#(bangs fist on the table) RETURN TO THE SEA. RETURN TO THE SEA

[foursidecity]

Rmemebering the sea

[charmspoint]

Sanguine Friday 7

Potential intro scene of Prinn and Duchess meeting

-

It wasn’t a bad looking mansion.

Nestled in a sprawling garden, roses climbing its sides, ruby red apples hanging off the trees, fishes swimming in the decorative ponds, it would have looked like something out of a fairytale if the stonework of the building itself wasn’t so dark. Burgundy drapes sheltered the inside of the house from direct sunlight and the wood of the door was dark, clean cut, no visible irregularities.

Prinnsal refused to let the aesthetic trappings of the lair lull him into a sense of comfort. What hid inside was nothing short of a thirsting monster, one that would sooner drain him of his blood than invite him in for tea.

And still he approached.

Still, he took the knocker in his hand—Intricate, branching frame, the wear on the gold attempting to hide beneath an inadequate new coat of paint—and banged it over that immaculate wood.

Suicidal, the others might have called him, like he didn’t know so himself. Like he wasn’t perfectly aware that an angel knocking on a vampire’s front door is just a feast delivering itself to the doorstep. But he wasn’t stupid nor reckless nor quite done with his life yet. There were simply more pressing things that wanted to kill him than a bloodsucker with a pompous taste.

The door opened without so much as a creak. Through the narrow opening, a man stared out at him. An old, gray haired man with eyes almost bulging out of his skull, like an insect inserted into a human-like suit. His eyes darted over Prinnsal’s frame, before shutting the door again.

For a couple of minutes, Prinnsal wondered if that would be it. If he would he would simply be turned away without so much as an acknowledgment of his stupidity.

But no. His blood alone was too delectable of a lure. The man returned. He opened the door wide. He bowed deeply. He motioned Prinnsal in.

So Prinnsal stepped into the belly of the beast.

Walls of the hallway crowded around him oppressively, claustrophobically. Every few feet, a rose shaped candle gave its damndest to light up the dimness of the house, failing considerably in the battle against the rich black walls and the scarlet carpeting.

Prinnsal kept his back straight, his fists unclenched. Every rune on his body screamed at him to flee, to turn tail now, while he still could, while he still lacked a bite at his throat and death at his back. But he was made of firmer stuff than fear. He was made of the hardest steel tested under the cruelest lash. Hundred years of torture couldn’t bend his back and neither would this. Even if this turned out to be the thing that actually killed him.

The house opened up as he was led into the parlor. A spidery chandelier gave the room some much needed light, dripping red specks of light down onto the two couches positioned around a tea table. The frame of them was a dark cherry rosewood, the firm panels carved in the shapes of snarling wolves chasing a fleeing doe. Brought to life by a masterful hand, that was plain to see, each animal lovingly crafted with distinct fur patterns and lively posing. 

On the further seat, the one facing the door, sat the woman he had steeled himself to meet. And he could have prepared for a week more and still failed to suppress a shiver that ran up his spine that first time their eyes met. What greeted him from those eyes was visceral, raw hunger.

He tore his gaze away from her eyes, only to have it snag on her mouth instead. Tips of fangs poking out between her lips, two tiny pears in a sea of dark red. Panic pinched at his mind in a sharp burst, almost making him miss her actual greeting.

“You know, my dear, it’s usually customary that one should announce themselves before coming to visit. I must say I’m caught quite unprepared to receive such an esteemed company.” She looked at him like she wanted nothing more than to tear his throat open and gorge on the blood. She smiled like a hostess keen on entertaining exactly how good manners dictated before she did just that. “Nevertheless, we must preserve. Sit, will you not? Tea please.”

The last line was directed towards the wavering servant in the doorway and the man bowed before disappearing from sight. There was something strangely unnerving about being left alone with her. Prinnsal had never before been this close to a vampire. He never before felt so much like a mouse in front of a starving cat.

She must have seen it in his eyes, in the briefest hesitation before the next step, because her smile widened and her fangs flashed fully in the dull candlelight.

“Sit, little lamb.”

Prinnsal did what he did best.

He gritted his teeth behind a smile and approached like there was nothing to run from. She lounged on her seat, hair spilling over her shoulders in bronze waves, relaxed in that finicky way of cats that could lash out at any moment. He refused to break eye contact first. It set his nerves on fire but he wouldn’t allow himself to yield a second time.

“I’ve come to you with a proposition.” He said, every muscle in his body tense just to keep his voice steady.

“A proposition, how exciting.” She grinned, leaning towards slightly, her dress—all shadows spilling over a scarlet sea—leaving little of her voluptuous figure to imagination. The servant returned and set the platter down on the table, two cups of tea and a generous helping of sugar. The subtle scent of pomegranate wafted through the air as she waved the servant off before picking up her cup, gently blowing out the rising steam. “And what may be your proposition, little lamb?”

The teacup didn’t stain with lipstick as she drank from it, not even a hint of the dark red color that was too vivid not to have been painted on. His own throat felt dry so he reached for the tea too. Tried to enjoy the warm lull of it without thinking of all those stories that warned not to eat the food of the underworld.

“I know how much your kind values the blood of my kind.” His voice sounded steadier than he thought it would, and that fact alone gave him the confidence to continue. “There are rumors saying that our blood stops your decay and the dungeons are filling up because it must be true.”

Something glinted in her eyes, a sharp sort of light, like the reflection of sun on a polished dagger. She brought her tea away from her lips and set it back down on the platter. Rings glittered on her fingers as she folded her hands down in her lap.

“Interesting,” she said that word as if she meant to say foolish, “I thought you were far more ignorant of your position in the world to come knocking on my door. Did you fail to consider this visit might cost you your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream to.”

“And yet here you are?”

“I thought that perhaps you’d like to entertain the idea of me being more useful in the long term.”

She licked her lips. One long, slow swipe of her tongue that cleared away the pink stains left by the tea, but left the makeup unsmeared. “How quaint, I’ve never before had a meal come to my door and demand to be played with. You’re masochistic, for an angel.”

“I haven’t come here to offer myself as a meal,” he said, even though that was only partly true. “One meal means nothing. You eat me now and, in a week, you will hunger for angel blood again. But you keep me under your roof, in your care, and I will willingly let you feed off of my blood every day, for as long as you wish to have it.”

There was that glint in her eyes again and this time when she swiped her tongue, she trailed it over the sharp edges of her teeth. “And in exchange?”

“In exchange I ask for nothing but protection. I am to be yours exclusively. You shield me from others of your kind that may wish to harm me.” He hesitated a moment, the final confession briefly stuck in his throat, fighting to give her that much of a leverage on him so early on. “And you shield me from anything else that may come for me.”

Curiosity infested her smile, turning it into a butcher’s knife. “Poor little thing, is someone chasing you?”

“No one that could stand a chance against you.”

“Oh you flatterer,” she laughed, waving her hand at him dismissively, though her eyes shone with pleasure. “You come with a whole heap of trouble, I just know it, but…mine exclusively.” Her smile played over the edge of the words. “I like the sound of that. Do you have a name, little lamb?”

“Prinnsal.”

“Prinnsal,” she turned it over in her mouth like candy, hissed out the ‘s’ and curled her tongue around the ‘al as if she were savoring the taste’, “A cute name for a cute pet. Prinnsal then.” She reached down below the tea table and pulled out a knife. It wasn’t terribly big but it was sharp as sin, the ornate handle printed with shapes of thorns and wild flowers. She pushed the platter with the tea cups closer to him and laid the knife upon it. “Flavor my tea.”

