#s: Shoulder Blades Humming Birds and Safe for Now

[comfhurts]

Happy New Years! Here's a mess!

Title: The Tropical Heat of Grief (Built more for Gills than Lungs)

Fandom: X-Men (comic-verse)

Relationships: Joanna Cargill/Scott Summers

Tags: PTSD, trauma flashbacks, brief suicidal ideation, brief mentions of disordered eating and food insecurity, self-worth issues, normal tags for Scott-based stories lol but I actually consider this a fluff piece.

Summary:

Leaving behind the only life you've ever known is difficult, and Scott learns this the hard way. (OR: Scott reflects on New Year's Eve, trauma, and his lack of self-identity. Joanna is a good pal about it)

Part 3 of Shoulder Blades, Hummingbirds, and Safe for Now

(This requires an ao3 account to read-- hit me up if you need an invite).

[thesightstoshowyou]

Timing is Everything

Jesse Cromeans x F Reader x Asa Emory (NSFW)

Summary: Trapped between a predator and a hard place.

Warnings: All the warnings! Dubcon/noncon, daddy kink, Dominant Asa, possessive Asa, creampie(s), anal play, heavy degradation, slapping, manipulation, knife use, blood, torture, “aftercare.” Safe word? What’s that?

 ~~

             When the penthouse elevator dings, you think it’s Asa. It’s after five, Asa’s typical time to return home and recharge before heading out into the night. Jesse’s been gone for days to who knows where, but this isn’t unusual.

             So, when you peek under the cabinets from your spot near the stove and see soft lights glinting off chrome, you’re surprised. He strips out of his black suit jacket, kicking off his boots as he goes. You frown at the blood that drips off the soles onto clean marble. Asa’s going to be pissed.

             But, maybe that’s the point.

             “Hey, you. Back already?” you ask casually as Jesse stalks behind the counter. He drags his fingers leisurely along the sleek granite as he strolls over to you. There’s promise in the way his hips sway as he approaches, a hint of impatience in his swagger. Immediately, you’re on edge.

             Uneasy, you meet his shadowed gaze as well as you can through the darkened eyeholes of his mask. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause, just keeps slowly pressuring you until you’re backed against the sink. You gulp when his arm slides around your waist, one huge hand grabbing a handful of your ass.

             “Asa’s not here—

             Jesse claps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head. He bends down to your level, nudges your cheek with the chilly teeth of his mask. The hand on your ass disappears, resurfaces clutching one of those heinous blades. Dried blood flecks off the handle as he twists it, brings cold steel under your chin.

             You’re afraid, yes, but not of the knife. Asa doesn’t like Jesse to touch you if he’s not there. The Collector is the sole orchestrater of your pleasure and pain, and Chromeskull is an extension of Asa’s knife. Usually, Jesse is more than happy to take instruction on how best to pull you apart and put you back together.

             Usually.

             Not tonight, apparently. The last time this had happened, you hadn’t been able to walk for a week. You wonder what Asa said to Jesse to set him off.

             “Daddy, please,” you mumble behind his hand, hoping the pet name will give him pause. Jesse’s gaze snaps back to yours. He brings the knife in front of your face and shakes it back and forth. ‘No, no, no, little girl,’ it says with its movement. You plead with your eyes and Jesse’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. He’s enjoying the way your lips tremble in trepidation.

             Jesse seizes you around the waist, tosses you over his shoulder, saunters to the bedroom. You let yourself be towed, racing mind wondering what the hell you’re going to tell Asa when he inevitably walks in on the both of you. You nearly scoff out loud; as if Asa’s going to let you speak. You’re so, so fucked.

             Literally.

             When Asa does finally return home, you don’t hear him enter. The only things you can hear are the rustling of bedsheets in your ear, the fervent slap of skin on skin, and your muffled groans and screams. Jesse has your cheek smashed into the mattress, drooling mouth stuffed with your panties, arms pinned behind your back, two, thick fingers speared into your ass, and your hips in the air as he pummels your sore cunt. No hole left unfilled.

             You’re dripping cum and your own fluids, the sheets a wet mess beneath you. Whatever Asa said to him, it really, really set him off. Deliriously, you wonder if you’ve ever seen him so pent up.

             You yelp around the underwear between your teeth when Jesse tugs his fingers from your ass. His hand flies to your hair, gripping your messy locks and turning your head the other direction so you’re looking at the bedroom doorway. Your eyes widen in horror when you see Asa leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, dark eyes intently focused on the arch of your back.

            Behind you, Jesse hisses and hilts himself, spilling another load of sticky cum into your abused cunt. You grunt and wriggle against the hand keeping your arms pinned. He’d timed that perfectly, hadn’t he?

            Deliberately, Asa pulls a pair of black, nitrile gloves from his back pocket. He snaps them on, one at a time, intertwining his fingers to achieve the snuggest fit. Your chest heaves, your limbs trembling at the methodical way he flicks open the sheath on his hip and produces a slim knife, the blade glinting maliciously in the low light.

            Jesse slips from your cunt with a sigh, releases your arms, crawls up beside you so he’s resting against the headboard. You flop over, yank the panties from your mouth, push to your knees with shaking arms, drop your chin to your chest submissively.

            What do you say? He’ll hurt you more if you talk out of turn. Fuck, this isn’t fair.

            Jesse will emerge from this ordeal unscathed. He’d never allow Asa to punish him, no, not without a bloody, vicious fight. That’s not what this twisted relationship is about, but Asa will have to punish someone.

            And that someone is you.

            A normal relationship would have a predetermined word, a phrase, a hand signal, something that would bring this nightmare to an end, but when you’re the obsession of both the Collector and Chromeskull, there is no safe word. There is pain and there is pleasure and no relief from either, ever.

            Gloved fingers brush your cheek, grip your chin and tilt your head so your eyes meet black. His face is blank, utterly expressionless, but this is when he is most dangerous. You don’t know what he’s planning. Again, you beg with your eyes, hope he’ll take pity on you. There was nothing you could do to stop Jesse, he must know this.

             Asa hums thoughtfully, pulls down your bottom lip with his thumb, “I know this wasn’t your idea, Cricket.” He shoots Jesse a petulant glare and the bed wobbles under you with what you can only assume is more unheard laugher. Your heart lifts slightly. Could you be this lucky…?

             His eyes return to yours and you blink until tears slips down your face. Instantly, your stomach plummets and you gasp in shock when he delivers a stinging slap to your cheek. You whimper, clutching your face and shuddering when he sighs heavily.

             “Unfortunately, that’s not enough to save you, silly girl. If you weren’t such a desperate whore, he wouldn’t have broken my rules, would he?” You visibly tremble, nod your head, because what else can you do now? Submit, take the punishment like an obedient pet, learn to run faster than Jesse.

             “On your back.” Instantly you fall back. You try not to glare up at Jesse when he pulls your head into his lap, fingers carding through your sweaty hair in mock sympathy.

             “Look at me.” You do, “How many times did he cum? Tell the truth, Cricket or I. Will. Hurt. You.”

             “F-Four, Sir,” you stammer, your heart fluttering in your chest like a panicked bird. Asa’s eyes flick to Jesse’s and the skull mask nods once in affirmation.

             “Four? Christ, Jesse,” Asa murmurs with a chuckle, that ominous rumble that never fails to send a thrill of fear through your bloodstream. Jesse shrugs and motions to your naked body as though that should explain everything. Asa shakes his head and addresses you, “Four cuts for the four times you let him defile my cunt. Understand? Speak.”

             “Y-Yes, Sir,” you whisper, bracing for the bite of steel. Asa spreads your thighs wide, pushes your knees to your chest. The point of the knife trails down the inside of your knee, comes to rest on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Your gasping breaths are so loud they echo off the high ceiling. You grit your teeth, hiss when Asa drags the blade along your thigh, your dermis parting under steel and spilling crimson onto the bedsheets.

             “Count,” he orders.

             “One,” you snivel, hands fisting the sheets as blinding, brilliant agony sears through your leg. The second cut makes you groan through clenched teeth. Your muscles pull taut as you desperately try to remain still.

             “T-Two.” Asa moves to your other leg. These are going to scar so bad-no don’t think about it—

             “Three!” you scream, a high wail that Jesse immediately muffles with his fingers. One more, one more, you can do it, one—

             “F-F-Four,” you sob around the digits in your mouth. Spit drips past your lips as Jesse removes his fingers and smears the saliva across your quivering lips. The clink of a belt buckle and the drag of a zipper reaches your ears. You gasp, meet Asa’s heated gaze. His predatory gaze is fixed on the way your blood drips down your thighs and mixes with the cum leaking from your puffy slit.

             You speak without thinking, too desperate to be given a break, “P-Please—

             He’s lightning fast, shocking you with his speed more than how roughly he grips your jaw. He spits, “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” You scream again when he slams into your aching cunt, burying his cock into slick, cum drenched muscles. The pants that hang off his hips catch on your lacerations, agonizingly irritate your throbbing flesh

             “Anything going on in that empty head?” SLAP, “Answer me, slut.”

             “Y-Yes—

             SLAP

             “’No’ is the word you were looking for.”

             “N-No, Sir—

             SLAP

             “Shut. Up. If I wanted to hear your simpering voice, I would tell you to, ‘Speak.’ Did I say that?” Furiously you shake your head, anything to get him to stop smacking your burning cheeks. His voice drops to a low purr and he leans over you to murmur, “That’s right. I didn’t. Open your mouth.” Immediately your jaw falls open, “Jesse, give the little whore something to do with that disobedient tongue.”

            Three of Jesse’s fingers return to your mouth and languidly count your teeth. His other hand falls to his half hard cock, fist rolling up his girth until he’s fully erect. How he can have the stamina is beyond you, but that thought goes as quickly as it comes when Asa’s fingers find your swollen clit.

            You twitch and keen, bewildering pressure building in your gut with every stroke of his deft fingers. How? How does he have the uncanny ability to bring you to the edge even after everything he’s done?

            “Jesse, take your fingers out. Cricket, you are going to cum for me. Me. As it should always be. Speak.”

            “Ye-Yes, Sir, yes, yes, please, please, I want to—

            “I want to hear my name when you cum. Speak.”

            “Yes, Sir, yes, I-I will, I w-will, fuck, fuck, I-I-I—

            “Cum, now, do it, cum for me.”

            “ASA!” Despite the pain ravaging your inner thighs, you bring your hips up to meet his, muscles clenching, pressure in your belly releasing in a flurry of wet heat and rolling pleasure. Asa grunts, thrusts, exhales forcefully, buries his cock in your heat to paint your insides with his own release. Distantly, you hear Jesse hiss through his teeth, see him spill into his fist out of the corner of your eye.

            Asa’s body heat disappears from between your legs. You let them fall to the bed, boneless, useless, ready to let unconsciousness claim you then and there, but he returns a moment later with a warm, wet cloth, antibacterial ointment, gauze, and bandages. Meticulously, he cleans the wounds he inflicted, making sure the dressings are well secured before climbing into bed. You crawl into his open arms, turning away from Jesse and burying your face into the crook of Asa’s warm neck.

            Asa waits until your chest rises and falls rhythmically before signing to Jesse, ‘Four times? Seriously?’

            Jesse shrugs again, lifting his hands and signing, ‘Jealous?’ Asa snorts.

            ‘I’m not the one that’s going to be in the doghouse.’

            ‘She’ll get over it.’ Jesse motions to your bandaged thighs, ‘Those are going to scar up good and pretty.’ Asa lets a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth.

            ‘That was the intent. You timed that last one perfectly, by the way.’ Jesse’s shoulders shake again at that.

            ‘Honestly, I got lucky. I was so fucking close for a good ten minutes before you walked in. Took your sweet time.’

            ‘Had to be sure you wore her out. She doesn’t make mistakes when she’s alert.’ Asa winks and Jesse shakes his head, rolling onto his side.

            ‘Sadist.’

            ‘Pot, meet kettle.’

            ‘Touché.’

[hawksugarbaby]

Hawks x reader- widows web

Smut

Chapter includes: wing play, shibari, handjob, sub/dom dynamic (sub hawks), praise (giving), light degradation (giving)

weaving over his body and through his wings. His legs tied together and he was stuck on his knees for hours, his arms tied tightly at the top and shifted into diamonds at his forearms, pulled behind him and tied to his ankles, a rope collar with a long leash for you to grab and put him in his place and an hours worth of art on his chest and torso, the rope connected to the tight loops on his legs, he was completely bound.

It was a shame when he came from work one day without them. Only black chared feathers burnt into his back and crumbling bone.

Your favourite piece of art though was always his wings, his little whimpers when you gently pulled on the rope to twist them in the middle, a spider web of rope, and you were the black widow "hush now little songbird, you can have what you want soon" you said pulling on the leash lightly to cut off his whining. Pretty snake knots where the rope connected in the middle branching into diamonds then wrapping around his wings, the bone skeleton was fragile so you tied loosely and came back into the middle, barrel knot, Napoleon claw, barrel knot, diamond, wings, snake knot repeat.

"you take so long (y/n) can't you just tie a granny knot and be finished" he sighed waiting impatiently, trying to flutter his wings only to get rope burn on his wings "you'll hurt yourself," you said grabbing the tips of his wings making him moan out and his wings puff up slightly "s-sorry" he stammered biting his lip when you grabbed a fistful of feathers "good"

"Just another knot" you assure, stroking his wings softly sending shivers down his spine. You tie the last knot tightly and pull on the ropes making sure they were loose enough for him to be safe yet tight enough so that he couldn't escape. "There we go" you kiss his neck and press him down into the mattress. His calfs up in the air his arms connected and the lead trailed down next to your hand. You yanked the leash pulling his head back and grabbing his hair harshly. "You look so pretty kei do you know that" you mumbled kissing up his jaw with your hand pulling on his hair forcefully. "Of course I do when don't I?" he quipped, you rolled your eyes and continued your pursuit of his pleasure.

"Your wings are so fragile Kei," you said, tracing the arch of his wings, making them puff up, crimson feathers dropping onto the bed, his wings we're so sensitive it was easy to make him cum just from touching them the right way. "Poor little birdie can't fly, I've got him all caged up" you teased wrapping the lead around your arm pulling his head back further the rope choking him slightly. You pulled on his flight feathers grazing your arm on his feather blades "what will, you tell the press about the burns running across your body" you whispered drawing out a groan from his chest "(y/n) let me out of these ropes or I swear to God-" you yanked on his feathers, a few fell out from the force and he moaned loudly, a dark blush crawling up his face "what will you do Little songbird" you nip at his neck his head rolling to the side to let you have your way "n-nothing. I'll do nothing" he stuttered "good boy. Now sit up" you said pulling him up.

Now he was on his knees, his wrists still tied to his ankles. You traced the curve of his spine making small circles where his wings connected to his back. You reached your arm around rubbing across the rope constricting him and grabbed his erect cock making him gasp "quiet now songbird or I'll leave you tied up like this" you said sliding your hand up and down slowly your other hand gripping his wing. He snapped his mouth shut forcing it into a tight line subduing his moans but they couldn't stop the tiny whimpers escaping. "Do I make you feel that good Kei? You can't even keep quiet huh?" he nodded, his head falling back and you chuckled "i wonder how i'll tie you next time, wings to your arms? No you want suspended don't you, to feel like your flying even without being able to move"

You loved seeing him like this, a complete mess underneath you with your works of art on his body, but you never hurt him and you trust each other completely. It was a perfect balance. 

"(Y/n) ah, fuck please go faster" he groaned bucking his hips into your hand "hm. Okay since you asked nicely" you kissed  his wings and they puffed up larger, the rope rubbed along the skeleton of his wings "careful," you said loosening the rope so he wouldn't damage his nerves. Your hand goes quicker and he moans forgetting about your rule "Kei. What did I say?" you pull on the leash and bite his shoulder making him cry out "I'm sorry. we both know how much I like breaking rules" he grunts, you pull your hand away from him completely and he whines from the loss of contact. He thrusts his hips into nothing and you sigh "so pathetic. Keep talking back we'll see what happens" you threaten and grab his dick again.

You run your hand through his feathers, touching them lightly and he choked back cries. "fuck baby. I'm so close" he groans and you bite your lip excitedly speeding up and slowing down drawing out his torture. You weren't concerned with your own pleasure right now, you wanted to see him unravel under you and make a mess from your own hand.

His cock twitched in your hand and you sped up. "fuck (y/n)! I'm cumming" he shouted followed by a string of curse words as his orgasm washed over him. Cumming on your hand and the sheets "good boy" you praised and wiped the mess on your sheets. He tumbled forward, his wings twitching and trying to flap against to rope "careful pretty bird you might hurt yourself" you said holding his wings still. You grinned at your prize and began to untie the ropes on his wings, then legs and arms, then chest. Hours of work demolished in a matter of minutes. "was that good songbird" you hum and he nodes steadying his shallow breath. You wrap the rope up and hang it on the wall "good"

You loved his wings. So pretty and powerful. Fragile and sensative but they could hold him up in the air. He had complete control over them.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XV

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A very steamy chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

take a look at @gen-syz-art‘s sinfully hot art for this chapter right here

(look out for chapter spoilers and your virginities)​

_________________________

Jaskier is usually very warm when he sleeps. 

Geralt finds some special kind of pleasure in that warmth, gets as close to it as he can without waking Jaskier up, and it allows him to sleep better than ever before. 

Jaskier reaches for the witcher’s own warmth in return, and they spend the nights curled up together just like Asra and Lucio on the other side of the bed. 

But this night turns out to be especially cold, and when the fire in the hearth burns out, the room too loses most of its warmth. And it’s only a few hours after the sunrise that Geralt wakes with a start from Jaskier trying to hide his freezing-cold hands between his thighs. 

He hisses, recoiling from the touch involuntarily, and that wakes the bard up. His long eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes, and the look on his face is so innocently confused that Geralt can’t help the smile tugging on the corners of his lips. 

Jaskier burrows himself deeper into the soft furs, hiding from the cold, and presses his nose to Geralt’s chest. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, still half-asleep. 

Geralt sighs, rolling his eyes affectionately, and wraps his arms around the bard, trying to ignore the bites of cold when Jaskier does the same but still flinching. 

“You’re cold,” he mutters, blindly searching for one more blanket to cover them both with. “And you’re trying to warm your hands on me.”

Jaskier smiles - if not grins - and moves to press the soles of his feet - just as cold - to Geralt’s shins, making the witcher growl a warning low in his throat. 

“Scary Witcher,” the bard murmurs with a satisfied smile, teasing mercilessly. 

Geralt growls at him again, louder, but in return, Jaskier simply props himself up on one elbow, leans in and kisses him on the nose.  

“Pretty boy,” he says in that same murmur. “Gorgeous.”

Geralt pointedly moves away, fighting back both a smile and the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“I’m not one of your dogs.”

“Of course not,” Jaskier agrees, making himself comfortable on the endless pillows and closing his eyes with a content sigh. “Bet I could make you whine like one, though.”

And oh, that is way too much. 

The heat from Geralt’s chest spills all over his neck and cheeks, making him suffocate for a second, and he immediately hides his eyes, throwing an arm over Jaskier’s middle and pulling him closer, until the bard’s back is pressed to his chest and Geralt is sure he won’t be able to see him.

“You’re playing with fire, bard,” he warns, still, getting a grip on Jaskier’s thigh. 

Jaskier doesn’t try to get out of it, just laughs, completely disarming the witcher. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks. 

“Bard,” Geralt repeats. “What, would you prefer me calling you Prince?” 

Jaskier considers it, making himself more comfortable on the bed and rolling his hips against Geralt’s almost accidentally.  

“My Lord, perhaps?” he suggests. 

And that’s… well, very fitting. And, whether Geralt wants to admit it or not, thrilling. 

But he’s not going to lose this game this easily.

“Well, then,” he hums. “You’re playing with fire, my Lord.”

In this position, he’s got perfect access to Jaskeier’s back and the witcher uses it to his full advantage. He moves away just enough to see the mark between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, and doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction as he runs his thumb over it, his skin tingling with the low thrum of magic. 

Whatever Jaskier was going to say dies on his lips as he gasps. 

“Don’t you dare,” he warns but Geralt has never been the one to listen to warnings if there’s something in it for him.

So instead, he shifts lower, until he can brush his lips over the softly glowing mark, and Jaskier arches his back with a moan, moving away from the touch and leaning into it at the same time. 

Geralt pulls him closer again, slips a hand down his bare thigh, and leaves another kiss on the same spot, dry and warm, barely even there, but it’s enough to make Jaskier hide his face in the pillows, his breath coming fast and heavy. 

“You’ll pay for this later, Witcher,” he says but it does nothing if not thrills Geralt. 

“I know,” he murmurs, nosing at the bard’s shoulder before going back to his shoulder blades. “But if you want to stop me, you’ll have to use your magic.”

He’s half-expecting Jaskier to take that offer on, keep him away with a force that’s stronger than the witcher, and that thought thrills him, the sheer power that Jaskier holds in his hands almost intoxicating to think about. 

But Jaskier doesn’t try to restrain him, doesn’t tie his wrists and doesn’t try to move away again. He just shudders, face hidden among the pillows so that Geralt can’t see him. 

It’s an invitation that Geralt cannot turn down, even if there’s going to be a price to pay later on. 

He’s dying to ask what it feels like, why Jaskier reacts to it so strongly to every touch, but he’ll have time for that later, when he’s had his fill. 

Slowly, Geralt starts a line of kisses down Jaskier’s neck, moving to his shoulders as he goes, mindful not to overwhelm him right from the start. He waits for Jaskier to relax in his arms, let go of the control that keeps his shoulders tense, and gradually, he gets what he wants. 

Jaskier melts under his attention, soft moans escaping his lips every time Geralt brushes a kiss over a particularly sensitive spot, all of them marked with love-bites. He arches his back, the line of his spine defining in the sweetest of ways, and presses his hips to Geralt’s, allowing the witcher to brush his hand up and down his thigh. 

It’s making Geralt feel lightheaded, just how much Jaskier trusts him. 

As he brushes his lips over the mark in a warm, dry kiss, Jaskier shudders, sucking in a breath. His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest, and Geralt can’t help but prop himself up on one elbow to lean over and kiss him on the cheek to comfort his lover. 

It doesn’t really matter what kinds of games they play, what’s most important to Geralt is that it’s not on the wrong side of too much. 

“Breathe for me, Jask,” he murmurs, peppering warm kisses along the line of his jaw. “If you really want me to stop, all you need to do is say, hm?”

We should choose a word for that, he thinks but doesn’t say it. There will be time. 

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier breathes, barely above a whisper, as he chases Geralt’s lips in a kiss. 

His eyes are darkened and hazy with pleasure, bottomless and hypnotising like the ocean, and it’s too late for Geralt to think about making it out of those waters alive.  

He breaks the kiss, allowing Jaskeir to hide his face among the pillows once more, and lets go of his thigh just for now, wrapping an arm around his waist instead to pull him closer, make him feel warm and safe. 

They’ve got all the time in the world to explore each other, so Geralt doesn’t rush.

Jaskier’s skin is soft and smooth where he presses his lips to his shoulder, and it smells of vanilla and dried herbs and pomegranate. He uses pomegranate bath salts, and though it was a little overwhelming for Geralt’s heightened senses at first, he grew to love it. And, well, it was worth the time they spent together, bathing.  

“There are so many things that I want to do to you now that you’re mine,” he murmurs, a soft purr to his voice. “But this is most definitely a priority.”

He runs his fingers over Jaskier’s side, over the filigree ribs, all the way to the middle of his back, and then moves up his spine, keeping his palm flat against the bard’s skin even as he reaches the mark, and Jaskier gasps, breaking off into a moan as he digs his fingers into the soft fur on the blankets and clenches his fist so hard his knuckles turn white.  

But he doesn’t ask to stop. 

Geralt shifts just enough to be able to reach his shoulder blades with his lips again, and this time, he’s bolder.

Just as Jaskier relaxes back into his touch, he runs his tongue over between his shoulder blades, and the bard cries out, his heart beating in his chest like a bird in a cage. He presses his hips closer to Geralt’s, and it’s torture because the witcher’s already rock-hard, and it doesn’t help when his cock slips over the crease of Jaskier’s thighs. 

He knows from experience that Jaskier is still stretched enough from the night before, that it wouldn’t take long to prepare him, and the thought alone makes him dizzy. 

And yet, he’s just too tempted to see how far he can push the bard just like this. 

“You know, it’s almost unfair,” he murmurs, leaving two soft, calming kisses just on the edge of the mark but that, too, makes Jaskier tremble. “How this makes you suffocate even more than when I’m inside you.”

Jaskier leaves him without an answer, breathing heavily, but his entire body leans into the touch when Geralt slips his hand over his hip and between his legs, wrapping his fingers over the base of his cock, already fully hard. 

He runs his hand over the entire length, twisting his wrist as he moves up, and the sweet little moan that Jaskier gives him in return makes his blood boil. 

“Whatever price I’ll have to pay for this later, it’s gonna be worth it,” the witcher grins, going back to what he’d started. 

