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flowerbetweenfangs · 6 months

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Marked By the Moon: Part One

CW: Dubcon due to heat/breeding. Originally posted on A03.

An oldie, but one of my favorites.

Buzzing shook the nightstand. Bluelight pierced through the blackness, making it impossible to ignore.

Reaching forward, Carmen groped across the polished wood, then seized her phone. Sitting up on her bed, she pressed the glowing screen to her ear. Sleep clogged her throat and eyes as she grunted out a greeting.

It was just after four in the morning. She knew better than to say “Someone better be dying”, because a call this early meant somebody probably was.

“‘Lo?” She gurgled, blearily staring in the darkness. Sweat clung to her face and clothes in the summer heat. Her window was open, the breeze doing little to cool her off.

“Carmen!” The voice on the other end was frantic. “You’re not going to believe this!” Several dogs barked and howled in the background. “I’m sorry for waking you up, but we’ve got an emergency surgery.” There were several grunts as her coworker pulled something. “I think some poachers got to him. It looks like he was torn open by a bear trap.”

The words floated in the air, before bringing horrific images to mind. Carmen’s phone beeped, indicating there were messages sent, images attached to them.

“I’ll be there soon,” Carmen was out of bed and throwing on her clothes. “Start prepping.” She pulled her dirty blonde hair back without brushing it, making sure it was secured in a knot at the back of her head. Squeezing into her jeans and a presentable shirt, she quickly grabbed her phone and quickly looked at the incoming messages.

What followed were images of a male ginger wolf, with a large wound on his leg and shoulder. His fur was damp, having been cleaned up. There was a muzzle around his snout, but his eyes were open and alert. He looked directly at the camera with what could only be described as a lupine scowl.

No matter how many injured animals she saw. Carmen always sniffed and felt a pang of pity for them. From little Spot and Mittens getting into a spat to the various wildlife people brought in, every creature needed a caring touch.

“He really tried to fight me when I put on the muzzle.” Anna’s words read. “ But a good jab of sedatives has him going night night. He’ll be completely under when you get here.”

“Sorry buddy,” Carmen said aloud to no one. “But your jaw could tear off our arms.” Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she started to psych herself up for the upcoming meeting with this new patient. There were several wolves in the area, but they tended to stay in the mountains and parks, away from the city. A local wildlife reserve rehabilitated them and worked closely with the clinic, taking on all sorts of feral creatures that didn’t belong in the city.

The poor thing was probably all sorts of confused.

Going to the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and sputtered, slapping her cheeks to wake herself up. Quickly, she brushed her teeth and let the rush of mint further energize her. This was going to be one for the books.

Seizing a canned coffee from the fridge, Carmen grabbed her keys and stumbled out the door. Guzzling it down, she drove through the dark streets, slowing strategically at speed traps. The one good thing about her random late night trips, the normal people of the world were still asleep. Although it was nearing a full moon, so the crazies of the world would be out.

Something dug into her hip. At first, she tried to ignore it, but it dug into the sensitive skin at every movement. It felt sharp. Adjusting how she sat, Carmen tried to keep her eyes on the road. She was waking up, but the risk wouldn’t be worth it.

Once she pulled up to a stoplight, she looked down to see a flash of silver wrapped in a leather string.

Reaching down, she fished it out and saw the trinket she’d bought a month ago, a piece of rose quartz with wire wrapped around it, a small crescent moon, tree, and wolf charm tied to the gemstone. It had been a weird impulse buy. She couldn’t help but think of how thematically appropriate it was.

Ducking her head, Carmen slipped the leather over her head and tucked it under her shirt. The light turned green, and she floored it once she got on the highway. The night whipped by. Rolling down the windows, Carmen let out a scream to further wake herself up. It was going to be a long day.

It was barely four thirty when she pulled into the animal hospital.

Anna let her in before she reached for her badge. She looked frazzled, her eyes wide and bloodshot. There were small scratches covering her arms, but it was a side effect of the job they were more than used to. Passing off the coffee, Carmen took the clipboard and quickly skimmed the contents. They didn’t have a lot of time.

“He’s completely out,” Anna said as they rushed to the surgery room. “I think he’s a juvenile. But it’s hard to tell.”

“Then let’s make good use of the time,” Carmen stopped to wash her hands. Once she was certain they were sufficiently clean, she went through the door.

On the metal table was the body of the wolf. His hind legs were being propped up by a stool. His paws and ears twitched in his sleep. Instead of chasing rabbits, he was probably thinking of chasing sheep. Or perhaps deer. Hell, he probably could take down a bear if he wanted to.

“I knew wolves were massive, but this guy is just…” Carmen fanned herself with the clipboard, trying to wrap her head around the sight.

“Huge?” Anna asked, arching a brow. “Even when I worked at the park as a teen, I don’t think the wolves there got this big.” She took a long drink from the coffee. “He’s bulky too. Nothing but muscle in there.”

“Yeah.” Carmen rubbed her eyes. The sight of the patient had completely sobered her up and released sleep’s hold on her. “Alright. Let’s patch this guy up.” Approaching the table, she placed a hand on the wolf’s haunch.

There was almost an audible snap as his jaw clenched, lips curling back to show his fangs. His whole body went rigid under her touch. Slowly, his upward eye opened and tracked, staring at her.

Carmen’s stomach dropped and she sucked in a breath. His paw twitched, brushing against her thigh. His claws could easily tear open her clothing and skin if he so chose. Silvery drool dribbled from his mouth, hitting the floor with a wet smack.

Blinking rapidly, Carmed put a hand to her chest and kept her breathing under control. The gemstone firm in her grip, she willed the wolf to go back under. Something tugged at her, and she smelled something… Musty.

The wolf’s eye rolled back and slowly closed again, his body relaxing. The drooling stopped. When Carmed rubbed her eyes, the puddle of drool was gone.

She was more tired than she thought. But she needed to give this patient the best care.

At least the sedatives were doing their work. Anna hadn’t seemed to notice the incident, having rushed to the front desk when the bell chimed, indicating they had another patient. No doubt this one would be making the rounds on social media, if not the local news.

She washed off the wounds again, then made quick work of them. His skin and fur were so thick that her tools were warped and bent when she started. Putting away the tools, she went and found the newest set she’d managed to scrounge up the money for.

Sutures were simple. Once she’d pieced most of him together, she bandaged him up. It was almost comical to see an entire roll wrapped around his leg, tufts of fur peeking out between the cloth. His paw twitched when she touched it.

Now she had to convince a wild animal to ignore his base instincts. With man’s best weapon. Painkillers and more sedatives.

His eyes moved under the lid, his nostrils flaring and lips twitching.

They didn’t have an Elizabethan collar big enough to put around his head. Carmen doubted it would stay on even if there was one. He would probably find some way to tear it off.

Hurt, thrown into the hospital parking lot, muzzled, sedated, then probably going to wake up drugged out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” She said, patting the side of his head. “I’m sure the assholes who did this to you are going to get what’s coming to them.” His heartbeat thrummed under her fingers. Hands sinking into his fur, Carmen found it somewhat comforting. Warm. She found herself leaning down to rest her head on his side. Stopping herself, she pulled back.

How tired was she? Maybe she should have drank the coffee instead of passing it off to Anna.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes.

Then, there was a growl.

Eyes opening, she saw the wolf staring at her again.

No, not staring. The light was gone from his eyes. His paws twitched, like he was running in place, but in his sleep. She debated on tying his paws, but knew the poor thing would only wake up more confused and scared. The sedatives would work on him for another couple hours. Moving the patient to another large kennel, she locked him inside.

Exiting the room, Carmen went to the back room and sat down, curling up in a chair and closing her eyes.

It felt like she’d only blinked when she opened them again. Her whole body was stiff and sore. Tilting her head back and forth, she heard her joints popping and cracking. Taking in a deep breath, she got up and went to check on the patient.

He had been moved to the kennels, a private section to keep him away from the domestic pets. His head laid on a pillow, his whole body limp. The exhaustion came through the glass, his expression pitiful.

“I called the Wildlife Reserve.” Anna said, coming in with a steaming mug. “They’ll be here to pick him up in half an hour. They had some… Colorful words for me when I told them we had already gone ahead and done surgery on him.”

Carmen crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I still want to know who the hell did this to him? Who sees an animal and thinks “You know what, I should hurt him?””

“I dunno. Crazy.” A buzzing rang through the room. Sighing, Anna turned on her heel and went to greet the customer who had just walked in.

Walking up the glass, Carmen put her hand on it. The wolf tilted his head to look up at her, eyes looking sorrowful. His sides heaved, the barrier muffling the whines.

Then, his head snapped to the area behind her. Looking back, Carmen saw uniformed men with a large cage. They towered over Carmen, their bodies thick with muscle. Their uniforms had the logo of the local wildlife reserve.

“Oh. I thought you wouldn’t be here for a while.” Carmen straightened.

“When we heard about the wolf, we had to make quick time.” One said, offering his hand. “Especially knowing he was injured.” The gloves were thick, ready to take on any bite. He was maybe mid thirties, with salt and pepper hair and dark eyes.

Carmen took the hand, shaking it. She wasn’t even sure if his fingers could move within the fabric.

“Well, he seems to be responding well to the medication. Here’s what we dosed him with.” She found the chart and passed it over to the agent as the other moved to the wolf’s room. He was younger, maybe in his early twenties with dark hair pulled back into a tail.

“Good. Thanks for taking care of him. We’ll try to see if he belongs to a pack not too far from here. If he doesn’t, then we’ll make sure to release him somewhere safe.” The man handed her a card. “If you want to visit him.”

“Of course,” Carmen heard the sounds of a struggle. Whirling around, she saw the wolf snarling and growling, lunging at the Agent despite the muzzle. They had him in a hold with a catch pole. He went to try and paw it off, before collapsing with a yelp when he put weight on his injured legs.

“Stand back, ma’am. I have to go help him.” The agent rushed into the room as the wolf continued to pull and twist, trying to get himself free.

When he opened the door, the wolf suddenly shot forward, knocking him aside and heading straight for Carmen.

“Shit!” Carmen didn’t have time to move as the wolf barreled into her. When she hit the ground, the Agents managed to get hold of him again.

Then, he lifted up a massive paw and raked it across her arm. Two long crimson lines formed across the skin. Blood welled up, dripping onto the floor.

“Carmen!” Anna shrieked, rushing over. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“It’s fine.” Carmen insisted, getting to her feet. Drops of crimson fell on the floor. The skin was already red and puffy. “Jesus.” She struggled to draw in breath, her heart leaping into her throat.

The wolf continued to pull and tug at the Agents, but the second wind seemed to have gone out of him. Once they got him into the cage, the fight completely went out of him. With a metallic WHUMP, he collapsed, staring at Carmen through the bars.

“You need to go to the hospital.” Anna insisted. “That looks bad.”

“ER visit is not in the cards.” Carmen argued. “Can’t afford that.” She winced and cradled her arm. “How far away is the closest urgent care?”

Walking to the desk, she pulled out a first aid kit, popping it open with one hand. At least they had plenty to handle small incidents. No way was she going to walk through the front lobby while bleeding like a stuck pig. Pulling out disinfectant, she went to the bathroom and applied it.

The burning sensation nearly made her black out from the pain. Her head hit the wall, and she barely registered what Anna was saying. The other Agents were apologizing, or at least Carmen hoped so.

“- about ten minutes?” Anna frowned. “I’ll fill out the incident report.” She looked Carmen up and down. “You don’t look so good, you should take the rest of the day off to rest. I’ll call someone from the other clinic and see if they can cover the surgeries. Thank God those guys knew the nearest Clinic offhand.”

“Probably go there all the time themselves." Carmen shrugged. Anna reached over and helped hold her arm still.

"Thanks, Doll.” Carmed winced again, seizing a roll of bandages and binding her arm the best she could. The Agents were gone, with the cage loaded in a trailer. “I’m not even mad. Poor boy was probably scared out of his mind.”

***

The Urgent Care had just opened when she pulled up. Once admitted, she sat in the room, still cradling her arm. She didn’t dare unwrap the wound to get a better look at it.

When the door opened, Carmen jerked her head up to look.

The man who came through was older, maybe mid to late 40s. His hair was completely white, small bits of stubble on his face. Tired brown eyes looked her over, dark circles under them. A fatigue they both seemed to recognize and share a sympathetic half smile over.

“Alright, tell me what happened.” His voice rumbled, still raspy from sleep. He held up a clipboard, clicking a pen to take notes. Old fashioned, then. She caught the name on his nametag, Esau Remington .

“So, I’m a vet,” Carmen began, unwrapping her arm as she recounted what she thought was needed. He paid attention, unblinking and nodding.

By the end, his brow was furrowed, the pen’s clicker tapping against his lips.

“Are you sure it was a wolf and not a really big dog like a shepherd or a husky?”

Fishing her phone out, Carmen showed him the pictures that Anna had sent her. His frown deepened, his brows rising to meet his hairline, the pen twirling back and forth between his fingers. The corner of his lip twitched, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” His cheeks flushed and he gave a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry about the language. It’s not every day you see a wolf.” Clenching his jaw, he looked at the wound on her arm. “Just the scratch? He didn’t bite you anywhere?”