Not once during his travel there did he actually consider how the deed would be done. There was no need to, he reasoned, vampires were cruel creatures, they knew how to let blood spill and at least that they could be trusted with, if nothing else. He hadn’t prepared for the possibility of her wanting him to do it himself.

But her eyes left no room for opposition, the words of refusal couldn’t even make it past his lips, and perhaps it was better that way too. He had come so far. He wouldn’t give up now, not at the final step.

The knife was light in his hand, barely more than a toy. His eyes reflected back at him from the blade, pupils blown wide in the silver sea, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was doing.

He did it anyway, pulled her cup closer, settled it under his arm. It wasn’t like he never bled before, but he was never one to inflict such suffering upon himself. Positioning was mostly guess work. Trying to remember where the others had hurt him, how to cut shallowly enough not to actually harm the system underneath. Divine blood still flowed through his veins and he had to trust it to keep him together. Not to let him bleed out upon her desk.

It hurt, but he wasn’t a stranger to pain.

He didn’t dig deep, barely a line, barely a small trickle of thick blood down into the rich sweetness of her tea.

A sharp sting, an uncomfortable roll of dread through his body that he tried to ignore.

The knife was well taken care of, polished to a shine and sharpened regularly. The teacups on the table all matched charmingly with the pot and the sugar bowl, black in color with the constellations painted on with delicate and precise brushstrokes of stark white. Darkness blossomed in her tea like a winter flower.

He didn’t let himself make a sound, didn’t let himself so much as wince, wouldn’t stand for the humiliation of it. He was the one who had chosen this. He would see it through. 

The trickle of blood eased and he pulled his arm back, leaving the knife down on the platter and pressing his palm against his forearm. The pain was a memory and a dream and the tea table was black walnut carved with wild roses. 

“You have strong nerves, I like that,” she said as she retrieved the cup, stirred the bloodied tea with her spoon, let that dark color spread and grow until it was the deepest shade of garnet.

She then brought the tea to her lips, drank in elegant, contemplative sips for a long time, every so often pausing just to close her eyes and sit still for a while, the smile unwavering on her lips.

By the time she finished the cup, he had stopped bleeding completely and his palm was stained red.

“I think we have reached an agreement,” she announced, extending her hand forward, giving him little choice before she was taking his hand into her own, pressing his blood between their palms, “Remain at my service, give your blood to me when I ask for it. In exchange the protection of Duchess Elizabeth will be yours for as long as you earn it.”

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ these violent delights | davos blackwood (part 6) *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ❤️‍🔥| Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 ❤️‍🔥

ship: davos blackwood x fem!oc

warnings: MORE catholic guilt, attempted rape, graphic description of violence

summary: cersha and davos take their leave of the inn.

word count: 2334

a/n: this part was pretty confronting to write, and i imagine in may be confronting to read. i think its necessary tho to show the lengths davos will go to for cersha. i hope you find some enjoyment in it.

She had rightly predicted that waking alone would sour Davos’ mood, but she could not have known he would be sullen for the rest of the waking day. When she returned with her arms overflowing with yellow blooms, she found him already sitting in the mess, his hands clasped and sitting on the table, his dour expression looking so much like her father. She flashed him a breezy smile as she handed the flowers over to the red-haired maid who squealed with delight and went fluttering around the hall to fill every vase she could find.

“Good morrow.” Cersha greeted him with a placating smile and threaded the stem of the finest flower she had found through the buckle of his cloak. It was white as milk and double-petalled, a sport bride amongst the sea of her yellow-gowned sisters. She kissed his temple in greeting and he jerked his head as if her lips burned him.

“Mmph.” He complained, his hand catching her arm in a firm grasp as he looked at her pointedly. She was grateful he had remembered to stick to their cover story.

“You slept heavily this morning, but I was restless. I stepped outside for some air.” His eyes darted to the window, behind which Ser Eltyn was making his slow return across the field. “A brother of the Night’s Watch, come to the Riverlands to gather recruits. He feared for my safety, so he came to guard me.” Davos snarled wordlessly and banged his fist on the table. The redhead maid yelped. Cersha leaned in and muttered in his ear. “He has the affect of a Westerlander. He knows nothing of Blackwoods nor-”

“Hggch!” He hissed and snatched his hand from her arm, eyes flashing with… hurt?

“Fine. Be like that.”

They broke their fast in a silence that lasted for the whole morning and leaked into the afternoon. Ser Eltyn sat nearby them and tried several times to tempt Cersha into conversation, but to no avail. He realised at last that it was futile when he made a jibe about the bloom on the collar of ‘Jack’s’ cloak. Davos had stood, fist raised and trembling with tension as if he meant to wheel back and punch him, but when Cersha took that fist in her hand and kissed the knuckles, he softened and sat back down. As they mounted their palfreys (the innkeep had swindled another silver dragon from them in exchange for the riding gear) Ser Eltyn made his last attempt to ingratiate himself to them, begging them once again to let him accompany them on the ride to Riverrun, if they only waited a day while he sorted his affairs at the inn. Cersha declined him as delicately as she could, while Davos puffed up and looked as imposing as a mute boy could be.

Over the past three days of travelling on foot and injured they had covered the equivalent of half a day’s ride, and it would take another day and a half to arrive at Riverrun if they took to the woods for protection. They were both determined to reach their destination before their paths crossed with the black brother, kindly as he may be. As few eyes on them as possible would be the safest way to travel. The innkeep had lied about the condition of the horses. Two palfreys could not have hated each other more, and they had to ride with at least three feet between them lest they start snapping at one another. It only served to amplify the tension of the morning that had settled on them thicker than the smog on that fateful dawn when they met, and neither spoke in earnest until they had settled in a clearing and begun to set up camp.

“You’ve been awful quiet today.” Cersha remarked, brushing down her chestnut steed whom she had been calling ‘Pony’ in lieu of a proper name.

Davos cast her a sidelong glance from where he tended to his own bay gelding- named ‘Boy,’ Cersha supposed- and sighed quietly in annoyance.

“I miss Bess. This is a fine horse, but he has none of her fire. They stole it from you, didn’t they, Boy?”

“That’s not all, is it?”

He paused, turning away from her to hide his jaw feathering.

“You’ve been quiet too.”

She hesitated. What could she say? That the thought of his fingers and lips in the dark sent waves of shame through her so strong that she felt the urge to vomit up her sin? That his touch had felt so right and so cleansing that it had shaken the very concept of sin in her mind? That every squeeze of her heart at the sight of him felt like spitting on her cousin’s grave?

“Just been thinking of home.”

“Hmph.” He took up his saddle and leaned it against a tree.

Cersha collected her bow and arrows, and collection of string and knives for snares.

“You left me.” He said at last.

“For half of an hour at most.”

“I can’t-” He rounded on her and puffed a breath. “I can’t protect you if you leave me.”

“I leave you to hunt every day.”

“That’s different.” He shook his head in irritation. “I know when you’re leaving and when you’ll be back. This morning there were people everywhere, eyes everywhere! Gods bless you, Cersha, you’re too trusting. You trusted me far too quickly and just today you wandered off with that Night’s Watch cunt-”

“I didn’t wander off with him!”

“What…?” His gaze darted from her left eye to her right as he approached her. “You mean he… followed you?”

“I carry a sword.”

“He followed you?!”

“I carry a sword!”

“And who have you fought with it?”

“Aeron-”

“Earnestly fought with it? That’s right. No-one. You think if that ‘Ser Eltyn’ wasn’t such a soft-cocked flower-picker you’d be able to fight him off? No. You couldn’t.”

