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nessieart · 2 months

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Sunbeam. Mini Series.

Chapter 1

An: This has had a choke hold on me for days. So now you too have to suffer. Switches POVs, 3rd to 2nd, sorry if it's confusing!

Wc:~5k

Pairing: Tony Stark x Mutant!OFC(Fiona/Sunbeam)

She first met Tony Stark when she was 23. It was an accident, really.

Sitting in the common room at Xavier's School for the Gifted, the TV was background noise as she read her book. Logan was back, and his grunts and grumbles at the TV were distracting.

“What now, Logan? You've been complaining for 20 minutes,” she smirks at him, her toe digging into his side.

“The damn news,” he grumbles, practically crushing the remote in his hand. “Been the same thing for the last 3 goddamn months.”

When she looks over to the screen, it's another newscaster covering the disappearance of billionaire, philanthropist, and arms dealer, Tony Stark.

She hums, “I heard they were stopping military support ‘cause they don't believe he's alive.”

Logan grunts in response, flinging the remote on the coffee table next to his feet. His head falls back against the couch, and she lets out a giggle at him.

When she glances back to the TV, there were pictures of Stark from the last time anyone saw him alive. It looked like he was in a desert, a drink in hand, and the other shaking the hand of some military general.

The newscaster said the last known location was somewhere outside Afghanistan, his convoy took heavy fire, and almost everyone involved was injured or killed.

The more she thought about Stark and how the people in his life must miss him, the more her fingers tingle. The energy of the powers under her skin coming to the surface.

She places the book down so it doesn't burn. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she set something on fire.

“Need to let out some excess energy, Fi?” Logan tilts his head over to his adoptive daughter when he feels the crackle of powers in the air.

Being a mutant was a part of her. Fiona couldn't remember her early life, just living on the streets in Southern California. Until Professor Xavier and Logan rescued her. Fi, as Logan affectionately calls her, can't remember her parents. They dropped her at an orphanage when her powers first started showing.

She shakes her head, “no, just overthinking,” as she rubs her hands together, little sparks of energy pop in the air.

Soon after, she fled. Fiona was 6. She clung to Logan like gum on the sole of his shoes. He may have complained, but he didn't mind.

It was rare to see Logan without her trailing behind him the first few months.

“Fiona,” Logan shifts to get a better look at her. “You can tell me if something is bothering you, ok? I may not be, y’know,” he shrugs and gestures to himself.

“The greatest at sharing emotions?” she smirk.

Logan chuckles and gives a nod.

“Really, Logan, I'm fine,” Fiona reassures him. When she looks back at the television, the segment on Tony Stark is wrapping up, and she gives another fleeting thought about where he is.

Then it felt like she was falling. Straight through the couch, the floorboards, the mansion. Everything.

Logan calls her name, eyes in a panic, as his daughter disappears in the blink of an eye.

***

You shot out into the bright, hot sunshine some 30 feet in the air. However you got here, it was lost on you as you plummeted head over heels to the ground.

As you braced for impact, you couldn't help but notice all the sand. When you crashed down on your side, you tumbled down a sand dune. The scorching sun and sand burned at your skin as you tried to get your bearings.

You coughed the sand from your mouth as you stood, dusting it off your body, looking around.

Vast nothingness surrounded you. Endless hot sand dunes for miles.

Where the hell am I?

“Logan?” Your throat was scratchy from the sand. You coughed again to clear it. “Hello?” You called a little louder.

“You…” a voice called from behind you.

You spun around, flinging sand as you did, and brought your hands up to defend yourself. Little sparks of golden energy tickling your fingers.

The man stood a good 20 feet from you. He was sunburnt, bloody, and blistered. His old worn slacks had holes along the knees, and his gray tank top did little to protect him from the sun.

“You're here,” his voice was hoarse and rough. You wondered how long he's been out here. Wherever here is.

“I thought I imagined it, but” he laughed a little in disbelief, “you. You're here.”

“Uhh, yeah. Sorry, buddy. I don't really know where I am. Or who you are.” You spin in a circle before you face him again, “I don't even know how I got here!”

“It's me. I'm,” and when your brows furrow his shoulders slump, “Tony. Stark.”

You sputter and take a step towards him, “what? How? Where are we?”

“Afghanistan, more or less,” Stark shrugs.

You pace in a circle, still not understanding. “I was just in New York. Are you saying I'm on the OTHER SIDE of the WORLD??”

Stark falls backwards to land on his rear, panting breaths in the hot desert sun. “You’re telling me, I still can’t believe it myself.”

”Tony Stark. Oh my God. Oh my God,” you rush to him and land on your knees in front of him, hands hovering above him. “How are you - why - holy shit. Oh my God.”

”I get that a lot,” he snarks, head falling back as he shields his face from the sun with an old ratty shirt. You notice something blue glowing in the middle of his chest, but there’s more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.

”Wouldn’t happen to have a flare gun in those pajama shorts, would ya, kid?”

You look down at yourself, and sure enough, you’re in an oversized tee and pajama shorts. It was the middle of the night back in New York after all.

”I - um - well,” you bring a fist up in front of you, small sparks of gold form around your hand and then encase it in a golden bubble. You haven’t shown anyone outside of other mutants your powers before.

You can convert the sun's radiation into physical energy. Shooting golden rays of beams and projectiles of pure energy from your hands.

Sometimes when you get anxious, the power in your fingertips becomes a little unstable, and you have to release some of it so you won't cause an accident (which happens more often than not, you're still learning).

Rogue likes to call your abilities akin to the sun, like sun rays for the beams you shoot and sun orbs for the bubbles you throw. She was quick to give you the nickname Sunbeam, so it stuck.

When you glance up at Stark, he’s barely taken notice of the sudden energy emitting from your hand, eyes focused on your face.

”I’ve never - I haven’t…” Stark puts a hand on your arm and squeezes it lightly. He gives you a small nod, eyes heavy with exhaustion and face a little too sunburnt. His chapped lips pull into a thin line, you should do this. You have to do this. He’s been missing for three months. You both could die out here.

With one last big inhale, you raise your fist in the air and let loose a few energy blasts that shoot up like a firework. You open your hand and they explode like one too. Bright golden sparks of energy fill the sky a hundred feet in the air.

***

Colonel James Rhodes was not amused when he asked Tony how the hell you got in the middle of the desert in just your pajamas, when Starks only response was:

“You can see her too? I thought I was going crazy,” and never mentioned it again.

That was almost half a day ago, and now you’re about to touch down in Los Angeles.

Stark needed help getting into the dress shirt Colonel Rhodes had given him, so you tore the right sleeve of the shirt off for him.

”There, that should help,” you grinned at him. You helped him guide his arm into the sling and put it in place. “You should probably go to the hospital once we land, Mr. Stark.”

Stark hummed, picking up the suit jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

The massive Boeing C-17 plane landed on the Air Force base in Los Angeles after what felt like the longest flight of your life.

You followed Rhodes and Stark down the ramp of the plane, it seems he had people waiting for him. When your bare feet meet the tarmac, you look around, and across the lot, you see a sleek black jet, the ramp down, and two people you knew all too well waiting for you.

You ran past Stark and his group, not sparing them a second glance, “Professor? Logan!” When you reach them, you launch yourself at Logan, and he catches you with one arm around your back. He squeezes you just a little tighter than usual, but you don’t mind.

“Jesus Christ, kid. You scared the shit out of me,” Logan sets you down and puts a hand on your head. “Look a little sunburnt, too.”

“Professor, do you know what happened to me?”

Xavier hums, bringing one hand to his chin, “It seems there's more to your powers than I first thought.” He hums again, bringing a hand down to turn his wheelchair around. Before he can make it up the ramp, he pauses, “I believe someone wants to say goodbye, my dear,” he smirks.

You turn and see Stark standing a few feet away, he clears his throat, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Logan growls behind you, and you glare at him, but he doesn't move. Instead he steps closer to you and crosses his arms over his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you go over to Stark, “I guess this is goodbye,” you fiddle with your fingers, golden energy sparking along your hands. “It - um - it was nice to meet you.” Your sentence ends in a small question, shoulders up by your ears when you say it.

“You saved my life,” Stark scoffs, “I think you can do better than ‘it was nice to meet you’, kid.”

Something about him calling you kid, didn't sit well with you. It was different when Logan, Scott, or the other older mutants would say it. But hearing Tony Stark say it sounded wrong.

“I'm not a kid,” you mumble.

“Fiona,” Logan grunts from behind you, “it's time to go. Now.”

Well that leaves little room for anything else when Logan says ‘now’.

You make the quick decision to give Stark a hug, going to the side where of his uninjured arm.

It's an awkward side hug, and he definitely wasn't expecting it, “take care of yourself, alright?” And you're back tracking toward the Jet before Stark could respond.

***

“Again!” Logan shouts across the training yard. He has singe marks littered across his uniform, every hit you manage to land isn't enough to knock him on his ass.

And Logan is getting frustrated at your lack of focus.

“C'mon, Logan,” you pant, hands on your knees as you catch your breath. “We've been at this for hours! It's been nonstop for the last few months, I need a break.”

He growled, and you could practically feel it vibrate across the room, “You need to get a handle on your powers, girl,” he started stalking towards you.

You shook your hands out, golden energy sparking at your fingertips.

To give Logan credit where it was due, your bubbles of energy were getting stronger. The more you fight with the Adamantium-boned mutant, the sturdier the bubbles become. You could even create small defensive shield-like energy bubbles.

“Pay attention!” He shouted right before his clawed fist came at you.

On instinct, or panic, your arms shot out wide, a large golden shield appeared between Logan’s fist and your chest. You sigh in relief, only a small part of his Adamantium claws pierced the shield this time.

You could see his arm flexing, his foot shifting to push his fist forward. He was hardly straining, and you were struggling to keep the shield up. Your arms straining to keep the bubbles around your hands connected to the shield in front of you.

Logan pushed, claws breaking through your shield and it began to crack. When his fist finally connected with your shield, the force of the break exploded and threw you backward. You landed on your back, and the force knocked the wind out of you.

“I told you, kid,” Logan began stalking towards you again, “get your shit together!”

Before he could reach you, he was stopped mid stride, and he flew backwards as well. Landing on his feet and skidding to a stop.

When you sat up, you could see Jean glaring at Logan, her hand coming down from her temples.

“That's enough, Logan,” her voice is finite. There's no room for arguing.

Jean kneels down next to you and places her hand on your shoulder. Her face is full of concern when she sees a gash on your cheek. You feel the blood trickle down and bring your hand up to wipe it away.

“Ow,” you pull your fingers away, and they come away soaked in blood, “must've been from my shield.”

Jean helps you stand, a few cuts are on your uniform, small specs of blood seeping through.

“Come on, Fi, let's have Hank take a look at you,” Jean leads you out of the training room, and before the doors close behind you, she waves her hand and you hear a loud thud. Logan plummets to the floor and shouts a curse out just as the doors close.

***

Turns out, the cut on your cheek was from Logan’s claw nicking your skin. Hank had to stitch it closed, or it wouldn't heal right. All the other small cuts were from your shield shattering, but nothing some antiseptic and a few band-aids couldn't fix.

Your hands had seen better days. They took the full force of your energy breaking. They looked burned, but Hank assured you they weren't.

“It most likely occurred when the build up of force from Logan’s punch and your energy containment orbs couldn't withstand the pressure,” Hank was wrapping your hands in gauze. Careful, clawed blue fingers handle you with care. He went on to explain how to care for the injury, and if you needed help, to find him and he'll do it.

You zoned out as Hank continued to talk. The voices growing in volume outside the medical room doors caught your attention.

Hank turned his back to you as he cleaned up, and you made your way towards the door, pushing it open just a crack.

“He's being reckless with her, Professor!” Jean's hands were wildly articulating to get her point across. “She’s in there right now because Logan can't control his temper or his strength,” she huffs.

Xavier seems to sense your eyes on him, and he looks up, going to speak, but you're sure he can read your mind without even trying.

Logan is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He scoffs, “yeah, and she'll never figure out how t'unlock those Teleportin' powers unless I push 'er to do it,” he rolls his shoulders and gives the Professor a knowing look. “She asked for my help, and I'm doin’ just that.”

You open the door and step out into the hallway. You can see the group of eyes scan your body. The tank top and gym shorts Hank had you change into doing little to hide the cuts, scrapes, and bruises littered over your body.

You meet Logan’s eyes, and you notice the moment he sees the stitches on your cheek from his claws. His shoulders slump, and his arms drop to his side.

When he goes to speak, you hold up a hand, “I'm not a kid anymore,” you lift your chin just a little bit, “I appreciate you looking out for me, Jean, but I can handle myself. And Logan is right, I did ask him to help me because I knew he wouldn't hold back.”

You take a deep breath, and you feel something change in the air around you, “don't be sorry. Because I'm not,” and you step back into a crack that's formed behind you.

One second, you're staring at your friends in the Manson. You're sure you see the Professor give you a smile. Then, the next, you're in a garage. A half dozen expensive and fancy cars line the one side of the wall.

“Uuhh, how did you get in here? Who are you?” A voice says behind you. You haven't heard it in almost 5 months. “JARVIS?”

You spin around, and there stands Tony Stark in a wife beater and dark jeans. Hair a little disheveled. Some weird red and gold gauntlet adorning his right hand.

Sir, should I notify the authorities?

A disembodied voice says from around you, it makes you jump a little, fingers sparking, and then the energy dies out.

“No, it's fine, J. Fiona,” Stark's shoulders slump, and he makes his way toward you.

“Surprise?” You say, giving him little jazz hands, as much as your bandaged hands allow. You look around the garage. Behind Stark, there's a bunch of broken glass. The television on the wall talks about another attack in the Middle East.

“What happened here?”

He ignores you and brings his left hand to your cheek, right below the stitches on your left cheekbone.

“What the hell happened to you?” There's concern in his eyes, and you tilt your head to look at him.

“Training gone wrong,” you shrug. Stark picks up one of your hands by the wrist, bringing it to his face.

“And this?”

“The energy had to go somewhere,” you shrug again. Flexing your fingers, little sparks of energy radiate from the tips and travel down to where his hand is on your wrist.

Stark's eyes widened, fingers tightening a little, “What - I didn't imagine it?” You shake your head no. “What is it? How can you do that?”

You were expecting him to pull away in disgust or ask what you were. Maybe it's the genius in him that wants to figure out how your powers work.

“I'm a mutant,” that should explain everything, but his eyebrows pull together in confusion as he meets your eyes. “y’know, individuals with unexplained powers. The X-gene? I was born this way.”

Stark hums, stepping away and letting your wrist go. “Yeah, let's put a pin in that,” he takes his gauntlet off and holds up a finger as he runs up the stairs.

***

“Wow…” is all you say. Stark had his robots, or whatever they were, help him into this… suit. Different arms and parts are coming up out of the floor.

“That's amazing. You built this? What - what does it do?”

“Sit, watch. You'll see,” his tinny voice comes through the helmet on his head, and then he is off like a rocket up the ramp and out of the garage.

A moment later, the screens on the desk came to life, showing Stark's face on one screen and a HUD display of what he could see on the other.

“This - this is amazing. You're amazing! You can fly!” You laughed. You weren't new to people being able to fly. Some of your close friends could fly, but they were mutants. Stark was human. And he could fly.

Tony wouldn't admit the praise made him blush and a little flustered. He cleared his throat as his thrusters pushed him faster through the sky.

“Yeah, I'm pretty badass.”

You watched through the screens as night slowly turned to day. He cleared the Pacific Ocean in less than 10 minutes. You could hear the sonic boom from the sound barrier breaking as Stark flew faster.

Soon, he was landing at his destination. The chaos around the war-torn village quickly came to a halt as Stark used some kind of energy blasts out of his gauntlets.

Well, that looked familiar.

Just as he turned around, armed men grabbed hold of innocent villagers, the threat making your breath hitch.

“Tony…” You breathed, and he lowered his hands. Then the HUD scanned the faces of the people around him, labeling them hostile or civilians. In the next breath, small projectiles shot out of the suit and incapacitated the hostile forces.

You breathed a sigh of relief as Stark left Gulmira, but not before destroying what looked like Stark Industries labeled missiles.

***

“What was all that?” You asked.

Stark had just returned after his harrowing run in with the Air Force after his impromptu trip to Gulmira. Now, the robotic system was trying to get him out of the suit.

You rolled the chair away from the desk with a flair, pushing off and slowly coming to a stop to the side of Stark. He looked over at you with a smirk.

The robotic arms tugged and pulled, trying to get the suit off him, “Hey, ow! Watch it - ah ow!”

Well, it is a tight fit, sir.

You giggle at his discomfort, swinging the chair back and forth.

Sir, the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt.

“Be gentle, it's my first time,” his leg was in the air as an arm tried to undo the bolts.

“Maybe you need an emergency release, Stark,” you laugh when he sends you a glare.

“What's going on here?” A voice startles you, and you jump out of the rollie chair that it gets sent backward into some cabinets.

Stark slowly turns to the woman, giving her a deadpan look, “Let's face it, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing.”

“Are those bullet holes?” She breathes. “And who is she?” The strawberry blonde turns to you.

“Pepper - wait. Hey - ow!”

***

It took several hours for Pepper Potts to calm down, mostly because Stark was still trying to get the suit off. She left soon after, less in shock and more emotionally drained.

“I'm going to bed,” she announced and quickly left the garage.

It was quiet for a while. You stared down at your bandaged hands, fingers fiddling with the gauze. Whatever meds Hank had given you wore off a few hours ago, and the pain had slowly returned.

“Stark,” you called to him, he turned in his chair. He looked a little worse for wear, covered in grease and dark circles under his eyes.

“I should go,” you shrugged. His brows pulled together as he studied you.

“I did some reading, by the way,” Stark got up from his chair and began fiddling with the tools lining the bench. “That little X-gene of yours.”

He looked up through his lashes at you, one eyebrow raised.

You nodded, coming up to the other side of the tool bench from him.

“A lot of articles published by a Professor Charles Xavier,” he continued. “Pretty smart, your Professor. Attending Bard College at age 16. Graduating with a bachelor's degree in biology in only two years. A world-renowned geneticist with multiple Ph.D.s.

“And he'd rather teach at a school full of children. In the middle of Westchester? Never really added up. Until I met you.”

Stark had made his way around the bench to stand next to you, “what can you really do?” His eyes bounced between yours, a look of wonder in his irises.

You laugh lightly, “I'd show you if I could,” You hold your hands up. The bandages need to be changed soon. You wiggle your fingers, “all out of juice, sorry Stark.”

He studies you for a moment, leaning his hip against the table, “can you get back?”

You hum, you suppose you could. “It's different, making the portals and shooting a beam out of my hands,” You put a hand on his chest, a zap running up your arm and down your spine when you do.

Stark inhales sharply, eyes wide as he looks down at your hand on the glowing circle in his chest.

He explained to you that it was keeping him alive, keeping the shrapnel from the bomb explosion from reaching his heart. The arc, or something.

“Whoa,” you both said in unison.

The air around you is thick and charged. Whether it's from your powers sparking in the air or the closeness between the two of you, you can't be sure.

Stark leans his head down, tilting to the side to try and catch your eye, but before he can open his mouth to speak, you take a step back. Hand falling to your side as you go.

Sir, the diagnostics are finished. Seems to be multiple–

“Yea, ok JARVIS, I got it,” he cuts off his AI as he watches you back up.

“It was good to see you again, Stark,” you say, one hand coming up next to you, “stay out of trouble, ok?” A spark ignites at your fingertips. A bright tear like line appears in thin air. It opens, and it sounds like ripping paper in half.

The portal glows a golden orange like your powers, it's long enough for you to step into. You give him one last wave and a smile before you step through, the garage and Tony disappearing in the blink of an eye.

***

A week later, your cuts and the energy burns on your hands have healed almost completely.

Hank had taken the stitches on your cheek out. The gash would leave a scar, but you don't mind too much. A butterfly bandage keeps the gash closed so it can heal more.

Now, as you walk down the halls of the mansion, you're stopped by Rogue. She has a coy smile on her face.

“Have ya heard, sugah?” Her accent shines through as she nudges her clothed elbow against yours.

“Heard what? What's got you all giddy for?” You both stop near the library, her pulling you to the side like she has a secret to tell you. Well, maybe she does.

“That guy ya saved a few months back? They say he's the man in that red n’ gold suit we saw on the news the other night,” Rogue is grinning from ear to ear, her gloved hand grabs yours and pulls you further down the hall.

A few others are in the common room, crowded around the TV. Colonel Rhodes is talking about the explosion that happened the next night after you left Stark's house.

