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unseededtoast · 1 year ago

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Rectify | Bucky Barnes

Part 2/37 | Part One, Part Three

Summary: I've lived every day for the past five years looking over my shoulder. I knew they'd come for me, it was inevitable. I was foolish to think I could outrun my past. It's followed me everywhere I go, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never would I have anticipated that the shadows would lead me to the light.

Bucky Barnes x OC

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, discussion of suicidal thoughts.

a/n: Hi everyone, thank you for checking this out, I appreciate any and all support! This series is also posted on Ao3 and Wattpad if you prefer those formats/platforms! This is a completed series, and it's going to take some time for me to transfer it to Tumblr, so please bear with me!

"That seems like a lot of blood on you, miss. Do you mind telling me whose blood it is and why it's now on you?"

I see the building I need and speed towards the high fences with adrenaline rushing through my veins, the blood beginning to dry on my skin. I'm not sure this will even work but it's my last resort and only hope. I slow down once I reach the security gate and roll down my window. My hands are covered in another man's blood and I'm sure I look deranged.

"Identification." The man with dark sunglasses states. I swallow my nerves and clear my throat.

"I don't have any. I'm here seeking refuge." I say in hopes that he will let me through. I never wanted to be here and never thought I would be here, but if I want to live it's my only option. The man leans closer to me and pulls his sunglasses down to where I can see his eyes peering over. He takes a quick look inside my car and surely notices my blood-stained hands and car. He readjusts the sunglasses on his face and clears his throat.

"So I'm just supposed to let you in? You could have a weapon of mass destruction in the car." In a way he isn't wrong but I'm not about to get into technicalities right now. I shake my head and pleadingly look into his eyes.

"Sir, I am here seeking refuge. You can interrogate me and search my car. I don't have anything on me or in the car that could hurt anyone. Please." My voice wavers at the end sensing that this might not work the way I hoped it would.

What if they don't let me in? What am I supposed to do then? Am I going to have to run and hide again somewhere else? That would be pointless, they would just find me again. They know where I'm at now, there's no hiding by myself anymore.

The man stands up straight and walks back to the small booth which controls the traffic barrier. He speaks into a walkie talkie, I can't hear what he's saying. I pick at the blood-crusted skin around my fingers and watch the man intently, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. After a few minutes of dialogue, the man comes back to my car.

"You're going to drive through and take a left. There will be someone waiting to take you in for questioning and we're going to search your car. If anything harmful or dangerous is found you will be criminally tried in the court of law. Do you understand?" I nod my head with wide eyes.

I can't believe it worked. He walks back to the booth and lifts the bar, I roll my car slowly through and follow the path he told me to. Just as he said, there was someone waiting for me. I put my car into park and turn it off, grabbing my bag I had thrown in the passenger seat.

"Put the bag down and step out of the car." The man waiting for me states with a tone of authority. I do as he instructs and I close the car door behind me. The man approaches and pulls out a pair of handcuffs.

"You are not under arrest, you are being detained for security reasons. Do not resist. Resisting will result in criminal charges. I am going to escort you to an interrogation room and your items will be searched." He rambles on as he tightens the cuffs around my wrists behind my back. I nod my head in understanding and walk alongside the man.

Glass doors part for us as we enter the modern-style building. There are people all over the place, talking, making phone calls, putting projections into the air. I look around at the operations and I'm surprised they would walk someone who is detained through this area, there's so much information that could potentially be gathered. As we walk through the busy room, I can't help but feel self conscious as people stare at me as we pass through.

The man escorts me down a hallway that's lined with heavy iron doors. We stop in front of one and he unlocks it with his card. He pushes me slightly into the room and sits me down in the chair, connecting my cuffs to a metal fixture on the desk so I can't go anywhere.

"Someone will be in shortly." He leaves the room and I hear the click of the lock. I look around the monochromatic room. It's devoid of any decorations or warmth. It's very cold, and I spot a camera in the corner of the room, it's no surprise they're already monitoring my every move.

I anxiously tap my foot on the hard floor, waiting for someone to come and question me. I know once they search my belongings I'll likely be glued to this chair for hours, if not days once they figure out what I have. The book will either be the reason I'm offered protection or I'm turned away, unfortunately there is no middle ground. I'll have to play my cards right and convince them that I'm on their side and worthy of being protected.

I'm not sure of how much time has passed as I'm ripped from my thoughts abruptly when the door opens and a man steps in. He's dressed simply, in a long dark coat accompanied with a black shirt, pants, and an eyepatch. I make eye contact with his good eye and watch as he silently takes the seat across from me. He adjusts in the seat and stares at me, I stare back. From his confidence I can tell he probably has a relatively high rank.

"That seems like a lot of blood on you, miss. Do you mind telling me whose blood it is and why it's now on you? And who you even are?" I swallow and nod my head to the intimidating man seated across from me.

"I am Adalyn Averina and I do not know the man's name, but I am almost certain he worked for my former employer. He showed up at my work and threatened me in the parking lot. I cut his face, and he followed me home. He didn't make it out of my house, it was either him or me." I give him the short and not-so-sweet version of the story. The man nods his head and boldly asked his next question,

"Was that man after the Hydra material found in your bag?" I lick my lips and nod at the man, of course they found it. I decide honesty is the best policy and hopefully transparency is my ticket to being protected.

"Yes." I watch the man's facial expressions, trying to get a read of what's going on in his mind, but his face is a blank slate.

"What's inside that book and why did he want it?" I scrunch my eyebrows together confused as to how he knows the book is Hydra material but doesn't know the importance of it. Or perhaps he does know and is testing me to see if I tell the truth. I realize this is the time to start making my demands in order to secure my safety instead of freely handing over information. I need to play my cards right or else they can take my information and kick me to the streets.

"Sure, I'll be happy to explain and cooperate on the condition that I receive asylum and aid from Shield." I lay out my terms not confident that I have the upper hand in this situation. They could easily just translate the book without my help and have all of the information. My hands are shaking in the cuffs and I feel myself start to sweat. The man rubs his chin and leans forward.

"Why would we give aid to a Hydra conspirator?" He has a valid point and if the roles were reversed I would likely ask the same questions.

"I'm more of a Hydra defector, I did just kill one of their men." I answer quickly, hoping my answer is satisfactory enough to get my wish granted. The man takes a deep breath and nods.

"Alright then. You explain yourself and the material you're in possession of, and in return we will set you up with our protection program. A new life and identity with some conditions." I nod my head eagerly.

"Thank you." I say appreciatively and get into the story I've dreaded telling for years. As I tell the story, I notice the man's subtle body language, insinuating that he's far more interested than he's letting on. I go into detail, but not too much. I tell him the important things he needs to know and nothing more. By the end of my recounting, the man has both hands on the metal table in front of me. He takes a few moments before he speaks,

"I'll be right back." He rises from the chair and walks out of the room. I nod my head and watch him leave, anxious for whatever is going to happen next. I feel the now fully dried blood on my hands, making them feel crusty and stiff. I rest my forehead on the cool metal table and close my eyes, trying to calm myself down.

The adrenaline is beginning to wear off and I recall the events that transpired only a short time ago. I killed that man, stabbed him right through the neck with no chance of survival. I feel myself start sweating more, like I'm going to panic but I try my best to keep my breaths even and deep. Shield doesn't owe me anything, the man can easily go back on his word and not grant me a new identity or not offer any sort of protection. Shield is definitely capable of extracting the information from the book and leaving me for Hydra's wrath.

My panic is cut short as the man walks back in. I lift my head from the table and it feels as though a rock was dropped in my stomach. My eyes are locked on him in a wide panic, eager to hear what he has to say. His next words make or break my future and whether I have much longer to live.

"We are prepared to make you an offer. We offer you a position here, with us. You'll be protected and work in our labs researching what you already seem to know so much about and work on an assignment pertaining to your skillset. If you decline this offer, we'll set you up with a new identity just as promised." I know that the new identity options comes with its own set of conditions, which are uncertain and will likely provide much less protection that what I am currently comfortable with. If I take him up on his employment offer, I'll be under the direct protection of Shield. It's a no brainer to me.

"I'll work for Shield." I confirm and the man nods affirmatively.

"Welcome to the team, I am Director Fury." He introduces himself. I breathe a breath of what seems like fresh air, I will live to see another day.

"Director Fury, it's a pleasure to give my skills to Shield, thank you." I give him my appreciation of the offer. It's likely he will never know that he saved my life today.

I never envisioned myself working for Shield ever, the idea of going from one major organization to another of the same nature never sat right with me, but here I am. It's not like I had much of a choice, it was a life or death situation. However, I intend to make the most out of this and not repeat my mistakes that I made while I was a part of Hydra.

#bucky barnes #smut #angst #winter soldier #the winter soldier #steve rogers #bucky #marvel #shield #hydra #captain america #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfiction

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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 4 years ago

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Bleeding butterflies pt 2 - ot7 vampire au

Prev / Next

I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to update this but what can I say, inspiration is funny with its timing. We’re going back in time before moving ahead with the story just to give snippets of information of the world I’m building. Prequels never really do well I’ve noticed, but I think I like this one. Let me know what you think as always x

Side note: I didn’t realise how long this continuation was until Tumblr said no more, so I’ve split it into two. The shorter half is today and hopefully the second part will be ready tomorrow x

Yoongi inhales like he’s never felt air in his lungs, he’s found you. It’s sweet, your scent, not overpoweringly so. He doesn’t usually like sweet things but this he would make an exception for. It’s too distant, too faded that he takes another breath just to catch the last remaining wisp that lingered in the air, before the downpour of rain would drown it away.

Right on cue there’s a flash of light in the sky, and seconds later, thunder. He sighs as the first drops of rain fall, already dampening his hair to his face, it was going to be harder to find you. At least, if it was harder for him, it would be harder for other supernatural species lurking in the night.

He takes a glance at his watch, 12 midnight exactly. He’s walked this route many times, but has never smelled your aroma before today, which he hoped could only mean one thing. The blood fruit ripened tonight, and no one else had claimed you yet. Now he just had to find you.

................................................................................................

It’s the thunder that wakes you, walls built like paper in your flat. Top floor meant closer to the clouds and closer to the flashes of light. You should’ve invested in black out blinds, there’s no longer any hope for sleep tonight. Happy birthday to me, you think sarcastically.

You sit up as another flash of lightening illuminated your room for a second, but a second is enough to see the figure in your room. Your eyes don’t leave the corner of the room you just saw him in, you can’t even convince yourself it was a figment of your imagination, no you can’t, because the shadow that’s left with the loss of light, now moves towards you as the thunder rumbles.

Move, your brain can command you all it wanted, but you were frozen. For fuck sake Y/n fight or flight don’t fucking freeze, move!

You almost missed the sound of thunder in the room, because now all you could hear were your laboured breaths as he approached. It’s a dream, please be a dream.

There’s a crash heard of your front door breaking when he stands in front of you, and you can almost make out his features. He curses under his breath, crouching down to meet your gaze. His eyes are almost feline, you’d find them pretty if it weren’t for the circumstances. You can almost make out his pupils dilating for a mere second as he speaks.

“Don’t move, don’t run away until I tell you to or unless you think I’ve lost,” as soon as he’s said his piece he leaves you alone, closing the door behind him. Despite wanting to ignore his command, you can’t move. You weren’t frozen in fear anymore, your body felt like stone, and you felt trapped inside.

You can hear his voice again in the hallway along with another gruff voice. You could almost make out what they were saying, he said something about ‘no full moon tonight’, ‘not to pick a fight doomed from the start’.

The other voice replies with a bunch of curses, a challenge, and then a word that makes your blood run cold. ‘Bloodsucker’.

He’s a vampire, supernatural beings and humans coexisted peacefully for many years after the last war eons back. The royal family of your nation were vampires, 7 brothers that upheld the peace. Why were vampires breaking into your house? This was illegal. He mentioned something about a full moon... was the other guy a werewolf?

There’s a moment of silence and you pray that they’re leaving, but your hopes are diminished when you hear a loud crash of your furniture breaking with what you assume is with a body.

Y/n move, get the fuck out, you beg yourself but against yours wishes you can’t move. You can’t even wince when you hear the groan of pain piercing the air of your home. He asked you not to move idiot, he compelled you.

You were going to die, he was definitely a rogue vampire, one of the rebels that hunted humans for fun and you were the next target.

There’s a gust of wind that opens the bedroom door, only it wasn’t the wind it was the vampire back for his midnight snack. He grabs your arm, and pulls you off the bed.

“Move, we don’t have long, werewolves are used to getting their heads knocked about,” the compulsion is gone, you can feel your bones unlocking. He’s pulling you out of the room, but you’re fighting against him, trying with all your strength to remove his grip from your arm to no avail.

Avoid eye contact y/n or he’ll make you walk out of here happily with him.

He gets sick of your pathetic attempts to release yourself, sighing at how much longer this was taking because of your stupidity. You almost fall to the ground when he lets you go suddenly, only to pick you up bridal style. You make the mistake of looking into his eyes.

“Sleep,” he commands, and you do.

................................................................................................

“Does she really think she can pretend to be asleep in a room full of vampires?” You squeeze your eyes shut more when you hear a light voice chuckling at you.

Dammit, you got caught. They must’ve heard you wake up which is why they came to the room, and you put on the worst show of your life by pulling the covers over your head.

“Jimin stop it she smells scared,” a voice berates the one before.

“Sorry Hobi Hyung.”

You frown, you should be the one they apologised to.

You let the covers fall from your face as you rise to greet your kidnappers. Maybe you could threaten them with the law, after all the princes were ruthless to those who disobeyed the...

Your eyes adjusted to the light, 7 figures came into focus, the air stilled as you recognised them. The royal house of Bangtan, the princes were the ones who took you.

...............................................................................................

You’ve always known it, they didn’t need to tell you, your existence was a curse. All the fairy tales told to you in school, the blood fruit, the blood stone, the blood candle, they were all about the same thing, the same person, you.

“I want to leave,” you finally speak after the shock has passed. “Thank you for warning me, but I can take care of myself.”

The highest prince raises his eyebrow at your words, your defiance if you could call it that.

“I understand,” he says and you nearly sigh a breath of relief. “This is a lot to take in, but you can’t leave.”

There’s a fight in your eyes he finds admirable, no one spoke to them like you did, you didn’t thank them profusely for saving you, you didn’t apologise for being a burden, you didn’t suck up to them, and most importantly you didn’t beg for your life in fear even though the room was filled with the smell. You hid it well, he thought.

You can see a dimple appear in his cheek but you think he’s mocking you, mocking how powerless you are. Hypocrite, you really wanted to say it out loud, all these rules and laws for their kind and theyre the ones to break them.

“Every supernatural being, regardless of how moral or immoral, wants your blood,” Yoongi explains with a sigh, almost as if telling you all this was a waste of his time and energy. You completely agreed, so why not just let you go? “If we let you go, one of them is going to find you, even when they have you there will be non stop fights from other clans, other species, your whole existence will be filled with violence and blood.”

“How is it any different if I stay with you? You want my blood too, if everyone else does you must as well,” the frustration you feel is giving you a headache, and you aim it at them with your voice.

“We’ve worked hard to ensure our rule for the last hundred years,” Jin chimes in with a smug smile. “Built our defences, built our army, we’re almost unstoppable, all in preparation for you.”

His eyes look too kind to be so cruel, you couldn’t trust any of them.

“So you could own my blood instead,” you refuse to sound defeated, fine they had you now but you would escape. You don’t care how powerful they are, you’re not completely helpless. Maybe you could coax one of the servants for a pint of blood to help you escape...

“I think you’ve got us all wrong,” Hoseok chuckles. “We don’t want to own your blood, we want to protect it.”

They don’t miss the way you roll your eyes, the way your jaw clenched. This wasn’t the best first impression they could have made, but your reactions were only natural. Your world just flipped upside down, and now 7 vampires were telling you it would never be the same again.

“What Hobi means is, we have no interest in drinking your blood,” Namjoon interjects before you can reply sarcastically. “Your existence is going to bring about a lot of bloodshed, if anyone else gets their hands on you, you’ll be bleeding for the rest of your life.”

“So you’re going to protect me from that?” It sounds ridiculous. “Why would you do that?”

“You didn’t ask to be the blood fruit,” Taehyung speaks for the first time since your awakening, but he doesn’t look at you. You still don’t understand, they couldn’t be this kind, something didn’t sit right with any of it. They’ve just told you a drop of your blood was worth buckets of the stuff, why weren’t you connected to a drip and fed to their armies?

“I know it’s hard to wrap your head around,” Namjoon says gently as he watches your brows furrow. “But I promise you if you leave it won’t be safe. We’re just trying to do the right thing.”

“Why?” You ask again, almost sounding like a child.

“We didn’t ask to be vampires either, call it an understanding,” Yoongi says solemnly, no longer meeting your gaze.

“Can’t I just ask them not to take my blood? Won’t the laws protect me?” You whisper naively, you know it’s naive, you know you sounded silly, but you didn’t want to be imprisoned.

“Idiot,” you hear an unfamiliar voice mutter, turning to the youngest of the seven who scoffs. He sits the furthest away from you, leg shaking like he’s just quit a drug addiction and needs a desperate fix.

“Excuse me?” Your tone is defensive again, making Namjoon sigh, they were close to getting this resolved. He rubs his temples with his fingers, already feeling the heat in the room rise with your anger and Jungkook’s.

The youngest finally turns to look at you, glaring at you like you were the worst possible thing to exist. Maybe he wasn’t wrong.

“You think anyone outside of this room can control their instincts when you smell like that!” He yells at you, hands shaking in fury or restraint you didn’t know. “You’re not claimed, every fucking being out there is going to sink their teeth into you until you’re bonded to a clan or a pack, and even then they’re going to fight for a taste.”

“You guys seem to be holding yourselves back fine,” you snap at him.

He whispers something through gritted teeth before storming out, slamming the door behind him. The sound makes you jump in your seat.

“Barely...”

................................................................................................

It might’ve been the 5th time you tried to escape... Jimin didn’t look impressed, in fact he looked tired for an immortal being that didn’t need to sleep.

“Stop trying to spread your wings Butterfly,” he grumbles.

“I don’t understand why I can’t go to the nymphs,” you cross your arms as he pushes you back to your room. Nymphs were innocent beings in tune with nature, like fairies, but more elusive and definitely capable of hiding you from other supernatural beings.

“Ever heard the original darker fairy tales that they have to edit for human kids?” He asks as you both walk in, locking the door behind him. You were allowed free reign around the estate, but the rest of the princes were out tonight, Jimin was busy during your attempted escape, now he wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Yeah, some of them,” you say recalling the book your mother had in her room. “The book of blood.”

“You’ve heard of the book of blood?” He asks surprised, what was a human doing reading the book of blood?

You nod in response, it wasn’t a big deal, books were books.

“My mum had a copy, I used to read it when I was a teenager, the original stories are brutal.”

He hums in agreement, he doesn’t think the fact theyre all about you has sunk in yet.

“Ever heard of the story of the blood flower?” He watches for your reaction as the story comes back to your mind after so long. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs down your spine.

“That’s why we won’t give you to the nymphs.”

...............................................................................................

“Careful!” Jin scolds, picking you up with an arm around your waist and carrying you away from the mess you made. You didn’t even hear him coming.

“Let me go, I can walk,” you say as you push against the arm around your middle.

He laughs lightly, “there’s glass everywhere Sweetheart, I don’t want to test the mansion’s self control if you start accidentally bleeding.”

Why wasn’t he telling you off? You caused the glass to break, surely he knows that. There’s no missing the draft that makes its way into the estate from the broken window of your hundredth attempt of escape. You were getting tired of it yourself, surely they’d kick you out by now.

He takes you to Namjoon’s suite, ignoring the way you’re pleading and apologising with no real heart behind it. He only lets you go to place you on the couch, and sitting directly opposite you is the most powerful man in the country.

“Y/n,” Namjoon sighs.

“I don’t want to hear it your highness,” he doesn’t miss the very blatant sarcasm dripping from your lips as you cross your arms defensively against him, chin protruding away from him, high and mighty even though you were far far from it.

“Can’t you just trust us when we say it’s not safe for you out there?” He whispers, hands intwined in front of him while he watches you with a stern gaze.

“I’m not your responsibility, so cut the crap,” you almost snarl, patience completely gone with the amount of shit they were spewing. “You must think I’m stupid if I haven’t figured your bullshit out.”

His brow raises in question, he admits an outburst was probably due naturally about now. He doesn’t however expect the next words you hit him with, humans must really think the worst of their kind.

“The reason you don’t want me to leave is because if another fucking being gets my blood, they’ll become powerful enough to overthrow you,” you finally let out the only logical explanation of their behaviour the only reason why they wanted to ‘protect’ you. It doesn’t faze the immortal in front of you, you knew you were right.

“If that’s the case Y/n why haven’t we taken your blood for ourselves?” His voice doesn’t rise a decibel, he hasn’t yelled at you once since you arrived. “Why haven’t we just drained you dry and unleashed hell on anyone that tries to oppose our rule?”

“That’s what I’m still trying to figure out,” you look at him with disgust, not believing his kind act for a second. “Maybe there’s something you’re not telling me, maybe you can’t take my blood without my permission or something and you’re waiting for me to give in. But I won’t, I won’t give it to anyone.”

He admires your bravery, he has to give you that, even if you are a little dense.

“If I didn’t want another clan to claim your blood Y/n to protect my reign,” he chuckles. “I wouldve killed you by now and saved myself the trouble.”

...............................................................................................

Tonight was the night, the rest of them were out leaving you and Taehyung alone with the staff. They tended to stay out of your way, and so did your vampire babysitter of the night. Tonight you would escape.

Of course that didn’t mean you could let your guard down, the quiet ones were the ones to watch out for after all. At least he had the decency to not invade your space unlike the others, as if you wanted to mingle with the beings that kept you here.

You didn’t trust them, almost didn’t believe them, but there was a little voice in the back of your head whispering, why would they lie?

They had no reason to. Plus if you did make it out where would you go? What if you got attacked? Why were you really so desperate to leave?

You couldn’t protect yourself, you knew that better than anyone, so what was this show about? Why were you yelling at them with disgust at the top of your lungs when they kept you safe?

You tell the voice in your head to shut up when it offers you an answer; you didn’t want to seem weak. You wanted control no matter the consequences. You wanted to see the truth for yourself.

Whenever it was Taehyung’s night to ‘watch over’ you, he always sent one of the staff to do so instead. Human company was great, they didn’t trust a supernatural with you ever yet. You were almost thankful the vampire didn’t suffocate you with his presence like the others. They each had their own unique ways of doing so.

Jin and Hobi seemed to take every situation lightly, and they didn’t ever stop talking whether you replied or not. Yoongi didn’t speak unless it were to tell you you were stupid in some sarcastic manner, he always found your escape techniques entertaining whether he admitted it or not, although his smirk did that for him. Jimin played a game called “how are we escaping tonight?” in which he pretended he was your comrade against the rest, coming up with ideas himself only to explain to you why each attempt would be futile. Jungkook just glared at you whenever he saw you but left you alone, or locked you somewhere so he wouldn’t have to deal with you until one of the others came home. It was rare they ever left Jungkook or Taehyung alone with you, you still didn’t know why.

Back to the escape plan, you’ve lost count of what number this one was but it didn’t matter, this one would be successful. There’s a hustle of movement on the floor above where the staff were doing their weekly deep clean, so no one would hear you tiptoeing on the ground floor towards the gardens. It’s dark out, only a sliver of moonlight from the crescent in the sky, no one would see you leave. You were almost giddy.

You look around you in the dark when your hands reach the handle. This was good, complete silence down here. There’s no creak when the handle comes down, you could almost grin. There’s nothing but open air when you open the door, nothing but a gentle breeze inviting you out and away.

The wind picks up to a big gust that blows your hair into your eyes before it calms.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He says in a deep casual tone, arms crossed in front of him as he leans against your exit.

Dammit... you glare back at his taunting gaze, refusing to accept defeat.

“I’m leaving,” you say pushing past him, but he slides out of the way, walking behind you.

“If you could just come back inside and make this easier for us both,” he keeps his stride a step behind yours.

“No thank you,” you call back, surprised he wasn’t forcing you back inside like the others.

“It’s not safe out here,” he replies. “And Id rather not touch you please.”

“So don’t touch me, and let me leave,” should you be insulted? What made him so holy?

“Compelling it is,” he mutters but you hear him loud and clear, freezing in your step and covering your eyes with your hands.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn through gritted teeth, anger now igniting in your chest. It was so easy for them to do that shit without thinking, it was disgusting, they already kept you here against your will but to coerce you like that would be unforgivable.

You miss the way he’s taken back by your tone, already having signalled your watcher for the night to come and fetch you. He’d have words with him later. The poor man was running down the path towards you both in panic, not missing the way Taehyung’s eyes are set in annoyance.

“Miss L/n,” he pants when he reaches you. “Please come back inside.”

You can hear the desperation in his voice, knowing he was going to get into trouble because you gave him the slip. You sigh, you didn’t want to get him into trouble.

You turn back to the vampire standing there watching you with his hands in his pockets, lips pressed into a fake smile.

“I’ll go inside,” you say to him. “But only if he doesn’t get into trouble.”

He thinks he masks his surprise well considering, he was expecting to ask the staff to pick you up swinging and swearing, used to hearing your defiance against the others through the walls. He nods once and you turn back without another word.

...............................................................................................

