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light-yaers · 4 years ago

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Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Three

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I keep saying to expect a slow down soon and I MEAN IT. I can’t sustain this any longer and to be honest, be ready for fic writing to come to a halt for a few weeks time in the next months-- I have a university dissertation to be writing, but instead I’m doing this! PRIORITIES. Thank you all for reading, fr.

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.6k

Chapter Three

“I thought he was a respectable General,” Inej whispered, finishing the last of her whiskey with a small frown.

“He plays the role well,” You replied sadly, before looking at Brekker. He was deep in thought, a scowl constantly present on his thin lips. “I’m only one person who knows the truth,”

“Then why tell us?” Kaz spoke suddenly. “Why share this with people you’ve just met?”

You took a moment to ponder your reply. Why were you telling the lackies at the Crow Club? The Dregs of the Barrel? Kaz Brekker and his band of un-merry men and women? Growing up in Kerch meant you already knew their names, despite not living in the country for most of your adult life. News travelled fast, especially when it concerned Ketterdam.

Maybe it was intentional that Inej found you that night, wandering the lush establishments at Fifth Harbour and riling up bouncers because of your appearance and obvious lack of kruge—or maybe it’d been fate.

“Why do you believe it?” You asked in return. “Why do you believe the word of a woman you’ve just met?” Kaz’s jaw clenched in response. He looked down at his desk, probably beating himself up over his prior question, even though it was a good one.

“Your Kefta,” Inej spoke up softly. “From afar, it looks like common dress, but up close, behind the mud and dirt, you can see the intricate embroidery,” She raised her tiny hands to your Kefta, placing her fingers on the stitched details—the winding winds of a Squaller, white threads against a deep black.

“You said you weren’t Second Army,” Kaz spoke up once more. “Yet you were in the Little Palace, being trained by the Darkling himself,”

“I never went on an army mission in the many months I was at the Little Palace,” You replied. “I was grateful at first, until I realised it was simply another way for me to eventually trust Kirigan, to worry about him,” Inej frowned at you then, showing you large and caring eyes. Kaz, however—he looked pained.

“But, what about—,”

“Do you wish for me to continue, Mr. Brekker?” You interrupted him, hearing the want and confusion in his voice. He swallowed down his words, forcing his gaze onto your eyes. He nodded once. You smiled slightly, readying yourself. “My sister’s funeral was held two days later...”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Later

The flames licked at her skin at first, until she was a light—bright, a star, burning so ferociously in a way that mimicked her personality when she was alive. Your sister, your last remaining family, the last love of your life.

She was burning. And there was nothing you could do but watch.

The funeral was a silent and small affair, but you hadn’t expected it to be anything more. If you were still out in the cold, harshness of Fjerda, it would have been even smaller than the reception she had at the Little Palace—

You stood on your own, closer to her burning flames. Behind you stood two Inferni; twins, a brother and sister. They looked at your sister solemnly, despite not knowing you or her. Maybe they felt your pain. Maybe they didn’t want to ever feel your pain. Beyond them stood the Heartrender, Ivan, the one who’d put you into a death state two days prior. And finally, behind him—

General Kirigan of the Second Army.

He donned his Kefta today; a menacing black and grey that only emphasised the broadness of his shoulders. His hands were clasped in front of him, his expression blunt and eyes reflecting the raging flames of your sister’s pyre. As much as you didn’t trust him, refused to trust him, he’d put all of this together.

He’d brought her back from those frozen wastelands. He’d arranged for her body to be cleaned and donned with lavish silks. He’d gathered the Inferni to light her pyre, after you’d denied wanting to light it yourself with a torch.

You stayed perfectly still as you watched her burn, too afraid that moving would only cause you to fully break down. You didn’t want that; you didn’t want another reason for those here to look at you oddly. Kirigan strolled forward then, slowly, gently, as you stayed facing the pyre.

“Let us leave you, now,” He whispered into your ear, so close it made you shiver. You nodded once, but not at him; at your sister. Slowly, one by one, the Grisha left you and your sister, until you were completely alone.

You don’t know how long you stayed out in that acre for, watching the acrid smoke rise into the air and the flames begin to die down, searching for her face within piles of ashes.

It was hours, most likely. The sun had been high in the sky when the pyre was lit, but now it was descending down, down, down the horizon, casting a pink glow over the lavishness of the Little Palace grounds.

And then, the fire went out.

The flames dissipated into nothing more than black smoke.

Then, it seemed almost pointless to stay standing there, frozen like a statue and looking at the last remaining substances of who your sister was. You glanced up at the sky for the first time in hours, indulging in the glorious sunset on the last eve of your sister’s presence on this Earth.

You kissed two of your fingers, placing them above the once flaming pyre. It was still incredibly hot, her ashes retaining the heat of the fire. And then, you left. You didn’t cry, you didn’t collapse, you simply walked back to the Little Palace, entered through the main doors, and then stopped—

And when you stopped, you almost couldn’t take it. You almost couldn’t stand the quiet, the air, the feeling of eyes watching you wherever you went, so close to falling to the ground where you stood and just giving up—

General Kirigan’s door clicked open as you stared at the floor. He rounded the corner of the frame, landing his eyes upon your slumped shoulders and laboured breaths. He took a few timid steps forward, but you hadn’t even noticed him yet, not until he cleared his throat.

You flinched immediately, hitting his eyes as a spike of anxiety was rammed through your heart. He’d scared you, and it seemed he knew he had. He frowned at your reaction, stepping forward once more. “It was a beautiful ceremony,”

You didn’t know what to say to him, nor did you have the energy or will to want to speak to the Darkling that stood before you. But there was a part of you that was grateful for his words—for his company amongst the winding corridors and scowling faces of the Grisha here at the Little Palace.

The only thing you were holding onto was Kirigan’s earlier promise.

“Tea?” He spoke again, this time prompting you to scoff involuntarily. You looked at him with an odd expression, one that was trying to work out his motives. From the small glimpses you’d got of Kirigan around other Grisha, you knew it wasn’t customary for the General to share tea with them.

“I could go for something stronger,” You said breathily, though you weren’t being entirely serious. Kirigan didn’t seem to get your joke, however, as he gestured to his chambers.

“Will Ravkan rum suffice?”

You’d lost count at the fifth, or maybe it was the sixth, but it was easy to just keep topping up your glass when Kirigan placed the bottle on the table between you. Sometimes it was him refilling the glasses and sometimes it was you, but neither of you particularly cared.

You were on the brink of being too drunk to stand, too drunk to know what you were saying, but perhaps—too drunk to care. It was the perfect relaxation tactic after the funeral. You’d almost needed this, even if General Kirigan wasn’t the person you’d imagined being sat opposite you.

“Where do you go all day?” You asked, your words not yet slurring, but getting close. “A few Grisha have said it’s unusual for you to attend training,” He smiled at your question, tapping his rum glass.

You’d had one day of training so far, put on hold for the funeral today. Kirigan had attended, but it’d been obvious that other Grisha were on edge by his presence. All except one—a Sqauller like yourself, by the name of Zoya.

“I don’t just oversee training. I’m in charge of many aspects of the army. Tactics, movements, squadrons,” He sipped his drink. “But you already know my reasoning for wanting to shadow your training,”

You nodded once, humming to yourself without realising. You looked at your hands then, twisting them out in front of you and pinpointing the various lines and indents, the length of your fingers, the curve of your nails.

“You didn’t wear your Kefta today,” Kirigan said, almost in a whisper. You flicked your gaze to his eyes. You’d woken that morning to a knock upon your door—a guard had handed you the intricately designed blue Kefta and then left, leaving you almost speechless.

You’d decided against wearing it, however, sticking to your usual clothes of a blouse and woven trousers, kept up with braces.

“I don’t feel like a Squaller yet,” You replied. “Not a proper one,” It was sad, the way that Kirigan looked at you. It almost made you move your gaze away from his deep eyes, but you couldn’t make yourself do it after alcohol was swimming in your system.

“It’s the blue, isn’t it?” He said, and the smile on his lips was an indication of his joke. You reciprocated his expression, feeling a small bubble of giggles in your gut.

“The blue is lovely,” You replied sarcastically, causing a laugh to burst from the General’s lips. You didn’t realise this man could laugh, could chuckle, could—well—feel.

A comfortable silence fluttered over Kirigan’s chambers. This was the second time you’d been in his room. His décor was so much different than the cream and gold walls of the Little Palace itself; with all dark wood furniture and stained walls. In the centre of his office sat a large circular table, topped with a map of the countries. In the middle—the Fold was indicated with an intricate wooden structure, painted a matte black.

You fluttered your eyes around the room, taking everything in. You inhaled, smelling the wooden scent of the furniture and the musty leather of the chair you sat in, mixed with something sweet that resembled an aftershave. You stared at the paintings and skimmed over his trinkets. Everything seemed to suit him perfectly.

When you turned back, the General was already looking at you.

“I’ll commission you a different Kefta design,” He said it so smoothly that you were reminded of the annoyance it had given you before, but with rum running through your veins all you felt was relaxed. “One that’s more suited to you,”

“You don’t have to do that,” You replied, feeling small under his colossal gaze. He smiled at your reddening cheeks.

“A glorious Kefta for a glorious storm summoner,”

Saints, the way he looked at you was almost too much. His eyes skimmed your skin, traversing your jaw, your nose, your lips, before falling back to your wide eyes. He was regarding you openly and you weren’t looking away—you were taking it full on, perhaps spurring him on to continue.

This was just the rum, it had to be. This wasn’t the General Kirigan you’d ever imagined.

Saints, stop.

“I should go,” You said then, rising yourself from the leather armchair. Kirigan copied you, exhaling at the same time he dragged his eyes off of you.

Your goodbye was as unceremonious as the walk back to your chambers. You staggered a few times, needing to clutch onto the spiral staircase for dear life, but by the time you were back at your room, you were ready to fall asleep immediately.

You lay in bed, your eyelids prepped for immediate rest, but your mind wouldn’t be quiet. In fact, it was yelling at you—screaming, crying, pelting you with warnings—

Stay away from General Kirigan. Do not indulge him.

All you could was laugh at your cautious mind, telling it that it was overreacting, before you were drifting off into much needed sleep.

You still didn’t don the Kefta the next day, sliding down to the training courtyard silently, as if hoping that no one would notice you being there. It was useless to want that, however, considering you were a face that Grisha here didn’t recognise, dressed in clothes instead of your respective Kefta.

You stood to the side while everyone gathered, chatting away before the instructor came forward. “Hand to hand combat is just as important as your abilities,” He said bluntly, flicking his eyes around the colourful group. “We’ll focus on that today. On strengthening your hits, your blocks, your stances,”

You almost smiled to yourself—you knew hand to hand combat. Very well, if you said so yourself. Growing up in Novyi Zem, defenceless and out in the open, you’d adapted quickly to being stealthy, as well as having a mean hit. Hand to hand was something you knew better than your own Grisha abilities.

“Get in pairs,” He continued, and that’s when your face dropped. You glanced around helplessly when everyone started pairing off, giggling and chatting and knowing each other after so long. You felt like a sore thumb; someone who wasn’t wanted.

Suddenly, she bombarded before you—Zoya Nazyalensky. She’d made herself known on your first day, most notably with her dirty looks and the scowl on her jaw, but now? She was beaming, smiling so wide and happily that you almost didn’t recognise her. She gripped your bicep excitedly. “Let’s pair up together, two Squaller’s against the World,”

You had a feeling Zoya wasn’t usually this chipper, but you had no choice but to accept her as your partner.

“Zoya,” The instructor prompted. “You and your partner, front and centre,”

Oh. So, that’s what she wanted.

There was no way to back out now, as Zoya dragged you to the centre of the courtyard. She removed herself to stand opposite you, and that’s when her face changed—back to the dirty looks she’d given you before, the obvious dislike and want to crush you just for funzies. You got the feeling that Zoya felt she was the only Squaller worthy for the Little Palace.

You simply had to prove yourself, then, in front of the other Grisha.

“Fight to defend yourselves, not to attack,” The instructor said, his eyes mostly on Zoya. She dipped into a stance and you followed suit.

Saints, please make this fight the least amount of humiliating that it needs to be.

Within seconds, she was moving. Her first swung through the air swiftly, but you jutted your elbow up to stop her forearm, whacking back with all of your force. Zoya gasped from the interruption, but it allowed you to jab your knuckles into her ribs.

You punched forward, hitting her right in her ribs and causing her to stagger back slightly from the hit. Her brows only furrowed more as you continued your back and forth, a hit—a block—a stance—a hit—a block—it was endless and incredibly draining, but the more you fought, the more Zoya became frustrated.

She’d been wanting a quick fight; something to show that she was superior. Little had she known that you were a fighter, more so with your fists than the winds.

You stepped back to the edge of the circle, breathing deeply, arms out in front of you ready to block her hits. Your hair was in your eyeline, the braces of your trousers slipping from your shoulders, but you wouldn’t stop for a second to pull them back up.

Zoya’s cheeks were blotched with colour, her mouth ajar as she inhaled and exhaled deep, long breaths, trying to get oxygen back into her system. You could see the anger creeping onto her face with every second that passed. You were reluctant to storm forward to hit her, knowing that that would give her the blocking advantage, so you stayed put, counting down the seconds until you’d be free of this pointless and embarrassing fight.

At that second, the doors to the Little Palace were pulled open. Zoya and yourself took a few seconds to peer towards the creaking doors, as General Kirigan strolled towards the training session strongly, with a purpose, no hint of a hangover on his stubborn jaw.

Zoya’s face upturned into a smile at his arrival, but you were a few seconds too late at returning to the fight. Zoya’s hands were brought together immediately, summoning her power as you were helplessly bombarded backwards by winds—

You landed on your back with a thud, hearing the subtle laughs and chuckles of the observing Grisha. You didn’t care though; if you cared about every small battle, every time you fell, then you would have died of humiliation by now. You simply got yourself up again, glancing upon the questioning face of Kirigan as he stared at Zoya—

Then you brought your hands together—

And you summoned the storms that you were used to summoning. Maybe it was overkill, as the entire courtyard was encased in circling winds, or maybe it was needed, just to get Grisha like Zoya off of your fucking back. You spurred the winds on, tightening the funnel and tensing your muscles to keep it contained, even if it was large.

Zoya’s hair whipped around her as she watched your storm appear from nothing. Her eyes landed upon your own, sending you a clear and precise message—fear. She’d never seen a storm such a this, not even by her own hand.

“How?” She yelled, frustration laced within her words. But, you weren’t done with her yet.

You attempted a move you’d never done before, summoning the winds to your hands instead of the surrounding courtyard—you struggled against their power, but when you felt confident in your aim and execution, you let them loose.

Winds rushed forward, hitting Zoya directly in her gut and slamming her backwards; just as she’d done to you. She hit the floor harshly, laying there for a few moments as she fought against her winded lungs.

You allowed your storm to dissipate then, flicking your eyes over the shocked faces of the other Grisha, before allowing yourself to land upon the face of General Kirigan—

He was already staring at you, the way he’d done the night before. His lips were curled into a small smile, his eyes peering into yours and only yours, as if he didn’t care about the ruckus that you’d just created during the training session. He looked just as speechless as your fellow Grisha, but with a higher level of understanding and appreciation—

He looked like he’d never tire from seeing you summon these storms.

Zoya curled herself up from the floor painfully, grunting through the discomfort as she forced herself to standing once more. She went to storm forward, her face twisted with red rage, but the instructor came between her and yourself.

“Enough,” He said, eyes skimming over the prying gaze of the General.

“Do that again and I’ll send you above the cloud-line without a parachute,” Zoya threatened openly, but you couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t think Squaller threats work on other Squallers,” You replied, gaining a few scoffs and huffs from the Grisha who surrounded you. You weren’t expecting one of them to be Kirigan, however, as his gently bobbing chest hit your peripheral. He was silently chuckling, moving his gaze between yourself and Zoya like a tennis match.

Zoya was wounded, that much was obvious. You would have felt bad if she hadn’t effectively asked for it. She’d been looking for a fight, and that’s exactly what she’d got—it wasn’t your fault that you fought better than she thought you would.

Kirigan regarded you then, getting your attention by raising his hand out before him. He motioned you over with two curling fingers. You shot a look at Zoya and the instructor once, before obeying the General’s orders. He tilted his head down as you approached him, keeping his expression light and soft.

“I see you’ve met Zoya,” He said, amusement certainly on his lips. You stared at him bluntly.

“We’re the best of friends. Can’t you tell?” You replied, but you kept your voice quieter. You were all too aware of the prying eyes of the Grisha in the courtyard, muttering to each other as to why the General had made another appearance at training.

He smiled wider, glancing back at the Squaller and then back to you, letting out a small huff of laughter. You were once again astounded that this man could laugh; every time he chuckled or the bob of his shoulders was shown, you found yourself paying too much attention to the boyish way he sounded, the soft curve of his jaw as he was smiling, the carefree way his hands flinched as he chuckled.

“Can you ride?” He asked then, changing the subject. You nodded at him once. “Good. We ride tomorrow, together. I want to show you something,”

He strolled off then, without giving you a chance to reply. You watched as his arms draped by his sides and his broad shoulders were even broader as they arched across his back. You swallowed to cut off your thoughts, choosing to focus too closely on the sound of your heartbeat beneath your ribs and the subtle ache of your limbs after fighting Zoya, instead.

You watched until the General was back inside the Little Palace, the black glint of his uniform still etched in your peripheral— even when he wasn’t around.

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the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

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Happy Fucking New Year!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Words: 5071

Summary: You and Bucky spend New Year’s Eve together in Paris!

