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nn1895 · 2 years

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AU August Fic 31

Soulmate

This is long and huge and un-edited, un-beta’d.

Prowl took two steps into the station and a loud shout of “I don’ know what ya sayin’ afthelm!” split the air.

Suddenly he was 84 vorns old holding his carrier’s servo as he walked Prowl into school. Everything came rushing back - joy, loneliness, the ache of too small spaces, and confusion. He could smell the dust of that tiny habsuite and the polish the other sparklings had used..

Slaggit, he could even taste that stupid slush, it had been his favorite…

Prowl headed toward the shouting. The other officers parted with a quick deferential nod. None of them were in a hurry to help him with angry tourists.

Beside one of the intake desks stood a group of Polyhexians - bright, patterned paint, taller than a minibot, but only just, and round corners. Two had old, crumbling temp paint and spray glitter that was falling to the floor as they violently gestured. Another had a sticky splash of flavored energon on their chest that had partially dried. One wore an enormous purple hat with small crystal blooms on it. They all had an air of exhaustion and suitcases by their pedes.

Three patrolbots were trying to calm them down.

“Listen,” the loudest Polyhex was saying, “I need ta speak wit’ a bot who speaks Hexian! How hard is that?!”

Prowl sighed and gathered his patience. He stepped closer and spoke, the words feeling strange in his mouth.

“I speak Polyhexian, may I help?”

The trio of patrolbots looked at him in relief. Officer Reverse spoke first in a flood of words.

“Commander Prowl! We’ve called the university AND the embassy and they haven’t called back and none of the translation software we’ve tried can understand them and they don’t speak any standard and one of them was shot this morning!”

“Thank you, Officer. You and Officers Takedown and Limit can go and write this down in the log. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Thank you, Commander!” They scattered and Prowl stepped forwards to sit at the desk.

As they walked away, he heard Limit whisper, “I didn’t know Commander Prowl spoke Polyhexian!”

“He’s a really private mech,” Reverse whispered back. “I don’t think anyone knows anything about him except he grew up in Iacon with Magistrate Ultra Magnus.”

He turned to the tourists and continued in Hexian.

“I am Commander Prowl. What has happened?”

The loud one, a mech with a lot of chrome, spoke again.

“One of our bandmates got shot this morning by one of your local artists.” He said ‘local artists’ the same way other bots say ‘space barnacles’ and rolled his optics. “Our mate ’s in the hospital now and no one is taking our statement.”

“One moment. I’ll need your names and reason for visiting, please.”

“Twist, volt-viola player for the ZigZags. We’re playing in the concert tomorrow.”

“Ricochet, singer, same.”

“Topsy-Turvey, dancer, same.”

“Tie-wrap, sound bot and back up singer.”

Prowl entered the information into the system.

“And what happened this morning? From the beginning please.”

“Woke up. Headed ta rehearsals. Hungover from the party. Mech jumps out an’ screams tha’ we suck. Shoots at us. Hits our flutist. He ran off and we called ya. Now we’re here.”

“Do you know the name of the shooter?”

“Wire something, I think. He played wit’ the Dropbeats.”

“Thank you. One klik.” Translating that from Hexian to Standard was harder than Prowl remembered. It was like his processor wanted to stay in one time or the other.

Every Hexian word he spoke pulled him closer to the past. It was unnerving.

“How’s a bot like you, prim and proper Iaconian, learn Hexian? Extra credit?” the femme with the hat asked as she leaned on the desk. She reminded him of his neighbor on festival nights. He’s always worn the traditional hats and let Prowl touch them for luck before the parties. Well, until….

Prowl hadn’t thought about him in a hundred vorns.

“I…spent some time there as a sparkling,” Prowl answered as he typed. “I had to learn the language since no one spoke Standard but the teacher.”

The memories hit him like an electrical surge.

0-0-0

“That means we’re going outside today, to the Plains,” the teacher translated into Standard for Prowl. So that was why the other sparklings were so excited!

To his left a femmeling with bright, Polyhexian colors was jumping in her seat, giggling with the mechling next to her. The trio of siblings in front of him were talking at lightspeed

He turned to the sparkling on his right - Piston - and asked, in halting Hexian, “What are the plains?”

“’s the Plains!” Piston said, turning to another sparkling and laughing. “Ya nevah been ta the Plains? Ha!” Now they both laughed.

“No,” Prowl said. He waited until the teacher wasn’t looking and shifted in his seat, trying to stretch his doorwings. The chairs here were smaller and he had to lean forwards so his wings would fit.

“Stop squirming, Prowl!” another sparkling yelled across the room, tone exactly like their teacher.

Prowl froze and pretended to be reading something as she whipped around. The sharp clatter of her pedes made his spark twist.

She stood in front of him and waited. His spark twisted harder.

“Prowl -

0-0-0

Prowl stood in line to board the bus, dread in his chest. He always boarded last, because his doorwings were too big to fit down the aisle so he had to sit in the first row. The first row was where the teachers sat.

He was still shaking a bit and now he had to sit next to Teacher Bellcurve for the whole trip.

Suddenly the plains didn’t seem that interesting.

“Scoot over, Prowl.” He scrunched his wings in as close as he could, feeling the cables coil and kink. Teacher Bellcurve sat down and another teacher sat on her other side.

Prowl fixed his optics out the window and froze his frame. He would just look out the window and pretend they weren’t there. Or that he wasn’t there.

The van pulled away and Prowl watched the building whip by - it was all so different from Praxus. The doors were narrow and sunk down into the ground with stairs. The buildings were taller and narrow too.

Prowl loved their new habsuite. It was smaller and Creator kept saying it was ‘shabby’ but Prowl loved his tiny room and its giant window, so many stories up. Most days, it was the only thing he liked about their new city.

Except for the fuel - that was the best! If he could have a yellow neon slush for every meal he would.

“I know,” Teacher Bellcurve said in Standard, “why don’t we practice on the drive there, Prowl. That’s is a -” she began labeling things as they passed in the window.

Teacher Bellcurve made his chest feel tight and he couldn’t help but drop his optics when she spoke to him. He didn’t know why.

He tried to keep up with what she was saying, but it always started sounding like static after a while. His creators had taken him to the medic, but they’d said his audials were fine.

After a few too many wrong answers, she stopped at least. She turned to the other teacher - one he didn’t recognize - and said something. They laughed and Prowl felt his face burn.

He missed being able to understand what people were saying. He didn’t miss Creator and Carrier always being scared and they’d been scared in Praxus. He’d noticed.

So he would just deal with it until he learned Polyhexian. It would happen eventually.

He stared out the window and tried to ignore how his wings ached and his spark burned and pretended he was driving alongside them - faster than anyone.

0-0-0

“Is that it?” Prowl burst out in Standard, feeling his optics widen.

“Hexian please!” Bellcurve corrected, but Prowl didn’t pay attention.

It was…immense. Why were all the Polyhexians living in the cramped canyon when they had this within driving distance?

It wasn’t completely flat. There were places where the surface metal had heat and cooled into hollows and dips. Out in the middle was an enormous shard where the undercrust had erupted up and torn the metal out in curls. Up ahead, Prowl could see a cluster of covered pavilions alongside the road with two dozen other buses parked by them. It must have been three or four whole schools!

The bus pulled up to one of the small pavilions and the doors opened.

“Slowly please!” Bellcurve said as she stood. Prowl stood and inched his way alongside the seat. The sparklings behind him complained - they always did - but now he was too excited to care.

He leapt from the top step of the bus and landed with a thump on the hot metal ground.

Where could they go first? Could he try one of the dips? The wind was whipping against his frame like servos and the ever present heat was lessened.

Behind him he heard the quiet taps as the other sparklings leapt out and Teacher Bellcurve was saying something….

“Here, Prowl!” He turned to see all the others neatly lined up and waiting. Oh. He hurried over and stood at the end of the line, slouching as much as he could.

“Now,” Teacher Bellcurve started, “you - the rules - I - you to - them - and no - thank you.”

Prowl nodded with the others.

“You - go,” Bellcurve said, smiling. “Be safe!”

“Woohoo!”

“Yes!”

“Let’s go!”

The sparklings broke from the line and bolted for the plains, some transforming, some not.

Prowl had a question.

“Teacher?” he asked, double checking he was using the right title as he approached her. He’d already gotten in trouble for using the wrong one at the grocery store when he tried to help Creator.

“Yes, Prowl?”

“We go to there?” he asked, hesitantly, pointing towards the shard. Bellcurve followed his finger and smiled.

“Yes! It’s - “ she paused and continued in Standard, “it’s called the Entryway. The legend is that if you look down the side of the shard you can see straight down to Primus. You better hurry if you want to make it there and back though!” She smiled and Prowl smiled back. “Ask one of the other sparklings to go with you,” she suggested.

Prowl nodded and rushed after them.

This would be great! He followed a small group of sparklings that he’d spoken to the most - they all knew a little Standard.

“Hey! Wait!” They were too far away to hear him. He’d never catch up -

He could transform!

He burst out laughing and transformed and it was like meeting an old friend.

Praxians didn’t fit on Polyhexian roads so his creators hadn’t been able to tow him behind them like in Praxus. It had been forever since he’d used his wheels.

He roared over the flat metal after them. The feel of his tires gripping the ground. The whistle of the wind past his frame.

It was the best.

He overtook the group and spun in front of them, transforming as he did.

“Hi! Do you want to go to the shard with me?” he asked, half in Standard, half in Hexian, feeling giddy.

They just stared at him.

“Um, do you?” he asked again in Hexian.

Maybe they - had he -? Had he done something to make them not like him?

One of the femmes stepped forwards.

“No,” she said, “ya too fast. We’re jus’ gonna race around here.”

“Oh. I can - “ but they were all shaking their helms.

“Ya too fast!”

“Yeah, not fair, Prax.”

“Go race on ya own!” said the oldest one, the one with the most Standard that Prowl had been trying to befriend since the beginning.

“Oh, okay.” This was…like how he felt when Teacher Bellcurve corrected him, but also worse. “I’ll go, then.”

He backed up and transformed again.

Then gunned his engine and headed for the shard.

0-0-0

It wasn’t as if he’d had dozens of friends in Praxus. He’d mostly played with his cousins. Even after he’d had to change schools in Praxus from the Academy with Smokescreen to the local Primary, the other sparklings had played with him.

So what if he was bigger? And faster? It was just how he was built! He hadn’t done it on purpose!

Up ahead was a perfect half curve set into the ground and - feeling strange and reckless - Prowl changed course and headed for it.

He went down and then he was flying -

He landed on two wheels and nearly lost control, but he didn’t slow down. There was something in his spark wanted out and he didn’t know what to do.

Creator never wanted to leave the habsuite anymore. He wouldn’t look their neighbors in the optics.

Carrier didn’t talk to them at dinner. He was trying to learn Hexian too, but Prowl didn’t think it was going well. His field felt like something Prowl didn’t have a name for.

He went faster.

He found a hill and raced up and down, doubling his speed on the downslope.

He didn’t fit in Polyhex. He wanted to. His doorwings were always sore. He didn’t understand any of the sparkling cartoons on the screen. He felt like he couldn’t move - like his spark was so cold he was frozen.

If he could just go faster - he could - he would - something would happen and his chest wouldn’t feel like it was full of glass.

There - a ramp!

He went up. He was flying.

He landed with a crunch.

0-0-0

The sky above him was darkening from faint pink to a bruised red. For a klik Prowl just laid there as his gyros spun. Then the pain hit.

“Cre!” he cried automatically, struggling to vent. The wind was louder. Stole his words away.

Prowl sobbed and stood up. It wasn’t fair! He was going to make it! He was going to outrun it.

He reached up and poked a wheel.

Fire licked up and down the axle in his shoulder.

“Ow,” he whimpered. He was glad the other sparklings weren’t there. He didn’t want them to see him cry.

The sky was still getting darker and making his plating cold. He started walking. He wanted to get to the shard. He wanted to look down the side and see if he could see straight down to Primus.

He scrubbed his face with his cleaning cloth and wiped his optics. His audials were ringing so he tried offlining them. It worked sometimes when his optics got tired.

The shard wasn’t even that far away! He’d get there and then he’d head back. By then no one would know he’d crashed.

The closer he got, the more the shard loomed over him. It was huge! He half sprinted the last part - jostling his sore axle - so he could touch it.

“Wow.”

The ground metal curled away from it like flower petals, like the crystals Creator kept alive in the habsuite. Prowl reached out and touched one - it was nearly as big as Creator!

Now he just had to find a way to get up there. He circled the shard - there!

One of the splits in the ground was low enough for him to use as a hold.

He slipped his pede in and heaved himself up, servos scrabbling for something to hold onto above him. He grabbed a splitter of metal, long worn smooth, and pulled himself up to the next pede place.

He could see the edge! Was that light coming out? He strained, feeling his shoulder burn, to reach just a bit higher -

Bah-Boom!

The world shook.

Prowl lost his grip.

Prowl hit the ground and screamed, but couldn’t hear it. He was dying - he was dead - he was in pieces -

The wind was so strong it stung. When had it gotten that strong? Something wasn’t right!

Prowl onlined his audials and the world roared. He looked back, across the plains to where the buses were -

Half of them were gone. He could see small dots running. He could hear the siren of the storm warning.

He could see now, the storm clouds billowing black and purple across the plains, coming towards him.

He scrambled up, clawing at the ground, and ran.

He had to transform!

His frame shook and he fell down. Something was broken.

He ran. He stared at the running dots - were they getting bigger? Was he getting closer?

His pedes ate up the ground - he couldn’t feel them. It felt like he was gliding.

The storm was almost over his helm now and the buses were still so far away!

“Bellcurve!” he screamed - they would come get him! They would!

The storm crashed down and Prowl saw the dots disappear in the rain and wind and dust.

Prowl dove for one of the divots and tried to hide, but the winds were too strong and within a klik, he was blown away.

0-0-0

Prowl couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. The wind was lifting him - he didn’t know -

He couldn’t see.

“Cre! Cari!” he screamed. They would come get him - someone would find him - he wasn’t going to -

He saw the ground and the relief hit him a klik before the ground did.

0-0-0

Someone was wailing.

“‘S alrigh’! Please don’ cry!”

Oh.

He was wailing.

“Cre!” He wanted his creators. He wanted to go home!

He was face down on the ground and everything hurt. A servo touched his back and it was like being set on fire.

“We’re safe! Ya safe! Ya gotta stand up ‘ cause Ah can’ drag ya. Please.” A sob.

Prowl online his optics. The air was thick with clouds and rain, but he could see vague outlines and shapes. The wind was still strong enough that each droplet felt like a needle pinging off his plating.

There was another sparkling, leaning over him.

“We’re inna pocke’,” the other sparkling said, wiping his face. He had a visor that had broken off on one side. It jostled when he scrubbed at his optics. “‘S calm now, but it’ll pick up again. We gotta move. Please?” The sparkling was venting fast, speaking fast, and shaking slightly.

Prowl rolled over and got to his servos and knees.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m coming.” He stood up slowly.

Everything ached.

“Where are we going?” Prowl asked, sniffling. His legs were shaking and his helm hurt. The ground beneath him was littered with damp metal shavings and silica dust mud. It was smeared across his chassis and over his face.

“We’re nearly ta the caves, we’ll hide out there. This way!”

The other sparkling turned and started to walk in a random direction. Prowl strained his optics, but he couldn’t see anything that way. He might be leading him directly into the storm again.

He followed.

“Mah Uncle says the teachers are idiots for comin’ out today. Says citybots don’ know their helm from their - um. He says anyways.” The other sparkling chattered like a cybersong bird, but his voice shook and he was still venting too fast - Prowl couldn’t get his own venting to draw in enough air to cool off his throbbing spark.

“I didn’t know there was a storm,” Prowl said, his vocalizer shaking. “I didn’t hear the sirens and I was too - too far away.” He wrapped his arms around his torso.

“Ah felt it!” the other sparkling chirped, leaping over a crack as wide as he was tall.

“You felt it?” Prowl edged his way around the crack and tried not to look down. The crack wasn’t very wide to him. Prowl could probably have hopped over it if he wasn’t so tired.

“Mmhmm.” The sparkling turned and smiled. “‘S a bit weird, Ah know. The rest of mah village think ’s weird, but - Ah feel the storms comin’.”

The both looked back - the wall of purple clouds and black rain looked farther away.

“All the Polyhexians think I’m weird,” Prowl said. The other sparkling’s face lit up and his optics flashed even bluer behind the visor.

“So we’re the same! Wanna be friends?” He slowed down to walk next to Prowl.

“Yes.”

“Okay! What’s ya name?”

“Prowl.”

“Ah’m Jazzy! Ah like singin’ ‘n dancin’ n playing the flute!”

Ahead of them Prowl could just make out a tall hill.

“Is that the caves?”

“Yep!”

“What’s a flute?” he asked.

“‘S a pipe wit’ holes innit tha’ ya blow inta. It sounds pretty.”

“You make music?”

“Yep! Wanna hear meh sing?”

“Okay.”

Jazzy started singing and while Prowl didn’t really understand the words, he felt the song somewhere in his spark.

They were nearly to the caves, Prowl could see the dark holes in the side of the hill. He looked back -

The storm was closer now.

“Hurry!” He grabbed Jazzy - ow! His arm hurt! - and tugged him forwards.

“Ah’m comin’ Ah’m comin’! Don’t hafta yank mah servo off,” Jazzy grumbled starting to jog. “Go up, ta the one that’s a lil’ wonky shaped.”

Up and to the left was an irregular hole, flatter than the others. They started walking up to it and them started climbing with their hands and feet.

“In!” Jazzy said and crawled into the opening. Prowl followed.

It was big enough that he could sit without bumping his helm and he didn’t need to pull his doorwings in, but it was still small.

“Are we safe in here?” he asked, pressing himself against the back wall.

“Yeah. Opening ’s too small for the wind ta ge’ in and ‘s pointed down, so the rain won’ flood us. Ah’ve ridden storms out in here ‘fore. Come one an’ see!”

Jazzy hadn’t left the entrance. He was sitting, cross-legged, watching.

“I don’t think -” Prowl said, looking down at his servos, clamped on his knees. He didn’t want to get too close and if something happened -

“Come on! It’s safe. Promise.” He waved Prowl closer.

Prowl…wanted to sit next to his friend.

