “Hangman, you good?”

“Yeah, Rooster. I’m good.” He still had that cocky twang, but there was an air of severity in his voice. “We’re just gonna have a little talk.”

“I’ll get some ice.” Penny left you to walk around the bar, moving quickly while Vida you to sit by a table, one that was isolated from the rest.

“Shit, Y/N-“ she paused when you waved her off and raised your head, your cheek already feeling swollen and sore.

“I’ll be okay, I swear.” Vida frowned and furrowed her brows, looking over her shoulder to spy Penny coming over with a bag of ice in one hand and a drink in the other.

“You’ll be okay.” She set both down and turned, taking a wide birth as those heavy steps back toward you. “Hangman, you need ice.”

“Thanks, Penny.” He didn’t take the seat by Vida like you expected, instead he had come to your side. “Let me see.”

“Just leave it-“ you turned your head and reached for the ice, his soft hands catching your chin.

“Let me see, darlin’.” He turned your head and you were captivated by his bright eyes, his captivating charm and charisma even when you were in such a state.

“Got the shit smacked out of me.” Your lips moved on their own accord, and Jake had cracked a grin in return. “Face hurts.”

“Hand hurts.” He trailed his fingers down the side of your face, marking the place where your bruise would be. “Knocked him on his ass.”

“You hit him?” You winced when Jake pressed the ice against your cheek, tenderly brushing your hair out of your face.

“Right on his ass. He was thrown back in his vehicle by Coyote, Fanboy and Payback.” Jake’s smile was small, and when Penny had delivered another few drinks, he had grabbed one glass and set it front of you.

“It’ll take the sting away.”

“Will it go down smooth?” You wondered, spying the liquor within the glass.

“Smooth enough, darlin’.”

[theres-a-body-here]

Darling~

Miguel O'Hara x Male!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 |

It was utter mayhem inside the Spider-HQ.

One of the criminals being held in the lower prison block had escaped and gained access to the central interface and modified it.

Portals from across countless dimensions opened, allowing villains to enter into the headquarters.

Some Spiders fought single opponents while others faced multiple versions of the same villain. The air was thick with tension as each hero tried desperately to save themselves and their comrades from the assault.

————

Miguel O'Hara stood tall like a lone wolf amidst a pack of ravenous predators. All communications within the building were being scrambled. He couldn't reach the others or Lyla.

With a defiant cry echoing through the corridors, he launched himself forward, using his enhanced agility to evade the clutches of several Scorpion variants.

Miguel was pissed to say the least, but he focuses that rage into determination as he traded blows with the criminals.

Once the last of them were knocked out cold, Miguel began to web sling towards the Go Home Machine to try and fix this mess.

However, as his adrenaline began to subside, Miguel felt a sharp pain in his right calf. He glanced down to see a large cut which was pulsating green.

One of the Scorpions must have got him during the fight, unnoticed by him. He cursed under his breath as he began to feel a burning throughout his body.

Miguel felt his grip on his web falter as he stopped swinging to plant his feet on solid ground. But the effects seemed to worsen as he fell into his knees, vision blurring.

Before Miguel could think of what to do next, he felt a brutal blow to his head as he was kicked a few feet away.

He let out a cry of pain as he cocked his head to see Tombstone, or at least a tombstone. Miguel tried to stand up, only to fall back down.

"Looky here," Alonzo sneered sarcastically. "Shit, I'm sure my alternate wouldn't mind if I squashed his problem for him. I know I sure as hell wouldn't."

Tombstone delivered another kick onto Miguel, this time aiming at his ribs. Miguel heard a crack as his world began to spin.

Once he refocused his sight, Miguel was on his back as Alonzo straddled him, wrapping his cold hands around his neck. Miguel tried his best to free himself, but the poison and Tombstone's vice-like strength was making it hard for him to even think.

As Miguel's vision began to blacken, he heard Tombstone laugh at him. "if you're anything like my Spider-Man, this is gonna be so very satisf-,"

Tombstone's words were cut shot as a black spike pierced through his chest. Miguel winced as Alonzo coughed out blood onto his mask.

The black spike seemingly liquified to wrap around Tombstone's chest like a tendril. And before he could react, it swung him into the ceiling with a sickening crack.

Miguel felt the cold air rush into his lungs as he began to cough and breathe heavily. He rubbed his throat as he watched Tombstone's body being slammed into the ground with such force that his head popped like a watermelon.

The black tendril retreated back to its user, slinking away under their clothes like a hidden blade.

Miguel felt his blood run cold at the sight of you. He weakly attempted to crawl away but his legs and arms wouldn't listen to his brain.

You watched Miguel writhe around in an attempt to escape with a faint frown. You were so certain he'd be grateful. You let out a sigh. Beggars can't be choosers. This sentimental moment was too golden for you to ruin it over something so small.

Your soft voice broke the silence. "Spider...," you seemed to rethink your words as you glance down at the lower levels, witnessing the other Spider-Men fighting villains.

"Our Spider-Man," you spoke in a whisper as your lips curled into a smile.

"Venom," Miguel snarled back.

[daytaker]

16. Adversary (LABS Update!)

"Back then, in those early days, he treated me like I was his child. I was his child. He gave birth to me. He nursed me. He raised me. And just like so many parents since the dawn of time, he made me into a miserable facsimile of himself. I was Lucifer, but worse. I was Lucifer, but broken and ashamed and out of control. I was Lucifer, if Lucifer hated Lucifer."

I've updated my excuse to write a lot of run on sentences expressing intense rage in highly physical and metaphorical ways treasured Satan-centric long-form fanfiction set in the Nightbringer timeline! This time, MC stands in a corner, Blair Witch style, and Satan recounts his early days in the Demon Lord's castle, the time Lucifer gave him a shining scroll, and what happened when he read it.

Existing Sucks, So Let's All Be Shadows!

Ship: Irrelevant this chapter, to be honest. The focus is on Satan and Lucifer's relationship. Chapter Word Count: ~4500 Chapter CW: More violent than most chapters, but nothing gory. A depiction of manual choking. (Excerpts are below the cut.) Hosted on AO3.

The first thing I knew was a white hot pain. It exploded through me, starting at my core and bursting outwards. I was on fire. I was dying.

It’s ironic that birth and death must feel so similar.

---

“This was inside you all along, Lucifer! Look at me! I was inside you! This is you! I am you! ”

And he sighed. He looked so tired, so pathetic. He ruffled my hair with a gentleness that ignited the rage inside me to a maddening level. And he said to me:

“I am me. You are you.”

I told him to eat shit, and he shrugged and cleaned me up.

---

In some ways, I was as naive as a child. I remember the mystery of my first snowfall, touching it and putting it to my lips and staring at the impression of my handprint in the white blanket on the ground. But there were also plenty of things I never had to learn. I knew how to read and write; I understood, conceptually, that there was a Celestial Realm and a Devildom, and which one I was in. I knew that Lucifer had brothers and a sister, and I knew the sister was gone.

---

I was six weeks old, and I was terrified, and being terrified made me so angry. I struggled to swallow the rage, but it was only a matter of seconds before I choked out the first coherent thing that entered my mind, the words crescendoing into a grating scream by the end.

“They’re not my brothers!”

My vision wobbled, my head ached, and my muscles burned with an energy that could only be expelled with violence. I broke free from the chains around my wrists, and soon I was throwing things. Whatever I could get my hands on.

---

I felt so weak. I felt so helpless. I stood there, struggling to free myself, and he stood over me, my fists trapped in his hands, and that same, awful, pitying look on his face that he used to have back at the Demon King’s castle was on his face. Seeing that look…

“Why do you look at me like that?!” Hot, angry tears blurred my vision and burned my eyes. “Your face always makes me sick, but I can’t stand it when you look at me like that! Why can’t you hate me?!”

---

Within the hour, I was rampaging around the house. Mammon tried to get me under control, but he was never able to contain me. Only Lucifer ever did that.

Well. Lucifer, and you.

“What happened?” he kept asking. “What the hell happened?!”

But I was Wrath, and Wrath doesn’t speak with words.

[voidtouched-blue]

FFXVI verse starter for @ifritmade

She could not take it anymore.

Cyra was tired of hiding. She was tired of running. She was tired of all of the people who kept trying to use her in an effort to obtain their false idea of immortality through her unique abilities. She was tired of all of the experiments, and the people poking and prodding at her to understand the differences in her body. Her unique figure was a credit to human cruelty and their lack of understanding. Even after she had heard the call of the otherworldly darkness, their whispers torturing her with every hurt repeated over and over again in an endless loop every night was driving her mad.

In her sleep she could not have peace. Not since she had accepted an offer for the power to defend herself against the malice of humanity. Yet, ever since the nightmares that once labored her sleep had spilled over into her waking hours. For a time, it had left her nearly comatose. It left her vulnerable.

Seated in a caravan set to transport branded from one corner of Storm to another, the other slaves that had the misfortune of being in the same wagon as herself were terrified. The hushed whispers, the maddening phrases she had spoken in her sleep had kept them silent for the initial stretch of the journey.

They hurt you. We must hurt them back. Make it hurt, make them suffer. Make it hurt, make them suffer. Make it hURt, MaKE THeM SuFFER.

The eerie voices that hissed in her head had not stopped repeating the same phrases in days. Not even in sleep could she have peace. The chant continued, and she just snapped.

