#purely drew him based off memory

[x49z]

I don't remember what Phillip looks like

[spacesquidlings]

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

Summary: With his lover bedridden after a battle gone awry, Astarion finds himself acting as her nurse, comforting her as best as he can, giving in to many of her whims. And despite all his theatrics, there is no one she wants by her side more than him.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, fluff, some suggestive mentions, mild description of acid-based/burning wound, references to pain (nothing graphic)

Taglist<3: @spacebarbarianweird

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The sharp smell of medicinal herbs burned in her nose, wafting over her as the pillows beneath her head and neck were readjusted once more. Pain followed fast on its heels, a phantom compared to what she’d felt earlier, before she’d blacked out entirely.

“How’s that, darling?” Astarion’s nimble fingers prodded at the pillows, fluffing them as best as he could without disturbing her. He drew her from her memories, from the blinding pain that had sent her into unconsciousness.

She whined, wrinkling her nose as another wave of smell hit her, the ointments smeared across her wounds seeping through the bandages wrapped around them. It burned as she breathed it in, daggers piercing the inside of her nose and scratching at the back of her throat. Pain radiated up her side and she shifted, nearly gagging as the smell grew stronger.

“Hurts,” was all she could manage, her voice cracking from the effort.

He huffed, crossing his arms and stepping back to examine his work. “I think that’s the best you’re going to get, my love. As much as I wish to, I cannot turn the bed into clouds.”

“Thank you for trying,” she murmured, barely stifling a groan as she shifted. 

She kept trying to find a comfortable position and yet she could find none. No matter how she lay she could not take the pressure off of all her wounds, and the pure frustration of it all made her eyes burn, angry tears pooling in the creases of her eyes. It painted the world in quicksilver and moonbeams, and yet she could find no comfort in the facsimile of the calm of the night.

“Don’t cry, please.” Astarion’s voice quivered, his brow drawing together. Somehow his skin grew paler, blanching at the sight of her tears. “Please, darling. You’re scaring me.”

She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away, hissing in pain as her body grew taut, muscles and skin tight from the burns she’d sustained. Her bottom lip quivered, a sob caught in her throat, too weak to even wail.

“Oh my darling,” Astarion cooed, voice soft as feather-down. His hands hovered above her, as if hesitant to touch her. “You’re going to be okay.”

She whimpered. Was she? Was she truly going to be okay? She wanted to reach for him, but useless as she was, she could not even raise her hands to wipe her face, let alone hold him.

She watched as he seemed to come to some sort of resolution, his fingers delicately lowering to brush the tears from her eyes. Her vision cleared for the barest of moments before more tears trekked down her cheeks, the salt stinging where it seeped into her bandages.

“You’re going to get through this.” He brushed back loose strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek, caught in the ointment smeared on her skin. “You’re strong, my love. You were strong enough to survive such powerful magic. You’ll survive this.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Although she’d survived the initial attack, she didn’t know if she was going to make it through the after-effects.

She hadn’t been thinking when it had all happened, shoving a child out of the way of their assailant, only to be swathed in burning pain. There had been no thoughts of putting up a shield, of casting a spell to push the attacker back. There had only been the thread of panic that had burst in her mind, her body moving before her mind could catch up.

When it had first washed over her she’d thought it fire, but then it had become worse. So terribly worse.

She’d learned, once she’d awoke, covered in the stinking ointment and bandaged, that it had been acid. A horrible homemade concoction that had very nearly killed her from its potency.

But she could not find it in herself to regret it, not really. She had managed to survive, but that child would not have. And her stepping in the way of the attack had been enough of a distraction for Astarion to make a killing blow.

Although she doubted she would make it through the consequences of her actions. Namely the reeking ointment and the near-unbearable pain.

As if reading her thoughts, Astarion clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so dramatic. You can survive anything, darling. Even a little homemade potion.”

She huffed, looking away. It hurt to speak, and yet she couldn’t help herself as she snapped back at him. “It’s a lot more than a homemade potion.”

“Well, it was homemade. He was a master artificer and wizard. I don’t think he bought it from a market.”

Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would staunch the flow of tears. “It hurts so much, Astarion.”

When he responded his voice was quieter, softer. “I know, darling.”

“I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

He didn’t answer this time, not at first. Silence descended, heavy, uncomfortable as her bandages.

It was more unbearable than the lingering sting of the acid, and she opened her eyes, the world limned in silver once more, searching for her beloved in the little room.

His eyes were wide, the crimson of his irises stark against the pallor of his skin. She could see the shimmering silver caught in the alabaster of his lashes, the gold of the firelight catching in his own tears.

“You’re going to be okay.” He spoke fiercely, each word as strong as a blow as he clenched his jaw. She wouldn’t have heard the quiver in his voice if she didn’t know him so well, didn’t know when he was trying to keep something hidden. “You’re going to get through this, and then we’re going on a long vacation.”

Her heart twisted, clenched in the grip of sorrow. “Astarion. My love, I’m so sorry, I-”

He shook his head, his hand delicately cupping her cheek. His own tears streaked down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. “Don’t apologise. Just get through this, got it?”

“Okay. Okay, I will.” Her heart squeezed all the tighter, aching, struggling to beat. 

She tried to reach up, tried to hold his face, but she’d hardly raised her hand more than an inch before a ripple of pain made her gasp, fingers trembling like the branches of a sapling in a storm.

Astarion chuckled, lowering his head until the tips of her fingers brushed against his cheek. “Is this what you were hoping for, darling?”

“Thank you.” Her bottom lip was quivering again, her heart in her throat. Sadness was a vice that held her tight, nameless, all-consuming, drowning out even the smell of the ointment. She hurt so much, and she had hurt him. In her callousness she had hurt her most beloved and she didn’t know how to fix it, how to make him smile.

With a sigh Astarion lifted his head. His lips twitched, one brow arching. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I…” She couldn’t find the words, couldn’t figure out how to say it.

She felt like she was crumpling, formless and weak.

He shushed her gently, brushing the pads of his fingers against her cheeks. “Hush. It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.” Another twitch of his lips. “Wait to thank me until after I’ve changed your bandages.”

Shuddering, she looked away, feeling worse than helpless. “I look horrible, don’t I?”

“No you don’t.” A pause, his eyes searching hers. “It doesn’t look good, but you could never look horrible.”

An entire new wave of misery washed over her, and she wished she could still be unconscious, unaware of this pain and the knowledge that she looked horrible.

“Be honest,” she sniffed. “I look like something from a child’s nightmare.”

“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you really are being dramatic.”

She whimpered, scowling as best as she could.

Sighing, Astarion perched on the edge of the bed, toying with the blankets, readjusting them over and over. Even so, his eyes never left hers, earnest and bright. “You’re hurt. You don’t look horrible, you look like someone who’s injured. You look like someone who needs to be taken care of until you’re better.”

Fangs flashing in the light, he gave her a half-moon smile. “And luckily for you, you’ve been blessed with someone as devoted as me, who will be here until you’re all better. Even though you’re being very vain.”

She frowned. “If I could throw a pillow at you, I would.”

“Well thank the gods you don’t have the strength right now.”

He leaned closer, fixing her pillows again. “Beneath all those bandages is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” He paused, smirking. “Well, second most beautiful. After me of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“You’re no child’s nightmare, darling.” The corners of his lips hiked higher. “In fact, I’d wager you’re a child’s hero now.”

She snorted. “Oh, I’m so sure.”

He poked her shoulder gently, beaming. “I am. I bet that kid’s already off telling all her friends.”

“She’s probably forgotten by now.”

“Oh no.” he gave a theatrical shake of his head. “No, certainly not. Rumour has probably spread that there’s a new hero on the sword coast.”

The corners of her lips tipped up, tugged by laughter bubbling in her throat. “Oh please.”

“The blade of frontiers had better move over,” he continued, mischief twinkling in his eyes like entire galaxies of stars. “There’s a new hero protecting Faerûn now.”

She giggled, shaking her head as best as she could. “I’m no hero! Besides, what would I even be called?”

Astarion tapped his cheek, eyes skyward as he hummed thoughtfully. “Now that’s a good question.”

“See? You can’t be a hero without a cool name.”

“How about ‘protector of the most beautiful vampire spawn?’ Or ‘the prettiest saviour of children from acid?’” He brushed the back of his index finger over her brow, smirking a little too broadly. His fangs flashed before disappearing again as he spoke, mischief in his words. “Or, and I think this one is the best, ‘the fool of faerûn.’”

She gaped at him, mouth falling open.

“You know, since you ran into an acid attack.” He shrugged. “You got the kid out of the way, but you didn’t get yourself out of the way in time.”

She wrinkled her nose as she answered, equal parts annoyed and amused. “You are so lucky, Astarion.”

“To have you by my side?” He stroked her hair, smirking. He knew perfectly well that was not what she was referring to. “I most certainly am lucky, darling.”

“You’re lucky I can barely raise my arms, or else you’d have a pillow in your face.”

“Yes well, you did kind of deserve that.” He tapped the top of her head, his expression growing more serious. “You had me terrified. I thought I’d lost you.”

His words were sobering, and she no longer felt the glimmer of mirth she had before. She sank into the pillows, dropping her gaze. “Astarion, I-”

“It’s already happened.” He cut her off before she could finish her apology, his brows drawing low as he continued. “I want you to focus on healing, on getting better. That’s the only apology I’m willing to accept.”

She swallowed, finding his gaze. “Okay.”

“And just as I said, once you are better, we’re going on vacation.”

It was so mundane, to talk of going on a vacation. A trip meant for relaxation, for having fun, where the highest stakes were finding delicious new food in an unfamiliar place. The sudden segue felt like something out of a dream, surreal when compared to her most recent memory, the wall of blackness in her mind after the rush of burning pain.

A giggle bubbled from her lips, earning a bemused look from Astarion. “What’s so funny? You think me incapable of a vacation?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” In fact it was all too easy to imagine him lounging around all day, the picture of indolence as he languidly sauntered down unfamiliar streets, as he stretched out on some sumptuous bed in a rented room.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, darling.” He laid on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She giggled again, feeling ridiculous. “It’s nothing, really. It just feels strange to be talking of going on vacation, especially when I’m here covered in this gross ointment.”

He clicked his tongue. “That ‘gross ointment’ is going to help speed along your recovery.” He sniffed, nose wrinkling. “Although it is not exactly a pleasant smell.”

“I want a bath,” she whined. “I want to feel clean and smell pretty.”

“Once you are well enough, my love.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I will give you the most luxurious bath you can dream of.”

Sighing, she imagined it in her mind. Warm water and flower petals and bath oils perfuming the air, helping her feel alive once again. “Do you think you could do that when we go on vacation, too?”

A chuckle, a darkening of his eyes. “There is plenty I plan to do, once you’re better.”

“Including a bath?” She ignored the somersault of her belly, the heat suddenly blooming at the apex of her thighs. Now really was not the time, not when she could barely stand the blankets that were draped over her.

“Yes,” he drawled. “The most splendid of baths every day for you, my dear.”

She relaxed as best she could against the pillows, daydreaming once more of such a thing. Of feeling the warm heat of the water seeping into her bones, of fingers massaging her scalp, trailing lovingly down her back.

“We can do whatever you wish,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “So long as you get better. You have to promise me you’ll get better.”

“I promise. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Astarion sighed, toying with her hair. Just the sight of him was stronger than any balm or medicine. The slight curve of his lips as he smiled, relief stitching itself into his expression, more a comfort than any sleeping potion.

He was still speaking, not that she heard even a word of it. Her mind couldn’t keep itself steady, flitting like hummingbird wings as the pain ebbed and flowed through her. Astarion had to pinch her cheek once, twice, before she could focus her thoughts, like trying to coax the ocean through the eye of a needle.

“Have I lost you, darling?” He chuckled, smoothing his hand over the sting where he’d pinched her. “I would have thought you would listen raptly as I spoke.”

She managed a roll of her eyes, knowing he was doing little more than teasing her. Distracting her, perhaps, to take the edge off of the unrelenting burn of her body.

“Forgive me, my love,” she rasped, batting her lashes as swiftly as she could in the moment. “It’s just hard to focus, even on your limitless charm.”

His brows knit together, lips pursing. She caught a flash in his eyes, worry quickly masked before she could begin to pick at it.

“You should rest, darling,” he murmured. “You’ll feel a little better once you wake.”

Astarion made to stand, the bed shifting as his weight vanished, and a ripple of pain went through her side, her chest. Not only her body screaming from the movement, little more than a jostle and yet enough to irritate the weeping wounds beneath her bandages, but her heart screaming too. Pain lancing in her chest, her heartbeat turning to the quiver of a loosed bowstring.

What would she do without him? How could she stand the anger of the poison that had flayed her skin? How could she try to brave the darkness of her unconsciousness? All without him?

A whimper fled from her lips, drawing Astarion’s gaze. The lines in his brow only deepened, and he sank back into the bed. A question hung on his lips, his hands reaching towards her, hovering, hesitancy making his face look wan.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please.”

The anxiety in his face fell away, like the last of a stone wall crumbling to ruin. Relief, and no small amount of mischief, remained, shining like light through stained glass, refracting rainbows across the ceiling and walls.

“I’m honoured that you want me close, love, but I’m not going far.” There was laughter in his voice, making it lilt like the opening of a song. “I’ll be back in less than a moment.”

With a swiftness that sometimes scared her, Astarion moved across the room, the sound of glass clicking as he sorted through little bottles and vials on their dresser. There were perfumes, lotions, oils, a pretty pink nail polish he’d presented to her only a few days before the attack.

She wanted to ask what he was doing, but in another moment he was back, wiggling a bottle no thicker than her pinky, filled with an oily-looking, iridescent liquid.

“To help you sleep,” he said before she could ask. “It’s supposed to numb some of the pain so you can rest.”

She tried to sit up, only to cry out as a thousand daggers stabbed at her, as her skin drew taut beneath her bandages. She collapsed back, wincing at the red stains blooming on some of her bandages.

“Darling, I fear that is the exact opposite of trying to get better.” Astarion tsked softly, sliding one hand behind her head, flicking the cap of the bottle open with the other.

“I was going to take the medicine.” She had to draw in lungfuls of air to push past the stabbing throb across her body, steadying the sudden surge of nausea in her belly.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. The arch of his brow and the quirk of his mouth made it seem like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and it made her want to pout.

“You’re so impatient,” he chided, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Obviously I was going to help you with it. The more you move the harder it is for you to heal.”

She could say nothing as she drank the potion, fighting not to gag as the oily substance slid down her throat. It tasted bitter, and it coated the inside of her mouth like grease.

Setting the empty bottle to the side, Astarion grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He patted her head, not yet done teasing her. “Imagine how much easier it would have been if you’d just waited for me the first time.”

“Are you saying you’ll take care of me? You’re going to nurse me back to health?”

He chuckled. “Of course, darling. I’m terribly keen to play as your doctor.”

“Oh Astarion, don’t tease me so much,” she whined. “I can hardly think of a clever response right now.”

“I don’t mind.” He tapped the tip of her nose, unscathed from the attack. “That pretty blush of yours is all I need.”

“Astarion.”

He lifted his hands quickly, palms out in surrender. “Alright, alright, that’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Panic seized her and she gasped. “My love, wait. Wait!”

She reached her arms out as far as she could, making a grabbing motion with her hands. Astarion’s brows rose, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Oh? And what’s this?”

Whining, she stretched her arms out a little further. “I want you.”

“So needy.” His tone was chiding, but his smile only grew. “Do you need me to continue comforting you, darling?”

“Astarion, please.” She couldn’t spar with him now, and so she was at the mercy of his teasing. She pushed out her bottom lip, pouting as best she could, giving him her biggest doe eyes. “I need you.”

“And how do you need me?”

If she could have ground her teeth she would have. But as it stood she could not, so she settled for a wrinkle of her nose, her cheeks burning from the heat he’d coaxed into them. He was smiling far too broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

With a sigh she said, “I need you to stay with me. I need you to hold me, my beloved. Please.”

“Oh my.” She could see the faintest touch of colour in his cheeks, like the first hint of the blushing dawn in the dove-grey of the morning sky. “Well how could I ever say no to such a request?”

Happiness softened the edges of her ire as Astarion tugged at the blankets, carefully slipping into the bed beside her. She sank to the side, his body beckoning her close, wincing only barely as he pressed against her side. He draped an arm loosely over her stomach, no heavier than another blanket, and yet she felt safer because of it, warmer than any blanket could make her feel.

“How is this?” He murmured softly against her ear, his breath tangling in her unbound hair. “Better?”

“This is very nice,” she said, just as quietly. “Thank you, my love.”

“Do you think you can sleep?” His voice wobbled, revealing the fear that had been hiding beneath his joking tone. “It will help with your healing.”

“But I only just got comfy,” she whined, not caring how pitiful she sounded.

A snort, cool fingers brushing back her hair. His breath gathered against her skin as he lowered his head, sighing. “That is so you can sleep, darling.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“If I’m distracting you, it may be better if I go-”

“No!” It would have been a shriek if she’d been able to shriek right now. As it was it sounded like a garbled rasp, and Astarion had to press his face to her neck to muffle his laughter.

“Don’t go. Please love, I want you to stay.” She didn’t feel right without him close, felt like she was on the verge of dying. She wanted to cling to him, to hold fast, finding comfort in the acid of his comments and the bergamot clinging to his skin.

“I’ll stay.” He laid a gentle kiss to her neck, a stark difference to the teasing laughter from only seconds ago. “See? I have no plan to move.”

“Really?”

“Why would I, when such a beautiful, needy little thing is in my arms.”

She turned her head away so he could not see the crimson staining her cheeks. She had no response, no clever rejoinder. She was terribly needy for his closeness, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“You really must rest, though,” he continued, pressing another kiss to her throat. “How else will you get better so we can take a vacation?”

“You seem very set on the idea of this vacation,” she mused. Already she could feel the medicine working, the pain beginning to ebb, dulling breath by breath. “What do you even want to do?”

“What don’t I want to do, darling?” He sighed, stroking her hair. “I want to lounge and sleep in late. And perhaps we can visit a spa; we both need it after this.”

“A spa sounds nice.” She imagined it, sleeping the morning away, skilled hands massaging the knots from her back and arms, floral-scented serums and creams and oils pressed to her face, bringing her skin to life.

“And shopping,” he continued, just as lost in his daydreams as she. “So much shopping. We must refresh our wardrobes, darling. It’s all very…” She could picture the wrinkle of his nose without even looking at him. “Last season. We must be ahead of all the rest.”

“I’ll put my trust in you, then,” she murmured. “I’m sure you know what is best.”

She wouldn’t mind some new gowns, if she were honest. She would need something to make her feel pretty again after she was healed.

Astarion hummed, combing fingers through her hair. “Have you fallen asleep already?”

“No,” she answered, not feeling tired in the least. Now that the pain was fading she felt wide awake, energized.

“Well you should,” he admonished. “It will certainly put me at ease knowing you’re resting.”

“But I’m not tired, my love.”

He sighed, undoubtedly rolling his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

She hummed, wracking her mind for something that could help, that would lull her into the gentle darkness of unconsciousness.

Before she had met him, she would sometimes fall asleep to the faint sounds of music beyond her windows, or she would hum her favourite melodies until she could not hum them any longer.

“Could you…” She licked her lips, twisting as far away from his gaze as she could as a new wave of heat washed over her. “Could you sing for me?”

The silence that fell from her question stretched long, and she feared he would laugh, or tell her that no he could not. But then, soft as a caress, Astarion asked “you wish for me to sing?”

She swallowed, her flushing cheeks be damned. She wanted to meet his gaze as she again made her shameless request, a small comfort that had helped her in the years before she’d met him.

“Will you please sing for me?” He was close enough now for her to take his free hand, even as tremors still quivered through hers. “Please, my love? It really would help me sleep.”

For a moment he searched her gaze, his expression serious. Soft light gilded his features, twinning in the strands of his hair, painting the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to glow, and she had the strangest feeling that she was being observed by a deity, a powerful, celestial being not of this world.

Her heart ached, and she held his hand tighter, reminding herself that he was not an ethereal being of light and dreams. He was real, he was here with her, he was not going anywhere.

Astarion’s eyes flicked down, to their intertwined hands, seeming to come to some sort of resolution.

“You are so terribly lucky I find you so wonderful,” he sighed, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t sing for just anyone, you know.”

She gingerly brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I think I would hate it if you did. I want you to sing for only me.”

His eyes opened, his expression tender despite how he had bemoaned such a task. “Any requests, my dear?”

“A lullaby, please.” She held fast to his hand, clutching it as surely as a child clutched a beloved doll. “Any lullaby, whatever your favourites are.”

He mulled it over, stroking her hair absently. “Alright, I have a few in mind.”

His voice quivered at first, uncertainty staining his voice. The words tremulous, quiet, yet as he continued, seeming to realize this was not an elaborate ruse to tease him, he grew louder, more confident. The faintest touch of colour stained his cheeks, but it could have been the burning red of the sky at sunset for how it ignited warmth in her own heart.

At first she felt nothing, energy still buzzing like static along her nerves and sizzling in her veins. But the wispy tendrils of fatigue slowly crept over her, Astarion’s words coming in and out of focus, blurring together. She was certain he was switching to Elven every now and again, the songs he was singing old, excavated from a corner of his memory draped in cobwebs and dust.

She yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. It became harder to keep them open, and eventually she just gave in, sighing in response to Astarion’s teasing laughter as his fingertips skipped across her brow.

“Are you asleep yet?”

“Not yet,” she grumbled, scrunching her nose.

“I guess I have no choice, but to keep going.”

She hummed in approval, earning another quiet huff of laughter before he continued, beginning a new song she did not recognize.

She wouldn’t have said he was the very best, and although she didn’t recognize every song he chose, she could tell some of it was off-key, the notes too sharp or flat. But she didn’t care, finding comfort in the off-tune lilt of his voice. It was a melody just for her, carrying her like white-capped waves towards sleep.

Her fingers found their way to his shirt, twisting into the cream coloured fabric, snagging on the ties that held it closed. She could not move enough to tuck herself beneath his chin the way she liked best, but she could hold onto him like this at least. She could anchor herself, no longer lost to the pain of her wounds.

Astarion’s voice blurred, words melting into each other until she could not recognize a single one, her mind muddled as a turbid river. All her thoughts turned to nonsense, but for one, shining bright as a star, holding fast in the cloudiness of her mind.

That she would get better. That she had to get better. She couldn’t let him sing her lullabies for nothing. She had to make up for the worry she was causing him.

She might have said the thoughts aloud, she really wasn’t sure. Her body was growing fuzzy, the world around her melting in and out of focus.

What she was sure of was that Astarion paused for the briefest of moments, brought his lips to her brow. He murmured against her skin, that he was holding her to that promise. That he would need her to get better so she could help him come up with a name for her new heroic persona while on their languid holiday.

She wanted to promise that she would, if only because she loved him so much she couldn’t bear upsetting him. But Astarion started singing again, and his voice suddenly sounded very, very far away, like an echo behind glass.

And then she was gone, lost to sleep, one step closer to healing, just as she had promised.

[jake-g-lockley]

Maruthani (Jake Lockley x desi!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

A/N: I wanted to contribute to Jake Lockley fluff on tumblr but I wanted to add my own lil twist. Based on this little headcanon I thought about hehe.

Warnings: None really, maybe a little suggestive elements.

Word Count: 607 words.

Summary: Jake loves to draw and you have ideas.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

On the outside, your husband Jake Lockley looked like an unapproachable man. People were terrified of him, even if they didn’t want to admit it. But to you he was different, still himself but more open and relaxed. His cold hard exterior was nothing compared to the soft mushy interior that you had cracked over the past few years of knowing him. 

Jake loved to draw. He carried around a little sketchbook that was gifted by you for your anniversary and left pencils everywhere he went, in his car, his jacket pockets, the couch and even the bed. The first time he drew you, you were both lounging on the couch and the TV was running. 

You were watching one of your favorite movies and your eyes were wide as you popped popcorn into your open mouth. A few minutes into the movie, you turned to Jake, wondering why he was so silent. You were so into the movie that you didn’t hear the little pencil scratches coming from beside you.

Jake twisted away from you, refusing to show you what he was doing. You tickled him and begged him to show you what he was doing.  He stuck his tongue out at you and you pouted, poking him until he showed you what he was doing.

“It's just a silly drawing.” he murmured, caving in and handing you a small piece of paper.

“Jake, shut up, this is beautiful. You know how to draw?” you say, your eyes tearing up as you trace the shaded lines of your face on the paper. Jake nodded, not meeting your eyes. 

Once his little secret got out, he never stopped drawing. Like a child who was handed a sharpie, the world was his canvas. Sometimes, you would catch him drawing little things on your wooden dining table which you would stare at for hours when he was out on long missions, tears dripping down your face. 

His favorite thing to draw was you. He could draw you from pure memory alone, which meant that his sketchbook was filled with pretty obscene things too, which made your face profusely heat up. Then, he started to draw on you. He would take a pen and tattoo you with random doodles that made you giggle.

One day when he was doing this, you had an epiphany. You went out to the nearest Indian store and bought a packet of maruthani cones, explaining to Jake what they were and how they worked. 

“I mean, I haven’t had maruthani done in a long time and Deepavali is coming soon so, maybe you could do it?” you suggested. Jake’s eyes lit up like a little kid and you showed him a few designs that he agreed to copy from. After a few practice rounds on some paper, he started to slowly apply it to your hand. 

Watching him apply it onto your hand was mesmerizing. He did it with amazing accuracy and his hands were so steady, slowly pressing the cone and leaving thin lines of the maruthani on your hand, forming a pattern. 

He had his tongue between his teeth, his brows furrowed in concentration, curls flopping onto this forehead. You could’ve watched him for hours and hours. At the end, he signs his initials with tiny letters, hoping you wouldn't have noticed.

“That's a weird way to mark me.” you say, raising your eyebrows. 

“You’re the greatest piece of art I have, mi vida.” he says, giving you a kiss. 

“I love you.” you smile, admiring his handy work. 

“I love you more.” he murmured. 

You were so glad that this man was yours to keep.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Translations:

Maruthani: AKA henna. Henna refers to the temporary body art resulting from the staining of the skin from the dyes. After henna stains reach their peak color, they hold for a few days, then gradually wear off.

Deepavali: Festival of lights

Mi vida: My life

[ikeromantic]

Mitsuhide Akechi + Soul + Birch + Thalia

Ahh so this one was quite a joy to write. Approx. 800 words on themes of Soul, Birch - rebirth, and Thalia - humor.

Mitsuhide led the horses through the narrow forest path, back toward Azuchi. Toward his duty and away from a life he might have liked. Traveling like this with a group of performers, going from village to village. Dancing and singing for his dinner by day. Sleeping beside his little one every night. 

His eyes slid from the forest around them to rest on her back. She was huddled into a thick blanket, trying to hide from the rain. Cold and as miserable as she could be, he thought.

He didn’t blame her. The mud sucked at their feet as they walked. Both of them had tied their shoes to their packs to keep from losing them. The rain was icy and relentless. There were plenty of things to be unhappy about on this journey. But he wanted to see her smile.

“Little mouse.”

She stopped and half turned to look at him. “What is it?”

“Tell me what you are looking forward to most, when we get back.” 

“Why do you care?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re just looking for something else to tease me about.” She hadn’t forgiven him for his affection at the inn, believing his love was all an act meant to taunt her. 

Mitsuhide smiled. “I don’t need to fish for reasons to tease you, little one. Besides, a good husband knows what his wife wants. So tell me.”

She huffed. “I am not your wife. We left the performing group, so we don’t need to keep up that fiction.”

His heart ached at the casual dismissal. “True enough. Then, let’s say I want to be entertained by your voice. So tell me. If you don’t, I’ll only keep bothering you.”

“Well. That’s honest.” She started walking again, Mitsuhide beside her. “I guess . . . I’m kinda split between my soft, warm, dry futon, and a hot bath. Oooh! And some good food. And hot tea. I could kill for something sweet too. I like traveling but I wish we could sleep in nice places on the way. Like, in my time, you can put together a trip based on the places you want to stay overnight. So you take a train or -”

Mitsuhide listened as she lost herself in her memories of the things she loved. Her eyes were bright, her expression animated and full of passion. He loved her like this. And now she wasn’t thinking about the rain or the mud or being cold. It warmed his spirit to see her smile and made his heartbeat a gallop. 

“Hey, why are you smi-” She started to ask him a question, but slipped. Her arms flailed for a moment as she tried to catch her balance. 

Mitsuhide reached for her, but realized he was a breath too late.

His little mouse fell back, right into the mud. And Mitsuhide pretended to fall with her. Splashing mud all over his clothes to match her.

She looked over at him, surprise written in her wide eyes, and then she started to laugh. “I c-can’t believe you - you fell in too! Your face!”

“My face?” He smiled so widely that his cheeks hurt from it. His chest felt tight and hot and full. 

“Mud -”

“Oh? There’s mud on my face?” He patted some more onto it, which made her laugh even harder. “But! Your face too- oh no!” Mitsuhide smeared a line of mud along her cheek.

She gasped and picked up a clump of mud, launching herself at him. 

Mitsuhide caught her and the glop of mud fell on his chest. He was laughing, a genuine, real laugh and it had been so long since he’d felt anything like this. This bright, precious joy. Pure affection and untainted happiness. He was reborn in his love of her. As if his past and all its shadows did not matter in the light of her smile.

The chatelaine giggled as she wrestled him back on the muddy path. “I’m going to get you back for that!”

Beside them, the horses moved off a few steps, staying clear of the rain-mad humans. They busied themselves with tender greens.

“Get me back? For what? This?” He drew a line of mud along her throat and down to her collarbone. 

She shivered with something other than the cold. “That and more!” Her fingertips slid along his jawline and down to his chest. “Like that, and this -” More mud dripped down his shoulder. She leaned close enough that her breath ghosted across his lips. “Got you.” 

“You do,” Mitsuhide agreed, and the words came out raw and hungry. He felt like a newborn, tender and vulnerable. Helpless in her grip. His eyes met hers and in them, he could see his desire reflected back at him. Then her lips were on his and her hands on his skin and all his thoughts scattered before the light of her love, her touch.

[jeweledstone]

I had a dream last night involving me and my Spamton plushie ending up in this bayside city/town of sorts that I have vague memories of going to in a previous dream (location wise I think the place was somewhere near the coast of Italy, a rare occurrence where I know exactly where I am geography wise in a dream). It was all just normal dream shenanigans for the most part but one bit that stood out was near the end where Plush!Spam got separated from me and I went looking to find him. When I found him, he seemed to be being attacked by this creepy haunted doll in a little tattered wedding dress. I remember getting this kinda mid-dream context in my head that said haunted doll (apparently known as “The Black Widow” by locals) was known for trying to “eat” any other toys/dolls/plushies it was left alone with and outta pure protective instinct, yanked Spam outta the doll’s hands. Turns out, in an ironically funny twist, the Widow wasn’t actually trying to eat Spam but was instead madly in love with him (wtf girl get some higher standards lol) and was fawning over him Pepe Le Pew style. Which sucks for her since Spam was absolutely TERRIFIED of her, so much so that he begged me to [[WAKE UP]] and get us outta there as soon as he was back in my arms again.

The following hypnagogic auditory hallucination I had upon waking up was basically the Widow mourning over loss of her beloved “groom” and vowing to stop at nothing until she found him again, which made both me and Spam extremely uncomfortable.

So yeah, that’s it for now. Also I drew a few things based off this dream here they are:

I changed the way I draw my Spamton plushie so he could look more expressive in my art btw

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #24: Vicissitudes

My annual “This one’s short but kind of fucked up if you’ve read Godhands” piece.

For a mercy, his hand was still intact.

But he was growing weaker, and he had only his and Sigrid's latest separation to blame. He shivered constantly for want of warmth and could scarcely keep any food down, to the point that even pure water unsettled his stomach. When two days passed of being unable to do anything but lie in discomfort, he asked for one of his Knights to bring him a bowl of the broth usually kept in reserve for Sigrid, and a pinch of her vera root as well. 

 The medicine at least brought him the relief of sleep, accompanied as it was by troubled dreams that were Sigrid's more than his: the sights and imaginings drew from her recollections, from places he imagined were Ul'dah and Gridania. In one dream, he traveled through a cloistered forest dappled with red leaves and could not shake the feeling that something pursued him. He walked alone for malms with that presence bearing down upon his back and at last came upon a village, but the doors to all the houses and cabins and sheds had been thrown wide, with only decayed smears of blood and streaks of gore as the only signs that anyone had once lived there at all. He turned to leave but heard the familiar blow of someone stoking a forge, and in the dream his heart soared at the sound. He ran toward it and his footfalls provoked whatever followed after him, until he could no longer be certain that he would make it in time to see-

"My lord!"

Blackram did not recognize the voice in the time it took to regain his bearings and stir himself from slumber. "Come in," he urged them, his voice hoarse from disuse over what must have been days. "Stand on the far side of the room, please, where I can see you."

The Knight obliged, moving with practiced silence, until they came into view and revealed themself to be Ceallach. Blackram tried to sit himself upright to greet him but resolved instead to lean against a pillow.

"Apologies for greeting you in this state," he began.

Ceallach shook his head, a genuine concern written over his face. "On the contrary, I'm sorry disturbing you, my lord. Is there anything I can bring for you?"

Blackram pondered the question, but the only answer his mind could conjure was Sigrid, and that would be an impossibility. "Do not trouble yourself. You have news to share?"

For the first time in Blackram's memory, Ceallach faltered, albeit momentarily. "...Rúni and Merfyn are dead. They were patrolling the Sprawl. Someone threw a hammer and cracked Rúni's skull. Merfyn challenged the one he thought responsible but didn't call for a duel; he was ambushed from behind during the fight."

Blackram's stomach heaved. Not so far off, in the catacomb chamber above and over from where he lay, Sigrid let out a sob of regret. Ceallach turned, as if he too had heard her grief through the layers of stone.

"Thank you," Blackram began, "for relaying this news. Do you have any suspicions as to who may have instigated their deaths, in either case?"

Something shifted in Ceallach's demeanor, until his relief lay bare. Blackram remembered then that he'd been recruited from the Balam Ring, where failure of any sort was much more likely to be met with additional punishments for all involved.

"None, my lord - I'm sorry. The Sprawl's residents have all but closed ranks, and with both of our own killed at the scene, it took Unsynskaet a full fifteen minutes to run all the way from the southern quarry crossroads to see for himself what was going on."

And fifteen minutes was plenty of time for anyone in the Sprawl to concoct a perfect alibi.

"We could go in to knock heads together and hope someone confesses, but after the way they took down Rúni and Merfyn..." Again Ceallach hesitated. "Based on what I heard, I don't think it was premeditated. Any of it."

Ceallach did not have to explain the significance of that assertion: that the people of the Sprawl were chafing against the Blackram Knights' presence, and that doubling down would likely stir even more unrest. "Who was scheduled to take over for Rúni and Merfyn?"

"Gylda and Ingram, my lord."

"Send Raz instead."

Ceallach's eyes widened. "Just Raz, my lord?"

"Say what you will of him-" And other Knights, especially the elder ones, had said plenty of Raz: that he lacked deference, that he spent more time daydreaming than he did following orders, that he spoke too loudly and thought too slowly. "-but Raz could spend a full moon in the Sprawl without anyone being any the wiser. If we're to find the truth of what happened today, it will not be through force."

"Understood. I'll send Raz at once."

"If you can't find him," Blackram added after a moment of thought, "wait for him where the old markets meet with the dark water." Raz spent most of his time in the tunnel leading up to the Keane House, as it was the one place where he knew he could be of use; he had told Blackram as much himself, entirely unprompted.

Ceallach nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

As he turned to leave, Blackram said, "Wait," and the young warrior returned to his bedside. There Blackram fumbled with one of the extraneous covers: his own fur cloak, draped over his blankets to better capture his own heat. He lifted it with his unblemished hand, weakened though it was from whatever illness gripped him, and Ceallach accepted it.

"Take this to Our Lady," he said. "Fasten it around her, and see to it that she knows that comfort, at least."

[horseshoe-bay-ledger]

Bleeding Hearts — III

Part 3: The Pretence of Pie

(Part 2 | The Whole Thing)

The other Nancy walked through the door of The Claw for the first time ever that night. She was startled slightly by the ringing of the bell as she entered. 

She had grown so used its silence. Someone must have finally got around to fixing it.

She had been looking for George but was surprised to see everyone there, huddled in a booth talking intently. From what she’d been able to glean piecemeal these past few days this didn’t happen anymore. 

She wasn’t even sure Nick was still in Horseshoe Bay but there he stood leaning against the table with his palms spread, looking at something very intently.

“All within the town lines?” she heard him say and Bess nodded.

It was fortunate she had checked on Nancy before coming here. She was at Icarus Hall buried deep in some local records, so hyper focused that any of her plans for tonight and her phone were forgotten entirely.

The other Nancy had gone there to try and find Temperance’s letters but they’d unsurprisingly been moved. She had, however, seen her opportunity to gather information without the chance of the original Nancy interrupting. Maybe she could work the letters into casual conversation if she was lucky. It was a risk coming here but it was one she had to take.

“Nancy!” Bess said delightedly, spotting her. “We didn’t think you’d make it, we hadn’t heard from you.”

She smiled, shrugging her shoulders, not knowing how else to reply.

“Grab yourself a piece of pie and get over here, you truant,” George said, turning her whole body around to address her. “We need your brain on this one.”

The other Nancy decided it was best to roll with it, she could play the part of Nancy Drew. She was made for it after all. 

Plus it would probably be weirder if she just turned around and walked out the door. And she’d come here for information, so she wasn’t going to leave with nothing.

“You know I can’t turn down an offer that good,” she replied, putting on a bright smile and serving herself a piece of pie from the two dishes on the counter, grabbing a fork and napkin purely from muscle memory.

George raised her eyebrows slightly as she put the plate of blueberry pie down on the table and slid in next Bess (as George had taken the spot next to Ace already). 

She tried to gauge George’s reaction, but she controlled her face so quickly Nancy couldn’t be sure she wasn’t just being paranoid. 

She would have fretted over it longer but her gaze properly landed on Ace for the first time that evening. For the first time with her own eyes. 

Everything within her came rushing up at the sight of him. He looked, if anything, more toned down than the usual Ace but her heart still felt like it was about to explode and implode all at the same time. His lips were slightly stained by blueberries from what she assumed had been more than one piece of pie. 

He no longer had the red splotchy stain on his shirt—she hadn’t seen him since then. It was a memory that belonged to the real Nancy. These feelings belonged to her, too, but the other Nancy felt them all the same and just as strongly. 

The pull towards him felt very, very real because, in some sense, it was. 

In her last memories she had been on the verge of allowing herself to be with him. They were finding their way together slowly but surely—and in their own time. They just needed to save his heart and the town first but she was so close allowing herself that happiness. It was only timing that hadn’t yet been on their side, her own pace being mostly to blame. 

She wondered what had happened in the weeks since. Were they together now? They had to be surely. That might complicate things for her.

But the truth was she did not know what had transpired and assumptions based only on past trajectories were dangerous to rely on to inform actions. 

She would play it safe for now, even as her instincts screamed at her to do otherwise. Keeping suspicions off her was the number one priority, she could deal with her feelings later.

So she smiled at him, just normally like she always did. It seemed safe but his face faltered for a second before returning a tight smile and going back to his laptop. The back of her mind had already started to examine that look closely. 

She turned and greeted Bess who was sat with a pile of (mostly) leather-bound books in front of her. She recognised Carson’s ‘Nature in Maine’ book in the stack. 

The pile was anchoring down the corner of a large map of Horseshoe Bay. Ace’s laptop held down the opposite corner, and two mismatching mugs were doing the same at the end closest to herself. 

Her mind began to work on what was going on, what mystery she’d walked into the middle of without any context. It had various crosses marked around sites along the border of the town in sparkly purple ink.

“Is that gel pen?” She immediately asked.

“Yes,” Bess replied tersely, “and I will not be accepting any criticism of it at this time.”

Bess directed a deadly stare in Nick’s direction.

Nancy raised her hands up in mock surrender, urging Bess to explain. However, she had taken a quick glance at the map again and was pretty sure she knew what Bess was about to tell her.

“Okay, so, we’ve marked out all the places along the town line where there has been reports of abnormal wildlife behaviour and unusual phenomena,” Bess said, pointing to each mark in turn. “Like Ace’s Hercules butterflies.”

“Moths,” Ace corrected, lifting his gaze but not his head from his laptop.

“Sorry, Hercules moths,” Bess continued. “I cross referenced the information I got from my contact at the Seabury Zoological Institute, word around town, and what Ace was able to find in his search. But we’re having difficulty finding any pattern or anything useful that would point us towards the cause other than the fact they are all along the border obviously.”

The other Nancy had had no trouble seeing the pattern. They were all points where she had unsuccessfully tried to leave Horseshoe Bay.

The mystery she’d stumbled in on the middle of was her. 

She looked to the slightly smudged mark over Trenton bridge, remembering those damn moths beating at her face like they were going to suffocate her. They would have done too. She couldn’t have taken another step past the town border even if she had tried.

It was the frogs that had thwarted her the same way as she’d tried to cross the river marked astutely by Bess’ purple gel pen. That had created a lot more havoc and attention than she had anticipated. She had thought that the water may somehow be a loophole to whatever was keeping her from leaving. 

Alas, she was trapped here just like the real Nancy had thought she was stuck in the past.

It had been frustration after frustration the past few days, leaving displaced wildlife and fauna in the wake of her failures. All of them marked out perfectly on the map right in front of her.

She had reached the realisation that it was futile. However, she knew Temperance wouldn’t have left her with no way out. She just had to find it.

She was careful not to let any of her thoughts translate onto her face. Even subtly. She couldn’t exactly share what she knew with the class so she sat back with a deliberately puzzled expression and a thoughtful noise as she considered her options. 

Should she misdirect them? Perhaps it was better to stay silent.

“Oh I almost forgot,” Bess said, pulling a pen from god knows where and marking another spot on the map in the same shimmery ink. “The ornithologists noted an endangered species of dove from south-east Asia nesting along the edge of Silvan Woods. Bleeding heart dove or something.”

“Hmmm,” Nick grumbled for some reason the other Nancy could not work out.

