#sometimes I look later into the fic too to see if it's just an uncaught typo/something they get better at later and it never is :/

[acerikus]

Awwwww no, people keep saying certain uty fics are really good and popular and I instantly click into them excited for good content, then get instantly jumpscared by clover being misgendered :(

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

𝕭𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖒𝖊

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Oh hey, my first fic for this blog. I hope you all like this! Also, sorry if this is a little long ahahah...Vampire!nishinoya x reader.. Sorry for any typos and/or grammatical errors.

> Admin Ｔ

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These days, when it was sunny and bright, clouds nowhere in sight, were the days you hated most. Not because of how beautiful it was, but these are the days when your mother deems it “perfect” for chores. 

Put out the clothes and sheets. Wipe the windows. Bathe the dog. Water and feed the chickens. Your mother came barging into your bedroom that morning, telling you to do all of these by the end of the day. “There is a lot to do!” she boomed.

But all you wanted to do was lie in the fescue grass that grows in front of your family’s cottage, and maybe read a book or two. A new edition came out from your favorite author recently, and you were absolutely dying to finally take a peek. 

But no, you were chained to the burden of chores.

Sighing, you threw the now dry sheets into a basket, not bothering to fold them. Stupid responsibilities, stupid mother, stupid everything… you thought to yourself. Setting the basket on your hip, you walk back to your small home and set the sheets on the dining room table and yell to your mom, “Mama! The sheets are dry now!”

“Oh thank you dear! You can feed the chickens, and then take a break, I’m fixing up some lunch for us once you are done.” your mom responded.

“On it.” you muttered before going back outside, this time to where the chicken coop was. 

Feeding the chickens wasn’t all bad. You liked hanging out with them sometimes whenever you get in a fight with your family. They were great companions, seeing as they couldn’t talk back. You take a bucket filled with feed, and grab a handful, throwing some on the ground in front of the dozen chickens you own. Once you deem they had enough feed to last them for awhile, you set the bucket down, and stand for a while, watching them wistfully. 

“Oh, to be a chicken...Without a care in the world.” you said. Huffing out a breath, you look back to the forest that also occupied the land. Your mother always said to not wander into the forest. She always said there was a big monster that would gobble you up if you strayed too far from the cottage. By now, you were old enough to realize that that was just a story to get you to not wander away. But you were still curious what the forest held.

Gazing back to the house, you started to walk towards the forest, your curiosity getting the best of you. What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her. I’ll just come back before she notices I’m gone. With that thought in mind, you run towards the trees.

You thought it would only take a few minutes to explore the forest, or at least some of it, maybe twenty minutes tops. But as soon as you got far enough to lose sight of the opening you came from, you were immediately lost. You looked all around you, trying to find anything remotely familiar, but it all looked the same. Grunting through the foliage, you decide to go north, thinking maybe you’ll find your way.

What you didn’t expect to find, when going north, was a huge mansion. The windows were all boarded up, and it seemed part of it was slowly collapsing. To you, though it was still charming, in a creepy gothic way. 

Shifting your skift to get uncaught from some branches, you head to the doors of the mansion, wanting to go and see what is inside. Coming up to the big doors, you slowly open one of them. The outside may look old and decrepit, but the inside was extraordinary. The wallpaper shined a golden hue with flowers blooming as decoration. The chandlers were grandiose and shining in what little sunshine could come through. The ceilings were tall, and in front of you was a grand staircase.

You walked into the foyer, in awe at how amazingly pretty it was. Peering around, you walked up the staircase and noticed a painting. It was of a family; A mother, a father, and a son. The mother in the painting was beautiful, with long dark hair cascading down past her shoulders, her smile tender and sweet, and her eyes sweet and welcoming. The father was handsome, but more stern looking, wearing a frown instead of a smile.

The son was grinning mischievously, his eyes holding a type of playful glee that one could only see in kids. He had short black hair, but a tuft of blond in his bang. He almost looks like a bird, you think to yourself, giggling slightly.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a crash. You quickly turned to the right, and saw a figure standing on top of the second set of stairs. The figure didn’t move, but you looked into his eyes. They were red and could be easily seen in the shadows he was hiding in. They felt like they were looking into your soul, trying to gage if you were worthy to kill or not.

Ever so slowly, you took a step back, keeping your on the figure, then started to dash back to the doors, and escape to the forest. But the figure was too fast, and before you could even touch the doors, they were closed, the figure guarding them. You stumbled and tripped over your skirt, falling to the ground. 