“Could you?” She snapped. “With that- that- that pissing limp of yours?!”

He laughed, the fire of fury dancing in his eyes until it cooled as his smile faded.

“Even if I couldn’t,” He leaned in close to her and rested his hand at the side of her neck, his thumb playing on her cheek. “At least you’d have time to run while he killed me.”

She pulled away, suppressing the urge to laugh at the intensity of his words.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Cersha.” She refused to look at him.

“I must hunt, though I’m sure you’ve frightened every grouse from here to Highgarden with your caterwauling.”

“Hunt? We have food enough here, jerky, left-overs-”

“We can save them for the journey, I will go.”

“You can’t-”

“I will!” She turned on him, her own fire now alight in her belly. “You are not my father! Nor my brother, and certainly not my husband, and you will not prevail upon me to bend to your will. This is the last time you will raise your voice to me. Now, I will hunt, and I will return when I like.”

Cersha blistered through the wood, caring little for the noise she was making until she had covered enough distance from their camp to feel alone. She leaned her forearm lengthwise on the rough bark of an oak and rested her forehead there, breathing the earthy, fungal smell of the forest with wavering breaths. Though she carried only her bow and quiver, she felt as though she were encumbered by a suit of armour as heavy as stone. Suddenly, as if the very tree before her were sucking the strength from her to feed its needy leaves, she crumpled into a heap amongst the roots. There she stayed for quite some time, without tears and without noise, in exhausted contemplation. Her life appeared to her as a whirlpool of sin, debauchery, and betrayal; every broken betrothal, every night spent crawling in and out of windows, every cake stolen from the kitchens, every time her fingers wandered between her legs, it all nauseated her as it never had before. She wished she could curl into the earth to sleep, and let the worms and woodlice eat away her rot until she awoke pure and bone-white.

She barely had the energy to be surprised when she heard a twig snap behind her.

“Go back to the palfreys, Davos.” She mumbled. “Leave me be.”

“Oh boo-hoo.” Came the mocking reply. “Is this… clandestine elopement beginning to burst at the seams?”

It was a voice not tortured by the accents of those who lived north of the Red Fork, nor was it as soft and pastoral and the Brackens, no… it was affected, practised, and with a slight lilt, no doubt acquired from time spent in the North. Westerlander. Ser Eltyn.

She turned her head slightly, her breath catching. She heard his boots crackle on the earth as he stepped closer.

“Yes, the mute half-wit is not so mute, is he? I could hear his grating voice half a mile away.”

“What have you done with him?” She asked softly. It seemed to disgust him.

“Tshh! You speak out of turn when I have a blade pointed to your back? Idiot girl. You disappoint me and disappoint me. You reject my noble offer of help, and now you suck the fun out of the alternative like a leech of morbidity. When I heard you meant to hunt, I had hoped you may actually hunt, so I might hunt you in turn. After all, you made such good time today, and evading me by passing through the wood was a stroke of genius, but… one little fight with dear little Jack- apologies, Davos- and here you sit in self pity and sorrow. Quite pathetic.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Yes, yes, ‘who are you? What do you want from me? Take my silver. Leave my baby unmolested. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!’ Stand.” She did not move. “STAND!”

It took all her strength to push up onto her shaking legs and face him. He was deranged. She could see that now. That smile that once seemed so gentle in the daylight was stretched and marred by the shadows of approaching night.

“Why?” She whispered.

His eyes narrowed. Perhaps he had not thought of it. Or perhaps he thought the question asinine.

“A zest… for life.” His tongue ran across the edge of his lip. “To bring ruin is the greatest of pleasures for a libertine. Of course, such experiences are hard to come by in this line of work. One must seize the opportunities as they arrive. A wildling here, a barmaid there, but you… noble born pretender. You are a rare treasure.”

He held a long dagger with a cruelly tapered tip, and as he approached he touched it to the first lace of her bodice, dragging down, down, down along each crossing of string, then back up, over her breast, her throat, until it rested upon her chin. She could hear nothing but the roar of blood in her ears and feel nothing but her pulse. She was weightless, and his voice as it whispered filth into her ear came as if from underwater, distorted and unrecognisable. It was a mercy, she supposed, but she wished, wished, she could scream.

He stepped back, scraping his eyes up and down her frame as if in appreciation of a well butchered hind, hung by the legs while the blood drips into a bucket below. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he cut through the first lace.

It was then, that she seemed to step aside from herself. To stay and experience it seemed futile, so she stood next to herself and watched with detached fascination as her arms flopped this way and that as the cruel hands ripped her dress apart, legs locked and rigid like those of a sleeping horse. It all seemed very methodical, yet frenzied, as if her assailant were ticking off a laundry list of things he needed to do before the fun began. Strip off the dress, stuff something in her mouth, lay out the cloak… wait no, cloak first, stupid! Keep that knife pointed at her, lest she run. Bend her over now. No, on her back! Wait, unbutton your breeches, you dolt-

Something collided with the black brother. Something hard, wild, and screaming, and Cersha snapped back into herself, leaping back to press herself against the oak. At first, as her eyes rolled back into focus, she thought it was a dog. A dog the size of a man, growling, snarling, mauling. But no, it was a man. It was Davos. The pair rolled and rolled on the ground like a beast with two backs, half grey, half black. Wrestling, grunting, struggling, and then still. Stationary, the grey back on top, crouched over and pivoting at the elbow.

In, out, in, out, in, out.

A sharp, wet repetition of sound. And then nothing. He stopped, and rolled to the side, sitting with knees bent and hands held before him, the right dripping red. He stared at it for a moment, eyes like flat, shallow discs, though his creased face was still a mask of fury. Then reached for the dead man’s cloak and wiped at it furiously, rocking back and forth. He wiped again and again, and when Cersha finally disturbed the earth by staggering forward, his face snapped to her as if she had awoken him from some dream.

“They say…” His voice was hoarse, trembling with an anger she had never seen. “…it gets easier after the first.”

He shook his head as he got to his feet, wading through the motion as if his very bones were too heavy to lift. He stumbled to her and pulled her to him and they stood, knotted together as the sun set. Whispering to each other. Whispering nothing that could truly bring comfort. Just one phrase:

Safe. Safe now.

Thanks to my lovelies @aemondslove@disillusioned-phantasma@anaviieiraaa@deepestlovert@flordiakilos @kitty2694 @kpopfanfictionfantacies @sometings @nikkilsworld @gladiatorgladiator @borislava17 @oshun22@spider-stark @marvelenthusiast10 @itsyagirl01 @disillusioned-phantasma @nixtape-foryou @giggles-andkicks @avidsmokers @darlingcharling-blog @writervaul-t for your reblogs and comments! I'm doing it for you guys :)

[deartouya]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS — HAWKS

no matter how rough the patrol, keigo always knows he has people who love him to greet him at home. i.e. you and your son greeting keigo when he comes home from patrol.

★ pairing: hawks x afab!reader (biological child, they/them used)

★ word count: 1.4k

★ content: fluff, kid fic, established relationship, children (oc son kaito, around 3-4 years old), food/eating mention, use of petnames (dove/ie, birdie, angel), a nauseating amount of fluff.

i saw a panel about hawks coming home to an empty apartment and it made me sad ;-; so i impulse wrote this. have this soft bird dad in an attempt to make everyone love keigo and doubles as me fighting for my hawks moot right <3

It’s been raining periodically all day — all week actually. Heavy clouds and dark skies shaped miserable conditions for patrol. Conditions made worse by how uneventful they are, filled with petty criminals and runaway pets. Keigo wastes nearly his entire lunch perched on top of an office building glaring at a pair of pigeons who’d tucked themselves in the of a patio; dry and warm.