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (F receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, anal play, cum eating), explicit descriptions of violence, minor character death, SMUT, 18+ only!!!

A/N: Well, my grandma ass passed out while literally writing this fic last night at like 10PM so sorry it’s late! But it’s still New Year’s Day so whatever. It’s kinda fun, I definitely enjoy having Bucky and Sam be complete idiots while our poor reader is the only one with common sense, so you may be seeing a lot of those two fucking things up in this series. Join my taglist here if you’re inclined and a Happy New Year to all you lovely hoes!

“Damn, Barnes. Look at your ass in that tux.”

He choked on his champagne when you snuck up behind him, grabbing one ass cheek and giving it a squeeze before he had a chance to turn around.

He didn’t know how you always managed to catch him off guard. He was used to being able to pick up on any threat immediately, but you were always able to slip under his defenses.

The expression that came over his face when he finally saw you was priceless. You loved surprising him with shockingly revealing outfits, offending those sweet old man sensibilities he pretended to have in public. But you knew exactly what he was thinking as his eyes drank you in.

The gown you had picked was a deep blue velvet that hugged your curves. While the skirt was tight against your legs, it still could’ve possibly been considered modest. The top though…. The v of the neck wasn’t as deep as your usual style, but the back dipped so low he wondered how you could possibly be wearing panties. All he could think of was snapping those thin straps with his vibranium hand and watching the fabric slide over your soft skin before it pooled around your ankles.

He couldn’t believe the two of you were spending New Year’s Eve in Paris. You’d barely had a chance to speak to each other after your tryst in Stockholm, and now you were together in the city of lights on one of the most romantic nights of the year.

“Hey, Barnes, you still in there?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He grinned at you as he watched you take a sip of champagne. “Just wondering where you’re hiding your knives in that dress?”

“Mmm, if this night goes according to plan, maybe I’ll let you look for them later.” You teased him, giving him a wink as you walked your fingers across his chest.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two promised to cool it with the kinky shit over comms.”

The two of you turned to shrug apologetically at Sam, who was glaring murderously at you from across the foyer.

“Sorry Sammy.” You whispered, tittering to yourself.

“Yeah, sorry Sammy.” Bucky gave him a stupid grin as the three of you started slowly moving to one the hallways leading to the main building.

“You don’t get to call me that, Barnes. You keep getting me into these fucking stupid situations, and your poor girlfriend always has to get us out. We were almost home, man, and you just had to follow that shady fucker at the airport.”

“No, he was following me. And anyways, I was right about him. I told you HYDRA had various goon squads lurking around.”

“You guessed.”

“I guessed right.”

“So, you admit it, you guessed!”

“Hey, boys!” You furrowed your brow as you turned to glare at the two of them, a little annoyed at the bickering. “Isn’t there supposed to be a door here?”

They finally shut up and followed your line of sight to where all the intelligence indicated the access door to the arsenal should be located.

Bucky let out a deep sigh and clenched his jaw, his eyes moving up the wall until they found the tiny hatch in the corner, fifteen feet off the floor. He turned his head to Sam and growled.

“You were in charge of reconnaissance. Do you not know the difference between a door and a hatch? Do your little robot minions not know how to take measurements?”

“Hey, don’t blame the robots man! This was based on human intelligence, which I’m pretty sure is your responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

You ground your teeth together as you listened to the two of them, not sure how you were able to put up with this shit. You took in your surroundings, trying to figure out a way through this situation.

“Well one of us has to get up there.” You murmured to yourself.

“I nominate robot boy.”

“Ok, ya know what, they’re not robots. I might’ve been able to let it go but, heh, I can’t. They’re drones. And if you think me buzzing one of those through the party out there is inconspicuous…”

“Oh, not one of your robots, you. What if I throw you at the hatch?”

One glance at him let you know he was seriously considering throwing your friend at the hatch. You rolled your eyes as you slipped out of your pumps.

“Ok, now you’re trying to piss me off, I just told you they were drones. And you are not throwing me at that tiny door. It’s not even open.”

“Well, if I throw you hard enough, that won’t matter.”

“It’s a solid steel door, dumbass. And I’m pretty sure it opens outward. I vote we come back later with some tools.”

“We’re on a timetable. I say we settle this with some old-fashioned rock, paper, scissors.”

“Um, no, you cheat.”

“How can you cheat at rock, paper, scissors?”

You did your best to tune them out as you stretched, sighing as you gathered your dress up over your thighs and grumbling to yourself about ruining another outfit.

“I don’t know, but you do. Ok, if you use your normal hand, maybe that’ll work.”

“Whatever, I’ll still win.”

You walked back down the hall, then turned and sprinted past the two of them, vaulting off one leg when you reached the corner and using your momentum to spring yourself off the wall until you were able to brace yourself in the tiny alcove next to the hatch.

“Could one of you toss me the laser driver from my clutch?” You called down to them, now that they had finally stopped their incessant arguing.

Sam grinned up at you as he picked your clutch off the ground, tossing the driver to you when he found it.

“Man, every time.” He shook his head at Bucky as you started working on dismantling the door. “I don’t know how your dumbass has survived this long without us, Barnes. You can’t just punch your way through everything.”

“I’m sorry, ‘us’? Seems like she’s doing all the work while you’re just bossy.”

“Can you two just give it a rest? I’m in.” You pulled the hatch open and slid through it, hanging over the edge by your fingertips for just a second before softly dropping on the balls of your feet on the other side. “Fuck, that’s a lot of bombs.”

“What kinds of bombs?” Sam asked over the comms, all business now.

“Well, I’m not an expert, but this sure looks like tesseract related tech to me.”

“Shit.” Bucky hissed. “Any way to disarm?”

“Well, probably, sweetie, but there’s at least 100 of these fuckers, and I don’t really feel like spending all of New Year’s Eve playing ‘which wire?’”

“Alright, just give us a second.”

You heard a yelp from outside and all of a sudden Sam’s torso came flying through the open hatch, his hips catching on the edge.

“Did he just throw you?” You asked, not bothering to hide the grin that spread over you face as Sam looked for something to swing down with. You dragged over an empty shelf and he pulled himself through, climbing down gingerly to come stand beside you.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking menace.” He grumbled, brushing some debris off his shoulders. He whistled through his teeth when he got a good look at the stockpile you had uncovered. “Shit.”

“Fuck me.” Bucky murmured, suddenly behind the two of you, making Sam jump.

“Goddamn it Barnes, why you gotta always be so stealthy?”

“Maybe you just need to pay better attention, what if I’d been a goon?”

“You are a goon.”

“Oh my god, I cannot do another round of this. Sam, can you call this in please? Maybe Sharon will have some idea of what to do about the massive pile of shit we just stepped in.”

“Fine, Y/N. I’ll call the boss.”

You went to examine the bombs more closely. They all seemed to have remote triggers, but you didn’t want to take the chance that they were volatile, so you resisted the urge to pick one up.

“Yeah, this is definitely tesseract tech.” Bucky muttered, and your heart jumped into your throat when you turned to see him tossing one of the bombs into the air and catching it again in his vibranium hand.

“Motherfucker put that down you idiot! What if there had been a pressure sensor?”

Bucky stared at you for a second, then back at the bomb in his hand. “Right, whoops.” He placed it back on the pile gingerly and gave you a sheepish grin.

“I swear to god, the two of you are going to end up getting me killed.”

“Ok, boss said they have a remote drone about one minute out that should have the ability to disarm these. She just wanted us to open the skylight for it.”

“The what?” You hissed at him.

“Uh….”

“There’s a fucking skylight?” You looked up and scoffed, seeing a very large window right there in the ceiling.

“Nice, Wilson.” Bucky just shook his head at him.

“Fuck you, Barnes! You didn’t know about it either.”

“No more! One of you morons get up there and open it!” You were seething. “You’re lucky I like the two of you or I swear to god, I would stab the both of you right now.”

“Alright, rock, paper, scissors?”

“No!! Bucky, just fucking do it.” You screwed your eyes shut and pressed your fingers into the peaks of your eyebrows.

“You got it, beautiful. You’re so cute when you’re mad… shit.”

He had to scramble up one of the shelves as you tried to charge at him, but Sam was able to hold you back at the last second.

“Ok, let’s all just take some deep breaths. It’s all good. The drones on the way. We didn’t have to fight anyone. And there’s still 25 minutes until midnight, so we’ll all get to toast the new year.”

Right as he uttered that last word, a large door on the opposite end of the room opened, and three goons carrying large guns entered.

“Goddamn it, Wilson, you jinxed us. And look, another fucking door!”

“Yeah, they do seem to be popping up everywhere.” He muttered under his breath. “Hey, fellas, we were just…. god, y’know what, I’m too tired to come up with something. Should we just fight?”

You sneered at him before hefting one of the bombs and chucking at the head of one of the guards, hitting him right between the eyes and knocking him out.

“OOHH! What if that had gone off?” Sam yelled at you as you charged the two standing goons who were still standing, diving at the last second to roll one of them over your shoulder.

“Oh, so only you and grandpa are allowed to make stupid decisions, then?” You said, pulling out a knife from under your skirt and trying to stab the guard who was still standing. You were just a little too slow and he dodged you, making you hiss. “Do you mind giving me a hand?”

“Shit, right.” He found a metal pipe leaning against the corner and walked over to where the first guard was starting to come to his senses, bringing it around in an arc to crash against his chin, knocking him out again.

“Drone’s here! Aww man, you guys started a fight without me?” Bucky had climbed back down to find the two of you grappling with your respective opponents.

He walked over and punched the asshole that had Sam in a chokehold in the face with his vibranium fist, feeling a satisfying crunch as he went down. Bucky started to stride over to give you a hand as Sam tried to catch his breath when you suddenly drove your knife up under your opponent’s ribs, giving it a twist before you withdrew it.

“Y’know,” He murmured as he watched you bend over to clean off the blade on the dead man’s jacket. “I’m a little mad at you now. I was looking forward to looking for that later tonight.” He grinned at you, nodding at the knife in your hand as you drew up your skirt to return it to the sheath on your thigh.

“Don’t worry sweetie, there’s plenty hiding under here for you to discover.” You teased him as he pulled you to him, pressing a deep kiss to your lips and moaning against your mouth. He always got so worked up after watching you fight.

“Ugh, I’m still here, you freaks!”

“Shit, sorry Sam!” You flashed an apologetic grin at your friend as he glared at you. Bucky was pulling at the front of his pants and screwing his eyes closed as he tried to fight his obvious erection.

“There’s something wrong with you two.” He muttered under his breath as he started climbing the shelves to leave through the skylight.

The drone had done its job. All the indicator lights on the bombs were off, showing there were no longer armed. You gave a small sigh of satisfaction before looking up at the skylight.

“Gimme a boost, Buck.”

“Yep.” He hooked his hands under one of your heels and grinned to himself as he brought his arms up a little faster than you had intended, flinging you up to the roof in one swift motion and making you yelp.

“You’re such a dick!” You shouted down to him as he started to climb out after you, making him laugh. “What time is it Sam?”

“Hey, we’ve still got 10 minutes to midnight!” He said, giving you a grin.

“Ooh, think we can make it back?”

“Yeah, it’s just a couple rooftops over! Barnes, move your ass!”

Bucky was just climbing onto the roof as you and Sam started jogging towards the adjacent building and cursed under his breath as he clambered to follow you.

Sam let out a whoop as he leaped between the buildings, one of his drones catching him halfway and carrying him to the other side.

“Oh my god was that waiting out here the whole time?” You scolded him as he swooped back to lift you across the gap, depositing you softly on the next roof.

“Yeah, why are you surprised?”

You just gave him a laugh as Bucky flung himself over the space between the structures, rolling in his landing and scowling at the two of you when he regained his feet.

“No thanks, I don’t need any help.” He growled at Sam, voice dripping with sarcasm as he brushed some pebbles off the shoulder of his tux jacket.

“You’re fine.” Sam waved a dismissive hand as the three of you walked to the next edge, which led to your hotel.

You dropped down first to the ledge that was 10 feet below, landing on the balls of your feet and twisting just a bit to gain your balance before you started gliding towards the window to your room.

“You good, Y/N?” Sam called as they watched you crouch as much as you could when you reached the end of the ledge.

“She’s got it.” Bucky muttered as you uncurled your body like a whip, shooting across the gap between the two buildings, latching onto the buttress above your window as you stretched down, your toes reaching for the lower sill. You found your purchase and released one hand to draw the window open, then slipped inside easily. “See?” He gave Sam a grin as he moved to follow you.

It only took the two of them a minute to join you, and you met them with champagne and a pleased smile on your face.

“Hello boys, just in time for the countdown!”

You passed out the drinks and took one for yourself before the three of you headed out to the small balcony that was around the corner from the window you had entered through.

“And 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!” The three of you shouted.

You heard the city erupt in cheers and fireworks started exploding over the Eiffel tower. Bucky set his champagne flute down and drew you into his arms, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed as you opened up to him, welcoming the crisp taste of champagne on his tongue as he curled it against yours.

“Ooookay, that is my cue to leave.” Sam said, downing the rest of his drink and avoiding making eye contact with either of you as he made his exit.

“Mmm, Happy New Year, Sammy!” You called after him. Bucky just waved a hand at him as his mouth moved down to your neck, his lips trailing over your throat as his other hand pressed against the small of your back.

“Just, remember to take out your comms, I’m begging you.” Sam said before shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck, right.” You plucked yours out of your ear and set it next to your glass as Bucky drew you back into the room, sucking on the curve of your shoulder softly. He released you for just a second to remove his own comm and closed the door to the balcony before turning back to you.

“Oh, that fucking dress.” He growled as he took you in, his eyes dark with desire. “You know, I’ve been wanting to peel you out of that thing all night, you damn cock tease.”

You stepped into him and pressed your hand against the bulge in his pants as you nipped at his bottom lip. “Mmm, your always so good to me when I tease you though, baby. I can’t help it.” You moved your hands up to start undoing his tie. “Besides, I don’t know how you can blame me for teasing you when you’re walking around in this tux. I’ve been wet all night.” You whipped the tie off and started working on the buttons of his shirt as you took his earlobe between your lips and sucked on it.

His hands moved to your ass and squeezed as he ground his hips against you, making you gasp. “Don’t tell me that unless you want me to do something about it. Fuck, are you even wearing anything under here?”

You slid his jacket off his shoulders and followed it with his shirt, running your fingers over his bare torso before starting to undo his belt. “Why don’t you get it off me and find out?” You purred, gazing up at him through your lashes as you drew the belt through the loops and moved to unbutton his fly.

He leered at you and brought his hands up to your shoulders, running the thin straps of your gown through his fingers before snapping them easily. He sighed as he watched the material slither over your curves and pool at your feet. “I fucking knew it.”

You were completely bare under his gaze, aside from the two knife belts you had around your thighs, each of which contained 2 blades.

“Damn it, Barnes.” You scolded him.

“What?”

“Could we have one night where you don’t end up ruining at least one expensive item of clothing?” You sighed, bending over to pick up the dress and shooting him a soft look of reproval.

“Shit, baby. I’m sorry. I get too excited.” He did feel a little bad, but every time you wore something like that, all he could think of was ripping it off you.

“Well, now you’ll just have to make it up to me.” You teased, tossing the dress aside and drawing him closer.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured as his fingers moved to start undoing the belts around your thighs. He brushed his lips against the small hollow beneath your ear as he worked, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin there as his fingers brushed over your legs, making your pussy clench around nothing. “You want me to show you how sorry I am with my tongue?” He set aside the two belts and moved a hand to cup your sex, groaning at how warm and wet he found you.

“God, just fucking do it.” You hissed as he teased a finger between your folds, barely brushing against your heat before withdrawing again.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He picked you up and carried you a few feet to lay you on the dining room table, kicking the chairs out of the way with a clatter.

He gave you a searing kiss, taking your breath with him when he withdrew to kneel between your thighs. His stubble tickled at your skin as he moved his lips and tongue up your inner thigh at an agonizing pace, moving to the other thigh when he had almost reached your cunt and making you whine.

“I’m so sorry I ruined your dress, pretty girl.” He finally dragged his tongue over your slit and you let out a low moan, your fingers burying themselves in his hair as he repeated the motion. “Wish I could promise it won’t happen again, but this pussy does things to me.”

He pressed the flat of his tongue against you and drew it over your entrance heavily, slurping up all the evidence of your arousal with an obscene sound before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The whimper you let out made his cock twitch as your thighs clenched around his shoulders, drawing him into you even further.

“God, Bucky, right there.” You murmured as he increased the pressure on your bundle of nerves and inserted two fingers into your cunt, moaning at the feeling of your satiny walls clenching around him. He curled them just a bit and you wailed, arching your back into him as you started whispering “please” over and over like a prayer.

He grinned against you as he shook his head slightly, pressing himself even further into your heat and lapping up the juices that leaked from you as he fucked you with his fingers.

He added a third finger and crooked his wrist just slightly and that was it. Every muscle in your body went rigid as you came against his face, soaking him in your release as you clamped down on his fingers and sobbed with pleasure. You released him slightly, only to spasm again from the aftershocks as your muscles quivered around him. He finally managed to draw himself away and stood between your legs, grinning down as he watched you come down from your orgasm, shivering occasionally as a random jolt of pleasure shot through you.

“You think you can forgive me?” He asked wickedly as he finished undoing his slacks and slid them over his hips, followed by his boxer briefs. He drew his hand over his length as he waited for you to answer, nudging the tip of his cock against your folds and making you yelp.

