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free-for-all-fics · 10 months

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I’m such a nerd for Greek Mythology and the tale of Eros and Psyche is one of my favorites so this prompt happened. This got long but I regret nothing. That’s how much I love this myth lol. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of the ideas presented here and I’d love to read it! 💜

Eros and Psyche AU: Mandalorians are gods, the last vestiges of an Ancient Way long past. They are so few and sightings of them are incredibly rare. Their temples lay empty and abandoned, devoid of followers and worship offerings. Din is one of these great and lonely gods, and spends his immortal life keeping to himself - until he’s called upon for a favor. He’s very selective about who he appears to. Most entreaties go unanswered since he finds them to be frivolous, petty, or otherwise a waste of his time and energy. Someone enters his temple and asks him to track you down and bring you in, warm or cold. He was going to ignore it, but then he saw your beauty through a holopuck and became entranced.

Despite what he’s offered as reward, he doesn’t agree to anything. When he finally finds you, Din sees that you have a small green creature that looks like a child attached at your hip. You have Grogu and he’s your adoptive son (like the fill-in for Hedone). You enter a temple and humbly pray to him for love and protection. If not for you, then for Grogu. Seeing how earnest you are, Din reveals himself to you. He knew that, based on how you reacted, you were different from other targets. He can tell when someone is lying to get out of facing punishment when they’re guilty, so seeing you with a child and how scared you are that something might happen to Grogu makes Din realize that you’re innocent. He asks what you have to offer him in return for granting your boon. When you sheepishly admit you have nothing but yourself, he accepts your offering.

Instead of capturing or killing you, he fakes your death/disappearance and whisks you away to a faraway planet that’s not on any map, where it’s safe for you to live together. Over time, you fall in love. You’ve never seen his face, not even a glimpse of his mouth since you’d always eat separately. When you’ve made love, it’s always been under the cover of pitch blackness, too dark to see your own hands in front of you - or you’re blindfolded so you can’t see a thing. He doesn’t let you travel the galaxy with him and makes you stay home, forbidding you from leaving the planet or having guests while he’s gone.

He deems it too dangerous or risky to take you with him on adventures after all he did to fake your death/disappearance and bring you to this secret place. Anyone could recognize you then report your location back to the person who wanted you in the first place. Or worse: the other mandalorians could discover your existence and that he’s smuggled a mortal into a realm of the gods. You’re not too happy with this argument, since he himself has spent a considerable amount of time teaching you how to fight so you wouldn’t be left defenseless whenever he was called away. He made sure not to go easy on you during your training. You think he’s just trying to scare you to get you to stay in isolation.

You’ve been living in peace and safety, but unbeknownst to Din, you’re periodically visited by Luke Skywalker whenever he’s away. The Jedi sensed Grogu through the Force long before you even met Din. He has been training the little one to master his abilities ever since. He’s a dear and trusted friend of yours who keeps you company in Din’s absence so the loneliness doesn’t consume you. He’s always gone before Din returns home. You’re friends and nothing more. You’d never betray Din like that, you just find it unfair he forbids you from having even one guest.

One day, you and Din find yourselves in a dire life or death situation. Din gets wounded in the head by a weapon of legend that has the power to weaken or kill gods. After he takes the killing blow meant for you, you’re uncertain if he’s alive. So you have to take his helmet off to make sure he’s still breathing. It doesn’t matter how quickly he reacts by putting his helmet back on or how urgently he tries to rush you through exchanging Mando’a wedding vows so he can save you from the wrath of the other gods. They already know. The damage has been done. You’ve seen his face. He’s broken his creed and your “marriage” is annulled by the mandalorians. Neither you nor Grogu are under their protection. You’re both banished from the planet at once, while Din is kept locked away under house arrest and incapacitated due to his wounds.

You’re told that your only hope of earning redemption for both you and Din is to travel to the depths of Mandalore, the first ever dwelling of the gods, and bathe in the Living Waters. You must bring back a vial of the waters as proof. Only the Living Waters can heal Din’s wounds. You’re warned that no living creature has ever survived the harrowing journey to the mines down below. It’s said the atmosphere is poisonous and only the gods may enter. But still you press on.

You’re left to fend for yourself and your son, but you’re tired of running and hiding. Time to fight for your love. It takes many days and nights, but you finally make it to Mandalore. Even though Din is extremely weak and can barely control his powers in his current state, he uses what little energy he has to astral project himself. He appears to you briefly so he can guide you through the mines. He knows this quest would be impossible to complete on your own and he loves you too much to watch you die. With or without Grogu’s help, you use what Din taught you in order to survive. You come out victorious, but not unscathed, after such a grueling series of trials.

As you submerge yourself in the Living Waters, you’re taken aback when all of your wounds are healed. You feel rejuvenated. You retrieve a vial of the waters and journey back, only thinking of Din. Meanwhile, Din has drained all his energy and can no longer see you. He doesn’t know if you’ll make it back or not, but he hopes you will. He wants to marry you properly. He wants to make you his riduur and adopt Grogu as his son. As he convalesces, he can only think of you and how there’s one thing about the water you still don’t know. Something he so desperately wanted to tell you but never got the chance to.

Upon your long awaited return, the waters are used to heal Din’s wounds. The success of your quest has been proven. Thus, you’re both redeemed and the banishment is lifted. Din takes the vial from you and slices his finger open, letting drops of his blood mix with the remaining water before the wound instantly closes as if it was never there. Countless living creatures have died, killed, or been killed in the vain pursuit of this - The secret to immortality. And now Din wants to share it with you. Just one drink of the Living Waters infused with mandalorian blood and you’ll be like him. You’ll never age, never get sick, never die. You’ll be beautiful forever. He won’t have to lose you to the shadow of death. He implores you to drink and join him in eternity as his riduur. What do you choose?

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin au #pedro pascal character x reader #random idea #random prompt #Eros and psyche AU #eros and psyche #Greek mythology AU #pls tag me if you write this #i’d love to read it #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fic

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punemy-spotted · 3 years

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The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #mob!au #political!au #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #dark!steve rogers #angst #series #mob!steve rogers x reader #i really am gonna die here

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unrequitedloveletter · 3 years

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Certainly- Kaz Brekker

The reader is a bit of an astrology and astronomy alike geek for this, which I hope y’all don’t mind! Also, in this case, phones exist so lets pretend that phones exist in Ketterdam, making it a bit of a modern au, I guess!

Also, this’ll probably be a bit ooc for Kaz

Fic type- angsty fluff

Warnings- blood, mentions of death, and the reader is sick (nothing specific, I just kind of took random symptoms and made up a word for the sickness)

You were determined to see the stars before you went, and as you grew sicker, none of the crows knew when that would be, so, after a little convincing, the crows had gotten Colm to let you spend a couple of months at his farm in Novyi Zem, where the stars were the clearest at night, not burdened by light pollution or the screams of lively cities.

It was the seven of you crammed into a basement, sharing beds, but none of them cared, and you were just glad to be with the people you called family. You were happy that they were with you, that Kaz was willing to wheel you everywhere when you got too weak to stand, that Jesper still made jokes, even despite watching you deteriorate. You were grateful for Inejs smile, Wylans music, Ninas impeccable tastes and Matthias and his big arms that could lift you and put you down without issue.

The six of them had started taking shifts taking you outside. Nina took you outside Sunday nights, Matthias Mondays, Wylan Tuesdays, Jesper Thursdays, Inej Fridays and Kaz Saturdays. Wednesdays you rested up; ate when it was time to eat, used the bathroom when you needed, took a shower if it were the appropriate time, but other than that, you slept.

It was Kaz’s day to wheel you out, and you’d had a particularly rough day that day. Inej went with him, promising not to intrude on the time that you would spend together. She’d do backflips and run across the roof of the farm if you asked her to, but she’d not interrupt otherwise.

“I love the stars,” you whispered, leaning back in your wheelchair and tightening the hold of the blanket over your lap. “Thank you both. For doing this.”

“Don’t you worry, love,” Kaz murmured. “Just keep your eyes on the stars, okay?”

“We’re happy to do this,” Inej added. “All of us are. Really.” It was like both of them could sense it as well as you could. You had a feeling that the night would end terribly, just like the morning had begun.

You’d woken up only to need to rush to the toilet immediately, blood coming up your throat like bile, staining your skin and leaving your bottom lip red as a cherry.

Kaz had been at your side in a minute, Nina and Wylan right behind him. Wylan kept your hair away from the sides of your face, Nina slowed your heartrate and Kaz wet a cloth with cold water to get your body temp down.

Kaz had forced himself to stay in the moment, to not let his thoughts stray to the urge to sleep in the same bed as you to make sure that nothing happened while you slept--to be there in case something did--but to stay on the sun as it set and the faraway sound of Wylan playing his flute with the window open so that you’d be able to hear it.

Once you’d gotten settled under a tree, Inej ran off, making her way inside and up to the barns roof, where she sat, keeping a watch from a distance as Kaz let you rest your head against his shoulder, gloved hand interlaced with yours.

“I love you, Brekker,” you murmured. “Please don’t forget that. Ever.”

“I won’t,” he whispered. “You’re gonna stay around and get better until we can spar again, and you can beat my ass even though I’ve my cane as a weapon.”

“You know full well I can’t promise that,” you wished that you could. You desperately wished. “I’m going to die young, Kaz. I’m not gonna get to eighteen, much less eighty.” Kaz hated you for that.

He hated you because everything that you said somehow managed to be right. It was like you had a sixth sense for that kind of thing, and while, on missions, it proved useful, in that scenario, it just proved annoying.

“You’re gonna make it to eighteen if it kills me,” he informed you. “I’ll take you around the globe if I need to, just to make sure you end up okay. I will not live a life without you in it, Y/N.”

“You’re sweet,” you murmured. “Incredibly sweet.”

“Only to you, L/N.” That was the last bit of conversation for a long while as the sun set and the stars came out.

“Did you know that the moon isn’t circular?” You pointed lazily to it, bright and beautiful amongst the even brighter stars. “According to scientests, it’s actually shaped like a lemon!” Kaz didn’t fight his smile.

Of course you’d be spouting off the little factoids you knew about space. You loved it, how vast and crazy it all seemed.

“And that the clouds at the center of the Milky Way smell like raspberries and rum?” Kaz snorted.

“Okay, now, theres no way that ones true!”

“Oh,” you leaned up, booping his nose without a care in the world. “But it is! It’s in a study somewhere, I think! Look it up!” He laughed, pulling you closer to him as you rambled.

Inej had started doing running flips across the roof, spinning and dancing and no doubt laughing as she did. Kaz knew it was an elaborate effort to get you to smile, and it seemed to work as she moved; a delightful silhouette amongst a star filled sky.

“I love you, Kaz Brekker,” you whispered. “You don’t need to say it back, but I really, truly do love you with every bone that exists in my body.”

“I love you too,” he said it without hesitation. “And I’ll love you until we’re old and grey, I swear it.”

“Don’t hold me to that promise,” you murmured. “You know how bad this is. Stop thinking that I’ll make it into the new year. I probably wont.”

“You will if it kills me, Y/N,” he gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I’ll drain the bank dry if I have to, I swear to Ghezen.”

You didn’t say anything after, too exhausted to even think about starting an argument with him, simply not wanting to.

But then, an hour later, Kaz felt fear trickle into his stomach like it hadn’t ever in his life.

“And then theres Supernova. It’s like a star that’s dying having it’s last celebration. Like when we get a really big win, or when we get away with what we intended to get away with, and we all get shitfaced before we collapse onto our beds and sleep for the night? A supernova is a dying stars explosion. It’s the last celebration that the star has before it dies out.” you’d been rambling.

“Tonight is my... tonight is my...” Kaz had called for Nina right then and there, screaming her name while he felt you go slack against him.

“Zenik!” He screamed, not caring at all if he were to wake up Jespers father. “Zenik, call in that fucking favor with the bloody Ravkan prince!” Matthias came barreling out after her, phone in hand, already speaking to someone as Nina began working, steadying your heart and trying her hardest to keep you alive.

Kaz had to force himself to walk away from it all, pushing his feet away after giving your shoulders one last squeeze and walking far out into the field.

Once he was sure he was out of earshot, he couldn’t stop himself. Tears flooded his eyes and he found himself glaring at the sky, wanting to scream, wanting to shout, wishing that there was someone around that he could gut like a fish.

“Saints,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Sankt Ilya, Sankt Adrik, Sankta Alina of The Fold, I know I am a terrible person, but Y/N is not. They’re good, they smile, they laugh, they’re kind to others when those people probably don’t deserve their kindness. I know I’m damned, I know that you probably strongly dislike me, but they’re different.” He’d never asked the Saints for anything before, and he never would again.

“Please, just, let them live. Let them get the life that they deserve. I’ll do my best to make them happy, but you have to let me,” he wiped the tears from his eyes as they came. “They deserve the life that you’re so willing to take away, and all I ask is that you don’t take it.” He heard the sounds of the ambulance car and raced back to you, gripping your hand as they helped you onto a stretcher and out of the field, through the house and out the entrance.

I won’t lose them, he told himself. A world without them is one that’s unbearable.

O N E Y E A R L A T E R

You laughed as Nina chased you through the halls of the Little Palace, running quickly through the endless corridors, your laughter carrying through them as you kept yourself in front of Nina.

Nikolai had kept you in the Os Altan palace since that night, where Inej laughed and danced and did her flips, whilst Wylan played the piano and Kaz sat beside you, listening to your ramblings without a care in the world.

“You seem delighted,” Nikolai noticed as you stopped in front of his office. “I’ve never seen you walk without that Brekker boy at your side, much less run while Zenik is on your tail!” You shrugged, laughing as Ninas front crashed into your back.

“This is the best I’ve felt in a year,” you murmured. “I figured I’d see if Nina was up to chase me around this morning, and I haven’t stopped running since!” You peered in through the open office door, looking for that familliar mop of dark brown hair.

Nina wrapped her arms around you and gave you a gentle squeeze. “He’ll be here any minute,” she murmured. “He and the boys are just finishing up a job for Nik in East Ravka, but Matthias told me the second that they’d left!”

“Trust me. Y/N,” Nikolais smooth voice murmured. “I put them on one of my fastest boats. I knew how long it’d take them to get from here to east Ravka and back, and I promised him he’d be here when you finally awoke.”

“Hows it feel, anyway?” Zoya appeared at his side. “Eighteen, I mean.” You shrugged.

“I miss Kaz,” you murmured bluntly. “I hate that I have to tell him that he was right, but I still miss him.”

Nikolai took Zoyas hand, pulling her close as you and Nina watched, smiles on your faces.

“Young love,” Zoya teased. “Zenik, let go of them so that they can turn around.” Nina obeyed, letting you go and moving to lean against the doorway with Nikolai and Zoya.

You turned, and smiled when your gazes met. “You were right, Brekker,” you murmured, walking toward him as he held out your gift to you. “I’m better now, and the second that you’re ready to spar, I’m gonna beat your ass, even though you’ve your cane as a weapon.” He grabbed your pinky with his the moment you were within distance.

“How’d the heist go?” You murmured once the two of you had walked out of earshot.

“Good,” Kaz let himself be close to you as you two moved, squeezing your pinky as you slowed your steps. “Plan went off without a hitch, for three idiots and a mastermind with a limp. I brought you this from it,” he held the gift out to you again, and you took it in your free hand, examining it.

“I had to ask permission for that,” he murmured. “I had to get the Ravkan kings seal of approval to steal that for you.” You laughed, looking it over.

It was a journal. Black and leather bound, pages crisp and untouched. A pen was tucked into the cover.

“I promise, we’ll go home soon,” you responded. “I miss Ketterdam. I could go for some waffles.”

“Don’t they have waffles here?” Kaz questioned.

“Not Ketterdam waffles, love. Ketterdam waffles are unlike any pathetic waffle from here! Doused in syrup and whip cream--” You let out a satisfied sigh. “So good it’s almost surreal!” Kaz smirked.

“Waffle date when you’re well enough to return home then?”

“Certainly.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #platonic inej ghafa x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #waffles

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skinsharpenedteeth · 3 years

Text

Now for something totally new and unrelated to anything else... a prostitution au ficlet. (Malex, rated Mature)

...

“You know, they say you have a sex addiction…” Alex commented, rolling onto his stomach and reaching for his pack of cigarettes on the bedside table without glancing at Michael to gauge his expression.

The whining window air conditioner cooled the sweat on his skin and did its best to combat the smell of sex that hung in the room. It would never get rid of it completely. Too many bodies had slaked their lust against every surface the room had to offer and then some. It would always smell like semen and despair despite Alex’s best efforts. He was the room’s sixth owner in two years. He’d worked his way up from the gloryholes and breeding benches to being a whore with his own fucking door and mattress. If there was such a thing as rank in a brothel besides madame and prostitute, he’d say he was working his way up quite quickly. He’d only been sold to Madame DeLuca’s three months ago and he’d never had to kneel in a fucking bathroom stall once.

“Who? The media?” Michael chimed in, moving to lay on his stomach beside him. He plucked the pack from Alex’s hand and fished out his own cigarette, sticking it between his lips and waiting for Alex to bring the lighter flame over to ignite for him. He sucked in a long drag before exhaling and moving back onto his back again, curls everywhere against the pillow. Alex looked over at him and admired the long length of his body and the completely unabashed way he showed it off. Guerin was a rich Antaran immigrant with royal connections back home. He was something of a celebrity on Earth, but Alex knew fuck all about what he did besides grace the gossip columns in various states of drunken distress.

“I would rather exchange sex for money. I know exactly what I’m getting. I don’t want to exchange sex for emotions, dependence, or dishonesty. I like to keep some things in my life simple,” he finally finished, not looking at Alex but instead staring with a faraway look at the dark ceiling above.

