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corphneux707 · 7 months ago

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Little Duckling

[Ratio x Child! Reader, Platonic]

Summary: Dr. Ratio takes responsibility of you after an experiment goes awry. Which you, a child, gets isekai’d into the work of Honkai Star Rail. Based on my headcanons here.

To add: This fic is COMPLETELY platonic and gender neutral. Readers age is not specified at all and there is no use of Y/N. New found family type of shit. Not proofread lol.

“Seems like you’re gonna be picked up late, bud.” Your teacher says after putting the call down with your parents. She gently takes your small hands and leads you to the classroom, letting you sit down on the giant rug where all the toys are.

You felt a little sad. Your parents are late again. It's been a long day for you and you want to take a rest now! But looking at your teacher, you didn’t mind spending more time with her.

Noticing your foul mood getting better, she gives you a toy bear to play with in the meantime. “Here you go. I’ll call someone to watch over you while I go get something. Be good, okay?” You giggle as she ruffles your hair before leaving briefly. Now you’re left alone in the big classroom with a stuffed bear.

“Hello, Mr. Bear” Its stubby paws gesture to a small wave as you puppet it with your hands. A small smile escapes your lips as you play with it more. Your imagination becomes much more creative with imagining scenarios with the bear.

Perhaps you’ll take it in a cool adventure! Or.. or.. maybe somewhere scary where you defeat the evil monster!! Or go solve a mystery with Mr. Bear as a sidekick! How about all of it? Yeah!!!! You pat yourself on the back for being a smart detective in thinking about how you’ll (spend your time) go on an adventure!

Your playtime is cut short when an odd gust of wind blows past you. You look behind and a small crack of whatever is in the air. It pulsates with a soft glow, almost like it's beckoning you to come closer. An ominous feeling creeps up onto your spine and you decide that it isn’t a good thing.

The anomaly suddenly breaks apart in a maelstrom of whirring winds sucking anything nearby. From chairs, tables, toys and everything. The classroom trembles and glass starts to crack.

You act on instinct but struggle to stand up, feeling weaker and weaker. The lights flicker constantly, almost in the same erratic rhythm as your beating heart.Your senses start to dull from the sheer intensity of the situation. Tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes and yet only to be sucked in by whatever it is behind you.

“It’s hard to breathe-'' More of your tears are sucked in. Your steps to the door get lighter and lighter, till you’re practically in the air getting sucked towards the portal. And as quickly as you get sucked in, quickly your consciousness fades.

You wake up groggy with a faint ringing in your ear. Soon that ringing turns into indiscernible voices. That’s when you decide to open your eyes. The first thing you see is the blinding lights above you. You blink it all away and focus more properly in the room that you’re in. Clean white room with many digital images on the screen. The occasional beeping of machines filling the void of silence.

Your lips feel oddly moist. Looking down, an oxygen mask is placed on you, connected to a machine that makes the rhythmic beeps that you hear. You try to try to remove the mask with your hands but that's when you notice a wire inside connected from your hand. Your unease becomes more palpable and your gaze follows the wire connecting to a bag of fluids hung on a rack.

Your breaths start to accelerate. Where the hell were you? Why are you here? What happened? Where are your parents? Where are your siblings? Where is home? Your heart hammers against your ribcage. Sweat trickling down against your forehead, despite the coolness of the room. Irrationality and fear colliding with each other in a dizzying storm.

The machine beside you beeps louder and louder. Incessantly dulling your head to think properly. Your chest starts to tighten and your sobs are unable to escape from your lips because of the bile forming in your throat. Tears well in your eyes- through your blurry vision you reach out for something. Anything.

Your hand is enveloped by something warm. It pulls you in, surrounding you completely in a dull embrace. You shut your eyes to focus on slowing your heart rate, the dullness becoming calming. Still, the intensity of your panic lingers longer. Your hands tremble, yet hold on to the warmth with an iron fist. Scared of letting it go and possibly losing it forever.

Your senses start to come back and you hear the muffled voice of someone. With the crash of fatigue washing over you, it becomes a lullaby for you. You follow each faint word with a held breath and exhaling slowly. You settle to lean further into the warmth that envelops you, letting you fall asleep with ease.

By the time you wake up again, the warmth is already gone. Instead being poorly replaced by a blanket on you. The blinding lights back again to bite your eyes. You wince and blink rapidly to adjust yourself more. When you try to rub your eyes, your hands are held firmly by someone else.

You squint your eyes to look at them, a shade of purple is something you noticed first. Then a click of a tongue after. “Turn off half of the lights.” A man says and quickly the strain on your eyes is uplifted.

You finally adjust and you see that what was connected to your hand is now gone. But now you can also see him clearly. ‘Huh, so the purple you saw was actually his hair.’ The first thing that came to mind after noticing his hair was to greet the man in front of you. You open your mouth but your throat tightens. No voice comes out of you, so you opt to close your mouth and nod your head instead since your hands are still held back by him.

The man removes his hands from yours carefully, as if anticipating any form of sudden movement from you. You look at him, an odd pair of reddish-pink eyes looking back at you. The reflection of the light highlights the yellow ring around his pupil, consuming you in a hypnotic gaze.

Perhaps because of the peculiarity of his eyes is the reason why you’re so calm at the moment as he backs away to give you ample space to examine you properly. His gaze still unwavering, although with a hint of softness. There's a deliberate sound of calmness in the air as he asks, “Are you feeling well?”

You nod wordlessly in response, not in the mood to speak. He hums in acknowledgement before turning to the other person near the doorway of the room. You see the other person visibly flinch from his gaze and immediately leaves after excusing themself from the room.

Once alone with you, he takes a much more intentional pace in his actions as he takes out an ID from pocket and hands it to you. He points to it then to himself. “I am Doctor. Veritas Ratio. Your current doctor.” He speaks slowly, enunciating each word to make sure you understand properly.

You repeat his name in his head. Veritas Ratio. It's a very unique name that makes your curiosity spark up. He is, afterall, very peculiar. Different hair color, different eyes, different name? How very peculiar indeed!

Your curiosity must've shown when he speaks, “I will entertain your questions in the future. First-” he pauses before giving you a tablet with a blank form needing your information. “Since you can’t speak yet, you will introduce yourself with this”

You take the tablet with sheer astonishment at its sleek, high-tech design. Ratio guides you in the form. “Surely you are adept in inputting?” His question is answered with the furrow of your brows and the tilting of your head as you try to piece together what he meant.

A small part of Ratio finds endearment from the face of your frustration. He pushes it down to focus on the matter at hand. He leans closer and taps on a blank line on the form, a keyboard appearing on the tablet. Your mood turns from frustration to one of unexpected clarity.

It works like a normal tablet- just looks more techy, you guess. You type your name slowly with your two index fingers. Each press is paired with a beep that amuses you to no end. You signal him that you finished typing by facing the front of the tablet to him with an expectant gaze. Ratio hums, acknowledging you by taking the tablet and reading your name aloud.

Now it was his turn to look at you expectantly, as if a silent question if he’d pronounced your name correctly. A surge of delight fills you as you nod excitedly with a big smile. Ratio nods at you back. Although his face is stoic, there's a twinge of amusement from him as he watches your eyes twinkle by simply reading your name aloud.

“Children are truly simple minded.” Ratio concluded audibly. When he notices your head tilted at him, he dismisses you, explaining that it was nothing. He hands you the tablet back and guides you to the rest of the questions in the form.

Age. “Little one, how old are you?” Ratio asks with a raised brow. You hold up your fingers to show him how old you were. He points to the number you’re supposed to press. Mentally, he notes down the fact that you can count. He just doesn’t know how far. Perhaps he should teach you personally? Who knows what kind of fallacious education any other teacher would provide? Perhaps even… So on and so forth.

You stare at Ratio who is clearly deep in thought. You don’t know why, but currently your empty stomach doesn’t care when it growls loudly. Your face glows red with mortification before turning away from Ratio quickly. Clearly the hospital bed will be your new grave from all this embarrassment.

Your mind changes immediately though after a large hand is gently placed atop of your head. “I’ll be back with some food.” Ratio says before getting up and quickly leaving. You wait for him patiently, and to be fair, it didn’t really take a long time. As if he’s already anticipated your hunger.

The door opens to reveal Ratio holding a tray of food. He sits down next to you and you can clearly see the.. Uh.. food? Much to Ratio’s dismay, your mind quickly changes again. He observes how you looked so appalled with the food he brought.

Why does it look like green sludge? Is he trying to feed you poison? When he brings a spoonful of whatever he brought, you turn away with a grumble. But your conscience gnaws at you. You wanna be a good kid like how your teacher said! So you, with an unbroken-probably-slightly-broken will, turn back to Ratio who still holds the spoonful to your lips. You gulp cartoonishly, mentally preparing yourself for the battle of your tastebuds.

Quickly, you take a sip and surprisingly it tastes… nothing! It's soft and easy to swallow but that's about it. Nothing special about the meal. You decide to suck it up and keep eating the small spoonfuls that Ratio gives. When you finally finish the meals, a sigh of relief escapes from you when he offers you a glass of water to wash the ‘taste’ away.

Nonetheless, the battle of your tastebuds is over! Huzzah! But wait- you are immediately distracted by a small, yellow, glossy pudding. Your eyes light up in excitement at the sight of sweet goodness. The pudding glistens as Ratio scoops a small spoonful and feeds to you. You, of course, take a bite as fast as you can.

You savor the velvety sweetness but comforting taste that completely melts in your mouth. Each spoonful fed, the messier you get, causing Ratio to sigh, “You were eating properly earlier and now here you are with a mess on your face.” You raised your hand to wipe your face but Ratio was quicker to wipe the sides of your mouth with a wet wipe. “Let me. You’ll only make a bigger mess” He grumbles. You giggle, the first time Ratio hears your voice.

“Oh? You even have the gall to laugh at the mess you made? The sugar must’ve gotten to you already. Perhaps no more pudding for you.”

A horrified gasp escapes your lips and immediately you grab his sleeve and tug on it over and over. You stare at Ratio with big eyes that shimmers with apologies and hope for him not to confiscate the pudding you haven’t finished yet. The more that Ratio stares, the more impossible it felt for him to say no to you.

Although to you, he looked stoic as he was before but you came at him with some prayers and a dream to eat pudding again. Your silent pleading finally works when Ratio sighs and gives you another spoonful of pudding. “Wasting food is not a good thing after all.” You nod, this time you eat carefully so as to not make a mess, lest you give him a chance to take your pudding away again.

You take a small rest to digest properly while Ratio is out to put the empty trays away. Perhaps it was out of boredom when you yawned. By the time Ratio comes back, you were already asleep. He sighs and comes closer to properly tuck you in the bed. Once finished, he just stares at you and thinks about what he needs to do next when you wake up.

A walk in the hospital's garden, some basic hygiene, and probably a place for you to stay. Yeah, sounds good to him. But first, he’s gotta complain to the resource management about the shitty blankets they have. Ratio stands up, turning the lights off on the way to the door. Leaving you with his coat tucked around you.

A/N: That's it for now folks! This is going to have multiple chapters that'll follow my headcanons so its not over yet :3. Thank you so much for reading! A like or a reblog would be very appreciated.

#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x child reader #dr. ratio x reader #dr. ratio x female reader #dr ratio #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x male reader #veritas ratio #hsr ratio #Dr. ratio x child reader #platonic reader #x reader #reader is a child #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x reader #New found family

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 2 years ago

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The Ultimatum | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! I've been BUSY as fuck with school lately, y'all. It is truly a nightmare. I'm talking tests on tests on tests on finals on finals. But I'm almost done with the semester and I FINALLY finished this fic that I've been working on for-fucking-ever. It's got the angst and the yearning and the pain with a happy ending, which is my fave. Thanks for reading and thanks for being patient while I suffer through school :)

Word count: 9.6k

Find the sequel HERE!

Warnings: implied emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety, general sad vibes (but happy ending, as always <3)

At this point, Bucky had almost forgotten how to react to a knock at the door. He stood almost frozen, not quite recognizing the sound of knuckles against the wood. It seemed to him like a foreign, otherworldly occurrence. Like something newsworthy, something he’d see on the front page. He didn’t ever get visitors- well, at least not anymore.

It struck him as odd, the thought of an unsolicited visitor dropping by- and so late; it was almost eleven. And though he didn’t feel like making small talk with the old lady who lived across the hall, he figured he should open the door. Maybe his elderly neighbor needed help. Maybe she locked herself out and needed somewhere to wait for the landlord. And who was he to ignore her? She was always sweet. She treated him not like a monster, but a human being. And to Bucky, that was a novel experience- something worthy of backpay. So, if she needed to hang around his apartment for a while until the landlord arrived to unlock her door, he’d let her.

But when he opened the front door, he didn’t find old Mrs. Beverly. A sharp inhale barreled into him at the sight of you waiting on his welcome mat, the same one that you always joked about; you told him time and time again he should’ve called it a “go away mat”.

Everything inside Bucky came screeching to a halt. No heartbeat, no thoughts. Just shock. A rush of goosebumps flashed over his skin at the mere sight of you within arm’s reach once again. An immediate smile splashed across his face- a smile he hadn’t worn since the last time he saw you. Butterflies swarmed inside his stomach and wriggled into his lungs, their wings constricting his breathing. Seeing you again was the first day of spring after a seemingly never-ending winter. The first rays of sun poking through frost riddled branches and dead leaves. This was salvation.

“You said…” This was harder than you expected. Seeing Bucky again warmed parts of you that you didn’t know had gone cold. Just the sight of him helped you breathe easier. He made you lighter, calmer. He brought you a sense of comfort you stopped searching for months ago. Around him, all your sharp edges softened. But you didn’t know how to talk to him- not anymore. At one time, he was your safe place- the safest place you could imagine. During the bitterest of winters, he was your hearth, your home. You shared a secret language spoken only by the two of you.

But not anymore. Not for a while now.

You weren’t the same person you’d been when you knew him. To some, it was an imperceptible change. But you felt it every day. Missing Bucky wormed its way into your cells, tangling itself with your DNA. It became a building block of your very being. Losing him damaged your soul, leaving the edges frayed and torn.

The stark silence of the empty hallway made Bucky’s ears ring. He stared at you, his mouth slightly ajar, a look of bewilderment on his face. He took in the mascara smeared beneath your eyes, the soaking wet clothes hanging from your body. Only the quiet drip drip drip of water leaving your drenched hair dared disturb the silence.

The words you rehearsed on your way over dissolved. They abandoned you without a trace, leaving only one clumsy sentence in their place. “You said I could always come here if I needed you,” you finally said.

All Bucky could do was nod.

“Well… I need you,” you threw him a sheepish smile. “Can I come in?”

Again, Bucky nodded. His thoughts raced and collided with each other, filling his mind with noise. But he managed an “of course”; he needed you to know you were welcome. Of course, you were welcome. You were always welcome. He just hadn’t had the pleasure of inviting you into his home in what felt like a lifetime.

A deep sigh of relief left your chest. Part of you expected him to slam the door in your face. You squeezed past him, careful not to brush against his clothes and get him all wet- though he wouldn’t have minded. He was just happy to see you again.

The sound of your wet sneakers squeaking across the hardwood set your nerves on edge. But being back in his apartment eased them right away. This space used to be your home away from home, the place you felt most comfortable. Sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you thought about its worn, wood floors or the orange light that poured through the windows at sunset. Just thinking about the way this place cloaked you in safety and warmth remedied your anxious mind and eased you into a peaceful sleep.

Everything sat in nearly the exact same place as the last time you were here. That was just like Bucky- constant, consistent. But as you let your gaze drift over the room, you noticed a few foreign pieces of décor. He’d gotten some new furnishings since you last visited. A cozy-looking blanket lay strewn across the couch. A large armchair- perfect for reading- sat next to the window.

All this time, you worried about Bucky. You wondered how he was getting along, how he was handling things on his own. But he was okay. He made good on his chance at a new life. You only wished you could’ve been a part of it.

A thousand questions swarmed inside of Bucky’s brain. He had so many things to ask you, so much he wanted to catch up on. But one question sat at the top of his list. It was his first priority, his greatest worry: “Are you okay?”

A large huff left your chest, “I got into a big fight with Alex.” Part of you feared you were being dramatic. Bucky would never judge you- you knew he wouldn’t. But showing up out of the blue, late at night, drenched from head to toe because you argued with your boyfriend felt ridiculous. Maybe even pathetic. “He got mad- he didn’t want me to go out with my friends tonight,” you sighed. “Because I didn’t ask him first.”

“Because you didn’t ask him first?” Bucky nearly scoffed, “What- is he your father?” He checked himself immediately. A soft, “sorry” followed his less than subtle dig at your boyfriend, his attempt to assuage his mistake. He didn’t want you to put you on the defensive or make you regret your decision to reach out. Clearly, you needed him. And Bucky wasn’t about to ruin your attempt at seeking help.

But a quiet laugh pushed its way past your lips, easing Bucky’s worries. He always knew how to validate your feelings. “He was just being so-” you dragged your palms down your damp cheeks and thought back on the argument. “He’s so difficult. Sometimes, I feel like I’m on a leash or something. A short leash.”

Bucky didn’t like the sound of that. He mulled over his next words, careful not to let another outburst escape without his permission. But a pressing thought jumped through his lips without warning. “Wait- why are you all wet?” Bucky said. “Sorry, I- we absolutely need to talk about what happened. But… you’re soaked. What happened?”

With a swipe of your hand, you rid your forehead of a few water droplets that tried to escape your hairline. “Well, it’s pouring,” you gestured toward the rain-spattered window. “And I walked here.”

His eyes went wide, “you walked here? From your place?”

You nodded.

Your demeanor was all too casual for Bucky. With decent weather- in the daylight- the walk wasn’t that bad. But in a torrential downpour at 11pm, it was dangerous. It was far. “Jesus Christ…” Bucky couldn’t believe you did such a thing. It wasn’t safe- not with the rain, and especially not with the suspicious men that lurked the city streets at night. He thanked the universe you hadn’t been preyed upon on your journey to his apartment. “Why’d you walk?”

“Alex wouldn’t give me my purse,” you punctuated your sentence with the crossing of your arms. “We were fighting about me going out with my friends. And then things kinda blew up and he took my fucking purse.” The anger smoldering in your chest scorched through every blood vessel, broiling your cells. “He thought that if I didn’t have my keys or my wallet, he could stop me from going out.”

Bucky matched your eye roll with one of his own. He could practically see the short leash you mentioned only moments ago. He couldn’t believe Alex took your things. Well, he could believe it- he just didn’t want to imagine you in such a situation. It seemed to Bucky that Alex wanted to keep you locked away like a princess in a tower; and Alex played the role of the fire-breathing dragon.

“And then I missed out on dinner and dancing with the girls anyway cause our argument blew up.” A swift sadness snuffed out your sizzling rage. “So, I guess he won after all…” This night out with your friends was the one thing keeping you sane the past few weeks. Every time Alex did something to hurt you, to disrespect or belittle you, you thought about seeing your friends. About having a glass of wine or two and spending a few hours with the women in your life. You wanted to hear about their promotions, their wedding planning, their upcoming vacations. But most of all, you wanted their comfort.

And he stole that from you.

Bucky wanted to wring Alex’s neck. He wanted to make him disappear. He wanted to cut you free from the cement blocks Alex tied to your feet. But the sharp shiver that rocketed through your body put those thoughts on pause.

“Here, let’s get you some dry clothes to change into, alright?”

“Oh… that’s-” You shook your head. Sure, you wanted to change out of your sopping wet clothes and into something cozier. But you didn’t deserve Bucky’s kindness or concern. Not anymore. You couldn’t let him do this for you, not after you showed up unannounced. Not after what you did. “That’s okay. I’m fine. Really.”

But Bucky clocked the shaking in your fingers, the way you fought to keep your teeth from chattering. “Come on, it’s okay.” He reached for your icy hand and gave it a squeeze, only for a brief second. But it was enough to warm you from the inside out. “We both know you’re freezing. Just let me give you something to wear for a while. Okay?” He sensed the trepidation in your expression, the way you avoided eye contact. “It’s not an imposition or anything like that- just a friend helping a friend.” The patience and understanding behind his warm smile was so genuine, so authentic- you couldn’t help but believe him.

And though you knew it wasn’t right to accept his kind gesture, you couldn’t help yourself. The cold pierced through your bones and chilled you to the very soul- you weren’t strong enough to resist his offer. And, selfishly, you wanted to wrap yourself in Bucky’s clothes. They were always cozier, more comfortable than your own. The fabric seemed to hang on to his warm scent; you never realized you could miss a smell so much until it vanished from your own clothes. Your hair.

“Um, okay. Yeah,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

Your acceptance of his offer made Bucky beam- but you were still stuck on him referring to you as a friend. After all this time, after what you did to him, you couldn’t believe he’d still regard you with such affection.