The marquee under the podium reads: STARK INDUSTRIES CEO TONY STARK TO READ A PREPARED STATEMENT TO THE PRESS IN COMING MOMENTS.

“You think he's a mutant, too?”

“No way, just some rich guy with too much time on his hands.”

There's chatter around the room, and Rogue leans into you more.

“Ya think his body turns inta’ all that shiny metal or sumthin’?”

You scoff at Rogue, and she elbows you again, giggling.

“Ya should go n’ see him,” she says quietly after a few minutes.

“What? No way would Logan let me go,” you roll your eyes at your best friend. “And he's not a mutant, Ro.”

“Says you,” she sticks her tongue out, “I won't tell him, sugah, swear.”

It takes hardly any more convincing for you to sneak out of the common room and into the library to make a portal and be where Stark is.

The sound echoes in the library, a loud rip sounds like 10 ripped pages of paper, the golden yellow portal opens, and you step through it.

You step into a hallway, you can hear chatter on your left, and you follow the noise.

It's the same room you saw on TV only moments ago back in New York. The room is filled with reporters and news crews, Rhodes is finishing up his speech and introduces Stark.

You're standing in the back, sticking out like a sore thumb with your ripped jeans and crop top. You may have borrowed Rogue's leather jacket, but you know she doesn't mind.

Your breath catches as Stark takes his place behind the podium, small bouts of conversation flair as he looks around the room. A few cameras flash, reporters raise their recorders up higher to make sure they get every detail of Stark's speech.

His eyes catch yours, and the corner of his mouth turns up a little, his lips pursed.

“Um,” he clears his throat as he looks around the room again, “it's been a while since I was in front of you. Figure I'll stick to the cards this time.”

You smile, and some people around the room chuckle. He's very personable, but you suppose he has to be.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Stark,” a woman reporter interrupts, “but do you honestly expect us to believe that that was a bodyguard in a suit that conveniently appeared–”

Stark cuts her off, “I know that it's confusing. It is one thing to question the official story, and another thing entirely to make wild accusations, or insinuate that I'm a superhero.”

“I never said you were a superhero,” she crosses her arms.

“Didn't? Well, good, because that would be outlandish and fantastic. I'm just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I've made, largely public,” Stark word vomits everywhere. Rhodes leans in and whispers in his ear. Stark nods.

He holds the cards up and clears his throat, “the truth is,” he stalls, eyes roaming the flash card in his hand. He glances up and finds your eyes on him, a glint in his irises as a smirk pulls at his lips.

“I am Iron Man.”

#mcu fanfiction #Tony Stark x mutant!reader #x-men imagine #iron man fanfiction #mcu imagine #mutant!ofc #tony stark x ofc #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

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shoujo manga | k. bakugo

➳ tags ;; fluff, angst/injury, very midly nsfw towards the end, kisses (?), pro-hero!bakugo

➳ wc ;; 1.5k

➳ plot ;; how bakugo kisses you differently.

➳ a/n ;; might do this for other characters? idk.. katsuki brainrot haunts me everyday of my life..

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

Bakugou speaks more than one language.

Japanese, English, Spanish, and a little bit of Arabic and French. He’s fluent in the first three and conversational in the last - but the words still feel slick on his tongue. He’s the type of person that knows things well, when he can. He can curl around the syllables easily with enough patience - practice and time. A language is tool - or a love letter or a hopeless romantic.

It’s something we never tire of listening too.

For Bakugo Katsuki, the language he speaks to you in is kisses. It’s the one he feels best at, rolls of the tongue and mouth easiest. He’s well-versed in the foreign tongue of affection. It used to be.. choppy to say the least. But these days, Bakugo can tell you anything with nothing more than a few pressed lips and tongue-tied exchanges.

It starts with a morning kiss. For it to be perfect, the sun has to hang just barely beneath the clouds. It can be any color out, blue, or orange, or grey - the sky just has to have light in it. He wakes up with a grunt, always before you - vermillion eyes peering open at your unconscious state. The verbs in his sentence are his hands, large palms that smooth down your hair. He nudges his nose against your jaw before his lips pucker against your cheek - travel down to your mouth until your eyes flutter open.

“Wake up, brat,” with another kiss, this time on the corners of your lips. He waits for a while, sometimes letting you sleep for another ten minutes before his heart decides he’s running on empty time. Then he kisses you again, along your jaw like he’s tracing the lines of your art-work.

“Oh? G’morning, Kat,”

And he presses his cheek against your shoulder, kisses the edge with another grunt. These kisses always mean good morning, I’m happy we woke up together. In his language of love they mean, I like being here with you.

Some kisses come after work - especially on those days where he’s working and you’re not. Bakugo dreads leaving you alone during the day, has to force himself out of bed and into his work clothes. It’s easier to be gone but always so hard to leave. When he comes home from work, he finds you in the living room with your legs propped up on the ottoman. Your laptop is on your lap and your head rests

You can feel his presence before you see him. A warm hand, calloused and a hot, wraps around your throat and pulls you back to look upwards at him. He looks down at you with something unreadable in his expression - his thumb running against the column of your throat. He can feel your pulse under his fingers when he looks down on you - bows his head to kiss like an act of respect. This kiss is slow but deep - like a large wave crashing against the sand. His gravelly voice leaves you with a hum before he pulls away.

This kiss means he’s missed you much more than you know. That’s why he stares at you for so long right after - why his fingers linger against your neck.

“Whaddya want for dinner, huh?, is the only words he’ll say in the whole exchange but he looks like he’s gonna kiss you again. He wants to kiss you so many more times but he knows you’ve forgotten to eat so he just asks you what you want. He’ll make it for you.

Other times, he kisses you in public. They’re not the kinds of kisses you can predict, you have to admit to yourself. It’s thee Dynamight afterall, and he rarely takes you anywhere the paparazzi can see. But you have to do normal things together sometimes - like grocery shopping. Even so, he always keeps his mask on up under his eyes, his sunglasses and army green hat and baggy clothes all covering him up.

But you mention it to him off-hand while you’re looking at salad dressing that you miss looking at his face when you’re out. A wistful, cheeky smiling on your lips as you tell him that you don’t mind if the world knows who you’re with. He scoffs, like always, and tells you to pick the spicy one for him.

When he takes you outside, the sun falls over your skin like a halo. He’s sure there’s someone trailing him and watching from afar - some obsessed photographer examining his every move. Yet you look like gold, look like magic in the middle of this parking lot - packing groceries into the trunk of your car.

He pulls his mask down just below his face, and takes his glasses off and pulls you toward him when the last of it’s over. Your hip bumps the shopping cart clumsily as his hands finds themselves under your jacket. His mouth melts against yours - this kind of kiss is searing against your lips Your hands are gripping the front of his shirt at first, but then they lay flat against his chest. It’s the kind of kiss where you let it happen, let it overwhelm your senses till your stomach turns.

You leave it in a dazed and return to see him smirk, grin cocked like a pistol. He kisses you again, much softer as confusion dances along your face.

“What? I thought you missed my face?”

This kind of kiss is a reminder that your his and he’s yours. Nothing in the whole world could come between that, not even some shitty gossip column. When you laugh against him breathlessly, his expression melts into the most tender smile. You miss it - too busy laughing, but it might be better that way.

Then, there are kisses that are desperate. Not sinful but somber. When you’re rushing to a hospital in the middle of September with a prayer clamped desperately between your tongue and teeth. You don’t really feel like you know yourself anymore, hands clasped around the steering wheel like religion. Your feet are the weight of crucifixion on the gas and it seems like you cannot go fast enough.

You rush and rush and rush until the air in your lungs feels like it’s stomping at your chest. You wind up in a sterile white room, and he’s there. He’s alive and you know you should be grateful for that. Yet there’s a gash on his cheek and eyebrow, a wound in his side that makes everything in your knees feel weak. You don’t walk towards him, but stumble to where he’s sitting.

“I fuckin’ hate hospital food,”

He pushes the peas around the tray and you’re crying - shaking like a leaf in the wind as you cling to him. He lifts his arm and let’s you in. You sniffle against his shoulder and cry like a baby. You weep for the love you haven’t lost. You hear the plastic clink on the plate as he lifts his hand, brushes any stray hairs from your face. He tugs on your ear and makes him look at you, and kisses you.

This kind of kiss is placating for certain. A warm mouth, not a hot one. His lips are so gentle, touch effervescent. When you hiccup a sob in his mouth, he nudges his forehead against yours and mumbles something incomprehensible.

You can hear his kiss before he speaks it.

“I’m fine, dumbass,” but there’s no bite, no malice - just a hand wrapped in yours “I’m gonna be fine,”

There are also times where he kisses you hotly. It’s the kind of kiss you wouldn’t want your children to see. When he comes home from a long day of training but the energy is still burning in his head. He’s sweaty, skin glistening and glazed. His teeth seem so sharp when he enters the threshold of the door. You can feel him pressed against your spine, the thick print in his basketball shorts. When his hands come up underneath your t-shirt and dance along your stomach. These times - he kisses you twice. Salacious and unrelenting.

Once just like that in the kitchen. It’s all too much tongue and teeth that way - but god it feels so right. Makes you squirm, makes you hold the counter top to keep steady. You tremble before he even touches you.

The second time is right in the middle of the fire, when he’s inside. Slow, sensual and needy - his tongue finding it’s way in your mouth like you’re a fountain.

Both kisses speak the same words, the same desperation. It’s always the same with him, the inevitable scorching that bruises your lips and turns them red and swollen.

“I want you. I want you. Give it to me, Give all of yourself to me”

His kisses so harshly you can’t breathe, like even the breath in your lungs has to be his or he won’t stay still. These kinds of kisses always happen when you two touch. He can’t help but keep you all to himself.

After all, in this language that only you two can speak, who else would he tell his secrets to?

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #writing tag #spice cake #bakugou imagines #bakugo imagine #bakugou imagine #bnha imagines #when will this man let me know a day of peace oh my god #i understand you're my favorite character king leave me alone dsfjks i cant take it!!!!#everyday....everyday!

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

Text

The Sacrifice Part 2 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown: hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the kind words! I really appreciate all of it! :)

Word Count: 3.8k

The sun was rising. You stared up at it as you walked, your cracked lips parted, mouth dry beyond belief. The cloth you’d wrapped around your head was already growing warm. Beneath your long-sleeved shirt and jeans, your body was scarred with sunburns. Your backpack hung heavy on your shoulders and scraped against your back painfully. Still, you kept walking through the sand.

Crumbling buildings lined the barren street. At the end, next to an intersection, you saw one that still had an intact roof. You willed yourself to move faster, but your steps continued in the same plodding manner as before. The sun beat down heavier.

A dry wind whispered past, bringing swirls of sand to flight. They looked beautiful in the golden rays of the morning but cut like glass as they whipped past your cheeks. With a grimace, you reached a weathered hand up and pulled some loose cloth farther over your face, squinting your eyes for protection. The sound of your heavy breathing filled your ears.

How familiar that was. How familiar exertion was. Before you could stop yourself from thinking, from remembering, you saw his face. He was by your side, smiling, goading you to run faster. He was betting you that he could reach the doors first.

“If I win, you owe me half your dinner,” came his playful tease, so vividly that you almost thought it was real. If you let your gaze wander, you could barely make out a mirage of him jogging ahead of you.

What was it you’d said, back in that other life, where you ran the Maze and lived in the Glade and weren’t as alone? You smacked your lips together now, looking for any moisture, and croaked, in a hoarse voice, “What do I get if I win?” The effort made you cough. Stopping in your tracks, you doubled over hacking. You expected to see the worn stone of the Maze beneath your feet, but there was only sand. Knives scraped your throat. You tasted blood.

“You can have anything you want,” Minho responded. You lifted your head, hoping for a glimpse of his face and seeing only sand.

Tears filled your eyes. You wanted Minho with you, right now. You wanted to not be alone. You wanted to not be here, to not have made any of these choices, to not have to keep going and keep trying and keep surviving all because of one promise. You wanted to reach the doors -- no, not the Maze doors, never the Maze doors again, the doors to a crumbling building in a crumbling town in the sun-baked, sand-ridden, abandoned Scorch.

Straightening up, you started for the building again. You reached it in a few long, purposeful strides. The door hung half off its hinges. You slipped inside, shutting it as best you could behind you, hoping that would keep at least some sand out. The inside was blessedly dark. The front room seemed kind of like a cafeteria, with a few tables and chairs and a long counter at the back. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the last cafeteria you’d been in. You wanted to spit on this place as payback.

Instead, you walked behind the counter, sunk to your knees, shrugged off your backpack, and curled into a ball. Your head pounded. You squeezed your eyes closed, pressed your palms to your temples, tried to hold back any more tears. The memory of Minho floated to the front of your mind again.

“No need to cry,” you could hear him saying. You could almost feel him tuck a finger under your chin, like he’d done before, and raise your head. “I’m still here.” And then you opened your eyes, hoping to see that cocky grin that would make the whole world would seem a little better.

But Minho wasn’t there. You weren’t in the Glade anymore. You weren’t even with WICKED anymore. You were somewhere in the middle of the Scorch, alone and trying to survive and failing.

With trembling fingers, you unzipped your backpack and pulled out your last bottle of water. It was half-empty. You stared at it numbly. How far could half a bottle of water take you? When you used to run the Maze, a lifetime ago, you never went in without at least one canteen full. Minho had teased you during your first run for taking three. You wondered what he would say now.

“We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.” That’s what he would say. That’s what he had said, right before you went into the Maze for the last time.

I tried, Minho. You wanted to scream it out to the Scorch, let every damn Crank within a hundred miles of you hear it. Maybe Minho would hear it too, back at the WICKED compound, back in the Glade. He said he would find you. You’d repeated his words so many times in your head that they were practically imprinted in your brain. They were like a touchstone, something you remembered for luck and courage.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said.

You’d never said it back. You wished you’d said it back.

You forced yourself to stop remembering and took a sip of water. It was like ice filtering through magma cracks, soothing, soothing, soothing, and then gone, evaporating and leaving behind seething bubbles of lava. You wanted more. You wanted so much more for yourself.

You twisted the cap back on and shoved your water into your bag before you did something you’d regret. Leaning against the counter, you let your eyes close. Fatigue made your limbs heavy, and the warm air settled over you like a blanket. You hoped the sun would be gone when you woke up. Then you would walk, as you had for countless nights, with no real directions in mind, only the understanding that you needed to keep moving or else you would die. Somewhere out there, there was a safe haven.

But in your dreams, there was darkness, and in the darkness, there were Grievers. The Maze walls, dripping with ivy, closed in around you as you ran. Your breaths came short and fast, more from fear than effort. You had no bag, no weapons, just the shoes on your feet and a little bit of hope in your chest. But the Grievers were closing in.

Mechanical limbs whirred, slamming against the Maze floor so forcefully the ground seemed to shake. You whipped your head around, caught a glimpse of them, turned back and ran faster, looked again and saw them even closer. Metal clanged together, the sound of razor-sharp fangs gnashing, slick with slime. A rush of wind sliced past your arm. You tried to move faster, just a little faster, just enough to keep narrowly avoiding the Griever’s claws, just enough, please, just enough to make it to sunrise--

A wave of fire burned a line across your back. The pain was white-hot, so bad you couldn’t keep your eyes open, you were stumbling and faltering and barely moving and the Griever was going to get you, only with your next step you felt nothing but open space and then you were falling and falling and falling.

You hit the ground so hard the air went out of you, and only then did you realize you’d been screaming. A moment of shock passed. Then you shrieked again. Your back burned with pain, but it wasn’t fire, not like you’d thought at first, it was a cut, huge and sprawling and parting the flesh of your back. Blood drenched your shirt. You screamed, blind with pain and fear, waiting for the Griever to finish you off or sting you and send you into a spiral of even greater misery.

Something grabbed your arms, hoisted you up, strapped you down. The Grievers have me, they’ve got me, they’re going to kill me, you thought, even as you felt human hands and heard human voices and saw human faces.

“No!” You caught a glimpse of one of them holding a syringe, a Griever in disguise. Twisting away, trying to avoid it, you let out a scream so loud you thought your vocal cords would be torn to shreds, just like your back, just like the ravaged mess that was left of your back. The needle pierced your skin.

Immediately, your yells dropped off. The people or the Grievers or the Grievers masquerading as people laid you face down on a stretcher. You couldn’t move your neck, or your arms, or your feet, but every step they took as they carried you sent bolts of lightning through your body. Your face was wet with tears, with blood. The jostling stopped. Every nerve in your body rebelled in pain, and then there was a cold hand on your cheek, forcing your chin up. Grinning down at you was the face of the devil.

You woke now with a start, a cool sheen of sweat coating your body, phantom pains chilling your back. Your heart thundered wildly. Acting on pure instinct, you shot to your feet, looking frantically around the room. She would be there, you were sure of it. The devil, with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips painted red with the blood of her victims.

But the room was dark and empty and you were alone.

You untensed with a long, slow exhalation. Tiny daggers still ran up and down your spine, dancing along the scars the WICKED doctors had said they couldn’t fix.

“An unfortunate variable,” the devil had said about the Grievers, “but necessary.”

Necessary.

You spat on the floor, wishing it was her pristine white cafeteria, half-hoping you’d look up and see her standing there so you could strangle her. But that thought was fleeting and your head shot back up in fear, scanning the room again and again to reassure yourself that Dr. Paige was nowhere to be seen.

When you were sure there was no one lurking in the night-shadowed corners, you hefted your backpack onto your shoulders and made for the door. Outside, the desert air was chill and dry. The occasional wind stirred the sand as you walked, footsteps making quiet whispers along the dusty sidewalk. Moonlight paved the way forward.

Goosebumps covered your arms as you replayed your dream, your memories, over again. Yes, the Grievers had gotten you, but not the ones in the Maze. It was the hidden Grievers, the ones who said they were good, and that they were going to save the world, and that you were helping.

“Thank you for participating, Y/N,” Dr. Paige had said. “I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The data we gathered on the group’s response to a requested sacrifice will prove very useful, I assure you.” And she’d smiled at you. She’d actually smiled, pointy, predatory canines on full display behind her parted red lips. “The data from your response will also be very beneficial. Thank you once more for your participation.”

You were too shocked. You were in too much pain. The synapses in your brain weren’t firing correctly, still stuck trying to piece together that the sacrifice was some kind of test. An unfortunate variable. “What...what happens next?”

Dr. Paige had already left. Someone lower in the chain of command gave you a nonanswer about your role in Phase One being complete.

“But what happens in Phase Two?”

There was no answer to that question, no matter how many times you asked. You asked when you were stable enough to be moved to your own room, when you were compliant enough to walk the halls of the facility with a chaperone, when you were obedient enough to eat in the cafeteria among the staff members.

“WICKED is good,” they’d say. And then they would smile at you.

You shuffled through the sand. Reaching a hand, which you pretended wasn’t trembling, into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out a meal replacement pouch with WICKED emblazoned on its side. Even as you ate, you worried. The dream loomed over you like a heavy cloud, and your food supply was dwindling. You wished for a sip of water, just a taste, a small trickle to wet your lips, something to help the powdery bar go down.

You wished you’d started hoarding food at WICKED earlier. It was only when you noticed that change was coming, that the air was electric and the people were alive, that you started to slip items from the cafeteria into your bag. The doctors had stopped ordering you in for blood tests and scans, which they had pretended were for your back, and then they stopped sending you a chaperone. It was almost like freedom.

“Code Green. I repeat, Code Green. All personnel begin preparations for Phase Two. I repeat…” The message came over the speakers while you were in your room, a barebones cell with a cot and a desk. In a flash, you were on your feet, pouncing on the opportunity. You slung your WICKED bag over your shoulders, ignoring the discomfort as it pressed into your bandaged back. Peering through the crack in your door, you couldn’t see anyone in the hall. The lights were flashing in time with the announcement, strobes of green slicing across the walls. Holding your breath in anticipation, you tried the door handle. Unlocked.

Heart fluttering, you pulled it open a crack and slipped through, shutting it gently behind you. No chaperone sitting outside. No guards patrolling. No people at all. You bolted down the hall.

Thinking about it now, as you finished your second to last meal replacement, the perishable food long since gone, you wondered why it was so easy.

Phase One. Phase Two. Thank you for your participation. An unfortunate variable. Unfortunate unfortunate unfortunate thank you for participating thank you for the data thank you for trying thank you for dying. Phase Two, I should have raided the cafeteria will you be in the cafeteria, Minho are you in the kitchen? Where are you where am I why is this happening what is--

Welcome to Phase Two.

You crumpled the meal replacement package in your hand and threw it into the air, letting it fly with the wind.

Minho’s voice was in your head. “I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons.”