“Fuck, yes. God Bucky.” You sat up and wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing his face to yours violently. You ground your hips against him, groaning as you felt his shaft slide through your slick easily. He started to lift you to bring you to the bedroom and you shook your head a bit before releasing him. “No, I need it now.”

He grinned at you as he teased his head against your clit, making you whine. “You want me to fuck you right here on the table?”

“God, yes please. Gimme that cock. I need you inside me.” It was driving you crazy. You brought a hand between the two of you and wrapped it around him, making him hiss as you lined him up. “I want you to split me open then fuck me until I can’t breathe.”

He let out a low growl from deep in his chest. He loved when you talked like this. He pushed into slowly with a groan until he was sheathed to the hilt, relishing in the feel of you clenching around him. “Fuck baby, you feel so good. So tight and warm. What else you want me to do to you?” He started moving his hips slowly, grinding them against you each time he was bottomed out.

“Shit,” You were panting with need as he moved inside you, his cock dragging against your g-spot over and over and making it hard to think. “I want your mouth on my tits. God, just like that.” He was following your instructions beautifully, dragging his tongue over the inner slope of your breast as his hips kept up their slow pace. “Fuck, baby, suck on my nipples now.”

He did as you asked, swirling his tongue over the sensitive buds as his lips closed around them, sucking softly and making you whine. He’d always been good at following orders.

“Mmm, move faster.” You commanded, wrapping your fingers in his hair as he continued lavishing attention on your breasts.

He obliged easily, picking up the pace until he was slamming into you, knocking the breath out of you. You met each of his thrusts with your own, mewling as you felt a coil starting to knot in your abdomen.

“God, I’m gonna cum.” You whined.

One more drive of his hips and the coil broke, making you scream. Your fingernails dug into his scalp as you went stiff for just a beat before everything released. He smiled into your neck as you vibrated against him, panting heavily as you came down.

He kept fucking into you like a man possessed. He brought his mouth back up to yours and kissed you softly as he felt you relax a bit. “Did I do good, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, baby, you did great.” You laughed into his mouth as he kept moving.

“You’re in charge, pretty girl. What do you want now?”

“God, work my clit. Fuck, just like that.” You were having trouble focusing as he did what you asked. “I need your mouth on my neck. Hngh, Bucky! That’s so good.”

“What else, beautiful?” he grinned against your throat, loving how easily you were coming apart around him. He picked up the pace with his hips a little more and felt you flutter around him.

“Shit, stick your thumb up my ass.”

He was not prepared for that and his hips faltered for a bit. He whipped his head up to stare at you as he regained his composure.

“What?”

“Ahh, fuck.” You were just a little embarrassed. You usually liked to ramp up to this type of thing, and especially with Bucky, you had wanted go really slow with this particular kink. You didn’t know how much of a thing anal play had been in the 40s. “Um, you can forget I said that.”

To your surprise, he broke out into an absolutely sinful grin and gave you a savage kiss as he laid you back on the table, stilling his hips but keeping himself sheathed in you as he drew your knees up to your shoulders.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ass, baby.” He said as he started moving his hips again, dragging his thumb through the slick that was leaking out around his cock and moving it down until it was pressing against your pretty hole, making you gasp.

“Bucky, don’t tease me.”

“Thinking about this tight little hole wrapped around my cock, I was worried you’d never let me in.” You moaned as he pressed himself through the tight ring of muscle and your eyes rolled up into your skull as you arched yourself into him. “But here you are, giving me a fucking invitation.”

He gave a groan when both your holes clenched around him, and he felt his cock moving in your cunt with his thumb through the thin lining between your passages. He drew himself out halfway and slammed back into violently, the tip of him barely kissing your cervix and making you whine.

His fingers on your clit pressed down hard and you flew apart around him, your orgasm ripping through you with abandon. The scream you let out was otherworldly as you creamed all over his cock.

The sight of you writhing beneath him sent him over his own edge and he shouted your name as his cum spurted inside of you, coating your walls and his dick as he collapsed on top of you.

You were still trembling as aftershocks rippled through your body. He kissed your neck and pulled out of you gently. You barely noticed, you were so fucked out.

“Shit sweetheart.” He muttered as he drew himself up. “This body treats me so fucking good. Damn, look at that.” He drew your knees apart and stared appreciatively at you pussy, still clenching as you came down. His cum was slowly leaking out of you and dribbling over your puckered hole. “Let’s clean you up.”

You had expected him to go get a towel, but he knelt down and dragged his tongue over first your asshole, then your slit, making you sob as he lapped up the mixture of your releases. When he drew his tongue over your clit, you came again immediately, it was so overstimulated.

“Fuck, you ok, Y/N?” He hadn’t expected you to be that sensitive and was worried he might have overdone it. He brought himself back up to look you in the eyes, cupping one cheek in the palm of his hand as he studied your face with concern.

“God, Bucky, I’m fucking great.” You gave him a sloppy grin as you stared up at him, turning your head to press a kiss into the palm of his hand. “I don’t think I can walk though.” Your legs were jelly.

He just laughed and scooped you into his arms, carrying you into the bedroom and laying on the bed. He covered you with the sheets and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before heading into the bathroom to clean himself up. He was only gone for a minute before he was sliding behind you and wrapping you in his arms.

“Happy New Year, beautiful.” He whispered into your hair as you drifted off to sleep, drowsy now that you were surrounded with his warmth.

“Happy fucking New Year, Bucky.” You murmured before you dozed off, blissfully satisfied.

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes @starlightcrystalline @stargazingfangirl18 @buckysnumberonegirl

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #seb stan #bucky barnes smut #smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #eighteen plus

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katzkinder · 3 years ago

Text

Strawberry Madeleine

Tsurugi used to use Mikuni’s old uniform as pajamas.

He’s aware of how pathetic it is. How it sounds. How it probably would have been more subtle to shout that he missed him through a megaphone, for all of Tokyo to hear.

Of course, it doesn’t smell like his old roommate anymore. It hasn’t for a long time, especially not after having been washed and given to Mahiru to run around in for a whole week, over a year ago now. Especially not after it needed to be bleached, and deep cleaned, because of all the blood and dirt and dust that had been practically ground into the white fibers.

Frankly, it’s a miracle that old thing is still around.

He never expected to get it back, but he did, and he’s only a little ashamed to admit that he held it the same way someone would hold a cherished stuffed toy, inhaling the smell of fabric softener chosen with Kuro’s delicate skin in mind. He had called himself creepy, and Yumikage… Had flicked his forehead. Called him an idiot.

The way he had explained it, it made such perfect sense.

Mikuni... Was a familiar pain, like a bruise that never quite faded and you press your fingers to it just to remind yourself you’ve been hurt.

Yumikage, Junichiro, Freya, Mahiru, and Kuro are a comfort he never thought he deserved, and that old uniform, one of the only few possessions of his that had survived, the new softness of it and the new smell, are proof that whether he deserves them or not… They are his.

Anyone would cherish that, wouldn’t they?

***

One day his phone lights up in the evening twilight.

“I made too much. That offer to join us for dinner is still valid ☀︎”

Attached is a picture of a simmering pot of curry that makes his mouth water so much he nearly drools all down his front. There’s something familiar about it he can’t quite place, but it’s easily ignored and Tsurugi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, thumbs flying eagerly over the screen.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes ☆” he replies, then, after adjusting his course accordingly, practically skips off down the sidewalk.

Two minutes from his destination, his phone buzzes again.

“I left the door unlocked for you. Come right in!”

Tsurugi... Tries really hard not to cry in the middle of the street as words half remembered while his soul was tangled with Mahiru’s filter back to him.

If the window is shut, we'll just go through the door.

***

Sometimes Tsurugi goes to Mahiru’s house to play.

It’s a childish way to put it, like they’re both in elementary school and he’s showing up at the front door to ask his friend’s uncle if Mahiru is home, but it’s also the only proper way to describe it, because he is playing.

He’s free now, or about as free as he can be with those debts looming over his head, and he wants to play. Kuro, meanwhile, wants to show him lots of different games, so if he has a day off, and the both of them are available… To the Shirota apartment he goes.

It’s always a mess.

Not the apartment, no, never the apartment. He doesn’t think even C3, with its white walls and white floors and white sheets and everything, everything, white, was even half so clean as that little apartment where three people lived.

What’s always a mess is himself.

This time, though… It’s Mahiru.

***

Tsurugi knows he’s a messy person. Tsurugi knows he’s not very good at cleaning up, though he often tries. It’s overwhelming though, sometimes, looking at it all, all the trash and garbage that had accumulated, all the things he didn’t need anymore, didn’t want, and maybe part of the problem was that his mind hardly ever stayed “adult” long enough to make any real headway.

It’s not like anyone went into his room to begin with, anyway, so why bother?

Mahiru, though, is different from him. Mahiru likes to clean up as he goes, so he supposes it shouldn’t be a shock that he gets frustrated with him and with Kuro, who have their little area in front of the TV set up with snacks, and drinks, and piles and piles of games to try out, and a third controller for Mahiru because sometimes instead of watching, Mahiru will join them, tempted by their cajoling and whining and Tsurugi’s bright, high pitched yelps.

This is not one of those times.

This is a time when Mahiru got frustrated and stormed off, and… Well, Tsurugi isn’t quite sure what to do.

A single look at Kuro shows he doesn’t either, wide eyes watching the hall his Eve disappeared down and slowly the umaibo he had been munching on disappears into his mouth.

“Should we… Clean up?” Tsurugi asks, hesitant. Their characters on screen continue to idle, the timer ticking down. Kuro hits pause. Stands, stretches, cracks his back and Tsurugi can’t help but wince because that can’t be healthy…

“...Yeah,” the Servamp finally says, and bends down with a muffled groan to start gathering chip bags and drink containers. “It’ll give him time to cool down.”

“Does this happen often?” Tsurugi stands, too, and casts his eyes about for something to pick up, but there really wasn’t much. Kuro’s already got it handled.

It makes him feel just a little useless.

He was a grown up, wasn’t he? … Wasn’t he?

***

Giving Mahiru space to calm down seems to have been the right choice, because when they find him, curled up on his bed and looking just the slightest bit ashamed of his outburst, he looks ready to apologize at any moment.

But Tsurugi doesn’t want an apology.

He wants Mahiru to come play with them.

So he speaks first, apologizes, sincerely, and promises that he and Kuro will clean up after themselves properly, but when they are done.

“You don’t need to keep everything nice and neat all the time, y’know. Part of being a grown up is knowing when it’s time to play and when it’s time to put your toys up.”

Mahiru makes a face at him, buries his chin deeper into his knees. “Tsurugi-san, no offense, but I don’t wanna hear that from you of all people.”

“Ouch, haha.” He sits, plopping down gracelessly next to the still pouting teen, making him bounce and emit a startled noise, and Kuro shuffles forward, slides down on Mahiru’s other side. “...You’re right, though. I never really learned how to clean up and put my things away all nice and neat like you do. No one ever taught me.”

Mahiru shifts, glances at him curiously. Having seen Tsurugi’s room at C3, he definitely believes it.

“...I guess,” he starts, slow and picking his words carefully. Kuro makes an encouraging noise beside him. “Because I never really felt like the apartment was ‘mine,’ I always ended up cleaning after every little activity. Because having it be messy... Made it feel more lived in than it was.”

“... Mm. That’s exactly it. The illusion of company...” A self deprecating little chuckle. “Guess we both learned to handle that feeling in different ways. If Kuro-chan and I make a mess, we... Might need your help to clean it up properly. But... Can you trust us to clean up when we’re done?”

“... I can try.”

“Good!”

Kuro finally speaks up, because this was a conversation for them, not him. But the moment has passed, and it feels safe to say something a little stupid, a little funny. “We’re serious about the needing your help on how it’s done, thing.”

“Ugh, I believe you. Tsurugi-san, one time I put this guy in charge of loading up the washing machine and you know what happened?”

“Wait, Mahi, no—“

“Ohh, do tell~!”

“Bubbles. Bubbles, everywhere. My downstairs neighbor had no idea where all the suds dripping onto her balcony were coming from!”

“Pfffhahaha! Kuro-chan, seriously?! There are directions on the box!”

“And I followed them. Our washer is small, though, so it was too much...”

Kamiya Tsurugi was an adult.

Shirota Mahiru was a kid.

But, if they could teach each other the things they had missed out on…

Perhaps it was all for that reason, huh...

Tsurugi wonders if Mahiru will be able to make good on that promise for a cake this year.

***

The end of August comes again, and, just like he had hoped, Mahiru bakes him a cake. Covered in glistening, sweet strawberries, with loads of white, sweet cream, it’s almost too much, especially when paired with how Freya and Iduna had come by, are each sitting in Yumikage’s living room while Freya’s subclass play some noisy game with Takuto.

Some part of him didn’t think Mahiru would really do it. But not only did he keep his promise, he’s pressing a wrapped gift into his hand, a small one that rattles when it moves, this grin on his face as Tsurugi turns it over in his hands, this perfectly wrapped gift with yellow paper and citrus themed washi tape keeping it together. Mahiru’s Servamp lingers back, a noisemaker hanging unenthusiastically from between his lips. And yet, despite his carefully practiced indifference, there’s no denying that Kuro is also eager, just as eager as his Eve.

“Go on. Open it.”

So he does. It’s... A cellphone charm. “...Cinnamoroll...?”

Mahiru beams at him and shows off his own phone. Tsurugi snorts, a smile cracking at the sight of the Pompompurin character charm that dangles merrily from it.

“How’d you know my favorite~?”

“I asked around~”

“Thank you, Mahiru-kun,” Tsurugi answers him, feeling his throat close up, just the slightest bit. His eyes sting, and he holds that little charm close to his chest. “I love it.”

It's such a small gift. A tiny one, one perfectly suited to a high schooler’s budget, but it means so much.

Because it didn't have to be given.

Mahiru takes his wrist and leads him back to the core of the party, where they are all immediately mobbed by Tsurugi’s own homegrown family.

Vampires, magicians, humans. Adults, children, immortals.

People his own age. People who aren’t.

Tsurugi is loved.

He’s happy he was born.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #pawprints #tsurugi kamiya #mahiru shirota #happy birthday tsurugi!!!#ao3 version will be up tomorrow

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evarcana · 3 years ago

Text

Taking it out on you

Ev attends the court meeting only to learn that sometimes the second impressions are just as bad as the first ones.

characters: Ev Panopolis, consul Valerius and brief appearance of Volta

words: ~3k

warnings: alcohol (as expected)

notes: On some point I gave up on the idea of Ev being the apprentice, as she just does not have this "MC energy". So this is an introduction to her story, because there is no better way to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of this blog than to remember that a very long time ago I used to write fanfiction.

It has been almost a month already. Almost a month since she came to Vesuvia, almost a month since she was told that her services were not required here. The thought makes Ev frown, but she keeps a quick pace, the sound of her impatient steps on the marble floor echoing through the palace corridor.

It is just before eleven o’clock, and the last of crisp morning sun pours over the rich mauve of lustrous silk drapes and the gold leaf of intricately carved murals, drawing out the warm scent of orange blossom and beeswax from the polished panels of precious wood. Vesuvian palace is exactly what she was promised - a great wonder, and yet Ev doubts it could give any lesser impression while the backdrop to its striking opulence is the city torn apart by disease and grief.

There are no servants or visitors in sight, and Ev’s only company in this seemingly endless corridor are paintings on the walls, depicting what she can only guess are some of the proud moments of Vesuvian history - people and places so foreign to her.

She does simple math in her head: two months and two days ago she was marching down the corridor of a very different palace, eager to be on time for the meeting with Crown Princess Nafizah despite the quite literal last minute notice, and not knowing yet that she was about to hear details of this so-called diplomatic mission.

Back then it sounded straightforward enough. Prakra couldn’t ignore the news of Count Lucio's tragic death, not least because that meant Princess Nadia, the youngest daughter of the Prakran royal family, was left widowed and with the daunting task of handling the red plague epidemic in Vesuvia all on her own. Any ruler could do with an extra pair of hands and any country could benefit from the alliance with Prakra, especially in times of crisis like this. And it would have stayed straightforward if only the discovery of Countess Nadia’s mysterious illness and the unexpected, unreasonable, outrageous hostility of Vesuvian court did not bring this crisis to the whole new, now personal, level.

In theory, Ev did not have to deal with any of that. She could use the excuse that it was only appropriate to deliver such unsettling news about Nadia in person, go back and forget everything that happened in this palace like one of those unpleasantly bizarre dreams you get after a night of drinking. But Vesuvia was still the city Prakra cared about, Nadia’s city, and as far as Ev knew none of the people who came to be in charge of it were appointed by her. Prakran diplomatic presence was perhaps the only way to look after Nadia’s interests until she woke up. Even if Ev had no actual power over the court, returning to Prakra without accomplishing at least something felt like a failure, and failure has never been an option for Ev. With that in mind, she pressed the seal with enough force to imprint Prakran royal crest on the desk and not just on the drop of red wax marking the envelope, and stayed.

Now, after a month of living in the city, she has learned to see that there is more to her new role than just misfortunes. Her relocation allowance is generous, her new place is nicer than what she had in Prakra and she is getting rather used to the convenience of the wine shop next door. Even if parts of it are foreign and unwelcoming, Ev feels at ease in Vesuvia. The tension in her body relaxes, and she thinks maybe this palace can eventually get used to her too, but the thought faints away as soon as she sees the salon door. Ev presses a pile of papers closer to her chest and tells herself that she can think about everything else another time - the court meeting is about to start.