Carmen shook her head. “No. They had a muzzle on him.” She winced as he rolled her arm between his fingers to look the gash over, making sure there was nothing inside it. The skin was more swollen, the congealing scabs weeping with clear fluid. “I’m up to date on my rabies shots and the like, unless you think I should take a booster?”

Shaking his head, Dr. Remington sighed. “No, I think you do need sutures though. He did a number on you.”

The pen scribbled as he took down a few notes. “I’m going to write you a prescription for some antibiotics and steroids. Take them all , even if you feel better.” The tone did not offer an argument. “And I’m going to recommend you take the next few days off. If you have a wily patient, you’re going to rip the sutures back open.”

Carmen let a groan slip past her lips. The Doctor seemed taken aback, pen pausing mid scribble. Brow cocked, he looked her over.

“I’ve got a lot of patients I need to look after.” She complained. “The wolf was a wild card, normally I just handle check ups.”

“I’m sure your patients would appreciate you in a healthy state.” Remington argued back gently. “Take some time off, don’t strain yourself.”

He looked over his shoulder, then back to her. “I know when I have some days cleared in my schedule, I like to go camping with some of my friends. We go hiking, swimming, and get to see nature.” Looking pointedly at her wound, he shrugged. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re a little sick of nature right now.”

With a sigh, he began to prep her arm. Another round of disinfectant, making her hiss with pain.

“I don’t mind nature.” Carmen shrugged, wincing as he began to apply the first suture. “Just don’t know if it’s a good idea to make a spontaneous trip into the woods with a messed up arm.” She tried to force a smile, but hissed when he pinched her wound closed.

Dr. Remington tilted his head to the side with a grunt of agreement. “True. But it was just a suggestion.” His Adam’s Apple bobbed and he swallowed hard, his lips moist. “Not to mention the meds you’re on… Probably will make you too woozy to do anything strenuous.” He chuckled. “I got a little ahead of myself, sorry.”

Carmen shrugged. “I get it. A little early, trying to wake yourself up.”

"I find it hard to sleep some nights. Especially around this time of the month. Always finding people doing stupid things. Must be the full moon."

Once he’d finished stitching her up, he presented her with a prescription and doctor’s note. After calling the clinic back, Carmen assured Anna that she would be back as soon as possible.

At home, she popped the first round of pills and collapsed onto her bed.

When Carmen woke up next, sweat soaked her sheets. Panting, she pulled herself from her blanket cocoon. The cool air of the night was like ice. Shivering, she popped another round of meds, then got into the shower, letting the water pour over her.

The sweat and grime from sleep rolling down into the tub made her feel a little more like a human. Her phone was blowing up with texts from Anna and other coworkers. Pushing her phone aside, Carmen collapsed onto her bed again, shivering and trying to cover herself up enough to combat the shivers, but not feel overheated.

Shaking, she tried to claim sleep, but it refused to come. Getting up, she began to pace back and forth across the floor, feet slapping loudly across the hardwood. The walls around her seemed to close tighter.

Opening her window, she popped out the screen and leaned out. A spell of dizziness hit her. Head swimming, she nearly fell forward. Holding tightly to the sill, she yanked herself back in, rear slamming hard against the floor. Leaning against her bed, she took a few shaky breaths.

Closing her eyes, she drug the sweat soaked blanket down from her bed and wrapped it around herself, falling into a fitful sleep.

When the first rays of sun pierced the open window, chilly winds of dawn rolled over Carmen and made her hair stand on end. The necklace pressed into her hip, leaving red indents over her skin. Fishing it out, she simply tossed it aside, watching it skitter across the floor and come to a rest against her dresser.

Crawling to the window, she pulled it closed and then collapsed under it. Curling into the fetal position, Carmen fell into another fitful sleep.

She found herself standing next to a woman made of stone. A crescent moon covered her eyes like a mask, her mouth open in a howl. A silver wolf draped itself across her lap, head thrown back to mimic hers. Cracks and chipped off pieces had worn it down, but it still held a beauty to it.

The grass around it was green and lush. Thick trees grew around the statue, the song of the forest crying out. Animals, insects, bubbling streams, wind, all of it calling out to something in her. Taking a few steps forward, she looked at the wolf. Its stone eye seemed to move, looking right at her. Even though she was clothed, it made her feel naked and nervous. Stomach flipping, she took a few steps back.

“Come to me, my child.” A woman’s voice whispered in the wind.

The golden sun had become the silvery moon when Carmen opened her eyes again. Her whole body ached. A throbbing in her head and arm helped drag her away from the land of sleep. She saw the necklace tightly clutched in her grip, leaving an impression of the moon in her palm.

Every muscle protested when Carmen drug herself off the floor and took the meds. They went down hard, nearly making her throw it back up.

Filling up a tall drink of water, she guzzled it down to fill her stomach. Hunger gnawed at her, staving off sleep. Breathing hard, she took another shower and let the hot water soothe her muscles.

The strange fever and fatigue had worn off, replaced with an energy that she hadn’t felt in years. Blood sang in her veins, wanting to run. Even in the shower, she found herself shifting from one foot to the other, eager to start… Something.

Stepping out of the shower, she found herself dressing quickly. Hair still damp, she pulled it back and mapped out a potential run she could do. She just had to go outside. Get away from the walls of plaster and sheetrock.

A smell made her pause. It was buried under her smell. But she could still pick it up. Pulling out her pants from the other day, she pulled out the business card and sniffed it. A small drop of blood was on the corner. Hers? No. The scent drove her wild. She held it close and inhaled deeply, before pulling it back.

“What the hell am I doing?” Setting it back down, Carmen rubbed her face, sweat pouring down her brow. She stared at the address, the image of the wolf coming to her mind.

He stared at her, looking pitiful. Then, his claws flashed and raked across her arm. When she fell to the ground, she saw the statue.

“ Come to me, my child .” The woman’s voice whispered in the wind again. “ Join the hunt. ”

Walking outside, Carmen let the night air roll over her and went to the car, heart thrumming. Pulling out her phone, she punched the address of the wildlife reserve and then prepared to travel.

Her drive was a blur. Tunnel vision made her unaware of how fast she arrived, or even if she was driving safely. Static crackled in her ears, making her hair stand on end.

The mechanical voice telling her she’d arrived at her destination was what brought her back. She stared at the spot illuminated by her headlights. A line of trees, then a chain link fence. More foliage behind that, but it was too thick to see past.

Getting out of the car, Carmen slammed the door and began to take a few steps toward the fence. The wind shifted, blowing a scent toward her. Wrapping her fingers around the links, Carmen inhaled.

Closing her eyes, she let the smell wash over her. It caressed her very being, tugging at something within her. Dropping to her knees in front of the fence, she clenched the links tight enough for her knuckles to turn white and her injured arm to throb. Metal warped under her grip, the coppery scent of blood following.

Bringing her hands down, Carmen saw crimson pooling in her palm. A laugh escaped her and she sat with her back to the fence. Lapping at the wound, shook her head.

“What on earth am I doing?” She started to stand. Her body protested at the movement. The soreness was back with a vengeance. Closing her eyes, she pressed her bandaged hand to her face, pulling it away to see it soaked with sweat and grime.

Staggering to her feet, she ignored the tantalizing scent as she headed back to her car. When Carmen put her hand on the roof, the smell hit her like a load of bricks. Opening her eyes wide, she turned back around to look at the line of trees. The area around her was tinted with a silvery-blue hue, but it was almost as bright as day.

This had to be a dream. None of this made sense. Leaning down, she touched her forehead to the warm metal of the car.

“Just wake up.” She urged herself. “You’re having a bad reaction to the medicine.”

Slowly, she raised her head.

Time seemed to slow down. Turning back toward the fence, she felt her feet moving on their own, dragging across the asphalt.

Something glistened on the links in the silvery light. Reaching out, she brushed her knuckle to it. Once she touched the metal, it sent a jolt through her.

Then, she saw the small gap in the links. Someone had cut through it with bolt cutters. But they’d put it back to where it was almost invisible to anyone far enough away. No wonder she had been able to bend the metal so easily.

Clenching the fence, she pulled it back and crawled through, metal raking across her back. Wincing, she dropped to her stomach and drug herself through, feeling more tugs at her clothing.

Once she stood up, her arm was throbbing, the pain making her head spin. Staggering, she sniffed the air. The scent was stronger than before. Her whole body ached, but she had to follow it. Cradling her arm, she began a slow walk.

Cicadas cried, a creek flowed, and the wind continued to blow, stirring a few stray wisps of her hair out of its knot at the back of her head.

Then, she came to a break in the trees, showing a sheer drop. In the meadow, a group of wolves ran around, wrestling and snapping at one another. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw one stop, then stand up on its hind legs and sniff the air. It turned a massive head around to look right at her.

“I knew you’d come.” A voice called behind her. It was gruff, like it wasn’t used to speaking. As it rumbled through her ears, Carmen’s hair stood on end.

Slowly, Carmen turned to see a bipedal wolf looking at her, its hindleg bandaged and stiff. Its shoulder was also wrapped up.

The wolf took a few shaking steps toward her. Then, it dropped down onto all fours. Even then, it still looked her in the eye. Drool glistened on its teeth as it licked its muzzle. Then, she saw the same eyes, in what she recognized as a lupine scowl.

Her ginger wolf from the clinic.

Now she knew she was dreaming.

It took another step toward her. She backed away, stopping when she felt the give of the ground, warning her of the drop below. Heart hammering in her throat, she could only stare at the wolf as it took a few steps closer to her.

Her stomach fluttered. Fear? No. Something else she couldn’t identify. Head swimming, she tried to string thoughts together to make a plan of escape. However, her vision began to blur. Daring to blink, she took in a shaking breath.

Something tore through the grass. But she didn’t dare take her eyes off the creature approaching her. Caught between a rock and a hard place, she focused on the visible threat.

“The Goddess has blessed you. And you’ve been marked by her hounds.” Ginger grumbled, nose nearly touching her. The inhales were strong, almost like a human.

“You’ve gone into heat.” His tongue lolled out of his mouth, hot breath rolling over her skin. Something about it made the ache worse, spreading it through Carmen so fast she nearly screamed. “You’ll send the rest of the pack into rut.”

Then, a large silver wolf slammed into the ginger, swatting him with a human shaped front paw. The action was so quick, Carmen could only gape. Her knees nearly gave out, but she managed to keep herself upright. If she went over the cliff, she’d drop and probably break below. But if this was a dream…

Ginger flew back, screaming in pain. The noise shook her thoughts loose and she gasped, reaching out for him. Crimson blossomed on the bandaged haunch and shoulder. His back legs gave out as he struggled to get on all fours again.

“You bastard!” He barked at the silver wolf. “You broke my leg!” Yelping, he looked at Carmen with pleading eyes. “Help me!”

Carmen took a step forward, only to feel a hand clamp on her shoulder. Claws dug into her skin, making her stand still. Then, she was whirled around to face the silver wolf, who towered over her.

“You shouldn’t be out here.” The voice rasped. “Not without being taken into the pack first.” His nostrils flared, his pupils blowing all the way out as he stared at her. Brown eyes, glinting with the want for a hunt. His scent overpowered Carmen.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered to wake up over and over again.

The fear held fast to her, not allowing her to move a muscle in fear of both wolves tearing her to shreds.

Then, the hand on her shoulder went to her waist, picking her up. Before she could scream, it squeezed tight enough to push the air from her lungs. Finally, she opened her eyes to see that she was moving. Well, the wolf was walking, simply carrying her like a ragdoll. His massive paws had wrapped around her, although he’d taken care to not scratch her further with his claws.

Ginger flew at them with a snarl, his back leg suddenly seeming to work perfectly.

Silver swatted at him, then heaved. The wolf flew through the air, screaming as he went down into the meadow below. When he hit the ground, the crunch echoed through the night. Carmen felt sick, her stomach heaving. Covering her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut again.

There was a grunt. Air whipped around Carmen, stirring the scents again. An impact jostled her, and she opened her eyes. They’d landed in the meadow, the other wolves approaching, much more cautious in their steps. A few sniffed, inching closer with flared nostrils, but never close enough to touch.

The smell made her mind swim. Heat flushed in her cheeks, and she shivered. All the eyes on her were like hands, caressing her very being. Each one hungrily taking her in, assessing her.

The ruined pile of fur and bone groaned.

“Your brother decided to go against the rules and try to bring another member into our ranks. Without permission. Or consent, for that matter.” Silver growled. “So now, he must put himself at the mercy of Diana.” He set Carmen down, setting his massive hand on her shoulder so she couldn’t run. His touch froze her further. Not even a breath passed her lips.

The wolves sat or laid down in the grass, staring at the pair. They knew who the one in charge was.

“What’s going on?” Carmen choked out, eyes watering. “Please. Tell me or let me wake up.” She slapped her cheeks, stopping when Silver’s hand wrapped around her entire uninjured forearm. It was a gentle, but firm grip.

“No one touches her.” Silver insisted, before forcing her to face him. His eyes seemed to stare into her very being. They looked alert, but so tired. More fluid dribbled onto her legs and shoes. But she didn’t dare break the gaze. To assert dominance with a canine, you couldn’t be the first to break eye contact.

Hopefully the same rules applied to lupines. Alpha and Omega only applied to captive and family packs, but this was all she knew to work with.