Keigo’s always despised the rain. Water soaking his wings, weighing them down, curling the ends and matting the down of them. His hatred for the weather only grew when he knew you and Kaito were at home, swaddled in the warmth of your apartment and working through the lingerings of a cold.

He’d sent you a text a little after your own lunch, a pitiful picture of him far too close up hiding behind a Miruko billboard. His hair wet and clinging to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

You gave him very little sympathy. You'd answered with a photo of you and Kaito in the kitchen wearing matching fluffy robes and holding mugs of hot chocolate.

He keeps his collar up against his neck, burrowing his face into the fluff of it. It smells like you, detergent and perfume clinging to the fabric from when he’d tucked it over your shoulders the day before.

Keigo finds himself watching the clock the closer his patrol’s end becomes, using the awning of a coffee shop as an umbrella. It’s odd, he thinks, how quickly he melted into his — domesticity. It happened slowly, without him even realizing it had until you were already moving in. Until he’d started counting the minutes until he was home again.

When six finally does hit, Keigo’s fighting off a smile, shoving his phone back into the damp pockets of his jacket, and taking off for your apartment.

He used to check-in at the agency first before returning home. He'd finish up whatever paperwork was created throughout his shift and utilise the oversized showers which were perpetually empty. Now, he always found himself rushing to get back — even if it meant earlier hours to do the paperwork from the day before.

So it’s also expected of him. The ease with which he accepted you — your change, love. He’s spent years longing for something a little simpler, softer, kinder. Keigo’s never been someone to take things slowly and he loved no differently.

The apartment — one you’d helped him pick — is quiet when he pushes the door open, peeling off his overcoat and heavy boots, “I'm home!”

He barely has both shoes tucked under the entry table when he hears laughing, small and light. Your answer comes as he rounds into the living room, “welcome back!”

The couch is gone. Or it’s covered at least. Obscured by large throw blankets propped over the dining room chairs and spilling over with pillows and soft-looking throws. The TV’s on too, playing a manta ray documentary and bracketed by patterned cushions.

Kaito’s golden eyes, softened echoes of Keigo’s, round in excitement and he nearly trips over a sea-turtle printed blanket in his haste to get to him, “daddy!”

Keigo makes an exaggerated sound, a huffed little oof, when Kaito collides with him and his tiny arms tangle around his legs. His pudgy cheek smushes into Keigo’s thigh and his fists curl into the fabric of his pants.

“Kaito!” Keigo echoes the boys’ excitement, smoothing his bangs from his forehead as Kaito giggles. He chases his hand and the little plumage of red on his back ruffles.

Both of their attention shifts when you finally detangle yourself from the couch, moving to cup the softness of Keigo’s cheeks with warm palms. Your thumbs brush over the bones before warm lips connect with his forehead. He huffs a soft laugh when you continue the kisses, dotting them over the freckles coating bridge of his nose, the divots of his dimples, the apples of his cheeks.

“Aw, did’ya miss me?”

“Mhm, ‘course I did,” you answer, combing through his bangs as he ducks to Kaito, “always do.”

Your affection is repeated when Keigo finally pries Kaito from his leg, hoisting the boy into his arms and settling him on his hip. Kaito’s grin broadens, nuzzling his cheek against Keigo’s and pressing a messy kiss on his brow bone.

“Saw the fight on tv, birdie,” your voice is quiet — reflectively, like any louder it’ll shatter the intimate little bubble, the warmth — as you trace his features with your eyes. No injuries.

Keigo leans in to knock his forehead against yours softly before he grins at you, “did I look cool?”

“Aww, of course you did!” His eyes narrow, your tone playful as you run your fingers along Kaito’s ribs, “rigghhhtt after you got your butt handed to you.” Kaito giggles softly, nestling into the crook of Keigo’s arm to escape your fingers.

“You wound me, dove — what, did you two spend the whole time celebrating my pain?” His free hand fists over the fabric covering his heart when you hum and Kaito lets out a happy ‘yep!’ “I can’t believe you two!”

“But you looked so cool!”

It’s immediate, the way Keigo’s entire being brightens. His eyes narrow in a smile and wings puff up behind him as he nuzzles his cheek against Kaito’s, turning to you with a faux accusing glare, “at least one of you loves me.”

A soft blurb from the stove pulls you away from them, knocking your forehead affectionately against Keigo’s this time before moving to lower the heat and continue your previous stirring.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you hum, feeling a soft cheek squish into the side of your neck and a chin hook over the other side, Keigo’s free arm winding around your waist.

“Ooo, you’re an angel, dovie,” Keigo’s arm tightens around you, lips brushing your temple, “what’d ya make?”

“Chicken noodle,” you reply cheerily, turning to wind your arms around his waist. “Kaito and I just got over that cold, we should make sure we’re getting all our fluids, isn’t that right?” Kaito ruffles at your cooing, leaning in to tap the point of his nose against your own.

“Mmm, sounds amazing, angel,” he presses a soft kiss to the round of your cheek, “I didn’t eat lunch — I’m starving.”

“Y’know just because I forget to pack you something doesn’t mean you get to just skip eating,” your chastising falls on deaf ears as he watches you finish off the soup, ladling it into tall mugs. “You have to take care of yourself, Kei.”

“Awww, c’mon — you take care of me plenty! I was totally fine. Drank some coffee and everything.”

He quiets at your glare, jutting out his lip when Kaito laughs, “ooo, you’re in trouble!”

You move into the living room to eat, all three of you nestled in the plush nest you’d helped Kaito make, mugs of soup warm between your palms as you watch the ending of another documentary.

Kaito falls asleep first, bundled up on one end of the sectional snoring softly — a habit picked up from Keigo.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Your fingers find the red and gold bead bracelet around his wrist, fraying and poorly strung together courtesy Kaito, “it looked rough.”

You’re propped up against the arm of the couch now, both of Keigo’s wings sprawled over you and dragging against the carpet. He huffs, propping his chin against your chest, “aww, you know I can’t get taken out that easily.”

His voice is playful but you know he means it. He always does. So you smooth a hand through his curls. “You better,” pinning him with a teasing glare, “it’s not too late to get a divorce.”

Keigo laughs, wiping his smile into your shoulder and humming contentedly when your fingers thread through his hair. Your other hand smooths down his back, brushing through the down at the base of his left-wing. It flutters minutely underneath your touch and he presses himself closer.

“Like you’d ever want rid of me,” his tease is undermined by the tone, cooed and full of adoration. You can’t help the smile, shuffling down the couch so your lips can connect with his. It's tender, slow and you hope he knows that you meant it, your worry for his health. The way he responds, enthusiastic and through a grin, tells you he does.

Keigo’s ear settles over your heart, arms wrapped around you and fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip bones. His wings tuck fully around you, overwhelming himself with you — the gentle puffs of your breath, the beat of your heart, the rising of your chest. This is nice, he thinks. Slowing down, being content.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

A Head Start: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: it's about time you both got a head start on your vacation.

wc: 1.5k

tw: NSFW!

A Grand 300 Celebration Fic

a/n: y'all. I have been holding this fic close to my chest for a while now, only because I repurposed an old one to fit this ask. I love this fic with my whole heart, and reworking it for Geto and the Fem!Reader was sooooooo much fun. I hope you enjoy it.