She pushes the door open but immediately freezes on the spot stricken by the gagging wave of nausea - nails dirty with soil and blood, sickly sweet buttercream pastries and rustle of feathers covered in mud. It is no more than a faint impression but even through the fogged mind Ev recognises the feeling - it is vestige, the afterimage of magic. She has felt it before, many times and in many different forms but never has it made her feel physically sick. What is even more unusual is that such a revolting sensation is coming from the palace quarters. One would expect tingles of bubbles from the charmed fountains of never ending sparkling wine or at least the impression of whispers, premium tea, treacle and bitter ambition from the walls which have been magically given ears, and not... whatever this is. Ev draws a deep breath, pushing down into her diaphragm and looks around the room. The salon is not set up for the court meeting, instead there is a tray of food and stacks of empty plates towering on almost every flat surface. Her eyes stop on greasy remains looking terribly out of place on the delicate porcelain plate and she unconsciously covers her mouth. Maybe she is mistaken after all - it is the strange smell of food and not some kind of creepy magic, and, more importantly, maybe this is not the salon she was looking for.

Before Ev gets a chance to mentally blame the chamberlain for giving her the wrong directions, a tiny figure appears from behind the chair. The white cornette is instantly recognisable and Ev is about to ask procurator Volta whether she is here for the court meeting too when she sees that behind the commotion of dark robes Volta is frantically trying to push the whole roast rack of lamb down her mouth. Dear gods. Somewhat unsurprisingly, one of the bones appears to be stuck. Clearly having not expected to have an audience, the procurator widens her eyes at Ev in a mixture of terror and shame. Unable to speak, after a few incoherent squeaks, she throws her tiny hands in the air helplessly, spattering herself with gravy and gestures to the open French doors leading to the balcony. Without giving it too much thought, Ev gives Volta a quick nod and takes an opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the scene.

Wrapped in the soft shade of the balcony, consul Valerius is casually leaning back in the chair, with the usual glass of wine in his hand. Even before she reaches the doors, Ev sets her eyes on his face. The consul is looking away, his face carved and unmovable, the tight knot of dark eyebrows making him look ireful and disgruntled, like one of those statues of stern gods she saw growing up in Zadith. Her next step lands much quieter and then, there steps in, Ev stops and stands very still wondering what thoughts could possibly bring this storm to Valerius’s face. Sun would suit him much more, she thinks, her eyes curiously trailing down the golden glints of his hair.

A loud snort catches Ev off guard and she realises that Valerius is now facing her, looking considerably more displeased than before, no doubt because of her. That’s more like it. How could she forget that this man is the very cause of her problems.

“Could I please have some of your time, consul?” she asks, heading straight towards him. Greetings seem excessive, they didn’t necessarily part on friendly terms last time.

“I didn't expect to see you here again.”

Ev allows herself a smirk. “I know.” I am not here to do what you expect from me. She stops inches away from his chair looking down at him, apparently enjoying the close proximity which, considering their formal relationship and the consul’s well known bad temper, could be regarded as both highly inappropriate and potentially reckless. But Valerius only turns away, more interested in his drink than in her.

“I have been studying the treasury records,” she continues, searching his face for any kind of reaction. His lips curl up in a sneer as he takes a sip of wine, but his eyes are still firmly fixed on the horizon. Ev follows his gaze expecting to see some radical change to the surrounding landscape, but there is only faint outline of the city roofs behind the lush green of the palace's vast grounds, - no columns of smoke, no ominous looking storm clouds gathering in the distance, nothing that could possibly be more interesting than her. Whatever. “Your tax system - ,” she hands Valerius neatly arranged papers, which he completely ignores,“- it is not working.”

“Vesuvian tax system remained largely unchanged for the last two generations, this is how these matters are handled traditionally,” says Valerius, once again denying Ev courtesy of eye contact.

Ev’s mouth twists at the sound of the last words. Too worried the conservative mindset might be contagious, she quickly withdraws her hand and takes a step back.

“I trust you understand that sometimes one should focus on what works, and not what is traditional,” she says, doing her best to disguise the growing irritation. “You don’t attract nearly as much foreign trade as you used to.”

What comes next is a very profound, uncomfortable silence. Ev sighs.

“Consul, you had plague in the city, people died,” her voice is louder now, “lots of people died”, and the irritation is obvious. “And Vesuvia cannot exist without its people. Somebody needs to bring food from the farmlands, make clothes, teach children, attend to the sick. Yes, in the past you could always import whatever you did not have but now people are scared to come because of the plague. You -”, she pauses in anticipation noticing Valerius shifting in his seat, but he only reaches for the bottle to top up his glass, “- you need to do something to make it attractive for them again. Lower the customs, lift the taxes for people whose skills you need, sell empty real estate cheap. There is plenty all around the city!”

Deep down Ev knows that none of these is going to work long term, but she doesn't care - she wants to do something and she wants to do it now.

Yet, nothing changes. She is still standing there, and he is still looking away. Ev would prefer him to disagree, start arguing with her - anything really, as long as it breaks this silence.

“Fine! If you don’t feel like changing this traditional system of yours, even temporarily, at least fix your mistakes.” Ev starts chaotically flipping through the papers searching for the one she needs, which would be a much easier task, if she was less flurried and if Valerius offered her a seat. She wonders whether he is now watching her, sneering at her struggle. “Your approved accounts, here,” this time she brusquely puts the paper in front of Valerius’s face blocking his view, “your numbers do not even add up! ”

For a split second she sees something on his face - a twitch, a flick of rage, and thinks that she has gone too far. But his question comes out in a calm, almost disinterested tone: “What makes you think that somebody like you is even qualified to check the city’s budget approved by the esteemed procurator Volta?”

A moment passes before Ev is able to break from staring at Valerius in disbelief. She glances to the salon where, judging by the sound, Volta has freed her mouth only to move to the next dish. Seriously? Perhaps she should be impressed that he managed to say it with the straight face.

And then there is a chilling sensation at the pit of Ev’s stomach. She asks herself what is going on here? What is this city under the reign of a person who questions everything and everyone except the obvious mistake in the accounts? And what is she - ? Angry, she reminds herself, is what she is, and throws a look at Valerius, who is taking another sip from his glass as in triumph. You don’t need to be qualified, you just need to have common sense. And you, Valerius, either don’t have it or you were not even bothered to look at what your court approves.

She pictures him lazily drinking wine, legs on the desk, his shirt unbuttoned, while completely ignoring his state duties. The image is irritating and yet not entirely unpleasant.

“We both know that I come from a family of alchemists and merchants. Trust me, I know how to count,” she says with a smile. It sounded right in her head, a ridiculous answer to the ridiculous question.

“I thought that during our last meeting you said that you had nothing to do with your witchcraft family.” A perfectly raised eyebrow, and that infuriating smirk.

Ev opens her mouth in protest but gives up quickly. Those were her exact words after all, save for the witchcraft part.

She begins to pace around the balcony avoiding looking at Valerius as much as possible. The consul clearly has a way of getting on her nerves, and she needs all her concentration if she wants to explain what exactly will happen to this goddamn city if they carry on with this approved budget.

“Think about the consequences for the people if this mistake is not corrected!” she shouts, her voice much louder than she would like it to be, and quickly turns to Valerius expecting a blowback. But the pale eyes are looking down, studying something on the floor, or on the edge of the fabric of her long sleeve, she really can’t tell. Oh gods, he is not even paying attention.

***

Valerius has firmly decided that he is not going to pay any attention.

The time of plague was exhausting: the palace suddenly full of people of all kinds and intentions promising to find a cure, pleas for help on the streets which he could not escape even behind the doors of the most expensive carriages, the count who was growing more desperate everyday and the white smoke of the Lazaret carried by the sea breeze towards the city, the memory of which still haunts him. And now there is the Satrinavas’ new pet here having an audacity to talk about his city’s problems - the problems which, out of all people, he should know the most about, he is the consul after all, and a Vesuvian.

Vesuvia he inherited is haggard and sad, and on top of that an enormous responsibility. The last thing he needs is a stranger questioning his authority, as if the incompetent court and the city demanding their beloved countess back have not been tiresome enough. Valerius lets out a short, barely audible sigh. He just wants this farce to be over so he can go back to thinking.

But the witch is not planning to stop, if anything she seems to be enjoying it. Look at her. Absorbed by herself and her ludicrous ideas, she is loud and talks too much with her hands. Her dress keeps slipping down the shoulder draping around the soft curve of a half barred breast every time she does one of these unnecessary, overconfident gestures. Valerius has absolutely no idea whether this is deliberate or she is simply unaware of the indecency which keeps drawing his eyes.

He tries to distract himself by taking a drink of wine only to discover that his glass, just like the air around him, is full of this loud perfume of hers. Harsh cinnamon, incense and patchouli, very much alike their owner, have no concept of the personal space ruining the perfect balance of his red. The wine is not helping. He catches himself looking at the shoulder again. In fact, absolutely useless. He sets his unfinished glass aside on the small table. Valerius has had enough.

***

“Enough!” Valerius shouts. His voice is suddenly deep and rather forceful and Ev hates that it has the desired effect on her. She stops and looks at him. “You were not invited to the court meeting.” The consul’s face looks awfully angry now.

Ev narrows her eyes. “And what exactly are you doing at your court meeting?”

“That should not be a concern of the Prakran subject”, Valerius says, his words dripping with poison, “or whoever you are.”

“I am a diplomatic emissary -,” she does not get a chance to finish.

“Leave!”

Ev wants to scream and protest, but even she knows better than to yell at somebody who outranked her. She draws a breath. One, two, three. All right.

“I only came to give you the papers”, she says coldly, her eyes still locked on his, and leans forward to place the documents on the table. “But I am taking this away, one should work without the distraction of wine.”

With these words Ev snatches the glass from the table, turns away and heads toward the exit as fast as she can without breaking into running. She does not want to look like she is scared that Valerius will grab her by the arm. If anything she is slightly disappointed that he doesn’t.

“My regards to the court,” she raises her hand and waves the glass in the air without looking back. Behind her there is a sound of paper being torn apart.

***

Ev only slows down when she reaches the main staircase.

Suddenly feeling very tired, she leans against the handrail. Again, what is she doing here? Why did she need to turn up in person when she could send a letter? Ev closes her eyes and rubs her fingers together as if feeling for answers in the whorls of her own skin, and remembers about the glass in her hand. Another bad decision. It would have been wiser to take the bottle.

She raises the glass to her lips and breathes in the wine. It’s pleasant. Perhaps she would prefer its company to the boring palace affairs too. Ev twists the glass in her hand, eying the smooth rim before drawing one long sip. It leaves a blush mark of her lips firmly planted on the surface which she studies for a few seconds. “You better be as angry as I am now”, she says to the dark liquid at the bottom of the glass.

#no i didnt read the whole thing myself #the arcana #consul valerius #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #evpanopolis #valerius x mc #ev x valerius

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yehet-me-up · 4 years ago

Text

White Rabbit

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (gender not specified)

Word Count: 5,091

Genre: hacker!AU 🧑🏻‍💻, Matrix vibes inspo, angsty but with a happy/hopeful ending

Rating/Warnings: (M) - mentions of violence/blood, swearing, death of a family member (brother), gunshot wounds

Summary: After his brother’s murder took everything from him, Jungkook is dead set on revenge, even if it costs him his own life. But at the last moment he finds a ray of light, of hope. At the last moment, he meets you.

The blood on the wall is not his, but it haunts him just the same.

He rests in bed though he hardly feels the full meaning of the word. The blackout curtains are pulled tight, blocking any errant strands of sunlight that would seek to come in. Jungkook knows he’s isolated himself, but he can’t find it within himself to care. With a groan he turns; the mattress and bedframe whine metallically, protesting the movement. The blankets would be warm and comforting - if he had pulled them fully, properly over him. But he can’t get comfortable; he forbids it.

Revenge and retribution are the twin flames that sustain him these days. They pull him through the pit of his loss like a rope around his waist, tied behind a moving truck. Through the mire of pain all he can see is one purpose. A single goal he clings to. Perhaps on the other side of his task he’ll find peace, or at least satisfaction that justice has been done. It’s a silly hope but it’s what he has, and he’ll sink his nails and his teeth into it with all the energy he has left.

Sweat coats his back in the midst of his half-awake state. Somewhere between dusk and dawn he found an uneasy sleep. His left leg hangs over the bed, exposed to the chill in the air, on purpose. He knows if he stops searching that he’ll sink, as if through quicksand. And the thought of what he must do is far less terrifying than the thought of what awaits him if he sank to the bottom.

In sleep he grasps the fabric of his sheets with tight fingers. His head shakes from side to side, neck straining and veins standing in attention. As always his dreams are fraught with slivers - of images and memories and premonitions, or what feels like them. Sometimes he remembers them when he wakes. Other times they fade in the light of the morning.

But always he remembers the white rabbit.

At times it’s a real animal made of fur and softness that dances around his feet in his slumber. Or he becomes one himself, when he stares in the bathroom mirror after long nights of sleep deprivation; when his teeth grow and his nose wrinkles and he imagines his ears lengthening to become animalistic.

It’s important, and he knows it in his bones. But finding the murderer has dominated his mind and always he rolls his shoulders and casts off thoughts of the rabbit. It lives in the world of his mind and he doesn’t have time to wander into dreams.

A discordant beeping pulls him from the fitful sleep and he sighs. Tossing off the blankets he rolls to the side. The damp white shirt clings to his frame and his bare feet hit the hardwood floor. Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his vision, tucking them behind his metal-filled ears. Rising, he gets to work.

Once upon a time he and his brother had work stations opposite each other. Computers pressed almost back-to-back to form one technological beast. Since he was seventeen he’s gone by K00KIE and after a few bumbling attempts he managed to find his stride as a hacker. Like learning a foreign language he stuttered and reached blindly for what he didn’t know for weeks before the words came naturally to his tongue. Now the internet has opened itself before him like a book held in his hands and reading is his chiefest joy.

His brother was everything Jungkook is not, and he exists now like the sun does to the moon on long nights, haunting Jungkook like a phantom limb. Less than a year separated them and they were far more like twins than just brothers. Jihoon was indeed almost brighter than the sun itself. Loud and free and unrestrained. He led them both into this world and now, left behind to pick up the pieces, Jungkook vows he’ll get them both out of it.

He stands, pressing his hands on his knees for leverage. The walk to his desk chair is only a few steps but it feels like he walked a mile. In the weeks since Jihoon’s murder he hasn’t had the energy to exercise. Or shower very often. Or even eat. Grief hangs around him like a shroud and with glassy eyes he takes in his workspace.

Jungkook lets his lids close again, dragged down by exhaustion, and he sees Jihoon sitting at his desk with a lollipop skicking from his mouth, speaking with animated hands about the program they made. How it would change the world. The cowlick of hair on his right side that always stuck up at an odd angle, and his eyes that crinkled whenever he was excited about something.

That world is full of bright color and when Jungkook opens his eyes, slowly, reluctantly, his apartment is awash in grey. Jihoon’s desk is empty. Every space is filled with piles of paper full of Jungkook’s messy writing, scrawled on every available notebook and receipt, surrounded by empty take out containers and chopsticks and energy drink cans and the stupid fucking plastic bags his grocery delivery services uses instead of paper ones.

Again his phone beeps, signalling more and more messages from his friends. A few he knows in real life, but most he only knows online. People who started out as words on a screen or lines of code traded back and forth but became the ones who know him best. They know he hurts and are trying to reach across through the digital world to catch him as he falls.

Kook, where are you? Talk to us.

Is there anything we can do? We’re here for you

If you want help, you only have to ask. To heal or… to make them pay.

Maybe he’ll let them, once it’s done. It’s a dangerous rabbit hole to walk down alone, but he won’t risk anyone else. He can’t.

None of his friends knew what he and Jihoon were working on. It was too secret for either of them to discuss online, where anyone could be listening. But in this community death means one of two things - either the government found you, or the competition. Jihoon didn’t fuck with the government, everyone knew that, which left only one option.

After he finds his brother’s killer or - fuck, killers? - perhaps he’ll be who he almost was again. Someone young and alive with the world at his feet. He could get a new apartment with a view of the park his brother loved, full of old brick columns surrounded by ivy and a sprawling network of paved pathways to walk. He could marathon anime and order from that Chinese restaurant he loves and play Tekken and create games and programs with his friends. It’s so close and yet so far from possible.

He turns his hands so his palms face skyward and gasps in a breath with how badly he wants to be freed from this. The pain and the hollow feeling in his gut and the insatiable urge to undo bloodshed with more blood spilled.

Could he do it? He wonders to his empty apartment, the darkness only lit by the glow from his computer screen. He doesn’t know what he’ll have to do, but whatever price is asked of him, he’s willing to pay.

His brother built a program that was too dangerous to be allowed and Jungkook helped him. Jihoon must have said something, anything, to the wrong people. The reckless joy that carried him through the world must have been exposed and then they came and sank their teeth into him devoured his brother whole. Jungkook helped him build the damn thing. It should have been me. It should have been anyone, anywhere else, but Jihoon.

Jungkook was down at the Seven-Eleven, getting slurpees. And when he came back, his brother was dead.

It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but already his brother’s body was starting to cool, despite the warm blood that ran over Jungkook’s hands as he tried to stop the bleeding. He found his phone with a slick, wet hand, the one not pressing against the wound in Jihoon’s chest, and called for help.

It was too late - his brother died in his arms and the people who did it left no trace, not a scrap of a clue about their identity. The security cameras were disabled remotely. The hard drives were taken by with gloved hands, no fingerprints. In the aching days after it happened he went looking - in the back ups, and the back ups of the back ups he forced his brother to make. Always the careful one. But everything was gone. Like sand between his outstretched hands there was nothing left for him to hold.