You slipped out of your sneakers and socks and followed Bucky down the familiar hall to his bedroom. The memories embedded in these walls were your favorite days. Your most comfortable nights. Coming back to Bucky’s place allowed you to visit them all once again- something you never permitted anymore. Conjuring those memories brought you the greatest comfort and the sharpest, most soul-crushing pain. Seeking salvation in the past only served to remind you that Bucky was no longer part of your present, nor your future. And that hurt worse than any gunshot wound.

Just to be safe, you secured those happy memories in vault and buried it deep inside your mind, never allowing them to escape or see the light of day.

But it was a crushing loss.

“So, um… why didn’t you call?” Bucky looked over his shoulder for a split second, as though to make sure you were following him. “I would’ve picked you up, that way you wouldn’t have had to walk in the rain…”

Of course, he would’ve. He would’ve given his remaining arm for you.

You pulled at your soaking wet t-shirt, desperate to distract yourself. This was too awkward, too pathetic.

“I was afraid that…” You cleared your throat. “I um, I didn’t think you’d answer. Cause of what I did.” The wet hem of your t-shirt gave you little relief as you picked at its stitching to stem the anxiety. “I thought it was better if I just- you know, if I just came here. If I just showed up.” You rolled your eyes at your own logic, “if I called, there was a chance you wouldn’t answer.”

Bucky shook his head, “I would’ve-”

“I didn’t wanna chance it,” you said. “Cause if you blocked my number and that’s how I found out, I might’ve walked into traffic.”

Bucky knew you too well, knew you were making a joke to hide your very real fear of his rejection. “Well, I didn’t block your number,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know how.” And before you could spiral, Bucky turned to face you. “I would’ve answered. I will always answer.” His words were so genuine, so steadfast, that you nearly stopped breathing.

“I think I knew that…” you said, your voice almost imperceptible. “I think it scared me.”

Even after all this time apart, he remembered the way your voice grew thin when shame got the best of you. If he were being honest, he thought about the sound of your voice every day.

He knew you well enough to know when you were nervous. When you couldn’t stand to make eye contact. And so, he turned his back to you and continued in the direction of his bedroom, giving you a moment to yourself.

“Here we are,” Bucky pushed open his bedroom door and gestured for you to enter, allowing you to go ahead of him. But he sensed your hesitation, your uneasiness. He clocked it in the way your eyes just missed his, the way your fingers pulled at the fabric of your shirt. The two of you stood there in the hallway, stalling outside his bedroom door as though trapped in wet cement. Bucky broke free first.

“Alright, let’s find you something comfortable!” He dipped his words in positivity and

threw a too-cheery affectation on top for good measure. He just wanted to make you feel more at ease, more relaxed. But he knew a dry shirt and some sweatpants couldn’t fix the damage Alex did.

It was more than that, though. Bucky could feel the uncomfortable tension radiating off you like rays of the sun. You didn’t know how to act around him now, didn’t know how to navigate the crumbled ruins of your relationship. It was obvious. You didn’t readily enter his bedroom- how could you? You didn’t feel entitled to that space- or any space of his- anymore. And Bucky was going to change your mind or die trying.

“Okay, so you definitely need a pair of socks…” He rifled through his top drawer until he found a pair thick enough to keep you warm.

“And sweatpants? Yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, awaiting your approval.

You nodded. You’d accept anything he gave you- or didn’t give you. You didn’t have the right to his help, his clothes, or his comforts.

But he pushed on. Happily. He scrounged around the shelves in his closet and in his dresser drawers, searching for a pair that would fit.

And as he dug through seemingly every article of clothing he owned, you gave the room a once over. He’d gotten a small, slightly shabby bookshelf in the time since you last saw the place. An army of novels with cracked spines and distressed covers lined the warped wood like soldiers protecting him from the nightmares. He still only had one pillow, and his sheets were the same dark gray cotton. But his bedspread was new; it was the same one you advised he get for the colder months. At the time, he said he didn’t need anything heavier than the thin blanket that adorned his bed. And you knew it was just another way for him to punish himself, to refuse even the slightest comfort.

But the insulation in his cheap apartment did nothing to provide a reprieve from the biting winter. And clearly, he caved to your recommendation- even after things between you went south. A small smile crept across your face at the thought. At least you’d been able to help him in some way or another. Because of you, he stayed warm. He protected himself from the frigid temperatures. It eased your conscience, no matter how slightly.

“I think these will work…” Bucky held a pair of sweatpants up to your body. “I mean, they’re still gonna be way too big, but they’re the smallest pair I have.” He outstretched his hand and offered them to you, “we can tie the waist really tight and roll ‘em up so they’re not too long- don’t want you to trip.”

You hesitated for only a moment, unable to resist the dry, warm fabric of his worn sweats.

“Oh- you need a top,” he said, making his way toward the closet once again, “I have just the thing…” He reached up toward the top shelf of his closet in search of something; and before he had the chance to show you, you realized just what he was looking for.

It was what you used to wear at Bucky’s as makeshift pajamas or when it got too cold. He used to say it was yours just as much as it was his. Back then, you slept over by accident a few times a week. Sometimes, he needed you late at night. Sometimes, he just needed you to be there while he slept- he was more comfortable that way. You always made him feel safe. But after one too many nights of you struggling to sleep in uncomfortable clothes, Bucky presented you with this very sweatshirt. He wanted to give you something- anything- to make you more comfortable. And so, he dug around his closet for his coziest, most comforting crewneck.

It came in handy every time the heating failed and the shotty insulation left you chilled to the bone. Bucky always pulled it out for you and watched with a smile as you tugged the soft, gray fabric over your head. Sure, the heat at your apartment worked great. At home, you didn’t have to dress in layers or drink endless ups of scalding hot tea to keep warm.

But some days, Bucky couldn’t stand to leave the house. And you couldn’t let him rot away all alone. So, you made your way to his place, in rain or snow, and sat with him. Talked with him. Made him tea and brought him food.

He hadn’t been able to touch that sweatshirt ever since you left. Didn’t even want to look at it. But he kept it clean for you- just in case.

“Is this okay?” Memory after memory of you accepting this very sweatshirt flashed through Bucky’s head. It used to be a routine of sorts, but it felt foreign now.

Something in you nearly cracked. This whole thing was too much. It seemed like you’d been dropped into a film about your own life, and someone behind the camera forced you to play out this scene just to hurt you. It made you ache for before. Before you left, before things fell apart, before you made the decision you knew was wrong.

Bucky stared at you, an expectant look on his face. He waited for you to take the relic of the better days you once shared, hoping it would bring them back to life.

But you hesitated. You eyed the garment, fearing the fabric would send you into a spiral. The threads were heavy with memories. And after everything you did, who were you to accept this gesture of goodwill?

“This is- I really appreciate it. But…” you refused the sweatshirt. And instead, tried to hand the sweatpants and socks back to Bucky. “I can’t accept all this. It’s not-”

“Yes, you can.” Bucky’s words were definitive. He allowed no room for arguments. “You’ll be a lot warmer.” He offered you a gentle smile and once again stretched the sweatshirt in your direction. “Get changed and we can put your clothes in the dryer,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll be right outside.”

A nod and a quiet “thank you” were all you could muster. And as Bucky left the room and shut the door, you wondered how he could possibly treat you so kindly after what happened. Ever since you left, you berated yourself daily. It was part of your routine now, almost like you’d penciled it into your calendar. The guilt kept you up at night and distracted you during the workday.

But Bucky was a good person. And he’d never hate you the way you hated yourself.

Slipping into his sweatshirt felt almost criminal. You saved it for last, choosing first to shimmy into his sweatpants and wrap your feet in his warm socks. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t right- none of this was right. Allowing Bucky to treat you with such hospitality, such care, wasn’t fair to him- not after what you put him through. But as you tugged his sweatshirt over your head, your selfishness eclipsed that feeling of wrongdoing.

It was just as you remembered it- oversized but not massive. Warm but not suffocating. The worn fabric eased over your skin and cloaked you in the kind of comfort you knew you didn’t deserve. And for the first time since you left, you experienced genuine comfort.

“Oh, hey,” Bucky was waiting for you in the hall, just like he said he would. “I’ll take those,” he took your wet clothes and nearly recoiled at just how cold the fabric felt against his skin. You must’ve been miserable- and yet, you’d tried to refuse the dry clothes he offered. His heart broke for you all over again. He tossed the piled of sopping fabric into the dryer and shot you a kind smile.

Bucky stared at you as the machine began to rumble; part of him wondered if this was real. He’d had plenty of dreams about this moment, about your return to his life. But none were ever this real, this believable. And as he observed you standing there in his old sweatshirt, he decided that if this was all some strange, lucid concoction of his psyche, he never wanted to wake up.

But the trembling in your hands caught his attention once again, pulling his smile into a deep frown. The warm, dry clothes did their best to shake the chill, but to no avail.

“Let me make you some tea,” Bucky gestured toward the kitchen. “I have some-”

“Oh, that’s okay.” You tucked your shaking hands into the long sleeves of Bucky’s sweatshirt, flashing him a forced smile. “I’ll warm up in a minute.”

His old, familiar eyeroll brought a real smile to your face with ease. The two of you fell back into your old habits, your old way of relating, far too easily. Before you left, he always tried to give you things or do things for you when you hung out at his place. He knew his apartment was shitty, that you gave up time with your friends and boyfriend for him. And to compensate, he always had an offer in his back pocket: tea, takeout, baked goods from the place down the street. He had to make up for the burden he placed on you. And every time, you refused. The two of you would fake argue and banter until you finally conceded. And, with a smile, he’d make you a cup of tea or braid your hair the way Shuri showed him.

You knew how much it meant to him to be able to give you something in return for your kindness- no matter how many times you told him your friendship wasn’t transactional.

“I’m making you some tea, d-” Bucky caught himself, cutting off the word that rested on the tip of his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t call you ‘doll’ anymore. With a forced clearing of his throat, he pivoted. “I have some jasmine. Is that still your go-to?”

You nodded. Deep within you, an ache for your old nickname stirred.

Bucky busied his hands with mugs and sugar and spoons. He always kept your favorite jasmine tea on hand, just in case. It stayed in the cupboard, front and center, ready for your return. But the box sat untouched. He hadn’t made any- not since you left. Just the smell of it was enough to break his heart all over again.

Every time he opened that cabinet, your tea stared back at him. And though seeing it threw him back in time and punched him in the gut with longing, he couldn’t get rid of it. Throwing it out would mean that you’d never come back, and he couldn’t accept that.

Bucky put the kettle on and tiptoed into rocky territory. “So, can I ask…” he toyed with a spoon, avoiding eye contact, “why didn’t you call an Uber or something?”

A pang of embarrassment jolted through you like lightning. Admitting the truth of your relationship only served to make you feel stupid. You’d lost count of the number of times your friends gasped or booed when you told them about something Alex did or said. And though you knew that the urge to hide his less-than-loving tendencies was a blood red flag in and of itself, you couldn’t help it.

But you didn’t have to hide with Bucky. Ever.

“I deleted my rideshare accounts,” you sighed. “Or- Alex did. He doesn’t like me using them cause he doesn’t trust that I won’t-”

You cut your next thought off at the knees. Months ago, Alex confronted you about your use of ride share apps. He suspected you of cheating, of sneaking away. His words dripped with contempt as he spat accusation after accusation your way, never stopping to listen to the truth. Sometimes, you needed a ride to work. Or to your sister’s house. But he didn’t care. “I know you’ve been going to see him- to see Barnes,” he’d said, “I know you’ve been going to see that psycho.”

That night, while you slept, he deleted your Uber and Lyft accounts and forbade you from ever downloading the apps again.

“He also cut up my Metro card,” you said, your voice quieter now. Admitting these things felt traitorous. Treasonous. Like giving intel to the opposing side. Alex didn’t like Bucky. And Bucky didn’t like Alex- rightfully so. Spilling your guts supplied Bucky with enough ammo to destroy the man you supposedly loved. But Bucky didn’t fire a single shot.

He, instead, wrangled his negative thoughts about Alex and locked them away for the time being. The strong urge tear your shitty boyfriend apart rattled inside Bucky’s brain. It clawed and thrashed at the bars of the cage in which Bucky trapped it. Talking shit about your boyfriend, while satisfying, wasn’t important. You were Bucky’s top priority. He needed to make sure you were comfortable, that you felt safe. There was something in the way you spoke about Alex; a not-so-subtle tinge of anxiety- of fear- that tarnished every word you said about him. And thinking about the cause turned Bucky’s stomach.

He just wanted to be there for you, whatever that meant. If you needed to vent, Bucky would listen. If you needed to cry, he’d offer you his shoulder. And if you needed to sit in silence, drinking your tea, and pretending your boyfriend didn’t exist for a while, Bucky would join you in the quiet.

“Oh. Um…” Bucky didn’t know what to say. His anger toward your boyfriend boiled under the surface, but he didn’t dare let it overflow. Instead, he pulled the kettle from the stove just as it started to sing. “Well… I’m glad you made it here safely,” he said. It was all he could think of.

You shrugged, “I kinda ruined your Saturday night, though.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave you a laugh, “you could never ruin my night.”

Without a second thought or a moment’s pause, he prepared your tea just the way you liked it. Even after all this time, even after the issues with his memory, he never forgot. He delivered a perfect splash of milk, a flawless dose of sugar. It was as though he’d done this just yesterday- and all the days before.

“Plus, do you really think I had plans tonight?” Bucky said as he handed you your tea.

“Hey, I don’t know…” you sipped your tea; it was even the perfect temperature. “Maybe you’re a real social butterfly now. Maybe you have a weekly poker game or plans with Sam.” You shrugged, “maybe you have a girlfriend.”

Things fell quiet after that. Bucky sipped at his tea. You scratched absentmindedly at the tile counter. Neither of you knew what to say or how to say it. And it crushed you. Before, the conversation between you and Bucky flowed so easily, so smoothly. You read each other’s’ minds and anticipated nearly every word. And in the silences, things were comfortable. Cozy. Content.

This was awkward, tense. It sent a shiver up your spine.

“You’re still freezing.” A worried scowl carved a deep line in Bucky’s forehead. “Come on, let’s get you under a blanket, okay?” He wrapped an arm around you back- loosely- and guided you toward the living room.

The gesture almost made you tear up. Bucky was always so kind. So gentle and soft and warm. It was a warmth you hadn’t experienced in a long time. But part of you almost wanted to distrust his kindness. It seemed to you like an omen, a kind of warning. Or even a trap. At home, sweet gestures like these always meant trouble brewing beneath the surface. They led to shouting and crying. To accusations and fear and distrust.

They came with a catch.

Bucky didn’t.

He simply held your tea while you got comfortable on the couch. He wrapped you in a blanket and asked if you wanted another. And when he was confident that you were, indeed, warming up, he joined you.

“This might sound pathetic,” Bucky said as he settle into his spot on the couch, “this is the best night that I’ve had in a really long time.” He knew you were only in his home due to unfortunate, unkind circumstances. He knew he shouldn’t be celebrating your showing up sopping wet at his apartment late at night, not when he knew what made you do so.

But he so was happy to see you.

Things fell quiet after that. You left all of your peace behind the last time you left Bucky’s apartment. You ripped it from your chest and piled it in a corner, abandoning it for your new life. Sure, it hurt. And it left you feeling empty. But it had to be done, didn’t it?

All your life, people emphasized the importance of marriage. Of settling down. They told you that relationships are always hard, that they aren’t like fairytales. And so, you accepted Alex’s empty promises and twisted definition of love. And even when you expressed to your parents that you weren’t sure about Alex, they talked you into staying with him. They cited your age, how difficult it would be to find a husband as you got even older. They scared you into accepting less than you deserved. They scared you into leaving Bucky behind.

Yes, it was you who ultimately made the decision to end your friendship with the kindest person you’d ever known. But you knew you’d never let go of the grudge you held against those in your life who convinced you to settle for Alex. To cut Bucky out of your life. They robbed you of so much time with him, time you’d never get back. And just the thought of all those lost days sent you into deep, endless grief.

Bucky spoke up after a while, “Do you wanna talk about it?” He didn’t want to pry or come on too strong; something in him feared it would scare you off. If this was where you sought solace, if this was where you felt safest, who was he to disturb your newfound sense of peace?

“You don’t have to,” he said, “but you can if you want.”

You did want to talk to Bucky about what happened. You wanted to spill your guts and vomit every less than blissful detail about your life with Alex. Talking to your girlfriends was nice and of course, your therapist was helpful- but there was something about Bucky. He was the only person who really understood you, who could read between the lines and grasp the feelings you struggled to put into words.

But pulling at that thread was dangerous. You’d already tugged at a few pieces, unraveled some shameful details about how things were at home. And if you gave that frayed thread another yank, you feared that every damaged, knotted strand would fall on full display at Bucky’s feet. The prospect scared you more than your late-night walk to Bucky’s.

And who were you to dump your relationship issues on him, anyway? Who were you to disappear with barely any warning, only to show up and vent on his couch? It wasn’t right- none of this was right. Sure, parts of this night were irreversible. You were already there, wearing his clothes, drinking his tea, and sitting on his couch. But you could stop yourself from burdening him any further. You could sew up your leaky wounds and snap your mouth shut, saving him from any more of your grief.

You sidestepped his offer, “No, it’s okay- catch me up on things with you. I wanna know everything.”

Bucky gave you a look. Even after all your time away, he could still read you like the Sunday paper. He knew how badly you needed to simply let go, to unburden yourself. But he knew you wouldn’t.

Your reluctance to share wasn’t a question of his listening skills or your level of comfort with him; it was the shame. He could practically see the guilt oozing from your pores. You didn’t feel as though you deserved to bare your soul to him. It was obvious, perfectly illustrated in the way you yanked your lips into a tight smile each time he looked at you. Showing up at his place unannounced after a seemingly eternal bout of radio silence was one thing. But dumping your problems in his lap? Burying him under your relationship drama? That was simply not allowed.

And so, he told you all about his life- the version that didn’t include you. He told you about the missions he’d been on and the injuries he sustained. The amends. The shitty, court appointed therapist who treated him more like a criminal than a client. The boat he fixed up with Sam. The old man with whom he ate lunch every week.

He almost seemed happy. Almost. He actually had a life now. A friend who wasn’t also a coworker. He went on a date. Sure, there were things to be desired. He still had nightmares. Anxiety. He still wrestled with the ghosts of his past and the fear of his future. But he was doing better. And while it was all you ever wanted for him, it stung knowing you didn’t get to see him make these strides in real time.

“Wow, you’ve been busy,” you said when he finally finished. “I gotta know more about your lunch dates with this Yori guy- that is adorable.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and laughed his first genuine laugh in months. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I met him as part of my amends, but I-”

A harsh knock at the door cut him off. Both your eyes and Bucky’s slid in the direction of the sound. And though neither of you said a word, the air in the room changed. It grew thick and heavy, weighted down with an almost sickening dread.

Bucky locked eyes with you, his stare tunneling through your skull.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he said, keeping his voice low.

You nodded.

A guttural groan clawed and kicked at your throat, but you refused to set it free.

His voice was low, his volume calculated, “We’ll just be quiet.” Bucky glanced at the door once more, waiting for another round of knocks. “He won’t know we’re here, okay?”

You could barely hear him over the hum of the fridge, the sounds of the city. You gave a slow, subtle nod, fearing the sound even the slightest motion might make.

“I know you’re in there, Barnes,” Alex’s voice punched through the door. “I saw your bike downstairs.” He knocked again, his knuckled booming against the door. Your blood stopped in its tracks. You could’ve sworn you felt it settle in your veins.

Bucky stood from the couch with a nearly silent, “It’s okay”. He hated the way your face dropped, the way your knuckles changed color as you gripped the pillow in your lap.

“Barnes!” Alex practically growled through the door, “open up!”

“Come with me.” Bucky’s voice was barely audible, but still the most comforting sound you’d ever heard. He helped you from the couch, steadying you as the anxiety sent tremors through your every nerve. He guided you to his room with quiet, careful steps. He noted the way you yanked your shoulders upward, the way you kept your eyes on the floor.

Bucky hated the effect Alex had on you. He turned you into a hollow, fragile version of yourself that Bucky found nearly unrecognizable. He chipped away at your confidence and self-esteem, using precise, masterful blows to your weakest points. He reduced you to a pile of dust and shards of your old self.

Bucky wished to turn Alex into nothing but a memory.

“Just stay in here till he’s gone. Don’t come out,” Bucky said once you reached his room. He rested a palm to your cheek for the briefest of seconds, “I’m gonna take care of it, okay?”

And before you had a chance to relish in the warmth of his skin against yours, he vanished.

His footsteps grew more distant as he made his way to the front door. With each centimeter he put between the two of you, you grew more anxious, more uncomfortable. He was your safety blanket, your rock. Without him, you’d learned to cope. You survived. But you never truly thrived. And now that you got your fix of him, being without him for even a second left you unable to breathe.