He inched over and sat down across from him. Jazzy smiled at him and looked back out.

The storm was a writhing, living thing out on the plains. The winds rippled the clouds into bizarre shapes that looked like faces and tentacles and grasping servos.

Prowl shivered.

I was in that, he thought. He looked over at Jazzy, grinning out at the storm.

And now I’m not.

“The song is about being alone, isn’t it?” Prowl said, pulling his knees up to rest his chin. “I don’t know the words, but…it’s about being all alone and wanting to find your family?”

“Kinda,” Jazzy said. “Wish Ah had mah flute. ‘S abou’ mah family lookin’ for others on the Plains. Abou’ losing bots ya love out here. Abou’ bein’ thrown outta ya home. Yeah, abou’ being alone.” For the first time Jazzy was quiet.

“I’m alone,” Prowl said. “None of the other sparklings like me. I sound weird and I’m too big to play with them.”

Jazzy sat up straighter and growled. His broken visor wobbled precariously.

“Ya sound fine ta meh! An’ Ah’m a musician! Ah oughta know better ‘n some citybots!”

He looked so - so angry that Prowl burst into giggles.

He reached out and poked Jazzy.

“You’re right!

Jazzy winked. “Ah’m always right.”

They watched the storm until it was on them and then Jazzy tugged him to the back of the cave where they waited as it whistled past.

It wasn’t scary. He was safe and he wasn’t alone.

Jazzy tried to tell him jokes, but Prowl didn’t understand them, which made them both laugh even more. Prowl told him about the crystals he was trying to grow at home. Jazz taught him how to sing.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he said without thinking about it.

Jazzy stopped mid-joke and stared at him.

“Ah am?”

Prowl nodded quickly “You’re nice and smart and funny and you tried to teach me how to sing! You’re the best!”

“Ya mah best friend too,” Jazzy said, suddenly shy. Then he tugged on Prowl’s servo and pulled him into a hug.

They both screamed and leapt apart.

It was like being electrocuted!

“Wazzat?” Jazzy asked, scrambling away. “Tha’ hurt!”

“I - I don’t know,” Prowl said, looking around. “It felt like the time I put my finger in the wall outlet. Ow.”

“Felt like bein’ struck by lightnin’” Jazzy said, rubbing up and down his arms. “Like when Ah was a bitty and Carrier n’ meh got hit.” He shook himself. “Is mah plating smokin’ or arcin’?”

Prowl reached out and pulled Jazz closer.

“I can’t really see, but you look okay. Me?”

“Ya look fine too. Weird.”

Prowl looked down at his frame again - he didn’t see anything through the fog. Maybe it was just static from the storm? They’d learned about that in science.

“Wanna hear one abou’ a mech an’ his three hats?” Jazzy asked, settling back against his side of the cave.

Prowl laughed.

0-0-0

Finally, Jazzy declared it safe to go back out.

“Ah can feel it leavin’,” he said as he poked his helm out. “‘S still a little wet and ‘s rainin’, but we’ll be fine. Come on!”

Prowl watched him slide down the hill into the thick purple fog.

He stuck out a servo. The rain wasn’t painful anymore and the wind was slower.

“Coming!”

They passed the shard and Jazzy said his creator told him the shard was from Primus’s helm poking a hole in the surface.

The fog was clearing slowly and Prowl found that he didn’t want it to. He felt happy, walking with Jazzy through the haze of rain.

“Ah’ll walk ya as far as the little roofs an’ we’ll see if ya teacher’s there. Kay?” Jazzy said when Prowl pointed out the first little dip where he’d nearly crashed.

“Okay.”

Despite everything…Prowl was happy. He had a friend! He couldn’t wait to tell Carrier and Creator! He swung their joined servos as they walked.

“What’s your favorite fuel?” Prowl asked, wincing as his doorwings fluttered.

“Berried Energon!”

“What’s that?”

“Ya take energon and ya make it inta these lil’ balls an’ -”

They talked about energon and music and stories until the road came into sight.

“Lookit!”

Some of the buses were still there, parked underneath the pavilions. A few of the sparklings were standing under the pavilions and some of the teachers were walking around too. There was even a medical transport there with the back doors open and bright white medics walking from bot to bot.

Jazzy stopped.

“Ah gotta go,” he said, looking away, his face sad. “Ya can go ahead and Ah’ll head home from here.”

“But -”

But Jazzy probably had family waiting for him too. He wondered which pavilion they were parked under.

“Okay. I’ll get Carrier to call your Creators and we can play together again.”

Jazzy smiled and nodded.

“Um, yeah. Call us.”

Prowl’s spark felt as light as helium. He had a friend!

Prowl let go of Jazzy’s servo and started for the buses. What was he going to say? He was probably in trouble. Again.

He turned and waved good-bye one more time to the shrinking figure of Jazzy. He waved back too.

The sky was getting lighter and Prowl was starting to pick out different people up ahead. As he trudged towards the road, the silica mud starting to cake on his pedes, a familiar figure came into view.

“Teacher Bellcurve!” Prowl shouted, tears springing to his optics at the sight of her. He was safe. “I’m here! Teacher!” He bolted for her looking over his shoulder one more time at Jazzy, who was a small stick now, very far away.

“Prowl? Prowl! You’re safe!” She rushed forwards as well and then stopped.

“Teacher -” She stood rigidly, holding up a servo, her face horrified.

“Prowl, what did you do?” She was backing away.

“Teacher?”

“Medic!” she yelled. “Medic!”

One of them rushed over and gasped when he saw Prowl. The two spoke quickly in Hexian. Prowl’s spark hurt.

What was wrong?

Prowl looked behind him to call out to Jazzy and caught sight of his own servo.

There, still bubbling on the edges, was new paint. Five sweeping parallel lines wrapping around his palm and moving in a squiggly wave down his arm.

“What?” he whispered, turning his arm. He looked down. His legs and pedes had paint too - swirls and dots and tiny stars.

“Come here,” the medic ordered, jerking Prowl’s attention back.

“No, wait -”

His spark was burning now. Jazzy was leaving!

He turned to -

The medic grabbed him and he screamed.

“NO! JAZZY! JAZZY! LET ME GO!” Prowl kicked and thrashed. He slammed one doorwing into the medic’s helm and he was dropped. Before he could race back out, another medic grabbed him.

Jazzy was getting farther away -

“NO!”

0-0-0

When Prowl’s creators had picked him up, sobbing inconsolably, fresh spark-paint still sizzling its way over his frame, they hadn’t known enough of the language to find the other sparkling.

They’d just grabbed him and held him as his spark shattered at having its other half pulled away.

By the time they’d started trying to find the other sparkling, it had been vorns and the cheap neighborhood had turned into a slum.

Polyhex was such a cramped city that getting your spark-paint early wasn’t a big deal. Not like it was in Praxus.

Getting your spark-paint in the middle of a Great Plains storm was a big deal.

For the next twenty vorns, no one in the neighborhood spoke to Prowl and his family except to do business or teach. They eventually moved back to an even worse area in Praxus where Prowl’s spark-paint was looked at with pity. At least Prowl understood why. At least bots talked to them. At least Prowl’s creators could speak Praxian again, although Prowl found that he had gained an accent.

As an adult, one of Prowl’s colleagues from Polyhex had explained some of the superstitions to him.

Bots who got lost on the plains and came back with spark-paint, she’d explained, were marked by the Plains demons.

She’d apologized twice before he could get her to tell him what that meant.

Apparently, it meant that the demons wanted to use him to lure others out onto the plains to eat. Or that they were turning him into a demon. Or that he was doomed to become a demon when he died and bring forth a plague.

There was, she explained, also a heavy dollop of frame prejudice since the most likely bots to get lost in the desert were travelers. Having a sparkmate that wasn’t Hexian was frowned upon and had once also been a sign of being a demon.

She apologized twice more.

Praxus, once their neighbors had realized his sparkmate was a Poly, had added that to their reasons to hate him as well.

Going to live with Uncle Magnus in Iacon had been like stepping into a new life. Sure, it meant new people seeing and noticing his spark-paint, but Iacon was a modern city and a mixed one. There were no superstitions about his paint. He saw bots of every age and frame type with spark-paint. Some - like Orion - had more than one layer. He’d met a shuttle that had been nearly covered in his.

The librarian at the Iacon Archives had beautiful scroll work. He’d had two sparkmates- though he wouldn’t talk about them. The iridescent swirls across this plating clearly represented two distinct personalities - one sharp and bold, the other softer and slower.

He didn’t talk about it.

Prowl spent a lot of time with Orion as he was growing up. Orion Pax never made Prowl feel weird for already having his spark-paint and he gave Prowl hope.

The chances of finding the mechling he’d hidden with that day were slim. Orion Pax gave Prowl hope that there might be a second sparkmate out there waiting for him. He might not be alone forever, wearing the paint of a stranger.

It had all happened so long ago that Prowl found he rarely thought about it.

It was strange to see Polyhexians - and not the metropolitan ones that he worked with, who barely spoke Hexian and at most lit a candle for Ancestors’ Day - Polyhexians that had never learned Standard - had probably never left Polyhex before.

Looking back…Prowl had done most of his growing up in Polyhex. He’d been a teenager when they’d moved back to Praxus and newly an adult when they’d moved to Iacon.

He shook himself.

“I’ll need to take individual statements,” he said to the waiting band. “I’ve already sent the local officers a message to pick up Wirecutter, the mech you’ve indicated as the shooter. Who first?”

“Me!” said the femme with the hat - Riccochet.

“Thank you, please tell me about -”

“Ya paint is Ol’ Hexian,” she interrupted him, looking him up and down. “Where didja meet one ‘a us?”

Prowl froze. In Iacon it wasn't polite to ask about spark-paint. Too many different cultures mixing meant it was better to err on the side of caution.

“Excuse me?”

The femme frowned and put a servo on her hip.

“Ol’ Hexian. They jus’ gave us all “citizenship status.” Meh ‘n my cousin are Ol’ Hexian, the Plains People. Use ta call us demons. Ah didn’ know any a’ them had come ta Iacon.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. My spark-paint is none of you business,” Prowl answered stiffly. This was too much like going back in time. All he needed was Teacher Bellcurve to come correct his grammar and scold him for squirming.

“Oh. Sorry. Jus’...’s weird, ya know? Ain’t seen tha’ paint on anybody, but another Ol’ Hexian. Ever.” She put her elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her cupped servo like they were gossiping younglings. “Maybe it jus’ looks like it? Ah’ll ask mah cousin. He knows ALL about spark-paint.”

Prowl concentrated on not letting his annoyance show.

“Back to your statement. Your cousin was the one that was shot, correct? But he was not seriously injured?”

“Just a glance off his hard helm from an angry rival - but we ain’t lettin’ it go just because we ain’t locals!” she insisted. “Next thing ya know they’ll be wreckin’ our instruments. Jazz‘d be a lot madder if they broke his flute.”

“Jazz?”

It couldn’t be.

“Yep! Stage name is Zigzag right now, but he’ll always be lil’ Jazzy ta me!” She smiled.

Prowl dropped the datapad he held.

“Hey! What -”

Prowl was out the door.

0-0-0

“Sir! Wait -!”

Prowl knocked the patrolbot AND the nurse over and wretched open the door.

There was a mech on the berth - tall for a Polyhexian, silver and gray with blue and red and a bright blue visor. He sat forwards and shot Prowl a quizzical look.

“Need anythin’ officer?” he asked.

Across his plating was Praxian spark-paint - Prowl’s spark-paint. Long lines that crept down the mech’s forearm in the vague shape of a sword, a thick maze on each shin that looked like Prowl’s armor, and a delicate spray of abstract crystals up the side of his helm, disappearing in the bandages.

Curled down his back was the unmistakable outline of Prowl’s sparklinghood doorwings.

“Jazzy.”

“Yeah, tha’s meh -” He stopped.

“Prowl?”

Prowl nodded.

“I looked for you for vorns before we had to leave Polyhex,” Prowl said. Was his voice shaking? Everything else was. “I could never - you lived out in the plains? The femme called you Ol-Hexian? I didn’t know.”

“Ah looked for ya too.” Jazz disconnected his visor and his optics were as bright blue as they’d been that day

Prowl walked over and sat in the chair by the berth. Jazzy was looking at him - Jazzy was looking at him.

Jazzy.

He held out his servo and Jazzy took it.

“You look….”

Jazzy grinned and it was exactly the same.

“Ah look like the pit, mech. Come here.”

Then Jazz and he were spark to spark, holding on as if they’d never been parted.

#transformers #maccadams #maccadam #transformers fanfiction #jazz x prowl

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merakiui · 4 years

Text

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat.

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances.

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?”

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?”

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus.

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?”

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist.

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells.

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary.

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting.

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions.

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color.

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.”

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast.

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

#genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact albedo #albedo x reader #yandere albedo x reader #genshin impact albedo x reader #yandere genshin impact albedo #yandere albedo #albedo #genshin impact fanfic #he's so handsome :0 #in writing this i hope it will bless me with luck

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)

Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.

A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…

Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!

Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults

They like playing dress-up.

With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.

Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.

She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.

Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.

Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.

Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.

The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.

The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.

This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.

It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.

Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”

“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.

…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“

“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”

His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“

“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”

You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—

“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”

“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.

“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.

Silver and white. Always silver and white.

Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.

You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.

You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”

You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.

“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.

///

They end up ripping the dress.

You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.

They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.

You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.

By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.

As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.

Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”

Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”

“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”

“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.

Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.

Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.

They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.

“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.

“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.

Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”

Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.

True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”

While we fuck her.

He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.

“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”

A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.

It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.

“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.

“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.

“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”

“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?

You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.

Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”

Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.

Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.

She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.

“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

“…Yes.”

“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”

Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.

The wolves.

“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.

///

Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.

She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”

“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.

“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.

“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.

The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.

“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.

Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”

“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.

Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“

Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”

She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.

“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—

but you can’t.

“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.

He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.

“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.

“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.

“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.

You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.

You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.

Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”

“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.

You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”

“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”

All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”

“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”

“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.

“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?

Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.

“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”

With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”

“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”

You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.

You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.

Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.

“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.

“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.

You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.

The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.

“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."

“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”

“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”

Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”

They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.

You want to be theirs.

“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.

“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.

You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—

“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“

fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—

Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,

too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”

You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.

“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”

Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.

You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“

“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”

Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”

Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”

Kitten.

Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.

It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”

It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…

…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.

You’re their pet.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #lev haiba x reader #alisa haiba x reader #yandere haikyuu #haiba lev x reader #haiba alisa x reader #yandere haikyuu x reader #lev haiba #haiba lev #alisa haiba #haiba alisa #haikyuu #lev x reader #alisa x reader #haikyuu spoilers #hq x reader #hq imagines #yandere

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Note

Could I ask for a request where the reader is a private eye? She was hired by the families of those who ‘went missing’ in Santa Carla. The boys are naturally very curious when they meet the ‘cute detective’ but they think she’s harmless. Their perception changes when they find her one night killing a vampire who was passing through town. That’s when they realise that she’s not just a mere detective. She’s also a vampire hunter. But, instead of fearing for their lives they are very much aroused.

I love this concept so much!!! I listened to Private Eyes by Hall and Oates for inspo for this just fyi for those that like to listen and read :)) Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy :))

Private Eyes, Watching You (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: blood, gore, character death, vampire typical violence, vampire hunter typical violence, pre-emerson au

Word Count: 1.1k

The boys could spot a cop, or anything of the sort, with their eyes closed. You did a good job of blending in though. You wore casual clothes, too casual even for someone undercover, and it only took a few glances for Marko to lean in to David and say,

“She’s probably not even SCPD.” But David didn’t respond. His eyes narrowed, and he let the cigarette pass from his lips to his fingers. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he was looking you over. He thought that would make him seem even more suspicious. Instead, he stared at you as he might any other girl your age. It helped him that the others seemed just as interested, though David was nearly sure that Paul didn't have his head in the right place.

SCPD, or the Santa Carla Police Department, was one thing. Someone private? That was another. But, that meant that you probably didn’t have access to any case files, and the best you’d get was from whoever hired you, newspapers, and witnesses. The boys never left any witnesses, so that was one thing they didn’t have to worry about. David let a plume of smoke leave his lips, and he nodded towards the bikes.

It’d been decided. You weren’t a threat, and your trail would run cold sooner rather than later. They wouldn’t even bother their sire with the news of your arrival. As far as they were concerned, and they weren’t, it’d be a few weeks of a waste of time for you. And, if you just so happened to be more trouble then you were worth, they knew what to do.

For now, they just had to keep an eye on you. And, with how easy on the eyes you were, none of them had any complaints.

***

You pushed the body off the end of your stake, a small look of disgust on your face at the blood staining it. It glittered in the night, as if the fangs and yellow eyes hadn't been enough proof of the creatures lack of humanity.

You sighed, pulling out a cloth to wipe off the wood. You watched as the being in front of you caught fire, and then turned to dust. When the wood was finally clean of anything that hadn't already stained it, you put it back into your jacket.

You'd expected there to be something supernatural in the area. All the missing posters? That level of a body count? Even a serial killer wouldn't have that type of appetite for death. You looked at the pile of ash resembling a human body, glancing around and over your shoulder. You hadn't even been sure of what had been plaguing Santa Carla, but now that you knew it was vampires? You were sure that there had to be more. Maybe a mate, if not a coven.

There was no way that the creature you'd killed had wracked up such a body count. And that low-life? It wasn't nearly as clean as the evidence had suggested. There had been no bodies found, at least nothing that had been identifiable. There had to be more, others that cleaned up after their messes. Someone smarter. And yet? Nothing was attacking you. Trying to avenge their fallen comrade or lover. The night was quiet, the roll and crash of waves far off but still within earshot. You touched your bottom lip as you thought, walking towards the mouth of the alleyway and back towards the light of civilization.

It didn't make sense. None of it did. And you weren't going to leave until it did.

***

The boys stared in silent apprehension. They'd been watching you for two days. Two days. That's how long it took for you to track one of them. And it'd only taken about two minutes for you to drive a stake through their heart. You were surprisingly effective, stronger and faster then they'd expected you to be.

The boys hung in the air, high above where you could see them but close enough where they could see you. They were silent as they watched you walk back towards the light, back into the seamless crowd of the city of Santa Carla. You rejoined it as if you hadn't just taken a life, a life potentially older than you'd ever know, and walked around as if nothing had happened.