Jungkook has a rage in him that would terrify him if he wasn’t too numb to feel. He pops the top of the Monster energy drink and downs half of it in three swallows. It’s warm and the flavor is atrocious, but it gets the job done. Ages ago he would have listened to music while he coded and while his brother dreamed of things that hadn’t yet been created. Now he sits in silence and his world is reduced to the muffled clacking of his fingers as they race across the keyboard, echoing around the now bare beige walls.

He should let people in and he should let his friends help. They’re good, many of them might even be better than Jungkook himself at tracking the bastards that did this. But letting them in is like breathing underwater. If he gasps in air he’ll also inhale water and drown. After it’s done, he vows to try. But not until then.

“Follow the white rabbit, little brother.”

The words are an echo in his mind, pinging around the lonely apartment and so clear it’s as though Jihoon whispered it in his ear. Jungkook turns, shaken and startled. He needs to get himself together. The days and weeks are blurring together and only the readout on his unused but still charged cell phone tells him where he is in the passage of time.

Sixteen days, four hours, and twenty three minutes since his world changed.

He shrugs off the strange suggestion, as always. Now more than ever he doesn’t think he should listen to what the dead ask.

Instead he picks up where he left off yesterday - or, no. It’s just after eleven at night according to his phone. He picks up where he left off this afternoon, when he finally gave into his brain’s pleas to sleep. The trail dead-ended in all the obvious places he looked. The message boards and chat rooms his brother frequented. Anyone who even whispered about ideas related to the program his brother envisioned. Rivalries and competitive streaks are a dime a dozen in his community, but every time he feels like he might have some goddamned clue it goes up in smoke.

Hours of digging tonight and he somehow strikes gold. At first he assumes it’s a hallucination or a wish so strong he’s made his imagination tangible. But it’s right there in black and white on his screen. In a buried chat room so far off the beaten path he can’t see daylight anymore - he finds a conversation. Someone describing a program and another anonymous name offering to buy at any price. It was shut down almost immediately after it was posted, eighteen days ago.

If he wasn’t already known as Kookie he might have listened to Jihoon and gone by the nickname ghost. If there’s any memory of something happening on the dark web, Jungkook can find it, and tonight he’s scented blood. Tonight he’s not a rabbit but a predator himself.

It’s only a breadcrumb, a fishing lure dangling in the water, but he grasps it between his teeth. Jungkook was always good, almost the best. Now full of desperation and reckless energy, he’s unstoppable. He pulls on the line and it unravels before him, drawing the unsuspecting fisherman into the depths where Jungkook waits. First an IP address and then he finds a text message log and then a name and before he knows it, he’s found them. Or at least where they were three days ago.

Triumph is delicious in his mouth, but it also has the same rank taste as the lingering energy drink. Jungkook blinks and rubs at his eyes. He stands and tests the cans around his keyboard for any that are full. All empty. He curses and moves to the kitchen. Opening the fridge he’s greeted by emptiness. His stomach tightens and growls, reminding him it’s been far too long since he had real food.

A plan forms in his mind, but first - he stops to smell the shirt he wears and winces - he needs a shower. And food. So much food. Enough to see him through to the end of this.

The bathroom, much like the whole apartment, is full of reminders. Razors and toothbrushes and hair gel that has no owner anymore. Jungkook avoids the mirror. He doesn’t need to see the dark stains of purple beneath his eyes or the way his skin has pulled taut over his jaw, turning it sharper than ever before. It’s bright as he pulls back the shower curtain, morning light streaming in through the window while he turns on the water.

He strips and stands naked on the plush blue bath mat. Steam fills the narrow space and hugs him. His brother used to sing in the shower, loudly, to wake up Jungkook when he’d sleep in. He breathes in the moist air and emotion clogs his throat. The urge to give in pulls at him and he reaches a hand to the porcelain sink to steady himself.

Soon.

It’s all he can promise himself and his brother’s memory. Soon he’ll get his revenge and then - well, he doesn’t know. The future used to be a wildly exciting prospect before him. It was never money or fame that thrilled him, but simply the feeling of being a part of something. Together with his brother they built a community and the world was at their feet. Now he feels unmoored, a boat that got pulled by the tide and can’t find its port again.

He’s always been soft, even in his darkness. Violence and aggression were saved for the gym or for Fortnite, not for the outside world. But now a monster has awoken in him and he can only sate it with the blood of the people who took his blood, his family, from the world. Should he get a gun? Finish this the way they started it? Or should he attack them online, eviscerate their lives with code and strokes of his mouse?

When he blinks his eyes are sluggish, and finally he moves, stepping forward into the spray of water. With a groan he leans against the black and white tile and savors the feeling of hot water caressing his shoulders and back. Jungkook runs strong fingers along his neck and massages the kinks out. He rubs sleep and exhaustion from his eyes and reluctantly washes his hair and body. Much that he wants to, he does not sink to the floor of the shower and condense into a ball.

He hates to wait, but he needs food and fresh air and a chance to think. And more importantly, he needs coffee.

The world outside his apartment assaults him with noise and movement and he curls his hands into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket while he walks. Drinking a deep breath the air cools his lungs. He knows the way to the diner in his sleep. It’s yellow and teal neon sign draws him in like a North Star. The familiar tinkling of the welcome bell alerts the waitress to his presence.

“Oh, it’s you Jungkook! I haven’t seen you in ages. I’ll be with you in just a minute, sweetheart.” She tells him with a wave and a wink. “Have a seat.”

He gives Pearl his usual tight-lipped awkward smile, even as he breathes a sigh of relief at her warm presence. Her dyed red hair and bold red lips are still going strong in her sixties, even at the early hour. She takes a couple’s order at a far table, her boisterous voice holding him the way a mother might.

Jungkook takes his favorite booth - the two-seater in the corner with the view of the river. He wraps his arms tight around his chest and sits straight in the seat, feeling rigid and off putting in the warm, cozy space. But slowly the smell of bacon and coffee and the cushion at the back of the chair pull him in. Sagging, he releases his hands to grip the empty mug between his palms.

He starts to compose a plan. Something he can do today, quickly before they escape. But then Pearl comes over and fills his cup with coffee. She slips a piece of paper onto the edge of the table, face down, like normal. Jungkook stutters and reaches for it as she bustles away towards the kitchen.

“Pearl, wait-” he chokes on the word, throat scratchy. How long has it been since he last spoke out loud? She turns and cocks a hip onto the side of the waitress stand, waiting for him to continue. “I haven’t ordered yet.” His voice is small and unsure. He notices the items listed and total at the bottom and his brow furrows. “And there’s a zero dollar total.”

She smirks and looks at him through her lashes with trademark sass. “Sweetie, you’ve ordered the same thing for years. I know you. And I also know about your brother. I saw it in the papers.” Her expression turns sad, eyes widening. “A robbery in our neighborhood? I can’t imagine. It’s so awful.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I refuse to let you pay today.”

A smile tugs at him. “And the next time?”

The waitress snorts and waves a hand, giving him a lopsided smile that manages to be both comforting and cheeky. “Next time you owe me, darlin’.” She disappears around the corner and Jungkook laughs.

He tucks the slip into his pocket; a reminder that someone sees him. Cares about him. Remembers him. His phone weighs heavily in his jacket pocket. The notification tone is off now - not just because Pearl hates cell phones but because he’s not quite ready yet - though he knows there’s dozens of messages still waiting for him. Lifelines he could grab onto if he wanted.

The coffee warms his hands and he allows himself to look up. Through the windows he watches the river, winding its way through the center of the town and reflecting the sunlight. Movement to his right catches his eye, finding something else the sun loves two tables away - you.

Abruptly he thinks back to watching The Wizard of Oz with his family as a child. How Dorothy emerged from a grey world into full color and how it took his breath away. You rest your chin on your hand and yawn. Books are spread around you on the table. Piles of notes and stacks of plates that let him know you also haven’t slept in a while. He feels something stir inside him, long dormant. Curiosity, blooming in his veins like spring buds after a long winter of snow and frost.

He watches the fall of your hair across your forehead as you shake your head slightly, trying to stay awake. He imagines running his hand through it, feeling the soft strands. The world is hazy after so many days of insufficient sleep and you look like a dream to him. A slight flush has come to your cheeks and he wonders if it’s from the old heating unit mounted to the ceiling that’s been stuck at full blast ever since he’s come here. Or from the fleece-lined denim jacket and blue fingerless gloves you wear. Still, after what looks like hours in the warm diner.

He wonders if your studies consume your mind the way hacking has come to dominate his. From this angle he can’t see the subject or content of any of the books, but he can see your handwriting. Both precise and delicate, it fills the pages in neat lines. The world tilts as he leans up, calves and thighs flexing to get a better view, and he imagines tipping over the edge of a pool and falling into you. Like a parched man looks for water he feels drawn to you with an intensity he doesn’t understand.

He’s already been inside the diner for a few minutes, but he knows there’s still time. You haven’t looked up. You haven’t noticed him yet. He could stand now, and go. Taking his broken, jagged spirit and shattered heart and leave you in peace. Maybe today seeing Pearl is enough and maybe her voice will carry him through what he must do. He fumbles for his wallet to leave her a few dollars in tip before she can come back with his food.

But then you look up, drawn by the noise of his wallet chain scraping the wood chair. Your eyes lit by the morning sun hold nothing but innocence and kindness and he knows he can’t leave now. For a moment he imagines he could wipe his slate clean and be someone pure and good once more. Or maybe if he can’t be un-tainted by the stain of violence and death on his life, perhaps holding someone like you and kissing hope is more than enough.

He’s staring and he knows it, and so do you. With a subtle tilt of your head against your hand you smile sleepily at him. He knows you’re similar to him without ever talking to you. He knows you stay up too late and that your nights are consumed by the hunger within you. In a normal conversation he’d ask your name or perhaps buy you some coffee. But his world has been sharpened to a knife’s edge and he doesn’t have flirtation or standard social customs at his disposal. Instead, he skips the formality.

“What are you studying?”

With a smirk you reach for the book closest to you, holding it up so he can see the cover. Elementary Calculus. “I’m battling it out with some derivatives.” You sigh and rest the book back on the tabletop, holding his gaze.

“Are you a math major?”

“No, computer science.” You watch him, eyes trailing over his tattooed knuckles that hold the cup. It might be the heat of the coffee or the rays of light but he imagines it’s your touch across his skin instead. “But I have to take the last of my damn math credits to graduate. Just calculus between me and my dreams.”

He could offer to help, but in truth he was terrible at math in school. Jungkook found his way into hacking through a back door, not any formal study. “Computer science, huh? What are you hoping to do for work?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips fighting a smile, as though you’re debating whether to trust him. To let him in. He’s nervous for the first time in ages. Pulse racing and stomach jittery with some bright feeling he can’t properly name.

After a long moment you slide out of the booth and stand. Not to leave but to close the distance and pull out the chair opposite him. You lean in towards him and he smells a hint of the scent you wear or maybe it’s your shampoo. “I have no idea what I want to do yet. Something good, hopefully.”

In a wave of lovable sass Pearl brings over his breakfast, forcing the two of you to move back. He hadn’t noticed how much he’d leaned in towards you as well. “My two favorite night owls finally meet,” Pearl says with a click of her tongue. “It’s gonna be a good day, honeys.” She walks off with a hum and the trademark bounce in her step.

You blush and look down at your hands, rubbing your thumb over the palm of your free hand. His mind is always full of questions, insatiable in his hunt for knowledge and creation. Today he wants to know everything about you. Where you go to school and how you got interested in computers. What your favorite movies are and if you’re from this city or if you moved here and what you might taste like if he’s lucky enough to kiss you, some day.

It’s easier to ask than to share, he’s found. A socially acceptable smoke screen to hide behind that conceals his nervousness when talking about himself. Without his boisterous brother beside him he feels both more mature, standing on his own, and younger. More vulnerable. To do this, to do life, alone now.

“What about you?” Your words break through his distracted mind with the soft lilt of your question.

“Oh, I’m not in school any more.”

You nod and reach back for your abandoned coffee on your table. The movement makes your jacket and your shirt ride up slightly and he sees a sliver of exposed skin along your side. Forget how long it’s been since he spoke, how long has it been since he touched someone, he wonders. Or was touched? He would normally keep desire locked inside but here in the daylight after what feels like an endless night he can’t remember how to behave properly anymore. All he wants to do is touch you, and to hear your sweet voice leading him to a kinder, more gentler world he’d forgotten existed.

“Figured it was a fifty-fifty shot since we look about the same age,” you answer, now returned to starting at him while you blow on your coffee. “So what do you do, then? I can’t imagine not having my head full of school and homework right now. Please tell me about the outside world.” You sigh dramatically.

It feels almost forbidden to speak the words aloud. To tell you about the world he and his friends live in that’s made of wires and binary in two dimensions. But it’s the truth, and he’s tired of keeping it to himself. “I work with computers too, I suppose. I do mostly programming and some… other things online.”

You raise a brow at him. “Like porn?” Jungkook’s mouth drops open, his fork paused midair and a laugh caught in his throat. Quickly you wave a hand in the air, unable to contain your own laugh. “Sorry, that’s a terrible joke. I just -” you groan and run the hand over your face. “My mother always says I choose the worst possible times to be inappropriate. But you’re cute and I’m sleepy and couldn’t help it.”

After a beat you drop your hand back to the table and look up at him. His chest is warm and other parts of him are coming to life that he hasn’t thought about in ages. Like Rip Van Winkle he feels as though he’s been asleep for years and didn’t know it. He does his best to contain his expression but if your playful smile is any indication then he knows the way he’s feeling is broadcast all over his face.

He sees you as a lifeline. A portal, like from one of his favorite video games, leading him somewhere better. There will be time later to figure out if the connection is real and not just him taking the first hand extended to him. Once you’ve both had a night’s sleep and see things more clearly. But right now he says the only thing that makes sense. The only question he can manage.

“Would you like to go out with me?” He knows he should be smoother or have whatever ‘game’ is, that his brother always talked about having. But this is what he has and he hopes it’s enough.

You look him up and down as he chews a bite of bacon. To a less caring eye someone might dismiss him because of the dark circles and the tattoos and the haunted look he sees in his face these days. But maybe you see everything he likes and everything he hates about himself from a far more charitable point of view. Maybe you’ll be nicer to him than he’s allowed himself to be lately.

“That would be great,” you answer softly, sipping your coffee. “How’s now for you?”

He blinks. “Now?”

“Well, after you finish your breakfast I mean.” Turning, you casually wave at Pearl and she lifts a finger to say she’ll be there in a moment. “I should get some pancakes myself, first.” With a shake of your head you gesture to the books. “I think I’ve earned some after an all-nighter with the devil, aka calculus.”

Jungkook nods, biting his lip to keep from grinning. “Sounds good to me.”

Pearl eventually brings you pancakes, blueberry with the fancy whipped cream she likes to keep in stock. She brings him another serving of food as well and waves him off when he tries to pay. As his belly grows fuller and the two of you talk about your favorite old school computer games he realizes it’s been over an hour since he thought of his brother. While you gather your books into your backpack he pauses, wondering if that’s a good thing.

Then you lift your hand to scratch an itch and that’s when he sees the tattoo. The gentle black outline on your neck, behind your ear; the white and pink ink. Faded a bit, not fresh. The small animal with big ears is a thunderbolt and he stops, then smiles. He holds open the door for you and tilts his head back up to the bright, cloudless sky and does something he hasn’t done fully in almost three weeks - he laughs.

Later today Jungkook will share what he knows. With his friends he trusts. Perhaps with you as well, in time. But for now he has walk to take with you along a river, and it’s shaping up to be a gorgeous day.

Follow the white rabbit, little brother. And finally, at last, he listens.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #bts fanfic #bts au #bts jungkook #meant to have a Namjoon fic ready to post today but life got in the way a bit so I'm going to post this a bit early instead!

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blackdragonturds · 4 years ago

Text

“Here” part 3!

Here is part 3! Enjoy! ******** I woke up early that next morning, yawning and stretching myself. I found that a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes were by my bedside and new shoes. I smiled putting them on.

It was a soft and nice blue blouse and pants as I looked quite nice in it. I could hear chatter outside my room as I looked outside.

D’Vorah and Erron seemed to be discussing something.

“That broken flower of a human is powerless! How can they be able to serve the Kahn?”

“Indigos are rare, D’Vorah. They’re one of a kind and they can alter their abilities if given time.”

Indigo? What in God’s name is an Indigo?

I hid behind my door listening in on it. The bug lady began,

“Erron, you wasted your money. That human will die young you know. The only way to spare them is to take them to Shang Tsung and slow their aging process.”

“I know. I plan to.”

“Without the Kahn’s consent?”

“Beat you to the punch. He said I can last night.”

“If you insist, but if that moon child turns into bloody slime its your responsibility.”

I gulped at that statement. What were they gonna do to me?!

I had to keep myself calm as I could hear footsteps approach my door.

“Hey, Y/N, you awake?” Erron called.

“Just a second!”

I open the door to see Erron with a veil over his arm and he tells me,

“Well, you’re comin’ with me kid.”

“Okay. Where to?”

“To a friend of mine. He can answer your questions.”

He approaches me to place the veil over my head.

“Nuttin’ personal kid, but the Kahn wanted me to see to slowing down your aging process. That way you’ll be around for a few centuries.”

I was in total disbelief.

“Wait, what?! What are you saying?”

He sighed with an annoyed tone informing me,

“I am saying that the Kahn doesn’t like the shortness of a human life span, so I’m taking you to a special friend of mine to take care of that. Now come with me.”

I nodded and he called to D’Vorah.