The figure starts to walk closer to you, not blinking once. You shiver in fear and watch as the figure crouches to the floor and crawls the last few steps to you. You finally see his face in the sunrays coming through the cracks of the boarded up windows, his eyes no longer red, but instead a deep chocolate brown. There was no murderous intent lingering there, but wonderment. You notice that he looked just like the boy in the painting, but only much older. And a lot more handsome.

The boy moved closer to you, his face inches from yours. In a low, guttural voice he suddenly asks, “Who are you?”

Taken aback by the question, you stare at him, confusion etched into your features. But when he didn’t do anything further, you gulped down your nerves and jitters and answered, “My name is (y/n).” 

In one swift motion, the boy leans back and smiles wide. “Hi (y/n), it’s nice to meet you! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a human around here. Decades really, but that doesn’t matter since you're here now!” he said cheerily. You stared at him, even more confused now.

“What do you mean ‘human’? And decades? Just what are you?” you asked. He chuckles, a grin, just like the one in the painting, becomes displayed onto his handsome features. 

“I’m a vampire.” he says confidently. You gasp and get to your feet, scared again.

“A-a-a-a vampire? But I thought they weren’t real. Just fairy tales.” you mutter out loud. Crossing his legs, the boy laughs.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m the real deal here, no doubt.” he was still grinning at you, his eyes alight with amusement. 

“I don’t believe you!” you scoff, trying your best to hide you shaking hands. There is no way he’s a vampire. Rolling his eyes, the boy opened his mouth wide, and his canines started to grow long and sharp, just right for impaling someone’s neck.

You stare at his teeth in shock. To his surprise you walk back to him and take his shoulders, wanting to get a closer look at his teeth. “Oh my goodness, you’re a vampire.” you state, moreso to yourself. The boy laughs again.

It turns out the boy's name was Nishinoya Yuu, though he liked being called Yuu. He had been living in the mansion for over a century alone, but he was with his parents before then for over two centuries. The reason he never left the mansion was because his parents said to never leave and for them there. You asked why, and he couldn’t give an answer. All he did say was that, later on, he found out they were murdered. He stayed in the mansion because he didn’t know where else to go. 

You were the first interaction he had in a long time with the outside world. 

After that, you spent more time with him, playing, talking, reading for him, describing the outside world to him. He was an eccentric boy to say the least. He was loud and rash, doing a lot of his talking with his body. But you could tell that he became very serious when it came to his family or anything he held dear to him. 

But your favorite was how you were taller than, being about three inches taller. He hated it, but you loved it. Teasing him about it was your favorite pastime.

And in the months that came, you and Yuu became best friends. You would go out to the mansion everyday to keep him company, so he didn’t feel lonely. Your mom would ask you where you were always going after your chores, but you lied and just said you were going to see a friend that you met across the river. But in actuality, you were going to play with a fun, short, vampire. 

You haven’t known Yuu for as long as you wanted to, only about six months, but it felt much longer than that. He was already so near and dear to your heart. Everytime you thought about him, your heart would  squeeze tight, and your chest filled with warmth. Whenever you accidentally touch, it feels like your skin is on fire, your cheeks always catching fire. Luckily he hadn’t noticed anything.

It was starting to snow at this time of the year. You were on your way to see Yuu today, though it was a little later than usual(more like a lot). The moon was high in the sky, it being full and bright. You raced through the snow, trying to go as fast as you could. You haven’t been able to see him in a week, so you were excited to see him tonight. It would be a big surprise for him, and you brought his favorite that he loved listening to you read from.

Once you saw the mansion, you fastened your pace, and quickly opened the door, only to come face to face with Yuu on the ground, panting. Dropping the book to the ground, you run over to him. He was shivering from head to toe, his skin cold. “Yuu, hey what’s wrong? Yuu!” you shaked him, causing him to open his eyes and gazed in your direction. His fangs were out, and his brows were furrowed. 

“(y/n), run..” he whispered out.

“What? No! Tell me what’s wrong so I can--”

“RUN!” He screamed out, cutting you off. He growled, his eyes a blaring red. “Please! I don’t want to hurt you!” he yelled, pushing you away harshly. You fall back, but in an instant you are back at his side. 

“What is wrong!” you exclaimed, holding his shoulders, so he wouldn’t fall backward. His eyes were unfocused, and it looked like he was losing consciousness. 

“I-it’s the moon...I can’t control my bloodlust….when there is a full moon..” he voiced, the sound choked. “I need blood, but I can’t move to get some….”

“Blood? Here,” you move to loosen your collar, exposing your neck, “you can use me.” you state. Yuu shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t want to hurt you.” he mutters. You roll your eyes.

