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voiceoffenrisulfr · 5 months

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Hail Hydra - Chapter Fourteen "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."

Bucky finds out what it is to be a part of Zola’s experiment, and is marked as Hydra’s property. Prompts fulfilled; - ‘Apocalypse Cult’ – @multifandom-flash (Beehive); - ‘Tattooing Over a Scar’ – Winter Wonderland Bingo @seasonaldelightsbingo ; BLACKOUT! (with alts XD) - “Say Please.” – @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition); - ‘Disturbing a Grave’ – @halloweenhorrorbingo; - ‘Exposure’ – @badthingshappenbingo; - ‘Eternal Agony’ – @fnafbingo; “You Broke the Rules. And Now You Gotta Pay.” – @anyfandomdarkbingo. CW: Death of an unknown character, corpses, non-con body modification, sexual assault.

Boards at the bottom. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

Dividers by @atlasscrumpit

By the time Zola came to see me the following day, I was already sat upright on the edge of my bed, fist curled loosely in my lap.

“Ah, up already, I see!” His tone was upbeat and jovial, but I simply raised my head to stare at him blankly, devoid of any emotion. “I expect you’re excited to get underway with your training.” A simple nod, and I stood, not bothering to point out that it was, in fact, the never-ending ache radiating from tailbone to navel that had kept me awake. “It’s going to take me a short while to make your arm. In the meantime, we have a job for you.” He handed me a chunk of bread, and I bit into it without enthusiasm, the dry wheat clinging to my tongue as I followed him through the halls.

The machine set up before me was distantly familiar, and a spike of fear shot through me at the memory of a pattern of bruises across cheekbone and forehead where the restraints had dug into my skin, holding me fast as convulsions wracked my body.

But this time the seat was occupied by another – one who looked significantly worse than I did after my time in the chair.

“What is this?” I breathed, inching closer uncertainly, taking in the slack jaw and soured complexion, heightened hearing straining for any sign of a heartbeat.

“Another failed experiment,” Zola replied dismissively, waving a hand. “Get him out. The soldiers will show you where to dispose of him.”

I fumbled with the contraption until one of the two soldiers standing guard sighed in frustration, leaning closer to press a button, the deceased man’s head falling forward with macabre reminiscence of a marionette with severed strings. Biting back fury and nausea at touching the cooling skin, I freed his limbs form their loosened shackles and draped him carefully over my shoulder.

Inanimate fingertips sent a shiver through me as they brushed my lower back, swaying with the motion of my steps as I followed my guard down the endless, twisting corridors.

He paused beside a heavy door, and we trembled in unison at the bitterly cold wind that swirled around us when he cracked it open.

“I’m not going out there,” he muttered, eyeing the flakes flowing readily through the gap and picking up a shovel to press it into my hand. “Find a spot. Dig a hole. Drop him in. Make sure you cover it over, else there’ll be wolves and bears and all sorts hanging around. I’d hate to have to find something else to feed them to draw them away,” he added pointedly. I simply nodded, skin erupting in goosebumps as he opened the door wider and pushed me out.

The snow piled into my boots with the first step, freezing my toes and soaking the thin socks I’d been provided with. I struggled on through the knee-high drifts, almost floundering under the uneven weight of my load and the lack of hands available to hold both shovel and corpse.

Perhaps a hundred yards from the facility, I came to a stop beside a rocky outcrop offering a relatively sheltered spot at which to dig. Pausing, I looked up, peering through the swirling snow. Even with my enhanced eyes, I could barely make out any details of the building – it was unlikely I could be seen by anyone attempting to watch me.

Glancing in the other direction, I gazed out over the blank emptiness, a barely-perceptible, soft haze in the distance the only indication of any break in the endless tundra – a copse of trees, perhaps, or the beginning of an attempt at civilization in this frozen wasteland?

I could run.

I might get shot before I get fifty yards, but at least I’d die out here, as a free man. Not in the endless, eternal agony of being their lab rat, their attack dog on a chain.

I took one step away from the outcrop, then another, shivering violently as the snow soaked quickly through my already damp clothes.

I could run.

I could escape this apocalyptic cult. The torture. The abuse.

I could…

My muscles faltered on the third step, then froze entirely on the fourth.

What the Hell is wrong with you? This is your chance! It doesn’t matter if you die out here! It’s better than staying here! Run!

Despite the voice screaming in my head, I couldn’t take another step, my body rigid with fear the further I strayed from my orders.

My eyes strayed to the body still resting on the ground, coated by now with a layer of thick, fluffy flakes.

I… I should bury him, at least. Nobody deserves to be left to the elements and the wildlife like that.

With a soft sigh of relief at having a clear path before me, I picked up the shovel once more, turning to assess the frozen ground obediently.

The hole was just about deep enough when I came across a sight that sent me sprawling from the grave as my stomach churned.

I was experienced enough in life – and in death – to have recognised what lay beneath the frozen ground immediately, and the off-white bone dotted with residual scraps of partially decomposed flesh was tattooed to the inside of my eyelids as I knelt in the snow, retching. My body, so accustomed by now to emptying on command, acquiesced willingly to the rhythmic gagging, the sparse contents of my stomach steaming as it met the sub-zero ground. My fingers curled desperately as I heaved, breaking through powder and frost easily.

There were others.

How many people like these two – people like me?

When my futile retching finally ceased, I dropped quickly back into the freshly dug grave with hardened nerves and a sense of purpose, kneeling carefully to ease a little more dirt away, revealing thin remnants of dark, shoulder-length hair. My eyes closed in pain, and I diverted my face as I tenderly covered the man over once more, shaking my head the distinct similarities, muttering a hushed apology to my fallen comrade for disturbing his hard-won rest.

Shaking violently from cold and horror, my hand was careful as I lifted the body I’d been sent to bury against my chest, letting his temple fall briefly to my shoulder as I knelt once more to settle him on the ground. His head rested not five inches from our predecessor, and I brushed a thumb gently over the bruising on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I whispered softly. I wished I could remember a poem, a profound quote about death to send him on his way peacefully – but the only thing that came to mind was pieces of the Lord’s Prayer, courtesy of Steve’s soft utterances unconsciously invading my mind. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all I could offer in a stammering, faltering voice, tears staining my cheeks when I eventually stood once more.

I didn’t dare look to the horizon again until my task was complete, fresh snow quickly falling to obscure the disturbed earth.

Only then did I finally glance up once more, finding myself immediately struck once again by an intense, disabling terror as I found that hazy spot on the skyline. But this time I glanced back down, eyes skimming the last remaining signs that I’d ever been here at all.

This is what will happen if I stay here. Will anybody bother to bury me, or will I just lay under the open sky, finding flesh and bone at the mercy of the animals?

My muscles were more willing this time.

Five steps.

Ten.

Fifteen, and my pace increased – first to a lope, then a jog, and then I was sprinting, flying across the ground, malnourished body screaming in protest as I tore over the open tundra, but there was no way in hell I was slowing, not before I was sheltered by the cluster of trees at last identifiable. My feet churned up the powder as I ran, and-

I felt it before the sound registered in my mind.

My legs immediately crumbled beneath me as I yelped, thigh on fire where the bullet had torn through muscle and flesh. The aim was true, bypassing the femoral artery, but that didn’t stop blood from pumping freely onto the snow, staining the pure white with violent red in a macabre echo of the past.

Glancing back, I could see the figures swarming from the facility, moving quickly as they descended upon me as if a storm cloud. My heart pounded in terror, and I attempted to scrabble to my feet – then cried out in shocked pain, raising my hand to touch tentatively at the stinging wound at the top of my ear. Another bullet had grazed the soft skin there, barely breaking the surface – but the intent here was not harm.

No… This is a warning.

I stared at the trees standing stark against the white, finally close enough to distinguish branch from trunk, fingers curling with my grief. I knew I should stand – should force myself forward once more, choosing freedom over captivity in whatever form it came. But the survival instinct within me was a muscle well-honed over recent months, and no matter how hard I fought against myself, I couldn’t force my legs to move in much more than a tremor as I knelt in the snow. My own body simply disobeyed me, choosing longevity by any means.

I didn’t look up as I was dragged back through the snow, staggering and stumbling with a hand under my armpit to keep me going. I’d have simply laid down, but a cattle prod to the ribs made sure I moved forward, body jerking at the voltage shot through me each time I slowed.

The Lieutenant was whistling tunelessly between his teeth when I was released unceremoniously in the middle of his office, legs crumbling beneath me from cold, blood loss and exhaustion. I hardly dared raise my eyes, but he said nothing as I looked to him fearfully, his eyes still on the rifle in his hands as he wiped it down.

“You were a sniper too, once upon a time,” he noted softly, and I trembled ever more at the sound of his voice, stomach clenching in anticipation of punishment as I nodded silently. “Before Hydra, I was a sniper. And then I came here. Now I only shoot wolves, for fun. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to keep my skills sharp, you understand.” He glanced at me at last, his smile almost apologetic as he jerked his head by way of indication. “I’ll clean that up for you. Lie down.”

Moving where he directed me, I shivered with cold and fear, wincing in pain as my back pressed to frigid metal and he moved closer. My feet, wrist and throat were secured beneath heavy steel, earning me another sorry grin. “Can’t have you wriggling around too much. I might end up hitting something important! I’d so hate for you to lose your leg, too…”

I winced, eyes closing automatically as he bent over me, gulping in air at the feeling of scissors slicing through the thin, drenched fabric of my pants. He hummed under his breath as he exposed my wound, blood still flowing freely from the hole in my thigh, the gory stickiness pooling beneath me and filling the air with the scent of dirty pennies as he stepped back. The sound of his small stack of drawers containing his tools rattling as he searched through them made my skin crawl, and I jerked in surprise at a hand on my knee, lids snapping open despite myself to find him peering at the bullet wound. “A clean shot,” he murmured, gently poking at the skin around the macabre sight. “In and out. You’ll be fine – I’ll just stitch you up, and you’ll be on your way.” I nodded stiffly, mistrustful, and he shot me a broad grin. “Didn’t anybody teach you any manners? Say please.”

“Please,” I whispered immediately, flicking my gaze to the ceiling, desperately wishing I could leave my body. “Please, Sir.”

With a quiet chuckle of delight, he began, and I clenched my teeth minutely at the feel of needle passing through skin, knitting together the ragged edges of my wound in a silence punctuated only by the stomach-churning sounds of squelching and sticking produced by parts of me not normally exposed to the outside world.

It took only a matter of minutes for him to secure the site – albeit only at a surface level and in the most basic way possible, leaving my body to do most of the hard work. I blinked in surprise when he released my bindings, sitting up with a soft utterance of gratitude, uncertainty and distrust heavy as I glanced at him.

It was when I went to move to my feet that his hand found my chest, his smile turning just a little cold around the edges. “That was only the exit would, Asset. I need to stitch up the back, too. Lie down on your chest, if you would.”

I could feel my heart hammering as I obeyed weakly, the trials of the day leaving me in no position to fight. Corpses flickered before my eyes, haunting me as my body met the table once more and my already-cut pants were shredded once more, the material pooling uselessly either side of my leg. His hand was high on my thigh, skirting the underpants I’d be given. The touch was almost delicate, fingertips skimming gently under the very edge of the material. His grip tightened minutely to pull the skin taut, earning a hiss of pain that he quietly shushed away. He hummed under his breath as he slowly stitched me up, fingers brushing between my thighs to swipe away the blood.

The hand below my ass relaxed as the tugging stopped, thumb brushing tenderly over my skin. “Good. All done…”

I nodded once more, eyes focused on the long window opposite, the winter sun already beginning to set after a few short hours of daylight. My muscles twitched, ready to move, to be out of this position of vulnerability – but neither his hands nor the restraints lifted. “… Sir?” I breathed, hardly daring to speak as he continued to caress my leg.

“You broke the rules,” he purred, a smile in his voice, “and now you gotta pay.”

My eyes closed in a flinch, jaw clenched with resigned terror. I wished more than anything that I could leave my body – just come back when this was over. This punishment, this life…

But my mind stayed firmly where it was, focused on his hand on my thigh, and the touch of metal to skin. The sound of scissors closing slowly, cold air breathing over my exposed ass, set my stomach churning – a feeling that only intensified as the pointed edge pricked the skin at the base of my spine as he began to methodically remove my shirt.

His free hand trailed almost tenderly over waist, keeping pace with the first until my entire back exposed, the sleeve still wrapped around my arm offering very little comfort in my nudity.

Then he was gone, stepping away from the table seeking unknown instructions of torture. The restraint around my neck held my head fast, no matter how I wriggled and strained, offering no insight into the punishment I was about to receive.

A violent buzzing, intermittent, almost tentative, gave me pause, the pitch wavering minutely as the Lieutenant whistled tunelessly through his teeth. I distantly recognized the sound – there was a sense of faint familiarity, of something passed by on occasion, but never personally pertinent.

It wasn’t until his hand rested lightly on my back and the sharp, dragging pain began that the image of a tattoo parlour Steve and I had walked past frequently flickered behind my eyelids, sending them snapping open in shock.

A tattoo?

… Why?

I dared not ask the question aloud, settling instead into the mild discomfort of the needles between my shoulder blades; the pain was minimal compared to what I was used to, and I’d take his defacing my skin over torture any day.

After all, I was already a monster – there was nothing he could stain me with that could make it any worse.

He’d finished the work with a line that brushed against one of the puckered, tactile scars trailing away from my shoulder. The action caused searing pain to extend along fingers that no longer existed, and I clamped my jaw tighter, refusing to utter a sound at the unexpected intensity.

It was a relief when he stopped, a clammy sweat gathering beneath me at the discomfort. He ran a fingertip over the stinging skin of my back, eliciting a minute wince as he hummed contentedly. “Beautiful… Would you like to see?”