Bucky opened the door, feigning a look of surprise, “Alex- wow, hey. How are you? Haven’t seen you in-”

“Cut the bullshit. I’m not in the mood.” Alex’s tone sliced clear through Bucky’s attempt at casual levity. “Where is she?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “What?”

You could practically see Alex rolling his eyes, curling his hands into fists. “Don’t gimme that- you know what I’m talking about.”

Bucky gave pause and shook his head. “I really don’t…” Part of him feared he may be doing too much. He knew he had to perfectly toe the line without overplaying his role of ‘confused ex-best friend’. The last thing he wanted was to fuck this up, to let it slip that he was harboring you in his home. He knew it would be bad for you, that Alex would make your life a living hell if he found out. And he was damn sure not going to let that happen. “Is everything okay, man? It’s pretty late.”

Alex’s glare tunneled through Bucky’s skull, “Where’s my girlfriend, James?”

It wasn’t a question- but an accusation.

“What do you mean?” Bucky coatedhis words in a thick layer of concern. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she’s-” Alex huffed. He was over it. His paper-thin patience shredded into sharp, tiny pieces. “I know you know where she is. I know she probably called you or something.”

“She didn’t-”

A knowing look crossed Alex’s features and quickly devolved into one of betrayal, of disgust. “Is she here- she’s here isn’t she?”

Bucky’s heart sank into the swirling pit in his stomach. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t ruin the sanctuary you sought in his home. This was your safe place, your peace. And he had to protect it. “Is she here? No. Why would she be here?”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I haven’t seen her.” Bucky raised his hands in surrender, “We haven’t spoken in- she hasn’t contacted me in over a year.” Saying the words out loud hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It prodded at him like a fireplace poker, hot from the flames. God, he missed you.

“Right…” Alex rolled his eyes. “Of course. Just fuckin… whatever, man. If you so happen to see her, tell her to get home. Soon.” He turned on his heel and backed out of Bucky’s doorway, a snide look on his face.

Bucky wanted to separate Alex’s head from his body. This man didn’t wish for your homecoming as a concerned boyfriend. He didn’t hope for your safe return or ask for help finding you. Not a sliver of worry even came close to piercing his arrogant, callous surface. He’d let you spill out onto the late-night streets, hurt and distraught, as a torrential downpour drowned the city. He didn’t care that you had no means of transport. No wallet. He didn’t care that your clothes didn’t protect you from the freezing rain.

And he walked away from Bucky cocky. He left threats hanging in the air. He wanted you home as a means of control. Of punishment.

But at least he was gone. He stalked off, mumbling something about you “learning your lesson”. It made Bucky nauseous. He wanted to keep you in his apartment for as long as possible. At least, that way, he’d know you were out of Alex’s reach.

He didn’t want to think about how your return home would play out, how Alex would treat you when you finally walked through the door. Something- a lot of things- about Alex didn’t sit right with Bucky. Alex struck him as a manipulator, a narcissist. Someone to fear. He could understand why you’d walk far too many blocks in the freezing, torrential rain just to get away.

Bucky shut the door and turned the deadbolt. He secured the chain. Even checked through the peephole to make sure Alex hadn’t returned. He couldn’t be too careful- not when you were involved. “Alright, he’s gone,” Bucky called as he headed in your direction. “He’s an intense guy, I didn’t-”

But as Bucky entered his bedroom, he found it empty. “He’s gone, I swear. You don’t have to hide anymore.” Bucky popped his head into the closet and bathroom but found no sign of you. “Hey, where’d you go?”

The sound of the dryer door, however, tipped him off.

He discovered you in his small laundry room, retrieving your clothes from the dryer.

“Oh, I don’t think those are all the way dry yet. You know this thing is kinda old,” he gave the dryer a gentle kick. “You should probably leave your stuff in there a little while longer.”

You didn’t answer.

Bucky watched you fish your underwear out of the bottom of the dryer. He offered to help when your shirt got tangled with your shorts. But you stayed quiet. You kept your back to him and your gaze downcast, focused on the wet fabric in your hands.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Bucky placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know Alex showing up wasn’t exactly ideal, but he’s gone. And I-”

Without a word, you turned to face him; only then did he notice the tears streaming down your face. They met under your chin and curved down your neck, dampening the fabric of Bucky’s sweatshirt. He’d never seen a more sorrowful, gutted expression cross your face- save for the last time he saw you.

Sharp, shallow inhales shook in and out of your chest. And even if you wanted to, you couldn’t force yourself to meet his eyeline.

“Oh no-” Bucky’s heart shattered. His chest tightened and his stomach dropped. He hated seeing you upset, seeing you cry. Immediately, he wondered what he’d done to make you feel this way.

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice was gentle, his tone soft. He didn’t demand an answer, like Alex so often did. No, he simply helped guide your words to the surface. He was patient and understanding as you caught your breath, didn’t make any condescending comments about your emotions. Bucky was always kind, always empathetic. He never rushed you. Never forced you to speak before you were ready.

And when you finally found your words, they came out quiet, shameful. “I heard what you said…”

Bucky quickly ran through his conversation with Alex and came up empty. What did he do? What did he say that hurt you like this? But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the answer. “Oh… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I- what did I say?”

“About us not talking-” You lifted your head, showing Bucky your red, glassy eyes. “About me not contacting you for over a year.”

Bucky shrugged. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I was just-”

“I shouldn’t be here.” You dropped your damp clothes on top of the washer and tugged at the knots Bucky tied in your sweatpants. “I shouldn’t be wearing your clothes-” You struggled to free yourself from the tightly knotted drawstring. “I shouldn’t be complaining to you. And I shouldn’t- I just shouldn’t be here.”

A low groan rumbled out of your throat as you gave up untying Bucky’s skillful knots. All you wanted was to get out of his clothes, out of his apartment, and out of his hair. A storm of guilt and shame pummeled you, drowning you in regret. Coming here was wrong. Selfish.

“I have no right to be here,” you said, slumping against the dryer and sliding to the floor. “I have no right to come to you for help.”

“What do you- Yes, you do.” Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Of course, you do. You will alwayshave the right to be here.”

Another tidal wave of tears poured down your cheeks. Bucky was so kind- too kind- to you. Too forgiving. Too understanding. Too good. All you could do was shake your head and apologize. Vehemently.

“I’m so sorry…” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky took the spot next to you on the floor, close enough for you to feel his familiar body heat. “You don’t have to be sorry-”

“Yes, I do- I fucked up. I chose him.” You dried your tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt Bucky held onto just for you. “He gave me an ultimatum and I- I chose wrong.”

Bucky took your hand in one of his but didn’t speak. He simply let you ride out your latest wave of guilt and grief. He swiped this thumb over your knuckles every now and then, keeping you grounded. And when you finally caught your breath, he spoke.

“I don’t think… I don’t think it was ever about you choosing between dating Alex or being friends with me,” he said. “You needed to choose yourself. To choose what was best for you, what would make you happy. And at the time,” Bucky shrugged, “you thought being with him was for the best. So that’s what you did. I can’t fault you for that-”

You scoffed. It came out ugly, bitter, full of the disdain and contempt you held for yourself. “But I knew who he was. Even then.”

Bucky shrugged, “they call ‘em rose colored glasses for a reason-”

“Stop!” Your voice violently bounced off the walls of the small laundry room. “Stop making excuses for me- I want you to be mad at me!” Desperation clawed at your throat. You ripped your hand from Bucky’s, too overwhelmed by the kindness you didn’t deserve. “Be mad at me for abandoning you when I said I never would- be mad at me for being a horrible friend! Be mad at me for being stupid- and selfish!” Your balled up fists landed blows to your legs, your chest. If Bucky wasn’t going to berate you, the least you could do was deliver to yourself a fraction of the pain you deserved.

But two hands- one warm, one cold- wrapped gently around your wrists, stopping the abuse. You locked eyes with Bucky, tears blurring your vision. He’d never seen a look of such intense desperation.

“Just- be mad at me…” you stared at him, pleading. “Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “No.”

“Please… be mad at me. Yell at me. Do something.”

Bucky couldn’t help but think back on the old days. How many times had the two of you sat on the floor of this apartment? How many times had you helped Bucky off the literal and metaphorical ledge when his anxieties grew too strong? How many times had you exorcised the demons Hydra saddled him with? How many times had he tried to punish or hurt himself? And how many times had you stopped him?

Now, it was Bucky’s turn to do the same for you. “I was mad. Does that make you feel better?” He shot you a wink; it pulled the smallest of smiles from deep within you.

He intertwined his fingers with yours, anchoring you to reality, to him. “But I wasn’t mad at you. I was just mad because- because I met you so late in life, you know? And I barely got any time with you. It wasn’t enough for me.” His voice grew thick with longing. He spent so any nights thinking about you, losing sleep over how much he missed you. He often wondered if you missed him, too. Wondered if you thought of him when you took the train or went to the market. Wondered if you ever walked down his street, just because.

“But I was never mad at you. I’ve never been mad at you for pursuing the things with Alex. Or for going along with his ultimatum. I didn’t like it- I didn’t think that it was fair to you, but…” he shrugged. “I wanted- want- you to be happy.”

“But I left you-”

“I’ve lived a long life,” Bucky said. “Too long.”

You squeezed his hand, “I wouldn’t say that- I wouldn’t say ‘too long.’”

You always knew how to make Bucky laugh. “What I mean is… I’m living years that aren’t mine. I was never supposed to have this much time. But these years are meant for you. This is your life. And you’re entitled to go after the things you want.”

“But-”

“No. No ‘but’.” It wasn’t a reprimand, but a reminder. “What kind of friend would I be if I got mad at you for pursuing a relationship with someone you loved?”

“But I didn’t just pursue that relationship-” a harsh flashback of the day you left ripped you apart from the inside out. You remembered refusing Bucky’s invitation inside. Handing him the key he had made for you. You remembered biting back tears as you told him of Alex’s ultimatum, and your subsequent decision to go along with it. You remembered the look of utter heartbreak on Bucky’s face. He was gutted. Torn apart. Seeing him so despondent nearly made you sick. “I cut you off. Completely.”

“I know. But…” he shrugged. “You deserve to go after the things you want. And you wanted him. And I- I just wanted you to be happy.”

A sharp huff left your chest, “But I could’ve been stronger. I should’ve- I should’ve handled things better.” These same words swarmed your mind like angry bees on a daily basis. So many would’ves and could’ves and should’ves launched themselves at you, illustrating everything you did wrong. “I mean, jesus christ, I’m an adult! He gave me an ultimatum- I didn’t have to go along with it. I chose to. I’m in the wrong just as much as he is-”

“Hey- no.” Bucky’s intensity caught you off guard. “Look, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but he’s a manipulator. Everything you ever told me about him screamed ‘manipulative’.”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I let him manipulate me-”

Bucky shut you down, “No. No, that’s not how manipulation works. Sure, you chose to be in a relationship with him. But you didn’t choose to be treated like shit. I saw-” Bucky’s free hand scratched at the fabric of his jeans. “I saw the way he acted tonight- if he’s like that all the time, I don’t blame you for going along with his ultimatum.” He grimaced, “I’m sure the consequences would’ve been bad if you chose otherwise.”

Bucky’s level of understanding and empathy almost made you angry. How was he this kind? How could he grant you this much grace? You felt yourself nearly going mad. He sensed the eyeroll, could practically feel your rebuttal bubbling below the surface. And before you could throw another ‘but’ at him, he continued.

“You wanted to be with him. You thought- or hoped- that he was someone better. That’s not a crime. And I’m sure you wish you could go back in time and tell your past self not to get mixed up with him, but-”

“Yeah, but I-” you let loose a deep sigh. “I really just wish I could go back in time and tell past-me to stick with you. Always. To put you first.” A few more tears broke free from your lash line and rolled down your cheeks. “Cause you’re the person I care about most- you’ve always been then one who matters most to me. And I’m sorry I didn’t act like it. I’m sorry I didn’t make that obvious to you.”

“It’s all okay,” he nudged his shoulder with yours, “we’re okay.”

After a few deep breaths, you allowed your body to fall against his. Your head lay on his shoulder, your hands still intertwined. This was always how things were supposed to be: just you and Bucky against the world. No pain, no heartache, no ultimatums. Just trust. Kindness. Empathy.

“I’ve missed you every day,” your voice came out tight, barely audible as your tears made another appearance.

Bucky unwound his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders. “I’ve missed you too.”

“I regretted it, you know?” You lifted your head and looked him in the eye with intense urgency, “I regretted it instantly- I knew I shouldn’t have chosen him.”

He gave a simple shrug, “But it’s okay that you did.”

It was going to take some time for you to accept that Bucky didn’t hold a grudge. That he didn’t fault you. And that journey started there, on the floor of Bucky’s laundry room, with your body resting against his.

“I’m glad that… I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer to come back here.” You nestled closer to him, desperate to make up for lost time. “I’m glad it wasn’t too late.”

He stared down at you, confused. “Too late for what?”

“Well, I’m sure you would’ve written me off after a certain point, you know? If I was gone for… five years, or something.” Just the thought of being away from Bucky that long made you miserable. “If I showed up here after all that time, it would’ve been too late for you to forgive me.”

Bucky shook his head, “First of all, you don’t need to be forgiven- you didn’t do anything wrong.” He hated the way you blamed yourself and dismissed your own difficulties over the last year. And he knew you too well to be able to ignore the heartbreak in your eyes, the pain behind your voice. You suffered in your relationship with Alex. He cut you off from your best friend, isolated you, sabotaged your self-esteem. You were a victim, even if you refused to believe it.

“Second of all- and this is important-” Bucky turned to face you dead on, and pressed his forehead to yours. “There is no ‘too late’ with us, doll. Ever.”

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

Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barneselo <3

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ladykailitha · 27 days ago

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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21

Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.

Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.

Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.

There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.

Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”

Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.

“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”

And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.

“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”

Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.

“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”

Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”

“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”

Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”

Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”

“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.

Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.

Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”

Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”

Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”

Robin and Stephen shared a glance.

“I’m a Steve too.”

They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.

“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”

“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”

Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”

And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.

Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”

Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”

“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”

“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”

“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”

They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.

Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”

Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”

“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”

Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.

Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.

“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”

Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”

Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”

Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.

Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”

Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.

“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.

“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.

Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”

“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”

Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.

“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.

“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.

Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”

“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.

Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.

Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”

“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”

Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.

“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”

“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”

Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”

Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”

Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.

A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.

“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”

Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”

Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”

Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”

Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.

“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”

Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”

“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.

Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.

“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”

As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.

“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”

Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.

Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”

“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”

Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.

Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”

She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rockstar eddie munson #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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five-rivers · 1 year ago

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Daedalus

@regular-dog Hello! I am your holiday truce gifter this year! I hope you enjoy this labyrinth-themed fic. Happy New Year!

Only three years in, and it was already impossible to tell how big Amity Park was. Normal methods of surveying didn’t work. Physical maps were either always right or always wrong, and sometimes both at once. Driving across the city at a constant speed didn’t help, either. The outgoing trip and the return trip never seemed to match, and there simply weren’t enough one-way streets in Amity Park for that to be the answer to the problem.

Asking the residents didn’t help, either. They couldn’t even agree on how big the city they lived in was. Some of them acted like Amity Park was the second coming of Chicago, others expressed confusion when Amity Park was referred to as anything but a small town.

(The census data was almost worse.)

But no matter what version of Amity a particular resident believed they lived in, there were always similarities. There was always Casper High, and its Ravens, and every student went there, and learned from Mr. Lancer, and heard the rumors about Sydney Poindexter. There was always the Nasty Burger, and Valerie Gray working one of the many distasteful jobs that the place had to offer. There was always Amity Park Park, confusingly named and full of even more confusing paths, whether it was a city park or a county park, or something else altogether.

There was always Fentonworks, rising tall and strange from a small, ordinary neighborhood.

There was a heaviness there, around that particular building. A weight that drew in other things, that twisted. It was the heart of a labyrinth of streets, of old roads and new, of forest paths and disused hiking trails. It was the heart of Amity Park.

And it should be said that, at the heart of any labyrinth, there was a monster.

And it should be said that, at the threshold of every labyrinth, there was a princess.

And it should be said that the one thing that every labyrinth waits for is a hero.

Samantha Manson wound golden string around her fingers, thinking. It glowed faintly in the dark of her room, like the thinnest, purest beam of sunlight cast through morning mist and a thick canopy of leaves overhead.

However, her eyes didn’t linger on it. Instead, she looked out the window over her– garden– conservatory– greenhouse– private park– the place where she went to grow plants, and be among them, that may or may not have changed in nature and size while she was looking. Which may or may not have had many natures and sizes.

She closed her eyes. Insight was useful, as vital as the blood in her veins and the lightning in her nerves, but it had its drawbacks.

When she opened them again, a hedge maze stood dark and tempting beneath the light of a moon that should not be full and should not be there and had never been that big, in any case. The lights of Amity- rising high with skyscrapers or low to the ground and scattered among farmhouses– laid beyond it.

In her hands, the string hummed, as if it had been held taught and plucked. A single, clear note filled the air.

“Do you think it will work?” she asked.

There shouldn’t have been anyone in her room, and there wasn’t. But her nearest neighbors could be five miles from the walls of her home or five feet, and she rarely spoke to them. The distance between friends was greater, but also infinitely less.

Tucker looked up from his computer, which sat at his desk, in his own room, in his own house, the light from the moon shining in from the window behind him. His glasses reflected the pale, bluish light of his computer screen. The wheels of his desk chair rolled across the carpet of his room - so different from hers - with a squeak.

“You’re not getting cold feet now,” he said. It wasn’t so much a question as an exclamation.

Sam sniffed. “Of course not. But I’m not the one taking the biggest risk, am I?”

There was a third room. This one dark and starry. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface were normal. The patterns they were in were not. Nor were the eyes that stared out from beneath star-spangled bedsheets. Nor was the moon, gleaming from windows stationed on either side of the bed.

“I’m not sure if it actually matters if it works,” said the owner of those eyes, blinking slowly. “I mean, if it works the way it’s supposed to work. We’ll just go back to plan A if it doesn’t.”

“No offense, Danny, but plan A sucked,” said Tucker.

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” whined Danny. “Plan A is fine. It’s a normal plan. I know my city.” The last was said with a casual but deep possessiveness.

“Plan A wasn’t even really a plan,” said Sam. “Your plan was to just fly in and find them, never mind all the other things that are happening.”

“That’s not so different from this plan,” protested Danny. “It’s basically the same. It’s just the how that’s different.”

“Pretty big how, though,” said Tucker. “And I thought you liked this plan.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny. “I’m just saying, I’m just saying that even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be any worse off than we were at the beginning, before, you know. The research.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his window.

Somehow, Sam knew that he was, in fact, pointing at the stack of thick books sitting on her desk. Only, instead of pointing at them across the there-not-there division between their rooms, he was pointing in their true direction, across the streets and forests of Amity Park.

The covers of the books shouldn’t have been legible in the darkness. Sam could read them anyway. Greek mythology. Sympathetic magic. Recurrence. Narrative causality. Daedalus, Icarus, Theseus, Ariadne, Asterion.

Four days ago, New Athens High School had sent a bus bearing the fourteen members of their track team and their coach to a meet in Elmerton. On the way back, the driver had made a wrong turn, knifing straight through the heart of Amity. The bus, the driver, and the coach had come out the other side. No one knew what had happened to the track team.

Danny had spent three of those days looking for them. Amity Park had spent those same three days winding itself more tightly than the ball of string sitting on Sam’s desk. Whether it was downtown, or the forest, or the suburbs, the part of Amity New Athens’ bus had passed through was a maze.

A labyrinth.

They’d thrown themselves into research, then, begging for information from their allies. Or, rather, from Danny’s allies. Most of them, with the exception of Dora, were there for him more than for the rest of them. Pandora was the one who had finally noticed the connections, the links with old stories, the resonance.

There was a labyrinth. There were sacrifices. Other roles–

“Or, if you don’t want to leave it, you could send Tucker in,” said Danny, shrugging slightly. “If it doesn’t work with just me. You know.”

Sam’s fingers slipped.

Sam was the obvious choice for the role of princess. Danny was the obvious choice for the role of hero.

He should have been, anyway.

“Hence why I’m asking if you think it’ll work,” said Sam, sharply.

“I hope it’ll work.”

Sam huffed. “Not what I’m asking.”

“It won’t hurt to try.”

“It might,” said Sam. “The monster dies at the end of the story. The princess is abandoned. Even Theseus doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“And we aren’t those characters. It isn’t as if Tucker is going to cut my head off.” Again, Danny waved in Tucker’s true direction, rather than across the emptiness of his room. “We’re the ones making the decisions. We’re just using the stories for– For narrative clout. Or however you described it.”

“Danny…”

“It’ll be fine. I mean,” he looked up at her with those too-bright eyes, the rest of his face black with shadows, “if you’re having second thoughts, it’s fine. We can try something else.”