As they stared at one another, Carmen felt the fear and desire to know more about everything warring with one another. Part of her wanted to escape the dream no matter how, the other part wanted to stay and listen. Sit on her haunches like the other wolves, watching him speak.

His eyes explored hers, flicking over her form to take her appearance in. The gleam only added to his dangerous look. His pupils were slightly dilated, his muzzle twitching. His tongue tasted the air around her.

Silver broke away first. A sigh of relief escaped her, and she dropped to her knees. Silver’s grip on her arm didn’t release. Closing her eyes, she urged herself to wake up.

Then, she was being pulled back to her feet. Arms cradled her, twisted and alien enough to make her uneasy, despite the strength behind them. She tried to not shake, but her body refused to listen.

“What do we do?” One of the wolves asked. “Her scent is going to roll on the wind. If she’s changed, there might be others we don’t know about.”

“Guard the entrances. Make sure no one else gets in.” Silver rumbled, before he started to walk, each step jostling Carmen enough to nearly make her cry out.

Then, he took her away from the meadow. There was a hole on the side of the cliff. Bowing his head, Silver brought her inside. Only then did he set her down on the stone floor. Once he’d done that, he went to the mouth of the cave and sat down.

“Can you please tell me what’s going on?” Carmen begged, not daring to move from her spot. “Did… Did you kill that wolf?” She’d have to call the Wildlife reserve when she woke up to check on him.

“No. If Diana is merciful, he will be healed when the moon and sun switch.” Silver didn’t look at her. “You care about the one who did this to you? Was he your mate?”

The question made Carmen blush. “N… No. I just…” Her brain felt addled. Why was she getting flustered over a wolf? “I took care of him. He was already hurt.”

Silver snorted. “We’re sturdy. Don’t worry.” He slammed his paw on the ground. The open palm slapped hard, the noise amplified in the cave. Carmen resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. “As you saw, he wasn’t nearly as injured as he pretended to be.”

Still, getting flung over the side of the cliff…

Carmen shuddered. “I just… I want to go home. Or wake up.” She scratched at the side of her head. The blood on her palm smeared on her cheek.

Silver turned to look at her sideways. “You think this is a dream?”

“Talking wolves, seeing them walk upright, it’s like a werewolf movie.” Swallowing, Carmen flinched when she felt the sting of pain, more blood dripping on her clothing.

Standing upright, Silver approached her, taking her hand in his massive paws. Rolling it back and forth, he stared at it. Then, he slowly leaned down and ran a large pink tongue over the wound. The sensation sent a shiver up Carmen’s spine.

The wound slowly began to shrink, before sealing itself closed. Carmen stared at it in awe. She flexed her fingers and brushed them against the twisted digits that now clutched her hand. Silver’s fur suddenly bristled, and he dropped her hand, turning away from her again.

“You are werewolves, aren’t you?” Swallowing hard, Carmen tried to calm the roaring in her ears.

“Correct.” Silver sighed. “We don’t bring pack members in willy nilly. It was supposed to be a tight ring.” He scratched at the ground, his claws bringing up grains of stone. “And not without my permission. Every werewolf in this pack is under my protection. They abide by my rules. In exchange, they are given this area to run every cycle.”

“Why haven’t I changed?” The words were hard to force out.

“You’re refusing to.” Silver turned to face her fully. “You’ve surely felt the way your body is hurting? How you need to do something, but you’re not sure what?” His nostrils flared, his pupils nearly overtaking his iris. “The Goddess has touched you. But you’ve managed to keep control, I’m impressed.”

His hands shook as he reached for her. Claws traced her cheeks, making her hair stand on end. The scent of him was overpowering, making her mouth almost water. Something in her ached.

“You are safe now. If you give into the change, you will not harm yourself or others.” He assured her. “I will take you into the pack. Every moon, we will come here. Once you are recognized as a member, we’ll do what we can to make sure that this is as painless as possible.”

His hands on her, the rumbling of his voice, his scent, the way the air tasted around him drove Carmen crazy. Trembling, she felt herself nearly falling again. Why was she so weak in the knees?

Something in her finally let go. The world exploded in silvery blue, the scents, sounds, and feelings overpowering her. Gasping, she felt her back arch.

She suddenly jolted forward, slipping from the grip of Silver. He stared at her with wide eyes, flinching when she touched him. Burying her hands into his fur, inhaled his scent, listening to the rapidly increasing beat of his heart.

The touch seemed to awaken something in him, his rapidly growing erection brushed against her midriff, pushing the hem of her shirt up.

“N-no.” He weakly tried to push her away, nearly tripping over his feet as he tried to get away from her. “You can’t.”

A fire formed in Carmen’s belly. She felt the emptiness inside her clawing up into her womb, begging to be filled. Dropping to her knees, she panted, sweat trickling down her brow and upper lip.

“Please.” She said, her mouth dry. “Please. Help me.” Her eyes widened and she felt heat flash through her. The scent rolling off her mingled with the air. It was hard to resist the urge to tear off her clothes and start plunging fingers inside herself.

Silver’s erection grew, beads of precum dribbling from the tip as he inhaled her scent, tasting it in the air. Silvery saliva drooled out of his mouth, and he stared at her. But he didn’t dare move. His hand gripped the mouth of the cave, looking ready to rip it down rather than come near her.

“You must have your first change,” He urged her. “Please. Let the Wolf inside come out.” He flexed his free hand. “My fangs and claws would rip you to shreds.” His voice was growing more raspy, each word a chore to push past his teeth.

Carmen’s body twisted as she cried out with a need she’d never felt the intensity of before. Her throat felt raw from the primal screams escaping her. She tried to find the part of her mind and push for the change to occur. Begging the wolf to come out.

The other wolves were making their way over. Their scent made Carmen launch herself, only for Silver to clothesline her. With a grace that suggested practice, he managed to push her back into the cave. With his hand still tight around her waist, he laid Carmen on the floor.

“Diana, forgive me for what I’m about to do.” He muttered, holding her to the ground. “You can’t scream like that. You’ll make every wolf in the area come running.” His cock brushed against Carmen’s clothed groin, the sensation sending another blast of lust through her.

“Please.” Carmen panted, unable to catch her breath. “Help me.” Eyes watering, she reached for the Wolf’s arm, gripping it tightly enough she thought she might burst her stitches.

“I could rip you in half.” He shook his head. “You’re not changed. You’re not made for it.” His nostrils flared, his hands shaking and gripping her tighter.

“Help me change.” She urged him. “Please.” Why was she in so much pain if it was a dream? There was no way she’d been this horny in real life. Sure, she’d wanted sex before, but never this bad.

Sighing, he looked over his shoulder to the entrance of the cave. It was empty. But each movement and second he made her wait was agonizing.

Slowly, he took his hand off her. With considerably less grace and control, he tore off her pants and underwear. The full scent of her arousal hit him. His hand slammed the open area above her head, his cock dribbling onto her thighs. A few drops landed on her exposed groin. Crying out, she bucked her hips up, reminding him what needed to be filled.

Leaning down, he nuzzled against her neck, his nose cold. Fangs traced over her skin, making her gasp. Warmth followed as his tongue went across her neck, trailing to the collar of her shirt, leaving a large wet spot. Tensing, he ran his hand up her stomach, slipping it under the fabric of her top.

It rested there, his open palm’s warmth mingling with her own. Slowly, he slipped it off her, taking care to not tug on the bandages on her injured arm. His claws tore through the cheap fabric of her sports bra, but the loss wasn’t going to break her heart.

His eyes rested on the necklace now laying against her chest.

“Diana forgive me,” He said again, before pushing her legs apart. His fur tickled her bare skin. It was softer than she thought it would be. Lowering his head, he lapped at the wetness forming between her legs and spilling out into the floor.

The touch of his tongue made her cry out. Her legs locked around Silver’s head, forcing him to inhale her scent and arousal completely. Whether the motion or her cries finally made him let go, it seemed to awaken something in him.

Growling, he sent a rumble through her that shook her very being. Breath escaped her, and she fell back flat, drowning in the pleasure.

Grabbing Carmen’s thigh, Silver plunged his tongue in deep, rolling his head with each lick. She thought she would scream, but all that came out were quiet moans of satisfaction. Her hands tried to grab at something, to distract her from the sensation long enough to hold her rapidly approaching climax. She settled on resting her hand on his head, pushing him in further.

Her legs went slack, shaking with desire. He gave a few more licks, before pulling back and running his tongue over her clit. Each movement sent a wave of pleasure over Carmen, making her cry out and arch her back, wanting to be filled again.

Then, he pulled back, fur slick with her arousal. Breathing heavy, the Wolf stared at her entrance, his warm breath tickling her wet folds. Leaning down, he licked the ground and lapped up every drop of her that had spilled out.

He picked her up off the ground, pressing her to the wall. Carmen’s legs snaked around his waist, barely able to hold herself up. Rocking his hips, Silver, growled in her ear. The breath tickled the curve of her neck, making her shiver.

“Tell me you want it.” He rasped, the tip prodding against her. She could feel their fluids mixing together, dirtying the cave floor.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Carmen nodded.

“P-Please.” She begged.

Then, he entered her. She was so slick it slid right in. Once she’d wrapped around him, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down. Rolling his hips, he thrust up into her. Arms wrapped around Carmen’s body, he kept her from scraping against the stone of the cave. Cradling her head, he had her look at him.

“Your pupils are so wide, I can’t see your iris anymore.” He growled, each thrust sending pleasure through Carmen. “I didn’t think my cock would fit, but you’re taking it so well.” The words weren’t teasing or hurtful, he seemed just as surprised as her. “It’s like you were made for me. There’s a little bit of the wolf getting teased out.”

Carmen couldn’t deny the pleasure sweeping through her. She wriggled her hips and took him to the base, gripping him tighter. The growl that escaped him was one of pleasure. His thrusts were strong, each one filling her with white hot heat. Every moan and gasp that escaped her echoed loudly in the cave, no doubt funneling into the meadow.

“Hold me tightly.” He encouraged her. “Scratch, bite, yell, let yourself fall to your base instincts.” His thrusts became almost vicious, impaling Carmen and reaching deeper than she thought possible.

She screamed, tearing at his fur. The cries encouraged him further, and he bucked his hips hard, slamming into her. Bareback scraping against the wall, Carmen took it all in, pleasure building in her stomach and bringing her closer.

There was no way she should have been able to take his cock. It was too big. The thought of it entering would have made her scoff, but now she was drawing it into her like it had always belonged.

Then, she grew uncomfortably tight. Wincing, she dug her nails into his thick fur. Part of her was tempted to bite down on his shoulder, but the sensation would probably shock him into letting go of her.

She grew more slick, wanting to take him all the way in, thicker cock be damned. It needed to be all the way inside when he came. Rolling her hips, she tried to press herself down against him when he thrust up.

“Fuck… The knot.” Silver panted. “I’m about to-”

He winced when she wrapped her legs tighter around him. “Wait, I’m going to-” His eyes were clouded with lust, his tongue lapping her neck. Words became grunts and growls

Carmen’s body tensed. Throwing her head back, she nearly slammed it against the wall of the cave as the orgasm ripped through her. She clenched down onto the cock inside her.

The pressure made Silver howl, and he erupted. Thick ropes of fluid filled Carmen, then dripped onto the floor. Two more aftershocks followed, although they paled in comparison to the first, merely spilling more onto the stone and Silver’s feet.

Panting, Silver brought her down, collapsing onto the cave floor. His rapidly shrinking and softening cock was still slick with Carmen’s wetness.

Carmen crawled over to him, falling onto his chest. His rapidly beating heart gradually slowed, his shallow breaths becoming deeper. Within moments, he was snoring.

Closing her eyes, Carmen laid against his sleeping form. Even though he was a beast, it felt safe. His clawed hand rested against her thigh, the other encircling her chest and pulling her to him.

***

Slants of light fell on Carmen. Groaning, she tried to move. Soreness filled her body, her joints and muscles straining against the movement as she tried to rouse herself. The floor underneath her was cold and hard. Hadn’t she closed the window last night?

Looking down, she saw her naked body. Bruises traced up and down her hips and thighs. Stone was beneath her, scents of sex and animal mixing with her nose.

Warm hands clutched her close. A half hard cock rubbed against her leg.

“Mmm…” The person holding her groaned, pulling her back down to the ground. Stubble scraped against her bare shoulder, followed by a kiss. Squirming, she resisted the urge to twist away.

“Morning.” The grogginess was clear in the voice.

Carmen felt a familiar soreness between her legs. Panic seized her when she realized what had happened wasn’t a dream.

Slowly, she turned to look down at her partner.

And into the half asleep face of Doctor Remington.

Next part here!

#monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster fucker #monsterfucker #monster fuckery #werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #werewolf lover #werewolf smut #terato #terat0philliac #teratophillia

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heartshapedbubble · 1 year

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Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

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There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

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isalisewrites · 6 months

Text

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

TWENTY-EIGHT EXCERPT:

That godforsaken, flaming chicken cutlet was going to be the death of him.

Getting out of bed felt like walking through thick mud. Exhaustion permeated through his flesh, deep into his muscles, down to his very bones. He’d never experienced exhaustion at this depth before. Tom rubbed his eyes, willing them to open through the burn and weight of his eyelids. He hated not getting up before the others. He valued his privacy. These nightmares were going to be the end of him.