She would return the malice to their pitiful and weak forms tenfold.

The girl did not hear the commands of the soldier at the door to the slaver's wagon shouting for her to exit. She barely remembered how he had died, but yet she stood there with his eviscerated corpse lying a gurling and bloodied mess at her feet. The sounds of screams around her, and angry shouts only added to the pandemonium in her head.

"You little shit-!" A soldier had charged at her, sword drawn and ready to strike. Her hands twitched, already slick with the dark essence of life that dripped from her dangerous fingertips. She felt the wind shift around her as the blade whistled through the air, her body reacting before she had even told it to, and the metal met nothing but dirt.

In her silence, her slitted eyes stared into the face of the taller man. The fear in his face told her that he was not yet ready to meet his doom, but she would be his reaper all the same. Her lips curled into a wicked snarl, every pointed tooth glistened in the light of the campfires. Such pitiful lamps would be swallowed in nothingness once she was done.

Another blink, and the second soldier had been gutted, and kneeling at her feet. Even in his clearly written fate, he begged her for mercy with pathetic wails. As her hair fell over her face in dark curtains, she focused on the agony writ in his face.

Feel as I feel. Suffer as I have suffered. You will see no mercy from me, worm.

Blackened tears leaked from her eyes as she permitted the void to guide her hand. Feeding on her anger, her rage, her despair...She gave it to them willingly. Cyra had spent her whole life in servitude. She had spent her whole life praying and hoping for a kinder placement. But the Gods never answered, and her body continued to be broken. She was a thing, to humans. And to even think that she had looked like them at some point in her life made her feel sick.

The things they had done to her, the violations of her body, her mind, her soul, they had built up within her. Unchecked rage, and a wrath she dared not even try to understand until the pressure had the emotions pouring out of her in a thick black ichor as viscous as the blood that boiled in her veins...and the blood that stained her hands.

She left the screaming man to his fate as she sought out her next target. She had truly become the hunter. Her vision blurred as the whites of her eyes flooded with the ichor of the Void, its malice pouring out of her eyes, streaking her grey skin with black. Her shaking hands clenched in violent, gory fists at her side as she hunched over.

This...this anger... This is not who I am! But... they deserve this.

"They deserve this." The words rolled off of her tongue as an ominous growl. "You did this to me! You made me do this!" She screeched out into the night.

"I am the suffering. I am the hate. I am the rage of human malice. And I will clean your stain from the land."

It wasn't only her voice that rang out through the fearful cries, but an inhuman chorus of whispers. As she stalked towards an armored man who had fallen trying to flee the demon that walked the field before him, she smiled. Her head had been tilted to the side, knuckles cracking as her fingers itched to be bathed in that warm flesh that stumbled as she approached.

"P-Please! H-have mercy! Gods have mercy!" His voice was a pathetic wail.

"You beg for mercy? Oh, how your sins sing to me in the guise of faith.." The wicked voice answered. She scowled as she shot forward, her body a blackened blur as deadly hands found their mark. In a crimson flurry, her talons bit into armored leather, and then into the softer flesh that lie beneath. She cackled as the man shrieked beneath her.

"Look what you've done! You, humanity, have created a monster." She sang out as the meat of the man's chest laid bare, open, and brutally gored. Yet it still wasn't enough. When would it be enough? The thought had given her prey's breath beneath her came to a gurgling stop.

"When will it be enough?" Cyra cried. She liked how the blood slicked her hands, how it glistened in the fire-light. She liked hearing their howls of suffering, just as she had heard it so many times before through her own voice, or through the cries of another. Her hands traveled from the body beneath her to run over her face, leaving black and red trails up to the wicked horns that curved up and back from her forehead. A devil she had been called, and that night a devil she would be.

[cannedbeefaroni]

Drunk Walk Home (Edward Nashton X Reader) (Angst) (TW)

This is a standalone spinoff of this fic. Context isn't needed for this, it's just a short one shot.

Summary: (Y/N) has a shitty night out and a shitty walk home. Someone finds her out on the street lost and sick.

Content: (TW) RAPE MENTION, SEXUAL ASSAULT TRAUMA, alcohol, intoxication, verbal altercation, yelling, crying, big emotions, unhealthy relationship dynamics, all that type of shit

I just wanna make it clear that Y/N was NOT sexually assaulted by Edward. I'm afraid some readers might skim and misinterpret the story as that because of how short it is and how little exposition there is. I wrote this really fast kinda as a vent.

Y/N is referred to in the third person as she/her

I will retire to the Salton Sea

At the age of 23

For I’m starting to learn I may never be free

But though I may never be free

FUCK YOU AND YOUR MONEY

I’m tired of your money

It just felt right. Stumbling down this dingy street in the grossest city. Limping in these killer heels while intoxicated. She thought to herself, I’m not even that drunk, why do I feel so horrible? I should’ve had more shots. Why can’t I just forget everything for a moment?

The neon signs and headlights sparkled with long streaks in her tired, weepy eyes. The sidewalk was crowded, and she bumped into almost every person she walked by. All it took was one pissed off person to shove her aside, leaving her tumbling to the floor; her tights ripping open as her knees scraped the pavement.  All she could do was slowly get up clumsily and continue her walk home. 

In retrospect, she should’ve taken the subway, but it was just so crowded, and she already couldn’t handle what it was like above ground. She never even liked the subway. She took it for nearly her entire life but she consistently would get lost on it. The worst part was wondering what horrible things would happen to her if she made one wrong choice. 

She’s already made enough wrong choices. 

Staring at the ground, she could hear all the voices around her. Some of which were men being way too loud. She couldn’t comprehend any words being said. She just assumed it was the usual vile words of perverts and rage filled men. Why can’t they all just die?

The sidewalks became emptier the closer she got to her apartment. The only sounds she could hear were cars passing and distant sirens. The more she walked the lighter she felt. Her head was lifting off her shoulders. Her body swayed and her vision blurred. 

She could've sworn she was in slow motion when the puke was dripping from her lips before she could bend over to spray her vomit all over the sidewalk. She panted heavily while staring at the ground. Reality hit her hard when she began to think to herself, what am I even doing? 

Still hunching over, she shuffled over to the curb to sit. She rested her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs, wanting this headache to disappear. 

I look like a hooker. Like a drunk whore. I'm just destroying myself for no reason. I’m doing it to myself. Am I doing this because I want attention? Do I just want to be taken advantage of again? Is there even a point in trying to get better-

Suddenly she heard someone screaming out her name. 

She jumped up, swinging her head around to see who was there. Across the street was someone running through the traffic recklessly toward her. Cars screeched to a halt and honked at the person as they maneuvered towards her.

It was Edward. His face was covered in sweat and tears. His hair was damp and matted to his forehead, and he wore a dirt covered hoodie and black gloves, leading her to believe he just got “off the clock.” He stood over her, panting frantically.

“Where the hell have you been? I saw you weren’t home so I tried calling you, but you wouldn’t pick up. At some point my calls started going straight to voicemail. I was so fucking scared something happened to you! I was just running all over town trying to find you!” He rambled with a strained, shaky voice. He sounded mad but his eyes were wide with horror as he stared at her and the pool of vomit on the sidewalk. 

“...I’m ffffucking fine,” she whined. Only once she started talking she realized she was, in fact, really fucked up. She buried her face in her hands, embarrassed of being seen like this.

“You’re clearly not!” he yelled in frustration. He grabbed her hand tightly and tried pulling her up. “I need to walk you home, you’re not safe out here.”

“I’M NOT A BABY, EDWARD!” she ripped her hand away from his and sat back on the curb. 

“Excuse me?” he replied, visibly angered. She instantly felt a knot in her stomach hearing his tone, stern like a father who clearly didn’t want to be her father. 

“I-I just wanted to go out.”

He kneeled down to her level on the curb to get closer to her face, “It’s the middle of the night and you’re alone in god knows what part of town! You’re clearly way too drunk to even find your way home!” he whispered to her in an enraged, strained tone that made her ears ring. 

“GOD, I KNOW WHERE I’M GOING, WHY IS IT SUCH A BIG DEAL?” she turned her head so she wouldn’t be face to face with him, feeling completely overstimulated by him being so close. 

“You’re putting yourself in danger for no good reason! You’ve already had horrible things happen to you. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna sit around and let you throw yourself to the sharks because you don’t care about yourself!” as he spoke, she put her hands over her ears, feeling nauseated by hearing his voice right against her ear. He was pushing her over the edge.

“WHO FUCKING CARES IF I GET RAPED AGAIN? IT DOESN’T EVEN MATTER”

“I CARE” he screamed so loud that his voice echoed against the walls of the buildings. 

She instantly buried her face into her lap and sobbed loudly at his response. Through her sobs, she screamed out gutturally. As she cried, she could hear Edward crying as well. His hand was on her back as he whispered “It’s okay, I’m here” over and over, hoping he can somehow help her through this. 

“Eddieeeee… Don’t leave me…” she wheezed into her lap, her voice deep and broken as if she had spent the entire evening screaming and crying. 

“It’s okay… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he sniffed as he sat next to her on the curb, caressing her back. She slowly lifted her head and moved it to his lap. She wiped her tears and snot on his pants as his hand rested on her head. Her nose buried against the fabric could smell the metallic scent of blood. It was comforting to her because it reminded her of him.