He concentrates all of his attention on the mark on Jaskier’s back, following the softly glowing lines with his lips, and moves his hand slowly over the bard’s cock, smearing precome over the tip and making Jaskier tremble harder with what seems like every touch. 

Jaskier moans and whimpers, keeping his face hidden as he writhes on the bed, and whenever Geralt brushes over a particularly sensitive spot, his gasps break off into stifled little cries.

Geralt keeps him grounded, whispering comforting affections against his skin, and that keeps Jaskier’s senses from overwhelming. 

“That’s it,” Geralt murmurs, moving his wrist just a little faster, fingers slick and sticky with precome. “That’s it, I’ve got you.”

In the far end of the room, a tall standing mirror cracks and shatters as Jaskier loses control over his magic, and though he flinches at the sudden sound, he doesn’t recoil from Geralt’s touch still.  

“C-close--” he chokes out, squeezing his thighs to make the pleasure sharper. 

The mark on his back glows brighter, just like it always does when he uses his magic, and when Geralt presses his lips to it in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his entire body seems to catch ablaze with the intensity of that power.

It’s… certainly the most unusual thing he’d ever done to someone but gods, he loves it. 

The air is heavy with the scent of lust and pleasure, and the sharp undertone of salt only makes Geralt’s head reel more. He knows there are tears in Jaskier’s eyes from overstimulation, and he also knows he’s going to be the one wiping them off, but right now Jaskier doesn’t ask him to stop, and so Geralt concentrates on his pleasure alone. 

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, clenching his fingers just a little tighter. 

And that’s all it takes to push Jaskier over the edge. 

His entire body seizes, and he comes with a broken whimper, making a mess of his stomach and chest. 

Geralt immediately pulls him closer, holds him as the bard trembles through the aftershocks, and peppers comforting kisses all over his neck and shoulders, Jaskier’s skin hot under his lips. 

“Gods, you’re incredible,” he whispers, burrowing his nose into the hair on the nape of the bard’s neck and inhaling his scent. “I love you.”

It’s easier now, saying it. 

When he knows that his feelings are reciprocated, there’s no fear of rejection.  

For a few long, blissful minutes, Jaskier just breathes, still trembling all over, before turning around and hiding his face on Geralt’s chest. The witcher wraps his arms around him readily, giving him the comfort and safety he needs. 

They’re both dirty but Geralt can’t find it in him to care.

“I love you too,” Jaskier finally whispers. “But you’re paying for that.”

Geralt laughs quietly, dipping his head to leave a kiss in Jaskier’s hair. 

“Name the price.”

***

Jaskier keeps him wondering for the entire day. 

After sleeping for a couple more hours to get back to his senses, Jaskier goes back to the poem he’d been working on for the past week, and Geralt finishes off his letter to Vesemir, deciding on not mentioning anything about the royal blood in Jaskier veins or the lack of it. 

The bard purposefully keeps him at an arm's length, saying that Geralt can’t touch him until they’re back in bed, and though it’s nothing less of a torture, Geralt knows that he’d promised to play by the rules, so he obliges. 

The day lasts torturously long.

There’s a constant, low thrum of heat under Geralt’s skin, because he’d only cared about Jaskier’s pleasure in the morning, neglecting that of his own, and now the bard turns that against him, slipping out of his touch again and again, leaving Geralt with nothing. 

Geralt could, of course, just push him up against the nearest wall and take it from there, but abiding by the rules promised something far more interesting. 

Jaskier, for his part, has his fun with being in control. 

In the early hours of the evening, he leaves to take a bath, leaving Geralt downstairs with the dogs, and when he comes back, he’s wearing nothing but his silk dressing gown. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t even notice Geralt as he settles down to read on his settee, the fabric slipping down his thigh and revealing his entire leg. There are still faint bruises on his knees, and Geralt is dying to press his lips to it, run a line of kisses from the bard’s ankle and all the way to his inner thigh, but Jaskier spares him no more than a look. 

He does look like a prince like this. 

Despite himself, Geralt finds it thrilling - just how unfazed, almost indifferent he can be. How well he knows what he’s worth. 

How well he knows that he’s in control, unafraid of what his provoking could lead to. 

Geralt tries to keep himself busy with a book of his own, having found an impressive bestiary among the endless shelves, but he can’t concentrate on what he’s reading. 

And so when Jaskier finally puts his books away and stands up to head to the bedroom, giving the witcher a look over his shoulder, Geralt finds it hard to control the thrill of anticipation in his veins. 

They make their way up the stairs and into the far end of the west wing, where Jaskier opens the door of their bedroom and lets Geralt through first, making sure to keep the dogs out of the room as he follows. 

“The bed,” he says, turning the key until it clicks in the lock. “Don’t touch your clothes.”

His voice is different to anything Geralt had heard from him before. 

It’s calm and perfectly measured, leaving no doubt that his words are an order, and Geralt can’t help but oblige, the magic radiating off Jaskier making his knees weak. 

He crosses the room to sit down on the foot of the bed, leaving his clothes untouched like he’d been told to, and watches Jaskier light up the fireplace and the candles that Geralt is almost sure weren’t there before. The fire casts a low, pleasant light around the part of the room where the bed is, leaving everything else in the shadows, and the way it makes Jaskier’s skin glow takes Geralt’s breath away for a long moment. 

Mine, he thinks, Absolutely perfect, and mine.

Jaskier crosses the room, coming closer, and the magic on his fingers is still so strong that it sends a shockwave through Geralt when the bard lays both his hands on his shoulders to straddle his hips. 

“You’ve been so good at following the rules today,” he says, a soft, low rumble to his voice as he tips Geralt’s chin up with his index finger and leans down to brush their lips together, so lightly that it’s barely a touch. “Will you be good for me still?”

Now that they’re back in the bedroom, Geralt can finally touch him again, and it’s almost before he even realises it that his hands already move up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“If you want me to be,” he says, holding Jaskier’s gaze, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“No,” Jaskier says, still holding the witcher’s chin up. “Say it.”

A wave of suffocating heat rises from Geralt’s chest and he feels the urge to avert his eyes, but he reminds himself that he’s safe here, and that if Jaskier trusts him enough to let him do anything he wants to him, even if it makes him lose control over his magic, then he should trust him the same. 

So, he takes in a breath. Lets it out. 

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “For you.”

Jaskier smiles, his eyes lighting up, and leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet. He runs his tongue over Geralt’s lips, parting them, and licks into his mouth, hands coming down to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. 

Geralt lets himself be led, gives himself over to his lover, and though it’s very new to him, it lights that familiar fire in his chest. 

Testing his boundaries, he slips his hands under the silk of Jaskier’s dressing gown, runs them up his thighs, the skin warm and smooth under his fingers, and he’s half-expecting Jaskier to slap his hands away, but he doesn’t. 

Breaking away from his lips, the bard finds his way to Geralt’s neck, kissing a line down its side, deft fingers slipping under the hem of the witcher’s shirt, and Geralt doesn’t have enough time to bite back a moan that falls off his lips. 

The neck had always been a sensitive area for him, and when it’s Jaskier kissing him, it makes him feel lightheaded within seconds. 

He helps the bard strip him of his shirt, and falls onto his back when Jaskier pushes down on his shoulder, the soft furs pleasant against his bare skin. Before he really knows it, the rest of his clothes are on the floor, too, and if there’s magic involved in that, it’s too hard to single out in the overall energy of it in the room.

Jaskier, on the other hand, still has his dressing gown on, held closed with a silk belt, and it’s maddening - knowing that he’s naked underneath, that all Geralt needs to do is untie the belt. 

But he keeps his hands to himself this time, allowing Jaskier to climb over him and leave another kiss on his lips. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” he says, running the tip of his index finger over a scar on Geralt’s chest. “Have you ever had anyone put a cock ring on you?”

Geralt’s breath catches. 

“I haven’t,” he says, the fire in his chest flaring up. “But I’m… familiar with the concept.”

Jaskier hums, a pleased smile on his lips, and catches Geralt’s gaze again, his eyes black in the low light. 

“I want to put one on you,” he says, magic snaking around his fingers in shifting colours, glowing like a flame. “But you can say no.”

Geralt’s heart beats hard in his chest, and Jaskier’s voice gets right under his skin, sending a shiver through the witcher’s body. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Jaskier’s eyes light up even more, and that shine is all that allows Geralt to breathe, keeps him from drowning in those two dark oceans. 

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to give the witcher a praising kiss and then moving down his body. 

When exactly does the toy appear in his hand, Geralt can’t tell.

He’s already half-hard, and the touch of Jaskier’s fingers sends sparks of pleasure up his spine, making Geralt bite his lip and try to concentrate on his breathing, getting it back under control. 

The ring is a pleasant pressure around the base of his cock, the material soft enough not to cause any discomfort, and the added pressure-points of beads all around make him swell almost immediately. 

“There,” Jaskier hums, brushing his lips over Geralt’s hipbone in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “This will make the pleasure brighter. For both of us.”

The silk of Jaskier’s robe is pleasantly cool against Geralt’s skin when it brushes over it, sending shivers up the witcher’s body, but he would much rather have Jaskier without it, no matter how good he looks with the fabric halfway down his shoulders.  

Without thinking, Geralt reaches for one of the ends of the belt, but before he can pull on it, Jaskier slaps his hand away, the sound echoing through the room. 

“Did I say that you can do that?” he asks. 

His voice is still calm but the spark in his eyes turns into a flame before Geralt can even take a breath. It sends a thrill through him.

“No,” he says, taking his hands away obediently. “Forgive me.”

Jaskier hums, leaning down to touch a soft kiss to the witcher’s shoulder. 

“That’s better,” he nods. “You wouldn’t want to break your promise, would you?”

His lips are hot and wet where he brushes them over Geralt’s chest, starting with the collarbones and moving down. 

Geralt leans into every touch, careful to keep his hands to himself, and arches off the bed when Jaskier runs his tongue over his hardened nipple and closes his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth. 

Geralt never even knew that he’d be so sensitive to that kind of pleasure, that it would feel so good, but when Jaskier bites on the sensitive bud, he suffocates. 

“Does that feel good, Witcher?” the bard asks, rolling his hips against Geralt’s, and the feeling of his bare skin makes Geralt’s vision go dark for a moment. 

“Yes,” he makes himself say, shutting his eyes against the feeling of Jaskier’s hot tongue. “Gods, yes.”

Unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to, Geralt runs his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, rests them high on his hips, and when Jaskier doesn’t protest, too preoccupied with playing with his other nipple, Geralt allows himself to clench his fingers a little tighter, digging into the soft flesh. 

His eyes flutter shut when Jaskier sucks a mark onto his chest, and then moves up again, one hand slipping into Geralt’s hair to pull on the silver strands, making him throw his head back and expose his neck.            

They both know that he heals fast, and that any marks or bites or scratches will not last longer than a night, but that seems to only fuel Jaskier’s interest in leaving them, for he’s got a clean canvas every time. 

“Turn around for me,” he murmurs into the witcher’s ear, letting go of his hair. “On your knees.”

A familiar flush of uncertain embarrassment rises up in Geralt’s chest, but he does as he’s told, thankful that it’s dark enough for Jaskier not to see the colour on his cheeks. 

He turns around, keeping his chest on the bed, and uses the opportunity to hide his face among the pillows as he props his hips up, knees digging into the soft blankets. It’s strange and unfamiliar - being on display like this, but Jaskier runs a calming hand down his thigh, and slowly, Geralt allows himself to relax again. 

“That’s it,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re doing so good, my love.”

The praise gets right under Geralt’s skin, flows through his veins in pleasant weakness, and he can feel his cock throb with it, heavy between his legs. 

The pressure of the ring is more tangible now, fueling the fire low in his abdomen, and though he knows that it’s only the beginning, he already starts feeling lightheaded from the attention. 

The fabric of the dressing gown slips off Jaskier’s shoulders almost soundlessly, and Geralt might not have even noticed it had it not been for his heightened senses, but once it does, he can’t help but sneak a look at his lover, now completely bare. 

Slowly, Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers down the curve of Geralt’s spine, watching the movement carefully, and slips over the crease of his thighs, teasing at the hole but not pushing in. Geralt’s cock twitches in response, and he can feel the drops of precome, threatening to drip down. Perhaps, the ring affects him more than he thought. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs, shifting to follow the line of his spine against, but this time with his lips, torturously slowly. “How long has it been since anyone has touched you like this?”

Geralt shivers under his touch and shuts his eyes again. 

“Long,” he says. “It’s… not easy for me to give someone this kind of control.” 

His breath catches when Jaskier wraps a hand around his waist, pressing a comforting, warm kiss to the middle of his back and resting his forehead against it.                                                        

“I got you, my love,” he whispers, giving them both a few long, comfortable moments before going back to what he’d started. “Tell me about the last time.”                                                                             

Geralt has never been the one to discuss his sexual experiences with anyone unless he lost a bet and it takes him a couple of seconds to get around the sudden dryness in his throat. 

But it’s Jaskier. 

“I was spending the winter in Kaer Morhen,” he starts, focusing all his self-control on keeping his voice from shaking. “We had a guest from a different School, another witcher. Both similar and different to us.”

Jaskier doesn’t interrupt him, mapping out the lines of his back with his lips and paying special attention to the scars that he finds, and that almost allows the witcher to concentrate, but then Jaskier’s hand slips between his thighs again, and Geralt struggles to recall what he’d been talking about. 

“Go on,” Jaskier urges, taking his hand away for barely a moment, and when he teases his fingers around the rim again, they’re slick with oil. 

“We took a liking to each other almost immediately,” Geralt makes himself say, clenching his fists to keep himself from rocking back onto Jaskier’s fingers. “He’s younger than me but incredible with his weapons, and really, all it took is him pushing me down onto the ground and pressing a knife to my throat. The evening of that same day we were already in one bed.”

Jaskier shifts, resting his chest against Geralt’s back, and leans down to his ear, pushing two fingers inside and making the witcher gasp, back arching. 

“Is that how you like it, then?” Jaskier murmurs, slowly sinking his fingers deeper. “Should I put a knife to your throat?”

The thought alone makes Geralt dizzy, and he doesn’t even notice as he rolls his hips, taking Jaskier’s fingers in deeper. A sharp slap to his thigh brings him back to his senses, making him go still again, breathing heavily. 

“Not now,” he manages to say, biting back a moan. 

Jaskier hums, leaving a comforting kiss on the back of his neck, and rises to his knees again, running his free hand down Geralt’s back and stopping on his hip, holding the witcher in place. He moves his wrist slowly, still not sinking his fingers in all the way, and Geralt nearly whimpers with how maddening the anticipation is. 

His cock throbs almost painfully, the ring making him more sensitive, and even the calming kisses that Jaskier’s leaves on his thigh don’t help. 

“Please--” he whispers before he even knows it. 

That seems to be exactly what Jaskier had been waiting for. 

He pushes his fingers deeper, up to the knuckles, and Geralt shudders with pleasure it brings him. 

“I’ll have you come just like this, on my fingers,” Jaskier murmurs, finding the right spot inside him without mistake, and though Geralt muffles his moan with a pillow, it still sounds too-loud in the quiet room. “And then fuck you again, with a different toy. And then again. Witcher stamina, hm?”

Geralt’s head is reeling too much for him to be able to say anything to that, but the thought alone zaps through his body light lightning, making his arch his back even more, panting as Jaskier fucks him with two fingers, brushing over just the right spot every single time. 

He’d never been fucked with toys before, never even thought about it, though he’d seen quite a variety in Passiflora, but now the promise immediately pushes him closer to the edge, and though he manages to bite back a whine, he knows that eventually, Jaskier will get what he wants. 

“You can come whenever you like,” Jaskier murmurs, moving his wrist faster. “This time.”

Geralt doesn’t have it in him to answer, and so he just moans, head spinning with hyperventilation. If it wasn’t for the ring, he would’ve come already, even before he got his permission, but now it makes the pleasure last, building into a tight, hot knot low in his abdomen. 

“I’ve never slept with witchers before,” Jaskier says, running his free hand down Geralt’s thigh and then slipping onto its inner side, when the skin is more sensitive. “Tell me, is it true that your refractory period is non-existent?”

He runs the tips of his fingers over the length of Geralt’s cock, smears the precome over it, catches on the ring, making Geralt absolutely delirious with overstimulation, but doesn’t take him in hand. 

“It’s true,” the witcher chokes out, bucking his hips involuntarily and getting another sharp slap to his thigh that makes the pleasure flare up even more. “But we have our limits.” 

Jaskier makes a pleased little noise, leaning down to touch his lips to the place where his hand had landed, and sinks his fingers in deep, just as his other hand catches on the edge of the ring once more. 

Pleasure spills through Geralt’s veins like wildfire, taking all air away from his lungs, and he comes with a desperate, choked moan, painting his stomach and chest with streaks of white. 

Jaskier fucks him through it, slow and deep, until it’s too much, until Geralt is so overstimulated that he whimpers, trembling all over. 

“You did so good,” Jaskier whispers, peppering soft, calming kisses all over his thighs and lower back but not allowing him to lie down. “So good, my love. Gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re on the edge.”

His voice is barely audible over the thundering blood in Geralt’s ears, but the praise still sends a shiver down his back. He keeps his eyes closed and just breathes, letting Jaskier take care of him even as he knows that this isn’t nearly the end. 

With his heart beating in his chest like a trapped bird and his head still reeling, he feels lighter than he can ever remember being, all doubt and anxiety fucked out of him. 

“You ready for another round, my love?” Jaskier asks, nipping at his thigh to get his attention. 

He smooths a hand up his back, making Geralt get back into his initial position, and the magic in his touch makes Geralt suck in a breath. 

“What do you say we add something else to the game, hm?” Jaskier murmurs, running his tongue over his fluttering hole before pulling away, and Geralt nearly loses his fucking mind at that. 

Jaskier readjusts the pillows, until Geralt’s chest is resting on one, and chooses a high cushion for his head, leaning down to steal a long, sweet kiss from the witcher’s lips before settling behind him again.

“Both arms behind your back,” he says, in that same voice that tells Geralt it’s an order. 

His body recovers quickly, but his mind is still hazy with pleasure and the last aftershocks of an orgasm, but he still obliges, putting both arms behind him so that they are resting upon the small of his back. He knows what Jaskier is going to do, but even so, he shudders when the bard’s fingers slip over his wrists. 

“We have two options, Witcher,” he says. “My first thought was ropes. But you’ve been so good for me that as a reward, you can get a silk belt, instead. What will it be?”

Ropes would be much more effective at holding him down, they both know it. But he’d promised to be good, hasn’t he?

“Silk,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please.”

He doesn’t see Jaskier’s pleased smile but he can feel it. The same way he can’t see the magic swirling around his fingers, but he can feel it with his very being. 

“Wonderful,” Jaskier says, slipping off the bed. 

He reaches down to pick up his dressing gown, pulls the long belt free from its loops, and, just before returning to Geralt’s side, hands him a cup of cold water that Geralt downs in one. Before Jaskier takes it away, he risks intercepting his wrist and pulling his hand to his lips, leaving a grateful kiss on the knuckles. 

Jaskier smiles at him, warm and loving, and brushes a stray strand of silver hair out of his face, leaning down to give the witcher one more kiss before pulling away. 

Geralt gets his arms back behind his back, and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breathing as Jaskier ties them, starting at his wrists and moving halfway up his forearms. The silk is pleasant against his skin, but tied tight enough to keep his arms in place. 

“You like it when you can feel my magic, don’t you?” Jaskier murmurs, running his hands up Geralt’s thighs. 

Even though he expects it, the witcher still shivers. 

“You know that witchers feel it differently than humans,” he says, the last word breaking off into a gasp as Jaskier slips his fingers back inside, moving his wrists slowly.  

He’s still more sensitive than usual, and once Jaskier brushes over the right spot inside, Geralt bites on his lip to silence a moan. He’s still half-hard and swelling fast, the pressure of the ring making him lightheaded with oversensitivity. 

Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for waiting any longer, so he gets him ready fast, fucking the witcher with his fingers until he’s fully hard again, panting and whimpering with pleasure, each touch bordering on too much. 

He doesn’t need a lot so soon after the first orgasm, and it’s barely minutes that he’s on the edge again, his cock leaking with precome and making a mess of the sheets under him. 

Behind the haze in his head and the overstimulation, Geralt barely notices his medallion trembling. 

But then, without warning, Jaskier pulls his fingers out, and Geralt whines at the loss.

“There you go,” Jaskier purrs. “Told you I could make you whine.”

And then, before Geralt can say anything in his defence or even form a sentence in his head, he pushes a glass toy inside, and all words leave Geralt’s mind. 

It's much longer than Jaskier’s fingers, and though the width is about the same, the three beads along the length are wider, each next one bigger than the previous, and as Jaskier slips the toy in all the way, there are sparks behind Geralt’s closed eyes. 

He arches his back until it hurts, barely able to breathe, and Jaskier gives him a few moments to get used to it, to adjust to the pleasant burn of the stretch, wrapping his fingers around the base of the witcher’s cock and giving him a couple of long, slow strokes.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, pulling the toy out halfway and then sinking it back in. 

The glass feels deliriously good when it brushes over the right spot inside, the pressure almost overwhelming, and Geralt clenches his fists, desperately trying to get control over his breathing. 

“Feels good--” he chokes out, hips twitching when Jaskier moves the toy again. 

He doesn’t have it in him to say anything else, even to try, and Jaskier doesn’t seem to be waiting for him to do so, for he picks up his pace almost immediately, knowing as well as Geralt that he’s already on the edge. 

He fucks him fast and hard, pulling the toy out of him almost entirely every time and then sinking it back in, filling the room with the dirty, obscene sounds of it. 

Geralt doesn’t even try to hold back his moans and broken whimpers, rocking into every thrust, and though at first Jaskier slaps him on the hip, soon enough he allows for it.

“You can’t come until you have permission,” he says, and Geralt clenches his jaw so tight it hurts, keeping himself on the edge. 

The pressure of the ring drives him insane, makes him leak with precome, ruining the sheets beneath him, and he feels like he will just pass out if he’s not allowed to come for much longer. 

His entire body trembles uncontrollably, and it’s hard to keep his knees steady under him, but it feels so agonisingly good that Geralt still takes every thrust greedily, even as his eyes burn with tears of overstimulation. 

“You know, I wanted to fuck you myself after this,” Jaskier murmurs, running his lips over Geralt’s thigh and sucking a mark into it, slow and thorough. “Test your limits. But looking at you now, I think I want you in me too much.”

The thought goes straight to the witcher’s cock and he bites his lip, the copper taste of blood spilling over his tongue, if only to keep himself on the edge. 

He can’t remember ever coming untouched twice in a row before, but Jaskier knew his way around maddeningly well. 

“What do you think, my love?” he urges, leaving another mark beside the first one. “Do you think you’ll still have enough energy in you to properly fuck me, hm?”

Every time Jaskier sinks the toy deep into his body, his cock twitches, throbbing painfully, and Geralt is far beyond making sentences, let alone talking.

But Jaskier seems determined to get an answer, for he slips his other hand into his damp hair and pulls hard, making the witcher throw his head back. 

“An answer, Witcher,” he demands.

Geralt knows that there are tears in his eyes, knows that Jaskier can see them shine in the low light of the candles, but it’s too late to hide now. 

“Anything you want--” he manages to say, somehow. “Gods, anything--”

As soon as he gets his answer, Jaskier lets go of his hair, allowing him to hide his face in the pillows again, and it might be minutes, might be hours, Geralt is too delirious to tell, that he finally leans down to his ear, still moving the toy inside, and whispers:

“Anytime you want.”

That’s all it takes to push Geralt over the edge. 

He comes with a broken whine, making an utter mess of his stomach and the sheets beneath, and just like last time, Jaskier fucks him through it, until it gets so much that Geralt begs him to stop. 

His head is spinning worse than from any alcohol or elixir he’d ever had, so much that his consciousness threatens to slip away, and he doesn’t even notice as Jaskier unties his arms, just sighs in relief when the bard rolls him onto his side and then onto his back, his lips and hands all over him. 

“Gods, Geralt, do you know how perfect you are?” he whispers, peppering kisses over his neck and running his warm hands down his sides, calming and comforting. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“All yours,” Geralt echoes, wrapping an arm around the bard’s back but unable to as much as open his eyes.

He knows that Jaskier won’t give him enough time to fully recover, that after an orgasm like that he’ll need an entire night of sleep, and despite himself, the thought of another round thrills him.

He’s proven right within minutes, when Jaskier, still mapping out his chest with his lips, reaches down to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock. 

He slips the ring off, making Geralt shudder at the pressure of it, but once it’s gone, it feels like he can breathe again. The relief washes over him like a wave, fueling the last aftershocks of pleasure, and he doesn’t even try to bite back a trembling moan. 

Slowly, his head clears enough for Geralt to blindly find Jaskier’s wrist, unafraid of any punishment that might follow, and pull the bard into a kiss. 