Paul let out a low whistle, finally breaking the silence that had settled over them.

"Shit. Is it bad that I think that was kinda hot?" He asked. Dwayne scoffed and shook his head, David rolled his eyes, but Marko was the only one to voice his agreement. The rest had planned on ignoring it.

"I mean- When she threw him over her shoulder?" He said, and Paul's face lit up in the dark. He reached for the other boys jacket, excitement clear in his voice as he said,

"And, like, that moment where he had her in a chokehold? I thought she was done for sure, but-" David couldn't believe what he was hearing. They were talking about you as if you were some action star, their very own Sarah Connor.

"Will you two shut up? She's a hunter." David reminded, and both of them fell silent. But, the second they shared a silent glance, the bleached blonde knew this conversation was going to continue the second they were alone. David rubbed his temple, looking down at where you'd disappeared in the crowd. It wasn't that he didn't agree with them. It had been surprising to say the least when he'd watched you take down that passerby through their territory.

There was something about how relentless you'd been, the aura of confidence, not arrogance, that you'd succeed. The need for survival and the ability to do it. It was something vampires looked for all the time, but usually when they wanted to strengthen their numbers.

David pushed away the thought before it could properly take root. You were a problem. Officially. And he wasn't going to solve it in a way that would end up with him on the sharp end of a stake. It just didn't help that Dwayne had said,

"She is already a killer." And, while the blondes may not have caught on immediately, David knew exactly what he was suggesting. David glanced over at him in the dark, and then over at Hudson's Bluff.

They already had enough halves, but maybe Dwayne was onto something. They always needed more numbers, people that wouldn't shy away from violence. That did what they needed to do to guarantee their own survival. David was always good at manipulation, and sometimes all people needed was to be pointed in the right direction. And, if David wasn't still considering the fact that they'd probably die in the process of even trying to turn you into a half, he would've gotten the ball rolling that very night. There were still more things to consider, too many unanswered questions as to how much you knew.

So, instead, he tilted his head back towards the cliffs. The plan hadn't changed. They were just going to watch.

For now.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys david #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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ibelongtowrath · 4 years

Text

Hot Springs - Lucifer x Reader

Warnings // 18+/NSFW, praise in the form of “good girl,” oral sex, female reader Word count: 2.6k

Happy hot springs theme day 💦 Here’s another Lucifer piece about getting eaten out at the hot springs because horny writing brain go brrrr. I hope you enjoy. I am also terrible at coming up with titles

I can’t sleep.

You groan inwardly and sigh, turning your body to stare at the ceiling, your eyes practically glazing over. To your left, Mammon snores loudly; a sound akin to a chainsaw, and something you didn’t even think he was capable of.

“Ya gotta sleep next to me, MC! If any of my brothers even try to touch a hair on your head, I’ll kill ‘em.”

“Fine, fine,” you agreed hurriedly, already pulling the blanket over your head, gripped with exhaustion. “Goodnight, Mammon.”

I should have brought fucking ear plugs.

You roll over to your right side, where Levi sleeps peacefully, clutching his Ruri-chan body pillow close to his chest. You’re pretty sure you can hear him mumbling her name every so often, and your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, knowing that the likelihood of actually achieving a deep, restful sleep is growing lower by the second as you inhale deeply.

With a groan, you rise, feet padding softly across the smooth, wooden floor. Perhaps a soak in the onsen would make you drowsy and relaxed enough to actually be able to sleep through all the surrounding noise. Grabbing a towel and pausing briefly before leaving the room, you look down at yourself. A minuscule, though beautifully ornate silk robe barely covers your naked body; although it was customary to enter the hot spring completely nude, you couldn’t help but feel extremely self-conscious. Thankfully, Diavolo had rented out the entire place for the night, so no other beings were there, save for the demon brothers.

And, thankfully, everyone else was still asleep. As much as you love the demon brothers, sometimes it felt amazing to have a few waking moments to yourself, and the idea of spending that alone time in a steamy, relaxing hot spring? Bliss.

Carefully opening the sliding doors leading to the spring, careful to not wake anyone, you step out into the onsen. Steam rises steadily from the hot water, caressing your face as a slight breeze carries wisps of it towards you. The tension already begins to loosen from your neck and shoulders, taking in the sights of the artfully-placed rocks and trees around you. Slowly, you walk towards the stone steps leading into the water and dip your feet in, testing the temperature. Perfect.

You look back over your shoulder for a brief moment before you begin to untie your robe and open the front. Despite the warmth radiating from the water, a shiver passes through your body at the sudden exposure to the still slightly cool night air. You shrug the robe the rest of the way off, folding it carefully and setting it on a nearby bench, along with the towel.

Knowing it is customary to be clean before entering the spring, you wash off at the bathing station situated near the sliding doors, careful to remove any traces of soap before finally stepping into the hot spring. A deep, satisfied sigh escapes you as your body submerges beneath the warm, tranquil waters. Steam rises up towards you and your eyes close as you sit, tipping your head back to rest against the side of the spring. Your face turns up to the perpetually night sky of the Devildom, the light of the moon illuminating everything around you in an almost ethereal glow; stars, scattered across the sky, glitter like moon dust, looking almost as if they’re sparkling.

“Are my brothers causing mischief, my dear MC?”

The voice rings out, disturbing your fleeting serenity as you startle with a gasp. Your eyes open quickly and you look around in a panic for the source of the mysterious voice before your gaze settles on the demon standing at the edge of the spring, wrapped in a short, blue robe.

“L-Lucifer?” you manage to gasp in surprise. “I thought you were asleep. What are you-”

“I should be asking you the same question, my dear. Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?” Lucifer retorts. He can sense your shock, and he smirks inwardly, keeping his expression neutral.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you mumble. “Mammon snores like a chainsaw, Levi was having dreams about doing who knows what to his body pillow, and I just...wanted to relax…”

“An excellent place you’ve chosen to come to do so, then. Although we are in the Devildom, Lord Diavolo had to have an onsen of our own developed after experiencing a traditional one in your world, in Japan. The waters here are not geothermal as they naturally are in Japanese onsens; however, magic can replace virtually anything we are unable to replicate. The effects are still much the same, as evidenced by your relaxed state before I, unfortunately, disturbed you.”

The smirk tugs Lucifer’s lips upwards, though he quickly replaces it with a chuckle and a cordial smile, his eyes closing briefly before they open again, setting his intense crimson gaze upon you. Realizing you are fully naked beneath the steaming water, the blood rushing to your face and making the temperature of the water seem almost chilly in comparison to the heat in your cheeks. Thankfully, the water is opaque, masking your nudity, though you can’t help but squeeze your legs together and crossing your arms over your chest in a feeble attempt to mask the fact.

Lucifer chuckles softly once more, moving to loosen the strings of his robe.

“Would you mind if I join you, MC? It seems I am in need of some relaxation as well,” he asks, his voice a low timbre, as though teasing in its slight lilt. “Though it is not customary for men and women to bathe together in Japanese hot springs, we do not typically adhere to that rule here. Of course, I will respect your wishes if you decline and wish to bathe privately.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” you stutter in response. “Feel free.”

“As you wish, then.”

Your eyes widen, gaze transfixed as Lucifer finally loosens the knot holding his robe together in the front. The silken, azure fabric hangs loosely on either side, and the prideful demon smirks once more, noting your enraptured attention. Teasingly, he slides the robe off his well-defined shoulders, pausing to tilt his head and flash you a knowing smile.

“Enjoying the view?” he purrs.

With a loud cough and a swallow, you turn your head to gaze directly in front of you, studying the intricate shrubbery and not dignify his remark with a response.

Don’t look, don’t you dare look.

The heat rushes back to your cheeks and you force yourself to tilt your head back, only relaxing when you hear Lucifer step into the spring. Bringing your head back forward, you see him seated across from you in the steaming waters, a wolfish grin on your face.

“I should come here more often,” Lucifer remarks casually. “It is absolutely lovely not to have someone getting into trouble and disturbing my peace and quiet.”

He’s naked under the water. Naked. I wonder what he-

You feel your body tense at the intrusive thought and are unable to stop yourself from groaning softly, clapping a hand over your mouth as you realize you’ve completely given yourself away. Lucifer’s grin deepens, and he leans forward as those beautiful, deep garnet eyes bore into yours.

“You look a bit tense there, my dear,” he coos. “I can offer a shoulder massage if you’d like.”

“Oh, u-um… that would be nice,” you admit.

“Come a bit closer then, my dear. I may be a strong demon, but even I cannot stretch my body that far,” he teases.

Nodding slowly, you rise ever so slightly, keeping your arms tightly crossed in front of your chest and careful not to expose any more of your body from beneath the opaque water. Up close, you realize Lucifer is even more handsome, and you can feel your heart pounding beneath your rib cage, thump, thump, thump. You turn around, back facing him, grateful for the sounds of the small stream of water flowing steadily in a fountain by the spring masking the sound of your heartbeat, loud enough that surely he would be able to hear.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, moving closer. At the touch of his hands and the feel of his proximity, you start. Chuckling, Lucifer begins to knead the tense muscles with careful motions, using his thumbs to work out the tight knots he can feel beneath your skin.

“Uncross your arms for me, my dear,” he instructs. “You are carrying so much tension, and I cannot help you properly when you are not relaxed.”

With a sigh, you drop your arms to your sides, resting them in your lap. Lucifer’s touch is relaxing, satisfying, and you can feel the tension begin to melt from your shoulders as he continues to work the tender muscles. Blissfully, your head drops back, hair fanning out in the water as a soft groan, almost like a moan falls from your lips. The demon smirks as he continues his ministrations, moving even closer to you, though you barely notice the heat of his body nearly right against yours, your eyes closed in peaceful relaxation.

“That’s a good girl, stay just like that…,” he instructs.

Lucifer’s praise causes your heart to race even faster, your eyes opening as you feel your thighs pressing together. He notes your reaction, leaning forward to press a soft kiss into the delicate skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder. You shudder in pleasure, letting out a definite moan this time, finding yourself leaning back against him, your back nearly pressed to his chest. Grinning against your skin, he nibbles gently at first before biting down a bit firmer, his hands continuing their work on your shoulders.

“Such a good girl…”

Lucifer’s hands move from your shoulders to trace a path down the generous curve of your waist, his mouth finding purchase on your now relaxed shoulder as he presses another kiss there. One hand reaches up to thread his fingers into your hair lightly, tugging your head to the side before crashing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss, much like the water and the skin of your bodies. The kiss is deep, intimate; it speaks a thousand words full of want, of need, of dark desire without a single utterance. Your tongues dance with one another as soft gasps of pleasant surprise and arousal escape you and him, your thighs squeezing together under the water, now wet in more ways than simply being submerged beneath it.

Biting your lip and pulling away from the kiss, Lucifer’s hand moves to your bare breast, groping it lightly before rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger, savoring your sweet moans. His cock twitches, already hard and pressing against your back. Grinning, he tugs at your hair again, tilting your head back until you look up at him; eyes half-lidded, nearly glazed over and blown-out with lust.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” Lucifer teases. “I offer you a relaxing massage, and you turn it into anything but. I suppose I’ll have to find another way to ease the tension in your body. Especially-”

He pauses, moving his hands to caress the soft, fleshy skin of your inner thighs, briefly teasing a few fingers between your legs before pulling them away, relishing your lewd gasps.

“-right here. Yes, it seems you are very much still tense. My, my, we certainly will have to remedy that, won’t we, my naughty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, pressing your back harder against him.

Suddenly, you are teeming with need, nearly keening at the thought of having Lucifer between your legs. In one swift movement, he picks you up, quickly turning you around to lift you out of the water and set you on the side of the hot spring. Feeling the sudden difference in temperature, you shudder. Droplets of water glisten in the shining moonlight as they travel down your body. He grins at your shudder as he begins laying you back gently and spreading your legs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before biting down into the skin, pausing briefly to admire the indentation of his teeth that will surely welt and leave a mark behind later.

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ll be sure to warm you up,” Lucifer says, biting down once more. “Now, lay back and relax for me.”

Obeying his command, you lay your back flat against the cool stone, your heart continuing to thump like someone is revving an engine. Lucifer teases a few fingers between your legs, his thumb circling your swollen clit, eliciting a loud, lewd cry as he does so. Pressing a kiss to your pelvic bone, he gently sucks the skin into his mouth and biting into the skin there, intent on leaving more marks. He moves to the other side, repeating his actions before lowering himself down between your legs to your wet, dripping core, practically quivering in anticipation. He smiles before his tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your core until he reaches your clit, swirling it tantalizingly slow around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Lucifer’s lips close around it, sucking. Your back arches, reaching your hands forward to weave your fingers into his hair. Bucking your hips against his face, he smirks, moaning into your skin and continuing to suck on your clit, alternating between stimulating it with his tongue and lightly grazing his teeth across it.

“Good girl, so good for me,” Lucifer moans. “You taste so fucking sweet, pet.”

Sliding two fingers inside you, he curls and pumps them skillfully to press against your sweet spot. A louder, more high-pitched moan falls from your lips, taking his name with it as it echoes across the otherwise serene tranquility of the onsen.

“L-Lucifer- ah, it feels so good-”

Frantic with desire, you begin to roll your hips rhythmically towards his face, increasing the pressure of his tongue and fingers. Lucifer slides a third finger into you, desperately savoring the delicious sounds of your desperation as he, too, can’t stop himself from moaning into your skin. He laps at your sweet essence, eager to taste all of you, to wet his cock between your tight, warm walls and help ease his own tension between his hips, a fire stirring in his belly.

“Lucifer!” Crying out his name in a wanton gasp, you begin to feel yourself tighten around his fingers. “Lucifer, I-I’m going to cum-”

“Good girl,” Lucifer groans. “Cum hard for me, princess.”

His praise pushes you over the edge, immense pleasure washing over your body in waves as you writhe against the stone, arching your back. Your body jerks forward, slightly, and your lips part to scream in pleasure, his name falling from your lips over and over, growing in volume and pitch with every syllable. Grinning, Lucifer slowly slides his fingers out of you, pressing a kiss to your clit as he pulls back. You whimper at the loss of his fingers, aching for the sensation of him filling you once more. He reaches for your arm to slowly pull you up to a sitting position.

“Now…”

Standing from the water and moving his hands to your hips, he lifts you up to pull you close to him, hips perched on the edge of the spring against the rock. Your bare chests press together as he lifts your legs, resting them against his shoulders. He slides his cock into you with ease, and he groans, tipping his head back briefly at the feeling of your wet, warm heat gripping him so tightly. You moan, fingers curling against the wet stone beneath you as you finally gain the much-need stretch of his cock buried between your legs.

“I believe I have some tension of my own that needs to be worked out.”

#obey me #obey me lucifer #lucifer obey me #obeyme lucifer #lucifer obeyme #obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #lucifer swd #swd lucifer #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me lemon #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader

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hey-hamlet · 4 years

Text

BNHA AU Ideas : Your blessings are your curses.

Also on AO3

TL;DR:

Dead All Might acts as a guardian angel to this heroic quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

Your blessings are your curses:

TL;DR: Dead all might, acts as a guardian angel to this quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

So – In the fight between All for One and All Might six years before canon, All Might loses.

Not horribly. All for One is still left almost dead and retreats into hiding, but All Might falls unconscious never to open his eyes again, later dying of sepsis in the hospital. His eyes may never physically reopen, but he does awaken – translucent and noncorporeal.

For a while he doesn’t know if it’s a latent quirk, or maybe something All for One did as a final blow, but no – it’s One for All. One for All has a mind of its own and refuses to disappear until Yagi has found a successor. Not that Yagi knows that.

His old haunts are too painful to hang around, the whole nation is grieving for him and seeing that pain on his old friend's faces burns something fierce. So he does what he’s always done. He helps.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when his favourite hero dies. He sees how the nation is grieving and his desire to be a hero only burns brighter. The bullying he suffers worsens, hate crimes against the quirkless and those with ‘villainous’ quirks uptick. Japan isn’t a pillar of safety and security anymore – crime rates have risen to match or overtake worldwide averages.

Still, he feels almost, safer? He gets luckier – the book his classmate stole shows up in his bag by the next period, bullies trip more often, and sometimes as he runs from villain attacks or classmates with their quirks popping against the nape of his neck, he feels a broad hand push him forwards, giving him an extra burst of speed.

He decides it must be the All Might charm he bought the day before the news of All Might’s death broke. A small solid plastic charm meant for a phone with a bright yellow bell attached, along with a tag reading “I AM HERE”. He fills the bell with scraps of paper so no one can hear it ring as he holds it tight in his hand when he gets nervous.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when he is almost killed.

With All Might gone, organized crime spikes. Quirk trafficking rings spring up – very rare, but no less real. It’s one of these such rings that kidnaps Izuku on his way home from school. He awakens, sore and blurry-eyed in a warehouse with a half dozen other crying children. One by one they are forced to show off their quirks, to gauge their value.

Izuku has no quirk to show. He has no value to these people. They growl at him to stop playing around, to stop pretending to be a hero (his All Might charm is almost cutting into his hand from how hard he holds it. He needs his luck more than ever please all might save me one more time - ). He can't bring himself to shut his eyes as a flaming hand reaches towards his face.

For a moment it feels like he's being held. He feels safe.

A shockwave levels the warehouse, leaving he and the other children untouched, the villains buried in the rubble. Green sparks sink into his skin, dancing over the rapidly purpling bruises decorating his arm. He runs.

He comes back to himself in a park, sobbing and shaking, arms wrapped around his shaking form and an oddly familiar voice murmuring apologies and praise as a broad hand runs gently through his hair.

It seems One for All never needed DNA, only intent, to pass itself along. With the passing of the quirk, Yagi should have dissipated, but he refused, clinging to the child he’d accidentally burdened with his legacy, the same quirkless child he’d been playing guardian angel for all this time.

When Izuku sees All Might he freezes. It’s not All Might as he knew him, rather – this is the All Might that died. He’s translucent, faded around the edges, with a tattered and bloodstained costume, thick padded bandaging over his stomach hiding stiches staining to close infected wounds, doing little to stop the blood oozing through. Still – All Might’s eyes are bright blue and kind and his smile is as it always was. Izuku throws himself onto his hero and sobs.