“Please… Kill him for me,” her voice was muffled against his lap. It was dry and weak. 

“What?”

“The one who raped me. Kill him” she whimpered weakly. 

“I will… I promise. I know where he lives. I’ll do it soon, you don’t have to do anything, don’t worry,” he pressed his mouth against her head, burying his face in her hair. 

Hearing those words filled her with so much wholesome joy. Maybe she wasn’t in her right mind at that moment. Believe it or not, she wasn’t exactly enthralled with the idea of murder. Edward’s job was probably his worst quality to her. But fuck, it would feel so good knowing that horrible man is dead. 

“Eddie, do you care about me?” she sniffled. 

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do. I love you more than anything else in the world. I don’t even love anything else. You’re the only shining light in my life.”

“Don’t say that!” she weeped. Whenever he said things like that it only made her depressed.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much that it’s nearly impossible to express through words.” his voice took on a gentler pitch as he apologized. 

She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his stomach. “I love you too. Can we please go home now?” 

“Of course. Let's get you to bed,” he held her as he slowly lifted her up with him. While standing, she hugged him tightly. He giggled gently as he hugged her back. She giggled back at how silly she thought his laugh sounded. 

“You laugh like a creepy doll” she snickered as they started walking. 

“Wha- asshole!” he playfully yelled, only half insulted. He would’ve shoved her, but he was scared of tipping her over in her delicate state. 

“You’re my creepy doll,” she slurred out as she held his hand. 

“Okay, you’re drunk. I’m not taking that seriously.” he laughed.

[rreskk]

Heyy! I hope you're being okay 😊 Could you write a fanfic, where Trevor is almost getting arrested, but then his S/O appears and starts to protect him? Like she covers him with her body, hugs him thightly and don't want to let him go, threatens police with a gun etc.. It can have good or bad ending, or both 😅

Love you ❤️

---A/N: <3

Summary: The dirty cops tried to arrest Trevor but you refused to let him go.

TW: Violence

“Fuck off!” He boasted from the ground, feeling restriction of motion due to the steel handcuffs bruising his bony wrists.  

Police officers were discussing charges and sentences before you could say a word. Being completely ignored from the justice team, a bolt of unstoppable rage fought against your superego.

“Hey!” You belittled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

One officer scoffed at your concerns as he pressed a hand unwillingly on your stomach, nudging your body away from the scene. Trevor remained stubborn, kicking surrounding cops when they try and root through his pockets. His menacing laugh told you he wasn’t done.

“Listen, ma’am, you must leave now.” The cop unintelligently handled the situation. He perceived a roughness to his glare that you had no other choice but to back away.

His armed guns were tucked away in his belt yet the urge to grab one was frightening big. When the officer’s back met your gaze, your finger tips grasped the pistols handle, whipping it from his uniform and held the edge to the back of his head. The cop cried out in fear and his crew separated themselves from Trevor who tried to look around but struggled. The whole group pointed their assault rifles on you, insisting you drop the weapon.

“What the fuck is going on, [Y/n]!” Trevor demanded before rolling onto his back and sitting himself up. His eyes grew wide when witnessing your rebellion against the corrupt cops.

“Please, don’t shoot me!” The man under your threat begged to mercy.

“Let him go,” You spat, “I will shoot if you don’t take them cuffs off him!”

The heat of the moment made your common sense fail to function. While saving Trevor, you’ve broken more than 4 offences now. In front of the justice team. Who only held a grudge against your threats. You were in big big trouble now.

“Drop the fucking gun.” One of the leader officers berated.

You could see Trevor from the corner of your eye. He managed to stand of his feet and began running away, heading towards the desert. It was a relief until you realised… He left you. Alone. With cops. And one pistol.

“Shit.” You whispered.

“Under the count of 5, you will drop the weapon or we will shoot,” The cop broke, “5.”

You felt yourself break out in sweat.

“4.”

Your vision blurred due to anxiety.

“3.”

The sweat from your hand loosened the grip on your pistol.

“2-“

The distant sound of a car interrupted your train of thoughts. Everyone surrounding you snapped to the direction just to see a red truck, speeding towards your way.

The cop was unable to finish counting as he was trampled brutally by the truck itself. Trevor was laughing insanely until the passengers door was kicked open, offering your place to sit. While the officers were about to tackle you down, Trevor reached to the side and pulled you in with his… Uncuffed hands.

He hit the pedal and you both escaped the sight, hurrying down the dusty roads of Sandy Shores.

“You had some balls doing that shit.” He’d murmur.

“How did you get the handcuffs off you?”

Trevor smirked to himself, “I’ve slept with many cops before. It’s second nature.”

You held your mouth open but nothing came out. He snickered at your reaction before turning the wheel and heading to the big sign that said ‘Los Santos’.

“Whatever, we’ve gotta lot of celebrating to do, sugar.”

[bish-plz-haha]

Chapter 2

Draco wobbled, hands reaching for something to stabilise him as his feet planted on the floor of the apparition point of the ministry. He looked around to make sure there was no one else around to see him trip up after apparating and sighed in relief when there was no human presence. Draco straightened his clothes and made his way towards his office down in the lower floors of the... well, Draco wasn't sure to call the ministry a building, per se. But it was definitely something. He reached the elevator and pressed the level 6 button that he'd become so familiar with. His potions lab was down in the merky dungeon-like basement of the ministry - not that he minded at all. It reminded him of the Slytherin dorms back at Hogwarts actually.

He had heard a distant voice, as if someone was walking down the hall towards his office but paid no mind. He quickly walked into his office, shoved what he needed into his bag and proceeded out the door. A woman with jet black hair and piercing amber eyes made her way down the hall, nodding curtly to him as she passed without a second glance. He nodded as well and tried to quickly retreat from his work space but the woman called out to him.

"Potioneer Malfoy?" She called. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorting into something that resembled pain and regret before he turned around.

"Yes?" He asked, his face void of emotion. The woman was peering into the office, eyes darting around, but quickly turned her gaze to him as he replied.

She cleared her throat and began speaking. "I'm Clara. I'm here about the apprenticeship?" She asked. He nodded and slowly made walked towards his office again, slipping past her back into his office. He placed his satchel on the floor next to his desk and motioned to the chair in front of him. "The head Auror - Robards, I believe - said you had just returned and would see me." She smiled kindly to him. He nodded and took his own seat at his desk.

"Yes." He stated curtly. "There's a small interview before I let you begin - if at all. Right now isnt exactly a good time, though, as I have another engagement elsewhere. But I will be free tomorrow afternoon if that works for you." Draco said as calmly as he could. His head was thrumming with a raging storm gathering behind his eyes, shooting through his head to his temples. His vision was blurring slightly as a wave of nausea overcame him. The girl nodded and made a humming noise. It sounded like someone had two giant 1000 watt speakers pressed to his ears. He watched as she turned to leave, giving her his best forced smile before watching her exit. He felt his body jolt forward, hands landing flat on his desk with a loud bang, causing the headache to go into overdrive. He quickly searched his bag for a hangover potion but found nothing. Shit.

Draco - as slowly as he could - made his way to his potions lab to find a small hangover bottle perched on the shelf in a small, labelled phial. He quickly downed it, hoping for some relief. The potion cleared up his vision and stopped the nausea but did little for the pounding headache that was still seemingly growing stronger by the minute. He grabbed another glass bottle, labelled as a pain potion and downed that as well. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the black laminate table that sat in the centre of the room. He felt the potion rushing through his body until his head felt like nothing but a dull ache. Nothing some sleep wont fix. He thought to himself as he made his way back to his office and grabbed his things a second time. Before he could make it to the door, let alone out of the room, Draco collapsed onto the floor. His vision went white around the edges, becoming very fuzzy before fading to black.

When Draco awoke, the headache was gone completely but his body felt heavy. Almost like he had drank an entire liquor store and the alcohol weighed heavily in his bloodstream. He shook his head slightly, getting up onto his knees. He looked around his bare office before conjuring a tempus. It was only ten PM, he realised, and tried to get to his feet slowly. Draco stood up, holding onto his desk to balance himself before grabbing his things up from the floor and steadily made his way to the apparition point before apparating home.

He had moved out of the manor when he had gotten the position as potioneer for the ministry. He decided to move into a flat in downtown muggle London - nobody in the wizarding community would allow him, an ex death eater, to sign a lease on a wizard flat - as a way of quicker access to the ministry if he couldn't apparate on a particular day. He had been thankful for this choice a fair few times as he had gotten drunk with Pansy or Blaise over a weekend and felt his head might explode had he tried to apparate.

As Draco pushed open his front door, he smelled something along the lines of toast and burnt meat. "Dasiy, I'm back." He called as he kicked off his shoes and placed his bag by the front door. The small house elf - a flower tucked behind her ear and her attire of a pillowcase sitting loosely on her shoulders - had quickly apparated in front of him.

"I wasnt here to greet the master. Master must punish Dasiy." She cried.

Draco shook his head and sighed sympathetically, replying, "No, Daisy. That's not necessary. Aren't you cooking though?" A look of surprise stroked across the elf's face. As fast as Draco could blink, she was gone from sight. Draco walked into the kitchen and saw that she was holding a steaming pan that looked to be full of beef, lamb & guinness stew but it looked more on the burnt side than appetising.