“Have you ever experienced New Year’s Eve like this?” Geto smirks, rolling his broad shoulders back so his elbows hung over the yacht railing. He looks around, obviously pleased with his most recent purchase, bought solely for a cruise around the bay on New Year’s Eve. You bring a blunt to your lips, staring out at the water in contemplation. The wind whips your hair around your forehead and you exhale deeply, letting the smell of weed drift away in the sea air. When you look over at the man you had figuratively sold your soul to, he brushes his black bangs out of his pale face to witness your half-amused look.

“I haven’t. It’s not the jet-setting trip you promised me, though.”

“Ah,” Geto snakes his hand around your waist, bringing his lips to your shoulder. “You really wanted to spend New Year’s in a different time zone, didn’t you?” You look up at the man with a fake pout, which makes him return the pout. “Lucky for us,” he leans in, touching your nose with his. “...this little boat will take us to the freeport in Tokyo… where we’ll board a plane and go to Croatia, Bosnia, and Turkey. How does that sound?” You pull back, eyeing Geto carefully as his hands play with the silk bow on the back of your dress.

“Are you serious?” You wonder, and in response, he takes the blunt from your fingers and takes a long drag, watching you with his onyx colored eyes.

“Have I lied to you before?” Geto wonders, lifting a brow to emphasize his query. You felt a warmth creep up your neck and heat up your cheeks at the look Geto gives you, and you wonder if he could read your expression. But he says nothing additional, just gazes off into the sunset as he holds your waist, his fingers still fiddling with the silk.

“Tell me, then - if you’re not lying, that is - what will we do while we’re traveling?” Suguru turns back to you with a deadpan look, squinting for a moment.

“Travel, y/n. There won’t be a single moment of work, calls, or meetings; it’ll be just you and me for two weeks.” He shifts a little, reaching a hand down underneath the short wine-colored dress to touch the space between your legs. “We’ll have all of the time in the world to… explore.” The double meaning brings a smile to your lips, and you let your hands drift to the waistband of his ankle-length pants.

“Could we… get a head start on that?” You breathe, and Geto chuckles, bringing you in for a kiss as an answer. You note he tastes like something sweet and backwoods paper, the tang of weed fresh on his tongue. But you forget all of the tastes as soon as he nips your bottom lip, his own lips traveling beneath your chin. A gasp escaped your lips, and you wrapped your arms around his neck as you fluttered your eyes closed again.

“I want you, y/n,” Suguru whispers against the skin between your neck and shoulder, and a shudder rolls down your spine. “...but I need your permission.” The reminder of consistent and necessary consent pops into your mind like a looming stop sign, and you press a tender kiss to his right temple.

“You have my permission,” you murmur and automatically, Geto lifts his head to look at the stairs leading down to the lower deck.

“Follow me.”

He leads you down the steps and past a metal door that opens up into a quiet living room space. The furnishings were all either cherrywood or cream-colored, like a middle-aged suburban wife’s interior design wet dream. “We’ll come here later,” Geto reassures you, pulling you past the furniture and into a room blocked off by a polished wooden door.

The room - with a massive bed taking up most of the space - has a window that overlooks the waterscape and the setting sun. A bouquet of orchids and what appears to be your passports lay on the table across from the bed, and you take a glance at Geto, who smiles sheepishly.

“I wanted to make sure you saw that I was serious about traveling with you.” You pull him into another kiss, holding his face between your hands as you tumble onto the bed. Geto hitches up your dress in a hurry, pawing at the fabric of your underwear as he rolls it down your legs. “Stand up so I can get this shit off of you,” he pants. You do as he tells you, and he undoes the bow at the back of the dress then unzips you, letting the fabric drop to the floor in a heap.

At the sight of you, he gives a hum of appreciation, then unbuttons his dress shirt sleeves, pushing them up around his forearms. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll give you exactly what you need.” Wordlessly, you sit on the bed in submission, and Geto nods, acknowledging you. “Good girl.” He turns his watch up and taps it a few times, setting the timer before kneeling down.

After he kneels down at the edge of the bed, he pushes you back and parts your legs slowly. You lift up a bit to watch him dive open-mouthed into your pussy, his tongue running up and down your slit with precision and care. “You’re so damn wet,” he mentions, and you moan, the sound resonating somewhere deep in your belly, but Geto pays you no mind. He continues to eat you out without relenting, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit at will. Feeling an orgasm build, you reach down to grab a fistful of his hair, and Geto answers with a guttural sound, the vibrations stimulating you further. When you take another glance down at him, his eyes are already on you, watching your every movement and calculating his next move, as he was prone to do.

He switches up his technique, focusing on the clit instead of your labia, and that only drives you to the edge even more.

“Oh, Geto, please…” You breathe, feeling the scales tipping over into what would be your first--

Geto stops suddenly, and the wave of an orgasm quickly recedes as he stands, taking off his shirt and pants. He tosses them carelessly onto the floor, revealing his rock hard erection and sculpted body; a hungry look settles onto Geto’ face while he strokes his length for a moment, checking his watch.When he positions himself at your opening, you felt the need to feel him filling you up grow exponentially, and you grab at his wrist desperately. “Please fuck me now,” you whine. The bottomless black eyes you’d come to adore flick up to your face, and a stern expression replaces the hunger.

“Let me work, y/n. I will not reward impatience.” Stifling a groan, you run your fingers through your hair and wait patiently as he runs his length up and down your pussy and moans softly. He repeats this over and over again, angling dangerously close to entering you each time. Without warning and with one smooth stroke, Geto pushes inside of you, stretching you until he couldn’t go any further.

“Oh, god,” He breathes before slowly pumping in and out of you, muttering about how tight you feel with pleasure. Geto gently lowers himself onto you and captures your mouth with his. As he kisses you, he pulls your arms over your head, holding both of your wrists with his right hand and increasing his speed. He trails kisses down your neck and rests his forehead on your collarbone, eyes closed as he holds your right leg to your chest.

Before long, you feel another orgasm settling in, and you make it clear by moaning loudly and without reservation. Geto notices, but does nothing to stop you, instead taking your left nipple in his mouth and rolling his tongue around it. He repeats his action on the other side, then lifts up again, letting go of your wrists. You leave your hands where they were as he pushes your legs back, now fucking you so hard that the bed springs began to squeak in protest.

“Mmph, stand up,” Geto pulls you to your feet and switches places with you, sitting on the edge of bed and beckoning you to ride him. You oblige and lower yourself onto his cock, gasping as his entire length fills you again. He stares up at you while you ride him, holding your hips with his firm grip. “This feels so fucking good,” He exhales, closing his eyes as you rock your hips against him.

“I… I’m going to cum, Geto,” you hiss, your hand snaking around his neck to hold him closer.

“Oh, fuck... y/n. Cum for me,” Geto gasps, and you let the orgasm rip through you, driving a hard shudder down your spine and to your toes. The quaking feeling that runs through you sends Geto over the edge, and he groans loudly, shaking as he comes with you. When you both recover from the moment of bliss, Geto opens his eyes and looks at you, his lover.

“Are we going to watch the fireworks later?” You wonder, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“Fuck the fireworks. I had a whole show right behind my eyelids. Now, get back down here. We’re not done yet.”

[holykillercake]

Red String

𝕊ℍ𝔸ℕ𝕂𝕊 𝕏 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

word count: 2.8k

summary: You had any place in the world to moor, a stable and safe summer paradise somewhere in the South Blue, or you could visit the winter island where cherry blossoms painted the freezing horizon pink. The world was on the menu, and yet you chose to break into a Yonko territory.

highlight:  ¨What about you, Y/N? Will you try to put your hands on me?¨ 

warning: Look out for your arm, it might melt with the fluff.

notes: Hi, guys! This was an anon request for Shanks x Marine Reader. I was given the freedom to write whatever I wanted, so I hope you guys like it! <3 Dear, anon, I apologize for the time it took and I hope you read it! 