“There is no time for you to be chivalrous, you are literally dying, so use me!”

“I could kill you, (y/n)! I don’t want to do that! I don’t want to do that to someone I care so much about!” he shouts. You blush a little but shake your head. 

“Yuu, bite me, for god’s sake! Bite me!” you yell at him, exposing more of your neck and collarbone to him. The scent wafts over to him, causing his pupils to dilate. He grunts and sits, looking you in the eyes. He sees your determination, and he tears up. 

With a growl, he takes you by the waist, and sinks his fangs into your neck, and starts to suck your blood. It was the most delectable blood he has ever tasted, so sweet and so you.

He tightens his hold on your waist, and you whimper. There was pain, definitely, but mixed in was a hint of pleasure and you grab onto his shoulders for dear life.

You don’t know how long you were out, but you awoke in Yuu’s lap. He was stroking your hair, and when he noticed that you were awake, he smiled down at you. It was a smile filled with warmth and unmistakable love. You could also see that he had been crying. You reach up and touch his cheek, right under his eyes. Yuu comes to hold your hand to his cheek and he smiles a littles wider. “Have you been crying?” you ask, your voice raspy. 

“Well, you basically just sacrificed yourself to me, so of course I have been crying. How could I not?” you giggled, still stroking his cheek. “I can’t believe you would do such a thing.”

“Of course I would, no questions asked.”

“But why, you could’ve died, (y/n). I could’ve killed you.” Yuu whispers, his eyes filled with regret. You smile gently up at him.

“Yuu, bend down.” you tell him. He bends down, his face coming closer to yours, and you take his face in both of your hands, pressing your lips to his. He was still for a moment before responding back, putting more pressure into the kiss. 

You pull back only to say, “It’s because I love you. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.” you whispered into his lips. You feel his tears on your cheeks, and he rests his forehead on yours. 

“(y/n)....I….I love you too..” he says through his tears. You chuckle and kiss him again, this time longer than before.

You didn’t regret any of the choices you made, from going into the woods and meeting to letting him bite you.

You would let him bite you again, anytime, if it meant you could stay like this forever.

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I hoped you all liked it! And I’m sorry if this was bad, I’m still working on pacing lololol

[tisfan]

Discover your Soul

Title: Discover your Soul Collaborator: @tisfan Link: AO3 Square Filled: I3 -- Character is a Soldier Ship: Tony/Bucky Rating: teen Major Tags: soulmate AU, red string AU, fix it fic, not Civil War compliant Summary: Magic exists. Ask anyone with a soul mate string and they’ll tell you.

Curses exist, too. Word Count: 2,220 Created for @mcukinkbingo

Before you find your soul mate, you must first discover your soul. – Charles F. Glassman

Magic exists.

Ask anyone with a soul mate string and they’ll tell you. Magic moved the world to give them their perfect match, their mate, the person for whom they will live and die, the person that completes them and fills them up with love.

Curses exist, too.

Ask Maria Stark, whose only son was brought in to the world, barely breathing. Anthony Edward Stark almost died in his first few minutes, choking and spluttering. He uttered one mournful wail, not a baby’s indignation of leaving the womb and entering the cold, cruel world, but an old soul’s dismay.

His string, bound to him as such things were, was broken.

Less than a foot below his hand, his string ended in a puff of broken threads.

And it was bleeding.

No one had ever seen such a thing before. On the rare, and tragic states of soulmates having died before they could meet, the string was still there, indicating the broken bond, but it was black and ashy. The remaining partner would wrap it around their finger as they aged and it would slowly shrivel up and die. In some cases, a new string formed later, as their mate was reborn in a younger body.

This one, Tony’s string, bleed. Constantly, at first.

The hospital kept the baby in the infant care ward for almost a month. The blood loss affected the baby; he was weak and small and didn’t cry.

Eventually, they let him go home with his parents.

The wound clotted, but it never closed, never scarred over. The string remained brilliant red, tracing the line from the heart directly out through his finger, just like it was supposed to. It didn’t always bleed, as he got older, but if he was sad, or upset, sometimes the cut would reopen and he’d find himself with blood on his jeans, or on his desk, or eventually in his workshop.

Tony never took very good care of his hands. What was the point? People always looked at him, looked down at that loose, dangling thread, and viewed him as some sort of pariah.

Someone, maybe, whose soulmate had rejected him, sight unseen? No one knew, and the speculation was wild and varied.

Hard to maintain friendships, when people wondered. Harder, when his father was ashamed of the bleeding string, and the fact that everyone knew about it.