Alex snorted and rolled to mirror Michael’s position, watching their smoke trails twist and join in the air above them. He felt so good right then. His body was warm and sated, his nerves alive but his brain finally fucking quiet. Michael was warm next to him, silent and undemanding. An idea occurred to him and before he could question it too much, he let it pass his lips.

“You know, I could be that for you. You wouldn’t have to keep making a spectacle of yourself. Just put me up in some nice room in that big house of yours and keep me as your fuck doll. I’ll entertain myself when you’re away with online shopping sprees and nights with the girls. I could be the safe option. I promise not to fall in love with you. I’d be at your disposal for every carnal desire you can think up and then I’ll go back to my room before you’re even done wiping down.”

He felt Michael’s silent amusement as he continued to smoke his cigarette. A look from the corner of his eye showed Alex that Michael had almost a curl of a smile on his lips. After a moment, Michael spoke up.

“You’d like that, would you? Trapped in some mansion in the middle of nowhere just waiting on some asshole to come home long enough to fuck you until you can’t walk straight and then be left alone again?” Michael asked, laughter somewhere buried under the acrid smoke in his lungs.

“Isn’t that my life now? Trapped in this fucking brothel waiting for the madame to bring up another stranger to fuck me however he wants before sneering at me and leaving?”

“So what do I offer as an enticement to leave all this? At least you get variety here.”

Alex thought about how to answer that while he sucked in deep drags of smoke. He decided since his honesty so far hadn’t gotten him shot down immediately, he’d continue on that track.

“You’re got a pretty good cock on you for one. You’re handsome. You’re rich. You don’t want to save me. And you’ve already asked for me specifically the last four times you’ve come here. I just figured it would be more convenient for you to buy instead of continuing to rent.” Alex finished with a shrug, rolling to grab the ash tray to set on his stomach so he didn’t get his covers disgusting. He normally didn’t smoke with customers. He normally didn’t smoke after sex unless it was bad and he needed to calm down. This felt more like a luxury smoke, however. He felt good and he wanted to indulge some more. He felt calmer than he had all week laying there next to the Antaran.

“How do you know I haven’t been at some other whorehouse with some other whore five times after specifically asking for them?” Michael asked, a little nastily. He was trying to poke Alex’s buttons, trying to get him to react emotionally. It was a test. It was always a test with Michael. Alex understood. He’d been fucked up by people who didn’t mean the things they’d said, people who’d promised to love him, people who’d sworn to keep him safe… He understood having to push back when someone got near the boundary line.

“I don’t,” Alex replied simply. He looked over at Michael who was watching him with a look of confused amusement on his face. Alex decided he was done with the conversation. Michael didn’t look like he was taking the offer seriously. He’d bring it up in another month if Michael was still fucking him stupid like he had earlier.

“You’re not like any other whore I’ve ever met,” Michael commented, reaching out to trace a finger down the side of Alex’s face. Alex rolled his eyes and shoved his body off the bed, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray before setting it back on the side table. He padded over to his en suite bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. He looked back over his shoulder at where Michael was still leisurely smoking in bed. Michael quirked an eyebrow at him when he caught his attention.

“Well, are you going to shower off before you go or do I need to let the madame know you need another hour?” Alex asked impatiently. Michael nodded and started to curl his body into a sitting position. He stood up off the low bed and walked over to the talk box on the wall. Keeping his gaze locked with Alex’s, he pushed the intercom button.

“This is Guerin in room five. Let the madame know I need another hour,” he said easily. A feedback-filled reply came through and he stepped away from the wall and sauntered towards where Alex was leaning against the doorframe. When he was standing in front of Alex, shit-eating grin on his face, Alex plucked the almost-finished cigarette from between his lips and flicked it casually into the toilet bowl, eyes glued to the green-gold of Michael’s. Michael’s smile widened as he reached out and grabbed Alex’s waist, pulling him until their chests were flush. Alex didn’t move, just stared. Michael bent his head forward and kissed up Alex’s neck to his ear, causing goosebumps to spring out over Alex’s skin. One of his hands smoothed down to knead at Alex’s ass cheek while the other moved up to tangle in Alex’s hair, pulling his head to the side to give Michael more access to his neck. Alex remained impassive. After a moment, Michael sighed and moved to peck Alex’s lips lightly.

“Fine. But you don’t know what you’re getting into. And you better remember that you promised not to fall in love with me,” Michael warned in a quiet, defeated voice. He gave Alex such a naked, sad look that he could no longer keep pretending he didn’t want to do this. Alex nodded once and moved in, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and he began to kiss Michael for all he was worth. Immediately, Michael’s hands seemed to come alive with more energy against his body. Alex kissed and kissed until he had to pull back or suffocate. Michael was panting and Alex could feel him getting hard between them.

“Just remember you can’t fall in love with me either,” Alex said. He didn’t give Michael a chance to respond before turning their bodies and pulling Michael into the hot spray of the shower. He was going to get out of the brothel. Then he’d be able to find a way to get out of Michael’s and go home.

#malex ficlet #malex #prostitution au #i swear i wont start anything else until i end something #maybe #no promises

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redgillan · 4 years

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 6

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,327

Warnings: panic attacks, Bucky recalls his accident

A/N: I don’t have much to say, Bucky’s real emotional in this one. I hope you enjoy this chapter :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Everywhere Bucky looked his eyes and ears were assaulted by a cacophony of sounds and colours. Red and green baubles hung from the ceiling, shimmering like disco balls and sending sparkles around the mall.

The air smelled like pine and cinnamon, something he usually liked, but it was so pungent and unpleasant that it made his stomach churn and bile rise up his throat. He tried to breathe through his mouth, forcing oxygen into his lungs.

Flashes of silver and gold momentarily blinded him, and as someone walked past him, their shopping bag knocked against his leg. It didn’t hurt but it made him seethe with misplaced anger. Beads of sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

Christmas carols played over the mall speakers, more specifically Jingle Bells which they played three times in less than an hour. Enough, enough, enough. He was suffocating, unable to breathe. He felt too big for his own skin, he needed to escape.

Then he felt your hand at the small of his back, guiding him toward what looked like a furniture store. He followed blindly, his vision blurry and unfocused, and sat down when you gently pushed him down onto a sofa.

Bucky shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the cushion. A woman came up and asked if you needed help but you told her that everything was fine. The buzzing in his ears made the voices around him strangely soothing, as if he was underwater. Now that he was sitting down, he felt a lot better.

You didn’t try to touch him, something he was very grateful for. He could feel your weight shift next to him and knowing you were there was enough. He focused on you –your heat, your voice, the smell of your shampoo- and his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Sorry,” he breathed out with a small smile, his head lolling to one side to look at you. “I ruined our shopping spree.”

The fear and panic had dissipated, leaving him cold, exhausted and craving skin to skin contact. He took your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were freezing cold.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I did.” A sad smile curved his lips, he needed to change the subject. “Do you celebrate Christmas?”

You sank further into the sofa cushion sitting shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

“We celebrated so many different holidays,” you said. “Perks of growing up in a multicultural family. Christmas was wild though. One tree, five kids. That poor thing never stood a chance. Now I don’t really celebrate anything. December used to be so much fun, now it’s just not the same.”

“We should create our own holiday,” Bucky suggested, squeezing your hand.

“Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“Nah,” he replied with a yawn. “My sister is taking her kids somewhere warm, and my parents are traveling the country in their RV. You can invite your siblings if you want.”

“They’re not available.”

Bucky tried to decipher the expression on your face. Every time you talked about your siblings, you had a faraway look in your eyes, as though you were reliving a memory. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking but your face twisted into a painful grimace. Then suddenly it was gone.

“I want a tree.”

He watched you with a lazy smile. “I’ll get you a tree.”

You pulled him up to his feet and decided it was time to go home. Home. It still made Bucky weirdly warm inside when you called his apartment ‘home’. You crossed the mall, your arm looped through his as you walked, and took a cab to Brooklyn.

He almost fell asleep from the gentle rocking of the car moving through the streets of Manhattan. When he glanced at you, you were looking out your window watching the snow fall.

You’d been living together for almost two months now and Bucky couldn’t have picked a better roommate. He liked the way you sang in the shower, loud, cheerful and most definitely off-key. He liked that you had more pyjamas than every day clothes. He liked watching you paint from the living room, and it always made him laugh when you added weird things to his grocery list.

He could go to bed and sleep the whole night without waking up, feeling safer knowing someone else was there. Of course, not everything was perfect but it was close enough.

He woke up on the sofa a few hours later, still dressed and with a fluffy blanket thrown over him. The sun was setting, painting the sky with reds and oranges. He basked in the setting sun, a content smile on his face, before he sat up.

The TV was on, the volume low, and you were sitting cross-legged on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table going through a bunch of old photographs. Bucky looked around the room, taking in the new furniture and decor.

There was a comfortable armchair in front of the gas burning fireplace. Your book was resting on the seat of the armchair. You had also bought a lot of decorative pillows, some were pretty funny like the one that looked like a giant cookie.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Hey, you’re awake! I bought some picture frames. I thought it’d make this place look less like a high end furniture store.”

“I liked it better when you thought this apartment was amazing.”

You laughed. “I still do, but it’s a bit... soulless.” You tilted your head back, looking at him upside down. “Sorry.”

“Gotta call a spade a spade,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “All right, well, while you do that I’m going to start dinner.”

He pushed off the sofa but you caught his wrist before he could leave. “I’m already done. I’ve left some frames for you.”

“I already have lots of pictures upstairs.”

“I know, but no one ever goes upstairs,” you replied, letting go of his wrist. “And you’re not in any of the photos.”

Bucky’s eyes were drawn to the picture you were holding. It must have been taken on the day of your high school graduation, you were dressed in a cap and gown, smiling with your whole face. He’d never seen you smile like that. He recognized Peggy Carter right away, her hair was more silver-white than brown and there were deep wrinkles around her eyes.

Your mom wasn’t looking at the camera, she was scolding the young man who was giving you bunny ears. The man was grinning mischievously at the camera. Bucky couldn’t tell how old he was, he appeared to be either twenty or fifty.

There were two other women wearing sundresses, one had long brown hair, the other had twisted her hair into Bantu knots. A young man with dyed silver hair and dark roots was squatting in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest à la Backstreet Boys.

“You should frame this one,” he said, sitting on the floor next to you.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It makes me kinda sad.”

Bucky learned not to dwell on the past. It hadn’t been easy but it would have been impossible to heal without the support of his friends and family. Grief manifests itself in a number of ways, it’s raw and complex, and comes from your soul.

Bucky had a deep love for his childhood, especially his college years, but while he would cherish this time forever, he had accepted that he was a different person. He wasn’t the same naïve, youthful man he used to be, and it wasn’t a bad thing.

But he also knew that some people live in the past. It makes them feel alive.

“Y’know,” he started, meeting your eyes with a smile. “My hair used to be pretty long. I think I still have some photos in a folder somewhere.”

You clasped your hands together in a silent prayer. “Bucky, I’m going to be honest with you,” you deadpanned. “I need to see those pictures. I need them now. It’s a matter of life and death.”

He rolled his eyes while he got to his feet. “You’re so dramatic. I’ll go get ‘em.”

Bucky took the stairs up to his office and came back a few minutes later with a laptop under his arm. He sat on the floor next to you and set the laptop on his lap.

“You promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, mimicking a Cheshire cat grin.

He sighed and tried to look stern but it was nearly impossible. You were too lovely, and he couldn’t help but smile. He opened up the laptop and glanced at you from the corner of his eye; you were practically vibrating.

He started going through the photos when he found one of himself at a party. He was in his early twenties, slumped in a chair, his eyes glassy and unfocused. In the next one he had been joined by two equally drunk women, and he was now roaring at the camera.

“Early twenties, two arms, and not a care in the world,” he said with a little sigh.

You leaned forward, your elbow resting on the coffee table. “Looks like you were having fun.”

“College was a lot of fun,” Bucky said, grinning to himself.

“What was your major?”

“English,” he replied. “I was a really good student, I could have chosen anything but there were more girls studying literature so I enrolled as an English major.”

“Wait!” You recoiled as if you had misheard him. “Did you really choose English because there were more girls?”

He made a funny grimace, and his nose scrunched up a bit as he mulled it over. “Yeah... my priorities were a bit mixed up. Hormones and all.”

You lowered your face into your hand and laughed. When you looked up at him, he was sporting his boyish grin and you shook your head at him.

In the next picture, he was clad in a black university graduation gown standing next to a blond man also dressed in a black gown. They were smiling, sunglasses perched on their nose.

“When I graduated, I had no idea what to do with a BA in English,” Bucky said after taking a long look at the photo. “The thing is, I never found my life’s calling. In high school I didn’t know what job I wanted to do, or what really motivated me, and to be honest I never really thought about it. I figured I’d find my passion in college but...” he trailed off with a shrug. “You’re lucky to have found your passion.”

“Is that why you want to help me?” you asked. “Because I found my calling and I wasn’t pursuing it.”

He tilted his head to one side, considering. “Yes, I guess that’s part of the reason why I want to help you.” He took a shuddering breath.

“Turns out I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep my head above water.” He pressed his index finger to the computer screen. “This is Steve, my oldest friend. He had just started working as a professional freelance photographer. I had nothing to do so I decided to help him build his portfolio. You’re an artist, I’m sure you know that a portfolio will make or break you.”

“It shows what you’ve accomplished, the skills you mastered,” you said, nodding. “Your potential employers will want to see your portfolio.”

“Exactly, and you have to show them your best work. In Steve’s case, it meant taking risks. No matter how talented you are, no one’s gonna pay you for a shot of the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s gorgeous but it’s not rare.”

“So what did he do?”

“We decided to climb Mount Everest.” He mechanically rubbed his stump and your eyes followed his movement. “It might’ve been the dumbest idea we’ve ever had but it sort of made sense at the time. Steve needed a challenging project and I was trying to find my purpose. We trained for a year, put money aside and took a loan. We were young, we thought we were invincible.

“The thing is,” he continued, “Mount Everest is the most famous mountain in the world. It’s crowded and only half the climbers reach the summit. A lot of people die.” He took a small pause. “Sometimes they can’t remove their bodies and they become landmarks. Our Sherpa told us about this man, they call him Green Boots. He’s sort of curled up in a fetal position near what they call Green Boots’ cave. When you walk past him, it looks like he’s just sleeping and because it’s so cold out there he’s actually well-preserved.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah, it’s awful,” Bucky let out a small, humourless laugh. “When I fell, I dislocated my arm and it pinched my axillary artery completely closed. It cut off circulation. That’s why they had to amputate. I was just lying there, too weak to call for help, watching people walk past me. They thought I was dead. And I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here and people will refer to me as Blue Jacket.’ Then Steve and the Sherpa found me, and Steve carried me on his back until they found a shelter. When the rescue team arrived, it was too late to save my arm.”

He went through the photos in silence and glared at the screen without really seeing it, his mind far away. On the screen, there was an endless stream of blurry smiles and blue eyes but he couldn’t look away. His thoughts cleared up when he felt the back of your knuckles along his cheek and jaw.

He unclenched his teeth, feeling the pain in his jaw. You brushed your fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. You mindlessly played with the curl on top of his head and raked your fingernails gently over his scalp. When you spoke, your voice was just a soft whisper.

“Come back to me.”

Bucky forced his eyes shut and swallowed past the lump in his throat, tears pooling on his lower lashes. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. After a moment, he felt his body beginning to relax.

“How do you do that?” he asked in a pleading voice, turning his head to look at you. “How do you quiet the noise in my head?”

The question caught you off guard but you recovered quickly. You took his arm and draped it over your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you said, snuggling into his side. “It’s your second panic attack today. Did I push you too hard?”

“No.” His response was immediate. “I don’t like winter. It’s freezing cold and it gets dark at three thirty. Not my favorite time of the year.”

“But this helps, right?” you asked, waving your hand back and forth in the space between you.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it helps a lot.”

“Good.” You snuggled a little closer.

“But since you’re hoarding my arm, you’re gonna have to go through the pictures yourself,” he added, grinning down at you.

“Sorry,” you laughed. You reached out and slid two fingers over the touchpad guiding the cursor over the arrow icon. “So where are those pictures of you with long hair, uh?”

He knew you were trying to distract him but still made him blush. Those photos were in a folder titled: recovery spring 2010. He gave you directions to find it and waited for your reaction, wondering if you would burst into laughter at the sight of him with long hair and a lot more weight on.

“Wow.”

Bucky turned his attention to the screen to see which one had caught your interest. It was a selfie Steve had taken one sunny afternoon after he had forced Bucky to go out with him and Sam. They were sitting outside drinking iced tea.

Steve’s smile was blinding. He was wearing that stupid baseball cap he loved so much. Bucky sat hunched over in his seat behind Steve, his smile small but genuine. It was the kind of smile that said ‘my friends forced me to join them but I’m secretly glad they did’. Sam was leaning sideways against Bucky, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“You look like a completely different person,” you said. “So... strong.”

“Hey!” he gasped in mock offense. “How dare you? I’m still strong.” He removed his arm from behind your shoulders and raised it to flex his biceps. “Look at that!”

With a roll of your eyes, you let your hand roam over his muscular arm slightly squeezing his biceps. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

“Ah! Thank you,” he said with a pleased smile. “Now, c’mon, s’ time to eat.”

Bucky got to his feet and extended his hand to help you up. You trailed behind him as you walked toward the kitchen. “I bet Steve could rip a log in half with his bare hands.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Where is he?”

“Hard to say. He works for National Geographic now. I think he’s supposed to be in Siberia.”

You spent the next few days like tourists. You showed Bucky your favourite museums, stayed way too long in front of several artworks but he never complained. Bucky took you to the movies. You sat together in the dark for several hours watching foreign films, and you only fell asleep once. Then the two of you would walk around Manhattan speaking in a made-up language and pretending to be characters in a movie.