All Might – Yagi, as he insisted Izuku call him – led him to the nearest police station, as he tried to explain what had occurred. It wasn’t easy considering Yagi didn’t seem to be sure himself, but Izuku was pretty sure the quirk he’d been accidentally gifted was sentient.

Izuku held his arms up to the sky, stretching his fingers to the pinpricks of light in the night sky. Sparks of glittering gold, green, white, blue and red jumped across his skin, like the static shocks he’d get when he wore his wool socks in bed, but less painful. They almost felt playful.

“What are they called?” Yagi looked at him, confusion clear on his face. One of his spikes of hair drooped, and if Izuku could ignore the dust and blood that ran through it it would almost be funny.

“They? My boy, do you mean the sparks? If so, they don’t have a name.”

Izuku frowned, letting his hand drop. He could feel the sparks gently brushing his injuries, almost soothingly. “No, I mean your quirk. They should have a name, they’re so nice to me.”

Yagi coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth, never to hit the ground. “One for All. It’s called One for All.”

Izuku’s frown deepened.

“All Might, mama says it’s rude to call someone an it.”

Inko is reunited with her only mildly injured son, now excitedly gushing about a quirk he’d somehow manifested. She privately thanks whatever spirit finally decided to smile upon her son, even if it took so long.

Their happiness doesn’t last long. Days later Izuku receives a summons to the head office. He freezes when he sees the police officer, Yagi’s comforting hand on his shoulder the only thing that keeps him from running.

It was a villain attack, the officer says with kindness so forced Izuku wants to cry. Yagi looks angry. If you’ll just come with us so we can get you to the safehouse with your mother –

Yagi almost growls with rage. “She’s lying.” He whispers, habit enforced despite the fact Izuku is the only person alive that can hear him. “Follow her out of the school then run” Izuku does exactly that, quirk sparking up his legs and pushing him forwards, down the familiar path to home. He takes the stairs six at a time, quirk chipping the edges of the concrete as he hurls himself forward.

Their apartment is in shambles, bookshelves tipped, small objects laying scattered on the floor, a pale arm laying limply from a half-open bathroom door.

Yagi pushes him out of the apartment and confirms the identity himself. He urges a sobbing Izuku to say his goodbyes to his mother’s corpse as they quickly gather all the money in the house, a few spare clothes and whatever food and water Yagi could knock down from the pantry shelves for him. Izuku crams it into his backpack as he sobs, Yagi guarding the entrance as he boils with rage and guilt.

He didn’t think All for One would find Izuku. He didn’t think he would even be looking. He was wrong and now his boy was paying the price.

So starts his time on the run.

He meets Shinsou first, saving him from some rubble in a villain attack. He meets him again later, battered and bruised – not from a villain, but from his foster parents. Shinsou joins him, no matter how Izuku explains hes in danger. Shinsou wants to be a hero, and if the only way he gets to be a hero is stubbornly keeping Izuku out of trouble? That’s not a bad trade-off, considering izuku was the first person to save him.

A little while later the two run into Shouto feverish and badly burnt and try to nurse him back to health as best they can. A few days in Touya and Toga run into their little camp guns blazing, expecting them to have kidnapped Shouto only to see Izuku patiently trying to feed him rice porridge with a veritable pile of ‘liberated’ fever reducers on the floor beside them.

They apologise but Shinsou and a still feverish Shouto refuse to talk to Touya or Toga for like three days bc they made Izuku cry.

They refuse to leave no matter how Izuku explains he has a centuries old villain after him. These kids are ride or die. So Hitoshi, Shouto and Izuku are like 9 and trying to learn what they can from libraries and newspapers, never settling down for too long. Toga (12) and Touya/Dabi (14) try and keep them all alive by working or stealing what they need to live. It doesn’t take long for them to evolve into a mini vigilante group.

Aizawa becomes familiar with the messy group of short vigilantes that seem to bounce from prefecture to prefecture every second day, to the point that the force is pretty sure one of them has a teleportation quirk because they don’t seem to have any kind of home base. He’s completely uninterested in trying to arrest them in the beginning – they aren’t hurting anyone and are not half bad at what they do.

That changes when he meets them.

Battered and bleeding out in a rainy alley with a villain looming over him with a knife, Aizawa is pretty sure this is the night he dies. The knife swings back, glinting in the streetlights as he tries in vain to scramble backwards with heavy limbs. It never connects. The villain jerks back as a brilliant blue plume of flame cuts him off, burning the tips of his hair. Not expecting backup the villain bolts. Aizawa feels small hands helping him into a sitting position – his stomach starts to sink. When the short masked figure with curly hair speaks he feels his heart turn to ice. The figure couldn’t be older than 11, probably closer to 10.

He wakes up in the hospital and he makes it his mission to save these kids.

Ghost All Might is having a rough time. His boy is in danger and the best he can do is rattle windows and trip sprinting villains. He can’t help them enough.

He has a plan though.

He warns Izuku that he’ll be gone for a while and to keep safe without him and he goes out scouting. Being invisible and impermeable is normally a curse but when trying to find a paranoid 200-year-old super villain? It’s pretty damn useful. It takes months but eventually he’s not only tracked down All for One’s main hideout he’s also memorised his schedule. It’s nothing impressive considering the man is still mostly bedbound after what All Might did to him, but he won't be a pushover. It’s a start, though.

Izuku cries tears of joy when he sees All Might again and cries even more when he shares what he found. It’s do or die time. He offers every one of his friends the chance to split now because there is a good chance they’ll die, but none of them wants to leave him. With that, he starts planning.

They’ll need Eraserhead, no bones about it. Without him, there would be no way to strike the final blow. They spend a few weeks refining their stealth then they seek Aizawa out.

They knew he’d have a price for helping them, but they never expected it would be so high, but simultaneously so kind. In exchange for his help and a vow of silence he wants each child to let him help them, to find them a safe place to live, a school to go to – a future. Izuku has spent his whole life being told he doesn’t have a future, from when he was diagnosed quirkless to the almost 2 years spent on the run from Japan’s most dangerous villain. He’s still not sure he’ll have one, even with All for One dead, but he knows he wants his friends to grow up happy and safe.

He accepts.

With Aizawa’s help, with Dabi and Toga clearing the way and Shinsou standing in the wings as the last resort, Izuku kills All for One as he sleeps. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just quiet footsteps, a sharp knife and shaking hands.

Aizawa is horrified this child just killed someone in front of him, but Izuku is sobbing and All for One is notorious in underground circles so he keeps his quirk up until the blood stops flowing from his neck. He takes the children and flees.

#bnha au #full au #your blessings are your curses au #all might #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #dabi #shinsou hitoshi #toga himiko

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years

Text

Marcus x F!Human Reader | A Tug of Fate | Wildest Dreams Taylor Swift Inspo Babble

TRIGGER WARNING: CANONICAL TALK OF WANTING TO UNALIVE DUE TO LOSS

CANON DIVERGENT: DIDYME IS NOT MURDERED BY ARO BUT KILLED IN RAID

It was a rather bleak day, granted every day was bleak if it was Marcus' opinion. He didn't need sleep, hadn't for the last six thousand years, though the last thousand had made him want to close his eyes and not wake up.

If he had his way-- which he wouldn't thank to his blasted-- loving-- albeit pushy brothers and sisters.

Marcus was of the mind that after living as long as he did, once you lost your anchor there was no point in one even being here. And ever since she was gone. Lost to him and the world in an array of violence and diamond dust ash. He hadn't had the ability to even fathom a world without her.

And so, he had trudged, along and quiet, alone and miserable, weighted by the thousands of years of killing, betrayal, ruling, and chaos. But the one thing that had been a constant was the sweetest voice in the world calling his name.

As he stared out at Volterra from his rooms, he exhaled an unneeded breath, it was utterly bleak-- truly so. How was he supposed to keep going, for what another thousand, maybe more if humans didn't obliterate them all with their nuclear nonsense.

Marcus leaned over and placed his head in his hands staring at his feet. There it was again that incessant tug that had been happening for the last three days, pulling out his window into the city.

A chain had formed and he had no concept as to where it would lead, this phantom taunting from his own gift. Ghosts of the past, perhaps he was finally losing it.

But then as he turned his head, a flash of a sound.

A bell like laugh followed by words of humor. "Come on, you can't even look in there? Awe! It's so beautiful! Hm...seems kinda familiar..."

The voice trails off-- and the jerk of the chain is painful.

The voice had sounded so disappointed.

Marcus glared at the silence outside his windows past the gardens he and his love had built to the wall where the voice taunted him. Beckoned him, called him like a sailor to the sea to drown his misery in waters of oblivion.

With more determination than he had in a millennia he strode into his closet and got ready in a flash.

---

Your hand traces the walls of the gigantic palace like structure, the stone feels-- hm, it's hard to place, in fact this entire place feels just-- familiar.

You had booked a trip out of sheer randomness, flinging a dart at the board and it had landed in Italy, bringing a bigger map you had flung another dart and here you were-- Volterra.

What were the odds that this place had been in your dreams?

No one knew, none of your tour group, none of the people who jostled you along because it was time to check out the plaza and shops.

"I wonder what was in there..." you mutter softly unaware of the eyes watching you carefully till you turn and see a shadow partially covered by a walkway, sunlight carefully filtering through the greenery and terracotta roofing. "Hello?" You call smiling at the tall figure. "Hi! uh sorry I don't speak Italian but are you needing anything?"

The shadow moves back a few steps. You frown, and shrug, "well okay! Bye-bye!" you wave and prance back to your group.

---

Marcus had paused, you were not what he was expecting. Watching you in a sun dress with the setting twilight of Volterra glittering off your bangles and sun kissed skin.

He knew you.

But did you know him?

He followed carefully, watching as your group circled the plaza and fountain. Your head turned and caught sight of him, and you froze. Blinking quickly as if to clear your head. "Hi there!" A beaming smile crossed your face, honey eyes gleaming. Oh he knew those eyes. It was impossible to miss the specks of brown and tawny spindles of circles that would glitter with happiness.

Not your red eyes...oh no...not yet...

But did you remember.... you were not who you were...you were a new person... not weighted down by the sorrows of the past, a second chance to a clean slate of happiness....was that the Gods designs?

Had you come back?

Marcus sees you step forward, "excuse me. Do you live here?"

I thought heaven can't help me now Nothing lasts forever....

But this is gonna take me down

----

Your stunned. He's utterly beautiful. A tragic beauty you think, Romanesque features, tall build and so utterly still like a Sentinal posted at the gates of eternity waiting-- what was he waiting for...

The man nods, "yes, I am." His voice is pitched deep enough to rattle in your ear drums, and strike something deep in your soul. You're confused for a moment.

"Oh! how lovely, it's a beautiful city! I was about to go to a tour of the--" you pointed at a lovely lady gathering people but he is suddenly right in front of you.

"That is not a good idea, I hear the tour is quite dull."

"Awe...but it's for the Palazzo..." you pout a bit, "is it really that dull?"

He's watching you, as if trying to figure something out, "that is actually where I work, would you like a private tour?"

You smirk, "You're not a serial killer are you?"

He bows, half at the waist, a elegant-- out of time-- movement as he offers you a hand, one that engulfs your hand entirely as it closes on your fingers. "You shall be in the best care cara mia."

You realize he's freezing, and something clicks, another thought that this feels all too familiar. Those onyx eyes, the soft smile on his lips, the light lingering in his gaze as he looks straight into your soul.

----

I can see the end as it begins My one condition is...

Marcus has given you a tour of the entire Palazzo, hanging to keep the guard and you separated, and you away from the throne room away from the screams.

But as he comes to the garden he pauses. You're chattering away asking so many questions and tugging on his sleeve. He smiles at the happiness you have-- the bond is there, the same....the bond he had missed, but it's stronger, it's pure and it isn't weighted by the tainting of sorrow or the ever present torture of wanting to leave immortality.

He couldn't make you happy....you had been so bereft with immortality.

How were any of them to know?

But now? Marcus watched as you perused the gardens smiling at all the flowers. The setting sun sparking off auburn and black in your hair.

You glanced over your shoulder at him and smiled.

Say you'll remember me standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your wildest dreams

----

---

"Can I ask you something?" you pause and glance at him.

"As I've said you may ask me anything and I shall answer it for you."

"You're going to think I'm crazy." You watch him pause, this mysterious guardian you've acquired. "D-do...do I know you?"

He raises a brow, but you can see it, the twitch of an emotion that is barely held in check.

"I... I feel like I do...and it's odd. I've never been here, I've never met you before but I--" you swallow feeling a deep welling of pain in your heart. "I missed you...." you don't understand and you feel tears clog your throat as you instinctively reach for him.

But he's caught your hand, a desperate, ecstatic look on his face. "I don't even know your name this time...." He whispers as he presses a cold kiss to your palm.

And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever....

but this is getting good now

"it's y/n..." you whisper.

A wide smile. "....little one....Do you remember my name?"

You pause, and the answer floats up to your lips like bubbling champagne from a uncorked bottle.

Sweet, drunken, loving, everything, nothing, the world, and the universe wrapped up in heart strings of red.

"Marcus...."

Suddenly you're embraced, a cold kiss to your lips and the empty ache that had presided your whole life in your heart--

Was suddenly gone.

#wildest dreams #Marcus Volturi #Babble Writing

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tardis-ghost-blog · 3 years

Text

Did that feel real to you? (Simm!Master x Reader)

Rating: E For explicit sexual content Summary: The Master and you share a dream. Literally.

-0oOo0oOo0oOo0-

Ever since he had found out that being near you caused the drums to be a tad bit quieter, the Master had hired you as his personal assistant. Most of the time you only had to tidy up on the Valiant now, or make him tea. And in return you allowed him to connect your minds every so often.

At first it had been a strange, almost frightening experience, but after a few times you came to enjoy it. Nothing was happening, you two only sat there, the Master with his hands around your head and sometimes his forehead on yours. And sometimes you just watched his face becoming calmer, peeked at his lips that were so close to yours...

You had quickly found out about the drums and about his origin. You also learned that he could become downright insane if the sound in his head became too loud. And those times frightened you, because you could never be sure what might happen.

So when he came in that day and you spotted his deranged look, you were already about to quickly leave the room. But he grabbed you, tried to drag you back into the room and managed. You still wanted to get away, only help him later, when things had calmed down.

But the Master caught you again, pushed against your shoulders, making you drop backwards, where your knee pits hit against something. You got out of balance, fell over the sofa rest and onto the soft fabric. The Master rushed to you, his eyes were dark, clouded by madness. Hastily you got to your elbows and crawled backwards a bit, but he was already at your side, knelt in front of the sofa to grab your head within in hands.

"Make it quiet," he demanded and brushed his mind against yours, not waiting for your barriers to loosen, but simply tearing them down.

You couldn't hold back a sob as you felt his energy surging through your head. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, but one that made you feel so horribly vulnerable. And it drained you like nothing you had ever experienced before. The few times you had shared minds hadn't been that intense, not that forceful. Not so desperate.

Tiredness overcame you, no matter how hard you tried to fight it. A silent battle, you lying stretched out on that sofa, him kneeling next to you, shivering as if it were ice cold in the room. The image faded, slipped away into a black void.

"'M sorry," you heard the Master whisper, his voice strangely clear and free of the previous madness. "I need this. Just for a while."

Him apologizing... that was a first. But you no longer felt drained, only wanted to sit there for another while with closed eyes.

"You could have just asked," you mumbled back and felt weirdly... light.

Why were you sitting anyway? Just now you had been lying on your back. When your eyes opened, you found yourself suddenly in a completely different place. Perplex you looked around the silent forest, dense green spread all around you, soft grass grew under your fingers. The Master sat next to you, hands clawed into his hair. Some moments later he relaxed, threw his head back to sigh out a painful breath.

"Master?" you asked. "What... is this? Where are we?"

He looked back and opened his lids, blinking tiredly at you, then your surroundings. His eyes widened in mild surprise. "Huh? Mhm... right. Seems like I... slipped into your dreams."

"My... hey!" you protested and slapped his arm. "Those are private, you jerk!"

It appeared he was feeling a lot better now, according to the mischievous chuckle he answered with. "Och, don't whine. You might be the first human to have this experience." Cheekily he stuck out his tongue and got to his feet. "Although... I'm not entirely sure in whose head we are. Probably a bit of both."

You grunted annoyed and got up too. "Then wake me up again."

The Master turned, grinned.

"Nope!"

He let out a childish laugh and jumped from a stone, striding deeper into the forest.

"Hey! That's not fair!" you shouted after him. "First you overpower me like that and then you keep trampling over my private stuff."

"Mine too, just for your information."

"Okay, whatever." You crossed your arms as you halted near a clearing. It actually looked really nice. The vibrant green, the small creek that ran through the grass. "Wait... if this is a dream and we are aware of it... does that mean we can manipulate it?"

"Mhm..." The Master tilted his head a little. "Usually yes. But since we share it..." His eyes closed for a moment and the scenery changed. Trees vanished into dust, grass melted into the ground and suddenly you stood within the overgrown ruins of what once might have been an advanced civilisation. "Okay, that works..."

The scenery was quite beautiful in its melancholic state of long gone destruction. But right now you were not in the mood for something like that.

"Let me try!" you inquired and also closed your eyes. "Where could we go?" You thought for a moment, but your subconsciousness seemed to have picked up on your wish a lot faster than you. The smell of salt and water caressed your nose, a soft wind made goose bumps form on your forearms.

"The sea?" The Master asked, a smile audible in his voice. "Always a good choice. Bit boring, though."

A smile widened on your face as you took in the surroundings. It wasn't a place you knew, more like a collection of images, or rather the idea of sea that lived in your mind. There wasn't that much sand, more rocks, actually. You loved to climb around and be sprayed by the hitting waves.

And the weather was amazing! Perfect temperatures. Not too hot, not cold, either. Your ire was forgotten in an instant and you didn't even mind the Master following you as you explored the shore for a bit, picked up some seashells to admire how real they looked - and felt. As did everything else; the water, the wind, the sun.

You sighed happily and pointed at a round pool that had been formed between the rocks, too perfect of a spot not to investigate further.

"Let's go for a swim there, shall we?" you asked, beaming over your face. "Everything feels so real! I bet the water is amazing."

"Probably." The Master laughed and you joined in, happy to see how relaxed he was now. Here, the drums didn't seem to bother him and you had learned before that he could actually be quite the nice company in moments like these.