"Daisy is sorry. Daisy burnt the stew she made for the master." She looked down at the pan - disgruntled and disappointed. Draco chuckled slightly and walked over to the refrigerator.

"You have already made enough food to last me a month. It's okay, really. Take time off of cooking. Do what you would like for a bit, yeah?" Draco sent her a tight-lipped smile over his shoulder. She looked up at him as she placed the pan onto the counter and smiled.

"Okay!" She said cheerfully as she got down off her stool and walked out into the living room, dusting the mantle of the fireplace then moving on to the lamp shades.

It had, admittedly, taken Draco some getting used to the muggle living space. The appliances weren't that different from the charms that most of the wizarding families placed on objects to do basically the same function. But Draco still wasn't entirely used to the electricity he could feel running through the flat. The muggle way of life involved these things that were foreign and yet so familiar to him and it slightly threw him off when he had first obtained the flat in muggle London.

After he had eaten some of the leftovers in the fridge, he made his way towards the stairs, calling out to Daisy that he was going to sleep. "If you could, wake me up early in the morning. I wish to head over to Diagon alley to pick up some personal potion ingredients before work." Daisy nodded enthusiastically and continued her work of dusting the furniture in the living room and cleaning up the house a bit more. Draco quickly shucked his trousers off and threw them in an empty laundry basket. He removed his vest and pressed dress shirt, leaving him in his boxers and made his way into the connected bathroom to quickly shower. Once he was out and dried off, Draco pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and quickly climbed under the emerald green and black duvet, drifting off almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

*

The next afternoon as he was completing his report for the day before, the girl - of whom he later learned the name of once again - had appeared in his doorway. "Potioneer Malfoy?" She asked as she knocked on his opened door. He held up a finger to her and she waited in the doorway patiently as he dropped the file into the outbox and waited for the familiar chime to announce it had gotten where it needed to go. Once the chime went off, he looked up to the girl standing in the doorway and smiled politely at her.

"Please, come in. Take a seat." He told her, motioning to the chairs on the other side of his desk. Her skirt was one he'd seen women at the ministry wear. Very professional and tight all at once. Her blouse was loose and flowey but was void of any colour except for black and white. Draco got out a piece of parchment, questions already on the page, and a quill along with it.

"Alright," Draco cleared his throat. This was his first time conducting an interview. "Why do you want to be an apprentice to a potioneer?"

"Well, I've always had a fascination with the chemical make up of things as a child born to a muggle father and magic mother. My father was a scientist, you see, so I had been brought up on science. And potions seems to be almost like a mix of muggle science and magic." She concluded.

Draco nodded, wrote something down on the parchment and moved on from there. The questions were similar in nature but still entirely different meanings. After the interview was conducted, Draco stood up and walked around his desk towards the door. "Follow me." He said shortly. Clara stood up and placed her bag on the chair before following Draco out of the room. They walked down the hall to the potions lab and entered. "This is where most of your time will be spent. At first you will watch me and take notes but I'm sure you're a quick study so I'm sure you'll be brewing along side me in no time at all." Clara grinned at him and enthusiastically nodded. He walked her through where everything was. Fresh ingredients in the cabinet in the corner. The extra cauldrons tucked away under the sink. Utensils placed neatly in drawers. All the potion books needed for first timers placed in alphabetical order on the book shelves in the back room. She nodded as Draco walked her through the rooms contents. As they walked back to the office, Draco informed her, "I will need a copy of your class schedule to work out a schedule for your hours." When Clara reached the room, she quickly dug in her bag before withdrawing a piece of paper. She handed it to Draco.

"That is my schedule, Mr. Malfoy." She said. He quickly looked over it and nodded.

"Alright. Mondays and Thursdays you will report here at nine am. All other days - minus the weekend unless called upon - you will report here after classes. The day ends at five PM." Clara nodded and smiled at him.

"Thank you so much!" She said and walked out of the room. Draco felt a strange twinge in his head but ignored it as he sat down at his desk to go over paperwork.

Once he had finished the paperwork, he made his way to his potion lab and began his weekly routine of counting potions and making a list of what needed to be brewed. He also went through his ingredient cabinet and made sure he had enough ingredients to brew whatever potion it was that was needed. He began with the blood replenishment potions and worked through every potion he had in his arsenal. "Alright." Draco mumbled to himself as he marked his chart to indicate that he needed to brew more Anti-Paralyzing potion, along with both antidote to common and uncommon poisons and his Burn Healing paste. He then moved on to his ingredients and found he was in desperate need of crushed nettle and unicorn horn. He made a mental note to stop by the shop to pick those up on his way home.

He made his way over to the cauldron already set up on the table and glanced at the clock placed on the wall. He still had two hours before his day was over. He nodded to himself and his face set into concentration as he got out the ingredients needed for the anti-paralysing potion and got to work.

Draco had brewed it enough over the last few years to know that once the base turned brown in colour, it was ready to stir in the next ingredients. 5 times clockwise, 8 times counterclockwise - repeat for 6 minutes or until the potion otherwise turned green. He had the instructions memorized and pinched in the mistletoe. He stirred it, adding in some lemongrass as he watched the potion change colours. Once it was the correct green colour, he moved on to the second to last stage of the potion.

Once the potion was complete and put into phails, he washed the cauldron in the sink and dried it off, he glanced at the clock. He was about an hour over his usual leave time. He shrugged and walked back to his office to gather his things. On his way to the apparition point, he had passed Potter and Weasley in the hallway. From the small part of the discussion he had overheard, they were discussing the mission the day before.

"Still, I'm sorry they got away. It was my fault." Grovelled Weasley. Potter shrugged, glancing over the weasels shoulder at him. Draco nodded curtly at him before walking by fully - not before hearing Potter's response.

"Ron, seriously, it's fine. It's my fault for not planning accordingly."

"Not that I had any time to." Draco heard Potter say, but when he turned to look at the green eyed boy, his lips weren't moving to form the words.

Potter looked at Draco quizzically but Draco just shook his head and moved on down the hallway to his destination - the apparition point. He quickly apparated home and grabbed something from the refrigerator. He sat on the couch in the living room and grabbed the book he was reading from the end table.

"Master Draco! Dasiy didn't greet you again. Daisy is sorry!" She wailed. Draco covered his ears as best he could with a biscuit in his left hand.

"Really Daisy, it's okay. I dont need you greeting me every time I come home." Daisy sniffled and looked up at him.

"Is master sure about that?" She asked. Draco nodded and she instantly perked up. Draco wasn't entirely sure how house elf emotions worked but Daisy seemed to flip on a dime. "Master, Daisy took pictures for you." She said as she reappeared in front of him. He hadn't even realised that she had left before she was standing in front of him with a camera in hand. Draco took it and clicked through the pictures. He noticed that her finger was in the bottom right hand corner of most of the shots and that they were mainly of plants - mostly flowers - she had found. Draco smiled at her and complimented her. He gave her come constructive criticism that she nodded enthusiastically to. He had never been prejudice against the house elfs. He just mimed what his father did before he learned between right and wrong - one could arguably say too late but he nonetheless learned.

[deadqueenz]

Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader: The Perfect Bride- Just A Horrible Nightmare

The pain was excruciating, even though her body was numb, she could still feel everything. And her captor didn't care, he just wanted her to stop being such a Nuisance.

Was it wrong? To keep someone captive for your own happiness? It was clear in his eyes that such a matter was simply excusable. Nothing was to get in his way of happiness, for once he wanted something stable; something good to come into his life and with every mistake, it was clear he had to do it himself.

In bone chilling horror, she watches him sterilize the scaple with large steady hands. No matter how she begged and willed herself to not curse and scream at him, he still wouldn't budge, only brushing a comforting hand against her skin and whispering words of comfort to put her at ease.

But truly, it made her skin crawl.

He marked her; the sharpie markings on her wrists and forearm made her feel uneasy. Studied her, examined and monitored everything he could about her body. Until....

"I'm sorry Darling it seems things weren't-"

"Don't give me bullshit, you took my fucking hands!" The man winces at her loud voice, blood coated his hands and clothes and most likely his face but she couldn't tell, the room was barely lit. "You sick son of a bitch, I hope you rot in hell! I felt everything!" Her voice cracks, tears spilling from her eyes.

The man remained silence, stepping away from the woman after a few moments and back over to the small desk surrounded by books and folders. She couldn't see what he was doing; the medicine still present in her system. But when he steps out of view on her left side, she could hear paper rustling and books closing.

On her right side though.....Her stomach twists painfully; the sound of the bone saw, watching him cut through her bones.and stitching up her wounds. She seen a lot of horror films since she was fifteen, from the most brutal to the mentally scarring films.

But never in her life, did she picture herself going through things like that. Now, her thoughts have become a terrifying reality. Tears blur her vision, her breathing rattled as she cries. "Mother fucker, you're sick mother fucker. I hope you fucking die, you useless piece of shit."

Silence. Apart from the woman's heavy uneven breathing, everything else was eerily quiet. Was he hurt? Good, she didn't care, she was in pain. Terrible agonizing pain. Anything would be better right now than-

"...Darling...."

His voice was only a faint whisper, her eyes shift to where he could be standing, a sneer forming on her face, ready to hurl more insults and degrade the man further. But the words never came, they never formed on her lips. Only gurgled sounds left her bloodied lips.