You shook your head and it faded. “I would have done it if you were there,” you said. Your voice was a croak. You cleared your throat and tried, “I would have…” The words floated away. I would have tried harder to survive.

“I tried so hard, Minho.” You thought of your bottle of water, only a few sips left. “I tried to wait for you in the Maze, but WICKED took me.” Grievers and white-clothed doctors and searing pain. “I tried to wait for you at WICKED, but...I think they let me escape.” An unlocked door, no patrolling guards. The vast expanse of the Scorch beyond, and a snippet of an overheard conversation about a safe haven at the end. “I tried to reach the end. But I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Sand. So much sand. Lightning storms and a burning, vengeful sun, and a throat so dry it hurt. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And still, you walked. Because there was nothing else to do. Because you were a Runner and Runners never stopped. Because you thought this might be another test, another phase, and you wanted to reach the end. Because the mirage of Minho was nearby, talking.

“We’re almost there,” he said. You rubbed your sand-crusted eyes and tried to find him. “We have to keep going.”

Other voices chimed in, pitched low and hard to hear. You hoped you could hallucinate Newt, too, and maybe Zart and Frypan, who had tried to help, had tried, just like you tried. You moved faster, feet cleaving through drifts of sand.

“There it is!”

You missed the sound of an excited Minho. You remembered the first time he’d had a little too much to drink at a bonfire, and he’d picked you up and twirled you around. You’d never smiled so much.

The memory used to be good, then it turned painful, and now you were just numb.

You kept walking. Around you, the city was fading into sand. Ahead stood a tall dune. You wanted to stop and stare and convince yourself to turn around. But you kept walking. Behind the dune, you’d see Minho and Newt and Zart and Frypan and maybe even Alby, and maybe you would forgive Alby, or maybe not, but you would still see him because everyone would be there.

You boot punched a hole into the sand dune, sending streams of gritty yellow dust cascading down the slope. Stepping forward again, you sunk into sand up to your mid-calf. Again and again, and then you stumbled and fell in up to your elbows, and still, you crawled.

“We can do this,” Minho said, from somewhere above or behind or by your side. He was climbing with you, barely out of sight. His playful grin was audible.

“Bet I can beat you to the top,” you said before he could.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

You smiled and there were tears in your eyes and sand on your cheeks. “You can have anything you want.” And you climbed higher.

“I want you to say it back. Please say it back, Y/N. Please.” His voice was fading. You were leaving him behind as you neared the top.

Sand burrowed into the lines of your face, past the seams of your clothes, finding every nook and cranny of your body to hide in. It was in your mouth, your ears, your eyes. You struggled to breathe. Your head felt as light as a cloud. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally promised as you reached the empty crest. Still on hands and knees, you peered over the other side of the dune. The slope was empty. Everything was empty.

You rolled onto your back, eyes shut against the fading night sky. Your arm bumped against something stiff. Reaching a hand out blindly, groping for it, you came back with a stick. You looked at it through squinted eyes. Atop the stick was a flag, and on the flag in big, thick letters, the same font WICKED used for everything, were the words, “Safe Haven.”

You laughed. The bitter chuckle was alone in the Scorch. Overhead, the sky was lightening, and soon you would be alone in the daylight of the Scorch, alone in the Safe Haven.

Shrugging your backpack off, you reached inside for your water and the last of your food. The bottle was empty. You didn’t remember finishing it, but you figured you must have. You chucked it to the side, listening as it rolled down the sand dune. You wouldn’t need that anymore. The air grew warmer as dawn approached and you opened your last meal replacement. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear voices. You wondered if you were going crazy, decided you didn’t care because you had tried Minho I really tried I’m sorry please promise me I’ll see you tomorrow please don’t let it end like this please.

You took a bite of the crumbling meal replacement bar and immediately spit it back out. It had soaked up the last bit of moisture in your mouth. You tossed the package to the side, where you’d abandoned your water and your will.

The sky grew pink and orange and yellow, and, finally, there was the sun, high in the sky, and you had no idea how much time had passed while you stared, and you didn’t care. There was no further destination in mind. This was it. And with the sun up there and you down here, you hoped that maybe this wouldn’t count as dying alone.

“There it is!” Minho again. Funny how he kept saying that. And then the voices of the other Gladers chimed in again. You wondered if you would keep replaying that moment until you finally passed. You wondered how it would feel. You wondered if there was water on the other side.

The sand rushed down the sides of the dune in waterfalls. You could hear it, even if you didn’t have the energy to look. It sounded like a whisper. Beneath the whisper was the panting of a group of people.

Runners, you thought. All of the Runners before and all of the Runners after, coming to take me away. Would Minho be among them? Was he dead, like you and like those sad souls who’d been killed by the Grievers (An unfortunate variable, but necessary) and all of the people who’d gotten the Flare, which you barely understood because no one had answered any of your questions?

Why is this happening and where am I going and what do I do and how did I get here and when can I go home, please bring me home, I want to go home and I want to see Minho one last time because I never promised him back and I should have.

“Y/N?”

Minho. You didn’t have the energy to speak or even open your eyes to see the hallucination.

“Y/N!” Feet pounding against sand, then hands on your arms, looping around your back, pulling you close and shielding you from the sun. “Wake up, Y/N. Clint!”

No, Clint wasn’t supposed to be here. Clint had voted for you to be sent into the Maze. You were pretty sure you used to hate him for that, but hate took so much energy, and you just wanted to pretend Minho was holding you until you didn’t have to think anymore.

The people nearby talked unintelligibly, oscillating between murmurs and gleeful shouts. There was cotton in your ears and a blindfold over your eyes and strong hands on your back, propping you up. Then there was a splash of water on your face and the world opened up again.

There was Minho. Better than in your memories, because he was here, in full color, so perfect you needed to squint. He was on his knees and holding you. Above, Clint was pouring water over your head. All around you were Gladers.

“Minho?” you croaked, although there was no question who it was. Dark brown eyes, now filled with tears. Full lips curved up in a smile. Scatters of freckles across his cheeks. Minho.

Minho nodded and pulled you into a hug. “I thought…” he trailed off. Then he laughed, a sound so bright and so happy that the water on your skin felt a touch cooler, the sun on your shoulders a shade dimmer. “I should’ve known you’d survive.”

“There’s no safe haven,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Minho shook his head, still buried in your neck. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, you pressed a hand to his cheek, coaxing him to look at you. When he did, you leaned in and finally felt at home.

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Author's Note: I wanted to put a longer, more serious note at the end instead of the beginning so I wouldn't deter any newcomers from reading. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for letting me try out this style! I'm not very happy with how this turned out but it was good practice. Hopefully, I can use this experience and write better pieces in the future. Thanks again for letting me experiment and for the encouragement. And my requests are always open :)

Tag List: @officialfictionalwreck @elizabeth-brown @newtsgirl-hehe @jjjmaybank @adoregin

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clarissalance · 3 years

Text

Watermelon-flavored popsicle

Pairing: Xingqiu x g/n!reader, mention of Chongyun

Warning: light swearing, kissing, a lot of grammatically errors.

Word count: 3404

Summary: A coincident meeting between you and Xingqiu on Yaoguang Shoal might have changed your relationship.

A/N: Here is my come back for summer. This piece has been in my folder for so long but I just don’t want to check the errors and proofread. Luckily, I have found my motivation (no more wifi) and here is the piece. This one is inspired by imagination if I can go to the beach ( I hate corona).I hope you have fun reading this oneshot (and feel my desperation to enjoy the sunny beach) Next up will be Kazuha, I think :D. Please send Xingqiu a lot of love~~ (❤´艸｀❤)

Picture credit: @polarbear43666 on Twitter.

Summer in Liyue has always been sweltering, burning, and unbreathable. The sun stands proudly in the middle of clear azure sky, not a single cloud dare to tread near the glowing king, blocking the beam of lights shine down the city.

Today is also another day of undesirable temperature. Even when the city is a harbor, the cool breezes from the sea can’t calm down the rising heat from the road, nor the glowing businesses or the flock of people going to the market. Living in the city for 5 years, you know not to tread near the market during working hours, so you decide to go somewhere quiet, relaxing and enjoyable.

Yaoguang Shoal.

Normally, you would have gone to a teahouse or a bookstore to escape the hot weather, but today, those areas are swamp with people. You might have a brief idea of why they would be so crowded in there. It can only be Yunjin performance, or the teahouse is having a giveaway.

As much as you love to enjoy her breathtaking performance and intriguing stories, you wouldn’t risk getting trampled by those people. Maybe another day, when people aren’t packing inside the teahouse.

As soon as you arrive at the shore, the thick scent of salt waffles around the tip of your nose, sounds of waves calmly splashing against the coast. Slowly, you remove your shoes and sink your feet down the fever-like golden sand, heading toward the white bubbles splashing waves.

You should have brought a flip-flop instead of shoes.

At the burning sensation on the sole of your feet, you start sprinting toward the nearby small patches of grass hiding under a gigantic shade, hoping to save your sensitive skins.

As soon as you jump on the lump of grass, you can’t help letting out a painful hiss, jumping like a grasshopper on the surface. This place isn’t very far from the water, maybe you can put on an umbrella here and enjoy the breathtaking scenery.

Afar, you can see a few white cranes enjoying the cold water while looking for fishes, bathing under the scorching heat. Propping yourself on your knee, you sit down and enjoy the feeling of wind combing through your messy dark locks. From here, the sound of splashing water on the sand, the soothing sensation of a peaceful summer gently sinks down your skin.

You’re lucky to find a shade in the middle of a shore, under the scorching sun glaring holes on your head. Unlike the harbor, Yaoguang shoal is much more breathable, the cool breeze brings the smell of sea salt dancing on your skin, slowly imbued your silky dark lock with the distinctive scent of the ocean.

Letting out a lazy sigh, you leisurely drift into a slumber, opting for a relaxing nap while enjoying the sound of nature.

How great is it to not have someone disturb you?

“Y/N?”

Maybe you speak too soon.

Furrow your brows, you slowly open your eyes, annoyed by the sudden intrusion. The bright light clearly wants to pierce your eyes, but the figure moves closer and blocks the over-enthusiastic sun out of your gaze. You slowly sit up, squinting hard at the dark figure.

“Xingqiu?” Widen your eyes at the familiar shade of blue, you look at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”

The male lets out a breathy chuckle and crouches down, letting light falls on his face.

“Me? The weather is nice, so I’m strolling along the shore and enjoy the weather.”

At your comical gaze drilling at his head, and the hydro user finally raises his hand in defeat. “ Fine, fine. I was on my way back to the Harbor after helping the traveler with some commissions.”

“ The harbor is the other direction.” You dubiously point the opposite direction, a small gust of wind picking up and tousling your hair. “ If you’re heading this direction, Dragonspine is where you're heading.”

“What are you doing here?” The young man ignores your remark and changes the topic, eyes curiously wander down your lying body on the grass.

“ Escaping the heat from the harbor.” You hum and scoot to the other side, sparing Xingqiu a space to sit. He must be drying staying that long under the sun.

He quickly sits down next to you, slowly peeling his boots and socks away. The area is small, forcing you to stay close to him, your shoulders almost bumping into each other. As much as you love skinship, any physical contact is overbearing in this weather. The scenery would have been more romantic if you’re sharing body heat in the bizarrely cold Starglow Cavern.

Wait… why did Xingqiu sit down and remove his boots? Isn’t he supposed to go back to the harbor?

“ You aren’t going back to the harbor?” You tilt your head and his side profile.

“ I was, but I change my mind.” The blue figure has his eyes on the boots, unlacing the footwear. “Sitting here with you is much more breathable than cramping inside the teahouse and the bookstore.”

…But you didn’t agree to let him stay in the first place. Why is he still here then?

You just offer him a place to sit down in the shade, just because he was sweating profusely under the sun when you were talking to him. It’s called an action out of politeness!!! He isn’t supposed to take the offer and makes himself comfortable.

Great, now you’re stuck with a body heat that you desperate to get away from. Roll your eyes, you let your gaze fleet over the vast clear ocean in front of you.

From here, you can slightly make out an outline of Guyun Stone Forest peeking behind the thickening clouds. That majestic scenery, the infamous fight between Osial and Res Lapis, you wonder how big that fight was to create a whole island with a gigantic unique shape? After thousands of years, you can still feel the rumbling energy threatening to break the seal of lord of Geo, yet something manages to force them down. Perhaps, there might be someone there securing the seal, holding the remaining pieces together. What would happen if that seal finally breaks again? Will the entire harbor engulfed by the anger of the lord of Vortex, or, will the new Geo archon will defend it?

“A mora of your thought?” A youthful voice calls out, and you whirl your head in his direction. “ You look so deep in thought.”

“ Ah… I was just thinking about the Guyun Stone Forest.” You shyly scratch your head, eyes don’t meet his. You totally forgot someone is sitting next to you. Xingqiu doesn’t comment, he lets his gaze drift to the Stone Forest, and the silence falls.

This time you don’t let your eyes stray to the exalted scenery hiding away under those clouds. Instead, you observe the hydro user, who is just a few inches away. His features are soft, yet so define. The sharp eyes, the slope of his nose, and the plush lips. Under the smooth cerulean locks is his signature amber orb. You have always felt enamored under his gaze ever since you first met. That golden eyes are always filled with the determination and sharpness of a predator. You love it when the soft, bubbly Xingqiu turns sharp, or when he’s practicing his swordsmanship.

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” The hydro user says, his voice remains calm and unwavering, almost make you mistake for someone else. “ How is my face?”

“ Utterly unacceptably handsome.” Propping yourself on your elbow, you stare into his deep eyes, answer honestly, try to hold your scoff.

Xingqiu doesn’t comment on your compliment but tilts his head the other way, avoiding your hawking gaze. Obviously, he knows you like to mess with him, trying to pull a reaction out of the shameless nonchalant friend when you’re bored. How you wish he would at least give you an entertaining reaction.

You remember those days when Xingqiu and Chongyun are easily flustered. Nowadays, only Chongyun is still affected by your antic. How does that popsicle boy not immune to your frequent teasing is also a big mystery you’re looking for an answer to.

“ You shouldn’t say someone is handsome if you don’t mean it.” After a while, the calm hydro user is back, composed, and relax. How can he be so lax in this atrocious weather, you don’t want to know.

“ But… you’re handsome ?”

“ You’re just trying to make me fluster.” He replies, a blush slowly creeps on his cheek. You don’t know why he’s trying to deny your compliment. He’s handsome, and you’re just using that fact to turn him into a tomato. Why does it sound like he’s trying hard to convince himself his face isn't aesthetic to look at?

You open your mouth but close it. Speechless, you don't know how do you convince him that you honestly compliment his features, not… uh baiting him? Do your compliments sound like cheap-ass flirtatious attempts people usually get in a combo when they visit the tavern?

Your motive isn’t as pure as it can be but your compliment does: honest, and authentic. How could he twist your words into something so scandalous like that? Outrageous!

Your lips part to speak, but something cold and hard is shoved inside, and your olfactory bulbs almost explode with flavor (and numbing cold). The feeling of fruity sweetness seeps on your tongue, with a tingle of refreshing feeling dancing on top. Glaring dagger at Xingqiu, you notice his gloating face while biting the signature blue popsicle. Did Chongyun give that to him?

Plug the freezing item out of your mouth, the vibrant pinkish color glowing under the sun, slowly dripping down your hand. It is a watermelon-flavored popsicle. He could have handed it to you nicely instead of almost choking you off and stop your sentence like that. Nevertheless, you still enjoy the watermelon-flavored popsicle while pouting at the young man.

“ Where did you get this?” In between you lick, you look up at him, surprised to see half of the popsicle has disappeared. Did he just chomp all that in less than a minute?

“I bought it, of course, food doesn't fall from the sky.” This young man is much more handsome when he has his mouth closed. You are really contemplated whether to use your handkerchief to shove down his throat. Or maybe a rock could do the job well too.

“So, pay me.” Xingqiu suddenly brings his hand to your face, mischief glowing in his amber eyes. The audacity of this hydro user must have rocketed the sky after so long not having a good fight. You give him a forced smile while elbow him in the stomach, voice dangerously low.

“ Our friendship doesn’t even worth a single popsicle? Really Xingqiu, I’m so disappointed.” You fake a sigh, head shaking in disapproval.

The god-damned bastard avoids your blow without a hitch and even slithers his hand on your waist to tickle you. Oh, he must be looking for death this time.

With the popsicle still inside your mouth, you sneakily raise your hand, attempting to push Xingqiu into the lava-like sand as revenge. It'd be a perfect touch to your lovely afternoon to see him tumbling on the group while jumping like a hissing cat.

How naïve of you, to think that he doesn’t spot your little antic. This is the young man always out-performing you in every aspect, even in eating a popsicle.

Without even looking at you, he catches your wrist effortlessly while still licking the ice cream. His body relaxes, compare to you, who almost tumbling toward him if he doesn't hold you in place. In a panic, you try to wriggle yourself out of his hold, but the young man only tightens his hold, remains unfazed by your swinging attempt to fling his hand out of your wrist.

“ Let me go Xingqiu!” Instead of laughing at a hissing Xingqiu tumbling on the sand, you become the angry cat here.

“ So you can hit me? Of course not.” He replies gloatingly, chins lackadaisical, his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist.

“It’s hot.”

“ Eat your popsicle then.” His hand holding your wrist brings up to point at the melting ice cream on your hand. “It’s melting.”

Of course, everyone can see that. Shooting pointed gaze at him, you try to shake the tight grip on your wrist a few more times, but nothing avails. He doesn’t let go, and your other hand is busy holding the popsicle. If you have another one, maybe you can peel off his fingers. Too bad you only have 2 hands.

Sigh out in defeat, you give Xingqiu stink eyes before turning your attention back to the watermelon popsicle, occasionally look down at his grip to find an escape route. You don’t believe you can’t escape from his grasp!

The hydro user doesn’t let your hand go after he finished his popsicle, instead, he slumps down with one cheek resting in his hand, staring at your face blatantly. You don’t usually mind but being gawked at while eating isn’t as comfortable as you thought.

“ What?” Finally, you look up to face the mischievous blue boy.

“ Can I have a bite?”

“ Obviously n-” He doesn’t wait for your answer and leans in. Your first reaction is to be dodged away, but the sneak has your wrist pinned on the grass, forcing you to stay still.

As soon as you realize your immobile state, Xingqiu is a few inches away from your face, licking the popsicle, and then biting off the edge near the stick. His smooth cheek brushes past your fingers, the deep blue locks fall on his face. From here, you inhale a hint of mint and sweet vanilla. Instead of the familiar scent of woodsy musky of old books, you notice a whiff of summer and salt on him.

Stunted by his sudden closeness, you remain to freeze even after he pulls away.

“W-wh-what did you j-just do?” To your horror, you stutter. Not once, but twice.

“Eat your popsicle.”

As nonchalant as ever, he shrugs while swiping the remains on his lips, like he isn’t the one who just leans in so close to you. You are too dazed to even realize the popsicle hang close to your mouth is dripping down your clothes.

Startle at the coldness, you hastily look down and scrunch your face at the mess. Ugh, it’s because of him, again!

“ Need me to eat that for you?” he offers, but you swear you hear a hint of playfulness glinting in his voice. Quickly, you bite off the remaining before he can steal another bite, forget how sensitive your gum is. The result, you can already imagine, is brain freeze.

Hissing at the sudden burst of frost blooming in your mouth, unconsciously grab on Xingqiu, squeezing his hand tightly while squirming vigorously. You shouldn’t have bitten off the whole thing, even when it melts. Hand in hand, you can feel the warmth of his fingers caressing your wrist, and they slowly move down and intertwine with yours. That opportunistic guy.

During that heated moment, you remember yourself instinctively looking for a source of heat. At one point, your brain decided to throw the remaining sanity out the window. It convinces your body that the crook of his neck is the best source of warmth to melt the overbearing sensation in your mouth. And your body decides to do without giving another thought.

Face buries deep in his neck, you are engulfed in his strong musky scent, naturally, you freeze dead on your track.

What have you done?

How do you get up?

How can you look at his eyes now?

With the dreading thoughts constantly running around your mind, you can only hit your head on his shoulder blade in shame, earning a rumbling chuckle from the young man.

“ Don’t laugh!” Your whiny voice is muffled by his clothes. Upon your request, he doesn’t stop at a chuckle but starts to wheeze, chest rumbling. Your cheeks burn crisp with embarrassment, yet you can’t find a single hole to hide.

“ Hahaha… Why did you do that?” He bursts out ungracefully, his shoulder shaking vividly. Xingqiu is teasing you on purpose!!

You also want to ask why did you do that too. Why did you do that without even thinking about the consequence again?