"But wait... I need some proper clothes." Again your eyes closed and you imagined the most comfy bikini you could think of. Nothing too revealing.

And still you suddenly felt eyes on you, wandering over your form. When you turned you found the Master not only staring at you with a subtle smile, but also now wearing only swimming trunks. Black, of course.

"Like what you see?" he wanted to know, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted out a laugh and pointed down into the round basin. "I might be impressed if you jump down from here."

"Here?" The Master didn't seem impressed as he glanced down. The pool was maybe three or four meters below you. "That's not even a challenge," he mocked and promptly jumped.

Surprised you squeaked, your mind running a million scenarios at once how he might smash his head on a rock or maybe... No. This was still a dream. Immediately you relaxed and giggled to yourself. Nothing could happen to you here. So you did the only logical thing and jumped down too.

Air rushed around you, followed by the cool grip of water. You resurfaced with a happy laugh and swam around a bit until you found the Master again. He stood nearby, the water reaching only his waist. Behind him was wet rock that he leaned against with folded arms and still this calmly, satisfied expression on his features.

"Nice idea," he complimented. "Haven't been to any sea since... a long time ago."

It was seldom that he spoke about the past and you weren't going to ruin the moment by digging deeper. Instead your eyes wandered over his form, curious if you would find anything that set him apart from humans. This was the first time you saw him with so little clothes after all, his skin glittering with water drops, hair dripping.

"You look completely human, you know that?" you mocked and trod in front of him. "I had almost awaited you'd have... I don't know... scales maybe?"

A grin split his mouth and he let out a laugh. "Maybe I do and just altered my appearance in the dream?" He poked out the tongue between his teeth.

"Nah, I don't think so." You chuckled and couldn't resist running a finger over his forearm, feeling the skin and muscles.

He let you, simply watched as you trailed up and halted, raising your hand right over his chest, before gently placing it over the spot between his hearts. It was just a dream after all, no harm done in exploring a little.

When you looked up, the Master hadn't moved, but the black in his eyes had widened, was fixated on your face.

"Everything feels so real," you finally stated, your voice weirdly thick. A nervous laugh escaped you. "Strange to think this is only a dream."

He huffed. "You never had a dream before that was so real you had trouble distinguishing it from reality after waking up?"

"Yeah, but... it's different being conscious in it." You ran your hand through the water in front of you, almost so close to the Master that it brushed against him. "I wonder," you mumbled, thinking about just how close you stood together. "if everything feels so real."

The warmth pooling into your belly definitely did. And the heat you felt shooting right to your core when the Master suddenly grabbed your hip with both hands also did. His thumbs stroked along your sides, his eyes darkening a little more. Your gaze wandered down, wanting to break through the crinkled surface of the water to look between the two of you. Curiosity.

His hands left your hip and instead were on your arms, slowly caressing your skin until they reached your fingers. You let out a sigh, happy about the cool water so he wouldn't see you flush. Or did you anyway?

"That feels real too, doesn't it?" the Master murmured, almost absently. His hands left you and he used them to heave himself on a flat piece of stone nearby, his lower half still hidden under the water's surface. "Enjoy the water." The smile was back. "We're actually not in a hurry."

"Won't we wake up anytime soon?" you wondered, boldly stepping closer to him.

"Not if we don't want to." A mischievous twinkle was in his hazel eyes, the boyish smirk arousing you more than it should.

Shit. You shouldn't be aroused at all. He was still holding your entire planet captive. And no matter how nice he sometimes was to you, he still could be mad and dangerous and... You felt eyes on you again and only then realized your hand was again playing with the water between the two of you. When had you stepped so close? His knees were barely a finger width away from your belly. And your hand... Would this feel so real, too?

"I didn't even know you Time Lords can share dreams."

You stepped even closer, right between his legs, your skin touching the stone on which the Master sat. His head slightly tilted backwards, but his now clearly dilated pupils kept staring at you as if he was just waiting.

"Now you know," he said. "It's a nice thing. You can do whatever you want. Experiments, just having… fun."

"And no real consequences," you finished the thought. For a moment your eyes locked with the Master's.

His lips twitched slightly. It seemed he was perfectly aware of what you contemplated doing. So you did, dipped your hand below the water and let your fingers brush over cloth and the obvious bulge in it.

The mere fact shot another wave of arousal straight between your legs. Another, bolder movement along his erection didn't help either and when you sheepishly glanced up the Master had his eyes half closed, his breath hitching when, instead of your fingers, you let your palm run over his length.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest all of a sudden and he leaned forward, catching your hand. "You've always been staring at me. You want me so badly, little one?" Was there really a hint of threat in his voice?

"Experimenting." The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. "It's only a dream, innit?" Your free hand crept forward, wrapped itself around his dick through the trunks.

His eyes rolled backwards the tiniest bit, his head dropping against yours as a grin blossomed on his lips. "Didn't know you were dreaming about me," he teased, breath shuddering delightfully when you started to slowly stroke him.

God, you wanted to feel him without those trunks, suddenly yearned to let your fingers wander over every inch of him, teasing, fondling, feeling every vein, every ridge. "Right now I do," you said breathy. "Don't worry, 'm pretty sure this is the first time."

Again he shuddered, hot breath ghosting over your lips. Then, with a swift movement that took you completely off guard, he grabbed your sites again and dragged you upwards, right into his lap with a loud splash. Both of you were hidden below the surface still, the water on your skin shimmering in the sun. A moan escaped your lips when your clit rubbed against his length, the wet cloth only adding to the friction.

Before you could even form a thought his lips crashed onto yours, one hand on the back of your head, the other slipping into your bikini pants. When you wanted to do the same to him, however, the hand vanished, grabbed your thigh and dragged you so flush against him that you had no chance to get anywhere near him. His lips were soft and warm, coaxing another moan from yours right as his fingers slipped back under your cloth and brushed against your swollen clit. Another finger slid down below your folds, teased the entrance for maybe a second too long.

You squirmed from your own need, opened your mouth and deepened the kiss, tongues stroking sensually against one another. His fingers finally pressed into you. The Master swallowed another moan, moved back and forth inside your heat, added a second finger and kept his thumb on your clit.

All of your senses were overblown with need and want and the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue. You couldn't help but rock against his hand and also his erection in the same movement. He groaned, tried to keep you from moving while his fingers pumped in and out of you.

Somehow, though, you managed to slide back enough to fit your own hand between the two of you and promptly use the opportunity. Teasing fingers moved to the waistband of his trunks, slipped inside when there was no protest. Your hand wrapped around his dick firmly and finally you could do to him what he did to you. And he felt great in your hand, sliding up and down your palm, your thump teasing the slit and the sensitive area below. Even through the water you could feel a drop of precum, imagined how it dissolved in.

A low growl of pleasure rumbled through his heaving chest, his second hand vanished from your head, his mouth retreating. You wanted to look, wanted to see what you did to him. Damp hair clung to the Master's forehead, a perfect match for the glimmering sheen of sweat and salt water on his skin.

Again you firmly stroked up his length, hyper aware of his shuddering breath and jittering eyes. His free hand was between your breasts, the bikini simply gone. Carefully he pushed against your torso, bending you backwards a little, so you would have less opportunity to move on him.

His sight, the position, the thumb massaging your clit in firm circles, the fingers pumping in and out, hitting at all the right spots inside of you, it made you want to move again, made you desperate to find out whether or not you could really climax in a dream.

But the fingers vanished. You whimpered when you realized he wasn't going to continue. With both hands he grabbed your head and kissed your wet lips, fierce and hungry and groaning into your mouth when you boldly continued to stroke him.

Seconds later the Master broke the kiss, panted. "That real enough for you?"

All you could do was to swallow and nod with gleaming eyes. His mouth hovered over yours, hot breath ghosting your lips, his eyes fluttering shut. But there was also a blossoming grin and suddenly you realized that you were both completely naked now.

Right in that moment he grabbed your bum, lifted you up from him and sat you on the stone while he slid down from it. You wanted to protest, wanted to grab his arm, but he didn't vanish, as you had feared. Instead the Master positioned himself between your legs, grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to him on the wet stone so his dick could stroke through your folds and rest at your throbbing entrance.

If there hadn't been water you would have laid on your back, but now you kept yourself upright on your elbows, watching, enjoying how the Master teased your entrance. His eyes sought out yours. "You're ready?"

"Are you kidding me?" you moaned, too far gone for any modesty.

The Master chuckled, leaned forward, snaked an arm around your middle and pulled you up for another kiss, the head of his shaft still at your entrance, almost slipping inside when you moved slightly. But he wouldn't let you, held you in place and grinned against your lips at your desperation. The height of the stone aligned you perfectly and again you shifted your bottom, felt him slip into you the tiniest bit, already enough to spike the pleasure, the anticipation.

"Make me," he ground out, breathing heavily, almost restrained.

You let out a moan, tried to push yourself closer and him deeper. The Master gasped, pressed you against him for a mere second, but pulled out of you again, his look as desperate as you felt, breath quivering.

And you knew what he wanted, your brain still somewhat functioning, maybe more than his, in this very moment. Despite his own urge for control he slightly rocked forward, silently groaned when your centre swallowed the tip of his dick again. You could feel how much he had to hold back, how he still couldn't help but let himself sink in just a bit deeper, fingernails lightly scratching your back.

"Master," you moaned and felt him twitch against your folds. He wanted to be in control. He needed you to fully give it to him. "Master," you almost whimpered and he slid even deeper, not yet there, but also not horribly far away.

He carefully pulled out again, not all the way, only a little. "Beg me," he ground out. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you." You swallowed a groan when you felt him slightly move again, wondered how long you both could continue this without bursting. You had no intention to find out, leaned closer to his ear, muttering, "I want you to fuck me, Master."

And that was enough. He gripped your hip with both hands, pressed you flush against him, his length finally slipping inside. Both of you let out moans and for a short moment the Master stopped, his breath heavy and somewhat shaky. One hand dropped to your bum, his lips crashed on yours again and he moved, made you moan into his mouth when he pulled back out, only to slam back inside. He repeated it a few more times, building a rhythm that was both desperate and controlled.

You were barely aware of the water around you, of the sun and the wind. All you felt and wanted to feel was the Master moving in and out of you. You cried out when he hit an especially sensitive spot and he tilted you slightly backwards to get a better angle, the kiss getting sloppy as his pace sped up, stopped completely after a moment, both of you lost in the building pleasure. You let out a small groan each time he hit that spot inside of you. His hand slipped down your front, thumb circling firmly on your clit, adding to the tightening coil.

"Master, please," you groaned.

And he sped up his pace, kept his thumb moving. You sensed how close he was, felt that spot again, and again and you cried out, clenched and panted as the climax rushed through your body and set every nerve within it on fire. Your nails dug into his skin, you walls clenching around his slowing dick and with shuddering breaths you moaned out the orgasm, could feel its aftershocks ripple through you each time the Master thrust himself deeper. He was still slowing, still aware of your oversensitive state, but unable to stop himself, and you encouraged his action by rocking against him, another aftershock making you shiver when you felt him hit you deep inside.

It felt just too good, you wanted him to snap, started to speed up your own rhythm until he dug his fingers into your sites and almost stilled, suddenly capturing your lips, but only to make you swallow his groans while he pulsated and spilled himself inside of you.

The sound of wind and waves returned to your ears as the Master released your lips. Breath still calming, heart still racing. The Master pulled out of you, turned and hopped onto the stone next to you.

The scenery changed, but only slightly. Suddenly you lay next to each other on dry ground, flat stones, heated by the sun, your feet splashed by nearby waves once in a while. Both of you wore clothes again, light summer trunks and shirts.

You sighed content, still feeling your body calming.

"Okay,that felt real," you muttered with a smile. "I wonder what happened to our bodies."

"Sleeping." The Master answered.

"No shit." You laughed and slapped his arm playfully. "I mean, uh… you know."

He chuckled and looked at you, head resting on folded arms. "You might wake up a bit aroused," he teased. "But that's it. Nothing new while being around me."

A wink was cast in your direction, made you laugh. "Don't get high on it. When we wake up, first thing I'll do is slap you for being such a prick before."

His face darkened in an instant, eyes darting away almost as if… he felt guilty? Probably not.

"Is it quiet now?" you asked softly and his gaze returned.

"It never is. Not fully." He smiled and the expression was warm. "But it's so much more bearable with you around."

"I'll still slap you." You poked the tongue out. "And maybe laugh at you for having a morning boner."

The Master grinned and turned around to lay his head right next to your ear. "Dangerous idea."

"Oh?" You turned too, facing him. "Why would that be?"

Instead of an answer he snaked an arm around you and pulled you flush against him. Definitely no need to wake up, here, you realized. The wolfish grin on his face also didn't help. Neither did, that he grabbed you with both hands to turn you both and in a way that you ended up sitting on him.

Alright. You grinned back. No waking up yet, then.

#the master x reader #doctor who fanfic #fanfiction #smut #doctor who #the master #reader insert

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

Hold My Phone

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG-11/T- (v seductive flirting)

Original Idea: Modern!AU (kinda sorta not really)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one is so ridiculous. It’s basically a “Everything is Pretty Much the Same but They Have Phones” AU, not really a modern AU because I figured this would be how Rhys would handle having a phone with the High Lord act, lol

^^^^^

My phone buzzed in my pocket. In a meeting with some Autumn Court emissaries. I’m bored. Entertain me? Rhys’ text said.

Why are you texting me? Just use the mating bond, I texted back.

Yeah but I want these idiots to *know* that I’m bored of them and can’t be bothered to give them my attention.

Playing games with them?

Always.

Exactly how do you propose I entertain you?

It took his answer a few minutes to arrive. I wondered if it was because he was thinking about the wickedest, most flirtatious thing to say or something came up in the meeting that he did actually have to give his attention to.

What are you wearing right now? I shouldn’t have been surprised that was his reply.

My purple outfit. The dark purple one with the stars embroidered into it.

I’m debating asking you to send me a picture of you in it or asking you to take it off and send me a picture of *that*

I am not sending you any pictures while you’re in a meeting. I hadn’t replied to a text that quickly in a while.

His reply came quickly too, Send it down the mating bond then. No records ;)

I rolled my eyes and got to my feet. Up in our room, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, stared at myself while lowering my mental shield, shot the image I was looking at—fully clothed—down the bond, and then slammed my shields back into place.

It took seconds for an answering image of Rhys licking his lips with a feral gleam in his eyes to bump into my shield. I rolled my eyes. My phone buzzed. Delicious. As always, darling.

Happy?

Deliriously.

Go back to your meeting, you flirt. I’ll see you later.

But I’m still bored.

Don’t be a baby. I have a meeting in 30 minutes I have to get ready for with the governor of the Palace of Threads and Jewels.

What are you meeting with the governor for?

I don’t think it’s any big deal. Probably just going over some requests from patrons who have gathered together a bunch of things rather than hauling themselves up 10,000 stairs to the House.

Good luck.

You too. I set my phone down on my vanity. I hated getting rid of the loose pants and sleeves but I knew for a meeting like this that I’d need a gown.

I sent Rhys mental images of every gown I tried on before selecting one, and every hairstyle I thought of doing, asking his opinion and ultimately ignoring it when he seductively told me he liked the most revealing dress with my hair unbound. I definitely called him a name I had no plans on apologizing for before replacing my shields.

I ended up going with a modest midnight blue gown glittering with silver threads that would be appropriately formal, but not so formal it felt like an occasion. Instead of a tiara or crown or diadem I kept my hair out of my face with a comb that was made of black metal and studded with diamond dust to look like the night sky. Crescent moon-shaped sapphire taking up most of the space in the middle.

Nuala and Cerridwen approved of my choices and I shooed myself out to go see the governor.

—

I collapsed on the bed after leaving my dress abandoned on the floor. The meeting was exactly what I thought it would be and after all the requests I was tired. I genuinely cared about my people but putting forth the mental strain of trying to figure out how to fix so many problems at once I started having to pretend to be chipper.

I hadn’t realized I dozed off until a weight falling onto the bed beside me woke me up.

Rhys fell in such a way that he could sprawl his wings above me, taking up a good portion of the bed. He was in casual clothing—silver-buttoned black shirt with the top button undone to let his tattoos peek out, black pants, low black boots—but I knew him better than to think he’d gone to the meeting in them. As he fell, he sighed. “That was tedious,” he remarked, setting a hand on the top of my head and scratching my hair. His fingers brushed my comb and he stopped.

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.

He sat up to lean over me. He gave me a long, slow kiss as he removed the comb from my hair. “You didn’t wear the dress I chose,” he teased.

“I asked your opinion, not to choose for me,” I countered. “Besides, I doubt you’d even want another male to look at me in a dress like that.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded playfully. He kissed the hollow behind my ear. “You can model it for me later.”

“Flirt,” I accused.

“Spoilsport,” he retorted.

His phone started ringing in his pocket. I recognized the personalized tone. He only personalized a few. Azriel’s, Cassian’s, Mor’s, Amren’s, and mine.

Heaving another sigh, he extracted the phone from his pocket. “What do you want, Cassian?” There was no bite at all to the words, just resigned fatigue. He listened to words I couldn’t quite make out as he fidgeted with my comb in his other hand. He rolled his eyes. “That can wait. I’ll squeeze it in tomorrow, okay?”

More babbling from Cassian’s end of the call. I thought I caught snatches of Azriel’s voice too.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Bye.” He hung up, but I could still hear them talking as he ended the call. “Can never get one hour of peace with those two,” he muttered, silencing his phone.

He tossed it somewhere behind him and I heard it thunk on the rug.

“For tonight, darling, I have some much more entertaining events scheduled.” He bent over me and pressed another kiss to my lips. I kissed him back enthusiastically, reaching up to brush my fingers into his hair. He relaxed slightly, the weight of his head growing against mine as his neck tension softened.

“Let me silence my phone,” I said.

He waved a hand vaguely over his shoulder. “Done,” he said.

I smiled. “Bath before or after?”

“Hmm… after.”

“Fine with me.”

—

Both of our phones vibrating wildly on the end tables of our bed woke us the next morning. I jolted so hard I bonked my head on Rhys’ wing bone where he’d draped it over me as we slept, as he often did.

I reached out for my phone. There was no caller ID and the combination wasn’t one I recognized. That happened all the time. I answered anyway, assuming it was a matter of state, as usual. “Hello?”