“They’ve got a splotch of red on their breast or something that makes them look like their heart is bleeding… or missing. I don’t know, I haven’t seen one myself. The Ornithologist Weekly was very excited about them, big coup for them apparently. Pardon the pun.”

“I will not,” Ace said, never one to pardon puns, only encourage them.

“Here,” Bess said pulling up a picture of the bird on her phone for her reference and for the others.

They all leaned across the table to look.

“Does that remind anyone of…”

“Yeah.”

“Coincidence?”

“Maybe.”

“Then it might have something to do with the old town lines, something Temperance activated when she tried to open the Veil?” Nick suggested. “Might explain the heart connection.”

“Yeah or it could be something particular about the sites themselves. Might be worth canvassing when we get the chance. There’s only so much a map can tell us,” Bess pointed out. “Temperance’s letters are back at the Historical Society too. Maybe there’ll be something useful in them that could help us out? I’m still not certain this is Temperance related though. I can’t see how it could be.”

“Yeah might give us more insight into her plans though,” Nick said. “Maybe this is just a side effect of whatever damage she did manage to do before Nancy stopped her. Like an echo. I don’t know why it would have only started now though.”

“Don’t write her off from being the bane of our existence from beyond the grave,” warned George. “Don’t forget the fish,” she added, out of nowhere.

“What fish?” Nick said, confused because no one until that point had mentioned any sort of fish at all. 

“On the map. Sorry, I thought I’d said,” George replied. “Jessie has been talking my ear off about it I lost track of who knew what. Apparently some fishers found some weird fish from the Amazon when they were out on the bay the other day. A whole school of the tiny suckers.”

“Is it abnormal for fishermen to find fish?” Bess asked.

“It is when they’re in the ocean and it’s a freshwater fish.”

Bess conceded, wielding her purple gel pen, ready to add yet another mark to their map as George wordlessly pointed out roughly where the fish had been caught.

“But wait for it,” George said monotone, without any sense of the drama the words called for.

“I wait on bated breath,” Ace said teasingly playing along, throwing in another pun for good measure.

George shot him an eye-roll but it was without any of its typical venom.

“The species of fish is called the Bleeding Heart Tetra,” she explained. “Jessie and her buddies wouldn’t stop talking about it this afternoon.”

“I’m noticing a theme here,” Ace said.

“I think I’ve been staring at this map for too long,” Nick said definitively, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Should we maybe come at this with fresh minds tomorrow?”

“You might be free and easy to do whatever but some of us have to work all day tomorrow and study and do mentoring after hours,” George snapped.

She knew Nick wasn’t not busy, but it seemed she felt like getting the dig in anyway.

Nick looked simultaneously infuriated and apologetic. 

The other Nancy was having difficulty gauging the dynamic. She had thought they had been alright post-break-up. Not good but okay at least.

Ace cut in to save them all.

“I have work at the morgue tomorrow too, don’t get off until 6. Worth doing a supernatural Amazing Race this weekend?”

They all nodded. The other Nancy gave a non-committal shrug. 

She was relying on Nancy’s poor communication skills and apparent re-found isolationism to not rouse any suspicion.

“Great,” Ace said, snapping his laptop shut. “Well, thanks for the pie George.”

George nodded, grabbing Ace’s empty plate before he could and walking it to the kitchen giving Ace a firm but playful reminder that he didn’t work there anymore. 

Bess took a photo of the map with her phone before attempting (but failing) to neatly re-fold it. Nancy heard the sound of two phones vibrate and one message tone. Ace never kept his phone on silent. 

“I’ll keep researching tomorrow but I’m done for tonight as well,” Bess yawned as she collected her books. “Ace?” 

“Addy’s car still in the shop?” He asked. 

Bess nodded gratefully, glad she didn’t have to explain herself. 

Nancy moved out of the booth to let Bess out, nearly crashing into Ace. He glided past her sideways, deliberate to not brush against her. It was weird. For them, at least.

So they weren’t together, she thought. 

She couldn’t figure out what would have stopped Nancy. There was no fear involved, no uncertainty. Ace had told her how he felt and left it entirely up to her what came next. 

She dropped back down into the booth, the table was now clear except for her half eaten pie and George’s discarded phone. 

Or, maybe, they were together and hadn’t told the group yet. 

She highly doubted that. Ace couldn’t keep a secret like that for the life of him, especially not from the other three. And definitely not Bess.

They all said their goodbyes. Nick, Ace and Bess all left and, like her counterpart this morning, the other Nancy remained sitting in deep thought.

George approached the booth again and sat back down on the cracked vinyl across from her, letting out the most dramatic exhale while slumping in her seat.

“Long day?” She prompted.

“And getting longer,” George lamented.

“I know what you mean,” Nancy replied because it felt like the right thing to say. Just because she hadn’t lived Nancy’s life these past weeks didn’t mean she forgot how to be a person.

“Got a mentoring session with Judge Abbott tomorrow, too.”

“That’s a good thing right?” Nancy asked, taking a bite of her now cold pie. Obviously George had been serious about law school and was actually following through on something for herself for once.

George eyed her. 

 “Yeah, it is... Hey, I thought you’d sworn off blueberry pie after that other supplier incident,” George said, not one to beat around the bush.

Ah, so she didn’t imagine that look earlier.

The other Nancy had not known about this incident, she only remembered thinking she’d give the Claw’s blueberry pie one more chance.

“Oh, well, everyone deserves another chance,” she fumbled slightly in response. “People change.”

There was a sadness that crept in her last statement that George did not miss but did misinterpret. 

“Is that what happened with you and Ace?” George asked abruptly. “After Park left?”

She didn’t know what answer would lead her away from any potential landmines. 

“Not exactly…” Nancy said, pausing to think of what to say next. 

“Oh, c’mon Nancy I see the gross eyes the two of you make at each other,” she paused to make a face and wave her hands. “Poor boy’s clearly in love with you, and I know you like him. If you’re worried about the group, don’t be—we’re stronger than that. If you want it, you should go for it.”

Everything in her wanted it, of course, beyond rationality.

Once again, she was unsure of what to say so she settled for the safest bet.

“Thanks, George.”

“A ‘thank you’ twice in one day, Drew?” George teased. “Must be some kind of record.”

She’d stay longer but she had already gotten the information she needed. In fact, she had more than she came for.

She needed to keep moving. They were already on her trail and it looked like they might find her out sooner rather than later. 

She knew first-hand, or second-hand really, how formidable this group could be with or without Nancy. 

So she excused herself for the night and headed out of The Claw. It was time to pay a visit to the Historical Society and put Nancy’s lock-picking skills to the test.

(Part 4: The Key to The Second Floor)

[beyondedenton]

What is Fair || Maximus + Sophia + Henry || December, 2020

Continuation from [x]

 Maximus: "I believe," he hesitated, "she has found a more satisfying party favor, one she intends to be a permanent fixture in the foreseeable future." This was not the worst his mistress could scheme. Unforgettable nights of horror based on little more than jealousy and spite were once commonplace. Scarred in memory rather than skin by her will. "Perhaps find some excuse to retire for the evening."

 Sophia: Sophia’s lips drew into a thin line and she looked back out into the darkness. She didn’t know what would be worse, to stay here and endure the sight or to leave and be left with her imagination of the horrors.

“Catch fucking 22,” she muttered to herself.

 Maximus: "Your well-being is my only concern, m'lady. Please, allow your decision to be a selfish one."

 Sophia: Selfish she could do. It was in her bones given what she was. But she would fight it. She always did.

She just closed her eyes, crossing her arms as if to fight off a chill. “I care about your well-being too.”

 Maximus: "I understand, and it means the world to me that you care. Truly. Knowing lingers when you're gone."

 Sophia: “And if there was something- anything I could do to stop it… and I had left…”

 Maximus: "That's," his eyes dropped to his feet, then hers, "a dangerous way of thinking, the possibilities. They'll swallow you whole if you let them."

 Sophia: She gave a slight smile at that and looked back at him. “Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to get lost in it.”

 Maximus: "If you might take anything away from my experiences, Sophia, let it be knowing when to wake up."

 Sophia: Sophia set her jaw. “I am awake, Maximus. I just hate what comes with it.”

 Maximus: "I agree," he said softly. "If it's any consolation, you've made the hours outside of daydreaming tolerable."

 Sophia: “It’s a little bit of one, I guess,” she replied. Tolerable. That was what it had to be, didn’t it? Not happy, not peaceful— tolerable.

She glanced back at the party within. How much longer did she have before they’d be missed?

 Maximus: Tolerable was the softest word of choice. Some days, when given several hours to himself, able to spend in Sophia's company, it was much more. It was indeed peaceful, truly happy. But these were blips. Tolerable was the umbrella. Sophia pulled him from the daydreams that had maintained his sanity for over a lifetime of torment.

In their last spare moment, Maximus took her hands and kissed them. These hands, sometimes stained in blood, were pure and precious.

"I love you." A whisper too low to carry. It was time to move. The scratch of an invisible fingernail over the back of his neck signaled the hour.

 Sophia: “I love you.” Sophia reached forward, hooking her arms around his neck in a quick embrace. They were safe, in the shadows.

But it wouldn’t last.

“I’ll take the back way out,” she said softly, pulling back and pivoting with grace despite her heels. She couldn’t think too much about it, leaving. She’d stop again. And they didn’t have time for that.

Perching on the railing, she tucked her purse strap across her shoulder. The wind tugged at her hair, and loosened it from its pins. She looked back at him one more time. “Take care of yourself.”

 Maximus: Graceful as always, and as she would always be in his eyes. Not a blunt instrument to be used against him. They would not win against this love.

A bow as a final farewell, Maximus turned, ready to face the potentials of the next room. Of Henry Buchanan, willing or unwitting accomplice for a second time. He would not assume his behavior, regardless of their last encounter. He expected brutality. Better or worse without Sophia's presence, he would soon know.

 Henry: He was lounging on one of the sofas at the far end of the room. A human woman was draped along his lap while a vampiress perching on the arm of the sofa drank from her wrist.

The flicker of red caught in his eyes as Maximus returned to the fold.

 Maximus: Just as expected, as Maximus had warned. Berger had made arrangements. A party should always carry favors. Given her servant's previous performance and the assumed still-present company, the crossroads demon was just delighted to make her announcement. This time, her hand was held towards Henry Buchanan.

The same words, like a repeated song. "For the next hour, you belong to Henry Buchanan. You will address him as his lordship. You will obey him as my word, as scripture. Do you understand?"

This was worse than Vlad Teppes. To hope otherwise would be foolish. Maximus was fairly certain their recent history was of little consequence. He needed to return to daydreaming.

Gently, Maximus bowed his head. "Yes, m'lady."

 Henry: Henry pressed his tongue to the back of his front teeth as the instructions were given.

A woman like Berger did nothing without thought. He imagined his little show of taking control of the demon at the last party made her think he’d be an easy pawn in her games.

Henry Buchanan only ever played his own games.

Or so he told himself.

“A generous offer, Ms. Berger,” he called. The donor in his lap slid off of him into the waiting arms of another vampiress that had sank to his side, and he stood.

 Maximus: Maximus would not be so assuming as to begin undressing without permission or command. The only tell Henry would find being the gentle swallow with his approach. That was what he had wanted before, was it not? He had to wonder. As much as he wanted to daydream, nonsensical thoughts would not come.

 Henry: Henry circled the demon a moment, enjoying the eyes that were on him even among the clamor of the party.

“Miss me?” he breathed as he came to stand in front of Maximus.

 Maximus: Eyes remained forward, refusing to fall in Henry Buchanan's presence. Not any night before, and not tonight. How could he, when he knew the intimate details of his strained expression, and the soft skin of his throat beneath his fingers?

"Always a pleasure to be in your company, m'lord."

 Henry: Henry tucked his hands behind his back and cocked his head to the side, studying the demon. “We both know I’m not a lord. Don’t we, Ms. Berger?” Henry looked from Maximus back the double doors of the balcony he had come from.

Sophia was nowhere to be seen now.

“Thank you for the gift,” he called back to her. The main parlor was too crowded, he felt, for someone as undecided as he was in that moment for how the night would go. “Perhaps somewhere quieter, Townsend?”

 Maximus: Henry's response caught both demons off guard. Only one gave a visible response. Gray eyes quickly glancing at Henry directly, eyes forward again.

Berger's smile matched her fluttery laugh.

"You stand as your employer's will. You are much deserving of reward. Please, enjoy the fruits of your labors." She, meanwhile, would turn her attention back to the darling young thing in a silk mermaid dress.

Maximus bowed to his new master, waiting for Henry to lead elsewhere.

 Henry: It would be to a smaller parlor that Henry led them to, not far from the location of another in appearance.

He snapped his fingers at a young pair of vampiress wrapped in an embrace by the fire, and they scattered to leave them quite alone.

“I don’t do well with condescension,” Henry replied evenly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He made no offer to the demon.

 Maximus: Maximus stood to the side of the door, remaining silent as Henry sought the comfort of whiskey.

It had been a statement, not a command, not a question, so he saw no benefit in response. His gaze fixed forward, waiting for one or the other.

 Henry: Henry took a burning sip and turned back to Townsend. “Sophia up and left, I take it?”

 Maximus: A question he would have to answer. A slow breath was taken, first.

"I imagine for a proper hunt, m'lord." His voice remained cool.

 Henry: “Hardly.” Another sip, and he took a few steps towards the demon. “And what you do you call this, then?” He pointed between the two of them.

 Maximus: "I believe this to be a token of friendship, by my mistress to your family, Master Henry."

 Henry: Henry’s lips curled in a smile. “You can speak plainly. It’s not just that.” He was master here. Berger’s words. He stood directly in front of him then. “What’s she got up her sleeve?”

 Maximus: "If you wish for me to speak plainly, please know this: I am yours to command, but I am still duly tethered." His eyes remained forward, just shy of Henry's direct contact. No master would look him in the eyes unless to make a point, and those ocean eyes seemed determined for just that.

 Henry: He watched him, hands behind his back. “I just get the leash, you mean. Until midnight and we all turn to pumpkins.”

 Maximus: Interesting response, considering the source. A little more poetic than expected. He was tempted to speak again, but rather, he bowed his head. Henry had it exactly right.

 Henry: Henry would take the bowed head as a small win. He turned away and set about a turn of the room. He’s given permission for the demon to speak. Let him. If he dared.

 Maximus: Henry had presented questions, and the demon, his temporary demon, had answered. Now silence filled their private space. Warm and palpable, fixed only by the gently crackling fire and gentle ticking of the ornate mantel clock.

This, Maximus could do, as he was certain Henry knew. Standing perfect, shoulders wide and tight, eyes forward, admiring the fire. Would he not be presented at all, tonight? If not, surely Henry intended something worse.

Henry: Henry stopped at the fire and turned to face Maximus again. “Too talkative one minute and silent the next. It’s like you’re determined to spite me.” Of course he would be. “Tell me. How do you want this to go?”

 Maximus: To be considered talkative was truly the insult. At what point had he offended, he wondered. His association with Sophia, or was it their last back-and-forth that warranted him the wagging tongue?

"Without violence," he said gently.

 Henry: Henry very nearly scoffed. Sophia wasn’t here, and it hadn’t stopped them the first time the demon had been offered, so it warranted very little by way of a show.

“Or what, you gonna choke me out?”

 Maximus: It seemed Henry still held a grudge. Their last meeting had done little to mollify, unfortunately. He should have expected such.

"I cannot harm the one holding the leash."

 Henry: Vampire and violence were synonymous, weren’t they? Henry stood again, moving towards Townsend. “Until time is up, of course.”

 Maximus: "Not often am I granted permission to defend myself," the demon answered coolly.

 Henry: Henry smirked. “Bet you had fun doing it, too. Don’t tell me it didn’t feel good.” Another step, just out of arms reach, and he produced a cigarette pack, lit one.

 Maximus: He'd felt several things in that moment years ago. Irritation, relief, satisfaction, even a trace of pride. For himself, and for Sophia's resolve. He'd felt pity for the man in his clutch. Curiosity as well. He wanted to know how Henry had felt.

Slowly, Maximus raised his hand to his collar, loosened his tie, pulled aside the fine fabric to expose his throat and shoulder. The lone freckle on his clavicle like a beacon.

 Henry: Henry watched him for the better part of a minute as he smoked, pale eyes roaming along the expanse of the demon’s throat. He swallowed the thirst that swelled at the sight.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 Maximus: "You didn't present me with one," he countered.

 Henry: “I would have thought you’d have caught what was implied.”

 Maximus: "Implications don't move my tongue."

 Henry: “Clearly.” He was going to make him rephrase, wasn’t he? If he wanted an answer. So he would. Slowly. “How did it feel? All that strength and no way to use it. Then suddenly.” He lunged forward in a blur to stand right in front of the demon, clapped his hands one. “Bam. Opportunity.”

 Maximus: There was power in the rephrasing. Regardless of potential violence won upon the next forty-five minutes, his small victory would be savored.

It seemed to have spurred a different intimidation tactic. He breathed slowly, eyes remaining forward.

"I am forced to do many things I am not proud of. Your mouth concerned me, as did your intent."

 Henry: “And what was my intent?”

 Maximus: Though answering a question with a question would have been nostalgic, Henry's status had become elevated.

"Domination."

 Henry: Henry considered the answer, shrugged. “What can I say? I was in a mood.”

 Maximus: "Does your mood move you towards my throat now, m'lord?"

Henry: Henry’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Do you want it to?”

 Maximus: He could only lie and skirt so much. "No. Your manner of foreplay is rather verbal."

 Henry: He laughed, and it was hollow. “Is it?”

 Maximus: Gray eyes met blue, staring deeply and patiently, despite previous statements. He would rather this torment be over and done with. It was Henry's unpredictability that was slowly knotting his stomach. At least Vlad Teppes' intentions had been clear.

 Henry: He watched Townsend for the better part of a minute. Then, without much warning either way, he leaned forward and produced a pen. A flourish of ink and a room number on a bit of stationary by the sofa.

“I tire of whatever that woman has up here sleeve.” At least not without his own power play in the mix. “You’ll find me there. I know well enough you’ve free time after these things.” Sophia positively reeked of him, after all. And it wasn’t from brushes at parties like this one.

“Good night, Townsend. Do what you like until our time is up.”

And with that, he made to make his own exit.

 Maximus: The demon remained still. Eyes returned forward at nothing while Henry wrote. His hand was almost reluctant to move from his collar, having expected this to be some method of trickery in letting his guard down. The Henry from the gala and this Henry were the same, but confusing. This change of pace was surreal.

It was only a minute into the silence did Maximus finally move to fix his clothes. He then to examined the note. If he stared long enough, he might decipher the meaning behind the scribble.

And then he remembered to breathe. Deep loose breaths disallowed on duty.

What did this mean? Why would Henry offer something like this? The choice was his own, and he found himself more curious than concerned.

The bit of paper was folded and tucked away. He would remain in privacy until the appointed time. In a way, giving Henry a head start in his departure. Why he gave him this, and why he was prepared to lie, he couldn't explain to himself, but the truth would spill from his lips before the final goodbye.

And Maximus would find himself standing in front of the jotted room number an hour before sunrise.

 Henry: Henry set his glass down on the bedside table. He hadn’t expected Townsend to come, or rather, he’d expected the chance that he wouldn’t would be greater than the chance he would. He’d discarded his dinner jacket when he got in, and he answered the door now in white shirt and black slacks.

“Look at you showing up,” he said. He smiled a crooked smile and stepped to the side. “Come in, Mr. Townsend.”

 Maximus: The man Henry regarded as David Townsend stood tall. This, despite the significant loss of color to his cheeks. Already pale skin now faded and bloodless, calling attention to blush lips and gray eyes. The demon scanned what he could of the room from his position, reluctant to take the next step forward.

"What is it you want, Henry?"

 Henry: “Just to talk.” He looked past Townsend to ensure they were alone. “Without your mistress.”

 Maximus: She would not know of this evening. Too far from her imagination that her servant would stand in this doorway. Whatever Henry intended would be their secret. Perhaps, if not for Sophia.

He would step through the door. What was one more mistake in eternity.

 Henry: The door closed behind him, and Henry moved to lounge on the sofa in front of the fire place. It was a modest suite, older in its styling, but to his taste.

“Sit. Stand. For Christ’s sake I just couldn’t stand being treated like a pawn in someone else’s game.”

He wasn’t sure what had prompted the invitation. Loneliness, perhaps. Or the ongoing feeling that he and Townsend had unfinished business.

“Contrary to our first meeting, I much prefer someone who can talk back in my company.”

 Maximus: This must be a dream. Gone too deep in his own imagination. He was probably still standing in the parlor of Berger's home, awaiting further instructions. Lost in his thoughts still as -

He remembered again to breathe, sharply inhaling through his nose. A small noise to cut his silence.

"The last guest," he struggled for her name. Not normally an issue. "Danica Cutler, Berger's new favorite, satisfied her intention."

 Henry: Henry pointed to his own face. “Hence the paleness,” he said. “We’re all fucking animals, didn’t you know?”

Why he said that, he didn’t know.

“Sophia know you’re here?”

 Maximus: Coming from Henry, he caught a scoff in his throat. Swallowed down with a sotto voce apology. Never would he have imagined seeking Henry's forgiveness, which confirmed, this wasn't a dream. He was very much awake.