Stupid, useless mortal frame.

What day is it?

Something, something… Transfiguration? No, wait. Ancient Runes was before Transfiguration… unless it was Monday, which meant Charms was before Transfiguration.

Tom vigorously rubbed his forehead, trying to think.

It wasn’t Monday. That much he was sure of, since detention on Sunday felt like a distant memory. He’d attended Potions and DADA yesterday - and failed spectacularly at them, too - which meant today was Wednesday.

Salazar, how was he supposed to function in his classes today if he could barely remember the day of the week?

When the dormitory went silent, signifying the others had left, Tom got out of bed. It took five tries with his wayward wand before he gave up on it and attempted, quite begrudgingly, to wandlessly cast the refreshing charms on himself. On his second try, his robes freshened up with a light pine scent. The wrinkles smoothed out and his hair styled primly with nary a curl out of place.

Charms would have to do, instead of the old fashion way. He refused to look out of sorts more than he already was.

He walked out of the Slytherin common room and to the Great Hall in a blurry haze. His steps were wooden; his bag felt heavier than normal on his back. He sat at the table, mind empty and blank. God, he was tired. Tom reached for a pot and filled his mug to the top. He drank half of it before he realized what it was and grimaced at the bitter taste. Blegh. Coffee. Damn. He hated coffee. Tea—where was the tea?

He took another big gulp of coffee, regretting every second of it. He couldn’t hold back the soft groan of disgust. A pinch of pain flushed through his head from the bitterness of the coffee. He set his mug aside, grabbing a drink of water to clear some of the taste.

“Good morning, said Harry softly. Tom blinked. When did he sit beside me? Concern laced through those green eyes. “Are you all right, Tom?”

“I’m fine,” said Tom, clipped. He cleared the hoarseness from his throat and lifted his glass of water in a grimace. “Just drinking some coffee.”

Now leave me alone.

With slow, careful movements, Harry set a different pot next to his plate. He gently pushed the jar of honey closer.

“Here,” whispered Harry.

Tom stared at the pot of tea. His chest twisted; it ached in a strange way. The discomfort slipped to his gut and Tom swallowed through the sudden dryness in his throat. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes as Tom reached for an empty mug and poured himself a cup of tea. He mixed two spoonfuls of honey into it. As he brought the mug to his lips, Tom drew in a deep breath, the scent of the sweet chai relaxing the tension in his body.

Tom swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled softly, nodded, and went back to his breakfast.

Dammit. Why did Tom feel so uncomfortable? He didn’t know what to think any more, what to feel any more. The urge to escape his very self shook his limbs, but Tom couldn’t hide from himself. He wanted to hide, bury his head in the sand, and flee from this strange sensation inside his chest.

#harry potter #tom riddle #harry potter fanfic #tomarry #hp #hp fanfic #terrible but great #harrymort #fanfic #fanfiction #mywriting #isa's writing #harry potter/tom riddle

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thefatartist · 5 months

Text

Darcie and the Gym Rats: CHAPTER ONE

Nestled within her pillow fort on the cozy expanse of the couch, Darci found herself in a familiar ritual, her gaze fixed on the illuminated lock screen of her phone. Each passing second was pregnant with anticipation, awaiting that gratifying ping of a notification. Yet, as the alerts materialized one after another, most failed to capture her interest, swiftly swiped away with a casual flick of her finger. They barely earned more than a fleeting moment of Darci's attention before being consigned to digital oblivion.

In this digital landscape, only notifications bearing the insignia of Instagram stood a chance to disrupt Darci's nonchalant dismissal. It wasn't that she harbored an addiction to the platform, she reasoned, she could easily break free whenever she pleased. But today wasn't the day for such resolutions. Today, Instagram held sway over her attention, a tantalizing oasis in the desert of mundane notifications.

The tranquil hush of the living room was brutally shattered by the forceful swing of the door. In stepped Jessica, a whirlwind of energy and unmistakable gym dedication. Among the trio of roommates, Darci stood as the sole advocate of a hedonistic lifestyle, her mission clear: to lure her companions to the enticing depths of pleasure, excitement and indulgence. Jessica, with her characteristic grace, slinked over to the couch, collapsing beside the meticulously arranged "meal" that had been left untouched on the coffee table, a testament to Jessa's culinary efforts. Her gaze darted between the abandoned chocolate wrappers and the inviting warmth of the chicken salad.

"I can't fathom why I bother preparing food for you, only for you to disregard it in favor of..." Jessica's accusatory stare flitted to a suspiciously empty glass bowl perched innocently on the kitchen counter. Jessa’s jaw clenched, "...raiding the entire communal candy bowl?! Darci, that was meant for all of us!" Jessica let out a deep growl, like a dog being deprived of her food bowl by a stranger.

Darci's arm emerged from the confines of her plush pillow fort, dismantling her makeshift kingdom with a casual wave. "The rest of the community was busy battling the Iron Legion of Dumbbells and Broken Dreams," she declared with a scoff. "You snooze, you lose dearie."

Jessica, undeterred, lifted the fork from the salad bowl, its prongs laden with lettuce dripping in ranch dressing. "Why must you drown perfectly good chicken salad in ranch?" she lamented. "Can't you show some respect and at least drown my salad in Thousand Island?"

"Can't you refrain from commenting on how I choke down your rabbit food?" Darcie retorted.

Jessa's eyes rolled so far back into her head that they nearly disappeared, just as the door creaked open once more. Chad swaggered in oozing confidence. "Sup, Protein Princess and Sleeping Drooly…"

"Watch it, Chad, or I'll turn your Prince Charming into Miss Charming!" Darci warned, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Chad was preparing a sarcastic retort before he saw the salad Jessica was eating. “Aw c’mon Jess! Even an Adonis like me needs a cheat day sometimes!” Chad whined.

Jess snapped back “This ‘rabbit food’, as Darcie so delicately put it… “. Chad snickered and Jessa’s voice responded “…It's a carefully planned, macro-balanced...”.

Darcie interrupted “...recipe for utter boredom. Look, why don't we ditch the rabbit food and order some actual food for once? Pizza, maybe? I hear there's this place with a triple-decker meat lover's special...”.

Jess shrieked in horror “Triple-decker? Darcie are you trying to clog my arteries?”. Darci’s eyebrow furrowed “You're already halfway there with your sad little salads. Besides, a little indulgence never killed anyone.” Darci’s familiar ADHD brain sprang into action after having clearly had too much sugar “Except maybe that guy who ate a bathtub full of Jell-O. But that was clearly a personal failing.”

Darcie would have continued if Jessica had let her. Still upset that her chocolate reward went to first place unexpectedly, she snapped fingers at Darcie. “Earth to Darcie…”. Darcie blinked. “Yes?”. Jessica, torn between the siren call of pizza and the guilt ingrained in her by years of calorie counting couldn’t finish her sentence. Chad, meanwhile, dialed the pizza place on his phone, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. Jessca whispered to herself, “One slice won't hurt. Just one. To appease the carb demons and quiet your... unsettling enthusiasm.”

Darcie leaned in close to Jess. “Oh, honey, I was just getting warmed up. We could raid that bakery down the street for dessert. They have this éclair that looks like a goth's dream come true - black chocolate and raspberry filling. Pure decadence.”

“Maybe just a small cookie?” Jessica gulped.

Chad piped up “Ignore them, Jess. They're just jealous. Double pepperoni for you, right?” Jessica looked at Chad, a feeling of defeat swept over her. “This is a slippery slope”. “Don't worry, darling.” Darcie assured Jess, “We'll hold your hand all the way down. Now, about that éclair...?”

Chad’s phone, on speaker, rang. One last glimmer of defiance died in Jess’s eyes. “You know what? Screw the macros. Let's do this. But I'm picking the toppings”. Chad jumped in, “Deal! Now, who wants extra cheese?”.

Darcie released a single, solitary laugh. What was this feeling; ‘happiness’? Less painful than Darcie imagined. Jess and Chad barely had time to respond before the voice on the other end answered. “Thank you for calling ‘Papa Tony’s Pizza’.

“Yeah, hi!”, Chad coughed “I was told you had a triple-decker meat lover's special…?”.

******

The smell of the kitchen flowed like a river against Darcie’s nose. “Oh, come on”, she grumbled “I’m hungry!”. Jessica’s mind flowed with hurtful comments. She was still very upset about her chocolate, or rather lack thereof. She bit her tongue. There was no need to upset the peace in the apartment. Maybe she’d eat Darcie’s second dessert. That’d teach her. Before she could think about Darcie’s reaction to such meanness, the waiter approached with their dinner. The thick, juicy pizza was left on the table and the waiter departed with instructions to retrieve another cup of root-beer for Darcie. The three roommates continued looking at their phones, Jess taking selfies, Chad chuckling at memes and Darcie flicking away notifications between testing to see if the pizza cooled down enough.

“Pizza’s cool” Darcie announced happily as she scooped three slices onto her plate. She delicately lifted the pizza to her lips and nibbled a bite before taking a much larger one that filled her mouth. “This is actually decent!” Darcie smiled, “Not bad for a place catering to the... unrefined palate.” Darcie shot a playful glance in Chad’s direction as he placed a couple of slices onto his plate. Jessica took the pizza scoop from Chad and got herself a single slice. She chuckled as she stared at the thick, layered pizza. She took a small bite, the melted cheese holding on for dear life to the pizza.

“You know, this isn't so bad. Maybe, a little indulgence every now and then isn't the worst thing in the world”, Jessica admitted. A grin grew across Darcie’s face as she wiped away some grease that dripped from her mouth. “I told you!”, she celebrated. Chad smiled and took another bite from his pizza. “Anyone down for some garlic knots?” Darcie raised an eyebrow, “Garlic knots? That sounds positively pedestrian.”

Chad, almost insulted, responded “What’s wrong with garlic knots?”. Darcie’s wide eyes squinted as her toothy smile grew. Chad never saw Darcie smile like this. It made him almost uncomfortable. “Oh, they're delicious alright. But have you considered... black garlic knots?”, Darcie asked, “Made with squid ink, of course.” The look of disgust grew in Chad’s eyes, but the subtle tilt of his head suggested interest. Jessica, however, was fully intrigued. “Where do they even have those?!”, she asked. Darcie winked. “I have my sources.”

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hinatastinygiant · 8 months

Text

33 | Hermosa

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Serpents and Roses

The next morning, you're awakened by the sounds of a commotion coming from the kitchen. A loud bang echoes, followed by a rapid fire of cursing and arguing in attempted hushed tones. You groggily sit up, rubbing your eyes, and make your way towards the source of your disturbance.

When you enter the kitchen, you find Garreth and Sebastian huddled around the sink, which seems to be what's causing all the ruckus. Water is pooling on the floor and the sink appears to be clogged. The two of them are splattered with soap bubbles and are arguing in whispers.

"What's going on?" you ask, stifling a yawn.

"Y/N!" they both say simultaneously, turning around.

"You didn't tell us how to work the faucet," Sebastian shrugs.

"Or the oven," Garreth adds.

You can't help but roll your eyes. "Did you learn nothing from muggle studies?" you ask.

"Well," Sebastian replies sheepishly as he scratches his head, "we might have... underestimated the complexity of muggle plumbing."

Garreth, holding a wrench that seemed more like a foreign object to him, added, "Apparently, this thing is not enchanted. Who knew?"

You can't help but chuckle at their confused expressions. "You guys need to be more careful. Muggle sinks don't respond well to magical tinkering."

"So, no spells to fix it?" Garreth adds as he inspects the wrench as if expecting it to reveal its secrets.

You sigh, handing them a mop. "No spells. Just good old-fashioned muggle cleaning. And we have other things to do today, so let's clean this up quickly. You said you wanted me to show you around."

"Seriously?! You'll really do that for us?" Garreth exclaims excitedly.

"Of course. You're my friends," you reply, grabbing some paper towels. "Besides, you guys have come all this way just to help me out. Now let's clean this up and go out for breakfast. I'm starving."

After the minor plumbing incident, the three of you head to a nearby Waffle House for breakfast. The aroma of freshly baked waffles and coffee hits you as soon as you walk through the door. You quickly find an empty booth near the window and slide into the vinyl seat. Sebastian and Garreth follow and stare wide-eyed at their surroundings.

"What is this place?" Garreth whispers, making sure no muggles hear him asking that.

"It's a muggle restaurant," you explain, picking up a menu.

"What kind of food do they serve?" Sebastian asks, looking around nervously.

"American cuisine. Mostly breakfast and lunch," you reply, watching as the two of them take in the sights and sounds of the restaurant. "Pick up the menu and read what you'd like to eat. But it's a Waffle House so you should probably go for the waffles."

Sebastian and Garreth exchange glances before picking up the menu. They both squint their eyes and lean closer, inspecting the text. You can't help but laugh.

"And these 'pancakes'," Sebastian hums as he leans closer to you. "What's the difference?"

"It's basically the same thing. The shape's different," you point out, smiling at their confused expressions.

"Why not just call them pancakes then?"

"It's muggle branding," you explain, waving a waitress over.

As the three of you place your orders, excitement fills the table. The waiter soon brings over plates piled high with waffles, pancakes, and a whole bunch of toppings. You all begin to dig in, but amidst your laughter, Sebastian slips up. Not thinking about his actions, he casts a levitation charm on a waffle to bring it closer to his plate.