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so carefree. A little voice in the back of his head kept repeating ‘enjoy it while it lasts’ but he chose to ignore it.

“Thanks for helping me with this,” Bucky said, gesturing at the tree in the living room. “She went to the store to buy some ornaments.”

He handed Sam a bottle of beer which he took with a smile before tipping it to his lips for a long drink. Bucky hit his beer bottle on the counter to uncap it and followed Sam into the living room.

“She’s excited, uh,” Sam said with a grin. “You guys are spending Christmas together?”

“Liss,” Bucky replied after taking a swig of beer. “We’re celebrating Liss this year.”

“’The hell is that?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s an old word. It means comfort, happiness.” A respite from pain. “We decided to make our own holiday. We’re going to spend two days in our fanciest loungewear, eating junk food and playing board games.”

“Cute,” Sam drawled out. “When’s the wedding?”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky glared at him. “Why do you always do that? I finally feel at peace with myself. I’m happy, I’m ready to take on new challenges. Why do you always have to make fun of me?”

Sam’s eyes widened at this. “Woah, I’m joking. It’s what we do. You tease me, I tease you. C’mon, I know things have been hard for you. I’m proud of you,” he rushed to say, afraid he might have hurt his friend’s feelings, but then he caught Bucky’s barely concealed smirk behind his beer bottle. “You’re messing with me.”

“Of course, man. Can you say ‘I’m proud of you’ again? Wanna make it my ringtone.”

“Screw you.” They sipped their beer in silence, each deep in thought. “But you like her, right?”

Bucky twirled the neck of the bottle between two fingers. “I do, she’s nice.”

Sam shook his head like he was frustrated with the answer “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not in love with her, Sam.”

“I never said anything about being in love.” He was silent for a moment before he added, “Beside there’s an entire world between like and love.”

Bucky caught a glimpse of hurt and fear in the depths of Sam’s eyes. He reminded him of Steve: strong yet vulnerable, generous and righteous. Bucky had a feeling Sam wasn’t talking about you.

“Is this about Natasha?”

Sam hung his head and stared at the beer bottle he rolled between his hands. “Sometimes I feel like it was inevitable. These sugar daddy relationships are complicated; at first it’s fun and easy, we both get what we want.” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “And then it changes, so fast you barely see it coming, and it becomes the only thing you look forward to.” He took another swig of beer.

“These few hours with her mean more to me than anything else in this goddamn world. But it’s not real, none of this is real.”

“How do you know it’s not real?” Bucky asked, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I pay her.” Sam gave him a sad smile. “She spends time with me because I pay her. Sex wasn’t part of our deal but it came naturally. It’s going to end, one way or another. And If my time with her is limited, why make things complicated, y’see?”

An uneasy feeling gnawed at Bucky’s stomach, taunting him, trying to make him see something he wasn’t ready to see yet. “What if she feels the same way ‘bout you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “To know that I’d have to talk to her, and I’d rather not take my chances. I’m happy with the way things are right now. It hurts, but I’m okay.” He leaned back and made himself comfortable. “You gotta be careful, Bucky. I see the way you look at your angel. You’re skating on thin fucking ice.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Like, love,” Sam said, weighing the two words. “And everything in between.”

They mulled over Sam’s words while they finished their beer. A million thoughts raged through Bucky’s head, circling around like wasps, buzzing and annoying. He was relieved when he heard the front door open.

“Italian leather loafers, mmh is Sam here?” you called out from the kitchen where you set your shopping bag down on the table before you joined them in the living room. “Hey guys! What’s the matter? You both look like someone kicked your puppy-OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THAT TREE!”

While you ran across the living room, Sam cast Bucky a look. The message was clear; be careful. They got to their feet and acted like nothing happened. Sam put on his coat and gave you a quick hug before he left.

Bucky was silent while you were decorating the tree. He let you decide where you wanted to put the tinsel and baubles. He just sat there with a vacant look in his eyes, handing baubles. A smile curled his lips when you cupped his cheek and ran the pad of your thumb along his cheekbone. He looked up at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Just old and moody.”

You laughed. “Come here, help me with this. It’s actually super boring when no one’s fighting for the baubles.”

“Oh, you wanna fight, angel,” he said with a smirk while he played with a tinsel garland. “Ok, let’s fight.”

You took a step back. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too late!”

You shrieked when he launched himself at you. He wrapped the tinsel garland around you, loosely pinning your arms to your sides. You laughed so hard your eyes watered and your shoulders shook. He used it to his advantage and looped two baubles over your ears like giant earrings.

Still laughing, you tugged one of your hands free and threw a handful of tinsel all over Bucky before you ran away. He chased you around the living room, using one of the fairy lights as a lasso.

Soon, the living room was a giant mess. There was more tinsel in Bucky’s hair than on the tree, and you had managed to wrap the fairy lights around his body. You look pretty ridiculous with your giant earrings and dishevelled hair.

You and Bucky collapsed on the floor, out of breath and euphoric. The sun was starting to set behind the skyscrapers casting a warm golden glow over the room. You turned on the fairy lights and burst out laughing when Bucky sparkled like a tree.

He found his phone on the sofa and handed it to you. You opened up the camera app and nestled closer to him. The first photo was blurry because you couldn’t stop laughing. Bucky thought the second photo was nice but you didn’t like it.

“My smile is too wild,” you said.

“You look beautiful,” he argued. “I look like a Christmas tree.”

Bucky felt a pleasant stir in his belly when you placed your head on his shoulder. Be careful. He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head. His chest was hurting. It wasn’t unpleasant, just peculiar and unexpected. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of your head.

“Bucky! You have to open your eyes,” you scolded him after looking at the picture, unaware of his inner turmoil.

He wasn’t sure he could; tears were welling up in his eyes. He was terrified of his feelings for you, but his body was screaming at him to stop burying his head in the sand. He didn’t want you to see the tears in his eyes, he didn’t want to alarm you, because the truth was, he hadn’t been careful.

“Can’t. I’m comfy,” he replied, masking his true feelings behind a joke.

“Open them or I’ll tickle you.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, no need to use force.”

He soldiered on and opened his eyes, smiling at the camera. He liked you, and he promised himself he would never tell you. His feelings didn’t matter, it wasn’t part of your deal.

Part 7

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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wipodu-ao3 · 3 years

Text

Fueled by revenge - a HTTYD fanfic

Read it on Ao3. Join the Discord!

A work in the Cannibal AU.

Summary:

A simple day in the life of Hiccup, with a few twist that can change a life, not his though.

An explanaition on how the chapter 'Fueled by revenge' came to be.

Words: 2,502

[One-shot]

After they had taken care of the tribe who were responsible for Toothless’ injury, Hiccup had used the forge on that cursed island to build the Nigh Fury a temporary fin. It had disturbed Hiccup that he felt nothing when he stepped over the dead bodies of the cursed tribe, but they were responsible for their own situation.

The tribe that had captured him had held dragons as food, nothing more, nothing less. Hiccup had learned from Storm that they had been capturing dragons and ate them as their main source of meat. While Storm was okay with fish that Shadow managed to catch, Hiccup grew a preference for… something else.

It was easy for Hiccup to take a knife to the body. It was easy to cut the flesh and taste it again. The fact that Toothless indulged in the taste too, just made everything seem okay. Hiccup knew it wasn’t, but he didn’t care.

What had shocked Hiccup, was that Storm didn’t seem to care. She had stumbled upon him with the knife in his hand and a cut up body below him. She didn’t scream or seem afraid. Storm had looked at him in disgust and scoffed.

“Cook it at least,” she told him.

And that was that. Hiccup’s new meat preferences were left undiscussed and an understanding was born between the two humans.

While Hiccup was making Toothless’ first ever prosthetic, they talked.

Hiccup learned that the man he had killed was Storm’s father. He learned that the reason the girl was with the dragons, was because she refused to eat the dragon flesh and her father didn’t have it in him to kill her. The reason Shadow was alive? ‘Skrill wasn’t tasty’.

The more Hiccup learned, the more he felt justified in his actions. Something he hadn’t noticed in his rage, was that the girl didn’t have a leg, just like him she had a prosthetic. It was a simple wooden one and she had clearly not gotten used to it. When asked about how that happened, Storm simply said:

“Just because he didn’t kill me, doesn’t mean he didn’t try.”

The fact that she joined him so easily made sense, she wanted revenge and she got it. Still, Hiccup had taken upon himself to make her a prosthetic, like the one he had, as a gesture of his gratitude. At first she refused, but the prospect of having a comfortable leg won her over.

Fortunately for both Hiccup and Toothless, Storm knew a little bit about healing and she took care of the injuries they sustained. Their injuries needed time to heal and Hiccup gladly stayed on the island for a few more days.

When he was done with both prosthetics, he asked Storm what she was going to do. She had hesitantly admitted that she didn’t know, but she wanted to but the cursed island to the ground. Hiccup was hit with an idea, he knew that learning to fly with Toothless’ new tail would take some time, but he wanted to get back to Berk sooner rather than later. He offered Storm a place to stay if he got her help one more time.

That was about two years ago.

Hiccup was hammering a metal rod for Toothless’ new tail. The new tail would seamlessly blend in with the Night Fury’s body and nobody would know that Toothless doesn’t have a tailfin. It was the third fin Hiccup was making for the dragon. The first one was on the Edge, and Toothless’ current one would join it in Hiccup’s room.

The Edge was the place Hiccup had offered to Storm. At the time it was just an island with a lone abandoned hut that Hiccup sometimes used to spend the night. While Hiccup had been at Berk, Storm had taken it upon herself to fix it up, she didn’t want to explore without Hiccup, so she spent her time building. At this point, the Edge had two houses, one they used for sleeping and the other was like a common space, with a simple kitchen and a library in progress.

Hiccup would leave for the Edge and be long gone by the time the morning rolled around. He had plans to explore and check out some spots frequented by Dragon Trappers. He also wanted to make sure the new tail was okay and that the saddle didn’t need any adjustments. Hiccup had already adjusted the saddle twice, his growth spurt making it uncomfortable.

Hiccup finished with the rod and put away the used forge equipment. He took the rod, also taking some nails he had made previously, and left the forge. It was late evening, but people were still milling around. He didn’t bother hiding the rod or nails as he could just claim they were for his prosthetic, nobody would care, because his growth spurt did mean he had to build a new prosthetic.

Hiccup let his eyes wander across the village. A lot of people were trying to finish up their chores for the next day, as from tomorrow, for almost a week, his father would be in the Meade hall, answering the tribe’s problems and solving their disputes. A good time for Hiccup to disappear for a while.

“Hiccup!” he heard his name being called from behind him.

He kept walking, not even glancing back to acknowledge his cousin. Hiccup hoped his obvious dismissal would discourage Snotlout from pursuing him. Luck was not on Hiccup’s sight it seemed as Snotlout caught up with him and stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. Hiccup stopped and looked at the hand in disgust and Snotlout quickly removed it.

“We’re going over to the Meade hall, want to join us?” Snotlout asked him, gesturing to the rest of the gang standing a bit away.

“No,” Hiccup answered after glancing at the others, he went to leave, but his cousin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder again, and even Hiccup’s disgusted look didn’t make Snotlout remove his hand this time.

“We-we’re gonna take some mead and head out to the academy,” Snotlout tried to persuade him.

Hiccup almost laughed. How times have changed… a few years ago, he would have jumped on the chance to hang out with the others, but now he knew that they didn’t have any real value in his life. With Toothless he could see faraway lands and explore, with Storm he could talk about his thoughts and have meaningful conversations. The others just didn’t offer him anything, at least not at this time.

He knew that if they were a bit more mature or adventurous, and forgot their hate for dragons, they would be great friends. Also, Hiccup was still a bit mad that they had tormented him in his younger years, the torment stopping only when he stopped reacting to them and started treating them with indifference. His cold disposition somehow made him cool in their eyes.

“I don’t drink,” Hiccup told him and shrugged of his hand, going back home without looking back.

Hiccup didn’t linger at home, he didn’t need to. He just took a loaf of bread and put it with his other things. He left through the back door so nobody would see him leaving, because while they generally never noticed he left, but that was because they didn’t see him leave.

Toothless excitedly bounced towards Hiccup as he entered the cove. Hiccup greeted his best friend and went over to his stash of things. His stash consisted of the armor he didn’t want to wear around the village, the armor that could easily be recognized as the Dragon Master’s get up, some spare bags and a few of his own made weapons.

He dressed in his armor, mounted Toothless and with one final pet to the dragon’s head, they took off. They flew through the air as fast as they could, making short work of leaving Berk behind. Hiccup knew the way to the Edge by hearth, he could find it with his eyes closed.

Flying was freeing for him. Soaring through the air like nothing mattered, because it didn’t when he was there, Hiccup let his mind wander. He thought about the dragons he had found, the places he had explored and the people he had ‘met’. He used the term ‘met’ loosely as the people met his persona of ‘Dragon Master’.

He didn’t know who had given him that name, but he had no problem with it. The name gave him notoriety and opened doors that could never be opened otherwise. And he couldn’t say that ‘Dragon Master’s’ reputation was unwarranted, because it was. He didn’t hesitate to land a killing blow if he needed to, he frequently went around Dragon Trapper ships and freed the dragons inside, killing anyone who came in his way. And, of course, taking some of his preferred meat with him anytime he could.

Halfway to the Edge, in the middle of the night, Hiccup saw a ship in the waters below him. Curiosity got the better of him and he steered Toothless down. They flew around the ship, the darkness hiding them. Hiccup felt anger rise within him when he heard the roars of scared dragons come from within. Hiccup hated Dragon Trappers, he had taken care of countless ships on his own before, this time would be no different. He doubted anyone would survive.

Hiccup touched down on the ship, the fact that the deck was clear of people surprised him. He dismounted Toothless and gestured for him to stay quiet, he listened closer and he heard a voice mixed in with the roaring of the dragons. The shouting was filled with pain, it was clear to Hiccup that whoever was beneath the deck was being tortured. That did not surprise him, Dragon Trappers were rarely smart or compassionate people.

Hiccup motioned for Toothless to stay on alert and went beneath the deck. It was light there, torches on the walls giving enough light for him to see clearly. There were about ten people there, all ganged up on one tied up man. The tied up man was screaming as one of the trappers, donned with a cloak made of dragon hide, took a knife to his bicep – carving away the skin there.

Hiccup didn’t waste time when he saw the keys dangling on one of their belts. He sneaked toward the man with the keys, luckily he was in the back of the group so Hiccup found it easy to cover the man’s mouth and pull him back. A dagger to the man’s throat was a quick and silent way to dispose of him, the body went down and Hiccup took the keys from his belt.

It was done silently, not alerting the others in the group. Hiccup used the keys to unlock the cages that housed dragons that did gain the group’s attention. Startled shouts rang out as the dragons ran out, Hiccup used the commotion to his advantage. He took his sword and managed to kill three more of the men before the others register what had happened.

The remaining six were easy to dispose of. Hiccup’s sword was sharp and he managed to behead two of the six, their head landing on the ground with a thud. One took a stab at the heart, two took fatal blows to the neck. The last one was the leader of the group, the one who had been carving at the man’s bicep. Hiccup managed to push the man to the ground and used his sword to cut the man’s leg at the hip clean off. The leader screamed in pain as he bled out.

Hiccup took the dismembered leg and with one swig he separated it at the knee. Hiccup called for Toothless, the dragon bouncing in with a croon. Hiccup took a mesh bag he had in the sack with his other things and wrapped the thigh in it. He fixed the slab of meat on Toothless’ saddle and turned to the man who had been tortured.

The man was looking at him with fear and confusion. Hiccup went over to him and took a knee to stay in eye level with the man.

“What’s your name?” Hiccup asked him with a tilt of his head.

“E-Eret,” the man gasped out, his face screwed up in pain.

“You have a choice Eret,” Hiccup told him, his eyes turning to the man’s bleeding bicep, the wound would scar if the man stayed alive, “Join me.”

“Or?” Eret asked when Hiccup didn’t elaborate.

Hiccup rolled his eyes and looked around the dead men, making a show of his wandering gaze. Eret gulped as he understood, he took a deep breath and nodded.

“Join you.”

Hiccup smiled and went around him to cut the rope that held his hands. Eret was another person for him to train and be friends with. Even if Hiccup could do this on his own, more people meant more saved dragons. Hiccup got Eret in Toothless and they took off.

Hiccup wasn’t scared that Eret would try to hurt him. For one, the man’s bicep must have been killing him. Eret had also been tortured by the dragon trappers, which meant he was someone they hated, and he didn’t share in their believes, at least not anymore. Hiccup could easily recognize people who could be assets to his cause, Eret was one.

By the time they landed on the Edge, Eret was struggling to stay awake, even the pain from his injury and the excitement that came with flying for the first time, couldn’t keep him awake. They had landed by the main building and, even though it was still dark, Storm had come to greet them.

“Who’s this?” she asked instead of greeting them, Eret’s presence coming as a shock to her.

Hiccup jumped from the saddle and helped Eret down, letting the man lean on him. Toothless went over to Storm and nuzzled her in greeting, she petted the Night Fury’s head as she watched the two men. Hiccup started leading Eret to the house.

“A new member of our team,” Hiccup told her as she held the door open, “He needs a bit of medical attention, if you don’t mind.”

Storm sighed and went over to their kitchen, she opened a cabinet where they stored their medical supplies, and took out everything she would need. Hiccup sat Eret down at the table and pulled out a seat for Storm.

She sat down and looked at the man’s bicep, she blew her hair out of her face and glanced at Toothless. The Night Fury was sitting near the door, waiting for Hiccup to take his things from the dragon. Storm eyed the mesh bag and turned to Hiccup.

“Put the meat on ice, at least,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “Thor, you never learn…” she mumbled and got to work on Eret’s wound.