I struggled briefly, desperately trying to figure out which answer was the correct one – which would prevent further punishment. Eventually, stiffly, I nodded, and he stepped into my eyeline as his face broke into a grin. With the edge of something predatory tugging at his lips, he squatted close to my face, mint-infused breath washing over my skin, mingling with the scent of his bodywash and the odour of blood and ink.

He shouldn’t smell good, I noted abruptly, the bizarre thought taking me by surprise. He shouldn’t smell… Pleasant. Not this monster. It’s not right.

He angled a hand mirror over us, showing a quick flash of a delighted gaze and sick pleasure, before revealing the words imprinted across my shoulders.

Hail HYDRA.

Indelible, forever tarnishing my skin, marking me as one of them. As their attack dog. As their Asset.

I swallowed dryly, my stomach churning, as he chuckled softly, lips skimming over my cheek with something close to affection.

“Maybe now you won’t forget who you belong to.”

I could only nod weakly, terrified to look away before I was told to, but eventually he lowered the mirror and my eyes squeezed closed briefly.

I was wrong.

He unshackled me, but I didn’t move.

This was it.

This was the last thing.

I can’t fight anymore.

He hummed in surprise and delight, fingertips trailing over my spine. “So it seems you can learn… Good boy. Roll.”

I obeyed immediately, the metal too warm to soothe the gentle burn of my skin and slick with my sweat. He didn’t bother to resecure me, trusting in my blind obedience. Distantly, I realised that we were alone in the room; I’d never have a better opportunity than this. But I couldn’t even pretend to consider moving. I couldn’t contemplate putting myself into a position of yet another punishment for a slim chance of freedom. It isn’t worth it. He beamed at me, resting a hand gently on my chest. “Look at that! So good. Perhaps you may deserve a reward… Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied immediately, my voice soft and robotic. I had no idea what this ‘reward’ would be, but I didn’t have any capacity left to give anything other than the answer I thought he’d prefer. The smile softened, and his hand travelled down slowly, resting briefly on my abdomen as he leant closer.

My mind was entirely blank when he kissed me, tongue trailing gently over my lower lip, prompting my mouth to open to grant him access. It wasn’t until his teeth tugged tenderly that his fingers his fingers wrapped around my length, caressing slowly. Confusion enveloped me at his gentle touch, the way his free hand cupped my jaw to hold me closer. The combination of the firm pressure of his lips on mine and the expert ministrations on my cock sent spikes of shameful arousal through my body, colouring my cheeks as I began to react to him. “You like that, hm?” he breathed, fingers moving a little more firmly, and I offered an obedient nod.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured, repulsed and humiliated that the statement wasn’t entirely untrue. He purred with delight at my words and my stiffening member, his hand wrapping more thoroughly around me. To my horror, I let out a soft, breathless whine, earning a soft chuckle, his hips pressing lightly against my side to demonstrate his own arousal.

“That’s it. Just relax. Do you see, Asset? When you’re bad, you will be punished. When you’re good, and obey orders… I can be merciful.”

Nausea cramped my stomach as he kissed me again, tongue brushing mine and making me tremble.

At least when he raped me it was simple.

There was no confusion in violent violation, in fighting and wishing it to be over.

But this… The way my body stirred and reacted to a touch that felt almost loving.

In another time, another situation with another man, I could very easily love this feeling of someone else’s fingers wrapped around my length, lips trailing rapturously over my throat – if not for this specific time, this specific situation with this specific man.

But I couldn’t help the way my hips twitched and my back arched, breath coming in desperate, sharp pants as I inched towards the inevitable conclusion I could feel building under my skin. He seemed to notice my increasing desperation, groaning quietly and working me harder, mouth shifting against my skin. “You’re doing so well, Asset. Almost there – let me here you.”

I whimpered through my teeth – too afraid to disobey, reluctant to follow his orders easily. But a sharp nip of his teeth on my pulse and the steadily increasing speed of his hand on me made me cry out breathlessly, hips jerking with frantic need as I came without warning.

By the time I’d finished twitching, my chest coated with my own seed, my face was burning with shame and horror, humiliation cloying in my throat.

“Such a good boy,” he crooned, kissing my cheek softly. “Hail Hydra.”

His eyes shifted to me expectantly as I hesitated, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat, lowering my gaze. “Hail Hydra,” I breathed, the ink across my shoulders burning.

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chrisgates · 1 year

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TIMING: Within the past week LOCATION: Bearcliff Motel, Room 237 PARTIES: @chrisgates & @fearhims3lf SUMMARY: Mateo comes across Chris' delicious nightmare potential and decides to have some fun with him. Unfortunately, his meal is cut short when the wolf makes an appearance. WARNINGS: Parental death, sibling death, body horror, unsanitary

Mateo was never the type to let himself go hungry. In fact, many times, he overindulged, what with how often he went out in search of a meal. It wasn’t like he was always hungry, he just really enjoyed what he did. Conjuring up people’s deepest fears and secrets had been the most intriguing thing to Mateo since he finished school. His abilities presented him with so many new opportunities, granting him the chance to delve into someone’s psyche so his creativity could really shine.

That late summer night was no different. Rob The Prez-O-Dent by That Handsome Devil thrummed through Mateo’s headphones, and he danced around, eyes closed and a smile on his face. He could feel the Astral form around him before the song’s final notes drifted away so he could open his eyes. The next song played, but Mateo busied himself with an array of potential meals he began to scour through.

“Oh, hello there.” Inhaling deeply, the mare shivered with anticipation, catching a brief glimpse of the possibilities, the hidden away fears this lovely man had in his mind. Monster, caging, dead parents… “Bingo.” Mateo muttered, slipping into the shadows of his prey’s room. The mare’s glowing red eyes looking akin to floating orbs in the darkness, hovering overhead the bed as the nightmare began.

It began simply, everything going black for an instant before the man had a red spotlight burning onto him. Red fog puffed and plumed, circling around him like a predator ready to snap its teeth into flesh. A deep growl rumbled through the air, and a flash of glistening jowls peered through the mist. It was waiting. Mateo was waiting.

Every night when his head hit the pillow, Chris prayed for a dreamless sleep. Not a good sleep, a dreamless sleep. Nightmares plagued him and served to only fuel his tightly wound fear. Dreams would have been preferred if they, too, didn’t goad him with something he could neither have nor ever see again.

Dreams lied. They were a nice reprieve but that was it — a bandaid for the terror he’d endured, for the terror he still endured. So he preferred nothing. Chris wanted nothing more than to drop his head to the pillow and wake up, uneventful. He wanted to forget. He wanted to rest.

But his prayers went unanswered.

Chris found himself back in that cabin — a two bedroom, wooden shelter with a metal roof. It smelled of rain and dirt, but it was clean. The early afternoon light bled through the curtainless windows. There was no sign of life, not until the front door opened with a creak. The flash of long blonde hair and blue eyes appeared suddenly, a broken image conjured by the mind.

Darkness suddenly drowned out the obscured visage, interrupting entirely. That would have been fine with Chris, but it kept going. The spotlight was sudden — but it felt familiar. He was instantly reminded of the harsh beam from a police issued flashlight and the way it felt on his eyes. The black bled into red, like ink blots melding with each other in bath water. It surrounded him, adding to the glare and confusion, but the sound was what forced him to pause in his uncertainty.

It was just a dream. The spotlight caught the curve of fanged teeth. It was just a dream. The red leaked over wet, hungry chops. It was just a dream. It couldn’t hurt anymore. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. Despite that mantra and unwavering stare, Chris felt himself take a step back.

A bar, a silver one, began to fall from the void overhead, plunging into the ground with an earth-shattering boom. The first of many. Mateo continued to hover, letting the fog plume and twist as a gnarly beast prowled quietly amongst the shadows. It growled, the sound prolonged and vicious. Drool dripping off of its jowls as hunger for flesh rose.

Time to turn it up. The mare smiled.

The air grew colder, and a haunting whisper echoed through the room, the sound leading Chris’s gaze to another looming creature in Mateo’s malevolent domain. They disappeared in a large puff of smoke, glowing red eyes the last thing to fade away. “Chris…!” A voice hissed behind him, pulling his attention away for only a moment. It hissed again as soon as he turned, and again, and again, and again, until Chris’s father suddenly appeared at his final turn.

All voices ceased, a piercing silence filling the area as his father’s smile grew and grew. It turned into something frightening and evil. “Do you wanna see a trick?” Mateo had to bite back a laugh as he sent another silver rod down to put a barrier in the path that Chris tried to run down in. When he turned, his father towered over him, face uncomfortably close as he pressed his smile into Chris’s cheek.

Movement in his peripheral broke his concentration from the thing that lingered in the darkness. It came quickly, a flash of silver before its contact sound drowned everything else out. It took over everything; he could feel it in his bones. One, two, three, they kept coming. But the beast was still there despite the chaos happening around him.

There was one thing that scared him more, though. More than the memory of canines that sunk deep into his flesh and tissue. More than prying eyes and booming noises — and he could hear him. At least, Chris thought he could. Nothing lingered longer than he wanted to, no, wait — no, he didn’t want it to. He wanted to curl up into a ball and pretend that none of this was happening. He couldn’t shake the voice, though. It felt like it was playing with him. Between the fickle fleeing, his heart pounded on, deafening.

Chris felt everything in him to run, to flee. Get out! Get out! And he tried, but to no avail. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to wake up and to feel the space in his bed and to hear nothing. But it only got worse. Oh god, it was so much worse.

He was there now.

It felt like Chris’ heart stopped. Dread filled every corner of him, every little pocket it could find itself and commingled with the fear that lived there. It was just a dream, just a dream, a dream. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t hurt him anymore. No, he couldn’t. It was just a dream. Oh god, please it was just a dream. He just stood there — menacingly, and no, god no, Chris didn’t want to see a trick. He didn’t want to see any of it anymore. So he did the only thing he could think of: run.

And like the last few times he tried, he was severely thwarted. Another metal bar crashed to the ground in front of him, much too close for comfort. The urge to escape became great, too great and suffocating, but Chris couldn’t move another inch. He could barely breathe. Suddenly frozen, he could do nothing but cower before the thing that looked like his father. He shoved his eyes shut when he felt the pressure on his cheek; he could feel its hot breath against his skin and the sob that choked him. It didn’t want to come out.

“S.. Stop..” His voice came out small, barely audible, as he stood quivering.

It didn’t matter what Chris wanted. It didn’t matter that his heart drummed wildly in his chest, thrashing against its cage. Mateo was hungry, the monster would be sated, and he’d be full. His smile grew even bigger, the delicious smell of fear sprinkling in the air. He growled hungrily, thrashing another rod into the ground. It landed in front of Chris, once again obstructing his path.

“There’s no running away from this!”

The voice rumbled like a distant thunder, a subterranean growl that resonated through the very ground Chris stood on. It sent tremors in its wake, splitting the ground. Mateo cackled, shaking the ground further as fear squeezed Chris tighter. No matter how hard he fought, the pressure increased, reminding him of the damage inside.

Mateo felt like he was floating in euphoria, the nightmare growing increasingly chaotic. Red began to flash, the father returning with a vengeance the moment Chris turned to run again. No matter which direction he picked, his father would be there, and the scene would turn more and more gruesome.

“Here comes the trick!” He yelled as blood ran down his chin, ripping his shirt open to reveal the shredded flesh beneath. He let out a blood-curdling scream, more family members shuffling in like zombies to do the very same. It was a dissonant symphony of terror, the final rods crashing in to bring the music to its climax and close the cage.

“Nowhere to run, murderer! Lookit! Lookit!” Mateo sneered as the father once more, body pressing against Chris’s until he was pushed against the silver cage. It burned, bubbling his skin all over. “The monster is burning you with it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasethisisn’trealthis isn’t real oh god, please, fuck! He wanted to scream but every turn only elicited a new fear, a gasp, a throat grab that only gripped tighter. Breath wouldn’t come and heart only pounded harder; he felt his head grow heavy as each new terror sidled up to him with the intent to truly traumatize. It was working. He thought he was going to die.

Chris’ lips hurried in a flurry of silent, breathy pleas but nothing actually came out. He kept trying to run from something that refused to let go. And when he woke up, he’d keep running. He wouldn’t learn, he wouldn’t feel brave or ready or whatever else they liked to call it. He didn’t think he ever would, truthfully. Maybe this was meant to be his eternal punishment, like Prometheus chained to the rock, forever to have his liver devoured while he remained awake, to feel the pain, to feel — everything. Maybe he wasn’t meant to escape it.

Burning tears pricked Chris’ eyes. They threatened to fall, he wouldn’t let them. Even now, choking on fear and terror with a man who was long since dead, he couldn’t. He couldn’t cry in front of his father, even when he knew he wasn’t real.

The terror only grew and tears, though present, retreated and made way for the gruesome and distressing sight that morphed before him. There was so much blood, oh god, so much. Chris tried his hardest to grow the space between him and the horror, a natural instinct to see your family melt before your eyes, but his father was already there, already on him in a blink. “Stop! Please! Stop, stop it! Stop stop stop!” He screamed as he was pushed against the bars. The burning was incredible. White hot pain began in a flash and he could truly feel his skin bubble—

And then it was gone. The pain started to dissipate, but it didn’t disappear entirely. It was dulled, as if someone had used a cloth to diffuse a lightbulb. That cloth would soon catch aflame, but Chris suddenly found himself being pulled away. Not him, exactly. He was still there, between the decaying body of his father and the claustrophobic metal bars. But he also wasn’t? It felt like he drifted away, like he didn’t have a body.

But he did — it was right there.