“We have staff for that,” Hobi says as he watches you cut an onion while rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand when it stung them. There’s a tear and there’s a tear, but it didn’t smell like you were sad just fed up. Funny how your negative smells didn’t taint the sweetness like it did with other humans, it just gave it a more distinct taste in the air. Mouthwatering regardless of what else you mixed with it.

“I want my mums recipe, I’m going to make it,” you try not scowling at his lingering. How were you going to escape from the kitchen? “You can leave, you know.”

“Aw Sweetheart and here I thought you were slowly starting to like our company,” he says with a shit eating grin making you scoff.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you say for what must be the thousandth time making him pout. If he didn’t stop distracting you, you might-

“Ouch!”

Of course you cut your finger, you turn to the vampire who you were going to blame your bleeding on but he’s already left. That was quick, he just vanished. Youre walking over to the tap to wash it away when you hear it. There’s a commotion in the mansion somewhere but you can’t pin point where, you can’t because there are multiple sounds coming from multiple directions. Banging, a crash, someone’s yelling. Your hearts in your ears as the sounds get closer until the door is swung open revealing the man who brought you into this house of madness.

“Idiot, why would you cut your finger in a house full of vampires!” He snarls before holding his breath and taking you by the hand to the sink himself. He doesn’t say another word, his chest doesn’t move like it would if he were breathing, he’s looking down at you menacingly for all the scuffle that’s still taking place around you outside the kitchen walls. He almost winces when he hears Jin and Namjoon throwing Jungkook against another wall. He can even hear Jimin holding onto Taehyung finally catching him in his arms as he tells the younger vampire he would be okay, the smell would go in a second.

Your hands are thrust under running water until the cut stops bleeding, he’s trying to be gentle just so he doesn’t cause any more harm in his rage.

He wasn’t angry at you really, well maybe a little, he was pissed at the reaction a drop of blood caused in a house of veteran vampires. They were all behaving like newborns, even he, biting his bottom lip hard to the point it might tear off, was having difficulty refraining himself from having a taste. How did Hobi get himself out of here?

All this internal conflict and he doesn’t see the way your eyes are glistening, the way you’re starting to tremble in real fear. He can’t smell it yet, their noses are clogged with the sweet aroma of blood. He doesn’t notice any of you until you whisper hoarsely.

“I want to go home...”

................................................................................................

“She’s an ungrateful brat, just kill her and throw her out!”

You flinch at the sound of the table being thrown against the wall. You’re quiet as a mouse in the next room, they don’t know you’re here sneaking around. You try to calm your heart beat, knowing they’ll be able to pick up on it if it gets too loud against your chest, or they’ll smell the fear you’re exuding first.

“Jungkook calm do-”

“No hyung! She doesn’t know we’re fighting off every witch, warlock, werewolves and fucker off our own estate. She doesn’t know there’s a civil war starting outside these walls, all for what! So she doesn’t have to be a blood mule for some cruel fuck!”

There’s a pause only filled with heavy breathing from Jungkook, you’d be breathing the same way but you hold it. What did he mean? You noticed the princes leave most nights, coming back drained and tired, you didn’t realise what they were doing. There’s a pant of guilt and hurt that spreads from the middle of your chest as you hear his final words.

“She’s an ungrateful bitch, and I don’t care if she dies, I don’t want my brothers dying for her,” he says harshly, all you hear next is the sound of doors slamming as he leaves the estate.

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Nie Huaisang's reaction to the events in quiet room-verse

Chapter 3 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2)

Nie Huaisang’s day began, as always, with noise.

The Unclean Realm was like that – there wasn’t a single shichen of the day when there wasn’t at least some racket going on in the background, whether the sound of sabers whistling through the air and the grunting of men at the thrice-daily trainings on the fields, the din of hammering rising up from the forges alongside the smoke, the squeals and squawks of the various types of animals being harried to and fro, the shouting and haggling and people sounds that filled the bustling markets (both day and night) that had sprung up within the Unclean Realm’s fortress as a wartime tradition some generations back and which had never gone out of fashion.

Guests sometimes complained about it, saying that people walked through the halls at night (what did they think halls were for) or that there were too many birds outside (that didn’t sound like a problem) or the cats were yowling again (okay, the feral cat thing was a bit of a problem but at least they didn’t have a rat problem) or about all the loud noises of living people. Those who were born and raised there scarcely noticed it, and those that stayed acclimated eventually.

Those who really couldn’t handle it built themselves thicker walls.

Nie Huaisang was woken up that day with an especially loud bang that he suspected was something important tipping over somewhere, never a fortuitous start, but the day itself went pleasantly enough after that. He lazed around in the morning, snuck in a belated breakfast from an indulgent kitchen, begged out of saber training in the middle of the day with an excuse so transparent that Nie Zonghui looked like he was considering constructing a window with it, and finally settled quite happily on the balcony with a few of his favorite birds to paint.

It was not, strictly speaking, his balcony – it connected to the sect leader’s suite of rooms, not his own, and his brother used it fairly often when he was flying in and out of the Unclean Realm on business.

Nie Mingjue was currently away at the Cloud Recesses, not on business. Visiting his handsome lover again, and Nie Huaisang found it amusing all over again that his misanthrope of a brother, of all people, had somehow managed to snag the most eligible young master of their generation – that he had what everyone else wanted and couldn’t get.

His brother. Good for him!

Still, his brother being gone meant that the balcony was free, and it was one of Nie Huaisang’s favorite places to lurk: he had an excellent view of so many parts of the Unclean Realm, wonderful light, and no one would dare to intrude on his brother’s domain just to bother him.

It was a good day, bright and noisy in the best of ways, right up until it wasn’t.

Nie Huaisang felt more than saw Baxia approaching, the thrum of his own saber – casually propping up his easel – immediately recognizable, and he couldn’t help but smile in delight at the thought of seeing his brother even if it meant he was probably not getting out of saber practice today.

It was only odd, he thought, that the smear on the horizon that would be his brother approaching seemed larger than usual –

And then, all of a sudden, it was very much not a good day.

His brother was covered in blood, clearly his own, and his eyes were vacant and dull – shock, perhaps? – and he was leaning on Lan Wangji, who looked equally awful. There was fresh blood staining the back of his neck and creeping up his shoulders, ugly shadows on white robes, and his face was stricken, savaged by pain that was not merely external.

Nie Huaisang was frozen for a moment, watching them come, unable to believe it, and yet –

“Doctor!” he screamed, his voice dropping into a register he’d never used before, loud and bellowing and straight from the belly. A battlefield voice, like his brother’s, and he could see out of the corner of his eye all the disciples in the training field jumping, startled, as if they’d been shocked by lightning. “Someone get a doctor!”

The next bit was chaos, of course: the thunder of dozens of feet on stone, servants running to get anyone with medical skill, running to get water and bandages and acupuncture needles, anything that would help, and everyone talking all at the same time even as a dozen hands reached out to pluck the two tired cultivators down from the sky.

Not two, Nie Huaisang corrected himself as he took the small child out of his brother’s arms – said child was yawning and frowning, clearly displeased at being taken away from Nie Mingjue’s arms, and Nie Huaisang couldn’t blame him one bit; it was undoubtedly the best place in the world to be. There was another child in Lan Wangji’s trembling hands as well.

“Any more you’ve got hidden away?” he asked Lan Wangji, drawing him away from the disciples who had eyes only for their sect leader. “Under your clothing, maybe?”

Nie Huaisang would rather be there, with them, with his brother, but he’d studied medicine with about as much fervor as he’d studied any other serious subject – which was to say, none at all – and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help. For the first time he bitterly regretted his laziness.

Not even during the war had his brother ended up – like this.

“No,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was small and sad, and he was shaking. “Just…just them.”

“Good to know,” Nie Huaisang said. “How badly are you injured? You’re still standing, but I don’t like your color…”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he was looking at something in the distance; it was as if he’d lost his soul.

“You’re hurt,” Nie Huaisang said patiently. “Is it anything that can’t wait…?”

“I want to report,” Lan Wangji said again, more insistently, and – well, he was Lan sect. They thrived on rules; it was their baseline, the foundation of their mental world, and whatever had happened to the two of them, Lan Wangji was clearly fragile right now.

“You can report to me,” Nie Huaisang said, a snap decision. “I’m the heir; in my brother’s absence, I have authority to take whatever actions are necessary once I understand the situation.”

And his brother was absent, or as good as: he’d collapsed the second they’d landed, eyes rolling up into his skull – he’d clearly been clinging to consciousness by the barest thread of willpower by the end of it.

“Before anything else, though, is there anything we need to know about my brother’s condition?” he asked. “Anything that will help, or hurt –”

Is it a qi deviation, he wanted to ask but didn’t, couldn’t. It couldn’t be that, it couldn’t, not his brother – not his father, not again –

(His brother’s fingers were bloody, nails broken, as if he’d been tearing at something with them, and Nie Huaisang didn’t like the way they matched up in size to some of the marks on his brother’s face.)

“He needs sound,” Lan Wangji said. “He can’t be left alone…he was in the jingshi.”

“The – wait, the quiet room?” Nie Huaisang gaped at Lan Wangji. “That horrible, awful pit of hell that you crazy people threw into your décor – that jingshi?”

He paused, grimaced. “Uh, no offense –”

“You’re right,” Lan Wangji said, and buried his face into his hands. “You’re right.”

Nie Huaisang did a quick calculation, handed the children off to some servants, and then dragged the other man out of the room and towards his brother’s study.

“Sit,” he commanded, and seated himself in the sect leader’s place unconsciously. “Don’t worry about quiet; after he showed up like that, there’s no way anyone will leave him alone – he’ll be begging for some peace soon enough. Now report.”

Lan Wangji straightened his back – with a wince, Nie Huaisang noted, and that meant whatever injury he had was on his back – and reported.

Nie Huaisang took notes at the beginning, but then stopped after he broke the brush between his fingers, something that had never happened to him before.

“Keep going,” he said when Lan Wangji paused. “Don’t stop.”

Lan Wangji continued his recitation, his voice dull and monotone, but the words…

“Thank you for telling me,” Nie Huaisang squeezed out, feeling strangely light-headed. He stood up and went to the door, catching the first servant he saw. “I want the defensive arrays closed to all visiting cultivators, and all visitor tokens revoked until I say otherwise – especially any from the Jin or Lan sects. Go tell whoever needs to be told to accomplish that.”

The servant stared at him. “Second Young Master –”

“That was not,” Nie Huaisang said, “a request.”

The servant saluted.

“You’re bleeding,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang turned his head and frowned at him. “I think you’ll find that you’re the one that’s bleeding.”

“No, you –” He touched his nose.

Nie Huaisang didn’t understand until he echoed the action on his own face and realized his nose was bleeding. A bit strange; he hadn’t suffered from nosebleeds since the time his father died.

He pressed a handkerchief to his face and went back to his brother’s desk. “All right,” he said. “That will get us a bit more time, I think, though they’ll probably waste forever going to get Zonghui’s sign-off on the orders –”

But no, he was wrong – wrong again – because he could see the distant shimmer that was the Unclean Realm’s shielding array flickering into existence in the distance, could hear the sound of drums alerting the common people that they should withdraw back to their homes to avoid the possibility of interfering with a battle.

Perhaps alone of the Great Sects, Qinghe still held regular drills on what to do in the event of an invasion, and even through the thick walls of the study he could hear the casual grumbles of all the people forced to cut their day short – not too much grumbling, of course, since they knew that the Nie sect would send money to each household to compensate them for their trouble as long as they cleared the way fast enough. Doing something like that meant that they would always move, and quickly, too; it was ridiculously expensive, of course, but it meant that the streets would be clear and that no spy or troublemaker would be able to make their way into the Unclean Realm by blending in with the crowd.

It meant that they would be able to see their enemies coming.

“Was that necessary?” Lan Wangji asked. “They will not invade.”

“No?” Nie Huaisang said, and laughed. It hurt his throat. “You’re surer of that than I am. After all, you just told me that my er-ge and san-ge just conspired to murder my da-ge.”

Lan Wangji flinched. “I do not think it was…”

“It might not have been intentional on your brother’s part,” Nie Huaisang conceded. “Meng Yao, though? He was my brother’s deputy; there is no way he didn’t know what my brother thinks about that place. Piece of shit.”

They’d grown distant, Nie Huaisang remembered; his brother, who never abandoned anyone and guarded his people closer than gold, had turned his back on Meng Yao, and had needed to be coaxed back into accepting him. He’d assumed his brother was being petty over something or another, but that was petty of him, short-sighted, thinking only of himself and how much he’d missed his friend.

He resolved to find out exactly what had happened between them as soon as his brother was capable of telling him. He thought that it might be important.

“Your brother, though,” he added. “I always thought he was sincere towards my brother. That he really loved him.”

“He does. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, sincerity doesn’t mean shit,” Nie Huaisang said. “If he didn’t intend on murder, he did something that would have ended up that way. Even accidental killings call for justice, and this is – this isn’t okay, Lan-xiong.”

“I agree.” Lan Wangji closed his eyes. “I have asked Chifeng-zun for permission to stay.”

At first Nie Huaisang was confused – why would Lan Wangji need permission to hang out in the Unclean Realm? – and then he realized Lan Wangji meant for good.

The first thing he thought was oh, wow, that’s going to have some serious political implications and the next thing, somewhat more reasonably, was, I’m really angry about this and so is he.

“You are correct. Even if my brother’s feelings are sincere, it is no excuse,” Lan Wangji said. “In his desire to help your brother, in his refusal to listen to him and trust him, he nearly killed him. He is sect leader; no matter the reason, in the end, all things that happen within the Cloud Recesses are his decision.”

Just like what happend to me.

“We’ll deal with it,” Nie Huaisang promised. Even if his brother might be inclined to forgive after a while, overly generous as he always was with those he loved, he himself would not; Lan Wangji nodded, looking relieved. “Now can we please get you some medical assistance? Thirty-three hits with the discipline whip – I’d be dead. If I were you, I’d be dead. I can’t believe your brother agreed to it.”

Mine never would.

Nie Huaisang had never gotten along with Lan Wangji before, their personalities too distant, but their eyes met and there was a moment of perfect understanding.

He helped Lan Wangji up and let him lean on him as they went towards to the medical room.

When they were most of the way there, Lan Wangji spoke again. “Nie-gongzi…”

“Huaisang, please. Nie Huaisang if you must. If you’re going to be staying here, we can’t be formal with each other. Unclean Realm rule!”

“…Nie Huaisang.”

“Yes?”

“Your brother…”

Nie Huaisang stopped and looked at Lan Wangji, who was struggling for words more than he struggled to step forward. “What about him?”

“He was…once lovers with Lianfeng-zun?”

“What?” Nie Huaisang asked, surprised into a laugh. “No, of course not. He’d never betray er-ge like that; he’s been mad for him ever since they were children. Even if he was the sort of person who would do something like that, which he’s most assuredly not, he’s also not the sort of person who would ever enter into a relationship with a subordinate, and Meng Yao was his subordinate for most of the time they knew each other. They were friends at best.”

He paused, then, the laughter fading quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“Lianfeng-zun told my brother they were.” Lan Wangji was staring dully ahead again, and swallowed hard. “That they’d been lovers before.”

“And what, that their fight was some lover’s tiff?” Lan Wangji’s silence was eloquent. “That’s ridiculous. Why in the world would he concoct such an absurd and pointless lie, so easily disproven? What does it even get him?”

Lan Wangji averted his eyes.

A moment of thought later, and Nie Huaisang had his answer, his spine growing cold.

“Your brother wanted to have them both,” he said, and felt his nails drive into the center of his palms. “He wanted it so much that he didn’t bother questioning it when Meng Yao told him that he was also lovers with my brother, because if my brother was with him, then it wouldn’t be a betrayal for him to be with him, too. He thought…what? That they were some happy triad?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“My brother doesn’t know.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, but shook his head. “I do not think so.”

“Fuck.”

Nie Huaisang did not want to have to break his brother’s heart all over again.

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. “Okay. Fine. This is – terrible, yes, absolutely but at least it tells us that whatever your brother’s motives, Meng Yao, at minimum, must be malicious.”

Lan Wangji frowned, then followed his thought and nodded. “He deliberately utilized a falsehood to convince my brother to enter into a relationship with him. He may have used others to convince him to trap your brother in the jingshi.”

“Assuming your brother isn’t in on the plan to kill da-ge, and I’m sorry, we really do have to keep that option open. Even Meng Yao…it’s a surprise, you know? He was my brother’s deputy, they got on really well – even though they had their differences, that big fight, it seemed like they were getting over it. They swore brotherhood, and you know how seriously my brother takes that sort of thing.”

Lan Wangji nodded again.

“Also, it’s just – mystifying,” Nie Huaisang continued, slipping easily into the tone of complaint as he shouldered Lan Wangji’s weight again and continued on their way to the doctors’ wing. “Meng Yao’s so smart! Even if he wanted to kill my brother to get your brother all to himself, which he very well might, he’s also been breaking his back to come here on a weekly basis to help my brother, playing him that Clarity song that your brother found –”

“I thought he had stopped that?”

“Well, yes, temporarily, but that’s just because da-ge was getting worried about how bad things were getting and wanted to get things in order…” Nie Huaisang came to a sudden halt once again. “Lan-xiong, I’ve been assuming – we’ve all been assuming – all the while that my brother’s deteriorating health is because of the war, and that the songs er-ge and san-ge were playing for him were helping slow it down. But what if…”

He didn’t want to say it.

“If there was one murder attempt, there may be another,” Lan Wangji said, his voice heavy. “Musical cultivation can harm as well as heal – it is possible.”

Nie Huaisang scrubbed his face with his sleeve. “But…doesn’t that mean your brother has to be part of it? He’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place.”

“He may have originated it, and Lianfeng-zun alterted it without his knowing. Your brother…might not have noticed such a substitution.”

“He’s very nearly tone-deaf,” Nie Huaisang agreed, not without fondness. “It’s amazing he understands human speech, really. It’s possible, I guess.”

“Brother’s involvement is…also possible,” Lan Wangji said, and closed his eyes. “I do not wish to believe it, but – if there truly have been two attempts, and he has not only failed to notice, but is in each one a key part…”

“We’ll work it out,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now come along. We need to get you back into something resembling mobility and health and fast.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, and Nie Huaisang knew why: do you need me better in order to fight against my brother?

“We have disciples for that,” he reminded him. “No, it’s just, you see, I’m terrible with children, and someone is going to need to chase after the two you brought with you – they’ll be laughing and screaming and crying and snotting all over the place before you know it, mark my words, and there goes any chance of getting a decent night’s sleep for the next few years. I’m telling you, Lan-xiong, you have no idea about how children are – they’re going to make so much noise!”

Lan Wangji smiled.

It was such an unusual sight that Nie Huaisang almost forgot to take his next step.

“Yes,” he said, and his words had the feeling of a vow. “They will.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #okay technically this is me jumping ahead into the next round of prompts in advance #but I wanted to write more of this #breadlovinggay

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hazelsheartsworn · 3 years ago

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THE IMPOSTER CROWN - 21. BLOOD ON THE MARBLE WALL

Part 21 of "The Imposter Crown" (Link to Masterpost and AO3)

A Jurdannet Folktober 2021 Story by hazelsheartsworn

Jurdannet Folktober 2021 - Day 21. Blood On The Marble Wall @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Read Part 21 Below or on AO3! Word Count: 1393

Read Part 20 (Tumblr, AO3) or Read Part 22 (Tumblr, AO3)

Summary: <CARDAN POV.> The nightmare loop continues for Cardan. But the High King starts to feel stronger, more aware of what's real and not. Read what he discovers when he chooses to manipulate the dream world.

My nightmares torment me on a loop, a cycle of memories turning on their side, everything skewing until I question the reality of everything. But, I know they’re nightmares. I know because I woke up, just once, quick enough to see Jude before the poison pulled me under again. Disoriented as I was at the time, it was enough of a change to help me make sense of what I’m going through right now.

At first, the nightmares are so awful, I can only play them out exactly as they went. But, soon enough, I notice more nature, more leaves and trees, and flowers. Roses start growing into every memory. Beautiful with long jagged thorns, certain to cut you if you held them too close. I cannot help but be reminded of my Queen, my Jude, beautiful and threatening at the same time. The more the roses grow into my nightmares, the more the poison ebbs. Eventually, I can see the miasma of it floating in the air in each scenario.

Soon enough I can manipulate the environment and make different choices. It’s nothing too drastic; my self-preservation holds me in check from trying to rip down the very walls around me. I’m still not sure what magic governs this and I dare not draw too much ire from an unknown enemy when I still feel so weak. But, I can change how I react and where I go. So now, I usually leave the scripted playback, wandering within these delusions until I am shifted into another scene from my past.

In each memory with Jude, I try to act out the things I kept hidden from her, my true feelings. I say silly awkward things, about what she does to me, about what I’d actually like to do to her, practicing awful puns and superfluous poetry with her; showing my romantic streak far earlier than I did in the real world. Sometimes I can manipulate an entire fantasy with my Queen. Each stolen moment with her a respite from these torturous hallucinations.

The loop resets and I’m back in Locke’s maze, on the evening when Jude attends his party. I’ve replayed this illusion at least a dozen times. Each time we lock eyes across the courtyard and I always look away with a sneer, just like the real memory. Tonight, I’m distracted by my thoughts and suddenly Jude and Locke are making out next to me again.

I feel sick being close to them even though I know it’s not real. I have the ability to leave, so I do, wandering into the maze instead of hearing the sound of Locke sucking hickeys onto Jude’s skin.

I follow the path into dark corners and turns as the hedge-walls grow in height. I’m on edge, certain I’ve never wandered this far and part of me feels as though I’m being watched, as though someone lurks within these hallucinations. I feel a ripple of magic in the air and the edges of everything in my vision shifts. Normally, I would fall into the next nightmare, but I’m still in the maze. Immediately I know this is different though. Notably, various beasts prowl in the shadows. Shaggy-maned lions, watchful owls, and the rustle of snakes trail me as I proceed. None attack me, but I still feel as though I’m being herded in this labyrinth.

Sure enough, I turn a corner into a long corridor, hedges taller than a tree-man on either side. Still feeling that I’ve been led here, I see some odd wall at the end of the path. As I approach, I see that it’s a relief sculpture along a wall. Carved into the wall is a naked female figure. She stands atop two seated lions. She’s flanked by owls and snakes, the same animals that have trailed me in this maze. The woman-figure stands upright, holding two trumpets. I look again at her body, she has wings and bird feet. It looks so familiar to some memory that keeps getting reworked and obscured. The style looks ancient, like something from an ancient society across the ocean.

Splashed across the whole sculpture is dark red blood. It looks fresh and some of it drips from the wall onto the ground. There is no way out of this part of the maze, since the wall cuts off any exit. But this feels like a gateway rather than a simple barrier. I search over the wall trying to discover a door instead of admiring this decorative art. As I examine the sculpture, I notice the snakes moving slightly, trying to slither off into the underbrush. When I crouch down and run my finger along the wiggling snake, the wall groans and shudders. The whole center, including the bird-footed female and the lions she stands on, swings outward like a door.

I peek through the door and in the darkness see a set of stairs leading downward into the earth. I step forward, ready to descend. I mean, where else can I go? I feel as foolish as when I left Jude to try and take down the troll, Aslog, by myself. But, somehow I find a way to stall or finagle my way out of all the trouble I find myself in. There’s no sense changing my habits now.

I use every bit of skill to slyfoot down this narrow passage. Everything is dimly lit, but that’s no problem for my sight. The further I descend, the more decay and death lines the walls. This route ends up opening into a large room, but there are large boulders that I hide behind so I’m not seen. At the far end of this cavern, a figure similar to the one on the relief sculpture works over a table. She has tightly coiled red hair. Or, depending on the shifting light, it seems red and dark in turn. She’s got wings, but they’re tucked closely to her back and her feet face backward, with distinct bird-like claws for toes. This must be the Red Rogue.

I turn to sit down, leaning my back against the boulder concealing me. Is this another dream? Is this real at all? Can I end this horror now?

Leaning around the boulder, I look back at the Red Rogue. She’s chanting in a language so ancient it sounds borne from the under earth itself. I hear the scuttling of their legs before I see them, spiders. They’re just as large as the two that attacked us.

Fear freezes my blood as I watch this woman commune with the very type of beast that sent me into this delirium. I need to leave, now, before I find out just how real or dire my situation truly is.

I slip back up the way I came, walking backwards to keep the spiders in front of me, lest they detect me and follow. I slip back through the doorway and turn tail, sprinting my way back to the courtyard. Jude and Locke remain there, but she seeks me out with her eyes again, as usual. Eager to put some imagined distance between me and the Rogue, I reach out to her, just as I have done in every loop so far. It’s a relief when I start to fall through the memory again.

It’s a relief to feel Jude’s blade against my throat in the Court of Shadows, a relief so great that I’m grinning through my fear, laughing despite the jump of the pulse in my neck. My little spy, for she’s just a spy in this part of our timeline, falters in her authority, just enough. I take full advantage and scoop her into my arms. My adrenaline has made me reckless and I’m so tired of the same replayed stories. I carry her across Dain’s old office and kick the door open.

But instead of the old compound, we’re in the infirmary of the new compound. There’s a wardrobe and an empty bed. The wardrobe looks sealed, but pulses with a magic that surges around us. I lay Jude on the bed, who has fallen asleep in my arms in the mere minute it took me to transport us here in this dreamland.

No worries, love. I lay my beautiful wife on the bed, eager to wake her with gentle kisses.