Her eyes widen, the man stood over her; something shiny in his left hand as his eyes- which she could now see was blue stared down at her with a storm raging behind them. They seemed brighter in the dimly lit room, terrifyingly so.

She smiles, her teeth coated in dark blood as it spilt from the side of her lips, she laughs but it comes out gurgled; she was drowning in her own blood; suffocating. And he only watched quietly. "I'm sorry Darling, but you made me do this." His voice was filled with hurt, he lifts the scaple to her slit throat. He missed the esophagus, it starred at him, taunting him.

His hands moved before his mind could react. He whispers apologies over and over as he slowly drives the scaple into her neck, hearing her gurgles becoming increasingly distressed, before becoming quiet once more.

He sighs, standing to his full height to ease the pain in his back. Mistakes, he made so many mistakes. The veins and nerves were cut incorrectly, he would have to find someone else, and on top of that the medicine failed.

He would need to find new methods. Gas perhaps? Sleeping gas? Laughing gas? Or perhaps more drugs? The possibilities were endless, but to find the perfect woman is time limited. Soon, people would notice the woman went missing and her face would be everywhere if it wasn't already.

He knew better than picking her from the group of women dressed like whores as they went by him. But she followed him, flirted with him and pressed her whoring body against him. The amount of alcohol mixed with perfume wafting off of her made him sick to his stomach.

Then, he felt them. Touching his stomach, then his chest and finally his arms. Her hands, so soft and feminine. It sent shivers down his spine. Before he knew it, he was pressed against a filthy brick wall and she was getting on her knees.

No, her hands would be filthy! He couldn't let this whore ruin them. And now, here he was his work ruined by his own hands. Now, he would not only have to move back home, but also cover his tracks. And how should he get rid of this whore?! She was worthless to him now.

"Useless bastard, I raised you better than this."

He winces at the stern tone, his hands unconsciously forming into fists as he lowered his head in shame. Moments later, a pair of shoes step into his field of vision; covered in red dirt. "Seems like I have to teach you all over again, weak minded boy, just like your mother."

Rough hands roam over his arms, stopping to squeeze and rub his shoulders. "Don't be so hard on the kid, we just need to teach him again, he'll learn eventually." His uncle squeezes his shoulders again, placing his chin on his right shoulder as his body pressed firmly against him. "Right, Eddie?"

Eddie clenches his teeth, covering his ears as little whimpers left his trembling lips. "Leave me alone, I beg of you." Please, not again. "Come on kid, it'll be like old times! Me, you, and your father." He clenches his teeth, shoving them back before running away, he didn't know where, he just needed to escape.

He didn't get far, he felt someone grab him and pin him to the ground roughly, out of reflex he closes his eyes and held his breath, only for them to snap open and he found himself in bed covered in sweat. Panting heavily, he looks to his right to see Y/N sleeping on their side facing away from him, the bed sheets pinned under their arm.

He clutches the bedsheets in his hands, staring down at his lap as he tries to calm his racing heartbeat. He could hear the rain, but it did nothing to ease his terror. A nightmare, it's been a while since he had one, especially of his first kill. Eddie leans his head back, sighing to the ceiling before slowly laying back down and spooning his wife from behind.

He feels her body tense up, wincing at the motion, he fears he woke her up. Y/N blinks the sleep from her eyes in the dark room, feeling Eddie's hands and body against her. She shifts in his arms, trying to turn over to look at him but he only tightens his grip on her, and buries his face in her hair.

Nightmare.

This wasn't the first time it happened; Eddie waking up at night due to a nightmare and finding comfort in holding Y/N while she was asleep, though she didn't know what the nightmares were, she gave him comfort and did what she could to calm him again. His arms tighten even more around her frame, she shifts; placing her hands on top of his as the two silently listen to the hypnotic sounds of the rain.

Eddie silently cries into his wife's hair, he felt like he didn't deserve Y/N, not in this moment. He felt weak, sick to his stomach, and wanted nothing more for the lingering touch of those people to go away. If he closed his eyes, he could still see that man's sick sinister smile. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep again for the up tenth time. What a nightmare, what a horrible fucking nightmare.

[justfangstvdto]

Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 08 “What is love, if not pain endured?"

Chapter warnings: typical tvd violence, mentions of torture (mental and physical), wounds and blood, some timeline divergence, kind of a cold and confusing open but it'll make sense,  a lot of shit is happening in this one... Whew

Word count: 5730

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming (eventually…lol)

Soreness dug into your bones, aching at the flesh that surrounded them. Your hands were bound upwards, like angel wings they cascaded towards the ceiling while your feet were bound with shackles around your thighs. How many times the day and night hunted each other you had no idea, nor how much Esther's mental torture was working. She and Finn had been digging around in your mind endlessly ever since they dragged you away. Only now, after a day-long session, they let you truly rest for the first time.

You groaned as you awoke from an exhaustion-fueled nap, cursing the magical trinket above you that held your shackles in place. If not for it, you could have easily escaped the second they left you alone.

Shuffling from the other side of the room made you raise your head. A figure stood in the tombs hallway, moving towards you in steady steps. With your blurred vision, you only saw blood-ridden skin and clothing as the person neared. Dark mischievous eyes met yours soon after, which bore an unmatched rage yet softened when you finally saw him.

"How are you here?" You asked, even though you knew the answer. There was only one.

"Esther. She brought me back as motivation. I had other plans" Kol smirked before tugging at the protection trinket that hung above your head. It ripped in half easily, as did the chains that no longer kept you prisoner.

"Feet shackles too, huh?" He snickered.

"I tried to strangle her with my thighs at least once" You shrugged.

"That's my girl." He chucked before offering his hand. "Let's bugger off before we have to fight our way out of here."

Not that they would stand a chance if it came down to it

A block away you stopped speeding and pulled him into a long wished hug amongst passersbys. His shoulders were steady and you clung to them like the smell of fire clung to fabrics. With your time spent together, there was always a certainty of a goodbye coming too soon. So when he tried to pull away, you shook your head and only slung your arms tighter around him.

He lifted your head with a soft touch under your chin, pressing his lips onto yours. The kiss felt almost too real, the colors around you too bright, the soft touch of his lips too comforting - it felt like a fairytale. But your life was a Grimm fairytale at best, bloody and unrelenting. For now, you could at least pretend that it was real.

"How about we pick up a few road trip snacks? " He nodded towards a couple that was loading up their car in front of a two-story house.

"Later." You shook your head.

First, you had to get further away from the city centre. You took his hand before speeding away to the far eastern parts of the city. Passing Poland Avenue you travelled hand in hand across train tracks and barbed wire fences to reach the decommissioned naval base. It had one of the best vantage points in the city, especially now with the sun almost waking from its slumber.

One vampire strength induced jumps and you stood atop the flat concrete roof. Just below your feet a phrase in graffiti two stories high was scribbled along the base's massive barrier: "OPEN YOUR EYES."

Dangling your feet over the edge you sat there, Kol's arm around you while holding unto his hand as if he would disappear. In his arms, you felt soft, flayed open for the fading stars to see beneath your skin and reveal your sins. You were never a saint nor was he. Never was. Living life like yours won't likely end peacefully you reckoned, but being here now was all that mattered.

And maybe, maybe, nothing ever really mattered at all. That maybe, nothing ever made any sense because this, him right here next to you, his hands devotedly holding on to you like your all he has, is all the sense you've ever been able to make of this world.

But despite the reassuring shoulder you leaned into, the sun and with it the truth that lay hidden in the cloak of night soon revealed itself and you had to face your less-than-ideal reality. This dreamlike exit from your current life in New Orleans was ideal - perhaps too much so - but real life was hardly dreamy.

You relished in touch for a moment longer, before you spoke "I want nothing more than you and me together like this. That's all I need" You turned to him, shifting away slightly, grasping the wooden object that had appeared behind you.

"If only it were real." Your hand was quick and ruthless as the stake into Kol's chest.

The sound of his hitched breath followed you back to consciousness as your eyes opened in a flash, staring back at the grey stone walls that had surrounded you for days now.

"Esther!!!!! " You screamed as loud as you could and your voice carried through the candle-lid tomb. She turned a corner in front of you moments later, a knowing look on her face.

"My dear please, inside voice." She said and shushed you with a whip of her finger. She reminded you of your mother then, always making sure to keep everyone quiet when your father was on a rampage again. What a fool you were to think of them now.

You shook these feelings off with a shake of your head before you spoke again "Kol died in my arms, do you think hurting or killing fake versions of him is gonna work?"

In truth it was working, perhaps not to the extent Esther had planned, but it was working regardless. How could it not? You had a heart, albeit a blackened one.

"I must say your memories are most intriguing. You've caused quite the chaos in all sorts of places. From getaway driver for the mob, inciting insurrections, to painting the town red -as they say- all on your lonesome."

"One gets bored or pissed off every now and then." You shrugged "Besides, I've done good things too, but you like to sweep those under the rug, don't you? We're all just monsters to you, right?"

"I remember we had a similar conversation long ago." She reminisced, letting her mind wander a moment "My offer remains the same. Relinquish your evil ways, be reborn a human, and I promise you, I will have Kol join your side."