#cannibalism #au #httyd #hiccup #dark hiccup #toothless #storm #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #eret son of eret

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

Other students masterlist

|Shinsou Hitoshi|

Dead Romantics (modern magic au)

The young necromancer spent his entire life being all by himself, and now he had no idea what to do when an enthusiastic classmate went out of their way to be his friend.

I Take Thee (Shinsoubowl Week Day 1)

You remembered the promises you made to each other in your vows as you waited for your husband to come home.

Tough Competition (Shinsoubowl Week Day 2)

Nothing like a bit of friendly rivalry to get the tension going and affection to blossom.

The Usual (Shinsoubowk Week Day 3)

Shinsou was by no means a coffee drinker. But if it meant that he could see the cute barista who worked at the coffee shop by the corner, he would gladly pour that disgusting cup of liquid down his throat every day.

Good People (Shinsoubowl Week Day 4)

You had lost your hope that there were genuinely good people in the world a long time ago. So no, just because this hero was nice and didn’t want to fight you could not convince you anything.

Battle Scars (Shinsoubowl Week Day 5)

It was rough to see your lover coming home soaked from head to bottom and with a huge cut on his chest, but it pained you even more to see him so deep in self-blame.

Soft Spot (Shinsoubowl Week Day 6)

Shinsou’s plan to get some good rest was ruined but how could he say no when his classmate asked him for help in search of a lost kitten?

The Wizard’s Castle on the North (Shinsoubowl Week Day 7)(fairytale au)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a wizard who lived alone in his castle on the north of the kingdom. The people of the kingdom hated the wizard, and so the king made an order that whoever could enter the wizard’s castle could be married to his heir and become royalty.

Hearts to Give

He had no idea that it was you who put a paper heart on his desk every day but it was fine, you’ve got plenty of hearts to give anyways.

Winner Takes It All (nsfw)

Shinsou felt the need to defend himself here, because he had no idea what the prize was before he actually won.

10 Things I Hate About You

You hated Shinso Hitoshi, mostly because you could not believe yourself when you said it no matter how much you tried.

Voicemail

“You have 1 new message”

Satin & Lace (nsfw)

The only thing better than a man in lingerie is two men in lingerie.

General romance stuff with Shinsou (hc)

Shinsou with a kuudere-like s/o (hc)

Talking to his wife’s pregnant belly (hc)

General nsfw stuff (nsfw)(hc)

Shinsou with a s/o who is allergic to cats (hc)

Shinsou’s s/o struggling with mental health (hc)

Shinsou with a low self-esteemed s/o (hc)

Shinsou with a s/o who goes mute when upset (hc)

Pro hero Shinsou with a pro hero s/o (hc)

General nsfw stuff 2.0 (nsfw)(hc)

Helping his s/o cope with the loss of a close pet (hc)

Soft hcs (hc)

Shinsou’s s/o being stressed over school (hc)

Sex with s/o with selective mutism (nsfw)(hc)

Taking care of s/o who is on their period (hc)

Sleepover with Shinsou (hc)

Camboy Shinsou but is he really??? (kinda nsfw???)(hc+drabble)

“I’m sorry, I think you got the wrong number.”+ “You know what’s funny? No matter what you’ve done, I’ll still fall for you all over again.” (drabble)

Falling off while cuddling (drabble)

Surprising Shinsou with a kitten (drabble)

Overhearing s/o’s “friend” making fun of their weight (drabble)

Leaving a bite mark on s/o’s cheek (slight nsfw)(drabble)

Shinsou with a crush that acts flirty towards everyone (drabble)

A statue comes alive when its soulmate held its hand (soulmate au)(drabble)

Purposing to his s/o (drabble)

Waking up to see his hair all sprawled out (drabble)

Cuddling with Shinsou (drabble)

Seeing s/o with a cat quirk naked after transforming from cat to human (drabble)

Trying to fuck Shinsou into sleeping (nsfw)(drabble)

Taking care of his drunk s/o (drabble)

His s/o mistaking that he might be cheating (drabble)

Teasing cat quirk s/o with catnip (nsfw)(drabble)

Overstimulating cat quirk s/o (nsfw)(drabble)

The smell of softener filling your senses as you have blankets wrapped up around you (drabble)

When you smell the cookies baking in the oven after your arms are sore from beating the mixture till white and fluffy for 30 minutes (drabble)

“So you’re just gonna abandon me?” (drabble)

“They warned me about you, I should have listened.” (drabble)

Feeling him up from behind while he was cooking (nsfw)(drabble)

Fisting (nsfw)(drabble)

Thigh riding (nsfw)(drabble)

Going into heat after being hit with a cat quirk (nsfw)(drabble)

Making reader ride a fuck machine with his quirk (nsfw)(drabble)

Fucking his s/o in front of a crowd (nsfw)(drabble)

Walking in on him moaning your name (nsfw)(drabble)

Thigh fucking (nsfw)(drabble)

Eating s/o out because they were not giving him attention (nsfw)(drabble)

Spiderman kiss while he hangs down the ceiling (drabble)

Worshipping his muscles (nsfw)(drabble)

Tutor Shinsou rewarding you (nsfw)(drabble)

Accidentally tying yourself up with his capture weapon (nsfw)(drabble)

Glade in a forest under the starry sky (drabble)

Coffee shop (drabble)

Comforting s/o (drabble)

Shinsou falling asleep with the cats (drabble)

Meatball Shinsou (nsfw)(drabble) > bonus drabble

Cooking with his s/o (drabble)

Tired Shinsou (drabble)

You dreamt of him (drabble)

A Teenager In Love (drabble)

Random snapshots of random animals at random times because they know you like that animal + brings you up naturally in a conversation you are not in (drabble)

Checking your phone late at night and see them go online the moment you open their message (drabble)

He slept on the couch once because the cat was napping against his arm and he did not want to wake it up (drabble)

The pet shop worker (harvest moon au)(character route archive)

La Petite Mort (ghost!Shinsou series)

|Amajiki Tamaki|

Your First Name, My Last Name (modern magic au)

There was something extremely important the fae would like to ask you, the only issue was that he didn’t know how.

A Day at the Fae’s Cottage (modern magic au)

Just another day at the shy fae’s cottage deep in the woods.

Tamaki taking care of sick s/o (for Red<3)(drabble)

The smell of softener filling your senses as you have blankets wrapped up around you (drabble)

Birthday present (nsfw)(drabble)

|Togata Mirio|

Party Night Fever (nsfw)(college au)

You got more out of a party you dreaded than you thought you would.

The scent of cinnamon filling the kitchen (drabble)

|Monoma Neito|

Soft hcs (hc)

#bnha imagine #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha imagine #mha imagines #mha x reader

416 notes · View notes

cassiecasyl · 4 years

Text

Empty Space

prompts used:

Whumptober Day 8: Abandoned + Whumptober Day 19: Grief, Mourning Loved Ones

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Warnings: Sad, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Blood Note: Among Us AU

Read on Ao3

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sure, they had heard about the imposters, and their lethal games, and about their previous appearances on the Skeld. In fact, the ship seemed to be one of their favorite hunting grounds. Peter had never understood the motivation behind trying to kill a whole crew just for fun. It was horrible. But still, they had hoped it wouldn’t happen on their trip There were enough accounts of the Skeld making it to her destination safe and sound, and it was just damn Parker luck that this was one that wouldn’t. They hadn’t had much choice, with the Skeld being the only ship in their price range to cover their destination, and the imposters always seemed like such a faraway thing. Something that happens to other people. Not them.

Yet, here he was, holding his aunt’s hand through their blue suits, pleading, shaking, hoping for her to respond. “May?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breaking from crying. Peter didn’t know how long he’d been here, all he knew that he had missed the meeting following the discovery of his Aunt’s corpse. His Aunt’s corpse. Aunt May is dead. The words still sounded faint and far away, like the whispers of a ghost. Peter couldn’t, wouldn’t let them sink in.

May was now no more than the discovery of imposters among them, a stepping stone for them to win their sick game and a clue to start the crewmates’ investigation. Peter knew he should care about at least the last one, but he hadn’t been able to attend the meetings. He wanted to know who did this to her, who ripped open her body into half, who caused this unnecessary bloodshed. Who would kill an innocent bystander? Such a lovely, lively, and caring person as May? Just for fun?

“Please, May,” he begged, “Wake up! You’re gonna miss the Kasterborous Supernova. We were so excited to see it, remember?” He felt terrible to remind her about this event only he really wanted to witness it. Sure, it was a once in a lifetime thing, but May had only been as excited because he was. It seemed like such a small thing now.

He couldn’t remember her last words. Oh god. How was he ever to know that those would be her last to him? And now he didn’t remember them. The last thing she gave him, and he simply forgot. It felt like a sacrilege. Warm tears left cold stains on his cheeks before they dropped towards the ground, wetting his suit, or landing on May’s.

He had taken off his helmet to help him breathe. There was oxygen on the ship so he didn’t really understand the rule to wear the suit at all moments, and no one had bothered to explain it to him. Peter hadn’t dared to dismantle May’s face though, and he regretted not being able to see her. Before him lay an anonymous suit, the same color as he wore, ripped apart, and stained with drying blood. It was all too easy to convince himself that this wasn’t May. They had made a mistake, and May was still alive, in another colored suit, somewhere on this spaceship. Somewhere an imposter could lurk and just wait for the right moment to repeat the tragedy.

Peter wanted to get up, to sprint to her and protect her, warn her, but he couldn’t move. Something had glued him on the ground, trapping him here with a dead body and his thoughts. May is dead. No. She would never laugh again, never scold him again, never mess dinner up again and then order take out. No. She would never fall asleep in front of the TV again, never bother him to eat or sleep when he was too engulfed or stressed in his work again. Nonono. Peter cried out, balled his hands against the unfairness of it all, but there was nothing to fight.

“I larb you,” Peter remembered her to say, but her voice was all ghostly and not quite there, and it cut like reality.

Peter’s breaths came out in gasps that never reached deep as if he was drowning in shallow saltwater. His dark blue suit was stained with blood just as May’s was, only instead of his middle, it was painting the ends of his limbs as he kneeled in the crimson puddle next to his guardian. He couldn’t breathe. The red seemed to climb up the fabric in little veins that almost looked like a spiderweb, the blue succumbing to the guilty liquid. Tears landed on them, washing some of it away, and falling to the ground tainted. Peter watched them in a trance, his ears not picking up his own wheezing gasps, and the pain in his chest only throbbing dully.

Despite all their efforts, the veins spread and reached out to him. He didn’t know whether they were accusing him, or indicating him to be the next victim. Peter panicked at their implications yet didn’t, his emotions strangely numb to his brain’s instincts. His battling head started aching, and he felt slightly dizzy, but still, he didn’t care. Aunt May was gone, and he sat there covered in her blood like her murderer, and he hadn’t been there, and he couldn’t breathe so what if he just passed out right here? It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, would it?

A gentle hand caught his falling body, removing him momentarily from his thoughts. He flinched away way too late, only now remembering his need to be alone. Then, with a flare of false fear, he realized that this could be the imposter. Anger bubbled up but depleted before it reached the surface, only coming out as hot air in quick breaths. Peter didn’t have the energy to fight. “Just take me,” he whispered, barely audible, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to lay down and be comforted by his Aunt May. This all was just a bad dream, right? It must be. He would wake up at any moment. This all would be over.

“What was that?” The man in the red suit now spoke up, “I’m not the imposter, bud.” Peter opened his eyes to muster the stranger.

“Why should I believe you?”

The man shrugged. “You’re not dead,” he simply stated.

“Yet,” Peter replied.

“Look, bud, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but I’m not gonna kill you.” Peter could almost feel worried eyes staring at him, and somehow, he felt inclined to believe him. His shoulders fell as some tension left his body, and he frowned. “Mind if I join you?” The man asked yet sat down without waiting for an answer. Peter only stared at him, slightly annoyed yet strangely relieved. “How you’re doing?” He continued to inquire, but Peter simply continued his stare. He didn’t feel like talking. It would make it all true. Why was he supposed to answer anyway? Ah, yes, manners.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, was it?” He meant to faintly remember his name from the introductions earlier, “but I’d rather be alone right now. Thank you though.”

Silence fell on them for a minute, before Mr. Stark answered. “I don’t believe that’s true,” his voice had now softened, “Something terrible just happened to you and I’m no good with emotions, but even I know that you shouldn’t just wallow here like this. It’s no good for you. Congrats on getting my name right, by the way. Tony Stark.” He offered Peter his hand, “And you are?”

Peter blinked, trying to digest the words. They were too fast, too much, and he didn’t want them at this moment. His fingers tightened around May’s hand. “No,” Peter then spoke in a rough, yet definite voice, which sounded a bit too much like a spoiled child to him.

“No?” Tony echoed, “Now that’s a peculiar name.” Peter shook his head. He was more there now, but he didn’t want to be. Here meant that his aunt was dead. And the man in the red suit was getting it all wrong. Or was he doing it wrong?

“No,” he repeated, slowly, trying to let his mind catch up, “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I wish it’d be under nicer circumstances though.” Peter looked back at the body next to him at that and the words cut deeply. No. It seemed his go-to word now. Too bad it wasn’t changing anything. No. May was dead. There was nothing he could do. No-no-no. He wanted to scream, and maybe he did, and the tears that had depleted under Tony’s distraction returned. “No,” he whispered, sobbed out from a body that had never felt this heavy.

Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around him, slowly, testingly, and for some reason, Peter fell right into them. He felt safe here. Why? “May?” he asked weakly, but she was lying there in front of him, unrecognizable, motionless, dead.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Tony whispered, rubbing soothing circles over his back, “Was she your mom?” It was Tony, Peter then realized. Tony who comforted him, just a kind stranger. Yet why did he feel so safe?

“Aunt,” Peter corrected before burying his face in the stranger’s chest, fighting another sob. Soothing warmth engulfed him, but he was so cold and far away. It barely had a chance against the spikes of pain that were working their way through Peter, again and again, only to pause for a little while before hitting again.

“Shh,” Tony shushed him, rocking them slightly back and forth, “Just let it out. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter replied through a hiccup of tears, “It’s never gonna be okay.”

“No,” He agreed. Peter halted a moment as Tony used his word before remembering that words belonged to nobody. He was just being selfish. Another sob rattled through his body that never seemed to run out of tears.

After a while, Peter calmed down again. For a moment, he remained where he was, not ready to move yet. Then, he sat up, purposefully avoiding to look at the dead body. “Sorry,” he said, brushing his hand against his running nose.

“Don’t apologize, kid. It seemed like you really needed to cry it out. You know, crying floods some stress hormones out, which makes you feel better, or something like that. Bruce could explain it to you. He’s the one in the green suit.”

“Neat.”

They sat in silence, neither of them willing to move even if only to not sit in blood anymore. Peter was perfectly content on being here, well, as content as he could be at this moment, and Tony was just there to grant him company. His hands still trembled from time to time though, which did not go unnoticed.

After watching them for a while, Tony reached out to take Peter’s hands, stilling them. “They caught him. Thought you wanted to know,” he said, carefully observing Peter’s reaction.

“Who was it?” Peter suppressed the anger in his voice almost successfully as grief overtook him again. The one who did this would pay for it. They’d meet justice, just as they deserved. Still, he was angry, he wanted to punch whoever it was, wanted to scream at them, and above all, he wanted to ask why. Why May of all people?

“Some ugly guy named Thanos. He was in the purple suit.” Peter nodded.

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

“Already did. They threw him out of the spacecraft. Standard procedure for found imposters.” Tony shrugged slightly while Peter imagined the freezing coldness of space, the absence of air, the nothingness. Floating there, freezing to death in minutes. He shuttered.

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah” Tony agreed, looking at the kid who had sympathy for his aunt’s murderer. Before, Tony had thought him too young to lose a parental figure, but now he seemed too good to ever have that happen to him. “If you want, you can help me with my tasks,” he offered, delighted to see some light reappear in the teen’s eyes.

“That’d be nice. I was helping May, but, you know…,” he stilled, waiting for the tears to come, but they seemed to have run out for now. Tony nodded and stood up, holding a hand out to help Peter up.

“I think a change of scenery will do you good,” he decided, “but first, you gotta abide by the dress code.” At Peter’s confused expression, Tony pointed at the helmet that lay forgotten on the floor.

Tag List: @starrynightdeancas, @insaneasgardian (tagging you bc Among Us :))

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epicstuckyficrecs · 5 years

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Weekly Recap | October 28 - November 3

Here’s what I read in the last week! Enjoy! :D

Complete

💙 Sine Tactu by justanotherStonyfan/ @justanotherstonyfan (canon divergent, Shrunkyclunks | 22K | Mature): “Want me to help with this?” Steve says quietly, head about level with James’ stomach as he stares up at him, fingers reaching up for James’ fly, but James shakes his head. “No,” he says, wets his lips - Steve is all skin and muscle and he’s totally naked and he’s right here and- “no, I’m.” He swallows hard. “I’m not getting naked. This is about you.” (Part 29 of 💙 Honey Honey)

Brought to Brightness by eyres (Shrunkyclunks | 11K | Teen): Army veteran Bucky Barnes has fallen in love with Steve, a guy he met online a few months after he returned from Afghanistan. Only problem is, he doesn't know Steve's last name or even what he looks like. When his sister helps him send his story into MTV's Catfish, he's hoping they can help him meet Steve or, at least, let him move on with his life if Steve isn't real. Little does he know, Steve and Captain America have more in common than just a first name.

💙 No Faraway Shore by eyres (Canon divergent, POTUS Bucky | 57K | Teen): President James Barnes has spent his career saying that the defining moment of his life was when he discovered that Steve Rogers had sacrificed himself while Bucky had lain in a New York hospital bed with only one arm. Now, Bucky would say it was when SHIELD told him Steve was alive.

i just called to say i love you by brideofquiet (Modern AU | 8K | Teen): Both times Steve makes a fool of himself in front of the soccer coach, it’s mostly an accident.