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fandomscombine · 4 years ago

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TUA SERIES PART 4: Diego

The Hargreeves Kerfuffle Part 4:Diego

The Hargreeves siblings x Hargreeves!Reader (Familial Relationship)

BG: The Reader is Number Eight. It follows how you fit into the structure of Season 1 and the family dynamic of the siblings.

This part follows y/n blowing off some steam with Diego being a supportive brother.

You don’t have to read every single part as each focuses on the reader’s relationship with each of her sibings.

But of course to get most of the story, read the whole thing. Besides why would you want to miss out on Hargreeves Siblings content?

A/n: sorry if this took long to update, I lost the master copy of the fic document- well technically, I was and am typing this on an auto-save document but it had glich somehow and when I searched and open the file it was only the first 2 parts. It took a while to find back the most updated document.

WC:1028

DISCLAIMER: I DON’T OWN THE TUA SERIES. THIS IS JUST BY A FAN WOULD REALLY ENJOYED THE SERIES AND WAS INSPIRED TO WRITE.

*ALSO NOT PROOFREAD

>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<

>>THE HARGREEVES KERFUFFLE SERIES MASTERLIST<<

READ: [PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

>>JOIN MY WRITING CHALLENGE!<<

Your blood was boiling.

How dare Luther, your own brother accuse you of killing your own father.

Sure, your childhood wasn’t exactly the healthiest and emotionally suitable for a child but in a weird way your father had shape and trained the 7 of you to be at least somewhat in control of your powers.

Raising superpowered children is no small task.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t realized how far from the academy you had walked.

You stared at the city Harborview, imaging how your life would be different if you hadn’t had these powers.

Peace. That’s what you think you would have. A sense of peace, living a normal daily life- get up, go to work, hang out with friends, sleep in a nice cosy apartment and repeat. No powers.

The final words of Sir Reginald replays in your mind.

‘The end is near, get the others ……and save…..the…..tttiiiimmm’

The end is near, get the others and save the tim- whatever or whoever tim is.

You assumed that it meant his time was up and had wanted the family back together. You had done just that but what had that got you? Indictment for one. A family reunion consisting of 5 emotionally incompetent adults and one trapped in a kid’s body.

Leaning across the railing you shouted. ‘Cosplaying as batman at aged 6 was cute but as a grown ass adult lurking in the shadows is definitely a red flag!’

A chuckle sounded from the corner. ‘Noted m’mam. Will not do it again’ said a deep voice.

To an untrained ear, no sounds of footsteps could be heard.

You, however can as do your siblings. All of who can also identify who is coming based on the sound- each ever have a slight variation, a unique touch.

Luther has the heaviest, loudest footsteps out of everyone.

Allison- quiet and delicate.

Diego has a sense of purpose in his walk- no doubt like the secret agent and superheroes he had always wanted to be.

Klaus is a bit unpredictable; it is either too fast and energetic or soft and slow pace.

Five. He cheats, mostly blipping in and out of places. But if need be, he usually takes leaps or huge steps, always ready to teleport out of any situation in midstep.

Ben. The master of stealth. He always manages to take the least steps, the most effective route between hiding points.

Vanya though without training is actually very good. At times you wouldn’t even notice her near as proven in her countless times secretly watching the rest of you training.

‘I doubt that.’ Turning to face the new arrival. ‘You are the literally embodiment of Vigilante Hero Complex.’

The city lights illuminating his face.

‘Ah! Case in point!’ You pointed at his outfit. ‘You’re even wearing a spandex suit, Diego!’

Diego shook his head, brushing off your teasing aside. He was happy to at least help bring a smile onto your face- even if it was at his expense.

‘How you feeling?’ Even though you all were the same age, Diego can’t deny that the numbering hadn’t had an older sibling protectiveness to come over him- especially when Luther was being a total dick. If only he was in charge, he thought.

‘Better… better now that you’re here.’ You admitted, bothering your brother never gets old. ‘Thanks by the way-for the cheer up.’

You both stayed in comfortable silence it was not until 20 mins later did Diego break it by apologising.

‘Sorry for what?’

He didn’t reply instead he lifted something out of his pocket. It shone against the deep blue waves.

You gasped. ‘Dad’s monocle.’

‘I know Luther believes you took it.’ He let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I should’ve have confessed instead you took blame for me….’

Wrapping his fist around it he continued, voice getting harsher. ‘I …I just couldn’t you know? After all he did to us? How he treated us? We were just kids!’

He clutched it tighter shattering the glass. ‘He was gone. This was the most valuable things he had- never let it out of his sight….so I thought that this….that by taking this, it would be the closest thing in ever hurting him.’

‘Oh Diego…’ You didn’t know how to comfort someone who is going through the same scenario, a same situation that you yourself need help on. ‘Dad is gone and…yes he wasn’t the most caring father. But the past is in the past, the only thing we can do now to move forward. Don’t let that define us. Strive to do better.’

‘We tried that once remember? And where did it get us?’ He countered.

‘Better than if we were to have stayed.’ You rebutted. ‘C’mon Diegs. Think about mom. Think about how she constantly reminds us to put our best foot forward, no matter what life throws at us..’

Diego’s face softens, he was always a momma’s boy.

Closing his eyes, he mutters an okay. Then he tosses the bloody cracked monocle into the water. ‘Now, why don’t we go stuff our faces full of donuts.’ You offered. ‘I can handle your typical brooding self but the 2 of us sulking? No can do, what we need is to eat our feelings.’

‘Giddy’s it is.’ Replied Diego, offering you his arm.

‘So I assume you parked 2 blocks from here?’

His eyes went wide. ‘How’d you-‘

‘PPPPlease!’ Rolling your eyes. ‘I might have subconsciously wander to this part of town, but I was conscious about a car not so subtly tailing me for 6 blocks.’

‘So you knew I was watching you from the very beginning.’

‘YUPPPP’ Popping the p. ‘At first I wasn’t sure who- nice car by the way, new?

‘A month ago.’

‘Anyway is wasn’t until you started following on foot til I knew.’

Elaborating when you saw his confused look. ‘You walk as if you’re the protagonist in an action film.’

‘I do not!’ He said defensively.

‘DO too!- Thanks.’ Settling down onto the passenger seat as Diego closed the door.

The debate lasted until you reach Giddy’s or so what was left of the store.

‘WHAT THE-‘

END OF PART 4

READ: [PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

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Would love to hear your opinion on the series so far too!

-Posting this a 2nd time, cause the 1st Tumblr error-ed out and deleted it.

also a bit of self plug here, i have a writing challenge going on and I’d love for you to join!

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roseinaugust · 3 years ago

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Like an Old Enemy

Chapter Eight: You Can Bring The Trowel

Summary: Miraculous Enemies AU. Gabriel Agreste has the Black Cat Miraculous in his possession, so when his wife, Emilie, "disappears," he sends his son, Adrien, undercover to pose as Ladybug's partner. Two years later, the once famous duo are sworn enemies. Marinette might have loved Chat Noir once, but now she would stop at nothing to defeat him. Adrien will do whatever it takes to bring his mother back. Best friends in their civilian lives, Adrien and Marinette find obstacles and complications when they can no longer deny their love for each other. But will they be able to understand and forgive the mistakes of their past? Or will they be doomed to end as bitter rivals a second time?

Rated: T

Pairings: Ladybug/Chat Noir Enemies, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Mutual Pining

Word Count: 7,619

Read on: ao3

A/N: I am only posting part of this chapter on tumblr so please read the rest on ao3!

Marinette never ate the ice cream Andre had given her. So, why was Chat Noir on her balcony?

There was really only one possible answer: he knew her identity. Her plan with the Black Potion seemed foolproof but he must have seen something or figured it out, biding his time until he had the perfect opportunity to attack when she was vulnerable. He probably followed her all night, lurking in the shadows as she made a fool of herself in front of her friends. She wouldn’t put it past him and Hawkmoth if they turned out to be the reason why Adrien couldn’t come in the first place; they always orchestrated plans like that.

What was she going to do? Should she transform and fight him here on her cramped balcony? If he already knew her identity, then this was it. There would be no escape into the night to regroup; it would be over, and she would need every bit of Ladybug’s strength to finish it.

But what if he didn’t know? It seemed improbable, but if there was even the smallest chance her identity hadn’t been compromised, shouldn’t she take the risk to protect it? She could lose precious time as a civilian, but until she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chat Noir knew she was Ladybug, she couldn’t transform.

Now that left her with the task of deciding what to do with him. She glanced, ever so slightly, over her shoulder to gauge how far away he was. He was only a single—albeit large—step away, standing directly in the middle of her balcony. It was time to stop thinking, time to act instead.

“Marinette?” Chat Noir said again, raising his right arm as if to tap her on the shoulder.

She stepped backwards until her back was nearly flush to his chest. Her left hand circled around his outstretched wrist as her right locked underneath his bicep. Before he could even process what was happening, Marinette dropped her weight, pulling Chat Noir over her shoulder. He let out an oof of pain as he landed on the solid ground of her terrace. His metallic black ring glittered, catching the moonlight on his outstretched hand.

Before she could move to take the ring, Chat Noir hooked his legs around her ankles, sending her plummeting to the hard surface, her head barely missing the corner of the flower box. Pain jolted through her back, but she gritted her teeth and looked for a way out of her predicament. As a civilian, she couldn’t overpower Chat Noir, and she no longer had the element of surprise.

What she needed was a weapon.

Chat Noir was already on his feet, his cat-like reflexes giving him an advantage. In a blink of an eye, he was hovering over her. This was it. He was going to kill her. She was going to die and she had spent her last day on earth acting like a brat because of some stupid ice cream. He grinned as he grew closer, that easy-going charm that masked the cruelty beneath. If she was going to die, she would give one hell of a fight going down.

She swiftly reached for the discarded trowel next to her, brandishing it in front of her with straight arms. Chat Noir veered back as the point of the gardening tool found its way to the sliver of exposed skin at his throat. He blinked at her in astonishment. Marinette was still laying on her back; Chat Noir was still too close. The only way out of her position would be to transform. “Are you still mad that I threw a rock at you?” She baited, throwing one last-ditched attempt to see if he knew her identity.

He blinked once more, then burst into laughter. His eyes squeezed shut and his shoulders bounced, the sound of his laugh harsh against the quiet night. She longed just moments ago to hear that sound. Now, though it was just as melodic as before, it left a bitter taste in her mouth. How quickly her desires changed when confronted with reality. Chat Noir plucked the trowel out of her hands, super-strength overpowering her grip, and dropped it onto a nearby table carelessly. Weaponless and defenseless, Marinette sucked in a breath, accepting the limited options she had left. There was only one: transform and fight.

Before she could say the transformation words, she was lifted off the ground effortlessly. Arms held aloft for balance, Marinette found herself on her feet once more. She eyed Chat Noir as he moved to the opposite side of the terrace, distancing himself from her. What is he playing at? He took one look at Marinette’s defensive stance and laughed, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He had her completely defenseless and chose to help her up. Maybe he really didn’t know she was Ladybug… She straightened but kept her eyes fixed on him, poised for any sudden movement. “You already have.” He hurt her in more ways than he knew.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He looked genuinely sorry for causing her pain, but she would never know what was genuine when Chat Noir was concerned. “But you had me in quite a compromising position.” He said, returning to his typical laissez-faire attitude. He held up his right hand, waggling his fingers to show off the Ring of the Black Cat. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Akuma self defense class.” She answered curtly, thankful for the few afternoons she managed to convince Alya and Alix to join her. She was plenty strong and quite adept at fighting, but she wanted to be prepared as Marinette in case she was unable to transform.

“Came in handy.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like I expected a supervillain to show up on my balcony.” She crossed her arms, playing into the annoyed civilian act she used during Evillustrator and Syren. “What are you doing here, Chat Noir?”

“Oh you know, the life of a villain gets boring sometimes. Lonely even.” That lazy grin that once made Marinette feel safe and secure, unsettled her now.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied. She was very much afraid, but she would never show it to him.

Chat Noir watched her intently before saying, “I know.”

Marinette’s skin prickled, annoyance and anger setting in at the surety of his statement. “Don’t pretend like you know me,” she bristled.

He abandoned his spot on the terrace, making his way to her at a crawl. She held her ground. If she backed away, he would see her fear. He was only a step away when he spoke again, just above a whisper: “And what if I’m not pretending?”

A pause.

Then a flurry of action.

Marinette ducked around Chat Noir, maneuvering her body away until it was next to the table. She grabbed for the trowel again, but he was too fast. He was on her in a blink of an eye, spinning her to face him. His chest flat against hers, so close she saw his eyes dilate in the dim glow of her string lights. Her wrist held in his hand, a firm grip that pressed into her, demanding she release the weapon. “Tsk tsk, Marinette,” he ducked his head to whisper in her ear. His breath sent a shiver down her spine. “I told you that I wouldn’t hurt you. Don’t you trust me?”

“No.” She stated flatly. All her attention was focused on keeping her hold on the tool, but it was no use. As Marinette, she couldn’t compete with Chat Noir, and released it. It clattered to the floor between them and Chat Noir let go of her wrist in favor of retrieving it. With it in his grasp, he moved away from her and perched on the railing.

“Smart girl,” He used the tip of the trowel to clean underneath his claws. She rolled her eyes, exasperated with the stupid cat’s jokes. His costume covered the underneath of his claws. “But you can. Trust me, that is.”

“And why’s that?” She scoffed. If there was one thing she couldn’t do, it was trust Chat Noir.

“Well, I’ve already saved your life twice. Seems kinda stupid to start hurting you now.” He stated as if this was the most logical answer.

“So why did you? Doesn’t it go against your image to save civilians?” She sneered, emphasizing the ‘civilian’ aspect to distance herself from a certain spotted superhero.

“Yes, which is why it’s our little secret.” He winked at her, lounging on top the railing as if he owned the place.

“Why did you save me?” Marinette stepped forward. “You never answered me last week during Syren’s akuma.”

He sat up, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “That’s not true. I gave you an answer.”

“You said you didn’t want me to die.” She took another step forward. Chat Noir held his neutral expression, refusing to comment. “Why? You don’t care about civilians dying. So why save me?”

That finally got a reaction out of him. He slipped off the railing to face her head on. “You don’t know what I care about.”

She moved closer again, brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of him. “What are you saying? That you care about me?” He clenched his jaw, silent under the night sky, neither confirming nor denying her question. She searched his eyes for an answer but they were unreadable—a mysterious storm of green that masked his emotions. “Why? What makes me different?”

He broke first, turning around to look out over the city. “Everything,” he breathed, so quiet she could barely hear him.

Marinette’s mind reeled. How could he possibly feel like this? Although she has known him for years, Chat Noir only just met Marinette less than a month ago. Evillustrator felt like a different lifetime, but in reality it’s only been a few weeks. His words from earlier rung in her head, and what if I’m not pretending? Was it possible that she knew Chat Noir in his civilian identity? Or is this just part of another scheme to take the Miraculous?

Her temper flared at the inability to solve this puzzle. She’s had enough of these games, enough of this back and forth dance, circling around the situation. “Why did you really come here?” At his silence, she marched over to the iron railing. There was still a considerable distance between them, but her presence demanded answers.

He shrugged, turning his head slightly to see her. “You looked upset.”

She hadn’t meant to laugh, but the sheer ridiculousness of that statement made it impossible to contain. “What? You thought you would cheer me up?”

His lip twitched before plastering on his trademarked grin. “You don’t like me,” he stated casually.

Marinette didn’t know if that was strictly true. Like and dislike. Love and hate. The concepts were all so interwoven and complex it was impossible to tell them apart anymore. The way she felt about him now as he stood before her—though she couldn’t quite tell if she even felt anything other than the necessity of survival—was not the same as she felt walking home that evening. Was there even a word that could encapsulate all her thoughts about him? One word to describe the masochistic ache of missing someone who hurt you in immeasurable ways? Was there a phrase to relate to the quick-fire shifts in her emotions; from loathe to longing to bitterness all in the blink of an eye? Marinette didn’t think it was possible to summarize all her history with Chat Noir into a simple ‘like.’ Instead she asked, “Am I supposed to?”

Taking her response as a confirmation of her dislike, Chat Noir resumed nonchalance. “That’s your opinion, even if it’s the wrong one to have.”

“I didn’t realize my opinion mattered.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted, turning his back to the night sky and leaned against the iron railing. “So,” He started, changing the conversation, “what has you crying alone on your balcony?”

She reddened, embarrassed of being perceived in such a vulnerable state with out her knowledge. She had cried in front of him before, but that was as Ladybug, when she had anonymity and the security of her mask. But this, him seeing her as Marinette during what she thought was a private moment, suddenly felt like a violation. It was wrong. It was all wrong. He was never supposed to see her as Marinette. Never supposed to have access to this part of her life. That was supposed to be secret—sacred, even—yet here he was, intruding. “How did you even know I was crying? Were you spying on me?” She asked defensively.

“What? No, no!” He was flustered. “I swear. Hawkmoth sent me to this area. I was positioned over there,” he pointed to the school rooftop across the street, “and saw you come out to the balcony crying.” She narrowed her eyes at him. It could all be a lie obviously, but the rational part of her brain poked holes in her own theories. How would Hawkmoth and Chat Noir have known she would come out to her balcony tonight? She was unsettled, but she needed to see what information she could get out of him. Why had Hawkmoth sent him to this area? She couldn’t ask him that yet, he would deflect or outright refuse to answer. Marinette needed to gain his trust but it had to seem like he was earning hers too.

“What makes you think I would even tell you what was wrong?”

He shrugged, tilting his head up to look into the night sky. A breeze blew through the air, lifting Marinette’s hair but she didn’t move to push it back. “Sometimes,” he started after a pause, “it’s easier to talk about your problems with a stranger.”

Her breath hitched. Here was her opening. It might be shot down but there wouldn’t be a better opportunity to ask. The possibility that she knew Chat in his civilian identity quickened her heartbeat. What if he was someone she was friends with? Would it be akin to a second betrayal? Another friendship ruined by the strange circumstances she found herself in?

While the prospect terrified her, it would also give her a starting point to uncover his identity. For the past year, she’s had nothing but dead ends, overwhelmed by the vast amount of possible suspects in the city. If she knew him, if he was someone in her life, it narrowed her search. Possibly enough for her to find out once and for all who wore the Black Cat Ring. She inhaled deeply, building her courage to ask, “Are we really strangers though?”

For a while he didn’t say anything. His silence was making her anxious and she was suddenly aware of how cold the night air was. With his sly grin cemented on his face, he straightened and turned to her, holding out his empty hand. “Come with me,” he said with a step forward.

A/N: Reminder that this is only part of the chapter so read the rest here

#Miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml enemies au #ladynoir enemies #adrienette mutual pining #marichat #ladynoir #adrienette #angst fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #my fic #like an old enemy

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stillyourprussianblue · 4 years ago

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Title: aspen eyes;

under the moon, long shadows are cast Part I of III

Author: feuillemort [AO3] / stillyourprussianblue [tumblr]

Rating: T

Pairing: 2696 (Fran & Chrome)

Event: KHRWeen2020

Prompts: Witches | Cryptids

“We can’t leave until he returns. We have to protect his home.”

“It’s your home too.”

[AO3] [image] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

“Why are we still here?” Fran’s voice whined in monotone. He looked up from where he was nestled in the crook of her arm, pressed close to her chest as she squatted in the woodland.

The girl paid no attention to the large bullfrog she cradled other than to shush him softly. Her other arm was extended towards the two humanoid figures that always crept at the edges of her vision. Her eyepatch was slipping slightly, but she didn’t have a free hand to push it up and she couldn’t make any sudden movements lest she startle the creatures.

The basket of puffball mushrooms and herbs she had collected sat at her feet as she pushed the wildberry pastries and meat pies toward the cryptids that lurked at the edge of the clearing. The lizard creature hung back with watchful eyes while the larger, furry beast crept forward, only having eyes for the pastries that she offered.

Nagi knew what Fran was referring to.

It had begun with accusations against the most vulnerable of their town. The orphan girl that lived in the alleys behind the church refused to dress in anything other than slacks and had evaded capture from the authorities for years until she was found stealing a lamb. She was imprisoned on charges of witchcraft on the grounds that she was procuring lamb’s blood for a ritual, but on the eve that she would have been burned, she vanished from her cell. The council proclaimed that her escape was due to black magic, and the villagers whispered that it was the shepherd’s son that had liberated her in the night, but Nagi had seen how young woman had chipped through the bars and manoeuvred through the narrow space of the window, climbing to freedom and disappearing into the night.

Fear continued to spread, and soon it was a young girl that lived on the outskirts of the village that predicted the deaths of many officials on the town council. Nagi thought that the pinpoint accuracy of the girl’s visions was miraculous, but the villagers had cried witchcraft and had the girl imprisoned awaiting trial. A noblewoman passing through town had tried to use her position to leverage mercy for them found herself on the receiving end of their ire as well. It was rumoured that she was to be drowned in the morning.

Then it was the woman who ran the apothecary because she cared for a colony of feral cats and the nature of her product made the judges chary. Her accusations were followed by that of an escort that dared to express her disdain at the witch hunt. Nagi and Fran had only noticed because their master had been rather fond of the red-haired woman’s company and her churlish character. They had left their woodland hut and gone into town that day to check in on her, basket on her arm filled with meat pies and sweet tarts, and Fran hidden inside from the prying eyes of the public. M.M. had looked at her with the same disdain she had regarded the judges with, but she had accepted the creel through the barred basement window only to scream and throw it all back at her when she reached in and touched the frog familiar.

Nagi had scooped up the remains of the ruined pastries as M.M. yelled, cursing up such a storm at the witch’s retreating back that guards came running. They had seen her face as she withdrew, her one eye wide with fear as M.M. shouted that Fran had been such a majestic owl and that Nagi was a horrible witch that had turned him into a disgusting toad. The guards gave chase as she made a beeline for the tree line, but traversed no further into the fae domain.

She ran with Fran in her arms until she was sure they were no longer being pursued but decided to take a detour back to their home on the off chance they were being followed, taking the opportunity to collect puffball mushrooms for dinner, along with ember marjoram along the path for a simple warding spell around their home, and spark rue, thistlecress, and bearberries for a protective charm she wanted to try on Fran.

He didn’t think they could stay undetected in their forest home any longer as they waited for their master to return from his journey, but their conversation had been interrupted when Nagi noticed the cryptids shadowing them, the same ones that often circled their home in the night and that Nagi had been feeding.

“Who would take care of Chikusa and Ken if we left?”

“Gross,” Fran croaked. “You named them.”

“I named you too,” Nagi reminded. She remembered the owl familiar perched on its master’s shoulder with the same mismatched eyes and then tried not to remember her benefactor’s imperious gaze and impish smile because he was no longer with them.

His wit sharp as ever, Fran immediately had a response ready. “I’m a frog; I can’t process human emotions.”

Nagi fixed him with a stare until he let out a resounding ribbet that sent the werewolf and lizard creature scurrying away into the darkness, leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake; at least they had eaten some. Satisfied, she straightened up and brushed off her pleated skirt, readjusting her grip on Fran. “Why a frog though? You’re a shapeshifter and you used to take on the form of an owl.”

“Apprentices don’t get to be choosy,” he replied disinterestedly. “Creepy, evil perverts shouldn’t get to be picky either.”

She felt a shudder run down Fran’s spine and she patted his head right between his bulging eyes. “He put a hex on you to activate whenever you badmouth him, didn’t he?”

“And if I even think about leaving this form. Even beyond the grave, he’s still a creepy, evil, pervert sadist,” the frog whined. “It was for the good of the world that he croaked… ouch.”

“Your master’s just on a journey right now,” Nagi said, “and you’ve been entrusted to me.”

“You know it’s the other way around right? He said that after he offed himself, to make sure he was buried in that specific plot in the cemetery, and not to raise him from hell until he was ready. Oh and he said that I had to look after the little witch girl with no powers.”

Nagi ignored the slight at her weak magical ability. “We can’t leave until he returns. We have to protect his home.”

“It’s your home too.”

He got the last word because she didn’t know what to say.

A mob of crows cawed as they took wing from the bristly pines and peeling birch trees that lined the path. A crisp autumnal breeze caught the cacophony and lifted it to the skies, somber, grey, and cold.

___

It didn’t take long for the village to organize an expedition into the woods. Nagi had been wrong; they were more afraid of a witch than they were of the fae. They showed at dusk as Nagi and Fran were collecting mellow moss and aster tubers by the creek, as all witches knew this was the best time for a quality harvest.

Fran had shifted into a human form to assist her, pantlegs rolled up to his knees as he waded into the creek in search of the slippery plants she needed for her various soups and potions (he couldn’t reliably tell the difference). He kept a cheeky cap on his head with a frog face which he had found that kept him within the parameters of the enchantment his master had placed on him.

He had noticed their approach first, and Nagi soon after when she felt the subtle change in his demeanour from comfortably uncouth to forced nonchalance. Stepping out of the creek, he returned to her side.

“Fran,” she murmured, reaching towards him as he came closer.

“What? Gross,” he said but made no move to avoid the fingers she trailed across his cheek.

“We can run,” she said, placing her hand a little more cogently on his face.

“We could.”

“But I would slow you down?” she surmised, letting her hand fall back to her side.

He looked back impassively, following the downward trail of her hand, their expressions mirrored. “No, but this sadist master of mine has a hut in this forest that this cute witch girl with no powers is determined to protect until he returns from his reincarnation journey.” Fran sighed peevishly as the hex activated. He ignored it and shifted his preferred human form into a perfect copy of Nagi, dark haired and birdlike.

She looked him up and down, knowing full well what his plan was; but she couldn’t let him do that. Torches flickered in the nearing distance. He saw the same flicker in her eye. “We could fight.”