Exhausted and finished, his shoulders began to relax. The shake of his head was short and subtle.

 Henry: Henry steepled his fingertips, feet propped on the coffee table. “You gonna sit or what?”

 Maximus: "I would rather know how you intend to use me."

 Henry: Henry dropped his feet and leaned forward. “I could have bitten you already if I wanted to. During my hour, remember?”

He shrugged and sat back. “Leave. If you want.”

 Maximus: "Kindness to purchase my time and trust?" He was not so easily bought. Not for a lifetime, but for five minutes more, perhaps. Another two steps forward, hesitating not from Henry's hospitality, but the sting like sharp needles ascending in a cascade through his spine. He had not yet fully healed. Standing there, just feet away from Henry, he was reluctant to remove all guard. To discard his coat and reveal his change of clothes. Proof of the damage Danica had caused.

 Henry: “If you want to think of it that way.” Henry shrugged. “But it’s like I said. I’m not playing anyone else’s game.”

Henry let out a breath. “And you aren’t either, going off of your arrival tonight.”

 Maximus: Another painful swallow. This was an opportunity. Perhaps not the one Henry intended, but one he might utilize.

"I wish to understand you."

 Henry: He bit back a laugh, lounging further back against the sofa. “Why?”

 Maximus: Maximus came to stand beside the sofa. His version of at ease in the form of resting fingertips on the leather surface.

"Why not?"

 Henry: “Could think of a few reasons.” One of which was petite, blonde, and pretty. “I fear you’ll be disappointed, Mr. Townsend.”

 Maximus: "That you're corruptible, angry, desperate to prove yourself, jealous, beyond redemption? Where might I be disappointed?"

 Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “Pick one.”

 Maximus: "Disappointment requires a higher standard than what I've been given."

 Henry: Henry considered the statement, then simply shrugged.

 Maximus: Maximus stared at nothing in particular for a time. "Do you wish to be understood, or remain an enigma?"

 Henry: “But you already seem to know me so well.”

 Maximus: "That is, if it is true or not."

 Henry: “And you suspect it isn’t.”

 Maximus: If he were frank with himself, he was simply too tired for this conversation. Curious, but tired. His wit had diminished with blood loss. And since he could not sleep, existing within the event horizon of Henry Buchanan had been an idea. A good idea? No, but it was an idea.

"I suspect nothing. I harbor curiosity."

Rather than wait for another bout of silence, he continued, asking, "What makes you think you were Berger's pawn?"

 Henry: “I didn’t say I was. Just that she thought she could use me as such.” He didn’t miss a beat, looking down at his hand a moment. Many people thought that, and there had been a time when he had been at that mercy. He was not vulnerable anymore. “I don’t envy you there,” he added. “She’s a right foul bitch, that one. Bit like—“ He paused. Composed himself. “Like someone I used to know.”

 Maximus: "Treated, yes."

Weathered gray eyes studied the vampire again. There was something there. Like a vague figure behind frost glass. He knew that figure; the details lost behind ambiguity.

"May I ask you something? Something... meaningless to anyone but myself?"

 Henry: He looked back at the demon. Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction… “Yes.”

 Maximus: "That night, at the gala..." The act of asking is where Maximus lost his will. The words buried in his throat, shut in by closed lips.

 Henry: Henry turned and sat down on the bed. He watched him. He felt a mixture of a thrill as seeming to have the upper hand with Maximus’s silence and something else he couldn’t place. Something not soft. But not hard, either.

“Go on, then,” he prodded. His voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either.

 Maximus: "It means nothing, to know, how you felt. With your teeth in my neck the entire time. Means nothing to anyone but me." Henry could feel whatever he wanted. It was a price to pay for answers, when he doubted he would ever have an opportunity again.

 Henry: He blinked and thinly managed to hide the shock. “You… do yourself a disservice,” he said. He was starting to feel that pushing more buttons than he had would result in the demon having enough, turning, and leaving.

And perhaps he wasn’t ready just yet. To be alone.

And the question had stumped him. Hard, if he was being honest with himself. Why had he reacted as he had? “Your taste, for one thing.”

He slinked closer, watching Maximus. “Why do you want to know?”

 Maximus: As Henry rose to his feet, Maximus felt an instinctual pull to back himself in a corner. Like a child. As his father had felt. As Mays had felt. As Shore, and every other predator.

And yet, in contradiction, he didn't feel he was alone in his vulnerability. He realized, standing his ground, fighting the urge to lower his chin more than the inch it had, that this wasn't the first time he'd felt this way with Henry. That night, years ago now, answering questions with questions, he'd felt the same.

"Many reasons have been given to me since before I died. Why people... do things to me. I want to know... yours."

 Henry: Henry stopped in his path a few steps from Maximus. “I wouldn’t say it was personal. There was plenty at play, wasn’t there?” He shrugged. Perhaps it was jealousy. Jealousy that… she had still found friendship with Maximus at an intimacy that set his teeth on edge— Emotional, not physical. That—

“Status, power, vanity… pushing various buttons.” He shrugged. “As I said. Nothing personal. Not until…” he was saying too much, and he hated it. The words died there, and he looked away into the fireplace.

 Maximus: Maximus was aware of his effect on people. Whether darkened by their deeds, or those kind enough for sympathy. There was something about his demeanor that made people want to involve themselves. Press upon their intentions to elicit a reaction. That quiet, patient nature also made him a confidant. Henry was not-so-living proof, as Maximus had seen time and again.

He didn't mind. Freely offered information was a weapon. But at times, it was another pebble on his shoulder, weighing his body into mud.

"Not until she tended to me," Maximus assumed to finish.

 Henry: Do you love her? He remembered Townsend asking him. Henry ran a hand along his well-groomed beard and looked back at the demon.

He’d rather him simply think he was irredeemable, that he really was as awful as his worst deeds— a cardboard cutout of the melodrama’s villain.

It was safer.

“We all have soft spots,” he finally managed. “I never handled them well. Soft spots make you weak, and irrational. But damn if they aren’t still there. No matter how inhuman you become…”

Henry watched Maximus as he spoke. “Vlad told me how you helped her track down the slayer last year, you know.” He didn’t know why he said it, perhaps to indicate that he was well aware she was one of Townsend’s soft spots, too.

 Maximus: "It's a simple spell. I could teach you."

Maximus wasn't the only one with an innate ability to evoke reactions. There was something about Henry. Perhaps the reason he had come to this hotel in secret. He wanted something from the vampire, and he had yet to articulate what. The answer for the gala was barely satisfactory. He didn’t know which was worse, personal, or impersonal.

"Soft spots are our humanity. Without it, we're... little more than beasts. These soft spots. Their stronger than... vanity, or illusions of power. Every... pain inflicted, I would have inflicted again."

 Henry: Henry arched a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the spell. But… thank you.” He wasn’t talking about the offer with his thanks, either. It was all subtext, all something Townsend would have to read between the lines for.

“Humanity.” He scoffed. He had spent decades trying to forget his human years, and yet Townsend was claiming it worth preserving. “So, you deem it worth keeping, obviously.”

 Maximus: It was an impersonal offer adjacent to their conversation. A window of escape, should Henry take it. An olive branch.

"What is the point of living without it? You and I... will live forever. What is the meaning behind it? Coins and respect from those we'll never equal in age? For how long? A few decades? Centuries? Until they're bored."

 Henry: His eyes flashed at that. “I’m building something. Me. Not just for Vlad.”

That had hit a nerve. He could see his sire Veronica, pretty petite and blonde. He could see how she cast him aside when she was done…

Henry turned about-face and took off in a near blur before stopping at the decanter of whiskey on the bedside table.

“Do you drink, Mr. Townsend?”

 Maximus: Henry's tone almost seemed to reverberate with inflection. His own imagination, surely. That bit of fear, like a string in his stomach, Henry could tug with his fingertip. Not always, but sometimes.

But also, he wondered, if he had not heard something... youthful.

"Bourbon," he acquiesced. "Please."

 Henry: He calmed down as he poured the two glasses. He paused before turning to offer out the glass.

As for his part, he had to fight to keep from downing the burning liquid in one go.

 Maximus: The offer was a simple yet effective method to get Maximus to move from the safety of his distance. Deeper into the room. Deeper into this conversation and into Henry's hands. This wasn't some grand manipulation. He didn't have to come. This was a bed they'd both made.

"Thank you," he said, taking his glass in both hands.

 Henry: Henry drained half of the glass, gulped it down. He found himself unable to decide what to do next, so he turned and topped the glass off again.

He’d pay for it the next day.

“When was the last time someone offered you whiskey?”

 Maximus: Maximus stared into the drink as he considered telling the truth. There was no harm and no shame in the telling of it. It was simply private.

"Weeks ago." His voice barely carried.

 Henry: “Oh?” Why had he expected it to be longer?

 Maximus: "You wish for me to elaborate?"

 Henry: He sat down on the sofa that ran along the sitting area. “If you want.”

 Maximus: If you want. Everything felt like a game with this man.

"A friend. Unlike, and not unlike Miss Sophia."

 Henry: “So you do this a lot. Sneak out…”

 Maximus: "And how will you use this to your advantage?"

 Henry: He arched a brow. “My advantage?”

 Maximus: "You say you're no one's pawn, but is that what you intend of me?"

 Henry: He shrugged and sat back. “I haven’t decided yet.”

 Maximus: "You wouldn't be telling my mistress anything she doesn't already know."

 Henry: “I didn’t say anything about her,” he pointed out.

 Maximus: After a sip, his glass was placed upon the table.

"That's not terribly original, Henry."

 Henry: “What isn’t?”

 Maximus: "Using me."

 Henry: Henry crossed one leg over the other. “What would you prefer then?”

 Maximus: "I would prefer we... not be enemies."

 Henry: Henry’s lips twitched. “And what would that look like, David?”

 Maximus: "What does this moment look like?"

 Henry: Henry smiled, flashing teeth. ��That’s not very original.”

 Maximus: "Asking you questions?"

 Henry: Giving him a taste of his own medicine. Henry just shrugged and settled into comfortable recline on the sofa and watched the demon.

 Maximus: Could very well be our love language, he mused. His glass was returned to his lips.

"Thank you, for tonight. No matter your intention, or the outcome."

 Henry: Henry arched a brow. For one reason or another, that hadn’t been expected. Civility had been foreign to them up until now. “You’re welcome.”

Maximus: He couldn't say what compelled him to move, other than the obvious nature of his profession, embedded in his very soul. Must have been one of the last hotels left in the entire city to use a wood fireplace. As so much of history, he would mourn its passing.

His hand outstretched, soft words in Italian, he swiped his hand from left to right. The three logs crackling within the hearth replicated, stacked over the original.

Rather than assume, he would venture to ask, "Do you appreciate music, Henry?"

 Henry: Henry’s eyes trailed after Maximus, ever a predator, even at rest. He arched a brow at the question. It was unexpected, in some regards.

“I do.” His silence spoke the next question. why?

 Maximus: Multiple times tonight, taking Henry by surprise, and he was oblivious to all. His own doing.

"I thought you would say no."

 Henry: A huff of a laugh left him in an exhale, and he rested his hands behind his head. “Yeah? Why?”

 Maximus: "It's a coin toss." He glanced at the vampire. "It's not entirely personal. I don't like comparing you to monsters, but you've lent yourself to the stereotype. They either hate it, or love it."

 Henry: “Do they?” He considered the assessment. It wasn’t far off, surprisingly. He had just never considered it. “How old are you?”

 Maximus: There was no need for his age to be a secret. There was nothing to gain or lose from the knowledge.

"I was born in autumn, 1870."

 Henry: “Huh. Interesting.” He looked to the fire as it sparked to life. “We’re five years apart.”

 Maximus: "Would it insult you to know older, or younger?"

 Henry: He smiled. “Hardly. I’m older.”

 Maximus: For what felt like the first time in their relationship, Maximus' smile was earnest, lacking the veil of professionalism. A soft, delicate warmth reached his eyes, and slowly faded as his gaze returned to the fire.

"A little Henry, ruling the nursery when I was born."

 Henry: “Nurseries weren’t exactly where I was…” He grit his teeth at the thought, and he stood up to refill his glass of whiskey in one fell swoop.

“Always American, I assume?” He asked.

 Maximus: By now, Henry was being studied. Gray eyes following his every move. His expression remained gentle.

"My mother was from Grosseto. She met my father in New York, when he was visiting family. Italians weren't looked upon favorably, at the time. If anyone asked, she was French." The Louisiana drawl filled in the unexplained, or so he assumed it would.

Henry: Henry let the bite of the whiskey pull him back to the present. “You don’t sound like you’re from New York…”

Maximus: "I should hope not." There, some humor for the vampire.

Henry: He bit back a a laugh and covered with a prompt drain of his glass. “It is kind of a shit hole isn’t it?”

Maximus: "It has its charms. None of which being accent."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks and nodded. “And how do you feel about the Brits?” Not that he had identified as one for years.

Maximus: Maximus' smile was gentle and fleeting. "Been blessed to know a few... to have given me fond memories."

Henry: He’d count himself out of that list. “I see.” The liquor started to swim with the blood he’d consumed earlier. An echo of warmth was in his porcelain cheeks.

Maximus: "A specific area to question. Is that for a reason?" His gentle expression remained as he looked at the vampire.

Henry: Henry shrugged. “Thought it would be obvious.”

Maximus: "Are you walking a scenic route towards a personal question?"

Henry: “What sort of personal question do you have in mind?”

Maximus: "I'm supposed to have the answer to a question you haven't asked?"

Henry: He shrugged. “Humor me. Read my mind…” Henry bit back a dry laugh and wiggled his fingers through the air, lounged back on the sofa.

Maximus: "I... " His mouth slowly shut. He couldn't even say that. In fear of breaking his spell.

Henry: He turned his head and looked back at the demon. “Hm?”

Maximus: "You... will ask me something or not."

Henry: He let out a huff of a laugh, dry, a sort of ease in his chest. “By all accounts, you should hate me. What made you come?”

Maximus: A question which seemed to relax his shoulders. A great soothing ease from his throat to his stomach.

"You're familiar."

Henry: “How so?”

Maximus: "Your damage. Your bite. Your presence." The obvious and the poetic.

Henry: He smirked. “More comfortable than comfort, huh?”

Maximus: "Misery is familiar, isn't it?"

Henry: “So it would seem.”

Maximus: "You asked for me, just to see if I would?"

Henry: “I was curious… and I thought I would see what you were like without an audience.”

Maximus: The next question should have, could have been of Henry's assessment. Instead, the demon softly sighed.

"I have to go."

Henry: That simply wouldn’t do.

He flickered from the couch to stand in front of Townsend, a flame in his own right in the firelight— ethereal and just as hard to pinpoint in any physical with the speed.

“Tell me. Man to man. What you want from me. Familiarity.” He waved the thought away like a gnat. “In your heart of hearts, why did you come?” What did he want? “You could have refused. Yet here you are.”

Maximus: By now his speed no longer startled him. No more lowering his chin. No urge to back himself against the wall. Exhausted, but half an hour was enough time to acclimate to the vampire.

"I told you," he said, soft as silk, "I had a question. I'm curious about you. I want to understand you. I think we can be more than foul with each other. We have enough villains fixed on using us. I've given you every answer."

Henry: The corner of his eye twitched, the intensity of the moment snapping taught on his features. He could all but feel Townsend’s heat, could taste it when he breathed.

“You have,” he conceded, and his voice was softer. Like the wind was out of his sails.

Maximus: "What is it you want from me, Henry?" A hint of insistence in his voice, because despite their conversations, he felt as though he was grasping at smoke. He had the shape of him, but nothing so important as the nuance. He had said he was curious, but surely there was something else.

Henry: Grasping at smoke, indeed. Henry reached forward, grabbing the demon by the lapel of his coat.

Not violent, exactly. But not gentle either.

He leaned closer still.

“Your attention,” he hissed. “Your focus. Whatever wildness is wrapped up neatly in those fucking manners…” Like the night they had met. The night he had fought back.

Maximus: His violence was, just as he thought before, poetry. At that very moment, clothes gripped in his fist, he reminded him of sculpture.

You want me. Of all people, all things, you want me. You fool. You mistake.

Henry would be denied his gaze. Eyes closed as he took a breath. Just a moment to consider this affront on his life. The ramifications of his actions.

The demon leaned forward by an inch, opened his eyes.

"Earn it."

Henry: Henry smirked in satisfaction when he found his gaze. Earned it? As far as he was concerned, he already had.

The trick was keeping it.

He inclined his head to the left. “What’s your price?”

Maximus: He too wondered what price he could possibly bargain for. His chest rose high, allowing Henry's hand to press deeper. The question repeated as a chant. He was just... exhausted. Tired of this night. Tired of his mistress. Tired of being used. Tomorrow would be the same. And the next day. And the next day. This was his sentence. This man another method of torture.

"I have enough monsters in my life, Henry. Would you be so kind... and show me something else?"

Henry: Henry was a monster too. That was the truth of it all. Perhaps a different kind, with the rot and stink of a London street thug for roots instead of status and silver spoons, but a monster nonetheless.

He felt a pang in his chest at the thought, at some far flung grief he thought he had cut out.

“Sit down,” he breathed, releasing Townsend and nodding to the sofa in front of the fire.

Maximus: He didn't have to. He could leave at any time. Hadn't felt the magnetic pull of a demonic circle trapping him in this hotel room. He had no reason to obey, other than harmful curiosity.

And so he crossed the room, taking a seat with his elbow on the arm of the couch.

Henry: Henry kept his gaze on the wall directly behind where the demon had stood until he sat down.

“Is that what she gives you? Something less monstrous?” He watched him, prowled a step closer. But the menace was gone, and he didn’t bother specifying who he was referring to.

Maximus: "She reminds me of someone," he confessed. His eyes remained on the dwindling fire, but what he saw was a memory. A kind, gentle face. Soft eyes hidden behind bend gold spectacles. His reason for being eternal damnation.

"Someone that did a monstrous thing, but... it's not her nature any more than it was his."

Henry: Henry sucked in on his cheeks, taking another step forward. Another.

Finally, he sat at the other end of the couch, one long leg crossed over the other.

“Opens up all sorts of moral questions, that statement.” Henry situated himself a bit more comfortably. “Monster. The definition varies, you know.”

Maximus: Henry's voice pulled him from New Orleans and back to the hotel room. Funny, he couldn't remember seeing the vampire sit.

"I believe, given what I am, that I would be rather an expert."

Henry: He actually laughed at that, but it didn’t have the bitterness to it. This was the closest he’d ever been to a real conversation with the demon. At the very least the closest he’d been to letting a wall fall.

Even if it hadn’t yet. Not completely.

“Are you? And what’s your definition, then?”

Maximus: Maximus took a deep breath as he considered. He knew in his heart of hearts but had never articulated.

"What someone desires to do... when left to their own devices, determines a monster. I can tell you every vulgar act forced upon me when left in a room with other demons. I am given no mercy. I can tell you, when I am left alone with her, the thought never crosses her mind."

Henry: “It wouldn’t, would it?” Bitterness leaked in. Receded. He had known that soft touch, and hadn’t had a clue what to do with it.

Henry let out a breath. He cut his eyes back to Townsend, a quick glance more than anything.

“And you… what monstrous acts have you committed? To claim such expertise on the matter but never walk in their shoes? Doesn’t really add up.”

Maximus: Henry was given his full attention. Somewhere complex between humor and enlightenment in his eyes.

"Do you understand what I am? Why I am under Ruth Berger?"

Henry: “Besides the obvious…? You’re a demon. What’s your game?” He smirked, moved his hand in a cross through the air like a priest. “Tell me your sins. All that jazz.”

Maximus: His eyes closed to the cross. He felt nothing, fortunately. Not from a vampire. Not from Henry.

"If you've heard the myth of crossroads, then you know the deal I made. I broke the deal. I ended my life. My monstrous act. I am a servant. I am at the mercy of the unmerciful. This is my expertise, because this is my Hell."

Henry: Henry used the excuse of closed eyes to watch Townsend. He didn’t pity him. But he did find some measure of… something. He made no movement to comfort. Not in the softer way Sophia would.

“Berger’s a manipulative bitch,” Henry muttered. “I know her type. Only the names change…”

Maximus: "I would much rather her ilk," the demon said, softly. There was suddenly a faraway look in his eyes. A little disassociation. "It's the ones she offers me to as punishment... "

Henry: “Like me?”

Maximus: "You made an impression."

Henry: “I did, did I?” That wasn’t a surprise, but interesting way to phrase it. “On who?”

Maximus: "Who else?" The demon blinked, sucked in a breath as though for the first time.

"You're not the worst or I wouldn't be here."

Henry: “‘Not the worst’.” That wasn’t something he heard a lot. He shrugged. “I guess there’s something to be said for the potency of vampire venom.”

Maximus: "You think I'm inclined to you because of your bite?"

Henry: “I don’t know. Humans can be. It’s how we keep the ones around that are particularly… desirable.” He shrugged. “That said, human or not— it’s not unpleasant. Makes an impact.”

Maximus: The demon gently scoffed. He wondered how Henry had interpreted this conversation. Something seemed lost in translation. What's worse, he felt a desire to confess things to Henry. Things he hadn't shared with anyone. A beast like Henry could accept the horrors when he would be reluctant to give them to those he dearly cared for.