Tony decided he didn’t care and he made friends with the robots he built from kits and from people he met on the internet, where no one knew about his famous father or his infamous bleeding soul string.

The first time he kissed a classmate, the string practically hemorrhaged, spraying the unfortunate crush with blood.

Tony didn’t get a lot of kisses, after that story spread around.

He changed schools constantly to get away from rumors and speculations.

It didn’t help.

(more below the cut)

The first person he met who didn’t care was an upperclassman, his first year at MIT, named James Rhodes.

Rhodes and Tony.

Who became Rhodey and Tones, swapping the last letters of their names in an affectionate gesture that warmed Tony profoundly. He’d never really known the affection of friends, so he cherished the one he’d made.

The string never bled when Rhodey was around, either.

“Maybe something’s just wrong with your mate,” Rhodey speculated, and his speculation wasn’t cruel or unkind, just curious. And in some manner, reassuring. “Maybe they’re sick, or they get hurt a lot. It ain’t like this sort of thing is well studied, or nothin’. It’s all about faith and fate, and those things don’t hold up under a microscope.”

Tony wondered what his string looked like under a microscope.

Nothing, as it turned out. The string didn’t exist in the same time/space as things like photography and microanalysis, and Tony ended up getting a second master’s thesis out of speculative fate physics, while he was putting in the effort for mechanical engineering anyway.

Tony combined the two projects for his first doctorate, theoretical fate physics, and actually invented an entirely new manner of photogenesis that captured the essences of fate strings. Just after his nineteenth birthday, Tony made the front cover of Time magazine for the first verifiable picture of a fate string.

He looked, he decided, like a baby in the picture and he started frantically cultivating a beard.

Beards were wise, right? Inscrutable. Certainly not an object of pity.

Also, hot. Beards were hot.

Later, much, much later, Tony will remember the only time his fate string didn’t hurt. It wasn’t a bad pain so much as just a constant ache. If he wasn’t paying attention, he’d find himself rubbing at his finger, massaging the joint. He stopped doing that after he developed a flesh colored band to hide the string and control the bleeding.

Mostly.

And then, not quite a week before Christmas, his hand stopped hurting.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. It had never not ached before. Sometimes he could ignore it, but whenever he was paying attention, the pain was right there.

And suddenly it wasn’t.

He ripped the band off to study the pathetic length of psychic ribbon. It was throbbing; the end curling like a snake. Twitching.

The end swelled, like it was filling with blood, and then dropped, added another ten, twelve, inches to the length, until it was resting on the ground, straining.

What the hell?

He watched it, fascinated. Petted the string, poked at it. Took a photograph with his special camera.

Four hours later, the police came to tell him his parents were dead.

Six hours after that, the string bled feverishly, a stomach-turning spray of arterial blood. Tony cleaned it up, wrapped his finger. Pretended it hadn’t happened.

What the hell was a mate supposed to do for him now, anyway?

Coincidence, he told himself with a shiver.

Mourning, terrified, alone, he deleted the picture.

The Soldier sat in the chair.

He didn’t struggle. He never struggled anymore.

The string was wrapped around his wrist, several times. It had leaked out of the metal arm shortly after the Soldier had been awakened from cryo.

He didn’t try to hide it. He never tried to hide things anymore.

“Good job, soldier,” his handler said.

The soldier didn’t answer, he just waited.

“Keep him up a few weeks, I want him around for the testing.”

“You got it, sir,” one of the techs said.

“And cauterize that thing, before it bleeds everywhere.”

There was pain, when they burned the string. There was always pain. But the Soldier didn’t care about that.

Tony’s string started growing again, in the year after the Fall of SHIELD.

He couldn’t figure out why.

His own ground breaking research aside, no one still really studied the fate threads, or soul mates, or the properties therin. He was, his critics said sometimes, killing the magic.

“Magic that can’t withstand a little examination might deserve to be killed,” he snarled in response to that.

It still didn’t lead to another person, trailing along behind him for several yards like a sad kite. Useless, and he was tripping over it. There was, however, too much on Iron Man’s docket for him to actually get really into detail with his soul string. He wrapped it tightly around his wrist and ignored it as best he could.

First, arrangements had to be made for world security. Without SHIELD, without Nick Fury, there was a lot of burdens falling around, uncaught.

Then there was Ultron.

And Sokovia.

And…

The string kept growing. Twined around Tony’s wrist, up to his elbow, he ended up bundling it around his chest just to keep it out of the way.

Why was it so damn disorderly, too? Other people’s strings sort of melted away into some ethereal plane when they weren’t directly connected to the soulmate. They didn’t tumble all over the floor like a sulky yo-yo.