“You should run,” he said mildly as if he were commenting on the weather. “If you want to live, then bet your life on finding that corpse’s ring. That should have enough juice to enhance even your ability.”

“I’m not going to leave you.”

The familiar looked the witch up and down before turning his back on her. Fog rolled in between them and thickened until the air felt heavy. “Okay then, I’ll go. Goodbye!”

His lacklustre departure and uncharacteristically bright goodbye confused her. Fran had said he didn’t understand human emotions, but if so, why did he use the fog to cover his face?

The little witch girl watched powerlessly as his form was slowly lost to the mist, pursued in her stead by a witch hunt. The torches flared like a warning, a beacon of terror; she waited until they passed and ran in the opposite direction, scooping up the basket filled with the fruits of their labour.

___

She ran until she reached their humble home, circled with a shroud of protective charms. The hazy enchantments parted for her as she ran up the steps and threw the wooden door open without hesitation. Nagi walked with purpose over to the corner of the kitchen, pushing aside a broomstick and an umbrella in her search. A pair of tall rubber boots fell over, and she grabbed the shovel that sat behind them. Hefting the spade over her shoulder, she cowed a little at the sudden weight, but caught herself before she toppled over backwards. Then she was out the door again, leaving behind their darkened home, basket of moss and tubers on the kitchen table, dinner uncooked.

Nagi knew the forest like the back of her hand, her footing sure as she flew through the dark, finding the quickest path through the undergrowth as if it were nothing. She had travelled these secret trails with her benefactor and his familiar many times before. Now she was alone, but determined to save them –to protect Fran and preserve the sanctity of their home— even if that meant disturbing his slumber.

The spot he had asked them to bury his body was in the corner of the cemetery, under a cluster of aspen trees on the unmarked plot, with their low hanging branches that had obscured the location. They had had to chop them away in order to lay him to rest after he began his journey through the different planes of existence. The places where they had marred the pure white bark had healed into dark scars, aspen eyes that now watched her every move.

Nagi brushed off their gazes and wasted no time in breaking ground. It was harder than she thought, and she felt the reverberation through the handle, wincing slightly. Unable to afford a moment’s rest when Fran was in danger, she put her foot against the shovel and heaved until the earth gave way and turned over for her. She did it again and again until she could no longer stand, her arms and legs shaking.

She threw the shovel to the side, falling to her knees in the shallow hole, trying not to let the desperation overwhelm her. Shadows moved in the edges of her vision, and she jumped backwards not a moment too soon as a creature landed with a solid thud where she had been crouched.

The werewolf snarled and began digging away. “Ken,” she murmured. He grunted back at her as he dug so avidly it sprayed mud and grass all around them.

A humanoid lizard slid down into the opened earth to join them, giving her what seemed like a nod before it began to tear at the hard ground as well. “Chikusa,” Nagi whispered. She watched them in stunned silence before wiping the sweat from her brow and joining them.

Her only companions beneath the moon were a beastly dog and scaly varanid that dug alongside her. Hands and knees in the dirt, fingers curled into claws, the broke through the earth, exhuming the unmarked grave until her bloody hands met cold fingers rising from the dirt.

Nagi took a deep breath and reached for the ring glinting in the low light. As soon as her fingers touched the cool metal, the world around her ignited, and explosion rocking through the cemetery with thunderous force, throwing her forward into the dirt.

Before she could recover, there was another explosion, and a flash of heat that flared above her head that made her press herself down into the ground before slowly raising her head to check if there was an opening for escape.

A dark figure loomed over the grave, silhouetted by an intense fire that blazed behind him. His dark hair fluttered with the blazing hot air, embers whipping past and illuminating his impassive face. His eyes were steely as he caught a projectile in his hand, regarding the flames it spat before casually tossing it aside. She cried out softly at the blast as it shook the ground again. The world was on fire and she could not understand why he was here, but knew that as long as he was, she was safe.

She found her footing and got to her feet.

___

[AO3] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

#khrween2020 #2696 #khr #khr chrome #khr fran #under the moon long shadows are cast #if people like this au there's more to come #oh gosh i hope people like it #feuillemort #prince supersharky #stillyourprussianblue

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ddaenggtan · 5 years ago

Text

666 Butterfly Kisses | ksj | m

The Most Unedited™️. I wrote this straight in Tumblr drafts like a heathen so I barely got a word count for y’all. Entirely here because @personawife loves 666jin despite having known nOTHING about him and also because @minyoonkeeks is the biggest jin stan ever and deserves jin smut on her our birthday, even if its the unedited trash this is dammit, so happy birthday keeks, i hOPE it isn’t awful and lives up to the Jin Standard

-note: this can be read as a standalone, but is part of my 666verse, with the same MC as the other two, which I really should make a masterlist for at this point. This is set somewhere around Renaissance Italy, but like, not really. I know nothing about history except what I know from Assassin's Creed so.

Warnings/Genre | vamp!reader, fae prince!jin, historicalish, sword fighting (not an innuendo), oral: female, throat riding (yes, you read that right), unprotected sex (you are not a vampire or a fae or in renaissance Italy, but you cAN get stis and babies, plEASE use condoms), creampie, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, slight blood drinking mentions at the end but nothing graphic

pairing | ksj x reader

word count | 4.7k

Cool air brushes your shoulders as you strut onto the balcony. The ballroom is crowded and loud and hot, especially with the several layers to your dress. The twilight air is soothing against your heated skin, and you do your best to ignore the way the lace at the edges of your mask tickles your skin.

You only stay outside for a minute; there's too much to do for you to keep to yourself for longer than a moment. Your friends - if you can call them that; you have no doubt they would stick a knife in your back the moment it became beneficial to them - are still suspicious and on edge. Not without reason, either. Tonight would be the best night for an assassination; crowded and masked and distracting as the ball is, it's almost too easy to sneak inside.

As proved by the man wandering in from the courtyard.

Your eyes stay on him as he enters the ball and begins to mingle; whatever fabric his clothes are made of is transcendent. They sparkle in the candlelight and ripple like water as he struts around the room, accented by the golden accessories and trim. His mask matches, a beautiful gold with black around the edges designed to mimic a butterfly, and it all sets off the tan of his skin in a most beautiful way.

It's curious; you would know if you'd seen him before, you're sure, yet someone as starkly noticeable as he would be a terrible assassin.

Nevertheless, you're here to do a job and gain a favor, so you make your way back into the ballroom. You catch his eye for a brief second, sending a coy smile before curtsying lightly and disappearing into the throng of dancers.

The dancing of this century is much more structured than before; it brings you comfort to know that so long as you know the steps, you can't make a fool of yourself. Your partner for the moment is a well-known merchant. He's not particularly handsome, or charismatic, but he's kind enough, and his hands don't wander.

Still, you catch the mysterious stranger's eye several times as he joins the dancing himself. The light catches on his jeweled throat-piece nearly much as it catches on your own ruby that's situated on your chest, just shy of being proper.

The partners change, and you catch his eye once more. You bite back a smile when you see him dancing with Lady Montilyet, a sweet girl who knows more than she should about you but never fails to get flustered when you wink at her. Her cheeks tint when you catch her eye, and the Butterfly looks intrigued when he next looks at you.

Too soon your partners change again and you lose track of him, distracted with keeping wandering hands away from the dagger stored in your bodice and the poison stashed in your hollowed ring. They're there as precautions, of course, one can never be too careful, but there are a handful of people here who are acutely aware of just how willing you are to use them, should the situation arise.

"Someone is deep in thought." You blink and smile when you find Butterfly before you, bowing deeply for the start of the dance.

"I was," You agree as you curtsy in return. "Surely you don't wish to hear about a lady's idle thoughts, though, good sir."

"You may call me Farfalla," He says easily, taking one of your hands in his and leading you in the steps. "May I have your name in return?"

"You may call me whatever you wish," You tell him; it's habit at this point. You don't think anyone there knows the name you were born with, and it's been so long ago that even you only remember because you force yourself to do so.

"Well then," Butterfly - Farfalla - says with an amused grin, "I shall call you Fiora. All butterflies are attracted to flowers, are they not?"

"Some," You agree. He spins you in the air in time with the others and you ignore the rush of elation that comes with it. It's a new feeling; you're usually better than this at remaining impartial to potential assassins. "Now what is a butterfly such as yourself doing in a garden such as this?"

"I could ask the same of you," He counters. "I'm sure I've never seen such a beautiful flower. Not in a Medici garden, for sure."

"Is a Medici garden somehow lesser?" You ask, surprised. He may as well have just spat in their faces, at their own event no less. Your allies have their fair share of enemies, but none so bold as to insult them so obviously.

"Not at all," He says as he steps back into a deep bow. "Merely an observation that they tend to choose their blooms for popularity, when the most stunning of gardens are cultivated for the rarity of the blossom and the beauty of the petal."

You dip into a curtsy but before you can ask him anything else, he's whisked away by the giggling wife of some beaurocrat and you're left to politely decline the invitation to continue from someone in a swan mask. Instead you turn and make your way carefully towards the back of the room, where you know Niccoló is lurking, and you oretend you can't feel the weight of the Butterfly's eyes on you the whole way.

The night is calming down slightly. The drunkards have either passed out or left and now all that's left is the hundred or so people who have actual business to conclude. You can see Giovanni near the doors to the balcony, chatting amicably with Leonardo. At least, it looks amicable. You never know with Giovanni; he tends to smile while he watches people drown.

You run your palms over the skirts of your dress, cursing the fabric. It's the softest silk available and yet it still feels coarse to the touch after feeling the Butterfly's garments. Even if he is an assassin, you really need to find out who his tailor is, because snyone that can stitch the night sky together and drape it over someone's shoulders like that needs to be in your employ. Speaking of the Butterfly, your eyes dart around for the millionth time, doing their best to spot the tall man amidst the crowd. It's curious that you haven't been abke to, because he's done nothing but draw your eye all night. He's proven charismatic and charming, always ready with a witty quip or a perfectly chosen compliment, and you wish it didn't make heat roll under your skin.

The waning candlelight has you nervous; the wicks are burned nearly to the base, and the smell of it always makes your stomach turn. It also adds to the shadows in the room, providing ample areas to hide away. It's useful for you, of course, but also for anyone else.

Particularly butterflies.

With a sudden gust of air, the balcony doors burst open; the scent of camellias drifts in with them and you frown at the familiarity of it. You're already moving, taking advantage of the way everyone has stilled as half the remaining candles have blown out. You remember where Giovanni and Niccoló were, for the most part, and when you get close, you can only just catch the glimpse of gold darting away.

When you get there, Niccoló is cradling Giovanni on the ground and waves you off.

"He's fine, just startled, go, now," Niccoló tells you. You bristle slightly at being given orders from a mere human, but you also know that he's right. You're off down the halls without another moment wasted, chasing the twinkling stars kf fabric down the halls. It's pitch black and you're glad for your superior vision as you run, otherwise you'd likely have lost your target long ago.

You turn the corner into a long entryway and barely duck out of the way as an ornately carved dagger flies at your face. You pull your own out and tuck it against your arm.

"I see this butterfly bites," You call. There's a stifled laugh from the room, and you hate that you're endeared by the sound.

"Says the flower who hid her thorns," He calls back. You dart inside and behind a column, avoiding another dagger in the process. A careful peek around the stone shows that he's had a similar idea; you can just catch a glimpse of his soft brown hair peeking out. The glint of light against steel catches your eye and you realize he's picked up a sword somewhere. That won't do at all, not when you've just got a dagger. You look around and smile when you catch sight of two of Giovanni's rapiers mounted on the wall.

"Did you really expect me not to have thorns?" You call to him, tiptoeing your way around the column and towards the one beside it. Your footsteps are muffled against the marble floor, and you're hoping your voice does more to distract from them.

"No, flowers that pretty always have thorns," Butterfly says with a laugh in his voice. You can hear him moving as well, and you dart towards the rapiers as another dagger slams into the stone where your head was.

You rip the blade off the wall and duck behind a column again, doing your best to ignore the fire burning under your skin. No one's gotten to you like this in a long while, and you'll be damned if you let a would-be assassin do so.

"So tell me," You call into the echoes of the hall, ears straining to hear if he's moving. "Why would a butterfly want to kill one of the de Medicis?"

A noise almost like a scoff echoes around you, bouncing off the marble. You can't pinpoint where he is, and your eyes strain to see him even with your enhanced vision.

"Why would a flower?" He whispers into your ear. You jump and turn, dagger swinging wide toward where his voice was. It's a useless attempt, too easy for him to dodge as his own rapier slices through the air towards you. You parry and step back, doing your best to regain control.

"Flowers can be poisonous, but only to those who treat them wrong," You tell him, attempting a thrust and jab only for him to sidestep.

"Butterflies are the same, and yet I'm left with no real answers." He attempts his own jab that you quickly deflect, and the banter quiets for a while as you both focus on the swordfight. He's a skilled opponent, definitively better than you are; he moves with a grace and fluidity you've never seen before, and it only makes the heat in your belly that much worse. The hunger begins to seep in as well, and your vision clouds as your mind wanders to what he might taste like.

It's a poor thing to think, especially since it gives him the opening he needs. Moments later he has you against the wall, the blade of the rapier balanced carefully against your throat. You bite back a curse, but he can no doubt see it in the twitch of your nose and curl of your lip.

"So do I get an answer before you kill me?" You ask him. "Why would you want Giovanni dead?"

"Me?" He asks, a laugh in his voice. "You're the one trying to kill him." You cock a brow, barely visible over your mask.

"I assure you, I am not. It's a terrible businessman what kills his customers."

Butterfly frowns and his eyes narrow slightly. He reaches a gloved hand up and runs his thumb across your cheek, a light touch that makes you shiver nonetheless. It's only a breath later that he's tugging your mask off and studying your face.

"You," He says softly. "Vampire?"

"Yes," You say, letting your mouth hang open slightly so he can the fangs at each side. "And how do you know of me and mine?"

He grins, amused and secretive. "I trust you aren't one to bite the hand that feeds you, then." The wink he sends almost has you laughing at his joke.

Almost.

"No promises about the hand that has a blade to my throat," You warn. His lips quirk in an unvoiced laugh and he steps back, sliding his rapier back into place on his hip.

"I'm not trying to kill Giovanni," Butterfly says. "I owed him a favor that I'm repaying, much as I suspect you are, by being a watchful eye at his events for the time being."

It makes more sense than him being an assassin. He'd be a terrible assassin; he draws too much attention.

"You were running because...?"

"I thought I saw someone run this way. And then I was being chased, and assumed you were trying to kill me instead now."

"Fair assumption, I suppose." You can still feel his chest against yours, the scent of peach blossoms on the air around him. He hasn't stepped away at all, and your mouth is watering with the need to taste him.

"You look hungry, petal," He whispers. There's a laugh in his voice and you have to admit, it only makes him more attractive. A vision appears, him sprawled underneath as you taste him, but he steps back a ways before you can. "Go get dinner. I'll tell Giovanni and Niccoló that there was nothing to worry about tonight."

He's gone before you can protest. You didn't even see him move; one minute he was there and now he's not, no sign that he even existed save for the mask at your feet.

Your hands tremble slightly as you pick it up, and you don't know why but you hold on to it the entire way to your home.

---

Weeks pass. You haven't seen him again, not at any of the parties that Giovanni throws or the meetings that Niccoló organizes. Nowhere, no matter how much you look.

You mourn that fact as you sit at your vanity, silk sleeping gown cascading down your crossed legs. Your mirror is useless; its made with silver and offers no reflection, and you hope that there will be something better in the next hundred years so that you can stop relying on your maids to make you look respectable.

The window to your room clicks open with a breeze, the scent of peach blossoms strong on the air before he appears. You watch it happen in the mirror; the swirl of shadow and mist and flowers before he steps inside completely.

"At least I ask for an invitation first," You tell him. "Imagine the scandal if anyone were to know you sneak into an unwed woman's rooms at the dead of night."

He steps forward and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Apologies," He whispers. "It did take me a fair while to find your abode, though. And I am a very busy man." He looks up into the mirror and smiles at where your reflection should be. He's even more gorgeous without the mask; full pillow lips, soft brown eyes, bone structure that humans would kill to be born with.

"I suppose the fae prince is indeed a busy man." The way he stiffens only confirms your suspicions, and the fact that you were right just spurs you on. "I can't imagine what he would be doing here with me."

"Maybe he likes not being treated like a prince for once."

"Maybe he should tell me what he wants so we can make an arrangement that will suit both of us."

"Is it not enough that I want you?" He groans, burrowing his nose into your neck and inhaling. "Won't you give yourself to me?"

"No," You tell him simply. He pouts as you stand, but he doesn't fight you as you push him towards the lush bed at the far end of the room. "But I will give you this one night."

"I'll take it," He says.

His lips are on yours in a heartbeat, sealing your deal and encouraging the fire between your legs. You push him back until he sits on the bed and you climb up to straddle him, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs to keep you steady.

"You're radiant," He tells you. "Breathtaking in so many ways."

"Stop talking," You respond as you dart down to suck a bruise onto his neck. You've not been able to stop thinking about it; marking it, drinking from it, his throat has featured in nearly every fantasy that you've had lately and you're more than ready to taste the real thing.

He goes without resistance when you push him onto his back, pulling your hips down to grind against the tent in his pants. Your wetness is already seeping through the silk of your gown and you can't find it in you to be embarrassed.

"On my face," He says, panting. "Want you to ride my tongue." Heat hits you again and you nod. You like to think you're always graceful, but you know how you must look, scrambling to hike your gown up to your waist and plant your knees on either side of his head.

He isn't afraid to tease, giving soft kitten licks to the sensitive skin of your thigh before darting in to lap at your folds for real. Your moans can't be contained so you don't try; you've had several bed partners, but none have felt like this between your legs.

"Christ, Butterfly-"

"Jin," He says, hands gripping your ass to lift you up. "You can call me Jin tonight." He's back to work in no time, tongue dipping into your tight heat to swirl around before licking up to your clit so he can suckle on it.

"God, Jin, yes!" Your hands grip his hair tightly and he moans into your folds at the feeling. It only spurs him on, sucking hard on your clit before he starts to fully fuck you with his tongue. It's a glorious feeling and you nearly cum just from that as you grind yourself down onto him. It's been too long since you had a partner as enthusiastic as you are, and it shows with the way your legs tighten around his neck.

A strangled choke comes from between your thighs and you lift off him immediately.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No," He interrupts. With a brief scoot, he's watching you with eyes blown black, your wetness dripping down to land on his neck. His chin is already soaked, but something about seeing yourself on his neck - something you've already fantasized about tasting - has your hips moving in aborted thrusts.

He notices and cocks a brow. It only lasts a moment before realization creeps over him, eyes turning impossibly darker as his grip on your thighs tightens. He moves one hand to the small of your back, guiding you carefully down until your folds rest against his throat.

"What...what are you-"

"Ride," He commands. There's power in his voice, an authority that even you can't question, so you do. Your hips are guided by his hand on your back, and you can't lie, it's heavenly. His throat is thick and firm against your heat, and provides the perfect amount of pressure to your aching clit. His Adam's apple hits you just right, and you're moaning before you can even register the sound. Jin himself is clearly into it; the hand not on your back has disappeared, and if you cared enough to pay attention, you might look back to see it rubbing gently at his hardened length.

As it stands though, he's gasping for breath against your weight and the way it makes his throat clench makes you clench in return. You grind hard against his throat and he moans - loud and unabashed; the vibrations go straight to your clit, and the heat inside of you nearly explodes at the feeling. It's one thing to hear someone moan, and it's another thing to feel them moan while they eat you out. But to feel their throat vibrate with pleasure as you ride it?

Transcendent.

You raise slightly to allow him to breathe, hips still grinding mercilessly against his skin for any sense of friction. He pushes you back down and gives you a taunting smile.

"Are you close, petal?" He asks, vibrations from his voice making you whine. "You're so close just from grinding on my throat. I wonder what would happen if I touched you right now. Would you cum for me so easily?" You whimper and nod.

"Please, Jin, I want to cum," you gasp. Something about it strikes a nerve in him, because he groans again. You're already half-gone, but then he swallows; his Adam's apple hits your clit hard and your orgasm explodes through you.

Jin waits until you're finished spasming on top of him before he flips you around, carefully laying you back on your bed before stripping out of his shirt and unlacing his leather breeches to pull himself out.

You'd heard rumors about the fae, of course; everyone said they were supernaturally gifted in certain areas. You'd previously thought that was all a trick, one of the many ways they use their magic to goad humans into selling their souls. Looking at Jin, though, is a learning experience. There's no magic in the way that he weighs down his hand, or the throbbing purple of his head. Not in the way he strokes it slow and languid as he settles between your thighs.

The stretch as he slides into you is all too real, and has you quaking around him.

"Oh my god, Jin," You gasp, hands darting up to grip his broad shoulders. "Fuck, you're huge."

"Thank you," He chuckles, continuing to press his length into you. It isn't hard; you're soaked and relaxed after your orgasm, and all too willing to take every inch he gives you. When he finally bottoms out, you both groan, your pussy contracting around his thick shaft.

No one that big had ever been inside you, and he was reaching places nobody else ever had.

"Fuck, my pretty petal," He whispers as he slides halfway put before pushing back in. "You're so wet for me, petal. Did you like that then? You liked riding my throat so hard you came on it?" You moan and your walls flutter around him, and he takes the opportunity to speed up.

It doesn't take long for him to begin really pounding into you. Your legs are hitched up around his waist, ankles crossed over his lower back as he slams into you over and over again. The curses you spew are in so many languages you can't count them all, a mixture of all the ones you've learned in your time on this earth, and Jin sounds like he's praying, the way he's moaning softly above you.

It's minutes before you can feel the string inside you growing taut once more. Jin must notice because his palms push at your calves until your knees are as close to your shoulders as they can get, and suddenly he's that much deeper inside. You can feel him up to your cervix, fucking hard and fast into you, and he watches as you bring one hand down to tease circles into your clit.

"Beautiful, petal. Love watching you touch yourself for me, watching you cum for me. Come for me, let me feel you come on my cock, give me another and I'll give you all the seed you could ever need. Does that sound nice, petal?" You nod, fingers speeding up as his thrusts become more pointed, searching.

It takes four. Four thrusts for him to find that spot inside you that makes universes bloom behind your eyelids. You scream when he does, pushing down hard on your clit so that the constant pressure might distract you, might prolong the feeling.

"Oh no, sweetheart," Jin tuts gently. He drops a hand to push yours away from your clit and resumes the teasing himself. It's different when it's him; where you had been keeping rythm with his thrusts, he doesn't bother, instead moving slowly and teasingly against the bundle of nerves as he continues to pound hard and fast into your heat. "No, I want to feel this sweet pussy come around me. I want to watch you fall apart on my cock, and then I want to fuck you full of my cum. Will you make that happen for me, my sweet petal? Will you be a good girl for me?"

You don't even get a chance to warn him before you're coming, contracting so hard around him that you're worried he might get pushed out.

It doesn't stop him though; he continues his thrusts. He changes it though, shifts so he's sitting back on the bed and you're in his lap, propped up against his chest so he can thrust up into you. His hands are on your hips, lifting you up just to pull you down to meet his hips as they fuck harder into you.

"Very good, petal," He murmurs. "You were so good, so now it's my turn, right? I get to use your pretty pussy. God, you're too fucked out to even speak, aren't you?" You manage a quick nod and he laughs, sweet and lilting, and pinches at your nipple. A third orgasm rushes through you and you're jolting against him, riding the waves as he continues fucking you through the overstimulation.

"Fuck, you're so good for me, the perfect flower. Can you give me one more, petal? One more orgasm. I know you can do it."

"No," You whine, even as your hips grind down to meet him. "Can't, I'm, too much."

"Okay, petal, okay," He whispers, massaging the muscles in your back as he fucks you. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet, the perfect pussy for me. You take it so well, like you were made for me."

"Was," You mutter, too high on your own orgasms to manage proper words. "Made...just for you..." There's more you want to say, like how the smell of peach blossoms has always been your favorite and how you've never seen anyone handle a dagger or a rapier like he does, but it won't come out.

It seems to do the trick though, because a minute later, you can feel him coming inside you. It triggers a fourth orgasm, both of you shuddering as you ride the highs. You pant ass he slides you off his dick and lays you back; he groans as he watches his cum slide out of you and stain the sheets underneath.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful like this," he whispers as he throws an arm over you and pulls you close. You don't respond, already half-asleep. "I'll have breakfast ready when you wake up, petal. You rest."

You manage a nod, a mumbled 'thank you' barely making it out before you're asleep.

When you wake the next evening, the scent of peach blossoms hangs in the air. Your thighs are almost as sore as your pussy, the bed is cold next to you, and there's a beautiful woman sitting at your vanity, brushing her hair. You frown at her, rubbing your face. She hears you moving and turns with a bright grin.

"Oh, you're awake. The Prince mentioned you might be hungry when you woke, so I'm here with breakfast." She stands, the silk nightie leaving nothing to imagination as she slides into the bed beside you.

"And where is the prince?" You ask her, already leaning forward to press kisses to her neck.

"He left you a - ah! - a note," She says as you sink your fangs into the tender flesh of her neck. You drink until you're sated and refreshed, and you wave her out after she's done cleaning herself up.

There is indeed a note left on your vanity, in the quick scrawl you imagine is Jin's.