Jaskier allows him that little disobedience, kissing him back with just as much feeling behind it, licking into his mouth and moaning softly as Geralt catches his lower lip between his teeth. 

Despite the dark haze over his mind, his body recovers faster, and Jaskier’s fingers feel so maddeningly good that within minutes, he’s fully hard again. 

“Fuck, I won’t last long,” Jaskier whispers, pulling him into another kiss before breaking away and straddling his hips. 

He rolls his hips over Geralt’s, ruts against him, and the feeling of his warm, smooth skin against the witcher’s cock is beyond unbelievable. 

“You’re not--” Geralt starts, unable to focus his gaze on Jaskier’s face, but the bard cuts him off.

“You don’t think that while I was taking a bath, that was all I did, do you?” he smiles, pushing back against Geralt’s cock. “I had a little fun of my own, Witcher. With magic like mine, there are so many ways I can play with myself.”

Geralt’s always had a rather vivid imagination, and the fantasy flashes before his eyes in a set of bright images, making him throw his head back with a moan, hands coming up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“You’ll have to show me one day,” he whispers, and by the way Jaskier’s eyes light up he knows that it won’t take a lot to get what he wants. 

Jaskier smiles at him, full of promise, and then he can wait no longer, reaching behind him to wrap his fingers around Geralt’s cock, so slick with precome and spend that there’s no need for oil, and sink onto it, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

Even as he takes Geralt in easily, he’s still so unbearably tight that for a second, Geralt feels like he won’t be able to take it, but then Jaskier starts moving, and the witcher’s mind goes completely blank. 

Jaskier doesn’t give either of them time, his own cock flush and throbbing, and picks up the rhythm immediately, both his hands pressed to Geralt’s abdomen for balance. 

He moans, open and sweet, fucking himself onto Geralt’s cock fast and hard, fully in control of his own pleasure, and Geralt’s head reels with it, every move resonating through his own body in waves of sweet weakness. 

They both know that he’s too overstimulated to last long, but it barely matters, if at all. They’ve got all the time in the world now.

Geralt doesn’t even notice his own moans, too focused on Jaskier’s voice, but at the same time, though very distantly, he’s aware of how good they sound together. 

Jaskier drags his nails down his chest, leaving burning scratches behind, and whimpers as his pleasure builds, getting hotter, sharper. 

“You’ve been so good this whole time,” he whispers, voice husky with lust. “And I want you to do just one more thing for me.”

Geralt isn’t capable of answering anymore, nor does Jaskier wait for him to be. 

“I want you to come together with me,” he says, biting on his lip to prolong his pleasure just a little more. “And I’m so fucking close--”

Geralt doesn’t need to hear it to know. It’s in the way Jaskier clenches around him, in the way he loses the rhythm of his moves, in the way that he smells. And gods know Geralt will obey him at anything he wants right now. 

He nods, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s thighs, and the bard shuts his eyes, moving faster and faster, scratching Geralt’s chest raw with his nails, until finally, his body seizes, and he comes with a sharp cry, spilling all over both their bodies. 

He clenches around Geralt painfully tight, shaking through his orgasm, and the witcher is still so overly-sensitive that it’s all it takes for him to reach his high, too, filling Jaskier’s tight heat with his spend.

For a second or two, his mind slips into complete darkness, shutting down, but before Jaskier can notice, he comes back to his senses, breathing hard. 

He’d had three orgasms in a row before but never this powerful, and he can barely even feel his body with just how much it’s been. His fingers tingle with hyperventilation, completely numb, and he can barely find it in him to wrap his arms around Jaskier when he carefully pulls off and falls onto the bed beside him. 

“I love you,” Jaskier whispers against his chest, still trembling with the aftershocks. 

Geralt knows that he’s an absolute mess after three orgasms, and that he should tell Jaskier not to touch him until he cleans up, but fuck, he’s just a man, and there are some things that are just beyond him. 

“I love you more,” he echoes, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as Jaskier pulls a warm blanket over both of them.      

He’s barely conscious, exhaustion tugging him into the sweet realms of dreams, but he’s still awake when he feels Jaskier smile against his chest and say:

“Not possible.”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 41

Read on AO3. Part 40 here. Part 42 here.

Summary: You need Kylo Ren to understand. He needs you to understand, too.

Words: 3900

Warnings: an attempt at emotions

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Is this angst? Is this how you write angst? Is it angsty enough? Hahaha.

Thank you all very much for reading. Only four chapters left, and I am honestly terrified! Haha. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I tend to like the ones where I can attempt something new. I want the emotional beats to feel correct. 

I love y'all very very much. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. 

You were awake.

Your bed was stone, a slab that poked through your flesh into the bone, forcing adjustments between tired sighs. Even though this movement exhausted you, you found it impossible to sleep.

It couldn’t have been the baby. After all, it was blueberry-sized at this stage, a time when most women didn’t even know they were pregnant. And it couldn’t have been pain, as most of it had subsided, or faded to a pleasant, ambient hum in your nerves, far more comforting than distressing. It couldn’t have been hunger, either--at least not anymore. Sneaking food from the kitchen after sunset had quelled your raging stomach.

But you still found it impossible to sleep. 

It was obvious, of course, why you couldn’t, but it was a memory you wanted to avoid processing. Johana’s tattered voice, gleaming tears, her admission--I give up, you won--played in your head like a busted cassette tape, rewinding with a sickening click every five seconds. Your Commander’s decision, his cruelty, that remained unprocessed too, a willing rejection of his apparent reckless obsession. You would not, could not consider just how deep, how desperate this obsession was, would and could not consider the urgency of its terrible course.

If you considered it too long, you would feel its twin, the ache in your blood, the silver pulse of your own mirrored need--and know its depth and its desperation as easily as you knew to breathe.

You sat up in a sigh. Beyond your porthole window, the quarter-moon was an opal shimmer over the garden, and the only stirring residents outside were crickets, grasses shifting with the whispered wind. If you were going to be awake and miserable, you could at least gaze into something other than your own empty ceiling--so you rolled out of bed with a groan, deciding bare feet and a nightgown were plenty appropriate for a time where you planned for no one else to see you.

On your tip-toes, the creak of wood could be mistaken for the settling of an old home, your fingers skimming the walls for stability while you crept down the steps and through the darkened halls. You weren’t sure what time it was, but you knew your Commander to be a man of little sleep and littler compromise--seeing him was the last thing you wanted at this moment. When you reached the back door, you held your breath, flipping the lock and easing the knob to the left, prying it open, only to be greeted with a huge black shadow.

“Jesus Christ!” You bit a scream between your teeth, stumbling back--as your vision focused, heat rushed you. It was a Knight Templar. “Um. Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” This was Ushar again--you recognized his voice from earlier--and you relaxed, slightly. Your awkward moment with him was already addressed. “You’re not permitted to leave the premises.”

Another sigh escaped you, and you crossed your arms. You would’ve felt more embarrassed to be only in your nightgown if he hadn’t already seen everything else. 

“I’m not leaving,” you replied. “I just want to be outside for a second.”

Ushar glanced into the garden, then back to you. Or at least, you thought he did. Helmet and all of that. “It’s late. The Commander will expect you to be sleeping.”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t really care about that right now.” You went to push past him, and he side-stepped to follow you. “Oh, come on,” you said, “why are you even here? He’s home, he shouldn’t need you.”

“We’re on duty until his meeting with the Council tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Oh. I thought all of that was today.”

He shook his head. “Preparation. Tomorrow is execution.” A pause. “Figuratively speaking.”

Dread sank its tiny teeth into your stomach. “Or maybe literally, knowing him.”

Ushar cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

Silence settled between you. Strange, to speak with a man who had, less than 24 hours ago, stood in a circlejerk to spatter you with sperm, and stranger still to converse casually with him about the fact that your mutual Commander’s preferred solution to any issue was to blow its brains out.

“Well.” You cleared your throat, too, as if this would ease the tension in any meaningful way. “Look. I just want to walk around the garden a little bit. You can stand and watch me the whole time.” Half-grinning, you held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh. Um. Boy Scouts?” Your shoulders sagged. More heat at your face. Perhaps the strangest thing of all was the reminder that anything and everything familiar had been razed like a forest by Gilead’s flame. “They were like. A thing. Before…” 

“Never heard of them.” Ushar paused, and pivoted to the side. “Go ahead. Don’t be long.”

“Thank you.”

Pinching your lips between your teeth, you slipped outside, neglecting the stone pathway and cutting into the grass. The little blades were fuzzy at your feet, wedging between your toes, and the air cleaned your lungs, the sky a lonely galaxy beyond the hedges and the yard. Gold twinkle lightning bugs flickered between the flowers, hovered above the pond, the sole source of light outside of the sterling moon and stars. You peeked over your shoulder at your sentinel--but he was motionless, observing you in silence.

Your feet carried you past the bench into the mini-maze, catching sight of the birdfeeder, the bag of seed. The Marthas hadn’t gotten to it, yet--not that they would have had time to--and in its day and a half of neglect, the bag had toppled over, spewing seed onto the ground, the feeder abandoned in two pieces by its side. It seemed almost rude, now, to see this mess and decide it was a job for someone else. With a shrug, you strode over, heaved the bag onto its bottom and started scooping handfuls of tiny kernels, dumping them back in.

They spilled like water through your fingers, raining onto your feet and the dirt--you seemed no closer to your goal with the next scoop than you had with the one previous. Another one, and another, and still the seed scattered, palms empty before you reached the bag. Sighing, you gave up, choosing instead to grab the feeder and pop on its top. As you gathered both halves in your hands, the backdoor opened, and you froze. 

“Where is she.”

Your throat thickened. You dropped the feeder. He was here.

“She’s beyond the hedges, sir,” Ushar replied. “She just--”

Scuffing soles on stone cut him off, storming toward you--and you remained, unflinching. Even if you wanted to run, there was nowhere for you to go.

Kylo charged the corner into the maze, still dressed in black, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose his clavicles, which you hated to acknowledge. At the sight of you, he stalled, capturing you in his gaze, focusing on your figure, curves draped in your white nightgown, your breasts unbound, your hair wild vines over your shoulders. He swallowed, air rolling through him, attention drifting to your face. The muscle under his eye fluttered, his fists furled.

“You weren’t in your room.”

You knew hadn’t imagined it--the tremor in his voice, the quiver at his chin. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Kylo took a single step--the distance between you seemed at once too great and too smothering, and he stopped, drawing a long breath through his nose. He stared, held it, chest rising, then released it, hands relaxing as he exhaled. His gaze slid to the hedge, tracing the woven ropes of leaves through the trimmed branches, wandering to the grass and landing there. The crickets hummed in the void. You would’ve asked why he had headed to your room if he hadn’t made the answer so plain to your eyes.

“The first time we met here,” he began, “I said I wanted to know you.”

You offered a slight shrug. “We’ve definitely become more familiar.”

“I do know you.” He glanced up. “I know that there’s a part of you that wants to stay.”

“Really.” Frowning, you shifted on your feet, ignoring the warmth at your cheeks. “You know that.”

Kylo stole a step. “Yes.” Another, and another. “I do know that.” Two more, and his long legs had brought him within arm’s length, his pupils wide in the night. “Because there’s a part of me that wants to leave.”

Oxygen escaped you, and you shook your head, averting your gaze. Crackled embers glowed in your heart; given his hesitations, his strangled frustrations, and your own inability to find resolve, this had been a part of him you’d already known. But to hear it from his mouth, given life on his lips, it was palpable. Tangible. You met his eyes again, paralyzed by their power--they were endless, brimming with emotion even you yourself had never been asked to name. 

For a second, you forgot to speak, wondering how you could snatch this moment like spun glass in the air. Then you stepped closer, and grabbed his large, strong hand.

“Then why don’t we?” you murmured. “We can go. Just be. We can forget all of this.”

Kylo fled--for only a millimeter--before steeling himself, curling his hand around yours, and bringing it up to his face. He examined your thumb--now scabbed, but still sore, and stroked it with his own. Satisfied, he wove his fingers between yours, pulled you to his chest. 

“All of this,” he said, “is under my control, now. I can keep you safe.” His other hand cupped your cheek, fingers coasting over your skin. “Make you want for nothing.”

Staring into him, into the vortex of his gaze, you tried to swallow the thickening desire to admit the only thing you did not want him to know.

“You keep saying that,” you replied, tugging his hand from your face. “But as long as I’m in Gilead, I will never want for nothing.”

His hand squeezed yours. “There’s more I need to do.”

You shook your head again. “Well, even if you could make that happen--”

“I can.”

“Even if you could.” You unwound your grip from his, stepping away. “What about everyone else?” The Resistance, the car chase, Poe’s head, Snoke’s mansion, the dress, the party, Tera Jackson, the Widows, the Wives, Johana--all dangled above your brain, a broken mobile composed of the casualties of your affair. “It’s not enough, it’s not fair to change my life when it makes everyone else suffer,” you said. “Why not just live a life where you don’t have anything you need to change?”

He raised a brow, as if he hadn’t understood the question. “Because I need to.”

You sighed. “But why?”

Kylo’s gaze broke from yours, aiming beyond you as his tongue traced his teeth in thought. A soft exhale, and his attention returned. “The world was flawed, before Gilead.”

“Gilead has only made the world more flawed.”

He grumbled. “Do you understand what happens to those without direction?” he asked. “Without order?” You were silent, waiting for him to continue--he speared you with his stare. “Chaos.” A tension in his throat. “Suffering.”

“Those without direction…” Head tilting, you searched his face. Puzzle pieces shifted close, edges locking--his rage, the graveyard, his terror, his Wife’s own words. “If the world wasn’t flawed, you wouldn’t have been abandoned,” you said. “That’s what you think.”

His eye twitched, jaw rigid. “It made sense.” Blowing air through his nose, he paced around you, fingers curling in and out of fists. “Snoke made sense. At first.”  He huffed. “But he was just as flawed.” Steady and still, you watched him, watched his thoughts race through his mind, watched while he struggled to match them with words he had never had to speak.  “Only I understand the consequences of chaos. Only I have the capability to perfect this.”

It emptied you, his hopelessness, his resignation that the only way out of his depthless hatred was to drown it in a void of control. You knew another way--knew it was nested within the words you couldn’t say.

You sighed. “You think that will fix it?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest. “You think that will make you satisfied? More whole?”

Kylo rounded, shoulders pinned back, a predatory curve to his spine. “Were you satisfied with life before Gilead?” he asked. “The loneliness. The uncertainty.” He drew closer, trapping you in his gaze. “Falling asleep empty. Waking up in agony.” Inches from you, he clutched your shoulder, turning you toward him, brushing your hair to your back. “I know your life, little bird.” His hand pinched your chin, his tone tinged with ire. “I know it because it was mine.” 

Heat flashed through your spine. “It still is your life,” you growled, swatting his wrist and backing away, “you’re still miserable. And it’s still my life too, and it will be as long as you keep me!”

“You’re miserable,” he said, following you step for step. “You are the one who said you wanted all of me.” He was chasing you, stalking you as you retreated further into the maze, eyes rimmed gold in anguish. “And now you want to leave. Like everyone else.”

Your heart fractured. “Kylo--”

“I will end the Council if I need to.” He was black-winged in the moon’s shadow, a luminous Lucifer. “I will tear out every tongue that threatens your life if it will keep you here.”

A branch caught your sleeve, and you stumbled for only a moment, chin stiff. The threat was not hollow, but it was equally not wise. In his wrath, Kylo Ren did not believe there was a fight he could lose. In your sanity, you did not believe there was even a fight to be had.

“You can't do that. You know you can't.” A curly finger of the maze tugged you into the vines--you shrugged it off. “You know you won't be able to keep me safe forever.” There was no cease to his advance, no glimmer of cessation. “Johana is right.” The words flew from your mouth in a bid to convince him. “The Council won't stand by this. There's no such thing as divorce--”

“I don’t care.”

“--there’s no such thing as living with your Handmaid, I mean, do you expect us to get married--”

“I don’t care!”

Rapt in his gaze, you stumbled again, back flush with a wall of leaves, and Kylo consumed you, a silhouette against the sky, swallowing your sight. One hand grasped your wrist, the other pressed to your cheek, his palm smooth, your skin hot at his touch. You resisted the urge to melt into it.

“I want you,” he breathed, your name a ghost on his tongue. “I need you.” His lips trembled. “You are the only thing that makes sense.”

You were trembling too, quaking as you struggled to restrain the inevitability forming in your throat. Kylo Ren had been your Commander, the architect of your suffering. And he had been the only one in over three years to stir you, save you, see you--to care if you lived or died, to truly and genuinely desire not just your mouth, but the thoughts that came with it. 

He had found you. You didn’t want to be lost again.

“I want you, too.” You nuzzled his hand, and he led you closer. “I need you, too.”

Kylo gathered you against his body, the hand at your wrist sneaking to caress your back, his fingers carding through your hair. There was no vacancy in his eyes; they were flooded, overflowing with warmth, with worship. You felt it--the thump of that silver pulse, the genesis of a clandestine reality you wanted, with every screaming cell in your body, to speak into existence--felt its weight as an echo on his tongue. His lips parted, his focus falling over your face. 

Words would damn you. So you thrust your hands in his hair and pulled him into a kiss instead. 

He enveloped you, mouth meeting yours as if it’d been years, a tender groan cresting in his chest while his grip clung to you, seeking your flesh through cloth. Humming in bliss, you sketched over his scalp with your nails, basking when he gasped and shivered at your touch, your tongue slipping past his teeth and sliding over his own. He moaned into you, pressing you to his frame, breaking off only to kiss you again, lips touching once, twice, before his full, plush mouth massaged yours and his tongue returned. There was no fury, no primal insistence--Kylo cradled you and contained you, held you like a man who was terrified to lose you, terrified to let you go.

Soft lips skimmed yours, and he stepped between your legs, pressure digging the hedges into your back. You whimpered in shock--he stopped and snatched you to his heaving chest, seeking the origin of your pain. It almost made you laugh, this protective urge, when you still bore the bruises and bumps from the previous night. Grinning, you eased away, catching his face in your hand and forcing him to meet your gaze. His eyes swam, spinning oceans, eager and alive. Your breath hitched. It left your mouth without even trying.

“I don’t want to leave you,” you said. “Leave with me.”

Kylo paused--you could almost see his mind reeling--as he stared at you. His chest fell with dejected air, and he held you closer, tighter. A strong hand returned, cupping your face again. His head offered the tiniest shake.

“It’s too late.”

Your heart fractured further. “No, it’s not.”

His hold left you, then, comfort torn like skin from your bones when he stepped back. In summer air, you froze, icy without his embrace.

“What I’ve done…” He glanced to the side, pacing away, steps taking him a slow circle while he gazed into the corners of the mini-maze. “What I’ve done cannot be undone.” Looking back to you, the knot in his throat bobbed. “Even if I wanted it.” His hands clenched, unclenched, and he approached you again. “If I leave,” he said, “it won’t be with you. I will be arrested.” The severity in his expression petrified you. “Or I will be dead.”

Perhaps, in the back of your head, you’d always known this, always known that escape was not a simple solution for a Commander, and certainly not a man like Kylo Ren. But to hear him acknowledge it too, to seal himself to his own inexorable conclusion--it decimated you.

“Oh,” you said, as it was the only sound you could make for a moment. “War crimes.”

Kylo’s head dipped in acknowledgement. “Yes.” A pause, and he turned, thoughts cast across the yard, before swiveling back to you. “To stay is the only way,” he said. “For you to be mine.” He gestured to the garden. “For this to be ours.”

You frowned. “Ours?”

His hand dove into his pocket, plucked his wallet free. Stone-faced, he flipped it open, fished into the slot and produced a folded piece of paper, presenting it to you as an answer. Cocking a brow, you pinched an edge, looking between him and the little note as you unfolded it.

One corner was swathed in smooth, swooping ink, the opposite end festering with wobbly attempts at leaved-lines. In the middle, they met, blooming into a tiny Eden--beautiful, borne from the hallowed recognition that suffocated, unspoken between your mouths.

“Kylo…” Chin quivering, you suppressed a laugh. “You think,” you said, “after all of this, what I want is,  is… to what, control this with you?”

“No.” His tone was serious. Sincere. “You want freedom. You want me.” Stepping toward you, he took your hand, dwarfing it in his own. The heat of his body choked you. “But we don't get to choose what we're owed, little bird. Destiny decides it for us.” His attention flitted to you and the drawing. “I know what roles we are meant to fulfill. This is not just mine.” His gaze bored into you, chaining you in a plea. “It’s yours.”

Kylo Ren did not want to leave. He wanted you with him. In power. In whatever capacity he decided. 

The offer was not only disappointing, it was insulting. To think you would want to stay in a land where you’d watched women hang, to remain in a nation where, without him, you could never hope to survive. No matter what route you chose, with him, you lost. There would be no agency for you in a world where you reigned standing on cadavers. And for your child--there was no purity coming home to a burial ground. 

You glanced at the drawing, mapping it to memory, imagining it in his pocket while he met with Council members, ferreted threats, worked late into the night--pictured it tucked away at his hip in the Audi, stowed somewhere safe on the Buzzard when he was with his men. And your fractured heart splintered into scarlet shards.

Meeting his eyes, you shook him free, taking the sheet in two hands. Without a blink, you shredded it in half, layered it, ripped again. You caged him in your stare, unflinching, as you turned the paper into flakes, tear by tear, and littered them across the grass. Kylo watched, carved from redwood: large and flushed and eerily still, until his gaze dropped to the ground. He was speechless--and the inevitable words burgeoned, a tangled mass in your throat again. This time, you said them.

“I hate you.” 

His eyes snapped to yours, struck black with horror--but before he could think to respond, or you could take it back, you fled, sprinting through the maze with your nightgown hiked to your knees. 

There was no sound behind you, not even the crunch of boots, and you were grateful for it, grateful as you skipped past the pond and up the stone path, as Ushar veered to the side, as you pounded the halls and up the steps to the annex. You were grateful that you hated Kylo Ren, grateful that it would not hurt when you rended him from your heart, grateful that whatever route you chose, without him, you’d win.

It was gratitude, certainly, you felt when you opened the door to your room, an empty hole and empty bed. It was gratitude, too, that flooded you when you collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, and gratitude that stung your sight, flowed past your cheeks, stained your pillowcase. Thank God, thank God you hated Kylo Ren, thank God he was so easy to hate, thank God you would not ache when you left him behind, made a home without him, or gave birth to his child. 

A tiny knock on your door. You stopped, cries arrested in your chest, as you cranked your neck to the threshold. Were it not for this timid request for permission, you would’ve ignored it in belief it was the only person you did not want to see. Clearing your throat, you straightened and hopped onto your feet, wiping your face clear--not of tears, but gratitude--while you turned the knob and cracked it open an inch.

Johana, cloaked in a frilly blue robe, stood anxious in the hall. Her face twitched with fear, her eyes stark, her mouth tight. In silence, she held out her fist, and opened her palm. 

The switchblade.

[saelwen]

Your Witcher

Dark!Geralt of Rivia x Shy!Reader

Chapter One

Masterlist

Summary: You were a shy girl that worked on the tavern of your town, serving drunken men that came to drown all their problems in alcohol. On one of your busy days on the tavern, you grabbed the attention of a certain witcher. In which resolve you being taken away by the white-haired witcher. (Sorry I´m bad at summaries 😂)

Warnings: a little bit of angst, it will be smut on the next chapter

Words: 1,400

A/n: So i was to call this series “My Witcher” but i felt that “Your Witcher” was much better 😂 So, have a wonderful read! Taglist is on the bottom.

Looking back, you notice a pair of familiar golden eyes in the dark corner of the tavern, watching you closely. Studying your every movement. Shaking your head, you let out a small sigh and grab the two mugs fill with ale from the counter, and walk to the table full of drunken men.  

Since the famous Witcher came to your town everything seems off, like something was following you like a shadow. All this started when the Witcher enters in the tavern soaked in dark blood from some kind of monster, the only thing you could see was his strange but mesmerizing golden eyes. He walked to the counter and asked for a large mug of ale. The owner eyes him up and down and murmured something under his breath, throwing the mug to the Witcher. As the day pass, you notice his firm gaze was all the time on you. Observing you silently on his seat by the warm fireplace.  

After that time, he comes every day to the tavern. Ordering always the same thing and goes to the corner of the room to watch you. You would be lying if said that you were okay with this, his strong presence made your guts twist. Something about him seems off, something that you don´t want to find out.

Since as a young child you were a shy person, always in your safe place by the small pound on the pacific dense forest beside the town. The beautiful melody from the birds made your mind at peace.  

“Fucking finally!” One of the men said, grabbing the mug from your hand. You put the other mug on the wooden table and turn to attend the other client but a firm hand stops to move forward. You look back and see one of the men staring at you with a disgusting smirk on his rough face. “Not so fast, doll face! Why won’t you make us some company, hmm?” The man said a while pulling you to his lap, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. His breath made your nose wrinkle from the strong smell of alcohol that comes from him.“N..no...I need to go back to work!” You stutter weakly a while trying to push yourself away from the disgusting man’s hold.