“ Stop laughing!” The audacity of this boy, after you told him to stop laughing, he snorts louder and teases you more. You thought this chivalrous nobleman would only snort for a few minutes, then he would comfort you like the novel. Too bad, life isn’t as predictable as the novels. What you expect is the comforting hug, or his hand patting your head reassuringly. What you get instead is a never-ending tease and the constant re-telling of the scenario in an out-of-breath voice.

Moving away from his neck, you pout and sulky. Despite being under the shade and cool sea breezes, you feel the heat rushing at the back of your neck and on your cheeks, a friendly reminder. Fingers fondling the edge of your shirt, you pretend to be deaf at the puff of his laugh. Is it too late for you to move to Inazuma and never see him again?

Actually, it might be better to start avoiding than do nothing.

You attempt to stand up abruptly and prepare to sprint off, fleeing away from the young hydro user who is making himself relax next to you.

Notice the use of the word here: “attempt”.

Xingqiu quickly sees through your plan before you can start it.

Unlike last time, he saw your movement and stopped your hand in the mid-air. This time, he is a step ahead and caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head toward him, his mesmerizing golden eyes pierce through you.

Catch-off-guard by his sudden closeness, the unsuccessful plan is extinguished at the back of your head.

Out of everything, why would he choose this way for your attention? You feel like you have no sanity left every time he does something intimate.

How weak are you for him?

The deep amber orbs study you intently like he’s trying to ingrain your face into his memories. The glimmering eyes always full of mischief and playfulness now is like an abyss, easily pull you in and spiraling into the darkness. The bubbly, transparent Xingqiu is replaced by a mature, mysterious, and charismatic man.

The distance between you slowly shorten, and finally, he’s a breath away. You nervously hold your breath, eyes widen at his every movement. Being this close, you can see his fluttering lashes, his sudden quicken breathing, and his plump lips dangling like a piece of meat in front of your hungry gaze. What is this feeling of heat rising up to your chest?

Like a moth drawn into flame, your eyes follow when his tongue darts out to wet the soft kissable pad, his lips transform into pinkish color, just like the watermelon popsicle.

Butterflies roaming inside your stomach, your fuzzy mind lets out a weak resistance, telling you to turn away, escape from the cradle of his finger on your chin.

However, your instinct gives in.

You part your lips and angle up, time stops when his lips meet yours. It is a light brush, yet you can feel your heart pounding wildly inside your chest as the mint frosty scent invades your sense. Your breath slowly turns labored, yet all you can focus on is how soft he felt on your lips and how addicting he’s tasting on your tongue.

When your visions start to blur, and your legs threaten to give out, you finally decide to part away, but the hydro user has his hands cupping on your cheek doesn't think so.

“Let me taste you again.” Xingqiu whispers, his voice deep and smooth like velvet.

And then he pulls you in, claiming your mouth again, passionate and intense. He tastes like the watermelon popsicle you just ate, like a sunny summer you used to love, like a soaring kite in the sky.

You don’t think you hate the feeling of his lips on yours.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin xingqiu #summer #hot weather #popsicle #a kiss #clarissalance #no beta we kayak like tim #fluff #romance #friend to lovers #xingqiu x reader #xingqiu x y/n #oneshot #beach #sweating like hell #I proofread this with no wifi ;-;

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kataang-dungeon · 3 years

Text

Turbulence

The rebels attack Katara and Bumi. Aang is furious.

Rated: M

Word count: 1520

Read here on ao3.

ooo

Aang is angry. The ripples of his fury sizzle through the earth and rock the ground Katara stands on. His hands are balled into fists so tight that his knuckles are bone white. His eyes are a dark typhoon that rage and turn from gunmetal gray to flashing silver. His thick robes fly with him on currents of sharp gashes of air, and Katara's parka is rendered useless with the chill he creates.

The two of them stand at the precipice of a cliff, of all places, and at the mouth of a gaping cave overlooking what used to be Yu Dao. It is now a bustling city with a new name and part of a new nation. It is a half day's flight away from Republic City by flying bison. A light dusting of hours-old snow coats the ground and the tiles of the roofs below. The sky is bleak and brewing with turbulence, and that is highlighted more by the leftover pillar of smoke rising from the now far-off city hall that looms toward the back wall.

"They attacked you while you were feeding Bumi," Aang growls. "They attacked my family and then called you...they called you—"

"A snow savage," Katara finishes with a tired sigh. Her shoulders slump. "And Bumi—"

"They called him that too!" snarls Aang. His eyes are fully on her now, seething. "It's a good thing Suki took Bumi to safety before we had to fight because I don't know if I could stand it if they got any closer."

Katara sees her husband, the way the anger rolls off of him in waves. There's a bruise on his cheek from where he had taken a punch for her. She had been protecting their baby boy with her body. She hadn't had time to waterbend.

It had happened all in a rush, and the next thing she knew Bumi was being taken by Suki away from the fight with the Fire Nation rebels and they were beating them into the ground. Aang had carried her away not long after that on his glider, leaving even Appa behind.

She is not sure what compelled him to leave it all behind after barely removing the threat. She thinks she sees the reason under his brows, in the crease between them.

She sees how tense he is, how tense he had been. His lips are caught in a sneer, and not one line of him is soft. He is rigid, a solid rock.

She tugs his arm. “Let me heal you,” she says with earnest. Her fingers brush against the purpling bruise and he grimaces.

He tries to fight it, but she insists. “Aang,” she says his name, and then they are going into the cave entrance where there is shallow light to guide them.

Katara sits him down. She takes the snow from the ground, and it becomes liquid at her touch. When she presses it to his cheek, she notices the way his gaze lights up, just for a second. A gentler gray with quieter blues. But the anger is still there, and so is the resentment.

She bends the water back to the ground and for a while they sit and stare at each other. His cheek is clean now with nothing to mar it. She sees the ghost of his fury just beneath his skin and she leans forward to kiss it away.

When he turns his face quickly towards her so that her lips are pressed on his rather than his cheek, the way he moves against her burns hot. There is desperation that comes with him, a scorching poker plucked fresh from a furnace. She feels him suck on her lower lip, itching for her tongue and her taste. He wants to bruise her too, to mark her, and somehow, she wants it too.

It isn’t easy to pull away, but she needs to know. So, she does, and his hands are still at her hips while hers are still firm at his chest.

“You took me away because you were scared,” she remarks. Her lips are swollen. She licks them and watches as his pupils dilate as they linger on the wetness left behind.

“I took you away because I was angry,” he snaps back. His fingernails dig into her sides. She can feel it through the piles of fabric.

But she remembers how the men taunted her, called her and their son names. ‘Snow savage’ was not all. They called her a perversion, an exotic bitch. “Your tits would be better in my mouth rather than that wind wanker’s spawn. How about I take you on instead?” one had spat at her. She had shuddered in righteous fury. That had been right before Aang had found her with Bumi, their child who had still been suckling on her breast.

She is sure he had heard everything.

“You took me because you didn’t want them to have me,” Katara adds. She knows she is right. The way he sags tells her enough. She grips his chin and lifts his head, so he faces her fully. “You know I wouldn’t have let them.”

He gulps. She is entranced by how his Adam’s apple bobs. “I know,” he replies. His voice is husky. They come closer together.

“You didn’t let them either,” she says. Her lips part over his, just a whisper away, an infinitesimal distance apart.

Something shifts in the air between them. It is stark, it is messy. He is crashing upon her and his teeth graze along her bottom lip again, but this time she moans when he bites into them. She breathes, heavy and with surprise. He separates from her enough that she finds herself pressed up against the cave wall.

“Take what’s yours,” she whispers hoarsely.

That is all the permission he needs.

The grainy, rough surface is a mere distraction. She lets him yank the parka off her torso in quick succession. She is cold and shivers, but he is fierce enough that she is ablaze.

He cups her breasts, lets his thumbs smooth over the fabric where the dampness of her milk still seeps through her tunic. She knows that Aang finds what he is searching for when his thumbs circle around her hardening nipples. She grips at his collar, urging him along.

“Your leggings,” he practically growls now, and goosebumps rise across her skin. She likes the commanding tone of it. How precise, how different.

She slips them off without preamble, including her underwear, only leaving her tunic on. He does not complain, merely tilts forward to play with her breasts, moves his tongue over where their son had done the same.

She trembles at the way he grips her in his arms, holding her fast against the shaking wall. And she notices with delight that the wall shakes because he is making it so.

Her hands are on his pants, and she tugs, insistent. He pulls her up now, drags her really. It is slow and languid and sensual in a way she does not think is possible. His face is still at her neck, kissing her from chest to earlobe, and then they are standing.

He steps back for a moment only to finish the job she started. His pants pool on the floor. He kicks them away, eyes never leaving hers, and dips into her again.

She feels his stiffening bulge against her leg as she waits for him to realize what she wants.

And he knows when she embraces him tighter. Her knees dig in between his legs, and she bucks forward.

She gasps when he has his mouth next to her ear again. “Flip over,” he commands. He sounds like a general in an army. It’s possible he was in a past life, and she wants to ask him if he has any more demands of her. She will comply without question.

She thinks that she likes this Aang, this Aang that orders instead of asks. She likes that he thrusts into her from behind, how his fury and frustration are a force to be reckoned with when all he wants is to keep her his.

He makes the earth move with them, and the thrusts are that more powerful. Pebbles fall from the ceiling, tickling her spine as they come trickling down with sand.

She shouts and shouts and begs.

But of course, in a fashion that is only Aang, he breathes down her neck and demands something of her that only he could. “Tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

It is hard to breathe when he is going so deep into her, hard to move when he is pleasuring her with reckless abandon.

Her eyes screw shut, her arms flat against the wall. “They didn’t,” she grunts. She starts to buckle when he hits just the right spot. “Aang I just want you.”

She bites her own lip and blood starts to pool, and she breaks apart when he forces himself inside her another time and another.

The earth stirs and Aang is all she knows.

#fornication scrolls #mod mooning

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #i'm sorry whoever i stole the gif from i couldnt find the source to share it

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fanfic-about-fictif · 3 years

Text

My turn

Type: drabble/oneshot

Pairing: Sergio Jimenez x female reader

Words: 1110

Warnings: no warnings

„Oh, come on, Sergio”, she tugged on his tie playfully. “Loosen up a little.”

They were standing on the beach, under the scorching Colombian sun, just a few feet of sand separating them from the splashing waves of the ocean. Well, she was standing on the beach, while her lawyer’s expensive shoes were standing firmly on the wooden boards of the beach bar. They had just finished a meeting, had a refreshing drink together at the bar and she was aching to get in the water to cool herself off. Sergio on the other hand…

“I would love to, cariño…”, he cupped her cheek affectionately, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. “But, I have too much work to finish.”

She rested her hands on his three-piece suit, wondering how he was not burning up in so many layers while she was feeling hot in the flowy summer dress she picked out for today. Her hair was pulled in a tight bun high up on her head, and with one swift movement, she released the strands of her hair which fell down her shoulders. As she twirled her hair around, Sergio watched her, completely mesmerized by her beauty.

After she moved her hands away from him, Sergio’s hands moved to her hips, keeping her close to him.

“Too bad.”, she pouted her lips. “I thought we could have some fun.”

“I promise I’ll…”

She interrupted him. “It’s too bad you’re gonna miss me showing off my new bikini.”

With a seductive wink and a smirk, she left him standing there, utterly shocked and confused. Sergio watched her as she unclasped the bow of her dress behind her neck, letting the fabric fall down her body and pool around her feet in the sand. Since her back was turned to him, the first thing he noticed how little the bottom piece of her bikini actually covered, making him instantly wonder how the front looked like. She didn’t need to turn around to see him gape at her, but she did, smiling at him brightly.

Sergio smirked, shaking his head at her like he was scolding her.

He made his way to her, not caring about the possibility of sand getting in his shoes anymore. His hands swiftly encircled her, making her turn around. Sergio pressed her body against his and kissed her without warning, hungrily and without holding back.

As they pulled away, she looked at him curiously. “What was that sudden kiss for?”

Sergio smirked, looking around them. “Just making sure none of these men around you try to hit on you while I go get my swim trunks.”

She laughed heartily and Sergio could feel the vibrations from her body as she did. He pecked her lips once again, before he made a step back. Holding only her hands now and with space between them, he took his time eyeing her from top to bottom.

“Like it?” she struck a pose jokingly, chuckling.

“You have no idea how much.”, Sergio concluded in a low voice. “I’ll try to change as quick as possible and come back.”

“Need some help?” she asked innocently, although Sergio recognized her intentions were on the opposite end of the innocence spectrum.

“I don’t think so.”, he grinned. “But, I’m sure I’ll need some help with taking them off later…”

She giggled, blushing now. “I would be happy to help.”

With one last quick kiss, Sergio left her on the beach to get changed and join her.

She had to admit, it took him even less time than she expected. And he was also thoughtful, bringing towels and sunscreen. He sat next to her, leaning on his hands casually. She admired his toned body, his blue swimming trunks which suited his tan so well, and his relaxed face expression, with his shades on. He closed his eyes for a moment, hanging his head back and revelling in the afternoon warmth of the sun.

After he opened his eyes, he took his time to properly observe her, the strands of her hair flowing in the air from the light breeze, the tan she was slowly starting to get from being in Colombia, her rosy cheeks from being too hot in this weather, and lastly, her beautiful body in a bikini.

“Why are you staring?”

“Because you are a goddess.”, he answered quickly, without hesitation.

She laughed. “I’m starting to think you have these answers memorized and ready for almost all of my questions.”

“I’m simply telling you what crossed my mind.”, Sergio smiled genuinely.

He was letting his guard down, piece by piece, each day. She loved it. It made it easier for her too, to let go and open herself to all the possibilities of them being together.

“Will you put sunscreen on my back?” she handed the tube to him. “I can’t be a goddess if I burn in this sun.”

He moved in the sand to sit behind her, happily taking the tube of sunscreen. “Gladly.”

She closed her eyes when she felt his large hands on her shoulders. At first, he took his time in gently lathering her up in sunscreen, even carefully going around and under the bikini straps. After some time though, he continued to massage her shoulders and back, with his practiced fingers.

Completely unintentionally, she let out a moan of satisfaction, instantly tensing up after she realized it.

She could hear his chuckle. Also, she didn’t need to turn around to see the cheeky smirk on his face and the glint in his eyes.

“Enjoying yourself?” she whispered into her ear, making her shiver.

“Very much so.”

“Should I continue?” Sergio kissed her shoulder, slowly moving up and leaving a trail of kisses up her neck.

“Nope. It’s my turn.”

Sergio was surprised when she pulled one leg on the other side of him and sat on his thighs. Her legs were spread apart and resting loosely around him, while he was leaning back on his hands. With no time to waste, she squeezed some sunscreen on her palms before rubbing it on his chest. She made sure to hold eye contact with him as she caressed every inch of his skin. His shoulders were last on the list, and after she rubbed some sunscreen on his back as well, which meant that her body got even closer to his. Sergio suddenly enveloped her in his arms, pulling her completely against him.

“You’re very thorough.”, Sergio remarked, quite blissfully.

“Just following your lead.”, she winked.

“How about you follow me to our hotel room?” Sergio murmured in a flirtatious manner.

“I’ll follow you anywhere.”, she concluded with a kiss.

#fictif imagine #fictif fanfic #fictif oneshot #fictif heir to love and lies #heir to love and lies #segio jimenez #sergio jimenez fanfic #sergio jimenez fanfiction #sergio jimenez x reader #sergio jimenez x ofc #sergio jimenez x mc #sergio jimenez imagine #sergio jimenez oneshot #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #fictif

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alma-berry · 5 years

Text

Kit’s Secret Fire Message #20

Masterlist

Kit lead the way out of the bright corridor with a confidence he didn’t feel. He knew they were scraping borrowed time, that they probably had only a few seconds before the demons could find them and the children they were trying to protect. The group was trapped inside the Malachi Configuration, but Kit preferred not to risk the chance of the demons will find a way to get past that obstacle.

After only a few long strides, he and Ty found themselves in a wide hall. The ceiling was higher than in any other part of the cave, arched upwards, like a strange and foreign dome placed inside the underground labyrinth. The temperature was unbearably high, and Kit ignored the slow trickle of sweat running down his spine. It wasn’t a surprise, considering the enormous pillar of fire, blazing in the middle of the room. Kit could feel Ty tense next to him, but they had no time to hesitate. Over thirty demons circled the fire, swaying from side to side in absolute silence. The image was almost religious in its familiarity, like ancient paintings Kit had seen in the old books his father kept in their LA home.

He had never seen such a large group of demons, it wasn’t what they had expected, but Kit didn’t feel afraid, he almost couldn’t. The grounding sound of Ty’s breathing filled him with a certainty he knew was probably recklessly dangerous. They were only two Shadowhunters, and Kit sometimes felt like he wasn’t even fully qualified to count as one himself.. but as he looked at the fire, rising high above the demons and scorching the ceiling into a darkened blackness, he felt the steady pull of his blood guiding him forward.

Ty’s hand found his and squeezed hard for half a heartbeat, before both men sprang forward, their seraph blades slicing the smoke like lightning bolts hitting the sand.

In front, the swaying circle of Moloch demons rose a thick layer of black smoke that glided rapidly towards them.

“Kit-“ Ty’s voice hitched as multiple pairs of burning yellow eyes formed all across the wall of smoke that tried to encircle them.

“Yeah yeah, goddamn Iblis demons. I hate Iblis demons. They totally ruined bonfires for me after- Ouch!”

Kit pierced the nearest demon to him with annoyance.

“I don’t appreciate your attitude”, he called as he threw himself in front of another demon, whirling his seraph blade into the gap between the demon’s eyes.

“You,” he panted, “are the reason why midnight picnics” he dropped to the ground, “are no longer allowed in our household”. His blade sank into its target and the air around him cleared.

“Are you always this chatty while fighting?” Ty mused.

Kit unleashed a mischievous smile and said, “only when I’m in a mood”.

“Which mood?” Ty straightened and drew another seraph blade from his belt in a long, smooth movement.

Kit grinned wickedly and whispered, “Guess”.

The circle of Moloch demons was starting to slowly break apart as they realized their line of defense failed to guard them.

“We have to stop them from raising the greater demon. He won’t be able to fully come to this world without the sacrifice but that doesn’t mean he won’t be able to do some serious damage”.

Kit nodded in silent agreement.

He drew a longsword that was strapped to his back and held it out to Ty.

“You’re almost out of seraph blades, take it.”

Ty didn’t look at him but accepted the sword, their fingers brushed and the lightest spark of white light passed between them. Kit drew his hand quickly, not knowing if Ty saw or felt it, but sure that he didn’t want to explain himself even if he did.

The fire crackled loudly and Kit ran straight towards the circle of demons, his heart turning heavily inside his chest.

Ty was right behind him, dancing between the flames like he was made of shadows.

Throughout Kit’s short shadowhunting career, he usually fought alone. Jem came along at the beginning, be it from worry or a simple show of support. But it wasn’t long until Kit had asked him to cut back with the babysitting. He had to try to manage himself alone… and he did. He was quick and efficient, but his habit of chatting while fighting was a result of solitude more than it was of his good mood. He fought alongside Jace more times than he honestly cared to, and Simon was always fun in a fight. He was chatty like Kit, and being near him made him feel less like he had to try so hard to be like them, like other Shadowhunters. But as much as Simon was fun and Jace was unbearable, they both had a parabatai. That meant they never fully gave themselves to fighting with Kit. It was always just a pinch of what they had with their chosen partners, and Kit couldn’t not know that.

Fighting alongside Ty felt like flying.

They found the perfect balance of high and low between them. Ty was skipping between the demons like he was climbing a rock on the beach. His hands expertly slicing off one head while he aimed a kick to the back of another.

In the meanwhile, Kit was on the ground, dodging their bursts of fire and sharp claws. He was pretty sure he got the worst end of the deal, seeing how his gear was already drenched in ichor and that disgusting oil those demons were partly made of, but the position abled him to get rid of their formless lower bodies.

Between their joint efforts, they managed to kill every single one of the demons before the fire lost any of its hight.

Ty reached out a hand and pulled Kit to his feet. They surveyed the liquid mess around them, chests still heaving from effort and excitement.

Kit couldn’t hold it in any longer, he turned to face Ty, his body practically vibrating with bursts of adrenaline.

“This was the most fun I’ve had in weeks!” Kit blurted out.

“You were incredible, Ty. You jumped between them so fast, like they were stairs!”

He debated himself whether or not he should compare Ty to Spiderman, but he wasn’t sure it was the right time to explain who he was in case Ty didn’t know him. And in that case - if Ty would even understand it was made to be a compliment, or just look at him like he was insane.