“I’m not having second thoughts.” Sam began to unwind the string from around her fingers, wrapping it around the rest of the ball. The maze outside her window had become a winding garden path, and the neighbors were once again nearby.

Tucker cleared his throat. “First thing in the morning, then? We ride at dawn and all that?”

“Before dawn would probably be better, honestly,” said Sam.

Danny sighed. “I’ll set my alarm clock.”

It might have been neater to enter the maze in Sam’s backyard, or to start from the spiraling center that was Fentonworks, but that wasn’t where the bus had disappeared. The bus had disappeared going through downtown Amity Park.

Well. Insofar as the bus had disappeared in any particular location. And insofar as Amity Park had a downtown.

The lack of permanence of place made discussing things like this somewhat difficult.

Still. At the moment, there was a downtown. A historical shopping district, as a matter of fact. As he walked down the sidewalk in the crisp, gray, predawn light, Danny could feel beneath his feet a hum. The shopping district here was the mainstreet of small town Amity, even as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the layers felt real enough for Danny to reach out and rub them between his fingers.

(They weren’t really, but they felt like it.)

He stopped in front of an alley that smelled of cinnamon and sea salt. Here, the layers parted, and you could slip between them, into the interstices and forbidden places of Amity Park.

“Is this the place?” asked Tucker.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “I think so.” He motioned them to the mouth of the alley, where they’d be covered by shadows and next to unnoticeable by those who were firmly in any one version of Amity Park. “Sam?”

She teased out the end of the golden string and cast it towards Danny. As it flew through the air, it twisted and knotted itself before falling over Danny’s head. The loops shrunk around his neck, creating a narrow golden collar.

Danny raised his hand to touch it and made a face. “It’s tight,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Sam, glaring at the ball of string as if it had betrayed her. “I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, waving it off. “Just unexpected.”

“Right,” said Tucker, stepping forward. “Your sword, Theseus.” He handed Danny a Fenton invention that had a passing resemblance to a lightsaber.

Danny rolled his eyes and took the small cylinder. “Thanks. But don’t call me that.”

“Hey, that’s the story we’re trying to tell.”

“We’ll give it a tug if we run out of string,” said Sam.

“Mm,” said Danny. “Well. Might have to give it more than one. Don’t let me drag you in.”

Sam snorted. “What, like you drag us into everything else?”

“Seriously. Just let me go if I start pulling too hard.”

“No way,” said Tucker. “We’ll just tie you onto some building or something.”

“I have been known to bring down buildings.”

“Well, don’t,” said Sam.

“Wow. No sympathy here, I see.”

“Nope,” said Sam and Tucker together.

“Now go save the tourists,” said Sam, pushing him forward.

“They’re not really tourists,” said Danny. But even so, he stepped across the line and into the gap.

Into the labyrinth.

The in-between spaces of Amity Park did not immediately look like they were the in-between spaces of Amity. Danny sometimes liked to imagine that they were what Amity Park used to look like, before it became a dozen different, mutually exclusive places. That had to be impossible, though. There was too much, too many different things, afterimages and fantasies and illusions.

People walked on the streets, and cars drove, but they were transparent, projections from the layers of Amity immediately bordering this space. Sometimes, they walked through each other, not noticing at all.

Danny still flinched when it looked like cars were about to run into one another, and let out a breath of relief when they instead seemed to phase through each other.

So he walked.

He walked, and as he walked, the road began to change. He began to change. Facades paled. Grecian columns reached up the sides of skyscrapers and ranch homes. Brick turned to marble. Danny’s t-shirt and jeans slowly, gently, became a chiton and chlamys, trimmed in red. The Fenton Saber became a sword of green-tinted bronze, strapped to a belt around his waist. His shoes became sandals, laced up to his knees.

It wasn’t the first time Danny had worn clothing like this. He did visit Pandora. But he’d never worn it in Amity Park. It was a little embarrassing. The ancient Greeks’ idea of underwear was… lacking, in Danny’s opinion. But it wasn’t as if anyone here could see him.

The act of walking here also felt strange, and Danny couldn’t understand why this was needed. Not really. Not the act, not the ritual. By virtue of his nature, he could duck in and out of anywhere in Amity whenever he wanted. Mostly. At least, he could find places to duck in and out whenever he wanted.

He should have been able to find the missing students without any problem.

But he hadn’t.

And he still wasn’t finding them. There was no pull. No indication of what direction he should go, what direction he could find them in.

Danny sighed, and the sky above boiled with stars.

He looked up, not having expected that, then shrugged and continued to walk. Things here were strange.

There were words on the walls, now, carved into the marble alongside window displays for cell phones and stationary. Ἀστερίων, Ἀριάδνη, Θησεύς. He traced Ἀριάδνη with his fingers. It sparked gold, the same color as the string around Danny’s neck.

And then the string flexed. Pulled. Spooled forward, winding into a ball in front of Danny. A short thread was thrown off of the rapidly spinning ball and settled on Danny’s head before solidifying into something heavy and cold.

(Elsewhere, the end of the string tears itself out of Sam’s hand, disappearing into the rift between.)

“Oh,” said Danny. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and mentally apologized to his friends for worrying them. “Theseus was from Athens. Ariadne wasn’t just rich, she had authority over Crete. We had the roles wrong.”

(Not that Danny really wanted authority over Amity Park. That… just wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to be in charge. He just wanted to protect.)

But this meant… He needed to find one of the New Athens kids and get them to be Theseus.

He didn’t want to do that. He was here to rescue them, not to force them to rescue themselves. And… iIf he could find one of them, couldn’t he find the others? Finding them was the problem he’d started with. If he could find them, he could bring them out.

He stumbled as the section of string wrapped around his throat tightened. That actually hurt!

Then it loosened and Danny took a deep breath.

Narrative weight, right. They were already trying this story. Changing it or aborting it halfway would have consequences. Ones that Danny didn’t want to deal with.

He swallowed. He couldn’t help but remember that in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, many people, many Athenians, had died before Theseus had finally defeated the Minotaur. When it was Danny in the role of Theseus, that hadn’t been a concern. He was certain he could fight any monster, any ghost in the role of the Minotaur.

But some random kid from New Athens? One who had probably never seen a ghost, and who had been stuck here for days?

That… that he wasn’t at all confident about.

Sam had been right to be wary of the risks. It was different, when someone else was facing them.

He rolled the ball between his hands, feeling it over. Power thrummed between his fingers, brighter and sharper than before. A thin stripe of gold ran down the sidewalk, twisting over on itself and turning away from the main street.

Danny sighed, and started to follow.

Danica was starting to panic.

One moment, she’d been on the bus, falling asleep after a difficult meet despite how risky it was to fall asleep anywhere near Georgie and his so-called ‘artistic impulses.’ The next thing she knew, she was waking up on a sidewalk in some kind of nightmare city. A nightmare city full of things that looked almost like people but were transparent and walked right through her as if she weren’t there.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here, where the bus was, where everything else was, but it felt like hours, at least. She was starting to get hungry.

She was starting to wonder if she’d gone crazy. Or if this was what it was like to be dead. And that was before the buildings started to melt into weird, semi-Greek-Revival messes.

It was weird here, and she hated it. She wanted to go home. She wanted her mom. She wanted to quit the track team and never have to deal with anything like this ever again.

“Hello?” called a soft voice.

She whipped around. Up until now, this place had been eerily quiet.

Standing just a few feet from her was a boy, one who could have stepped out of a history textbook. He was wearing something like a cape, and a Greek-style tunic, white trimmed in red. Tangled in his hair was a thin, golden circlet. But the strangest thing about him was the ball of glowing golden string in his hand. One end of it was wrapped around his neck.

“You–!” said Danica, suddenly more furious than frightened. “Did you bring me here? Why?”

The boy shook his head. “I didn’t bring you here. Actually, I’m hoping to help you get out. You and the rest of your teammates.”

“They– They’re here, too? And the coach–?”

“No, just your teammates,” said the boy. He made a face. “You guys kind of… Ran into a story.”

“A what?” demanded Danica, incredulous. She’d also, incidentally, started to back away from the boy.

“A story. Have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?”

“What if I don't want to do this?” asked the girl, after Danny had finished explaining. “What if I can’t do this?”

Danny stared at her, a bit baffled. The thing about being a ghost, even half a ghost, the thing about thinking like a ghost… Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around other perspectives. Especially when his friends, the only people he really talked to, were just as eager to jump in and help as he was.

He hadn't wanted to make anyone risk themselves. He wanted to bring them to safety without that. He also hadn't expected that anyone would just… not want to help.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose you could follow me until I found one of your classmates who could?” he said. “Although… I’m not sure if we can do that with this story. It might be that I have to find someone alone and then they find everyone… In which case you’d just have to wait for them. Speaking of which, how long has this been for you? On the outside, it’s been a few days, but you look a little too good for that.”

“I– What? Days? I haven’t been here for days.”

“Not from your perspective, maybe. Time is weird. Even without all this…” He waved his hand, trying to indicate ghost weirdness in general. “... stuff, even with just the things we can look at scientifically, it’s still relative. Right now, you’re basically in a dimensional pocket. Pocket dimension? Whatever. The point is, is time running at different rates really that strange, comparatively? At least, it made it so that you didn’t starve before me and my friends were able to figure this out.” He raised the ball of golden string, ignoring how the movement pulled on his neck. “Right?”

The girl gave him a ‘why are you using science-fiction terms in what is clearly a fantasy scenario’ look. At least, that’s how Danny chose to interpret it.

He sighed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Danica,” she said, then looked angry at herself and shrugged. “Or Dani, I guess.”

“Huh, small world,” said Danny. “That’s my sister’s name, too.” Not to mention his. Maybe Theseus’s story wasn’t the only one being echoed, with a coincidence like that.

The girl continued to stare at him, this time with a ‘why the heck are you bringing that up while I’m having a crisis’ look. Probably. Danny tended to make a similar expression from time to time. Usually when the ghosts he fought started having lovers’ quarrels in the middle of a fight.

“So,” he said, awkwardly. “You can come with me, of course, just to… test out what will happen?”

“Oh!” said Danica, suddenly. “Just– Just give me that!” She held out her hands for the ball of string.

Danny beamed, and passed it to her. It glowed even brighter.

“Now what?” she asked, staring at it nervously.

“Now, you need this,” Danny said, taking off the sword and holding it out to her, hilt first. “And then you search for your friends, and when you find them…” He pinched a length of the string between the finger and thumb of her free hand. “You follow this back out.”

Danica was much more reluctant to take the sword than the string. But that was fine. One of the two was for holding things together, the other was for taking things apart. Danny knew which was easier, and which he was more comfortable with.

“That's it. Remember, it's just the members of your track team, okay? The coach and the bus driver got out.”

“Okay,” said Danica. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

Danny nodded encouragingly. “Yes,” he said, “definitely.”

Danny stepped out of the in-between, back into the alley he'd left Sam and Tucker in. Except, it wasn't an alley anymore, but a thin dirt path between hedges.

He was immediately tackled.

“We thought we'd lost you!” said Sam. Then she pulled back and examined him closely before looking pointedly behind him. “Where're the track kids?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. In the story, Theseus is from Athens, remember?”

Sam groaned. “They're having to do it themselves?”

“Yeah. A girl named Danica. Dani. Believe it or not.”

“Wow,” said Tucker. “Really?”

“Really.”

Danny turned to look behind him, tracing the string where it twisted away from reality and into not-space.

Tucker sighed. “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

It took Danica surprisingly little time to find her teammates. For all the time she’d spent wandering on her own, after she’d accepted the sword and the string, she’d located everyone in what felt like an hour. Some of them were even in groups!

The problem was, she found too many of them.

“Mm,” said Danny, still worried. “Probably. I hope she doesn’t have to fight anything.”

There had been fourteen of them. She knew there had been fourteen of them, because the coach and the driver had both done headcounts, because of the number of people they were allowed to field in each event at this particular meet, and because she remembered that someone had been sick. But there were, including her, fifteen kids now huddled in something that aesthetically hovered in-between the Parthenon and a shopping mall.

She couldn’t remember who had been sick. No one could. But everyone wanted to convince her that it wasn’t them.

Probably because she was the one with the sword.

“I think that if there was anything, it would have gone after Danny when he was searching earlier, right?” asked Sam.

“Maybe,” said Danny. “Unless it was scared of me. I am pretty powerful.”

“And if Danny’s Ariadne in this, he was Ariadne at the beginning,” pointed out Tucker. “The story was already going. Ariadne never fought the Minotaur.”

“Astarion,” said Danny.

“Huh?”

“That’s the Minotaur’s actual name,” said Sam. She frowned slightly. “He was Ariadne’s half-brother, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, slowly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“Listen,” said Danica, trying to mask the shake in her voice, “I’m sorry, but– But based on everything, you aren’t who you say you are.”

There was nothing she could do about how badly the sword was shaking.

“I am!” said the girl, who couldn’t be there, because Eliza had taken the one place in the 100 meter, and Jaylynn did the javelin, and Lachandra had done the high jump, and no one remembered her competing at all. “I really am, I promise!”

It was convincing, her act. But it had to be an act, it really did.

“Dani,” said Lachandra, “is it really that important? I mean, if we take her with us? We just want to get out.”

“But she could eat us,” said Kevin, who was a bit of a mythology buff on top of being a track nerd. “She could– If this is the Minotaur story– She’ll try to kill us and then–”

“I won’t!” shouted the girl. Her eyes– For a moment, they changed color. Red. Her teeth were sharp, too.

Danica gritted her teeth and swung the sword down.

Danny caught her wrist, panting. He’d followed the string back.

“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Wait.”

“Where–” said Danica, jerking back. “Why–?”

Danny turned towards the ‘Minotaur.’ “Hi,” he said, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. “You’re one of Vlad’s aren’t you?”

Their face shimmered for a moment, and then– It was like looking into a mirror. This wasn’t Dani - his Dani, Danielle - but a boy with red eyes. He wore a chiton like Danny’s, but he looked starved, pale, terrified.

He nodded.

“There is,” said Danny, cautiously, “another story about escaping from the labyrinth. How would you like to be Daedalus?”

“What was that?” hissed Danica, as they walked away from… whatever that was. “Why are you here, now, leading us out, when you couldn’t before?”

“Story is different now,” said Danny, tightly. “And I was leading you out before. Just with the string.”

“What if you get lost?” asked Kevin.

Danny grinned at him. “I won’t. He isn’t trying to keep you in anymore.”

“Who isn’t?” asked Danica.

“Daedalus. Him. He just wanted out, I think. Sorry for– I’m sorry about all of this,” said Danny. “I didn’t want to get other people involved in Amity Park stuff, and I especially didn’t want to get you involved in family stuff, but…” He shrugged, then caught sight of an out. It looked, from this side, like a slightly darker than expected gap between stately white pillars. “Here we go! And I think this one is next to the police station, too, so just, you know. Check yourselves in.”

“Just like that?” asked Danica.

“Just like that,” said Danny. “I will need those back, though.” He nodded at the string and sword.

“Right,” said Danica. She shoved both at him. “I can’t believe– I would have kill that– Whatever– Whoever–” She stopped, looking very much like she wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” said Danny again, softly. “But it is over now.”

The New Athens kids walked into the gap and vanished.

The string dissolved into golden, glittering light and then settled in his hands as a pair of equally golden wings. Danny laughed.

“Okay,” he said. He turned, bouncing a little. “I get the picture. I think we can avoid the Icarus problem, being ghosts and all.”

#danny phantom #holiday truce #holiday truce 2023

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that---one---kid · 1 year ago

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The cold snow

Coriolanus x Reader

AN: Sorry it kinda progressed really fast and I should’ve wrote him getting gradually more obsessive, but I’ll write another like that. Do yall think reader should relate more to teens nowadays though? Should I put her hitting a vuse in the next fic?

Smut, non-con, dub-con, arranged marriage, dark!Coriolanus, baby trapping, mentions of murder, threatening, reference to domestic violence, drugging, loss of virginity

Not once did you feel love for a man. Not once did you plan on getting married. And not once did you ever consider marrying a man from the capital, they were all the epitome of stuck-up, heartless and cruel bastards dressed up to hide it with a thick veil of elegance, but, alas, when did things you wanted ever go your way. You hide a scowl as the man you had heard far too much stood in front of you next to your father. “..and I'm sure she’s looking forward to the dress!” Your father laughed. “I’m quite sure my cousin is just as excited to help with the design.” The snow-haired boy- no, monster, said, turning to face you, his cold blue eyes look unnerving in the dim light of your dining room. You wondered if he had that same look in his eyes as he came up with ways to monetize innocent deaths. You give a forced smile, directed towards your soon-to-be husband. “I can’t wait to see what she comes up with!” Your voice sounds more strained than intended. Your father's hand lands heavy on your shoulder and he gives you a squeeze before speaking. “Coriolanus, it’s been an absolute pleasure as always, but I hate to keep you too late. University I’m sure is tiring enough and you’ll have Y/N to talk your ear off soon enough.” You shift your shoulder and shake his hand off. Your father gives you a look and Coriolanus smiles before taking your hand and raising it to his lips, bowing slightly he kisses your hand softly, the feeling of his lips on your skin makes a chill run up your spine. “Right again Mr. L/N, but I do look forward to having someone else to talk to aside from Gran’mam and Tigris and Y/N is a wonderful conversationalist.” Your father makes his way to the front door alongside Coriolanus while you snake away as they’re too preoccupied with a conversation of politics and wedding arrangements. You quietly make your way upstairs, narrowly missing a maid in your hurry to slip out of your dress and into a bath, washing the filth you felt from that monster touching you off of your skin. You weren’t naive to Coriolanus Snow. Despite a year his junior plenty of people had talked of the tenth games, of Coriolanus’s ideas, and even reminiscing on it made your blood boil even more so the fact that your father would not only condone his actions but praise them. He talked nonstop of Coriolanus’s genius and innovative brain, paired with an influential name is precisely why he was so eager to offer you up as a bride for this up-and-coming president. A soft knock on your bedroom door alerts you. “I’m in the bath!” You yell. Hearing a soft creek, footsteps slowly follow. “Hello?” You yell, a brunette female avox holding a silk robe enters your bathroom. You shift to cover yourself, despite having servants since childhood you never did get used to their lack of speech and dead stare. If your tongue got cut out you wouldn’t have much light in your eyes either, you suppose. “Thanks, just leave it on the counter.” The silent woman robotically moves towards the counter and places it down before leaving, swift footsteps and a quiet door closing signaling it was time for you to get you. Quickly standing and pulling the drain, the cool air on your skin gives you goosebumps. Slipping on the robe, there's another knock on your bedroom door. “Yeah, just one minute…” You pause, trying to recall the avox’s name, but drawing a blank.

Had even you dehumanized these indentured servants so much that you never learned their names? “Y/N?” Your head perks up from the thought. “Uh, you can come in, Mother, I just got out of the bath.” The door closes and you make yourself decent before walking out into your bedroom. Your mother sits at the edge of your bed, her thin frame barely sinking into the plush sheets. Your mother, although barely giving out any more than the bare minimum of maternal comfort, had always been a confidant for you. Rarely speaking unless spoken to, dressed to your father's liking, and eating the rations for a mouse on your father's request, you had always had a soft spot for her. You knew from a young age you wanted nothing to do with men, and never wanted to be trapped in a marriage like your mother was, loveless and cold it was no wonder you were an only child. She motions for you to sit next to her. “Grab your brush and let's talk.” Grabbing your brush off the vanity beside you, you walk over and stiffly sit next to your mother, handing her your brush. She grabs a lock of your hair and begins working her way through the tangles. This goes on for a few minutes before she breaks the silence. “I know you’re not happy about the marriage.” You roll your eyes and let out a huff. “Forgive me for not wanting to marry the malicious Mr. Snow, I know I’m sooo lucky to get a shot with someone who can make such a spectacle of child murder.” The sarcasm that made you bite your tongue around your father was let loose around your mother She brushes out a knot with more force than she should, making you let out a wince. Sighing she continues on to another section of hair. “No need to be smart.” She puts down the brush and turns you towards her. Her pale, perfectly curated mask of makeup cracks up close. Her tired eyes and creases from many nights of poor sleep cannot be hidden, no matter how much concealer and powders are applied. “I was much more naive than you are when I married your father. I had the stories and the glory days of the capitol, but I was wrong. I know we haven’t set the best example of marriage for you, but please take this away if nothing else.” Your mother looks at you with a stern and pleading gaze. “You need to submit yourself to this fate.” Her voice is desperate and you can only give her a deadpan stare, “I’m not like you, mother, I have no interest in-” A stinging pain floods your senses, your cheek beginning to get hot accompanied by what you're sure is a brilliant red handprint. Your mother composes herself, fumbling with her hands in her lap, a blank stare adorns her tired face. “Unless you want to feel that and much worse from a hand much heavier than mine, I suggest you heed my advice.” Quickly and quietly, your mother stands up and walks to the door while you sit still in a somewhat shocked state from the normally docile woman's slap. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, I don't want you to go through what I did.” And with that she leaves, leaving you to recover and slip into a nightgown before lying in bed, a futile attempt to make sleep come quicker as your head swims through questions, realizations and your inevitable fate of entrapment.