The energy in the nightmare shifted. He not only felt, he saw, his body contort as much as it could beneath the withering, oozing form that used to be dad. A hand reached out and blindly roughly grasped at his father’s shoulder; his fingers pushed into the burning flesh with mild resistance. A blackness started to creep in from the edge of Chris’ vision, threatening very much to suffocate his sight. The body that was his own did burn, but it also changed. It was a scene straight out of Carpenter's, The Thing; teeth grew sharp and poked out from the mouth, some missing completely and breaking straight through skin while thick, dirty blonde fur sprouted from between knuckles.

On the surface, Chris’ body writhed against his mattress, his changing there matching the nightmare beneath.

The high that came with breathtaking fear was something Mateo knew he’d never get over, but what he created with Chris? He thought he was about to kill the man. His heart thudded in his chest harder than a sledgehammer plunging a rail spike into place. Was he really about to make a mare? Could werewolves become mares? Guess he’d find out soon. Mateo’s chest tightened at the idea, his mind trailing toward thoughts of his brother, or Junior. Is this how he felt? Was it overwhelming for him, too?

Chris gasped, ripping away the climax of death before it reached its apex. Of course, that happened. Getting edged wasn’t exactly in Mateo’s plan, but he supposed not having to find out whether or not he’d be a mare-dad was a positive thing. He didn’t have time to show anyone the ropes if Chris, could in fact, become like him. Turns out though, that hardly mattered anymore. Chris was thrashing against his mattress, growling like some feral beast, and Mateo took that as his cue to leave.

“Thanks for the meal! Uh…don’t be a bad boy!” He waved his finger like he was some sort of pet owner getting onto their dog. A low blow? Probably. But Mateo didn’t care, and the smile on his face made that obvious. He rarely thought about the consequences. Why would he when he could snap his fingers and be somewhere else? This could only mean that the little werewolf problem he created would inevitably be someone else’s. “Deuces!” He offered his rocker gesture, disappearing just as a sharp set of claws swiped at Mateo, just barely missing him as he blinked away.

Chris would have preferred to be the one who woke up. Instead he’d been pushed down into the dark, a reprieve from the nightmare that had quite the chokehold on him. He didn’t know that his body twisted into a mangled amalgamation of wolf and man or that there was something else in the room with him.

The wolf that took over, effectively kicking Chris out of the pilot’s chair, could feel the disturbance. No one was supposed to be in the room — no one. That was why the ‘do not disturb’ sign was on the doorknob. No one was supposed to be in the room. The wolf growled an almost too human sound at the goading words. It thrashed among the twisted and torn bed sheets and lashed out with a still forming arm, hoping to reach the unwanted visitor.

It missed, which only served to irritate it further, and before it could retaliate, they were gone. The wolf howled within room 237’s walls, furious with being poked and prodded. The sound echoed throughout the motel. It tore through the mattress as it lumbered awkwardly off the bed and clambered through the one available window, breaking it, before disappearing into the night.

#thread #tr: mateo l #tr: [ who let the dogs out ]

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obsidiancorner · 3 years

Text

ObiYuki Bingo- Cyberpunk

Wherever You Go- Chapter 1

(Shout out to @ruleofexception for naming this thing that I have been struggling to name since my board came out and I saw what all was on it. )

Year: Ad Pacem-1103 (3119 AD)

"... They look human, making it nearly impossible to deduce who they are by physical traits alone. They have also studied our speech patterns.”

Shirayuki hangs her head in her hands, elbows propped on the very edge of her desk so she doesn’t skew or drop any pages of the research splayed out in front of her. Whoever leaked the info to the media signed their own death warrant. At a guess, they will simply vanish from existence under the silent vigilance of the approaching midnight hours.

“The specimen in custody converses fluently with the state officials interrogating it but it will not divulge any information regarding how long it has been here, what their objectives are, and, ultimately, what their interest is in Earth’s-”

Shirayuki slams her hand down on the button beside the small projector lens from her desk, hitting it too hard in frustration and her old desk groans in protest as the screen flickers out of existence, leaving her alone in the quiet solitude of her office. She resists the urge to pace by drumming her nails on the surface of her desk.

There’s always something going on. Nothing can be easy anymore. No break from one calamity to the next. The only guarantee is that some other shadow looms on the horizon. Why not an alien invasion? Sure. First it was a deadly plant they had to somehow make prosperous. Then it was a coup attempt that thankfully failed. Why not an alien invasion next. That’s way more interesting and potentially life threatening now that they’ve been found out.

With a heavy sigh, Shirayuki shuts off the newscast. She smacks the button on her console with more force than is strictly necessary and the screen before her shrinks into nothing as the shutter from the projector on the desk winks closed and the quiet whir of the computer dissipates. Obi will have something to say about that when they meet for lunch, Shirayuki thinks as she packs up to meet him at their favorite cafe.

-----------

Obi is late. He’s never late for food and he never skips a meal without a mandatory and likely classified reason. When the server approaches for the third time, Shirayuki orders him something just in case he shows up last-minute.

His food arrives but her lunch is ending. True fear creeps in with all the subtlety of a hurricane making landfall. The server, probably assuming she had been stood up for a lunch date, flashes her a pitied smile and packs the extra meal in a takeout box for her.

Shirayuki responds with what she hopes is a smile, though it feels like a grimace, before tucking Obi’s untouched meal under her arm.

She makes a quick stop at the lab to tell Garrack she doesn’t feel well and needs to take the afternoon off before heading home to stew in her worry in the comfort of her own home.

----------

“They can be found through infrared scanning,” Izana says as he taps his stack of intel reports on his desk to neaten the edges.

Obi drums his fingers on his leg. His nerves are fraying because nothing good can come of this. Aliens are among them and no government officials have been approached for permission to be here. It’s an aggressive and underhanded act from unnamed foes from heaven and stars only know where.

“What do you suggest we do? Makiri?”

Obi doesn’t flinch. Barely. It’s been a long time since he has heard such an aggressive level of annoyance from an employer. At least he isn’t the reason for it. Though his presence in this meeting leads him to believe he’s about to be a part of it whether he wants to or not, right along side Mitsuhide and Hisame who are likewise unfortunate enough to be sitting beside him.

“Your majesty, I believe it is for the best if we go ahead and authorize the military’s partnership with Cyberdyne Systems. We now have the technology to do it safely and we need a sharper edge if we are going to defend ourselves against such a threat.” Makiri is all business, matter-of-fact and unflinching in his appraisal of the situation and his assessment of an appropriate counter-measure.

Obi looks at Makiri. The fuck is Cyberdyne Systems? Makiri, despite it being his suggestion, whatever it is, looks uneasy at the thought. The conviction of his words no longer syncs with his facial expression so whatever it is must not be good news or an entirely safe plan. A sobering concept. Makiri is never anything but sure of himself.

“Do it. Get me the paperwork and you’ll have my signature the moment it lands on my desk,” Izana responds with a calm intensity that sends tendrils of dread shooting up his spine. He’s a master of revealing nothing. He would have made a good spy, had he not been born to rule a kingdom.

With a sharp nod, Makiri turns to leave and Obi seizes the opportunity to elbow Mitsuhide. “Cyberdyne Systems?”

Mitsuhide sighs, inaudible but obvious by the way his shoulders sag with the exhale. Sir always has been one for formality and decorum. Whispered concerns are not something that makes him happy during an already bad meeting on an already crap day.

“Obi. Mitsuhide. Hisame.”

“Your majesty,” they respond in practised unison acknowledgement of the highest commander of the Clarines military.

“You three will be the first to undergo the transformation under Cyberdyne’s medical staff. You are exemplary fighters and are the best suited for the transition. Report to the Cyberdyne Systems base in Oriold in two days. That will give you time to say any goodbyes you may feel necessary”

With that, Izana leaves the meeting room. No one in the room needs any other direction. The war council is adjourned and it is time to make their respective plans.

“What do you think he means by ‘transformation’ and ‘say goodbyes?’”

“I don’t know, Obi. But I’m going to go see Kiki and I suggest you go back to Lilias. Spend time with Shirayuki and Ryuu.”

----------

When Obi walks into their apartment late in the evening, he looks bones-deep exhausted. The weight of the world bowing his shoulders and hunching his back more than usual. He leaves his to-go box from lunch uneaten. Ryuu pulls himself out of his book, he notices the tension and excuses himself for bed. Shirayuki can’t quash the feeling that something is happening. Something she doesn’t know. Something big and likely awful.

When she stands in front of him, looking at him with pleading eyes- begging him to talk to her- he reaches out to hug her. He pulls her so close. Holds her so tight. And she knows. She knows. Their lives are about to change forever and nothing can stop it.

When he lets go, he pulls out his work-issued comm tablet and opens up his email. “I’m not supposed to show you this,” he says, as distant as the palm trees of Yuris when he hands her his tablet without looking at her.

“You will report to Cyberdyne Systems. Come fully hydrated. Drink no less than one gallon of water the day before your arrival. The medical staff will perform some preliminary bloodwork and a urine sample will be required. At which time you will be moved to surgery for implantations and modifications. After you recover, you will be paired with your handler, a person going through training to work with you in battle strategy as well as serve as your own specialized mechanic.

Makiri Arleon”

Obi sighs. “I have two days to say my goodbyes and report for duty.”

“What do they mean ‘handler’ and ‘implantations and modifications?’” She can’t believe what she is reading. This sounds suspiciously like mechanizing real people, a concept that had been rumored to be experimented with but has thus far been chalked up to nothing more than the newest wave of lingering conspiracy theories.

“This is how I lose my humanity, Miss,” he says with the saddest smile she’s ever seen and her heart shatters for him. “I’ve been one of the three men selected to be in the first round of cyber fighters to protect everyone from the aliens.”

She doesn’t know how to react at first. She feels as lost as he looks. But he needs her right now and he needs her as strong and ‘normal’ as ever though this is anything but. She settles with something safe. “Let’s get some sleep, if we can. We can wake up early tomorrow and take Ryuu on a hiking trip. He’d like that.”

“Yeah.” He gives her shoulder the slightest of squeezes as he walks into the bathroom.

When she hears the shower turn on, she seizes her opportunity and grabs her cell phone. She punches in a phone number that is way more familiar than she would ever like it to be. When the line connects and before he can say anything, she says, “I want to be his handler.”

The chuckle that fills the space is one of genuine amusement which is surprising but she won’t complain about it. She’ll take what she can get out of him, though nothing with him ever comes without it’s own price. Cost doesn’t matter this time. Whatever demands he makes, she’ll pull through on it.

“The handlers are in charge of keeping the mechas healthy and working with them on strategy, correct?” She will press him. She’s earned enough of his respect to throw some of her weight around. He knows damn good and well how useful she is and how reliably she can be that useful.

“You read the whole email,” he states. No question, just facts, and oh so very, very irritatingly Izana. But he confirms what she read anyway. “That is correct, yes,”

“Then let me be his.” She leaves no room for argument. She will fight him on this. It’s them or neither and she will make sure of it. Tanbarun would hide them without hesitation and all it would take is a call to Prince Raj.

“You know I could have him court martialed and jailed for feeding you classified information, right?” She doesn’t miss the gravity in his words.

She laughs, bitter and hollow. He could, in theory. But Obi is the best fighter Izana has in his arsenal and she is the best medic that doesn’t have other obligations preventing them from signing on. Whether he likes it or not, she is the best equipped to be Obi’s handler. “We both know you won’t do that.”

#obiyukibingo21 #cyberpunk

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every-marveler-ever · 3 years

Text

Tailors Can Be Scary

Fill for @tonystarkbingo 's May Flash Bingo which I am so excited to participate in!

Card 6, Square 2 - Business Suits

Summary: Peter Parker is CEO while Pepper and Tony spend their anniversary away. Tony has set some particular tasks for the CEO in training.

Pairing: Pepper Potts x Tony Stark

A/N: I was really into ‘Peter Parker is the CEO of Stark Industries for a while so this is my contribution to that branch of the Peter Parker storyline. Also, this is the first story I’ve posted onto Ao3 as well as Tumblr which is really exciting! Beware also that this is description heavy rather than dialogue I tried adding some but I’m really sorry again.

Tailors Can Be Scary

ALL SO READ THIS ON AO3

Peter didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Tony and Pepper had both warned him that at some point it would happen he just didn’t think it would be now. Tony had given him plenty of warning, at the end of every lab session he would remind Peter of what was happening in a month, a week, a day, Pepper was constantly messaging him or assuring him that he didn’t have to go through with this, they could stay instead of going to China to meet with corporate (and to Peter, it sounded that pepper truly DIDN’T want to go). It never worried Peter he continued to tell them it would be fine, that everything would be okay in their absence. Yet it still shocked him when at 7 am Happy had called him and asked why he wasn’t waiting outside the flat excited for his first day.

His first day as CEO at Stark Industries.

He had Happy and Rhodey backing him but still when his new assistant, a lovely girl named Charlie, passed him a coffee (if you were to ask Tony if what Peter had in his hand was coffee he would shake his head and deny, because no, what Peter drank was sugar and coffee syrup) and started rambling off his lists of to-dos of the day. He knew Pepper had a lot on her shoulder, but not this much.

Peter sat at his desk all day and yet he felt he was running 12 miles an hour. The day just dragged so much longer than he ever would have imagined. He signed documents, took calls, met with employees and heads of departments, solved a problem in legal and still had a long list waiting for him to finish.

“Mr Parker,” Peter didn’t mean to sigh but he really just needed some peace and quiet, no more stupid yelling at stupid board members. Despite all this, he smiles at his assistant “yes Charlie, what can I help you with,” “you have a tailoring session at 2’o’clock, Mr Hogan is waiting downstairs for you.” this made Peter blink “a tailoring session?” Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked expression on her bosses face “yes Mr Stark booked it for you so you had at least, and I quote, ‘one decent suit for his first week as CEO’ end quote.” Peter wanted to wipe Charlie’s smirk off her face.