“High Lady?” The voice was small and trembling. Not young, but frightened.

“Yes?”

“There’s something in the harbor.”

Before I could ask for more details, the caller hung up.

Rhys answered his phone much more lazily than I had. “This is Rhys,” he said. He never used his full given name to answer the phone. High Lord Tamlin, his enemy, could be calling and he’d still use Rhys.

He bolted up in bed so abruptly, his wing bone hit me in the back of the head. Thankfully the talon missed me. We both winced at the pain as he mouthed, Sorry, and leapt out of bed to get dressed. I figured I’d probably need to go investigate the harbor so I got up too and found a pair of pants, shirt, and overcoat. Socks and boots followed before I wound my hair into a bun so I wouldn’t have to braid it yet.

Rhys hung up. “Was your call about the harbor too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Though, whoever it was didn’t say much.”

“Same here. Ready?”

I put the same comb I’d been wearing the day before into the top of my bun so I had some sort of ornamentation on. “Ready.”

He grabbed me around the shoulders and winnowed us out of the house.

We reappeared on the docks.

A dark shape was moving around under the surface of the water. I grabbed the railing and peered over it. “Too fluid to be a whale,” I said, noticing a small gathered crowd taking pictures on their phones, some recording videos.

Rhys’ hand settled on top of mine. It’s moving like a serpent, he said down our bond.

My grip on the railing halted. A serpent? Now? Like—like a sea serpent?

He didn’t reply. His dark eyes following where the head’s shape appeared to be.

“Hold onto this for me,” he said, pulling out his phone and holding it out. I took it out of habit, barely noticing his wings extending.

“Wait—Rhys—don’t—!” Too late. He used a powerful launch from his wings to get him over the railing before plunging into the water. As he dropped, I saw his clothes change from the casual dark shirt and pants to his fighting leathers. I wasn’t even sure any of the faeries around us noticed the change. A few of them yelped as his splash sprayed into the air.

I clung to the railing, staring into the depths.

“Rhysand…” I complained. “Stop being so reckless.”

I heard that, he teased.

I meant for you to, I retorted.

Wanna see?

I’m holding your phone. I’m not getting in that water.

You know that’s not what I meant.

I sent the sound of my sigh down the bond and felt his chuckle in return. Fine.

A crack opened in his mental shield. I slid into it, keeping a tether to get me out whenever I wanted if I got freaked out. My eyes glazed over as I started looking through his.

The harbor water was relatively clear, but a bit blurry. I—no, Rhys—flexed his magic to clear up his vision. My—his—hair drifted in front of his eyes a bit.

A large, deep red sea serpent twined around ahead, barely visible through the murk. Large fins were tucked against its sides.

Wings? I asked Rhys.

Yes. For jumping out of the water and snatching sailors from their ships. Among other things, he replied. They usually dwell in the depths. Wonder what it’s doing here.

I didn’t reply as he swam closer. Inside his mind, I could feel him dismiss his wings to reduce drag. Feel the strength in his shoulders as he stroked forward. In his mind, I had no private thoughts, so I knew he felt my anxiety. My fear for his safety. I felt him send a wave of calm through himself. He wasn’t nervous at all—for whatever reason.

The serpent caught sight of him. My breath hitched, but Rhys didn’t even flinch. Gold eyes bored into him, fangs revealed in something of a snarl.

Sorry, love, Rhys thought, I need to speak to it mind to mind, and don’t want you here for it. Too hard to concentrate on two minds at once.

Fine with me, I replied.

He shoved me out of his mind.

I shook my head, blinking, as my consciousness returned to my own body. My hands were so tight on the railing that my knuckles were white.

Something tugged on my tunic. I turned.

A small faerie child with violet skin and long silver hair was standing beside me, looking up at me. “Are you alright, High Lady?” Innocence and genuine concern were in its voice. I knelt to be on the same eye level as the child, my hands resting on the phone in either of my pants pockets.

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright. Just concerned for Rhys.”

The child looked into the harbor. “Mama says the High Lord is very powerful. He’ll be okay.”

I smiled at the child. “Yes. Yes he will.” I reached into the pocket of my tunic, pulling out one of the small candies I kept in there for when children stopped to talk to me—and Rhys usually. I offered it to the child. Everyone in Velaris knew their High Lord and Lady kept candy for children on them, so the child accepted without hesitation. They took off the wax paper wrapper and stuck the candy in their mouth before running back to their parents.

Rhys appeared on the dock behind me, dripping wet. “What’d I miss?” he asked.

I jumped to my feet and whirled around. “You okay?”

“Fine. I convinced it to leave.” He nodded toward the dark shape slithering out of the harbor now. “It was actually lost, I think. I managed to give it directions.”

I chuckled. “Never a boring day in Velaris.”

He joined my chuckle. “Not at all. Cassian’s gonna get a kick—” He swore. “I forgot. Cassian needed my help. You still have my phone?”

As I pulled it out of my pocket, he waved a hand to dry off.

He plunked in Cassian’s combination. “Hey, it’s me. I’m on my way.” He reached out a hand for me. I took it. Dark wind whipped around us as we winnowed away.

#Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Hold My Phone

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queen-scribbles · 3 years

Text

The Long Burning Torch ch 3

Oh, look, another chapter for the 20s AU I started for the @shepherds-of-haven Summer Event, which has taken on a life of its own. In this chapter: A couple new (but familiar!) faces, and the plot thickens.

----

Five minutes into Ashtown proper, Xaeryn was exceedingly grateful for the directions Mr. Syndran had provided. He hadn’t been wrong comparing the place to a warren.

“You look lost, doll.”

Her head snapped up from the paper in her hand to meet the gaze of a lanky man lounging against a wall, a soft cap slouched down over his forehead. His--very familiar--green eyes were much more vivid in person than they had been in her scry.

Xaeryn arched a brow coolly. “And what led you to that conclusion?”

He smirked and pushed away from the wall. “The way you keep checking that paper for one, Sunshine.” His hands slid in his pockets. “Also, we don’t get dames that look like you here all that often. Anything I can help you find?”

“You’re awfully helpful,” Xaeryn said, resisting the urge to run a hand down her outfit.

He doffed his cap and sketched an exaggerated bow, giving her a wink when he righted. “Consider me the Ashtown welcoming committee.”

“And what a charming first impression you make.” Xaeryn regarded him for a moment or two more, then decided to see how things would play out. “I’m trying to find Chase Trinaeste.”

The man’s eyes twinkled, bright as the scarf tossed ‘round his neck. “I think I can help with that. Right this was, Sunshine,” he said blithely, as if he wasn’t the aforementioned Trinaeste himself.

A large part of Mr. Syndran’s adamant belief Thieves guild had been involved in the theft rode on Trinaeste’s presence in her scryed vision. “He trusts his lieutenants with the vast majority of their... jobs,” Mr. Syndran had explained, nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. “His being there shows it was a heist of high importance to their gang, fitting the theft of an artefact.”

Xaeryn had no reason to doubt his logic. But she’d be a fool to show all the cards she held at the outset.

“My name is not ‘sunshine’,” she said briskly instead.

“Well, then, doll, what am I calling ya?” Trinaeste asked, unruffled by her tone.

“Miss Shrike will do for now, I think. And what do I call you?”

“Who says you need to call me anything?” he returned as he led her down several new streets in quick succession.

“It might come in handy if I want to commend your hospitality to Mr. Trinaeste,” she countered, trying her best to memorize their route. Left, left, right...

“I’ll get by, Miss Shrike,” Trinaeste said with a light laugh.

He was very good at dodging, she did have to give him that. “For politeness’ sake, then. Perhaps I’d feel better about following you into the depths of Ashtown if I at least knew your name.”

He laughed again, pausing by a wall decorated with a... creative interpretation of a cat’s head. “Well, then. I have a confession to make, in that case.”

“Oh?” Xaeryn marked the two brunos nearby--one down an alley, the other lounging by a door--despite their affected nonchalance. “And what would that be?”

“Chase Trinaeste at your service.” He skipped the exaggerated bow this time, instead shoving his hands in his pockets, elbows akimbo, and grinning at her cheekily. “Now that you’ve found me, what do you plan to do with me?”

“First thing that comes to mind is ask why we couldn’t have the introductions back where we first spoke?”

“Let’s say I feel safer on home turf, doll. Just in case your reason for wanting me is less fun than I’m hoping.”

She glanced significantly at one of the toughs. “And if this arrangement doesn’t thrill me?”

“You can leave,” Trinaeste said with a shrug. “We ain’t going to stop you.” His grin widened, cat-like. “But you seem the type who doesn’t like leaving empty-handed, Miss Shrike.” He gestured toward the door next to one member of their small audience. “Whatever it is you’re after, I think we’ll be more comfortable in my office, don’t you?”

She doubted he cared between the two locations as strongly as she doubted it was an actual office, but Xaeryn did have to admit some privacy for this conversation would be a good thing. “Do I strike you as the type to just follow strange men into unfamiliar buildings, Mr. Trinaeste?”

He laughed. “A dangerous question, doll. You strike strike me as the type who enjoys a good mystery.”

(Or even a bad one, Xaeryn finished wryly to herself.)

Trinaeste raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “On my honor as head of the guild, I promise you will leave in the same condition and carrying the same things as when you got here, so long as you don’t threaten me or mine.”

“A fair deal,” she said in assent, and nodded toward the door. “After you.”

Red would have a heart attack if he knew what she was doing. She swallowed a laugh at the thought; less than a week reconnected and his reaction was one of the first things to cross her mind. Her gut said it would be a worthwhile risk. While Trinaeste was indisputably a dangerous man, there was a clear sense of ‘only when necessary’ to his skill that gave her confidence she would be fine.

“One more condition,” Trinaeste said as he led the way into the building. “Call me Chase. No idea who ‘Mr. Trinaeste’ is, but he sounds too high-class to be me.”

He’d kowtowed to her chosen address easily enough, and she did want him amenable to talking. She could grin and bear the informality for one conversation. “Very well.”

They didn’t go far from the outer door before Chase swung to the side through another doorway. Xaeryn almost tripped over the abruptness as she followed. There was no desk, or any other typical office furniture save chairs. There were five of those; loosely grouped on one side of the room. Opposite them a stack of shipping crates were shoved against a tapestry-hung wall. It was eclectic and flamboyant and (she’d just bet) full of secrets. A perfect match for the man now flopped in one of the fairly-comfortable looking chairs and grinning at her again.

“So, Miss Shrike, what did you want from me?”

(From the way his eyes twinkled, that phrasing was very much on purpose.)

Xaeryn chose her seat and her reply with equal care; the former so she could see both her host and the door, the latter to convey intent without accusing. Yet. “I’m investigating a theft and have reason to believe you may have seen something helpful.”

Chase laughed. “You think I did it.”

“You do helm the Thieves guild, Chase,” she said lightly, crossing her legs and flicking dust off her hem. So much for trying to be subtle.

“Fair point,” he conceded with another laugh, before leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees and his chin on his palms with still-twinkling eyes. “So, what is it you think we stole?”

“An artefact.”

She was interrupted before giving a description as Chase’s grin went cat-like gain and the twinkle in his eyes shifted to a hard glitter. “Syndran set you on us, didn’t he? What did he lose?”

“Mr. Syndran didn’t lose anything. Transit is a possibility for when a piece was stolen,” Xaeryn said primly. “And while, yes, he may have pointed me in your direction as an avenue of investigation, I wouldn’t be much of a detective if I followed accusations that lacked supporting evidence.”

“Ah, you’re a private dick,” Chase smirked, eyes once again twinkling in amusement. “Tell you what, Miss Shrike, since you bein’ here is bountiful evidence Riel’s people not only dropped the ball, but bad enough he doesn’t want to involve the cops, I’ll tell you whatever you need to help. That being the best news I’ve had this week and all.”

She arched a brow. “Whatever I need?”

He spread his hands. “I’m an open book, doll.”

“Chase!” a new voice scolded. The owner, a slender brunette, paused in the doorway to scowl along with her critique. “You know better than to offer open season on guild secrets like that!”

“Calm down, Ari.” Chase slouched back, waving one hand in Xaeryn’s direction. “Our guest seems a smart enough dame to not ask for more than she needs.” That glimpse of danger was back under the last word.

“I’m not after your secrets,” Xaeryn promised. “Just trying to find a missing artefact.”

“And what artefact would that be?” Ari asked, still wary, and still poised in the doorway. Xaeryn noted but didn’t comment on the jangling stack of bracelets that sheathed a good three inches of the other woman’s wrist.

“A pendent, this big.” she indicated the size. “Black stone and bronze.”

“Wasn’t us,” Chase said easily.

“You were witnessed along the transport caravan’ route.”

“Oh, we were casing it,” he acknowledged with a wink.

“Chase!”

He just grinned at Ari’s beratement. “We didn’t steal anything, though. Couldn’t get a good shot at what we were supposed to nick.”

“Supposed to?” Xaeryn interjected. “So this is something you were contracted to steal rather than...” She waffled a moment over word choice, “...personal?”

“Yeah. Like I said, though, we didn’t get anything.” Chase shrugged. “Just as well; our butter and egg man never showed his face after.”

“Hm.” Xaeryn made a mental note to look into how popular a target the caravan had become. “Did you notice anyone else who seemed to be casing it? Aside from your people?”

“N-” Chase’s brow furrowed and he stopped mid-negative reply. “There was that one mug Kato saw right before the trucks made the museum lot. Don’t have anything more than ‘foreign-looking’ and green hair, and he didn’t see where he went, just was a little too casual in his loitering, gave Kato an odd impression.”

It wasn’t a lead solid enough for her to really follow, but it did seem confirmation multiple parties were interested in the caravan. “I see. And what was your... client after?”

“That’s not something you need to know,” Ari said firmly.

“Knowing what else was and might yet be targeted will help my investigation, so I would have to disagree,” Xaeryn said just as firmly. “I’m not going to rat you out, in fact I plan to tell Mr. Syndran you were not responsible. But this information could be useful. Please.”

“A necklace. Gold, rubies, opals; sounded worth a pretty lyss,” Chase said, turning to flash a grin at Ari. “She did say please.”

Ari sighed but didn’t protest.

“Alright I’ll be getting out of your hair, then.” Xaeryn stood, smoothing her skirt. “I appreciate your talking to me, It was enlightening.”

She held out a hand to shake, and Chase kissed the back of it instead, shooting her a wink as she rolled her eyes. “Not a problem, Miss Shrike. Good luck catching your bad guys.”

Xaeryn couldn’t help a small chuckle at the comment as she withdrew her hand and headed for the door. She half-expected to be blocked from exiting, but that proved unfounded. She retraced the route to the edge of the Ashtown district, then headed for her office to call Mr. Syndran just as it started to rain.

---

Her call to update Mr. Syndran went about as well as it could; he was disappointed Thieves guild hadn’t panned out as a lead--Xaeryn detected some personal disappointment as well as professional they weren’t responsible. “Do you have anything beyond their word they didn’t do it?”

“No,” Xaeryn said, leaning forward over her desk to skim her notes as they talked. “Well... their word and a gut feeling they were being level.” Which is all I really have that you aren’t responsible. She was polite--and wise--enough to not make the comparison. “They were hardly going to let me search their warehouse.”

“So what’s your next step? There’s not long until the exhibit opens, and I dislike the number of dead ends you’ve encountered.”

“Oh, I’m not happy about them, either, believe me.” Xaeryn pursed her lips and fought to keep a sharp note out of her voice at his implied censure. “Next is talking to the curator at the Hall. They may have seen this green-haired foreigner Thieves guild mentioned, or something else suspicious that didn’t show when I scryed. Either way, I can get more information about the exhibit and the pendent’s owner.”

Mr. Syndran sighed. “I highly doubt this convenient and vague ‘foreigner’ exists as anything other than a red herring to lead you away from the Thieves guild, but your other goals are sound. Let me know what you learn, if anything.”

“Of course.” They exchanged farewells and hung up. Rain still pattered against the window, and a quiet growl from her stomach reminded Xaeryn she was overdue for lunch, so she bumped back calling the Hall in favor of a quick bite to eat.

And it was quick; she loved mysteries but hated being stymied at every turn like this case had done. She wanted a workable lead. While she agreed with Mr. Syndran the ‘foreigner’ was too vague to pursue on his own, green hair was far from common in Haven, even in the Mage community. If someone else made mention or he was spotted later, it wouldn’t be hard to connect the sightings. For now, she’d call the museum, speak to the curator. Hopefully that would get her somewhere.

The secretary who answered her call sounded both bored and frazzled, which Xaeryn found impressive. “Haven Hall of History and Culture, how may I help you?”

“My name’s Xaeryn Shrike, I wanted to speak to the curator about-”

“Ms. Acquell is very busy,” the receptionist cut her off. “We have an exhibit opening in just over a week, she doesn’t have time for meetings with random curiosity seekers or history aficionados right now.”

Xaeryn let a bit of edge color her voice. “I’m a private detective Mr. Syndran hired in regard to the artefact caravan.”

A long pause, the line crackling with silence, then, “Can you be here in half an hour? I’m sure she can clear some space in her schedule, though there may be bit of a wait.”

I thought you might say that. “I can. Thank you.”

“Very well.” The secretary hung up.

Xaeryn arched a brow at the receiver before she placed it back in the cradle. “See you shortly,” she muttered. Wonderful attitude for someone in such a socially involved position. She glanced out the window and was gratified to find the rain slacking off. She’d still drive, of course, but it would be less of a headache.

Xaeryn cleaned up from her lunch, gave her outfit a quick check to ensure it was still presentable after her visit to Ashtown and the Merchants Guild garage, and tucked her notepad back in her handbag before tugging on a hat and heading out the door.

The drive to the museum was uneventful aside from a couple pot holes and a pedestrian chasing his umbrella into the street with nary a regard for traffic. Still, Xaeryn did arrive in one piece. A determined breeze tugged at her as she made her way up the steps, and she almost dropped her handbag in her instinctive grab to hold her hat on.

It’s pinned, you silly goose, she chided herself ruefully, and brushed drizzle off her clothes as she stepped inside. She exchanged a brief conversation--light on pleasantries--with the receptionist,and was waved toward one of the long cultural wings to wait for when Curator Acquell found a moment to speak with her. She perched on a bench that sat between a statue of the first High Augar and a glass case displaying a map of the known world at the time. At this hour and with this weather, there weren’t many other people, and the gallery was mostly quiet.