A week comes and goes, you fill your time with work from the academy, struggling to get through dinners and talks with your father about marriage and the upcoming wedding. Your mother, to her credit, uncharacteristically changes the subject from time to time, giving you few and far-between sympathetic glances. You're grateful for that, at least. “I have business to attend to in District Two for a while, your mother and I will be away for at least a week, maybe more.” Your father says in between bites of sirloin. “Will Arthur be coming around?” Arthur was your uncle, a distant relative your father would like to forget, but it was the one fight he lost to your mother, her absolute refusal for him to isolate her completely from her eldest brother was what a majority of their fights were about in your childhood. Despite that, Arthur always made things more lively, less constrictive, and was the rare times you saw your father intimidated. Your father pauses before speaking again. “He is not, I see it fitting that Coriolanus comes and stays with you while we are away. He will escort you to school and come with his driver to pick you up after his university classes.” You clench your fork, and anger and something akin to nervousness twists in your stomach. Steadying your mind before speaking, you look to your mother who sips her wine, refusing to look at you. “Does that not seem improper, Father. I mean we aren’t to be wed for two more months. What image would that look like?” You try finding any loop, using the family image as leverage wasn’t ideal, but it was a last-ditch effort. “Since when have you cared about your public image? It sets a strong front up for the two of you. I want you to be seen with him as a young respectful woman from a strong house, someone the people can see as the first lady of Panem and I trust you will do as told.” There’s emphasis at the end of his words, more like a threat. Your mother clears her throat before excusing herself to the restroom. The rest of the dinner was sat in tense silence.

A knock at the door causes you to shoot your head up from your book in the living room. Your parents had left early in the morning and it was now early afternoon, you tried easing the building nerves in your stomach by reading non-stop since before the sun was up, with time put aside to make sure your hair and makeup were perfect because despite hating you fiance and dreading his arrival, some small part of you still wanted to be desired by him. You set down your book before whispering yelling at the avox passing by. You could see a small glimpse of Coriolanus waiting at the door from the window, but the tree would make it hard for him to see you. As childish as it sounded you asked the avox to wait until she heard your bedroom door from upstairs to close before letting coriolanus in. Like a child caught sneaking down stairs to get a glimpse of Santa, you ran quickly and quietly upstairs, praying silently that Coriolanus didn’t look through the windows next to the door only to see you scampering upstairs to hide in your bedroom. As quickly as you could you make it to your bedroom and slam the door just loud enough so that it could be heard downstairs. From there you crawl into your bed and under the covers of your bed, but instead of hiding from the monsters under the bed like when you were a child, you’re hiding from the monster downstairs, the one who comes to strip you of what little freedom you had left. Hearing the stairs creak makes the dull anxiety turn into panic as the creaking disappears, meaning they’ve now made it to the second floor, meaning they, who you were hoping weren't Coriolanus, were most likely heading for your door. Thinking quickly, you feign sleep, hoping that the oldest trick in the book will work on whoever came to disturb you. A knock on the door makes you flinch, but still you lay as silently as possible, trying to control and calm your breathing. The door knob turns and the door is pushed open ever so slightly. A heavy footstep echoes through your quiet room followed by a closing door.

Glass against glass is heard before being placed by your bedside followed by a weight on the bed and hot breath tickling your ear. “Sleeping at noon? Come on now, Y/N, I’m not an idiot.” Coriolanus’s voice comes out smooth like honey, but cold like the harsh whip of winter air when you first step outside. You turn over, bleary eyed and fake yawning. “What are you doing in my bedroom uninvited?” Your voice is meant to be accusatory and confident but comes out meek and wavering. Coriolanus backs up, his perfectly slicked back hair doesn't falter even when he brushes it back, a smirk that spells nothing but no-good unnerves you. “I’m your fiance, I think we’re past courting formalities, Y/N, plus, I’ve brought you tea.” Smiling Coriolanus gestures to the white porcelain cup. “Thank you, Coriol-” “Call me Corio, please, the formalities and all are far behind us.” You smile, picking up the tea cup and taking a sip out of it to try and fill the awkward silence that weighs heavy in the room. The bitter taste catches you off guard, scowling as you take another sip, trying to gauge what kind of tea it is. “Corio, what is this, it's such a..strange flavor?” Smiling Corio pushes the cup up to your lips again. “It gets better with taste, and old recipe Grand’mam taught me.” Downing it as fast as possible as to not offend his Grna’mam’s tea you feel yourself get light headed as the world gets blurry. “Corio, what is this..” You trail off, your words are slurred and speaking feels like a chore. Your senses are so numbed that you don’t think twice when Corio gently pushes you back against the feather pillows. “Don’t you think it’s funny that we are engaged and haven't so much as kissed yet?”

Even through your haze you can see the way the blonde is looking at you. His eyes are hungry, like a predator eyeing up its prey. “I’ve been thinking about you like this for a long time, Y/N, by my side, taming you and your defiance.” Coriolanus slips off his shoes and begins unbuttoning his shirt as he climbs on top of you. “I’ve been eyeing you up for awhile, Y/N, before the arrangements, at the academy, the way you look in your uniform, the way you think outside of the box..” Slowly he begins shedding his shirt, his hands snaking their way up your thigh, hiking up your skirt. “And I see the way the other men in the capital look at you, young, beautiful, rich, pure as snow…you’re a very desirable girl.” He’s made his way to the top of your skirt, slowly pulling it down, leaving you in your top and lacey panties. Now shirtless, Coriolanus begins working at undoing his own pants, leaving him in nothing but boxers on top of you. You try moving your legs but they give up after a few tries. It takes all of your energy to fight to stay awake,your heads not spinning anymore, but even if you could move, Coriolanus would easily overpower you. “S-stop.” You muster out weakly, trying and failing to push him off you, your weak arms are pinned to your side quickly by his own. “I don’t like the thought of another man but your husband taking you, and I intend to fulfill my role as your husband before you retaliate.”

Using one hand, Coriolanus unbuttons your shirt, button by button you feel your cheeks heat up and a growing arousal in your panties throws you off. You had never been touched like this by anyone other than your own hands in the dead of night before. Coriolanus swears under his breath as he exposes the rest of you, eyes wandering back down to your panties. “I’ve known about you far longer than you have of me, Y/N. I’m ready to have a loving marriage with you, but you just need to accept me.” He trails off as he unclasps your bra, rambling more about how he couldn’t wait and all the long dinners with you were driving him mad. Now fully exposed and more out of it than ever you feel his hands cup your breast. His erection pressing hard against your stomach as he leans down for a desperate kiss. He’s rough, trying to take in as much of you as possible.. Panting, his hot breaths send shivers down your spine, you feel your own wetness as you feebly rub your thighs together, weakly and with as much force as you can you push on his shoulders so he is sitting up straddling you. You tell yourself it’s to get him off of you, but in reality if so he’ll give attention to the rest of your body and not just your now abused lips. Coriolanus has the eyes of a madman as he quickly sheds his boxers and pulls down your panties. Using his thumb to tease your clit, you jolt slightly. Feeling foreign hands on you was a strange yet pleasurable experience. “Corio..” your soft moan of his name made him all the more possessive of you. He wanted to only ever hear you say his name in such a way, and he wanted to hear more of it. Taking out his hard cock, he lined it up with your entrance. Coriolanus leaned back down, kissing you much more softly as he pushed into your virgin cunt. You moan into the kiss as you feel his cock pushing into you. “God, you’re so tight, you were made for me.” He moaned, head spinning Coriolanus wasn’t sure when, but he was holding your hips down as he fucked you, the way your breast bounced and your hair fell in your face as you moaned his name in breathy gasps made his head spin. “Corio-ah, fuck, Coriolanus..” Your meek voice just made him want to fuck you harder, to draw out more symphonies of his name, to make it known to not just you, but the world that you were Y/N Snow, and nobody except him could take you this way. In between moaning your assailant's name and begging for more, you had a few moments of clarity, where you knew this was wrong but your body betrayed you. Moving on instinct you lift your legs towards your chest, begging to take the blondes’ cock deeper into you. In Coriolanus’s mind, you were begging for him to make you his, for him to not just claim you in name, but claim a life, a life that both of you created. Slamming your hips against his own Corio could feel himself coming undone, letting out breathy moans of your name you felt his hot cum spilling inside of you, begging for your own release which soon followed. Coriolanus fell on top of you, feebly keeping himself stable above you before rolling over to look at you. Rosy cheeks and a thin sheen of sweat cover you as your hair curls and frames your face in an almost angelic way. You were exhausted, trying to think but coming up blank, the drug affect starting to weigh on you, you allow yourself to block out the blonde lying next to you and let your heavy eyes close, drifting off to an inviting deep sleep while Corio stares at you, content with himself and that you’ll never be able to leave him now, especially with the child he and you would have, tying you to him forever.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut

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yellowbunnydreams · 7 months ago

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Do you need some Vitamin D? (Incubus! William x Oblivious! F! Reader) [Part 4]

~Hello all! Thank you so much for your support on this absolutely wild fic! Some of you have mentioned how you really like Will being a big ol' bunny when it comes to his mannerisms, so I thought I'd throw more in there!~

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@ruh--roh-raggy xp-doggy redbunny03 @marigold-petalz @seviliet @astinkerofarat @iamnotwiddle @imtiredshow

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI. Fluff, age gap (Reader 20's - William Afton 40's(?)), teratophilia, meet-cute, punny pick-up lines, scenes of working out, minor porn-logic, ditzy! reader, could be classed as bimbo! reader?, size-difference, flirting, monster-lover, sexual innuendos, Monster! AU

There weren't many boxes or bags to move from William's car into his house. Although you had gasped when you saw it coming up the gravel driveway for the first time.

The house was a little older, although you could faintly make out where there had been some exterior additions and renovations, though it seemed that enough time and care had been put in to try and make them blend with the original house as seamlessly as possible. Pale blue wooden siding and a white painted porch, it felt like some quaint little house you might find in a suburbs rather than down a separate road and hidden away by woodland.

"The woods are my land too, actually if you walk about an hour that way," William pointed off to some vague direction into the woods as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, almost obscured by the tree-line. "You'll find Henry's house. He has quite a lot of woodland too, we're both something of...nature enthusiasts." You didn't notice his face dropping slightly as he covered the secret he nearly let slip.

"Do you get many animals around here then?" William shook his head and shrugged as he manhandled two boxes at once, despite your protests.

"Occasionally you hear something crashing about in the undergrowth, probably just a cougar. Stay inside if you hear anything like that though, don't need you getting eaten like the dessert you are." He chuckled, and you stared at him for a moment before laughing and shaking your head.

"Gee, way to comment on how much sugar I eat Mr. Afton! I know I need to loose a bit of-"

"You need to loose nothing, bunny. I think you look pretty just as you are, I'm sure a lot of boys do too." You blushed at the comment, thinking of it as more fatherly than anything else, picking up the bag with your clothes and heading inside whilst William nudged open the front door with his foot.

Inside the house was surprisingly warm and cozy whilst still remaining spacious. High ceilings that could easily have been eight feet tall, wooden beams integrated into the plasterwork across the ceiling to support the floor above, the walls a warm off white and the furniture that could see in the lounge looked well worn and comfy as well as quite large. But you supposed that William Afton was a tall and broad man, everything was sized to him rather than yourself, so of course it looked huge.

"I'll give you a tour around in a moment, but I want to show you to your room so you get settled in. I'll order take-away if you like?" Tilting his head to one side slightly as he observed you, making sure you weren't struggling with the bag you were carrying before making his way up the stairs, leading you up the hardwood staircase and onto the second floor.

"As long as it isn't pizza. Don't get me wrong, I love Freddy's, and the pizza is good but..."

"Oh no, I totally get it, you eat it during your breaks, you take some home at the end of your shift if there's leftovers. I was thinking Chinese food?" You breathed a sigh of relief that he understood and you nodded enthusiastically as he pushed open a door with a sturdy shoulder.

"Sounds amazing, all that would be needed to finish off as the perfect night would...well one, not be being evicted...but a warm blanket and shared popcorn with a cheesy horror movie...and to share some good company." You shyly suggested, biting at your lip as you wondered if William would even pick up on what you were saying, the older man hummed and his nose twitched slightly as he tapped his foot lightly.

"Well, I have plenty of blankets, and you can always invite a friend around if you want. I know you and Claire get on well?"

The room itself seemed a little smaller than most that you had caught a glimpse of as you moved through the house, but it was still pleasant. The walls were pale yellow and the single bed was made up in a white duvet cover like the one you had at your apartment. A small TV was set up on a dresser at the foot of the bed, and it was plenty big enough for both of you to stand in as William put the boxes down carefully. You couldn't help but feel a pang of self-pity that of course William didn't notice you flirting with him, he was older than you, more experienced and probably didn't see you as anything other than a friend at most, just an employee at the most realistic level.

"I'll let you get unpacked, and I'll order us some food. Probably change too, since I'm still in work clothes, oh!" Knocking his head lightly with his rough knuckles as he smiled down at you. "Bathroom is next door, it's a shared one for the floor and the master bedroom, so just...knock? I'll keep the door locked if I'm in there." And with that, he squeezed past you and disappeared back down the stairs, hearing his heavy footsteps on the creaking floorboards and leaving you standing on your own in your new temporary home.

Sighing, your shoulders slumped and you grabbed the bag roughly, setting it on the bed and pulling out the items you had packed to put them in their proper places. It was going to be a long time in the Afton house, of that you felt certain.

You sat back in your chair at the dinner table that William had set out for your dinner, feeling absolutely stuffed after he had ordered a selection of just about anything you could have thought of and more. William had eaten almost twice as much as you, and you found yourself wondering where he put it all beside the firm looking dad-bod he had always sported. There was little conversation during dinner, both too hungry and enticed by the delectable spread to bother trying to make small talk, but you felt you needed to break the silence.

"Thank you again, Mr. Afton, that was great." Afton gave you a lopsided smile and chuckled as he placed a hand on his stomach. He'd changed into a tight fitting t-shirt and sweatpants, which you had had to tear your eyes away from his broad and strong looking body several times whilst you ate, at least getting away with the flush to your cheeks that he interpreted as somethings being too spicy for you.

It was certainly the most comfortable you'd ever seen the older man.

"Please, call me William when we're alone. I feel so fucking old when you keep calling me 'Mr. Afton'." He groaned playfully, smiling as your own features softened into a smile back. You thought the slight dimples you could see through the salt and pepper hair were rather charming.

"Wills."

"Don't push it, bunny." Shaking his head as you laughed, watching how you leaned forwards onto the table with your elbows propped up, head resting on your hands as you looked at each other down the table. He took the opportunity to look at how your hair picked up the light and affected the colour of it, the way your skin reacted when you flushed red, the soft curve of your features compared to his rougher, more angular ones.

But he could see the tiredness behind your eyes and he smiled softly. Heavy food and the warm conditions he liked to keep his home in making you sleepy as you blinked rapidly, realising just how tired you were from the day.

"Why don't you get some sleep, sweetheart? I'll phone in tomorrow for you if you like, take a chance to get some rest. It's been emotionally draining for you." His deep voice was warm too, and it made you want to curl up and fall asleep to it, you decided that if he could give you one of those hugs like you'd gotten earlier whilst he was at it, you would have been perfectly content.

You knew that was never going to happen though.

"You're right Mr.....William." Catching yourself at the last moment and feeling the heat creeping back into your cheeks as he chuckled, standing up together and William let one of his large hands wander from his side to the top of your head, gently patting your head and ruffling your hair as he gave you a soft, crinkled eyed smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, little bunny. I hope that you sleep well."

"And you William."

He hated to see you go, but loved to watch you leave. Watching as you climbed the stairs before he sighed and started to gather up the dishes, putting them into the dish washer if they were empty and packing up leftovers and sticking them in the fridge. Tapping his foot after a moment or two, he ran his fingers through his hair and felt his ears coming back through, letting them hang as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. He needed to spend a little less time in completely human form.

Heading outside, he took a deep breath in as the cool air hit him. Feeling his fur pressing against his t-shirt as his body relaxed and he lost some of his humanity, or at least his human appearance. Lopsided rabbit ears, his teeth sharp and nails long points, nose flatter and broader as it twitched whilst he shoved his large, rough hands into his pockets and pulled out packet of cigarettes.

Just as he lit one and put it to his lips, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Grumbling to himself, he took a drag before he picked it up and tapped the screen carefully, considering his sharper, longer nails before awkwardly holding it against his ear.

"Yes?"

"Well hello to you too, Afton, so nice for you to answer me." William rolled his eyes and breathed in deeply as the end of the cigarette burned brightly against the night sky. Listening to the staticky voice on the end of the line as his ear flickered slightly.

"You've only called once, dickhead, spit it out." He growled, hearing the choking, wheezing laugh before he could almost imagine the smug man on the other end shaking his head.

"Feisty! Well, I would be too if I had such a sweet little thing like that staying in my house, I'd be a little defensive too." The fur on the back of William's neck stood on end and he straightened up, looking out into the dark with his purple eyes, blinking slowly as he let out a low growl. Watching, waiting for anything to move.

"Are you fucking stalking me, Dave?"

"Stalking is such a strong word, William. I prefer....Taking a vested interest." The voice crackled over the phone and William could practically hear the sleazy confidence oozing through as he stamped his foot against the porch, thumping unhappily.

"Take your vested interest and fuck off, if I find so much as a hair out of place on her-"

"Calm, breathe. I can't step foot inside now, your little morsel has protected both you and her from my curiosity." William took another drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the porch balcony, twisting and grinding down the embers like he imagined doing to Dave in that moment in time.

"The only curiosity you have is in whether or not she knows about us. And the answer is no, she never will either." William heard Dave tutting and sucking his teeth in return.

"Never is far too definite for things like us, you should know that by now, Afton." The line went dead and William was once again left to the silence and the dark outside of his home. Listening intently for a few moments longer before thumping again and heading inside, nose twitching as his brow creased in frustration with his unfortunate acquaintance.

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the blinds to your small room, groaning and gently rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm, you sat up and grabbed the Spring-Bonnie plushie from where it had fallen on the floor during the night, looking up at you sadly from the warm hardwood. You felt almost sleep drunk from how deeply you had slept, but as you put your feet down on the warm floor and padded out, you swore you smelt breakfast.

Using the bathroom to freshen up and heading downstairs, you were quite surprised to see William already up and stood in his kitchen, his broad back turned to you and allowing you a rare moment to observe him in his natural habitat.

He was wearing the same t-shirt from the night before, and you took the time to admire how it hugged the broad curves of his shoulders and revealed the muscular definition in his back. The way the light caught his greying hair and made it look lighter, the slight beard he kept looking slightly like he had recently shaven. You had been right though, you could smell breakfast cooking, mixed with spiced cologne and what you presumed was his shower-gel as he seemed to pause before turning around. Giving you a large, warm smile as he spotted you, his glasses perched on his nose and adjusting them with one finger as he gestured for you to come over.

"Good morning sleepy-head! How did you sleep?" You hadn't painted William Afton as a morning person, but you were happy to be proven wrong as he carefully held a pan with various fried breakfast bits inside.

"Whatever mattress you have is so soft..I don't think I've ever slept on anything that comfy before! How did you sleep?" Watching as William shrugged, running his free hand through his slightly messy hair and slicking it back into more of it's usual position.

"Eh, didn't sleep much myself, bunny, I'm just an insomniac I guess." He smiled, cocking his head to one side and plating up quickly now that you were up and about, he hadn't wanted to disturb you, but his mind had been left all too wired after the phone call the previous night, the slight dark circles under his steely eyes betraying that fact. "Come on, eat up! I thought that you needed to eat something delicious after that shit-show yesterday."

You raised an eyebrow at him, having never heard your boss swear, at least in front of the employees. But you dug in happily and moaned in satisfaction as you tasted it, quickly moving to wolf it down in a way that made William beam with pride that you liked his cooking so much. He hoped that he would be able to take care of you whilst you stayed with him, maybe plant the idea that he could take care of you a lot more if you let him, but he kept his expectations tempered as he chewed his lip, feeling his teeth sharpening a little as he stared at you for a moment in thought.

"What's the plan for today then? I know you're not on the rota, so I was wondering what you wanted to get up to." Tilting his head to one side, you paused for a moment in thought, slowing down your ravenous chewing before thinking of a suitable reply to the question.

"Well, I'm going to enjoy some good company, maybe go to the library and get out a few books, be out of your hair for a while."

"Oh bunny, you can be in my hair as much as you like. I like having my hair touched." William caught himself off guard with how direct he was, but you gave him that sweet smile and giggled like it had gone well over your head again.