Wiping his pants he stood up and moved around his assistant to the double glass doors.

“Garage right?” With a fond smile Charlie responds “yes Mr Parker, Mr Hogan is waiting.”

Happy drove him into town as he typed an email on his laptop during the drive, an email to Pep to tell her what he had ticked off so far, an email to Ross explaining his absence in the UN meeting at that he would call tomorrow for an update and an email finalising all the problem he had with the new legal document put forward. So many charts, number and words were following through his brain that when they had stopped in front of the tailor Peter hadn’t even noticed.

It was when he heard happy’s voice that he looked up from his laptop, “You getting out kid or are we going to be waiting here all day?” Peter just shook his head beginning to open his door “Yeah, yeah,” he continues to mutter as he figures out the door handle “I’m getting out now.”

The boutique was nothing of what Peter expected, it was high end and yet deserted with only one girl at the counter. The appointment made by Tony Stark himself he expected it to be a big place with people buzzing around at every one point, at least there was music playing. “Sir Parker, yes?” this woman had become Peter’s fairy godmother and Peter didn’t know what to say and so instead he nodded, feeling like he was in middle school all over again. “Very good,” and the woman had walked away.

Tailors were scary.

They had all the options for pins and needles, they could happily stab murder you and literally could count it as an accident. Peter wasn’t sure how many times he had been pinned in or been pricked because he moved the wrong way at the wrong time. Mr Stark never made it sounds this dangerous.

The process took an hour with the fabric being pinned to his body with stitching, sewing and everything in between. The woman, Janet Van-Dyne she introduced herself as, was polite but scary, the same way that Pepper Potts could put fear into anyone’s body with just the right glance. Peter learned to know that he already knew Mrs Van-Dyne that they were introduced to one of Tony’s many events and that apparently she already had his measurements but she wanted to be sure for the heir of Stark Industries.

If Peter wasn’t shocked before he was now.

Minus the small interaction Mrs Van-Dyne let him go back to the office reminding him to come with Tony next time to pick up his next suit (yes another suit because apparently, Tony has ordered him 6!).

Seeing Happy again he smiled and headed into the back seat. Back on his laptop, he began answering emails once again.

Laying back on his bed back at his apartment Peter’s phone rings, a ringtone saved for one man; ‘Peter your supposed to answer the phone, no stop playing with Dum-E, god Peter.’

Friday had saved the audio clip from one of the many lab sessions where Peter refused to answer a phone call from Nick Fury, to say Fury wasn’t happy would be an understatement but it made everyone understand just how Tony there was in Peter.

“Hey Pete,” the smile on Peter’s face from just hearing those 2 words was astounding “a suit really Mr Stark” “we’re back to Mr Stark now huh” “Yeah we are.”

Tony Stark gets what he wants, even if he’s in Italy celebrating his anniversary with his wife, Tony Stark can convince Peter Parker to do just about anything.

MASTERLIST - Flash Bingo Masterlist

#tony stark bingo #marvel #everymarvelerever #pepper potts x tony stark #peter parker #peter parker ceo

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captain-tch · 4 years

Text

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner, who gets thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive.

TW: DEATH, SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS

chapter 2: a moth to the flame

previous chapter

Kiko wandered for hours throughout the city. She hunted for the smallest slice of evidence that human life was here. She started chasing footsteps, falling short when she realised she was chasing her own. It was disturbingly beautiful. Her city had always been bustling with life, lights blinding from every billboard and so many bodies, so many lives, passing by in a blink of an eye. Now, all of that had been stripped back. Buildings loomed, entrances dark. Cars abandoned in the middle of the street. No light but the sun to guide her to where her feet took her.

It was hard to believe but maybe... maybe she was truly alone.

The thought sent a spike of fear straight through her heart. Shaking off the feeling, she carried on searching until her body was numb and her stomach grumbled. She didn’t want to stop; she had to stop.

Defeated, she trudged her way back to her shop as darkness started to fall, opening the key to her apartment above it and almost collapsed in the entryway. Legs trembling, she finally managed to pull herself upright, pulling herself into the kitchen and yanking open the cupboard. She eyed the near barren space with contempt, opting to eat a can of preserved pineapple. Her face screwed up as she took the first bite, her tongue fizzing.

“I’m going to have to get some shopping in soon.” She mused to herself, lifting the tin to her lips so she could drink the last dregs of the juice. Then it dawned on her. She wouldn’t go shopping like she usually would. She wouldn’t be walking down the aisles with a basket, calculating the total in her head with each item added. Kiko wouldn’t have to decide between having toothpaste that week or food for an extra day. For a moment, a smile graced her lips. For once, she wouldn’t have to be mindful of how buying supplies to survive would drive her bank account further into the negative figures.

But would it be stealing?

Kiko froze, lost in thought. Back when everyone was here, she would have been arrested on sight for taking whatever she wanted. They wouldn’t care about her circumstances, just that she had broken the law and needed to be punished. But is there a crime when there isn’t anyone one to witness it?

She wanted to tell herself yes. But she found that her instincts told her it was perfectly fine. She had done it before, and she was okay. Maybe there was some truth to the dark thought.

Shaking her head, she threw the tin in the sink, ignoring how it bounced out and fell to the floor. Her gaze was drawn to the window, scouring the streets below. There had to be some sign of life... somewhere.

There!

A flash of light lit up the night. A billboard shone amongst the darkness, words glaring boldly at Kiko.

GAME ARENA.

People went to games. If there was a game arena, maybe there would be people there too. Without even realising it, Kiko had started to run out of her apartment, locking the door and following the light like a moth to a flame. As she ventured further outside, she saw more lights appear.

Hope blossomed in her chest. It seemed like she wasn’t alone.

After what felt like years, Kiko arrived at the billboard. She stared up at it with a raised brow, noting the community centre resting beneath it. She found it hard to believe that the community centre was a game arena. As far as she was aware, it only held bingo and under 13′s discos. It didn’t exactly scream ‘game’ to her.

Shrugging, she pushed her way into the building. Upon arrival, she nearly shrivelled under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Blinking rapidly, it took her a few moments to see the other people in the room.

People.

A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “You have no idea how much of a relief this is.”

Weary faces turned to her. Dead eyes assessed her body, shaking their heads before turning away. Kiko bit her tongue from saying the string of colourful words that sprung to mind. She had just found people. She didn’t want to isolate herself from them.

Finding a woman sat near the edge of the room, Kiko sat next to her, slumping in the chair. The woman barely gave her a glance.

“Are you excited for the game?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.” The woman stared at Kiko - the clean clothes, loose lips and open demeanour. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

Kiko chuckled, raking a hand through her dark hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only the newbies have light left in their eyes.”

Kiko’s thoughts began whirring. The cryptic way the woman spoke had her mind in a spin. Glancing around, it seemed all the people in the shared a similar look of dread. For the first time since entering the room did Kiko begin to feel nervous.

“I think I’ll be going now.”

As Kiko went to leave her seat, the woman clamped down on her arm. Hard. Kiko struggled in her grip, trying to pry herself free.

“You can’t leave once you enter.”

Kiko was starting to think maybe she had happened to walk into something she had no business in being in. “You can’t stop me.”

“You’ll die.” Kiko’s thrashing stopped. She looked at the woman in the eyes, looking for any sign that she was telling the worlds cruellest practical joke. “You can’t leave until you finish the game.”

A phone appeared in front of Kiko. Before she could question it, the screen began to load and her details popped onto the screen. She grabbed the phone, staring at it with a confused sense of wonder. “What is going on here?”

The person who handed her the phone spoke up. She hadn’t fully registered it until he spoke that he was only a teenager, probably close to turning twenty. “The first day is always hard. I hope for you this isn’t a hearts game.”

The woman slapped the boy on the arm. “Why would you tempt fate like that?”

The boy was about to speak, when Kiko interrupted. “A hearts game?”

“In Borderlands, there are four types of games, like the card suits. Spades is physical, clubs is teams, diamonds is intelligence and hearts...” The boy rubbed at the edge of his shirt sleeve. A red stain tarnished the fabric. “Hearts play with your feelings.”

She frowned at the boy. Her mind couldn’t fully understand what he’d just said, tripping over the intricacies of it all. She must be dreaming. She must be having some sort of nightmare.

Before she could question him further, a bodiless voice echoed throughout the room. “REGISTRATION COMPLETE. GAME: TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE. DIFFICULTY: SEVEN OF DIAMONDS.”

Kiko heard the boy swear under his breath.

“FOLLOW THE SIGN TO THE MAIN HALL. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW.”

One by one, the people began to filter into the main hall. Kiko struggled to catch her breath, absentmindedly clawing at her chest.

A soothing hand fell onto her back. The middle aged woman stroked Kiko’s back one, two, three times, before pulling away. She followed the rest into the main hall, sending Kiko a sad smile. “The first one is always the worst.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Kiko followed the rest, unable to shake the feeling she was like the lamb about to go to the slaughter.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfic #alice in borderland fanfiction #aib fanfic #aib fanfiction #fanfiction #original character

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 5 years

Text

The Supply Run

Dean Winchester x Reader; Sam Winchester x Reader (platonic)

Summary: Dean’s girlfriend is at home sick with the flu and he promised to make a run for a few simple things. Her biggest request - go to the actual grocery store and not that gas station up the road.

A/N: A simple little story to complete my bingo card for @spngenrebingo. A big thank you to @kazosa for helping me out with this one!!

Square Filled: Supply Run

Warnings: None

WC: 2.5K

Dean stood outside of the electronic doors and looked up at the giant neon sign. He grumbled at the prospect of entering the dreaded store with its giant aisles and fluorescent overhead lights. Why he couldn’t just grab the necessities from the gas station near home was beyond him. Not like he never had to do a supply run for someone sick before. Plenty of times he had to do this for Sammy when they were kids. Why she insisted on making him go to this horror show just for some simple things baffled him. But yet, the image of the girl he loved, back in the bunker laid up alone and wallowing in germs gave him the final push he needed to take a step forward, triggering the doors to open.

He grabbed a basket and instantly felt lost and slightly intimidated. Looking around he took the first few hesitant steps towards the endless aisles in front of him. She gave him a list, but he thought it looked pretty sparse of any of the good stuff he used to get Sam. Where were the cans of Chicken & Stars soup… the marshmallow fluff… the boxed mac and cheese? All she asked him to get was oranges, Nyquil and Gatorade.

“Not even a box of Saltines?!” he mumbled incredulously, looking at the paper again and shaking his head.

He started by the produce and found the oranges. Piled high on a display, he absently grabbed the first two his hand touched. A quick avalanche of citrus began rolling down the sides. In a panic, he dropped the basket and caught most before they crashed to the floor. Looking around to see how much attention he gained, he sighed when he realized no one saw. Carefully, Dean placed the oranges back and silently prayed they would stay put.

Snatching his basket and quickly walking away, Dean bypassed most of the home goods aisles until he found himself boxed in by a display of everything you would need to make smores at home. Dean’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one of each, tossing them into the basket, and moving along down towards the cereal. A box of Lucky Charms caught his eye, and he added it to his basket before nodding in satisfaction.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he muttered with a satisfied grin and continued through the aisles, feeling better about his trip to the big box store.

Rounding the corner, his attention was in looking up at the sign for the next aisle. He was hoping the cans of soup would be there somewhere when suddenly the hard bump of a shopping cart rammed straight into his side.

“Excuse you, son!” an older, gray-haired woman admonished as Dean’s box of Lucky Charms went tumbling out of the basket thanks to the collision.

“S-Sorry--” he stuttered, bending down to pick up the box and wrinkled his nose at the narrowed eye expression she was giving him.

She looked into his basket and shook her head. “This generation… can’t even shop for a proper meal,” she mumbled as she moved along her way.

“I hate these places,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t I just go to the Gas n Sip. Coulda got all this there…”

Two aisles later, Dean found the cans of condensed Chicken & Stars soup that was a sure-fire way to get her to feel better. Any time Sam had been sick, Dean would get all the essentials, soup included, making Sammy better in no time. If Dean was feeling fancy, he would crumble the saltines on top and Sam would think it was the best thing in the world. Smiling at the memory, he tossed a few into the basket then went on to find the sports drinks she asked for.

The last item on her very shortlist was the Nyquil. She said it would help her sleep off whatever germs were making her feel like death. He had no doubt that it would, but she would also need sustenance; hence the variety of heavily processed foods he was lugging around in the basket. Half paying attention to where he was wandering, Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. Thinking he was somewhere near the meds, he began to examine some of the boxes on the shelves.

As he scanned the boxes and tubes in front of him and read the words like ‘Vagisil’ and ‘Summer’s Eve’ his head snapped up and he took a step back. Realizing he was in the feminine hygiene aisle, he quickly turned on his heel and stepped lively towards where he took a wrong turn.

“Wrooong aisle,” he said with a nervous laugh just as he nearly ran into the same old lady he did before.

“You lost, son?” she asked, relishing in the uncomfortable expression he wore.

“I… um… Nyquil?” he stammered.

“One more aisle over,” she replied with an exasperated huff. “Guess this generation can’t read, either.”

Dean held back all the comments that swirled through his mind and continued on to the correct aisle, biting his tongue as he went. Finding the requested item, Dean took a moment to try and discern which variety she would want. Finally plucking the bottle of neon green liquid from the shelves, he then noticed a variety of other things he thought she may need but didn’t ask for. Stuffing the basket full, he felt a raw sense of satisfaction as he examined all the things that were nearly overflowing from it and headed towards the front of the store.