💙 you go to my head by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, brideofquiet (pre-TFA | 43K | Explicit): “Why would you do that for a man you don’t know?” Bucky asks. Steve looks him in the eye when he says, very patiently, “For money, Bucky.” (Part 1 of the summer of a thousand julys)

the very mention of you by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, brideofquiet (Pre-CATFA, Sex worker Steve | 5K | Explicit): “You should tell me about it,” he blurts. “Your first time.” (Part 2 of the summer of a thousand julys)

💙 Political Animals by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades, Deisderium/ @deisderium (Modern AU, politics | 107K | Explicit): Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that. (or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do.)

Cat Nap by galwednesday/ @galwednesday (Canon divergent, Modern WS Bucky | 8,8K | Teen): Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky’s problems. The balding agent he’d seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority. Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back.

WIP

💙 Slow and Splendored by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, eyres (Post-EG | 7/11 | 40K | Mature): In the chaotic years after Steve Rogers arrives back in 2023 as an old man, he helps rebuild the world, falls in love with his best friend, adopts a stray cat, and saves the entire timeline. Not necessarily in that order.

💙 four dreams in a row where you were burned by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (canon divergent, post-Endgame, 1945 alternate timeline | 7/? | 40K | Mature): When Steve uses the last of his Pym Particles to travel to 1944 and save his best friend, he doesn’t have a plan beyond leaving behind the battlefield and living his life alongside the people he loves. But the life that finds him is not the one he expects.

💙 Sex With Benefits by verzacefatale/ @verzacefatale (Modern AU, FWB | 5/? | 16K | Explicit): Bucky makes a movement that encompasses the ehness of banging dudes and hooking up with friends. “It’s not that big a deal. We’ll fuck, then eat pizza and watch Real Housewives of Rhode Island. You can be an honorary homo.”

Extra Sugar by luninosity/ @luninosity (Evanstan, Dom/Sub AU | 31/32 | 107K | Explicit): All the bonus scenes, deleted scenes, alternate versions of scenes, short snippets, and extra tidbits from this series. Chapter 31: In which Chris hates being sick. (Part 6 of Like Sugar (Spell It Out))

Re-read

💙 darling heart, i loved you from the start (but that's no excuse for the state i'm in) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid (2012 Alternate Timeline | 19K | Teen): Or, the one where Steve saves the mind stone for last and decides to fuck the timeline beyond all recognition, which regrettably involves crawling delicately up Hydra's asshole and less regrettably involves showering a very confused Bucky Barnes with affection.

💙 Sugar Sweet by ColorCoated (Sugar Daddy/Daddy Kink | 173K | Explicit): College Student Bucky finds himself immediately attracted to Steve. He knows that Steve's a bit older than him, and that Steve himself is put off by the age difference. . . But that doesn't stop Bucky from wanting to climb him like a tree.

💙 I Wished On The Moon For You by stevergrsno (noxlunate)/ @stevergrsno (Canon divergent, Werewolves | 14K | Teen): A story in which Steve Rogers is the littlest werewolf who could and Bucky Barnes comes in from the cold and makes him his home.

💙 winter wheat, sunflower peat by newsbypostcard (Canon divergent | 25K | Mature): In the dead of the night, a man pulls over for a hitchhiker.

The one where Bucky says "I love you," and Steve says "That's okay." by chicklette/ @chicklette (Shrunkyclunks | 3,2K | Mature): I have this angsty head Canon about a world-weary Cap dating a younger, earnest bucky and things going disastrously wrong when Bucky wakes up one morning and says “I love you” and Cap is like, uh, “that’s ok.” This is how it goes

💙 Scents and Sensibility: The Working Assassin's Guide to Supersoldier Seduction by galwednesday/ @galwednesday, silentwalrus/ @silentwalrus1, skellerbvvt (ABO AU | 93K | Explicit): Captain America wakes up from the ice in 2013. The Winter Soldier wakes up in 2009, or rather defects from HYDRA, for a value of defect that’s closer to decimate. He ends up working for SHIELD. In April 2014, he’s assigned to Captain America’s mission as a sniper. Steve’s just trying to get some kind of life together. Bucky is too, or at least he was until tall, blond and Captain shows up and starts just - being there, all the time. It’s terrible. It’s the worst. He has to do something about it.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #weekly recap

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ruensroad · 4 years

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at the edge of the world

I asked @this-solaris-life for a Jinyi idea, she came up with a continuation of the witcher!AU that I had to run with! Thank you, hon :D

--- His shiren had been sulking since they’d left the abandoned mansion. It was altogether another job well done, a vengeful ghost eliminated, and Jin Ling’s purse had been refilled with enough coin he could finally treat the two of them to a proper inn and Fairy a fine, warm stable with extra food and bedding. All that was missing now was a celebratory meal and scowling half-heartedly at their newest adventure being crammed into a far too flourished song.

He should have felt pleased with himself for forestalling that, but instead he kept looking back at Jingyi in a mixture of amusement and worry, sitting atop his horse with a wrapped up ankle and a faraway look in his eyes. Every time he caught Jin Ling’s eye he looked away immediately, pouting harder, and had done as such for the past hour.

It wasn’t as though Jin Ling felt bad, per se. He’d made a promise, just as his uncle had so long ago, to never turn down a request for help, and this ghost had taken to killing nearby farmers in their sleep. It was a real and true threat that he was proud to have eradicated. And for all his pouting, he knew Jingyi couldn’t argue that either.

The problem was, apparently, that his shiren was scared of ghosts. Terrified, honestly and wholly. And he’d put up such a fuss going into that dangerous situation that Jin Ling should have made him stay outside. But, then again, Jingyi had followed him in despite his fear, so he wasn’t sure where the guilt lay between them.

Jin Ling wished he were a shiren, just so he could sing of how a screaming musician with no fighting skills whatsoever had been the one to fling the jar of blessed oils at a surprised ghost and ended up being the one to dispel it, all while climbing all over Jin Ling screeching like a distressed owl. Even his sprained ankle had been because he’d tried to run and tripped on his own robes in his haste, even though the sound that had spooked him had only been Fairy neighing and not another ghost come to try and eat them.

It was funny, he’d admit it, and had to fight down a laugh. A newer feeling, that. Only Jiang Cheng had ever made him laugh once the training was complete and he knew it’d been the same for him, with Jin Ling striving to see his uncle smile. It had been just the two of them, outcast wudo in a world that had abandoned them, for so long. He couldn’t wait for when the season turned again and his path would cross with Jiang Cheng in their usual meeting place. He wondered, daily these days, if his jiu-jiu would approve of the man who had charmed away his heart, and so easily.

He sincerely hoped they would get along.

“Where are we going?” Jingyi finally spoke, still frowning and starting to shiver in the winter chill. Jin Ling immediately shrugged off his cloak and passed it up to him, now that his shiren welcomed his attention. He took it and wrapped himself up without another word, though Jin Ling didn’t miss the relief in his face to be surrounded by the warm fur.

“There is a town,” Jin Ling explained, though it wasn’t the full truth. “I’m getting us a room and Fairy a stall.”

The stallion snorted at that, pleased, and the bells on his bridle chimed merrily. Jin Ling smoothed a hand down his neck and smiled to feel Jingyi had done the same. When their fingers tangled, Jingyi stilled, but allowed Jin Ling to trap him there in the soft cage of his hand. Progress at last.

“A room sounds heavenly,” Jingyi admitted, cheeks rosy in odd blotches over his fine cheekbones. He had always been an unconventional beauty like that, with a sweet face but a crooked nose. A few scars from teenage pock-marks still marred his cheeks and chin, further throwing off that blush. It was his personality shining through him that made him most attractive, in Jin Ling’s eyes, but even he’d admit the man was stunning in his own way, charming and oh so normal.

Well, as normal as shiren could be anyway.

“A detour first,” Jin Ling said and Fairy obediently stepped off the road, knowing his mind, as always. Jingyi looked around, curious but confused, and Jin Ling had to bite down a smile. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten what was supposed to happen on this night, as it did every year?

“But there’s nothing out here,” Jingyi said, unable to keep silent, and his fingers twitched under Jin Ling’s palm. “Where are you taking me?”

Jin Ling just smiled, because of course it would be his shiren that forgot it was the new year. Of course.

“Jin Ling, stop that face right now.”

“It’s just my face,” he protested, chuckling, and was rewarded with Jingyi’s free hand doing its best to shove at his hair. A smile was starting to break over Jingyi’s face and Jin Ling looked up at him in gratitude and reverence to see that sunlight even in the fading evening. Forgiven, finally.

“I mean it though, don’t think a sprained ankle will stop me from punching you in the nose,” Jingyi warned. A full grin now, with teeth.

Jin Ling felt his heart do its usual flip to see it. Loving a wudo, what a concept. And allowing him to love back. A blessing. “Patience.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Fair enough. Still, Jin Ling refused to answer his questions and simply walked as Fairy took the well known path. When the stallion stopped, they were atop a hill overlooking the town below, glowing red in lantern light and alive with the sound of music, even so far away.

Jin Ling had found this place his first year as a proper wudo traveling alone and he had come back faithfully every year since. It felt significant to be sharing it with the man he loved now.

“Oh, whoa,” Jingyi said, hushed in awe, and that fetching blush was back. Jin Ling smirked to see it and held his arms out to him.

“Come, it’ll begin soon,” he said and after a slight hesitation in regards to his foot and Fairy’s height, Jingyi tilted out of the saddle, graceless and trusting. With Jingyi’s arms easily sliding about his shoulders, Jin Ling took his weight and felt his muscles lock in place, stubborn and ready to hold Jingyi all night if he had to.

“Is there a reason we’re standing at the edge of the world?” Jingyi asked, his usual flair of dramatics hanging on that sentence. It felt like another lifetime, when such flourishes used to bother him. Now, it only made him all the more fond. What a magic love could be.

“Watch,” Jin Ling said and looked out at the lights down below. Jingyi did as he was told, snuggling in just a little, before gasping as a streak of light shot up from the top of a building. A firework, filling the night with shimmering firelights, followed quickly by dozens more.

Fairy’s ears perked forward at every boom and Jin Ling felt his breath catch, watching all the lights, as it always did. The highlight of his year, second only to his meetups with Jiang Cheng, and now…

Now he got to share it with the man who meant everything, who was all the more beautiful aglow in his arms and his dark eyes lit with distant stars.

“Do you like it?” he asked, needing to know, and got a little shove on the shoulder.

“Do I like it, he asks, as though this isn’t the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jingyi huffed, but was grinning wide as he leaned in to steal a kiss. Jin Ling gave it gladly, then another, and laughed when a particularly loud boom made Jingyi hump.

“I have you,” he promised, because he did, in so many ways, and Jingyi lit up to hear it, this sunshine of his life, the very center of his world.

“I know you do,” Jingyi said, tucking his head against Jin Ling’s to watch. A soft sigh left him, warm against his skin. “Thank you, Jin Ling. For everything.”

#ruenwrites #jinyi #witcher au #i'm soft #so soft for these boys #ahhh #let them be happy #jin ling #lan jingyi #and mentions of jiang cheng #who is also a witcher #8D

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c-hristy · 4 years

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His Silence (Part One) 《Charlastor AU》

It was deafening.

It was echoing.

It was silent.

The near constant current of static hadn’t been there in almost a week and no other sound had been able to replace it. The haunted sound of sobbing filled the halls and none of them were able to quite wrap their minds about anything that was happening. It was all too much and it was far too little, all at the same time.

Bea kept her eyes down as she got up for the first time in several days. She was sure she looked like garbage; her hair felt like it was matted down with the amount of sheer grease that was in it. The makeup she had worn a week ago was probably dried to her cheeks and eyes and maybe that was the reason she was having such a difficult time trying to keep her eyes open. The body that had been next to her moved and she felt her haunches rise.

It was just Franklin. He peered at her from the blankets and she felt her heart crack; he had never looked so miserable.

Nothing upset Franklin. It wasn’t in his reputation or even in his ability; he had such a hard time grasping onto emotions that seeing how terrible this made him /look/ was enough fuel for her to know that it wasn’t just her - it wasn’t just a bad dream.

Her voice crackled with the filter when she spoke and it made tears rise sharply to her eyes, “Should . . we should get up.”

Franklin eyed her for a moment more before tossing the blanket back over his head. She didn’t really expect anything else from him. He had to do what he had to do - the sounds of crying were really starting to get to her. Beatrice slid her feet into some slippers near the door and stood in front of it for a solid few minutes, her mind wandering and her eyes unfocusing.

Her heart ached and her head swirled when she finally reached over and pulled open the door. She felt an ear flicker and she knew she, subconsciously, was searching for the sound of static and coming to find that it was obsolete. Her lips tugged downward and the ball in her throat tightened but she swore to herself that she wasn’t going to cry.

Bea stepped out into the hallway for the first time in a week and felt her insides crumble. Margret’s door was opened and there was no sign of life coming from the room; she assumed that Maggie was across the house with Charlie.

They usually gravitated toward each other during times of crisis.

She shuffled down the hallway, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her pajama pants. Bea’s stomach growled angrily, yet she couldn’t find it within her to go down to the kitchen and rummage around for food. Her mind was set on one goal.

It took her a few minutes to reach the other side of the house and the sound of crying got louder with every step. She was sure Franklin could hear it on the other side of the house, though it would probably be muffled through the walls and blankets that he was buried under. She didn’t hesitate to open the door; her heart was crying out with the sound of her own mother coming undone.

Margret was sitting up in the bed, Charlie laying across her legs and Margret’s hand running through Charlie’s hair. Bea’s older sister had a faraway look to her eyes, mindlessly patting down the curls that were so mussed up. Charlie’s sobs sent arrows deep into Bea’s chest and her heart twisted, the tears that she had done her best to try and hold back blurred her vision and began to slide down her cheeks.

“Mom.” Her voice was filtered and she shuddered at the sound, “Mom, mom.”

Charlie stiffened and peered up from where she was laying across Margret’s lap. It took a few seconds for Charlie to recognize who was at the door frame, but after those moments of clearing her vision, she weakly lifted an arm for Bea to slide in.

The redhead sped forward and fell onto the bed, crawling up the mattress and burrowing herself into Charlie’s front. Her arms wrapped around Charlie’s neck and she hid herself in her mother. The tears wouldn’t stop - no matter what she did to try and stop them. She could feel Charlie’s tears begin and start to wet her hair down; her ears flickered against the feeling.

Margret felt her insides crumble as she watched her normally pretty stoic sister fall apart in the arms of their mother. She felt her ears press to the back of her head and she nudged Charlie off her legs; her mother moved and the two continued to cling to each other. Margret got up and looked at the two, steeling her resolve.

It had been a week since Alastor had been redeemed. Unbeknownst to them, over the course of the past few years, his good deeds had far outweighed the bad and Margret almost felt /responsible/ for their father being gone. He’d disappeared in a heavenly glow of bright white light and then he was gone, taking his static and his brilliantly glowing smile with him.

Margret hadn’t seen anyone in the household smile since then. Not even Franklin, who usually kept his own grin just as painted on as Alastor’s. She wasn’t even sure if she’d seen Franklin since then; the man had almost immediately sprinted up to Bea’s room and hadn’t moved since then. Charlie had been inconsolable since the event and Margret just wasn’t sure what to do anymore.

All she knew right now, was that she was starving and she was sure the rest of her family were, as well. It wouldn’t do for the four of them to rot; Dad wouldn’t want that.

With a shaky sigh, Margret pulled a blanket from the end of the bed up over Charlie and Bea. She pressed kisses to each of their heads, murmured she’d be back soon and left the room. There was so much to do; things that normally were done by this time. Just because Alastor was gone shouldn’t mean that tasks should be gone.

Margret rubbed her eyes. She hadn’t slept since the week prior.

She supposed this was punishment for them. For being hell-born, for being alive. Having their father ripped away from them. Each demon had some sort of punishment that lasted them forever and she guessed that this was theirs. It was a shame she couldn’t atone for her sins; the fact that she was soulless didn’t help.

She made her way down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Her eyes didn’t register what was inside for a few seconds, her eyes drifting and mind wandering from the task at hand. It wasn’t until her stomach growled again that she snapped out of it and began to pull out random ingredients from the fridge.

A few of the bowls were filled with old leftovers and she put those on the counter so that she could wash them out later. All that was really remaining was some sandwich meat and she felt her mouth turn sour at the thought of eating it, since she never was sure what kind of meat it was, but as soon as she opened the container, Margret wasn’t able to stop her hand from shoveling a few slices into her mouth. Her stomach gave a rumble of satisfaction, her mouth watering as she continued to make a plateful of sandwiches.

She wasn’t able to help herself from shoveling a few into her mouth. After all, she did have her father’s appetite.

Margret balanced the tray in two arms as she made her way up to Bea’s room first. She knew that Franklin was still there; Bea was a source of comfort for him. One of the very few that Margret knew of. Franklin didn’t like to look weak.

She nudged the door open with her hip and walked into the room, eyeing it. It was tidy, considering. She had half expected the pair to violently have shredded all of Bea’s belongings.

The lump on the bed shifted and a pair of dark eyes, faintly glowing, peered out at her from the blankets. As soon as her reddened irises met them, the blanket was moved back over the face and her brother immediately stopped moving.

“Frankie.” Her voice was thick, crackling, “I brought you something to eat.”

“No, thanks.” He snarled. After he spoke, his stomach gave a violent grumble and she knew he had smelled the meat on the sandwiches.

“C’mon, please? Just one.” She walked closer, sitting down on the bed next to him, the tray on her lap, “Just one. Please, for me.”