As the man was about to come with another disgusting talk, a warm strong hand grabs your arm and pull you away from the man. A huff fell from your lips as your back collided with a strong chest.

Looking up, you were met by those peculiar golden eyes. Witcher... His eyes were set on the drunk man that was holding you before. The dark look on his handsome face made the man coward behind his friends, pleading to leave him alone. “If I see you touching her again, it will be the last time you will have hands!”  his voice dark and deep, making a shiver run down your spine.  

The men run through the tavern door, leaving behind a bag of coins to pay their drinks. Moving away slowly, you move your gaze from his piercing eyes to the floor. “Thank you, sir...i´m in debt with you.” you whisper quietly, squeezing tightly the fabric of your old dirty dress. The witcher let out a hmm and lift your chin with two strong fingers, making you look to his golden eyes. “I´m glad to help...and no need to pay me! I´m okay just to see you okay and smiling.” his words seemed innocents but his eyes told another story. The beautiful golden color of his eyes turns darker and his pupils dilated, gleaming with lust and possess.  

Nodding, you pull away from his warm hand and go back to work since the owner was yelling for you to serve another round of ale to the clients. You look over your shoulder and notice he was still standing there, looking at you a wicked smile on his lips. Shaking your head, you go back to work. What´s up with him? Why didn´t he moved on to another town and go hunt another monster?

                                                ///// \\\\\

A sigh left from your lips as you throw the dirty cloth to the bucket full of water. Looking around, a smile forms on your face from how good you have cleaned the tables. All shining and tidy from how hard you had scrubbed the wooden surface.  

It´s been a week since your last encounter with the witcher. He never came back to the tavern and you never saw his horse again on your way back home at night on the stables of the tavern. Maybe he was finally fed up from staying in this boring town and left.  

After putting away all the stuff, you grab your old scarf and put it around your neck. “See you tomorrow, Alice.” You said gently to the other maid, who was sweeping the floor. She looks to you with her big blue eyes, pushing a red lock behind her ear. “See you later, Y/n! Sleep well and don´t go wander in the forest at night! It´s dangerous and the witcher isn´t here anymore to help.” she said with her mother's voice, putting her delicate hands on her waist.

A small smile appears on your lips and nod, walking out of the warm tavern to the cold crisp air of the night. A gasp escapes from your mouths as the cold air hits your face, making your skin sting a little. Wrapping tighter the scarp around your neck, you start walking faster on the desert street with only the moonlight to bright the road.  

Your house was on the other side of the town, at the entrance of the forest. It was a small cozy cottage with a small garden that you had planted it. Your parents had left it for you when they passed away from a plague that killed many people in this town. It was the only thing that their had left for you since your parents were very poor.  

Humming a song that your mother used to sing to you, you walk down the lone street. Everyone must be asleep or having some ´pleasure moment´ at this hour. A smile appears on your lips when you see the dog town coming to you, with his tail wagging. “Hello, boy! Here. I grab some chicken for you.” you said a while give him a chicken leg. You pet gently his head and go back on your way to your house.  

As you were entered on a dark hallway, you hear something moving on the bushes. Taking a deep breath, you start walking faster as fear spread through your body. You have heard of stories of young women being kidnapped at night by lonely monsters, taking them to their nest and have their way with them. Some even say that they use the young virgin women to summon demons since their blood is pure.  

Moving your pace faster, you saw your lovely house in the distance. Letting a relief sigh, you let your body relax a little. “Almost home.” you whisper softly.  

As you were about to open the little gate of your house, a large gloved hand wrap around my mouth, pulling you into a hard chest. A muffled scream left from your lips, your arms trying to push away the kidnapper. You feel a warm breath beside your ear and you tried to turn your head, so you could see the man. “Sleep well, my princess.” your eyes widened with the familiar rich deep voice.  

Suddenly you feel a sting on your neck, like the head of a blade. You let a hiss and try to push him away but your body started to feel heavy. Your movements begin to slower and your eyes become blurry and heavy. What´s happening?

The man put his hand behind your thighs and pick you up, making you rest your head on his strong shoulder. Looking up with heavy eyes, you were met by two familiar golden eyes. “Don´t worry, my sweet princess. I will protect you from all the monsters... I will protect what´s mine!” he whispers lowly while kissing your forehead gently. You could do nothing except whimper as sleep take over you, making your body melt into his. He turns back and walks to the dense forest, taking you away from your, now, old life.

Hey Guys!! So here is the first chapter of Your Witcher. I will be doing a taglist on this series so if you want to be tagged click right HERE

I hope you enjoy it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

Taglist: @burningcoffeetimetravel​ | @notyouraveragemochii​ | @ellallheart​ | @supernaturalvikingwhore​ | @uncoolcloudyhead​ | @crazyxreader​ 

[sugarfreecapsicle]

the library card

A/N: Okay so two of my faves had amazing challenges out: @cake-writes & @bitchassbucky and how could I not join?? Please go follow them, they are brilliant and lovely and all things good in the world. I am so grateful to know them both and to call them my friends. I hope you both enjoy!!

bitchassbucky’s holiday writing challenge

cake’s 1940′s challenge

warnings: mentions of war and war-related things such as weapons and wounds, pining, fluff, kissing, injury

pairing: bucky x reader

Even at camp, Bucky can’t escape the frigid cold - a fire of any significance to comfort would alert any number of civilians, army, Nazi to their location in a radius of three to five miles. Kilometers here in Germany. Not that it matters to his numbing fingers under the obscured task of fixing his damn buttons. Visible breath fogs his view, resulting in a few too many pokes through sensitive fingertip skin before the dull void crept through them.

Surrounded in olive green, muddy brown, midnight he can take this risk. The final stitch in place, he pulls his lighter close enough to light the wrinkled, seamed letter.

I got the job, my darling! Tomorrow your girl will be a real librarian in Brooklyn - can you believe it? They even let me register you for your own library card. Now you have obligations to get back home safe to me. You’ve got so much reading to do!

Instead of a photo, you’d enclosed a little paper card with all his pertinent information included - his full name, an identification number, the name and address of the Brooklyn Public Library. A bona fide reader even here in the wilderness.

The card’s ink had smudged a bit, as present and intimate as the dog tags on his neck. You, he kept specifically in his left breast pocket. Every letter, every telegram.

The tune starts quiet and soft in the back of his throat, dry lips mouthing the words to no one but himself. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

Fresh tears well at the corners of his eyes, spill one by one down grimy cheeks and unshaven stubble. Then, he hears the low hum of approaching planes, and his stomach lurches.

—-

Banners danced along the fresh walls of the Brooklyn Public on your first day of the job. Posters encouraging citizens to do their part, support the men overseas, fight the good fight emblazoned every space unoccupied by shelves of books.

Leather and vanilla, fresh ink. Even the pleasant thud of rubber stamps became the equivalent of the heartbeat of your library. One of many librarians, your team took pride in a job well done, a child’s awed expression with a new book in hand.

After lunch you’d be reading to a small group of almost-school-aged children. You sighed happily, if a little longingly. 

One day. One day your soldier would come home. Until then, you’d hum his favorite song.

—-

Mortars and bullets littered the air, ground, his friends. Each thud of a body churned in his gut, his gun held close as a baby to his body. Distance. He needed distance. 

Deep in the trenches, far from the bird’s eye view preferred by a skilled sniper, Bucky’s chest heaved in gulps of mossy air.

A scream, a wail, a battle cry. Pure adrenaline in his veins. His legs surged him onward as his ears rang, deafened to all other noise except her sleep-heavy morning voice.

You make me happy when skies are grey

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away

—-

You couldn’t read the Daily Eagle anymore, not with the headlines touting the worst of men, the death, the cruelty of nations. Doubt weighed your heart - an anchor, broke it day after day.

The facade of optimistic determination aged like soured milk. Watching families torn apart by selfishness and greed and hate day, even in your pretty library.

Not enough of the soldiers came home. 

Yours hadn’t yet, and he promised.

The soup you had for lunch only gurgled in your stomach. You hungered for his presence, the reassurance that your Bucky was safe. The not knowing of it all wrecked you so completely.

Then came a letter.

Coming home. Safe. Bucky.

—-

The terror haunted him still - Bucky could smell the muck and lead and blood every morning when he woke. More than once already, he’d fallen out of bed with a phantom limb, the left arm from his shoulder down now gone.

For once, Steve saved him from an unfair fight. He owed Steve everything anyway, all the love and brotherhood any guy could hope for between them. Steve had helped him pin the sleeve of his coat, too, on the way over to Brooklyn Public Library.

Busy for a Tuesday so close to Christmas, Bucky thought as he surveyed the various patrons milling through the glass doorways. Heart thudding the same as his newly polished boots, the doors scared him almost as much as the face of his former captor.

Inside, the world changed into something other. War no longer existed - calm quiet, studious, polite. Not tense quiet of night in hiding, watching, waiting for the enemy to appear from the dim light of camp. No need for a rifle. No need for a blade.

“Can I help you?”

She wasn’t you. Part of him wished for this to be so easy.

“I need help finding someone, if that’s alright,” he muttered, right hand flexing nervously in his pocket. Another heartbeat in his hand.

He said your name out loud for the first time in months, whisper quiet as if to keep you sacred as a secret between friends. She beamed and ushered him quickly to the children’s section near the back of the right side of the expansive room.

Murmurs bounced off the wooden shelves, cushioned thoughts and wishes on donated oak. Bucky tried not to wince, his skin itching all over with nerves and what-if’s. 

Then he saw you.

And oh.

What a vision.

Boots scraped on the new floor, heels touching, posture at full attention. A boy again.

A periwinkle dress, cut and layered just the way you’d always liked. Your makeup done simply, accenting the peaks and valleys of your face, and those pearl earrings. Faux pearl, but nobody who mattered could tell the difference. Bucky wanted to buy you a real necklace, eventually real earrings. And a ring. Anything with potential to make you glow like the sun.

The way you glow when you’d seen him standing there like a dope. Tears fall before you were able to get to your feet and rush to him, arms around him as if he might dissipate if you let go. His right arm hooked around you, tight and unyielding, face pressed close to your ear.

You sobbed, taking inventory of every minuscule part of his face. Violet bags under his eyes, making the blue all the more stunning. Bucky, your very real and tangible Bucky, looked beaten and as worn as the army-issue boots he wore. He cried, he wriggled with sobs in your arms, leaned where your hands brushed. 

“Darling, you made it home for Christmas!” 

He choked, head down, lips pressed between angry teeth. Your hands draped over his shoulders at the back of his neck, moved forward, and -

Bucky flinched in shame. No left arm. Less of a man. The worst of it, your hand moves instead to his face again and urges his eyes upward.

“Sarge, I think you may have some stories to tell me instead.” 

He didn’t hold back the watery scoff, the salty kiss to your lips or the tender I love you.

[enderprtl]

chasing down the devil part three

we are Not Done (there’s one more part too), here is part 3 of me and @betweenlands​‘s shadow au fic (by the wonderful @mine-sara-sp​) for reason you shouldn’t piss off the shadow-vex

p.t 1// p.t 2 

WARNINGS FOR FIC: BODY HORROR, ANOTHER BIG ASS FUCKING FIGHT, BLINDNESS (APEX CAN’T SEE). 

iii.

Scar’s shadow and Paladin stood in eerie silence over Apex’s sleeping form, both heads tilted in curiosity at the aggressive shadow (who was currently out cold).

Paladin kicked him with their foot. “He’s strange.” 

Scar’s shadow just hummed in response - its partner had come back with nasty wounds, the magnum opus being a gouge in the center of the shadow. Paladin, of course, had found it hilarious, sticking a shadowy hand through the hole, giggling wildly as the two shadow-vex conversed. The knight had begged them to be able to go see Apex, wanting to see if the shadowy arm Avarice had described was still there. 

It wasn’t.

Paladin kicked Apex again with their foot, backing up quickly as Apex stirred. Paladin giggled. “He’s waking up! Keloid, look!” 

Apex dragged himself up off the ground, head snapping towards the sound of Paladin giggling, lip already curled into a snarl. “Keloid. Move closer so I can kill you.” He still couldn’t see - the visor wasn’t exactly organic, it wasn’t going to grow back onto his face.

He could feel Keloid’s cold glare in response. “Why? I could easily crush you here. You cannot see.” 

Paladin giggled softly, skipping across the room, dragging their fingers across the gouges in the wood. “Did you do this?” 

Keloid stared down Paladin with disappointment, and Paladin’s grin fell into a soft pout - he went and stood behind a decaying statue, blending in with the shine of the room. 

Apex pushed himself up further, onto his knees, standing shakily without his sight as he tilted his head to the side, tried to pinpoint where exactly Keloid - Scar’s shadow, it had to be - was. He took a step forward, pounded one fist against his battered chest.

“I can still move. You aren’t safe.”

Keloid laughed - not a garbled or glitchy sound, but something soft, real, like Scar’s loud, jovial laugh from a room miles away. It stepped forward, using a hand to hold Apex’s jaw firm, making him face it eyes on.

“You have no weapons, you have no eyes. You are useless, android.” it said, voice a glitchy and droning sound.

Paladin smirked from their hiding spot. “What did you do to Avarice?” They climbed up the statue and sat criss-cross atop it, leaning forward.

Apex tilted his head towards the sound of Paladin’s voice, twisted his face into a grin. “Move a little closer and I’ll give you a demonstration.” He grabbed at the hand he knew was somewhere near his face and held onto Keloid’s arm with as tight a grip as he could muster. “Unless you wanna volunteer, shadow-vex?”

Keloid let out a low growl, only to compose itself. It wasn’t going to act a fool, not like Avarice; it tightened its grip on his jaw, another free arm holding up his right arm, gripping it with malice. Its voice was still soft, emotionless. “It came out of this one, did it not?” 

Paladin kept giggling, their head rolling back with a loud laugh that bounced around the room and grated against Apex’s ears. “I want to see him do it! Keloid, make him do it!” They tilted their head and pouted, wide yellow eyes going wider. 

Apex gritted his teeth, curled his free hand into a fist, tried to step closer to Keloid. He couldn’t see anything - his vision was filled with yellow light and pretty much nothing else - but he knew generally where the shadow-vex’s body mass was, now. “Why d’you want to know? Cub’s shadow is the bruiser out of you two, do you really think you’re going to survive this fight?” He spat towards the ground, doing his best to glare up at Keloid without actually having eyes.

Paladin giggled, jumping down from their little seat and skipping over to stand right besides Keloid - they looked over the dull and blurred yellow outlines of Apex’s eyes before drawing closer to him. “Oh, don’t underestimate Keloid! It looks harmless, but it could kill you in a sundry of ways!” They poked his cheek, voice too cheerful and bright, and he lunged at them - a bit too slowly, though, his hands caught nothing but empty air.

“So can I,” he snarled. 

Paladin cackled, a cheerful, almost terrifying laugh - it bounced off walls, it rang in Apex’s ears… and it was infectious. He felt the ends of his lips pull up into a smile, fought back hard against the urge to laugh and instead curled his grin wider and angrier.

He lunged again, wrestling out of Keloid’s loosened grip as he smashed directly into Paladin, grabbed them by the shoulders. “You wanted to see what I can do, huh?” 

Paladin grinned. “You fight dirty.” They tilted their head back, then smashed the bridge of their helmet into his face. “So I think I will too.”

Apex felt his nose break, saw stars against the yellow background of noise on his blind eyes, and something in him snapped again - he started laughing, a low, garbled chuckle as he wiped his face off, as his jaw distorted out of place. “All right. My turn.”

He pulled Paladin closer, yanking them forward by one arm as he raised his right arm again - felt it distort and crack, a new limb clawing out of his shoulder as his ordinary arm hung uselessly by his side - and slammed one shadowy fist into their face, knocking them flat on the ground.

Paladin spat something yellow, the shit-eating grin growing wider on their face. They reached up and brought down their visor, whistling softly. “Whoops.” 

Something yanked Apex right off Paladin and slammed him into a wall - the thick, glitchy growling coming from it confirmed what he suspected, Keloid had ambushed him. He rubbed his head, pushed himself up off the ground once more, tried to figure out where the two enemy shadows were in the haze.

"This is what I mean. Your precious little Paladin really can't fight someone who's blind and wounded on their lonesome? Gotta help them out?" Back to his feet. One shaky step forward. "Trophy got a little rusty all locked away with nothing to fight? Pathetic."

He took a deep breath in, then roared again, as loud as he possibly could - felt his mouth open further than it should’ve been able to, teeth where there should have been none, he was screaming at the top of his lungs with a thousand voices in chorus - "COWARDS!”

Keloid snarled, baring every fang in its wide mouth and swung at Apex, talons extended in a flurry of blows, going at his strange arm, every blow getting more aggressive than the last. 

Paladin giggled wildly, “Keep going!” They scrambled on top of a pile of rotting metals, watching the fight from a fair distance. They pulled their visor up, wide yellow eyes watching the shadow-vex claw at armor and shadow. Each hit made them erupt in a flurry of cheers and wild laughter, metal clinking against metal as they clapped, their grin growing unnaturally wide. 

Apex was getting sick of that stupid laugh. His vision was still gone, but… just faintly, in his haze of anger, he could make out a fuzzy grey shape among the blinding yellow. A bit of a stretch away... it had to be them.

"Shut UP," he growled, pivoting on his heels and lunging at the distant shape. Keloid's claws came down on his back as he turned - leaving a scar behind, he was sure it'd hurt when he wasn't totally enraged - but he slipped away from the shadow-vex and barreled towards the wavering grey silhouette of Paladin.

Paladin laughed, and stood up, boots sinking into the pile of metal underneath them. They pulled out a thin, shining yellow blade and raised it up, waiting patiently. As Apex’s form barreled closer, they stuck just a sliver of tongue out, and brought the blade down slashing into his chest. 

He didn't flinch. Didn't even pause anywhere but internally to register the pain of yet another wound on his body. He probably should've died by now, but that wasn't going to stop him - Apex was running on nothing but spite and rage and pure energy at this point.

He grabbed Paladin's sword-hand with his shadowy arm, let out another roar as he tightened his grip, aimed their arm back, and forced their stupid glinting sword into their chest point-first, pushed it right through their armor. "Shouldn't have done that.”

Paladin cried out in pain, eyes narrowing as the blade dug deeper, then looked up, smiling. Claws dug into Apex's back as Keloid once again grabbed him by the shadowy arm and pulled him off Paladin, throwing him into a pile of metal. 

It was getting harder and harder to stand up again, but that's what Apex did - slowly, shakily. "I told you. As long as I can still move, you aren't safe." The wound across his chest hurt even more than he'd thought it would now that he was actually bothering to register the pain - he wobbled on his feet, but managed to stay upright.

Paladin pulled the blade out of their chest as their grin fell quickly into a pout. Keloid growled and stepped forward… and then stopped short. 

It paused, stared over the wounded shadow, at the thousands of gold scratches on grey and black. Fragile. Glass-like. A stained glass picture of a bird, two bright yellow gems for eyes, its wings broken off from abuse and wear. Keloid hunched over, picking up Apex gently. It tilted its head curiously, and began to leave the room. Paladin stared in shock, hands now on their hips, “What are you doing? Keloid? Keloid!” 

Keloid ignored the knight, walking out of the room. Paladin ran out, following the shadow-vex, eyebrows knitted, eyes locked on Apex’s blind ones. 

Apex, for his part, was not enjoying this one bit. He struggled weakly against the vague shadowy blob holding him, trying to escape Keloid’s grasp - unfortunately, though, while it was holding him gently, this was still a firm grip, and every single motion he made was starting to hurt. He scrabbled at the ground with his shadowy hand, trying to pull himself away, but Keloid just kept moving. And frankly, he was too exhausted to ask where it was taking him or why.

Keloid slammed a free arm onto a button and a door clicked open, pistons creaking as the entryway slid open. Paladin walked in and groaned - this was their vault. The room with their diamonds, their gold, emeralds. All of their shiny things. Keloid placed Apex down with uncanny gentleness. “Be nice,” it said, looking over towards Paladin.

Apex was not feeling nice. The second his feet touched the ground of the new room, he lunged at Paladin again, lurching somewhat unsteadily on the new terrain. He didn’t have the energy left to actually say anything, but the snarl he made was a fairly obvious declaration of his intentions. As far as he was concerned, he’d been moved to a new arena - and he was still going to kick the snot out of Paladin, make them regret messing with him.

Paladin wasn’t in a good mood, either. Keloid put the shadow that’d stabbed them in their room, and told them to “be nice”? They weren’t in the mood to be nice, no, they wanted this shadow out of their room. The piles of gems began to rumble as they backed up from the charging shadow. Their pout fell even further - they weren’t acting anymore, they wanted this stupid shadow gone. 

Paladin backed up against one wall as piles of gems started to shift around them and the gold chandelier began to sway in circles. They were angry; angry at Keloid, angry at Apex, angry at everything and everyone that wasn’t them. Paladin wailed, their foot slamming into the ground. “It’s not fair!”

Two dozen emeralds flew through the air, somehow reacting to Paladin’s explosive tantrum. One sliced right past Apex’s cheek - he couldn’t see these projectiles, and another one hit him blunt-side first in the stomach. Still, he stumbled forward, even as another emerald caught his shadowy arm in its elbow, ripped through so hard that it dissipated.

Paladin was outright frowning now; Apex had made them ruin perfectly good emeralds. They stomped forward, every step closer to Apex making more and more gems bounce higher into the air. They grabbed him by the collar, spitting in his face as they yelled at him. 

“You’re ruining everything!”

Gems got pushed back in waves like a shockwave tearing through the room, pushing gems and statues up against the wall and spinning the chandelier in circles. Apex just gritted his teeth, grabbed Paladin by the helmet with one hand and slammed his fist into their face. “You’re going to regret taunting me,” he spat back. “I don’t lose my quarry.”

Paladin pushed Apex back into a pile of gems with surprising force. The diamonds and emeralds were sharp - they poked small holes into Apex’s back, and he winced in discomfort. Meanwhile, Paladin stormed forward, teeth bared, their cheerful nature completely diminished. They reared back, winding up to to punch Apex in the jaw, only for a claw to pick them up and set them aside. 

Keloid, looking quite distressed, came over and scooped up Apex and threw him over its shoulder - Apex struggled again, but he was in a pretty inconvenient place and couldn’t quite reach any weak points.

Unbothered by Apex’s squirming, the shadow-vex left the room, sighing as it looked over the damage caused by the two shadows. It clambered up even more stairs before coming to another door. When it opened, Apex could hear birds chirping, and the sound of flowing water. He was set down in lush green grass. “Don’t break anything,” Keloid grumbled.

And it left.

[emmett-the-wrighter]

The Creature

In the not-yet-warm summer dawn, the wastes had fallen quiet. Though wind tried to stir a pebble or two, it fell short of succeeding and eventually died down as if giving up. Any creatures of the night had long since found their refuge and hidey-holes to linger until the dark came once more.

At least, most of them had.

A mud-stained shape stirred at the base of a boulder with a scrape of dirt and nails against stone. It reached out with a grimy hand to swipe at a drying smear of blood left behind, bringing the remnants of the gore up to its face to sniff and ponder. The breeze whispered a gentle note once more and the creature dropped its hand before turning its face upwind.

Moments or more passed as the creature wondered what to do. With a snuffle and shake of the head, it finally rose up on its hind legs before lurching forward in a swift trot. The creature was hungry and the wind spoke a tempting tale of the ones it had been hunting.

Three, the creature remembered. Three that it hated above all else. Three that it would take its time in running down and ripping their guts from their heaving bellies. Three that it would gouge and rend until they were unrecognizable to even themselves as any beast so disgusting as the human. Three that would feed the creature for many mornings and nights more.

A wavering snarl slipped from between the creature’s lips as it thought once more of its quarry. The snarl deepened into a growl and then a hum. The creature did not slow or speed up. It was patient and it could travel at this pace for far longer than the humans would. They would sleep. The creature would not; not until its hunt was over.

“Be better,” the creature muttered to itself, with halting words that lay heavy on its tongue before it threw them away. “Will be- will- for Riley. For- for Songbird, for Arms- better. Will- am good. Am make safe, they safe, need be- be, be, be safe.”

Words never felt right to the creature. They struck discordant chords from its own throat and tasted bitter as it tried to stutter them out. For the others, words seemed so easy. The creature almost envied them the ease at with they could shape a sentence; how beautiful the right person could make speaking seem.

“Safe,” the creature said again. And then slower, starting with a hiss and exaggerated stretch of its mouth, “Ssss-aay-fuh.”

It never felt right.

The creature knew what the word was, of course. And what it was supposed to mean, even if it had never experienced such a thing. Not for more time than it thought it could count. Or that it could even remember. Not since-

The creature scowled to itself, shoulders hunching and brow furrowing down as its steps slowed. Not since before it had come to that other city. Not since it had learned what it was like to speak and love and be around others that didn’t want it dead. Not since it had finally learned what freedom was.