"Well, I'm not exactly tall enough to fix your hair." His heart stopped for a moment, was this finally it, the moment he had waited for since he decided to start flirting with you, had one landed?

"It's okay bunny, I'll be happy to get on my knees for you, plus I can imagine the view is very nice down there." Chewing the corner of his lip, he watched your expressions, and feeling disappointment as your expression turned confused.

"I mean...maybe? But it must be nice to see the world from so high up!" Offering him the clueless smile that William Afton had to admit that he adored, even if he knew it was never going to end up as he wanted it.

"You know what? Never mind, how about we get some clothes on and we pick up some groceries and ice-cream for later?"

"Oh, okay! I really like-" spouting off your favourite flavour and your preferred brand as William gently shooed you up the stairs, but not before thumping his foot and twitching his nose behind your back. Frustrated that perhaps he really was the world's worst incubus.

#william afton #william afton x reader #springtrap #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #fnaf movie #springtrap x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf x reader #monster au #monster william afton #monster henry emily #incubus!william afton

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mins-fins · 3 months ago

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infinite love without fulfillment [prev].

and though you have always been the apotheosis of misfortune, it appears the son of sunny prosperity, huang renjun, can never just remain faithful to your very inquiries.

PAIRING. huang renjun x male!reader

GENRE. alternative universe, 80s–90s timeframe, hurt/comfort, a crossbred of slow and fast burn, angst angst angst, fluff.. in fleeting moments, a boy with bad luck x a boy with good luck, mutual pining, the typical isa mins-fins sadness meal, sort of relationship study, technically childhood lovers i suppose, much romantic

WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, death, suicide, smoking, mere mentions of child neglect, school violence, bullying, mentions of slight injuries, bleeding, reader has the absolute worst luck imaginable, period-typical homophobia, the rest of the dreamies are kinda terrible friends, most of the adults suck, um thats it??

WORD COUNT. 1k, 1074 words preview | ??? full fic

NOTES. well jesus hello everybody, this fic is quite literally a monster and i have no idea why i conceived it or where it came from or why i so dearly cherish it but welcome to your much typical isa mins-fins angst fest with love, a non linear narrative, stuck in the past and simply boys with huge feelings 😁 this fic came from the most disturbing corners of my mind and is again much self indulgent because i have terrible luck so nobody is allowed pleasure and is subjected to pain!! of course, this preview is probably one of the few nice scenes in this thing, but don't get your hopes up, i am me after all 😋 i began this pre-renjun return, i just love him a lot.. and just for contexts sake bc this thing flip flops throughout several years, reader & renjun are both 74 babies, okay enjoy my mess

1987.

the first meeting took place in a spot now abandoned. following the beginning of your teens, your uncle managed to grab you the occupation as his friend’s protégé. mr lee was about the sweetest man you could meet in such a town, his smile reached his eyes, his glasses tilted sideways in a display of his excitement, his words often scrambled and much too practiced for a kid your age.

you paid no mind to the peculiarities, there may have been a falter here and there, a fracture in the show of happiness he kept so perfectly built up as his defense. strange or not, you had nothing against a harmless, cheerful man who sought for the best life he could offer for his family, it was admirable really, you found him the closest figure of a father at the time.

the records shop was barely a mile walk, your shift consisted of sorting records of movies you had no mind to comprehend the existence of. the horror was typical, comedy was cheesy, romance was.. something, and you always wrote down in your mind to speed past the adult movies, glancing at them would be akin to committing the sin of lust.

clouds shook above on the dimmed november afternoon, a foreshadowing of the incoming rain. you spent most of your shift peering upward at the roof on its final leg, you’d not be surprised if it collapsed on you.

“it won’t fall” your boss voiced, assurance there when you most needed it. the state of his widened eyes behind his glasses still provides you a good deal of amusement, they were the thick ones, brims much too passionate. “place has been standing for years, a simple storm won’t take us down”.

“knock on wood” you opted to whisper.

his replying chuckle is cut short when the bell above the door echoed off the walls in a stark, beaming sound. eyes narrowing, it is then when the first meeting took place. you can pinpoint the exact start; 3:45 pm, october second, in the lee’s movie record shop, you spotted the drawn out features in an instant.

your gaze averted as his settled onto you, your intrigue in your cuticles suddenly peeked. in contrast to you, mr. lee brightened at the sight of seemingly familiar folk. “ah! is that the huang’s i see? how was the trip?”

always ever so buoyant, conversation picked up rapidly, you always pondered on if all adults acted in such a way, you hoped it was a skill that developed with age, your own antisocial nature being that of your biggest weakness.

a pair of eyes kept themselves trained on you, yet you managed to avoid their path. you placed your hands forward, a pile of dvds suddenly tumbling downward and crashing onto the floor.

you swore under your breath, muttering apologies in the air. a nuisance you are.

you knelt to begin cleaning your mess, eyebrows knitting together as another figure kneels to aid you in picking up the clutter. you glanced upward, meeting an identically colored pair of eyes.

his features are soft, you theorize they still are. eyes wide, cheeks full, lips pressed thin, you two are the same age, yet he still appeared as a baby. protection, fondness, you wanted to insulate him from the horrors of this world. how funny.

“hello” he spoke as if you were delicate, fragile, glass would shatter if the volume had been too high, your expressions would fracture if he even dared to speak in such a contrasting way. “my name is renjun”.

it was never meant to be a conversation, never meant to be anything more than a spontaneous act of kindness. a sure fire, mundane november afternoon with rainfall right on your tail.

you stared inarticulately, as if rendered beyond words, nothing of a term on your tongue, like the mute kid those who don’t know you assume you to be. his gaze remained soft, nothing compared to the calloused looks from the other boys at school, they’re mean, they’re toughened, renjun? he was completely different, in the glass of his eyes was pure virtue, virtue he longed to share.

your throat went dry. “my name is.. um—”

you kept at a pause, the lack of malice foreign to you.

“y/n” mr. lee called, the tensing of your shoulder paired with your wince startled renjun backward, but you composed yourself quickly enough. “have you really never met renjun? he’s a good friend of donghyuck’s, you know”.

lee donghyuck was the son of your boss, his smile is toothy, his baby bones remaining present, his laughter always seemed endless, a true testament to the kind of son he is. you surmise that he inherited most of the traits from his father, his mother was never stone cold, per say, but she did not ease the stoic looks.

he could be akin to one great pain, but he could never be a genuine problem, he had vivid dreams and could power through any brick wall, you envied his vigorous manner.

“donghyuck is.. um, i— we aren’t really friends, i forgot to ask” you stammered, hands clasped, gaze frantic. he released his usual mr. lee hearty chuckle, the sound bouncing off the walls in a resounding action. “i didn’t know how to..”

you twiddled your thumbs, gaze straight down, shame running along with the bright red blood coloring your veins. there reigned a rain cloud over your head, dumping its depression ridden remains atop your head. you did not mean to ruin the mood, yet the aching silence alerted to you that all could sense the dejection lacing your tone.

stupid, stupid, stupid, you ruin everything.

you’re sure mother would never utter such words, yet her voice was all circling around in your mind, appending to the depressive rainfall drenching your very soul.

“it’s okay! you know, renjun likes books too, you two would get along!”

and he began his ramble, you found such a prospect amusing, he couldn’t help it, the manner of an excited child who had every spontaneous factoid to spew. both you and renjun merely glanced, equally as gladdened by the sight.

“these are scary” he voiced, staring downward at the picture of the omen. “do you like scary movies?”

“they are okay”.

your opinion hasn’t changed since.

“too scary”.

you could not help your silent chuckle, it was just the slightest bit cut.

#huang renjun #nct #nct dream #renjun nct #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #huang renjun imagine #huang renjun x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #huang renjun x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year ago

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Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

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schmem14 · 1 year ago

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Hello friends! Recently, I participated in the fourth HP Rare Pair fest, and with 81 unique and beautiful entries it was a veritable FEAST for the eyes and heart and soul. (Check out the whole collection here)

I wanted to take a moment to post highlights of the fics that just really brought me to my knees in hopes that you’ll fangirl/boy/person over them with me!

1. Evergreen by @thecouchsofa (23k)- Harry Potter x George Weasley What would happen if Harry asked George to go to the Yule Ball with him instead of Parvati? This GOF Yule Ball AU is sure to slay you with sheer adorableness. I couldn’t stop smiling and squealing through the whole thing. This rare pair is one of my favorites, and this fic went above and beyond, plus it’s the perfect holiday read! Rating: T

2. Lonely Creatures by @apricitydays-lazynights (5k)- Severus Snape x Giant Squid The prompt to put these two together could easily have been pure hentai crack nonsense (which is a brilliant option) but this story did things to me that I can’t even put into words. It’s tender, melancholy, and cuts to the heart of Severus Snape’s isolation and longing to be seen and loved. The details of this are so richly woven, and I particularly enjoyed the authors’ focus on Mermlish/Merfolk. Standing ovation to this fic! Rating: E

3. Slice of Night by SquibNation10 (9k)- Aurora Sinistra x Severus Snape This was the fic that took me the most by surprise. I love the creativity in taking a character who gets very few canon details and making them real and beautiful and believable. Auror Sinistra is divine in this, and I’ll give some honorable mentions to both Argus Filch and Rolanda Hooch as excellent supporting characters that also don’t typcially get a lot of spotlight. What a gorgeous slice of life fic! Rating: T

3. Quick Quotes and Quibbles by RainstormRadish (3k)- Luna Lovegood x Rita Skeeter Rita and Luna have to work together to cover the wedding of Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson. There’s just something about a story told in unconventional medium that will always ALWAYS pull me in! This unlikely pairing comes together in the sweetest way, their strong personalities balancing each other out until they become a formidable team. I particularly loved the graphics and paper trail memos/epistolary style storytelling. Rating: T

4. Your seat, it’s the best seat by @the-houseryn (17k)- Ron Weasley x Draco Malfoy MOVE OVER only one bed, there’s a new trope in town and it’s the ONLY ONE SEAT trope!! This was sexy, flirtatous, and hot AF. I’m always down for a Dron fic, but this one is one of the best I’ve read in a while, with some delicious pining and a predictably oblivious Ron. Do yourself a favor and indulge in the lap-sitting fic of the year! Rating: E

5. Vivaldi and Hot Chocolate by @patriceavril (6k)- Percy Weasley x Stan Shunpike What was Percy up to in OTP/HBP? What a lonely life that must have been! This fic was soft and sweet, giving some much-needed love to a character that we all wrote off in canon for being a stuck-up prick. I love how Percy seeks out the warmth and comfort of the Knight Bus, coming back for more because of the kind-hearted and bubbly Stan Shunpike, who always insists on giving Percy free hot chocolate. I never expected to be so enamoured by this pairing, but I am! Rating: T

6. The monster you feed by @ghostfelicis188 (11k)- Regulus Black x Remus Lupin This canon-compliant fic tore me to shreds. TO SHREDS. Like, I am such a simp for tragic Remus romances, and this took the cake. Features: pining artist Remus, and shit-eating cruel Regulus who toys with Remus the whole damn fic. If you like hurt no comfort, this is the fic for you. *Chefs Kiss* Rating: M

7. Gilded Web by @emilyrickman AlihotsyTotsy (8k)- George Weasley x Blaise Zabini I cannot believe that this understated fic packed such a punch in 8,000 words. George agrees to an undercover operation to investigate the mysterious deaths of Mrs. Zabini’s deceased husbands. He is so pure in this, his characterization charming and believable, I just need more of this George! Bonus points for references to “the Sting” Rating: M

8. Sleeping with Ghosts by @ghaniblue (21k)- Harry Potter x Regulus Black x Draco Malfoy My initial thoughts when encountering this relationship tag was something akin to a bewildered head scratch but OMG the best thing about this fest is having expectations completely upended! This fic slayed hard with a slow burn, found family, semi-sentient house renovation angle that had me completely melted by the end. Rating: M

9. The Last Trial of Peter Petegrew by @sleepstxtic (20 k)- Peter Petegrew x James Potter If possible, I’d like to ram this fic down the throats of all my mutuals with a plea to PLEASE READ THIS FIC. I can’t begin to describe in a tiny paragraph what this did to me. Often Peter Petegrew is relegated to the traitor bus in fandom (understandable) but this took every mean and traitorous part of his character and made me almost like him despite his treachery! The format of this was also a delight to read, and I love that Hermione presents the case for Peter Petegrew in this meta purgatory-style courtroom drama. Rating: M

10. Anatomy of a memory by @venom0usbarbie (9k)- Ginny Weasley x Tom Riddle This story was pure poetry wrapped in a sinister diary-shaped package. I love the self-fulfilling prophecy nature of this time loop style storyline, as well as the toxic obsession and manipulation played out between Ginny and Tom. What a mindfuck ending that was, too! Kudos to the “Tom Riddle is his own Warning” tag. Rating: M

11. Sweet Boy by @maraudersaffair (6k)- Narcissa Black Malfoy x Harry Potter A not-quite-fake dating fic with lots of smut, thirst, and mommy/praise kink? Yes, please! I was literally panting by the end of this, Harry and Narcissa are so hot together! Rating: E

12. Growing Suspicion by nocturn (1.8k)- Neville Longbottom x Marcus Flint Someone keeps mutilating Neville’s plants, and he’s going to get to the bottom of it OR that time Marcus expresses feelings but doesn’t understand proper plant care. This fic was A-DOR-ABLE. Love me a good Hogwarts professors/staff fic, and this was just a bite-sized delight to read. Rating: G

13. For Your Burning Gaze by SquibNation10 (22k)- Neville Longbottom x Pansy Parkinson The fic that I most want to see a sequel for award goes to… this Twilight Zone post-war marriage law fic complete with creepy house elves and a very troubled Pansy, who seems to be the only one realizing that something is not quite right! This is one of the best Panville fics I’ve read, I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. Rating: E

Thanks to @hprarepairfest for putting on another amazing fest!

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safarigirlsp · 1 year ago

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I was so excited to see the ask game going around. I hope it perks up around here again 💛

Do you any HCs to share for Flip, Kylo, Jacques, and Mills??

🍔

🍕

Hello!! Thank you for sending this in! Today feels like the good old days with this dumpster fire hopping and the bs flying! I love it!!

🍕What's your favorite comment you've received on a fic?

Omg @iamburdened absolutely kills me with her comments. I have re read them 100 times and I smile like a lunatic every time. She's so dark and hilarious and I love her!

Here is just one example of her awesomeness on my fic Sinners Welcome!

@vedavan leaves some of the most involved and thoughtful and incredible comments I've ever received and I am so beyond floored at the amount of thought she gives. I am so thankful for her encouragement and support!

This comment on Here There Be Monsters made me swoon

Ahhhh!! Your stories are always such a thrill, a joyride from beginning to end, and this one was no exception. I loved every word, and your gift for action scenes and gorgeous descriptions shone so brightly here. I loved all the side characters too: from the colorful ragtag assortment of pirates and whores, to Legris' trusted crew and of course the legendary Pierre; the elegantly villainous Talvington and the mysterious, bewitching Grey Lady. Even the ship herself, the Belle Dame, was a character in and of herself. And of course as always I appreciate Carroughes disgusting appearance and his inevitable demise. Your obvious love and passion for the subject matter and for the characters (no one writes a better, hotter, more delicious male MC than your Legris 🔥🔥🥵) made this such a joy to read, and I was almost sad when it ended. Action, romance, drama... your stories have it all and I'm completely addicted. Perfection! ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

@reveluving inspires me to write more insanity by her support and beautiful comments on my stories!

This is so hard actually, but I have to shout out to my favorite people here and the most supportive and amazing people I know who always spur me to keep churning out my bs and do more!

You, of course! @queeniebee and all the other friends I have here who instantly come to mind when I think of support and wonderful people! @babbushka @lumberjack00fantasies Silky!! @gabesprincess @mrs-gucci @rynwritesstuff @mythrielofsolitude @reylokisses @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus

🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?

Kylo knew you were the one when he found he could fight with you and argue without losing his temper. He has a famously hot temper. He's a notoriously violent man. But of course, he could never hurt his girl. That doesn't mean that he wouldn't lose his temper with her, or so he thought. He thought it would be a challenge, that he would feel his blood pressure rise and his teeth grind when you angered him, because naturally you're going to. It can be a little thrilling to push his buttons. But he never has lost his tempter with you, despite your best efforts. He gets hot and bothered in other ways, ways he channels to improve both your moods.

It's true what they say, that Beauty tamed the Beast.

No one can debate that Jacques has a winning personality. He's fun, lively, exudes charm and charisma, and has no hesitation putting on a grand show for his girl. However, like so many highly charismatic people, his charm was hard-earned and developed for survival. A self-made man, he had no name or fortune and had to claw his way up the food chain until he became a man of power. He remembers going dirty and hungry and cold, sleeping on the ground, awaking to a muscles that ached from cold and a growling stomach that couldn't be sated. Charisma was another skill he learned along the way to survive. Just as necessary to gain power and fortune as being able to fight, red in tooth and claw, was the ability to mingle, to befriend, to charm to amuse. He had to make himself useful in all ways to his betters until he outstripped them all.

With you, he finds that he doesn't need to act at all and that it's all natural and second nature. It makes him swell with pride when he puts a smile on your lips. He realized you were the one when he realized that making you happy made him happier, giving you pleasure made his heart soar. He will also ensure his girl, his family, will never know the feeling going hungry or cold, nor of being shunned and kicked aside. His table will always be bountiful and his arms always warm and loving for his woman. When he smiles for you, when he laughs and entertains, its genuine and it makes him love you more.

Flip was raised outdoors and helping on his family's ranch, breaking horses, branding calves, cutting timber, chopping ice, hauling hay. All the things his size and rambunctious temper were good for.

His upbringing made him a die hard western movie fan. Clint Eastwood is his favorite with John Wayne a close runner up and he's watched their entire filmography at least five times over with his dad. He's ensured his girl has seen all of his favorites and plenty of others too. True Grit, The Outlaw Josey Wales, El Dorado, Unforgiven, to name a few.

Westerns are his favorite movie genre. However, he is also quite a bit of an ornery jackass. As such, his favorite genre to watch with you is horror. He loves setting the stage, making sure the house is nice and dim, the temperature a little cool, a fire crackling in the fireplace. The ambience is perfect for a movie night in, and all strategically geared to make you want to get nice and close to him, against his chest and inside his arms. He will tease you mercilessly and goose you during the jumpy parts. Then he will laugh - bray- like the jackass he is. He deals with killers and criminals in real life. Horror movies don't phase him. Some big ungainly bastard with half his vision obscured by a mask, coming at him swinging a chainsaw that's telegraphed a mile away is hardly a challenge. Flip would have fun taking your average slasher out in spectacularly ballsy fashion. Flip loves horror movies and chill. He chills while you get chills.

Mills is tenacious and hard working in all ways. He will go the extra mile and work harder and longer than anyone. Complaints aren't part of his vocabulary and he never shies from any quantity of blood, sweat, and tears it takes to see anything through once he sets his mind to it. He's determined to the point of self destruction and will push himself far past the bounds of comfort and even good sense.

The area in which he's happy to put in the effort and diligence is for his girl. Once he sets his sights on her, nothing will deter him. He will tilt windmills and make every overture, simple and grand, to win her heart. As a lovesick teenager who didn't know a damn thing about girls, this took the shape of embarrassing acts like clumsily strumming a guitar and singing off key below his intended's window at odd hours of the night until angry fathers ran him off. He considered it a badge of honor when one particularly enraged father took a shot at his feet with a .12 gauge.

Thankfully, he has learned a thing or two and now applies his tenacious enthusiasm in better ways. He will cook for you and rub your shoulders until his hands ache. He will bring you flowers and take you out for a picnic that entails a ride in his bush plane out to a mountain lake to spare you the hike. He will carry you to bed when you're tired and hold you all night. He considers it a personal failure when he doesn't make you cum before him, and is dauntless when it comes to making you moan and sigh. He is the ultimate Golden Retriever Boyfriend. He will work every day to make you smile and never let the new wear off.

#my stuff!#my writing #hearts #kylo #jacques #flip #65 #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader #jacques le gris x reader #jacques le gris x you #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x reader #commander mills x reader #commander mills x you

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lestappenforever · 1 year ago

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Do you have any lestappen fanfic recommendations? :)

Hello my lovely anon! ❤️

I was unfortunately shit at bookmarking fics when I first started reading Lestappen fics, and I still haven't had time to sit down and read through everything that catches my fancy in the pairing tag on AO3 again so I can do a proper job of bookmarking fics I really enjoyed, and creating a complete fic rec list. But, I am absolutely planning on doing it as soon as I have time at some point next year!

As for right now, I can definitely recommend the fics I have remembered to bookmark while reading/re-reading!