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨I have to say, not a usual place for a Vice Admiral to enjoy a vacation.¨ a smirk bent your lips as you heard the playful voice of the man who courted you with another drink. 

¨Well, I´m no usual Vice Admiral.¨

¨No one doubts that.¨ He put the sword on the table and pulled a chair, sitting close to you. ¨You have grown, Y/N.¨

¨You have aged.¨

¨Oi, not very nice. You hurt my feelings.¨ the red-haired placed the hand on his chest, over the heart, faking an offended tone. 

¨Mission accomplished.¨ 

You stared at each other for about four seconds before breaking into laughter. As always, Shanks was louder, banging his fist on the wooden table and vocalizing his amusement to anyone who had ears to hear. 

¨It´s been a long time, Y/N.¨ he wheezed, still recovering from his overreaction.

¨Yes, it has, Red hair.¨

¨Red hair? Really? I mean, you tried to kill me way too many times already. You gotta call me by my name.¨ You chuckled, sipping your drink. ¨Especially when you´re at my house.¨

You grinned, shaking your head and biting your lip. Of course, the bastard would not let this opportunity slip. 

After years of non-stop hard work, you received a few weeks off duty. That meant that the world could split open, the moons could fall into the atmosphere followed by the sun, and you would not have to move a single finger.  

Issho-san would handle that better in any way. 

You had any place in the world to moor, a stable and safe summer paradise somewhere in the South Blue, or you could visit the winter island where cherry blossoms painted the freezing horizon pink. The world was on the menu, and yet you chose to break into a Yonko territory. 

However, the Yonko in question was more than just an Emperor of the Sea. Your lives entangled at a very young age when the Pirate King was still alive, and Garp had melanin left in his hair. 

You were just two snotty brats fighting your Captains´ battles. 

¨Anyway,¨ he chugged his drink and asked for another one. ¨I missed you in Marineford.¨ 

¨Well, I guess I missed Marineford myself. Had a good view, though.¨ you answered nonchalantly. 

¨What do you mean?¨

¨I had an underling transmit me the whole thing.¨

¨Isn´t that handy?¨

You tried not to laugh. It was stupid, but every time you had Shanks and hand in the same sentence, you felt the urge to laugh.

¨I wanted to see Luffy.¨ you said.

¨Why not go there, then?¨

¨Duty called somewhere else.¨ you shrugged. ¨Besides, I would have been no help for him.¨

¨You´re saying you wouldn´t help him?¨ Shanks carried a suspicious tone in his voice.

¨Of course I wouldn't help him.¨ You took a sip of your drink. ¨But thanks... for stopping that madness.¨ 

The man casually stretched his arms above his head, tilting his head back, enjoying the warm sun.

¨No biggie. You owe me another one, and we should be fine.¨ he smiled.

¨Who´s counting?¨

¨I am.¨ 

¨I already stopped hunting you, Shanks. Isn´t that enough?¨

¨Not on my book, Y/N.¨

For a long portion of your life, you had a personal mission to give the Red Hair the same fate as his Captain. Whenever his crew was located, you would be the one hunting them. No one dared to tell you otherwise. 

By that time, you had no significant position. Maybe a Lieutenant, Captain tops. But being related to the Hero of the Marines, well, that granted you some free passes, and as long as you could hand Shanks´head in a tray, a little nepotism didn´t bother you. 

Actually, although everyone saw you as Garp´s relative, you were just his first protegé, his first rescued dog. Apparently, the highly ranked officers were going through boring times and decided to pay their dues by doing charity.

The only one you got to know was Sengoku´s kid. Rosinante was his name. To this very day, you could not think of him without the twist in your heart. 

Even you didn´t know how to describe it, and honestly, you didn´t care. Was the job done at the end of the day? Good. 

That was all that mattered until another pawn entered the game, a very troublesome one, by the way. Slept like a rock and ate all your food. You couldn´t help but fall in love with little Monkey D. Luffy. 

He was the one to give you the answer you had stopped looking for a while ago.

In order to be his older sister, you had to be Garp´s granddaughter. Everyone loved the idea, except for the man himself. 

You were as keen as Garp to make Luffy become a great Marine. You bought him tailor-made marine onesies and shared stories about the seas. Whenever he spotted you approaching with the leather book in your hands, he would get restless. 

The onesies, however, those never lasted. They were thrown in a boiling dumpster altogether with your dream of him joining you in a job one day.

The sun was about to set, and you had just returned from a long and intricate mission when you received a call from Makino saying that Luffy had gotten into some trouble. 

Not only that, The Red Hair Pirates were somehow involved. It was all you heard before hanging off the den den mushi and hopping in a Marine ship, headed to Foosha Village.  

The idea of Shanks causing Luffy any pain or just giving him a hard time made you turn into a beast. But your bloodshot eyes were washed clean by the image of your brother, safe and sound, hanging out with Red Hair, who seemed rather... different. 

¨Why would you do that?! What do you want, Red Hair?!¨ 

A lot of things went through your head, but none of them could explain why a pirate, why him, would sacrifice his arm to save Luffy. There was no way he didn´t know about your little brother´s connections. 

¨I want to pay you a drink. But only if you stop yelling.¨ 

With a swing of his hand and a smile, Makino appeared with a jug of beer before you could spit fire on him again. 

¨They´ve been really good at keeping Luffy entertained this past year, Y/N-san.¨ she said, kind as usual, before leaving.

You sighed and took a seat by his side. 

¨Why did you do that?¨

¨I bet on his life. Just that. Why is that a problem? You don´t want to feel grateful for a pirate?¨ 

Your grip tightened around the cold glass, teeth clenching and knuckles turning white. 

¨No.¨

Gratitude was never the problem. You would be grateful to anyone who risked their lives for Luffy, but he... you needed to hate him. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn´t get yourself to do it. 

¨I don´t want you thinking that I owe you anything.¨

¨You don´t have to owe me anything, Y/N. But we´ve known each other for a while now, so... we both know that you will.¨ 

His lips turned into an honest smile, no teasing behind it, and you wished not to have your heart beating faster for it. 

¨You don´t kn-¨

¨Y/N!¨ Luffy entered the bar, running to you with the brightest of the smiles on his face.¨Are you done? I have to show you something!¨ he asked, pulling the fabric of your coat.

¨Oi, behave Luffy, I´ll be done in-¨

¨Nooo!¨ he pouted before turning to the opposite side and pulling one of his impish grins ¨Look what I can do! Gomu gomu no...¨ 

His tiny hand balled into a fist, which you watched stretch all the way to the opposite side of the room before coming back and hitting him in the face. 

Did his arm just...      

The air froze in the room. You blinked a couple of times, hearing a few gasps around the bar, your gaze fixed in the same place his hand was seconds ago.

¨Luffy-kun, why don´t you come outside with me?¨ Makino extended her hand for him to take. ¨I´ll bring some meat.¨

The kid screamed in excitement and followed her, drool dripping down his chin. 

So close, Shanks. So close. He thought, lowering his head on the counter and waiting to get chewed up. However, after a few unscathed seconds, the red-haired lifted his head, almost not believe his eyes. 

That was the first and last time you bowed to a pirate. 

Of course, later on, you punched him for letting Luffy eat a Devil Fruit. 

You swore to leave him and his crew alone, as long as they did not cause bigger problems, which they eventually did, but you had a debt you could never pay, and you ended up focusing on other things. 