Once Dean finally made it to the checkout. He lined up all of his goodies on the belt and watched as the clerk—Keith, who’s name tag was overshadowed by a giant pin that read, ‘Be Patient with Me! I’m New!’—studied each item slowly, looking for the bar code to rake across the scanner. Dean’s impatience grew with each painstakingly snail-like pass of an item over the register, the resounding beeeep that followed chipping away at the last of his patience.

By the time the pimply-faced teenage clerk picked up the box of tissues, then Lucky Charms, Dean heard him snicker under his breath.

“Sick kid at home?” he asked. “My mom used ta buy this shit for me when I was sick.”

Dean flashed a fake but polite smile. “Girlfriend. And she’s waiting for me, so can we speed this along, a little, please?”

“Girlfriend?” Keith snorted again just as he passed the last item, a jar of marshmallow fluff over the red laser light then held it up, shaking it in a mocking fashion. “What is she, twelve?”

Dean snatched it from his hand, threw it in the bag, and did it all with a glare of his intense green eyes. One that made Keith assume would result in his death should he speak another word.

Continuing to stare down the very young and very nervous cashier, Dean averted his eyes for just a moment, to see a small, plush little teddy bear holding a heart and a miniature mylar ballon, also decked out in hearts, sitting on the top of Keith’s register. Making intense eye contact with Keith, Dean reached out, and added it to the belt and stared the kid down until he finally scanned it, then placed it in the bag.

The small bit of fear reflected in Keith’s expression was enough to calm Dean’s annoyance. “Buddy,” he said, as he relaxed his gaze as he drew out his wallet, looked at the final tally, and slapped down the total amount in cash, “let me tell you something. When you finally get the opportunity to touch a woman--something I assume is still years away for you--and you find the woman that makes you realize that it's all worth fighting for... A trip to the grocery store to get her everything she could possibly need is the easiest thing in the world to do. Even if it means dodging old ladies and Vagisil. Alright?”

Keith could only nod and wait until Dean gathered his few bags up before taking the cash that resided on the metal table beyond the register.

The cool air hit Dean’s face as he exited through the second set of automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Throwing the bags on the floor of the Impala, he slid behind the wheel and smiled a soft, thoughtful smile. It was something he did every time he was about to head home knowing she was there, without even realizing he was doing it.

Back at the bunker, she was curled up in the fetal position in the bed she shared with Dean; head pounding and a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Though she were freezing internally, the fever that raged told her body to both sweat and shiver at the same time. Praying Dean would return soon with the few necessary items, she tried to reposition herself on the bed so she could drink water before falling back down to the mattress, exhausted.

The flu, or whatever it was infesting her, had taken its toll. She had been down for two days, and not able to do much more than lay in bed. Sam had left on a hunt a few days prior, and Dean was doing his best to make sure she had what she needed while still sending Sam support for the job at hand.

Off in the depths of the halls, familiar sounds of footsteps were coming closer. Hoping it was Dean, she did her best to push the sweaty remnants of hair aside and adjust the t-shirt she wore, so she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. The faint knock at the door made her look up and call out for them to come in, but the dryness of her throat protested, sending her into a coughing fit.

The door opened, Sam was coming in to check on her, but stopped in his tracks and covered his face with his hand when he saw how sick she really was.

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you? When I left you had the sniffles,” he said, his voice muffled through his fingers.

“The flu happened,” she rasped in reply between coughs.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Getting supplies. I hope... He’s been gone a while. Probably because I asked him to go to the actual store. Not the gas station.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “I’m sure he’s having quite the adventure. Alright, let me go see what we got in the kitchen in the meantime. You really do look like crap.”

“Gee. Thanks. Didn’t realize,” she muttered sarcastically before finally falling back to the mattress.

In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a variety of ingredients and was happy to realize he could make what he intended without having to make a supply run of his own. The soup he threw together was simmering, filling the kitchen and surrounding hallways of the bunker with a delicious aroma by the time Dean made it home.

Dropping the bags on the table, Dean watched his brother curiously for a moment as he slipped the jacket from his shoulders.

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Sam’s much taller shoulder.

“Soup. Or did you not notice the Ebola situation going on in your room?”

“I got her soup. Along with everything else she needs to get better,” he replied, rolling his eyes behind Sam’s back.

Without turning around, Sam replied, “Let me guess. Chicken and stars, marshmallow fluff and saltines.”

“Yeah… but also Nyquil, oranges, and Gatorade,” Dean retorted with an incredulous snort but left out the part where they were her suggestions. “But, yeah, I absolutely got some other necessities. Hey, don’t knock it, they always worked for you.”

“They worked for me because after you turned around and left, I would sneak down to the closest store and get actual medicine and real soup.”

“Real--Sam… this IS real. Just add water, heat, and stir.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove. “My point is, she cannot live and get better off fluff, alone. Go give her the meds and a Gatorade, this will be ready soon.”

Dean silently mocked his brother’s instructions and grabbed the bag with the few things she specifically asked for, along with a few other things he thought she may want. By the time he reached their shared bedroom and cracked the door open, he was relieved to see that she was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was sweaty and pushed back from her face which was still flush with fever, but it didn’t stop him from leaving a sweet kiss against her head.

Placing the bag aside, he retrieved the foul-smelling medicine and poured her a shot in the enclosed cup before gently shaking her awake. As she started to come around, he readied the bottle of Gatorade so she could easily take both and then go back to sleep.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he said as she opened her eyes and smiled despite feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Hey…” she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around slightly confused. “Did I see Sam here earlier or was that a hallucination?”

Dean laughed. “He’s here. He’s making you soup.”

“Oh… that’s sweet. Did you grab--”

“I got everything on your list, and then some. But for now, take this…” he handed her the medicine, and then the bottle of fruit punch. “Then, have this.”

She did as told and once both were consumed, she laid back down on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean. I know going to the store was a pain, but--”

“It was fine. As long as you got what you need.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come back with half the store, honestly.”

“There may or may not be a few more bags in the kitchen. But for now, just get passed this fever, then we can talk about making smores with Lucky Charms.”

“What? Ewe.”

“No, it's good. Trust me. Make ya feel better in no time.”

“Hm, no. I’ll pass, but you knock yourself out,” she giggled and then closed her eyes.

“You rest, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit. Hopefully, you’ll feel better and look a little less…” Dean trailed off, trying to find a nice way to put it.

“A little less… what?”

“Well, you sorta look like a shifter that didn’t quite shift all the way. Kinda pale and gooey,” he shrugged, and despite her weakened state, earned him a solid punch in the arm from his girlfriend.

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” he winked and stood from the bed. “Oh, I uh, got you a few other things in the bag there. But they can wait. Just get try and get some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but then with as much energy as she could muster, reached for the bag and looked inside. Pulling out the small bear with the balloon, her eyes found him quickly and he felt a rush of feeling for how she was looking at him.

“I love it, thank you,” she said and held it close to her. Once she removed the balloon, she burrowed into the covers with the bear and sighed contentedly. Dean bent down to kiss her head again, and before he turned to leave the room, she called out for him.

“Dean, wait.” Sitting up again, she knew she only had another moment before her head dictated she lay it back down. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but thank you for all you do for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you soon.”

He waited until she laid back down and quietly closed the door behind him. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized she was the one who could potentially domesticate him, the thought of which didn’t scare him the way it would have before. As Dean made his way back towards the kitchen, the only thing that did scare him was realizing he forgot to get any kind of disinfecting spray to bomb the bunker with. Despite how cute she may have looked cuddling the small bear and falling asleep in his bed, he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from her Ebola-like germs.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss // @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

#spngenrebingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x reader insert #spn fan fics #spn bingo

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supremeuppityone · 5 years

Photo

Written for @klarosummerbingo Klarosummer Bingo prompt: “Just drive until you see water.”

Please review here.

One night stands shouldn’t be milling around my store like they own the place. Caroline narrowed her eyes at the inconveniently sexy hybrid as he pretended to aimlessly wander around her tea shop, hands clasped behind his back as he purposely avoided her gaze.

She continued to glare at the back of Klaus’ curly head while she assisted a customer on the phone. “Yes, we have vervain Darjeeling, and we’re open until six if you’d like to stop by today. We’re at the end of Bienville Street overlooking the Mississippi. Just drive until you see water.”

“Or, you could have told them to follow the beautiful light emanating from the Quarter. You could power all of New Orleans with your smile alone, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes, she hung up the phone, reaching for the green and black bag from underneath the register. “Here’s the Bolivian moonstone black you wanted to try. Not that I care, but do you realize that you’ve spent more in my shop in the past two weeks than I typically earn in a business quarter?”

“I told you I was a connoisseur of fine teas. And your quaint little shop happens to carry everything I could desire,” he told her with a seductive smirk, flashing to the counter in a showy flash of supernatural ability that she definitely shouldn’t find so appealing. After all, she’d grown up in the spiritual nexus of New Orleans; supernatural was the most normal part of this town. But there was something about the cocky hybrid...

“While I agree my shop carries the most rare and unusual teas that I’ve personally curated over the years, you know damn well that’s not why you’re here.” She raised an eyebrow, her tone a bit spiteful as she added, “You’re the Original Hybrid — you like the chase. And the fact that we had one night together and then I slipped away the next morning somehow screwed with your lizard brain and now you’re out to prove you’re a mighty hunter or whatever.”

His gray eyes darkened a bit, a hint of wolf gold as his temper flared. “You’re making assumptions, love. We’ve shared a connection ever since I arrived in this city. Don’t deny what’s between us just because you’re frightened.”

He’s an Original. An ancient immortal. What does he know about fear? A decade ago, Caroline and her coven had waged a war against Marcel and his army, and when they lost, all of the witches in New Orleans came under his tyrannical rule. Witches were no longer allowed to practice their ancestral magic, and his loyal gangs of daywalkers and nearly feral nightwalkers were a constant, menacing threat to keep them in line.

“I don’t have time for this today, Klaus,” she huffed in annoyance, glancing at the moon phase app on her phone.

He shrewdly observed, “Because you have to gather the burdock root precisely at moonrise to distribute among your coven?”

Caroline fought to keep her expression impassive even as her heart began to thud in her chest. How did he know about their plan? Her closest sister in the coven, Bonnie, was to be executed tonight. Marcel had imposed laws upon his kingdom, many too numerous and convoluted to properly recall, but there was one above all others that must be obeyed: Thou shalt not kill a vampire. Murdering one of his chosen army was a death sentence — no trial, no mercy.

Bonnie didn’t have a choice, Caroline angrily thought. Damon, one of Marcel’s psychotic daywalkers, had attacked Bonnie, and he would’ve drained her had she not used her magic. Not that Marcel cared about such things — he’d been looking for the flimsiest of excuses to end the powerful Bennett line. However, Caroline refused to let that happen; she and the rest of the coven would save her tonight. But if Klaus chose to stand in their way...

She didn’t bother playing coy; clearly he’d guessed their plan to rescue Bonnie. She bluntly asked, ��Are you going to try to stop us?”

“No.” She waited for him to say more, to tip his hand and reveal his loyalties in the upcoming battle. She knew of his history — the fallen king who’d returned to reclaim his throne. He kept his schemes to himself; it was rumored that not even his noble brother Elijah was privy to his plans.

When an amused smirk spread across his face at her obvious impatience for his brief answer, she put a hand on her hip and snapped, “Well, are you going to help us, then?”

“I’m afraid I must stay neutral at this juncture, sweetheart,” he replied, the hint of regret sounding foreign on his tongue as he tried to reach out to stroke her cheek.

She jerked away, blue eyes spitting fire as she told him, “Only cowards refuse to pick a side.” Pointing to the door, she commanded, “Get out.” She turned away, too angry to see the hurt register on his face before he flashed away.

The courtyard of the abandoned hotel was lit with bonfires, the firelight reflected in the savage gaze of the nightwalkers that gathered around Marcel like slavering dogs. Bonnie had been forced into a binding circle, weakened and stripped of her magic. From her vantage point behind the broken neon sign, Caroline glanced around the perimeter to ensure key coven members were in place. She could feel the magic rising in her blood, comforted by that familiar rage. Marcel should’ve known better than to fuck with one of their own.

Just before Marcel gave the signal, Caroline caught sight of Klaus in the crowd, his hybrid face emerging. She held back her coven for a moment, giving him a chance to prove what side he was on.

And then, the war would begin.

#klarosummerbingo #klaroline fanfiction #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline

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phantomwarrior12 · 6 years

Text

He’s Not The Same

Prompt: Dark Gabriel

Word Count: 1,371

Warnings: Mild swearing, creepy archangel

Summary: Gabriel’s back, but something’s off and you’re the only one who notices.

A/N: Hey folks!

Here’s my first submission for the @gabriel-spn-bingo challenge! I had a lot of fun writing this, thank you for this glorious prompt, @high-church-of-the-holy-dick!

This is the first chapter of a new mini-series! So, once I finally catch up on prompts, watch for chapter 2!

As always, leave a like/comment and let me know your thoughts!

Enjoy!

~ Phantom

No Escape (Ch. 2)

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

Something is off. It isn't him. There's no plausible explanation, but it's not him.

Your hands tighten around the angel blade sheathed on your thigh. Sam. Dean. Cas. They're all oblivious, all too excited to see the archangel alive and seemingly well.

And Gabriel? He's laughing, smiling, giving every indication that he is, in fact, the archangel they all know and love.

It's not him.

What the others don't see are the carnal eyes that follow you everywhere. Every step, every breath you take, they drift across your lean form in a way that both excites and frightens you.

Hours tick by, and idle chatter continues. He's oddly patient, humoring the thousands of questions the Winchesters throw his way, tactfully choosing his responses. It takes awhile, but at last you're left alone, hunters and angel alike reading the telltale signs of no longer being welcome. He waits until they're well out of earshot and suddenly he's closer to you than he's ever been before.