Thanks for a good time, petal. I won't forget it. -Butterfly

#ficswithluv #smutcentralnet #magicshopnet #ksmutclub #jin smut #bts smut #seokjin smut #bts fanfiction #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #reader insert #reader x seokjin #reader x jin #ddaenggtan #666verse

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rubbrfrk9 · 5 years ago

Photo

HYPNAGOGIA: A Rubberborn story

Shiny black rubber face.

Shiny black rubber hands.

In the dream: they grow from the shadows. They clump against the walls and seethe in the corners. I know in my rational brain that these are simply the places the light can’t go through, the trunks and limbs and branches of the trees outside my windows, whipping frenziedly back & forth in the wind of a nor’easter. I know that the long black void cast by the slightly-ajar bedroom door is a natural phenomenon, and that the reason it moves slightly back & forth is the intense wind, sneaking through every minute crack of the house that it can find.

The only light in the room is from the streetlights, outside. I need a little bit of light to sleep - the absolute dark, well, that’s obvious, isn’t it, what it does to me -

And I see it, sometimes, even if it isn’t happening, and it fills my head with such a buzzing, squirrelly fear that I can’t focus on anything else - the horrible, evil lift of the black-faced figures from the pooling shadows, their slow, inexorable creep towards my beside -

Feel their creeping invasion, their glossy, shiny hands on my shoulder -

I scream, and my partner screams, and we both jump back to our own sides of the bed. His face is crawling with the crossing, un-crossing shadows of the trees - but also alarm, concern. “Honey,” he draggles out of his sleep-churned mouth - “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“Dreams,” I say, and pull the sheets up to my chin. “Just dreams.”

“Just dreams,” mutters my partner, already having loosed himself down the slide of unconsciousness.

“Yeah,” I repeat, eyes as flung-open as shutters in a hurricane.

Outside, the nor’easter competes for attention with the frantic skirl of an ambulance, or a fire truck, or a police car - I can’t tell which. It rises and falls, like a giant with breathing difficulties, lowering itself at our windows. The glass rattles in the frames.

It’s an old house.

Sometimes I feel like it’s probably haunted. I mean, you can’t have a house that’s this old and not have at least one ghost. Too many past inhabitants not to have at least one snarl of psychic energy, somewhere - probably the basement, or the attic - in any case, neither place me or my partner have ever had to enter in our two years of living here.

Come to think of it, the trouble with my dreams - with the shadows - only started about a month ago, right around the time I came on the rubbrfrk9 tumblr for the first time.

I guess it makes sense that encountering a new fetish would spike some kind of interruption in the normal dreaming habits of a person. I’d never really given it much of a thought, rubber - but something about these pictures, man, they grabbed me, they arrested me, they grabbed me by the chin and made me stare into their endlessness.

It was a dude - single from what I could tell - who lived somewhere in the city. In the background of his pictures, I could see familiar skylines - skyscrapers, even - so I knew that he was local. But in a city of this magnitude, that’s still a near unspannable distance. So I followed the tumblr, I lurked, I scrolled every picture he’d ever posted.

In every single one, he was wearing a full, head to toe, shiny black rubber suit. In some pictures, he had on other clothing to accent it - but in every shot, the rubber was what stood out. And it wasn’t just shots in his apartment, in his bedroom, in the bathroom, in the shower even - it was out and about, on the streets, in broad daylight, or in parks at night time. The night shots, I’ll admit, were my favorite - his shiny, depthless black superimposed on the night’s sallow dark - he was more night than the sky was, at least in the city.

There was, however, a problem, in that my partner was incredibly vanilla. He allowed for my endless fetish-related scrolling on tumblr, even had tried to get enthusiastic about my various paraphilia, but to no avail. We had sex, and we had great sex, but something about “just sex” never got me to the edge where I could truly feel liberation from my libido’s constant demand. I didn’t know how to explain to him my new-found obsession, and thus, found myself keeping it secret from him, like a Catholic with a sin - and just as suffused with guilt.

But still, rubbrfrk9 had awakened something inside of me. Something dark, something shiny, and something mute. It gave me a boner like nothing ever had before, and I yearned to be encased, too, like he was in every one of his pictures. I yearned to be side-by-side with him, maybe even be rubbrfrk10, if that’s how it all was to go down -

But no! I had to restrain myself from these kinds of fantasies. I had a stable, loving life with my partner, and we both had dayjobs, and our parents even knew each other now -

It was just one of those things that would have to be relegated to roleplay.

I did take one step - I went on eBay, and I got one of those old-school gas masks. The ones you see in the films about World War II, with the long rubber trunk and canister. I paid for it, and eagerly watched, day by day, as it inched closer to me.

The day it arrived, I put it on immediately, as my partner was still at work and wouldn’t be home for hours. I stared into the mirror at my blank face, my eyes obscured by the filmy glass of the eyepieces. I could tell from the quality that it was a replica - no one in their right mind would actually use it to filter gas out of the air - but still, somehow, the rubber of the mask felt so good, fitting so closely against the skin of my scalp and my cheeks, under my chin and tight against my forehead.

I don’t know how long I stared at myself in the mirror, standing there with my mouth hanging open inside the mask, breathing in and breathing out, hearing it hollowly, distantly, in my ears.

Shame was what woke me out of it. Shame and fear and regret. I stripped it off of my face (not without some longing, some lingering, foreign despair) and bundled it into a place under the bed, to hopefully be forgotten about. I’d gotten it out of my system now, right?

Wrong.

This is when the dreams started. The goopy, inky shadows, stretching out their hands for me. Whispering, even though stoically mute in their fluid motions towards the bed - these were not zombies, these were not monsters … if anything, they were alien creatures, glistening in the streetlights beneath my windowsill, inching towards the bed -

I yell, and it wakes up my partner again, who is this time less supportive, and more irritated. “Honey, take a pill, wouldja? Or drink some water milk … I dunno, just … sleeping good…” He trailed off, and pulled the sheets up around his chin, turned off, and snorted his way back into comfortable sleep.

I’ve drifted off again into the dream. It seems like, every time I dream lately, it picks up where it left off - the alien faces, the shiny rubber hands, they are even closer to being able to reach me. I can see the reflection of the light on my pale, white skin, in such contrast to theirs - oh god, oh god - am I reaching out to them? To them, as they get ever closer? Am I helping them narrow the gap?

This time, I don’t yell, but I jerk awake in the darkness, teeth chattering even though the heat is thick and filling the room.

A trailing waft of rubber-smell tickles my nostrils, and I sneeze, violently.

Part of me is afraid to turn on the light.

The other knows I must.

When my trembling hand reaches over to the switch, it flicks it fast and withdraws back to my body as quickly as a mouse to its wall-hole. I almost want to comfort it with murmurs and words of solace, but I too am suddenly brought to a shudder when I realize that the ill-purchased gas mask is sitting on the bedspread, between my knees, staring at me with its blank, glassine eyes, almost accusing.

Of course it isn’t there. It’s still beneath the bed.

I quietly roll out of bed and crouch by the side, jamming my hand into the jumble of clothes, boxes, and other things beneath - yes, I can confirm that it is in fact still where I wedged it. Not on top of the bed, staring at me.

I’m hard as a rock in my basketball shorts. The skin of my face is prickling, almost like I’m having an allergic reaction to something - little, millimeters-big needles sinking into my flesh. It’s pre-occupying, but not intensely irritating. Just feels kind of peculiar, a little rippling wave of heat. I should go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I am probably just overheated from the dream.

The dream! Can it be, in fact, that I’m still dreaming? Will I walk down the hallway to the bathroom only to find that shadows bubble out of the faucet, like in every horror movie ever? I’m feeling oblique, fuzzy waves of doubt and vertigo - in the thick of the night, like this, with the wind howling its head off down the street, it’s easy to become slightly unhinged. The rain taps and staccatoes its way along the windowpane - one salvo followed by another, like empty bullet shells from an automatic weapon hitting the asphalt.

In the bathroom, it’s a little quieter. The light is harsh, anodyne - I keep meaning to get a softer bulb. It makes my face look even more pale than it is - a ghast stands before me, one eye half-lidded, the other wide open - I look like I’ve gone a couple of rounds in a boxing ring. My hair sticks up on one side of my head, where it’s mashed flat on the other.

I bend over to splash some cooling water on my face, and it leaves me feeling strangely aroused. My belly sort of drops as I feel the cooling patter of the drops hitting my face - much like, I imagine - the windows of the building outside.

I feel that intense vertigo again, my eyes closed, leaning over the sink, wobbly a bit more than I’d like, when I feel the rumble in my gut tell me it’s time to take a seat on the toilet for a minute or two.

Somehow, I have my phone in my hand, and before I know it, I’m straddling the toilet and scrolling my tumblr feed, instantly navigating to the magnifying glass, searching:

rubbrfrk9, I type in, and feel a long line of drool suddenly separate itself from the corner of my mouth and splat on the tiles below. My screen is instantly filled with the calming influence of rubber - black on black on black, shiny rubber hands and shiny rubber faces.

The sink, the pipes, make a bad metallic gurgle, as though clearing their throat, and in that sound I can hear voices - distorted, but voices, and they are saying

All hail the Rubbered One

And I’m up in a frenzy, pulling my shorts up around my waist, panic striking at my spinal cord. “Who said that?” I say out loud. I grab a fingerful of skin in between two fingers and pinch, HARD, to make sure I’m not still dreaming.

Pain riots through me, blood surges up to fill the injured area, turns my skin blotchy and red. Nope, not dreaming.

And then my eyes wander back down to the phone in my hand. It’s still bright and alert, still filled with images from the tumblr.

Has it moved?

No, that’s impossible.

Perhaps it’s a .gif, or one of those Boomerang photos.

But no, nothing to mark it as such.

This is the one of rubbrfrk9 outside, in some kind of wooded area. Maybe even in the park near to my house. It could be. He is head-to-toe in his blanked-out black rubber suit, even wearing black, 14-eye Dr Marten boots. Every last bit of him is obscured. He could be someone’s silhouette, rather than an actual person himself.

I can feel my cock start to leak precum at the thought. I feel it dribble down my thigh and join my drool on the tiles.

All hail the Rubbered One, I hear again, but this time, I hear it in my own head.

The drone - for that’s what it is, a rubber drone, rubbrfrk9, according to the watermark on the picture - is slowly, ever so slowly, turning his rubbered head towards me on the small surface of my phone.

I should scream again, but my mouth is clamped shut. It’s just a dream, I tell myself, feverishly. Any second now, I’ll wake up and my partner will be scolding me, the wind will be banging against the walls -

But no such thing happens. The rubbered man is moving, so slowly that it could be all of this is just a hallucination - he is turning his head, staring blankly at me, he is lifting his arm, his shiny rubber hand - he is gesturing to me, he is crooking a finger - he is turning his hand, raising his arm -

The wind in the trees is rustling the bushes behind him.

This is no longer a picture on my phone, this is a portal. There is no screen.

The small bathroom fills with the intense, the overwhelming, plastic smell of rubber.

A moan escapes me.

I see, out of the corner of my eye, the shadows in the kitchen merging, coalescing, black drop by black drop, hearing the whispers in the wind as it surges against the side of the house -

I see that the corners of my phone are being taken over too, by the shadows - small tentacles, writhing, lashing, as the Rubbered One stretches languourously towards me, his arm skewing the screen’s perspective in a tilt-shift manner that makes me dizzy -

All hail the Rubbered One!

“All hail the Rubbered One!” I say, helplessly -

And I’m awake in my bed.

I’m staring thoughtlessly at the wall ahead of me.

The wind is calm, and the storm has passed.

Next to me, my partner is slumbering, tossing and muttering to himself.

My hand reaches out towards his naked shoulder.

His poor, naked shoulder, about to meet the touch of my

Shiny, black hand -

In the corners of the room, in the deep of the hallway, the silence rustles. On my bedside table, the image of a wooded area - some bushes to the left, a pine tree to the right, is oddly empty. One might think, looking at it, that it’s a strange thing to take a picture of - a foreground, with no subject.

A smile curves my lips, but you’d never see it.

Not underneath the rubber of my new face.

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ayamari-no-goshi · 4 years ago

Text

Eidolon 1 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr.

1. Prelude

It was getting worse. In a last attempt for some stability, he desperately grasped at one of his bed posts as another convulsion coursed through his body. That pain that accompanied it was even more intense than it was the previous time.

It was the pain that had him clinging in a desperate plea to not be consumed by its fire. With each convulsion, the fire burned hotter and more forcefully, slowly replacing the living with the dead.

Another shudder rocked his body, causing him to collapse. He was now fully aware that the fire had spread to his lungs. As he took his last breaths before they seized completely, he reached out in one last attempt to find something that might explain what he had done to deserve such a terrible fate…

…

Winston Wolfe was definitely angry. As a man with military training, he usually was very good at keeping his emotions under control. However, with the current situation, there was little his training could do. Something of his had gone missing, and he was tearing his house apart trying to find some clue as to where it could have gone.

As he searched his house encountering little luck, he muttered Russian curses at himself and the missing 'object' in question for being so idiotic. He had left the house for a few hours in order to see if he could get some sort of information about a call that he was expecting, and, in that time, it appears that the object had managed to slip out of the house, again.

"Daniel!" he shouted in a tone that was mixed with anger and exasperation. For, the object that was missing was actually Winston's teenage charge, Daniel.

This had not been the first time that the boy had decided to sneak out of the house. In fact, this sort of thing was beginning to become rather frequent. It was definitely irritating to the former military man, since it was a clear disregard of his orders. However, once he found the boy, he knew that it was going to be difficult for him to remain angry with him for too long. The boy was his son, even if there was no true relation between them.

Besides, he really could not blame the boy for sneaking out of the house. He had been in Winston's care for several years and had been home schooled for most of it. And, frequently, he had not been allowed out of the house much, mostly due to Winston's own fears and his sense of duty. He had tried on his own to take care of the boy, after giving his word that he would do everything in his power to protect him. Even though Amity Park was a relatively safe place to live, one could never be too careful.

A gnawing fear as well as anger coursed through him each time the boy escaped, even though he knew this was just part of normal teenage rebellion. What normal child would be content to stay inside all the time? However, Winston had begun to get harsher with the boy, once he was located. It was becoming a bit too regular for his liking. Who knew what an almost-fifteen-year-old boy might get himself into?

Also, even though the boy was usually not too hard to find, another thing that had begun to worry Winston was what had become the boy's favorite place to go. It was strange. One would think that he would go to a place where he could meet other kids his own age, since it was clear at times that he was lonely. Yet, he never seemed to go where there were any, choosing instead to claim the local graveyard as his favorite haunt.

The first time he found the boy there, he thought the boy might be looking for some sign of his parents, who had disappeared when he was an infant, although it quickly became apparent that was not the case. Daniel never seemed to be looking at the headstones when he found him. Instead, he had either been wondering rather aimlessly or peacefully sitting on one of the benches. There had been times that he had mistaken the boy's form for that of a shadow or even a ghost, not that he would ever admit that. Something about that quite graveyard seemed to take away the boy's human presence.

That, perhaps, was the most unsettling part of all of this.

Winston ran his hand through his still dark hair in frustration. The boy was definitely not in the house. After grabbing his coat, he marched out of the small house in the direction of where he was sure the boy had gone. Unsettling as Daniel's choice might be, at least he tended to be predictable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He figured that he should probably head home, but that really didn't concern him too much at the moment. It was a nice day, and he really didn't get a chance to be outside for prolonged periods. Even if he did get in trouble, it was worth it.

The house was nice, but it really never changed. Sure, items, like furniture and clothes, came and went, but the house itself never changed, and that made it boring. That sense of boredom never seemed to come to him, at least quickly, when he was outside. From day to day, the scenery seemed to change. It was one of the things that enjoyed the most, along with the feeling of freedom.

Though he could not purchase anything, due to the lack of money, he felt as if he was able to do just about anything while he was outside. Yet, he never really felt any real urge to 'go crazy', as others might. It was enough just to wonder and to watch.

Something he never quite understood was his desire to wonder in locations where there were not many people. Every time he thought about it though, he just figured that Winston's warnings of staying away from strangers… well, most people in general, was so ingrained into his mind that it just happened subconsciously. Winston, however, did not like his normal choice of haunts, which he always thought was a bit strange.

When he first stumbled across the town's graveyard, he thought that perhaps he might find something about his parents. He knew that it probably would not amount to much since he had absolutely no information about them (Winston would often keep his mouth shut when the topic was breached), but he had gone anyways. And, it was that initial search that had peaked his interest.

Dates and epitaphs gave him clues about the lives of those who had come before him. The carvings, statues, and mausoleums showed him a macabre sense of beauty that could not really be found elsewhere. That art also would make him think about the possibilities of what might be out there. Many of the statues often depicted angels or religious figures, which often seemed to, in a sense, keep watch over the sacred grounds. At times, it even seemed like they were protectors as he occasionally felt as if there was something unseen lurking in the shadows of the trees. Although he knew there was nothing there, that feeling never seemed to be there when he was near one of the statues.

He suddenly stopped walking and turned towards his left. That feeling, the one of being watched, was back. His eyes narrowed as he glanced around. Nothing seemed to be there, but it was definitely more pronounced and uncomfortable than usual.

Although he really did not want to head back home just yet, that feeling made him too nervous to stay. It was better to play it safe, so he began to head back towards the entrance.

He tried to keep himself calm as he moved. Something was definitely not right. That feeling, whatever it was, seemed to be following him. Something seemed to move at the corner of his vision, causing him to stop. Was it just a squirrel or something? Or was it something else? It seemed a little too big to be just an animal…

"Hey, there he is!"

He was so startled that he could have sworn he jumped at least three feet in the air. He turned to the source of voice and was somewhat surprised to see two kids, about his age, coming towards him. The first was a girl with dark hair and clothes. The sounds of her heavy boots and accent chains seemed overly loud to him as she ran over. The second was a dark skinned boy wearing classes and a red beret. Although he was following the girl, it was clear that he was being cautious in his approach.

"Um… can I help you?" he asked cautiously as he watched them.

The girl ignored him for a moment as she turned to the other boy. "See Tucker, I told you he wasn't a ghost!"

"Oh yeah? I'm not too convinced of that. I've heard of legends were ghosts look so real that you can't tell they're not human," the boy, Tucker, said as he adjusted his glasses. He seemed to be examining him, which he found even more unnerving than the presence, which conveniently seemed to be gone. "Besides, how come the only place anyone's ever seen him is here?"

He glanced at the two strangers. Ghost? Him? What in the world where they talking about? "Excuse me," he interrupted irritably, "but am I missing something?"

The girl gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry about that. There's a rumor going around our school that a ghost has been seen here. They say that it's the ghost of a teenage boy with dark hair and light eyes. He's usually seen wearing jeans and a t-shirt."

"And, that fits you to a T, sorry to say," Tucker finished. It was clear that he was still not convinced that his status was that of 'among the living'.

"Tucker!" the girl snapped as she glared at him. "Just because you've never seen him before, it doesn't mean that he's a ghost!"

"Okay, Sam, than tell me why the only place he's been seen is in the graveyard. Or, better yet, why we found him here." Tucker's voice was almost as challenging. Almost. In truth, it seemed like he was hiding the fact that he was somewhat scared of the girl's temper.

"Can you stop treating me like I can't hear you?" he asked, not betraying the fact that he was somewhat amused by their argument. "Look, I am not a ghost. I've just gotten in the habit of taking walks here…" He frowned as he tried to find the right words to explain why. "It's…" he foundered for the word. "Peaceful… here…?" He wanted to kick himself. That sounded like he was so unsure of himself.

Tucker's eyes narrowed as he considered the answer. "Okay, if that's true, then why haven't I seen you before? You don't go to our school."

"Have you ever thought that maybe he just moved here and that his parents are setting all of that up?" Sam demanded.

"Parent," he corrected quietly, which caused both of them to stare at him, making him a bit nervous. "I only have one parent…"

"Right… So, did you just move here then?"

"No… From what I understand, we've been here since I was little. And," he added before Tucker could interrupt, "I've been home schooled the entire time."

"Okay, that's almost believable." He sighed as Tucker continued, "But that still doesn't explain why none of us have ever seen you before."

"It's not my fault that I have an over-protective parent! It's gotten so bad recently that I've practically had to sneak out of the house in order to get a change of scenery. Do you have any idea what it's like to stare at the same thing day after day with no real variety? It's boring!" He took a breath before he continued his tirade. "And, I'm sorry that you've never seen me before! It's not like I've been given the chance to get to actually introduce myself to anyone. In truth, I think that you two, people who thought I might be a ghost, are the first people my age I've spoken to for… Jeez, I don't even know how long. You might even be the first."

His expression was challenging as he waited for one of them to speak again. Although he was a bit angry, at the same time, he felt oddly relieved. It was nice being able to vent and have someone listen.

It was Sam who spoke first. "Wow, that's pretty rough…. Well, it won't solve your problems at home, but how about we show you around town? Oh, and by the way, I'm Sam." She nudged the boy beside her, "And this scaredy cat is Tucker."

"Sam! What are you doing? He's going to attack us… or something!"

"Tucker, will you give it a rest already?" She then rolled her eyes and held out her hand. "Well, are you interested?"

He looked at her hesitantly before he shook her hand. "I'm Danny… And, that sounds kinda nice. I'm already in trouble, so I might as well do it thoroughly." He was then distracted by Tucker, who seemed to be examining him closely. "What is your problem?"

"Y-you can actually touch her!" he stammered before he decided to touch Danny's arm.

"Uh, yeah. I thought that we had already established that I'm not a ghost."

Tucker nervously adjusted his glasses. "I was just trying to make sure. You can never be too careful." He tried to keep his embarrassment out of his voice by passing it off as if it was really nothing.

With a grin, Danny glanced over at Sam, "Do you think he's finally convinced?"

"No, but give him an hour." She seemed just as amused. "We should be able to get it through his thick skull by then."

"Hey! I resent that!"

"And what are you going to do about it, huh?" Although it was clear that Tucker had wanted to say something, he thought against it, which pleased Sam. "I thought so." She then grabbed hold of both of the boys and started dragging them towards the entrance. "Come on! We don't have all day!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Winston was really starting to get worried. He had already looked in Danny's normal haunt and found absolutely no sign of the boy. This was definitely not good. He couldn't contact the authorities to help find the boy for various reasons (first and for most was that Danny hadn't been missing for more than twenty-four hours), and he really didn't have anyone else that he could turn to for assistance.

He knew that the boy would probably come home on his own in a few hours, but he would rather know where he was. There was something about this particular day… a sort of uneasy feeling in the air. He really wasn't a person who believed in premonitions, but something told him that he should pay attention to this particular one.

As he hurried down one of the main streets, he thought about the situation at hand. Amity Park was supposedly safe from the kind of attacks that had cost Danny his parents, but after being in the service, he had learned that no place was completely safe. Could that thing really be in the area? No, that was a ridiculous thought. It hadn't been seen in years. Possibly someone had killed it by now….

He shook his head as he continued his trek, there were more concerning issues at hand, like trying to find that boy. Where the heck was he?

A familiar voice and figure distracted him from his thoughts. Winston had looked up just in time to watch his young charge round a corner. What was strange was that he was not alone. Unless he was mistaken, Danny was actually accompanied by someone. That was not good. What if he said something? That could put today's work out the window! Without a second thought he started sprinting after them.

Luckily for him, the kids had decided to stop for some reason about midway down the street. From a distance, it seemed like the two kids who were with them were pointing out something to him. Maybe they were just showing him around… He would have to get the full story from Danny later since it appeared that they were about to start moving again.

"DANIEL!" he shouted putting as much anger as he could muster while being winded into it. The shout had the desired effect as Danny turned around and stared at him with a classic 'deer in the headlights' look. He knew he was in trouble.

Thankfully, the kids did not decide to run as he approached him. Perhaps that was Danny's doing. "Young man, could you explain to me what you were thinking?" he demanded once he fully caught his breath. "You are supposed to be at home, and, yet, you're here. Care to explain?"

For a moment, Danny seemed absolutely lost for words, so he just floundered around for a moment. Surprisingly, the girl beside him answered for him. "He's been stuck at home! What do you expect him to do?" From her challenging tone, it was clear that she wasn't intimidated by him in the least.

"Sam, please, don't get involved," Danny told her while looking at the ground.

That comment just seemed to make her angrier. "Don't I? Danny, grow some backbone! You said earlier that you want to be out more! You have a right to be free! He can't take that away from you!"

"Actually, since I am his guardian, I have the full right to limit that freedom." Winston then sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. "Danny, we'll talk about this more when we get home. Let's head back."

"Oh, now you act all nice to him."

Danny then placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. Just let it drop. I'll… hopefully see you again." He then glanced over at the other boy who had decided to remain silent during this. "Do you still think I'm a ghost?"

The boy smiled at him. "Nah. You're just a guy who needs to work a little on his sex appeal, if you know what I mean."

"Really? And you can judge this how?"

The boy grinned arrogantly. "Don't you know who you're talking to? Tucker Foley. That's T.F. for too fine. All the ladies love me!"

Sam snickered. "Yeah, all the ones in your dreams."

"Hey!"

Danny just laughed as he watched the two of them continue. Winston was actually surprised by them. He was pretty sure that this was the first time that Danny had met either of them, but it seemed like they were already good friends. That was going to cause a little bit of a problem with the situation he had to face once he got Danny home, but he could probably work around that… somehow.

....................................................

Notes: This was inspired by the story, "Home is Where the Heart is" on ff.net, and the song "Say you'll haunt me," by Stone Sour.

Winston Wolfe is the creation of my friend Hornswaggler. I have her permission to use him.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp #dp au #danny phantom au #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #supernatural #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #Eidolon

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stonylovessteve · 5 years ago

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Creator Reveals 2019

We’ve reached the end of the exchange and that means it’s time to reveal the creators of all our works.