“You moved like the wind, it was amazing.”

Kit took a hesitant step towards him, memorizing the way the tiny flecks of light from the fire made Ty’s skin shine like glittering ivory.

“You were amazing.”

It was barely audible, Kit wasn’t sure he’d even said it. The words got caught between his lips when Ty reached for him, pulling him closer and harder without an ounce of hesitation.

He framed Kit’s face between his hands and leaned his forehead to his. They breathed each other’s air, tasted the sweet anticipation of lips on lips, of words left unsaid.

Kit linked his fingers behind the nape of Ty’s neck and tried to remember why he was fighting this for so long. He came up with absolutely nothing.

Ty’s skin was fever hot where he touched him, running hungry fingers from Kit’s cheeks to his neck, lingering at the pulse point, as if trying to commend the way it pounded against his palm to his memory.

“So were you, Kit”, Ty’s soft voice made him shiver down to his bones. The feeling grew stronger and this time Kit could recognize it before it reached his palms. He untangled his fingers from Ty’s neck and tried to step back, forcefully detaching his eyes from Ty’s face.

In response, Ty fastened his grip on Kit.

“No, Kit.. don’t pull back from me again.” Ty’s voice was a low plead.

“Ty, please... I-“ he was shaking from the effort of controlling himself, but as he looked up at Ty’s face, his expression changed from pained to panicked before he could find words to explain.

A flare of light washed them, turning Ty’s eyes to liquid flames. He grabbed Kit’s shoulder and shoved him behind him, screaming “Kit, look out!”.

In books, people always described these kinds of situations as if rolled in slow motion right in front of their eyes. Like a second, stretched into an uncountable, infinite moment, where every movement sharpened into a forced clarity.

Kit only wished this was the case, maybe then he could have responded. He would have moved, fast and sharp like a well-aimed arrow. He could have pulled Ty down, move to shield the person that had always been the one precious dream that he never deserved to have.

But the cruel slap of reality was the familiar raw pain in his heart. A massive ball of fire blurred his line of vision and shot straight to Ty’s chest. The strength of the blow made Ty fall back, his knees buckled from under him and Kit could barely catch him before his head hit the ground.

“No, no no no” Kit was on him in a heartbeat, his stele already marking an Iratze on his burnt skin.

Kit heard the demons before he saw them, and the seraph blade in his hand came to life with the ferocity of his anger. He leaped to his feet and sliced through the air, called the name of an angel and sank the white blade once, twice, three times until the only sound he could hear was the thunder of his throbbing heart.

He ran back to Ty, and a sob of relief broke away from his mouth in the sight of the black tune that still marked his skin.

“Ty, look at me. You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”

Kit scanned the burnt material of Ty’s gear, looking for any sign of injury. To his relief, the gear took most of the impact, and whatever gotten through to Ty’s skin was already healing. The impact of the blow was what knocked Ty off, but Kit could see him struggling to stay conscious.

Kit touched his face, smearing ash and splashes of blood across the hills of his cheekbones.

Ever since they met again, Kit could barely allow himself to look at Ty for more than a few stolen moments. The fear of hurting him was stronger than his own needs, than his own ragged, treacherous Heart.

But Ty had been hurt, now, and not by him. Kit had tried to protect Ty from him but failed to do it when the danger came from the outside. He failed as a Shadowhunter.

Kit buried his face in Ty’s hair and tried to match the rhythm of their heartbeats.

“I said I’m never leaving you again, Ty. It goes both ways. I’m never letting you go either.”

His voice sounded muffled but Ty didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were closed.

The silence became too thick for Kit to stomach. He lifted his gaze towards the fire and wasn’t surprised to see dark figures approaching them from behind it.

He laid Ty’s head gently on the floor and got to his feet. He was down to one dagger, barely bigger than the one Jace gave him three years ago. He didn’t know if it would do, but he had no intention of letting any of them near Ty again.

He would do whatever is necessary to keep him safe, no matter the cost.

This time, summoning his power was almost easy, like he always knew how to do it.

He thought of Ty holding him on the roof of the London institute, whispering a promise to his ear; “Breath. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere”.

He let that promise guide him through the darkness of his own mind, and reached for the light.

His left hand glowed a pearly white, startling in front of the vibrant colors in the pillar of fire in front of him.

Kit clenched his fist and kept it close to the side of his body. It was the only true weapon he had left, and he wasn’t about to give it away so fast.

Seven demons glided around the fire, circling it like a swarm of ants. Kit crouched and readied his body. He won’t have endless attempts, the energy that pulsed through his body was overwhelmingly strong now, but he knew from the little experience he had that he would be drained out of it soon after.

Kit needed to be precise so he will have enough strength to get Ty and the kids to safety.

He took one last breath and started uncurling his fingers one after the other. He only managed two before a deafening noise came from behind him. He barely managed to close back his fist before Adam and Carl burst into the room, their seraph blades blazing high in the thick air.

Kit was never happier to see that bastard.

Without a single word, they gathered beside him, and Adam handed him one of the Adamas made blades. Kit didn’t even try to keep his voice low, he screamed “Sanvi” and charged towards the group of demons.

The three of them made short work of the demons, but it seemed like more kept coming from behind the flames. Kit couldn’t believe it took so long to see that.

“It’s the fire, it’s calling them somehow!” Kit shouted.

“Isn’t it supposed to summon their higher demon?” Adam answered while dodging a ball of fire one of the demons spat his way.

“Yeah, that’s what we thought. But I don’t think that’s the only thing it does.”

Kit severed the demon‘s head with a neat blow. “You’re welcomed, by the way”.

“Fine, let’s put out the fire and get out of here” Carl gave an irritated shove to his opponent and sliced his way towards the fire.

“Wait, how are you gonna do that? You’re not Aquaman!” Kit called after him.

Adam reached his side and paused, confused.

“Whose Aquaman?”

Carl reached the fire and surveyed its size for a moment, then took off his gear jacket and started pounding the flames.

Kit stifled a snore but gave Carl the benefit of the doubt. As it turned out, the method was quite effective.

Kit considered helping him when he caught sight of something lurking right behind Carl’s back, illuminated by the last remains of the fire.

“Damn it” he muttered and ran to take care of it. Carl hardly noticed until the demon was practically on him, but this time Kit was faster.

He threw himself in front of Carl, shoving him into the last wisps of fire, and sank his blade deep into the revolting figure in front of him.

Carl fell on his back, but the force of Kit’s push made him slide a few feet backward. He took away with him the last of the flames, and in that instant, a loud crack came from the top of the dome.

Kit straightened his back and turned to face a rain of massive rocks, pouring in on them from the ceiling.

Ty, his heart skipped several beats while he searched his limp figure in the vast darkness of the room.

Ty is still there, unconscious. He had to get to him, he had to-

A massive rock fell in front of him, blocking his way and nearly crushing him to death.

“Kit!” Adam’s panicked voice echoed through the thundering sound of the cave collapsing.

“Kit where are you?”

Kit tried to run across the rock when two more fell right in front of it. He tried to climb one of them, and could almost see three figures near the entrance.

Kit ran as fast as he could, trying to duck the flood of rocks that enveloped him. He could barely cross half of the distance to them when what seemed to be a massive chunk of the ceiling fell behind him. The impact of the fall through him off his feet and he crashed on another enormous bolder.

The pain at his shoulder punched the breath out of him, and he could barely hear the others calling for him anymore.

He tried to lift himself to his feet, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Kit took a desperate breath and tried to climb the rock only with his hands.

His shoulder burned with agony, but Ty was at the other side of that rock, and Kit had promised him he will never leave him again.

A shadow of an old vow rang through his head with every breath he struggled to take, and he finally reached the top of the stone.

Adam’s face was white with relief for a fleeting second before a scream escaped his mouth.

“Kit! Above you!”

He had less than a second to react, and he rolled back to the ground as a pile of rocks crashed at the exact place He fell from.

Kit held his hand close to his abdomen, trying to minimize the movement of his shoulder, but he couldn’t make his legs hold his weight.

He looked at his left hand and knew with a sinking feeling in his gut that he had only one chance left.

“Go, Adam! Go now! Make Ty open the configuration, take the Kids and leave before you get buried alive!”

A burst of angry comments came from where their direction, but Kit couldn’t hear it.

He could barely hear a thing. Not the loud embrace of stones, not the Centurions pleading voices, not even his own heart.

He leaned against the boulder and carefully spread his hands on his knees, palms up. Kit watched them for a second longer before he let go of his control, and gave in to the sweet pull of the light.

He closed his eyes so he won’t know when it’s over, and listened to the same four words, again and again. He whispered them, the only promise that ever mattered. The one that no one ever kept, but that he would rather die than to break.

He whispered to the grey eyes in his memory, flames dancing on his pale, beautiful face. Fire burning between their lips.

“To never being parted”.

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sensesdialed-aa · 4 years

Text

Scene in canon: Attempting to save Vulture from himself

@valiiantsouls // send me a scene that happened in canon and I’ll write in detail how my muse felt in it!

SMOKE FILLS THE AIR ON THE BEACH, flickering flames curling across the sand and bright embers soaring past blurred vision as Peter turns on the sand, falling onto his back and letting out and gasping for a breath of air. Same smoke travels to his lungs, chest TIGHT and every inch of his body practically screaming in pain. Underneath the suit ( his first one-- hastily sewn together fabric, already charred and cut ), bruises bloom across pale form, skin splitting with each cut. His chest BURNS with a fire stronger than the ones on the beach, the white-hot feeling of metal talons SINKING into his torso lingering each time he is slammed into the ground, before left to lay there with the Vulture towering over him.

Sound still slightly muffled, Peter catches the coughs that sputter out, before metallic wing SLAMS right down next to him-- barely even a moment’s reaction besides a slight flinch, and a separate edge of the wing slowly begins to lift him into the air, dangling almost lifelessly. And he wants to fight back, he HAS to fight back, but his eyelids, his LIMBS are heavy, and a small part of him wishes he could stay collapsed. MAYBE HE WAS RIGHT. MAYBE HE IS NOTHING WITHOUT THE SUIT.

Thoughts scream for him to struggle, to break free, to fight, but they’re SLOW, against persistent pain and the constant buzzing in his head, and for a MOMENT, he finds a chill running up his spine-- Toomes is going to kill him.

“Bingo.”

PETER FALLS to the sand again, landing with a thud and another BURST of pain. Sound of the Vulture’s suit rings through the air as smoke falls over him, and slowly, Peter lifts his head. Hair dirty and matted, blood clinging to his lower lip, just in time to spot the Vulture picking up one of the boxes-- and the metal contraption SPARKING uncontrollably.

“Your wings-” Peter forces out-- bare fingers curl into the sand, slowly pushing himself upwards. “YOUR WING SUIT’S GONNA EXPLODE!” But he doesn’t hear, doesn’t LISTEN, and even after EVERYTHING ( the lake, the ferry, the car ride, the warehouse ), Peter CAN’T let him die. Sudden, determined drive surges through him, and Peter carefully lifts his right arm-- it shakes ( wrist broken, no time to pay attention to it ), but slowly, he presses two fingers against his palm, and SHOOTS out a web.

The moment it attaches to the box, Peter is PULLED to his feet-- every inch of him BURNS, needle-like pain at every bruise and gash, although through groans of pain, he manages to steady himself, digging his feet into the sand. “AgH-- AH!” Both hands clutching his webbing, he looks up at the malfunctioning suit.

“Time to go home, Pete!”

“I’m trying to SAVE YOU!” He rasps, throat ACHING with each word, but he keeps his hold. Except it isn’t ENOUGH, because in only a moment, the wing cuts synthetic material, and the web SNAPS, sending Peter falling on his back. No, no! He tries to shoot another one, ANOTHER WEB, before the sinking realization that he’s run out hits, and there’s nothing else to do but watch as everything comes crashing down.

“AH!” Hands behind his head, Peter quickly shifts, curling on the ground as he readies himself for the explosion, before...a crash. Fire erupts from the scene, and Peter lifts his head to see again-- no, no, he isn’t letting anyone die. Not even the flying Vulture guy, not Liz’s DAD. It SWELLS through his chest, and Peter doesn’t care about the suit, about the webs, about ANYTHING except fixing this. He’s going to make it right. Pained noises escape as he pushes himself up, but the moment Peter makes it to his feet, he SPRINTS across the beach.

Thrown an opening in the flames, he dives RIGHT into the scene, a hand held in front of his face as a scorching hot sensation echoes across his body. Where is he?! Where is he?! Where is he?! Frantic gaze flickers around the scene, until he spots the collapsed suit, and Peter rushes towards it. He reaches out for the suit, hot metal immediately BURNING pair fingertips, and Peter gasps, clenching his teeth as he holds his hand tight to his chest. No, keep going, he has to do this! Pushing the pain aside, he places both hands underneath the material, LIFTING IT up before tossing it aside-- there.

Soon enough, he’s walking out of the flames, each step with another echo of pain, but a weight finally LIFTED the moment he places Toomes’ collapsed form on the ground: saved. Legs finally giving out underneath him, Peter falls to the ground beside the other, one hand clutching his shoulder as he gasps and coughs. Vision tilts slightly when his eyes open, black spots swirling ‘round his sight, but again, Peter pushes through. And the realization hits-- he did it, saved Toomes, was SOMETHING. Feet planted into the sand, he stands, finally towering over Toomes as the battle comes to its final conclusion.

#(once again..i have rambled kjHBDSJ)#(lowkey i think this Could Be Better but i really wanna get across how. he won this fight bc of empathy and his /heart/ cause that really is #what happened...although my brain is all over the place so KJDSN)#valiiantsouls #🕸 ❝ i’ve been so good but it’s still getting harder ❞ → drabble #🕸 ❝ another one bites the dust ❞ → answered

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things-we-used-tc-share · 5 years

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Manifestor // 14

Plot: Set in a world where Witchcraft is real, and the government hunts down those who practice magic, Thomas must flee to an underground safehouse after being discovered. Now fighting a war against Witches who seek the end of non-magic people, Thomas must learn to control and harvest his powers, as well as the manifestation of his sides to bring about peace and unity in the Human and Witch world. (Nanowrimo 2018)

“Just you, and me, Thomas,” In hindsight, this is not how Thomas thought his life would end; time slowing in a dodge of fire and anger with his Anxiety screaming and his logic hissing out commands in his ears, whilst sand washed against his lips and yellow eyes stared him down in a vicious duel. In fact, this is not how the man expected his day to go, in the dark of the night with the stars glowing as the only light on two people, a man, and a monster, lit by the actions of their fight.

When the creature had approached, a silhouette in the darkness with eyes glimmering in amber and gold, Thomas had startled; a creature beyond humanities saving, their mouth reveals needle-sharp teeth behind cracked and greying lips. Was this creature ever really human? It looked as if someone had drawn a dangerous caricature of a humanoid figure, but everything was just slightly off, like a bad photocopy. As Thomas swallowed his own saliva, the creature grinned without a hint of happiness instead full of anger, of hatred, of malice, he smiled.

Jack’s hands are already up and prepared, eyes bearing into the attacker, and then the creature speaks in a low growling voice that sounds like feet against gravel. “Just you and me Thomas, you win and no more creatures will attack you or your friends, I win, and you come with us,” Thomas can feel the blood in his ears pounding as ore silhouettes encircle them. Did he have a choice? Jack is shaking his head, blue eyes dark in the night and yet shining so bright with fear.

As the silent air rose and the waves calmly lapped against each other, one boy barely a man stands against an army, and he smiles. It’s small, it’s…relieved, and it’s terrified. One battle and it’s all over, one battle and this agony can end. If he lost, his choice is predetermined by fate. Once, Logan had told him of a theory known as ‘Determinism’; the idea that people did not have free will because every choice made had already been decided, that there was a path for them all…like fate. In situations like this, Thomas liked to think his choice does not matter because it’s not really his choice. Therefore he can’t really be blamed.

“Okay,” Jack shouts, anger all over his face mixed with a cocktail of fear. Nothing really matters this had already been decided. The creature stands in the center of a circle created by its minions, whilst one reaches forward and snatches Jack back into its rough claw-like nails. Thomas winces with an apology written all over his face to his best friend.

Jack is struggling, kicking his legs and dragging his feet into the dirt as the Dark Witches laughed at his attempt to escape their grasp; Thomas’ face was a picture of remorse, of sorrow as he looked between Jack and the thing he is supposed to fight, it’s golden flecked iris’ glowering in the darkness. He swallows and stands opposite it, the circle enlarges taking Jack with it in the process. Thomas stares death in the eye as in his mind there is chaos; the four sides of his soul trying to articulate the situation, Virgil might be screaming and the host does not blame him in the slightest. He really wants to scream right now too.

He doesn’t though.

His choice doesn’t matter.

He tells himself this over and over as his hands come up to protect himself under gale-force winds that are rising. Air, not easy and yet not hard to combat as he encases himself under an icy field that stems from his hands. He is safe for a moment until a heat pushes against his safety and causes it to crumble and melt. Like a flower in the scorching fires of California, he wilts and pressure drains his energy.

As his shield cracks, his pulls forward a burst of energy, his source being Roman, who is running around his mind trying to source all of the energy in his body directly to his anger. Patton, who is possibly shaking rather forcefully, is working on his memories. Anger had always served him well in these situations and right now he needed the best he could; it worked as flames broke through his own shield so forcefully that the ice exploded in different directions, forcing the creatures to shield themselves. The fire landed its target against the other creature, pushing their powers down.

It must have been five or ten minutes of the two fire elements pushing against each other firmly, dragging along the two of their tethers like a bead on a string. The two of them were shouting in pain, before extinguishing in a second. Thomas falls to his knees; he scratches his palms against the gravel floor and blood draws forward from the surface of his skin. He can hear the Witch cackling with firm force, it’s lip pulled into a sneer. He looks away, seeing the man is distracted in taunting and jeering, he lets the blood drip onto the floor.

Blood magic, a powerful form of magic very rarely use in witching community because it was seen as too gruesome or having bad consequences. Giving anyone or anything a drop of your blood was seen as taboo in witching spells; but Thomas doesn’t have the time to consider this as he allows the wind to soak into his skin and his blood to drop into the ground. Behind him, he can hear Jack gasping; he can imagine his face is torn between terror and impressed, one of Jack’s favorite expressions as he mutters under his breath “Earth,”

Under this city is a cavern much like a mortuary, plants that don’t need the sunlight or had died trying to find it create a labyrinth below the surface of the brick city. Thomas didn’t know he knew this until he called these plants from their graves as thick stems break through the surface at his command; a string of puppets woven together in terrifying form as they ensnared the witch. Thomas directs them with fluid yet furious movements, tugging and pulling at his enemy until the other finally finds their footing.

The High Witch receives no more than a few scratches, but he was at least slowing the other down as from the ashes of the figure of his old creation, he raises his hands to form a new idea. The ground reaches up and around Thomas, protecting him like armor made of trees. He flicks out his wrist and a thin vine, full with spikes and thorns lashes across the creatures face, he repeats the process except the tendril wraps around its neck, a fire has already started pouring from its hands but his own has already started building a small wall of ice in defense, sealing around the attacking vine as spikes form on the surface of his shield.

The ice spikes as sharp and hard as glass surge forward, pinning against the Dark Witches shoulder causing a shriek to emit from its cracked lips in agony. It pulls out one of them and hurls it up towards Thomas, but it simply bounces against the shield and cracks on the floor. The man is feeling adrenaline run through his veins as he realizes he is tiring the other creature, weary and in pain, out entirely. The brunet pulls back the shield and allows it to dissolve before another vine seems from his wrist, with a flick it’s tightening around the creature’s body. He watches it squirm and squeal, powerless before he’s planning his next move. This time was more difficult, watching the tree grow fiercely before it’s twisting up like a drill.

But the creature is gone. Thomas’ defenses lower, whipping round in shock. All of them have gone, they’ve run. Jack is panting on the floor, coughing on the air in his own lungs as he looks between Thomas and the empty beach. “What the fuck just happened?” He says, collapsing on the floor, eyes wide and full of terror.

The two of them look around for any sign of life, but there’s nothing, the entire landscape is empty “Come on,” Thomas says, holding out his hand for the other to take, “Let’s get out of here,” They run up the steps onto the streets and, exhausted, begin to walk southbound. “We need somewhere to rest for the night, they’ll be back for sure at some point,” The two head towards a hotel to rest for the night; Jack limping in and Thomas behind him; they must look a state to anyone else with dirt and sand clinging to them and blood drying on various scars and scratches they hadn’t even noticed they had.