"I missed you, sugar." His hot breath fans across your ear, leaving hairs bristling along the back of your neck.

"Did you?" You set the book of lore aside. Hours of searching, hours of paging through dusty old volumes for an explanation, and you came up with nothing.

"Absolutely." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, hair brushed aside by a cool wisp of grace, ghosting across your soft flesh.

You tense beneath his hands, soft currents flowing just beneath the surface. He gently guides your back against the chair, remaining behind you with fingers working diligently over every muscle along your shoulders.

"I've thought about you, dreamt of you for so long in that void." Fingertips slip upwards, kneading into tendons that send aching jolts through searing nerves along the base of your skull.

Your hands snap back, gripping his hands with your own, "That hurts."

"You're tense, sugar, I'm just trying to help you loosen up."

Shivers drift along your spine, a startled yelp slips past your lips when his teeth graze the skin just beneath your jugular.

You're out of the chair before he can react, stumbling to the other side of the table to put something, anything between you and the corrupted archangel.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong, sugar?" His question is more condescension than curiosity and you reach for your blade.

"You know that does absolutely nothing to me, right?" His voice is behind you and you wheel around, blade drawn.

He tilts his head, amusement evident in every inch of his features, "Why all this hostility? It's only me."

"You're not Gabriel, you sick son of a bitch! I don't know what you are, but you're not him!"

He's too close and you're trapped between him and the table. His fingers wrap around the hilt of the blade, covering your trembling hands and tugging your rigid frame against him.

Whiskey bears into y/e/c, his eyes--there's no warmth, no glistening twinkle of mischief. They're cold, hungry, dangerous and you want nothing more than to escape their gaze.

"What happened to you?" It's barely a whisper, but Gabriel can detect the fear in your voice, and somehow, it brings a smile to his face.

"That, my love, is a topic for another time. For now, let's talk about you."

"There's nothing to talk about," it's a fleeting shred of bravery, something difficult to maintain with his arm encircling your waist and your only weapon being held securely between your body and the archangel's.

"Oh, there's lots to talk about," he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, trailing affectionate kisses along the exposed skin, "Starting, of course, with your new role."

"What new role?"

"As my queen, sugar. You see," he lifts his head, meeting your nervous gaze, "we're taking back heaven, babe. Which means, I'll need a right hand."

"Humans can't enter heaven unless we're dead and Sam and Dean will never let that happen." You dare to lift your head, meeting his gaze with what remains of your dignity.

"Sweetheart, I could snap your neck right now," his fingers curl around the back of your neck, "and those knuckleheads would be none the wiser." His hold loosens as he absently rubs at the tense muscles, "but, I want you very much alive and well. Souls are so inconvenient to maintain up there. I want flesh and blood."

"No." Your features contort in pain when his fingers dig into your neck, your frame caving into his arms.

"It's not a request, sugar." He whispers into your ear, tightening his grip on the blade, crushing your hand tighter than necessary.

"Go to hell!" You choke out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes, darkness ebbing into your vision.

"I've been somewhere worse than hell, sweetheart. And this time, you're coming with me."

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

You scream and suddenly you're upright, sheets clenched beneath your fists, heart racing, sweat slipping down your brow.

It was a dream. A nightmare. He's still gone.

"Call and I come."

You jump, head snapping to the left side of your bed where Gabriel reclines lazily against the headboard.

You stumble out of bed, shuffling backwards away from the archangel, only to back into his waiting arms.

"Morning, sugar."

You struggle, but his arms are secured around you and you're no match for angelic strength. So, you surrender, focusing, instead, on calming your racing heartbeat and locating a quick escape.

To your dismay, there doesn't seem to be one. It's a beach house, dated, but comfortable. Some part of your twinges, wincing at the memories flashing before your eyes, memories of an archangel and a weekend away from hunting and Winchesters alike.

What you wouldn't give to go back to those two days.

"That's a good girl," he smiles, gently pressing a kiss against the side of your neck, pulling you from the onslaught of nostalgia and grief. You jerk your head away, a deliberate, yet pitiful show of defiance.

"Hmm, not as good as I thought. Still, it's something." Gabriel smirks, relinquishing his hold around your shoulders.

You step away, whirling to face him with clenched fists, "Where the hell am I?"

"An old family vacation spot, not quite heaven, but more of a heaven-adjacent. Dear old Dad used to take my brothers and I here to bond," Gabriel strolls closer to the window, watching the waves roll lazily against the sandy beach. For a moment, there's a trace of nostalgia in his voice, a shadow of the man he'd once been clawing his way to the surface for a brief, fleeting moment before he's pushed under and locked away.

When the archangel turns, the warmth dissipates and a confident smile slinks into place, "Anyway, this is your new home, sweetheart. I'll pop in and check in once in awhile, at least until I can find a more," he pauses, whiskey darting across your form before settling back on your eyes, "permanent solution to our little problem."

"You can't keep me here, Gabriel." You dare a defiant step closer, narrowing your eyes.

"Oh, I can and I will, sugar. Can't have you running around warning the Winchesters. Oddly enough, you're the only one whose noticed that something is off. Not even Cassie noticed. I'm impressed."

He moves closer, noting the way your frame tenses as you struggle to maintain a brave facade.

"Your grace is corrupted," you realize, eyes widening.

"Perceptive." Gabriel pauses mere inches from you, having trapped you between the nightstand and him, "Let's play a game, Y/N, you always liked my games, after all."

"I don't want to play your stupid games."

"Tough. Here are the rules: you behave and I keep your precious hunters breathing, sound fair?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Then the Winchesters bite the dust. I know you better than you know yourself, which means you're going to behave. You care too much about those two."

"They'll notice I'm gone. You can't possibly think you'll be able to fool them for long."

"Not long, just long enough, sugar." Gabriel retorts with a dark smile. "Now, be a good girl while I'm gone."

"Where are you going?"

"I have some errands to run."

-----------

Chapter 2

Taglists are open! Send me an ask/message to be added to the lists!

Tagging:

Gabriel Squad: @thewhiterabbit42 @erisunderthemoon @stuckoutsideofthebox @nuvoleincielo @lyselkatz @high-church-of-the-holy-dick

Forevers: @heaven-hell-imagines @currentlyfangirling99 @spnfamily-alwayskeepfighting @bofa-deans-nuts

#gabrielbingo2019 #gabrielbingo #gabriel x reader #gabriel spn #gabriel #spn #supernatural #phantom writes

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years

Link

**I finally got around to updating this, thanks to the prompts from the Gratsu Bingo ^_^ This *is* a rewrite, but I’ve been adding in a lot more gratsu than was in the original version**

Sting and Rogue barely escape Sabertooth with their lives, and Sting turns to the only place he can think of to help - Fairy Tail. While they try to sort out their feelings and recover from the abuse Jiemma inflicted on them, Sting and Rogue must help the other guilds protect Fiore from their biggest threat yet - dragons.

Chapter Summary: Gray is confused by Natsu, and Sting's embarrassed by his outburst.

Chapters (5/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine Characters: Rogue Cheney, Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Gray Fullbuster, Erza Scarlet, Lucy Heartfilia, Wendy Marvell, Porlyusica (Fairy Tail), Makarov Dreyar, Laxus Dreyar, Freed Justine, Future Rogue Cheney, Jiemma (Fairy Tail), Gajeel Redfox Additional Tags: Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Abuse, Physical Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Platonic Cuddling, Sign Language, Magic Fusion, Unison Raids, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 1 of what i choose to become

**TW for discussion of childhood sexual abuse (not explicit)

-----

“Don’t pout, Princess, I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

The words were light and teasing, but Natsu’s voice was uncertain, and Gray watched Natsu shove his hands in his pockets to try and hide the fact that they were shaking.

“Tch.” Gray snorted, trying to keep his voice steady. “As if I’d miss an idiot like you.”

Instead of a rebuttal there was an awkward silence that hung heavily in the air between them. They stood just outside the Inn, Gray leaning against the wall and Natsu shifting uncomfortably in front of him.

Gray sighed, trying to keep the frustration and fear from showing on his face. Why was this so fucking hard? Watching Natsu leave was never easy – even though he knew full well that the idiot could take care of himself – but after everything with Sting and Rogue…

“Just be careful, okay?” Gray said gruffly. He scratched at the gravel with the toe of his shoe, refusing to look up at Natsu. “I won’t have anyone to punch if you’re not around.”

“Yeah,” Natsu replied, and Gray looked up in surprise at the softness in Natsu’s voice. “You—you too. Kick Sabertooth’s asses, okay?” Natsu looked past Gray at the window to the Inn, tense lines in his jaw. “For…” Natsu hesitated, and he looked like he might cry.

“You know he didn’t mean it.” Gray sighed, standing up and rubbing his face. Natsu’s shoulders slumped even as he nodded, and Gray gave in, reaching out and grasping Natsu’s arm. “He’s angry and scared. It wasn’t your fault, and he knows that. He’s just hurting.”

Continue reading on AO3

Natsu swallowed, eyes darting down to Gray’s hand on his arm, then flicking back up to the window. “But, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Gray interrupted, rubbing his thumb absently over Natsu’s bicep and taking a small step closer. “The only person to blame is dead. You’re an easy target for Sting’s anger.”

A cold sensation settled in Gray’s chest as hard, furious memories emerged.

“I hate you!” Seven-year-old Gray’s hands trembled as he shouted, tears on his cheeks as he glared up at Ur. Her face was soft and gentle, and it stoked the hot rage simmering inside him. She had no right to be sad. She hadn’t lost everything.

“Gray, I—”

“It’s your fault!” Gray cried. Frost raced across the floor and up the walls of the cabin, uneven patterns cracked and damaged, just like him. “It’s you—you didn’t come fast enough.” He could feel ice crystals creeping up his arms, freezing the tears on his cheeks, and he stepped backward, away from Ur.

“Sweetheart,” Ur said softly, moving to crouch down next to Gray, and he screamed in frustration, turning and hitting the wall as hard as he could. The ice dissipated under his hand and the wood underneath scraped his knuckles. The pain was sharp, and he gasped, focusing on that instead of the aching, raging sea of grief inside of him.

“Don’t call me that,” he sobbed, hitting the wall again. “You can’t—I want…” Another blow against the wall, red flecking his fingers. It hurt, but it was an easy hurt. Nothing like the emptiness that kept him awake every night, crying for his mother.

“I’m so sorry,” Ur said softly, rocking back on her heels. “I know you miss them.”

“You don’t know!” Gray shouted, turning to her with wild, wet eyes. “You don’t—why didn’t you save them? Why didn’t you—” He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his stomach and letting harsh, pained cries tear out of him. “Leave me alone,” he sobbed, trying to hold in the pieces of himself so he didn’t fall apart. “I want my mama.”

“Hey, you okay?” Gray blinked back to the present to see Natsu staring down at where Gray’s hand rested on his arm. Frost was creeping out from Gray’s fingers, pale against Natsu’s dark skin, and Gray exhaled, letting the magic dissipate.

“Yeah,” he said, realizing that Natsu had taken a small step forward, and the space between them was charged. Electric. The sensation was a stark contrast to his memories, and it made his head swim. “Just…”

Without warning, Natsu leaned in and pressed his lips to Gray’s cheek, feather-soft and barely there. Before Gray could react, Natsu pulled back, tugging his arm out of Gray’s grasp and taking a step toward the road.

“See ya,” Natsu said quietly. “Don’t lose.” Gray blinked, cheek still burning with the echo of Natsu’s lips as he brought his hand slowly to his face.

Before he could respond, Natsu flashed him a bright grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then turned and took off down the street.

Gray stood for a long time outside the inn, eyes fixed on the spot where Natsu had been, fingers pressed to where Natsu’s lips had touched. What the hell had that meant? This morning Natsu had run away from him when they’d woken up together, and now this?

Why was that idiot so fucking confusing?

“How are they doing?” Erza appeared in front of Gray, look of concern on her face. Gray blinked, looking up at the window and then back to Erza.

“Not great?” Gray shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Erza nodded, moving over to lean against the wall next to Gray. They stood in silence for a while, listening to the roar of the crowd converging back toward the arena.

“We’re up soon,” Erza said eventually. She paused, turning to look at Gray seriously, then added, “he’ll be okay.”

Heat rushed to Gray’s cheeks and he looked at the ground, furiously kicking at the gravel.

“Tch, I don’t care about that stupid—”

“Gray.” Erza squeezed Gray’s shoulder gently and he stubbornly refused to look at her. “I’ve known you forever. I’m not blind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gray muttered petulantly. He could practically hear Erza rolling her eyes and he sighed, pushing off the wall. “I’m gonna go check on them.”

Erza gave him a fond smile and he retaliated with a scowl. “See you there,” she said, nodding at him and heading down the street.

-----

Rogue helped Sting up onto the bed and brushed his hair from his face, kissing Sting’s forehead gently. Sting sighed, tipping his head up to catch Rogue’s lips with his own.

Sorry, he signed. Shame was clear all over his face, which was reddened and blotchy from crying. Rogue shook his head.

It’s okay.

It’s not. Sting sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. They’ve been so nice and I... He trailed off, staring at the floor on the other side of the bed. He chewed his already bloody lip and Rogue ran his thumb over it, nudging Sting’s chin until they were looking at each other.

Sting’s face was usually an impassive façade – everything he felt hidden between a sneer, a glare, a lip curled up in contempt. But the mask was shattered now, and all the pride and arrogance were gone, replaced by a terrified, heartbroken boy who could barely hold onto enough anger to push everyone away.

Sting looked down at Rogue’s hands and ran his thumb over Rogue’s wrist, pushing back his sleeve just far enough to see the edges of thin, white marks against his skin. He brought Rogue’s wrist up to his lips and kissed the scars gently.