It would be so easy to just say yes. You could live out the rest of your days somewhere, with no bloodlust, no family drama. It was the easiest thing to do, but sadly, easy isn't always right. Even more so when the offer comes from someone like Esther.

You caught her gaze and said "You know what my answer is. "

"As you wish." Esther walked away then, blinding another bundle of herb cuttings on a table on the other side of the room which pulled you into a trance-like state almost immediately. Damn her and her little tricks.

"I asked when you brought me here but I'll ask again. What are you trying to do here exactly?" You asked, fighting to stay awake "Break me? My mind is way scarier than you'll ever be."

"If you must know," She replied "You are linked to Niklaus which links your mind as well as your body. If I manage to get past your barricades, I will have access to his memories."

"What makes you think you can break through? Have you met me?"

A different voice spoke instead of the woman before you, and you had to stifle a laugh when he came into view.

"She has her ways." Finn walked into view ever so pretentious, a hand angled behind his back "And so do I"

The body Finn was inhabiting, Vincent Griffith, would no doubt strike fear in you with all he was involved in the past. Real bad business. But Finn, with his disguise of righteousness and overcompensated morals, evoked nothing but the desire to throttle him.

"What bore me to death? You're right, that might work." You joked, laughing at your own quip.

"I see Niklaus' company has rubbed off on you. How disappointing." He stepped closer, the glimmer of a knife bouncing off the candlelight "We ought to fix that"

When he neared, you kept your eyes firm on him, showing no inkling of emotions as the knife slid across your throat and exposed arms, bleeding you dry like a slaughtered animal.

----

You tried to not keep track of time. It made it easier. When the pain came, it came in sharp, blistering burns you tried to block out the best you could. For every painful sensation, you tried to suffocate it with memories of a better time, a warmer life;

The first taste of freedom as a newly turned vampire running away from the house that had been your prison, the heat of the fire sharp behind your back

Pain.

The sound of Stefan's happy laughter as you chased each other around the house when your father wasn't around, and his wide beaming smile when you pulled him in your arms and spun him around in a circle.

Pain.

Kol. A fierce grin, a snarky comment, a steady hand on your back when you needed it.  A force of nature forged by the cruelty of life that remained ever hopeful.

P a i n

Let it be over. Please, let it be over.

P A I N

…..

Another few days went by like they meant nothing. By now you knew that nobody was coming for you. That Klaus served you up on a silver platter to soothe the codependency he shared with Elijah. It would be honorable really if you hadn't been the price to be paid for it. It was hardly a surprise, but him not even attempting to get you out of Esther's grasp was certainly one. Especially after he urged you to stay inside to be safe.

And Kaleb… well he wasn't anywhere to be seen either. He probably took the opportunity and scurried away, like they all do once you let your guard down. Either by death or abandonment, you're like a haunted house made flesh; intriguing until the door opens.

So here you were, still locked in a tomb in the cemetery, not bound to the ceiling anymore but shackled to the place by a magically sealed ball and chain.

Esther had been prodding around in your mind like a maniac in your memories as a human and beyond, hoping to find something to break you. When she was in your head, memories tended to flash by as if living on pages of a book that was hastily searched through. One minute you saw your grandmother waving at the gates to bid you farewell, then looking out of your room at night wondering how to get beyond the treeline's boundaries. Then once more you stood in front of the burning house on the outskirts of Mystic Falls where everything you loved and hoped for went up in flames.

Some recent memories followed too, the endless nights spent like savages drinking your guilt and grief away. Violence, blood, and heartache were visitors too and even flashes of Kaleb made their way into your consciousness, despite how much you wished them away.

However, what happened today was still rummaging around in your mind like a cough you couldn't shake. Esther found a memory that was not your own and she lingered, hoping it would reveal Klaus' secret. She did it then, she broke through.

You found yourself in the passenger's seat of a car that was speeding through what seemed like secluded country roads. Klaus was driving, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he glanced in the back view mirror. A radio station was playing and cutting out every few feet as the car sped along, illuminating the night with bright headlights.

You snapped your finger in front of his face, not knowing if he could see you or not. But it was only a memory.

"Look into the mirror." Esther's voice was like a never-ending echo whispering and aching through every atom of your body. You resisted her demand, knowing that whatever she sensed had the potential of running everything. Esther saw what you saw so instead of looking into the mirror, you reached back with your hand. Your fingers hit the backseat first, then slipped upwards until they found a plastic object, and then further still until you touched skin. It was softer than any skin you'd touched before.

Your hand carefully grasped upwards and your breath hitched as your fingers glided over smooth skin. You continued lower, moving along grasping what you could. It felt like a small foot, almost baby-sized. Why did Klaus have a child in his back seat? That's when it dawned on you who that kid was. It had to be her. Klaus' daughter was alive. That's what he was hiding.

The car neared its destination as the headlight illuminated another car in front of you. A red sportscar with a figure standing next to it. When the light engulfed them, her long blond hair was visible from a distance, almost as bright as the smile on her face. Rebekah.  

Thankfully, that's when Esther's magical connection severed and everything disappeared into particles.  

Esther huffed and puffed when you came to, fueled by your lack of cooperation before she lost her composure and hurried away.

With her gone you could let your face fall. Klaus' daughter was alive. She was alive . It all made sense now. The secrecy, the mistrust, even the fear in Klaus's eyes when Mikael nearly ended him. He had a new purpose, something to fight for that wasn't tied to his family's long road of miseries.

But having that meant he also had something to lose, that wasn't easily controlled by a threat with a dagger. Welcome to the club.

But what did Esther want with her? One thing was clear, she had no good intentions and it was high time you got the fuck out of there.

…….

New guards had arrived in the hour that followed your trip of the mind. Two young men belonging to the witches. Of which coven you were not sure. They stood in front of the tomb's entrance, speaking loud enough for you to hear them.

"You know she's cuter than I thought." One of them, the tall dark-haired of the two, said "You think she would go out with me?"

"Are you dumb?" His dirty-blonde friend returned, wondering if his friend had lost his mind "You shouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole. She's with the Mikaelsons, specifically Kol scary-ass Mikaelson."

That's right.

"Yeah, but isn't he dead?"

"Nothing stays buried here, you should know that, dumbass."

The two men reminded you of the two New York residents just then, and a familiar ache crawled up your neck. If you could just break free you could sink your teeth- God you were hungry. When was the last time you fed? Hell, how long have you been here?

A shadow moved towards you, much like the torturous escapes Esther made you live through, but it wasn't Kol who came to your rescue. It was someone who had already come to your aid once before.

"Is this real??" You heard yourself saying, not sure if you actually spoke out loud

"I'm real," Marcel reassured, coming into your view more clearly. He tucked at the protection charm hanging from the ceiling, much like the dream version of Kol had, and ripped the chains in two easily.

"How did you get in here? I thought you were banned."

"I might not know much, but I sure as hell know how to be a scary son-of-a-bitch" Marcel shrugged, growing quiet for a moment to check the surroundings "Stay down and follow me."

As Marcel skillfully navigates the cemetery, a realization made itself known that, even amidst his own burdens, he saved you. Much like he saved you when you met. He was drowning in grief and self-loathing - as were you - and somehow you made it to shore together.

Crossing over the threshold, you expected to be stopped by a boundary spell but you made it through without any hitches. Which begged the question, of whether Esther was so preoccupied with something else that she became careless, or if she let you go willingly. You didn't know which version was worse.

You and Marcel kept going for a block or two until you saw someone at the end of the street. When you neared a man with a bow in his hand and, as it seemed, the world on his shoulder greeted Marcel with a nod. He seemed vaguely familiar but you could not put your finger on it.

"Who the hell is this?" You asked.

"Backup in case they got me too." Marcel explained.

The man was eyeing you suspiciously until something clicked and his face softened ever so slightly "You're Y/N Salvatore."

"One and only. I hope." You side-glanced, imagining a doppelganger of yourself out there. One of you is enough, you concluded.

"This is Ansel." Marcel stepped in, sensing the needed context "Klaus' father."

Your eyes grew wide with surprise, glancing at the only person somewhat related to the Mikaelsons you haven't met yet. Why the hell was he here? If Mikael learns of him, hell gladly kill him once again, as he did over a thousand years ago.

Ansel shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat "Esther pulled me from the other side before it collapsed."

"Does that mean…"Newly found hope ignited within you, hoping she pulled Kol from the other side too and held him, prisoner, somewhere. It would have been months by now, but one could hope.

Marcel shook his head "Haven't seen him. He'd be the first one here if he was. "

Anger rose within your tortured mind, aching away any sense left over. Of course, everyone gets resurrected, but the one person that would matter was stuck somewhere.

"Let's get the fuck out of here then." You said, "I have to visit Dracula in his castle and break a few necks and faces."

Marcel let out a huffed laugh "Not gonna lie they have it coming, but you gotta slow down. You're no use to anyone hurt or worse."

"I will." You reassured. It was a lie, and Marcel knew it, but he still nodded along.

"There's something else." He continued "Your friend, Kaleb, went out there looking for you. Tried to get to you in the cemetery before you were taken but Klaus stopped him before he could."

Kaleb…shit.

"You know where he went?" You asked.

"I heard he started asking the Tremé coven for assistance." Marcel replied, "But my guess is he got wrapped up with the no-good kind of them."