A spitting hiss and then it halted, shaking its head again. “Songbird,” the creature tried again, the name sounding clearly. “Songbird.”

It lifted its hand, clamping around its arm and digging blackened nails into its flesh. The name was- something beautiful, something that it should never start with a hiss; it should never turn into something ugly. Not like that. Not like the creature.

Unforgivable.

The wind had died once more, but the creature wasn’t following that now. It could see the bootprints clear in the dirt, punctuated with the occasional drip of blood. Even before, even when the creature couldn’t think of things like that, couldn’t know the tracks to be human, it would have been laughably easy for it to follow.

Did the humans know they were hunted? The creature allowed the idle thought to drift across its mind before banishing that with a huff. It did not matter. If they knew or if they did not, they couldn’t stop it from ripping out their throats.

They deserved it.

“Threat- threat, love, hunt, kill, love, safe,” the creature continued its mumble, each aimless word a reminding refrain to drum into its head.

It couldn’t lose track of its purpose out here after so long. It had to return; had to tell the others they would be safe and that it would be safe and SHOW THEM that no matter what happened, no matter who came after them, it would paint the city and the wastes in blood to protect them. It would kill and it would hunt and it would eat everything that tried to bare teeth and gun in threat.

“Promise, promise,” the creature huffed. “Be good, not bad, not feral, good, good, am good.”

The taste of blood was still strong in its mouth.

It remembered how the human had screamed, how it felt to finally shove its nails into ribs and organs and yank them apart. They had said they wouldn’t be mad if it ate him, and so it did, lunging for the warm part of the neck, where it could see the frightened quiver of breath in his throat. That breath stilled almost too quickly and the creature remembered the sadness it had felt when it was over.

It hated feeling sad.

And so the creature stopped feeling sad and it let the hate simmer and boil over, covering the sad in anger and fury and letting that blaze through its eyes at the humans and rumble up in a guttural snarl at any who dared move close to it. Keep them away. Keep them all away and it would be safe and those it loved would be safe and then they would never worry about filthy disgusting pathetic humans ever again.

Not even the ones that smiled and said kind words, but it could see the truth. It could see the disgust in their eyes and it could hear the threat in their voices and it could see how their hands curled over their weapons and how they were waiting for it to trust them. They were waiting for it to allow them to kill it and it would NEVER happen and it would NEVER trust them and it HATED and HATED and it wanted to HATE and KILL-

The creature found itself crouched on the ground, nails digging gashes into the dirt and the ragged gasps of its growls piercing the air. It sucked in another breath before it coughed and retched, blood and bile spattering from its mouth. Chills and twitches danced their way across the creature’s skin and it writhed in place, wanting nothing more but to reach up and claw its own flesh off its back.

You look more human than I do, she had said, and the creature’s head whipped up at the memory. The rage came boiling up through its chest all over again. It wanted to go back. It wanted to throw her against a wall and it wanted to snap her fingers and scream and hurt and show her that it was never human, it never could be human, it wasn’t human, humans are bad, bad, bad, bad, bad-

It retched again, but nothing emerged from its throat this time but for a low and pained whine.

“No, no,” the creature finally mumbled between twitches and shivers. “Love her, love, said sorry, not mean, not bad. Mother. Mutant, not human, not bad, is- good- be good, am good, not bad, not human. Said sorry. Love, love, sorry, good.”

It had barely held itself back from whipping out and gashing a line through her throat. The creature hated that feeling. And so it had run, disappearing into the darkness and keeping its hands away from its knives so it couldn’t go back and kill her and hurt her and teach itself that there was no such thing as safety and love and caring and that everyone it ever wanted to be safe would only ever hurt it and kill it and hurt it more.

“Sorry, s-sorry,” it choked out, a muffled and hacking sob. “Am- never want lose, sorry, am sorry, won’t be bad, never bad, sorry, sorry.”

It was the fault of the humans.

Why would anyone want to be human if there were no humans left? They had caused this. They were to blame and the creature knew that if they were all dead, it would finally be safe and everyone it loved would be safe. And they would love it. They would be proud of it for protecting them. It was that simple, and the creature reminded itself that it couldn’t kill the humans if it stayed crouched there with water coming from its eyes.

The creature rose once more and spit to the side to clear its mouth of bile and blood and the taste of its own shame. It had been good. It hadn’t hurt anyone it loved. It had saved them, even, and it was doing that even now. They should be proud of it and they should love it and if they didn’t it would find those that did love it and kill all the rest-

It stopped that thought cold and shook its head in a bird-like twitch. “No, no, bad,” the creature murmured in reminder, “Love, won’t kill them. Even they hate- still love them.”

Love was important and the creature had to keep telling itself what love meant and what love felt like, even when it hated itself and hated everything. And when it came back to the city and the home it had made there, all the others it loved and who loved it would be able to remind it even better what love was and could be. They always did. It trusted them. It had to trust them.

And the only thing standing in its way was those three humans that had threatened to destroy everything it loved.

The creature allowed itself to hate them and it enjoyed the feeling of its hate. It grew stronger from those coiled feelings ready to whip out in the form of a blade or its teeth and nails. Only three humans and humans would die so easily when they were already bleeding. A broken bone or two and the creature could take its time with them to show them the true meaning of hate and justice.

They had threatened the creature and they had threatened one it loved and so they weren’t suitable to be merely prey. They had to understand what it felt and it felt ALL the TIME so they had to SEE how much it wanted them to suffer. It could drag them through rocks and it could peel their skin back or pick apart their eyes and watch them as the carrion birds hopped ever nearer to finish what the creature had started.

No, simple death was too good for these humans. Too clean.

The creature picked its way around rocks and winced as a particularly sharp one dug into the sole of its shoe. It hated wearing them, but in the years since it was forced to wear these human clothes, its feet had grown soft and weak. It didn’t dare walk barefoot like it had lived before. It didn’t dare be reminded of the before, for the before was horrible and dark and evil and the now was where the creature wanted to stay.

The before was alone and full of pain. The now was full of love and the creature was rarely alone and it always had food and it never felt the cold steel of a chain around its neck and even when beaten it knew it was free. It could always fight back and it knew it would survive. Even when those it loved were dead, the creature would survive.

“Be good,” it said through a panting breath. “Need be good. Then not alone.”

It didn’t have to say the words aloud, though it was always curious about the feel of them and the way its tongue formed each sound. And where no one could hear, it was never wrong. So many words were wrong, it was told. It couldn’t talk about eating humans or killing humans or killing rangers or hate. It couldn’t tell the humans they were dumb. It couldn’t threaten humans.

So much no, no, no, no, no, no, and only some, only Arms said yes and even then Arms still said no.

The creature hated no.

But if there was no one to say no, then the creature would know that it was alone and being told no was better than not being told anything. And even if told no, the creature didn’t have to listen.

It wanted to. Sometimes. When it loved the one saying no. So then it would listen and they would smile and praise it and feed it or let it lay next to them and watch and listen and protect them. And sometimes when they said no and it wouldn’t listen they never found out and they would praise it and feed it anyway.

The creature wiped its nose. It wouldn’t tell them about this hunt or it would only tell one and if they praised it, it might tell others. Maybe only if they asked.

It would tell Arms and Songbird.

If they returned.

The creature growled at the thought. They would return. It was bad for thinking they might not. They had to.

It would tell them and they would be proud of it and it would never be alone again.

[themockingcrows]

Familiar Ch. 5: Quicken

This chapter is mildly not safe for work This chapter is available on my AO3! All the preparation in the world won't ready you for some things when it comes to cohabitating with a bird hybrid, but some things come more naturally than others.

     “Hold still,” Dave said, carefully aiming the shot so he could capture John and the surrounding moss in the shot. He’d been trusted with Dad’s camera for the day again, and he wasn’t going to mess up the chance to make the most of it. He’d already taken shots of the surrounding woods, but taking some nice shots of himself and of John were still high up on his list. He had to keep track of so many things with this camera: how much film was left, that the lens cap was off, that everything was in focus, that his hands didn’t shake, and God forbid that he didn’t drop the camera again.

     “How much longer till I can move,” John groaned as if he were dying. Seventeen years old, and he still didn’t have an ounce of patience to his name. Dave took a snap, pulled back from the camera and threw some leaves on top of John before adjusting them individually, trying to make it look as careless as if he’d been sleeping in the forest all autumn instead of dodging puddles of mud and praying it didn’t rain yet again before the shoot could be finished.

     “Close your eyes and stay still,” Dave grumped, snapping a few pictures at different angles before giving the go ahead to rise.

     Grunting, John sat up and pulled leaves out of his hair, dusting sticky flecks of dirt and moss off his jacket and the back of his head. “Oh FINALLY, my ass was going numb. Do you realize how cold the ground is out here?”

     “I was born outside, John.”

     “I mean currently. With a human ass. Human ass thermometer says it’s too cold to be sitting on the ground,” John explained, coming to stand closer to Dave’s side as he looked around. “Where else did you wanna take pictures? It’s supposed to rain later, Dad wouldn’t want his camera wet.”

     “I know. I was thinking somewhere a bit further… there’s a stand of trees and this huge pile of rocks, I wanna get some angles of that.”

     “Big pile of rocks. Exciting.”

     “It’s a huge pile, John, wait till you see it.”

     John hummed and nodded to show he was listening and believing as much as he could, but it was difficult. For one, he was chilled and Dave’s fascination with photography could be tiring to keep up with. For another… he was distracted.

     Dave had been more hands on the last few weeks, more touchy feely than usual. He lingered with wake up kisses, kept finding more and more excuses to settle on John’s lap. He also kept making sure John got the bigger half of things suddenly, making sure his plate was first in the line and that he got plenty of snacks. Dave kept being caught staring, watching, lingering in doorways to keep track of where John was. He’d improved his rock collection with shiny stones from here and there… though also he was gifted with bottle caps and soda pop tabs, beads and odds and ends from around the house and up in the attic. It was sweet, really, but it was a bit confusing, a ramp up on his usual behavior.

     Noticing so much of Dave’s abnormal behavior was making John notice Dave and his mannerisms more. The way he touched his face when he was crouched on a chair, the way he flipped his hair out of his eyes but refused to let Dad trim it shorter, the way his face screwed up when he got a good scratch between the shoulder blades, the way his wings twitched and splayed out when it was grooming time. The way he smiled, frowned, the way his face relaxed when he napped against his shoulder in the afternoons while John worked on schoolwork.

     “...John?”

     “Huh? What.”

     “The rocks are here,” Dave said, gesturing proudly. “I was asking what you think. Thought,” he corrected.

     John blinked, realizing he’d been following without paying attention. He glanced around to orient himself before taking in the view. The rocks were, as promised, pretty sweet. They were massive boulders with moss and speckled markings, balanced atop other boulders. The very top held a decrepit sapling that had tried to flourish and dried upon death, dangling at an angle by its roots. John whistled softly at it.

     “Okay, this is cool. What kind of pictures did you want?”

     Considering for a moment, Dave soon gave directions for John to climb the first stone and sit in different ways, standing on the last shot, before carefully coming down. If they were developed right, they’d hopefully come out looking how they did in Dave’s head. Maybe if they were in black and white they’d be more pressing, or sepia…

     “Hey, let me take a few shots of you,” John offered with a grin, reaching for the camera. “I bet your wings would look great against the stone.”

     Dave’s wings abruptly fluffed and splayed out showily before stretching and flattening out. He cleared his throat, coughed, and righted his wings again.

     “Yeah?”

     “Yeah! Go up where I was and crouch. Maybe ditch the jacket, if you can handle the temperature,” he said, holding the camera up in front of one of his glasses lenses and smirking, crouching down to one knee for the full effect before standing up again. Okay, that was silly, he couldn’t see from that angle.

     Hesitating for a moment, Dave pulled his jacket off and flared his wings again, flapping them a few times before he turned and scaled the rock face, finding the stable point John had been at before turning around and crouching. As expected, the dark feathers against the stone looked amazing in the dull light, and John found himself wishing he was better at photography to catch it in some better light. Maybe when they were home he could get a look at the feathers under the light and get a snap of them there, black and faintly iridescent close up where the filaments of feather connected.

     “Got it! Come on down!” John called, grinning as Dave splayed his wings and hopped down, coasting a bit before flapping to stabilize his landing. When John grinned broadly at him, Dave’s wings twitched and tried to flatten out once more, fluttering when he turned to pick up his jacket and pull it back on. 

     A stick broke in the distance, though it didn’t catch Dave’s attention. John’s attention, however? He was predisposed to being overly aware of their surroundings when his head wasn’t in the clouds, especially when they were away from the yard. It was his job, guarding Dave’s existence from the outside. This deep in the woods should be safe, but there were natural threats to worry about, bears and other creatures.

     ...Or humans.

     In this case, a hiker with a cell phone who was staring at them from a ways away before freezing and taking off running the opposite direction as if pursued. Cursing, John stuffed the camera back into Dave’s bare hands before grasping his upper arm and tugging, dragging him into a run the other direction.

     “Fuck, wait,” Dave cawed, trying to cover the lens with the cap without dropping the camera before adjusting his grip and hurrying along after John, back towards the house. They sprinted, John leading them astray till things started to look more familiar and he corrected the route since Dave was the one who’d led them in this time, and didn’t stop till they reached the edge of the woodline.

     Slowly, John sank down into a crouch and grasped the back of his head with both hands, panting heavily as he listened to his pulse hammering in his ears. “Shit, shit, shit… Shit.”

     “John?” Dave panted, watching him before mimicking him, crouching down. One wing stretched out and curled loosely around John’s back like an arm, shielding him while he was down. “...John?” he asked again, worried.

     “I’m fine. It’s okay. We’re fine. This is totally okay. We were just seen by a stranger with a phone, no big deal,” John rambled, only to go quiet and croon an upset noise out once more. 

     Biting his lip, Dave considered his choices. He looked around the empty yard, the distant shape of Dad’s car parked in front on the gravel, the shriveled remains of the garden and the last crops that hadn’t been picked yet, the vast amount of pumpkins on display. He looked back over his shoulder, back towards the woods he knew so well from before, then back to John’s shaking shoulders and panicked expression.

     “Oh fuck, oh man, oh God Dad’s gonna be pissed off why wasn’t I watching clos-”

     Dave had leaned and grasped John’s chin, holding it carefully as he pecked his lips once. Twice. Three times. Normally he’d pull back then and nuzzle while cawing affectionately… but this time Dave remained in place, lip to lip. He was letting out a soft sound, croaky singsong noises that were surprisingly comforting to hear, and didn’t pull back till John’s breathing was slower and calm.

     “...Uhm.”

     Dave just grinned at him and fluttered his wings hopefully, giving them small shivery shakes before folding them against his back once more.

     “...Heh. Haha. Hahahahaha.”

     “John?”

     Caught up in the giggles, Dave adjusted his glasses and shook his head, holding a hand up begging for a moment to collect himself. It took the full minute before he could wheeze. “I’m s- Ahahaha. I’m sorry. Just. Fuck I was so freaked out and suddenly I’m getting kissed and just?? Ahaha that’s just so funny for some reason. Can’t panic while you’re being kissed I guess? Off switch located on the lips.”

     Dave’s grin widened and he leaned forwards to repeat the kiss now that John was laughing, which only made him giggle more. The camera was set aside in favor of Dave crawling messily onto John’s lap, knocking him over, and then crawling up his body to keep the kiss going. They were a pile of laughter and kisses, Dave’s wings splaying out over the two of them and John’s hands playing along Dave’s ribs to tickle him, making him join in the giggles.

     It was so hard to be stressed around Dave. It’s like he outright didn’t allow it to happen. Fuck he was lucky to have a friend like him.

     ...Er. ...Was he just a friend? Had he ever been just a friend, when so much hinged on making sure he was happy and safe and by his side? When his daily morning routine involved kisses and affection that John knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone else?

     He was still being kissed by Dave when the giggles died down and he didn’t feel the urge to break it off or push him away. John felt warm in his stomach, a flush in his cheeks and down his back, lightheaded from the rush of laughter and the sudden stimulation. Dave was warm against him, his body weight slight but welcome, and the shadow of his wings beautiful against the dim light of the sky. John forgot how cold his ass was on the ground, that his dad might be able to see them. All that mattered then was keeping Dave close for just a little longer.

     Lifting both hands up, John grasped Dave’s waist before raising up higher to touch the base of his wings, getting a soft, startled caw out of Dave before they fluttered and flattened out again as they had earlier. What was up with that? Or with the throaty noises Dave was making? It was cute, sort of like a sound effect from a game, clicky and croaky and tinged with the warm tones of his voice.

     All good things come to an end. Dave was the one who eventually parted the kiss, face flushed and body stiff. He was arching away a bit, body seeming to want more contact but trying to avoid it at the same time. Specifically, he was keeping his hips awa-

     Oh.

     … Oh.

     Clearing his throat, John gently pushed at Dave’s shoulders to get him off his lap, realizing he was at risk of the exact same thing. This was normal. Well. Not normal for them persay, but it was a natural thing to have happen? Fuck, he hoped he didn’t need to have a chat with him about it. Or worse, Dad.

     … Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He’d handled the introduction to those things well enough when John himself was learning them, maybe having The Talk with him wouldn’t be life ruining. 

     Wait, why was he thinking about this, there were bigger problems at hand.

     “Dave, we need to tell Dad what happened.”

     As if remembering minutes earlier, Dave’s tense frame wilted and he nodded, glancing back to the camera before he crawled over to pick it up. Well. At least they’d managed to get a lot of pictures before being interrupted. … Not to mention getting to kiss him, that had been nice. Very nice, if the zinging in his pants was anything to go by.

     Slowly rising, adjusting his jeans and dusting debris off of himself again, John slapped either side of his face a few times. “Okay. Okay, we’ll just go inside and Dad’ll be all ‘Hello, son! How are you!’ and I’ll be all ‘Hey Dad! We got seen by a hiker!’ and he’ll be all..” John trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure what his father would say or do. He groaned quietly.

     “John,” Dave said, reaching a hand out. It was a simple gesture, a single word being a command as much as his name, an offer of comfort. John took his hand and laced their fingers before slowly starting the walk towards the house.

     They were still peeling their jackets off when James strolled into the mud room with a smile. “There you two are. I’ve got some hot apple cider to share, if you boys would have some with the pie from earlier.”

     Leave it to his dad to bake circles around everyone, but the idea of hot cider and some fresh pie was good, especially after the time in the woods.

     “Sure, Dad.” Might as well get him nice and busy first. No, no, putting it off was bad. Gnawing his lip and squeezing Dave’s hand tight once again, he shook his head. “Dad? Something… something happened.”

     Almost immediately James’ stance changed and his eyes narrowed, looking them both over from head to toe, checking for injuries or signs of damage. With no sign of blood of serious scuffs, he let out a pent breath and smiled again.

     “Take a breath and tell me, Son, it can’t be that bad. I’ve seen your surprises before after all,” he said, gesturing to Dave before turning to head to the kitchen, the unsaid request for them to follow him hanging in the air.

     “We uhm. We went to go take pictures, yeah?” John said, taking a seat at the table.

     “Is the camera damaged? It’s okay if it is, but I’d like to know.”

     “No, camera is fine,” Dave promised. “Not a scratch.”

     “...You’re making me a bit concerned,” James chuckled as he cut apple pie into even slices and pulled out some whipped cream to top them with. “Go ahead and tell me before I start jumping to more conclusions.”

     “Well uh. We.. We got the pictures,” John said encouragingly. “Then someone… might have probably seen Dave. Their phone was up, too. They might have gotten pictures.”

     James slowed to a halt at the news before slowly making himself start to move again, bringing over the pie slices before going to get big mugs of cider for each boy’s place. He didn’t speak till everyone had a mug, and even then he was quiet as he sat down with a soft sigh, warming his hands on his cup. 

     “How close were they to you? Close enough to tell they’re not a costume?”

     “I don’t know,” admitted John, looking down at his pie, one hand still clasped in Dave’s. It helped. “They looked fairly far away.”

     “Well. I’ll keep an eye out for any signs of things, but odds are if they weren’t close, any photo they could get wouldn’t be the best quality,” James said. He smiled a bit. “We all knew this day might come. We’ll just deal with it best we can. Okay, son?”

     John pulled up a smile the best he could, but he still felt worry. The smile faded and he eventually released Dave’s hand to clasp his mug, tilting the contents and swirling flecks of cinnamon and thicker liquid around the bottom. Home made cider really was the best.

     “What do we do if the word gets out, though?” he asked, looking over to Dave. Though the bird boy had taken a sip of cider and seemed content, he’d taken out his chewing toy from beneath his shirt and was idly gnawing at it while the conversation remained intense, stress bouncing his teeth on the material. Gone were the days of stress biting elsewhere, but it was still a reminder that the topic needed to ease out soon enough or that toy wouldn’t last nearly as long as it could under normal circumstances.

     “We’ll deal with it one step at a time, as it happens,” James promised. “If anyone comes knocking from the press, we’ll just have to keep Dave cloaked for a while. If anyone comes knocking from our higher authority… well. We’ll tell the truth and hope they understand the circumstances and that you were just a child.”

     John’s stomach ached a bit, but he nodded. It was the best answer he could get given the circumstances, and it wouldn’t do to push further hoping for more. He finally took a sip of the warm liquid, feeling it slip down his throat to soothe his stomach like a hug. “Okay, Dad.”

     “Now, let’s lighten up those faces, you look like the council is breathing down our necks already,” James chuckled. “What if Dave becomes his own form of notoriety? A… oh, what’s the word. A cryptid.”

     “Like Moth Man or the Jersey Devil?” John asked. Dave looked at him, confused, not understanding. He spit his toy out to go back to sipping his drink, then set the mug aside to dig into the pie wholeheartedly. Even stress wasn’t enough to deter Dave’s appetite when snacks were involved, especially not freshly baked ones. 

     “Yes, precisely,” James said, before explaining the basic premise of a cryptid to Dave. “You see, if enough people believe a winged boy exists in the woods… the funnier and less real it sounds. The fewer people would believe the story to begin with.”

     “But then you’d also get diehards who’d want to practically live in the woods, stalk the house, and never buzz off,” John warned. “We’d have to move!”

     James pursed his lips as if the idea’s downside had only then occurred to him. “My. You may have a point there, John. Perhaps that wouldn’t be ideal after all.”

     “I think being a cryptid would be fun, I could scare people,” Dave said, cawing loudly a few times and flaring his wings out in a showy fashion before they rustled and went back to normal folded against his back and the back of the chair.

     “Hah! Well, at least he’s game if it came to that,” James chuckled. “Ah, I’ll develop the pictures for you later. Do you want them a certain way?”

     “Black and white, please,” Dave asked. “Or sepia. I like how those look.”

     Nodding, he reached for the camera and checked the number of shots left. “Hmm. We’ve got a few left on this roll. How about you keep the camera for now, and give it back when all the pictures are used up instead?”

     “Are you sure?” Dave asked, pausing his pie destruction to look up with wide eyes.

     “Positive. You’ve been very careful with my camera and it shows, I trust you with it.

     Giddy, Dave beamed at him and went back to devouring the pie slice and whipped cream, getting a dab on his cheek and nose in his excited fervor of snacking. Laughing, John reached over with a finger to scoop the cream off, popping it into his own mouth without a second thought.

     The sound from outside came first as a soft, low rumble that steadily grew in intensity until the windows rattled. Everyone went quiet before James looked to the window and hummed.

     “Ah. The rain should be coming any minute now, then. The clouds were looking ready to burst all day today.”

     “Should we get the candles? That was a lot of thunder.”

     “Candles might be a good idea. Be ready to cast a few orbs as well for your room when you go to sleep, you know how dangerous it is to sleep with candles lit.”

     “We know, Dad, don’t worry. Right, Dave?”

     “Mhmm. Yessir,” he said quickly, rubbing his face with his forearm before putting his hands on the table and using them to push himself up from his seat. He scampered out of the room before coming back to put his dishes in the sink, then took off again at a dash, already knowing where the candles and matches were stored in their preparedness boxes and knowing which scented ones he wanted to use more than others.

     “I promise, John. Everything will be okay,” James said softly once they were alone. “Try not to worry about anything. We’ve come this far and gone this long without any issues, we can handle a few bumps in the road. We’re family, after all.”

     “Okay, Dad. Thanks,” John said, finishing his snack up before going to hug his father, accepting the kiss to the side of the head and the firm squeeze of two large arms that eventually released him. “What’s for dinner later?”

     “Leftovers,” James said. “And if the power goes out, snacks. Remember, don-”

     “Don’t open the fridge, you’ll let all the cold out and it’s a pain in the neck to adjust cooling spells to the precise temperature in a confined space for however long it’d be out,” John rattled off. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I remember the icicle milk.”

     James chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges as he stood up to take care of the dishes. “Go help Dave then, and make sure the windows upstairs are all shut for me?”