"The impression you left on my mistress makes her believe you'll behave the same as those that skin me alive or use my body any way they see fit, until returning me at midnight. Twelve is her lucky number. And I... I don't know why I'm still here if only to lay my confessions on you."

Henry: “Your mistress isn’t as good at reading people as she likes to think. It wasn’t personal, you know. That first night.”

He flicked a bit of lint off his pants and chuckled darkly.

“I’m not a priest, much as I might look it.”

Maximus: "You made it personal when you did it twice."

The demon softly smiled. To himself, of course. He was having trouble looking at the vampire now, embarrassed by his honesty.

"Forgive me. Churches give me a rash."

Henry: “You have a point, I guess.” He was a jealous being, at the heart of it all. But as obvious as that might be, he wouldn’t admit to it. Ever.

“I suppose they would, wouldn’t they?” Ironic. They didn’t do it to him. “Go on then…”

Maximus: He could go on, tell him every last detail of torture at the hand of other demons, witches, but shook his head. He shouldn't have said anything to begin with. Shouldn't have joined Henry on the couch. Shouldn't have come here at all.

"Does it please you to hear?"

Henry: Henry considered the question. Did it please him?

His life was a patchwork of evil, violence for the sake of violence… but did it please him?

No. Not precisely. It was a necessity he had learned to enjoy.

“Not… exactly.” Was that one expected, he wondered?

Maximus: Henry would find his guest staring. Gray eyes gently confused. A subtle wrinkle in his brow. No, not the response he expected. What he had expected would have had him leaving with a scoff, affirmed to his behavior.

Must have been a lie. A pseudo demon cleverly playing his role.

To say he must leave yet again would be redundant. After a few blinks, he forced himself to his feet. Henry was determined to keep his presence. He was better prepared, this time, to stand his ground.

And would continue in silence as he straightened his clothes, preparing to leave.

Henry: For the first time in a long time, Henry felt… clumsy. It made him lurch, for a moment, and what could only be described as a light of innocent surprise crossed his cruel features as Townsend stood.

He had thought he was offering an olive branch, however twisted. As if not taking humor from another’s pain was enough.

“You’re off then?” He managed, attempting to compose himself.

Maximus: Attention, focus, and wildness. Those were Henry's words. In return, he had asked for something left of monstrous.

His obedience and ounce of kindness would be rewarded. A gift Maximus assumed the vampire would appreciate. It was only a guess. Assumptions based on nothing more than body language.

"Stand up."

Only to kiss his cheek and depart.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

How about a smut prompt no. 7 with Tony Stark ? ❤❤❤❤

Love to lose

A/N: Thanks for requesting this lovely! Hope you like it :))

Gif’s not mine! Credits to the owner

Prompts used: Oral sex & “First one to make a noise loses.”

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, it’s dirty okay...

Word count: 2k

Requests & Challenges

Tony Stark Taglist: @raspberrymama @boop-le-snoot @ladyeliot @make-a-memory-drink-it-up @loveisallyouneed1125 @ownsmyheart @anthonyjanthony666 @downeyreads @the-secret-thief @getlostsquidward @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @elemephstudies @mycosmicparadise @feetoffthetablee

Everything Taglist: @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @suchababie @another-stark-sub @littlegasps @kahlanmars @supraveng @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry

Taglists open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be in any of these ;))

.

“First one to make a noise loses? Seriously?”

“Yeah!”

“No!”

“I honestly thought you’d be more adventurous Tony.”

“Honey you’ll get all the adventure you want once I’m done with this project. You remember the night of four times, don’t you?”

Tony raised an eyebrow and smirked as your eyes lit up with thoughts of the night he mentioned, cheeks growing warm as your mind flooded with memories of the aforementioned night.

That night you’d lost all sense of cognition and your legs were pure jelly from being utterly fucked out.

It was never a dull moment when it came to you and Stark in the bedroom. He knew all the right ways to drive you crazy and you had come to learn to push all the right buttons to drive him insane.

“Tony come on! I know you’re up for it.”

You pointed to the half-mast erection currently staring back at you.

He glanced down at it before shaking his head and returning to the screen, soon getting engrossed in the information displayed in front of him. Eyebrows knitting together in concentration while his fingers flew over the surface, probably in search of something you didn’t care about.

You scowled for a little while, arms crossed over your chest before walking towards him with a look of determination that hid unattended lust.

Tony didn’t mind you stepping in between his legs as he leaned against the table behind, until you ghosted your fingers over the button of his denims.

Once you popped it open and undid his fly, he shot you a warning look before his phone rang, giving you time to push the jeans and his boxers down just enough to let his erection bounce free.

“You’re free to do whatever you want only if you’re prepared for the consequences sweetheart.” He warned before answering Phil Coulson’s call.

Desire bloomed deep in your belly as his words sent tingles down your spine, knowing the punishment would either be really good or really bad, depending on Tony’s mood. But you were willing to take the risk, it was always worth it in the end.

Shrugging, you dropped down to your knees, his semi-erect cock waiting for your ministrations as you eyed it before gazing up at Tony through your eyelashes innocently.

He was deep in conversation on the phone but the tight grip of his free hand on the edge of the counter and tapping of fingers against the surface indicated he was waiting for you to make your move.

Tony exhaled a breath he was unconsciously holding as your hand wrapped around his length. Taking your time with it, your hand lazily stroked his cock, thumb brushing over the tip every now and then.

“Please I understand Agent, don’t bore me with those unnecessary details..oh!”

Glancing down, he suppressed the rest of his reaction as your tongue joined the party. Small kitten licks over the tip before you drew a strip all the way to the base, all the while watching his demeanour change from composed to flustered.

You took him in your mouth and began swirling your tongue around his length, smirking when he faltered and brought his hand down to move your hair out of your face.

“I’m going over the details n-now. Oh yes—yes I’ll call Fury once I’m—I’m almost done here.”

Tony didn’t wait for Coulson to answer before he cut the call and practically threw the phone away. Letting out a groan, he jerked his hips forward, pushing himself deeper in your mouth as he grabbed you by your hair roughly, guiding your mouth over his cock.

“You’re in so much trouble baby...”

You simply hummed in response, continuing to finish him off as you increased your speed, feeling him twitch against your lips already. The little grunts Tony uttered spurred you on to bring him closer and closer to climax. Your own arousal had turned your panties moist as you watched his lust-blown eyes shut and bite his lip.

“Ah shit! You want me to cum in your mouth?”

You nodded eagerly as Tony’s hips jolted forward and he cursed out loud before shooting spurts of cum down your throat, face contorted in pleasure as he emptied himself, the warm salty liquid travelling down your throat.

He grabbed you by the back of your neck, making you stand before crashing his lips to yours, tasting himself as you deepened the kiss. You moved your clothed core over his softened cock to get some friction, gaining another groan from Tony who felt how moist you were.

“So wet my dirty girl. Will you give me an hour? I promise I’ll make it worth it.” Tony whispered softly, grabbed your hips to stop your grinding. Reluctant to let you go but the urgency with which Phil had called left him with no other choice than to make you wait.

“Fine. But if you’re late…”

“Trust me babe. I’ll be there sooner than you think.”

“Whatever.” He pecked your pouted lips one last time as you pulled his pants back up, turning to walk upstairs to your shared bedroom.

“Don’t touch yourself.”

“You’re in no position to make demands Stark.”

“Am I not?” Even with your back to him, you could sense he was giving you ‘the look’. The one that screamed ‘no matter what, I’m always in charge’. The man was really going to be the death of you some day.

“Ugh. Fine. Hurry up.”

.

“Okay so we need to establish some ground rules first.”

Your eyes snapped up from the book you were pretending to read as Tony swung the bedroom door and got in, locking it before sliding in next to you, resting his back against the headboard.

You were celebrating your victory on the inside because just minutes ago he’d made fun of you for coming up with this game, only to now come up with modifications for the same.

Like a good girl you had behaved, controlled the urge to bring yourself to an orgasm after that little session downstairs. You were still wet, which meant he already had more chances of winning at your game.

This was a bad idea. Why hadn’t you thought this through?

“Hon?”

“Huh?”

“The rules?”

Mentally shaking yourself for zoning out, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Alright. Whines are allowed. Moans aren’t.”

“Fair enough.”

“No oral sex.”

“Not acceptable. You know I owe you for that amazing blow-job. Come on now..”

“Fine. But no fingering.”

Tony made a non-committal huff but agreed, knowing how much his fingers spurred you on.

You went back and forth discussing, rejecting and accepting the terms and conditions as if it were a legit deal.

Soon after you shook on it, there was a switch in the air and neither of you felt the need to say much else except get on with the game.

Climbing in Tony’s lap, you cupped the sides of his face and pressed your lips to his. Softly grazing against each other at first while you fingers teased the base of his neck.

He carded his hands through your hair before pulling you against his chest, hands now splayed across your back as he slanted his mouth over yours and deepened the kiss.

Maneuvering a little so his legs straightened out on the bed, Tony heard a tiny sigh escape your lips as your aroused core met with his growing bulge. Keeping those noises that threatened to leave your mouth turned out to be harder than you had both imagined. You two were quite vocal when it came to sex.

It was difficult, but all the more exciting.

After a while, the make-out session turned out to be insufficient and Tony had you on your back, your clothes removed and thrown carelessly somewhere behind as he settled between your legs.

You had to bite back a moan as Tony’s lips travelled down your neck, littering tiny kisses all over the skin before he found that junction where your neck met your shoulder, the pulse point which he so generously marked a spot on, sure to leave a purple bruise in its place. On cue, your head moved aside to grant him more access as your breaths turned to pants, finding it hard not to think about his bulge that was rubbing so deliciously against your heated core in slow but deliberate thrusts.

You had to push him away to make sure you didn’t lose so soon, that sure earned a chuckle from the genius. Moving further south, he latched onto one of your nipples and flicked his tongue along the bud all the while massaging and kneading the other in his hand. A sigh had involuntarily slipped out, it wasn’t breaking any rules but it sure made Tony gaze up with lust-blown eyes as a smirk appeared on that handsome face.

Trailing kisses along your navel, he reached between your legs and stopped. You shot him a warning look as you sat up on your elbows when his fingers teased along your wet folds, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender before diving in face first into your pussy.

Closing a hand over your mouth, you let your head fall back onto the pillows as Tony licked a fat strip along your wetness, his nose brushing against your bundle of nerves. It didn’t take long for you to feel your heartbeat on your throbbing clit, Tony leaving no stone unturned to make sure you were a needy mess below him.

“What was that baby girl?” He purred, facial hair glazed with your juices when he emerged, giving you a shit-eating grin after you shook your head.

You were so close.

Flipping you on your stomach, you heard him unbutton his jeans and drop them in a low thud on the ground. His hands pulled your ass up in the air, urging the cheeks apart before his cock met your entrance, gathering your wetness, your pussy aching for release at this point.

“Tony..”

“Giving up already?”

Instead of answering, you reached behind, grabbed his cock in your hand and lined him up at your entrance before pushing your hips back. Both of you swallowed your groans as he bottomed out, stretching your walls to the fullest before pulling all the way out and thrusting in.

Your knuckles turned white from gripping the sheets as you were almost ready to give up and accept defeat, until you felt his cock twitch inside you, a sign Tony wasn’t too far along from doing the same either.

Your walls clenched around his cock deliberately, hugging it in their wet warmth and eliciting an involuntary groan from the man.

“What was that honey?”

You teased, repeating the action only to have Tony pull out suddenly, turn you around once more and pull your legs over his shoulder before entering you again.

“You fucking tease..”

“You’re the one to talk. Now shut up and fuck me.”

Snapping his hips to yours at a furious pace, Tony gripped your legs roughly and bit your ankle. The silly little game long forgotten, you let out a pornographic moan as you felt the muscles in your belly contract, thighs tremble and mind turn into a fuzzy blur.

“Cum with me Tony..” you begged as he let go of your legs and buried his face in your neck, a hand snaking downward to rub your oversensitive clit.

“Do that thing again.”

His urgent whisper came out muffled by your hair but you knew what he was talking about. You granted his wish by pulling on his cock with your walls and felt his hips lose their rhythm. He came loud and hard, spilling inside you in spurts triggering your own orgasm as you cried out, digging your nails in his back as you shuddered.

Once you felt yourself float back down to reality, you brought your hands to caress Tony’s hair while he chuckled against the skin on your neck, repeatedly kissing you over there.

“It’s a draw then?” He mumbled.

“Yep.”

“You want a rematch?”

“Definitely.”

[spencersmagic]

a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x​ @spencerreid-mgg​​ @eoupe​ @inlovewithbabygirl​ @galaxydefenderjulia​ @username2002​

[certifiedskywalker]

Breaking Oaths and Following Orders - Din Djarin

thebounty said: Hey!! I was wondering if I could ask for a request for a Mandalorian x Jedi!reader? It’s inspired by this song (Jenny- Studio Killers) which is basically about friends turned into lovers.

AN: Ah, yes, the TikTok song...I hope I did your idea justice! (I cut the rest of your request out on this official post because I didn’t want to totally spoil what happens!)

You were familiar with the carbon stink of blaster bolts and the excited tension of battle. Limited stints in combat during the Clone Wars, when you were barely old enough to be a padawan, had introduced you to the harsh adrenaline and smells of war. A gunfight in some alley on some Outer Rim world was nothing compared to what you had seen. Though, now, you knew all of what was at stake; you loved all that was at stake.

“I don’t think they’re Jedi,” Din observed as he ducked down behind the thick stone wall you were using as cover. You shot the helmeted man an incredulous look.

“Really? What gave you that idea? The fact they’re not using laser swords or that they’re shooting at us?” Din didn’t respond to your sarcasm and instead popped up above the wall to let a few bolts fly. Based on the yelps of pain, they hit their marks.

“We need to get out of here,” he said once he ducked back down. You nodded and glanced at the Child, still tucked away in his cradle. His big eyes were glued to you, as they often were in the heat of battle. Expectant, waiting for you to make your, the, move.

“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, before you pressed the button on the Child’s cradle that closed the little creature within. The last thing you wanted was more pressure. 

“They have us pinned,” Din said and tipped his head back towards the wall behind you. “And there’s at least five,” the Mandalorian popped up from behind the wall again and nearly missed a blaster bolt to the head, “six up front.”

“Can’t you jet us out of here?”

Wordlessly, Din reached around to his back and rapped his gloved knuckles against the fuel tank of his jet pack. An empty, metallic clang echoed the knocking of his hand. No fuel. 

“Karabast,” you cursed as you turned your attention to the enemies firing luring shots at the relative safety of the wall. There were too many. A step beyond the stone would mean certain death. So did staying put. Direness set in, loomed like a storm cloud in your mind. You glanced back at Din and the Child’s cradle only to have a lump form in your throat. 

As if on cue, the cradle covers opened and revealed the watchful eyes of the Child. He was still focused on you. As you took a moment to study him in return, you neither heard a coo of worry nor did you see flinch of fear. He was calm, eerily so; as if he knew what you were thinking, what you knew you had to do. You moved your gaze to Din and watched as he let a few shots go towards your attackers. A stray blaster bolt from the enemy knocked against the beskar plate on his chest, right above his heart. Too close to where his armor ended and his clothing began. Too close for comfort. You couldn't lose him. 

Adrenaline, pure and vile rushed through you. Before you could move against your instincts, your hand reached out and pulled Din back down behind the stone wall. The dark visor of his helmet met your gaze. You could feel the question on his lips, despite having never seen them. You had spent enough time imagining them; how they looked and how they might feel against your own.

“Grab the kid and run on my word,” you said with a tone of seriousness to break yourself from your wonderings. “Got it?”

Din was still for a moment and you realized that your hand lingered on his arm. Warmth spread through your fingers, up your arm, and to your face. Quickly, you let go, and the Mandalorian seemed to have recovered. He nodded wordlessly and reached out towards the cradle. When the pod was tucked under his arm, you moved to face the stone wall you all were hidden behind. 

“What are you planning, Y/N?” 

Din’s tone was cold, laced with concern. After all the cycles you and the man had worked and lived together, you had noticed he only said your name when you were about to do something dangerous. You had wished he said it more, in different contexts, like one of affection. Though, you had reasoned long ago that Din’s concern was his affection. Like the Jedi, it seemed that Mandalorian of Din’s Creed forewent too-personal, entangling attachments. It was the first principle of the Code that you had wished you had broken long ago. In a sense, you had. The care you held, the love, for Din and the Child...you were a Jedi no longer.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t pretend.

“You can ask me questions later.”

Before Din could attempt to stop you, you reached down to each of your hips and pulled the two metal, somewhat cylindrical pieces of your lightsaber from your belt. In a practiced motion, you latched the two segments together and pressed the ignite switch. As soon as the blade ignited, you focused your mind on the small, stone wall that sheltered you. Once you pictured it clear in your mind, you threw your hands up and pushed forward. When you opened your eyes, the stone wall hurtled towards your attackers and drove some down into the dirt. You glanced at Din.

“Now!”

At your word, Din rushed towards the now dwindling group of criminals that had been shooting at you. Due to the laser sword in your hands, most of their fire was focused on you. With an ease that surprised you, you twirled your saber in the air and deflected the shots. Most landed in the chests of those had taken aim, giving each a swift death. You gave an extra flourish to redirect a blaster bolt towards one of the attackers that was more interested in Din and cradle.

The man fell quickly and a surge of confidence rushed through you. You still had it, even after all this time of hiding! Only a few criminals remained and you drew closer and closer. As you moved, their aim grew more and more precise. One even dared to charge at you. With you busied dispatching him, another shot off his rifle. White-hot and searing hurt ripped through your lower leg, then your shoulder. A yelp of pain escaped your lips. Overcome by heated rage and long ago lessons forgotten, you tilted forward and struck him down.

Then there was silence. Only your haggard breath filled your ears. The pain in your leg and shoulder overwhelmed your senses. It had been a long time since you had taken a hit. An even longer time since you had used the weapon of your dead Master.

You fell to your knees, tried to focus on forcing your breathing steady. When you hit the ground, your thumb instinctively struck the power switch. With a hiss, the blade closed and you found enough strength to lift your gaze. Your eyes locked with Din’s darkened visor.

“Y/N.”

There was that concern again. It was the last thing you heard before you fell back, let your body rest against the dirt of the alleyway and splatters of blood.

You woke with a start. The wild beating of your heart propelled you, so you sat up straight in the sleeping nook. Your head nearly slammed against the ceiling. When you recognized the interior of the Razor Crest, you allowed yourself to catch your breath.

“Hey, hey, hey” Din appeared in the entrance of the sleeping nook with his hands raised towards you. He looked as if he were approaching a wounded animal. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

You nodded but your head did not clear. On your skin still clung the stink of the alley, the carbon of blaster fire, and, against your hand, you felt the cold hilt of the lightsaber. The moment your eyes landed on the weapon, you felt your breath get caught in your throat once more. Memories of the fight rushed back and your heart still thundered in your chest. You focused on Din’s helmet, studied his now straightened posture, and swallowed hard.

“The Child, is he-”

“He’s fine,” Din replied before the question could leave your lips. You shook your head.

“No, did he see...did he see me?”

“It was hard not to see you,” Din said softly.  

Tension filled the silence that trailed after his words. It was heavier than the pressure of battle. Din always had a way of making it difficult for you to breath. But this was like trying to wade through the muck of a full trash compactor. The air between you was thick, weighed down by everything you both wanted to say to the other.

You shifted in the sleeping nook in an effort to find a more comfortable position. As you moved, your shoulder knocked against the wall and you hissed in pain. Din lurched forwards and towards you. You felt heated skin against your arms and, when you looked down, you found that he had not donned his signature gloves.

“Here. I’ll help you step out.”

Din was careful as he eased you out of the sleeping nook while you tired not to be lost in tender touch of his bare hands against your skin. A wave of affection washed over you when you noted the bandages on your lower leg and shoulder. He had taken his gloves off to take care of you. You wished you could have been conscious to remember it.

“Thanks,” you said once you were on your feet.

Though, Din didn’t let go. Instead, he helped you over to the crates you both used as makeshift seats during meal time. Only when you were both sat down did his hands slip from your arms. The silence seemed to have followed you both over as it settles back between you. 

Your mind swirled with worry and doubt, every word you wanted to say. Betrayal was the word that came back most often. You had betrayed the year of trust you had built with Din by not telling him about your past. You had betrayed the Child by not using the Force to forge a deeper connection with him or hear his story. You had betrayed yourself, the oath you swore long ago to never use the teachings of the Jedi. The thought made your stomach twist.

“Is it yours?”

Din’s question broke you from your down spiral. You met the dark gaze of his visor and shook your head. “No. It’s my old Master’s. I lost mine in battle and took his when he…fell.”

“Master? So, you’re a Jedi?”

“No, I never finished the Tri-”

“You can’t do that.” You cocked your head at his interruption. “You can’t keep saying ‘no’ and then give a reason that implies ‘yes’. Are you or are you not a Jedi?”

You swallowed hard, the truth, as Din knew it, balanced on the tip of your tongue. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” There was an edge of anger in his voice but as heated as you had expected. “Why didn’t you tell me when we were sent to look for Jedi, for him?”