He didn’t speak for the longest few seconds of Margret’s life. Slowly, a hand crept out from the blankets and reached for the tray. Maggie placed a sandwich into his hand and it disappeared under the blanket. She listened to him eat and as soon as he had nearly inhaled it, the hand came out from the blankets again.

Margret felt her lips tug up in a sad smile and placed another into his hand. It went that way until the hand no longer reached out and she could hear him breathing deeply, evenly. Margret placed the tray on the end of the bed and pulled the blankets up from around Franklin. Her brother didn’t move and she rearranged the covers so he wouldn’t be completely burrito’d in them.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He moved slightly, still asleep, and she felt content that he had eaten and was sleeping. He probably hadn’t slept right in over a week.

The tray had significantly decreased and she knew that Charlie wouldn’t eat too much and Bea would probably eat just as much, if not more, than Franklin. Her footsteps shuffled across the wooden floor as she walked, her mind swirling with ideas and problems that arose due to the fact that Alastor was gone.

Her heart squeezed. Her father, gone. Forever, most likely. In Heaven. It made her snort to herself softly, her murderous, cannibalistic father, in Heaven. What had he even done to be redeemed? It wasn’t like he was actively trying.

It was ridiculous. A joke. Pathetic.

Her mouth twisted into an angry frown as she entered her mother’s bedroom. The crying had stopped and was replaced by the soft sounds of breathing. Margret hated to wake them up but she hadn’t seen anyone in the household eat for the past week and she was afraid something bad would happen if they didn’t eat.

“Mama.” Margret nudged Charlie first, knowing she was a lighter sleeper, “Mama.”

There was a moment where the blonde didn’t respond, but with another nudge and another whispered ‘mama’, Margret met eyes with Charlie.

“Oh.” Charlie reached up and rubbed her eyes; it was the first time Margret hadn’t seen tears bunched in them in a week, “Are you okay?”

Maggie gave her mother a pained smile and picked a sandwich off the tray, “Eat.”

Charlie looked as if eating was the last thing she wanted to do, however, she took the sandwich from her eldest daughter and started eating. Maggie had specifically made her a few peanut butter sandwiches; Charlie wasn’t a huge fan of meat.

Bea’s nose twitched and her eyes opened, blinking blearily. She saw the tray of sandwiches and her hand automatically reached out and grabbed onto one, shoveling it into her mouth. Margret’s nose crinkled; her sister had always been a messy eater.

As the three sat on the bed and ate in silence, there was something that Margret could feel was wrong and she wasn’t able to put her finger on it. Save for the fact that her father was gone; a fate worse than nonexistence, in her opinion. Because he still existed somewhere. But, just not here.

Her heart began to ache and she set down a half eaten sandwich. She had only had the one half, and her setting it down had Charlie look at her funny.

“Did you eat downstairs?” Her mother’s voice was thick, but less so after eating some.

“Yeah.” Margret lied and the regret twisted in her stomach and stabbed her in the gut, “I had a few when I was making them.”

“Frankie.” Bea muttered, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand.

Maggie reached over and ruffled Bea’s hair softly, “I already got him food and he’s asleep now.”

Bea hummed, subconsciously pushing her head up into her sister’s hand, “He hasn’t slept since -” Her throat closed up and she clamped her eyes shut, trying her best to stop the tears from restarting.

Charlie’s mouth went dry and she swallowed thickly, setting the rest of the sandwich down. She had gotten a whole other one down before she couldn’t anymore; her arms reached out and she pulled Bea up into her.

Margret shivered as the feeling of loss hit her again. She picked up the tray and got up, leaving her mother and sister to grieve.

She had so much to do.

As the days trickled by, it seemed like it was getting a little easier. Frankie had started to grin at one point again; Bea and he went on a few rampages and came back more relaxed and able to focus. Charlie spent most of her time at the Hotel, slaving over everyone else and barely paying any attention to herself. Margret was the one to remind her to eat several times a day; to get her to shower, to get her to drink water.

Margret felt herself break a little more each day. She hadn’t had any time to grieve; there were too many things going on that called for her help. Before Charlie was able to work back at the Hotel, she had made all the arrangements and gone there daily to make sure things were running well. She kept Franklin and Beatrice from going too wild; gave them strict curfews and they actually listened to her.

It all came to a head one day when she woke up in a blinding rage. Something was gnawing heavily at her insides and she felt like she was going to throw up. Margret leaned over in bed that morning, coughing so heavily that she felt her ears start to ring.

Her vision went blurry and she glanced down at her hands; anger boiling in her stomach. Her nails were extending and she knew in that moment that she had approximately ten minutes before her Wendigo would capture her and she would be unable to stop it.

But for God’s sake - she was so /angry/.

Margret flipped the covers away from her and didn’t bother to tuck them in, sprinting her way downstairs. Her mind started to warp, thinking of only how she was going to tear every living being apart and nothing would be able to stop her.

It wasn’t long before she had transformed and her entire focus was on the growing amount of demons surrounding her. When Margret transformed, she was taller than Alastor even was - her Wendigo was savagely strong and in some back of her mind, she knew that she would easily have been able to take Alastor in a fight.

It made her heart crumble more, thinking about him, and her Wendigo gave a savage cry of desperation, ripping apart another demon and feasting upon the remains.

Tears dripped down her monster’s face; meeting the pools of blood and carcasses that surrounded her. She lost count of how many she had murdered and eaten after she had hit twenty; the emotional turmoil had really done a number on her.

As the sky darkened, her Wendigo showed no signs of stopping. There were less demons roaming the streets now; they knew she was out and looking for blood. The demons she’d killed would reappear within twenty-four hours, so she wasn’t too worried about them right now.

A low growl came from behind her once the large clock in the middle of Pentagram City rang out that it was approaching eight in the evening. She had woken up at nine in the morning; eleven hours of ravaging the streets.

She whipped around and was met with the furious glares of two other Wendigos - both she and her monster recognized them as her siblings. Margret snapped the reigns away from her Wendigo but she was savagely pushed back; her monster leapt forward and attacked her brother.

Franklin violently shoved her away from him and Bea gripped her arms, Margret’s mouth snapping at the air. It took a few more moments of violent struggles before the three of them went to the ground, Margret quickly slipping into her regular form.

She sobbed, her arms pulling her legs to her chest. Coated in blood - the only thing she still really had left of him.

Beatrice pulled Margret up into her arms and Franklin sat down next to them, sinking his fingers into the pools of blood and swirling it around. They just sat and listened to Maggie cry; something neither had seen her do since Alastor had been redeemed well over three months ago.

The three of them waited until the streets really darkened before Bea heaved Margret up, still not speaking, while her elder sister sobbed. Frankie wrapped an arm around Maggie’s other side, the two of them supporting Margret as they walked.

It was the least they could do.

Stick together.

As Margret continued shuffling along, she felt her throat tighten and she swallowed thickly. She fought with herself for a moment and in a moment of strength -

She let a large grin spread across her cheeks.

Because she was never fully dressed without a smile.

#hazbin stories #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin oc #charleston #charlastor child #charliexalastor #charlastor #charlastor children #some angst #my heart broken #redeemed alastor

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kimjongdaely · 5 years

Text

Gone [Alluring]

Mafia!AU & Motorcycle!AU

Pairing: Lay x Reader

Warning: Drugging someone, sexual situations, addiction

Summary: You learn the hard way that your new neighbor isn’t as kind and sweet as he seems.

“Good morning, Yixing!” You greet, smiling at your neighbor as the two of you leave at the same time. Yixing has moved in only recently, and it was quite a surprise when you constantly saw him leave at the same time as you did for work.

But because of that, the two of you were quick to be friends. He’s always kind and friendly, quite a soft-spoken person so you liked him instantly.

He smiles. “Morning!”

“Off to work?” You ask him, which he nods as you watch him get on his motorcycle, parked in front of the apartment. Apparently he’s some sort of sales person...you didn’t ask for details.

“Yeah,” he smiles, revving the vehicle. “Lots of customers to please!”

How true is that. You wave him goodbye as you head the opposite direction for the bus stop, laughing. “Have fun!”

Your days working behind a desk in an office are long and boring. You can hear the clock tick, loud in the silence, the only thing that seems to remind you that time is, in fact, moving. 12:30 and it’s off to lunch. 7:00 and it’s time to go home.

Exhausted, you try not to fall asleep on the bus ride home. You’d hate to miss your stop and have to wait for the next bus back. You’re also famished—do you have anything at home to eat?

You groan at the thought, sighing. You think there might be leftover spaghetti in your fridge...but did you eat that yesterday? Or is it still there? Do you have anything else?

In your half-dazed state, you see something through the window.

Yixing?

You blink, pressing up against the window as the bus zooms by. The next stop is the stop you get off, and you practically run off, back towards the spot you think you saw Yixing.

Something feels wrong.

You hear voices down the street, coming from an alleyway a little ways from your apartment. There are still people out on the street, so you’re not immensely worried. It’s still quite early.

You peak in, indeed seeing Yixing.

He seems to be arguing with someone, and you’ve never seen him angry before...or heard him raise his voice. The man he’s with is slightly shorter, but standing tall like he has authority over Yixing.

You catch snippets as their voices travel.

“So what are you going to do with her, huh?” Yixing hisses, shaking his head. “We can’t keep her locked up forever! What was Kyungsoo thinking?”

“Like I said,” the other man says, frustrated, “He was seen. He had no choice.”

“What do you mean ‘no choice?’” Yixing says. “Bribe her! Or better yet, kill her! You should know how troublesome kidnapping is!”

You cover your mouth to keep in your gasp. You never thought you would hear such things come from the sweet, kind Yixing’s mouth. Kill? Kidnap?

“Look,” the other man says, voice lowering and dripping with authority. “Let’s just get this one job done and we’re out of here, alright?”

“Of course.” Yixing seethes out. “Can’t wait.”

You can tell their conversation is over. You hurry away, heading back towards your apartment and praying he doesn’t catch you eavesdropping.

This is very bad.

The next morning, you don’t know how to greet Yixing. You’re scared to, actually. How can you not be, when you realized you live next to a potential murderer or kidnapper?

Still, you force out a smile and try to keep your tone light, like usual. “Morning, Yixing!”

He smiles at you, the gesture bring chills down your spine now. “Morning.”

You feel your heart hammer in your chest as you go down the elevator with him. You feel paranoid, every little gesture he does makes you jump and flinch. He looks at you oddly, and you smile again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, feigning a laugh. “Watched a horror movie last night. Still not over it.”

He laughs back, nodding. “Ah, I see. I’m not too scared of movies like that. Next time you could come over and watch it together.”

“Sure.” You gulp, feeling your mouth go dry.

Of course you’re not scared! You’re literally a criminal!

You take a deep breath as the elevator door opens. “Well, see you later!”

“See you.” He waves, getting on his motorcycle.

You hear the doorbell ring that night. You feel your heart stop, peaking through the peephole and feeling your veins fill with dread.

Yixing.

Oh no.

You open the door halfway, trying to look relaxed. “Hey! What’s up?”

“Hey,” he greets, politely. “I wanted to ask if you were still up to watching horror movies?”

You feel your blood freeze. “Oh, uh, I’m a little tired today. Maybe next time?”

He cocks his head, his eyes watching you carefully. “You sure? You’ve been acting weird all morning...and you’re still acting weird.”

“I’m fine.” You try to close the door on him, but he sticks his foot in, pushing past your door. You step back, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.

Something about the look in his eyes are different.

You begin to tremble. “W-What are you doing? I’m just not feeling well, Yixing.”

"I’m worried about you.” He says, though his tone sounds nothing worried. “Do you have a fever? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No.” You shake your head, still stepping back as he steps forward. “I’m fine. I just need some rest. If you would please just—”

“I have some cold medicine.” He says. “I brought it in case. I kinda of knew you were acting up.”

You stay silent, watching him carefully.

He smiles. “If you take the medicine, I’ll leave immediately, okay?” His tone is surprisingly tender, and it makes you second-guess yourself.

You sigh. “You’ll leave right after?”

“Of course.”

You nod, sitting down on your couch. You feel your skin prickle, feeling so incredibly anxious like you just willingly let in a murderer. Which you probably did.

He goes to the kitchen, coming back out with a spoon and a small bottle you’ve never seen before. It doesn’t have a brand, just a plastic bottle with a pretty pink colored liquid inside.

“Just a spoonful will do.” He says, pouring the liquid out carefully onto the spoon. “Say ‘ah!’”

You hesitate, your mind running wild but you can’t back out of this now. It would be better to do as he says, since you don’t know what he’ll—or can—do.

You gulp down the spoonful, and it tastes surprisingly sweet, slightly tangy. It’s a taste that gently resembles alcohol...

“Whoa.” You mumble, feeling your head begin to spin. “T-The medicine’s p-pretty strong.”

“Yeah.” He answers, though his voice sounds faraway. “Just sleep it off.”

Your eyes slide closed involuntarily, and you are met with darkness.

You wake up feeling weird. Like you crave something, though you can’t exactly pinpoint what it is.

You groan as you get out of bed...not remembering having gotten in. The memories come flooding back, and you realize Yixing must’ve helped you into bed. Well, at least you’re alive and well.

As you go through your morning routine, the craving gets worse. You begin to feel annoyed, grumpy because you don’t even know what it is you crave...you just feel the emptiness gnaw away at you like a starving beast.

Like you’re addicted to something but you don’t know what.

The doorbell rings, and without much thought, you open the door. Yixing is there with his bright smile and fresh clothes. “Morning! Do you feel better?”

“I—uh,” you look at him, and it’s as if a switch had flipped inside of you.

The craving inside you grows worse like hunger, insatiable hunger and you lunge at him. “Yixing! Yixing, I need you.”

“Oh?” He cocks his head at you, though not looking the slightest bit surprised. He comes in, closing the door shut but you don’t care. You feel the emptiness grow triple its size, the hunger painful.

“Please Yixing.” You beg, throwing yourself all over him because you need to feel him. You want him so badly it hurts. You love him, god you love him so much this feeling is euphoric and you need him need him need him—

He kisses you, the feeling like an explosion in your mind, a dam breaking because those intense feelings are overwhelming, overflowing and you can’t stop it. You don’t know what to do, as you cling onto him more, more, more—

He chuckles. “So it works.”

He pushes you away, ignoring your pleas and whines for him to hold you, kiss you, anything. You feel weak, limp, as if you can’t function if he’s not touching you. He calls someone, refusing your approaches no matter what you do.

“Junmyeon? Yeah, it’s me.” He says. “The Love Shot works like a charm. It’s time to get out of here.”

He puts his phone away, grinning down at you. If you weren’t so dazed and desperate, you could tell his eyes are filled with mirth, as if you look like a dying animal in his eyes.

He pulls you towards him, his voice washing over you so, so pleasantly, like honey and chocolate. “Sorry. I couldn’t let you get off the hook after you heard.”

“Y-Yixing,” you sob desperately, clawing at him, wanting to crawl inside of his skin so you’ll never have to part. “I need you. I love you so much.”

“Yeah.” He whispers, “So you’ll sacrifice yourself for me, right?”

Yixing puts on his helment, revving up the engine. His job here is done, and his brothers have also moved to their new location.

He looks over the horizon, memorizing the skyline of this city. It really is quite pretty...but what’s a pretty city if there isn’t a little crime?

His motorcycle kicks up dirt as he zooms off towards a new, promising horizon. It’ll surely be interesting.

“Well then.” He smiles to himself, speeding up. “Off to the next place.”

Previous Chapter

Alluring Mini Masterlist

A/N: Somehow this got a little darker than I intended...With everything going on, I wasn’t really feeling like writing, but I’m glad I got this series done. It was fun and pretty twisted. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @loser-dot-com @lifewithsehun @shesdreaminginoverdose @fuzzy-melonlord @enchanting-exo@shxrl4747 @drealsweetrebel @skjdln @sehunnies-hunnie96 @solarsa @bluepsycopanda @harryhooksgazebos267 @ilook-soperfectstandinghere14 @anxietyishell (It’s been a while so forgive me if I forgot to tag you)

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

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danceswithcybermen · 5 years

Text

The Night Manager

Written for the X-Files Spooky Fanfic Exchange! It’s been on AO3 for a couple of weeks; click here to read it there. I’m just getting round to putting it here.

My spooky word was "satanic," and my recipient was @alienqueequeg. She requested, “Horror and/or smut if you're comfortable going there! I also like UST/RST, angst, casefile, AU. I'm open to anything and everything except baby/kidfic :)”

I’ve literally had this idea in my head since the 90s, and since you asked for horror, I figured this was an opportunity to finally do something with it.

I hated the episode “3” because it was a weak story, and it gave us only a cursory overview of Mulder’s mental collapse after Scully’s abduction. I wanted to write another, hopefully better vampire story, so here we go. This effort is an AU that replaces “3.” While it is a stand-alone story right now, I may turn it into a series.

Someone is exsanguinating victims in Los Angeles. Mulder, reeling from Scully’s disappearance, reluctantly investigates, and meets a mysterious woman he knows he recognizes -- but from where?

Rated T / PG-13.

This is NOT A MULDER/OTHER STORY!

Tagging @xfilesfanficexchange

Saint Petersburg, Russia, 1910

“But WHY? Why must we do this every day? It’s boring!” The little girl rose to a standing position and pouted. She was hyperactive and petulant, with no patience for daily meditation exercises.

The mystic shook his head. He had never before dealt with such awesome potential in such a young child. Usually, powers to this extent didn’t manifest until early adulthood. The girl was only nine, and he knew that her strengths exceeded even his own. “It’s for your own protection, Nastya. You don’t want to get hurt, do you?” What he didn’t mention was that others needed the protection more than the girl did. “You must learn--”

“To control my mind. Yes, I know. You say this every day.” She pointed at a nearby window. “Can’t we stop and go outside, just for a few minutes? It’s so nice.”