Below you will find some of my absolute favorite Lestappen fics:

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And That's How I Foksmashed Dad's Championship Trophy Teen And Up Audiences | 6,500 words | Complete By the legendary queen PrincessElectra (AO3)/@il-predestinato (Tumblr)

Summary: All of that would have been forgivable if not for the Green-Eyed Monster’s complete disregard for the pre-contracted occupation rights of Max’s lap. Such rights had long been pre-determined and belonged to Sassy (and occasionally to Jimmy, she admitted begrudgingly). However, no amount of quiet hisses and vicious glares seemed to penetrate the creature’s thick skull, and he would greedily occupy Max’s thigh for more than 95% of any given afternoon. Sometimes with his head, sometimes with his feet, and a few times he even straddled his entire body over Max; the latter could not have been comfortable for Max, as the Green-Eyed Monster was enormously overweight compared to Sassy.

(Jimmy had insisted that it was not nice to shame another living creature about their weight, but she was not wrong. With her compact size and considerably more reasonable mass, Sassy was confident that she was much more comfortable for Max to have on his lap than that horrendously oversized creature.)

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Keep to the Line Mature | 13 696 words | WIP By the incredible fancastik (AO3)/@nico-di-genova (Tumblr)

Summary: “Red Bull Racing have announced that Gianpiero Lambiase will not be returning as Max Verstappen’s race engineer for the 2023 season. Taking his place will be Charles Leclerc, former Scuderia Ferrari performance engineer.”

His hands had shook around his phone as he read the announcement, his breath firmly lodged in his throat. Charles has known he had the job since he first sat down across from Christian Horner and accepted the offer, alongside a Red Bull polo, with hands that felt bloodied. But reading it from the official F1 socials is something else entirely. It is real.

“At twenty-five, Leclerc will be the youngest race engineer in Formula One history.”

He had barely managed to get to a trash can before vomiting up his lunch.

Or:

The Engineer!Charles AU no one asked for

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P19 Explicit | 5 619 words | Complete By the exceptionally talented leafycats (AO3)/@sennaverstappen (Tumblr)

Summary: “Charles,” it comes out soft, worried, upset. Charles will light himself on fire. He hears Max take a few steps towards him, feels two warm, winning, arms wrap around his fast-breathing chest. He’s still wearing those golden shoes. Max snuggle into his neck. “I’m here for you.”

And Max had won, and he’s winning the season, and he’s P19, and losing this season. And Max is winning, and he’s not even talking about it – choosing to comfort his Charles instead.

Every little thought converges into a single, red-hot one.

He’s going to fuck the pole sitter so hard he’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Max,” he whimpers, trying to find his voice, find his grip, find his footing in this world. Max tightens his grip around his waist. “Yes, angel?” And he can feel Max frown against his nape, soft breath against his earlobe. It turns his body white-hot.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

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The Nights Are Long (But It's Easier Together) Explicit | 43 759 words | Complete By the amazing f1writingbyme (AO3)/@f1writingbyme (Tumblr)

Summary: “Oh, God, what is it?” Max groans. “It’s Mr. Corvetto, right? I knew it. I’m telling you, never move into an apartment next to elderly people. It’s just– Why does she call me? What the hell can I do? Doesn’t she need to call an ambulance or something? Or, I don’t know, her family, or–”

“Max.” Charles interrupts Max’s ranting. He ends the phone call, cutting off Mrs. Corvetto’s panicked yelling with a simple press of his thumb. He stares at the blue-eyed man in front of him. “Your apartment is on fire.”

Or: The fire in his apartment is only the beginning of a long list of misfortunes that await Max. Fortunately, he has Charles by his side to help him through it. That is until Charles is the one that gets targeted.

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you and me, just us (and your teammate sergio) Teen And Up Audiences | 3 377 words | Complete By the wonderful averyverse (AO3)/@oscar-fastri (Tumblr)

Summary: Checo was fully aware of what he’s walking into. Still, he seriously doubts that anyone could have been prepared for the full force of Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc being heads over heels in love with each other and not even trying to hide it.

Or: 5 times Checo thirdwheels Max and Charles + 1 time it's everyone else's turn

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Temptation's Trajectory series Explicit | 25 009 words | Complete By the incredible pongsfootxlily (AO3)/@cupidskissx (Tumblr)

This series consists of two equally amazing fics that I've lost count of how many times I've read.

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more than fun, you're the sanctuary Mature | 21 813 words | Complete By the wonderful lestalos (AO3)

Summary: “Because I love you.” He said it like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it doesn’t crush him to admit it, like it doesn’t scare him that it won’t be reciprocated. Or, Charles loves Max but he's scared. Max is bold enough for the both of them.

#Asks #Anon asks #Lestappen fic recs

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differentsublimephantom · 2 months ago

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Heyyy! Welcome to this (probably bad) ((also kinda rushed at times)) Ashur Gharavi cinematic universe fanfic I wrote for a school project (to clarify, I wrote the prologue and part of the main story for the project. Not this whole fic) and decided to finish, and post! Hope you like it, I figured the fandom needs more “my strange roommate” content. Btw, I write as if I’m posting on ao3 (even though I don’t yet have an account) so that’s why it has a prologue and epilogue, and “tags” so to speak. Enjoy! (Fic is under the cut 😘)

Also: @an-theduckin!!

Tags: “no beta we die like every side character in twomp, almost everyone in “the mourner” series, and marks parents, cupcake monster, and Billy Hendricks.” Also “Mr plant and Adam use sign language” also, also, “Mr plant/argos, Adam/oliver (my strange roommate, the mourner (mentioned)” lol okay I’m done now.

Prologue:

(Oliver, the human’s, pov)

I’ve never been more afraid then when I moved in with my strange roommate. I know that sounds really mean, but if you knew him you might understand. You see, my roommate is… a bit unnerving.

Wide eyes as black as the night sky, smile a bit too wide, cheeks a little too red and rosy. He looks pretty “uncanny valley” ish.

But dispite his appearance, he is the best roommate ever. He cooks for me (even though I never see him eat anything), and he cleans up the house, he’s quiet and not annoying at all! I love him. Well, not LOVE him, I would never have a crush on him! That’d be weird. And besides, he would never love me back. Right….?

(Adam, the strange roommate’s, pov)

I’ve never been more afraid then when Oliver moved in with me. He is nice enough, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not here to make friends. I was honestly surprised he was willing to stay with me, given my… appearance. But I assume he doesn’t mind. he’s convinced himself I just look a bit odd.

What Oliver doesn’t know, is that I’m not just an odd looking human. That is to say, I’m not human at all. I am not willing to say what I am, but I can say, my species is from a place called the void. And my appearance isn’t really mine, rather it’s the way my skin suit looks. I’ve avoided letting Oliver know this, because it could disturb him, and blow my cover.

Either way, Oliver doesn’t seem to notice anything suspicious. And I love him for that. Well, not LOVE him. I’m here to research humans. Not fall in love with them. I merely prefer his company. He likes me, I tolerate him. Because he is too oblivious to notice I’m not even his species.