Ample opportunity for Xaeryn to ruminate on the irony her chosen seat appeared to be smack in the middle of an exhibit on the Castigation, or one of the uprisings that followed. At least, if the painting across from her was anything to go by; a group of determined Norms gripping pistols as they surrounded a cluster of bloodied but unyielding Hunters whose hands glowed with grace as they clung to their weapons...

Xaeryn shook her head and very deliberately focused on reading her notes.

---

It took half an hour--closer to three-quarters--and Xaeryn had switched to roaming the gallery to take in the sights before a short, bespectacled blonde approached.

She hesitated briefly but noticeably before clearing her throat. “Are you... Miss Shrike?”

Xaeryn nodded and held out a hand to shake. “And you would be the curator?”

The blonde bobbed her head as she shook her hand. “Shery Acquell. I’m so very sorry about the wait.” She smoothed a hand down her rumpled brown and pink dress. “We’re terribly busy trying to get the new exhibit together.” She bit her lip. “Or, as together as we can get it, at least.”

“That’s actually what I’m here to talk to you about,” Xaeryn said. “But I think it’s something better discussed away from potential prying eyes and ears.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Miss Acquell briefly clasped her hands in front of her and bit her lip. “This way.” She gestured to a door. “We can speak in the Cultures of Blest wing if you don’t mind dodging crates and museum staff?”

“Not at all,” Xaeryn said as she followed the other woman through the indicated door. Getting to see behind the scenes of a museum exhibit was the opposite of an inconvenience, to her mind.

“It’s not terribly exciting, I’m afraid; lots of boxes and dust and swapping things around until you find the right arrangement. But I think we can find somewhere to talk. My office is a mess right now, or we could just go there.”

“It’s fine,” Xaeryn assured her. “A little dust won’t kill me. I dress practical for that very reason; no telling where an investigation will take me.”

“OH, that’s... smart.” Miss Acquell fiddled with her glasses and inclined her head toward an empty display pedestal. “That’s where the pendent will go, assuming it’s back before the exhibit opens.” Her face went red and she winced apologetically. “N-Not that I doubt your skill as a detective, Miss Shrike, it just seems to have vanished into thin air, and, well....” She half shrugged and let the words trail off.

“I’ve definitely hit enough dead ends for the comparison to be apt,” Xaeryn said, swallowing the spike of defensiveness to keep her tone level as she peeked at the other artefacts in the case. A belt with a snake-head buckle, a silver circlet set with a single moonstone, an ornately carved hair comb, a silver ring that resembled a basilisk eating its own tail. At least one item hummed quietly with magic of some kind, but enchantment and binding weren’t her forte, so Xaeryn couldn’t tell which. “So, to confirm, how long did the shipment sit before you and your staff started opening crates?”

“Oh, an hour?” Miss Acquell bit her lip. “Maybe two, at most? There was a... small kerfuffle in the art wing; some unruly children, and we didn’t get to the crates until that was settled. But there was a watchman outside and one in the museum, neither of them reported seeing anyone.” She played with her necklace. “As well as a Whitestone Couriers representative. Pink-haired young lady, very irate by the time I spoke to her, though that is understandable, with how long we kept her waiting.”

“Did you not have enough staff for someone to take care of the artefacts while others handled the... disturbance?”

“Normally we would have.” Miss Acquell stepped into a small alcove to move their conversation out of the way for the six or so staffers busily yet carefully removing things from crates to arrange in various displays. “But it was a lightly staffed day--Thursdays are usually slow--and I had a couple people who didn’t come in. We weren’t able to find anyone who could cover their shifts, so we were running a bit short.”

With Ms. Aerin keeping an eye on the artefacts once they reached the museum, it was no wonder Mr. Syndran was so convinced a potential theft would have occurred during transit. “What do you know about the pendent, Solimer’s torch? I’ve learn some things of its history, but what of more recent years? The last century or so?”

“A little,” Miss Acquell said, flicking a nervous glance to the side as a pair of workers fumbled the statue they were shifting. “The last century is a bit... muddy for that pendent. It’s changed hands several times, several people have made claims, few have been able to back them up. The current owner, Ms. Aescar, has the strongest claim. She can trace ancestry to the last known owner of the pendent.”

“Prior to the cheiftain of debated identity with whom it was rediscovered?”

She nodded. “Yes. The others who have tried to stake ownership claim ties to the debated chieftain, or the original tribe, or the first to conquer them, but none have ever clearly proven a connection like Ms. Aescar. And if they could, it turns into a debate predicated largely on the intricacies of right of conquest for who has the strongest claim.” She hesitated, wrung her hands. “There are some in the historical community--niche as this piece may be--who... feel it would almost be better if no further claims are validated. I-If someone can contest Ms. Aescar’s ownership, the pendent has to go in a vault until true provenance can be determined. Which means no one can display it....”

“And that process can take a very long time,” Xaeryn finished for her. It was an issue she’d run into a couple times during her years at Solhadur; an artefact she was researching was hard to get clear information about because three people had equally strong claims and it was tied up in the arbitration.

“Yes, it can.” Miss Acquell pursed her lips and looked back at the intended display. “For now, though, Ms. Aescar has a very open policy for lending it out. Far fewer requested protective measures than most. It’s as if...” she paused, brow furrowing for a moment, “as if she doesn’t really care what happens to it.”

Interesting. “Do you have her contact information? I’d like to speak with her if I could,”

“I do.” Miss Acquell nodded vigorously. “It’s in my office, so I’ll need a minute to dig it out.”

“No hurry,” Xaeryn said. “Are those watchmen here today by any chance? Accommodating as your staff has been with my other earlier inquiries, I haven’t gotten to talk to them yet.”

The curator, who had started for a nearby hall, paused and bit her lip again as she thought. “Theo is,” she finally said. “He was watching the outside lot that day. Today I think he’s in the exhibit on Norm innovation? But I can’t remember for sure. The schedule’s also in my office, I can check while I’m getting Ms. Aescar’s information.”

“Alright, I can wait.”

“Feel free to look around.” Miss Acquell waved a hand toward the progressing displays. “Just don’t touch anything? Some things would survive, but others are too fragile.”

“I generally avoid disturbing museum exhibits,” Xaeryn assured her. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

With a final nod and small nervous smile, Miss Acquell scurried off down the hall. From the way she’d talked about her office, Xaeryn gathered this might take more than a few minutes. She wandered through the half-assembled exhibits and display cases, careful to keep enough distance she didn’t disturb the staff or risk damaging anything.

A small smile curved her lips when she caught sight of a necklace--complete with matching cuff bracelets and a diadem--that fit the description of what Chase claimed his guild had been hired to steal. That backed his story up, at least. There was a placard declaring they had belonged to a Queen-Consort from Karzai once upon a time.

Xaeryn was engrossed in reading a Kettish tablet when Miss Acquell returned, and it took a moment to register her presence. In fact, it wasn’t until the curator cleared her throat timidly that Xaeryn’s focus was broken and she swung around.

“Sorry. This sort of thing is a passion of mine,” she explained. “Very easy to slip off to my own little world when I get a chance to indulge.”

“I understand,” Miss Acquell said with a faint smile. “I can be the same, when I get lost in my work. Here’s Ms. Aescar’s information” --she held out a small piece of note paper--”though I should warn you it’s for her estate out near the Jalis desert and she’s apparently not home much? Bit of an adventuress, away for weeks at a time without word of how long she’ll be gone. I’m honestly not sure if we’ve managed to contact her yet to tell her the pendent’s missing.”

“Thanks for the warning, both of them.” Xaeryn slipped the paper in her handbag after checking the legibility. “I’ll keep them in mind.”

“Theo is up in the innovations exhibit, if you want to speak with him.”

“Oh, I very much do. And if something comes up and I need to talk to you again, do you have daily office hours?”

Miss Acquell nodded, then blushed. “Oh, except... except Sunday,” she amended. “I-I have church.”

“Won’t be a problem, so do I.” Normally not a detail Xaeryn shared with strangers, but the woman seemed braced for blowback to the statement.

Her face lit up with the revelation, so it was apparently a good call. “Oh, really? Where do you go?”

“The Whitestone Cathedral,” Xaeryn said. She liked the crowds, the ability to simply sit in the back, worship, and slip out before too many people even noticed she was there and tried to be chummy.

“Oh, that one’s too big for me,” Miss Acquell blurted with a bashful laugh. “I go to the chapel over by the docks.”

“I know it,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She’d had a couple cases over that way. “Thank you very much for all your help, Miss Acquell. This visit has been very informative.”

“I’m glad to have been of help, and you can just call me Shery.” She held out a hand to shake farewell.

“Goodbye, then, Shery. And good luck setting up your exhibit.” Xaeryn shook her hand then headed off following signage toward the exhibit where this guard Theo was posted. She had some rather burning questions to ask him.

---

Her conversation with Theo held mixed success. His memory was fuzzy, which Xaeryn had expected after the time that had passed. He did remember some loiterers, but they were all far enough away from the lot he couldn’t discern features. One or two may have come across as “too casual” with hindsight, but he hadn’t clocked them as suspicious and thus hadn’t paid much mind in the moment. No accounting for street hooligans and how they spent their time, right? One might have had green hair, but they were wearing hats, and “like I said, I wasn’t payin’ much heed, Miss Lady Detective,” so he couldn’t swear by it.

With that tenuous connection possibly made slightly less tenuous, and a much-increased desire to speak with the elusive Ms. Aescar, Xaeryn wandered the museum a bit--might as well; she was here and it would help her think--before heading back out to her car.

“Ladies first,” a dark haired gentleman said, holding the front door open for her and allowing her to precede him down the steps.

Xaeryn nodded and flashed a brief smile of courteous thanks for his chivalry, noting he headed for a gleaming, high-end motorcar, black with red accents, that made hers look dingy. Bet it’s a nightmare to keep that fancy, she thought, paying the man no further mind. She started her car and flicked on the headlights to counter the settling dim of evening as she pulled away.

With her thoughts split between the road and mulling over the case, it took a few turns for her to notice a pair of headlights that appeared to be following the same route she was. That wasn’t terribly unusual, but the fact they were deliberately keeping back was. Tricky as surreptitious glances in a motorcar could be, Xaeryn managed one the next time she had to stop for traffic. Just as her... friend passed under a streetlight.

Black car, with red accents.

Gooseflesh prickled up her arms, and she shifted her planned route home to one with sparse enough traffic covert pursuit would be impossible. Two turns into the new path, her tail must have picked up on her plan and lammed off down a side street. Xaeryn wondered if he thought he was being subtle, and kept a careful eye out the rest of the way back. Despite not seeing any further tails, she remained on guard until she turned the key in her office door, slipped in, and locked it behind her.

“Intriguing development,” she murmured to the empty room as she unpinned her hat. And an interesting end to a very full day. Xaeryn sat wearily at her desk and kicked off her shoes. Even choosing comfort over style, her feet were sore from all the walking. Merchants’ Guild, Ashtown, the Hall... and barely a chance to sit all day. She returned her notepad to the desk drawer and locked it again, but left the stiletto blade in her handbag. She’d likely need it tomorrow anyway. Particularly if it was anywhere near as busy as today.

Busy enough to have missed any telephone calls that came while I was gadding about. Normally while already on a case, that would bother her less, but Red had said he’d call if he learned anything new. She’d hate to be missing information that could help the case, she mused, flicking a glance from the telephone to the clock on her wall. Hopefully this wasn’t too late for her to call him. She dug her notepad back out and flipped through the pages until she reached the section in Red’s sprawling shorthand. There, on the back of a previous page, tucked in the corner like a random doodle, was his office telephone number. Xaeryn smiled at the close resemblance of his eights and zeroes, but knew her own ones and sevens weren’t much better.

After only a brief moment of further hesitation, she pulled the telephone closer and started dialing. It wasn’t that late.

It was answered on the third ring, a slightly breathless, “Hello?”

“Liefred?”

“Xaeryn.” There was a note of surprise in his voice.

“Got it in one, smart man.” But I knew that.

He laughed. “Not that hard; you’re just about the only one who insists on calling me that, even if you don’t need to.” There was a small creak that conjured mental images of him leaning against the desk or slouched in his chair. “Everything alright? Did you need something?”

“Other way ‘round, actually.” Xaeryn fiddled with her notepad. “I’ve had a busy day and it occurred I wasn’t here much if you’d called, so I thought I’d check.”

“There are these people called secretaries, Xaeryn,” Red teased. “You might look into hiring one of them.”

“I know, I know.” She snorted softly. “Especially since most people don’t have your genial reaction to me missing their calls...”

“Most people haven’t known you since you were a gangly fourteen year old trying to cram yourself in the library loft to read in peace, either,” he said warmly. “I know how focused you get. And nothing new, I’m afraid. I got stuck lecturing first-years all day.”

“And you survived,” Xaeryn laughed, curling her toes in and out when they started to cramp.

“Barely,” Red said with a rueful laugh(she’d bet he was running a hand through his hair). “And that despite their best efforts.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to stick around,” she said, only half-joking.

“Smart woman,” he deadpanned. “But I knew that already.”

Flatterer. It sounded coy and thus stayed in her head, replaced with an equally joking, “I won’t guest lecture, before you ask.”

“Damn,” he said lightly, “At any rate, I’m sorry I don’t have more yet-”

“Don’t apologize,” she cut him off. “I wasn’t expecting anything. Only checking. Just in case. Your responsibilities come first and they kept you busy today. I had plenty of other leads to chase today.”

“Where did they take you?” Red asked. “You mentioned being busy...”

“Merchants’ Guild to start. Then Ashtown-”

“Xaeryn.” His voice was already bristling worry.

“--to talk to Thieves’ guild.”

“Alone?! Ryn-” Red huffed a sigh of exasperated, retroactive concern and she bit back a laugh at how well she’d pegged his reaction. “Do you... take risks like that often?”

“Only when I need to,” she said carefully. Wouldn’t be mentioning the tail on her way home, then. “I know how to handle myself, Liefred. I was polite, we talked, I left. It was fine.”

A long moment of silence. “If you say so.” He didn’t sound completely convinced. (She decided not to tell him her office-apartment sat right by the boundary between Astown and Smoketown) “What else?”

“Just the Hall of History and Culture to speak with the curator.” She shifted in her chair. “That one took a while, but I got some good information to follow up tomorrow.”

“Best of luck with that, and... be careful?”

Xaeryn smiled fondly, unsure whether or not to hope it carried into her voice. “As I can be.” A beat, then she added lightly, “I’d hate to wind up a cautionary tale in one of your lectures, Headmaster.”

“Xaeryn.” She could practically see him trying to glower at her(and failing; Red couldn’t be that mean) through the telephone. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” And I appreciate it. She sobered her tone to match his. “But my line of work comes with risks sometimes.The best I can do is promise not to exacerbate them.”

“I’ll take it,” Red said softly, then was quiet a long moment. “I should let you go; it sounds like you have another busy day tomorrow?”

“I do.” She’d still stay up til midnight talking to him in a heartbeat, but, “and you probably need to recover from this one.”

“Mm. I get to do it again tomorrow, too,” he said glibly.

Xaeryn laughed. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts,” she said with mock solemnity “Good luck to you, as well, in that case.”

“Thank you, I’ll need it,” Red chuckled softly. “Goodnight, Xaeryn.”

“Goodnight, Liefred.”

She stared at the telephone a long moment after hanging up, smile curling her lips, before pushing out of the chair. After a day like this, she needed dinner, a hot bath, and a good night’s sleep. In that order.

She still double checked the door was locked before turning in.

----

(what you don’t see, bc I stuck with Ryn POV, is Pan was in Red’s office with him when she called. :3 Cue Pan promptly batting his eyelashes, making exaggerated lovestruck faces, and generally being a little shit bc He Knows, while Red’s gesturing for Pan to GET OUT of his office. and trying to get him to listen without actually talking so Ryn doesn’t know someone’s there(he doesn’t know why he doesn’t want her knowing that, he just doesn’t). Pan finally relents but hangs in the hallway til they’re done and comes back in with the biggest shit-eating grin “You’re still stuck on her, aren’t you?” Red, groaning and burying his face in his hands: “Pan, close your head, PLEASE. yes”)

#queens fic #shoh #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #chase trinaeste #shery acquell #tlbt #ryn/red

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years

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Dreams, Chapter 5

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

GET. READY. This is a bigger chunk but I really think it’s worth it.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 5

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5343

Summary: Dean’s birthday proves easier than expected in some ways and harder in others.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol, s l o w b u r n

Sam pulled back from you, opening one eye drowsily. “Are you okay?” he says, voice gritty with sleep.

“Yeah, I…he didn’t die,” you breathed, confused.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“He always dies. He fell off of Bobby’s roof, but he just broke his ankle, he, he didn’t die.”

Sam rubbed his face with his free arm, trying to wake up more in earnest. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been later than 7:30. You hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours but suddenly felt beyond alert. “That’s good, right?”

“I—yeah, it’s good. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The reflex was to say no, usher Sam back to sleep. But your reflexes had already been wrong once today. “Can we?”

The way Sam kept the surprise off his face was admirable. It was the first time you’d agreed to talk about the nightmares that plagued you since losing Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. “What happened?”

You told Sam all about the dream, sparing only the details you couldn’t really remember or only made dream-sense, like the way you knew it was 4th of July weekend without having been told. He listened thoughtfully, the focus obvious in his expression. He waited a long beat when you were done, sure not to step on your moment of vulnerability.

“What do you think it means?” he asked gently.

You thunked back onto your pillow to gaze up at the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t care, to be honest.” The almost-dark made fuzzy static pulse in your vision. “I think I’m going to write about it, actually,” you said, and startled yourself.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Sam said encouragingly. “Do you want me to—” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’ll be back in a little bit, see if you can go back to sleep.”

Sam nodded with more than a little concern and you climbed over him, yanking an old sweatshirt out to throw over your wilted tee and scampering off to the kitchen table.

The house was ice cold and dark aside from the ever-present Christmas lights and you could feel the needles that had begun to drop from the tree under your bare feet, rapidly cooling on the cheap flooring. You picked up the notebook and pens Sam had gotten you and sat down at the kitchen counter to write.