The mystic was firm. “One more set of the breathing exercises first. Center yourself, and then we’ll go for a walk.”

The girl rolled her eyes, but she sat back down on the floor pillow and acquiesced. The old mystic continued to watch her. It was clear that she had been given all of this power for a grand purpose, but he couldn’t fathom exactly what it was. He’d seen visions of what he assumed was her future, but he couldn’t make sense of any of the images. He knew he had seen a faraway place. Enormous steel and concrete structures rose from the ground in cities teeming with people wearing strange clothing and horseless carriages moving on the roads at great speeds.

In each vision had appeared a particular man. At first, he’d thought him her future husband or lover, but their relationship was -- something different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was something about that man, and also a woman with red hair. They were important somehow.

He kept all of this from the child. How could he possibly explain it when he didn’t understand it all himself? He also knew that his time with the girl would be limited, and he didn’t know how limited it would be, whether he’d have another 10 years or only 10 months to tutor her. With a long way to go and an abbreviated time to get there, it was better to concentrate on the mind exercises. The visions could wait.

Yekaterinburg, Russia, July 17, 1918

She was running through a thick forest, with no destination other than away from her captors, away from the death squad that had just murdered her entire family. She didn’t even know she was capable of running. Under normal circumstances, the bunions on her feet gave her too much pain to even try, but the bayonet wound that had penetrated her bejeweled corset was proving a much more serious problem. She felt her lifeblood flowing out of her, seeping through her many layers of clothing.

I shouldn’t even be alive right now, she thought. Her mind was fogging, and she struggled to center it, the way she had been taught as a child.

She tripped over a branch and plunged forward hard, unable to suppress a scream as she hit the forest floor. She tried to center herself again and concentrate on getting back up, but she had reached the end of her endurance. She had lost too much blood.

It isn’t supposed to happen this way, she thought as she felt reality slipping away from her. My visions--

As she struggled to remain conscious, she heard a WHOOSH, then felt someone picking her up and turning her over. She forced her eyes open and saw a face she recognized. It was one of the night guards, one who was always kind. She had suspected him of being enamoured of her.

“Sebastian,” she whispered.

He smiled, and his eyes glowed. “It’s all right, my love,” he cooed, drawing her up into what she thought might be a kiss.

In the moments before she lost consciousness, she felt a prick in her neck.

Alexandria, Virginia, 1994

Fox Mulder woke up screaming and flailing, nearly knocking his coffee table over as he jumped to his feet, his arms positioned to ward off an attack from unseen aggressors. When he got his bearings, he sat back down again, picked up his pot pipe, and took a long hit.

The weed Langley had supplied was smooth, and if he smoked enough of it, he would drift off into a short but usually dreamless sleep, a brief respite from the hell his life had become. Usually. Not this time. Instead, he’d dreamed of a white room and his beautiful, loyal, funny, and kind partner strapped down to a cold steel table, evil-looking medical instruments doing ungodly things to her as he watched, frozen in place, unable to even speak.

She’d been gone for 45 days now. It had been forty-five days of sleeping little, eating even less, and overall letting the rest of his life go to hell as he chased every lead he got, no matter how shaky, all over the country.

He’d even driven up to Delaware because someone on an obscure Usenet group had sworn that a group of “devil worshippers” was holding her hostage in their “cult house.” He’d found the “cult house,” which turned out to be nothing more than a long-abandoned structure on a rural road. He’d found lots of evidence of teenagers using the house to drink and smoke weed, but there was no satanic cult, and there was no Scully.

Mulder exhaled. Drinking and smoking weed had seemed like a fine idea to get past this latest letdown, and that’s all he had been doing since returning the previous evening. He knew he could get drug-tested at any time, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything anymore. He ate little, slept even less, wore the same clothes for days, and showered and shaved when he remembered or when Skinner yelled at him to do it.

He was in the middle of packing his next bowl when he heard pounding at the door and Skinner yelling his name. He put the pipe down, not even bothering to conceal the pot or the paraphernalia, and wandered to the door.

Mulder had barely gotten the door open when Skinner growled, “Where have you been? It’s after one o’clock, and you haven’t been answering your phone.” He looked Mulder up and down, sniffed, then spotted the bag of weed and the pipe on the coffee table. “Jesus, Mulder. What the hell are you thinking? What if you get called for a random drug test?” Skinner pushed his way in.

Mulder shut the door and shrugged. “Then I guess it would be the end of my storied career.” He sat down on the couch, considered taking a hit right in front of Skinner just for spite, then decided against it and put his head in his hands. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered without her.

Was that love? He didn’t know, but he was certain he didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t include Dana Scully. You could call it love, soulmates, or the Easter Bunny; the end result was the same. If she didn’t come back safe, he didn’t want to go on.

Skinner sighed. The apartment reeked of weed and beer. There were empty bottles all over the place, and Mulder clearly hadn’t showered or changed his clothes in days. Under normal circumstances, an agent in Mulder’s condition would be ordered to undergo a mandatory psychiatric evaluation, possibly paired with drug counseling. But these weren’t normal circumstances. The man was clearly out of his head with grief, having lost his other half. Skinner wanted to believe that Dana Scully was still alive, but he also knew that with every day that passed, the odds of her being found safe diminished. Officially, this was still a missing persons case. Unofficially, everyone knew it was a recovery operation, but he didn’t dare tell Mulder that.

“Clean yourself up now, Agent Mulder. You have a case.” He thrust a file towards the younger man. “A string of homicides in Los Angeles, could be the work of a cult. The victims are being exsanguinated.”

Mulder took the file and half heartedly leafed through it. “That doesn’t sound like an X-File.”

“The victims are the X-File. The coroner says the bodies are decomposing at rapid rates, and if the bodies are exposed to the sun, the skin starts burning as if it were in a frying pan.”

Mulder laughed bitterly. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this.”

“Is there a problem, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder threw the file atop the coffee table, and several empty beer bottles fell to the floor. “What do you expect me to do with those bodies? Autopsies aren’t what I do. They’re what my partner does. My MISSING partner. The partner that I know everybody in that goddamn bureau thinks is dead!” Mulder jumped to his feet and stalked over to the window. Part of him wanted to jump out of it, bust right through the glass. At least then, he’d feel something. He’d reached the point where he could no longer feel grief. He just felt nothing.

Skinner approached him from behind, the file in his hand. He threw it down on Mulder’s desk. “LOOK AT ME, Agent Mulder!” Mulder reluctantly turned his head to face Skinner. “I’ve been covering your ass for the past 45 days, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up. People are noticing your behavior, Agent Mulder, people who aren’t as patient as me, people who make sure you’re called in for a random drug test if you show up at the Bureau smelling like weed! You will be gone, and the X-Files will be gone with you.

“For god’s sake, look at yourself! You’re drinking like a fish, you’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, you’re not even bathing or changing your fucking clothes. I know you want to find Agent Scully. Goddamnit, I want to find her, too, but when you do find her, shouldn’t there be something for her to come back to?” He didn’t specify whether the “something” was Mulder himself, the X-Files, or both, a purposeful omission. How Mulder chose to interpret it didn’t matter. He needed to clean himself up and get back to work, give himself a purpose, give himself something to occupy his mind.

Mulder nodded and took the file from Skinner. He was right. Scully wouldn’t want to see him like this; she hated it when he got like this. She also wouldn’t want to hear that the X-Files had been closed because of his behavior.

“So,” Mulder began, “We’re looking at a reverse-vampire case?”

The Marlex Motel, Canoga Park, California

The case was pretty much as Skinner had described: A string of victims, of both genders and of various ages, body types, and ethnicities, all exsanguinated, most having suffered severe burns due to post-mortem sunlight exposure. Mulder noticed that. The killer always moved the victims into the sunlight. Even the victims who were killed indoors had been dragged over to a sunny window.

It was definitely an X-File, but without Scully’s expertise, Mulder didn’t understand what he was supposed to contribute. She was the only one who could do autopsies on X-Files cases properly. She knew what to look for.

It was after dark by the time Mulder approached a nearby motel that fell within the Bureau’s lodging allowance. He had thought of just not getting a room. There was nothing for him to do here, but he had to make a show of it, look like he was trying. One of the victims who hadn’t completely burned up by the time she was found, a young woman, had a stamp on her hand from the Blue Moon, a nightclub in this area. He’d go check it out.

At least they had alcohol there. Mulder fumed that he couldn’t bring his marijuana. Fucking airport security. Nothing helped him sleep better.

The front desk area was empty, and he rang the bell. “Just a minute!” a woman’s voice called from the back area. He heard what sounded like the same woman finishing up a conversation with a man, and then the woman emerged from the back. He noticed her eyes grow wide for just a moment, but then the woman quickly regained her composure. “May I help you?” she asked, and he thought he detected the slightest lilt in her voice.

He studied her for a moment. She looked so familiar, yet he couldn’t place her. She was small, about Scully’s height, with long brown hair and an exotically beautiful face. She was young, a teenager perhaps, and Mulder wondered if she was the owner’s daughter. But she wore a name tag that read “Anna - Night Manager,” and her demeanor was of a woman much older.

“Do I know you?” he finally asked. “I saw you look at me funny.”

The woman smiled. “No. For a moment, I thought you were somebody else, but I was mistaken. How can I help you?”

“One room, just for me. Three nights.” Mulder continued to look at her as she readied the paperwork and his key. Dammit, he’d seen that face before, but he couldn’t remember where. He realized he was staring and forced himself to look away. Maybe this is the owners’ daughter; maybe she’s older than she looks. Maybe he recognized her face from a file; maybe she’s an abductee and--

Mulder blanched, and the woman gave him a concerned look. “Are you all right, sir?”

He nodded. “Uh, yeah, just a sour stomach.”

“Well, I hope you get over that.” She handed him a key. “Room 6, straight that way. It’s next to the ice machine.

After Mulder left, the man from the back came to stand behind the woman. “You were very troubled by that man, Anastasia. I could tell. Why?”

“Sebastian, that’s him.”

“Who?”

Anastasia spun around to face her companion. “The man from my visions, from Grigori’s visions! I would know that man anywhere, Sebastian. That’s him.”

“So what does this mean?”

“I don’t know.” She turned back toward her desk. “I really don’t know, but that man is -- something terrible has happened to him. He’s overwhelmed with grief.”

Sebastian shook his head. “No, no, no, no. We don’t have time for humans’ problems. We have to find the people who are killing our kind before the humans do. You know that. The Council specifically requested that we take this on.”

“That I take this on, Sebastian. Me, not you. It’s my talents they want, but I’m going nowhere with this.” She pointed in the direction Mulder had gone. “That man has something to do with this case.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “The killer?”

“No, not the killer. I’d have known. But something.”

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

The Blue Moon had been a complete bust. Nobody who Mulder tried to question knew anything, or if they did, they weren’t telling. He could have gone at a few of them harder. He would have, had Scully been there to examine the bodies and investigate what he’d convinced himself was the most important facet of the case.

Now he wanted to get drunk, but he wasn’t going to do it in a nightclub where he’d just been waving his badge around. Luckily, there was a dive bar a block away; he’d passed it on the way to the club.

Mulder didn’t stagger out of the bar until the bartender cut him off. The nightclub he’d ostensibly come to investigate was only a few blocks from the motel, so he had walked. It was a sketchy neighborhood, and nearly empty this time of the night, but the temporary buoy he’d gotten from Skinner’s stern talking-down-to had worn off. Mulder was back to not caring about anything anymore. What was the worst that could happen to him?

He didn’t notice the mugger until the guy had his gun pressed into Mulder’s kidney. “You know what this is. Wallet and watch, man. Wallet and watch.”

Mulder sighed. “You don’t want to do this, kid. I’m a federal agent.”

“I don’t care if you’re the fucking President!” The mugger jammed the gun against Mulder’s back harder. “Wallet. And. Watch.”

Mulder thought he could turn around and take the guy, so he tried -- his second miscalculation that evening. His reflexes slowed down by the alcohol, Mulder wasn’t able to execute the move correctly or pull his weapon on time, and the mugger pulled the trigger. Mulder felt the bullet tear into his abdomen, and after he hit the ground, the mugger came to stand over him and aimed his gun at Mulder’s head.

Mulder closed his eyes. Scully, if there’s another side, I will find you there.

Instead of another shot, he heard a whooshing sound, and then the mugger screaming. Mulder opened his eyes and tried to position himself to see, but it was dark, and he found he couldn’t move. But he heard a woman’s voice; the night manager’s voice.

“None of this ever happened, and you never saw me. Now go.” Mulder heard someone beating a hasty retreat, and then, he saw the face of the night manager -- including a pair of fangs.

She looked around, concerned. “We don’t have much time,” she said, “so I don’t have time to explain this, but you need to drink.” She used one of her fangs to slice open her wrist and held the gaping, bleeding wound over Mulder’s mouth.

Fear breaking through his alcohol-induced haze, Mulder whimpered. The woman sighed and looked directly into his eyes. “You must drink. You must.” He still didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth and drinking the blood straight from the open wound. He thought he would be repulsed, but the taste was earthy and primal. It also relaxed him similarly to marijuana. Even before the night manager removed her arm, Mulder was falling asleep.

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

He woke up in his motel room, to the sounds of the night manager arguing with the man he’d heard at the front desk.

“Have you gone INSANE?” the man was yelling. “What if someone had seen you?”

“Nobody did.”

“But somebody could have, and then, you compounded your offense. Saving him was bad enough, but then, you had to make him a fucking Familiar. The Council will--”

“You know what? Fuck the Council and their bullshit fucking rules. They won’t sanction me, because they need me on this. They need my talents.”

Mulder didn’t completely grasp what these people were talking about, but he decided he liked the woman right then and there. He knew what it was like to go up against “councils.”

“Shit, he’s awake.”

The man threw up his hands, and the woman came across the room to be at Mulder’s side. He sat up -- and it all came back to him. How could he possibly have sat up? He looked down at his clothes; they were covered in blood, but there was no wound. There was no pain. In fact, physically, Mulder felt better than he had in his life.

“I do know you, Agent Mulder,” the woman said, “But we’ve never met before. I think you have some sort of file on me?” She could feel him searching his tortured mind for the information. “My name is Anastasia Romanov.”

Oh my fucking god, that was it. The Anastasia Romanov file. That’s where he’d seen the face, but Anastasia Romanov was only 17 when she was allegedly murdered, and this woman looked … more like a teenager than a woman.

“You haven’t aged,” Mulder sputtered.

Anastasia laughed. “Oh, I’ve aged, but my body hasn’t. It’s one of the perks.” She shot a strange look at the man, who pulled the curtain aside to look out the window.

“It’s nearly daylight. You need to wrap this little, um, reunion up.”

“That’s just Sebastian. Don’t mind him. Anyway, we seem to be running into situations where there’s just no time for me to explain things, don’t we, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder suddenly felt a chill go down his spine. If he was alive, and not wounded anymore, what did that mean, especially since Anastasia had hypnotized him to drink her blood. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Mulder jumped out of bed and looked in a mirror. He saw his reflection, but then he also saw Anastasia in the background, so…

“That’s a myth,” she said. “But no, I didn’t turn you. You were bleeding out from the gunshot wound, and vampire blood has healing properties. Trust me, you’re 100% human, but since you had to drink a lot of my blood, you’re also what we call a Familiar.”

Mulder’s head was spinning. He wasn’t entirely sure what Anastasia meant, but this was all too much.

“Listen, I’d love to continue this conversation,” she told him, “but unless you want Sebastian and I hiding in this room all day, we need to go right now. I can come back after dark. Can I trust you not to get yourself shot again until then?”

She gave Mulder a sly smile, and he had to appreciate her wit. He nodded, and the two vampires were gone.

What the hell was a Familiar?

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

Another victim turned up the next morning, what looked to be an older man, no identification, the body burned beyond recognition.

Mulder reexamined the files on the victims who had been identified. With a slightly clearer head -- amazing that an encounter with vampires had cleared his head -- he noticed that all of the victims had led solitary lives, with no known relatives and few if any acquaintances. All of them either worked at home or worked night jobs.

Someone was hunting vampires. Vampires, Scully!

When his mind turned to Scully, he felt himself getting lost again. Thankfully, it was near nightfall.

That night, in the back office of the Marlex Motel, Fox Mulder was given a crash course on vampires, Familiars, and the mysterious Council his new vampire acquaintances kept going on about.

Since he had drank so much of Anastasia’s blood, he was now bonded with her, not as closely as Sebastian, who was her maker, but they now had a psychic connection of sorts. Anastasia told him that while he wasn’t indestructible, he would heal from injuries and illnesses more quickly than before. He also found out that as a Familiar, he was impervious to vampire hypnotism -- but he wasn’t impervious to Anastasia’s numerous psychic powers.

“It started when I was a little girl,” she explained to him. “First, I knew how people were feeling. I could tell if they were sad or mad or gleeful. Then, I started being able to see inside their minds, not just words but images. And if I concentrated, I could do things. I could move things, just by thinking about it hard enough.”

“And that’s when Grigori Rasputin started training you,” Mulder said.

“For my own protection. He said he’d never seen such power in a child so young. It scared him, the things I could do, and I couldn’t control any of it.” He saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “He taught me as much as he could before he was killed. He knew he wouldn’t have enough time to train me properly. He had visions, prophecies of the future. I started having them, too, and he taught me how to interpret them. We both saw you, with the red-haired woman, Scully, who was taken from you. I can see her in your mind.”

Mulder felt a pain in his gut at the mention of Scully’s name. He was surprised when Anastasia reached out to pick up the small crucifix hanging around his neck. She smiled at him. “That’s a myth, too, but if this were silver, I couldn’t touch it. That part is true. You’ve seen that the sunlight part is true.” She put the crucifix back in its place. “When I was turned, I retained all of my powers. All vampires have some psychic ability; that’s how we can glamor humans, but I’m uniquely gifted.” He saw something flash across her face that indicated she didn’t see her powers as gifts; quite the opposite. “The Council needs me to find this exsanguination killer before the humans do. He’s putting us at risk of exposure, and if they capture him, the risk is worse.”