"I might have seen him a few days ago. Tall, dark hair, english accent?"  Ansel asked, using a hand to indicate the height of the man he saw.

"Big mouth on him too." Marcel muttered, showing his disdain clearly.

Turning to Ansel you asked, "You mind showing me where you've seen him?" He confirmed with a quick nod.

"I'll deal with Klaus then," Marcel added, jaw clenched in anger.

"Don't bother." You told him off "He and I will have a talk eventually."  Oh and what a talk that will be.

The plan was clear, but Marcel still had yet to budge, eying Ansel with a  suspicious look on his face. "You sure you're gonna be OK?"

"I will be." You reassured but he had still yet to budge. He wasn't convinced, still helicopter-parenting from afar.

You confirmed again with a determined nod. Marcel was conflicted but only shrugged, drew you into a hug and told Ansel to keep an eye on you, before he walked away.

You then followed Ansel a few blocks in silence before curiosity got the better of you. It wasn't every day that someone who had died a millennium ago was now under the living again.

You cleared your throat before you spoke "Since you've been on the other side, you know how to resurrect someone?"

"You should let it be." He brushed you off with ease, not even looking in your direction "Loving a Mikaelson, it doesn't end well"

Well, that wasn't what you had expected.

"I don't care." You replied, following after him as he took a sharp turn through an alley.

"You should. Imagine your life without chasing after him and an unattainable life." Ansel spoke even though he could feel the rage radiating from you "Run far away and fast. Take that boy you're searching for with you and go."

"Don't remember I asked for your opinion".

"It's not an opinion, it's a warning. Heed it."

Who was he to evaluate your life? He all but met you minutes ago. There was no basis for his judgement. None at all. Unless...

"You spoke to him, didn't you? On the other side?"

Ansel gave a quick nod "We crossed paths. He never left your side, not once."

Your heart all but leapt out of your chest hearing him utter these words. He was always by your side. It was unfathomable really, divided by an invisible curtain of time, yet he remained steadfast.

"He told me he wanted you to move on. To be safe" Ansel added.

"Doesn't mean I have to listen to him." Kol should know you enough to know you'd never give up. Never.

"As you wish. Still, heed my warning. For your own good." Ansel said, crossing the street before he stopped, pressing his back to a wall as he looked around a corner of a building.

"Saw him sneaking into that building. Climbed the rain pipe off to the side there." He pointed to the left side of the building "Now if you don't mind, I have a business to attend to.

"Thanks for the help. You watch your back out here, alright?"

Ansel nodded and retreated into the shadows cast by the buildings that stood tall beside him.

What a peculiar man.

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

It wasn't hard to find Kaleb after Ansel's tip. The Tremé coven redirected you to one of their fringe groups that were cast out for their murderous rituals. Getting the location was not hard either, looking like you just crawled out of a grave. And your reputation certainly helped too.

Breaking the door down of the long-abandoned former apartment complex was more troublesome than you would have liked. Usually, a swift kick would have sufficed.

Voices bled through the ceiling above you, and you follow them to a corridor of doors. Most were broken down or corroded, but one bore the spray-painted sigil of a coven that was banished from the Treme coven.

Swinging the door open, open you were met with a handful - maybe 8 - coven members. They dropped what they were doing immediately.

"I had a pretty shitty few days so if you want to keep your life just get the fuck out."

A few of them fled immediately,  some stayed before following the others. Only one brave soul remained. You stalked towards them with your shirt still ripped, blood-soaked skin, and a look of determination that made them retreat soon after.

Kaleb was tiptoeing on the floor in the backroom of the apartment. He was bound much like you were only an hour ago. He flinched when he heard the door opening and cowered in on himself as much as he could anticipating another act of violence. His shirt was sliced open and barely hung on his shoulders, his chest, arms, and even his face were littered with cuts and bruises from beatings. He looked horrible.

He uttered your name when you released him, and he did not waste a breath and crushed his chest into yours, pressing you close.

"I thought you were done for this time" He murmured, clutching the fabric of your shirt. Warmth caressed your being, enveloping the guilt that had crept up seeing him like this because of your stupid plan. When he pulled away, he did so hesitantly, brushing his fingers along your exposed shoulder.

"I tried to" Kaleb winced as he spoke and clutched the side of his torso. "At the cemetery, I went after you."

"I know." You slumped him over your shoulder, your arm around his waist to steady him. He tried to speak again but winced instead as he tried to find his footing.

"You're ok with me carrying you?" You asked him when the shouldering resulted in a snail's speed of progress. "Or would that bruise your male ego?

"Please." He scoffed, "I'd let you carry me anywhere."

You ended up a few blocks away, resting him on a bench in Jackson Square when the rest of his energy left him and he slid off it and slumped onto the floor.

"Come on, this is ridiculous." You helped him rest his back against the bench, dropping down in front of him "You should drink. "

"No!" He pushed your wrist away with vigor. The last thing he needed was dying with vampire blood in his system.

"Then let me check your wounds at least." You asked and he nodded when you turned to look at him "Come on, St. Anne's isn't far. Just hold onto me and don't let go this time."

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

His breath was hot on your neck as your fingers worked the alcohol-soaked fabric over his wounds. He hissed as it touched the deeply scarred tissue on his bare chest. You tried not to notice the goosebumps that erupted along his neck and arms as your fingers touch him, but it was clear he was enjoying it despite the burning alcohol.

He was propped up on one of the church benches near the window, the stained glass bathing his face in colors. He was in bad shape, that much was clear, but there was a look on his face as he glanced at the blood stains on your neck and face. You knew what that look was, you recognized guilt when you saw it; it lived in the cracks of the mind, eroding sense and reason. You knew how it felt, how it chewed away at everything that was once comforting and familiar until there was nothing left but despair and an emptiness which would rather smother than save. And Kaleb's eyes spoke of nothing but guilt.

Another swipe of the soaked fabric against a fresh cut and he winced, his muscles flexing under your touch.

"I'm sorry." You moved your hand away but he caught it and pressed the fabric into his wound again. "You OK?"

"I'm alright." He grumbled.

You knew that tone, you used it far more than you cared to admit. It was the one reserved for moments when memories and feelings were too closely intertwined to separate. It was the sound of resolve slowly being pieced back together and the knowledge that, no matter what you proclaimed, he was decidedly not alright.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Your eyes roamed his bruised chest once more. Beaten black and blue adorned with cuts all over him

"Cut me open, starved, and beat me." He swallowed, thinking back on the horrible things his mind had painted when he was out of it. "They wanted me to plead with them to end it. But I'm not the pleading sort."

Silence overcame you again, accompanied only by the squirms and hisses Kaleb tried to hide when you stitched up his wounds with a needle and thread. Once done, you wrapped a few rounds of gauss around his torso, soaking up the remnants of blood.

A ghost of a smile tucked on his lips as you hand him the only t-shirt you could find on short notice. You took a seat next to him on the table. He poked his head through the opening, followed by his arms. The shirt sat a bit too tight on his frame, but it was clothing nonetheless.

"I'm glad you're safe," Kaleb said and looked at you again, and let his hand drop into yours. He watched how the reddish-brown of blood still soaked both of your skins before he spoke again "I should've tried harder to get you back."

"I'm glad you're safe too. But you shouldn't have tried to find me. It's not-"

"Worth it? Of course, you are." He didn't look away this time, certainty holding his gaze.

For a moment, you wondered why your chest suddenly felt so constricted, as if your lungs had run out of air. The problem was this: you were at that very moment having a rather difficult time forgetting what it had been like to kiss him.

Kaleb shifted under your gaze, fumbling with his fingers "When I was down there all I could think about was that night before it all went wrong."

Ah, right. The rooftop incident.

"I'm sorry.." What were you sorry for exactly? Running away after kissing him? Or kissing him at all? Or was it a bundled mess of I'm sorry's that you could never explain away?

"I'm just sorry, period." You finally said, "You got hurt, and that's on me."

"What is love, if not pain endured? "He murmured to himself as if reciting a novel whose passages were burned into his mind. Then his brain caught up with what he had just uttered and he tensed "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get ahead it's just- "

"No, it's OK. I know there was- is something. Whatever it was before, it’s more now, it’s-” You stopped short of the full declaration, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

"Maybe we should stop,” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek, still holding your hand with the other “Get some distance.”

Distance. How could you remain at distance if you were so intertwined in each other's current life? But perhaps distance was achievable somehow, even if by force.

"There's a harbor not far from here, you can get on a boat or train and go." The harshness in your voice did not match the way you held onto his hand, as if you'd fall any minute.

"You really want me to go?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that made your heartbreak.

No. "Yes. If it means you'll be safe I'd do anything." You had the urge to tell him to run away, but you couldn't say it, even if you should.

"Then perhaps I should consider it." His head dropped.

“No,” You hissed, clutching his shirt tightly. “Even if this is wrong… I’m not ready to give that up before it even started.” You're the only person I have is was what you didn't say. It wasn't right nor was it fair, but it felt good. And you just wanted to feel good.

You moved your mouth against his insistently, feeling the shaking breath from his nose on your top lip as he stood stock still, shocked into inaction. You pulled away slightly, staring into his wild eyes as he exhaled quickly and dove forwards to capture your lips once again. He kissed you hungrily, his hands ghosting your sides before grabbing at your hips and pulling you against him. You capture his lips once more, but he pulled away only an inch to speak.