“Hey! Toss me that amulet will ya’?”

The bug lady smiled and handed him the device,

“With pleasure Erron.”

Taking the item, he opens another portal wiping slime off his hand with his pants. He looked at me for a split second before he looked away.

I wonder what this was all about…

“Well, let’s go.” he didn’t sound confident but I obey.

“Y…yes sir…”

I follow him through the portal, and he grabbed my wrist. It didn’t hurt, but he was frighteningly strong.

“You move too slowly. Stay behind me.”

“Okay, sorry…”

Once through the portal, I find myself in a place not like the throne room of Kotal Kahn’s palace. It had a temple feel with jade statues everywhere.

I see Erron walk with me, my wrist still in his hand to a man with what seemed to be Chinese features. Long black hair neatly braided behind him and silk black and yellow robes. He smiles seeing the man holding my wrist.

“My dear friend Erron Black. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello Shang. I have a problem.”

Erron let go of my wrist finally but left a welt in me. He pushed me towards the man as Shang coyly replied,

“Be gentle! You brought a fine specimen. What do you plan on with this mortal? An offering to my experiments?”

Erron told him,

“I need you to slow down that kid’s aging process. Kahn’s orders.”

Shang gathered my hands into his while he stared at me,

“Pity I can’t keep you my dear. This one is quite beautiful…Is this one a sleigh beggy by chance?”

“No, They’re an Indigo, a moon child. Or as some call them lost souls.” Erron’s tone sounded concerned, or maybe it was just me. I can sense a person’s tone how they really feel. Is he actually concerned about me?

“Ahhh I see. If this one were a sleigh beggy that would be twice as difficult to work with.”

Shang brought his hand up to touch my face. I felt odd receiving such compliments.

“I see why Kotal Kahn wants this one, quite special indeed. Thank you Black. i will see to that at once.”

Erron warned him,

“No funny business, we clear?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Shang asked in a playful tone.

“I mean, don’t make any stupid mistakes or fuck up. I payed good money for that Indigo.” Erron growled.

Shang’s expression turned into a smirk.

“You bought this moon child? As much as I am opposed to buying slaves I will admit, you bought a beauty.”

Shang lowers his hands off my face and takes my hand.

“Come with me you two so we may begin.”

I turn my gaze to Erron, and I could see a bit of fear or concern in his eyes. Well, I am scared too a bit. I don’t know this Shang Tsung from Adam or Eve for that matter.

Shang led us to a work room I presume, full of all kinds of items I never saw on Earth. Were there embalming tools on the table? And I wondered why there were fetuses in jars of some odd orange liquid on a high shelf. I felt uneasy as Shang strides into his small back room for something.

“Ah ha! Here it is!”

He reveals a large green box with an ornately decorated lid. In a way it resembled a treasure chest but with a heart design on the lock. He handed it to Erron,

“You know the procedure Black.”

“Of course. Hey Y/N…”

I turned my attention to Erron.

“Can you reach behind me and grab that satchel hanging off my belt? Its the brown one next to the small vials of sand. I would but my hands are full.”

“Okay.” I replied.

I walk behind him, pushing his cape aside reaching for the small pouch.

Erron said calmly,

“Shang, how’s a hundred thousand for payment?”

“That will be just fine. If you were a stranger I’d charge extra.”

“I know,”

Erron informed me,

“Hand the coin pouch to him. I have what you need.”

Nodding, I handed the coin purse to the man,

“Thank you my dear.” Shang smiled, placing the bag on his desk. Knitting his fingers together, he purred,

“Now I just need a blood sample and we can get started.”

“Blood sample? What are you up to?” Erron asked.

“Not from you, them.” He said pointing to me. I felt afraid and hugged Erron’s side. I began to tremble fearing the worst.

“Don’t be afraid, he’s gonna help you…I hope.” His last statement was more of a whisper.

Shang patted my head,

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, child.”

He pulls a small knife out from his sleeve,

“May I see your arm?”

I reluctantly stretch my arm out, and as quick as a wink, Shang cut my wrist across with a swift motion. I wince in pain as I saw blood drain from my wrist.

“Don’t hurt them, Shang.” Erron hissed.

“Oh I won’t friend.”

The man took his now bloody knife and tasted it.

Eww…

He smiled, and said in a pleased tone.

“I knew it…that taste is one in three trillion.”

Erron looked at me in a fearful manner as Tsung continued,

“This one is truly an indigo. You chose a great specimen. Now, you two may leave to your own accord. The instructions on the age slowing process are in the chest.”

Erron gave a polite tip of his hat, and walked with me out the door. I held the door open for him as he set the box down onto the ground. He inspected my cut as he shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“He shouldn’t have cut you like that. Any deeper you would get an infection.”

He reaches into one of his pockets and bandages up my wound with a handkerchief.

“That should slow down the bleeding.”

“Erron?”

“What?”

“Where you afraid of what would happen?”

He looked down to his shoes and took a while to answer me.

“He’s been different for a while now. I…I can’t explain how.”

I hugged him tightly out of whatever instinct I had telling me to.

“Huh?”

“Thank you Erron. I oddly feel safe around you…” I whispered.

Rubbing my head, he said to me in a softer tone,

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you back to the Kahn’s quarters so I can get your age slowing started.”

I nodded letting go of him. He pushed my face up to look at me.

“Are you feeling all right? You look kind of pale…”

“I’m fine…what the…”

Suddenly, the world around me felt like it was spinning. I felt dizzy and I fell to the ground. Everything turned black as I closed my eyes.

Erron’s POV

“Y/N!”

I tried to grab them as they fell but I managed to keep their head from hitting the ground. I felt my throat grow tight in concern as I looked around wondering how to assess the situation. The veil I had on Y/N to protect them didn’t work it seemed. That thing was supposed to help protect from Shang’s spellwork! But wait…

What exactly am I feeling? Why did my heart suddenly feel tight when Y/N fell?

Tossing Y/N over my shoulder, I try to reach for my belt for Shinnok’s amulet. Opening a portal to Kotal Kahn’s throne room, I stick it back to my belt and lift the box of things Y/N needed. I get up to walk through the portal. Soon, I see Kotal Kahn stand waiting by the portal.

“What has happened?” He demanded.

“Y/N passed out on our way back. I dunno what Shang did to them. He acted totally different when I went to get the things we need.”

The Kahn rubbed his chin to think.

“That sorcerer has been different? How?”

“When I informed him Y/N was an indigo, he seemed to grow malicious. I think he wanted to keep them for his experiments.”

The Kahn nodded,

“Good thing you left early then. I don’t want my future soothsayer to be dead.”

“Yes my lord.”

I carried the box and Y/N to their small bed, placing the chest on the floor. Opening the chest was a small vial, a note and some things I used when I slowed my aging. But this didn’t seem right.

Closing the chest, the Kahn tisk-tisks at me.

“I did what I had to my Emperor.”

“That is not the issue Erron. If what happened was because of Shang Tsung, you are not in the wrong here. You may stay with Y/N until they awaken.”

“Yes my lord…”

Now what should I do? But I didn’t ask. No way would I risk it.

to be continued…

#erron black #shang tsung #fanfic #erron black x reader #kotal kahn #mortal kombat #erron black mkx #idk

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tiny-cloud-dragon · 4 years ago

Text

Tiny Cloud Dragon Headcanons - Christmas

It's his first ever Christmas, and his four dads go all out

Zack spends three hours out in the forest looking for the perfect tree. Perfectly cone shaped, with a small gap on one side so you know which side to put towards the wall.

Angeal goes shopping for the cutest mercury glass ornaments he can find. Regular ball ornaments are not good enough for Tiny Cloud dragon's first Christmas!

Genesis is in charge of decorating the appartment. Every light, garland, and bow is perfectly placed, and you had better not even breathe on his elaborate christmas village!

Sephiroth is in charge of wrapping gifts. No one can knife-edge a crease like Sephiroth. Odd-shaped, soft, lopsided, boxed...each gift is perfectly wrapped with precision, and most importantly, invisible seams/ends. The gifts are then hidden in Angeal's cleaning supply closet, which has child-proof locks

Decorating the tree takes over an hour. The lights have to be wound around at the correct distance from each previous round. Each ornament is placed on the tree, then an argument ensues about its placement. Then comes the argument over which type of garland would look best

Finally, the battle over whether tinsel icicles will go on the tree. Sephiroth is staunchly against them. He admits that they are pretty, and fun to put on, but then comes the deep regret for your design decision when it's time to take them off and you are still picking them out of the carpet two weeks later

Angeal and Zack both vote Nay, as visions of a tangled up Tiny Cloud dragon dance through their heads

Christmas Eve is spent wearing ugly Christmas sweaters, a crash course on Santa Clause, sipping hot chocolate, eating Christmas cookies and watching Tiny Cloud dragon stare delightedly at the tree and decorations.

He chirps happily and gently climbs through the christmas tree, the sparkling lights reflected in his eyes as he gazes at the pretty ornaments.

Tiny Cloud dragon explores the Christmas village, walking through it without disturbing a single piece. He almost bumps the clock tower, but moves his tail at the last second. Genesis adds a little liquor to his hot chocolate to calm his jingling nerves

Zack sits on the floor with Sephiroth and Genesis, holding Tiny Cloud dragon in his lap as Angeal reads The Night Before Christmas

A Christmas movie marathon ensues, and eventually everyone goes to bed so Santa can come and leave presents

Tiny Cloud dragon sleeps curled against Zack's neck, dreaming of lights and bells, and jolly fat elves shimmying down chimneys with sacks of toys

On Christmas morning Tiny Cloud dragon wakes and scampers out to the livingroom, chirping and peeping excitedly at all the presents under the tree

His four dads stand there watching their Smol son, taking picutres and making gleeful noises

Presents are opened in a flurry of shredded wrapping paper

Tiny Cloud dragon is delighted with the wonderful gifts Santa left

He spends a full hour batting at and scrabbling around in the piles of brightly colored wrapping paper bits, and darting in and out of the various now empty gift boxes and bags

Oh, the wonderfully crinkly sound of the tissue paper! And the bright and shiny paper scraps that make such nice rattling sound when you burrow into them! And the dark and mysterious boxes and gift bags! Santa is a truly marvelous being!

The four dads watch, dumbfounded, yet amused as the tiny dragon plays with the trash instead of the toys. Their babey would get the hang of Christmas one day.

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andimack-crack · 4 years ago

Text

A christ-mack story: Andi Mack

Read part one here

Read part two here

Read part three here

Read part four here

Part five: Locked in for Christmas part 2

[Word count 1682]

"it's about to get really cold in here and no cell service either it's like everything's cut off"

"I...I think the doors locked"

Andi's POV

"Locked we can't be" Buffy shoved past pulling on the handel it was no use.

"How is this happening?" Cyrus stressed

"Bowie's new security system is broken it must of locked us in" I said realising

"Well where's the control panel we can unlock it" Buffy said

"Its broken Bowie has the instruction manule at home we don't know how" I protested

"So where stuck in here on Christmas eve with no electricity" Jonah's breathing became erratic

"Jonah there no need to panic" Cyrus reassured

"There's every need to panic who knows how long we'll be here for before anyone comes to find us" Jonah panicked

"Relax I'll call my parents" I said whipping out my phone only for my face to drop

"Its on 2%" I confessed

"My phone broke last week" Jonah said

"Luckily my phone is working" Buffy said happily but she then looked confused

"No bars" she informed

"Let me try" Cyrus tapped his phone "I don't have bars either"

"Cell service is cut off as well" Jonah said

"We're gonna die in here" Cyrus said dramatically flopping on the couch

"No we're not our parents will realise were missing and come looking for us" I said

"But we never told them where were going just that we'd be back before 6 so they wouldn't disturb us" Buffy said

"Okay Jonah now you can panic" I huffed. I checked my watch

Time: 6:00pm

Looks like we'll be here for a while.

*******

T.J's POV

"Have you seen Buffy?" Marty said.

I was walking home from work when Marty quickly ran up next to me.

"No not today" I responded

"Oh she's not answering my calls but it's probably a good thing" he said

"Why you avoiding her?"

"No but I haven't got her a good Christmas gift" he complained

"Dude come on its Christmas eve I know you leave things to the last minute but this is a new low" I scoffed

"No I wanted to go online and book something for us to do together but nothing good or affordable" he said

"Dude it's Buffy take her go-karting or something"

"I want it to be romantic or festive I can take her go-karting anytime" he was right to be fair

"What are you doing for Cyrus?"

"Nothing I got him a gift for Hanukkah he said not to worry about anything else"

"Seriously I would've at least got him like a card" that grabbed my attention

"You think I should've?"

"Its up to you man but maybe Cyrus feels left out that he doesn't get to celebrate like everyone else" he said raising his eyebrows

"Shit I didn't think about that your on we can help eachother" I patted his back

Meanwhile...

Andi's POV

Time: 7:00pm

"I'm hungry" Cyrus whined

"Cy-guy I love you and all but you have the stomach of a baby deer" Jonah said

"I have dinner around this time I can't help it" he said crossing his arms

"Well there's no food plus we didn't eat that long ago are you seriously that hungry? Maybe it's just boredom" Buffy said

"Yes I'm that hungry" Cyrus simply said crossing his arms

"It doesn't matter sooner or later we're gonna need food Jonah your in here half the time is there anything we can eat?" I asked hopefully

"Bowie put in a vending machine" he pointed to the back of the room.

We all piled in front of it eyeing the bottles of water the bags of chips and chocolates and sweets but I groaned we needed coins we only had dollars

"We can't put dollars in" I frowned

"Bowie keeps a key to get into the machine somewhere under the till" Jonah said he went behind the counter and started looking I gasped in disbelief

"Jonah the till" I pointed out

"What about it?" He said not looking up

"The till has coins inside of it" Buffy said

"That's stealing" Cyrus interjected

"I thought you were hungry" I stated

"Guys now's not the time to be at each others throats" Buffy said standing between us

"Buffys right" Jonah said opening up a bag of chips.

we all looked at him in disbelief again we saw the open vending machine door and charged at it nabbing all the contents.

"Oh yeah I got it open." Jonah smiled

******

Marty's POV

"How about you take her... surfing"

"T.J it's winter and the beach isn't for miles... Maybe you could take Cyrus to a petting zoo" I suggested

"He has a fear of flamingos I don't think it would sit to well with him" he protested

"Dang this harder without Jonahs third braincell" I admitted

"Times getting on anyways I think I better get home before Amber sneaks into my room looking for her present" Tj said checking his phone.

"Alright... still no word from the others" I said also looking at my phone

Weird.

*******

Andi's POV

Time: 9:45pm

Buffy was looking over at some guitars me and Cyrus were laying on the sofa at opposite ends Jonah was excessively cleaning the floor with a rag and lemon scented floor cleaner he had found we were all in silence accept for the sound of Jonah drilling a hole in the floor.

"Jonah why just why?" I said frustrated

"I clean when I'm stressed this is calming for me" he went back to scrubbing.

"Please don't argue" Cyrus said

"It's freezing in here now" Buffy said rubbing her arms up and down.

"Look guys we need to stop complaining it's Christmas eve" Cyrus dug into a box pulling out several candles and some matches "Andi help me light these"

He placed the candles around the room close to us Jonah and Buffy came over to huddle close with us Cyrus took a guitar from the wall handing it to Jonah

"Come on its Christmas we barley get to be together like this no drama no technology let's enjoy it and try to make it festive play us something Jonah" Cyrus encouraged

"Well okay then" he shrugged picking up the guitar.

He started to strum the cords I instantly recognised them closing my eyes and humming along

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light

Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Make the yuletide gay

Next year all our troubles will be miles away

Once again as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Will be near to us once more

Someday soon we all will be together

If the fates allow

Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Jonah's voice and the candles made a really warm calming atmosphere so much so I let my eyes stay closed for a little longer as I drifted off

Time: 11:46pm

I was jolted awake by the sound of rattling at the door. My face lit up thinking someone had arrived finally I saw Buffy, Cyrus and Jonah fast asleep I got closer to the door seeing a hooded figure grunting trying to pull the door I realised it wasn't someone rescuing us it was someone breaking in. I shook my friends awake quickly

"What now Andi" Buffy groaned

"S-someone's breaking in" I said panicked

"Are you sure?" Cyrus said slowly coming too.

"Yes"

"Oh my god u-um behind the counter" Jonah ordered we all hid

"What do we do?" Buffy quivered in fear

"We um we-" I started

"Set up and elaborate number of traps that will hurt them and one of us can run and get the cops and we need to trick them with a recording of an old movie" we all slowly looked to Jonah

"Are you serious" Cyrus whispered shouted

"Worked in home alone" Jonah shrugged we all shook our heads

"Okay we distract them by yelling and make a break for it" I said

"Okay are we ready?" Cyrus said shakily.

We didn't have time to answer the door opened and we all jumped up screaming and shouting the figure took his hood down to reveal Bowie and Bex trailing behind him we all stopped seeing who it is

"Mom...dad?"

"Yeah why are you shouting?" Bowie said a little intimidated

"We thought you were breaking in" Cyrus said ashamed

"Well these two came and told us you were all in here" Marty and Tj appeared from behind Bex Buffy and Cyrus rushed forward to be engulfed in hugs

"We were walking home and saw the four of you laying asleep we went to Andi's apartment" Marty muffled from Buffy's embrace

"We owe you guys one" Jonah said suddenly Marty and Tj rushed to hug Jonah as they held him in a three person spoon

"Thank god we missed our third brain cell" Marty laughed I turned to my parents

"Did you two make up?" I asked hopeful

"Yes we did sorry for worrying you" Bex apologised

"Its okay I'm glad your happy" I said relieved

"Actually your mom and I have some news" Bowie said putting an arm around Bex

"We're having a baby" she smiled

A-a b-baby? I'm getting a sibling?!" I said joyfully

"Yep I found out a few days ago" Bex beamed with happiness

"Congratulations" Cyrus declared happily

"I'm here to give you pointers on being a sibling if you need it" Tj said pointing finger guns

I took a glance at my watch

Time: 00:01pm

"Guys it's passed midnight" I announced

"Merry Christmas Andiman" Jonah said giving me a side hug.