     “Alright,” John called before taking off at a jog to catch up with the bird boy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     The storm that hit the house that night was bigger than anticipated. It didn’t knock the power out, but it was taking every opportunity to rattle the windows threateningly, to pelt the car with debris and what they were pretty sure sounded like hail, and to put pressure on every single tree in the forest. Breaking branches rang out like gunshots in the blackness, startling everyone who heard them.

     Though they didn’t need them, John and Dave lit candles anyway, while John got a few light orbs going in different colors to drift lazily around the room, set to dissipate within several hours like gently floating nightlights. Dave was blissful with the scent of the ocean and the soft shadows the candles cast against the wall, curled up against John’s side on his bunk as John read a book. The camera had been left on the desk for now, safe and out of the way. His book didn’t hold his attention for too long, however, not with Dave pressed so warm up against his side and memories of earlier rushing through his head.

     Unable to take it any longer, John coughed and set the book aside.

     “Hey, uh. Dave? About earlier. What uh. ...What were you doing?”

     “Earlier?” Dave asked, looking up from where the book was set, confused. “How much earlier.”

     “You know what I mean, right? The kiss?” John asked, keeping his voice down to avoid his dad hearing. The last thing he needed was a Congrats On The Liplock! Cake in the morning. “You uhm. It was different from the ones you normally do, like in the mornings.”

     Dave nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of course it was different, John, weren’t you paying attention?

     “...Why?” John finally asked.

     Here was where things got a bit difficult to answer. Dave opened his mouth, closed it, tried again and failed again. When the words wouldn’t come he puffed up and made an agitated cawing sound before dropping his head back to look up towards the ceiling and underside of the upper bunk to try finding the words hidden there instead.

     “...Was it okay?” was what he finally asked.

     “I’m. Well. ...Yeah. It was okay,” John finally said. It had been more than okay, actually. It had been kind of fantastic in the moment, but how could he explain that?

     “Can I do it again?” Dave asked, cocking his head.

     “Do. ...Do you want to?” John asked.

     Dave smiled at him and nodded, already moving to straddle John once more, before John put his hands on his shoulders, face flaming. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just. Give me a second,” he said, fluster growing more intense when Dave didn’t seem phased. Though held back, he spread his wings and flattened them out as he had before, crooning that soft, croaking song once again as he bobbed his head a few times, eyes looking slightly glazed.

     ...Wait.

     “...Are. Are you flirting with me when you do that?”

     Dave paused his crooning, face reddening, and looked askew.

     “Is this a bird flirting thing? Earlier too?”

     Slowly, Dave leaned back and covered his face with his hands as he started to make the crooning noise again.

     “It is, isn’t it! It’s. Wait, no, birds don’t flirt. Oh my God is that a bird sex thing?” John asked, smirking. Shit, Dave looked pretty cute like this, burning red in the face in the candlelight and trying to continue making his sounds as if he wasn’t able to stop himself from doing it. 

     It suddenly all made so much sense. The extra food, the preference for him going first in things, the shiny odds and ends, the staring, the extra touches. All of it made sense. ...Mostly.

     “How long?” John asked quietly.

     Slowly, Dave uncovered his face and wet his lips, the crooning noises stopping prematurely.

     “...Always,” Dave said. “You’re always my most important. Most special. Mine,” he said haltingly.

     Dave had been a fully grown crow before becoming a humanoid and growing again, adjusting to his new life. He had new habits to learn, new things to adjust to. John had never set him loose before, there had never been a chance for his familiar to breed if there’d even been an interest. Yet seeing him now, hearing him crooning, watching the displays and making sense of how hard he’d been trying it seemed obvious that Dave had chosen his partner already.

     It was just up to John to accept or not.

     Easy choice, after so long of being together and closer than close.

     John reached his hands up and rested them on Dave’s hips again, waiting till he set his hands on his chest to balance before reaching up to kiss him once, twice, three gentle times, following the morning pattern. Dave pressed forward for the fourth time and held it, eyes closed and head tilted to deepen the gesture. John kneaded at Dave’s hips, keeping him close before humming into the kiss.

     Dave’s lips still tasted like cinnamon from the pie and drink earlier, sweet and welcoming. He was a warm, comforting weight on his lap, and when he eventually stiffened and tried to pull away again, John tensed his arms to keep him scooped close. No escape. Dave hesitated… then dipped his hips forward instead of trying to go back, grinding downwards.

     The candlelight grew brighter and flickered wildly, while the orbs above whirled around quicker and bounced into each other aimlessly like drunken marbles. Earlier, they’d stopped short of this but now there was no reason not to see where the rabbit hole led. John felt himself stirring down below, but decided well enough was well enough and ignored it. He was satisfied that Dave didn’t pull away when he released his hips, hands drifting up to instead touch softly at his wings, tracing feathers as they spread out. The bird shivered when he felt fingers tracing between his shoulder blades, the sensitive skin around where the wings protruded, then up towards his neck.

     They wouldn’t go further than this, deepening kisses and warm touches, the shy press of body on body as stiffness appeared. John knew he’d need to have a conversation with Dave about it after all, probably explain a few other things… including some ground rules for the displays in front of his father, if all of those behaviors were flirting. There had to be limitations on things if everyone was going to keep living happily together, after all.

     John felt Dave’s tongue and shyly opened his mouth to the invasion, allowing him even closer. Time swept away and all they focused on was warmth and touching of shoulders, hips, faces, chests. The taste of lip and skin, the sound of heartbeats syncing up as if hearing a song their hearts had long forgotten and falling into line. Safety.

     Comfort.

     The storm raged outside, but all that Dave and John were focused on was each other, only separating when they had to come up for air, smiling shyly and laughing before falling together again to kiss gentle and sweet. There was hunger there, just under the surface, but tonight? Tonight there was no place for hunger, just the wonder of being alive and together in the same space.

[blankdblank]

Harp Strings, Pebbles and Kings

… @c-s-stars

..Thorin..

Weddings are meant to be joyous occasions, as are births, but on the eve of the King Under the Mountain’s wedding while the couple reluctantly retired to fulfill their duty the two crown Princes stole their chance to flee theirs. For all she appeared to be the Queen was nothing up to par, corrupt and cruel from the moment the crown was placed on her head. Thankfully after their first bedding conception had occurred freeing the King to locking his Queen in a Royal cottage fully guarded on the grounds with plenty of noble ladies to keep her occupied and ensure his heir’s safety. All trace of the boys had faded with the wind and as a cry filled the mountain another set of cries sounded at the loss of their Queen, taken by an unseen ailment obscured by the womb in all her check ups.

But for all the joys of the arrival of the new infant a reluctance spurred in the hearts of the Council at two words, a girl. No heir had been achieved with the union with the woman from Esgaroth, a match far from the top of their liking but those from Dwarven lines demanded too much for their kin in return and all showed a reluctance to match with the tolerably attractive Dwarf regardless of his title. Especially with the fears of his being a Mad King. For decades now he’d searched without luck for the source of his treasured harp, one whom he said sang to him and played for those lucky to see it.

Mithril, sacred metal treasured especially to the Dwarves, but none could find any more than 70% pure, at least until this single harp coming across the King’s path by chance in a slew of presents when he had returned from his first tour of duty in battle, one that had taken the life of his Uncle Fundin. The single note attached simply stating, “May the music of this harp grant you a moments peace from the sorrow of passing darkness.”

With furrowed brows the Prince drew back the velvet layer wrapping the harp making him gasp at the immaculate shimmer from the polished mithril forged instrument earning similar sounds from all gathering to inspect it. For days all nobles stole a chance to ogle the priceless gift before the Prince rushed into his Parent’s rooms to drag them from bed only to gawk at the self playing and singing harp.

Once I had a secret love

That lived within the heart of me

All too soon my secret love

Became impatient to be free

 Deeply in Khuzdul the King sat with tear stained cheeks shouldering the harp with his crying daughter, who was swiftly falling silent staring up at her Father in apparent awe as he sang and played for her.

 So I told a friendly star

The way that dreamers often do

Just how wonderful you are

And why I am so in love with you

 All the years flew back to him as he remembered doing the same for his Nephews, watching these same strings often play for them under the light of the moon and stars. All these years and he knew, somehow he could feel it, his One had sent him this gift to aid him in remembering the light. How, he knew not, but one thing he was certain, around it he did not feel alone, you were with him somehow. For years he searched each inch for any trace of a hidden slot or pocket some mystical being might be trapped within without any luck leaving him to assume it was under some enchantment of your making, one to assure him you would be along soon. But adoringly watching his little girl coo in his lap his mind wandered curious as to how you would accept her into your life when you did arrive.

 Now I shout it from the highest hills

Even told the golden daffodils

 The more he played the more his mind raced and heart ached, not just for the worries concerning his precious pebble, but for the Brother’s that had fled their home for the marriage he could no longer hate for the pebble it had given him. The longer he stared into her bright blue eyes as she tapped her hands on the bow of the harp beside her and his leg he felt his worries slip away, just for a moment as your voice echoed through the harp mingling with his for the last two lines.

 At last my heart's an open door

And my secret love's no secret anymore

 … Mallory …

 Now I'm about to give you my heart

But remember this one thing

I've never been in love before

So you gotta go easy on me

 Deep crimson curls fell to the ground as did the tears of the Dwobbit staring angrily into the mirror at the deep black circles trailing down her spine surrounded by Dwarvish runes traced out in series of dots and geometric lines marking each of the trial she had passed. Thickly she could read, loyalty, honor and trust. The three toughest to achieve inked over the harshest spots on the spine to ink in between the thin tip resting between the indents on her lower back with the hilt of a sword visible at the base of her neck and shoulder blades, or rather the burn scar where it was. The tip of the hilt normally was to be inked with the Groom’s name at the end of the service while he marked his Bride’s onto an earlier decided location, an event never to take place as for an hour of her waiting in the church he never even called to say he wasn’t coming.

 I heard love is dangerous

Once you fall you never get enough

But the thought of you leaving

Ain't so easy for me

 With all her things packed and a new haircut sealing what she hoped to be a new beginning the disgraced Dwobbit fled Orcarni for safer pastures, the distant Bree. Hopefully a home away from the shameful glances and knowing looks of all that dared imagine to one day warn the former Bride to be of her intended’s shoddy reputation in town.

 Don't hurt me

Desert me

Don't give up on me

What would I wanna do that for?

 Softly to herself in the moonlit train Mall hummed song to her favorite song playing on her ipod, missing the flashes of white light leaving her skin as large poles along he way cast shadows over her skin. The white light on her again shifted her bright green eyes to one hazel and one bright blue while two strips of her pulled back hair shifted to blonde and dark brown. Her one link to her, either oddly appearing One or very distinctive Ones she had yet to find any trace of.

 Don't use me

Take advantage of me

Make me sorry I ever counted on you

 Off the train as the sun was rising Mal’s green eyes landed on her ebony haired purple eyed distant Cousin greeting her with a large smile as she shifted the mirror image of a Daughter on her hip to hug her relative after stepping around the stroller holding her Son, like her, but with painfully blue eyes. That single hug grew as Mal leaned into it, relishing the comforting contact from someone she knew not to ever harm her. Safely little Suzsienne nuzzled closer to her Mother’s side on the path down the three blocks through the small town center out to the small cottage just on the outskirts as Celebrimbor II slept soundly holding to his stuffed anvil. A soft gasp came from Mal as she eyed the small garden and bird bath slowly filling with a couple brightly colored birds at a time.

 One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

 The small home furnished to the bare bones but it still felt at home right away stirring a comforting smile onto the Dwobbit’s face as she eyed her quaint bedroom in a pale teal shade on the walls opposite the pale yellow nursery. Curiously she peered in the other rooms before asking, “Am I turning you out? There’s just one bed.”

With a soft giggle Jaqi led her through to the stained glass enclosed back sunroom with sheer curtains drawn over the glass walls rolling up as the sun rose to allow the sunlight in to the few planters packed with herbs and veggies surrounding a suspended circular cushion. In a glance at Mal she giggled again saying, “I like to sleep under the stars.”

Mal nodded peering up at the sky through the colored glass above, “It does sound lovely.” Wetting her lips she asked, “Where are we working again?”

Jaqi smiled saying, “Let’s get you some breakfast then we can go over.”

 Understand I've been here before

Thought I found someone I thought I finally could adore

But you failed my test, got to know her better so I wasn't the only one

But I'm willing to put my trust you, baby you could put your trust in me

 Three days in and she had melded into the small instrument shop in a small strip of stores. There Jaqi forged instruments and led the majority of musical classes while Mal helped fill in a few on proper technique while one of the other instructors guided the children on reading the sheet music, something Mal was far from at ease in with only the skill to play from memory and by ear from what she imagined it to possibly sound like.

Just like a count to three, you can count on me and your never gonna see

No numbers in my pocket

Anything I'm doing girl I'll drop it for you

'Cause you're the one I'm giving my heart to but I gotta be the only one

 The stares in town started on her first day and lingered each day since, first at the new face but continuing at the curious relationship between the musical instructors. Always glares came from Jaqi in defense of her unnamed Cousin silencing the advances of any Men that were far from desired, soon naming them as lovers and not the relatives they truly were. But the pair didn’t care as long as they were left to heal in peace. In the day working together and as they were cleaning up after long shifts always their shared favored song would play once again for the pair to sing and dance along to between melting hugs and shared giggles at naming their day dreams and plans for the future.

 I really hope you understand

That if you wanna take my hand

You should put yours over my heart

I promise to be careful from the start

 I'm trustin' you with lovin' me

Very, very carefully

Never been so vulnerable

Baby I'll make you comfortable

 … Fili/Kili …

 A few months Mal eased into the schedule well enough until a pair of Dwarves arrived in town, curiously enough finding their way into the art shop next door and instantly locking their eyes on the pair of women guiding a class of Children on their lesson on the guitar. Frozen in place the crimson haired green eyed woman drew their eyes as they felt an instant pull to the woman whose face had been locked in their minds for years now, one they had failed to capture in the fuzzy images now instantly clear in a single solitary glance.

Though the glance ended with the elderly art shop keep who shook his head after following their gaze, “Wrong tree lads. Best avert your eyes now, that ebony haired Lass won’t take too kindly to you ogling her Partner.”

Sharing a glance after however the Brothers refused to believe it was true. Instead turning to eye the pair of women in the next shop over again wondering who they both were as the shop filled with curious women and teens all milling about eagerly peeking at the sketches and paintings they had set out in hopes of selling them in the shop. The crowd alone brought out a smile on the owner’s face only growing at the gleeful squeals at the owner’s offering them jobs in his shop and a small apartment in the strip behind the shops. Allowing them both a greater chance of keeping watch over the pair for any sort of answers to the growing list of questions.

But each night they would see the worn pair start to dance and sing, slowly locking the words into the Brother’s hearts as they hummed along. Lyric by lyric their untold worries seemed to drift away with only glimpses of what could be the source of their pain, a single brush of the loosening bun on their One’s head off of her neck revealed the heart shattering truth others had whispered about in her absence. Their One, betrayed and left at the alter while the other bore only a single mark, a broken arrow inked into her right index finger marking her as a Widower, partially covered by a ring assumed to be the little boy’s inherited ring from his Father.

For all they could learn on Mal her watcher drew far more worrying questions as to how they had met and how they would possibly manage to fit into their lives. So day by day they would watch and wait. Learning more and more in each passing moment, a single nose scrunch here, a wince earning paper cut there all piled around each and every painfully quirky and adorable trait she bore. The stacking of spare instruction books into castles, they way she seemed to always ram her foot into the same piano, how she couldn’t ever seem to unlock her violin case without almost dropping the instrument inside. The little snowflakes and paper chains she would make between lessons she would hide in the shop to irritate the guys working there at the inconvenience only to make her giggle at their hidden adoring smiles at the thoughtful gifts.

 One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

One, two, three, four to the five what would I wanna do that

One, two, three, four to the five baby, I'm counting on you

One, two, three, four to the five

 Confirmation had finally been granted at the overhearing of a conversation between the pair on their way home of Mal trying to convince her watcher to date the obviously swooning delivery man quickly pointed out to be married earning a groan from Mal as the Brothers grinned madly at the truth that she was free to be wooed as Jaqi was the only other possible source of competition to the pair. In their apartment the pair eyed their un-sellable collection of art on their mysterious love and came up with an idea as they both tucked their treasured stuffed Lion and a Wolf into hidden pockets inside their jackets after their absent minded clutching of them for the gentle pulsing of what seemed to be Mal’s heart beat through it.

 No I'm about to give you my heart

So remember this one thing

I've never been in love before

Yeah, you gotta go easy on me

 … Jaqiearae …

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” You should really have these words inked on you or stitched into a pillow or something. For how often the words echoed in your mind, reminding yourself that pain was a natural thing in all our lives.

Yours all the more so, the only Great grandchild of Elf Father Imin and High King of the Valinor, Ingwe, upon his awakening Imin knew at once his race would all but be hunted in the future for the secrets they bore. Between the races differences were evident, for the Vanyar mainly being far brighter and all but relying on their gifted moon and stars for their strength, glistening freckles were the main marker for your kin along with bright glowing purple eyes and slightly sharpened canines. The animalistic impressions they gave reminded the other Elves, that though passive in the ways of war until pushed to the point of aggression, there was a lingering bite waiting to be issued if required.

Wars came and your Grandfather Ingweon remained with his Father while your Grandmother took you and ran when your homes were under the threat of being overtaken after your Parents had fallen to a coup inside the palace. You were just a young teen at the time but as soon as you were secured with her distant Cousin’s kin in the Shire she had left with the next rising of the moon. Safety was your only promise from her, without any of her returning again, a single glance at her last turn to see you upon her leaving that smial was all you had left of her. The comfortable home must have tapped into the quarter Hobbit in your blood from your Father’s line secretly linking you here but did nothing to ease the pain of why you had to be sent away alone.

Jaqiearae Imineon was no more allowed to be uttered, Jaqi Pear was your new name, with your only time among Elves being out under the rising moonlight leaving those able to see your eyes in their borrowed shade of a heart breaking blue. But one young Elf, a new resident of Lindon not far away grew shockingly close to you, Celebrimbor, the brightly smiling glimmer of hope in your enforced exile. Time passes and with that comes growth, of the heart and of the body, your truest friend had poured his heart out to you and gained yours in return. The kind selfless future Prince of the Noldor had chosen his bride against his family’s wishes. Away you ran and eloped, sealing your bond in each way possible with tangled embraces not lasting long as you were quite literally cast from his arms as his kin came to drag him away from your marital bed and off to his family land out in Eregion.

Measures were taken to inquire as to an annulment but were not long needed when a few short years after his being taken from your bed word had spread of a wave of mourning for the House of Feanor, mainly his youngest heir, Celebrimbor. But alone in your grief as you wept in a ball on your gifted bed at the Midwife’s cottage you swore your Children would know their Father so painfully torn from knowing them, and would always be safe after hearing the news in passing from an Elven guest for another Mother. Quietly you named the Father to the clueless Hobbits only taking the sadness in your eyes and place alone here as proof enough for your loss they did not question.

Letters were all you were granted in your seperation, slipped into envelopes possibly bartered off other soldiers from the far off Eregion. The second to last bearing a platinum ring with a polished large ruby in the center with a note marking it, “This is Narya, may it find you safely through your perils until we meet again my Dearest Tingilindë.” Though your meeting again would not happen for some time due to the widespread news. News that came before one last letter, one that still sat unopened to this day in your painful grief.

..

Five years now since his being taken from you your twins freshly entering in the tolerable threes gladly welcomed their distant kin into their home and daily lives in milling about in the music shop until your shift had ended. The glass walls always around you brought on the stares of all, each more curious than the last as to where the Father was until you had spent a few of your saved gold coins for the ink naming you a widow to all without having to voice the painful word. But the ache did heal, only being traded for an eerie feeling as a single golden ring was dropped from the pocket of a Hobbit rushing to the bus at the corner, now draped on a chain around your neck, that something was coming. These feelings came and always rang true, but this time it was far stronger.

The unknown danger came on far more daunting that it truly was, two Brothers exited that same bus a couple months later and headed straight for the local art shop when a missing coin purse was realized. With art displayed on the counter in the corner of your eye you could see them clearly staring directly at your Cousin, one with dark curls and hazel eyes and the other with blonde curls brushed back revealing painfully bright blue eyes instantly recognizable from Mal’s time under the moonlight.

The pair were hired and the days bled on in their inspection of you until a single sculpted rose was found dangling through the mail slot in a small bag. An inspection of the sheer bag brought you upright to turn to the kitchen saying, “Mal, you’ve got mail!”

An eager head popped into the hall with a wave of curls shifting and settling behind her under a curious grin in her trot to the door, “Who is it from? I never get mail.” An eager squeak was all that followed at the dazzling rose formed from a smoothed and sanded branch before the small portrait of her sipping tea while building a castle of coffee creamer cups on an index card was flipped over to reveal a simple note, “Under Sun and Stars and Moon none shines as dazzling as you.”

No name was given and that single note brought on days worth of notes, small gifts and discovered treasures for their intended they still had yet to speak to. Though upon their third day the chiseled pair had made it a touch harder for work to continue as planned. In her pained yet absolutely head over heels state at the affection granted to her Mal was left to daydreaming about the pair, yet unwilling to broach the subject in her fear of being wrong again.

Though between their courses with the Children as the pair settled into forming their latest commissions shirts were abandoned leaving all but a river of drool through the town at the distracted duo. The only reaction visible from your shop being the two news paper shirt cutouts taped over their position to block out each distracting dip, dimple and crease nearly leaving Mal on the floor after she ran into the piano once again staring at the pair of them in just sweats and aprons barely covering their muscled and hair coated chests matching the hue and curls on their heads tucked into poorly wound buns. A simple glance back at your shop brought smirks to their faces after catching the stares from the women in the street parting in their discovery of them.

.

Three weeks the duo had wiggled their way into a daily gaining of smiles and eager squeaks form Mal, whom they were glad to overhear her gushing about her gifts to the Mothers in class all staring at you wondering how you had managed to fool her for so long and what anniversary you were building up to. A single odd couple in the street after your trip from the markets for lunch however brought the dark haired duo in thick sunglasses and hats, one wide brimmed and the other with two flaps straight out on either side. The dark blue collars stuck out from under their leather jackets and the motorcycle and side car in a bright silver did not aid in their attempted hiding at the book café across the street with poorly hidden binoculars tucked inside their jackets.

Day by day their distance was held and costumes became more and more absurd. Clearly you and Mal were not the targets, easing any worry at Mal’s ex coming to town endangering your twins, so further inspection from you brought their gaze obviously onto the mysterious duo. The pair even more so reluctant to share anything about their former lives leaving the town to speculate wildly as to where they had run away from. The spies seemed harmless at least, more so when they caught glimpses of your twins teetering around your shop. One day they got especially focused on them sharing chuckles as they watched them giggling in their circles around a standing drum between rhythmic taps while Mal played and sang a song they were matching the beat to.

With chair in hand you approached the duo with a plate of scones you set between them drawing the pair with thick curly wigs laying over floral shirts to turn to you. Swallowing dryly they both eased their sunglasses down on their noses revealing eyes in a similar shade to the blonde’s as you flashed them a quick smile, “Morning. Thought we might need an introduction. I’m Jaqi.”

With parted lips the burlier of the two offered his hand revealing tattoo coated knuckles as he eyed yours and your now obvious ring, “Dwalin.” His Cousin offered his hand when yours was released, “Bofur.”

You nodded scooting the plate of scones closer to the center of the table, “Help yourselves. Now, I was wondering, you seem to be paying a great deal of attention to the new hires across the street, leads me to wonder why.” The pair inhaled deeply and reached for scones to help aid in their secrecy, “I have two little ones.” Your head nodded to the still tapping duo across the street making the pair of burly Dwarves smile again then glance at you once more, “Are the boys any danger to them?”

Instantly they straightened up both shaking their heads saying, “Absolutely not!”

Bofur, “They’d never dream of harming Pebbles!”

Dwalin, “No, we’re-.” he let out a sigh shifting closer to you, “Their Amad sent us to look after ‘em. Took off unexpected ya see. Just need looking after.”

You nodded, “Thank you. Enjoy your scones.” They nodded their heads gratefully and watched as you stood and set your chair back into place at the table beside theirs and crossed the street with fresh ciders in hand with a muffin to split with the twins leaving the pair to return to their spying as Bofur drew his ringing phone form his pocket for their first relay of information of the day.

…

The spying had its advantages and drawbacks for the pair, in what ease they felt at being near the Princes again they were deeply pained at the news of the Princess’ colic continuing and clearly the weight of missing these few precious early days of her life were weighing on the pair heavily, as was the thought of tearing the boys from their assumed safe little nest. But a glint of polished metal drew out their binoculars again to catch a harp identical to Thorin’s being sculpted with a fine metal tool between white licks of flame darting out between your lips to keep the instrument heated enough for shaping. Soft gasps came from the duo now on their feet to cross the street. In their haste they missed your finger raised to your lips and your bite into it stirring a shiver from Mal.

Beside you Mal grimaced asking, “How can you do that?”