“Like I was saying, I didn’t finished my training or the Trials. I don’t know the mysteries the Council kept hidden or where any others are.” Din stood up at your reasoning and stared down at you. Even masked behind the helmet, you still felt the intensity of his eyes on you. 

“You should have told me.” He said, the heat a little higher in his voice. “Do you not trust me enough to keep you safe?”

Stoked by the flames of his voice, you stood from your seat. Din’s visor remained trained on you, waiting for your next move. There was only a step’s worth of space between you now and it was either the close proximity or the pain of your wounds that made your face flush. You weren’t entirely sure as to which but you did know your own truth.

“No, I trust you, Din, with my life,” his name left your lips without a thought. Between thoughts, you realized it was the first time you said his name aloud after learning on Nevarro; but you couldn’t stop now. “The Jedi’s way is old, just as old as the Mandalore, and we have our customs. Following orders is one of them and I was given an order to stay quiet, to stay hidden. I will not apologize for following that order, even if I am a Jedi no longer.”

All of the sudden, the fight and anger left you. You thought of your Master, how he would be disappointed in your outburst. Overwhelmed by the feeling, you sat back down on your crate while Din stayed standing. Heavy, you head fell into your hands. In the dark behind your eyelids, you found little solace or comfort.

Just as you were about to admit defeat and retire back to the sleeping nook, hands gripped your wrists. Gently, Din pulled your hands away from your face and, in response, you looked into his visor. For a moment, you swore that you could see his eyes shining beneath his helmet, his own order and oath manifested in beskar. Before you could ask what he was doing, his hands fell from your wrists and tucked up under the bottom of his helmet.

“Din,” you said, the same concern that swaddled your name in his voice now held his own. “Don’t do this, not like this.”

“I trust you, Y/N, with my life.” His words echoed your own only softer and you were too caught off guard by that tenderness to try to stop his hands as they pushed up. 

You saw the first slivers of tanned skin. Then a scruff covered chin and slope of his jawline. Lips were next on the tour of Din’s features; the very lips you had tried to imagine hundreds of times before. They were pinker than you thought, a little chapped too, but you still longed for them. Then the tip and bridge of his curved nose. A pair of dark brown eyes.

You held Din’s eyes with yours as he finished removing the helmet. He set it on the floor of the Razor Crest with a dull thud, his eyes never leaving yours. Strands of brown hair were set against his forehead, tantalizing enough for you to touch. You fought the urge so you could take in his features a little longer. Despite knowing, based on his voice, that Din was handsome, it was another thing to see it confirmed. 

Unable to hold back anymore, you reached a careful hand out. Din recoiled, flinched away from your reach and you pulled back. Just as you were about to apologize, Din recovered and lifted his own hand. Warm, he guided your hand with his until your fingertips brushed against his temple. When he let go of your wrist, you brushed the hair off from his forehead.

At your touch, Din sucked in a shakey, sharp breath. Scared for a moment that he wouldn’t exhale, you traced your hand down from his forehead to the side of his face. Once you had cupped his cheek, Din closed his eyes and let the breath go. His head tilted, leaned into your touch.

“We’re both oath breakers now, huh?”

Din’s eyes opened at your question. Dark and knowing, his eyes met yours before they flickered down to your lips. You trailed your hand along his jaw until you held his chin between two of your fingers. His breath hitched at the suggestive touch.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” you murmured, the pain of your wounds long forgotten. “Din?”

Wordlessly, from where he kneeled before, Din rushed up and towards you. Messily, his lips found yours and his hands gripped at your waist. Quickly, he pulled you against his chest where the cold kiss of beskar greeted your skin. Not that you minded. You were too caught up in Din’s lips against yours, how you had waited a year for this. You weren’t about to let that go.

Not for any order.

[heliads]

Coming Home

Based on this request: "race x kelly!reader where she got back from the refuge and it's not doing rlly good?"

masterlist

“How well do you know Y/N Kelly?”

The question is simple, the answer less so. Race has lived a life on the streets of Manhattan and has gotten used to fielding questions and coming up with answers on the go, yet somehow this throws him for a loop. How does he respond to this? There’s no good way to describe the relationship he has with Y/N, the timid circles they’ve run around each other.

But Crutchie is still waiting for an answer. Poor, expectant, oddly hopeful Crutchie. Stalling for time, Race reaches for a question in return. “As well as anyone, I guess. Why do you ask?” Crutchie sighs, glancing around the lodging house like he’s expecting someone to be desperately listening in. “She just got back from the Refuge last night. Things aren’t exactly going well.”

Instantly, every sense in Race’s body is thrown into high alert. The Refuge is a horrible, horrible place. Race would know, he’s spent some time there himself. If the rats and starvation don’t get you, the beatings from the guards will. It’s one of the worst experiences a newsie can ever have. No matter how much spirit you have out on the streets, the second you pass over that threshold, it’s all gone. All of it.

The thought of Y/N Kelly in the Refuge is not something Race wants to consider, not even for a second. “She was in the refuge? I thought she lived somewhere else.” Crutchie shakes his head. “She’s Jack’s sister, remember? If she had a place, he’d probably be there too. Jack’s been worried about something like this for months.” Race’s stomach drops. “Wait, what do you mean, months? Y/N left the lodging house a year ago. Everyone said something about how she was looking for better work somewhere else.”

The memory of that conversation still twists like a knife in Race’s heart. She had never even said goodbye, never bothered to visit. It had torn at him time and time again, wearing him down even when Race swore a girl would never get the best of his heart like that. He supposed he didn’t have a choice with her, he rarely did. There was something about her that made all hopes of friendship impossible. When she’d left without a word, Race couldn’t help but take it personally.

Yet, looking at Crutchie now, Race is starting to have some doubts about Y/N’s past disappearance. He takes a step closer to the boy, feeling his temper rise with every word. “But she didn’t go, did she? She’s been in the Refuge all this time. For a year.” Crutchie doesn’t exactly agree with this, but he can’t seem to bring himself to say a word. Race runs a hand through his hair, trying and failing to come up with some way to make this better.

Crutchie winces. “We was looking for her, honest. We didn’t know for sure that she was in the Refuge.” Race glances back at him. “But you guessed, didn’t you? What, was she not worth the effort of breaking her out?” Crutchie stands up straighter, and Race realizes he’s gone too far. Crutchie may joke around with everyone else and have a heart of pure, unfiltered gold, but he’s got a spine of diamond. It’s wrong of him to assume Crutchie would ever let a newsie or a Kelly stay in the Refuge if he could do something about it.

“There was no way Jack could get involved. You know that, Race. Snyder’s tightened restrictions around that place ever since Jack escaped. We tried to visit her a lot, and every single time we were practically chased off with pitchforks. We couldn’t do anything but stay away and hope they wouldn’t take their anger about us visiting out on her and extend her sentence.”

Race sighs, trying and failing to force himself to calm down. “You said she got here last night, right? So she’s out?” Crutchie’s face falls rapidly. “Technically, yes.” Race frowns. “What do you mean, technically? Either she’s here or she’s not.” Crutchie glances around the room one last time, and Race realizes that he’s looking for Jack. Whatever he’s about to say, whatever is going on with Y/N, Jack either doesn’t know or doesn’t want other newsies to know. This can’t be good.

Crutchie takes a deep breath before responding. “They let her out after a year, claiming her sentence was over or whatever. She’s not herself, Race. Not at all. She doesn’t seem to recognize any of us. She remembered enough to get back to the lodging house, but she isn't responding to anyone. Not me, not Katherine-” Crutchie pauses. “Not Jack. He’s pretty torn up about that.”

Race thinks he knows where this is going. “That’s why you asked how well I knew Y/N? You think she’d recognize me.” Crutchie shrugs, although Race can tell he’s faking his couldn’t-care-less stance. “You’re our best bet. You and Y/N were close, Race, whether you want to admit it or not. If Jack can’t get through to her, then I think you could. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I know you cared about her. I think we owe it to her to try.”

Race feels like a hand is clenching around his heart, stopping all attempts at escape. “I’ll do it. Where is she?” Crutchie looks relieved. “The roof. That one fire escape she always seemed to go to.” Race nods. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” Crutchie grabs Race’s arm as he attempts to leave. “And Race? Be careful. She isn’t herself, I mean that. Don’t end up doing more harm than good.” Race stares a second, then removes the boy’s hand from his arm. “I won’t. I can’t hurt her, not if I tried.”

Race’s footsteps seem hollow on the stairs, rattling up the fire escape stairs like they’re not connected to him at all. He knows where Y/N will be, but it’s still a surprise to see a figure curled up on her fire escape landing. No one seemed to visit there in the year she’s been gone, as if they’re all saving it for her. To see someone there now almost seems sacrilegious, even if it’s her.

Drawing closer, Race feels a lump form in his throat. Y/N looks, well, awful. There are large bags under her eyes, as if she hasn’t been sleeping. As if she’s been too afraid to sleep. Bruises dot her arms, scratches line her body. Her cheeks are hollow, the result of having no food to eat. When she hears him approach, her eyes widen in terror, and she backs away as far as she can on the narrow fire escape.

Race holds up his hands, but the sudden movement only seems to agitate her further. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Race. I’m not going to hurt you.” Y/N’s shoulders relax infinitesimally. “They all say that.” Race feels like he’s been physically slapped. The thought of people telling Y/N, his Y/N, lies about not hurting her and what they mean makes him want to go up to the Refuge and burn it all down to the ground. However, getting himself landed in jail for years because of arson wouldn’t do Y/N any good, and so he stays where he is.

Race slowly lowers himself to the ground, sitting casually on the other end of the fire escape. “I’m just going to sit here, alright? I want to make sure you’re alright.” Y/N’s jaw clenches. “I’m fine.” Race raises an eyebrow. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be looking at me like I’m a monster from one of Les’ nightmares.” Y/N’s gaze flickers to him at the mention of Les’ name. “You know Les?”

Race nods. “Yeah, Les and Davey. They’re friends of ours, right? The Jacobs. I remember when they first showed up and Davey tried to start something by saying that they didn’t give him enough papes. I thought Albert was going to soak ‘em just as sure as the Delanceys.” The corner of Y/N’s mouth twitches, like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Albert would never soak another newsie. He’d be tempted, sure, but he wouldn’t do it.”

Her gaze softens at the memory, and then she turns to Race, as if really seeing him for the first time. “Race?” The name seems to tear at her throat, ripping out of her like it’s physically painful to even call up the hope that he might be here in front of her. Race can’t help but wonder how many times she asked other kids if they were him, and how many times she realized she was still alone after all.

He forces the thought away. “Yeah, Y/N. It’s me. It’s Race.” Y/N’s eyes flash closed for just a second, as if she’s overwhelmed with relief, and then she looks over at him once more. She shivers once, twice, as if she can’t stop. “I think I’m out now. I was there so long, and nobody ever came-” Before Race realizes what he’s doing, he’s scooting over on the fire escape, close enough that he can wrap an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and pull her near. He pauses just before his hand touches her, remembering everything she’d been through.

Y/N hesitates too, flinching slightly, one more sign that she’s still thinking of her time at the Refuge. Yet she takes a deep, rattling breath, and moves closer to Race. She lays her head on his shoulder. Race can feel the quiet rise and fall of her chest, the tension still radiating up and down her spine even as she tries to force herself to relax. Race remembers what it was like when he got out of the Refuge, the way he didn’t want to think about anything he’d just been through, yet he’d been reminded of it every second he walked and talked and breathed around the city.

So he opens his mouth again, casting about for something else to say. “Do you remember when you drew me that picture of myself?” Y/N’s shoulders start to shake, and for a second Race thinks he’s really done it now and he’s made her burst into tears before he realizes that she’s laughing. “Don’t bring that up. I’m embarrassed, Racer.” Race’s heart does a steady loop in his chest over the nickname, but he forces himself to stay calm.

“I don’t know why you’se embarrassed. I thought it was excellent.” Y/N gives him a look out of the corner of her eye. “It was excellent, that’s not the problem.” Race raises an eyebrow. “Well, look at you, Miss Confident. If your artistic mastery wasn’t the problem, then what was?” Y/N curls even closer in to Race’s chest, as if trying to hide away from the memory. “The problem was that I drew a picture of you and you found it. I looked like a stalker.”

Race chuckles. “You weren’t a stalker for drawing me. Jack does it all the time. Honestly, I’m flattered that you were trying to come up with a masterpiece and the first thing you thought of was me.” Y/N sits up slightly, still pressed against his chest, and it takes every ounce of self control in Race’s body to not start blushing with the heat of a furnace. “Maybe I was looking for a really mediocre muse.” Race just tosses her a wink, as casual a movement as he can muster. “I’m still your muse, love, and that’s what matters to me.”

There’s a shout from further down the fire escape. The newsies are arriving in the main room of the lodging house, still unaware of Y/N but wanting to meet up with everybody to discuss the day’s sales. Race moves to follow the voice, assuming Y/N will want some time alone, but her hand closes on his for just a second. Even this small movement is enough to convince him to stay.

When she speaks, her voice is quiet, barely there at all. “Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone.” The bleakness in her words cuts at Race like a knife, and he sits back down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course not. I’m not leaving you, Y/N.” Not anymore, he wants to add. Not after everything that you went through when I wasn’t there. Y/N seems to be thinking of similar things, and she shudders slightly. “I was there a year. I kept thinking that people were going to come for me, and they didn’t. No one ever did.”

Race opens his mouth to say something, anything, even though she’s right. Y/N lays a hand on his arm, and he remains silent. “It’s not your fault, Race. I heard Crutchie talking to you, I know you had no idea I was there. Jack, though, he knew. He didn’t do anything.” Race sighs, staring out at the horizon. “Jack makes a lot of decisions. He did what he thought was best. That doesn’t mean he was right, but at least he has a motive.”

Y/N looks over at him. “And if you knew? What would you have done?” Race laughs ruefully. “I would have broken into the Refuge myself. Beaten up all the guards like a superhero, carried you out. It would have been a thing for the movies.” Y/N chuckles. “Look at you, got everything planned out. You sound like Crutchie when he gets an idea.” Race grins too, then feels his expression sober.

“I’m being real, Y/N. If I had known I would have come for you. You know that, right?” He doesn’t know why it’s so important that Y/N know this, even if he couldn’t have actually done it himself, but something in him needs Y/N to count on him, to keep looking for moments like this one. She nods slowly. “I know you would, Race. I knew all along.”

A tight knot unclenches itself in Race’s stomach, and he presses another kiss to Y/N’s cheek in an attempt to stop the thundering behind his temples. “I just wanted to make sure. I care about you, Y/N. I care about you a lot.” The words are simple, hinting at something far more than the single phrase. It means that Y/N Kelly is one of the best things in his life, that spending a year without her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It means that finding out she’d been in the Refuge fills Race with an incomprehensible pain. It means that he loves her, even if he’s never sure if she feels the same way.

Y/N smiles up at him. “I care about you too, Race. More than you know.” Maybe it’s not a lot, not in Manhattan where every love story worth hearing is splashed out on the headlines. But for a boy and a girl, two hearts in a big city, it could paint the sunsets. It is enough for them.

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 5

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 5

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and light smut.

Words: ~2000 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

******

You didn’t grow up with hugs, so you never really understood the big deal about them. Nothing irritated you more than when acquaintances wanted to hug you. Over the years you’d learned to accept it and go with the flow but intimate gestures from people you barely knew made you uncomfortable. The only time you didn’t mind being hugged was by Davina and even then she was careful not to overdo it. But right now, with Billy’s arms locked around you, you pressed up against him, he felt so good, so solid, you never wanted to leave his embrace. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so cherished, and the fact that it was Billy – you didn’t want to think about what that meant.

You wrapped your hands around the back of his shoulders, simply breathing him in.

At first the comfort Billy provided was enough to distract you from what happened today, but then you were suddenly struck by the memory of Adam pointing his gun at you. Thanks to your father’s outbursts you learned a long time ago to stay calm in hostile situations, and that skill came in handy this morning. While Adam spewed hatred at you and accused you of destroying his life, you kept him preoccupied and talking until the cops came up and managed to haul him away. But once the danger subsided, all of that unleashed fear came back with a vengeance and you hadn’t been able to shake it off since then. Shopping, and then Billy’s unexpected arrival, had provided a temporary distraction but it was still lingering in you, threatening to engulf you at any moment.

Your fingers trailed up Billy’s back. One hand cradled the nape of his neck while the other reached up to play with his hair. He was so tall you had to stand on your tip-toes to run your fingers through his silky strands. You dropped a soft kiss on his chest, over his sweater, then on his skin as your lips dragged up to the base of his throat. His hands caressed languidly down your back, and you groaned when he squeezed your ass. Your hips ground into his, needing more from him than he was giving.

Adam’s face flashed through your mind, his sheer hatred of you stamped across his angry features. Your chest felt constricted, like you couldn’t breathe.

Before you could change your mind, you reached up to kiss Billy.

Every thought in your head instantly dissipated.

You’d forgotten what it felt like to have his mouth devour yours, hot and wild and reckless, tongue on tongue, tongue against teeth, nothing about it soft or tender but simple, pure assault on your senses. He didn’t just kiss with his mouth, he kissed with his whole being, every movement of his reverberating throughout your body. Even something innocuous like his fingers fisting your hair heightened your desires, making you more frantic.

Usually he was very much in sync with what you wanted, he could read when you were in the mood for slow and sensuous, or when you wanted to be fucked hard and rough, and he always delivered. But today he seemed to want to take his time even though you kept pushing for more. Charging forward, you trapped him against the wall behind, kissing him ferociously while your hands rushed to the buttons on his jeans. As you tried to undo them your fingers shook violently, frustrating you so badly that you tore your mouth away from his just so you could focus on ripping them off.

“Y/N,” he groaned, panting.

You didn’t look at him, too busy unzipping his jeans.

“Y/N, slow down…”

Your fingers delved beneath his boxers to palm his cock. You missed the feel of him, the touch of him, how slick he felt in your hands when he was hard. Before Billy you never thought cocks were beautiful but his was thick, long and divine, made to give you the most incredible of pleasures. Your mouth and pussy thirsted for him-  

Abruptly, Billy grabbed your shoulders and forced you to back off.

Caught up in passion, your brain scrambled to figure out why he was no longer touching you. Breaths labored, you stared up at him, confused, as he pulled up his jeans. Before you could catch your breath he was whirling you around, forcing you against the wall, gripping your wrists tightly over your head. His penetrating eyes bore into you, like he could see right through you or something, and the thought scared you. Leaning forward you tried to kiss him but he angled back, rejecting your attempts.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Just stop. Okay?”

“I thought you wanted this.”

“I do but-”

“Isn’t this why you showed up here?”

“Look, you’re messed up right now.”

“I’m fine!” you snapped, struggling to release your arms from his grip. “I want this, ok? I want you. Let me show you. Let me fuck you.”

He focused on you closely, his eyes dark and stormy, before he finally loosened his grasp. When you moved to cradle his face, he retreated back. Forget kissing you, he didn’t even touch you. Instead, he knelt down to pick up your robe from the ground and cover you with it. That’s when you noticed you were naked. You hadn’t even realized your robe had slipped off.

You were naked and desperately throwing yourself at him and he was purposely rejecting you. It felt like a slap in the face. You were mortified.

Pushing him away you tightened the robe around you and tried to sidestep past him. Except he blocked your path.

You tried again, he did the same.

“What?” You snarled, swallowing the lump in your throat. You were embarrassed as hell but you’d die before telling him that.  

He tilted your chin, forcing you meet his stare. In turn, you glared at him.

“Sex isn’t going to make you forget what happened this morning,” he said softly.

“Maybe I just wanted to feel something good.”

“Doesn’t last long. Then you’re stuck feeling shitty again.”

You were tired of his sanctimonious bullshit. He of all people shouldn’t have been lecturing you on using sex as a distraction. “Like you’ve never used me for sex?”

“Fine, yeah, I have. And I don’t want to be used in the same way.”

“You’re such a hypocrite!”

“I don’t want you to regret being with me.”

The intensity in his eyes was spellbinding, piercing you right through to the core. You trembled when he brushed your cheek with his fingers, your heart pounding. Throughout your time together, you’d studied and learned many of his expressions and nuances. The excited bounce in his movements when Anvil booked a new client, the underlying bitterness in his words on those days he’d gone to visit his mother, how dark and glossy his eyes shined when he was about to come. But the way he was watching you now – this was new to you. This was dangerous territory. The last thing you wanted was to get caught up in Billy Russo again.

You wrenched his hand away. “If I have regrets, I wouldn’t bother you with them.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Anyway, I told you yesterday. If we have sex again, I’d see it as closure.”

The shift in his eyes was instant. A second ago there had been warmth in his gaze, now there was only disdain. “So you can move on?”  

“Not just me. You too.”

Molten eyes narrowed into slits. “Maybe I don’t want to move on.”

“What does that even mean?”

His jaw was clenched, his mouth set in a hard line. “Why do you have to make this so complicated? Why can’t we just go back to how things were?”

“I threw myself at you five minutes ago and you rejected me! And now you’re telling me you want to keep sleeping together?” You massaged your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Are you purposely trying to fuck with my head?”

The sound of your phone vibrating loudly against the coffee table drew your attention. You marched over to see who was calling. Spotting Roger’s name, you tensed immediately. Why would he be calling you late at night unless it was to tell you Adam was being released? Your heart started pounding as you picked up the call. “Hey, Roger. What’s up?”