In the days that followed, the constant and varied nightmares of Dean’s deaths returned. When you woke up, more and more often making it to the morning, you kept writing to Dean about them and sometimes your day as a way of processing. You never ‘told him’ about exactly what happened and tried to focus on the sweet things you remembered that made the worst dreams a tease, moving them to your daytime memory and trying to wash away the despair the nightmares left you clawing through.

By the middle of January, you and Sam had fallen mostly back into old patterns. The Christmas lights were still up, a sort of night light against the long Midwestern nights, and you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of despair sweeping up loose pine needles when Sam was in the shower every day. You didn’t want the winter to end, as weird as that sounded with the ice and chill and fingertips that never warmed all the way. It felt like if you moved into spring that you were leaving the time-out that you’d created and would have to figure out a longer-term solution than this rented cabin, all thin drywall and poorly insulated ceilings. Even your jobs didn’t feel permanent, the summer vacationers sure to come back and reclaim their spots in the town as it came back to life with the plants.

The ‘mostly’ was that the boundary you broke with Sam never truly came uncrossed. When you were washing dishes he would come stand behind you, the heat of his lips seeping into the shoulder of your old sweatshirts. You’d intertwine your fingers with his while he drove, realizing only when you went to open the car door and found yourself tangled, or running your hands through his hair while he read next to you on the sofa. You never met Sam’s eyes in these moments—somehow it felt like a secret, private thing that would collapse into dust if gazed upon, some sweet, small creature you were protecting. Neither one of you talked about it in the time since that tequila-soaked night.

As much as you’d needed to be close to him before, you began craving Sam in a way that scared you. You’d always found him beautiful in the way you admire someone you love, but you caught yourself taking notice of the pillars of muscles along his back when he broke down stock boxes and the dark swoop of his eyelashes. The comments about how lucky you were to have him that used to make you nervous your cover was about to be blown started to make you ache a little with fear and something you couldn’t place. You felt a bizarre flick of jealousy when some twenty somethings drinking White Claw dragged their eyes over him at the bar before leaving on their snowmobiles, like he really was yours to claim. It seemed like a manifestation of your fierce attachment and unresolved grief not only for Dean but your old life with the Winchesters, when they sort of were: your teammates and no one else’s. You resolved it had to be and explained it away without inspection, even when these ‘isolated’ moments became less and less isolated.

Before you knew it, you were hurtling toward Dean’s birthday.

“What should we do on Sunday?” you asked early on a Thursday afternoon, trying to keep your voice light and easy while you and Sam got ready for your last day of work for the week.

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

“Did you guys ever do anything when you were little?”

“I mean, not really. Sometimes like a cake or whatever I guess, but Dean was always better at that stuff. By the time we were in our 20s, he only wanted to go meet girls and play up the ‘kiss for the birthday boy’ schtick.” Sam grinned sheepishly as though you didn’t know who Dean had been.

You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the cocksure half-boy you’d met all those years ago. “Okay, well, if you didn’t have anything in mind, I have a couple ideas.”

“Oh, yeah, I had only really come up with a cherry pie and a bottle of whiskey.”

You stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed Sam’s empty plate, leaning into his drying hair for long enough to inhale the minty earthiness of his shampoo. “I mean, that’s a given.”

In Sunday’s late morning you slipped out of the house while Sam was in the shower, leaving a note behind that said you’d be back in a few minutes. You careened down the road to the quaint main street, running through the list in your head. The grocery store was first for the only bottle of scotch they kept in a tiny plastic container and the fixings for bacon cheeseburgers, then the coffee shop had a cherry pie that looked better to you than whatever pseudo-Entemann’s they had in the limited grocery bakery section. The hardware store had everything else you needed and some extras; you praised the cold climate necessity of having multiple places in town to get gloves and thick woolen socks as you threw a couple on the checkout with the rest of the haul. It was awkward to get everything in the trunk, and you were thankful in this moment that you weren’t trying to drive the little sedan you’d had years ago when it was just you, even as annoying as it was to park the Impala sometimes.

Back at the cabin Sam was solemnly cleaning up, his eyes red as he wrung out a mop. You took the pie and whiskey out of the bag and put the other groceries away without removing your coat. In truth you only took off the boots you were wearing as a concession to Sam’s mopping, feeling itchy to get back outside and let the complexity of your emotions explode into fresh air unencumbered.

You tossed a pair of new woolen socks to Sam, who caught them against his chest. “You’re going to want these.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I think Dean would’ve liked. Put on some layers, too.”

Sam obeyed with a crooked eyebrow, coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking like a lumberjack catalogue model. You didn’t say anything when you realized the hoodie he was wearing used to be his brother’s.

“Ready?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t know where we’re going,” Sam answered honestly.

You gestured toward the door and he followed you out to the car. Thankfully it had snowed that morning, and tiny billows of powdery snowflakes blew up around each car that you passed on the way.

The hill was massive. It was a little surprising considering the flatness of the majority of the Midwest, and you’d had to remind yourself that there were some small skiing outfits in the upper half of the state when you’d found it, sure that it was a garbage dump that had been covered lazily in grass seed and left to its own devices. Less impressive surrounding slopes reassured you when you’d scoped it out a few days earlier, and the fresh glittering snow made it look even more spectacular now than you’d remembered. You decided not to push it taking the Impala onto the snow, instead parking at the dead-end you thought was closest.

“We’re here?” Sam asked, obviously still confused.

“Yep. Come on,” you said, enjoying the surprise more than you’d thought you would.

Popping the trunk made it obvious when the bright plastic sleds were wedged in alongside the miscellaneous weapons whose permanent home it was. You watched Sam’s face as recognition dawned, closely followed by a smirk you knew was in large part to humor you. Yanking them out in one big pull, you handed Sam the green one and one of the pair of gloves you’d gotten that morning.

“These are huge, where did you even find them?” he chuckled, popping the plastic tie between the gloves and sliding his hands into them.

“You’re huge, it’s not like I can put you on a kid’s one. Besides they must be pretty serious about their sledding up here, these were just from the hardware store.”

Sam shook his head and waited for you to put your gloves on. They were comically big on you, but you knew you’d regret not wearing any and tried your best to grip the sides of the plastic sled through them as you took off toward the hill. After a few steps, Sam took the sled from you without a word, able to hold it easily with both his well-fitting gloves and the many extra inches between his arms and the ground.

The walk up the hill was somewhat of a trudge but the way the crisp air sliced through your lungs was a welcome distraction. Snow dampened the ambient noise so all you could hear was Sam’s rhythmic breathing like a mantra, and with one foot in front of the other, by the time you got to the top you felt like you’d been meditating. The view was amazing from the top, a painting or old illustration with its tiny homes and cottages over meandering fields, the snow washing everything out as if you were watching someone else’s dream.

“Should we race?” Sam asked, the swirled pigment of his irises lit up by the reflection off the snow.

The next thing you heard was Sam’s laugh behind you as you took a few big strides and jumped onto the sled. Careening down the hill, your hair snapped around, tiny whips cracking into your wind-tenderized cheeks as you tried in vain to steer the sled in slices across the straight pass. Sam’s cackle was distant but comforting over your shoulder. You closed your eyes to feel the speed underneath you and the wind across your face; listen to that laugh that you’d heard so little recently, an old favorite song to be put on repeat. On January 24th of all days it felt like you were being baptized in the clear crystal sound of it.

When you came to a stop, Sam was only a half second behind you. You fell over in a fit of giggles listening to him play-whine about cheating and “Totally not fair, after I carry your sled all the way up for you!”

“I’ll beat you again with no head start! Unless you’re chicken,” you taunted, brushing snow off your legs to start back up the hill again. Sam scrambled to his feet, passing you up quickly with his huge strides as you started to run after him. Gasping with laughter and exertion, you and Sam half-wrestled and chased each other to the top, collapsing to your backs like snow angels. After catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look over at him.

“Rematch?”

Sam’s smile, all straight pearl teeth and cold-flushed cheeks, was as breathtaking as the icy wind as you tore down the run, this time on your stomach with your head low like a bullet, trying in earnest to win again. The front lip of the sled in your fingertips rumbled against little imperfections in the snow. You glanced to check how much of a lead you had on Sam and had barely turned your head before you realized you were also dipping your shoulder, tilting the sled on its greased-lightning path and therefore you with it. Sam was right on your tail and narrowly missed crushing you when you fell off the sled by bailing out of his, your legs tangling together with misplaced velocity. You tried to hold still so you wouldn’t catch his face with a flailing limb, only moving after a beat when it seemed like the collision was over. Sam’s fall seemed to have been more graceful than yours, as he still had a hand on his sled and only a left arm and hair full of snow that he shook loose like a puppy.

“Are you okay?” he said, getting to his knees to reach out to you.

You could feel the scrape on your cheek before you got up, but Sam’s wince was only minor when he saw it which was reassuring. He snatched off his glove and brushed snow off your face gently, barely grazing the broken skin. The warmth felt so nice and you would’ve curled up in his palm like Thumbelina if you could. “What’s the damage?” you asked, trying to think about the way your breath puffed up in clouds around you rather than the snowflakes caught in Sam’s eyelashes.

He was analytical as he took it in, tilting your head carefully in the light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?”

“Nah. Did you think I’d get soft that fast? I used to get stabbed like once a month.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you want to go home?”

It didn’t feel as odd as it should’ve, knowing exactly what home meant in this context. “And let you think I only won by cheating? Fat chance!”

“You don’t even have a sled anymore!”

You glanced around you and saw your sled sitting smugly an easy 30 yards past the base of the hill. “Gimme a ride?”

It was a little awkward until Sam sat down on the sled with each heel straddled and digging into the snow, allowing you to crawl between his legs without unintentionally sliding down the rest of the slope. He seemed unsure of himself as he wrapped his arms around your torso, and you hooked your hands around each of his legs to do your part to hang onto him. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm on your neck.

When you nodded, he unstuck his heels and you shot like a racehorse down the hill. Sam’s chest was solid as a rock behind you, cushioned with his layers and fastened with his seatbelt arms. You could feel the muscles in his legs moving against your hands, trying to balance the weight of the two of you on the flimsy material. Despite your fall only moments ago, it was safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The ride came to a stop only a few steps away from your cast off sled.

You turned into Sam to get to your knees before standing up and slipped on a wet patch on the plastic, the melted snow turning the surface impossibly slick. It made you fall forward into Sam, his seated position not giving him enough stability to stay on balance—the sled shifted back underneath the both of you and brushed your lips across his as you ended up with your scraped cheek against the rough canvas of his jacket.

“I—oh my god I’m sorry,” you stammered, springing back gracelessly.

Sam looked somewhat like a little kid or a doll, sitting wide eyed with his legs still spread out around you. You stayed back on your knees feeling like you should move slowly, that maybe you could back away unscathed yet. Sam reached his hands out and you thought it was okay, he understood you wouldn’t cross yet another line with him, that it was a simple mistake and he was going to move past it or ask for your help up, and then his heavily gloved hand slid into your hair and he was leaning toward you, the breath that had felt so comforting on the back of your neck as you flew down the hill now on your bottom lip. Your needle-sharp inhale drew that air from him, and you started to feel dizzy. He waited for a moment, searching between your eyes for you to pull back, to turn it into a joke, but you couldn’t. Something in the light pressure of his hand was an anchor and you found yourself glancing at Sam’s lips and slowly, agonizingly, Sam closed the distance between you.

His lips were so soft and gentle that it made you feel like you were going to cry and then you were crying, just one hot salty tear that stung the fresh abrasion on your cheek as you moved against him, this foreign and scary part of the person you knew the best on this earth. Somehow kissing Sam was exactly how you would’ve guessed it would be—tender and sweet and reverent. The sound dampening of the snow amplified your other senses: the feeling of the cheap Gore-Tex catching one or two hairs as Sam supported your weight, the small brush of Sam’s breath through his nose, the tight flick of the wind against your coats. It was over as quickly as it started, leaving you and Sam staring at each other bewildered while your hair tangled around you.

You could feel that your eyes were as wide as Sam’s. Completely unable to formulate a thought or feeling, much less something to say, you silently extricated yourself from the sled. Sam did too, staring at it like it was some complicated spell, even turning away from you as you crossed over to your own store-bought chariot. You could read his tension even in his back, the tight stretch of his shoulders as he clutched at the scruff of his neck, and just wanted to make it better.

“Okay, rematch for real this time? I would say I won’t fall again but, no promises.”

Sam looked scared when he turned back to you, his voice gruff when he choked out a halfhearted, “yeah, sure” and followed you up the hill. He was far enough behind you that you couldn’t hear his breathing anymore and it took him a little bit to reach you at the peak. His body seemed like it was cracking around him, aging in moments as he shakily got into his sled beside yours. You wanted so badly to tell him it’s okay, it’s just some dumb mistake, we were just goofing off but you knew it wasn’t true and you didn’t want to lie.

The only thing you could fix your mouth to say was, “Count us down so you can’t say I’m cheating again,” and hope he heard the apology and forgiveness in it.

Sam obeyed dutifully and you kicked off down the hill, trying to use the speed you gathered and the clarity in the way it split open your lungs to try to understand what had just happened. The same trip that had felt like glorious ages before was over in a second and you were up out of your sled before you remembered you were supposed to be measuring whether you or Sam had gotten down faster.

“Tie, we’re going again!” you yelled over your shoulder as you did your best to bound through the deep snow up the side of the hill, not waiting to see if he was following you.

Once again at the top, ragged and out of breath and only a few steps ahead of him, you took a second to collect yourself before putting your sled back in the snow and holding it in place with one foot.

“I’m sor—” Sam started before you cut him off.

“Okay, third time’s the charm!” you said with panicked cheerfulness that you knew instantly was too much, but Sam stopped talking and dejectedly sat on his sled next to you.

You and Sam spent probably an hour more sledding, your legs turning to jello underneath you as you ran up the hill over and over again and your cheeks getting more and more wind chapped, before Sam finally smiled, exasperated at some joke about still beating him up the hill with legs that were half as long. It was all the fuel you needed to keep chipping away at him until the sun started dropping and the chill broke through all your layers.

The two of you plodded through the snow back to the car together. Gloves and sleds in the trunk, you flopped into the passenger seat with that sudden too-hot feeling of getting out of the wind and tore at your coat to desperately strip some layers. Sam threw his own jacket in the back. Without giving him a chance to protest or hook up his phone, you turned on the tape deck and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here pounded out like rocky silk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmured. You looked over at Sam, who burst into a kind of frantic laughter that you completely understood. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing either, because of course this was playing during the tense peace on Dean’s birthday in Dean’s car, and then you and Sam were cry-laughing in the rapidly humidifying air of the Impala while Syd Barrett waxed poetic. By the time the second chunks of Shine On You Crazy Diamond started, you were gasping for air and clutching at your sides.

You drove home after that in relative silence, the fatigue of fresh air and running all afternoon catching up with you. Sam took a shower while you put together burgers, switching spots with you to cook them while you washed up. They were pretty good due in large part to how seriously Wisconsinites take their cheese, bacon, and beef, and you wolfed yours long before your hair had stopped dripping onto the collar of the threadbare sweatshirt you’d changed into.

The first shot of scotch burned like it always did, offsetting the sweet tang of the cherry pie and reminding you of the way Dean used to taste when you kissed him at the end of a long night. You looked out the window at the last purple glow of the sunset as it turned the evening into deep, endless inky blue.

“I’ve gotta—I’m so sorry,” Sam spat out like the words were beating their way out of his mouth.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, unable to immediately meet his gaze and looking down at your pie.

“I just—I can’t—I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he stammered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Join the club.”

Sam smirked but it was mirthless. “No, I know, but it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He stabbed a deflated cherry with pursed lips, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The fork clattered to his plate. “It’s not getting any easier. Every day I wake up and I’m so mad. It’s so fucking unfair that I have to stay here without him because I know that’s what he fucking wanted, and I feel like there’s no point in trying to have anything like good or normal because I’m just running out the clock. And then today’s Dean’s fucking birthday and I kiss his girlfriend—what is wrong with me?”

The outburst hung in the air, a toxic smoke that excluded everything else. You slammed the rest of your glass of scotch, relishing the way it scalded. “So I’m just Dean’s girlfriend?”

“No, that’s not what I—I mean I guess—it’s not like you aren’t—I don’t know, it just seems like you’ll always be his girlfriend.”

“Are you still Jess’s boyfriend?”

It was the absolute most cruel and wrong thing to say and you regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue and crashed into Sam, not even really knowing why you’d thought them. They distorted his face in incredulity and betrayal but you didn’t back down, maintaining eye contact until he snatched the bottle and refilled both glasses. When he spoke again his voice was gravelly and broken.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“Sam, this is fucking weird. It always has been, us being alive without Dean, and if you’re just now getting that then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s going on either, but I know that you’re the only thing that’s keeping me from ending up with a bullet in my skull or in a locked ward, so if you’re waiting for me to forgive you for something, for anything you’ve ever said or done, it’s already forgiven. But we’re too tied up together for every tiny redrawing of the boundaries to send us over the edge. Please.”

“Tiny redrawing of boundaries? I kissed you!”

“And I kissed you back, Sam! What do you want to do about it? What’s the absolution here? If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Take the Impala and I’ll find some other car, I’ll borrow the Kaisers’ other one or something. Or maybe you want me to go and I’ll go; I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave right now, you never have to see me again if that’s what you want but I know Dean loved you and loved me and I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to torture yourself all the time so what is it that you want?”

“I want us to be fucking normal and I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating with my brother’s girlfriend! I don’t want to have a cover story and I don’t want to keep running away!”

“Then fucking stop! Stop feeling guilty and talk to me about this stuff!”

Sam laughed, hard and bitter and choked off.

“I’m serious. We can’t keep doing this shit, at least I can’t. We need to start talking—about Dean, about everything. It’s like this lump of decay and we’re just spraying Febreze and not dealing with it.”

Sam’s mouth popped open as he tongued his molars. He bit his lip in frustration before crumpling up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten pie. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

You weren’t expecting that. For all the ways it had seemed like Dean had been the more emotionally closed off, he was always much easier for you to read than Sam, who managed somehow to talk about things without actually communicating how he felt. It was good if you needed to be supported but made it extremely hard to be there for him. Refilling your glasses a bit more conservatively, you offered up an open palm to let Sam go first. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.

“No bullshit?” he asked.

“No bullshit. What’s the point of bullshitting anymore? After everything?”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 6

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