The person behind the counter’s eyes grows very wide upon seeing the two, stuttering out the rooms available. Thomas dumps his wallet on the counter and says they’ll take whatever room is available with a rough and tired voice. A nod is received, money is taken and the keys are placed in the palm of his hand as he helps Jack up the stairs to their room.

Once inside the two collapse tiredly on the bed, sitting very still as the events of the past day start to sink in. “I need a shower,” The American mutters blankly, his face void of any emotion as he and his sides were too tired to find an emotion that suited this situation in the slightest. The water feels hot on his skin, burning through cuts and burns as he hisses and accepts the pain. The dirt washes down the drain, turning the water grey for a few seconds as it does so. The soap feels like a welcome embrace as the agony, stress, blood, and murk drains from his skin and he relaxes against the cold tile wall.

The brunet dries himself off, hugging the towel to his chest as he pulls on his underwear and enjoys the fact that there’s something more than pain touching his skin. He throws his dirty clothes on the floor in the bedroom with a sigh and collapses under the warmth of the quilt. Jack squeezes his hand for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom himself. Left alone with his thoughts, which is a dangerous plan, he thinks about the day, of Joan’s lifeless body, of Sophie’s tears, of the fire that raged incessantly inside his own anger and pain. He thinks about the bruised and broken figures of the people that had tried to protect him and he cries. The blame lingers on his shoulder like a weight that has only just decided to press down, breaking his shoulders and back with its burden. He closes his eyes and tries to steady his breathing as tears collegiate on his eyelashes and dampen his cheeks, he inhales deeply and exhaled in a sob, hands coming up to his face to wipe the tears away.

Jack comes out, towel hanging off his shoulders onto his bare chest, wearing his jeans and worried expression. Upon seeing the other he drops the towel onto the floor and shimmies into the bed next to him, allowing the other to seek his comfort at his own pace.

They end the night with the two hugging, Thomas’ tears start to cease amongst Jack saying “It’s not your fault,” like he can read Thomas’ mind or thoughts. No, Jack just knew his friend and he knew how he would feel if he was in the other’s shoes, this entire situation fell heavily on his morality and Thomas’ morality had always been the driver of who he is.

Jack sleeps that night in a restless fashion, in his dreams he can hear screaming, see dark eyes flashing and blood running off his hands. The pieces of a puzzle that don’t quite make sense when he sees a glitch and his own face staring back at him, and he sits right up in bed. In a similar sense, Thomas also sleeps without comfort that night, in the darkness he can see an icy body and brown eyes blinking up at him, he can hear a voice that once loved him shouting blame at the young man. He sleeps with no comfort that night; neither of them do, restless in a world that had turned all their knives against them.

As the sun streams through the window, the two sit up, breathing heavily, with a pressure resting against their necks whilst air tried to force its way down their throats. Thomas presses his hand against his shoulder, remembers Dodie and all she had taught him, and through watery eyes, he smiles in a melancholy fashion. He’s still alive, and so is Jack.

Ko-fi

#ts sides #sanders sides

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easilyaddictedin123 · 5 years

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A little drabble between Asra, Kyah and her bad decision.

Was it stupid? Most likely. Was she going to get caught, maybe? There were few things Kyah did that went against Asra's cautious nature. He only seemed cautious when it came to her and the rapidly developing magic inside her. After all, he dared wilds, wilderness, and had adventures that she threatened to sneak out and follow him on. Maybe this was one of those attempts? She just wanted to see if she could get away with sneaking out of the shop, magical books in tow regardless.

Kyah had made it out of their shared room and almost past the display case when the sound of scales on wood made her freeze. Damn. She hadn't accounted for Asra's familiar. Said snake joyfully slipped away from the shadows to just in front of her.

Run?

"Shh!" Why she was trying to quite a snake that couldn't actually speak she didn't know, "I just want to try some spells without him hovering, please Faust?"

No Asra?

"No Asra." Kyah prayed silently that the snake would just let her by, Shillelagh was already outside waiting.

Come help!

Realizing that there wouldn't be a way around it she lifted Faust onto her shoulders then as quietly as possible slipped out into the night. She needed to go to the flooded district, despite the spell being small it was of fire element and she didn't want to cause any damage. Her familiar didn't let out a cry as they flew into the night scouting ahead for a building she could practice in.

Bad idea. It was Shillelagh that commented from above.

"Yes, thank you for your imput." She snarked to the winged hunter.

The bearded vulture found a building that Kyah could work with. It was dilapidated, weathered and covered with funguses that flourished from the steady water source. Climbing into it was difficult, the wood bowed and threatened to break under her light step, each creak caused a shudder to run down her spine but this was the price of her decision.

Finally settling into a spot with her feet soggy from treading through the water atop an old dresser -that she was surprised was sturdy enough to hold her weight- did she pull out one of the books. It was leather bound, the spine torn in places, the pages smelled of ink and something distinctively Asra. He always took books on the road and seemed to know exactly which one she wanted to look at thus taking them under the pretense of studying. She handled the pages carefully not wanting to rip or injure them in any fashion until she landed on a beginners spell.

It was simple, lighting a candle with your breath and snuffing it out the same way. She dug about the satchel she brought and produced an often used cream colored candle and stared. Magic was a difficult art that required different ways to make a spell of any kind work but Asra had taught her something startling true with every spell. Intent. Kyah had to demand the will power to make what she wanted to be true.

She remembered the spring how he taught her to make that breath last when the lilypad collapsed under her, plunging her into deep blue hues.

Make it last.

Kyah breathed out slowly, the deep gulp of air she'd taken brushing against the wick while trying to conjure the flame. She could imagine the searing heat of it, dangerous and wonderful. Beautiful like a blazing star, dazzling brightly in the night sky or soaring as if a bird over dunes, plains, and seas. It offered light and warmth and a hearty meal as a breeze swept through the camp they'd made. It was a searing pain crawling down her spine and through her very bones. The echoes of screams spilling into the air as the waves lapped at her legs.

She didn't want to die. Not here. She didn't want to burn, she longed for the cool of the waves and it's midnight hues that would incase her. The sensation of drowning that many said was compared to slipping into a dream. Instead, it was cloying her sense, the ash falling heavy on her and biting worse than the sand where she had collapsed upon. The memory of being lifted and her weak struggles.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Forgive me please, please. Please.

Tears ran down her face in rivulets despite her not being able to move as they carried her somewhere. She begged them not to burn her, or she tried. Kyah couldn't speak her throat too dry, tongue to swollen and it all tasted of blood. The violent reds casting shadows and the heat spilling over her skin. She felt too heavy and when the screeching metal sound opened she knew. It would burn. It would sear. She was going to d-

"Kyah!" The hands were freezing on her skin and she sank into the sensation of it.

The scent that enveloped her was familiar. It protected her. From the world, people, and she supposed herself. It was herbs, and the road and clear blue skies with a gentle sun beaming down on them. Bathing in golden rays atop a roof during a light nap. It was the crisp cool wind that caressed on too hot days. A pool of water that dazzled with colors the likes she could only wonder at.

"Asra." The name sounded choked as if she'd been crying as the eyes she'd shut opened.

"I'm here, right here." The world around her looked scorched, the black climbed up the walls and hot embers were still breathing shades of red around her, "It's okay."

They were sat on the floor, more her laying halfway across Asra's lap like she'd fainted and him holding her, where he buried his face in her hair. The house was in ruins, some parts ash like the dresser she'd sat on and the floor above her. It was all black and crackling like in a furnace, she trembled at the though before shoving it away like a nightmare.

"What the actual hell were you thinking?" He didn't sound angry, he sounded frightened.

"I...I just wanted to...it was...I'm sorry." Kyah couldn't find the right words, she couldn't explain why she'd thought it was a good idea only that at the time it'd seemed logically sound.

"Don't. Ever again. Please, just don't."

"I won't. Ever, I swear." She pulled away from him, taking her face from under his chin and against his chest.

Asra's hands were uncomfortably warm, now that she noticed and a shade of red. Burned. What happened when she closed her eyes? He winced when she held them, staring at the bright color, it was her fault. Was she burning when he'd grabbed her? Why didn't she feel like it? Instead of wondering she focused on the marred skin, he shouldn't have grabbed her. The spell was sluggish on her tongue but the magic rose up like a wave. She could feel the sea foam lapping at her legs with the tide rolling in, the waves breaking against the ground gently. The smell of salt and the ocean breeze.

It was a beautiful blue color with white tinges in it. Healing magic, something she'd also learned while he was gone, that spilled across his skin and left her exhausted. Curious that the fire roared in her veins then burst with her will but water and healing were what left her light-headed with the amount of effort she needed. It worked though. The golden tanned skin she knew was returned and the only marks were on his fingertips where he'd hurt himself from digging, so he told her.

Asra saw her sway when she went to stand up and caught her before tipping over, "By the gods you're the most stubborn ass woman I've ever known in my life."

She grinned up at him sheepishly, "Sorry."

He rolled his eyes and carefully picked her up, "Sure you are. Let's get home before you come up with a new idea on how to give me a heart attack."

"I would never. I like your heartbeat too much." He flushed and held her closer, her ear pressed to his chest to hear the steady but soft tones of said heart.

The tired magician didn't make it out of the flooded district before falling asleep in cool arms and breeze against her skin. No more heat, no more fire. Just Asra

#asra x apprentice #asra x mc #asra #the arcana game #light angst #fluff #drabble #a wizard should know better #Kyah #curiosity #killed #the #cat

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kumeko · 5 years

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castles in the sand

Characters/Pairings: Allura, Keith, Shiro

A/N: Written for the @summer-lovin-zine , featuring my favourite three characters.

Summary: The sun scorched Allura’s skin, the water chilled her to the bone, and the air was dry on her throat. She had no idea why Keith and Shiro brought her to the beach, but she had a feeling it was connected to torture.

…

Hot. Allura stared at the white sands beneath her feet, her toes digging into the soft, grainy shore. This was nothing like the hard, sweltering deserts of Vogoth 9 and only a little like the giant resort planet of Alestia. An empty bag of chips rolled past her feet. Nope, definitely not like the pristine, clean beaches of Alestia. There the temperature was controlled to a comfortable warm.

Here, all she could feel was the heat. The soles of her feet burned as she stood there, just as her face did from the sun’s rays. It was scorching, and as soon as the sensation registered, she leapt back into the shade. Astonished, she turned to Keith and Shiro. “It’s hot!”

“Yeah, the sun does that,” Keith drawled, amused. He pointed up at the sun. “It is summer.”

“Summer?” Allura repeated, the word foreign to her. For once, she understood the difficulties the others had when they first arrived at her castle—it had been years since she had to learn a new language.

Shiro rubbed his neck, considering it. “Maybe your planet didn’t have it. Our planet goes through different temperatures depending on what time of year it is.”

“This happens every year?” Allura peeked back at the sands, and then at the blazing, hot sun. What a nightmare. Did they have to adjust their crops too? Their houses? A thousand questions bubbled within her but that would have to wait until she saw Pidge again. Keith had never been the most patient teacher and while Shiro was better, she didn’t want to bother him too much while he was recovering.

“Every year,” Keith confirmed. He looked at the sand, a teasing smile on his lips. “You don’t know what sand is either?”

“Of course I do!” Allura huffed at him, indignant. It wasn’t like she was born yesterday. Gesturing at the trees around them, she added, “It’s just most desert planets don’t have plants.” She pointed at the sea in front of them. “Or that much water.”

“Earth is unique like that,” Shiro agreed, stretching his arms behind him. There was an easy smile on his face and he looked relaxed for once. “I noticed a lot of planets seem to be very uniform.”

“Land or temperature-wise, most planets tend to stick to one type.” Allura stuck her hand out into the sun again. Within seconds, her skin was on fire and she yanked it back. “How long does this last?”

“A few months.” Keith rolled his eyes and stepped forward before she could stop him. Laughing at her expression, he held a hand out. “Come on, it won’t kill you.”

She looked at the sun one last time. Well, if she did die, at least it was warm. Gingerly, she stepped out on the sand, gripping his hand tight as she emerged into the sunlight. Once more, she felt the heat. Focusing on Keith’s hand, she waited for something to happen, for that burning sensation to turn into a fire.

Nothing happened. She blinked as her skin only warmed in the heat, the rays feeling less and less hot with each passing second. “Huh.”

“Didn’t think you were a scaredy cat,” Keith taunted.

Allura glared, letting go of his hand. “I’ll take you to Vorgon 9 and then we’ll see who’s scared.”

“Guys, try to have fun,” Shiro sighed, following them. He shielded his eyes with a hand. “Save it for later.”

“Fine.” Her eyes darted from one paladin to the other before finally asking the question that had been niggling in her mind for so long. “Why are you both shirtless?”

Keith looked down at his red shorts, at Shiro’s black ones, and then back at her. “Beach wear. For swimming.”

“You swim in that?” Her brow rose, there was no way that was safe.

“It’s fine, we’re safe.” Shiro eyed her own outfit, puzzled. “Why are you wearing a spacesuit?”

“You told me to bring something to swim in.” She wrinkled her nose in contempt at their outfits, proudly modeling her own skin-tight suit. Light pink, since even in their most relaxed, they couldn’t escape paladin colours. Maybe Coran was tossing away anything that didn’t match the colour scheme—she wouldn’t put it past him. “I can dive fairly deep in this.”

“Yeah…we’re not really diving here,” Keith muttered before giving up with a shrug. “Maybe Pidge can help you next time.”

By now, her feet were well adjusted and boldly she walked toward the water. The shore stretched out as far as her eye could see, and she could smell salt in the air. Blue waves crashed on shore, sea-foam spraying against her skin. She loved the feel of the cool droplets and perhaps this ‘summer’ wasn’t as terrible as she feared. Even the breeze was warm, ruffling her hair as she pushed back her bangs. The sand was harder here, damp from the waves, and she walked into the sea.

Only to recoil once more. “It’s cold!”

“You’re going to do that to everything?” Keith snorted, his shoulders shaking as she danced out of the waves reach.

Shiro was just as bad, barely holding in his laughter. “It’s her first time.”

“It is not.” Allura puffed her cheeks, put out. “It’s just the temperatures here are quite extreme.”

“Welcome to Earth,” Keith drawled and dodged her indignant sand-ball throw. Laughing, he ran as she chased him, Shiro tagging behind in a slow jog.

Allura was barely able to keep her balance, her feet slipping on the uneven sand with each step. It was even worse with all the people lying on the ground, almost daring her to step on them. She was going to twist an ankle avoiding them. Keith and Shiro didn’t seem to have any such problems, and gritting her teeth, she stubbornly kept running. If they could do it, so could she. Even better than—she started to fall backwards, the sky filling her sight.

“Allura!” Shiro quickly caught her, his arms hooking underneath her arms. He looked down at her, blocking the sun. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” At his concern, her anger ebbed away. She shot a glare at Keith as he jogged back, worried.

“It’s hard to run,” Keith admitted, rubbing his neck as Shiro steadied her. He held out his hand, looking apologetic. “Truce?”

Before she could begrudgingly shake his hand, Shiro intercepted. “In times like these, there’s one way to bury the hatchet.” When they both stared at him in confusion, he grinned and pointed at the water. “Water fight.”

Allura grimaced—how did humans enjoy that cold? On the shoreline, children played, and she wasn’t sure if that was some level of madness on their part or if people just had thick skin. Actually, considering the paladins, maybe they did.

“Maybe next time.” Keith backed away, shaking his head.

All of her hesitation vanished instantly and she smiled broadly. “Oh no, if this is an Earth custom, then by all means we should do it.”

“Allura.” Keith glowered at her, but Shiro was behind him now, propelling him to the water.

“Come on, Keith, let’s show Allura how it’s done.” He ignored Keith’s protests—even if Keith had aged two years and grown taller, he was no match for Shiro. Within minutes, they were standing in knee deep water.

Allura covered her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter. Keith looked all the world a bedraggled cat, and Shiro was tugging him even deeper into the water. Quickly, she approached the shoreline. Biting her lip, she let go of her reservations and plunged into the water after then, running to catch up. The cold shocked her at first, her legs shivering as she went deeper and deeper. Gods, it was frigid.

“If you get your head wet, it’ll feel warmer,” Shiro suggested. His hands firmly pressed on Keith’s shoulders when he tried to run away, pinning him in place. “Alright, Allura, you get first splash.”

Waist deep now, she hesitantly held her hands in front of her. “You’ll get splashed too.”

Shiro shrugged. “It’s fine. I laughed too.”

“Just get it over with,” Keith mumbled, a deadpan expression on his face as he braced for the worst.

Her eyes darted from Shiro to Keith, her hands slowly dipping into the water. “Alright then, if you’re sure.”

When they didn’t say anything, she made a splash so big, it towered over their heads for a moment before crashing down. For a moment, she thought she heard Shiro swear but then the water drowned out his words entirely. Actually, the water might have just drowned him literally—when the water calmed down, she couldn’t see either Keith or Shiro. “Oops.”

-x-

“How are you able to splash so hard?” Keith had his eyes closed as he lay on the sand. His chest heaved as he panted tiredly. “I didn’t think Alteans were that much stronger than us.”

“Well, you both weren’t too bad yourselves.” Allura glanced down, sitting next to him. She wasn’t sure if lying down was such a good idea—the sand seemed to get practically everywhere. Shiro was sitting on her other side, his hands scooping the sand as they dried up.

“With my arm and your Galra blood, I don’t think it’s really fair to compare any of us to a normal person.” Shiro patted the sand into a small mound.

“You were just as surprised by that first splash,” Keith muttered, sitting up now. Sand clung to his hair, slowly trickling over his shoulders, and Allura sighed.

“Here, let me.” She reached over and dusted his hair, running her hand through his locks till the worst of it came out. Even then, stubborn particles stuck to his scalp like a second skin. “How do you get this sand out? It’s everywhere!”

“Honestly, we’re not.” Keith obediently moved his head, giving her better access as she tried to clean the other side. “You’re going to find sand for months.”

She glanced at Shiro for confirmation and he gave her a sad smile. Well, it couldn’t be as bad as that time Hunk got glitter all over the control panel. It had been almost a year and she could still find shiny flakes.

Nearby, a child was sculpting sand, a bigger scale than Shiro’s tiny hills. It looked like a miniature castle, edges crumbling as the child patted the sand. “That is impressive.”

“What?” Shiro followed her line of sight. His expression brightened. “Let’s make a sand castle.”

“Sand castle,” Allura repeated. So that’s what it was called. She had made similar things as a child with mud, to various degrees of success. Excited, she pulled back from Keith, turning to Shiro. “Let’s do it.”

Keith got up, stretching his arms above him. “I’ll go for a swim.”

“Spoilsport,” Allura chided. Remembering his earlier jokes, she smirked. “Is it because you cannot make one?”

Disdain dripped in his voice. “Allura, I’m not five.”

“Even five-year-olds can make a sand castle, so I suppose that is true.” Allura’s smirk grew even broader. Despite his sudden age spurt, there were a few things Keith had never really mastered. Patience, for one. The ability to ignore taunts for the other. It was the reason Lance always got under his skin and Allura was very observant of what made him tick.

Keith clenched his jaw. From his stance, he was fighting himself, that side of him that knew it was a trick losing to the side that couldn’t back down from a challenge. It would take just one more push, a small poke, and he’d give in. “I’ll call one of them over to take your place.”

“Alright,” Keith growled, sitting back down on the sand. “I’ll show you a sandcastle.”

“Wait, what?” Shiro stared at the pair as they both started digging furiously in the sand. They both paid him no mind and he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “Isn’t this a little childish?”

“Just start building,” they both shouted in unison before glaring at each other.

“Guys, come on. You’re scaring the kids.” Shiro gestured at the group of children that started to crowd around them, curious at the spectacle.

“Nah, this is cool!” a boy yelled, hopping in the sand excitedly.

Beside him, a little girl nodded eagerly. “Even my dog doesn’t dig that fast!”

“Really.” Shiro rubbed his forehead harder, his headache growing stronger. Piles of sand grew around him at an alarming rate and he wasn’t sure if it they were competing with each other or just trying to build the world’s biggest sand castle. Distracted, he didn’t notice the hoard of children approaching him until it was too late. Tiny hands pushed him backwards, onto the sand, and the last thing he saw before he hit the ground was Allura’s commanding stare as she ordered her troops to build a solid foundation.

Then it started to rain sand all over him. As the children started to bury him, he yelled, “Not the face!”

-x-

“I can’t believe you buried me.” Shiro glared at them grumpily, brushing as much sand off his head as possible. He didn’t want to imagine just how much he had swallowed when the pair had started to create a sand castle on top of him, the children egging them on.

“Sorry.” Allura smiled sheepishly, rubbing her arm. “I got a little…excited there.”