Billy snickered beside you and you cast him a dirty glance, turning away from him.

“How are you holding up? I was worried about you, I wanted to check in.”

You breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t calling with news about Adam. “I’m fine.”

“I received an email from HR. They said you refused an appointment with the therapist?”

“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” you insisted. You’d tried the therapy route years ago and found it to be a waste of time.

“Unfortunately, it’s not optional. You know how it is. Insurance. Liability. All of that. We just need to make sure you’re okay.”

You exhaled a resigned sigh, rubbing the side of your head again. Today was not your day. “Fine. I’ll make an appointment.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He cleared his throat. “And if you need to talk to me, I’m also here.”

“Thank you for the offer but I’m alright.”

“How about we meet for dinner tomorrow?  I want to run some ideas by you about the expansion.”

You groaned internally. You had a stack of work you needed to do and you were hoping to catch up on it this weekend, but turning down a work dinner with your boss wasn’t a smart idea. “Sure. Tomorrow night sounds good.”

“Any preferences?”

“How about Piatti’s?”

“You love that place, don’t you?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, it’s one of my faves.”

“I’ll make reservations for 7pm. See you then.”

“Yeah. Thanks for checking in, Roger.” You hung up and put the phone back on the coffee table.

“Yeah, Roger, thanks for checking in.”

Hearing Billy imitating your voice, you turned around to find him balanced against the edge of the sofa arm, his long legs sprawled in front of him. Arms crossed, he was staring at you with a stern expression. “Isn’t that sweet? First his negligence almost gets you killed, and then he checks in to play the hero.”

You frowned at him. If he was anyone else, you would have thought they were jealous – but you knew Billy didn’t feel that way about you.

His lips twisted into a sneer. “And of course you eat it all up. Because he’s such a fucking sweetheart.”

“What is your problem with him? He’s a nice guy, and he was actually really great with me today.”

“I bet.” Billy’s voice was laced with hostility. “Nice. Sweet. He’s checking of all the right boxes, isn’t he? But can loverboy get you wet? Would he even know how to make you come?”

You finally snapped. “Are you jealous or something?”

Silence hung in the air as he simply stared at you, his jaw ticking. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my fucking girlfriend.”

His words may have hurt, but they also served as a cruel reminder of why you needed to walk away. “That’s right. I’m not. So this thing you’re doing…” You wagged you index finger back and forth between you and Billy. “This interrogation stops now. I don’t answer to you. Who I’m seeing, who I’m fucking, who I’m interested in, it’s none of your business. So stay out of my life and I’ll stay out of yours.”

He stood up to his full height, probably trying to intimidate you. However you held firm, leveling him with a heated glare as he closed the distance between you. His eyes were cold, contempt etched on his face. “Bring the vibrator on your date night with Roger. Probably only way he can get you off.”

“Fuck you, Billy!”

“Not interested, sweetheart,” he snarked back, walking past you.

When you heard the door shut a few seconds later, you walked over to lock it.

You spent the rest of the evening trying to distract yourself from the warring thoughts in your head. When it wasn’t Adam’s face haunting you, it was Billy mocking you. You tried watching a movie but that did nothing. You attempted working next, but you couldn’t focus. Eventually you realized there was only one thing you could do to lessen the fear. You needed to get ahead of it. Adam may have been angry and unhinged, but he came from a powerful family. Even if he couldn’t be controlled, they could be. So you did what you always did to protect yourself. You started acquiring information you could use as leverage against your enemies.

Part 6

A/N - Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the likes, reblogs, comments, feedback and the asks. I’m so grateful to have wonderful readers like you. As always, if you have the time, I’d love to read your thoughts on this chapter.

If you want to be added/removed from the tag list, please let me know. A few people have asked to be tagged, but for whatever reason, Tumblr wouldn’t let me. I still have you on the list, though you may not receive notifications.

Tag List

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[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bard’s Sister 

Geralt X Reader 

Part 2 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Masterlist 

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place Geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadn't seen since she was 5. The journey is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. This is still part of our introduction to the main characters and their personalities in this story. Next chapter will be more about (Y/N) and Geralt. I know I am trash at summaries.

I would like to state that I do plan on adding a pregnancy in the future to this story. (I know Geralt is steril. Just bare with me and the story line I’ve created) I just wanted to let eveyone know because I would hate for someone to get attached to the character and story only to have a plot line they do not like for themselves. I know not everyone like pregnancy plot lines but I’m such a sucker for dad!Geralt.

Trigger warnings: Cursing 

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,369

(Changed from 3rd to 1st person) 

The sun was high in the sky, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The garden below the large windows of the castle was shining brightly. The birds chirping, children playing in the river that ran through the center of the city. Life was good. The sun was shining a little brighter today. It was because Jaskier was finally home. 

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him till he was back. After breakfast, we walked around the castle’s courtyard. He and Geralt introduced me to their horses. To my pleasant surprise, Roach took a particular liking to me, as did her owner. He was nothing like the rumors. There were many times that I traveled out of our borders into the western part of the continent, and every time people had nothing but cruel fowl things to say about the poor witcher. Sure he wasn't perfect, but no one was. 

“Would you like to see my studies?” I asked as we walked down the long corridors that lead to three separate staircases. I glanced between the two men that were on either side of me. 

“Your studies?” Jaskier asked looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile. 

“I told you in my letter that I’ve been working with a man over the last couple of years. He has trained me well. But I have many books, drawings notes all sorts of stuff that I’ve written about the world outside of our home.” We approached the base of the three staircases. 

“I’ve never seen a castle so big in my life.” Geralt’s sultry voice flooded my ears once again. I couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so polite. He never turned his nose at us. I knew he didn’t have a very positive history with others like us. Yet he sent no judgment towards myself or my parents. He just listened, followed, and learned. I had never met someone so open to the world yet so closed off that the same time, and we’ve barely even begun to get o know each other.  

“Our mines are some of the richest you’d ever see in your life. From coal to diamonds. Nearly 85% of all ores get mined and sent out to the rest of the continent.” I started walking up the staircase on the far left, the stairs led up a long corridor that was open and bright, the mountains that shielded us from the rest of the world in perfect view. Both were still by my side. I stopped at the first picture that hung on the wall. 

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he only recently passed but he started all of this.” I looked towards Geralt. He was listing intently, his eyes on me as soon as I looked in his direction. I knew Jaskier knew our history so I wasn't too worried if he was paying attention or not. 

“He came here from Termieria with his 6 younger brothers. The mines here had been closed for many many years. The town was completely deserted. There was a serious necrophage problem that no one wanted to deal with, so they just up and left. Leaving the plentiful mines full for someone else.” 

“Necrophages?” Geralt questioned his eyebrow tiling in curiosity. 

“The people who inhabited the lands before we did, had not known of the creatures. Didn’t properly bury the dead. My grandfather wrote in his journal that when they got here the streets were lined with bodies that had been drug out of their shallow graves, crypts had been broken into. His best guess is that a flue came before the people fled, killing many in a short period.” I started walking ahead of the two men, down the hall towards my room. I pushed the door open walking in placing my books on the night table as they followed in slowly behind me. Their eyes wandered over every inch. Jaskier started wandering through the room looking at every picture on the wall. Most of them were sketches, mostly of him. Or the people he sang about in his ballads. He grabbed one off the wall and laughed softly. 

“Who is this supposed to be?” I walked over to him and laughed softly, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. 

“That, that uh was my first sketch of Geralt.” The sound of his name got his attention, he was trying to be polite and not snoop. Although I didn't care if he wanted to look around. He walked away from the door over to Jaskier and me. He lingered behind me, very close behind me. I could feel his body heat on my back and his warm breath on my face as he peered over my shoulder at the parchment Jaskier was holding. 

“How old were you when you did this?” Jaskier asked.

“Eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was after your first balled about your adventures with Geralt that started to spread like wildfire. I went to a tavern one night with a friend and someone was singing it. I was intrigued by the song and asked them who they sang about. I was told they didn't write the song, our very own Prince had. So I listened to them play it over and over.  I asked around the and so see if people knew what the famed witcher looked like. I got conflicting answers from nearly everyone I asked.” Geralt reached his arm over me, his hand gently brushing my arm, sending chills down my spine. His hand grasped the paper as he looked at it closely.           

“They got the hair color right. That was about all. Some people have some very wild depictions that I drew, but none in any seriousness.” The particular one they were examining was nothing like Geralt. They got everything wrong but his hair color. Many people said he was a scrawny young lad with the strength of thousands of men, making him easier to blend in with the crowds. Granted this was very early on in my brother and the Witcher’s adventures together so not many people had paid close attention to the witcher. 

“You drew what people described?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes, some people tried to pay me but I told them to give it to the needy. I traveled with Serena for a couple of weeks right after I turned nineteen, we didn't venture far past the mountains but it was enough.” I couldn't help but frown at the memories of the people in the towns scowling and sticking their noses in the air when I asked about the Witcher and my brother. 

“Can I see the other ones?” Geralt’s question took me by surprise. 

“I don’t know…” 

“Oh come on, you're very talented (Y/N), let him see them,” Jaskier said and shoved my shoulder playfully. I smiled softly at him but shook my head. 

“It is not that I’m self-conscious of my work, it’s the depictions of Geralt outside of our Kingdom, for the most part, were cruel and inaccurate beyond belief. I only drew them because I was wasting their time asking questions. I honestly don't know why I kept them.” I nervously rubbed the back of my neck, the idea of Geralt seeing those ugly, horrendous, depictions of himself made my stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the hate he received. I never understood why people despised Witchers the way they did. I only experienced it outside of our kingdom. For some reason, whether it be our pure lack of monsters or the abundance of sunshine, my people seemed happier. Less judgmental than the outside world. I was grateful to live in such a kind and caring place, but it does get rather dull after a while. 

“I’d still like to see them.” Geralt said softly as he handed the parchment back to me. I sighed slightly uncomfortable with the idea, I took the parchment and hung it back up on the wall. 

“Let’s make a deal,” I said turning to them both. 

“Oh boy.” Jaskier teased. 

“I’ll show you the drawings if you let me paint you now, so I have an accurate model. Not just words.” Geralt’s eyes looked over me, his arms crossing over his chest. A small smirk formed over his lips as he watched me intently. 

“If you want to draw me so bad, just ask dove.” The nickname nearly threw me off my feet. My heartbeat quickened at a rapid pace and I couldn't even look him in the eye. Jaskier snickered and pulled out a chair by my desk. He was enjoying this way too much. I cleared my throat swelling thickly. 

“T-that I uh..” I had never been one to not have words. According to my parents, I talked too much. Just like my brother. Yet here I was gobsmacked and wordless. I grumbled under my breath moving to the desk Jaskier was sat at and made him move. He got up and I sat down. I opened the top hatch of the desk, lifting out folders and files of archives. Some containing spells, some more drawing, history of the continent, and even monster facts that I knew I wouldn’t ever need. I placed the folders on the floor. Jaskier grabbed a few and moved to my bed plopping himself down kicking his feet up. My head snapped over to him as he put his dirty boots all over my fresh linens. 

“Jaskier. If you don't get your boots off my bed, I will castrate you.” I warned turning back around rummaging some more. I heard him kick off his shoes. Geralt chuckled behind me. 

“Fiery are we.” He teased but I ignored him. Finally, at the bottom of all my work, I found the folder. I held it up to him, not wanting to watch his face as he looked at the disgusting depictions of himself. 

“Thank you, dove.” His lip was right next to my ear. I felt frozen. 

I couldn't tell if it was genuinely just a flirt or if this was directed to me. Sure I had heard the rumors of the witcher and his many women of the night, including the sorceress Yennefer. But this seemed different. I snapped back to reality when he let out a low chuckle. I turned around and stood up, peering over his arm to see what one he was looking at. This one was particularly nasty. His eyes were slanted like snake eyes, large fangs protruded out of his mouth, and his hair was a crazy mess. His eyes were blood red, his nose crooked from supposedly being punched so many times. His face was littered with so many scars he had scale-like skin. I remembered the man who gave me that description. 

“I met this man in a tavern in Solveiga, it’s the furthest I've ever been from home.” Jaskier stood up walking over and looking at the drawing Geralt was studying carefully. I didn't know why he was spending so much time on such a cruel piece. 

“He said you came through a few winters prior, he and a bunch of the townsmen had gathered some coins so you'd get rid of a Striga. I knew was lying the moment he opened his mouth.” Geralt looked up from the payment, his eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you think he's lying?” I took the folder from him, and just as I expected the parchment below the picture he was looking at was full of my notes. Every time I traveled and spoke to people about it. My brother or his companions took incredibly detailed notes, I never wanted to forget anything. I took the parchment out before handing him the folder back. I began to read the notes:

“This man takes me for a fool. No more than some silly girl. While he sits here and tells the tale of the Wolf he seems to be forgetting the incredibly important fact about Strigas, they only hunt during a full moon. He keeps saying that the beast was hunting their people every single night, slashing children, men, women, animals, every night for months. He’s using it to fuel the people's hatred of the witcher. He’s attempting to claim that they sent for him as soon as they knew of her presence. Claiming the witcher waited nearly three months before coming to discard the beast.” I flipped the page over scanning the meticulous notes. 

“He said the beast was killed on a new moon, he said he remembers it so vividly because of the lack of moonlight while he escorted the witcher to her crypt. I may not be a witcher, but I am not stupid. The man is trying to make matters worse by lying through his crooked yellow teeth. How dare he tarnish a name for the sake of his prosperity.” Geralt chuckled at the last part making me look up at him, he had an amused smile on his face, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me. 

“Why are you laughing?” I tilted my head to the side slightly and he just shook his head, putting the folder of parchment into the desk. He knelt and began picking up the rest of the folders neatly placing them inside the desk where they came from. 

“Because you got so mad that someone lied about me, yet you at the time were not even sure I was a real thing-“ 

“Person.” I quickly corrected him. His eyes glanced at me, he didn't move his head as he continued placing my papers where they belonged. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You called yourself a thing, you're not a thing Geralt. You're a real living breathing person.” His eyes found my own again. My heart raced as he studied my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes were like hot pools of gold and honey. The complexity of the colors was mesmerizing.

“And I wasn't only mad that he was lying about you, I was mad that he was lying in general. About something anyone could disprove if they just picked up a book on monsters.” I noticed the parchment with the drawing he was just looking at was on my bed. I grabbed it to put it back on the desk. Geralt's strong hand gently grasped my wrist stopping me. His other hand gently grabbed the parchment from my hand. 

“I’d like to keep this one if you don't mind.” I looked at him shocked.

“Why that one?? Of all the ones I've done you choose one of the most inaccurate and the crudest?” It made no sense to me. Why did he want that? Was it some fun game of his to think he was just some stupid monster? 

“Because it shows your talent in a way the others don't. And besides, you got my nose perfectly. No one can do that.” I sighed heavily not liking the idea of him possessing such a cured drawing that was drawn purely on lies. 

“Fine. Keep it.” He smiled vicariously. I’d let him keep every single one if he smiled like that all the time. The smile quickly vanished when Jaskier came back over with the first file he took. The one he had been studying was full of my notes on herbology and alchemy. 

“You are incredibly smart (Y/N), I felt as though I was reading Yennefer’s notes.” A huge smile spread across my face at his compliment. 

“Thank you, Jax.” Geralt was now walking around my room, hands tucked under his arms as he studied the drawing and notes hanging on the walls. Some drawings were of monsters, some of the random people I’d met on my short travels, some maps I’d drawn up so I’d remember where I wanted to go when I had the chance. 

“Your talent is very wide-ranging, little dove. I have to say I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” That blasted nickname nearly kicked me off my feet again. 

I looked out my window noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky.

“If you'd like to get new clothes I’d suggest we do it now, it’ll be dark soon and the shops close earlier in the week.” Gertrude turned to me, nodding his head. 

“Please. These pants are so tight I’m afraid I may lose my legs.” 

We walked down the street. The sun was close to setting in the sky. The cool air kissed my bare chest as we walked. It was a comfortable silence between the three of us. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in silence. I hated the quiet with most people, it left room for negative thoughts, negative energies. Most times when it was unbearably quiet when I was present was because I was shut down from talking by the people around me. I know they meant no harm, I knew I had a lot to handle at times. I was just lonely. Board. I only had a few true friends. Most of the people I grew up with were married and with children now. I spent a lot of time alone, I liked being alone. It gave me space to think about the world. The world outside my small one. 

We approached the seamstress, walking through the wood door. A small bell rang in as we entered. Hildi walked out from the back, a bright smile on her face. She was a sweet older woman, not much older than my mum. She had been running this shop for as long as I could remember. She was the best seamstress in the country in my opinion. 

“Princess (Y/N)!! What a lovely surprise!” She walked around the counter and hugged me softly. Her hands-on the sweater I was in. She made it for me many years back for a birthday gift. She always had the best gifts. Full of love. I did adore the woman. Her attention turned to the men next to me. Her eyes grew bigger, her hand gently coming up to her chest. 

“My gods. The rumors were true. Jaskier!! How wonderful it is to see you again!!” Her hands wrapped around my brother who hugged her back. I couldn't tell if he remembered her or if he was just being nice. As she released him she looked at Geralt who was visibly tense, scared that she may try and hug him. 

“You must be Geralt of Rivia!” He nodded. 

“Rain!! Get out here!! And bring me my Witcher’s guide!!” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the book. He shot me a glance and I just smiled. A few moments later Hildi’s daughter Rain appeared. She was my age. We knew each other in school. She was never nice to me. Picked on me. Would make jokes about Jaskier not being around. I never told anyone, in fear people would think I was nothing but a stuck up princess. Her presence made me uneasy. I slowly took a small step back, inching closer to my brother. Rain’s eyes landed on Geralt. I could practically see the drool pooling in her mouth. 

“Gods save me.” She moaned out. I had to fight off the urge to cringe at her outward burst. 

“The tales are true then?” She looked directly at me. 

“So maybe you weren’t lying all these years.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. 

Hildi was very blind to her daughter's cruelness. After her husband passed away it was just her and Rain. She’d do anything for her. I understood that. She was a devoted mother and wife. I knew how heartbroken she was. She walked to Rain and took the book from her hand and grabbed a quill that had been dipped in ink. She turned to Geralt, a very soft smile on her face. 

“Would you sign this for me?” His eyes bulged out of his head. 

“Y-you want me to sight your book?” I held back a giggle at his shock. He truly wasn't used to being appreciated. 

“Yes, please. If it is not too much to ask. Your stories were what got me through my husband’s death. Had it not been for the ballads and tales of your great bravery I may have not made it through.” Geralt’s shoulders softened at her words. He nodded his head and walked over to the counter. She opened the book to the first page and he scribbled down his name before giving her a soft smile. She gently placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. 

“You are truly a great hero here Geralt. If our country had a mascot, you'd be it.” Jaskier chucked lowly at her comment making me swat the back of his he’d. He hissed in pain and looked at me. I glared at him. 

“Do not ruin this for him,” I whispered. 

Hildi turned her attention back to me and smiled. 

“What can I do for you today my dear?”

“Well as you can see, Jaskier has a sore taste in fashion and also doesn’t understand sizing. I was hoping you could fit them in some better, more comfortable garments. Maybe a set of nice clothes for my party as well?” She gleamed. She hurried around her counter, grabbing a piece of parchment and measuring tape. She came back around and wasted no time in messing the two men. I sat down at a table by the window and watched as she rummaged through somethings in the back of her store. 

“So you're like a real witcher?” Rain’s voice caught my attention. She was leaning over the counter, her dress pulled down, the cleavage of her breasts on clear display as she dumbly curled her blond hair in her fingers. 

“No. I'm a fake one.” Geralt said back unamused. 

“But like are the rumors true?” She asked leaning even further over the counter. She was trying so desperately hard to get him to look down her dress. But he was simply uninterested. I felt my heartburn with envy. I hated that it did. He wasn't mine, he was nowhere near it. But the thought of him looking at her like that made my blood boil. 

“Rumors about what?” He took a step back from the counter slowly making his way over to where Jaskier and I were. 

“Ya know. About your huge cock.” Jaskier and I both choked on our spit. My hand flew over my mouth to keep my laugh in. It was a good thing her mother’s hearing wasn't all that great. Geralt looked visibly uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to me, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier and I were both trying to get ourselves under control after her question. She was completely unfazed. She thought she was hot shit. 

“Common witcher. Tear me apart. Show me the real monster you can be.” That sentence made my grip on the chair so tight I thought I could’ve broken the arm in half. I probably could have if I did not have any self-control. I’m much stronger than I look.

“Do not call him that.” I hissed. My teeth were clenched so hard I was sure I was breaking them. Her eyes flicked over to me. She looked me up and down trying to size me up. 

“Call him what? A witcher. Honey are you dumb. That’s what he is.” In a second I was inches from her face. I could feel my blood pumping thru my veins. 

“Do not ever call him a monster again.” I was a bit shocked at how mean I sounded. I had never been this angry with her before. I wanted to punch her stupid smile in more than anything. 

“(Y/N)..” I heard Jaskier’s voice behind me. He was very close to me. My hands were balled in fists at my sides. My knuckles were turning white with how angry I was. 