Rogue tensed against the sensation, tempted to pull away. There were so many scars there – so many pieces of himself that he’d hurt. Jiemma hadn’t been the only nightmare they’d endured in Sabertooth.

A hot burst of discomfort of flushed through Rogue and his eyes widened as realization hit him.

I don’t—we don’t have to go back, he signed. Sting shook his head, sad eyes on Rogue’s. She’s—Lilith. She can’t… Rogue ran a thumb over the scar on Sting’s forehead and exhaled shakily around flashes of memory.

Rogue was twelve, exhausted and bruised, curled up in the corner of their room in the dark. When the door slid open, relief flooded through him, then quickly turned to terror when he realized that it wasn’t Sting.

“Hey, darling.” A soft voice, dark hair, rough hands that wandered to places they shouldn’t when they trained together. Lilith was nobody, just another peon of Jiemma’s, someone cruel and cold and calculating that took what she wanted.

“No,” Rogue whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Please.”

“You’re pretty when you’re scared.” Fingers on his cheek, hand in his hair, breath too close to him.

By the time Sting stumbled into the room it was too late. Lilith was gone and Rogue wouldn’t speak, consumed by shame and shadows.

“Hey, look at me.” Rogue blinked, pulling himself back to the present as Sting pressed their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Not your fault,” Rogue said, shaking off the memory. The scars on his arm itched.

There was a soft tap at the door and Sting sighed, rubbing his face. Rogue squeezed his hand, then gestured for Sting to lie down.

“Let me deal with it,” he said softly. Sting looked like he was going to protest but Rogue shook his head, letting go of Sting’s hand. “Please.” Sting nodded reluctantly, and his exhaustion was obvious as he slumped down against the pillow.

Gray was at the door. He looked hesitant, eyes searching Rogue’s face for permission to be there. Rogue let him in wordlessly, gesturing to a bed on the other end of the room from Sting, who had turned away from them to face the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue said, but Gray waved the apology away, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“I get it.” There was that expression again – not pity, not sympathy, but understanding. Rogue was tempted to ask, but thought of his own scars and wrapped his arms around himself instead.

“The, uh—the games are wrapping up,” Gray said hesitantly. “We’re going to the arena. You can stay here, if you want – Freed put an enchantment up to keep anyone but us out.” He played with his bracelet, then looked up at Rogue again. “When Gramps said you could stay... he didn’t mean just for now. You can come back with us. If you want.”

Rogue blinked at him. “You mean—”

“Join Fairy Tail, yeah.” Gray’s gaze flicked over to Sting, who appeared to have fallen asleep again. “Obviously you don’t have to decide now, it’s just... you don’t have to leave, or go back. You’re safe here.”

“Safe,” Rogue repeated. Could that be real? No more cuts, bruises, broken bones – no more waiting up and holding his breath that Sting would come back in one piece, if at all? No more her, no more touches or words or looks that made Rogue want to tear himself into a million pieces.

“You okay?” Gray asked. “I mean, that’s a stupid question, but… do you need anything?”

Rogue couldn’t find the words. It was all so much, and tiny slivers of fear and relief were piercing through the numbness, prickling at the back of his neck and making his skin feel too tight.

“Rogue?”

Rogue looked back at Gray and realized that he’d been sitting there for too long without saying anything. Sting always said it was one of the reasons that people thought he was strange.

“No, we’re… not okay, but getting there.” Rogue sighed, rubbing his face. “Sting feels terrible about what he said to Natsu. He’s embarrassed. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have stayed. He doesn’t want to be weak.”

“Asking for help isn’t weak,” Gray replied. “Swallowing your pride isn’t easy. Nastu – that idiot – has saved my life on more than one occasion. Believe me, I know it stings.” A faint blush rose in Gray’s cheeks and a tiny hint of a smile quirked at the corner of Rogue’s lips.

“Thank you for letting us stay.”

“Hey, it just means we have six dragon slayers on our team now.” Gray stood up and gave Rogue a tentative smile. “All we’re missing is Cobra and we’d have the whole set. Is there some sort of bonus for collecting you all?” Rogue rolled his eyes.

Gray glanced out the window – the sun was high, and the crowds were still pouring from the streets towards the arena.

“I’d better get going,” Gray said, then gave Rogue a solemn look. “We’ll be back after we win this thing.”

The idea of Gray pounding their former guild into the dirt was appealing, but part of Rogue ached. Jiemma hadn’t been kind to the others, either.

As Gray reached for the door it swung open, and a tiny voice shouted, “Fro missed Rogue!” Rogue’s eyes widened and he crouched down to scoop up Frosche, exhaling in relief as he held the little Exceed to his chest.

“Frosche,” he murmured as Gray gave him one last wave and headed out the door. “Are you okay?”

“Happy gave us fish!” Frosche gave Rogue a wide smile and gestured to Lector, who had hopped up on the bed next to Sting and had burrowed under Sting’s arm in an uncharacteristically affectionate way. “Is Rogue hurt?” Frosche’s face became serious and they put their paws on either side of Rogue’s face.

“A little,” Rogue admitted, unable to hide the bandages or bruises. “But we’re safe here now.”

“Frosche can stay with Happy?” Frosche seemed thrilled by the idea and it drew a small laugh from Rogue’s throat. He made his way across the room as Frosche began to chant fish, fish, fish.

Sting clung to Lector as if he were a doll. Lector’s fur was damp, and Sting didn’t look up as Rogue sat down next to him. Rogue ran his fingers down Sting’s arm gently, then shuffled down on the bed until they were laying down, facing each other.

Sting’s eyes were so blue, and Rogue gazed into them as he ran a gentle thumb over Sting’s lower lip. Sting made a soft sound and closed his eyes as Rogue leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft and sweet and chaste, but Rogue pushed as much of himself into it as he could.

Eventually, Lector’s grumbling about them being ‘gross’ broke them apart, and Sting actually laughed, letting Lector escape to sit at the end of the bed with Frosche.

“Are we ever gonna be okay?” Sting asked quietly, leaning forward and burying his face in Sting’s neck.

“Maybe,” Rogue said after a while. “Maybe not.” Sting huffed into Rogue’s shoulder. “I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for. But we’ve made it this far, right?” Sting nodded miserably and Rogue kissed his head. “And no matter what,” he added quietly, “we’ll always have each other.”

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #gratsubingo2019 #ftlgbtfics #prompt: trust #gratsu #stingue #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #rewrite #fanfic #update #new chapter #prompt #my fic

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misssophiachase · 6 years

Text

Love Bites

For Klaroween Bingo - “Bite me, wait no, i was being sarcastic.”

Wednesday, 31st October 2018...

“I’m going to kill him,” Caroline growled, peeking through the blinds into her neighbour’s house. It was 11:57pm and her mind was racing with how she could exact her revenge on his arrogant, English ass.

“Are you still pissed about the chicken invasion?” Katherine drawled, placing a piece of candy on her outstretched tongue and sending her a curious glance mid bite.

Caroline would have rolled her eyes if the accompanying shudder hadn’t coursed through her body thinking about him filling her backyard with unwanted poultry. How he found out her biggest fear she didn’t know but she made sure he was going to pay.

“Well, you did put hot pink, jello crystals in his pool,” Bonnie added, helping herself to some candy.

“Only because he left those frogs in my locker,” she hissed. Thankfully amphibians were much lower on her fear register than birds.

“Do you think maybe it’s time you stop playing childish pranks and just get down and dirty?” Katherine asked, her expression surprisingly stoic given the conversation content. “The sexual tension between you is palpable and i don’t like that kind of bad karma.”

“You don’t like sexual tension?” Bonnie teased. “Well, now that’s a first, Kitty Kat.”

“That’s not what I meant, Bon,” she scoffed, throwing some caramel popcorn in her friend’s direction. “I don’t want their inability to seal the deal to rub off on my chances of getting some.”

“I’m so glad I invited you over tonight. You know sugar isn’t good for you, right?” Caroline huffed, pulling the sweets away from their greedy grasps. “I hate the idiot and any way to make his life miserable is welcome.”

“Well, given the abundance of noise coming from their Halloween Party a little call to to the cops would most definitely be unwelcome.” Caroline rallied, thinking Bonnie might have a point and finally returned the candy to their outstretched arms.

“You do realise we could be at said party having fun and not trying to hatch revenge plans all on our pathetic lonesome and chowing down unnecessary candy?” Kat pouted. “I think my costume this year is my best yet, it seems a waste.” She did look extremely cute in a naughty nurse get-up Bonnie too, looking hot as Wonder Woman.

“I’m sorry but when I said we were going to boycott I meant it, Kat.” Maybe it was selfish but Caroline had grown increasingly frustrated at Klaus Mikaelson and his unrelenting mission to terrorise her life. There was no way she was going to show up at his party and stroke that over-inflated ego.

Everyone at school had been talking about the big Mikaelson, Halloween bash for the past month. Even though they’d been neighbours since she was eight, Caroline really didn’t know much about Klaus or his siblings just that given the number of impromptu parties they threw, their parents were absent a lot.

Given their interesting and somewhat complex personalities, Caroline figured their lack of parenting had a lot to answer for. Rebekah repeatedly shouted at her across the fence for taking her light when she was trying to sunbathe because apparently Caroline was Mother Nature. Kol thought it was funny to throw rocks at her window, especially in the middle of the night, and Klaus decided she was the perfect target for his unwanted pranks. Maybe fighting back hadn’t helped her cause but Caroline hated to lose.

Unfortunately, Klaus Mikaelson knew that too. Bastard.

It was only when multiple pieces of candy hit her that Caroline knew her best friends were close to a full on revolt.

“Wait here,” she replied. “I’ve got a phone call to make.”

Yes, it was wrong and completely against her moral code but shutting down this party was going to be the saving grace of her otherwise dismal, Halloween evening.

xxxxx

Given the loud noise inside the house, Klaus was surprised he could make out the repetitive, hard knock on their front door as he passed by. He peered through the peep hole, it had become a common practice given the fact his parents had barely been present the past five years.

He’d accepted their inability to parent but it still hurt, not that he’d admit that aloud.

What greeted him was completely unexpected. He opened the door inspecting his visitors curiously.

“We’ve heard reports about a blaze at this address,” the fire captain explained, taking a moment to look at his costume gravely before continuing. “Could you direct us to the source?”

He was dumbfounded at first. There was no fire, well, last time he checked. Before he could respond, his younger and slightly inebriated brother gestured for them to follow. Usually he’d laugh but for some reason he was actually worried his irresponsible sibling had been playing with matches.

He let his eyes wander across the front yard and past the fire truck parked at the curb with its lights flashing, he couldn’t miss the intense, and familiar, gaze meeting his before her curtains closed hurriedly. He grinned knowing exactly who’d done this and he couldn’t be happier for the interruption. He only threw this party hoping she’d actually attend and so far the night had been a bust without her.

Klaus Mikaelson was the kind of guy who could have anyone but there was only one person he wanted and she hated him, or so he thought. He’d fallen in love with her the day they moved in next door all those years ago but had no idea how to make her like or notice him.

It was only when he knew just how competitive she was that Klaus acted. Yes, at last count she apparently still hated him, but no one would go to that much trouble if they didn’t care.

He looked at his surroundings deciding he’d rather go interrogate the girl next door than stay at this lacklustre party. Making his way to her front door he swallowed, confused by just how nervous he felt before knocking. The silence was overwhelming. Klaus didn’t even know he was holding his breath until she appeared.

He knew Caroline Forbes was feisty, intelligent and beautiful but standing in the doorway he couldn’t release the breath he was still holding if he tried. Dressed in head to toe black he was a goner, now to find his voice.

“Yes?” She asked, her voice taking on a judgmental tone as her eyes flickered over his outfit, he couldn’t miss the surprise. “Do I know you?”

“Just your friendly neighbour who had to deal with the jello sabotage and now staged fire emergencies,” he murmured breaking through her obvious deflection and attempting to provoke a reaction.

“Bite me,” she hissed. Klaus couldn’t help himself and arched his left eyebrow curiously. “Wait no, I was being sarcastic.”

“Are you sure?” He drawled, secretly hoping she wasn’t.

“Are you sure Kol hasn’t started a real fire?” She recovered, albeit shakily from his stand point. Her question was valid and Klaus knew it. “He seems like the type who needs supervision.”

“Sounds like you do know me, love,” he smirked, placing his hand on the doorway. “And what about you?” He asked, purposely avoiding her question about his brother’s pyromaniac past. “Do you need supervision?”

“She definitely needs supervision,” a lone voice called out followed by two giggles.

“They’ve had too much candy and need to be cut-off,” she explained, although he couldn’t miss just how cute she looked blushing.

“I don’t know, Forbes, maybe you can’t be trusted. So, why exactly did you call the fire department, Caroline?”

“I lost my kitty in a tree, obviously they mixed up the street address,” she purred, he couldn’t miss the slight, playful tug at the end of her tempting, pink lips.

He stilled, trying not to react even if everything inside him was aroused. “I’m your neighbour and this is the first time i’ve heard of a pet cat.” Klaus was trying to ignore just how stunning she looked in that particular ensemble. A full-length, black catsuit which accentuated every delicious curve. “Unless, it’s you they’re searching for.”

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a gorgeous firemen.” Klaus smirked knowingly, looking down at his chosen costume curiously.

“Well, fancy that, I just happen to be dressed as a fireman and you as a cat. Suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a coincidence, Forbes.”

“Oh, so you’ve run into a burning building and saved a cat from a tree before?”

“Well, no,” he stumbled, obviously hoping his costume and bare chest would suffice.

“Well, then I’m not sure we can be friends.” Her aloofness was beginning to wear on his nerves.

“You’re still pissed about the birds I take it?”