“A little,” Shiro repeated, crossing his arms.

“A lot,” she corrected, turning redder by the second.

“I should have stopped her, sorry.” Keith’s apologetic tone did not match his entirely unrepentant face.

Disgruntled, Shiro shot them both a dirty look as he continued to dust himself off. In front of them, the sun had set, the last rays of light starting to fade. Had they really spent the whole day here? Around them, whatever people were left were packing up and leaving, closing umbrellas and rolling up blankets.

Allura wiped her brow, grimacing as sand scraped her face. A bath, a hot bath, would hopefully fix most of this. “Shall we?”

“Soon.” Shiro clapped his sandals together, removing any excess sand. Slipping them on, he started to jog back to the parking lot. “I need to grab something from the Jeep first.”

As they watched him disappear, Keith pointed at her diving suit. “Is that warm?”

Allura nodded, patting the sleek material. “It can withstand freezing temperatures from Hogoth. I just need to put on my flippers.”

“Good.” Keith rubbed an arm. “It gets chilly here at night.”

Now that he mentioned it, she could feel the difference on her face, her hands, her feet. A shiver ran up her spine and she crossed her arms. “Really, this place is full of extremes.”

He glanced at her and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. We should take you snowboarding.”

Now that was something she recognized. “I know what snow feels like. I’ve been to Hogoth.”

“Right.” Keith blinked in surprise before giving a mischievous grin. “Know it like you knew what sand was?”

She swatted at him, scowling. “Better than that.”

He raised his hands in defense. “Got it, got it.”

She relented as Shiro came back, two big bags in his hand. Setting one down in the sand, he held out the other to the pair. “Let’s change first—if we come back sick, Coran will have my head.”

“At least he’d try to,” Allura agreed, pulling out her own clothes. When she returned from the change room, she found a blanket spread across the sand and Shiro holding two jackets. A few paper plates laden with fruits and other snacks were arranged in the center of the blanket, as far from the sand as possible. All in all, it was surprisingly thoughtful, so Allura was a hundred percent certain that Keith did not come up with this at all. Gratefully, she took one. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Shiro put one on.

It was starting to get chilly now, a cool breeze blowing off the water. The night had fallen quicker than she’d expected, and suddenly the bright beach was dark and mysterious. Behind them, Keith was setting up a telescope. She hadn’t seen one since she was a child and she felt giddy as she approached him. “Stargazing, is it?”

“It’s harder to see them near the city, so it’s better to try here.” He spared her a glance before returning to the scope, slowly adjusting the position and zoom.

Looking above them, she gasped in surprise. Above her, a thick river of stars ran across the sky, drawing her eye as much as the half-crescent moon did. Nothing unusual, really, she had seen more and better skies on other planets. Yet it had been a long time since she’d been able to just sit there, to stare without thinking up battle plans or worrying about the future. “Stunning.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it.” Shiro stood next to her, pointing at a bright star to their right. “That’s the North Star there, Polaris.”

“Polaris,” she repeated, liking the name. From here, neither the stars nor the planets looked familiar. It made sense, they were far from the skies she knew best.

“It’s set.” Keith straightened up, rolling his shoulders back before gesturing at her to look into the telescope. “All yours.”

Allura raised a brow, confused. When he didn’t say anything else, she tentatively pressed her eye into the scope, not sure what to expect. The telescope was pointed at a small patch of sky, a small blue dot in the center of focus. Small stars twinkled around it, but it did not. “A planet?”

“Yeah.” Shiro had a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “I know it can’t make up for what you lost, but I thought you wanted to see it.”

His words explained nothing. Her expression grew more quizzical and Keith rubbed his neck, looking up at the sky uncomfortably. “It’s Altea.”

Her eyes widened and Allura looked back into the scope, at that small blue dot that brightly burned. “Altea?” Her voice was no more than a whisper, a gasp, this was her home, this small piece that remained.

“Even now, its light shines to us.” Shiro’s hand was warm, was heavy, was grounding and she reached up to grab it, her eyes still firmly glued to the scope.

The blue burned to brightly and she wondered how long ago that light had left her planet. If she could see closer, would she see herself? Her father? A time where nothing could go wrong, where everything was perfect. An innocent light, unaware of impending destruction. Her eyes watered, her sight blurry, and hastily she wiped her tears.

“Here.” Keith squeezed her hand, passing her a tissue box. “Should we leave you for a bit?”

“No, it’s fine.” Looking from one to the other, she grabbed them both and hugged them, almost knocking over the telescope. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing.” Shiro rested his hand on her back. “We’ll bring Coran next time, I’m sure he’ll want to see it too.”

“Definitely.” She wiped her eyes, giving them a watery smile. “Though you might need more tissues.”

#allura #voltron #shiro #vld #keith #fanfic

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och-ako · 5 years

Text

Flames That Don’t Burn

04/02/19

@xmagicxshopx

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RACHEL! I hope you have an amazing day! I wrote you this little Jungkook fanfic as your gift. I hope you like it! It’s basically a Jungkook/Rachel fic just for you heheh <3

Genre: Fantasy, Romance Word Count: 3,895 Rating: PG-13 Plot: nephilim!jungkook. I blinked, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. “But you … you saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper and he nodded again. “Why? H-How? You … You’re not human, are you?” Content Warning(s): violence and blood and stuff like that

It was always the same: wake up, brush my teeth, fix breakfast and pack lunch, and go to the same job where I sat at the same desk and did the same thing. It was starting to get tedious, to say the least. I was desperate for something—anything—to snap me out off this endless loop because I was starting to feel like a hamster running around in a wheel: no matter how much I ran, I stayed in one place.

Sighing, I tightened the strap of my purse on my shoulder, making my way out of the elevator and into the parking garage, car key in hand. At least when I got home, I could do whatever I wanted. Read, write, anything. And the best part? I could change out of these uncomfortable clothes. The sun was setting, but the day was far from over. There was so much I wanted to get done. If I didn’t fall asleep, that was.

My shoes click-clacked against the ground, echoing throughout the practically empty parking lot.

“Excuse me? Miss?”

I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice so close to my ear. I stepped back, looking at the stranger with wide eyes and tried to calm my now racing heart. I could have sworn I was the only one in this parking lot just now, so where did this strange man come from? He looked innocent enough, though. Scruffy blonde hair and glasses that sat crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

I blinked a few times before I found my words again. “Y-Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could help me. See, my car ran out of gas and I’m kinda stuck. My phone doesn’t have service in this garage, either, so I can’t call anyone. Can I borrow your phone?”

It was a bit of an odd request. Most places had cell phone service these days, but maybe he had a smaller, cheaper network. Judging from his mud-stained jeans, he wasn’t rich like the CEO of the company I worked for. Most people weren’t. And besides, I hated turning people down, especially when they were in need of help. Surely letting him borrow my phone for a couple minutes would be fine.

“Oh, uh, sure,” I said, rummaging through my purse and deciding that I definitely needed to clean it out because there were a few too many loose receipts piling it. I finally found my phone at the bottom of the bag, unlocked it, and handed it to the young man, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “Here you go,” I said and he smiled back.

As he reached out to take the phone, however, he grabbed my wrist instead, squeezing it hard and making me yelp. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like stone and, for some reason, his palm was scorching hot. It felt like I was leaning against a seatbelt on a particularly hot day.

“L-Let go of me,” I said, still trying to pull away as the young man’s smile twisted into something much more sinister.

Then something in his face changed and my throat was so dry that I couldn’t even stifle a scream for help. His canines grew an extra inch and the whites of his eyes turned completely black, an abyss of nothing, my terrified reflection staring back at me. His ears grew pointed and a cloud of black smoke appeared around him, circling him like a lioness circled her prey.

My eyes lined with tears as I tried with all my strength to pull away from his iron grip, but the more I struggled, the tighter he held on. Opening his mouth, he let out a menacing laugh that sounded like two different laughs from two different people overlapping each other.

“You can see my true form now,” the young man said, his voice sending a thousand shivers down my spine. “Good. I love it when they sweat with fear. Makes them taste better. Saltier.”

I whimpered, looking down at my wrist. His hand was still wrapped around it, his nails suddenly long and black, the ends digging into my sensitive skin so hard they left little droplets of blood behind. My normally pale skin was turning purple where he touched me and the color seemed to be creeping further up my arm the longer he held on.

“Help!” I managed to yelp, but my voice was so hoarse and barely there that no one in the building could have possibly heard it. The young man—or whatever he was because it certainly wasn’t human—laughed, mocking me.

“Humans are so fun to hunt,” he hissed. “Dumb as shit. I’m tempted to give you a head start so I could chase after you. That would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Wh-Wh-What are you?” I stammered, putting all my weight into trying to free myself from his tight grip, but to no avail.

The thing tilted its head, its snake-like tongue escaping between its teeth and running up the side of my cheek, making me wince.

It hummed as its tongue slipped back into its mouth, its face so close to mine that I could feel its breath on my cheek as it spoke so nonchalantly. “I’m a demon. And pretty human girls are a demon’s favorite snack.”

I hated how weak and vulnerable I felt in this situation. With his grip on me, there was absolutely nothing I could do to defend myself. My purse and my phone were dropped onto the ground long ago and my voice seemed to be betraying me every chance it got. Not to mention my legs, which felt like jelly, so even if I wanted to kick him where the sun didn’t shine, I was stuck like a deer in headlights, completely helpless.

About to die.

I squeezed my eyes shut as those canines inched closer to my neck, bracing myself for the pain. I thought about my family and my friends and all the people I loved. And I thought about how I may never get to talk to any of them again and my chest felt heavy, like my heart was a giant weight sinking all the way down to my feet. A scream bubbled in the back of my throat, but before I could release it, the pressure on my wrist was released and I fell back, stumbling over my own feet and falling hard on my backside. I opened one eye before the other, trying to figure out how in the world I was still alive when I saw the blue flames.

The blue flames danced around a broad, male frame that stood between me and the demon, sword in hand and pointed right at the demon’s throat.

The world around me began to spin out of control. It was so bad that I couldn’t get a good look at my savior’s face when he slit the demon’s throat and turned around to face me, dark black blood oozing out of the demon’s wound and forming a puddle on the floor around it.

The man surrounded by flames had dark hair, his almond-shaped eyes wide and full of concern, but I was so dizzy that I was seeing three of him. Something about those eyes was familiar, like I’d seen them before. Did he work in a cubicle close to mine? Then he opened his mouth and I heard my name, but it was like I was listening to him from underwater.

Rachel. Rachel.