In fact, most people’s strings were well nigh invisible unless the person was within grabbing distance of their mates. Or, at least, from an outsider’s appearance. For each individual, they could see their string, winding off into the distance, in the direction of their other half.

Nice thought, Tony snorted, tucking an extra bit of loop into his pocket.

Secretary Ross was breathing down Tony’s neck and while he was beginning to wonder if he could, actually, strangle the man to death it it, he decided not to risk it. Not today.

“Of course you can quote me,” Tony raged into the phone. “I’m saying it, aren’t I? There will be consequences.”

God damn it, Steve.

That had been a refrain for a while now, and Tony was tired of it.

Having to send out his best friend to arrest his old man’s best friend? Officially, Tony didn’t have anything like that sort of authority, which is why Rhodey was doing it. And because Tony really, really didn’t want to arrest Steve. Things were going to shit without it.

There was something oddly compelling about the video feed.

Cap’s old friend, Barnes, having done a stint in the Russian military, or whatever. Gorgeous, sulky, long tangled hair and unshaven face, he stared up at the hidden camera like he knew it was there.

“This is what I was saying about making it worse, Steve,” Nat was complaining to Cap as they were being processed.

“At least he’s alive,” Steve said, staring back at his old friend. “What’s going to happen to him now?”

“We’ll get him help, of course,” Tony said, because that was only fair. “He’s… uh. He’s bleeding.”

There was a wet, smacking sound from under Tony’s clothing, like he’d stepped on a ziplock bag and blown the seal.

A rush of heat and wet seeped down his side.

Son of a bitch, so am I.

Tony bunched his fist up, as if he could stop his fate string from bleeding from sheer force of will. Why now, he wondered. Totally, epically bad timing.

The string was squirming, writhing, wriggling against him like it was trying to get away.

Barnes’ gaze went from the camera, over to where he couldn’t possibly see Tony trying to tip his body away so that no one noticed the wet spot on his pants, or the way blood was gushing into his shoe.

Fuck. I need to get out of here.

“I need to get out of here,” Barnes echoed, his voice a dark tremor against the air. Tony whirled, took a few steps, heedless of the bloody footprint he was leaving behind.

Look at him, trapped like an animal, Tony thought, his chest squeezing in sudden sympathy. Barnes wasn’t struggling with the restraints, but he was leaning in Tony’s direction, like steel drawn to a powerful magnet.

“Trapped, like an animal,” Barnes agreed.

Can you hear me?

There was blood pooling at the base of the restraint room, brilliant and red. Someone should die from that much blood loss.

“I hear you.”

Holy fuck.

“Stark, what are you doing--”

Tony took another few steps, then another, and his string unraveled from his belly, slithered out from under the hem of his shirt.

Touched that pool of blood under Barnes.

The world exploded in light.

The Soldier was on guard.

No one had told him that, no one had given him orders. They didn’t need to. He knew it, bone deep, blood deep.

The puddle had turned into coils and coils of string, tangling between him and the man. From the line in his heart, through the artificial arm, down his wires and servos, out the finger, and into knots and tangles, draped all over him, and then reaching for… Tony.

He’d broken out of the holding cell; nothing like that could contain him for long unless he wanted to be contained. Tony, Tony, Tony. Tony was clinging to him, sobbing with broken-hearted relief.

The Soldier knew something about that, too.

“What’s going to happen now?”

That was Steve. The Soldier knew him. A little.

Not like he knew the sobbing man in his arms. That song, he’d been denied well and too long.

Tony wiped his face, presenting his red rimmed eyes unashamed.

“I expect I’m going to be writing a new paper of fate strings physics,” Tony said.

“I meant, to Bucky.”

The Soldier bared his teeth at that name; Bucky came with knives and poisons. That name was pain. It wasn’t… safe to say.

Bucky? Tony’s voice was in his head.

It was. Who he was.

“We’ll figure it out, Cap,” Tony said. “By the book.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna like that book, Tony,” Steve said.

“Well, I’ve rewritten the book before,” Tony said. “With less solid information to go on. So… sit back, and watch me work. Don’t worry. I’ll…”

Tony stared at Bucky, his entire heart in his eyes. “I’ll take care of him.”

“And what about you?”

Bucky didn’t have to say anything. He pulled Tony closer and glared. Unarmed, held at gunpoint, the Soldier radiated threat and everyone took a hesitant step back. Message received.

“I think we got it, snowflake,” Tony said. “You can just… relax now. We’re going to fix this mess.”

“I know.”