“Believe me, Anastasia, nobody would believe him,” Mulder assured her. “Shit, nobody believes anything I say.”

“They won’t take the chance, and despite my misgivings with the Council, I don’t think they’re wrong on this one. Most humans don’t know about the healing properties of vampire blood. I think this killer knows, and that’s why he’s killing us. He drains all of his victims. I’ve seen some of the people in your mind, your own Council. What do you think they might do if they knew vampire blood could save people from gunshot wounds?” The desk bell rang, and Anastasia went to answer it.

Other than her looking too young to be a motel manager, she blended in well, Mulder thought. There was nothing unusual about her, nothing that would make people question her. That Sebastian guy, who apparently worked at the Blue Moon, looked rather ordinary, too.

“How is this killer finding his victims?” Mulder asked Anastasia when she returned. “If all of your kind live covertly, how is he identifying you?”

“We think he might be finding them at some of the vampire bars in the Valley,” Sebastian said as he entered the room. “At least three of the victims were customers at the Blue Moon.”

Mulder thought back to his unsuccessful interviews at the club; that’s why they’d gone nowhere. This community was very good at keeping its secrets. An idea occurred to him. “Did you ever think that the killer might be a Familiar?”

He could tell that the vampires had not. “Well, there aren’t that many of them,” Sebastian explained. “The Council frowns on us making Familiars these days. It’s too risky. They want us to stay away from humans, not get personally involved with them.”

Anastasia looked as though a lightbulb had gone on above her head. “But it happens, Sebastian. You know it does. This would all make sense!” She started pacing back and forth, reminding Mulder a bit of himself when he latched onto a theory. “An angry Familiar, someone who didn’t want to be made one, or someone who fell out with the vampire who made them. But why not just kill us? Why steal our blood?”

Mulder thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s not for the killer. Maybe he’s selling it, or he’s giving it to someone else. You said I had to drink a lot of your blood to heal, Anastasia. That means the amount needed corresponds to the severity of the injury.”

She nodded. “Or the illness. If the illness is really bad, like cancer that’s spread everywhere, the effect is temporary at best. I don’t know why. Even we don’t understand how our blood heals.” She stopped pacing. “My god. I think I might know how to find the killer.”

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

The trio returned to the Blue Moon, and Anastasia made a beeline for a table occupied by a young dark-haired woman smoking a cigarette, someone who hadn’t been there the previous night. The woman apprised Mulder as he approached with Sebastian. “My, my, Nastya, you do attract handsome men. I haven’t seen this one before.”

“Cut the bullshit, Kristen,” Anastasia said as she pulled up a chair. “Whatever happened to Richard? I think he may be the one doing this.”

Kristen laughed as she stamped out her cigarette. “Richie? You must be kidding. He’s a sweet old man.”

“He wasn’t sweet when he was young, and you turned him into your Familiar,” Anastasia reminded her. “He wasn’t sweet when you broke things off with him.”

“Yes I did -- 30 years ago. I assure you, he moved on. Got married, had kids, and everything,” Kristen told her. “He came to see me a few months ago. He wanted me to turn him and his wife, full-on turn, so that they could live together forever. I didn’t want to take on that kind of responsibility. Some of us would rather steer clear of the Council’s watchful eyes.”

“A few months ago?” Mulder interrupted. “How many months is a few?”

Kristen raised an eyebrow, then gestured to Anastasia. “Well, you certainly have a live one here. Where’d you find this one, and what do you intend to do with him?” She gave Mulder a seductive smile, which he returned with a stony stare. She sighed. “Well, you’re certainly no fun. If you must know, two and a half months ago, but I don’t see what this has to do with anything. I told him no, he got mad, but then he left. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Mulder and the other vampires looked at each other. The murders had started two months prior. “Do you know where we could find him?” Mulder asked.

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

“What I don’t understand is how he’s getting the drop on you,” Mulder said as he drove the trio to Richie’s home in nearby Van Nuys.

“Vampire hunters have existed throughout history,” Anastasia explained. “You know that, and you know we’re not indestructible.”

“Because the bodies decompose so fast after death, he must be incapacitating his victims, then draining them while they’re still alive,” Mulder mused.

“Silver,” Anastasia offered. “It weakens us.”

They finally pulled up to Richie’s house, a small home on a quiet street. “Can you tell if he’s in there, Anastasia?” Mulder asked.

She looked at the house and concentrated. “No, I’m only feeling one person, a woman. She’s in a lot of pain, very ill -- dying. It’s cancer. It’s everywhere.”

Great, he’s probably out hunting, Mulder thought, but they couldn’t do anything about it now. The best chance of catching this guy was to wait for him to come back. They waited in an uncomfortable silence. Sebastian had been dead-set against Mulder coming. Their instructions had been to find and dispatch this killer before the humans could get hold of him, but he suspected that Mulder wouldn’t go for that. Anastasia had insisted he come because of her visions. Sebastian had told the petite vampire what he thought of her visions, which had been entirely the wrong thing to say. Mulder couldn’t help but smile through the pain at the sight of her dressing this much taller man down the way Scully often did to him.

“You’re thinking of her,” Anastasia said, interrupting his train of thought.

He fingered the crucifix around his neck. “Always.”

“Please don’t give up on finding her, Mulder.” Anastasia stopped short of saying he’d find her again. The truth was, she didn’t know. She could control her mind-reading and object-moving powers very well, but the visions either came to her or they didn’t.

Soon after, a car pulled into the driveway, and an older man got out, carrying a satchel. It was him, Richard Keenan. He entered the house. “Stay here,” Mulder told the vampires. “He might be able to hurt you.”

Sebastian fumed as Mulder headed for the house. When the agent was out of sight, the vampire made to exit the car. “We can’t let him go in there alone, Nastya. You know that. This is our kind’s problem. We need to take care of this.”

Anastasia nodded and reluctantly got out of the car. Her lover and maker was right. Richard Keenan couldn’t be taken by the human authorities alive.

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

Mulder crept to a window with a light on and peered inside. It was a bedroom, in which an older woman slept on a hospital bed. Richard came in holding a large glass of red liquid and woke the woman. “Here you go, darling. More of that Chinese elixir that works so well.”

The old woman shook her head, and Richard looked crestfallen. “No, Richie. It’s not working anymore.”

“NO! It will work, Marion!” Richard sounded desperate, and Mulder saw a bit of himself in the older man. “It always has!”

Marion gave him a sorrowful but firm look. “No, Richard. It worked for a while, but not anymore. I can’t eat anymore. I don’t even want to drink water anymore. It’s time for me to go.”

“Maybe you just need to drink more. I can get you more! It’s not that expensive.”

“Yeah, what’s a few vampire lives in the grand scheme of things?”

Shit, Mulder thought as he watched Sebastian enter the room. I knew they wouldn’t stay put. He ran around to the front of the house, and as he suspected, the vampires had simply twisted the doorknob off. Superhuman strength wasn’t a myth.

By the time he got back to the bedroom, Richard was warding off Sebastian and Anastasia with a large silver necklace, the two vampires were arguing again, and Marion was in tears. Mulder approached Richard with his weapon drawn. “Richard Keenan, you’re under arrest. It’s over. Give yourself up.”

Richard waved the jewelry at him, but Mulder kept advancing. “So you’re not one of them?”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” It was Marion. She sounded very weak. Anastasia studied her for a moment, then looked gravely at Richard.

“She’s dying, Richard -- and I mean, right now. No amount will make her better now.”

Ignoring Mulder’s gun, but still clutching his silver, Richard rushed to his wife’s side. “It’s going to be okay, darling. I’ll get you more medicine. I’ll get you better medicine.”

“Please, Richie,” Marion’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Could you hold me, just for a minute?”

Richard climbed halfway into bed with his wife and hugged her. She put her head on his chest. “Always love you,” she whispered. And then she was gone.

Richard clutched his wife’s dead body and screamed. Sebastian tried to make a move toward him, but Anastasia held him back. She could see into this man’s mind. She knew what was going to happen next.

That’s why she wasn’t surprised when, so quickly that Mulder didn’t have time to react, he pulled a handgun out of the nightstand, placed it under his chin, and pulled the trigger.

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

Marlex Motel, the following evening

After Richard Keenan blew his brains out, Mulder sent his two vampire companions away and dealt with the aftermath. The official story he told the police was that Keenan had believed that having his dying wife drink blood would cure her cancer. Mulder had tracked him to his home and forcibly entered when he heard the shot.

He booked an overnight flight back to D.C. so that he could see the night manager again. She was alone. “Where’s Sebastian?” Mulder asked.

“At work. He’ll be around later. She looked at his luggage. “Checking out?”

Mulder nodded and handed her the key. She clutched his hand and gave him a very serious look.

“You cannot give up on finding her, Mulder. She still lives. That I can promise you.”

He felt drawn into Anastasia’s eyes, not the way he was drawn into Scully’s, but still drawn. She was a beautiful woman, but the feeling he got was more like what he would have for a sibling, perhaps if he’d had a twin. It was difficult for him to wrap his head around, but at least it was a feeling. He was finally feeling something again. “Thanks for everything. I think I needed this case.” He turned to go. The devastation was still there, but he’d gotten the boost he needed to carry on just a little while longer.

“I’ll see you again, Fox Mulder,” Anastasia promised him as he exited the motel.

She didn’t tell him about the vision she’d had after she’d left the Keenan house, the one where she’d seen Mulder, Scully, and an infant in a future that wasn’t so distant.

She didn’t tell him that the infant could move things with his mind.

Author’s note: Yes, I know that it's widely accepted that Anastasia Romanov's remains were found and identified through DNA, but that hadn't yet happened when I first conceived of Vampire Anastasia -- and in my little AU, she survived.

#xfiles #the x files #fanfic #txf fanfic #TXF #msr #msr fanfic #mulder #mulder and scully #fox mulder #agent mulder #fanfiction #fixitfic #fix it au

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moeruhoshi · 5 years

Text

Peter Pan-ish AU

There were nights when Lucy couldn’t sleep, nights when her father would yell in his drunken state, smashing bottles and flipping tables, maids running from his anger and knights guarding their maiden’s bedroom. And then there were the nights when he would burst into her room, no one around to save her lest they get reprimanded for speaking against the master of the house. Left bruised and beaten when he went, ladies in waiting would rush in with medical supplies and tear-stained cheeks, trying their best to soothe the girl who learned to block these moments out long ago. She’d cry for her mother under layered blankets, hold the little white stuffed dog she was last gifted, and beg for the return of her happy family and a kind father.

On the nights she was put to bed by her caring servants, a bandage on one cheek, gauze taped to a cut on her stomach, salve on her bruised arms, Lucy would have the most amazing dreams. Dreams that brought her to a new world showed her the escape she had been looking for. A hand attached to a body she could never see led her through the woods, showed her a secret home in a tree filled with boys and girls who begged to be read a bedtime story. It led her to a lagoon full of mermaids, naughty creatures who loved to play pranks; so she wasn’t allowed to get too close. They were eager to pull in whoever dared to dance against the edge of their waters.

A small and glittery fairy followed them and warned the two if trouble was ever nearby when they were high in the sky, cannonballs flying up and puncturing the clouds. There were pirates who she was told never to trust, to run as fast as she could if they ever found her. But it was always easy to escape, pirates couldn’t fly.

She was young and small in her dreams, little pudgy hands the light led her by, little legs tripping over one another as they ran and took off into the sky. It was strange, how as she continued to grow, she would still imagine this world, with herself as a child, but it sort of made sense. She was happiest when she was young, there was clearly some part of her clinging to her kind past.

She would wake up with a warm heart and the pain of the previous night seemed so distant after her adventures in the mythical land. There was the lingering voice of the light that buzzed in her mind, fading as her eyes blinked open and before she slipped and drifted away from the island.

“C’mon, Lucy! Everyone’s waiting!” A deep voice would ring, and the memory of a broad grin flashed, and a flush of warmth would pass through her until the image was gone. Back were her high ceilings and long bed posts, back were the maids helping her out of bed. Back were her endless lessons and tight dresses, back were the gruelingly quiet meals she ate a mile away from her father as they sat at such a vast and scarce table. He paid her no mind as he sat on the other end of the banquet hall, dining as his assistants made themselves useful and filled him in on the agenda to be conducted.

“Princess,” Several of the knights entered the library as she was reading one afternoon, Lucy shocked by the sudden mass of guards.

“W-What’s wrong? Is there an emergency?” Lucy shivered as she stood up quickly, relief sinking in as one stepped forward and shook his head.

“Your father has instructed us to escort you from the palace,” The knight's voice was uncomfortable as he continued. “There is a carriage waiting in the courtyard, milady. He would like you to stay in the country manor for a little while.”

“Is that so…” She feigned a smile as they nodded and motioned for her to follow them. “Will father be joining me?”

“His Highness has business to take care of in Acalypha and other nearby kingdoms, he’ll be too busy to visit the princess.” Lucy tried to hide the smile that dared to spread across her lips, the knights feeling the relief the princess immediately radiated.

Her ladies-in-waiting and the staff waived the princess as she left for the home away from home, their backs stiff and smiles tight as the king stood and watched as his daughter disappeared along the horizon.

“Lucy-sama…” Spetto sighed as she glanced to the rising moon with hands clasped in prayer. “Please be well,”

The staff of the country manor hadn’t seen Lucy since she was a child, as she had not visited the home since her mother was alive. It was a refreshing feeling, to be able to sleep without the worry of her father bursting in the middle of the night to harm her. Her old room held a comfortable warmth that seemed to thwart any nightmares that dared to try and creep their way into her mind.

Tutors hadn’t traveled with the princess either, leaving her time to enjoy herself in the library or the garden or wherever she pleased. It felt like a dream come true, to be able to breathe without the glare of her father waiting to strike from around the corner. Lucy began to regain simple happiness in her heart and hoped her time in the countryside would last more than the month she expected to be there.

Sitting in the library one night, Lucy sat next to a window slightly cracked open and read from one of her favorite books, minding the time by herself as she curled in the loveseat, her ears catching the chatter of the guards below.

“Who do you think the king will choose to wed the princess, hm? I heard from the gossipers in town that he was speaking to Bora of Prominence.”

“Eh? That kingdom isn’t the best...and he’s so old, I’d hope the king would choose a young ruler for her highness. I hear he met with Dan of Zentopia as well, but I don’t feel right letting just any ol’ loser betrothing our kind princess. I’m sure Lady Layla would have wanted Lucy to fall in love on her own. Arraigned marriages are quite sad,”

“I’ll do without dinner tonight,” Lucy sent away the fifth maid that tried to talk her into eating, the princess holed away in her room as she weakly dressed for bed, eyes tearing up as they crossed to her white dog plushie.

“Is this all I’ll ever be, Plue? Someone else’s woman?” She sniffled and crawled tiredly to his side, crying herself to sleep another night. She begged for another sweet dream in the faraway land with the sweet spirit that led her around and kept her safe wherever they went.

“Natsu! She came back! Lushii came back!” A sharp voice whispered in the air above the sleeping royal, stirring her slightly from her teary slumber.

“Are you sure? She’s almost as big as me now,” Another voice grumbled, a finger poking at her cheek and pulling at her hair.

“But now that she’s grown up, I bet she has more stories to tell us! Let’s bring her to Fairy Tail!” The squeaky voice spoke again, a familiar twinkle chiming in her ear.

“Oi, Luigi! Wake up!” The princess yelped as she was shaken roughly by a hand on her hip. She cautiously rose and turned to face her assailant, gasping as she laid eyes upon a boy levitating her carpet, a small glittery speck by his side.

“W-Who…” Her voice was stolen as his hands suddenly filled themselves with her cheeks, eyes glaring as they stared at her tear-stained tracks.

“You’ve been cryin’ again…” He frowned, his arms slowly wrapping around her waist and pulling her tightly against his chest. “It’s okay, Luce. I’m here now.”

“Yeah, Lushii! We’ll take you home with us! Everyone’s waiting!” The princess’ eyes widened as the little fairy flew into her field of vision, a tiny kitten showing himself through the curtain of sparkles, his words inciting a fond memory hidden deep in the tresses of her mind.

“You...Natsu…Happy...?” Lucy murmured as he released her from his hug, her tears streaming all over again as she absorbed the sight of his face-splitting grin.

“It’s been a while! We’ve been lookin’ all over for ya! Happy n’ I were worried we’d never get to hear your stories again,” He laughed as he rose into the air again, extending a hand for her to take. “You remember how to get there, yeah? Second star to the right, and straight on till morning!”

“You’ll...you’ll take me with you?” Lucy felt the warmth she craved fill her heart as Natsu nodded rapidly, Happy flying circles around her and letting his dust fall atop her head.

“Of course! But don’t worry, we’ll have you back by morning. Your mom will worry if you’re not, right?” Lucy felt herself lift off the bed, happy thoughts of her memories with this flying boy flowing through her mind as a mental dam was broken and reminded her of the pure happiness he flurried into her.

“It’s okay, I want to stay with you,” She smiled as he pulled her out onto the balcony, their take-off quick as to make sure no one would see them. There was no doubt in her mind to leave the manor or this world where no one could help her find the love and comfort she longed for. She was sure her maids and knights would find relief in her disappearance, at least she’d be out of her father’s grasp. “Forever.”

“You got it! We’ll always be together! I told you before, don’t you remember? Now, let's go! Everyone's been waiting for you to come home!”

#nalu #fairy tail #fairy tail nalu #nalu fanfiction #natsu and lucy #lucy and natsu #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia

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