"I need you to know something before we-" He was out of breath, cheeks red with excitement. He cursed himself for speaking at that moment because he would curse himself even more for not speaking the words he should have said weeks ago.

But you proclaimed the moment was over before he could speak, the bubble of carefree indulgence burst for the time being.

"No, I'm sorry." You stepped out of his grasp, pursuing the wall behind you "I just... I got carried away. You're right, we shouldn't do this."

His head dropped in defeat, but he forced a smile, hoping it would ease the guilt he knew you felt. He knew he could ease the pain he could just open his mouth. Fuck it, he was just going to blurt it out and everything would be fine.

He cleared his throat and straightened himself up, raising his head to meet you on the other side of the room. When he looked, all he saw was your back heading through the towering double doors.  

-----

You felt like a goddamn fool. A guilty, broken, and undeserving fool. You had overstepped the relationship you developed with Kaleb, after trying to push him away. Relationship?! You're an even bigger fool than you thought.

If he - you did not even dare to speak his name - could see you now, he'd pity himself for wasting his time on you if you gave up that easily. What a damn mess you made of things.

Hunger overcame you when the guilt subsided, and you searched for some drunken fool on the street. You clawed at their neck to feed your need, needing to taste blood on your teeth. Tonight was the night to feed, lay plans, and rest. Tomorrow-

Your thoughts were drowned out by a sudden blackness that enveloped your senses, and all you could hear was the dull thump of your body hitting the pavement.

____________

A/N: Been writing this on the music tour I'm working on, so I hope it's not too choppy or weird! As always, sorry for the long time in between! Hope you are doing well! 

Also, I finished most of the editing of this chapter on the very bench from the TO finale in New Orleans, and I could cry with both happiness and sorrow. But I'm here and I saw the City and I hope some of it will translate to this and any further chapter from here on out. 

[thewholecrew]

kassy’s pov to this post here @deathvisited

     things had gone too far this time and she knew it yet she couldn’t stop, yet she still pushed against the help offered, horrified by the idea of rehab. she knew she’d gone too far, that he had found and got her to the hospital and yet she still couldn’t admit that anything was wrong. it had been an accident, she had had things under control every other fucking time, this had just been a slip up. it wouldn’t happen again. it wasn’t like she was trying to die. she didn’t like the pain that came along with it, the crushing compressions to her chest to bring her back. she just wanted the numbness to go away.

     but it hadn’t and she still felt it creeping through her body like a snake through tall grass, like a disease crawling desperately through her veins. that the only way to get rid of it was to flood it with something else. she could tell he was upset on the way home from the hospital and when they’d pulled up to his apartment instead of her own she looked at him sharply. “i didn’t pack any of my stuff? what are we doing here? what about my stuff? what about chromie? take me home first, why are we here?” she had spat out question after question only for sebastian to counter with reasonable replies that to her sounded like excuses. sounded like accusations. sounded like she wasn’t going to be able to take anything here. 

     she eventually went up though unwillingly and it wasn’t until he refused to give her alcohol or even more than two advil that she was fed up. she turned to leave but he blocked her, his movements quick yet calm and something about that just set her off. “get the fuck out of the way sebastian. i’m going home.” she demanded yet he didn’t move from her way, his arms at his sides before she screamed at him and tried to shove him. “i’m fine!” she lied, hardly believing it herself anymore (because at a time she really did believe it). still he wouldn’t budge and instead she decided to make a dash for the bar. in her right mind she’d’ve realized she had no chance against him. he darted from the door to scoop her up before she was more than three steps away.

     “LET GO OF ME!” she screamed, nails scratching and slashing as she kicked and squirmed in his arms. it was no use yet she couldn’t stop, not then, not after he had closed the door of the guest room behind him. fists banged against the door as anger and the addiction dug their claws deeper and she was seeing red, spewing her darkest thoughts and secrets. i’m sorry kassy she heard from the other side of the door. this is for the best. tears streaked her cheeks as her rage had her scream at him, vision blurred.

      “AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT WHAT’S BEST FOR ME? YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT ME! YOU FORGOT ALL ABOUT ME. I WAS THERE FOR YOU. THROUGH EVERYTHING AND THEN YOU LEFT ME. YOU LEFT ME.” the last sentence was forced through a screaming sob as she slid down the door, fists weaker in their banging.

      “you could have been here.... but no, that piece of shit broke your heart and you still chose him over me. you left me for him and then you just.. left. ran away. forgot about me. and STILL I TRIED TO BE THERE FOR YOU AND YOU DIDN’T--” she gasped through a sob, “I HATE HIM. I HATE YOU. WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST STAY AWAY THEN? WHY COME BACK ONLY TO HATE EVERYONE AROUND ME WHO WERE HERE WHILE YOU WEREN’T?!” another weak pound was heard against the door.

     “i just wanted you to be happy.... i wanted to make you happy... i wanted to be happy...” another sob escaped her as she curled up against the door. “and you would leave for months and months and take it all away... i just needed to feel... i needed to feel something... the numbness... i..” she sniffled, wiping her face with her arm before slamming her shoulder against the door as the rage once again took lead over her anguish.

      “you’re a HYPOCRITE. YOU SPENT YEARS GOING TO THOSE UNDERGROUND CLUBS AND GETTING BEAT TO SHIT, NOT CARING ABOUT YOURSELF, NOT CARING THAT OTHER PEOPLE STILL CARED ABOUT YOU. FUCK YOU, YOU THINK YOU HAVE ANY MORAL GROUND TO STAND ON? WHO ARE YOU TO KNOW WHAT’S BEST FOR ME WHEN YOU DIDN’T LET ME DO A DAMN THING FOR YOU!? WHY DON’T I JUST LEAVE AND AVOID YOU SO I CAN PRETEND THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. WHY NOT LET ME DO THAT? THAT’S WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING SINCE YOU FUCKING GRADUATED.”

     at this point kassy was near hyperventilating, pushing herself to her feet as she grabbed whatever she could to throw at the door. first it was a book, then a decoration. “YOU’RE THE MOST SELFISH PERSON I’VE EVER MET.” she screamed as she took the lamp, yanking the plug from the wall before it shattered against the door. 

        “YOU’RE A SELFISH BASTARD SEBASTIAN ANTHONY MORROW!!”

[lovebillyhargrove]

There were so many times Billy'd had it bad with Neil.

So many times.

This time .. nothing new, really. Except maybe one thing - Steve. Billy had always had this feeling like he was repeatedly one on one with Neil

He also never got attached to anyone in the way he would care much. But THIS TIME, Steve was in the picture, with his beautiful eyes and the soft smile and the promise of something different, something worthy. Billy was losing his control.

He was still living under Neil's roof, he was not 18 yet. Still a school kid, with a couple of part-time jobs during summer time, and a stash of a few 50- and 20- dollar bills hidden under the bed.

On this particular day Neil saw Billy with Steve, they were standing near the arcade, both leaning on Billy's Camaro, just shooting the shit until the kids finished their 1 hour hangout. Maybe touching too often, maybe smiling too much. What Neil was doing there, only god knew. Billy felt cold creeping up his spine as he sensed his father's eyes watching him. Watching him and watching STEVE.

When Billy brought Max home that night, Neil had already been waiting.

It was so bad.

Billy wasn't quiet, he was actually reckless enough to mouth off at the beginning of it, when he still had some power to resist, and that enraged his father even more. It wasn't too much physical, Neil only slapped him once when Billy got too loud

"Watch your mouth !!! You're still living under my roof, I will not tolerate any disrespect from you! You watch your filthy mouth!!"

But every word, every word of his father brought Billy down like a punch.

"You are good for nothing. I can't believe I've raised a faggot who will only end up soiling my name?!!?"

"Everything, everything that I've invested in you - everything is wasted. I should've given you up for adoption right after .. right after your mother left, but no, I kept you, I gave you everything a child needed, and this is how you're going to repay me?? Lurking around with the.. what's the other one's name, huh??? For everyone to SEE!!!!???? For everything that I've done for you, you're just going to drag my name through mud??!!?"

Billy didn't even remember much, the whole conversation was like a never-ending beating down, blow after a punch, after a slap, after a grip on the face, and another one, and one more .. all verbal, but hurting on a physical level. One moment he felt like he was on his knees already and couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear hearing his dad's voice, so he grabbed the keys and blindly rushed out of the house, Neil's venom following him into the outside

"Yes, you run!!! Run like a pussy, just like your bitch of a mother did!!! Get out of MY house..!!! Feel free to never come back, you piece of shit for a son!!!"

Billy didn't remember how he got out, how he found himself in the camaro, how he stared it and drove away, not seeing the road, vision blurred from all the tears welling in his eyes, but he kept on driving

He ended up at the quarry. Got out, got a bottle of vodka from the trunk, his pack of cigarettes with the lighter. Sat on the edge and drank, drank , drank, not feeling the taste, senses gone numb. In his head though was a blindly voilent hurricane raging, his mother's distant face that he even didn't remember that well anymore, Neil's eyes full of disgust, his mouth spitting words of hate

The hurricane obliterating him inside, leaving everything in shambles, destroyed and beyond reconstruction, beyond the hope of recovery