In a swift motion, you reach over and grab Sebastian's hands and wand, pressing them firmly onto his lap. "Sebastian! Not in public!" you his, your eyes locking onto his in a charged moment of tension.

The atmosphere around the table seems to tighten as the intensity of the exchange lingers before either of you speaks. Your eyes hold each other's for a beat longer than necessary, and you immediately look away.

His eyes widen with realization and he gives you an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," you breathe, releasing his hands and taking a bite of a waffle.

Garreth, an amused spectator to this unexpected exchange, smiles knowingly at his friend. He looks between you and Sebastian and raises an eyebrow.

"So," he starts, drawing the attention of both you and Sebastian. "How's everyone's breakfast?"

"Fantastic!" Sebastian says enthusiastically.

"Very good," you agree, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Glad to hear it," Garreth nods, the mischievous glint in his eyes not fading.

For the rest of the meal, the three of you talk about Hogwarts and reminisce about your past adventures together. When the bill comes, you pull out your card and pay for the meal.

Once you walk out, you lead the others to a nearby park. The sun comes out, casting a warm glow over the greenery as you walk through the open space. People are scattered around, enjoying picnics or reading in the sunlight.

You lead the group to a bench, enjoying the fresh air and the pleasant weather. As the two of them admire the view, you notice the slight hint of a smile tugging at Sebastian's lips.

"It's nice here, isn't it?" you ask him.

"It is," he nods. "Wish we could stay a little longer."

You sigh, leaning back into the bench. "I wish that, too. But if this all works out, maybe you'll get to visit more."

"Maybe," he nods, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I like the fresh air and sunshine."

"Me, too," you agree.

On the other side of you, Garreth pulls out a small vial from his pocket. "Ominis managed to collect these hair samples for us," he says, showing them to you. "It's for the Polyjuice Potion."

"You guys got samples from Ominis?" you ask, a mixture of surprise and concern on your face. "I thought you said he didn't give you permission."

"You're right," Sebastian nods. "Because he's worried about you, and he didn't want you to get involved in any more trouble 'cause of us. But we assured him that you'll be safe, and, well, he didn't know about our little adventure out of the castle last night."

"He's probably losing his mind back at Hogwarts right now," Garreth adds with a mischievous grin.

You can't help but chuckle at the image of Ominis realizing that both of them are missing from the school. "We better make sure we succeed in this then. I don't want to give him more reason to worry."

"Speaking of which, we better get going. We only have a limited time until the Polyjuice Potion needs to be brewed," Sebastian says, standing up.

"Okay," you nod, "We can brew it back at my place."

Serpents and Roses

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mako-neexu · 27 days

Text

A/N: woke up earlier to a DA VINCI CE THIS SEPTEMBER AND DUG THROUGH MY HELL HOLE OF TUMBLR DRAFTS JUST TO FINISH THIS SINCE I MADE THIS DURING PAPERMOON BUT I NEVER GOT TO FINISH. I LOVE YOU DA VINCI

growth | gudao and someone precious to him (its not tagged as ship but it could be interpreted that way too. either way is fine.)

He wakes up in a familiar room. A room he knew well and frequently visited back in those days of peace.

Ritsuka blinks a few times to see if his surroundings were real. But the ground he stood on and the inventions and objects before him seemed to be as real as it gets.

Of course, it was merely a dream, but seeing it once more tugged at his heartstrings more than he could have imagined.

He smiles.

A soft laugh catches his attention, “Why are you smiling Fujimaru-kun?”

He turns to the source, and could not help but rub the back of his neck and laugh as well, “Well, I was just remembering how I completely spilled an energy drink on my bed when Fou tried to settle on my lap last time. Because I got lazy in changing the sheets, I slept with the stain on, which caused everyone to get mad me. Well, not all- but y’know...”

Da Vinci clicks her tongue, setting her cup of steaming coffee on the side. “Even now, you still have that bad habit of bringing drinks near your bed.”

He approached her while she picked up a small ornithopter, caressing its tail with eyes holding some affection... and nostalgia. “I guess so, Da Vinci-chan.”

Ritsuka swallows. His eyes catching sight of the floor before biting his lower lip, and sighed, “How...How are you, by the way?”

His heart was loud in his ears. Each thump was as if something clogged his throat.

Damn. Why is he feeling this way now?

Her amused scoff was mixed with feigned hurt relieved him more than he could admit, “Same old, same old~ At least my back no longer hurts from hunching over my inventions back in those days. Now, I just have to worry about my back getting hurt from how beautiful my form is!”

And her smile was wide, ever so similar to the Mona Lisa the painter created, yet so different that she had a charm separate from that artwork alone.

...He missed her.

“Anyways," She gave a dismissing wave before making her way towards him. "I like your mystic code! Did she make it for you?"

Da Vinci leaned close to observe the matching uniform he had with Kadoc. Well, almost. The theme was similar anyways.

Though it was made only within a week, the care put into it was obvious from the way there were some parts that were hand embroidered, along with hidden pockets strategically put so no obvious lump could be seen.

Besides that, Ritsuka knew what caught Da Vinci's attention the most was Chaldea's symbol attached at the center of his chest.

Ritsuka laughed a little, rubbing his nape once more, "Mini-you and Miss Crane really packed every spell here. Habenyan proposed a sketch of the design. Not to mention, the self-defense mechanisms they put if I were out cold and unable to fight. Haha..."

That soft, proud smile of hers made his heart ache terribly.

Da Vinci was beautiful and confident just like always.

She laughed, throwing her head back in pride, "Fufu! We inventors and artists want nothing but the best for our creations and users!"

As she reached towards his shoulders to brush the nonexistent lint off, he noticed how there was someone sitting on one of the tables and chairs behind Da Vinci, but he couldn't see who it was.

Their surroundings outside of Da Vinci was blurry, though he clearly recognized it as the old workshop from Chaldea, it was as if the space itself was doing its best to hold up.

"And would you look at that! You're seriously taller than me now! Unforgivingly handsome too! What the heck!?"

Her expression of gawking made him laugh.

"It's called a growth spurt, Da Vinci-chan." He rolled his eyes in half jest, his bangs falling over to one of his eyes. The inventor smiled brushing it behind his ear, but then-

She flicked his nose, which caused him to squawk in surprise, “Even though you’ve matured, you’re still the dork that loves giant mecha and sweets in the morning.”

“So is one of those the things you’re going to give me?” Ritsuka quirked one side of his lip. Even if he was trying to play it cool, deep down, he was a little embarrassed knowing she still remembered that he always snuck in some extra sweets from Emiya’s kitchen in his pocket. He doesn’t do it anymore, but the fact that she still remembered both made him happy yet flustered.

Da Vinci crossed her arms, “What, you caught up on that? Also, nope, it’s none of those! Why don’t you try and guess?”

With a smirk, he thought long and hard for a moment... actually, a little too long, but then she gave up, “Fine, fine- now, come over here.”

“Wha-”

There was a tug on his sleeves, which caused the Master to stumble forward a little but nevertheless regained his balance.

Something warm pressed against his forehead. Arms wrapped around his frame which dwarfed her own.

Ritsuka then realized what it is.

“...It’s been tough, huh?” Her quiet voice made it difficult to look at her in the eyes when she pulled away.

All he could manage was a nod.

Her sigh combined with her soothing caresses on his back made him swallow, his chest felt so heavy, a pang was starting to make itself known, “We don’t know when the ‘end’ is but I’m sure there is one. I know there is one. But whether you choose to run away or fight is up to you. No one will begrudge you if you choose the former. What we only want is for you to be happy, Ritsuka.”

That lump in his chest only grew.

A Da Vinci slowly pulled away, she tried to smile, only to have it come out sadly.

“Still, it only felt like yesterday that we were just the same height. You’d also come to my workshop late at night for advice, on how to deal with some Servants you weren’t sure how to talk to.”

...Those times made the young man smile over the bittersweet nostalgia of sharing tea, sitting on a stool while she leaned against the counter and hummed. It may have been artificial, but the golden light that sometimes bathed Da Vinci’s workshop always gave the area a warm reception to anyone who entered.

Aside from the Doctor’s room, the place felt so close like home. Especially when it was decorated and truly loved like a workshop from Italy.

“I remember devising a lot of your mystic codes as well, young man.” Opening her glasses and pushing it up to the bridge of her nose, she glanced into the direction of a certain wooden table holding countless sheets of rough drafts and sketches. “If I could, I’d have included the information and gave it to my successor... but, ah well, sorry for the time constraints! If I knew about what would happen sooner, I’d have packed the info as well to the Border~★“

Her signature wink has Ritsuka chuckling softly, “You’d constantly ask me for feedback on it too. Especially for the Atlas uniform’s spells.”

Those times had been fun. Wearing her inventions, testing them out, and even if it had flaws, the bugs were minor, otherwise...

“But, you know...” Ritsuka paused, now glancing at his gloved hand bearing the command spells, his arm covered in a new mystic code developed by his friends. He can’t deny that he was always happy to receive one every now and then from them, and yet...

His soft blue eyes met the inventor’s own.

“...No one can beat your mystic codes, Da Vinci.”

He appreciated the current ones, but the old mystic codes he had, using uniforms from mage schools and awesome suits, were still the best for any and every situation he came across.

“You’re going to say they’re old and full of creases by now, but you made them, you know? Everything you gave to me, I’ve made sure they’re still taken care of to this day. Because even now, they’ve never failed to protect me from harm.”

...The love she poured into each and all of her inventions were something he’s experienced himself. From her more serious projects to the more silly ones... she wasn’t one to hold back.

Because that is who Leonardo Da Vinci is, one of the people who’s helped him at the beginning, even when he was just... some guy who’s secretly a little scared and confused from all that’s happening.

To the side, he sees her swallow, her expression unreadable behind the glint of her glasses. Even if couldn’t see, he as some sort of inkling. He just hoped he didn’t hurt her feelings accidentally...But the rustle of clothing is what catches his attention, she moves before him, raising her hand to cup his cheek.

Behind the silver frames of her glasses lies the beautiful yet hopeful gaze of the Mona Lisa, Leonardo’s smile ever beautiful like her soul.

“I’m glad. I’m really...glad.” She said, voice almost a whisper, as if something fragile would shatter if it was any louder, “If those could still protect you for a little while longer-help you for as long as you’re still on this journey-then I couldn’t be anymore happier.”

Breath caught on his throat, his gaze lowers while he tries to match her happy smile.

“It truly is a little surreal,” The inventor quietly laughed, strangely soft, “You’re all grown up now. Even for a heart wrenching moment like this... you’re not crying anymore.”

Fujimaru slowly hugged her, feeling her warmth, smelling like home. Back at the observatory atop a snowy mountain. Back to those times where it was just the four of them enjoying a quiet moment beneath an orange kotatsu.

“You smiled at that time, right?” She smiled even as blood red spilled past her lips, even as gold began to gather at her feet, her determination to protect him and Mash had never wavered for even a second. From the beginning, down to her last moments, he always saw a smile.

What Da Vinci deserved wasn’t partings of sadness, rather, a round of applause for someone as great as her. A certain someone would agree with his words.

Tears... He felt that it didn’t suit the occasion. For this warm, happy dream where he was able to meet her again and share another moment with one of people he’s cherished the most. Whether this was real or not, he was going to be honest before her no matter what.

And like the genius that she is, she was quick to notice his implications, the words unsaid between the both of them.

Returning his hug, Da Vinci’s laughter was a little muffled, dwarfed as she is in the hold. And before Ritsuka closed his eyes, knowing that the end of the dream was near, he’d smiled into a certain someone’s direction, seeing now the unmistakable green and white accents of the clothing the man wore.

And just like the times they all said goodbye, Ritsuka was happy to see their smiles once more.

#practice?#i want to try writing daooooo #THIS IS FOR THE DA VINCI CE THIS MONTH AAAAHHH #fgo #gudao #fujimaru ritsuka #fate grand order #leonardo da vinci #sorry for the mistakes though sdkjfsdjnsdl #might be cheesy too ill delete it probably

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letsgoplayhighfive · 2 years

Text

Supernova - A Gandrew One-Shot

Garrett loves his new apartment for a multitude of reasons.

Most of those reasons, he knows, naturally come down to Andrew. As most things do.

(A silly little Gandrew story, written in three long, late sessions. Cross-posted on Ao3, which you can find here. A huge thank you to @lmnsdtexe, who inspired, proof-read, edited, and kept me on track to actually finish this fic. I genuinely couldn't have done it without them.)

Garrett loves his new apartment for a multitude of reasons.

Really, he does- the comments he’d off-handedly thrown towards the camera about it being a mistake or a bad idea were just bluffs to get a few laughs. In reality, he thinks taking the place for his own was probably the best thing he’d managed to do in years. No joke.

It’s old, the floors creak, the doors are thin and the walls even thinner, and of course it’s also extravagantly haunted, but all of those things just add the exact kind of character Garrett loves. He can’t imagine himself anywhere else in Spokane anymore. His uncle's house is a great place to crash- don’t get him wrong -but the feeling in this charming little building is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, and likely something he won’t be able to recreate anywhere else.