Merry Christmas.

#andi mack #jonah beck #cyrus goodman #buffy driscoll #good hair crew #tyrus #tj kippen #amber andi mack #marty andi mack

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myinnerdemons-inverted · 5 years ago

Note

Can you post a short story of where the purge happens once a year, how does inverted Ava and her crew deal with this. Assuming that It lasts for a full day and that it only lasts within a certain cities boundaries and that this year its ava's city

(Before I start I want t say I’M SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I’VE BARELY HAD MOTIVATION TO WRITE RECENTLY AND THIS HAS BEEN HAUNTING ME IN MY ASK BOX FOR MONTHS NOW I PROMISE I DIDN’T FORGET ABOUT IT! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!) (Also, I’ve never seen any of the Purge movies so I’m sorry if I get anything wrong, I’m just going off of what I know, which is that everything is legal)

At first, the boys were confused, mainly on why Ava was covering all of her windows and boarding up her door. The moment the sirens sounder was when fear set in.

“Ava, what’s happening?” Asch asked, he seemed calm but the panic in his voice gave away his thoughts.

“Make that fucking blaring stop!” Rhys shouted, covering his ears.

“I forgot to tell you!?” Ava asked. Like the others, she was panicked. “It’s the Purge!”

“The what?” Rhys asked, he was more annoyed than anything.

“It’s in my city this year!” Ava said, still hammering away at the wooden board that’s blocking her door, “Basically, there are no laws for a full day! Which means there will be people running around, breaking into places and maybe killing people and I’m too young to die!”

“Wait,” Rhys said, “So we can go out and cause as much damage as possible and have no consiquences?” His grin was manic, and he reached for his gauntlets that held their place on his belt.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Ava said, “None of us are! We’re staying here until it’s all over!”

“Hell no I’m not!” Rhys shoved his way past Ava and pried the door open. “I’m off to level this city! Don’t try and stop me!” With that, he equiped his gauntlets and ran down the hall, smashing through the nearest window and jumping out. There were already sounds of gunshots in the distance.

Asch bit his bottom lip, “I’m going after him,” he announced, “You three, protect Ava.”

“Right!” Pierce saluted.

“O-of course,” Leif said, still shaken up.

Noi only nodded.

“I’m counting on you,” Asch smiled before running out the window after Rhys.

“Stay safe!” Ava called out. She closed the door once more.

Pierce then came up with Ava’s couch hoisted above his head, she didn’t even notice that he went back to get it. He placed it up against the door. “That’s should do! Humans aren’t strong enough to move couches, right? Maybe if there were enough of them? But what if—“

Leif placed a hand on Pierce’s shoulder to silence him.

“Sorry,” Pierce said. The questions would still bug him, but he could keep those thoughts to himself for now.

Leif then walked over to Ava, placing a hand on her shoulder as well, “It’ll be alright, Ava,” he assured, though he was more talking to himself.

“I know I’ll be fine with you guys here but... what about everyone else? My friends? The seniors who live here? They’ll be okay, right?”

Ava leaned her head into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing circles on her back, “They’ll be fine, okay? Everything will be alright. You said this would only last a day, right? It will be okay?”

Leif was always the go-to when you seaked some kind of comfort.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Leif said, though in all honesty he wasn’t sure. He just hoped that no one would be killed.

~~~

Rhys wasn’t hard to spot out, all Asch had to do was follow the large explosions and manic laughter and he would find he knight in no time, right?

Oh, how wrong he was. Those types of things were going on everywhere. How could such a place devolve into such chaos so quickly? And in broad daylight nonetheless? Why? Why would such an event as this exist.

It would be bad to call out to Rhys directly, it would give himself away soo easily, and if Rhys heard him he would just run in the other direction.

The cocking on guns caught him off guard for a second. He turned around and saw maybe five or six people with weapons pointed at him.

“A pretty boy like yourself shouldn’t be out here,” one of them said. Asch had hidden his horns already, so that wasn’t why he was being targeted.

Asch sighed before swiping his hand in a horizontal motion, sending a wave of water crashing into the group before they could respond, sending them flying into a nearby building and letting the crumple to the ground. They were only unconscious, thankfully, but they might need to check for head injuries later. “My apologies,” Asch muttered before setting back out to find his knight.

Asch normally wasn’t one to get annoyed, but this, such as finding a needle in a haystack, would be a pain.

~~~

Sounds of gunshots and other noises of destruction echoed thoughout the city and made it to Ava’s appartment. She sat on the floor, knees huddled close to her chest. Noi sat next to her as well, but he didn’t do much else to comfort her.

The three knights had their weapons at the ready, Pierce with his longsword, Leif with his rapier, and Noi with his dagger.

So far, nothing had happened. The appartment was earily silent, no one even dared to breathe too loud.

A bang at the door broke the silence. Then another. And another. They were loud crashes, the wood threatening to splinter under the weight, like the person was ramming their while body at the door

The knights took a fighting stance. The door then splintered, a man tumbling through the top half of the door and over the couch.

The knights stood in front of Ava, ready to guard her.

The man looked up at them, his eyes were dialated and red, sunken into his skull, definitely due to some drug.

“Pretty lady,” he slurred, getting to his feet.

Pierce was the first to spring into action. He reared his sword back over his shoulder, but instead of slashing the man he struck him with the butt of the sword’s handle, knocking him out.

Suddenly, another man came from seemingly nowhere, with the same drugged out look in his eyes. He raised what looked like a machete and tried to swing at Pierce, only for Leif to step in and parry the attack.

They all looked back over to the hole in the door, where more of these drugged up maniacs crawled through the opening.

Great, a bunch of idiots decided to go through this mess while high.

Noi was still with Ava.

There were now at least five men drugged up out of their minds in her appartment.

Pierce quickly took out another one, using the same technique he used to take out the first.

Leif disarmed another by swiping the pistol out of his hands with the tip of his blade and using a similar move as Pierce to knock him out.

One had charged at Noi, swiping a metal baseball bat at his head. Noi ducked, dodging the feeble attack easily before sinking his dagger into the man’s gut.

While this was happening, one of them had made their way to Ava, knocking her on her back and straddling her waist as he held a butcher knife above his head.

Before he can strike, however, a blade pierced deep through his neck from behind.

The blade was pulled out and the man’s knife clattered beside her. Noi caught the man as he fell forward before he fell onto Ava and tossed him aside. He helped a stunned Ava back up to a sitting position.

Leif stood in front of her, tears flowing down his face, blood coating the tip of his blade. He let out a shaky, “I’m so sorry...” before dropping to his knees.

When Pierce finished dealing with the rest of them he ran over to the others, joining them on the floor before wrapping his arms around the three of them. Ava and Leif were crying and Noi was as blank as ever, though he did wrap his arm around Pierce’s back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Pierce repeated over and over.

~~~

Asch had finally found Rhys. How long had it been? Five hours? He knows it’s definitely been way too long.

“Rhys!” Asch called out to him.

Rhys, who was standing on a pile of rubble, rolled his eyes, “What do you want?” His hands were still smoldering.

“I want to take you back to Ava’s appartment. Haven’t you done enough?”

Rhys laughed, “What? I’m just getting started! I’m not stopping now!”

“You are, Rhys. This is an order.”

An order? Asch never ordered them to do anything unless it was important.

“Why should I?” Rhys crossed his arms, his gauntlets clanking against each other.

“Someone has to clean this all up, right?” Asch gestured to the destruction around them, “if you destroy everything it will never look the same again. We’ve walked down this street so many times, remember? The mall is right down there.” Asch pointed down the road. “You want to walk down this road with Ava again, right?”

Rhys clenched his fists, “I hate it when you’re right.” He leaped down fro the pile to Asch.

“Let’s get home, alright?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I’m only listening to you because you’re still my prince or whatever.”

Asch smiled, of course.”

~~~

The rest of the day was uneventful. Noi had tossed those men’s bodies out the window and onto the street. A bunch of dead bodies was enough to ward off anyone with a braincell from entering.

During the night everything had gotten louder, preventing any of them from resting, like they would eve dare to during this time.

Eventually, the announcement was made.

The Purge was over.

#the ending is so bad but this was already too long #again I’m sorry for how late this is #Miammey has no idea how to write the purge #enjoy your burrito #aphmau #inverted my inner demons #aphmau my inner demons #my inner demons inverted #my inner demons #my inner demons aphmau #my writing

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nickelkeep · 5 years ago

Text

Twas the Night

Pairing: Dean/Cas - Timestamp to Like the Angel Rating: Teen, to be on the safe side. Word Count: 3500 Warnings: Tooth. Rotting. Fluff. Written For: @notfunnydean‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar Day 11 - Christmas Story On Ao3

Quick Side Note - I’ve been sick, which is why you haven’t seen one of these in a while. I missed days 12 through 15, which I have made reference to in the fic. There’s a better explanation if you follow the Ao3 Link. 😘

---

“Daddy?”

Dean shook his head as Emma called him from down the hallway. Sixteen years old, and she knew that she could get just about anything she wanted by singsonging ‘daddy’ instead of just calling him Dad. “What’s up, Em?”

“It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?”

“We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Dean smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

“It’s uh, it’s a part of his Christmas present.” Emma looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“You’re not going to tell me what it is?” Dean stepped closer to look over Emma and see what she was making or doing. “You know I can keep a secret, Em.”

Emma blushed bright red. “I was gonna, you know, that thing we talked about a week ago.”

“Say no more, Kiddo.” Dean squatted down next to Emma and pulled her into a hug. “Cas is gonna love it.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m glad one of us is sure of it.”

Dean stood back up and rested his hands on his lower back. “You gonna come help me make breakfast?”

“Cinnamon Rolls? Or are you going to try that new recipe you found?” Emma gathered the items that had been spread out on the floor around her and stacked them neatly in a pile before standing up. “I’m okay with trying something new for breakfast.”

“Is this that new tradition thing you’ve been pushing?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and smiled fondly at his daughter. “I love how much you want to make sure Cas is included.” He started backing up towards the door. “Come help me make the Honey Bread?”

Emma returned the smile and followed down to the kitchen.

---

Cas made it downstairs to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and something baked or baking in the oven. Emma was sitting at the kitchen island drawing while Dean was standing over the stove dancing and singing along to some Christmas song. “You still working on that drawing, Em?

Emma looked up and shook her head. “Nope, these are just some warmup sketches. Wanna see?”

“Of course.” Cas stopped and gave Dean a kiss before sitting on the stool next to Emma’s. “Looks like you’re in the Christmas spirit.” Cas pointed to one of the figures. “Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Be?”

“Yep! I really liked Mr. Roche’s lesson on A Christmas Carol.” Emma smiled. “Did you check to see if I get to be in your class next semester, Cas?”

“Which one?”

Emma shot one of her Uncle Sam’s bitchfaces at Cas. “Really, Cas?”

“Yes, you are in my Mythology in Modern Literature class.” Cas chuckled. “But, remember, Ms. Milton wasn’t really sure that with your dad and I dating that it would be a good idea. We gotta prove that this will work.” Dean set a mug of coffee in front of Cas, and Cas immediately picked it up to drink. “I know that we’ll be fine, but we have to make sure I’m not showing favoritism.”

“I didn’t slack last year.” Emma pouted.

Cas tucked a piece of hair behind Emma’s ear. “Which is why Ms. Milton said it was okay for you to be in the class and for me to teach it.”

“Coming in!” Dean placed a plate in front of Cas and waited as Emma moved her drawing stuff before setting hers breakfast down. “Sorry to interrupt serious school talk.”

“Dean, you told me you guys do cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning.” Cas tilted his head. “What’s this?”

“Em and I found the recipe online and thought it might be something you would like.” Dean set some sort of spread on the table. “It’s a honey bread, with cinnamon sugar butter. And of course, bacon, because God forbid I don’t ever make you two bacon.”

Dean’s quip earned a chuckle from both Emma and Cas. Cas watched as Dean finished putting together his own plate and sat down with them before taking a bite of the bread. “Wow,” Cas replied with food in his mouth, causing Dean to roll his eyes. Cas swallowed his food before speaking again. “I’m serious, this is really good.” He reached for the butter and started spreading it on.

“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Cas.” Dean popped a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“I am.” Cas took a bite of the bread with the butter and moaned happily. “So good.”

“Cas, you’d think you never had food before.” Emma snarked.

“I’m always a sucker for new foods that are delicious.” Cas winked at her. “So, you two haven’t told me what you all do on Christmas Eve, besides breakfast, of course.”

Emma looked at Dean, who nodded in approval. “Well, after breakfast, we usually go and get any last-minute gifts and pick up anything that Gramma Ellen might need for dinner.”

“Ma feeds us at the Roadhouse,” Dean elaborated, “She won’t know for certain what she needs for dinner tonight until she does a quick inventory check after closing. She’ll probably be calling in the next…” Dean looked at the clock on the microwave. “Ten to fifteen minutes.”

“That sounds like an adventure.” Cas propped his chin on his hand. “So should we get dressed?”

Dean shrugged. “Not to sound apathetic, but while it sounds like a day of adventure, we’re still kinda lazy. Usually, Ma calls, then we get dressed. But, if you’re raring to go.”

“Sorry, just looking to spending this Christmas with my…” Cas looked back and forth between Dean and Emma. “With my family.”

“Well, Cas. We want to celebrate it with you too.” Dean stood up and grabbed the empty plates, taking them over to the sink and rinsing them off.

“We want to know your traditions too. We don’t want to force you into a mold. We’ve grown as a family, so we have room to take in and make new traditions.” Emma took Cas’ mug and took a drink from it. “You really need coffee with your cream, Cas.”

Cas laughed and ruffled Emma’s hair. “Let’s go get dressed then, and your dad can follow suit. I’ll show you two what I do on Christmas Eve.”

“Do we need to get fancy-dressed?” Emma raised her eyebrow.

“No, Emma, jeans are fine.” Emma did a little happy dance and headed off to her room. Cas looked at Dean. “‘Fancy-dressed’ is your phrase, isn’t it?”

“What can I say, Angel? Emma and I are simple creatures.” Dean closed the dishwasher and started it before crossing over to Cas. He pressed his lips against Cas’ temple, leaving a soft kiss. “Let’s go get changed.”

---

As Dean had promised, Ellen called with a list of groceries for their dinner. After stopping to pick up their last-minute Christmas Gifts, Dean, Cas, and Emma stopped by the grocery store to grab the items for dinner. They swung by the Roadhouse and dropped them off, asking if there’s anything they could do to help with dinner. Ellen playfully swatted at Dean with a towel and promised that Jo and Charlie already claimed the elf honors for the year.

After joking about food poisoning - “Did they forget that Charlie could burn water?” Dean complained in jest - Cas took Dean’s phone and plugged in an address in the maps app.

The location Dean pulled the Impala in front of turned out to be a homeless shelter. “What’s all this, Cas?”

“It’s a bit of a story,” Cas explained, but he continued when Emma leaned over the front seat. “I haven’t told you much about when I was in college, Emma. But I didn’t go for what my parents wanted me to go for. It was bad enough that I was gay, but to completely misuse their gift of college was the last straw. I was just short of disowned. So, my first year after I graduated college, I was completely alone on Christmas Eve.” Cas paused and ran his fingers through Emma’s hair. “It’s okay. I’m okay, as you can see now. But then, I was a new teacher, I didn’t know anyone well enough, and I had nowhere to go.

“Instead of moping around my empty apartment watching TV by myself with just Chinese food to keep me company, I pulled out my laptop. I found the closest LGBT friendly shelter.” He gestured to the building they were parked next to. “I called and asked if they did any kind of dinner, and the rest is history. I felt loved, I felt safe, and I felt good giving to people who didn’t have even the little bit I had. So, every Christmas Eve I come here. To thank them for taking me and accepting me when my own family wouldn’t. Some years I even join in for Christmas, even though they don’t necessarily need me on that day.” Cas turned to face Dean. “Remember, you asked where I sometimes go when I don’t come home right away?” Dean nodded. “It’s here.”

Cas patted the back of the seat and smiled. “Let’s get you two inside and introduce you both to the people who run the shelter and those in charge of the kitchen.”

“That sounds great, Cas.” Dean beamed at him.

Once inside, Cas was greeted by several members of the staff with whom he was familiar. They were excited to meet Dean and Emma. They had heard so much about them over the past several months. Cas had bragged about Dean’s skills in the kitchen, and he was quickly got roped into helping cook. Cas took his usual spot on the serving line. Emma was a little too young to help with the food– “I just turned sixteen!” She complained. –but they asked her to play with the younger kids and watch over them.

They stuck around for as long as they could. Dean had to literally pull Emma away from the younger kids, and Cas bribed her with the promise they would come back sooner than next Christmas. She spent the entire drive to the Roadhouse recounting her stories of playing with the kids, bringing smiles to Dean’s and Cas’ face.

Once they pulled into a spot, Emma practically leaped out of the car and ran inside. Dean and Cas took a moment to look at each other and revel in her enthusiasm before getting out themselves and grabbing presents out of the back of the car.