“What birds?” She didn’t wait for him to reply, just closed the door in his face. Klaus Mikaelson had girls falling all over him but the one he wanted seemed too disinterested for his liking.

He may have been slightly drunk but if she wanted him to run into a burning building then that’s what he’d do. He was starting to think she was actually a witch with evil intentions.

xxx

“Pretty sure you’ve just sealed his death warrant,” Kat offered, approaching the front door.

“Way to be morbid, I was only joking,” Caroline broke off defensively, suddenly worried.

“Given that determined look on his face before you slammed the door I’m thinking he’s going to sign up for national service or run into the nearest burning building on a whim, the boy obviously loves a challenge.”

“He doesn’t,” she faltered weakly.

“Funnily enough just like you, Care,” Kat added. “You hate to break a promise and your parents have let you down more times than I can remember.”

Suddenly she felt sick, like if he decided to run into a burning building she’d actually care if he made it out alive. Caroline wanted to blame it on excess candy but given her best friends had scarfed down her entire stash she was now an open book.

They were more alike than she’d ever expected. “I need to go over there,” she hissed.

“And the boycott?” She was outside before Bonnie could mutter the words ‘I told you so.’ And Kat could relish in the fact she’d been set free to party naughty nurse style.

“Hey!” She yelled, trying to grab his attention, even if those yellow overalls were hugging his toned ass in all the right places.

He turned, albeit slowly, his raised eyebrows enough to tell Caroline she’d gone too far with that whole door slamming episode. “I hate birds.”

“I’ve never met anyone who hates poultry,” he offered, apologetically. “But I’ll know better next time. In case you’re interested I hate hot pink jello too.”

“Why? What did it do to you?”

“It was so bright my eyes had to do extra work to take it all in,” he smiled mischievously. “Okay, I’m sorry but I thought after the frogs it would be okay.”

“And how did you figure that exactly?” Caroline wanted to hate him but her curiosity got the better of her on this occasion.

“Down at Millson’s Pond all those years ago, you really loved the tadpoles,” he explained, albeit sheepishly. “I figured you wouldn’t have anything against their future transition.”

“You were there?” She inhaled sharply. It was a memory that revisited her frequently but Klaus Mikaelson was never really part of it.

“You parents didn’t like our type much back then and no doubt told you to stay away,” he smiled wryly. “I have no idea why.”

“Maybe it was your penchant for wildlife?”

“Yeah, that was definitely it,” he drawled. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I was just trying to make you notice me.”

“Well, you definitely succeeded in that,” she smiled knowingly. “In fact, I heard there was this killer party tonight. If you don’t have a date I might be interested.”

“Oh really?” He teased, holding out his arm and pulling it through hers gently, his left dimple flashing in her direction. “I can’t promise that Kol really hasn’t really burned down the place though.”

#klaroween bingo #klaroween #klaroline drabbles #klaroline #misssophiachase

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pinknerdpanda · 7 years

Text

Heaven Sent - Part 4

Word Count: 2,002

Characters: Y/n, Castiel, Dean, Sam, Chuck, Arabella (OFC)

Warnings: Snark, Heaven-Induced Insanity, Language, Angst if you squint, Canon-Divergence

A/N: This is Part 4 of a mini-series I wrote for @ellen-reincarnated1967’s “Andi’s Back in the Game” challenge. Beta’d by @hannahindie and @wheresthekillswitch who also helped me to brainstorm and nail down exactly where I wanted to go. Thank you both so very much!

A/N 2: This takes place roughly midway through Season 4 and veers from canon. I actually used some lines of dialogue from the show for this, and have them bolded. All credit goes to the writers of the show.

A/N 3: I am posting this a day earlier than planned to celebrate hitting 800 followers! Thank you all so very much!

Tags are at the bottom - please send me an ASK if you would like to be added (or removed).

Need to Catch up? - Series Masterlist

Heaven Sent

I must be one. It is my job. I must perform the duties I was created for and assigned to accomplish - not out of obligation, but because that is who I am. I can save a dozen kids from unnecessary ER visits or even 100 young girls from being attacked, but if Lucifer rises and destroys the earth, none of it matters. As much as I hate to admit it, Dean was right. But mark my words, I would rather die than let him hear me admit that. Those two idiots are the key to stopping the apocalypse and I have no idea where they are, but I have an idea of who might.

-------

Part 4

Y/N

The names of the prophets of God - past, present and future - are ingrained in the minds of every angel. Luckily the name ‘Chuck Shurley’ isn’t terribly common and I found his address quickly. The journey wasn’t long by bus and the next day I found myself hesitantly approaching a dark house with overgrown bushes and patches of dry, dead grass for a yard. What if this wasn’t the right Chuck Shurley and frankly, how would I find out? “Hello Mr. Shurley, my name is y/n, former angel. Do you have a minute to talk about our Lord and the plans he has for you?”

Just as I decide it’s worth the shot and raise my hand to knock, I hear two familiar voices and one I don’t recognize. Bingo.

“Look, Chuck do you know where Sam is or not?” Dean’s tone is urgent.

“Yes. This is all wrong. This...” the unfamiliar voice is high and scared sounding. Castiel’s commanding tone cuts him off. I barge in, unannounced and unwelcome.

“Found it,” Cas is holding up a sheaf of papers and Dean snatches them from his hand and starts rifling through them. He freezes mid-shuffle and stares at me.

“Y/n?” Cas squints at me before glancing back at the shorter, bearded man who shrugs.

“Castiel? Dean? What’s happening?” The atmosphere is tense and I feel like my presence is an unwelcome intrusion.

“Thought you didn’t care?” Dean glares at me before continuing to search through the papers in his hands.

“Turns out I was wrong? Where’s your brother?”

“That’s the million dollar question,” Dean mumbles without looking up.

“Uh, excuse me? Who is she?” the man I assume to be Chuck cranes over Castiel’s shoulder.

“Hi. Y/n. Former angel. Looking for these two. Nice to meet you, Chuck,” I turn back to Dean.

“Sam thinks he can stop the final seal from breaking by killing Lilith. Turns out, that is the final seal,” Dean fumbles with the last page. “St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?”

“Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. And you,” Chuck points at me. “You're not in this story.”

“Yeah, well...We're making it up as we go,” Castiel glances at me before turning back to Chuck.

“What? Castiel, you mean you’re not blindly following the orders of your superiors?” I know it sounds like I’m mocking him, but truly I’m shocked. I’d heard of angels choosing free-will over destiny, but I would never have dreamed Castiel possible of such a choice. Just as he opens his mouth to retort, the earth under our feet begins shaking. Hot, white light - immense and powerful - begins seeping into the room from every direction.

“Aw, man! Not again! No!” Chuck groans petulantly.

“It’s the Archangel. I'll hold him off!” Cas shouts over the groaning of the house as it sways.

“I can help you!” I shout back.

“No, they will just kill you. You help Dean. I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!” Castiel smacks his hands on Dean and I’s forehead.

The force of being unexpectedly transported from the quaking room to the eerily quiet convent is explosive and painful and my mind is swimming as my knees hit the hard, stone floor. I can hear Dean’s rapid footsteps grow farther away, but the pounding in my head makes it hard to focus on anything at the moment.

When I am finally able to get my bearings, I glance around. Dean is long gone and while I can hear the sound of shouting, the acoustics of the stone walls, ceilings and floors makes it hard to pinpoint the direction they are coming from.

The halls are like an annoyingly intricate labyrinth as I weave through abandoned hallways and rows of empty classrooms. I pause, straining to hear any sign that I am moving in the right direction, only to hear the sound of voices are further away than before. Dammit. Behind me, what I am guessing is a large, wooden door slams shut and a hysterical bellowing noise echos around me. I run as fast as I can in the direction from where I’d just begun.

“Dean?” My voice sounds shaky and hollow. “Sam?”

As I round the last corner, I feel the earth begin to quiver yet again. It feels as though every stone around me is being dislodged and using me for target practice. At the far end of the hall, I can see the darkened silhouettes of Sam and Dean, as a blazing white light rises up in front of them before consuming their forms altogether. The door slams shut with such intensity a large crack begins to creep upward from the top of the frame before spider-webbing into a thousand fragments.

The sound of rushing wind on the highest mountain on the coldest day of the year, is incomparable to the fury being unleashed on the other side of this door. The final seal has been broken. Lucifer is rising. I shove my shoulder hard against the wood, with no effect. Sam and Dean are locked inside and if I can’t get this door open soon, the magnitude of the power emanating from the center of that light at this moment will likely kill them. Or they survive and then Lucifer devours them both. Either way, bad times.

I direct my angelic senses to the outer boundaries of my body, looking for a way in. Grace explodes from my body with a flash of light as the door bursts open. I can feel myself fading as relief floods my body and I rush forward toward Sam and Dean. I slap a hand on the backs of their heads, thrusting the last of my grace into them. They disappear in a flare of blue light just before the chaos is replaced with a sudden and gut wrenching silence and the world goes dark.

—-

“She lives. Will wonders never cease?”

The loud, haughty voice jars me awake and I jerk upright in shock. I feel the panic beginning to rise in my throat as I look around the sterile room. Arabella’s wide, snide eyes are studying me carefully as my gaze finds hers.

“How did...” My voice is a rasp and my ears are ringing. A brief moment of lucidity gives way to a hysterical current of fear. “Sam and Dean? Are they…”

“You saved them, y/n. You expelled the last of your power to do so, but they are safe.” Arabella crosses her arms over her chest and steps closer to the edge of the bed.

I feel some of the tension melt from my body. I’d done it. My thoughts swim between relief and confusion. “How did I get here?”

“We saw what you did, how you risked your life to save, not only one human for whom you’d been previously responsible for, but his brother in addition,” her voice is as flat and monotonous as ever, but I sense the faintest glimmer of pride at her words. “We make it a point to reward those who go over and beyond their duties.”

Reward? What could she mean? The idea that I could be rejoining the ranks of my brothers and sisters and...“Castiel!” his face flashes in my mind’s eye as the panic returns. “Where’s Castiel?”

I don’t miss the eye-roll that Arabella tries to suppress as she clears her throat. “I’m afraid Castiel…” she pauses, “he did not survive the encounter with the archangel.”

I’ve not cried before. The whole process of someone being so overcome with emotion that it eventually forces its way out in the form of thick, wet tears is completely foreign to me. I’ve seen it hundreds of times - even Dean has let a single, sad little tear trail down his cheek a time or two - but I’ve never once been able to completely comprehend it.

However as the reality of her words and the callousness of her tone sets in, a tumultuous wave of grief and sadness roars through my body and without permission or warning, the flood of tears overtakes me. I can feel Arabella’s indignant gaze on me and somewhere between the embarrassingly violent sobs that wrack my body, I think I hear her sigh. But I don’t care. Despite everything that has happened in the last year - the fallout from Dean’s deal, Castiel rescuing him from hell, the actual apocalypse - the one constant in my life, whether visible or not, has been Castiel. Even when I was rotting and forgotten in that hell-hole of a cell for who-knows-how-long, a part of me knew that Castiel was still alive; that if push came to shove, he would be there. The magnitude of his loss weighed on my shoulders like a palpable mass.

Even his last words to me “I’ll hold them off. Just help Sam.” He’d sacrificed himself so that Dean and I could stop Sam and we’d failed...I’d failed. His death was in vain and it was my fault. And what of the Winchesters? What would they do without him in their midst? From the time I’d spent as an invisible companion, always following Dean to keep him out of harm’s way...mostly...I’d known them to be reckless and somewhat irresponsible. But with Castiel? His presence had seemed to give them some measure of order; perspective.

Distantly I register the sound of Arabella clearing her throat, irritatedly. While the tears still flow freely from my eyes, the overwhelming sense of loss is slowly being overtaken by a numbness that begins to saturate every atom of my being. Finally I fall silent except for the occasional sniffs as I work to regain my composure.

“As I was saying,” Arabella smiles that same painted on smile I’ve come to determine is her trademark, “As a reward for your noble and commendable act of bravery and dedication to the assignment you have been delegated, we are prepared to reinstate your grace in full and offer you a significant promotion to Master Guardian, Defender, third class.”

“What?” My voice is a harsh rasp.

“Well, y/n, not only were you successful in preserving Michael’s vessel, you saved Lucifer’s vessel as well. And now that the seals have been broken...well,” Her smirk is disconcerting. “Things are all as they should be. Upper management will be pleased to see their plans working out more smoothly than they’d anticipated.”

I rub at the dampness under my eyes as I consider her offer. This whole thing...this whole mess...this was their fault. The only reason they’d wanted me to look after Dean in the first place was because they’d wanted to start the apocalypse.

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?” Arabella lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow, the only visible indication of the challenge in her tone.

“Pardon me, I would respectfully decline your offer,” I pause and smile, a sudden thought sparking to life, “in exchange for another.”

“I’m sorry, this is not a negoti…”

“I mean, if you want me to clue in all of your little minions here and abroad that all these talks of ‘plans’ and ‘destiny’ have little to do with God’s wishes and are actually centered around management’s desire to shake things up a bit….” I trail off, cocking my head to one side and staring unblinkingly at her. She returns my look with a glare before narrowing her eyes at me.

“What do you want?”

“Restore Castiel…”

She snorts a laugh, an oddly ominous sound from her.

“Restore. Castiel,” I say through gritted teeth, “with his original vessel. Instead.”

“You do realize that as it stands right now, your grace is completely diminished and if you do return to Earth, you will be forced to live as a mortal?” I nod once. Arabella’s gaze feels like it’s boring daggers into my skull. “You would rather resurrect the wayward Winchester guard dog, then save your own life? That’s insane. ”

“Well, it’s been said that insanity has its advantages.”

Read the Epilogue HERE

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