He’s also grateful to have the memories there, as few of them as there are, so cross-linked with Andrew. He doubts he’ll ever forget that road trip, all 20 hours of it, and while they’d both ended up delirious and exhausted deep in their bones, he looks back on it with a soft and warm fondness that is reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. He elevates anything that Garrett is doing, even if it’s something as mundane as getting Starbucks, and everything always feels brighter when the two of them are together. So, naturally, he brings Andrew along to most places, and Andrew never seems to mind. Even if it is his terminally haunted home. Even if that home does scare the shit out of both of them on a regular basis. Things never feel quite as scary when Andrew is there, anyway, and Garrett only hopes he feels the same way about him.

Garrett is there to visit his niece for her birthday, still in awe at how fast time is passing and how old everyone is getting. Of course he’d sprung an invite on Andrew at the last minute and of course Andrew had also agreed at the last minute, so now they’re in his new living room, trying to ignore the strange little creaks and ticks coming from different angles around them.

The place has started to fill in with various Garrett-isms. The Xena poster from his 90’s room is up by the front door, a sword is mounted behind the TV, and Peter B. Parker has somehow found his way from Garrett’s truck up to the apartment windowsill. There’s a new spice rack in the kitchen, and he's picked out a set of vintage-looking barstools with Andrew from Wayfair that sit pulled up to the ledge separating the rooms. It’s slowly becoming a home around him, his home, and when Garrett thinks back to the first time they’d stepped inside together he can almost feel emotion tightening up his chest and clogging his throat.

Because yes, the place is his- It’s his name on the paperwork, now, after all -but it’s also so very much Andrew’s, too. Enough so that it holds the same (if not more) associative intensity as the Beehive. They’ve picked out almost every piece of furniture in it together, and Andrew is still regularly sending Garrett links to various pieces he thinks will be a good match. It’s domestic. It’s perfect. Garrett savours every second of it.

There’s a bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of him- which is less of a table and more of an antique-looking chest he’d thrifted and lugged in the back of his pickup from L.A. -and while it’s just a cheap-shit Merlot it’s still their favourite and they buy three bottles at a time to keep the stash going. Two pizza boxes rest on the floor by their feet, picked apart and empty, only still there because neither are bothered enough to actually throw them away tonight. Some things just wait until morning, and pizza boxes are usually one of those things.

They’d spent a good hour clicking through Netflix, then Prime, then Paramount, then HBO, and when they still hadn’t found something they felt like watching, Garrett had gotten up from the loveseat and found his speaker and suggested just putting some music on and going from there. Andrew had agreed, of course- and now he’s staring at his Spotify, scrolling through their playlist (collaborative, because they send each other so much music it starts to get confusing) with his brow furrowed just slightly and his free hand balancing the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. There’s a fireplace ambiance video on the TV, and the red-orange-yellow colours only serve to make Andrew look even better, adding more warmth to his skin and his hair and the flash of his smile.

Garrett takes a slow sip from his own glass, silently observing, face quirked up into a grin (and when is it not, when Andrew is concerned?). The ghosts and ghouls are mostly forgotten between them, especially with the bottle of wine half-drained, and a lot of it is just played off as the sounds the place just makes - as if it’s normal and expected and fine. And hey, he hasn’t been stabbed or shoved or possessed yet, so he figures it’s not too far from the truth. Whatever is in here, at least upstairs, seems like it doesn’t really mind either of them. It makes Garrett happier about the apartment, honestly, because there's a chance that ghosts get lonely and maybe them being there is helpful, not harmful, like he’d been scared it would be.

Andrew hums a little sound of confirmation, finally selecting a track, and the sounds of a Drake song start slowly rising from the portable speaker between them. They don’t have it too loud, at least trying to be respectful at the hour of 3:00 AM and not disturb the actual living and working people that call this place home, too.

“ This is what I’m talking about, baby, yeah!” Andrew says, half-sarcastically, as the bass to ‘Fire and Desire’ comes in, thrumming low atop the chest-table. He discards his phone on the little stretch of cushion between them, letting it slip carelessly from his fingers. His head bobs slightly to the beat as he takes his own sip of wine, almost drained.

Garrett watches the show from the other end of the loveseat, propping his tired and swimming head up with one hand, elbow pressed into the backrest, creasing into brown leather. He laughs, a little deliriously, more of a high-giggle than anything else. Andrew had just finished playfully shading him for the Mariah Carrey he played previously- though they’d still listened to the whole thing, and teasing aside, Garrett still doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed, like so many others have made him feel before. With Andrew it’s always just good and not much else.

Garrett tips his head back a little, looking at the speckled and slightly yellowed ceiling above them, wetting his mouth with the last sip of wine in his glass. He feels almost overwhelmed in this moment, in this slow and perfect little accumulation of good decisions, inside this unpoppable bubble with Andrew that they’ve built for themselves, one brick and stone and weird little stuffed animal at a time. The gratefulness presses against his chest, behind his ribs, and it feels ready to burst out of him. Garrett has a personal rule that he takes quite seriously- that if he has something nice to say it’s always better to say it than to refrain, so he does.

“Andrew, man- This is so cool. Sorry, like, the hardest and sappiest sidebar ever, but,” Garrett looks back down, reaching to set his empty glass aside with a gentle little clink, scanning his eyes around his living room that really feels more like their living room. “C’mon, this is just, y’know, only the most perfect thing ever.”

Andrew nods, tipping back the rest of his own drink, too, reaching across for the bottle to top them both up. Garrett watches as he takes extra care to make them both filled to the exact same line.

“I mean, besides the horrifying basement ghost, yeah- no, this place is really coming together, when are we starting our, uh… decorating business? Interior design, or whatever.” He says with a waggle of the fingers on his free hand, leaning back into the loveseat, still bobbing subtly to the beat.

Garrett waves his own hand dismissively, shaking his head. “Not just the stuff, Andrew, though thank you because I think you told me about, like, at least half of the things in here. You would definitely run the business, obviously- but I’m the boy with the truck so don’t think you can just buy me out! The Camry can’t hold furniture, you need me!”

Andrew laughs gently, and it’s as bright and bubbly and intoxicating as ever. Garrett joins him, even though he can feel his heart beat a bit harder in his chest, and he has to swallow the familiar ache in his throat. It’s nothing new to him, and he prides himself at how good he’s gotten at skimming over it and enjoying what he does have, rather than what he never will.

“No, I mean everything. This place is sick, yeah, straight fire even-” Garrett starts, a chuckle in his voice, and Andrew interrupts him with a single lifted finger.

“Lit, you could say.” Is all he adds, struggling to keep a straight face.

“ Lit, yeah, exactly bro,” Garrett responds, slipping easily into his straight-boy character, but only briefly- he really does intend on saying what he means, here, typical derailment be damned. “But also, y’know, look at us! We’ve done so much cool stuff together, and I’m just so damn grateful, man. Thank you, Andrew, for being here, even though most of the time it is absolute insanity.”

When he settles his eyes on Andrew, he’s looking back at him, now, too. His eyes are crinkled into a smile, and even though they’re red and tired, there’s so much warmth in them that Garrett almost feels taken aback by it. Sometimes he wonders how he even has enough space in his chest for how much he adores Andrew. The thought stings like lemon in a papercut, but he shakes it off.

Andrew shrugs a shoulder, always playing it casual. He huffs a little through his nose, his smile ticking upwards another notch, like he's just thought of something funny that for once Garrett isn’t in on.

“I mean, yeah, it’s been insane, but- but good insane, like- I don’t know, dude, without any of this,” He responds, gesturing to the room around them, finishing by shaking his hand at Garrett, right at him. “I think I’d be insane by now. Bad insane.”

Garrett hums in agreement, nods, tries not to look into things too deeply.

“Quarantine.” Garrett says simply, raising his eyebrows.

“ Quarantine, exactly, what would we have done? ” Andrew says back, and he’s laughing again, and Garrett wants to, too, but he can’t quite manage more than a little chuckle to cover up his silence. He wonders if Andrew will ever know what those months together really mean to him, and his brow furrows just a touch, inhibitions washy from the alcohol.

Garrett copes by lifting his wine again, taking a deep swallow, trying to spread out the warmth behind his eyes.

Andrew considers his own glass for a moment, swirling it gently, ever-careful not to spill a drop over the side onto Garrett’s (their) new furniture. He blinks down at it, and his smile slips, just a touch, matching Garrett’s own.

There’s something different in the air now, all of a sudden. Garrett isn’t quite sure what to make of it, of the expression on Andrew’s face, the way the silence is dragging on between them in such a strange, alien way, interrupted only by the sound of another Drake song rolling over on the speaker.

“You ever-” Andrew starts, and pauses. It’s jarring, really, and Garrett almost jumps at the sound of his voice. His smile is gone, now, and he’s second-guessing himself, Garrett knows. He can know a lot just by looking at him, usually, though there’s a sense of unease unfolding here that apparently he can’t quite pinpoint. “Do you ever have any regrets?”

Garrett tilts his head to the side, just slightly, a perfect picture of confusion, pausing with his wine raised halfway to his lips. He thought that he’d derailed the conversation earlier, but this is entering a territory he hadn’t expected. At all.

“I mean- yeah, regrets, who doesn’t?” He responds, watching as Andrew continues to avoid his eyes, feeling his stomach twist and turn and his heart kick like a drum. “Not about this, though, if that’s what you mean. Like, at all. ”

He adds the last part in a rush, more than anything not wanting Andrew to think he regrets a single facet of their friendship or this little apartment of his (theirs) and the world they’ve built, all the while trying to quell the sinking feeling in his soul when he realises maybe that's what Andrew means.

“Yeah, no- no, me neither, not like that.” Andrew quickly scrambles the words out, and it does help, just a little. It’s genuine, Garrett can feel that much. “Not like that but, there’s… It’s…”

Andrew huffs, frustrated, like he’s angry at himself for his inability to find the right words. Garrett doesn’t really know where this is going, as terrifying as it is, and it’s giving him whiplash from the 180 turn they’ve taken from their happy, private little moment on the couch. His hand feels cold and clammy on his glass and he puts it down lest he drop Merlot all over the carpet.

Garrett doesn’t understand the way Andrew is looking at him, doesn’t understand why it’s gotten so quiet, suddenly, and so suffocating in the silence, too, despite the music playing between them. He wants to say something, break the sudden unusual tenseness that’s entered the room, but it feels like the spit has dried up in his mouth and his tongue has turned to stone. The alcohol isn’t helping anymore- if anything, it’s made all of this feel even weirder, spacier, and all the more unreal.

“You good, Andrew?” He says, finally, finding what's left of his voice amid his scrambled thoughts, unable to stand the burning behind Andrew’s eyes anymore. It’s making him want to get up and run and never move from this spot again, all at once, and he’s never been so lost with Andrew before. It’s terrifying, carnally.

Andrew thinks, furrows his brow, scans across Garrett’s face like he’s trying to commit it to memory or find something there that Garrett himself doesn’t know about. Or doesn’t want him to see. Or doesn’t feel like Andrew wants to see.

Garrett watches as he averts his eyes again, almost relieved. Andrew tips back his drink, taking it all at once, grimacing because chugging wine is a vile, vile thing, and places the empty glass next to Garrett’s. He takes a moment, focused on the table, the little tarnished steel buckles and leather bands of the old chest, and Garrett can almost hear the gears turning in his head and see smoke coming from his ears.

Then, his eyes, again, on Garrett’s own- It could probably kill him, that look, if it hadn’t already. Maybe this is a dream, or an afterlife he isn’t aware he’s in, or some kind of personalised hell curated just for him.

“Yeah,” Andrew responds, nodding slowly, never breaking gaze. There’s something new to him now that wasn’t there before, some kind of resolve that Garret doesn’t recognize. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Andrew shuffles, a little, on the couch, turning more-so to face Garrett straight on. The cushions are relatively small, close together, making the most of the little space there is to go around.

“Garrett, I-,” Andrew pauses, looking to the side, and Garrett can see him biting the inside of his cheek. A nervous habit he's noticed a million times over. This is the point, usually, when Garrett would suggest they leave whatever stupid party or store they’re at, or ask what’s getting to him, or otherwise do anything in his power to make things just a little bit easier for Andrew. This time, though, it doesn’t feel like there's anything in the universe that can help. “I’m hoping this isn’t, like, completely out of pocket, here. But if it is just- it’s fine, totally, but just tell me, okay?”

Garrett blinks over at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face and, for once, failing. But whatever is happening here right now, well- it feels important. Almost as much so as it is scary. It goes without saying that Garrett trusts him, and that isn’t going to change now. Or ever.

“Yeah, no- dude, of course. I got you, Andrew. What’s up?” He asks, and it's like swallowing sand trying to keep his voice steady and not let his apprehension creep onto his face.

Andrew stares down at the space between them. Back to Garrett. Over at the fireplace on the TV, then Garrett again. His jaw is clenched, shoulders raised, and Garrett watches as he takes a deep, slow breath in and out through his nose. He forces the tension out of himself with it, expunging the anxiety from his body- some of it, anyway. Enough of it to ground himself, at the very least, something from therapy he’d told Garrett about some night long ago.

“You sure?” Is all Andrew says back. He’s looking at Garrett, but not in the eyes. His gaze is lower. Garrett can feel his hands start to shake.