Those things made it difficult for you to visit Luffy as much as you wanted, but since Garp had sent him to live with Dadan, you could sleep with a clean consciousness. 

Whenever you paid him visits, he would tell you about these other kids, whom he considered brothers. One you got to meet, Sabo, smart and polite. The other, however, ran from you like you were a freaking plague. 

Ace, another one with whom you had an inestimable debt. 

¨Humor me, Y/N. If not Foosha, why here?¨

You shrugged.

¨I was passing by, and the place seemed quite enjoyable.¨ 

¨Hm.¨ the wind blew stronger, turning the gentle swishing of the palm trees into a harsher rustling. ¨Should I get my men ready for a conflict?¨

¨Relax, Shanks. Right now, this is the safest place on earth.¨

¨What do you mean?¨ he asked, genuinely curious. 

¨Oh, come on.¨ you scoffed. ¨Not even the World Government will try to put their hands on you, and I´ll kill anyone who dares to ruin my vacation.¨

¨What about you, Y/N? Will you try to put your hands on me?¨ 

His gaze was heavy on you, conquering aura filling the place. You looked at him with narrowed eyes and a smirk growing on your lips. 

This guy...

You harnessed the moment to take in his features, a lot more mature than you remembered. Although the scars were deeper and he seemed more tired, his hair shone like fresh blood, and his eyes... you were afraid to drown in them. 

¨What would you do if I decided to put my hands on you?¨ you bit your lip. ¨I heard you´ve been terrorizing some kids lately.¨

¨Gotta give them a run for their bounties, right?¨ He laughed. ¨But I also heard some interesting things about you, Y/N.¨

You raised your eyebrows as if you were encouraging him to tell you more. 

¨Apparently, I´m not the only one spending recreational time with young pirates. And there I thought Marines weren´t supposed to hunt Warlords of the Sea.¨

A shiver ran down your body, already aware of the subject he was about to bring up.

¨Well, I have no idea what you´re talking about.¨ You said, giving him your best oblivious eyelash bat. 

¨Oh yeah? Because it was brought to my attention that you made some business with... what´s his name again?¨ he pretended exaggeratedly to think about it ¨Ah, Trafalgar Law.¨

¨Only time I spoke to him, he was a Warlord as well. And I just wanted to thank him for helping Luffy in Marineford.¨

¨You´re gonna start lying to me at this point of our relationship?¨ Shanks teased to eager a bit of the tension, and a scoff left your mouth.

¨First, you´re delusional. Second, you´re too nosey for your own good.¨ 

The two of you laughed along like you were not natural enemies.

¨Did you get to meet Luffy in Dressrosa? Heard they made an alliance.¨

¨Hm, yeah. But no, couldn´t get myself to do it.¨

You frowned, hurting for have had your little brother so close but not being brave enough to approach him. Good thing he had no idea about your presence in the scene, and you could trust Law´s discretion to keep it that way. 

¨He doesn´t hate you, you know.¨

¨Yeah, I know...¨

That was true. Luffy didn´t hate you for not helping him in Marienford, just like he didn´t hate Garp for standing in his way. He had too big of a heart for that. 

Shanks let you have your time in silence, empathizing with your feelings. He too had to make sacrifices by standing his ground before.

¨What now?¨ he asked.

¨What now?¨ 

¨Garp is retired. Joker is down. What´s holding you back?¨

The air got stuck in your lungs. The reality you had been running from, the question for which you postponed to find an answer. 

When Garp took you in, the alternatives available for you were restricted, to say the very least. It was either accept the kindness of a stranger or die. He taught you his trade and molded you into one of the best-skilled marines. 

As the time passed and you learned the ugly truth behind the World Government, the disgust and disbelief made you want to leave. Fortunately, your life was not stained by the passage of a Celestial Dragon, but how were you supposed to protect them, aware of the atrocities they afflicted to people?

At the same time, how could you leave Garp after everything he did for you? Of course, he would survive if you disappointed him that much, but you owed him your life. 

What made you stay, however, was something much less pleasant than a lifetime debt. Thirteen years ago, evil prevailed, and you lost something really important. Or rather, someone. 

Commander Donquixote Rosinante. Marine code 01746. 

He had a sense of justice like no one else. He was strong, honest, and fair. Did he make you want to pull your hair out every time he lit himself on fire? Yes. Did it bother you to have stains on your tatami because he dropped hot tea on it? Yes. He possessed the ability to get you on your nerves, but he was your family. 

You were supposed to be the greatest. 

Long story short, that night, at Swallow Island, you left with more than just his dead body. You inherited his will. 

You swore to take down the man responsible for shortening his life, and hopefully, in a later day, you could meet the little boy about whom he spoke so highly. 

It took you thirteen years. No more ties of the past, no more strings on you. 

Well, just one, if you were to be entirely honest with yourself. A string of a stupid tale, a nonsense legend, a foolish myth. The Thread of Destiny, supposed to connect two people together. They say the thread may stretch or tangle, but it shall never break. 

Bullshit. There´s no such a thing. 

But assuming that there was, why did you feel that if you pulled it to its very end, what you would find would be red as well? 

Red as the vest Luffy wore diligently; red as the nose of a cranky apprentice; red as the pompous sails of the Oro Jackson; red as the locks of the man capable of stopping wars with words.

Would you dare to be anything else? Could you step out of your own life like this? Could you abandon everything you fought for all these years? 

¨You know, I´ve said it in the past, but I´ll say it again. We could use someone like you in our crew.¨ 

You gave him a two-second smirky scoff before frowning again. 

Were you worthy enough to owe yourself the chance to choose? What did it mean, the justice coat of a Vice Admiral you carried so proud on your shoulders?

If piracy took a lot from you in the past, could piracy, or a pirate, give you everything back? 

¨Y/N?¨

¨Hm?¨ You hummed, gaze locked on the lethargic view. 

Hot puffs of air played with your hair and involved your skin in a warm hug. You could hear the gentle sound of the waves crashing on the shore, coastal birds cooing and the wind whistling over the rocks. 

¨Do you think, maybe, one day... I could ask you out?¨

No matter how many times you rewound the tape, you couldn´t find a different answer, a plausible reason for the burning feeling you held for him, whatever that meant. 

From the first time you put your eyes on each other, a contract was opened without even a handshake. A deal was set without your acknowledgment. An ironic fate tied you to the same string. 

¨Yeah... maybe.¨

[deathisanartmetzli]

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: ​ @deathisanartmetzli​ @eyes-in-the-night​

SUMMARY: Metzli and Correy’s friend date occurs in an unexpected way, but family is found.

WARNINGS: Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Loss of Reality, Memory Loss,

It started off so simply. Irritation into Ire, then on into a lapse of reality itself.

The night air was cool and damp. A brisk bright breeze brought boughs of branches to meet the ground. The storm overhead was strangely still despite itself. Stranger and stranger things had been happening ever since the death of that tree. The Old One. The one his friend died to protect, and yet somehow returned. Little glimpses into other worlds tore at the veil between what was known and all that lay beyond. Normally the chill and rain mattered not to the lampade. Sulking his way back to the lighthouse from the store that so rudely lacked the one thing he’d gone out to find. Made him forget the store was not the only reason he’d gone out. In the way a dream tells you, guides you, directs you to what you need to see. Coaxes recognition, understanding and false context from the dreamer. Correy forgot all about the appointment made with Metzli. Wasn’t even on his mind. That night the frigid yet not frozen air took all available space and ate at his bones. Replaced it all with a growing feeling of being watched. Monitored. Stalked.