Thank you for putting so much love and effort into Stony Loves Steve 2019, you really made it a great experience. We hope everyone loved it as much as we did!

Giftees, be sure to leave a comment and kudos on your gift if you haven’t already. All our creators worked hard to make this event a success, so show them some love.

You can now post your work publicly outside of the exchange. Tag it as #stonylovessteve2019 on tumblr and we’ll reblog you. @ us @stonylovessteve on twitter and we’ll retweet you.

Below the cut is the final list of all the works produced for the exchange and the creators.

Ride With the Moon in the Dead of Night by iam93percentstardust for Wikketkrikket (MCU AU, 11,464 Words)

The wards protecting the Upper New York pack are failing. When the pack alpha, Nick Fury, calls for aid, only one person answers: the vampire Howard Stark, promising the aid of his son. In return, he asks that his son be accepted into the pack. Fury promises that his strongest alpha will be given to Stark's son in marriage. Neither Steve nor Tony are initially pleased about this turn of events but they find themselves quickly falling in love. But not everyone is happy to allow a vampire into the pack and there is a traitor lurking in their midst.

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You've Always Been My Home by Shamen610 for softestlesbian (MCU, 4,370 words)

And that was just so like Tony wasn't it? For him to still be the one to help Steve find a home, despite being gone.

Gone.

God, he couldn't even stomach the thought of it being true.

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Clementine by Wikketkrikket for nasa (1872, 8,297 words)

From the prompt: 'The people of Timely have started getting suspicious about how much time their Sheriff is spending at their Blacksmith's house'

Ever since he was injured and his arm badly damaged in the incident with Fisk, Steve has been staying with Tony. He helps Tony stay off the drink and keep his ribbon, and Tony helps him tie his shoelaces. They're in love, but they aren't breaking any laws. Steve is very careful about that.

Except people are starting to talk anyway, and when a new Deputy arrives in town with suspicion in his eyes things get riskier than ever.

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i'd like it if you stayed (and i like you) by KingOfBiohazards for Lunatical (MCU AU, 2,958 words)

Steve gets a knight assigned to be his bodyguard. He's not happy about it (at first).

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the start of something brilliant by S_Hylor for fictionforlife (Noir, 4,382 words)

After so many years of adventuring, and then assisting in the war effort, Tony Stark didn’t think there was much left that he hadn’t seen already. That is, until on a reconnaissance mission with James Rhodes, he comes across an injured American soldier, left behind on a battlefield.

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the lion and his wolf by nasa for iam93percentstardust (MCU AU, 2,241 words)

Steve didn't have much when he came to King's Landing - his mother, his best friend, and a few copper coins to his name - but slowly, over the years, it's all been stripped away. Now, he has only one thing left: Tony Stark, heir to the North and lover to Steve.

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Handheld by talesofsuspense for SilverInStars (MCU, 4,072 words)

When Steve starts stopping for lunch at Shawarma Palace he isn't expecting Tony to show up and to keep showing up. And he definitely isn't expecting a guide to the 21st century.

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Another Chance at Another Life by heroineaddict for 13bella (MCU, 6,867 words)

Steve returns the Infinity Stones to their rightful place, and then makes a detour to fix one of his biggest regrets.

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Won't You Be My Neighbor [Art] by Cachette for sadieb798 (AU, art)

A peaceful evening!

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If I’m Ruining You Right Now, Please Forgive Me by Mizzy for Jaylee (616, 17k Words)

Tony’s definitely up to something, Steve’s sure about that. But when he follows Tony down into the unused leg of their new unconventional home, Steve isn’t expecting to discover the lengths Tony will go to try to make him happy.

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Beautiful by LegendsofSnark for thegreytigress (MCU, 1k words)

Tony loves Steve, no matter what

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Of You, Me, and Us by ShippersList for starkboi (MCU, 1.1k words)

They are just photos. Snaps of his life, something he started taking after the Battle of New York. Nothing fancy, nothing staged, just… quick slices of life he wanted to document, to remember things by, to help getting some flavor to the sharp memories embedded in his mind.

Some are blurry, some are ruined by time (or, more often, coffee stains), some are just of the same subject; from the time when he wanted to document the way the vines grow on that one, particular corner of the park.

Others might say most of them are worthless, but they aren’t. Not to Steve.

And some pictures mean more than the rest. Especially to Steve.

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Worth the Wait by FreyaS for Royal_Chandler (MCU, 13k words)

When Steve woke up in the future, he met his soulmate and learned he’d lost everything else.

Tony was familiar with loss but he never expected to gain a soulmate in Steve Rogers, the man his family had spent generations searching for.

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Be Still My Little Heart by Lunatical for BeenAsleepFor70Years (AU, 4.1k words)

A beautiful boy was asleep in the flower, his hair the color of gold and his skin as pure as the lily from which he’d been born. And when he opened his eyes, they were as clear as the sky, and twice as beautiful. And he could not have been bigger than a thumb, from the tips of his golden hair to the bottom of his perfect feet, and Sarah loved him more than anything else in the world.

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[email protected] by FestiveFerret for Lacrimula_Falsa (MCU, 7.3k words)

Between digital watches, ATMs, emails, and microwaves, Steve is exhausted by the future. Tony is only trying to help, and Steve appreciates it, but sometimes, he just needs a break from all the tech in the tower.

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Tony Stark’s Guide to Getting A Date (And Steve Roger’s Guide to Getting Through a Thick Skull) by a_salty_alto for morcabre (AA, 1.3k words)

In which Steve turns out to be a bit smoother than expected.

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Everybody Loves Steve (But Tony Loved Him First, Dammit) by ashes0909 for HogwartstoAlexandria (MCU AU, 4.4k words)

“So, what? I’m just supposed to get used to you being a bit taller, a bit bulkier, and that guy I met freshman year, what? He’s gone forever now?”

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Superfamily [Art] by Hayluhalo for Squishy_TRex (MCU AU, art)

Prompt fill for “adopting kids” for the Stony Loves Steve 2019 event!

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Heart’s Second Chance [Art] by fictionforlife for BuckytheDucky (MCU AU, art)

Based on one of BuckytheDucky’s prompts:

Steve is the rightful heir to a decent-sized kingdom, neighbouring the Stark realm. When talks arise of the kingdoms going to war, Steve’s mother tells him he must marry Prince Tony in order to prevent the war from coming to fruition; both grudgingly agree, and it’s definitely not love at first sight, fighting behind closed doors all the time even tho they pretend they’re deliriously in love in front of others. Then tragedy strikes, and Steve has to decide whether to help Tony get revenge for his kingdom against Obadiah Stane, the Starks’ most trusted advisor, or convince Tony that he’s no longer allowed to get involved in his old kingdom’s affairs. Through it all, he starts learning more about who Tony really is and maybe even falling in love.

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Three Challenges by Neverever for Katie_Kat (MCU AU, 6,6k words)

King Steve is offered a marriage alliance with the mysterious Prince Tony which will help his small country greatly. Except that there is a twist. There always is.

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Be My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine by Nixie_DeAngel for Neverever (MCU AU, 1,8k words)

Letting out an overly tired, but still fond, sigh, Steve closes his charms tome and caps his inkwell before pushing it back towards the center of the table and places his quill next to it. “Okay, Tony, you have exactly twenty minutes before I really do need to get back to studying. Why do you need me to be your pretend boyfriend?”

Or, even as wizards Tony and Steve still can only find there way to each other through the muggle trope of fake dating while fighting their real feelings.

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a date with disaster (or, the time steve essentially whored himself out on national tv to pay his rent) by quellthefire for Serinah (MCU AU, 3,6k words)

Steve’s been having a hard time finding freelance work, so Bucky signs him up for a reality dating show to earn some extra cash. Little does Steve know that this is going to be the worst date he could possibly imagine, on purpose.

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To have and to hold by daisybelle for LegendsofSnark (MCU, 1.4k words)

Written for the prompt: Parents!Stony: Steve has somehow gotten sick and Tony is freaking out because Steve always takes care of him and Peter. Cue Peter and Tony frantically trying to do everything in their power to get Steve better. And Steve smiling at his little family.

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You’re Always Worth It by Nixie_DeAngel for Hayluhalo (EMH, 1.6k words)

Tony sees it in the way Steve’s shoulders grow tenser, the way his answers become shorter and snappier. Sees it in the way his eyes grow colder and harder. He sees it in the extra hours put in to training and working out, the way Steve goes through combat bots and reinforced punching bags.

Or, Tony takes Steve on a mini vacation and helps his partner unwind.

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when you’re gone by talktothesky for ishipallthings (MCU, 25.6k words)

Steve’s had to get used to many things in the 21st century but falling in love with Tony Stark might be the weirdest one yet.

Especially because the man’s dead.

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The shadow of men by Bill_Longbow for silversoul_snow (MCU AU, 6.8k words)

When Steve sinks his teeth into bringing Tony Stark to justice he shouldn’t be surprised the mob boss takes a mutual interest. He ìs suprised the mobster does this by kidnapping him, but the most confusing thing is that Steve doesn’t really mind…

In a world where soulmates are only rumours and myths, what chance do a cop and a crook have together?

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time doesn’t love you anymore (like i love you) by armoredsoftie for jayjayverse (MCU, 3.1k words)

Steve returned the Stones to their respective places, and it’s time to go back home. But after an accident with the time traveling bracelet, he’s stuck in 1993, where he tries to find the help of a young Tony Stark. After a few drinks in the most popular gay bar in town, things might take a different direction.

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Breakfast [Art] by SpanglesandSass (Fidella) for SirSapling (Ultimates, Art)

For the prompt:

1. Stressed out Steve gets pampered

If anyone needed a lazy day and breakfast in bed, it’s probably Steve.

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On the Road We Find the Journey Home by navaan for Missy_dee811 (Marvel 616, 5.7k words)

In the Aftermath of Secret Empire, Steve goes on his Road Trip to find out who Captain America can be after Hyda!Cap put fear into the hearts’ of the people who used to cheer for him. His thoughts trail back to Tony.

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For A Good Time Call by BeenAsleepFor70Years for mariana_oconnor (Avengers Assemble, 8.7k words)

Steve explores his sexuality by trying out a phone sex service. He may just leave the situation crushing on the guy at the other end of the phone. He already had feelings for his teammate Iron Man, now a new crush gets thrown into the mix. What ever shall he do?

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And I Owe It All To You by starkboi for muchmoremajestic (MCU AU, 2.8k words)

Steve volunteers to participate in a dance marathon for charity. He’s got a final project looming over his head and needs a break from reality, it’s there that he gets playfully competitive with a certain snarky brown haired boy from MIT.

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The Ring of Fire or The One Where Steve is Young and Confused by Serinah for One and Five Nines (Obani) (MCU AU, 15.9k words)

What you read on the tin. Steve is 19 and has only had one girlfriend. He doesn’t like men, never has, so why the hell does Professor Stark make him feel this way?

A story with a ridiculous amount of anger, internalized homophobia, sexual exploration, self-discovery and pining. In short: it’s about how student Steve tries, fails and then tries again to understand what going on with him while dealing with his crush on a professor.

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An Old Friend by Katie_Kat for Evanna_Adams (MCU, 1.2k words)

Steve is packing up and getting ready to move from the Tower to the new compound when Peter finds something interesting hiding in the closet.

For the Stony Loves Steve 2019 Fic Exchange.

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certain as the sun by ohmyloki for ShippersList (MCU, 3.8k words)

Steve doesn’t know how to dance. Tony says he doesn’t dance. Natasha wonders what’s the point of living in a mansion if no one is ever going to use the ballroom?

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Don’t Ask by dirigibleplumbing for SpellWolf (Avengers Academy, 3.6k words)

Steve has a secret.

Steve also plays a lot of truth or dare.

Tony notices that Steve always picks “dare,” and starts daring him to pick “truth” instead.

What will Tony think if he finds out what Steve’s hiding?

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Silicone Rings by kenshincha for picturecat (The Avengers - All Media Types, 1.1k words)

Steve contemplates their long engagement.

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Almost Perfect [Art] by One and Five Nines (Obani) for farawatt (MCU, Art)

A powerful enemy invades from an alternate reality, but the only thing he really seems interested in is Steve Rogers

EXTREMELY DISTURBING CONTENT, MIND THE TAGS

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In Your Shadow by magicasen for talesofsuspense (Marvel 616, 2.9k words)

Tony thinks the mansion might be haunted. Steve’s not so sure about that.

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A Beautiful Thing by thegraytigress for FestiveFerret (MCU, 62.5k words)

Steve charges into a crashed alien ship to save survivors, and he comes out with a newfound power: telepathy. The fact that he can read minds isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, though. It’s pretty amusing to the team, really annoying to Steve, and generally not as cool as it sounds. It especially sucks that it’s driven a wedge between him and Tony, not that Steve can figure out why. Still, all in all, it’s something he can try to live with.

Until he can’t.

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Stuck by Neverever for PjCole (MCU AU, 2.9k words)

Hairstylist Tony Stark itches to cut Steve’s messy hair. But Steve has other issues on his mind.

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Loving You 3000 by athletiger for armoredsoftie (MCU AU, 1.5k words)

He stared. On his chest, above his palpitating heart, was the number 3000. Steve’s fingers lifted, unbidden, and he brushed over the numbers, which only stared back at him.

His chest constricted, then swelled.

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Previously Thought to be Impossible by Impala_Chick for navaan (MCU, 2.8k words)

In 1970, SHIELD HQ was working on a powerful aphrodisiac prototype. Tony Stark from 2023 happens to cut open the wrong box at the wrong time, and Steve Rogers from 2023 doesn’t know how to feel about it.

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A Coincidence called Fate. by SilverinStars for kenshincha (MCU AU, 2.7k words)

The first time Potts met Stevens, the man had come limping into the infirmary. His face was pale, but he held himself upright.

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Moments in Time by Squishy_TRex for talktothesky (MCU, 3k words)

A shared life, over the years.

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Does the sun shine (during lock down)? by HogwartstoAlexandria for Nixie_DeAngel (MCU, 9.6k words)

The last thing Tony expects when he wakes up that day is the very thing he finds in Pepper’s office, or rather, the very person.

Old flames do they ever really die down? Maybe not, but does Tony have the luxury to find out when he has to think about Peter’s well-being first and foremost?

Or when Pepper is worried, makes a decision, and Tony’s life spins on its axis, once again.

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[art fill] on read by Priestly for KingOfBiohazards (MCU, Art)

Texting Tony Stark is sometimes easier than talking to him face to face. Mini-comic!

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good old-fashioned lover boy by nanasekei for Cachette (MCU, 7k words)

Tony is thrilled about his new relationship with Steve. He’s on cloud nine, in fact. It’s so amazing he can believe it’s real. He just wishes they could… Uh. Touch a little. Just a little

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Here’s Looking at You by mariana_oconnor for SpanglesandSass (MCU, 12.6k words)

Captain America’s disapproving stare watched over most of Tony’s childhood. It only makes sense that when Steve Rogers walks into Tony’s life, that he return the favour and stare right back. But what he sees when Steve doesn’t know he’s watching doesn’t match up with what he thinks he knows, and he comes to realise that maybe the man under the cowl isn’t quite as untouchable as he thought.

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Write and Draw by SpellWolf for Shamen610 (MCU, 2.7k words)

games night and plotting ends with two idiots finally getting together

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Loose Ends by muchmoremajestic for riodesal (MCU, 8.9k words)

Steve Rogers was found in late 2007 after being on ice for over sixty years. In trying to find closure with his past, a few months later he comes across Tony - at the moment a charismatic billionaire responsible for the world’s most lucrative weapons manufacturing company while the country is at war fighting terrorist cells in Afghanistan. When Steve reaches out to Tony to get closure on his friendship with Tony’s father Howard, how will Tony react? Can Steve find the closure that he’s looking for?

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running into the sun by kiden for ohmyloki (MCU, 8.2k words)

There are other people Steve could ask. Sam or Nat. Even Clint would make more sense. It’s not that they aren’t friends - they are, they’re good friends, hard won, fought for, worked on - it’s just weird. They can live together and fight together, but Tony’s not so sure a few weeks with just the two of them in a car is a good idea. It’s definitely not a smart idea. “Can you repeat that, please?” or: tony and steve go on a nice, soft road trip that brings them closer together.

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Vienna Waits For You by Evanna_Adams for quellthefire (MCU, 13.4k words)

Steve Rogers was desperate. Not in the general sense of the word but the deadline for his college art project seemed to be looming and damnit, he should have been done already. But it had taken a bit of Barton and Wilson madness to leave his final project in pieces. Natasha, Bucky and the guilt-ridden duo had tried to help him, but the project was lost to him. They had even tried to offer their own college acquired expertise to help. Of course, he had to refuse.

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posing up a storm by picturecat for Mizzy (MCU, 5.2k words)

“I have an idea. Can we just pretend the day ended with that really badass Superfriends pose we did?”

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Letters To My Lover by Missy_dee811 for XtaticPearl (MCU, 3.5 words)

*Avengers: Endgame spoilers* On the day of the funeral, Steve hears a phone ringing that shouldn’t be. No one had that number. No one except Tony.

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Taking a chance by DepressingGreenie for Bill Longbow (MCU, 746 words/art)

Steve likes the Science Professor who lives across the hall.

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Yes to heaven by jayjayverse for magicasen (616, 1.1k words/art)

All started with a clear change of smell, it was subtle, slow in a way that if Janet had not told him he would not have noticed, but after that he just could not help noticing every little sign.

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Eleven Years by One and Five Nines (Obani) for Impala Chick (MCU, 2.2k words)

*ENDGAME SPOILERS* After the final battle, Steve comes around to Tony’s house. He’s not sure how things stand with Tony, but at least Morgan likes him.

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Frostbite by FestiveFerret for DepressingGreenie (MCU, 5.4k words)

They’ve found where Steve is being kept - he has to be in this building - but JARVIS can’t find a heat signature, and Tony knows what that means.

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[art fill] second chances by Priestly for kiden (MCU, art)

“Regret is corrosive. And I hate it.”

“Me too.”

Together, Steve and Tony can save half of all life on Earth. And if they’re lucky enough, maybe they can even save their relationship. Art fill!

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We’re Going Off Script by ishipallthings for FreyaS (MCU, 5.2k words)

“Or, maybe you just need practice?” Steve blinks at Tony’s question, confused. Maybe Tony needs more sleep than he thought. He’ll have to check with JARVIS.

“Practice - at dating?”

(Steve needs help in the dating department. Tony is happy to help out, because he’s a very good friend. That’s definitely the only reason.)

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One Throw of the Dice by Wikketkrikket for dirigibleplumbing (616/Ults/3490/1872, 5.7k words)

Steve shrugged, pulling on his shirt. ‘It’s not like it’s Jane or no-one. Everyone gets more than one throw of the dice, Tony.’

He only realised his mistake when Tony didn’t say anything, turning away too quickly when Steve turned to look at him. It didn’t take too much thought to connect the dots. Tony did think you only got one throw of the dice. Tony thought he, Steve, was that one. The One.

In which they realise Tony loves Steve more than Steve loves him. But it’s kind of hard to work through it when the Skrulls interfere, and scatter your sense of self to the multiverse.

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Hands Out In The Dark by XtaticPearl for ashes0909 (MCU, 44.4k words)

When Thanos died the first time, it was anybody’s guess that the end of the journey had been reached. Sometimes though, a bad end becomes the opening to an unexpected but good beginning, and a tired Steve Rogers learns that in the five years it takes for him to get back to a battlefield. The years after that, well that was a story he hadn’t considered until life gave him the chance to try. What he ended up writing, whom he wrote it with, and why it all ended on a bench in New York - there were stories even a Time Stone hadn’t expected.

sun in an empty room by farawatt for nanasekei (MCU/Ults/616, 2.3k words)

Melancholy is dangerous.

It’s funny how you forgive the past to try and revive it.

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A Long Road To Share by SirSapling for daisybelle (Ults, art)

After 50 years in the ice and a couple exhausting years leading the Ultimates, Steve realises he isn’t quite sure he knows anything about the new modern America he’s supposed to represent. Luckily, Tony has an idea how to show him.

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Dare I Say Forever by royal_chandler for herioneaddict (MCU, 4.2k words)

Naive and young, Steve had thought about it. He’d allowed himself to dream of post-war, matching gold bands and a white picket fence penning in a rambunctious pair of children.

However, there’s no such thing as post-war.

#stonylovessteve2019 #Steve Rogers #stony #steve/tony #stevetony

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unseededtoast · 1 year ago

Text

Rectify | Bucky Barnes

Part 27/37 | Part Twenty Six, Part Twenty Eight

Bucky Barnes x OC

Series Warnings: Discussion of human trafficking, alcohol consumption, graphic depictions of violence, sexual content, discussion of suicidal thoughts.

It's almost surreal to think we're this close to finally being free from the Soldier

A fog has settled over the land where the Sokovian base is, making it difficult to tell where we can land. Luckily, Bucky finds a clearing about a mile out from the base, we can make the walk. The surrounding area is eerily quiet, I feel like there are eyes everywhere watching us.

I hear crows in the distance and branches snapping under our feet as we swiftly and quietly make our way to the base. I feel bad for having to bring Wanda and Pietro back here, but it's the only place I think has the necessary equipment for me to write the algorithm undetected.

After about ten minutes of walking through the Sokovian forest, the base comes into sight. It's made of plain concrete, and I see Hydra's symbol engraved into the side of the building. Going through the main entrance is more likely to draw attention than going in this entrance. Plus, the main entrance is up a huge mountain that we don't have time to climb.

I walk up to the door first and see a keypad next to the handle. I try entering the code I know for the Siberian base, hoping that Hydra is uncreative in their passwords. Unfortunately, the code doesn't work. I bite the skin of my lower lip as I try to come up with a quick solution.

"Here, let me." Bucky says. He grips the handle with his metal arm and pulls hard. I see the strain in his face, I'm not sure he'll be able to pry it open. I nervously look over to the twins, who are focused on watching Bucky. Thankfully, the lock breaks and the door opens.

Bucky walks in first, followed by me and then the twins. The base is cold and quiet, both good indicators that people aren't here. I hold my breath as we walk through the halls, feeling uneasy. We eventually make our way down to the basement level and I look around at what's been left.

I see scattered papers everywhere, littering tables and the floor alike. There are some holding cells with black iron bars that are empty. I see a computer setup on the far back wall, I should be able to use those. The others look around as I go to turn on the computers. I know Hydra's computers are all disconnected from the internet, they're all on a private intranet which allows Hydra to conduct their business quietly and with select people.

I turn the computer on and notice that there's a thin layer of dust that has settled on the keyboard, another good indicator. I turn around as I wait for the computers to boot up and see the twins staring at the cells. I don't want to pry, but I am curious about what happened here.

"Is this where they kept you?" I break the silence. My voice echoes off the walls slightly. Wanda nods her head,

"They kept me in this one, Pietro in the other." She points to two adjoining cells.

"I had always heard of this place. I'm glad it's inoperable now." I say and put my hands in my pockets to keep my fingers warm.

"Your father almost transferred you here." Wanda says. I nod my head,

"Yeah, I don't know why he didn't but I'm thankful." I say.

"The people who didn't survive the exposure were sometimes piled up in the corner. This was not a good place." Wanda says, pointing to the corner next to the holding cells. I can't even imagine what it must have been like to be experimented on and have the bodies of the deceased only a few feet away.

"I am so sorry they did that to you guys. You didn't deserve it." I say, not knowing what else I could say that would offer comfort. I'm not sure the words exist to bring comfort to someone who's been a subject of Hydra.

I hear the computers boot up behind me and I turn to look at them. The screens are lit up with the entry message and I put in my old password. Unlike the door, my password works this time. Bucky joins me and crosses his arms as he watches me navigate through the programs. I know the one I'm looking for is here somewhere.

I scroll through a catalog of applications, and come across one labeled 'Personal Information'. I've never seen this one before. Curiosity gets the better of me and I click on it. The screen goes white as it loads the contents of the folder.

Once the page has loaded, I see a dossier-esque document. There's a picture of me in the top right-hand corner with a large red stamp across my face that reads "Defector". I keep reading the document and see notes made such as an order to kill on sight for treason. Other orders include the capture of me for return to my father, but that's been scratched out likely because my father is dead. I see a note detailing my involvement in the Winter Soldier program.

I scroll down the page to continue reading and I see that there's a picture of Bucky. The comment underneath the picture details that I'm the only handler he's ever been completely compliant with, and for that I may still be useful. I see that Dane became his handler after me, but couldn't keep the Soldier's loyalty; there had been numerous violent outbursts.

"Violent outbursts?" I question and look over to Bucky, who has a stone cold look on his face.

"I tried to kill him a few times. He deserved it." Is all he says, and I don't push the matter. I remember Bucky told me about how frequently Dane would wipe his memory and reset the programming. I can't blame Bucky for wanting to kill him, if I had the chance I know I'd kill him without a second thought.

I close the document and find the one I'm looking for. I take a deep breath and begin typing, coding the algorithm I'll eventually upload to the matrix. Bucky walks away from me and I hear him and the twins start talking. I hear metal clashing on concrete as Bucky removes their restraints and lets them fall to the ground.

I pull up a chair and continue typing as the others have a conversation. I can't focus on what they're saying because I'm too engrossed in finishing this as quickly as possible. If I can write a simple algorithm this shouldn't take more than a day if we're lucky.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and slightly jump, it startles me from my focus. I turn my head and see Wanda standing next to me.