He nods- it’s all Garrett can manage, right now, with Andrew looking across the small space at him like that. On their couch, in their little spooky apartment, with their music playing softly in the silence. It feels cataclysmic. It feels like maybe they’ve been working towards this night for a long time; an accumulation of every video they’ve filmed, every drink they’ve shared, every valentines day spent at each other's houses and every time they’ve stayed up far, far past midnight only for the sake of being in each others presence- only to do it all over again the next day, and the next, and the one after that.

Andrew nods, too- slightly, hardly noticeable. It’s almost as if he’s reassuring himself, trying to keep up with the confidence he’s trying to manifest that always seems to be one step ahead of them both. Garrett could try to do the same, but right now it's as if his world is imploding in on itself like an ancient star- an open, gaping black hole threatening to show its face, pull him inside and everything else along with him. He feels as though if he breathes it will be enough to set it off, atoms and particles colliding and accelerating around him, and there won’t be any chance to go back. For better or for worse.

When Andrew does pull forward, one hand moving to the tight little space of cushion between Garretts leg and the plush backrest to steady himself, Garrett almost leans away in response- even if it is the last thing he wants to do. He has an idea, now, about what’s going on here, but it’s happening so fast and so unexpectedly and it still seems like something he shouldn’t want, something that he intrinsically just cannot have and cannot begin to hope to have. He’s spent so long talking to himself in his head about how unfair it would be to Andrew, how it was okay to just have him as a friend, how worth it all of the pining and pain and sadness was if it meant Andrew still got to shine some golden light into the darkest, dustiest corners of his life. Now they’re here, and Andrew is closer than he’s ever been, and he’s only getting closer.

Garrett can see everything, now. He’s looked at him closely in the past, sure, but it had felt weird and creepy because it had been while Andrew was asleep, still and quiet and peaceful and perfect as ever. His lips parted just slightly when he wasn’t awake, curled under Garrett’s spare sheets or curtains or comforter, and Garrett would watch sometimes, fueling dreams of waking up together that he’d try to scrub off of himself in the shower the next morning. They stuck around in his head, no matter how much he wished he could forget them, no matter how much they burned deep in his chest. It still hadn’t stopped him, though. He doubts that anything ever could’ve.

This time, though, Andrew is awake and alive and breathing right in front of him, close enough he can smell the wine on his lips, can see the deep, twisting colours of his iris’, the delicate, light line of eyelashes surrounding them. It gives him a feeling of unreality, a sense of familiarity from the deepest, most burried of his dreams, and it’s somehow so much like them and so, so different at the same time.

There’s a moment, a beat that passes between them, and it doesn’t quite feel like hesitation- more like Andrew is taking it in, feeling it out, pausing to exist in this proximity to Garrett that’s so unexplored but also just as natural as any other part of them together.

And then he tips forward, and there’s a hand tangled blindly into the folds of Garrett's shirt, catching on a button, and lips pressed so, so delicately against his own.

Garrett’s breath hitches in his chest, his ribs tight and hot and constrictive, and it feels like the apartment is spinning around him behind his eyes that have closed on their own volition. He’s never really allowed himself to think of how this would feel. Not sober, anyway -because he’d promised himself a long time ago not to get caught up in things so far removed from his reality -but now he feels a bit stupid. This, right now, is reality, a reality he’d missed before, allowed to pass by him like a bullet train, blinking every time it came around the tracks.

He makes some little, pathetic sound in his throat, far from purposeful, and Andrew only presses in closer. Neither pull back- instead, Andrew brings Garrett forward by his shirt, and Garrett lets himself be led, and if his mind hadn’t just gone into another stratosphere he might stop to pinch himself now.

It is everything . It’s tender, it’s soft, it’s caring and kind and slow and a perfect culmination of what Garrett has always loved about Andrew, everything he loves about him now. It feels like their history, their friendship, all of their time spent with no one else on their minds all put together in a moment just for them, and Garrett doesn’t pay mind to the little pin-pricks of moisture at the corners of his eyes.

Andrew parts, slowly, hand still tangled up in Garrett’s flannel, eyes blinking open as Garrett does the same.

There’s a moment, then, where Garrett feels scared all over again. His confidence has always been lacking and the sticky, evil part of his brain that insists on self-sabotage pipes up to tell him that this might not be a beginning but an end; Andrew might regret this, might hate it, might just be using Garrett as a little experiment that’s failing right in front of his eyes. Garrett knows better, knows Andrew wouldn’t do that to him in a million years, knows the love between them is genuine even if it is just friendship, but that beat of fear floods across him anyway, a tsunami just as overwhelming as the earthquake-kiss that has caused it to roll out of the ocean in Garrett’s heart.

But then Andrew is smiling. Smiling and laughing, quiet and breathy, a few steps softer than his usual manic giggle that Garrett has always been so good at drawing out of him. And it’s perfect. It’s right. It feels exactly how it’s supposed to, how it was always supposed to be, like they’ve just found the last puzzle piece under the carpet after weeks of searching high and low. The satisfaction of a complete and beautiful picture in front of them, ready to be framed and hung and put on display for anyone who cared to see.

“Woah.” Andrew says, simply, between little bouts of laughter that soothe the quakes in Garrett’s soul.

Garrett nods, and he can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards, too, and hopes the shakes in his chest are him laughing back.

“Woah.” He confirms, trying to ignore the bead that does escape and tumble from his eye, running down his cheek.

Andrew doesn’t- he reaches up, swipes it away with his thumb, soft and uncalloused and so much unlike Garrett’s own. He doesn’t mention it, not out loud- he doesn’t need to. He knows why it’s there, knows it’s not a bad thing, knows it’s for him but from a place of happiness, of relief, of the dissipation of something that has been building inside for far, far too long. Andrew does know him better than he knows himself, after all.

Garrett thinks maybe he was right earlier in saying that his world was imploding and collapsing in like a dying star, irreversibly changing the fabric of his universe, their universe- and as terrifying as it had felt, now they’re past it; now it’s a supernova, expanding outwards, white-hot and exciting and fast and full of energy, of atoms, of incredible power and potential that has been there all along, waiting patiently, slowly reacting and changing until the moment of release. Crossing thresholds and boundaries in a slew of colours and light, rippling through them, through this beautiful little home, the Beehive, Garrett’s backyard in L.A., the tiny house, the trails in Spokane and the endless stretches of highway between it all.

Garrett reaches forward, his hand shaking from how much feeling is breaking through the cracks now, how much want and time and pain and suppression that has been building up inside him for so long. Now finally free, wordlessly gathering and spilling out between them, making sense in the way they just simply and intrinsically do. Garrett doesn’t have words- and he guesses from Andrew’s response, the lopsided grin on his face, that he doesn’t have them either -but when have they ever needed words before?

He places his hand, gently, on the side of Andrew’s face, mirroring the one on his own, and he can feel everything- every little hair, the tiny imperfections, the softness Andrew exudes. It’s everything he’s never allowed himself to want with any real intention. Still, he’s glad he didn’t. He’s glad he has been patient, has waited for Andrew, has held out for this perfect payoff. Something about it feels right, and he can’t possibly think of any time with Andrew as being wasted, no matter the nature of their relationship.

This is exactly where they’re supposed to be. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but it doesn’t make him any less sure of its truth.

It’s Garrett’s turn now to be swept up in it, to pull forwards into Andrew and everything he’s ever loved with such intensity before, to seal the deal, to feel his world shake again at the touch of their lips-

And then the bedroom door, down the hall, swings open. The creak is loud and jarring and they both jump halfway out of their skin, having let their guard down and forgetting about the incredibly active and horrifying ghost business they’re kissing in the middle of.

They both look over, frozen, gaping at the dark, open chasm of the doorway. Garrett expects himself to be scared, but he isn’t- just as he knows deep within himself how right this is, he knows this isn’t happening with any malice towards them. It feels more like a push in the right direction. Maybe it has been the whole time, and he simply hasn’t been allowing himself to see it.

Gently, as he always is when it comes to Andrew, Garrett guides his head back to face him, back to reality. Garrett is smiling, as open and wide and inviting as he possibly can be, and he can see the fear bleed away from Andrew's face, the way the softness returns to his eyes. He will never, ever take that for granted.

Garrett can’t help it- he starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, building in his chest and boiling over in a tirade, and of course it gets Andrew going, too. They’re used to getting lost in their feedback-loop of giggles, high and intoxicating and overwhelming, the end not yet in sight. With any hope, it never will be. Garrett tips his head back, lost in it, reveling in the sound of the both of them mixing in his ears.

Andrew only laughs harder, his grasp once again finding it's way to Garrett’s shirt, one that's exchanged hands so many times before they can't remember who bought it in the first place (and really, that only begs the question of why it's taken them so long to get here, doesn’t it?). He tugs him forward, and Garrett crashes into him- he’s never one to back down from a challenge, even the ones he makes up for himself.

They fall, Andrew backwards on the couch, making some loud, very Andrew-esque exclamation between breathless fits. Garrett comes down on top of him, wrapping his arms around Andrew, pulling himself close, taking everything in in a blur of noise and colours and emotions.

“Garrett- NO!” Andrew shouts in surprise, still smiling and laughing and unabashedly happy. It’s far too loud for this time of night, breaking their personal promise to not be everyone's least favourite neighbours.

“Oh, Andrew! Carry me away, like Richard Gere!” He says, high and sing-songy and as naturally Garrett as ever, if not more. He plants little pecs across his cheek, into his hair, wherever he can reach as Andrew tries to playfully bat him away, to somehow escape Garrett’s impressively tight grasp on him, and they both know he won’t succeed. It’s also understood that he doesn’t want to, not really.

He could stay like this forever, caught in the tide of Andrew, riding this wave as it crashes towards the shore, only to be pulled back out to sea again, endlessly looping and endlessly happy and fulfilled and beautiful.

And, he thinks, he will- they both will. Their supernova, their space in the universe, their perfect explosion. It’s only just beginning now, after all this time, and the future is so, so bright and shining that Garrett wouldn’t change a thing.

Not for all of the stars in the sky. Garrett already has his, after all. He always has, and he always will.

#Garrett Watts #Andrew Siwicki #Gandrew #my writing #sweet boys #sweet boys podcast

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bakedbakermom · 1 year

Text

Stained

Chapter 3: Smolder // start at the beginning

tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

Honestly I am so pleased with this chapter. The dialogue, the characterization, the Vibes. If you read only one chapter of this fic, let it be this one.

smolder verb 1. to burn with little smoke and no flame 2. to exist in a suppressed state --- Conversations with dead people.

Four hours later, the coffee was long gone, and the heavy bags of snacks were reduced to nothing but wrappers and a scattering of crumbs. Xander, predictably, was snoring in the corner, Anya's head in his lap; she kept muttering in her sleep, and each time he would soothe her with a pat on the head, without either waking up. Tara and Willow had moved to the store’s loft, reading aloud to each other in shifts to keep awake.

Buffy had left for patrol shortly after midnight—“Not every vamp is as charming as you, Mulder,” she quipped as she loaded a crossbow into her bag—and Giles had gone home to comb through his library and check in with a few contacts on the other side of the world who would just be waking up. Spike at one point simply stood up and left, his leather jacket flapping behind him like the wings of a giant bat—a move Scully was sure he had practiced—and vanished into the night.

Even Mulder was slumped in his chair, dozing. She had rummaged up a blanket from the training room at the back of the shop, hoping it wasn’t somehow cursed, and tucked it in around him. He barely managed to mumble a “Thank you,” before drifting back to sleep.

Scully had spent so long staring at a scroll in a language she couldn’t even pronounce, let alone read, that the boxy little symbols were starting to make a worrying kind of sense; like a Magic Eye painting, if she let her eyes relax and her focus drift, they almost looked like tiny monsters.

She leaned back, her head swimming with a sudden exhaustion that bordered on delirium. She hadn’t slept more than three consecutive hours since they had landed in this sun-baked hellmouth, spending her days falsifying reports and medical records for Skinner to explain her and Mulder’s continued absence—given their track record, him being grievously injured on the job was a decent cover story—and her nights up to her neck in legends she still could only half-believe. All the coffee and junk food in the world couldn’t save her from the consequences. Her eyes felt gummy in her skull, her nose was clogged with the grime of thousand year-old books, and the room itself seemed to contract and swelter around her. She lurched to her feet, fighting back nausea, and rushed toward the back door.

The night air hit her like a wave and she gulped down its soothing chill again and again until the urge to hyperventilate or vomit had passed. Slowly the darkness receded from the edges of her vision and the bile eased back down her throat. She pressed her fists into the small of her back and arched her spine, releasing several satisfying pops.

“Tasty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone in the dark.”

Scully whirled around to face the darkness at the mouth of the alley, her gun drawn and aimed toward the source of the voice before she was even conscious of moving. A lean figure hunched against the wall.

“Might get snapped up by something dangerous.”

The figure inched forward into the light from the street lamp. Pale skin, white-blond hair, absurd leather jacket. She sagged with relief, hands shaking as she holstered her weapon. “Spike. You scared the hell out of me. Have you been lurking there all night?”

“Oh no, I’ve been lurking lots of places. A regular lurk-about, that’s me.” He swaggered down the alley and dropped dramatically onto the step in front of her. “Pull up some concrete, pet. I’ve got a few hours before I risk a serious sunburn, and I’ve got a fresh pack of coffin nails.”