Her eyes watched your finger swirling over the bleeding bite marks freeing silvery blood out into thin swirls easily melded onto the harp adding a few details to the eagle on the top corner of it appearing in flight to finish off the beak and facial feathers, “Easily enough after years of practice.”

“It’s disgusting. Do you tell people they’re buying your blood?”

You shook your head, “Should I also tell them Moria’s financial infrastructure is based off the blood of my kin dirtied by the thieving acts draining them of it in battle?”

Mal, “Um…”

You let out a weak chuckle after licking your finger sealing the cuts, “Art is pain. We all suffer for our crafts. A little blood here and there is no trouble for me. Besides, nothing sounds more heavenly than mithril strings compared to the common cat gut sort.”

Mal shivered through a disgusted grunt, “Please don’t remind me of that.” Making you giggle then turn your head to the pair entering your shop eyeing the harp resting on the large harp secured between your feet and thighs.

With a grin you nodded your head to the pair, “Dwalin, Bofur, café kick you out?”

Dwalin’s eyes scoured the harp as Bofur asked, “Do you mend these harps often?”

You eyed it then stated, “Not much need for mending. I do make them though.”

Dwalin’s lips parted, “You make them?!” You nodded and watched as he pulled up an extra stool saying, “Alright, we’ve got a Cousin who has one, an enchanted one-.”

Mal chuckled, “Jaqi doesn’t enchant her harps.”

Dwalin glanced to you and you nodded, “Not past a whispered plea into the strings not to wear out.”

Bofur, “Would you be able to inspect it, should we manage to get it shipped out here, I mean?”

You nodded, “I can have a look, only I’m not well studied in removing of enchantments, you’d need a Wizard for that.”

Dwalin sighed, “Either way I’m certain the crafter of it could find out how it manages to play itself and sing to our, Cousin.”

With a giggle you asked, “It sings and plays on its own?” To which they nodded then turned catching the boys arriving signaling their fleeing back to the café to call home again as you giggled to yourself, wondering what could have happened to your harp and which one they could mean as you’ve only sold one so far and gifted two in your life. Softly again you resumed your prior humming unaware of the echo drawing the agitated King’s eyes to his harp in the corner of the room shouldering and rocking the wailing Princess slowly quieting at the strings began to shift freeing the tune his One was daydreaming to.

[astrohawritings]

Fight me - Rocky

Rating :: Fluff

Warning(s) ⚠️:: Mention of possible bad experiences

Pairing:: Rocky x Reader

Word count:: 2.5K

Prompt (credit to @arohawrites ) ::

He made his way inside the bar.

Noisy Rocky thought.

The bar is packed with people. His nose is overwhelmed with the mixture of alcohol, cigarette and different scents of expensive perfume.

Rocky slowly approached the counter and meekly sat.

The bartender placed a glass and poured him a drink. "No paper?" Rocky asked the bartender.

The woman gave a grin, "I thought you'll never ask" she handed him a small piece of paper.

"Thanks" Rocky simply answered. He read the whole thing and a smile formed on his lips. Enigmatic, as to how the bartender describes his smile when he receives exciting missions.

He left without warning.

The bartender can only shake her head. "As usual, you never touch the drinks I prepare for you" She mumbled while looking at the untouched glass of alcohol.

(Story begins after the prompt)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Darn it.’ I snapped. Couldn’t I just have one day of rest? It seemed every day was a new assignment; anything for Miss Stark I guess.

Morgan Stark was the CEO of Stark Industries. And I, Well I worked as an agent for a subsidiary of Stark industries. Yes, I had somehow gotten a place in Stark Industries. No, I don’t know how. Anyways, Morgan had just sent for me to get a target before “Rocky”, an agent from a competing company, Fantagio got to him. Finding the company issued car for this mission, I sighed, starting up the supercar.

Here we go again, I suppose. Another day, another mission, another competition.

~~~~~~~~

Shutting the car off a safe distance from where the target was, I got out, adjusting the leather jacket and ensuring I had everything I needed-or may need, should things go south. The key soon joined the odd bits and bobs in the jacket, and the dull click of the soles of my shoes filled the silence of the abandoned alleyway I had selected. The small groups of drunk people talking loudly about this and that and sober people trying to quiet them down - It WAS 2:18am after all-to no avail were scattered across the path. I passed them, the sound of my shoes no longer audible.

The club entrance was hidden by people spilling out onto the street, making my job that much harder, forging a path through drunk and sober people alike, grimacing at the scent of alcohol, sweat and smoke wafting off most of the people surrounding me. After what felt like an absolute enternity, fresh air filled every inch my lungs and a soft cough followed the exhale. Breaking into a faster walk, I was reminded of my competition and how I didn’t know where he was.

‘Where is it? C’mon..’ I groaned lightly, searching for the place I was told the target would be. ‘There it is.’

Making my way inside, I retrieved my pocket dagger form my pocket, creeping forth. Finding the target, I paused, then leapt forward, quickly engaging in combat with the guardsmen surrounding him.

Finally, the guards were taken care of and I was barely out of breath. The target glared at me, then over my shoulder, gaze getting angrier. The scent of cologne wafted by my nose and the heavy footsteps of someone attracted my attention.

‘I see you got here first.’ A gruff voice disturbed the tense silence. ‘Well done, Princess.’ The man made his way further into the room. ‘Now, step back and let me handle this.’

I stayed stubbornly where I was, returning his words in the same form. ‘Sorry Sweetie, but I am a licensed agent from Stark Industries. I have as much of a right to this as you do. And as they say, Early Bird gets the worm.’

Appearing in the corner of my eye, I saw who it was even though his voice should’ve have given it away. His cat-like eyes were settled on me, target seemingly forgotten by him.

Rocky snatched the target’s arm and began to yank him along.

‘Sir, I got here first; he’s mine.’

‘Sure, hon, he’s yours. But you’re not doing anything.’ He growled. 'So allow me.' With that said, he yanked the man with him as he left, his jacket lifting a little as he turned, flashing his gun for a split second.

Quickly following the men, I pulled a face at Rocky's broad back. I guess I'll have to fight him for the right to take the target as my catch. Just as that thought dared to cross my mind, my earpiece buzzed. Clicking it on, Morgan's voice filled my ear cavity.

'You will work alongside Rocky for this mission.'

Rocky's steps faltered just as Morgan stopped speaking. He stopped, causing the target, Ryu Kyung-Min to slam into his back, both men groaning. Kyung-Min began to whine but shut up at Rocky's deadly stare. The latter's gaze then shifted to me, questions clear in the mocha colour. With a silent nod, I answered the questions. That seemed to assure Rocky who began walking again, yanking Kyung-Min with him. Deciding that I would keep anyone from coming up behind us, I walked slower, hand playing with the handle of the blade in my pocket.

Alas, despite my best efforts, Kyung-Min was wanted by quite a few people. And they were willing to do anything to get him-starting with hurting me. Again, the crowd was substantial, drunk people muttering about this, that and the other. Rocky and Kyung-Min got through mostly okay, but I was snagged by a drunk woman. 'Excuse me, ma'am.' I muttered, trying to tug my arm free from her strangling grip. 'Have you seen my boyfriend?' I shook my head, still trying to free my arm. 'He's a douche. I cheated on him, but I've changed. He says "once a cheater always a cheater".' She continued rambling on, but I soon tuned her out. I was slowly working her fingers off my skin, glancing up to try to find Rocky and Kyung-Min.

Of course. Neither were anywhere to be seen. Why would they be?

Just as I believed I was home free, an arm circled around my neck from behind, momentarily surprising me and stealing the breath from my lungs. Immediately, my body went into fight mode, sending my elbow backward and trying to counteract the unknown person's weight with my own.

Surprisingly, or more like unsurprisingly, neither worked and the arm stayed around my neck, slowly constricting the airflow to my lungs. Trying not to panic, my brain ran over the possible actions and outcomes. I physically moved, trying to loosen the person's grip as much as possible; to help myself when i chose what course of action I'd prefer to take. I could feel the bad memories surfacing. I needed to get out of this person's grip. Now.

Finally, success. I broke free but to what cost? I could feel the tightening of my throat and tears welling up in my eyes, still managing to threaten with my dagger, getting in a few swipes in before I made my way through the crowd toward my car.

I didn't make it to say the least. The woman had somehow found a knife and was willing it, drunkenly swinging it. Feeling like Black Widow, a (sadly) deceased colleague from another area of Stark Industries, I fought several people at once, my panic and upset not assisting me in the slightest. I retaliated constantly, somehow finding strength to continue the fight. Mere moments afterward, the attackers were out. Glaring dangerously at everyone else who'd moved away in fear and confusion once the fight had begun, I made my way toward my car once more.

Leaning against the front wheel arch, I took a few moments to calm down. Turning to the vehicle, I sighed at the thought that I would have to inform Morgan that I had lost Rocky, and ultimately, Kyung-Min. Hopefully she wouldn't pull me off cases afterward. I wanted to do this. I did. Bad memories were just triggered. I was completely fine.

Tugging the door open, I wasn't ready for the two men to materialise out of the shadows. Rocky and Kyung-Min.

'You did well, Princess.'

Startled and threatening the two for a split second, my stiff hands softened, one falling to my side and the other moving to sit over my still-racing heart. 'Don't do that.' The words were softer than I had intended, but at that point I didn't care. My stomach was feeling heavy and I felt weirdly drowsy. Noticing, the agent hummed, opening the passenger door and pushing Kyung-Min into the seat.

'Can you take him into Stark Industries? I'll follow you. My car is there.' Seeing as I was still outside the car, he gestured to a supercar purring a few metres away.

'Sure. Follow me in.'

I started making my own car, the soft growl of the engine joining the other's. Letting out the handbrake, the car rolled forward, the growling increasing just slightly at the pressure applied on the accelerator. I zoned out a little, every now and then checking on the car behind me. Pulling into the secured driveway, I paused, speaking into the machine standing by the gate, the screen bright against the darkened surroundings that accompanied night.

'Agent Rocky from Fantagio is here as well.'

'Bring him in. Miss Stark would like to see him.'

'Very well.'

The gate opened and slowly, the car inched into the underground carpark and I watched Rocky navigate his car in as well, slowly following until he found a vacant parking space, shutting off the engine and stepping out. I parked in the drop off area, putting the car in Park and stepping out and helping Kyung-min out, leaving him with the stony-faced agent, moving the vehicle to my parking space and cut the engine, causing the underground lot to be cast into complete silence. Briefly, the silence was cut when I closed the door, a small noise informing me that the car was locked, the Interior electronics switching off. Again, the silence was disrupted as I strode across the parking lot.

Leaving Rocky to open the door to the interior, I waited for Rocky to catch up with Kyung-min, holding the heavy door with my back. Shifting my weight to enter after the men, I noticed Rocky looking around shyly, a touch of curiosity in his dark eyes, plush lips just barely parted as his head tilted up, eyes settling on the high ceiling, several feet above him. His attention was drawn to me once i spoke into a small speaker by an elevator.

'Miss Stark, This is Agent Y/N. I'm back with the target, Ryu Kyung-min and Agent Rocky from Fantagio Industries.'

'Ah, Y/N. Bring both up to my office, please. I would like to speak to you.'

As she finished speaking, the elevator doors slid open, showing off the lush interior. Turning my attention back to my guests, gesturing toward the metal box. 'Kyung-min, Agent.' Neither moved and i sighed heavily, shifting toward Rocky, lightly taking his forearm and tugging the muscular male forward, taking Kyung-min from his grip while I was there. As if on autopilot, he followed, standing toward the front of the elevator with his back to me, staring blankly at the area where a number pad would usually be.

Stifling a smile, I lightly tapped the side of the box, a light whirring immediately filling the air, getting softer as we ascended. I noticed the Agent gazing at the shiny wall, eyes flicking toward me, but i acted as though i didn't notice, lightly playing with the handcuffs on Kyung-min, checking the tightness. Rocky took a breath, seemingly about to turn when the doors slid open, the male stepping out a little awkwardly. Again, i stifled a laugh, pushing Kyung-min out of the metal box, the doors closing softly behind me.

Morgan was waiting, her skirt and blazer ironed and well-fitting. A smile was on her face, hair dancing over her shoulder a little as she stepped forward, hand extended. 'Hello, Agent. I am Morgan Stark, Y/N's boss.' Shaking her hand, Rocky responded quietly. 'A pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you and Stark Industries.'

'The pleasure is mine. And Y/N's, i assume?' The woman glanced around Rocky and you quickly nodded, smiling sweetly. Rocky smiled faintly, shifting to the side a little. 'Brief me, Agent.' Morgan walked over to her desk, sitting in the overstuffed office chair, clasping her manicured hands atop the desk. The playful smirk caused the corner of  her lips to twitch a little, shoulders shaking a few times as she laughed under her breath.

After countless moments of explaining the situations and such (with the interruption of Kyung-min at points), i had finally gotten the briefing over with, Rocky standing tall beside me, hands tucked behind his back. Morgan hummed, leaning forward to speak into an intercom. 'Agents, you may come and take Kyung-min for an interrogation.' Two agents trotted into the room, murmuring soft "hellos" as they took Kyung-min's arms and lifted him up, leading him away.

Sitting backs again, Morgan then dug around in her drawers, sliding a pass across the table. 'For you, Agent. So that you can follow Y/N around today- and whenever you would like and, ' she paused to look at me. 'When Y/N agrees.' Creating her throat, she glanced in my direction. She then proceeded to ask me to escort Rocky to my desk where he would work through paperwork with me.

~~~~~~~~~~

A yawn escaped me and I gripped my pen in an attempt to wake myself up a little. Rocky chuckled, his pen still moving across the paper in front of him. 'Tired, princess?'

Groaning, I answered. 'Hush, Rocky.'

'Minhyuk.' He declared softly, his writing slowing down considerably for a moment. I hummed, peering up at the man. 'Minhyuk Is my name. My birth name. Rocky is just a nickname.' I smiled to myself. 'I kinda figured.' I remarked carefully, slowly writing on the paper before me. 'I mean, your parents could have named you Rocky, but I doubted it.' Minhyuk hummed in response and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and putting his pen down.

'I'm done.'

'Same.' I took his paperwork, placing it in a plastic sleeve and handed it back to Rocky, gesturing for him to follow me, holding my own work in my own plastic sleeve. Again, I made my way toward Morgan's office, knocking on the door to my working space, shared with a few other people. She smiled and gestured for me to open the door, interlocking her hands atop her desk. 'All done?'

Nodding, I gave her my work, watching as she took off the sleeve and skimmed through the pages of work I had recently completed. Replacing the plastic, she nodded, smiling. 'Well, that's it kiddos. You're both free to go. Thank you for working with our agents so diligently, Rocky.' She stood, stretching a hand toward Rocky.

'It was a pleasure, Ma'am. Y/N was an amazing partner.'

'Great to hear. Y/N will help you get out and then will be able to go home.'

I nodded, grabbing my things and keys to my normal car, walking into the open elevator where Rocky was waiting. As the doors shut, he swiveled a little, starting at me. 'Thanks for letting me work on your case. And, I'm sorry for trying to steal Kyung-min from you. He was rightfully yours from the start.' Taking a breath for the first time in about a minute, Rocky extended his hand. 'Truce?'

Batting his hand away, I sighed. 'I don't know. You're kind of annoying.'

'Fight me, Agent.'

Laughing softly, I pulled the man into a brief hug. 'Friends, Minhyuk. We're friends. Executive decision.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Sorry for the late upload, I had planned to have this up a day or two ago but I got a little busy. The ending was a little rushed, but I mean, I think it's okay..? 

[j-writesandstuff]

equal, hermano

The second Rafael and Max were through the front door of the loft Max ducked, practically running, into their shared room the slam of the door reverberating across the whole apartment. Rafe let out a deep sigh, he knew his little brother would have locked the door by now so he dropped his bag by the door and shuffled towards the kitchen. Defeat was not a feeling Rafe enjoyed, neither was helplessness. Especially when it concerned his little brother.

He was born lucky, he knew it-he'd been raised to know and appreciate that fact. As a shadowhunter birthright is often the first thing you're taught at the institute. But his parents had also taught him the privilege it bought him in their world, the struggles he would never have to face all because he got lucky in the lottery of existence. Many in their world would tell him his brother was born unlucky, pulled the short straw. The same was often said about his Papa. Rafe never really understood it all, all he saw of them was the fact Max healed every injured creature he came across since the age of three, and the fact his Papa conjured waffles when he was sad, Max made runes dance on the ceiling in shimmering purple when studying was melting his brain, his Papa helped save the world. He didn't understand the people who hated them. He doubted he ever would. He also would never understand the people making his little brother want to lock himself away in their room. Rafe knew he needed to think of something. To him, Max had always been equal sometimes he even considered the fact Max was superior to him in plenty of ways. He and his family saw Max like that, but he wanted everyone to.

That's when the idea hit him. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he heard the soft hum of classical music-his Dads favourite- and saw his fathers gently swaying along together as they prepared dinner. Perfectly in-sync with each other. He almost didn't want to interrupt. Almost.

'Uh. Dad, Papa, can I ask you about something?'

They both jumped a little at the presence of their son bursting the little bubble they'd created but composed themselves quickly.

Magnus spoke first.

'Of course sweet pee, always. What's up?' Both Magnus and Alec had lent against the breakfast bar, opposite their eldest son sitting on the bar stool.

'How does the alliance rune work?'

Neither of them was prepared for that question-it was written all over their faces. They shared a glance. With that glance they shared a whole a conversation, Alec placed his hand gently on the back of Magnus' arm just above his elbow-their secret sign of support.

'Well, your Aunt Clary saw it just before the war with Valentine.' Magnus always said his name like that, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. His whole family did. Rafe hadn't heard it all, but he was sure it did.

Alec continued, they always spoke like this. Flowing perfectly one after the other-together.

'It binds the two who share it, I and your father share it with each other. I can use your Papas abilities, as he can use mine. I could use it to conjure a portal, and he could light up a seraph blade.'

They both got a faraway look in their eyes as Magnus finished.

'I'm almost certain that rune saved at least a thousand lives. Certainly mine and your Dads. But it was also a changing moment in the relationship between Shadowhunters and Downworlders. We fought side by side. It was truly incredible.'

Alec's arm had slid entirely around Magnus' waist as he'd been talking. Rafe's perfect example of the two worlds unity. They'd always taught him unity was strength. Love was power, and alliance was always the answer.

He knew exactly what needed to be done. He smiled broadly, a determined glint in his eye.

'Are they busy tonight?' They know who he meant. 'Can you get them over in the next half hour? Uncle Simon, Aunt Clary, and Papa are especially important. Uhh, don't tell Jace and Izzy I said that. Or Grandma.'

Alec chuckled. 'Sure buddy, your secrets safe with us, I wouldn't wanna inflict that on anybody. We'll give them all a call now. But, uh, why?'

'I'll explain when they get here, just get calling it needs to happen soon-its important.'

And with that he was gone, flying off the bar stool into the office leaving his parents to share a confused look before dialing the phone.

Exactly thirty minutes later his whole family was assembled in the living room, Rafe sat crossed legged on the coffee table in the center. Magnus and Alec, Alec with a leg slung lazily across his husbands lap, next to each other on the sofa. Jace next to Alec, with his Aunt Clary on the arm of the chair one foot in Jace's lap, the other on Simon's shoulder. Who'd been forced to sit on the floor for arriving last. Aunt Izzy and his grandma sat on the armchairs either ends of the coffee table. The only one missing was Max. Everyone noticed. Rafe began.

'Okay, so you've all noticed our little buddy blueberry isn't here. In fact, he hasn't left our room since we got back from training today.'

Concern spread across each of their faces. Magnus took Alec's hand.

'That's because today someone hurt him, pretty badly. And I don't mean just physically, although that too.'

The concern melted into horror, and cold rage in all of them. Even Rafe felt the buds of it rising again in his stomach. It was Simon who spoke. Always his Uncle Simon to hold some composure. He was good like that.

'What exactly, did they do to him, Rafael?' His voice quiet, as if he didn't really want to hear. He imagined they probably didn't. They'd known Max since he was a baby, tiny and defenseless. That image still hadn't really gone away. Even now he was ten, and able to do magic it took Warlocks hundreds of years to master, he was the family baby.

'Well first of all Max beat this kid in a race, totally fair and square. We got told to use any ability we had, and well Max just happens to be able to teleport. Really they should have been more specific. But anyways. This kid was not happy about that, jealous if you ask me. His pride was hurt, badly. He storms over to Max and calls him a cheater. Then punches him.'

The atmosphere in the room said it all. Fury filled every member of his family, he felt bad telling them about it but they needed to know for this to make sense. He ignored the nauseating feeling rising in his throat as he remembered the rest. He continued.

'This kid is big, I'm talking my age, a head taller than Max and five years of ShadowHunter training literally written all over him. He's towering over Max and I can feel it, you feel his magic you know? That shit is strong-'

'Language Rafael. Just because you're fifteen doesn't mean the rules are off the table.' Cut in his Grandmother.

'Right, sorry. I go jogging over ready to fight this kid for squaring up my baby brother when he swings for him. Now we all know, me from experience, you don't swing at Max. In seconds he's across the room right into a wall.'

They share a glance between them all. The kind only a group of concerned adults can understand. Jace nods at Rafe, silently telling him to go on. Jace is never good at speaking when he's angry.

'Obviously, I'm turning to Max to calm him down when someones shoving me aside and catches Max off guard. He was looking at me, not focussing you know? He gets him. Right in the stomach.' Rafe's voice shakes a little as he continues.

'I'm seeing red. Max is barely recovering when I'm up.I-I broke his nose. You guys can punish me for that later, I don't care about a consequence. But now this kid is humiliated and in pain. A bad combination in a jackass.'

'I can't believe the trainers just let this happen.' Interrupts Maryse. Her voice stern, but the edges laced with anger.

'They weren't there, the kid picked the exact time an important Clave message came through so the trainer had to leave or something. But that isn't the actual bad part, not really anyways. He's yelling at me. A lot of swearing and cursing my family name which I was about to punch him again for-when he notices Max healing a little graze on my elbow from where he pushed me earlier. By the angel, Max is so soft. This kid says stuff that has totally destroyed Max okay. It's bad. I dunno if Papa is even gonna wanna hear it. That kinda stuff.'

Alec squeezes his hand Clary subconsciously looks down at Simon. So does his Aunt Izzy. They aren't stupid, they know the kind of stuff he means. Blue sparks are rising from his Papas other hand, a small burn mark forming in the arm of the chair. His Dads other hand is tapping hard against his thigh. He can see the anger in his Uncle's shoulders, both of them rigid all over. His Aunt Clarys eyebrows were knotted so tightly together it must have been hurting. His Aunt Izzy had an expression that could have killed, he imagined she was wishing it could.

'Its okay sweet pea. I've lived enough years to hear this.' Despite the usually soothing nickname, his Papas tone was ice cold.

Rafes own voice shook, a lump had risen in his throat. He was going to cry.

'He said 'I don't even know why this dirty warlock is even allowed in. He's half demon. Look at what he just did to me, he's dangerous. I guess you really can't tame half breed.' At this point, I'm screaming at him. Ready to rip into him, because Max apologises to plants he steps on and heals injured birds and sleeps in Batman pajamas.' At this point the tears are streaming down Rafes face, his hands shaking.

'He's not dangerous. He's so little he was just scared. Then he turns to me and says the worst part. 'I don't get why you're defending him. You're worse than that dad of yours. A few years ago you'd be hanging his horns on your mantlepiece as a prize. Why is he even part of your twisted little family? He can't even use a seraph blade. You've been tainted by the dirty demons in your house and your faggot of a dad. He then threw a blade at Max and taunted him because he cant use it and told him we'd never be really equal, no matter how brainwashed I was.' Rafe has said it all so fast he was out of breath, the front of his shirt wet with tears.

'Max broke one of his arms and both parts of his left leg. Blew up a light bulb then ran out the room. It took me twenty minutes to catch up with him. He was practically glowing purple he wouldn't let me touch him.'

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence. They'd all surpassed anger into full-blown rage.

'That's why I needed you all to come over. I'm gonna show him we've been equal since his tiny toddler hands made me a flower out of thin air. Aunt Clary, you can still draw that alliance rune right?'

Clary took a moment to compose herself, wiping a tear and sitting up a little straighter and pulling her mouth into a smile.

'Yeah Rafe, I can.'

'Perfect. I'll go get him.'

Outside their bedroom door, Rafe could feel the ice cold sadness of Max's magic. He loved his brother more than anyone, feeling his sadness broke his heart.

'Blueberry,hermano. I've got something to give you. Everyone's here, well because they all care Maxy. You've just gotta come into the living room.' He whispered through the gap under the door.

After a moment the door opened, revealing a tear stain Max. His blue cheeks burning a bright red, Rafe only ever saw them do that when he laughed too hard. He swore they never be red from tears as long as he lived. His blue eyes puffy, curly hair scruffy and disheveled from having a pillow over his head. He hadn't even gotten changed out of his clothes, one trouser leg bunched up around his knee.