“Jung…” But I didn’t finish the last half of his name because the world around me went black and I fell into nothingness.

~~~~

I woke up to the sound of running water, my right arm feeling as though it were on fire. I hissed as I sat up, my head still spinning. When I was finally seeing only one of everything again, I looked down at my arm and saw that it was bandaged up, little spots of red dotting the otherwise clean bandages in a few places.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

I jumped out of my skin as the sound of the voice, ready to fight if it was that gross thing again, but it wasn’t that thing. No, it was a handsome young man carrying blankets into the room. He had a smile on his face and he looked completely normal … aside from the fact that he was surrounded by small blue flames.

They weren’t as strong as they were in the parking garage, but they were still there, clear as day. And he was acting like he was totally fine, as if fire that hot wasn’t burning him at all.

He placed the blankets down on the edge of the bed and sat next to them, turning his attention to me and that was when I recognized him. Jeon Jungkook. He worked in the same building I did. I didn’t talk to him much, other than the occasional good mornings and nods in the kitchen area. I knew his name and he knew mine, but that was as far as our relationship went. I always noticed him, though. He was handsome and when he smiled, it lit up his entire face to the point where him just accidentally brushing against my arm caused butterflies to erupt deep in my tummy. There was a part of me that daydreamed about him, wondering what it would be like to hold his hand or to feel those long fingers brush through my hair. Just thinking about it again now made my face turn thirty shades of red and I moved back against the headboard.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice dripping with kindness. Did he not see the blue flames resting on his shoulders? Or the ones resting on top of his knuckles?

“I … uh …” I stammered, clearing my throat. “I’m … just kind of sore,” I admitted. “Though, uh … I’m also a bit thirsty.” In fact, my mouth felt like a desert, completely full of sand and a bad taste. Would it be rude to ask for an altoid or something?

“Ah, I have some water for you,” Jungkook said, getting up from the bed and walking over to the sink, which was where the sound of running water was coming from. He filled a glass and turned off the tap, slowly walking to the bed and handing me the glass. I gladly took it with my good hand and downed it in a matter of seconds, immediately feeling ten times better than before.

Jungkook took the empty glass from me and placed it on the bedside table, his lips pressed together. “Rachel, I…” He started the sentence, but he didn’t finish it, instead sighing and running his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in three different directions.

Honestly, I was kind of surprised he knew my name.

“What’s going on?” I asked, finding it much easier to speak now that my mouth was no longer full of sand. “And what are these … things flying around the room?” I swatted at a small, fly-like creature. It didn’t sound like a fly, though. No, it didn’t buzz like flies did; it hummed, kind of like it was singing a song.

“They’re nano-demons.”

“Nano-who?”

“Demons,” he repeated, speaking slower this time.

It was weird to think about: demons being real. I’d heard stories and other folklore about them and saw them portrayed on fantasy TV shows, but they weren’t real. Then again, if demons weren’t real, what was that thing that attacked me in the parking garage? And what were all these things that were suddenly flying around me, trying to attach themselves to me like leeches? And why was Jean Jungkook surrounded by blue flames? What the hell was going on?!

“When that demon in the parking garage cut your skin with his nails, he tainted you,” Jungkook explained, going back to his spot at the end of the bed and sitting down, the mattress bouncing with his added weight. “When a human receives a taint from a demon, they are suddenly able to see creatures of the underworld. Like nano-demons,” he said, pointing to one of the small, black, humming creatures as it swished around the room. “But it also means you can see past a demon’s glamour and see its true form.”

The more he spoke, the worse my headache got because it seemed like the more he explained, the less everything made sense. “Wait, I … What?” I let out a shaky breath, pulling my knees to my chest. “You’re telling me that not only do demons exist, but they roam earth hiding behind glamours that make them look human? And I was attacked and tainted by one?”

Jungkook nodded slowly, a sort of sadness in his eyes that made my chest ache. “Not many humans are tainted because most humans who are scratched or cut by a demon don’t live to tell the tale.”

I blinked, taking a few deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. “But you … you saved me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper and he nodded again. “Why? H-How? You … You’re not human, are you?”

Jungkook closed his eyes for a long moment and the silence that fell between us was so heavy it could be cut with a knife. It felt like a lifetime before he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice low and calming, echoing throughout the dimly lit bedroom I was currently sitting in. “You can see the flames now.” It wasn’t a question. When I nodded, he spoke again, “I’m what’s called a Nephilim.”

“Nephilim?”

“Yeah. It means I’m half human and half angel.”

My eyes widened. Of course! If demons existed, then angels must have, too! It was almost kind of exciting, mostly because all I knew about angels was that they were beings of light. The only one who wasn’t was the banished arc angel Lucifer.

“Angels are … surrounded by flames?” I asked.

Jungkook let out a breath through his nose, nervously pulling at his fingers. “No. That’s unique to me.” Before I could ask him another question, he said, “Blue flames are the symbol of Satan.”

My jaw dropped.

“My mother was human, but she bore an arc angel’s child. The blue flames are proof that I am Lucifer’s son.”

My head began to spin. It was all happening so fast. One second Jungkook was a kind coworker from my office who wasn’t too bad on the eyes and the next second he was the son of Lucifer?! This didn’t make any sense and, for a moment, I was sure I was going to pass out again.

“I heard you call for help,” he said when I obviously wasn’t going to say anything. My thoughts were too jumbled and the right words just wouldn’t come to the surface. “That demon that attacked you … it came looking for me. They always come looking for me, trying to take me back to the Underworld, back to my father. Usually I can track them down and fight them off before they cause too much trouble, but he must have caught a whiff of your scent first and couldn’t resist. I … I’m so sorry, Rachel!” he exclaimed, bowing his head. “You got hurt and tainted because of me. I’m so, so sorry.”

I blinked, staring at him with wide eyes.e was apologizing to me, fists trembling and everything? He was still so kind, even now. So it was never an act to hide his demonic self. He was truly a nice guy.

“Jungkook,” I said and he lifted his head, lip quivering. “I admit I’m … scared. Terrified, actually. But if you hadn’t saved me, I would be dead.” I slowly inched my hand forward, grabbing his fingers and giving them a soft squeeze. His eyes never left my face and I offered him the best smile I could muster in this kind of situation. “Thank you. For saving my life.”

His face twisted into something I couldn’t quite recognize. I was about to ask him if he was okay when he threw his arms around me and pulled me close, hugging me tightly, his neck buried in the crook of my neck.

My eyes widened, my heart jumping into my throat. For a second, I was so paralyzed with shock that I didn’t do anything. He was hugging me. Jungkook was hugging me and … were his shoulders shaking?

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” he said, tightening his grip around my neck and apologizing again.

With shaking hands, I hugged him around his middle and hugged him back, my nose pressing into his shoulder. I noticed then that not only did the blue flames not burn, but he also smelled like firewood. His grip around me tightened and I found myself on my knees, moving closer to him.

“I’m grateful to be alive,” I whispered, reaching up with one hand and gently tangling my fingers in the bottom stands of his hair. It was soft. “And it’s because of you that I’m alive, so I’m grateful to you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook pulled back from the hug, but only a little, pressing his forehead against mine, his brown eyes scanning my face, taking in every detail he could. “You were always so nice. In the office. You smiled at me everyday. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt because of me. And I’m sure more demons will try to track me down again and now you’re caught up in the middle of this whole thing and—”

I hushed him when he didn’t seem to be able to stop rambling, offering him a smile to silently tell him that everything was okay. “Seeing these nano-demons and the flames on your body will take some getting used to, but you were always nice to me as well, so if I can do anything to stop these demons from coming after you, I’ll gladly do it.”

I could tell that, deep down, Jungkook didn’t want to be what he was. And even if he was the son of Lucifer, he didn’t seem horrible or evil in any way. In fact, he seemed like the complete opposite: caring, sensitive, wonderful.

Something in Jungkook’s face twisted and, for a moment, I thought he was going to cry, but he didn’t, blinking any possible tears away. “I promise to protect you,” he said. “I got you in the mess, so I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb gently caressing his skin. “I’ll protect you, too, okay? I know I probably can’t do much being just a human and all, but—”

I couldn’t finish my sentence because he cut me off with his own lips, hands cupping my cheeks and I was sure my heart was going to explode right through my ribcage. The kiss is quick, so much so that I didn’t even get a chance to kiss him back by the time he pulled away, licking his lips and looking down at his lap, his ears a bright shade of red.

“Sorry, I … I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

Jungkook looked up from his lap, his eyes meeting mine and the second they did, my heart fluttered, heat rising to my cheeks. Sure, I may have had a little crush on him before, but this … this feeling was something different. Then he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at the wall behind me. “Forcing a kiss on you, it … I don’t want to be rude and I’m sorry. It’s just that when you told me you would protect me, too, my chest felt all warm and all I wanted to do was kiss you.”

If I thought my face was red before, it was even worse now.

“I … don’t mind if you kiss me,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. When he met my eyes again, I sunk deep into my shoulders, feeling embarrassed. “And I meant it when I said I want to protect you. I can do it because I can see demons now that I’ve been tainted. You’ve always been so nice to me and everyone around you. I know you’re nothing like Lucifer.”

Jungkook was looking at me like I’d just sprouted a second head.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.

“It’s just … no one’s ever said that kind of thing to me,” he said. “I’ve always hurt everyone around me, whether I wanted to or not. I’ve always told myself that I can never get close to anybody because I would just end up hurting them or killing them. But you, Rachel … there was always something special about you. You have such a kind smile and a kind heart and I-I know this is selfish of me to ask, but I really want you to stay by my side.”

Without saying anything, I reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing my fingers with his, my thumb caressing the back of his hand. “I’m not going to run away,” I promised.

Jungkook smiled then—a real smile—and it was like the room lit up and became ten times lighter. Who knew a simple smile could be so powerful? He scooted closer to me until his knees touched mine, not letting go of my hand. He pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, a content look on his face as he let out a breath through his nose.

“Never give up on me.” It was more of a request than a statement and when I nodded, he leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to mine. This time, I was able to kiss him back, our lips moving together in a soft, perfect harmony.

I smiled against his lips and he smiled against mine and suddenly we were a mess of giggles, foreheads still touching and both of our hearts feeling full. It didn’t matter what Jungkook was. It didn’t matter that I was tainted. Nothing mattered to me except protecting that smile of his. No matter what came for him, I would make sure nothing wiped that beautiful smile from his face.

In a short amount of time, that smile became extremely precious to me. My life flipped completely upside down and suddenly I wasn’t so alone in this world anymore. I had someone by my side who was willing to protect me as much as I was willing to protect him. It was an amazing feeling, to say the least.

I pecked his lips again.

“You know,” I started, unable to wipe the smile from my face, “I think you should teach me how to use a sword like yours. A blade can protect you easier than my fists.”

“We can start your training tomorrow. For now, let’s just enjoy each other as much as we can. I want to know all about you and I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. How does that sound?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

#<3 #i hope you like it and i hope you have an amazing rest of your birthday because you deserve it!#i'll gladly write more for you if you want!#since i ended on a cliffhanger lolol i'm just used to writing longer things okay all my short stories end like they need to be continued :)#also sorry for any errors bc it's not proofread #please enjoy it! :)

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impossible-rat-babies · 6 years

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Remembering Ain’t his Strong Suit

Some heavy shit happened in our DA dnd campaign tonight and I gotta write some shit for my boy to cope.

~2000 words, mainly under the cut. CW; blood, violence, body horror.

Dimitri doesn't remember well. He can remember what they had for breakfast that morning--ham and eggs that Daniel made a fuss over, but still ate them with coaxing--and he can remember the journey they took out of town on bumpy carts with suspicions heavy in their heads. At times, he prides himself on his ability to not remember things. It keeps him distant, keeps him safe...it keeps him sane. Good people only burn when they find him.

It’s a thought always on his mind as he carefully watches the companions around him; only one eye means details can slip through the cracks unless he takes his time. Volpo sits with his legs spread, his hands resting on his shield as he watches the rest of them. His bushy beard needs combed out again along with his mustache; at least he had the decency to pull some of his hair out of his face. Elenwhen sits not too far away either, an apple in her slender fingers with her staff resting on her shoulder, preoccupied with simple responses back to Volpo’s teasing. A grin forms behind her beard and she rolls her eyes, taking another bite before tossing the core off the side of the carriage. Dimitri has to turn his head more to examine the dwarf beside him; Renn as he was known. His spear rests against his shoulder, a war hammer tucked into his side. Dimitri watches his eyes trace across the pages of a book and he bites his lip in thought. Dimitri turns his gaze away and looks back to his hands, carefully adjusting the wrappings around them; he adjusts them further up his arm until the wrappings disappear under his shirt sleeve and he looks back down at the quick adjustment, content that he’s covered. Everyone but Renn has seen the scars that line his arms and he is content to keep it that way; few, if any, understand his reasons and he wants to keep it that way.

Halfway through adjusting his other arm, he catches a scent on the breeze and it tickles with a twinge of familiarity. He looks up, his nose wrinkling as more of the scent fills his nose: incense. No one would burn incense in the middle of the woods...He thinks it’s a fluke until he sees Elenwhen and Renn look up, both their eyes wide. He swallows hard, his hands clenching tightly in his staff, senses a-tuned like a fight isn’t far off. He can feel bile rising in his throat and his vision waves in front of him like a distant desert mirage. A pang of an impossibly high pitched screeching fills his ear and he covers it to the sound, but he can still hear it in his deafened ear. His head is playing tricks on him again.

It’s like he slowly sinks underwater water as the sharp sound fills his ears, blocking out the yelling sounds of his fellow party members. His chest heaves as he sucks down dry air that tastes like the desert--like home--and he sinks off his seat to the floor of the carriage below...

And there’s no longer a carriage below his feet.

Instead, sand presses against his boots, warmth of it pressing against his feet. It’s a familiar sensation, but not one of comfort. This isn’t a place he’s supposed to be. His gaze drifts up from his feet and the world is moving too slow, but everything is so loud. He blinks and the sounds hit him like a truck.

He hears screaming everywhere; it’s a cacophony around him as the world before him burns. The flames stretch endlessly before him, the sun the only other light in the sky. He sees dark shapes silhouetted in the flames, grasping and yanking at their clothes to try and put out the flames eating them alive; they sink to the ground in a heap and the fire burns his lungs like the pain in his chest. He hears children crying for their parents, their screams and sobs filling his head. He sees small shapes running through the fire and arrows streaming behind them, filling their flesh and knocking them down to soak the sand with life. A figure pulls away from the flames and rushes towards him, their blackened mouth agape in a silent scream. He jerks away and they fall to the ground, their body lifeless and burning in the sand. Everything about him is shaking and his vision blurs as tears stream down his cheeks. He’s had dreams of this day before--of the few moments he can catch from the depths of the Fade when he can make passing agreements with gentle spirits. They always warn him that he will not find solace in the grains of truth they barter, but he still sells away parts of himself for bits of the truth.

It’s the day his clan was razed to the ground.

He pulls his gaze away from the burning body and he hears halla screaming. He never knew a sound worse until the day he heard a halla scream in pain. Through the flames, he sees one streak through the sand, its creamy blonde fur blackening as orange flames consume it like a hungry beast; the majestic antlers burn as the halla falls to the earth, the flames changing to bright blue as it turns to ash.

A whimper escapes his lips and the flames seem to jerk towards him, changing to Varghests, their jaws dripping with saliva like beasts who haven't eaten in weeks. Dimitri grits his teeth and he holds his hands out in front of him, but the magic is lost as they tremble uncontrollably. Any spark in them fizzles away and the creatures stalk towards him, their growls rising above the cacophony of armageddon.

They pounce in a flash and he screeches in blinding hot pain; magic suddenly rises to his fingertips and the scene before him is bathed in bright blue flames, scorching not sand...but the wooden floor of the carriage. The carriage jerks and yanks with a start, the display sparking the horse into a bolt. Dimitri tries to move, but his shoulder is firm and the squelch of blood is enough to give him pause. He ventures his gaze to the left side of his chest and shoulder and he swallows back lunch at the sight of a spear buried deep within his body. He can no longer see the tip of it, the entirety of the blade pressed through his body and into the wood of the carriage, pinning him in place. He grunts and his head swims in the pain and dizziness, his lungs unable to take in the breath he needs. Life soaks his lips and he grits his bloodied teeth, his hand limp at his side and useless.

He can’t stay like this; the horse could run long enough for him to bleed out if the growing collection of blood on the wooden floor was evidence enough. Dimitri sucks in as deep of a breath as he can manage and he lifts his hand, gripping the spear near what is left of the metal and he yanks. The pain is blinding and he can almost feel himself fading out, but he still pulls...but to no avail. He pauses for a moment, clenching his jaw and furrowing his brow to keep some control of his sanity--his grip to consciousness. He adjusts his bloodied hold on the wood of the spear and he pulls again.

Suddenly, the cart jerks violently and he is lifted for all but a second, but enough for his grip to push--rather than pull--the spear into his body. The pain is violent and all encompassing, knocking him into the darkness behind his eyes in an instant.

He knows this isn’t what dying feels like; he’s nearly made that bargain with the demon always on his doorstep. Death feels like darkness...like sinking into something that will succeed at drowning you. There is no bargaining with shadow that chokes your lungs and stills your heart. But this...this feels like floating in nothing. He should be drowning, but he knows the rules of this place; he need not breathe in the Fade when he can shape it by his whim. The floating slowly fades and he comes to rest upon smooth and featureless ground, inky grey all around him. His heart still beats in his chest, a steady rhythm perfect for the featureless view around him. It holds nothing no matter how far he ventures; concrete movements in the Fade is like trying to grasp air. It’s ever-changing and impossible to understand.

It could’ve been moments or weeks--the Fade has no concept of time--when he sees a shape in the grey, just out of reach. He wonders if it’s a wisp and he carefully watches it dance through the grey before it comes close. He can feel it when it’s still and close; he slowly closes his eyes and it’s like the warm touch of the sun against his skin and gentle fingers gliding through his hair with practiced ease. In the Fade, understanding is immediate and he slowly opens his eyes; a pair of gold eyes with a bright smile meets him and he immediately reaches out like a starved man, his hands cupping his cheeks.

Elrahal’s face is impossible soft in his hands and it hasn't changed a day; the corners of his eyes still wrinkle with his smile and love fills his golden gaze. His soft lips press a kiss to his palm and Dimitri feels the warmth spread across his whole body. It’s a warmth he cannot describe, but it feels like home as it seeps into his bones and cradles him softly.

“Is this what coming home feels like?”

The smile fades from Elrahal’s bright smiling lips and he slowly shakes his head. Words don’t govern this place--feelings do.

“You still have too much time left.”

He feels a weight press against his chest again as the hands leave his face, taking the warmth with it. It’s like the sun has left his skin and it’s like he’s the moon, always chasing after it’s love.

His (lost) love.

“We’ll be together soon.”

The words aren’t as much heard as felt as the last of the warmth fades away, along with the darkness of the Fade.

“Dimitri!! Wake up!” A voice shouts and his eyes shoot open. The sun burns his eyes and the smoke still stuck in his lungs burns his throat. He coughs and coughs, pushing himself onto his side. He rubs his throat with his hand and he spits, the saliva blackened and bloodied against the green grass. He heaves a breath and he swallows anything left.

He looks to see Elenwhen carefully watching him with her steely blue eyes and he waves his hand; pain no longer radiates from his shoulder and the last bits of green light fade from her hands. He waves her off with a look and she pushes herself up. Dimitri wipes his hand along his jaw and cheeks, soot and blood coming up. He looks to his shoulder and wipes his hand against the already bloodied fabric. He coughs again and he leans forward, pressing the fist of his injured shoulder to the ground. His shoulder gives and moves, the movement a little rough before it smooths away. He presses more weight to it and it holds; he moves to stand, but it’s his legs that betray him and he falters briefly.

But, sturdy hands grasp his and steady him. Volpo’s breath his harsh behind his beard, but concern fills his eyes and Dimitri is almost touched by the fondness.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly and Dimitri forces chuckle from his lips.

“Don’t we have a man to catch?” He responds and a grin fills Volpo’s face for a moment.

There were many things in this world that could take him down and many had tried before, but he wasn't going to quit. He couldn't quit.

He cleared his throat and picked up his staff from the dirt, the charms clinking together and he lit them with his mana.

It still wasn’t his time after all; Elrahal was many things: a fighter, a caretaker, a husband...a lover. But he was--is--no liar.

Dar’thenaras will not die today.

#da: fanfic #da: inquisitor #da:i #da: inquisition #well kinda #he's got a canon divergence when he becomes quizzy #but for now yeah #oc tag #Dimitri #forgive this for possibly being strange it is five am

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blade-the-demon-fangirl · 7 years

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How To Be A Wizard: Chapter One-Welcome To Wizard City

A Wizard101 fanfiction

I don’t own anyone except my own characters!

Chapter one: welcome to wizard city!

A wise old man leaned on his staff in exhaustion, peering into the crystal ball on his desk as if it held the answers to the universe. A gray owl wearing a cap flew onto his staff, peering into the crystal as well.

“Whooo are they, headmaster Ambrose?” the owl asked in a throaty voice.

“These seven teenagers are the key to stopping Malistaire once and for all, Gamma.” the aforementioned wizard teacher stated, stroking his beard in thought. “They come from a world that has magic, yet they don’t even believe in it! How unusual…” he murmured.

“Then we should bring them to Wizard City as soon as magically possible to teach them how to use their magic! There isn’t a moment to lose, headmaster!” The gray owl cried.

The old man sighed and adjusted the monocle on his left eye, “I suppose you are right, Gamma. The fate of the Spiral rests in their, albeit inexperienced, hands.” The owl flew off the staff and hid behind a stack of books, peeking his little grey head out to watch his master perform the spell that would bring the teenagers into their world.

In a matter of minutes and in a flash of light, there in his office stood seven teenagers. Three boys and four girls, all looking confused, worried, and scared.

The tallest boy, a latino with startling grey eyes spoke first. “Ay, what’s going on, ese?!”

“What the hell is going on…??” a girl with brown hair and light blue eyes questioned, examining her surroundings and her new comrades.

“Whoa! Check out the threads we’ve got!” a girl with tanned skin and amber eyes grinned and fingered the hem of her maroon sleeves.

Indeed, as soon as they set foot in this new world, their clothes changed from typical jeans and sneakers to cotton robes and soft but sturdy boots.

The commotion continued amongst the teenagers, as they examined themselves and questioned their whereabouts, their voices growing louder in panic.

This continued until the headmaster slammed the butt of his staff into the ground beneath him, sending out a blast of air and silencing the new students. Seven shocked faces finally acknowledged the person that brought them to Wizard City.

“I understand that you must be confused at the least, but if you will allow me to explain, then I shall.” He straightened up as much as possible, “I am Headmaster Merle Ambrose, of Ravenwood school of magical arts. This is my assistant, Gamma.” He motioned to the now revealed grey owl, who bowed in greeting. “Now, as for why I’ve brought you all here.” He gestured to the crystal ball on his desk and displayed a picture of a man with long black hair and beard. He had beady black eyes and a scowl on his face. “This is Malistaire,” he explained, “a dark wizard who seeks to destroy Wizard City for reasons unknown. He hasn’t done much yet, but he will eventually. And while I pride my school in teaching the wizards of the next generation, I fear that none of them are ready to stop this menace.” He swept a hand over the crystal and the image of Malistaire disappeared.

“Okay, that’s all well and good but…” the boy with gold eyes and long brown hair gestured amongst himself and the others, “…what makes you think that we can stop him? I mean we’re just simple humans, not mages or wizards or whatever.”

“Ah, but that is where you are mistaken.” headmaster ambrose waved his hand over the crystal ball again, this time displaying moving images of the seven teens before him. “You see, you all display great magical power that has been shown in your actions.” he turned to the latino boy. “You, young man, are Antonio Suncatcher. Your intense will and respect for others gives you the ability of divination. Storm magic.” the latino, now named Antonio, glanced at the crystal showing him at a young age sticking his finger in an electrical socket, giggling as his dark hair stood on end. He blushed in embarrassment at the image.

Merle then turned to a girl with black hair pulled into a ponytail and pretty violet eyes. “You are Angela Darkcaller, a woman whose love for others goes beyond even the grave. In turn, you have been given the ability of necromancy, the magic of the dead.” the crystal ball then showed her talking to a ghost standing above its grave. Angela smiled sweetly and forlornly, as the ghost was the spirit of her late mother.

“You, young lady, are Rowan Dragonblood,” said short-haired brunette girl with light blue eyes jumped at her name being called suddenly. “You have a cold soul yet have a warm heart, thus granting you ice magic, or thaumaturgy.” she turned to the crystal ball, which now featured her with longer hair and playing in the snow…in a tee shirt and shorts. Rowan blushed heavily, shielding her face with the hood of her robe.

The headmaster turned to the boy with lime-green eyes and disheveled blond hair. “You, my friend, are Blake Ironheart. Your spirit thrives with light and life, which is the magic you have been given. The magic of life, the theurgist’s magic.” Blake gazed fondly at the crystal ball now displaying a scene where he was making his aunt’s old withered rose bushes thrive with new life.

“You, are Calamity Moonhunter, a girl who was gifted with the magic of balance. You were given this magical talent due to your ability to adapt easily and to see things from all points of view.” the girl with amber eyes and dark brown curly hair grinned childishly as she peered into the crystal, showing her manipulating sand at the beachside.

“Oh, I remember that! You see, I was entering a sandcastle building contest and I was so desperate to win, so I tried my hardest to build the best sandcastle ever and I mean EVER, but it was still kinda disappointing and I was about to give up but then all of a sudden, I was CONTROLLING THE SAND! Can you believe it? I mean, everyone was staring at me like I was crazy, I mean, of course I’m crazy, who isn’t nowadays? And I-”

“Oh for the love of god, shut up!” the shortest girl with blonde hair and ruby red eyes shouted.

“You!” ambrose pointed to the girl who had shouted. “You, Iridian Flamerunner, have a fire in your heart that reflects your magical gift. You will have to learn to take control of your fire before it burns you.”

“Um…yes sir?” she bit her lip as she glared at the crystal ball displaying a memory of her as an infant playing with hot embers from the fireplace. The headmaster placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry young one. You are among friends who can help you master pyromancy. You won’t be alone anymore.” iridian smiled weakly as ambrose moved on to the boy with the gold eyes and long brown hair. “And lastly, Kane Wolftail. You have been given the gift of conjuring, of taming and befriending mythical beasts. You have a heart of gold and a great sense of responsibility.” the crystal ball pictured Kane helping an elderly woman walk her dogs, comforting a little girl who had scraped her knee, coming home with a straight A report card.

Ambrose stepped away from the new students and addressed them all as one. “You are the key to Wizard city’s survival. You were chosen to come to Ravenwood for a reason, to assist each other in the fall of Malistaire.” he gestured to Gamma. “It’s getting late. I will have Gamma show you to your shared room for tonight. Starting tomorrow, you will be attending classes based on your schools. But for now, I suggest you all get some sleep.”

“Wait, I’m sure we all still have questions!” Blake said, stepping forward.

“Questions I am afraid will have to wait for now,” the headmaster said. “Now, off you go. Tomorrow is a big day, after all.”

“Wow, this is soo cool!” Calamity jumped on her maroon-colored bed in excitement.

“No, this is so NOT cool!” Iridian stormed around the large, circular room in a fiery rage. “We’re stuck here with no idea why, a crackpot old man thinking we’re wizards, we don’t even know each other and we’re expected to work together to take down some guy for whatever reason!” unbeknownst to her, her feet started flickering and leaving scorched footprints in her wake.

“Uh, Iridian, you might want to calm down…” Blake said worriedly. Iridian stopped her pacing and whirled to face the Life mage.

“I’M COMPLETELY CALM!!!” she roared as flames shot out of her open mouth and hit Antonio’s long purple and gold robes.

“Ay! Caliente! Someone help!” Rowan shot a blast of ice at the latino, effectively putting out the fire. Unfortunately, it also froze his feet to the ground. “Eh…gracias, Chiquita,” he muttered.

“Ooh, so we’re practicing? Okay!” Calamity jumped off her bed and started waving her hands above her head like a madman. “Lookit what I can do!” out of thin air, it seemed, a mini tornado formed above her head and exploded into what looked like mock fireworks, getting everyone dirty with sand.

“Gah! Hey, care to cool it with the sandstorm, chica?” Antonio, who had successfully smashed the ice around his feet enough to walk, said in exasperation.

“Oopsie, my bad!” the Balance mage giggled cutely.

“Okay, everyone STOP!” Kane’s voice boomed in the large room and like he commanded, everyone stopped what they were doing as if someone had paused a movie. He took a deep breath and sat on his yellow and blue colored bed. “Look, I know this seems…well, insane to say the least,”

“Understatement of the year,” Rowan muttered.

“But we were all brought here for a reason, and that reason is to save this world.” Kane continued.

“But what about our families? Our friends, our LIVES? Do you really think we can just up and leave that behind?” Angela asked worriedly, fingering the skull brooch on her collar.

“I…” Kane hesitated. He took a great interest in his boots.

Rowan saw his hesitation and picked up where he left off. “Listen, we may be stuck here for now, but that doesn’t mean we probably won’t go home once all this is over.”

“So what you’re saying is that if we just off this Mal-whatever dude, we can go home?” Iridian interrupted.

“Yes, exactly!” Rowan said, throwing her hands in the air, accidentally freezing the ceiling in the process. “Oops…”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Kane spoke up, “but for now, let’s just get some sleep,” he pulled back the covers on his bed. “Like the old man said, we’re gonna start classes tomorrow, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Okie Dokie, artichokie! G’night!” No sooner had Calamity plopped onto her own bed, she started snoring.

“Jeez, she falls asleep fast,” Iridian muttered as she took off her red and orange hat and set it beside her similar-themed bed. “But the dork’s right,” she followed Kane’s example, “The sooner we stop this guy, the sooner we can go home.”

The rest of the wizards decided to just leave it at that and call it a night.

As Rowan was removing her pale blue cloak, Kane spoke up. “Hey, Rowan?” the brunette turned and saw him sitting up, tugging on his fringe. “Thanks. For speaking up for me…I appreciate it,” His face warmed up as he glanced away from the ice mage.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. It was just impulse, y’know?” Rowan shrugged and got into bed.

“Still, it means a lot to me. Not a lot of people would do that for me.” Kane explained.

“How come?” she questioned, “you seem like a nice enough guy,”

Iridian spoke up from under her covers, “Hey if you two are done flirting yet, some of us are trying to get some sleep.”

The duo blushed and said a hasty “good night” to each other before diving under their own covers.

Tomorrow would hopefully be a bit better.

#wizard101 #fanfiction #this is my first one #dont judge me #chapter one #original characters #blade writes

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