“I promise you, studying princess, he's been called worse.” She smiled cheekily at me and her hand came up and she attempted to pat my face like I was a dog. My reflexes were much faster than she realizes. I grabbed ahold of her wrist in an intron grip. I began to squeeze and bend her wrist back away from my face. Her face contorted in pain. She wasn't expecting me to be as strong as I was. 

“I said-'' I squeezed harder, and she gasped slightly as she tried to pull her hand away. “Do not call him that.” I threw her hand away from me before turning around and walking by the window. I hadn't realized both Jaskier and Geralt were standing behind me. 

Moments later Hildi came out completely oblivious to the scene that just took place. She had a cloth sack filled with clothes and placed them on the counter. 

“Alright, dearly that’ll be 45 coins.” She said as she wrote down the total in her book. I stood quickly pulling the amount from my coin purse and putting it in her hand. I smiled at her as best I could, Jaskier grabbed the bag of clothes. 

“If something doesn’t go right, bring them back.” 

“Thank you Hildi, very much.” Geralt said a charming smile on his lip. He gently shook her hand kissing the top of it. 

“Thank you, Geralt. It was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger.” She patted his cheek as a mum does. I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. The cold air hit my hot face. My blood pumped slow and hard through my veins as the anger disappeared from my body. Jaskier came out of the shop and threw his arm over my shoulders leaning into me. 

“Thank you.” He whispered lowly, Great not being very far behind us as we walked to the castle. 

“For?” 

“Defending him. Many people don’t realize how much he’s heard throughout his lifetime. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants to help.” I turned to him and smiled. I leaned into his side hugging him gently before, turning around walking backward as I looked at Geralt. 

“If you would like, I’ll show you both to your rooms, and you can change. We can then have tea in the garden and I can draw you.” A soft smile graced his lips, his eyebrow rising softly. 

“You seriously want to draw me?” I nodded my head and stopped walking, but he didn’t. He kept getting closer and closer till he was a few inches from me. 

“Yes, Geralt I do. You have a special spot in my heart, not just because I believe you are a true knight. And many people are just too scared to admit that, but also for keeping my brother safe all these years. You deserve to feel appreciated.” His features softened as his eyes searched my face before settling on my own eyes. His hand gently came up and he moved a small piece of hair from my face. 

“A deal is a deal, little dove.” I felt as though my soul was being sucked out through his hand. Every fiber in my body wanted to pull him closer to me, to show him love, and tenderness. Something I knew he never actually had. 

“Good, follow me,” I said with a smile.

After I showed them to their rooms; my brother’s old room not far from my own, and Geralt’s which shared a wall with my room, I went down to the garden. My easel, charcoals, and paints were set up on the table as they came down from changing and freshening up. Geralt looked more beautiful in clothes he could breathe in. his attire was so simple yet he made it look like the finest silks and jewels. It was a soft cotton button-down, it was loos on him, his pants were tight, but in a way that allowed him to move and feel free. I could tell by the way he walked he felt much more comfortable and in his element.   

“You look like you feel better,” I said with a smile. Even Jaskier changed. A white shirt. And some black pants. He looked as he always did when I was a kid. The obscene choices in fashion were only adopted after he left home. 

“I do.” I plainly said, a small smile on his lips. He and Jaskier sat down and I poured them tea. They both snacked on a few fruit tarts while I began sketching the background of the garden. allowing them to eat and not have to sit still just yet. 

“So...while I draw maybe you could both share a story?” I glanced behind my paper and looked at the two. Jaskier smiled and leaned back into his chair fixing his hair and popping open a few buttons for the portrait. 

“What story do you want to hear?” Geralt asked. Leaning back, his shoulders relaxing, a small piece of hair fell from the bit that he had tied back. It looked deliciously messy. It made him look disheveled, nearly like he was right out of bed. 

“Wait!” I yelled and grabbed his hand gently, pulling his hand back softly. 

“I like it. Keep it.” his hand went back down to his leg to rest. His eyes watched me for a few minutes. I studied their faces beginning my base sketches. 

“What story shall we tell her Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sky, the last of the light kissing his skin. 

“We could tell her about the Djinn?” Geralt said back, glancing at Jaskier before looking back at me, a coy smile on his face. 

“A Djinn?? I’ve only ever read myths about them. You encountered one?” My curiosity was blossoming, the urge to get more details about the creatures I had been taught about.

“Geralt here was going onto day gods knows what on no sleep. He was beyond grumpy.” Jaskier tilted his head back up and looked at me with a smirk. 

“The git said my singing was like a pie with no filling!!” I couldn’t hold back my laugh. It was much louder than I wanted, not very ladylike at all. 

“Oh… I may have to steal that one.” I said in between giggles, whipping my eyes. 

“I was hoping to use a wish from the Djinn to help me sleep. But unfortunately, your brother got in the way.” As Geralt spoke I moved into his details on his face, my eyes traveling all over his beautiful face. From the way, his brows arched to the cute little dimple on his chin. His face was beautiful. Some scares were prominent enough that I could see them if I looked hard enough he had one on his cheek, it looked newer than all the others, the skin being a bit lighter than the rest of his skin. 

“What did he do this time?”

“He decided that because I told him I no longer appreciated his singing that he would take the Djinn away from me till I took back what I said.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it back?” I glanced at him from behind my easel, he was watching me closely, his eyes slanted like he was studying a pray. 

“No. No, he didn’t. And I almost died!” Jaskier shouted dramatically causing my eyes to drift from Geralt over to him. 

“Don’t be dramatic Jaskier,” I mumbled, putting down the charcoal I had been using. Now turning my attention to the paints I had in front of me. I started mixing the colors Id need for Geralt’s skin tone. 

“No, this time he’s right. He did almost die. Unfortunately for Jaskier, he refused to let go of the vase the Djinn was in. While we tugged on it, the lid came off. Maybe the Djinn knew I was a witcher and its curse wouldn’t work on me, or maybe it was just annoyed at Jaskier. Either way, it attacked him.” My eyes were focused on the painting, brows furrowed as he spoke. I waited a moment for him to continue but he didn’t. 

“I’m listing Geralt, please continue,” I said my eyes moving to his, the colores pooling in my head as I prepared for what pigments id be using to paint them. 

“I don’t want to interrupt.” I shook my head a soft smile on my face. 

“I will,” Jaskier said as he sipped his tea, looking at me. 

“The Djinn attacked my throat. Made it swell, I was coughing up blood.” My painting stopped as I looked at him. My stomach sank a little as he spoke. I knew Jaskier had been put in harm’s way before but hearing the first-hand accounts made my stomach ache. 

“Geralt took me to an elven healer that wasn’t too far from where the river bed was. Unfortunately for me, he couldn’t help me. But he knew of a mage that could help.” My hand started to paint again, filling in the sketch with colors on Jaskier’s face as he spoke. 

“We can skip over those details Jaskier.” Geralt huffed crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Why? Don’t want my baby sister knowing that we had to sit threw an entier orgey just for you to speak to the mage?” Jaskier snickered looking away from me to his friend, 

“Jaskier, shut up.” Geralt grumbled. His eyes avoided my own when I went to look at him. 

“An orgey?” I had heard the word but hadn’t ever fully understood what it was. 

“What’s that?” I questioned looking at my brother. His head fell back as he cackled. 

“Oh dear sister how you’ve been so sheltered from the world.” My cheeks flushed red at his words. 

“Jaskier don’t be rude,” I mumbled grabbing a fine liner brush from my pile. Adding some final detail into Jaskier’s blue eyes. 

“It’s when a very large group of people get together in one room and have sex.” The blood rushed to my head at his words. I could feel my ears turning red. My brother was right. I had been sheltered about sex in my family. I didn’t have friends who I could talk to it about, and never really had anyone in my life I was willing to have sex with. 

Unlike many women my age I never viewed my virginity like a sacred rose that no one could touch, I just wanted it to be lost to someone who deserved it. No someone I was forced to allow to deserve it. 

“Oh look at how red she is.” Jaskier snickered standing up and poking my sides. I smacked his hands away glaring at him. He was now able to see the nearly completed painting. All I had left was my Geralt’s eyes and some details in his hair. 

“Gods (Y/N), this is amazing.” He whispered his hand on my shoulder. I smiled softly, swallowing the spit that had gathered in my throat thickly. 

“Thank you, please sit down and continue your story.” Jaskier did as I asked. 

“The mage was Yennefer. She helped me. Saved my life. The mage and I may not get along, but I do owe her my life.” I smiled softly as he spoke of the mage I had heard so much about. 

“I’ll be sure to thank her myself if I ever come across her,” I said with a smile. My attention turned back to Geralt who didn’t look please at the topic of our conversation. His eyes were on his leg that bounced slightly. He was anxious. 

“Geralt love, I cannot see your eyes. That’s nearly all I have left.” At the sound of my voice, his head tilted up so he could look at me in the eye. 

I smiled sweetly at him. I broke eye contact as I added in the different hues of orange and a bit of red. Some gold flecks showed themselves in his inner iris. The depth of the color was so enchanting. I could paint just his eyes forever. I finished with his hair after a few minutes of silence. Both men just enjoying the warm afternoon air. They both looked relaxed, peaceful, safe even.    

“I’ve finished, boys,” I said whipping my hands on my apron. I stood up and turned the easel around to the two. They both sat up straight, eyes wandering all over the painting. 

“You, my dear sister are beyond talented.” Jaskier mused looking at me, a bright smile on his face. 

“We both are.” I smiled at him. Geralt was still examining the painting, his eyes flicking over every inch of himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. It made me nervous.

“I know the hair isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to get the brush technique down-”

“It is perfect.” Geralt interrupted me, a smile on his face as he looked at me. 

I smiled back at him, my heart beating a little quicker. 

“Can I keep it?” Geralt asked. 

“Seriously?” I asked him. 

“Well, actually it’s probably best you keep it. I don’t have a home, so I wouldn’t want to ruin it…” I smiled softly, taking a step closer to him. 

“I’ll keep it safe but if you ever have a place that you want to keep it, ill get it to you,” I said, softly stroking the stray strand of hair behind his ear. His face tilted up as he looked at me. 

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night boys,” I said gathering my items in my hands. 

“What about dinner?” Jaskier asked. 

“I’ll grab something from the kitchen, I’m quite tired. I need a bath. I’ll see you both in the morning.” I said hugging Jaskier goodnight. I turned to Geralt, courage surging through my veins. I bent down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“Goodnight Geralt.” His cheeks turned a very, very soft shade of pink, but only for a moment. Our eyes locked again. 

“Good night, dove.”  

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 16

The Chapter is finally out my Guardians 🐉

Chapter 16 : In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons

My hands would follow their path taken for several minutes, forming various abstract forms of their weak caresses. Many chills arose from time to time with my fingers when I explored new areas but no protest was ever heard, which prompted me to venture out again and again, savoring this almost suspended moment in time.

Blinking hard with white lids in the dim daylight streaming through the curtains, my gaze fell for a moment on the long locks that partially obscured Lance's sleeping face. With his head resting on my bare chest, he didn't seem to want to wake up from his deep sleep, an arm slung over my request now firmly pressed against him.

I directed my caresses a little higher until I reached a scaly area on his shoulder. Fascinated, I drew each outline as if to come to memorize them, surprised to feel them vibrate with each passage of my fingers.

It had been some time since I realized one thing. One thing who, each time he let me see it, filled my heart a little more with new feelings.

More and more often in my presence, Lance seemed to forget his barriers. So sometimes the young man let an infinite number of improbably colored scales run over his skin while, at other times, his ice ran through my body without any logic, drawing complex and involuntary shapes. I’m always surprised at the sweetness of these manifestations, yet they are born of a raw, primitive nature. Because despite his human appearance, Lance was nonetheless a dragon whose instincts he had and, beyond the brutality that accompanied some, I loved to see him let go. I had the impression that in those rare moments when the barrier between his two forms was weakening, he could finally relax, really be himself.

But to share with him this moment of physical intimacy In purely instinctive outbursts, he loved to mark me with his presence, ranging from his powers to his scent and at times, to his claws. Lance had been unintentionally brutal at times, but was it strange if I admitted that I absolutely loved every moment ?

The dragon pulled me out of my reveries, stirring lightly. Lifting his face with still sleeping features, he arched an eyebrow as he analyzed the situation, his gaze drifting over our still naked bodies. My breath quickened as one of his hands lingered on the slope of my hip as his eyes were already dark with desire. Without warning, he tightened his embrace and rocked over me. His long hair tickled my face as he leaned down to explore every inch of my neck, making me moan in spite of myself with languor.

- Hello, my angel, he said in a hoarse voice against my skin.

I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders as a weary smile stretched my lips.

- Hello, my great dragon.

Lance laughed in the crook of my collarbone as he let his icy hands rest on my thighs, causing goose bumps to grow in the grooves of his palms. His lips entered the slope of my jaw, and when they finally met mine, it was with some authority that he lifted my legs on either side of his narrow hips.

We kissed for a long time, our tongues meeting without delay to deepen our embrace. Between my legs, I felt him pulsing more and more vigorously, increasing with maddening speed the desire that had not left me.

- You do well not to forget in whose arms you find, he amused himself in a voice with a much deeper sound than usual.

I dug my nails vigorously into his muscular back as his hips pushed against my lower abdomen.

- How could I, exactly ? I questioned him with difficulty, so much the least of his gestures obsessed me. You don't really help me forget it...

- It's true that I can't keep my human form completely, with you.

- I don't mind, you know, I said with a laugh.

A gentle smile lit up his face, which features often so harsh. In a light mood, the dragon lifted my chin with his fingers to orient my face in his direction. I plunged without hesitation into his eyes which had occupied all my thoughts for several weeks.

Becoming serious again, we didn’t say the least for several long seconds, we observe with a heavy look of meaning.

- Andraste...

I knew what was going on in his head.

We.

Our relationship, our past, our present... To be in each other's arms was absurd, totally unconventional and we were both deeply aware of it. What would become of each other once we got out of this room ?

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing we could become for each other. And we knew it.

Deciding to stop our respective paths of thought, I crossed the short distance between us, feverishly pressing my lips against his. I kissed him with anger, despair, envy. I placed my fears in those powerful hands that encircled my hips, those greedy lips that devoured mine as if to come and seek some breath. I needed to feel him losing control, needed to drown in his eyes that screamed at me that they loved me.

Or at least, during these short, resolutely forbidden moments.

- Please, don't say anything, I said between two kisses, starting to move my pelvis against his. We'll have plenty of time to worry about this later.

Seeming to consider my words at first, Lance suddenly planted one of his hands on my hip as I shifted more and more vigorously under his weight that crushed me. Not giving me time to think, he shamelessly slipped two fingers inside me without ever taking my eyes off suddenly feverish. Reaching my guard, he stirred slowly but confidently, torturing me with his thumb a little higher. My God, I had never wanted someone so much, I was sure.

Each of his movements made a myriad of sensations explode in the pit of my stomach, making me turn my head with his precise gestures. My pelvis quickly accompanies his fingers, guiding them silently while each of my moans is found drawn to his lips. When a multitude of stars erupted in my field of vision, I firmly grabbed his throat as he led me over the edge of the precipice without warning.

As I lost ground, I noticed with a blank eye that my light was diffused into him. Starting from the base of his neck just under my palm, it illuminated him tanned skin with its bright, warm colors. In this story, it wasn't Lance who lost control the most.

I think it was me.

Not that I ever really had control over my powers, that would have been lying. But I no longer control anything. My emotions, my fears, my desires; I was constantly jostled, tossed about between everything.

When the dragon in turn realized that I was marking him without permission with my light, he groaned in satisfaction before promptly removing his fingers from my privacy. I didn't have time to figure out what was happening to me as I already found myself astride him, Lance having grabbed me to reverse our places, his hands feverishly running my back as his tongue attacked my chest. Tilting my head back, I let his hungry mouth move up to my ear, biting my skin with his suddenly sharper teeth until it slightly marked me.

With one hand, I pushed him away in order to come and press his back authoritatively against the mattress. His gaze darkens again as I lean over him, starting a slow descent from his abdomen. Another gasp escaped him as my palm met his erection, slowly working its way up from the base to the end, never taking my eyes away from his. Lance slid his fingers in an inordinately gentle gesture through my hair to achieve my face, making it easier for me. His hands began to shake slightly when I finally took him in my mouth, unable to fully accommodate him as long as he was imposing.

His breathing quickened as I started my task, fascinated to be able to discover him in my turn as he had done that night with my body. Very soon, I heard him utter several quiet moans which excited me to the highest point before he hastily tugged at my hair to make me lift my head. Bluntly, he pulled me up to him while vigorously grabbing my lips, framing my face with his large hands.

- I think I want you too much, my angel.

*

The water hit my head heresy, hitting my long hair hard against my shoulders. How long have I been wandering here ? My eyes narrowed at the force of the rain that fell on me, I moved forward as in a kind of constant blur.

My gaze was followed by a small shadow which is quickly in front of me. Running under the downpours, she didn't seem to feel them, moving freely in the surrounding darkness. I put a feverish hand in front of my face to try to make out something around, having lost the figure between the trees. Sailing blind, a childish laugh catches my attention as I push two branches in my path. Deciding to follow the sound of that unfamiliar voice, I sank deeper into what looked like a real maze.

The closer I got to the shadow, the more it seemed to take shape before my eyes. Very soon, I could make out rainbow-colored hair that blended into pale skin, accompanied by two small horns. The young girl was running innocently, as light as the air despite the brutality of the force of nature that fell on me. My heart skipped a beat when I thought I was losing sight of her again, which prompted me to pick up my pace even more. I stumbled many times, sliding across the muddy ground, hitting oversized roots. The thundering sound of the rain covered the sound of my frantic breath, my hair clinging to my face, entering my mouth, sticking to my eyelashes. My sight was diminishing, darkness absorbed me with its cold arms.

I didn't know what to do anymore, I was lost.

But suddenly the little girl's big silent eyes appeared in front of me. An arm outstretched in my direction, she invited me to join, as bright as the sun. When my fingers made contact with her skin, the scenery changed completely, making my head spin at breakneck speed.

The movements finally calmed down. I immediately recognized the Crystal Room, but it wasn’t the one I knew now.

Several people with unfamiliar faces stood in front of me. With serious faces, they were discussing without seeming to notice my presence.

- He will be the one we send there.

- A Guard Chief, when the situation is totally out of control there ?!

- He's far too young !

- Bring him in, cut in the man who seemed to be the decision-maker here.

A shiver ran through my back as the door opened wide, letting slow, sure footsteps echo through the room. When the young man in question passes close to me, brushing my right arm in the process, a sharp sensation marked my skin under my sleeve. He seemed to feel it too, for the expression on his face changed for a brief moment, almost flustered. His gaze caressed mine without actually seeing me.

- Lance, we were expecting you.

Continuing on his way, a confident smile widened the full lips of the dragon with such youthful features.

- Please excuse me for being late, Master Kaze.

Completely caught up with what was happening in front of my eyes, I was surprised to find the young girl's little fingers wrapped around my forearm. When I turned my head in her direction, the world shifted once again.

A companion collapsed at my feet, spurting blood against my legs. A violent gag took hold of me when its organs fell from the gaping wound that sawed through its stomach. Horrified, I backed up several meters when my attention was signaled by a huge dragon crashing into the rocks not far from me, all with a thudding noise. In a last rattle that comes back to my stomach, the creature collapses to the ground before taking on a semi-human form. Tears flooded my cheeks as I rushed over to him.

- LANCE !

My voice creaked, broke in my throat. I could only see the red puddle that gradually spread around his neck like a macabre web when my vision changed once again.

I was sitting on a bed in a windowless room. Beside me, a small gas light glowing faintly in the dark. Looking down, I noticed I was perfectly dry. No more blood stained my clothes.

- So if I understood correctly, you want to help me break this damn Crystal ?

A harsh laugh shook the broad shoulders of the young man as his interlocutor didn’t move a millimeter, perfectly stoic.

- You understood me very well, Ashkore. Do you want to make this deal, yes or no ?

Lance's gaze shone with a gleam that made my blood run cold. A carnivorous smile crossed his crazy-looking face.

- Very well, my dear deamon. But don't think you'll get me right.

The light suddenly went out, revealing once again the bluish color of the great Crystal.

Serenity reigned in the room. This time, no sound comes to disturb the religious calm of this atmosphere. A movement at the back of the room made me turn around anyway, revealing Lance once again.

Alone, casually assisting on the floor, his gaze didn’t seem to want to leave the luminescent jewel.

His eyes had never been so dark.

- That was the last time he was here, until you woke up.

I jumped at the sound of the small voice behind my back. The young girl stands there, motionless. I hesitated for a moment.

- Ophelia... where are we ? I questioned weakly, having her decide to disappear again.

Her expressionless gaze was lost for a moment in the void behind me. I thought she wouldn't answer me.

- In the deepest memories of the last of the dragons.

- But why ? What are we doing here ?

Walling herself in silence, she walked straight ahead until she crossed my body and passed to the other side.

- You have to find the answer for yourself, Andraste.

The recommended image to blur around me. No, not now, I had to catch up with her !

- Ophelia !

Abruptly opening my eyes, I woke up sweating in my bed, breathing heavily from my parted lips.

I was dumbfounded when I realized that tiny ice crystals were forming under my astonished gaze.

Damn, what happened to me ?

(Chapter 17)