Either that or he doesn’t care. But that’s silly, he must simply not know, because who would want to be roommates with a monster? Definitely not him…. Right?

~~~~~~~

It was around 1:00 in the afternoon when Mr Plant heard a knock on his door. Great. Unless it was his boyfriend Argos, Mr Plant hated company. And Argos was fast asleep on his sofa, taking a nap, so who could be at the door?

Reluctantly, Mr Plant opens the door, and was pleasantly surprised to see the second (no, that’s mark.) third only person Mr Plant didn’t mind as company. Someone he had know for years, and got along with because they both hated almost everyone else.

Adam stood at the door awkwardly. Standing straight and tall, and still as a statue. For normal people, even in the void, to be so perfectly still was odd behaviour. But Mr Plant knew Adam wasn’t normal, and that this was just how he is.

Mr Plant was however, very confused as to why Adam was here? He haden’t been back to the void ever since he moved in with that human man. Oliver, was it?

Mr Plant signed out “hello, Adam. Would you like to come inside?” To which he nodded in response, and the two humanoid-yet-not-humans headed in the void/house. Mr Plant gently shook his boyfriend out of dreamland, and grabbed Adam an extra chair from the kitchen.

Adam didn’t normally speak. On account of his voice sounding like he ate a 50 year old chainsmoker. Which, to be perfectly honest, he might have. But he sounded like that even BEFORE eating him. And he didn’t want to scare his roommate with his voice, but his roommate wasn’t here right now, and given his current situation, he thought it would be worth it to speak normally.

“So. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” Mr Plant and a still-sleepy Argos were surprised to hear Adam talking. “Yeah, it has. So why the sudden visit now? Have you finally grown tired of playing house-husband?” Mr plant teased. Adam rolled his eyes.

Mr Plant and Adam had stayed penpals while Adam was in the human world, so Mr Plant was aware of the fact that Adam did, well, most if not all of the household chores. He didn’t mind though! Adam didn’t have an actual job, so he was more than happy to take care of Oliver. He was in the human world to learn about how they operated, so it was great practice. He wasn’t there to make friends after all.

And that was the problem. Adam was coming to talk to his old friends for some advice, because he may have developed a small, practically tiny, unimportant, insignificant, HUGE CRUSH on his roommate. He explained this predicament in great detail to Mr Plant and Argos, the latter looking absolutely giddy the entire time.

“I’m supposed to be a monster! I’m only in the human world to learn how they work, so I can kill them! I’m supposed to hunt, and maim, and deceive. Not have dates with my roommate!!!” Adam finished, looking down at the floor. He felt rather ashamed at himself.

Mr Plant and Argos both shared a knowing and pointed look. “Well..” Mr Plant started, with Argos nodding along for encouragement. “This may sound crazy, but.. I think you should just tell him how you feel.” “WHAT?!-” “Wait- hear us out!” Argos cut Adam off.

Mr plant shrugged. “Trust me on this. Humans are weird. You may think he’ll hate you for who and what you are, but he might be kinda into it?” Argos was nodding again. “Have you lost your minds?! He’d be terrified!” “Yeah, but you don’t REALLY know that do you?” Argos raised a brow.

Adam paused.

He really DIDNT know for sure what Oliver’s reaction would be. After all, he was always watching those silly “horror” movies, and YouTube “weird core” shorts, and reading about legends of “The Mourner” that Adam knew were NOT just legends.

Maybe he would be okay with it? But still, Adam was panicking. “I KILLED his CAT for god’s sakes! Even if he knew, he’d never have me as a mate, or “boyfriend” or whatever you’d call it. And I’d probably be a terrible one.”

Argos frowned. “You don’t know that!” He countered. Mr Plant nodded, “your a good friend to me and Argos. I think you could pull off being a boyfriend if you tried. Just more practice “fitting in” with the humans right?”

Any normal person would’ve probably said “awwwww! You guys are the best!!” At that last part, but once again, Adam was not normal. so he did his equivalent, by just shifting his gaze to the floor, and shuffling in his seat, growling lowly, like a purr. Mr Plant and Argos knew what he meant.

“Besides,” Mr Plant signed again, “You already have the household chores bit down.” Adam rolled his eyes and tried to playfully punch him from across the table, but Mr Plant’s reflexes were better than they seemed, so Adam hit air.

After a bit more chatting, and giving Adam a pep talk from Argos, Adam realized he had to get home to make dinner before Oliver got home. So, with some more teasing from Mr Plant, and a wink and thumbs up from Argos, Adam headed home. Ready to tell his roommate the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was 6:30 exactly when Adam heard the distinct sound of a key in the front door lock. Right on time. Oliver came in, said hello, and sat down to eat. Thankfully Oliver knew sign, because his little Neice used it, so Adam knew communicating wouldn’t be too hard. He wasn’t quite ready to use his voice yet.

He tapped twice on the table to get Oliver’s attention. “Oh- yeah? What’s up.” “I have something to tell you.” Adam said. Oliver blinked like he was a bit surprised. “Oh- um, actually I have something to tell you too!” Adam’s “heart” raced. He was going to say he wanted to move out. Or that he hated Adam. Or that he knew what a monster Adam truly was. Or- “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time now, and I know it may sound a bit strange. Especially coming from me.” Oliver took a breath. “But- will you consider going on a date with me?”

Well. Adam certainly wasn’t expecting THAT. But the longer Adam took to respond, the more Oliver looked like he was about to cry. So before he could start to ramble out an unnecessary apology for asking, Adam stopped him by tapping on the table again. “Uh, yeah? I’m listening.”

Adam thought for a moment, then signed. “In all honesty, I would love to. But first- I have to tell you what I was going to say.” “Oh! Yes, of course! Sorry if I sorta cut you off with that.” Oliver mumbled.

Adam looked him up and down from across the table. “Just promise you won’t scream, or get scared.” “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.” Oliver waited patiently while Adam took a big deep breath. Alright. This is it. The moment of truth.

“Oliver. I’m.. not a human.” Adam waited. One minute. Two minutes. Two and a half minutes. And then he heard Oliver exhale. No, not just exhale. LAUGH. He was….. laughing..?

Adam became more confused when Oliver almost doubled over with laughter and giggles. The cutest giggles Adam had ever heard. “What’s so funny… aren’t you concerned that you’ve been living with a monster for the past 5 months?” That seemed to make the giggles finally slow down.

“Adam, THIS was the “big thing” you had to tell me?” Oliver asked cautiously. “Yes?” Adam was very nervous. Why was his roommate acting so strange? “Adam…”

“I already know.”

What. WHAT. No. No! That can’t be true. This must be Oliver’s weird human threat response kicking in. Telling him as such, and that he should lie down for a minute, only resulted in more laughing. “Adam. Bestie. Roomie. Sweetie. No offence, but you don’t hide the fact that you’re not human very well.”

“I……don’t?” “No! You never do atleast half the things a normal human would do.” “Like what?” Adam questioned. “You don’t eat, nor sleep. You don’t brush your teeth or take showers, but somehow don’t smell bad. Your chest doesn’t move when you BREATHE. Plus, you have a zipper running down your neck.”

Adam blinked, and looked at the floor sheepishly. “I thought I hid the zipper..” Oliver just laughed again, and got up from his seat at the table, quickly crossing the room to where Adam was sitting with too-perfect posture. Adam just glanced up at him. “What else gave it away?” He asked carefully.

“Other than that, the cat thing.” Adam gave a look that said “I’m sorry.” And Oliver knew what it meant. “That, and, some features are just a bit off.” “What do you mean?” “Well, your eyes are a bit too wide, and as black as the night sky. Your smile is a bit too wide, and your cheeks a little too red and rosy.”

Adam’s feelings weren’t hurt by those comments so much as he was taken aback. And also devastated, because he assumed he knew what Oliver meant by all that. “Its alright. You can leave. I won’t do anything to you.” It was Oliver’s turn to be taken aback. “What?! No- Adam. You may be a bit creepy, and you may not be human, and yes, you might have accidentally cooked my cat. But- I don’t care. I love you.”

Woah. Adam had never heard those words before from anyone. Sure, he knew what they meant, and he had seen people say it to each other on the cheesy rom-coms Oliver sometimes watched on tv. But no one had ever said them to HIM. And now he understood why the silly humans in those rom-coms had acted so happy after hearing them. Adam felt wonderful.

“Really? You mean that. Seriously, if you don’t, then you can say so.” Adam checked once more to make sure his roommate wasn’t just delirious from either shock or exhaustion.

Instead of a reply, Adam got a kiss.

A messy one, of course. Adam had never kissed anyone before, so he didn’t have much practice. But he got better with time. Trust Oliver on that, he would know.

Epilogue:

Ring……ring……ring…… “hello!” Oliver was only mildly surprised to see that the friends Adam was video calling were a man with a plant face and a man with eyes all over his body. “You guys were right. Oliver is okay with me. And he’s now my boyfriend.” Adam signed.

The one with too many eyes, apparently named Argos, absolutely beamed. While the plant rolled his eyes, and reached to pull something out of his pocket. The last thing Oliver caught before a bunch of uncontrollable laughter, was Argos yelling “Mr Plant!! You owe me twenty dollars!!!” And his boyfriends own rough voice shouting “hey!!!”

The end!

#@ mutuals #save for later #phantom rambles #phantom rants #twomp #my strange roommate #ashur gharavi the mourner #ashur gharavi #argos x mr plant #Adam x Oliver #phantoms fanfics #<- new tag yippie

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princesssmars · 2 years ago

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a night in the castle

a vampire jessica and oscar x reader

wc: 6.010 (?>?????/)

working as a tired maid in your town, you have a horrible night and end up at the mysterious castle on the hill. the two owners give you a dinner unlike any other.

contains : fic set in the nineteenth century but its barely written that way. reader is a maid is shunned by the village which includes some misogynistic remarks. polyamory with vampires aka the dream. said vampires do in fact drink blood. threesome with said vampires. oral sex (m>f, f>f), unprotected penetrative sex. reader isnt all there (rightfully so) and the vampires love it.

a/n : yall know i had to do it. this took me forever sorry i cant write smut. enjoy.

living as a maid in your town, you weren't afforded many pleasures in your day to day life. you slept in a shabby room with a creaky and stained bed, spent a large portion of your day cleaning after people who treated you like the dirt you scrubbed, just to go to the bar to drink with the few friends you had until you felt numb.

it was pitiful but it was your life. but one of the major luxuries you weren't afforded was rage.

and as you walk up the muddy path on the hill on the edge of town, your legs burning and your skin shivering, that burning hatred was all you felt.

you had spent an uncountable amount of hours cleaning after one prominent family, the morgan's. you'd spent the most amount of time cleaning their home, and they were fairly kind to you, even if it was mostly their son who spoke to you.

but that didn't do you any favors when the young morgan was accused of having an affair and placed the blame on you to protect his mistress, which led to you being publicly shamed and thrown out of the home, mrs. morgan calling you a harlot who would never find a home to work at in town again.

your mind is running so fast you don't even notice you've picked up your pace, your feet making wet thuds as you head to who knows where. at this point you can be bothered to care, even when a stray branch knicks your ankle.

it feels like an eternity until you finally reach a destination, your body nearly running straight into a large set of dark doors. you look up in surprise to see where you are, your eyes widening when you process where you are: darkwood manor.

you always heard stories as a child about the manor up on the hill on the edge of town, the massive estate looming over where you lived like a constant reminder of the past. your grandmother would tell you tales of it before bed, prattling about the monsters who lived inside who would take away young girls who didn't behave.

eventually your grandfather would come in and assure you your grandmother was teasing, and that the manor was just inhabited by the two reclusive owners and their staff. you'd had more nightmares about it than you cared to admit.

but standing outside of the manor, you don't even feel a smidge of fear. you're too tired mentally and psychically to care about what the owners might do to you for trespassing.

you aren't afforded too much time to dwell in your exhaustion before one of the doors creaks open, soft yellow light pouring out before being blocked by a small frame coming into your view.

"hello, are you alright, dear?" a small voice asks you as your eyes finally adjust to the light to see the person in front of you. its a woman, much older than you judging by the many grey streaks in her hair. she's wearing a simple maids uniform and is staring at you with kind eyes and a smile. the sight of it nearly makes you crumple to the floor, your hurt legs giving out on you as she tries to hold you up.

"its ok, dearie, you're ok now," she soothed, her body nearly wrapping entirely around yours. "how about we go get you cleaned up, hm?"

you nod, rising with her as she wraps one of her arms around you to lead you inside the manor. you barely register the interior of the grand home, your eyes bleary with tears and rain. you can make up the large staircase that swirls upwards into the next floor, and how the walls are dark and filled with intricate designs and paintings.

eventually the elder woman leads you to sit down at a stool in what seems like a wide kitchen, some younger workers scurrying off when she gives them a muffled order. but the mental toll of the days events are starting to settle into your body, your eyes drooping and head tilting to the side.

"now now, don't fall asleep on me now, hun. how about i help freshen you up and you tell me what happened to lead to you coming all the way up here in this weather?" she asks gently, patting you on the shoulder at your tired nod.

and so, as the woman who tells you her name is agnes and that she is the head maid for the lord and lady of the manor softly cleans your face and arms with a damp rag, you slowly start to explain what happened in town for you to end up at the estate at such a late hour. as you repeat everything that happened it hits harder that your life, no matter how much you disliked it, would never be the same after tonight.

right before you start bawling you look up at agnes to see her staring at you so kindly it nearly makes you break. she reminds you of your mother before she sadly passed from an illness when you were young. the maternal way she acts helps to soothe you, even if its just enough to not cry at this moment.

"there, all better. now you look like a proper young lady." agnes smiles at you, tilting your head from side to side to check if she missed any smudges. "well, its safe to assume you can't go back down the hill. you stay right here and give me one second, alright?"

you nod again to assure here you'll stay where you are before she smiles and leaves through another pair of doors on the outside of the kitchen. after she leaves you take in your surroundings, noticing just how big the kitchen really is for just two people, though you suppose its normal for such a large home.

feeling better now that you're clean, you figure agnes wont be upset if you explore the kitchen a bit, getting up and admiring the kitchen. the walls are composed of a patterned brown wallpaper, with the floor being a brown wood and counters made of a darker brown wood. you trail your hand across the top of one of them, noticing how smooth and clean they are. the kitchen is impeccably clean, actually, even thought supper time was merely a few hours ago and there is'nt a pot or pan in sight.

just as the thought crosses your mind, the sound of the door opening causes you to whip around, holding your hands behind your back guiltily. you expect to see agnes but instead see someone that nearly makes you pass out in nervousness.

instead of agnes a woman stands in the doorway, her fancy clothing telling you she is the lady of the manor. she's wearing a a gown, the black and red fabric standing out against her pale skin and red hair. her eyes stay on you while you observe her, the pale blue staring into your own. when she entered her face looked furious before she saw you. your hands start to fidget under her gaze.

"oh, dear, why are you up and about? i told you to stay sitting so you would'nt tire yourself out anymore!" agnes worries, moving from behind the lady and rushing over you to guide you back to the stool.

she turns toward the lady. "i'm sorry, ma'am. she's just a little bit out of it because of what happened."

"that's quite alright, i cant imagine what it must be like to have gone through all that she's been through." the woman says, her voice low and almost haunting. she steps closer, bringing her fingers to grip your chin and tilt your head to look at her.

"my name is jessica, the lady of the manor. i reside here with my husband, oscar. i'm sure you might have heard of us?"

"y..yes i have. just stories as a child." you whisper.

she smiles, almost like she knows exactly what you speak of. "i'm aware of the tales. but i can assure you that no one in this house is a monster." you briefly catch the faint smile on her face and the look she shares with agnes.

"but i can assure you that in this home you will be cared for. agnes will arrange a room for you and some fresh clothes for you to change in to."

before you can even object agnes walks out of the room and jessica takes your arm in hers to lead you to another part of the house. seeming to sense your curiosity, she encourages you to ask questions about the house and its architecture, answering any question you ask no matter how silly it sounds in your head.

she leads you up the staircase to the second level, taking you down a long hallway before stopping before a slight open door, opening it and gesturing for you to head inside.

following her direction, you slowly walk in to the room to see a bedroom straight out of your dreams. its big but not too large to feel overwhelming, having a four poster canopy bed, some dressers, a nook near the window presumably for reading, and a quaint sitting area near a fireplace.

"i hope its to your liking. we can have you moved to another room if you'd like-"

"no!" you nearly shout, slightly embarrassed at how you cut her off. she does'nt seem to mind though, simply looking at you in a way you cant interpret.

"its amazing, thank you. i swear soon i will hopefully be back on my feet and out of your way."

"nonsense, don't rush yourself, precious," she assures, stepping forward to rest her hands on your shoulders, continuing that unbroken eye contact from before, "you are welcome to stay in our home as long as you'd like. we rarely get guests from the town these days, so its nice to see a new face. especially one as lovely as yours."

the shock of her words makes your heart take a beat so suddenly you're scared she will be able to hear it. you feel bashful, not used to getting many compliments about your attractiveness. you cant help but want her to compliment you more, feeling like you'd give anything for her to call you beautiful.

"alright, there's something on the bed you to change into. another maid will be waiting outside if you need help getting dressed. she'll lead you to the dining room when you're done." she explains.

you're eyebrows knit in confusion, her face amused at your confusion. "you'll be having a meal with me and my husband. its only right you meet him and get some food into your system. trust me, he'll adore you so don't be worried."

you don't voice how that makes you worry more, instead telling her "thank you again for everything." before she leaves the room and you're left by yourself yet again.

the weight of what's happening finally settles in and you feel euphoric, struggling to quiet yourself as you jump on the bed and cheer for yourself. from a maid rejected by town to a guest at a local manor in the span of an hour. this is crazier than your wildest dreams.

composing yourself, you stand up and move to the dress that's been left for you on the end of the bed. picking it up doesn't help quell your excitement, the clothing being prettier than anything you've ever worn or even been able to afford. better yet its beautiful, being a white color with hints of f/c.

when changing you do have to invite your helper, catherine, inside to help you do up the back of your corset and the rest of your undergarments before finally helping you into your dress. your initial shyness fades as you begin to speak to each other, the both of you being around the same age and seeming to have the same interests. most of your friends looked away when you were thrown from the morgans, so it's nice to have a new one here in this strange place.

once you've finished getting dressed catherine leads you back down the hallway and stairs, through a new wider set of hallways before you eventually arrive at the dining room.

it's massive, to say the least, and the ceiling is covered in a gorgeous mural that trickles down the walls to keep the room regal yet creative. there’s a large table in the middle of the room, enough fancy chairs to seat at least 20 people.

“and you must be y/n,” a voice booms, pulling your attention from admiring the room to the person now speaking to you. he walks over to you faster than you can comprehend, seeming to cross the room in a manor of seconds. you don't have time to dwell on it before he clasps your hands in yours, shaking then up and down in a peculiar handshake. “my name is oscar, welcome to our home. i hope my wife and our staff have show you enough kindness to persuade you to stay.”

the lord is greeting you so nicely but you feel bad for barely paying attention to his words to take in his looks. you can see why he and his wife are married, to say the least, as he is incredibly handsome. he has slightly curled dark brown hair with eyes to match. he's wearing a suit just as extravagant as his wife's, mostly black with red and white accents. the coloring stands out greatly against his tanned skin and better unifies him and his wife as one. he lets out a little laugh as he notices your staring.

"um, yes. they've been nothing but kind to me," you manage to stutter out, slightly embarrassed at how you let yourself be so rude. "thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your home. i'm sure you've heard of my predicament, so i'm more than willing to pay off your kindness with service."

"y/n, you're our guest. we want you to enjoy your stay here. don't worry about any of that now." jessica projects from her seat at the table, watching your entire exchange. she gestures to the chair across from her for you to sit, oscar quickly guiding you to the end of the table to take your seat which he politely pulls out for you and pushes back in.

as soon as the lord sits in his seat, a few servants exit the kitchen to start laying out the meal. before you can even blink a full plate of food including some of the best-prepared meat you've ever seen, a fresh steaming bun of bread, and a good heap of vegetables is laid in front of you. you notice how the lord and lady aren't laid meals, instead, both of them are poured a dark red wine into their glasses.

"aren't you both going to eat?" you ask, trying to be as polite as possible.

they share a look and softly laugh to each other, in on a joke you cant understand.

"don't worry about us darling," jessica comforts, raising her glass to her lips and taking a languid sip before licking the leftover liquid off of her upper lip, "we'll be just fine like this. don't be shy and enjoy the meal."

and so, you dig in. the food is phenomenal, your eyes nearly rolling in to the back of your head much to your hosts amusement. after giving your compliments to the chef, they start up a shared conversation. they ask numerous questions about your life, what you loved and enjoyed doing, and more. it made you just a tad uncomfortable to be the center of attention, but a part of you deep inside craves more of it.

"i cant believe that woman would do something so cruel to a pretty little thing like you." oscar says, his face pinched in anger as he takes a long swig of his wine.

"precisely what i was thinking darling. y/n seems far too sweet to do such a thing. we are deeply sorry that happened to you, dear." jessica agrees, rubbing her hand up her husbands arm while looking at you.

"well its not completely..i-i guess she had a little reason to worry," you stutter out, your shoulders hunching as the two of them stare at you in signal for you to keep talking. "someone had blabbed about something that happened a while ago with a friend of mine. me and her son had started to get close so i guess she presumed that i would...try to do something with him."

"hm. it looks like you were wrong, my love," oscar hums to his wife, "she's not as innocent as you thought."

jessica chuckles, brining her glass back up to her wine stained lips. you notice how dark and thick the wine looks and cant help but want a taste. "i'm alright with being wrong this once. you know how i love a surprise."

"if you don't mind telling us, y/n," oscar calls you back into the conversation, " what ever happened with your friend for the townspeople to assume you would do something wrong to the morgan's son?"

the dining room goes silent when you don't answer, only the faint sounds of the workers in the kitchen being heard throughout. you contemplate how to explain to your hosts that about a few weeks prior you admitted to your close friend that because you'd been so busy with working these past few years you'd yet to lay with, let alone kiss, anybody else. after laughing and assuming that you were joking, they'd reassured you that it was ok and even offered to be your first kiss as a friendly gesture.

things escalated and before you knew it you had gotten yourself into a heated makeout session with your closest friend. you swore each other to secrecy but you assumed they had told one of your other more gossipy friends who spread it through the grapevine.

“you do not have to tell us if you do not wish to, dear,” jessica comforts, “the last thing we would want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“thank you, but i don't mind. i trust you.” your eyes strain as the words leave your mouth. you’ve only known these two for a few hours at this point but there is something about them that calms you. t makes you feel safe with them. “i kissed one of my friends a few weeks ago because i never had kissed anyone at that point. i thought they wouldn't tell anyone but…word got around.”

“im sorry that happened to you, y/n. something like that should be sacred. the act of giving yourself to another person should be special, especially for someone as sweet as you.” the redhead moves her hand ross the table to clasp it with yours, wearing a soft look on her face.

“exactly. if that were us we definitely wouldn't betray your trust in such a way.”

“oscar please, you sound so vulgar.” jessica chastises him, the man giving her a rogue grin that sets off a spark in your lower stomach. “anyway its getting late, do you think you'd like to head to bed, y/n?”

your mouth opens to reply but nothing comes out. your thoughts are conflicting, a tug of war between your head and…something else. something darker.

“what did you mean when you wouldn't treat me in that way?”

the couple share a look as oscar tries to hold back his smile from broadening.

“would you like us to show you?”

when you were a teenager, your grandparents had given you the much-dreaded talk about marriage. how unless you would get a job they would have to marry you off to one of the wealthier men in town. your grandmother didn't see any reason to be avoidant of the conversation and decided to inform you about what most men wanted from women, and what would happen to you on your wedding night. she seemed to have avoided the worst of it with her husband since they were very much in love, but she had heard stories from other women whose husbands weren't so understanding.

fortunately for you, your new partners were nothing of the sort.

after your inquiry and frankly embarrassingly enthusiastic consent to what they wanted to show you, the lord and lady had gently guided you up to their bedroom before softly undressing you while praising you and your body.

“do you know how beautiful you are, my love?” jessica runs her slender hands up your arms, the woman standing in front of you as her husband undoes your stays behind you.

“i wouldn't mind hearing it some more.” you smile, letting out a squeak when you feel oscar’s hands squeeze your sides.

“how lucky are we, my love, we’ve got a gorgeous maiden with spunk all to ourselves.” oscar smiles.

“look’s like someone’s heard our prayers,” jessica whispers into your neck, the feel of her lips on your skin driving your mind hazy and your eyes to shut in bliss.

oscar finishes undoing your clothes and brushes the shoulders of your dress off of you to the ground, your hands instinctually coming up to cover your chest before the man holds them to your sides.

“don’t be shy, you're gorgeous,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to the other side of your neck and your cheek. at your nod, he continues his hold on your arms as he sits on the bottom of the bed, sitting you in his lap before wrapping his arms around you.

jessica sits at his side, her body turned so she can still hold and touch you. her hands move up and down your shoulder, as she presses a featherlight kiss to it. when she pulls away you take her wrist in your hand and bring up her hand so its in front of your face. she watches you as you admire her, the smooth lines and wrinkles of her hands and bring it to your lips for a kiss.

“such a sweetheart. we really did get lucky, my dear.” she says to her husband.

“and she tastes even sweeter.” oscar agrees, biting your neck and chuckling at your small yelp. “i say we indulge in her, frankly im sick of waiting.”

jessica places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “i love it when we think alike, darling.”

before you know it you're lying down on the soft covers of the bed with jessica resting near your head oscar settling between your legs. it’s slow but intense, the way they kiss and suck and bite every bit of your skin until your skin and your brains are on fire. its made worse but so much better when the man drags his tongue up from your entrance up to your clit before giving it a long suck.

“oh my god-” your moan is cut off by jessica’s kiss, her tongue quickly entering your mouth and dispelling any thoughts in your head. the burning feeling at the pit of your stomach grows hotter when her hand trails from your cheek down to your neck before resting on your left breast, circling the nipple before giving it a rough squeeze that makes you let out a squeal.

“you’re so sensitive, my dear,” oscar mumbles into your cunt, using his hands to spread the lips of your pussy and stick his tongue straight into your hole and groaning at the moan it pulls from your throat. before this evening you rarely had thoughts of hurting another person, but its happening again when he pulls away from between your legs and your arms jerks to pull him by the hair back down.

you're given only a few seconds of recuperation before the two of them switch spots at record speed, oscar giving you a heated kiss while jessica throws your thighs over her shoulders and starts to eat you out just as ravenously as her husband did.

its only a few more minutes of pleasure before the look in jessicas eyes from between your legs and the sting of oscar’s teeth as he bites and sucks your neck before you feel yourself come to a release.

“thats it, oh that's perfect, baby,” oscar’s voice rings in your ear, the gentle comforting in your ear making your climax all the more powerful. you don't even notice your hand is trembling until he grasps it with his own.

the lady comes up from the apex of your thighs and brushes the red hair out of her face. when her eyes meet your own she smiles, and you clench your thighs together at the sight.

she giggles and squishes the fat of your thigh with her hand, moving forward to give her husband a quick kiss to his cheek, “i believe our dear is still a little pent up, my love. i think it’s time we seal the deal.”

the way they talk about you while barely acknowledging you causes your core to clench harder than you’d like to admit, a whine coming for your throat that brings their attention back to you.

“dont worry, sweet girl. our fun isn’t over yet.” the lord runs his hands down your chest and torso as he and his wife swap places yet again, his body hovering over yours. he smirks as he sees your eyes go blank with the feeling of his cock pressed against your stomach. “just give us the word and we’ll stop for the night.”

“no!” you shout, laughing at your own outburst. “i don't want to stop. i want you. please.”

oscar smiles down at you and gives you a kiss so sweet it starts to make your mouth and heart ache. he pulls away and uses his large hands to push your thighs apart to rest between them. able to tell that you’re getting in your head, jessica moves one of her legs to the other side of you, the sight of her bare in front of your face making your heartbeat skip.

“while he’s making love to you i'm going to show you how to pleasure me, is that all right?”

you nod your head so quickly you fear you’ll sprain something.

she smiles at you before moving some hairs from in your face gently cupping your face as she moves to rest her cunt over your mouth, her soft command of “lick” drawing you to stick out your tongue out to lick a long line from her entrance to her clit, and the sound of her moan ignites a fire in you that just wants her to feel as good as she made you feel. you bring your hands to wrap around her thighs and push her further into your mouth and the noise she lets out is nothing short of primal.

your main focus is on bringing the lady to orgasm until you feel something soft and large rub up and down your entrance, the feeling of it rubbing against your clit making you hum into jessica’s mound.

“take a deep breath.” oscar’s voice comes from behind jessica’s body, and she pulls her body away despite your pawing at her thighs to watch your face as oscar’s cock enters you, the sight of your eyes widening and mouth opening ina forced moan making her wetness grow.

they take a few minutes to allow you to adjust to the new feeling, waiting for your nod before oscar starts to thrust at a steady pace as jessica sits back down on your face to muffle your moans. you go back to grasping her thighs with your arms and wrap your legs around oscar’s waist to pull him in closer, the feeling of him inside you driving you up the wall.

all the while the pair are praising you, whispering it over the sounds of skin slapping and moans.

“that's it, carino, lift those hips up. show me how much you want it.”

“you’re tasting me so well, my sweet. just a little harder-oh yes, just like that.”

“gods above you’re gripping me like a vice. better than i’ve been dreaming of-”

you don't get to ask what he means before you feel the same pressure from earlier building up in your lower stomach, but it feels different. you’re squealing and squirming as it builds before you hear jessica let out a drawn-out moan as she squeezes her legs around your head, the taste of her arousal flooding your mouth. she’s panting and her skin is shiny with sweat and you swear you've never seen a person more beautiful.

she moves her body to lay on her side next to you, moving her hands down o rud quick circles on your clit as oscar speeds up his thrusts, lifting your hips to rest your bottom on his thighs to fuck inside you at a deeper angle. you cant even be embarrassed by the loud moans you're letting out before you're reaching your climax. the lovers moaning at the sight and feel of your cunt squirting onto oscar’s lap and chest.

the next few minutes are a blur, the physical toll of the night and the sex finally seeping in and making you drowsy. you feel a soft damp rag wiping down your body, each stroke being followed with a feather-light kiss and whispers. about how long they've waited for this, for you, and how they promise to never let anything hurt you again.

its the best sleep youve had in months.

when you wake up you stretch your arms and take a minute to just relax. its been years since you've woken up and had nothing to immediately do. its nice. you could get used to it.

getting up you see some nice clothes laid out for you, including a note left on the bedstand once you finished getting dressed.

dear y/n,

when you awaken, please come downstairs. we'd like to discuss some things with you.

j & o

the neutral tone of the note forms a cold feeling in your chest. from what youve seen you dont think the couple are the type to take down on their luck virgins, take their innocence and then kick them out. but after yesterday's events you cnt risk putting all of your trust into someone.

after you finish getting ready, you head downstairs, your mind instantly leading you to the large living area downtairs that you pass on your way to the dining room. the floors in the hallways are hard and the sound of your footsteps alerts your hosts to your presence.

"ah, you're finally awake! come, sit with us. we've got some tea and muffins here if you're feeling hungry." oscar welcomes you, motioning to a spot on one of the plush red couches and the treats on the table surrounded by them. jessica is sat lounging on one of the couches, a thick book in her hand.

you give a strained smile, walking over to sit on the couch before pouring yourself some tea and chewing on one of the muffins. they watch you while you eat, the gazes going back to feeling almost haunting compared to the heated way they made you feel last night.

"as you already know, we have some things we'd like to discuss with you, my dear." jessica scoots closer to your seat, setting her book down on the table and giving you her full attention. she must be able to see the fright on your face because she immediately gets up and sits next to you, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders to cuddle you. "trust me, it's nothing bad."

"at least nothing bad for you," oscar snickers, dodging his wife's light slap to his leg.

"all we ask is that you hear us all the way through, alright?" jessica asks and cuddles you closer when you nod.

you understand her request when they explain what's been happening to you. apparently, they had been visiting the town in secret for a few months now, and after seeing you in a bar on their first trip they'd gone back frequently to watch you.

the way they explain it makes it seem like they're practically enamored and your heart is starting to hurt with how fastly it's beating.

but they know and give you a moment to relax and take it in, because they can tell when you're upset or overwhelmed. because they also tell you that they are vampires.

it takes everything in your power not to burst out laughing, but as they look at your face it all starts to make sense. the way they only apparently to drink a dark red wine, so thick that you wondered how it could be possible, how they were already enjoying their day in the middle of the night. the coldness of their skin.

"we understand it's a lot to take in. but we have one more thing to ask you." oscar questions while cozying up to the other side of your body.

you nod your head, figuring it couldn't become more shocking than what they've already told you. you're surprised at your calmness, thinking back on how you from a year ago would most likely be running for the hills now.

"we dont want you to just be a maid here. we want you to become one with us," jessica explains, the hopeful smile on her face near blinding, "vampire culture is a bit different than regular human culture so you can marry us if you'd like."

"but we would never rush you." the lord takes your hand in a gentle kiss.

"of course not. we just...we've never felt this way about anyone but each other. but your kindness and your character and your beauty...we couldn't help but to fall in love with you."

you can feel the start of tears forming in your eyes. despite a small rational part of your brain telling you its a trick, that they might just be doing this to reel you in and drink you dry, you believe them. you cant help to when they look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"i...yes. i want to be with you." you sigh, letting out a string of giggles when they hug you from each side. it's suffocating and warm and it's the best hug you've ever had.

"gods, you're perfect. this is perfect, we'll tell the maids to prepare more on things to get you accommodated, we made you a few outfits just in case but you'll need more, not to mention more of your favorite foods and-"

you and jessica share a fond but teasing look at her husbands' rambling, the man quickly rushing out of the room as he calls for some of the maids to make preparations.

despite your happiness, you let out a strained sigh at the bubbling anger you felt from last night. everyone on the village called these two beautiful beings monsters in the night while they had treated you poorly based on a liars word of mouth. it fills you with a rage you don't know what to do with.

"what is it, y/n?" jessica inquires at your sudden change of mood. when you explain your anger she agrees, telling you how the worst part of looking at you from afar was seeing how people treated you like less than them.

"among our kind the art of killing humans is rather taboo these days. nothing like how it was when we were children."

"what if it was for a good reason?" you shock yourself with your question, and jessica too based on the look on her face.

she slowly starts to smile. "i think you're going to like it here with us."

#oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac #jessica chastain x reader #jessica chastain #oscar isaac x jessica chastain x reader #smut #fluff #polyamory #vampires #vampire x reader #vampire couple #vampire sex #rpf #oscar isaac rpf #jessica chastain rpf

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