"Pietro says he can go to the nearest town and find out what's happening from the news. I figure it would be helpful to know as much as possible." She says and I nod my head, agreeing with her.

"I think that's a good idea. Tell him to be careful, we don't want him being noticed or anything else." I say and she nods before turning away. I feel a gust of wind and look around, noticing Pietro is gone. He really is incredibly fast.

Not more than thirty minutes passes before I hit a mental block. I stare at the screen, feeling helpless. I know I have a good foundation for the code, but I'm not sure exactly how to write it. One tiny mistake can render this entire thing useless. We have one chance at making this work and it has to count.

Bucky comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders and starts lightly massaging the muscles. I didn't realize how tense I am until I feel his hands work out the tightness. I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair.

"I feel like I hit a roadblock. I know what it needs to do I just don't know how to go about writing it." I say. There's a reason I was chosen to go into neuroscience and not technology.

"Take a break. Pietro should be back any second now. Don't overwork yourself." He says and spins the chair around so that I'm facing him. I feel like everything has finally come to a head and it's now or never. I think that taking a break might mean that Tony, or the rogue robots, find us before I can finish this.

"I need to get this done. Bucky we are so close. You are so close to being free from this." I say and stand from the chair. He wraps his arms around my waist and looks into my eyes,

"We will get this done. We have some time, probably not a lot, but some. They don't know where we are." He says and eases some of my anxiety a little bit.

"But what if they do find us soon? The quicker I can get this done the sooner we have a chance of getting out." I say quietly. I don't want to burden Wanda with our conversation. Bucky kisses my forehead,

"I have all the faith in the world that you'll get this done." He says and kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He breaks away and rests his forehead against mine. The sound of the door opening interrupts our moment as we look to see Pietro back from his trip. He walks over to the rest of us and shakes his head.

"There's no news about Stark or any robots." He says and my heart sinks. This is almost worse than having bad news. I tap my foot on the ground, mind racing with different scenarios. Things can either play out really well or really badly for us.

The day turns into night and I rub my eyes, bloodshot and strained from working on the algorithm. I can't focus anymore and I've only made minimal progress from this morning. Maybe taking a break will let me think of ways to write the algorithm.

Bucky and Pietro sit on some stairs and talk quietly as Wanda approaches me. Her footsteps echo in the empty base.

"Any luck?" She asks and I shake my head.

"Barely. I've figured some of it out but I'm stuck. I'm hoping the answer will come to me soon." I say. She pulls up a chair and sits across from me.

"Thank you for getting us out of the Shield base." She changes the subject.

"Of course." I say and cross one leg over the other.

"You know I still wasn't completely convinced to join Shield when you came. But once I looked inside your mind I saw what Hydra really was. They'll take any opportunity to kill someone for their own selfish benefit. They never cared about us, they just wanted to exploit us." She explains.

"It doesn't matter who you are, if someone thinks they can gain something from your death they'll murder you in a heartbeat." I say, remembering back to how many people I know that have died from a power struggle.

"What convinced me was you. I saw your true motivations and intentions. You don't care about the power, you just care about taking care of the one you love. I saw your undying loyalty to him." She says.

"I would do anything for him." I confirm and she nods.

"I know. I know you made the decisions you have in order to protect him. You left because you thought his suffering would end, you didn't care about your own suffering." She leans forward in the seat.

"Wanda, I have something to ask you." I say. She tilts her head to the side. I take her silence as an invitation to ask,

"When I create this algorithm, would it be possible for you to take that information and put it in his mind? I'll give you the exact location it needs to go, there will be no guesswork. I know what you can do, your power is unlike any other. If there's anyone who can do this, it's you." I say quietly. Wanda remains quiet and scrunches her eyebrows together. What if she says no. I don't know how I'll be able to do this if she refuses. I feel my palms start to sweat as I wait for her answer.

"I think I can do it." She says. I feel the smile on my face instantly, this is the best case scenario.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means." I say and choke back the happy tears. It's all coming together.

"You put yourself on the line by breaking us out of those cells, it's the least I can do. Thank you." She says and walks away.

Pietro goes to join his sister and I take the moment to go over to Bucky. I sit on the concrete stairs next to him.

"She says she'll do it. Once I get this done she can put it in your mind. Then you'll finally be free." I whisper to him, smile still plastered on my face. His eyebrows shoot up,

"Really?" He asks and it's almost as if he can't believe what I've said. I nod my head and bring him into a hug. He holds me close and kisses me, both of us smiling into the kiss.

After every obstacle we've had to face so far, it's all becoming a reality. It's almost surreal to think we're this close to finally being free from the Soldier, from Hydra and in the best way possible.

#bucky barnes x oc #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky fanfic #hydra #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #marvel #steve rogers #the winter soldier #winter soldier #scarlet witch #quicksilver

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thecursedhellblazer-arc · 5 years ago

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{ @imthebatman }

(( Look at me actually managing to respect a deadline outside university ones...well, more or less ^^” In my defence, this turned out to be much more than I had planned for it to be, but well, it’s done xD Good thing you told me about the bday thing in advance, otherwise I would have never been able to put this together and I would have gone for something easier and less time consuming >.> ))

(( So, first of all have a shitty edit of a Beebo ready to party: ))

(( But the real present is under the cut. I was kind of tempted to post it elsewhere, like on Ao3, because it came out much longer than I thought and Tumblr posts kinda sucks, but I decided to shove it down here anyway. And yep, I did write you a song fic u.u ))

(( Happy b-day, Palps! ))

“Everyone of us hides a story made of scars and sometimes shelters in a corner„

Thick grey clouds cover the sky, heavy with a rainstorm they might never truly deliver, not a single crack of blue in sight. Then again, the sun has never been a common presence in the sky of Gotham. It would feel out of place in the gloomy atmosphere that surrounds the city and among its many, dark moods. There’s little space for light when the air is so heavy, even in the moments of apparent peace. They are, after all, nothing but an illusion, yet another calm before the tempest comes back raging again, just as the silence of that slowly dying afternoon is.

John Constantine lights up a cigarette, letting the flame linger on its as he inhales the first mouthful of smoke. In the descending darkness, his mind finds it easy to overlap the hostile skyline that stretches before his eyes with his memories of London. Another city known for her gloomy weather, for the fog that so often lingers over her buildings, soaking the people she shelters in her bosom with humidity and cold. If he closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can still feel it, that wet sensation that dives deeper and deeper, until it settles in your bones with the silent promise of never leaving you, no matter how far from it life will take you.

He lets his head fall back slightly, slowly blowing out the smoke towards the sky, watching as it fades, confusing itself with the clouds. He misses London, hell, he misses England in general. The country was never been kind with him and most of his worst memories belongs there, together with all the unsatisfied and sometimes vengeful ghosts he has left behind, but whether he likes it or not, it still is and will always be home. Assuming that there is a single place, in this world and all the others, that he can call such. He can’t deny that it’s fitting, though. A land that has brought him mostly pain and regrets, just as the physical house he has grown up in has been his personal hell ever since he can remember.

The magician grits his teeth, mouth curling in a frown. That is a whole other set of memories that haunts him and he doesn’t even need to make an effort to recall them. Every sleepless night spent in terror. Every hit, every bruise, every insult. Every time those hands touched him, brutal, merciless, unrelenting. The images and the sensations can get vivid enough to make his stomach turn and his hands shake, even after so many years. That’s the reason why he doesn’t dwell on them, the reason why he never talks about it. Repressing is easier. It’s almost like forgetting, with the different that the phantom burden never goes away. However, the heaviness Is something he is almost used to, by now, since he is constantly carrying on his shoulders the weight if not of the world, at least of all his mistakes and bad choices. And damn, most of the times he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the two.

“So vulnerable, human heart’s an animal that doesn’t want to break cover„

It makes him wonder why he is still there. He has closed his case, the umpteenth clusterfuck that has brought him back to that city and to its lurking shadows. He has no reason to linger, especially not when that darkness calls his personal one out, causing it to resonate in tune with it. And yet there he is, perched on the railing of that balcony, skin and clothes stained with mud and blood. Not his own, for the most. It almost never is and, even when that’s the case, he always finds a way to be the last man standing, at the end of the day. The price for his life? Everything that can be taken from him and, especially, from the people who are unlucky enough to be around him, and then some more.

Constantine’s eyes slide close as he brings the cigarette back to his lips. The truth is that, despite what he tells himself, despite all the horrors and the losses he has faced, despite every lesson he has sworn to learn, he is weak. Selfishly so. He is so quick to deny others, and he is so harsh and unmovable in doing it, but with himself, oh, he has always been far too lenient. How that fits with his constant self-hatred, he isn’t completely sure. Perhaps it’s because he inevitably ends up losing everything he allows himself to have and keep, one way or the other. They have a cost, those indulgences, one that he cannot pay because he doesn’t have the means to do it. So Fate or Chance or whoever for them comes and snatches them away, sudden and violent, leaving yet another tear in his already far too broken core.

He bites back a scoff. The approaching night he’s watching now is nothing but yet another of indulgences. He knows where he wants it to lead him and he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. He should climb down the way he has climbed up, like the thief he is, and leave Gotham without looking back. He should and he would if he was enough of a decent person, but it’s been years since he has had any real shred of decency left in him. So, instead, he’ll stay and wait, as he always does. He’ll stay and take everything he can get his hands on, enjoying comforts and pleasures he has done nothing to earn. He’ll take and take and take, until the day when the tiny breach he has been using to crawl inside that small world where he doesn’t belong will be closed and he will find himself in the dark once again, alone and with yet another deep crack in his soul.

Blue eyes lock on the grey, threatening sky. It will happen, eventually, but not tonight. So, for now, he sits and soaks himself in the advancing shadows, his back to the lights that start to colour the windows of the manor. The symbolism isn’t lost to him, it never is, even if most of the times he pretends not to notice it, just to end up mulling over it later on. It’s a taste of what’s waiting ahead for him, once his time would have run out. It won’t be this quiet, though, and it won’t be this painless. The torment that fills his chest, however, that will be there, his eternal companion in death as it has been in life.

“If you want to back down I’ll try to understand but I just can’t help it I would, if I could give you a new innocence so, please don’t fear my caress„

The hand that descends on his shoulder is expected and by now very familiar, just as is the figure that presses up against his side. He has heard, or rather felt, the other man approaching him, even while lost in his thoughts, but he hasn’t turned around. He hasn’t needed to, not when he can easily imagine the whole scene in his mind without having to see it taking place in reality. Oh, his bloody imagination is just that good, but it’s a double-edged sword. His nightmares and lucid dreams are proof enough of what it can do, just as it is of how much it can wreck him when it chooses to.

Strong fingers travel down along the magician’s spine, taking in the tension that lingers in his muscles and the new tears that have been ripped in the worn material of his trench coat. However, in particular, they don’t miss how the exorcist initially reacts, stiffening even more under the touch, struggling until he manages to make himself accept it. It’s been months since they have agreed to let that thing between them officially exist, but the doubts and the reluctance are still almost as palpable as the bumps of his vertebrae.

Bruce bits back a sigh, deciding to pay no mind to it. He has almost resigned himself to the fact that there will always be a part of Constantine that will never accept his most gentle touches. The magician seems to instinctively recoil from them, as if they somehow hurt or as if he expected to get pain out of them. He has tried to bring the subject up, but John can be as stubborn as Batman himself when he chooses to and that has never led them anywhere, if not into an ugly fight. He is tempted to try again, but by now he knows the older man well enough and he can tell that, whatever he has faced that day, has been hard on him. A fact that inevitably destroys the already limited fertile ground there usually is for discussion. So, instead, the vigilante just keeps caressing, until the body under his palm has become as pliant as it’s capable of being.

“You’re a mess, Constantine,” he comments at that point, one eyebrow slightly raised and the lightest hint of amusement in his voice. What he doesn’t say is that he knows. He knows about the missing pieces and the darkness, about the stains and the scars. And he is fine with them, whether John likes to believe it or not, because he himself is far from being unblemished. He will be fine with them as long as the magician is aware that there’s no reason why he should fear Bruce and what he is willing to offer. He isn’t going to press, not even if he wishes he could, not even when he has all the rights to. And he isn’t going to ask for things that Constantine cannot give in exchange. What he demands, however, is to not be shut out and that’s something that it’s not up for discussion.

The exorcist finally turns to face the vigilante, an unimpressed look on his face. It’s a mask, a façade to hide all the thoughts that have been storming inside his mind, and they both know it. However, from Bruce’s indulgent expression, John can tell that, at least for that night, he will be allowed to keep his act up without having to try hard. It makes him feel both relieved and pained, because he has once again wrapped his hands around something he hasn’t earned and he will shamelessly drain that privilege until there will be nothing left to get out of it. Story of his life, really.

“Are we playin’ again that bloody game where we state the obvious? I know ‘m a mess, Wayne. But now, when am I not, hn?” He shoots back with an exaggerate eyeroll. He is hyperaware of the skilful hand that’s still working on the length of his spine. Bruce’s touch is always so warm and welcoming, despite the fact that he is always abusing the younger man’s time, his patience, his presence. That awareness is yet another torture for him, but at the same time he can’t help being greedy for it. “How did you know I was up ‘ere? Didn’t come in through the main door.”

The vigilante rolls his eyes, clearly making an effort to mimic exactly the gesture that has just been addressed to him. “Oh, you know. Alfred mentioned that he has seen someone in a dirty trench coat climbing along the front of the mansion,” he replies and his fingers dig in the magician’s side. It’s a playful gesture and he is pleased to see the obviously exaggerated reaction his lover offers, to play along with him. “I guessed that it had to be you.”

“Bullocks.” Constantine scoffs and turns his eyes back towards Gotham’s skyline, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “The ol’ codger ‘s always in my bloody way. Damn him.”

“Everyone of us has to face more than once that feelings are just a delusion„

Bruce’s lips curl in the shadow of a rare grin at the comeback, but when the silence threatens to fall upon them, he doesn’t stop it. Instead, he removes his hand from the older man’s back in favour of leaning against the railing with his elbows, eyes locked on the slowly darkening horizon before them. He makes sure to keep touching, his side still pressed up against the magician’s, close enough to feel him twitching and shifting. Movements so subtle that would have been lost to him if he hadn’t made sure that they shared the same space.

He bows his head slightly, to be able to run a hand through his dark hair. It’s odd to be there, willing and somewhat content, with someone who’s so radically different from. John Constantine is a continuous, often rabid flood of energy, always moving, always changing, and he has, more often than not, felt like a rock in the middle of a turbulent river. Unmovable in its stillness, because that’s what he is compared to the other man, firm and steady where the exorcist is constantly shifting and fluctuating. However, even the sturdiest rock is fated to be affected by the constant, abrasive touch of the water and, to an extent, he has known it since the very first time their paths have crossed, among the smoke and the loud music of a London night not so different from many others. Of course, he didn’t realise it, back then, but it has taken him to meet John again, several years later, and be faced with a much darker version of him to understand how deeply under his skin the other had already crawled.

His mind flies back in time, to the years that have preceded that fateful meeting and to the ones that have followed it. He remembers the people who have touched his life, the women he has courted, mostly for fun and to keep his reputation up. Their names are mostly lost to him, aside from the two he’ll never forget, because, despite the bitter end those relationships have met, they have played an essential part in making him into whom he has become.

Selina was everything his younger self has never been allowed to have before her abrupt arrival in his life. Freedom and mischief, broken rules and total disregard for the conventions of the society he has grown up in. She was the adventure, the thrill of the forbidden. Her kisses used to taste like fresh air and carelessness. Her touches were sweet oblivion from the responsibilities. Taking her hand was stepping into new, unexplored worlds. In the end, she had slipped from his fingers while he was distracted by Gotham’s call, going where he couldn’t follow, just as the wild animal she has always been.

Rachel, on the other hand, was sweetness and stability. She was a bright light against Gotham’s endless gloominess, a gentle warmth capable of heating up the coldest night. Kissing her brought back, for the illusion of a moment, the innocence he lost at a far too young age. The way her hands moved on his body whispered promises of a home where he could have, if not forgotten, at least finally moved on from the pain and the losses. Holding her hands used to bring him comfort as nothing else in his life ever has. In the end, she had been a painful but necessary sacrifice, because the world she was promising him, as desirable and tempting, would have implied abandoning his cape and his duty to the city.

“So much wasted time making a fool of our pride just to come to the bitter conclusion„

Bruce slowly licks his lips. Now, both women are gone from his life. They linger, though, as ghosts from his past, reminding him of how fleeting feelings can be and what delusions they charm you with. Leaving them behind has been hard, it has taken a long time and, in the aftermath, it has pushed him to come to the conclusion that the only one he would always be faithful to, the only one he would never be able to resist would be Gotham.

Thinking about it now, he can tell that it has been easier than expected, to choose to wear the mask and the cape and to dedicate all of himself to the Night. She has always welcome him with open arms, with her secrets, her dangers, her battles. It has always felt right, like nothing else ever has. And so he has been fighting the madness that sprouts from her shadows ever since. Or, perhaps, the truth is that he has started his fight much before choosing to become Batman. Perhaps he has been sworn to the city and to its darkness since that night in that alley, when he has been left on his knees, between the lifeless bodies of his parents, screaming at the sky in agony for what had been so brutally stolen from him. Maybe it has been then that he signed his destiny, without even realising it.

A bitter, pained smile touches his lips at those thoughts. Even nowadays, despite everything he has gone through, he can tell without a doubt that he has found his calling and that the prices he has paid to follow it have been worth what he has got. It doesn’t make the sacrifices less painful, it doesn’t make the solitude less heavy to bear, but he is aware that, at the end of the day, the regrets won’t be burdening him enough to cause him to fall in the abyss he can see under his feet.

“I know, it hurts to mend all the shattered hopes but would you truly tell me that it isn’t worth pricking yourself with its thorns if it’s done to pick a rose?„

Bruce’s eyes leave the now dark sky and land on John once again. The man sitting next to him is the one variable he could have never predicted. He materialised on his path like a bolt from the blue, and definitely as dangerous as one. A walking bunch of cigarettes and arrogance, dressed in a trench coat that has seen much better days, incomprehensible but powerful words between his lips and nothing less than real magic on his fingertips. A ticking bomb shaped like a man, dragging the chains of a mysterious and yet obviously wrecked past and of his literally damned future. And yet, there he stood, still managing not to give a flying fuck about everything and everyone.

He remembers very clearly his own reaction, the first time they met after so many years. Batman was utterly annoyed by his flamboyant, caustic attitude and Bruce, from behind the mask, wondered where the messed up but still somehow hopeful young man he had found himself entangled with in London ended up. Constantine is not what he used to be, not even close, not even behind the parts of his act that are just for show. The sharpness and the cynicism in his eyes immediately made it clear, more than any rude word or flare of anger could ever have.

Peeling off all those crusted layers of smugnesss and exaggerated self-confidence hasn’t been easy, especially since the magician has fought him back at every step, but, all considered, it hasn’t taken too long for the self-loathing, the scars and the endless pit of regrets to emerge. John hasn’t lied, with his earlier answer. He always is a mess, a bunch of shattered pieces held together by a lot of bravado and willpower, and none of them is where it should be. He has seen the never healed wounds and the blood on the magician’s fingers, the only results of his vain attempts to get the shards back into a semblance of wholeness. And, before he could realise it, he was being overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and take his hands, mend the cuts, stop him from giving up on himself over and over again.

The truth is that he is still trying. Trying to make himself respect the limitations he has been given, trying to make it be enough, despite wanting so much more. However, Constantine has been adamant and he knows what it would mean breaking the rules he has willingly accepted. For all the contingency plans Batman has, Bruce himself tends to be defenceless, when his feelings are on the line. And he has seen how vengeful John can be, never above playing dirty, never above stomping over every single boundary, if it means achieving his goal. He would have found a way to get back at him, of course, eventually, but the irreparable damage would have been done anyway.

On good days, he tells himself that seeing the shock on the older man’s face that day, when he has chosen to put his heart in his callous hands, when he has chosen that “nasty piece of work” over everything else the world has to offer, has, on its own, almost made it worth the fights, the pain, the struggling. Then, there are the rare times when he has been allowed to see John blooming, with power, wits and a determination as bright as the light of his spells. In those moments, watching his shattered soul soaring, even if just through the hellish sky it is trapped in, aside from making him fall a bit more in love each time, vanishes every lingering doubt.

“I can’t promise you eternity but bare your soul for me Whatever it takes, you won’t regret having yourself let go once again„

“I’ll never bleedin’ get what you find so enticin’ ‘bout this soddin’ place.”

The exorcist’s voice breaks the silence and he turns to find Bruce staring at him. Oh, he has been aware of those eyes locked on him for some time now and that’s the reason why he has decided to speak up. There is something, in the younger man’s expression, that’s making him uneasy. He knows that look far too well by now and that’s the problem. His lover gets it every time he is thinking about something deep, something that involves him, or, rather, them. It doesn’t always lead to an attempt of conversation, thankfully, but it always gets too close to his sore spots for comfort.

His words gain him a raised eyebrow and he shakes his head because, despite what he has chosen to say, he doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. Also because, among the other things, it would have forced him to admit that his statement is, for the most, a lie. He does understand the dark charm of Gotham far too well, not because he experiences it himself, hell no. As much in tune as that place can be with his own darkness, he is more than content to fuck off somewhere else whenever he has a chance to. No, the reason why he understands the strength of Bruce’s sense of duty, the reason why he knows exactly why the city will be, always and anyway, the younger man’s first priority is what John himself feels about magic. It’s not the same, and in his eyes Batman’s mission would always be, in spite of everything, much purer, less selfish, less corrupted. However, it’s the closest thing to a reflection of his own twisted existence that he has ever found in someone else’s life. And it’s why, perhaps, he shouldn’t be so surprised to see how willing the vigilante is to keep him around, to cherish him, despite all the deadly warning signs. They can be together while still prioritising their respective calling over everything else.

He chews the butt of his cigarette for a moment, and his eyes are looking lost once again. What they have couldn’t be further away from perfect, but, then again, it couldn’t be otherwise when people like them, all bruised and broken in different ways, are involved. It’s part of the reason why it works, even if all the odds are against it. And yet, he still feels bitter, now that he knows the stories behind Bruce’s past relationships. The way life has forced the younger man to choose or put a limit to the time he had to enjoy the bright sides of those bonds. John might have given up, at least for the most, on trying to push his lover to not choose him, but he cannot do the same with the time limit. There’s a clock ticking above his head, eating up, one by one, the seconds that separate him from that spot in Hell that has had his name for a long time now. And he will get himself damned again and again and again, endlessly, before he takes Bruce down with him. Denying the so often sung shared eternity of love is a gift, in their case.

He sucks in the last mouthful of smoke, hard enough that he can feel the burning down his throat and against his fingers, where his skin meets the burning hand of the now finished cigarette. There is no space for wistful poetry in what they share. Everything is harsh and desperate, ruled by the awareness of its limits, even in their quieter, warmer moments. Their shared passion always tastes like stolen time, and each kiss might as well be the last. It’s all just another story damned to end in tragedy, in flames, swallowed by the darkness. And yet, despite what he keeps saying, despite what he believes, there is still a part of him who wants to make it worth. For Bruce, mainly, but for himself too. He ascribes it to a streak of his selfishness, because that’s all it is…isn’t it?

But can it really be just selfishness, when you are fighting to make things better, even knowing that you won’t get to get an advantage for yourself out of it?

“Take me and make me as you want I’ll feed your dreams with my love„

Bruce feels the change in the mood even before John moves. There’s a sudden spike in the buzzing energy that constantly surrounds the magician and it usually indicates that he is about to do something either reckless or stupid. Or both, since when Constantine is involved the two things are, in most cases, the same. He isn’t sure what to expect, because his lover has the bad habit of being too hard to predict, and that’s one of the many things that Batman hates about him, because it makes the exorcist an incredibly volatile, untrustworthy ally. However, there is no cape or spell standing between them in that moment, and so, when the older man climbs off the railing, sets his feet down on the balcony and then lunges at him, he lets him, without a split moment of hesitation.

The kiss is bruising, hard, merciless. All teeth and tongue, no finesse, no patience, no softness. But it’s filled with scorching heat and the vigilante can’t stop himself from going weak, even if he would never admit it, because, when he can’t hold back the intensity that characterises all he is, John Constantine kisses both like a drowning man, lacing to the last gulp of oxygen he is being allowed, and like a starved demon, hellbent of devouring his soul.

Despite the force of the contact, though, he can feel the magician’s hands shaking, from where they are wrapped in the front of his jumper, pinning him against the railing. If it wasn’t so tragic, he could have appreciated the irony in seeing someone so arrogant and bold, a man who has gone as far as conning the Devil himself and mostly got away with it, so terrified of something as natural as love should be. If Bruce didn’t know exactly how it feels like, he would have been fascinated by how something human as emotional closeness can rip apart every barrier Constantine has so carefully built around himself, revealing the vulnerabilities, the fragility and the open wounds that are hidden under it.

He knows all of that, just as John is aware of it as well. It’s a struggle for the magician to keep himself there in those moments, because there is nothing he dreads more than feeling so exposed. It makes him want to fight and, if he can’t fight, then it makes him want to run. And he has, at first, denying the feelings he felt coming from Bruce, denying the ones that have been growing inside his own chest. Now, trying not to is part of the terms of their deal he has to respect, even when the instinct screams so loud inside his mind that he can’t hear his own thoughts.