“You think she would have helped us.” Dean smiled at Cas, kissing him on the corner of his mouth before heading inside. “Oh, by the way. Ma has probably hung up at least a dozen sprigs of mistletoe.”

Cas laughed and looked up. “Looks like we hit the first one.” He leaned over and kissed Dean on the cheek.

---

After dinner and introducing Cas to their Christmas Eve Present tradition, Dean excused the three of them from the drinking games portion of the evening. There was no argument from any member of his family, which Dean was grateful for. He walked behind Cas and Emma, watching as Cas wrapped his arm around Emma and hugged her tightly. Warmth flowed through him, and he silently kicked himself for not having his phone out to snap a photo.

Emma curled up with a new blanket that Charlie made her, while Cas admired a first edition copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that Sam gave him. Dean snuck glances at them both on the ride home, excited for what was next.

As he pulled into the driveway, Dean looked at Emma. “You wanna tell Cas about our last tradition, Kiddo?”

“Cas, do you know The Tailor of Gloucester?” Emma yawned and slid out of the backseat before Cas could answer.

“I do,” Cas replied, getting out of the car right behind Emma. “Beatrix Potter. It’s a Christmas story of hers. Why?”

“Dad tucks me in and reads it to me.” Emma blushed. “I know I’m probably too old for that now.”

Cas pulled Emma into another hug. “You’re never too old to enjoy having someone read to you. Your dad bugs me to read to him occasionally.”

“Will you read it tonight?” Emma asked.

“But, you just said it’s you and your dad’s thing.” Cas looked at Dean with a look that Dean was pretty sure equated to asking for help.

“It’s fine, Cas. I already knew Em was going to ask.” Dean winked and walked to the front door. “Let’s get inside, so we don’t freeze, and then we can all curl up in Emma’s bed and enjoy the story.”

The suggestion appeared to calm Cas down, and the trio entered the house to warm up. Emma ran ahead upstairs, while Cas and Dean took their time climbing the stairs.

“Dean, I don’t want to step on your toes,” Cas commented, concern still in his voice.

They entered their room, and Dean cupped Cas’ face in his hands. “I promise that you’re not. Do it this year, and next year we can do it together, or we can take turns to who does it.” Dean ran his thumb over Cas’ cheek before crossing to their dresser. He grabbed a pair of Cas’ pajama pants and tossed them to him. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

Cas and Dean finished changing and walked down to Emma’s room. She had left the door open for them to come in.

“Hop under the blanket, Kiddo.” Dean pointed at the bed, and Emma obliged him, quickly scrambling to climb under the covers. She grabbed the book off of her nightstand and waited until Cas was sitting next to her.

“Last call, Emma. Are you sure you want me to read it?” Cas hesitated as he took the book and opened the cover.

“Yes, Cas, I’m sure. I’m positive. I’m 16, not six.” She stuck her tongue out at Cas and was bopped on the nose playfully.

“I hear you. Just…” Cas took a deep breath and relaxed, leaning back against her headboard. “Thank you, Emma.” He shot a warm look at Dean, which Dean responded to with a hair ruffle. “‘In the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets—when gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta—there lived a tailor in Gloucester…’”

As the story continued, Dean would occasionally poke Emma to keep her awake, knowing how she was prone to fall asleep when being read to. He smiled as he watched Cas animate the story with his body and his voice. Even Dean could admit to finding a new love for the story, with Cas reading it in his own way.

“‘He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all the rich merchants of Gloucester, and for all the fine gentlemen of the country round.

“‘Never were seen such ruffles, or such embroidered cuffs and lappets! But his button-holes were the greatest triumph of it all.

“‘The stitches of those button-holes were so neat—so neat—I wonder how they could be stitched by an old man in spectacles, with crooked old fingers, and a tailor’s thimble.

“‘The stitches of those button-holes were so small—so small—they looked as if they had been made by little mice!”

Cas turned the page to get to “The End,” but found in its place a sticky note. “What’s this, Emma?” He pulled it off and read it. “‘Ask Emma for your card.’ What card would that be?”

Emma reached under her pillow and pulled out a card. “Merry Christmas, Cas.” She handed it to him and smiled, cuddling up against Dean. Dean wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.

“Thank you?” Cas tilted his head and opened the envelope. “Oh, good, no glitter.”

“Glitter is the herpes of the craft world, Cas.” Emma laughed.

“Is that your Dad or your Aunt Charlie?” Cas pulled out the card. On the front was a stylized picture of two dads and a daughter. “‘Your art only gets better and better, Emma.” He opened the card and started reading it to himself. Cas smiled until he got to a particular spot and froze. He looked back and forth between Emma and Dean, tears building up in his eyes. “Emma?”

Dean had pulled out his phone and set it to record. “What’s it say, Cas?”

“You knew.” Cas pointed at Dean and sniffled, fighting to hold back his tears. “Dear Cas. I want to thank you for so many things. First, for being my teacher. You have taught me so much, and not just from the books you share. I’ve learned about caring and compassion.” Cas smiled at Emma, “Your dad has taught you a lot of that too.”

“Hush, Cas, keep reading.” Dean smiled.

“Thank you for making Dad happy and becoming apart of our family. While we were content, you brought a new kind of happiness to our lives.” Cas reached forward and tucked Emma’s hair behind her ear. “You two have brought such joy to my life.”

Emma leaned into Cas’ touch, smiling.

“Since I’m running out of the room on this card, let me thank you for being my other Dad. I never knew I was missing a second parent until you became mine.” Cas sobbed softly. “Merry Christmas, Papa. I love you, Em.” Cas pulled Emma into his arms. “I love you too, Emma.”

“If you don’t like Papa, we can pick something else.” Emma looked up. “Or I can keep calling you Cas.”

Cas wiped away a tear from Dean’s face, and then one from Emma’s. “Emma, I am proud to be your Papa. Thank you for letting me.”

Emma surged forward and wrapped her arms around Cas’ neck. “Love you, Papa.” Dean wrapped his arms around both of them, causing Emma to giggle. “You know I love you, Dad.”

“Of course I do, Kiddo. I just needed to hug my two favorite people.” Dean planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Time for bed, though.” Dean stood up and walked to the other side of Emma’s bed and offered his hand to Cas, helping him to his feet. “If you don’t go to sleep, Santa won’t come.”

“Really, Dad?”

“Yep. No presents for daughters who remind their Dads of their age, either.” Dean pointed at Emma, winking as Cas dragged him out of the room. Dean quietly closed the door behind them and turned to smile at his partner. He gently cupped Cas’ cheek and rested their foreheads together. “Can I give you your present now?”

Cas smirked as they walked to their room. “Did you get me the nutcracker I asked for?”

“You were serious about that?” Dean laughed, entering their room, and heading to the closet. “I thought you were just a Grinch when I asked what you wanted.”

“I was a little facetious.” Dean handed Cas a few presents as he continued. “Remember what I said at the shelter earlier?”

“Of course, Angel.” Dean loaded up his own arms and gestured to the door. “I knew about your family, that was one of the first things I learned about you. I want to give you the holiday that you haven’t been able to experience in years.”

Cas led the way downstairs to the Christmas Tree. “You’ve already done so much, Dean. You and Emma both. I haven’t had a Christmas this memorable since my first one after graduating college.” He set the boxes down and turned to look at Dean. “I love that you want to do this for me, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Cas.” Dean set the presents under the tree and took the ones out of Cas’ arms. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

“I did, I asked if you got me a nutcracker.” Cas crossed his arms. “None of those boxes look like they could be a nutcracker.”

“Cas.” Dean rotated toward Cas while dropping to one knee. He pulled a box out of his pocket. “I know this is probably a little soon, but when you know something is right, you shouldn’t let it go.”

Dean watched as Cas’ face twisted in confusion before brightening in understanding. “Dean, is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean swallowed and nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he cracked the box open. “Emma said it best: We were happy, but you brought us something we didn’t know we were missing.” Dean paused and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Marry me, Cas?”

Cas broke out into a brilliant smile and reached to the Christmas tree, pulling off an ornament. “I lied about this one.” Cas fell to one knee in front of Dean, putting them at the same level. “I’ll marry you on one condition.” He twisted the ornament and took the top off, revealing his own ring. “You say yes, also.”

“Hell, yes.” Dean lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Cas’ - his fiance’s - neck, and enveloped him in a tight embrace.

#spnadventcalendar2019 #profoundnet #spncreatorsdaily #writersofdestiel #deancas #destiel #timestamp #domestic fluff #christmas fluff #marriage proposal #nickel writes

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ruensroad · 5 years ago

Note

If you're still doing prompts, could you do 91 or 99? Maybe for JC and JL? Or Xicheng?

I went with Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, hope you don’t mind!

This is an AU I thought up for Halloween, but never got around to writing it proper. Alternate Universe where Jiang Cheng was actually killed by the Wens at Lotus Pier and that was the catalyst of him turning into a monster. On the bright side, however, Wei Wuxian does not die and Jin Ling gets to grow up with both his parents, so! This is my take on vampires in the MDZS universe, featuring one grumpy uncle and the nephew that loves him despite his fangs.

Prompt is from this list here.Prompt 91 & 99 | “Sorry I’m protective over the things I love.” & “Be brave, sweetheart.” | Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling

He’d seen the eyes since he was five. Glowing purple lights in the corner of his room, watching him sleep. It had scared him, at the start, until he’d realized that his fear made the eyes go away. And that’s when his curiosity had won out.

When he’d found the courage, he’d asked the eyes to stay, the eve before his sixth birthday, and had been given a dirty, wrinkled paper with smudged charcoal characters for his effort. It smelled of blood, and dirt, and something like cold death, but his fear had fled and his life had never been the same.

I’m sorry I scared you. I just wanted to know you are safe. Tell me to leave and I will. I’m not here to hurt you, A-Ling.

Jin Ling hadn’t told the eyes to leave. Quite the opposite. He demanded the eyes stay, but only after a long bath and a change of clothes, because he didn’t want ma-ma to think he was dirtying the floors on purpose, or ba-ba to worry that he was sneaking outside.

The floors were clean from then on, but Jin Ling’s escapes into the dark night had only just begun.

The eyes belonged to a man, or what used to be a man. Honestly, Jin Ling had no idea what he truly was. Uncle Wei had told him of walking corpses and of reanimated corpses, but neither of these drank blood, or had fangs and claws. The man was still very human in his mind, even if his body did not remember being so, and was worried enough about his own beastly side to muzzle himself with a heavy, iron mask so he did not accidentally bite Jin Ling. Or so he had explained, writing in the dirt with a stick. He couldn’t speak, but he could make some noises and was far more intelligent than any non-human beast Jin Ling had heard about. He was oddly funny at times, stern at others. He had a perpetual scowl on his face, and the violet glow in his eyes could dim or sharpen depending on his mood. He was fascinating, a steady friend, and Jin Ling had come to depend on him greatly.

Because the best thing was that he was family.

Jin Ling was ten when Uncle Wei finally told him the story of Jiang Cheng, how he’d been captured by the Wen Clan and killed in Lotus Pier. That was the story everyone knew, the tragedy of the fallen Jiang Heir, but Uncle Wei knew the full truth because he had been there. He’d seen Lotus Pier ablaze and running red with death. He’d seen the Wen dead, scattered corpses everywhere he looked. They’d been drained, completely, of blood, and it’d happened when they’d been alive, begging for mercy. Their mummified faces were still screaming, in fact.

At the center of the flames and carnage had been Jiang Cheng, but not the Jiang Cheng Uncle Wei had known. He was no longer human, no longer afraid, and he’d murdered everyone in that place without hesitation.

He’d only hesitated, Uncle Wei had admitted, the stink of wine heavy on his breath, when he’d approached and reached out for his brother, calling his name. The humanness had returned, but the beastly shell had trapped it inside. Jiang Cheng was forever changed and had disappeared into the form of a raven the moment Uncle Wei had touched his face and Uncle Wei had spent the years searching in vain for him since.

Jin Ling knew his jiu-jiu didn’t wish to hurt anyone he cared about. Jiang Cheng had told him himself after many months of figuring out a sign language known only to the two of them, so they didn’t have to write everything down in the dirt. Though he had not been able to wrestle the story out of Jiang Cheng - yet - he knew enough to know Jiang Cheng regretted it, regretted what he was, and had isolated himself because of it. But what mattered most was that he was still here, wanting to be with Jin Ling, and that meant the world to him, even if his jiu-jiu was all shades of terrifying and always dirty.

Jiang Cheng was Jin Ling’s most closely guarded secret and a treasured one. He sat there with his unblinking eyes and let Jin Ling go off about his day, listening raptly to whatever he said. They bickered over sword techniques, or who was a better shot with a bow, and Jiang Cheng trusted him enough to accept the waterskin full of animal blood Jin Ling always brought and remove the mask he wore over the lower half of his face. Jin Ling loved those times the most, even if it was disgusting with the smell and sounds, because he knew Jiang Cheng loved him enough to trust him with his most beastly side. And Jin Ling trusted him too, completely.

Ma-ma had always taught him to be brave. Brave enough to see the good in people, to stand up for himself and for his loved ones. Bravery had given Jin Ling the chance to connect to his monstrous uncle, and love had bound them together. He just wished he was brave enough to tell ma-ma that the raven that often perched to watch her in her garden was the younger brother she still mourned, or to tell Uncle Wei that Jiang Cheng was not giving into his beast, but was clinging as firmly to humanity as he could. That they could be proud of Jiang Cheng. That they hadn’t fully lost him, nor he they.

But Jin Ling didn’t know where to begin. The cultivation world was not forgiving to those that strayed from the path, who became monsters the way the Wen had. Just because he knew his jiu-jiu would never hurt him didn’t erase the fact that he was a monster and a monster Jin Ling had no idea what to label, or how to deal with. He loved Jiang Cheng fiercely and that love was returned, but Jin Ling feared that would not be enough to keep Jiang Cheng safe from the world if he were to be discovered.

So he kept quiet and swallowed down that guilt. Until the night when he couldn’t hide anymore.

He’d just turned sixteen when Carp Tower was flooded with walking corpses. No one knew where they’d come from or could understand their sheer numbers, and it was immediate chaos. Jin Ling grabbed his bow and arrows and charged into the fray, shooting them down before they could reach ma-ma and ba-ba, who was surely already protecting her.

Distantly, he could hear shouting, the snarl of Fairy as the dog lunged at the nearest corpse, and knew they’d be overrun if he didn’t act, and act quickly.

Be brave, sweetheart, his mother’s voice filled his heart, his blood, and Jin Ling summoned as much spiritual energy into himself as he could, firing at the horde. They were drawn in by the feel of it, he knew, and obediently started to follow him, lumbering but gaining speeds that were definitely the result of a hidden puppeteer.

“Fairy, guard ma-ma!” was his final order before he turned and sprinted into the woods.

The route was well known, well loved, and it was with confidence he fought the charging monsters as he ran for the old tree by the pond, a gnarled, ancient thing that Jiang Cheng loved for some reason, and yelled out a warcry so his jiu-jiu would know he was coming. That he needed help, needed his uncle, needed the beast.

With a wicked silence, the slice of claws through flesh, the beast came. Those eyes were electric, sharp and focused, a feral sound in Jiang Cheng’s throat as he took out a corpse that had gotten too close to Jin Ling. They had a bare moment to nod to one another before they were fighting side by side, eating away at the numbers until all that was left was a stinking pile of rot and severed limbs.

Jiang Cheng slowly turned to look at him when the last one fell, eyes accusing and almost violent with how much fear there was, and Jin Ling huffed, reading his unspoken words far too easily.

“I had to get them away from Carp Tower somehow,” he defended himself, nose in the air. “And I heard about a grumpy, homicidal beast in the woods that would help me out.”

Jiang Cheng’s hands were a flurry of quick, sharp words, and Jin Ling bit down a wild grin as the sentence formed. “So sorry for being protective of those I love.” He had never known anyone could make their hands dance so sarcastically, but his jiu-jiu was a master of it.

Jin Ling sheathed the arrow he’d pulled and walked over to Jiang Cheng, reading the tension still in his shoulders with a spike of guilt. In one fearless movement, he touched the front of the iron mask - carved into the shape of bared teeth after a twelve year old Jin Ling had complained it’d been too boring - and looked up at those violet eyes, gleaming angrily in the dark.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Jin Ling said, contrite now, and bit his lip. “I just… I had to get them away from ma-ma.”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “I would have done the same.”

Jin Ling puffed up at that, knowing it for the praise it was, and grinned. “We made a great team. I told you so.”

A low growling huff. “Brat.”

He felt a laugh starting to bubble in his chest, but it died the moment he heard voices shouting down the path, calling his name. Ba-ba, it sounded like, and Uncle Wei.

“You have to go,” Jin Ling hissed, panic gripping his heart. “Please, jiu-jiu. If they see -”

“A-Ling.” It was his favorite sign in the world, the way Jiang Cheng wove his name. A tap on his heart, then his fingers lifting in a graceful arch under his throat. A-Ling. From my heart to my mouth. A-Ling. “I am not afraid.”

And for once he did not look it. He looked resolved, ready to face the world again, and Jin Ling knew he should be proud of that, proud that he more than likely caused it, but he only felt fear, cold and fierce, and felt the tears prick his eyes when the voices came closer.

Jiang Cheng gripped his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and Jin Ling forced himself to stand upright. Take a breath. He had to stand tall for his uncle now, stand firm in all they had. So he would.

Be brave.

#ruenwrites #writing prompts #jiang cheng #jin ling #vampire au #the untamed #I downright SCREAMED reading the prompts #I've wanted to write this AU #since halloween #i LOVE it ahhhh #thank you anon!

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