'Okay.' Was all he said, barely a whisper. He trailed behind Rafe into the living room.

Concerned eyes follow them both as Rafe goes back to the coffee table. He moves over and gestures for Max to sit next to him. He refuses. Max won't meet any of there eyes. Not even Simons. Max always favoured Simon a little, he could see the heartbreak on his uncles face.

Suddenly Rafe was angry. Angry someone had made his brother feel he didn't deserve to be with his own family Anger Max had believed him.

'Maxy, sit next to me.' He patted the spot next to him again and smiled up at him. 'Come on buddy.'

Max sat on the edge of the table looking down at his Star Wars socks. A gift from Simon the birthday after they'd watched them all together. Max looked like he was about to start burning them off. His parents were holding each others hands so tight their knuckles were white. His Papa looked close to tears but he was wearing his unglamoured eyes- a statement.

'Okay, Aunt Clary lets go.' Rafe stated a cold determination in his tone.

She drew the rune on a piece of paper, it flowing perfectly from her hand.

Rafe took the piece of paper and began copying the rune onto the palm of his hand.

'Turn and face me.' Max did, still not looking up keeping a distance between their knees. Rafe moved forward so they were touching and placed his palm over Max's heart.

'Now you listen to me, Maxwell. You're sat in the middle of a group of people who found a baby, who was bright blue and didn't even consider you being anywhere but with them. They gave you the name Max as a gift. You have a better heart and soul then many a shadowhunter, you can do way more than any of us ever could. So quit crying. And give me your hand.' Rafe smiled as his brother finally met his gaze and placed his hand palm up in his hand.

Rafe traced the rune.

A surge of magic flooded through his system and he almost fell off the table. But something had caught him. His own palm was holding him up, three inches off the ground.

'Now that. Is awesome' Rafe laughed, sat up and looked at his brother.

He handed him a witchlight.

Max hesitated for a moment, he closed his hand around the stone. He'd try this a few times before, the stone always remained cold and blank in his hand. When he opened his palm the stone was alight with a bright light, tinted slightly purple. His face lit up almost as bright as the stone in his hand, and suddenly the tension in the room snapped and everyone jumped and cheered.

'Equal, hermano.' Whispered Rafe, so only his brother could hear.

'Equal, brother.' Max beamed back, the light behind his eyes was enough thanks for Rafe.

The next day when the boys were training together, testing their new found skills Max noticed him coming. Rafe felt the spike in magic as he entered the training room-coming straight for Max.

'Haven't learned your lesson yet warlock?' He sneered.

'Let me make it clear. You can't use our weapons or our runes. So why are you even here?' He dangled a seraph blade in front of Max's face and laughed.

Max took it from him, smiled and lit it up.

Rafe had never been prouder, and when they walked home Max was practically dancing down the street in joy.

That night all the family were over for dinner, Max smiled the entire time.

[moralesbynature-blog]

Untitled

Gwen sat in the cockpit of the doomed 1940’s fighter plane, she had only one thought. Him. Miles. She struggled with the controls as her last engine blew, and her craft started to spin, downward. ‘Damn it! Come on old girl you can do this.’ Frantic she looked around for a picture she and Miles took at the fair. There it was stuck in the crevice, of her control board. ‘Here goes nothing.’ She reached between her legs and pulled hard on the emergency escape latch. The top of the cockpit flew off, Gwen slammed on a flashing red button, her seat launched upward only to be snagged on the plane. ‘As if this wasn’t fun enough.’ She reached for the knife she always kept on her left ankle. She cut the tether holding her to the plane, pulled her parachute and watched as Humming Bird fell to the earth. A tear fell from her eye as the last connection to her past hit the ground with an explosion. She floated down for what seemed like an hour. She cut herself loose, and picked up her radio.

    “Hello, is anyone there, over.” Nothing but static. “Can anyone read me, over?” “I have crashed on an island some few hundred miles north of the Mano base, is anyone there? Over.” Just more static. She exhaled heavily and looked up a into the sky. She shielded her eyes from the sun, hoping to see a friendly flyer. Nothing. “Well it'll be dark soon, I better find some shelter. She walked the perimeter of the beach, hoping to find some debris she could use. “I might be able to find something in the jungle. Hopefully not rabies or my death, but hopefully something much more useful. Ooo, something like a margarita, strawberry mmm, no mango oh yes, what I wouldn’t do for a mango margarita right now.” She ventured into the jungle. “With my luck, I’ll run into a spider the size of a watermelon.” She shivered. “Stop Gwen, you’re freaking yourself out, way more than this creepy jungle.”

    After a few hours of searching and hacking at dead trees, she finally had enough raw material to build a suitable place to sleep. Using her parachute as a roof she structured a few branches into support beams, and fastened wet twigs into rope and tied it all together. She stepped back to admire her hard work. “Well it’s not the Hilton, but it’ll do.” Her stomach started to growl, good thing I was able to find some fruit in there. She sat outside her tent, and looked off into the ocean, as the sun was near then end of it’s set.

    “If I probably wasn’t going to die in my sleep, this would truly be the most beautiful sight, I ever seen.” She took a bite of her apple. Some bushes behind her started rustling. She shouted, “Who’s there!” As bits of apple flew out her mouth. She pulled out her pocket knife and readied her stance. “Who or whatever you are, I’m not going down without a fight!” The rustling stopped. Gwen laughed. “Ha, you better run.” Gwen dropped down to her knees. “What am I going to do? I need to find help. And soon.” She took another bite. A loud screech filled the air. Gwen covered her ears. “Augh. What the…?” Three monkey came flying out of the bushes. “Are you what was freaking me out?” The monkeys walked up to her. “Come here little guy, I won’t hurt you.” A voice rang out from her radio, she reached for it. “Hello? Anyone there, over?” This startled the monkey, who began to freak out.. “Whoa, whoa calm down guys, calm down. They started screaming and screeching, one of the monkeys grabbed her radio and they all ran back into the jungle. “Hey I need that”. Gwen chased after them.

    Deeper and deeper into the jungle she ran, she lost sight of the monkeys a few miles ago. She stopped to catch her breath. That’s when she heard it, faint and into the distance, but it was undeniable, the static from her radio. She ran towards, around trees, over bushes, through spider webs. There it was dangling from a vine on a tree, she jumped and just barely missed it. She decided to climbing the tree, slowly up Gwen went, inch by inch, almost there, just a fingertip away. She reached as far as she could, when something sharp pierced her neck. The shock made her lose balance and she fell from the tree, and landed hard on the radio. She rubbed the side of her neck, as she looked at the radio, which is now in several pieces. She throws the now useless junk at the tree she fell from and tries to stand. Her knees felt weak, and her head started to spin. She uses the tree for balance and tried taking a few steps. She falls flat on her face. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she felt herself being carried away, she struggled to speak but nothing came out. She could hear the banging of drums getting louder and louder, as she passed out.

    She awoke with water splashed in her face. “Huh?” Wh-what’s going on?” “I can’t move.” There was a huge fire in front of her, she looked at her arms and legs they were tied down to a post.

    “It is a wake!” A voice shouted.

    “It? Hey whoever you are I am a Gwen… I mean a she!” Gwen protested.

    There was a bunch of chatter. ‘Silence’, shouted a huge booming voice, from the crowd. “How does it know our tongue?” “I have never seen anything like it before. And what of it’s dressings? Very unusual.”

    “Hey, buddy, I told you I am not an it!” Gwen spat. “And let me go! Who are you people? What do you want from me?” She wiggled and squirmed to get free, but the ropes were too tight.

    “What do we do?” A woman said.

    “The chief looked at Gwen and smiled, “We fest!”

    “What?”

    The crowd of people jumped and dance, they made their way to her.

    “No, you wouldn’t want to eat me, I’m just empty calories. Trust me, you wouldn’t like me.”

    They cut her down, she fell to her hands and knees. She tried to stand but her legs were still too weak. She pulled out her knife and waved it at her captors. Their response, bladed spears at her neck, she dropped the knife. They picked her up and dragged her to a platform that reeked of blood. She started to panic, her heart pounding. They tied her down, and locked her head in place. This was it, it was all over for Gwen. She closed eyes and Miles popped into her head. She smiled and exhaled slowly.

***

    “Would you hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

    Gwen came stomping out the door. “Late for what Miles? You still haven’t told me where we are going.”

    “It’s a surprise, you’ll just have to wait and see. Now come down the stairs, so we can go.” Gwen looked at him and smiled, wickedly. “Oh no. I know that look. Don’t you dare.” Gwen leapt from the porch.

    “Catch me!” She shouted. She backed up, and ran to jump. She stopped short when she noticed Miles wasn’t paying attention. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to jump.” She backed up again, eyeing Miles. Ran and jumped, never taking her eyes off of Miles, who hasn’t turned around yet. She closed her eyes as she felt herself falling towards the ground. As she prepared herself for the cold unwelcoming pavement, she opened her eyes to Miles smiling down at her. “You caught me.”

    “I will always catch you.”

    She kissed him. “I never doubted you.”

    “Now, shall we?” Gwen got down.

    “Yes, we shall.” Miles wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and they were off.

    “You are either very brave or very stupid. Never have I seen someone smile as they were about to be killed.” She looked up and saw a man smiling at her. “I can’t wait to see which.” He untied her and handed her a sword. “Well shall we.”

    He leaped off the platform into the crowd of savages, and started to fight them off. She told up and looked down at the two that tied her down, arrows stuck out of both their necks. She looked at the sword the stranger had given her, and back at the stranger. She was so confused as to what was going on, she did not notice two savages sneaking up behind her. She turned with only seconds to spare, took a step back and fell off the platform.

    “It appears stupid.” shouted the stranger.

Gwen stood up and regained her wits. The savages jumped down to her, and jabbed with their spears. The sound of metal clashing together filled the air, as the two fought off the savages. Back to back, they were surrounded.

“Not so bad, for a stupid person. I’m Aaron, and you are.”

“I’m not stupid for starters. What is going here, who or what are these people?”

“All that later, but for now run!” Aaron reached into a pocket and pulled out a small black ball and threw it into the fire. As he grabbed Gwen by the hand and they ran into the jungle, there was a loud bang, and huge cloud of smoke. Zipping past trees, hurdling over bushes. Aaron holding tight onto Gwen’s wrist. She reached into her pocket to pull out her picture of Miles. It wasn’t there. She stopped, pulling Aaron down to the ground.

“Hey what’s the big idea?” He shouted. “We need to keep running, we have along way to go, before we are safe.”

“My picture. I have to find it.” Gwen is on her hands and knees, searching for that day at the fair.

“What does this ‘picture’, look like?”

“What do you mean? It looks like a picture,” she exclaimed. Now frantic, she crawls all over the jungle looking for the picture she lost.

“We are going to die, because you are wasting time, looking for something, I have never heard of. This will not be the end of me, I’m leaving.” Aaron got up and started to walk away. With one hand in the air he waved goodbye. “Good luck, not dying.”

“So you’re just going to leave me here?”

“Yup!” “I hope that picture of yours, will keep you safe from the Anyo Tribe.” He kept walking.

“Fine, I can take care of myself. I don’t need you! I don’t even know you!”

“Yup!”

“Who does he think he is anyway? I don’t need him, I can take care of myself. Now where is it?” Still on her hands and knees, she searched. “It has to be around her somewhere.” Closer and closer she inched to the Anyo Tribe’s sacred grounds. It didn’t take long for the Anyo to gather themselves. She could hear footsteps, rapidly approaching. Her heart rate increased. What is she to do? Continue to look for a picture? Or save herself. Well reader what would you do? She stood up, and started running, in the direction, Aaron walked off in. She ran whispering his name, as to not draw attention to herself. ‘Great, now where did he go?’ ‘I am coming back to you Miles, I will not die here! That I promise you!’

[royal-writer]

the ending we needed

What should have existed instead of the shit that shattered my damn heart because the virtual fucking dice are evil and give us NAT20'S looking for bugs and not comforting sweet broken men that some of us are trying to convince to like us so they'll come with us on grand fucking adventures.

No, I'm not still bitter. I'm not a pink Himalayan salt brick of raging fury and sorrow and anguish. Not at all.

This bitch gotta go cry now bye.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The harsh tone made Essätha instantly flinch. She folded in on herself; shrinking miserably at the irritation lacing Amon’s voice. From head to toe it felt like her muscles seized up. Locking into position with one arm wrapped around his waist and the other slightly around his midsection.

“I told you to leave me be,” he snarled, a shoulder working it’s way against hers to shove her off.

For a numbing moment, she wondered if he was going to strike her for the reckless impulse. She hadn’t asked if he wanted to be hugged. He hardly seemed like the hugging type, anyway. Always a chin up defiantly at the world. Challenging it to bring the worst upon him. A hardened gaze and locked jaw; posture straight.

He’d seen enough to take a swing and keep standing, even when it hurt. Even when he didn’t want to.

She had wandered into spontaneous action without thinking twice of it. Despite the growling displeasure he voiced,  Essätha held to him even tighter. Selfish. Maybe he didn’t want the hug; didn’t care to be embraced or cared about but she did. On her behalf and his own.

It had been a trying past few days. Chasing stories, finding answers and more questions; she’d had enough dealing with these people. To just stand there, pretending it didn’t bother her to see a wounded creature licking their infected wounds that would not heal… she just couldn’t do it.

“It’s only a hug,” she stubbornly declared. “What’s so bad about it?”

“I don’t want to be hugged,” Amon grumbled with growing aggravation.

A hand pressed against her shoulder.

“Why do you have to pretend like things don’t hurt you?” Essie demanded, clutching her fingers into the back of his cloak.

Amon gave a sudden shudder. His breath came out short and sudden as he gripped tightly to her shoulder. The strength of his fingers was alarming and only just short of being painful.

“Get off of me, Essätha.”

“I’m not going to hurt you!”

He recoiled as though she had slapped him. The hand digging into her shoulder; gradually applying pressure to encourage her off, dropped to his side.

“You’re allowed to feel things,” she persisted, burying her face against the crook of his shoulder. “You’re allowed to be hurt, mournful, angry, guilty- you’re allowed to express how you feel and let yourself feel. It’s okay to let yourself cry. No one’s demanding you to put up a brave front and play the tough guy role.”

Beneath her chest pressed against his, Essätha could feel rise and fall of his breathes. Strangled and coming out in short bursts. The echo of his heart drummed against her ear.

Amon gave another light tremor. He swallowed; his throat flexing just as he tried to clear it. The tightness of his jaw loosened only a moment; just as quickly grinding his teeth together to keep himself in control.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised quietly; voice muffled against him.

A dry, choking laughter escaped Amon. It was harsh and grating against her ear.

“You can keep that hardass masquerade going as much as you want, but I’m serious. If they say anything-”

“As if what they’re saying is wrong,” he muttered in broken intervals.

“They are wrong,” Essätha hissed, digging her fingers into his back as she pressed closer.

A light touch brushed against her backside. It caused her to jump with alarm. For a second, the gentle contact retracted. Unsure. Finally, placed against her once more as Amon’s hand lightly found a spot between her shoulder blades.

“You’ve known me a handful of days,” Amon dragged with exhaustion in his tone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m pretty insightful,” she proclaimed in a grumpy, prideful voice. “I can tell you’ve been trying. Every day brings the same struggle; the same thoughts, the same blame. You try to tell yourself that for every little thing that has gone bad in your life was something you deserved. You expect nothing out of anyone or anything, because the let down would be too great. You don’t allow anyone close, because you feel like you’re a burden. You don’t deserve to have anyone close. You don’t deserve to be cared about.”

The more she spoke, the more she could feel Amon shiver. His other arm wound around her until he was holding her to him. Carefully, as though he was ready to take flight at a moment’s notice.

But a bird with broken wings wasn’t going to get very far.

“You are a good person,” Essätha whispered. “You are enough. You deserve to be happy. The only one holding you back is you.”

“You took in someone’s child and gave them a home. That child was going to have nothing; her family gone, but you gave her a place to stay and a warm heart and shoulder to lean on. You gave her family. You offered your life for Barnabus’ daughter without thinking twice of it. His family adores you. You’ve lost and lost and never felt like you won. It’s left you bruised and bleeding. It’s left you empty and cold. You’ve detached yourself from everything around you.”

A more violet shudder jolted down Amon’s spine. He gripped her suddenly; dragging what space was still between them to a close. His ragged breathes hitched painfully, making her own chest ache with sorrow as his face buried itself beside hers. His beard rubbing against her neck as he hid his face shamefully.

“I’m on your side,” she continued, her voice wavering with overwhelming pity and sadness. “I know you have so much kindness in you. A strong moral compass. Fair, just and considerate. You have a lot to offer the world. You are filled with good intentions. Life has been cruel to you; kicking you down at every turn. But there has been wonderful moments, too. And those are the moments you should focus on. That’s what’s worth living for. Not your shame; not your guilt.”

There was a quiet snort close to her ear. Close behind it, a choked sob that Amon tried to refrain; reeling it back as much as possible. The tightness of his embrace was almost crushing her lungs now; holding to her as though letting go would make him crumble to pieces.

“Forgive yourself,” Essie mumbled against his shoulder. “Give yourself the opportunities you need to heal. Give yourself a second chance like you’re willing to offer to others. Enjoy your life. Don’t dam yourself behind barricades. Let yourself find true happiness. Let yourself breath without taking in the soot.”

Amon’s face concealed itself in the space between her shoulder and neck. A floodgate opened with his raspy gasps for air wafting against her. Harsh, agonized weeping. The dampness from his tears pressed into Essie’s skin as he held her tightly. Mortified; tormented, drowning in his own stinging abrasions that cut through his heart and soul. Pitying and hating himself all at once.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Essätha ran her hands in slow, gentle circles against his back. The motion only seemed to drive Amon further over the edge as he let out a sob. It cracked in a several places as he did so, with fingers clawing at Essie’s cape as though he could sink himself into the safety of her embrace.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice gentle and humming as she cradled him. “I’m here. I’ve got you. Let it out. That’s right. You’re safe. I’ll protect you. I’m right here. You’ve got me.”

The hug was as much a safeguard for him as it was for her. She meant every word of what she’d said, every bit of it. Nevertheless, a greedy portion inside of her clung to him with utter desperation. The warmth of human contact. Not fearing her, not shunning her, not pushing her away. He was holding to her like a lifeline and it was better than all the booze and lonely nights spent with some stranger ever could do for her. Pooling into the cracks and discrete, cold places empty and vacant inside of her. Spaces she didn’t venture into; areas of herself untraveled and left to rot now springing with life.

Smothered into her, Amon attempted to restrain his quiet whimpers as he cried against her nape. It held little success. His body was shaking like a leaf in the autumn breeze.

“I’m here,” Essätha resumed, rocking him from side to side slowly. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

“You don’t have to be alone.”

[glitchfan0002]

Talk to You

“M-me.. You know me...?” Humra lightly whined, immediately taking a step back, “W-wait..no.. why are you in a closet..?” 

The Closet Hana stepped out and stretched out at once, groaning, and holding her head. She wasn’t in the mood to answer those questions, instead, “Are you here to end me...” 

“Wh-no!” the other stated, but silenced herself in a whisper, “N-no..of course not..I-I’m here to talk. Th-the other Hana told me you needed help, so I-I’m here and...”

Hana raised a hand to stop the other from talking, “What makes you think that I need your help-or anyone else’s..” She snarled, and immediately held Humra’s arm tightly. Stepping forward the Space Being growled, tempted to twist the other’s arm, “I was kidnapped from the ocean and brought here to “live”. I don’t need help from that. I was so close to offing myself, girl!”

“Ngh...” Humra winced, “S-stop you’re hurting me...!” Behind, she could hear some sifting. Oh no..was it Maggie? “Fl-Flower..” She weakly summoned, “O-outside..?” At that, their surroundings changed to the forest just outside Aquacorde. They were alone now-just her and Hana. “S-stop..please, we’re safe to t-talk now-ah-!”

“I don’t WANT to talk!” Hana twisted the bird’s arm enough for her to be on her knees. Humra was crying out in pain, but the other continued, “I have spent an eternity on my own! From day one I have been trying to end this accursed existence but each time they’ve fallen through!” Baring her teeth, she shouted, “-And its because of you! You are the one that gave me high hopes! You’re the one that was supposed to help HER and in turn help ME!” 

Humra didn’t have the words to talk. She was trying to hold in her cries as well as her shaking pokeballs readying to attack. She didn’t want anyone to attack her or harm her..! “P-please...just talk..y-you don’t need to end it. Th-there’s so much to life..”

“There isn’t once you’ve ascended and become immortal. It is maddening to see all the good possibilities, all the things that could have happened but didn’t..” For a split second, Hana loosened her grip, just from flinching from the existential mortal pain. In that split second, Humra sprung up and gave the other a tight hug.

“I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...Y-you shouldn’t be hurt...y-you should not have had the chance to think like this..I’m s-so sorry if I screwed it all up, b-because I probably did...right..?” Humra teared up, holding the struggling woman, “I don’t want you to suffer like this..”

“Get off! Stop holding me..!” Hana struggled, and finally clawed at Humra with her sharp shadow talons, “You don’t understand! No one does! I don’t want to be here anymore! I just want to rest just this once without being controlled, without sadness, without anything! Just leave me BE!” She called out, yet even with her best efforts, Humra didn’t let go. Instead, Humra rubbed the other’s head and hair, and started to hum in comfort, 

“Let it out..take it out on me..” She breathed, crying still at hearing all of this from her, “I won’t let go..I won’t..” 

“Why..?” Suddenly a warmth arose in Hana’s mortal body. It was strange but it felt..nice. Something nice like this, though was wrong..! She was so scared of it! Her kindness...and hope. Taking a deep breathe, Hana stopped clawing at her hugging self, and growled, “You’re a nuisance.. you don’t even recognize that a Blessing was bestowed on you. Y-you...have everything. You didn’t have to turn into me. Y-you had help, support..” 

Humra continued to hum a bit more, and eventually brought the both of them down to their knees, hugging it out. “Let it out..” The bird murmured gently, “You’re here with me..a-and everyone to help you, you don’t need to be scared..”

“I do..the last time I trusted anyone-I-I was controlled..!” 

Memories flashed in Humra’s mind about the ordeal. This was the self that didn’t escape, and spent all her life being Merlow’s experiment..his pet. Together they destroyed everything. While she grew more powerful, the more empty and broken her heart was. 

“No-stop looking-! Stop-!”

But Humra couldn’t help it. It wasn’t something she was doing, nor had knowledge of it. She was just hugging her--

“Get..OFF!” Hana shoved the other off, and held herself. She looked like she just ran up a mountain. Traumatized..that was the word. “Don’t g-get close..don’t...you’ll see me..” The woman held her face and her head, shivering, “I don’t...I-I this feeling...of warmth...don’t touch me again..I don’t want that feeling again...”

“I’m sorry...” Humra mimicked and held herself now, “I didn’t mean to hurt you again.” Regret was trailing her, along with the familiar feelings that Hana had. That was definitely a brief moment of sharing something...a connection. It was strange. “I’m so sorry...we don’t need to t-talk..Just..please know that you’re loved.. you really are..” Humra immediately got up, “You’re definitely loved..Y-you..” She took a deep breathe, trying to contain these and Hana’s feelings down. Before the teen turned to her Gardevoir to leave, she heard a

“Wait.” It was..Hana? “You gave me this..th-this feeling. I don’t know what to do with it, because I know I’ll be doomed still but...” She approached the other Humra and placed a hand on her shoulder, “I am grateful, regardless for your effort. Things like me..sometimes can’t be changed. Its okay...I-in return, though..I do want to talk to you-a request..”

Humra widened her eyes and nodded, “Anything...anything!”

“Find her.” Hana stated plainly, “Find her-she who doesn’t exist. She who gave you your Blessing.” Her hand on Humra’s shoulder gripped tightly and with her other hand, Hana reached within the girl’s chest suddenly. 

Humra couldn’t breathe, and the pain from the earlier wounds did not match to the pain so harsh that she couldn’t scream or cry anymore out. She just stared at the other in disbelief, wanting to pass out immediately. Looking down, Humra spotted that from her chest, a red blade was being pulled out. The teen paled at what it was, and once alll of it was puled out, Humra collapsed to her knees, staring up at the blade, “W-..what is that..” 

“Your Blessing.” Hana brought the blade and pointed it at the other’s face, frowning, “This will be your guide. Your compass on seeking Her as well as sealing your own destiny to be Human or Lugia.” Once she touched the tip to Humra’s forehead, the blade disappeared, but an image of three red rings appeared on her left arm. “Choose wisely. In return, and when the time comes, you will slay me.” 

That word stood out, and Humra cried out, “W-wait..I won--!” But the heaviness from the information, memories, and wounds were too much. Once reaching out to the other, Humra saw the area around them turn back into the room where Maggie was, and finally hit the floor. 

By the time she would wake up, she’d be back in bed with Yoshiya-healed wounds, and about to wake up from that nightmare of an instance.