And yet, here he is. And yet here he stays. It might be a selfish choice, it might be stealing what he doesn’t deserve, but there is more to it, for them both. There is a something new budding in the time and in the space they shared, stubborn as just the two of them can be. It’s a feeling, it’s a reality, it’s a dream. Its nature is hard to tell, so foreign and yet so familiar. One thing, though, seems certain: it might be doomed to meet a tragic ending, but that doesn’t stop it from fighting to survive everything that’s coming in its way.

“You’re trembling and I can see what you feel inside you a shy bud’s already blooming„

#(( true seeing stone ::ooc:: ))#theprinceof-gothamcity #* Let's fall in love for the Night and forget in the Morning * ::John&Bruce:: {theprinceofgothamcity}#(( let's say this is from John's part too ))#(( even if the wanker did nothing aside from ))#(( breathing over my neck and judging ))#(( please ignore whatever damn typo might be in it ))#(( I swear I check it but ))#(( can never find them all x.x ))

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turnupswritessometimes · 5 years ago

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Worth Running To - SoRiku - Ch1

Title: Worth Running To

Chapter: 1

Word Count:

Summary: Pirate AU - Sora is looking for a crew, Riku is looking to be as far away from England as possible. They find kinship in one another.

Sora had spotted the boy as soon as he came in. It wasn’t the silver hair or the piercing blue-green eyes that sparkled like the sea. And it wasn’t the sheer size of his arms. It was the way he had wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol that sat over the whole tavern like a fog. The way he stood – upright and stiff, moving out of everyone’s way without being shoved. Both showed that he didn’t belong here – he didn’t even look old enough to be let into a pub. Not that Sora was either, but Sora had earnt his right to sit here at the tavern with men three times his weight with a bottle of rum and a sign that read ‘crew wanted.’ He’d watched the boy lurk around the edges of the pub, never making eye contact with anyone for more than a moment. His hands were tight on the neck of his cloak in an almost comic way of hiding his face from everyone. On the run, Sora thought. He’d seen that expression before and it always made his stomach twinge. To have something to run from – that was the dream.

THIS FIC IS ALSO OF A03 UNDER THE SAME NAME - I WOULD PUT A LINK BUT THEN TUMBLR WOULD NOT INCLUDE IT IN SEARCH RESULTS.

The Highwind

Sora had spotted the boy as soon as he came in. It wasn’t the hair – it looked almost white in the lamplight, but it was silver – what boy his age had silver hair? Or the piercing blue-green eyes that sparkled like the sea. And it wasn’t the sheer size of his arms, though they were comparable to an oarsman.

It was the way he had wrinkled his nose at the heady smell of alcohol that sat over the whole tavern like a fog. The way he stood – upright and stiff, moving out of everyone’s way without being shoved. Both showed that he didn’t belong here – he didn’t even look old enough to be let into a pub.

Not that Sora was either, but Sora had hardly had what most folks would call a proper upbringing. He’d earnt his right to sit here at the tavern with men three times his weight with a bottle of rum and a sign that read ‘crew wanted.’ In fact, it was spelt ‘krew wanted,’ and he suspected he’d written the ‘d’ backwards, but he figured enough people would get the point.

This boy was clearly a posh one. He’d watched the boy lurk around the edges of the pub, never making eye contact with anyone for more than a moment. His hands were tight on the neck of his cloak in an almost comic way of hiding his face from everyone. On the run, Sora thought. He’d seen that expression before and it always made his stomach twinge. To have something to run from – that was the dream.

So, he’d watched the boy, because he was more entertaining than watching men arm wrestle, or try to flirt with the maid behind the bar. (Though more often than not she gave them a right hook, and that was always worth seeing.)

And then the boy’s eyes skimmed over him. Skimmed back. He looked – actually looked at Sora for more than a second, where most of the other men would curl their lip or raise their eyebrow. Sora could feel his lips curved upwards in a smile.

The boy didn’t smile back, but he did fight his way through the crowd and over to Sora’s table in the corner. His eyes dropped down to the wax paper sign propped up between two empty tankards.

“You’re looking for a crew?” he asked, in the breathless tone of someone needing a quick getaway. Sora stopped himself from grinning – he hadn’t even made an effort to disguise his posh voice.

“That’s what the sign says.” Sora replied. He couldn’t resist making his grin just a little more lopsided – couldn’t resist a wink, because now that the boy had come over, he could see his face was just as pretty as his hair.

The boy wet his lips. Glanced away. Glanced back with a determined face – like he was determined to ignore that wink. “How soon do you set sail?”

“If you join up, we can get going straight away.”

The boy nodded and slid into the booth next to him. That made Sora pause. The kid may have been asking for it – he practically screamed ‘I’m rich and desperate, scam me,’ but he wasn’t about to take advantage of him.

“Understand, I can’t pay you nothing. Not until we find treasure,” he said. The boy should have been asking more questions before he signed up for a voyage to who knew where. Running – desperation – Sora wondered what that felt like. To have something worth running away from.

“That’s fine.” The boy nodded out at the rest of the pub. “Which one is yours?”

“Eh?”

“Which one is your crew?” the boy repeated.

“Here,” Sora gestured at the booth, still smiling, like it was completely normal. He was wondering how long it would be before they got to this.

The boy blinked at him. He looked from him, to Donald, to Goofy, and back at Sora. His features twisted into something between anger and disgust.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Sora said. “This is my crew, and you’d never hope to sail with finer men.”

“Men?” the boy repeated, incredulously. “They’re not men!”

Some of the burlier guys and gals frowned over at them for the noise, but once they saw Sora, they rolled their eyes and turned back to their conversation.

Sora frowned, but he knew it was more of a pout. “And how many sea voyages have you been on?”

The boy blinked. “Well, none.”

“Exactly. These two have been on more adventures than you, and that makes them men of the sea in my book.”

“You should learn to read that book,” the boy said scathingly. “You can’t bring a duck and a – a –“

“Goofy’s a dog,” Sora said. He scratched Goofy behind a scruffy ear and Goofy panted appreciatively.

“I’ve never seen a dog like that.”

“That’s because he’s an old sea dog.” It was simple logic, really. He couldn’t understand everyone’s confusion at Goofy.

“And you think you can sail a boat between the two of us, a dog and a duck?” The boy frowned at him, and put his hands on the table, pushing himself upwards.

Sora turned to Goofy so that the boy couldn’t see Sora’s scowl. He had known the boy would react that way – everyone always did, but he had really been hoping that this time would be different. He had liked this one – had liked that he was young and on the run. That he wanted to be anywhere but here, because Sora was like that too. He needed to be anywhere but here – to find something worth running from or worth running too. And this kid might have been posh, but he was pretty and easily flustered and Sora was already imagining getting to know him more. Could he be heartbroken over a five-minute encounter?

Goofy seemed to sense his annoyance. The huge wolfhound – well wolfhound cross, but Sora didn’t know crossed with what – gave his cheek a snuffle. He sneezed against him and Sora couldn’t help it – he laughed, hooking an arm around Goofy’s neck and scratching his huge head with both hands. Donald shuffled his feathers, looking as reproachful as a duck could, before sticking his beak in the air and pretending that he hadn’t seen this display of affection. It only made Sora’s grin widen.

The boy was still standing at the table.

Sora looked up and saw him staring at him, slightly open mouthed. His green eyes glinted in the dim light of the pub. There were only a few hanging lanterns, casting a golden, flickering light over them and casting dark shadows over the boy’s pale skin. When their eyes met, he shut his mouth and stared at the alcohol puddled floor, his cheeks tinged pink. It gave Sora an inkling of what the boy was running from – if he hadn’t been able to guess anyway.

“My ship isn’t very big. Yet,” Sora said. He wanted this one to come with them. “We could manage it easy. And I’m the only one here setting sail tomorrow morning. Everyone else here knows there’ll be a storm this week – they want to wait it out.”

Slowly, the boy eased himself back into the booth. He stared at the grubby floor for a long time, before he looked up at Sora. His eyes caught the lamplight again, in just the right way, and Sora could see it then. Those eyes held the sparkle of the sea in them and persuaded his breath to stay stuck in his throat.

“You’re going tomorrow?” he asked, quietly.

Sora nodded. He put his other arm around Goofy, leaning on the dog.

“Even though there’s going to be a storm?”

He couldn’t trust this boy with the whole truth. Not yet. So he simply omitted some parts. “A huge one. It sounds like a good adventure.”

The boy shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” Sora said, feeling his smile return. “But you’re coming with me.”

“I never said that.” The boy looked around the pub a final time. Looking for other options and met only with scowls from men twice the size of him.

Sora grinned. “But you are.”

The boy sighed. He gave a final, final glance around the pub only to see a collection of thugs drinking themselves sick, then nodded. Sora beamed at him. He was positively glowing. Yes, he liked this one – this one he could have a real adventure with.

“Sora,” he said, finally untangling himself from Goofy, and sticking his hand out across the table. “Captain Sora.”

“Captain of a small boat, a dog and a duck.”

“And you.”

The boy’s hand lingered just a second longer than it should have. He had a firm grip, though his skin was smooth. Not used to a day’s work.

“I’m Riku.” He was smiling – a small, gentle smile that was a good fit on his face.

There was a loud and indignant quack. Goofy had the habit of sniffing Donald’s tail feathers, and hadn’t quite got the message that it was unwanted attention. Donald had turned and was snapping at the huge dog with a bright orange beak.

“Hey – hey, you two –“ Sora pulled Goofy away, trying to calm Donald down with an outstretched hand. It was a mistake – that duck had an unstoppable temper, and he bit at Sora’s fingers too.

He cursed and put his attacked appendages into his mouth.

But then he heard laughter.

He looked up to see Riku, a hand clasped over his mouth to muffle the noise, laughing.

It brought the grin back to his face. He was laughing too, and yes –

Sora knew this was going to be an adventure.

Riku stared at the boy sat across from him. The boy who had definitely made a conscious effort to make his fingertips feel as much of Riku’s palm as possible before he pulled away. His hands were rough and firm – they didn’t match the softness that was the rest of him. This boy with skin that just glowed brown – like he had absorbed the sun and was just beaming it out of him. This boy with hair that stuck up in a thousand different directions and a crooked smile and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes like a cloudless sky. Maybe bluer than that.

Sora. Captain Sora.

He was wrestling his beast of a dog further into the booth so that he could plant himself between it and the duck. Riku had never seen a dog like that – lanky and black and shaggy, with a long, almost crooked snout. Its eyes were so blank – Riku could almost believe that it was once intelligent but had given up all of its wisdom to save humanity. Almost.

The duck was a lot more normal looking – a plain white mallard, with beady eyes. It was an angry little thing.

How was this trio even allowed in here?

Sora was watching him, one hand still buried in Goofy’s fur. His head was tilted to the side and his mouth was slightly open – Riku could see a gleam of white teeth.

“So, Riku,” Sora said. He let the name drip from his tongue like it was made of honey. “Why are you in such a hurry to get away?”

His gut clenched and his heart jerked in his chest like it was trying to jump overboard. But he had always had a knack for cards – hopefully he had a half-decent poker face to match.

“I’m not,” he lied. He had to be out of here, tomorrow. That was all that mattered.

Sora’s head tilted further, like he was trying to copy Goofy. His crooked smile lifted up again. Was it a requirement of being a pirate to have a crooked grin?

“I know the look of a boy on the run.”

“And - are you?” Riku asked.

And Sora laughed. Laughter seemed to come as easily as breathing to him. It was a careless sound.

“Me? Never?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be?” Riku leant across the table, let his long hair fall forward like a curtain. He had lost the ribbon tying it back before he had even step foot in here, but there were men with longer hair milling around. “Isn’t piracy supposed to be illegal?”

Sora leant forward too, blue eyes glittering. “Only if you get caught.”

That made Riku’s mouth twitch. He leant back to hide it – to hide his clothes.

“Most people don’t want to sail right into a storm,” Sora continued. “Not unless they’re in a hurry to escape something.”

He’d been too obvious. He knew he had, and now he’d been caught. He sat there, staring at Sora and trying to think of an excuse. Tried to think of anything but the truth, but this boy wouldn’t believe any of them. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst this people – none of them would believe Riku if he said he was a thief or a murderer.

“You don’t have to give me all the details. Not if you don’t want to.” Sora said. He had the tone of someone trying to sooth a startled horse. Donald ruffled his feathers next to him, squatting down, and Sora’s fingers skimmed over his folded feathers. The duck gave an appreciative quack and half closed its eyes. “But I need to know if you can’t stick around England.”

“No. I can’t.”

Sora nodded.

Goofy was taking an interest in Riku now, leaning his long neck around the table and snorting through his huge black nose at him. He hadn’t much experience with dogs, so he awkwardly patted Goofy’s head in the hopes it would appease him and make him turn away.

It only encouraged him. He sniffed Riku’s palm and then pressed his cold nose against it. Riku let him stay there, turning back to the boy.

“Why are you sailing into a storm?”

Sora glanced around at the noisy tavern. Everyone seemed caught up in their own tiny bubbles – not even looking at them. Then he leant his head forward and lowered his voice.

“They say there’s treasure in the eye of a storm.” And at Riku’s blank look, he continued. “Blessed treasure – with heavenly power – that can perform miracles.”

It sounded like a load of old rubbish to Riku. The kind of things young boys tell each other about a lump at the end of the garden that turns out to be the stump of a rose bush. But Sora’s eyes were shining. Well – he certainly didn’t act his age. There was no way he was old enough to be in here either, and he looked too baby faced to be on his own. Maybe he was just a boy playing at being a Captain. Maybe his parents would come along and Riku would be out of a ship.

“I don’t suppose anyone knows what this treasure is?”

Sora shrugged. He was still bright and eager. “Some say a staff, some say a box – all of the stories differ. But the miracles part is true.”

“And, of course, there’s the glory that comes along with finding it.” It was obvious to Riku that the main reward was reputation. Reputation and honour, the two most important things to a man, according to his mother. His mother was always right.

Sora’s gaze drew distant then. Seemed to fix on something behind Riku.

Then he took a breath. “Something like that.”

He had a habit of dropping his ‘t’s and making Riku painfully aware of every one he pronounced. Painfully aware of just how much he didn’t fit in here.

Then Sora was back – the same bubbly grinning boy that he had been thirty seconds ago. No, not boy. Pirate. This boy was a pirate, even if he didn’t look like one.

"We’ll sleep on my ship tonight, aye?"

Riku raised an eyebrow. "Is it just a canoe with a flagpole sticking out of it?"

It was easy to tease him, actually. It was easy to talk to this boy. He had never felt like that. There had never been anyone he felt this at ease with. And this was a boy he had known for five minutes. A pirate he had known for five minutes.

A pirate who was pouting at him – blowing his cheeks out and pursing his lips. It was utterly childish, and yet Riku could feel his breath hitching at the sight.

"My ship is a beauty,” Sora said. “A lady of the sea."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"What are you going to give me when you're wrong, Riii-kuuu?" Sora drew out the name, leaning forwards again and resting his cheek in his hand. Impossibly blue eyes studied Riku’s face, and smiled at what they saw there.

"I - I don't have any money on me." It was true. If he didn’t have any money, he couldn’t be robbed of it.

The pout deepened. "What about a favour, then?"

Riku's heart dropped. "A favour?"

That was the one thing Sora seemed oblivious to. He pointed at Riku, still grinning from ear to ear. "If you lose, you have to swab the deck for a week!"

The duck quacked loudly, and Sora turned to it.

"I am not just saying that because I don't want to!"

The duck quacked indignantly again, giving another snap at Sora’s fingers.

Riku raised an eyebrow. "You...can talk to them?"

"Well, no.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leant back against the booth. “But it makes things more interesting that way.”

It was Riku’s turn to lean forward, examining the boy for red-rimmed eyes and slurred speech. “And you’re sure you’re not drunk.”

“Can’t afford it.” At Sora’s words, Goofy sneezed, abandoning Riku’s limp hand to poke at Sora’s side. “Well, apart from this one. But that’s the only one I had, I swear.” Goofy’s nose poked him again. “And, we have a bottle of brandy eft, but that’s for a special occasion.”

“Like finding treasure?” Riku guessed.

“Oh, aye.” It seemed like Sora, the duck and the dog were looking him up and down as one. “Aye, you’ll fit in just fine.”

Heat crawled up his neck and cheeks and he looked away. There was a moment of silence, and then he couldn’t resist it – he looked back at Sora. The pirate was staring at him again – seeming to take in every detail as if they would never see each other again.

The moment dragged on and Riku’s heart began racing. He needed to break this – think of something to say – one of them had to say something – they couldn’t just stare like this. In public.

Sora’s hands slammed down on the table. The duck squawked indignantly, ruffling its feathers, and Goofy’s ears went back.

“Right – let’s head off. Big day tomorrow!” Sora scooped a still protesting Donald up in one hand and tugged Goofy down from the booth by his collar with the other.

Riku followed, worming his way around people covered in grime, blood, and beer, until they were out in the night air.

Bristol looked beautiful at night. It was still Summer, and the night sky was dark blue, speckled with stars. The streetlamps had been lit casting bright yellow against blue so that the wet flagstones glowed. The air was warm, but not humid, and the seagulls cawed to each other from the tops of the buildings.

The river lapped at the hulls of the ships as they passed; they were all lined up like children waiting to go into assembly. Huge things with spidery masts and vast hulls watched them as they walked by, their boots tapping loudly against the stones.

Sora stopped in front of a ship, tugging a piece of wood he’d kept on the side of the dock and flopping it across to it. It wobbled alarmingly and creaked in protest when he stood on it.

Riku looked up, and realised that he would be swabbing the deck for a good week. It was a fine ship – with two tall masts and a sizeable deck. It was painted a bright red, rimmed with gold, which made it very handsome indeed. This was a Brig – and he couldn’t believe that the two of them would be able to sail it on their own.

“Are you coming?” Sora called. He was hopping down onto the deck, letting Donald go as he did. Goofy was plodding up the makeshift gangplank as though this was all normal.

Riku paused. Was he? He didn’t know this boy. This was a stupid decision. It was a really, really stupid thing to do. To go sailing into the eye of a storm on a huge ship with a mad boy, a duck and a dog.

But he’d have to wait a week otherwise. And he was no fool – he knew that not a lot of crews would want a sixteen-year-old who’d never worked a day in his life. He was useless to anyone else. This might be his only chance to get away.

And he had to get away. Now. No matter what. No matter if this was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Maybe he needed to be a bit stupid. His mother wouldn’t have approved – which only confirmed that he was doing the right thing.

“I’ll hold it for you if you’re scared.” Sora’s teeth glinted in the moonlight.

“I’m not scared.” It was as much for himself as it was for Sora.

Riku stepped onto the gangplank. It creaked and groaned at every move he made, and he took large, leaping steps to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Then he was standing on the deck. The deck of a swaying ship, with water lapping at the sides. There was the sudden urge to laugh. This was happening. He was doing this. Riku was running away.

Sora grunted as he pulled the gangplank up behind them, cutting them off securely from the rest of the dock.

“Is there something you’d like to say about my Highwind?” He wiped dirt from his hands onto tight breeches. Riku tore his gaze away, back at the stars.

"I've seen bigger," Riku shrugged.

Sora scoffed. "Like you've ever been on another - your legs are wobbling like a jellyfish."

Riku put a hand on the railing to steady himself, concentrating on making his legs stop shaking.

"Don't worry, you'll get your sea legs as you're cleaning my deck for me." Sora was already treading across the boards as though it was simple to the back of the ship.

This was a very bad idea, Riku decided. Why had be ever thought that it was a good idea to be on a ship? He'd never been on one before and he couldn't even stand on one when it was safely docked.

Goofy nudged past him, and Donald was fluttering after Sora, so he followed the two animals. It took him twice as long to get over to the cabin door. An empty lantern hung by the door. The wick in the candle inside had been swallowed by the wax.

"There's enough room for us both in here," Sora's voice called from inside, echoing like he was already deep in the belly of the ship.

Riku stepped in just as a match fizzed to life. There was a collection of tall candles sat on a scrubbed wooden table, surrounded by torn maps and a broken compass. Two sorry-looking chairs flanked it, trembling in the middle of the room. There was a wide window at one end, letting the starlight drift through the glass. Clothes fell out of a large trunk sat under the window, and were scattered around the floor with books and maps. There were two hammocks - one hung either side of the room. The one on the left had two large lumps of hay underneath it - which Donald and Goofy settled themselves into without question.

Two hammocks. If Sora hadn't been expecting company - he had wanted it.

"There's not much point in you sleeping down in the hold all by yourself," Sora said, sitting on the left hammock and making it swing alarmingly. He was already kicking his boots off by the heel, stretching his arms up and yawning. "You don't mind, do you?"

Riku did mind. He minded very much. He was used to sharing a room - but not with a pirate, a dog and a duck. The situation was bizarre, and this boy was pretty, and he should just leave. He should forget about all of this and just go home.

But then he thought of returning to his mother. He thought of returning for the Summer break. July and August.

It was unthinkable.

Riku sat down on the hammock and started untying his own boot laces.

He looked up again to see Sora staring at him, from over the candle. It made his hair and eyelashes look inky black, and his skin glow gold like an apparition.

"You sure about this?"

Riku took a breath. There was no turning back now. "Yes."

"Aye." For just a moment, Sora paused. Then he grinned, and winked, and said, "goodnight."

The candle was blown out, leaving them in silvery darkness.

Riku lay back in the hammock, his heart racing out of his chest as he heard Sora pad back to his own hammock and get in. The smell of smoke was drifting in the air, like a blown-out birthday candle. That wink. That crooked smile. Riku was playing with fire. He should have chosen a large crew, with people who wouldn’t look twice at him, who were beaten and bloodied, so they looked more like oddly shaped vegetables than people. Not the pretty boy who talked to his pets and winked at Riku. It was just asking for trouble.

Now that he lay down, covering himself over as best as he could with his cloak and the musty blanket left there, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He had really done it – he had ran. And he wasn’t going back. He actually dared to escape. And was playing with fire as soon as he did.

But this was better than a crew of mean, twisted people. Surely it would be. They would look for him on the big ships, not a small brig sailed by a boy no one seemed to look twice at. This was anonymity. He would just have to ignore Sora’s – everything.

The barely formed plan in his mind lulled him into a half-sleep. The hammock rocked gently with the lull of the river and it was absurdly comforting. Sora’s heavy breathing on the other side of the cabin was calming too, in a way.

Then he felt something small jump in the hammock with him.

He froze. Tiny feet were scurrying up him – catching him in the sensitive areas of his stomach. Something small, with a long tail.

“Sora,” he hissed. “Sora!”

“Mmm?” He heard Sora shuffle in his hammock, and yawn loudly.

“There’s a rat.”

“What?”

“A rat. There’s a rat in my hammock. Aren’t they only supposed to be in the bilge?”

“Only the lowliest rats. The peasant rats. And there are no rats in my bilge, thank you very much,” Sora grumbled, and then there was another fizz as he lit a match. He stepped closer to Riku and he gritted his teeth as he looked down at the small creature on his chest. “Oh, it’s just the King.”

Riku blinked at the mouse. It sat on him comfortably, tail curled around it like a tiny pink sausage. Its feet were the same pink. The rest of it was as black as soot – including its gleaming eyes.

“The King?” he repeated. He hoped his voice didn’t sound like a squeak – it wasn’t like he was a lady who had found a mouse in her teacup.

“King Mickey.” Sora scratched the mouse behind a large, papery ear and it squeaked appreciatively. “He must have taken a liking to you.”

The mouse was already curling up on Riku’s chest – just over his heart. It would have been easy to move – to sit up and push the tiny creature off of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Its heart was over his heart, thrumming away at one hundred times faster than his.

“He’s a mouse, not a rat,” Sora said, wiggling the match in the air to extinguish it.

“That’s okay then,” Riku muttered.

Sora yawned loudly again – Riku could see his silhouette stretching up. “Well, yeah.”

He was breathing heavily again within moments. Underneath him, Goofy was snoring loudly, and Donald was making strange, quivery sounds.

King Mickey was the only one who slept silently. A warm weight on Riku, that was actually comforting. For some reason, he felt like this tiny mouse understood everything, and was telling him to stay. It was telling him he had to do this. He had to run. And Sora was the best choice.

That was probably just wishful thinking.

(A/N): When researching this fic I found out that pirate ships just had a plank with a hole in for a toilet and I have to be burdened with that knowledge so does everyone else. (My notes for this literally say 'That horrifying moment when you find out that pirate toilets were just like wizard toilets, apparently.') WHAT'S MORE IMPORTANT TO SAY: is that I started this a few months ago and had the first half of this chapter sat around for a while. I've somehow clocked in 4,000 words a day for a week straight on this, so this feels...a little rough? It's more like, Sora and Riku really come into their own in terms of character in the next chapter. Bare with this and bare with me, please. I also use 'pirateglossary.com' for slang and ship parts in this fic, so if you're ever confused head on over there. I didn't want to put loads of pirate slang in, but I couldn't resist a little bit. But I have so many ideas to weave into this fic and I'm so so excited to share it and keep writing it and I hope you're all interested in reading more of it as well! It's very much growing on me and I cannot wait to see if other people are as enthusiastic for the niche of high-romance pirates of the caribbean/the 1999 mummy! Thank you so so much for reading and I'll be updating (hopefully) weekly! <3 xx

(I'm also on instagram/twitter @turntups Talk to me!)

#kh #kingdom hearts #soriku #soriku fanfiction #kingdom hearts fanfiction #pirates au #pirates of the caribbean #pirates of the caribbean au #poc #turnupswrites #worth running to #sora #riku #kingdom hearts remind #kingdom hearts 3

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