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his long, black coat and used an unnecessary amount of flourish to light one with a silver Zippo. When he saw her look of vague disgust, he only shrugged. “What? It’s not like they’re gonna kill me.”

She huffed out an exhausted laugh, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of her life as she sat down beside him. “Are you going to share that or what?”

“Pretty sure you’re not immortal, love.”

“There’s some debate about that, actually, but at this point I’m too exhausted to care.” She held out her hand and he passed her the cigarette, the ember of its tip glowing in the gloom.

“Possible immortality, is it? Funny, your man never mentioned that.”

“You guys talk about me a lot? In between shots of plasma, I mean.”

“Actually, Mulder talked about you pretty much all night. Scully this. Scully that. Scully, Scully, Scully. Do you even have a first name?

She took a deep drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling from her parted lips in delicate spirals. “Dana.”

“Lovely name for a lovely lady,” he said, taking it back.

“And what about you? I can’t imagine your mother looking down at her beautiful, bouncing, peroxide-blond baby boy, and proclaiming you Spike .”

He paused for a beat, considering her, then smiled a charmingly crooked smile and held out one pale hand. “William.”

They shook. The cold, dry flesh of Spike’s hand was almost beginning to feel normal.

“So, William, what exactly did Mulder say about me?”

“Sorry, pet. There’s a code. Like a bro code, but for fangy folk. ‘Dead men tell no tales’ or what have you.”

The dead were walking. A thousand-year-old ex-demon was napping on her boyfriend’s lap in the next room. She had fed her partner from her own veins. And an actual vampire was sitting next to her, quoting Treasure Island . Or possibly the Disneyland ride. Scratch normal , her life was a damned B-movie. An hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat, and she covered it with a cough as she blew out another puff of smoke.

Spike either didn’t notice her small existential crisis, or else chose to politely ignore it. “I will tell you he feels bloody awful about what he did before he got all resoulified. Man’s only got a handful of bad deeds under his belt, but he’s got guilt for centuries.”

Scully’s memories of that night rattled loudly in the locked box of her mind she had crammed them into. She did not, would not, let them out. “I imagine you understand a little bit about that.”

“Not exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I was evil with a capital E, cutting a bloody swath across the continents for nearly two hundred years. And I enjoyed the hell out of it. Honestly not sure I ever would have stopped on my own, but I didn’t exactly get a choice. I don’t really spend a lot of time beating myself up about it, though.”

Scully arched a brow in curious surprise. “Your soul doesn’t torment you with grief during your every waking moment and drive you to desperate acts of penance?”

He laughed. “Been talking to Giles, have you? Sorry love, I’m not one to wax poetic about souls. Mostly because I haven’t got one.”

Mulder had told her Spike was reformed; the soul part she had just assumed. If he couldn’t feel guilt or remorse, what kept him from ripping out her throat? She froze, cigarette halfway to her lips, wondering if she should scoot away or reach for her gun again.

“Relax, Red. I’m not gonna hurt you. Actually, I can’t. See, a little while back, bunch of your government boys got the brilliant idea to do a little science project involving those of us who go bump in the night. Some got all Frankensteined up into proper bloody monsters; other lucky buggers like yours truly got our eggs cracked open and fancied up with some shiny new hardware.” Despite his clever delivery, his tone was bitter. “I can still rough up anything decently scaly or slimy, but all you soft, tasty humans are a one-way ticket to screaming bloody agony.”

She took a long moment to process that, the cigarette passing back and forth between their hands; when the filter began to burn, he lit another.

“I might know something about what it’s like to be subject to behavior modification via implanted technology at the hands of covert government agencies abducting non-consenting, vulnerable populations for the purpose of experiments involving nonhuman biological materials.”

Spike took a long moment to process that .

“All right,” he said finally, “I’ve decided I like you, so I’ll tell you the truth: souls seem like a whole lot of pain for not a whole lot of gain. I don’t even know that they do all that much; God knows there’s plenty of humans running around out there, souls intact, doing dirty deeds that make my skin crawl, and I know plenty of soulless fiends who are actually pretty decent people. All I know is I don’t need a soul to see how much Mulder is hurting, or how much he cares about you. If the Scoobies fail at this whole ‘cure the vampire’ quest—and I’m sorry if I’m the first one to tell you this, but they probably will, because it’s impossible, and personally I think he’d be an idiot to give up the night life anyway—but when they fail and he realizes he’s got a big lonely eternity without you staring him in the face, I’m a little bit worried he’s gonna go and get himself one hell of a tan.”

“I’m not giving up, and I’m not going to leave him.”

“Yeah, you will. If not on a plane in a few weeks, then in a pine box in a few decades.”

“So what am I supposed to do, just… not die?”

“Yeah! Exactly!”

“I don’t see how I can—”

“It’s easy. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Scully paled, her throat bobbing as she fought down the revulsion suddenly brewing in her stomach. “You can’t mean—”

“Bitey bitey, sucky sucky, souly souly—though I think that last bit should be optional —and then you and our boy ride off into the sunset together. Well moonlight, I suppose, but you get my drift.”

Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no words came out.

“Just think it over, Dana,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes. For the first time, something like real vulnerability passed over his face. “Forever is a long time to be lonely.”

He rose, his swaggering mask sliding back into place so quickly she almost doubted it had ever slipped to begin with. He offered his hand to her with an exaggerated bow and pulled her to her feet. “Now come on; I don’t fancy going up in flames today, and I bet Spooky doesn’t either.”

—

Dawn’s rosy fingers were just brushing the horizon when Mulder and Scully arrived back at the motel. She felt the light running over her skin like a living thing, gentle as a lover; he shrank from it as if it would strike him.

“Wanna come in for a night cap?” he asked, smirking, as they reached his door. Scully’s hand flinched involuntarily toward her neck and his eyes grew wide, then sheepish. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. Um. Good night, Scully.”

The door was halfway closed behind him when her hand shot out to stop it. “I can come in for a minute.”

He moved to the bathroom, and she went to the kitchenette to put away the containers of cows’ and pigs’ blood they had stopped to pick up at the butcher—which, for reasons no one in town would discuss, stayed open all night. Mulder would have enough for a few days, at least, now that he was learning how to make it palatable. She left the little jar of cinnamon on top of the microwave.

Feeling oddly anxious, she began to straighten the bed just to have something to do. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in Spike’s crypt today?” she called to him. “He has cable; you can watch ‘Passions’ together.”

He poked his head out, toothbrush wedged into the foamy corner of his mouth. “That show has gone entirely downhill since Sheridan got amnesia.”

He vanished again, and Scully heard the sounds of spitting and running water. When he emerged a minute later, bare-chested and in sweatpants, he found her standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands at her sides. He slipped past her without touching her and sat on the bed. “Besides, I’d rather sleep in a bed.”

Instead of a coffin . Scully suppressed a shudder.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a smile as she sat beside him and squeezed his hand. “I get the feeling his place is even less luxurious than this one. Besides: mini fridge, microwave, magic fingers. What more could a guy want?”

She tried to keep her voice light, but Spike’s words were still ringing in her head. Mulder was staring down the barrel of a miserable eternity—drinking slaughterhouse runoff, hiding his days away in the dark, watching cheesy soap operas with only the other dead for company. What if there was no cure? What if, this time, she couldn’t save him? How many times had they sacrificed everything to save each other, thrown themselves in front of bullets and monsters and the unstoppable machine of bureaucracy just to buy enough time to stagger their way to safety?

Maybe their luck had finally run out.

She stood to leave, desperate to find something else to occupy her mind, but his hand closed tenderly around her wrist, carefully avoiding the bruises he—or his monster —had made before. “Stay?”

“Mulder, I’m tired.”

“I know. Just for a little while? It’s… it’s worse when I’m alone.”

She finally looked at him, staring up at her with one of his more pathetic puppy-dog expressions, and something inside her broke. “Yeah. Okay. Just for a little while, until you fall asleep.”

He crawled beneath the covers, leaving room for her to slip in beside him. She curled up with her back facing him, hoping he would drift off quickly. That hope evaporated when she felt him shifting closer to her; his arm slipped around her waist, brushing the bare sliver of skin between the top of her pants and the hem of her shirt, and a current passed through her. She went very still, allowing him to pull her closer until they were spooned together on the little motel bed.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured close to her ear.

She tried to ignore the way her body tingled every place they touched, the way his breath skimmed over her skin, cool and wet like the promise of a storm. She hoped he couldn’t hear the way her heart began to pound beneath her ribs. “So you’ve said.”

“It’s true. I’ve always hated the cold, Scully. When I was a kid, I would turn my whole room into a blanket fort every winter. It drove my mom nuts. I’d swipe every blanket in the house and then refuse to come out for anything but pee breaks.”

Scully could just picture him, eight or ten years old, pillaging the linen closet for quilts and constructing his own personal Alamo filled with comic books and sunflower seeds. Keeping out the cold with all the power of fleece and a child’s unflagging will.

That the same cold now lived inside him, where no blanket or touch could thaw it, was another cruel twist of the knife.

“I’m not giving up, Mulder. Not when we’ve barely gotten started.”

“I won’t let you throw your life away trying to save me, Scully. How much longer are you going to stay here, up to your neck in demonology and monster manuals? How much longer can we convince Skinner I’m sick? He’s going to come looking for me eventually, even if it’s just to see if I’m fit enough for him to kick my ass back to the basement.”

She chuckled, and he smiled briefly into her hair. A moment later, his sigh sent a few red strands fluttering against her face. “I just don’t want you to follow me so far into the dark that you can’t find your way back.”

“It hasn’t even been a week yet. I’ve chased you further into the dark than this and come out just fine. And I intend to drag you out with me, into full, bright sunlight, without you crumbling to dust.”

“And if there is no cure? If I’m stuck like this forever? You still have a chance to have a life, Scully. I won’t let you waste it on me.”

She turned to face him, sadness and anger warring over her features. “Since when do you ‘let’ me do anything? It’s my life, Mulder, and I don’t consider any of this a waste.”

She didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to give credence to Spike’s insane idea by voicing it out loud to her partner, but she owed it to him to say something. Though her stomach clenched and she tasted acid in her mouth, she took a breath and said, “Spike thinks—”

His voice was bitter as he cut her off. “I know exactly what Spike thinks. And the answer is no. I wouldn’t do this to you. Not when you still have a choice. Not when you could go back to DC tomorrow, find some hot doctor who doesn’t question every little thing you say, and grow fat and old and happy on a sunny porch somewhere.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. She had to step carefully here; they had developed a delicate dance together through the years, an unspoken rule to tiptoe around their equally unspoken connection, that thing between them neither could quite acknowledge let alone act upon, but had lately found increasingly hard to ignore. Especially when his face was inches from hers, and his arm still lay heavy across her waist, on that nebulous border where it could so easily slide into risky territory. “And if I decide I don’t want that?”

“There are some… conditions on this soul of mine, Scully. It’s not a done deal. I could lose it.”

“What? How?” And why haven’t you told me before now?

“If there ever comes a moment where I am completely happy, where I don’t feel guilt and torment about who and what I am, it goes away.”

“Don’t be vague, Mulder. Not about this.”

“The last time it happened… was right after the guy slept with the woman he loved.”

A lump welled up in her throat. “Oh.”

“Yeah. We’re not idiots, Scully.” She raised her eyebrow at him and one side of his mouth tugged up in a small smile. “Okay, you’re not an idiot, and I am sometimes only idiot-adjacent. We know what we mean to each other. If you stayed with me…” He flopped onto his back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling; he couldn’t get through this if he was looking into her eyes, but he did reach between them and take her hand. “If you stayed human, and we… then I lose my soul, and there’s a good chance that the last thing you’d ever see is me killing you. And then Buffy puts a stake through my heart. And not that I am in favor of this idea, but if we turned you and we… then we both lose our souls, we’d probably wind up killing a bunch of people, and then Buffy puts a stake through both our hearts.”

He paused for a long moment, breath shaking. “I don’t know if there is a way out of this together. And I want you to know, I’d rather you leave me than stay behind and pay for what I’ve become.”

She grabbed his face again, this time more forcefully, and turned him back toward her. Her voice and her eyes were filled with tears, but also a steely resolve. “There is a way, Mulder. There has to be. We’re going to find it. When have we ever given up on each other?”

His fingers twined around hers where they rested against his cheek. Slowly he pulled them to his mouth, brushing a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Neither spoke—what words could he say to the unstoppable force of her hope, or she to the immovable object of his self-sacrifice? They simply held each other, wishing they could keep out the cold.

A/N: It's incredibly rare for me that something I make turns out as well as I'd hoped, but this chapter is one of those things, and I'm rather proud of it. I so enjoyed writing it, particularly Scully and Spike's conversation. It was one of those unexpected surprises that pops up when characters grab the steering wheel, like I was just along for the ride. I hope they're BFFs now. Believe me there is absolutely a part of me that wants to see Vamp!Mulder and Vamp!Scully as some sort of undead Bonnie and Clyde, leaving a trail of bloody and beautiful devastation in their wake. But that's not this fic lol. Comments laminated etc etc

#stained #my writing #my fanfic #crossover #txf #the x files #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #fox mulder #dana scully #buffy summers #willow rosenberg #tara mclay #xander harris #anya jenkins #rupert giles #spike btvs

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