Maybe it was the itch of anger that fed the rift enough for it to follow Correy back to his roost. A stray dog given scraps of something tasty. Was it even alive? Could it want at all? Or was it just another unexplainable outburst of potential magical energy, wreaking havoc on the epicenter of so many ley lines. White Crest was home to many a phenomena over the years. It was why the lampade stayed so long. Why he told himself he stayed. One part research, one part curiosity. Information. Always information. If you have the facts you can control the outcome. Right?

Before he even got to the outskirts the rain began to pelt him even harder. Digging that ditch deeper in his heart. He was ruminating now. An astute mind using all its faculties to give fault to the failures both perceived and imagined. Of others and his own. The indignation sparking up a flame that all but burned him up until–

“Shite.”

Something grave was off the moment he saw the old watchtower. The light was on. Sweeping over land and sea like an ever watchful eye. Never in all his years occupying the place had it even worked when the odd interest bid him to try. Worse than that, the front door was locked in a way that his keys did nothing. Annoyance shifted to anger. Righteous and loud. He banged his fists on the metal, letting out a primal scream and wincing sorely as his face contorted into a snarl. Someone must have been in there. The place he’d built up to be greater than its parts. The walls in which he had felt safe. In his home. Careful to dodge the ever present beam he raced forward. Finding a shadow to hop into to force his way inside.

However, in his haste and enmity Correy failed to notice a few key details. Of the shifting spectacle encroaching and enveloping the whole of the lighthouse, spreading beyond and making it all into something entirely….Other. The sky above looked like a bruise. Deep purples giving way to blues and unnatural greens. Leaking out and around til the scene looked more and more like an absurdist painting than a picturesque seascape.

And now; without the lampade to scream, it was so, so silent.

–

A loud slam sent Metzli out of their thoughts, sending them on alert. They stood by the curation table, curious and a little peeved. Crest Works Art was closed. All patrons were escorted out, and they knew that to be true because Abigail had told them so. She was much too thorough to have let a straggler stay behind. “Who’s there?” They called out, inhaling deeply and waiting for any subtle movement to create sound. Brows knitted together, finding no evidence of anyone nearby. Another slam cracked thunderously, only this time, the cry of a child bellowed out. Metzli rushed out, thinking a child was somehow making the art fall and destroying it in the process. What a fucking idiot!

The crying continued, farther away than it was before, echoing down from a section deeper into the building. Steps accompanied the sound as they moved toward the source of the cries, and the pieces seemed to be intact, much to Metzli’s relief. “Can you come out?” There was a bite of annoyance to their tone, but they didn’t care. The kid was an idiot for getting stuck, and the parent was an even bigger idiot for forgetting their child. “Come on. I don’t have time for this. I can help you find…” Turning around the corner, the sound grew its loudest as Metzli’s eyes fell on a door that should not have been in the middle of the room. The room felt ice cold, growing dark, as if the night was shrouding them completely. Fear pricked at their skin, head whipping around to run back the direction they came, but something on the floor stopped them.

Metzli fell backwards, landing on their ass and scooting away from the thing as fast as they could. It wasn’t a thing. It was a person. A child. “Who—What the fuck?” The whispered exclamation trembled, stumbling out clumsily. The child hid their face in their knees, sobbing uncontrollably until a loud banging came from the door, that was now higher up and at the top of stairs. “¡Cállate o te voy dar una razón de llorar!” The gruff voice sent Metzli’s body shaking. “Apá…?” They stood quickly, still facing the door they now recognized, not wanting to look at the kid. At themselves. Why was it always the basement? Why did the town always somehow send them there?

Stifled cries grabbed whatever attention was left, and when Metzli turned, they were met with the face of the child, their child face, decayed and screaming loudly. Suddenly, their child-self lunged forward, sending a piercing scream of their own out in the air. Everything went black for a few moments. And just as suddenly as the darkness came, it receded, revealing an image of a boy that was in some sort of…portal?

“¿Oye, quien es?” That wasn’t right. Metzli meant to use English. “Ay. Que está pasando?” Oh. Their voice wasn’t right either. Eyes glided down themselves, much shorter, and much, much younger. They were a spitting image of what they had just seen. “Oh…‘ta madre…”

–

The boy stirred at the stranger’s voice. Unfamiliar, unrecognizable, unknown. Another voice to drown the many, to tell him he was wrong. No— not just that… the words were wrong. Nonsense. “Cé tusa?” Someone new. But that didn’t make it better. Nothing made it better. “Cén fáth a bhfuil tú i mo sheomra?” Frail features fought for any sense of ferocity. But it was all too clear that he’d been crying. Puffy cheeks and reddened eyes under deeply furrowed brows. Feather-like straw blonde hair trussed down in tangled knots from his tiny head.

The darkness in the room made it hard to make out any particular features, but it was a bedroom. A tiny cot sat in the corner, a dresser by the door. The floor however, was clearly dirt. Dirt which all but covered the kid pressing his back to the wall in an attempt to be as far from the other who wandered in from the deeper shadows.

“An bhfuil tú fíor?” Shaking and wobbling like a deerling freshly torn from its mother, the boy stood. His voice was barely loud enough to hear. Half whispered, half rasped cracking from misuse. “Nó cosúil leis na cinn eile?” The wall was a sturdy enough support. Stronger than his knees anyway. In the thin sliver of candlelight, anyone could see the caked stains on them were more than just filth. A mix of burn marks and bruises, dried blood and dirt.

–

The boy looked scared. Pitiful. And it was like staring into a reflection. His room had a dirt floor too, and he had cuts and bruises just like the ones all over their body. Something pulled at Metzli’s chest, making their throat constrict uncomfortably. They didn’t like seeing the wobble in his stature, didn’t like the way his voice wavered underneath the pressure of whatever was looming over him. They looked down at their chest, then back at the boy. Over and over again, the sight of him caused a soft, humming pain just below the surface of their skin. Tugged at them to move forward and…and what? Hug him? That’s what they wanted to do. Knuckles rubbed against their chest, confused by how uncomfortable it was to feel sympathy and compassion. They wondered why that was. Why they felt so strange. Who was that boy?

Dizziness consumed Metzli for a moment, and they had to take a moment to shake it away. To regroup themselves and assess. The basement. That was their dwelling and they had just gotten in trouble, didn’t they? The memory gnawed at the back of their skull, unable to be fully realized. Their thoughts were interrupted by a banging at the door, and they couldn’t recall what they were just thinking about. “¡Ya te dije pinche niña! ¡Cállate!” And at that moment, they realized they had been sobbing. Too loudly, it seemed.

Metzli quickly covered their mouth to prevent their father from going down to the basement. Hadn’t they learned that lesson already? They were too old to be crying like a child. Apá always said it was better to not be seen or heard. So when the boy spoke again, breaking the rule to not be heard, Metzli tried to shush him in fear that their father could hear him. And there it was again, that feeling of sympathy that washed so heavily over them. They deserved what they got, but others? Never. Desperately, they ran through the portal and knelt down next to the boy. “¿Estas bien?”

—

A brisk wind flew in behind the other being. Closing the portal behind them and easing away the darkened shadows that’d been all he’d seen of the basement. Enough wind followed to whistle through the thin cracks of the wooden walls. Echoing the storm outside. Barely a shack around them, shelter from the rain. His eyes widened as they approached and slammed shut before he could see them kneel. Ready for the strike, the sudden sharp feeling of flesh against flesh. But it never came. Only a soft whisper. Close enough now to tell, another child. Like him. But different.

“Ní féidir leat a bheith anseo.” His eyes were open now, squinting in the darkness to see any details he could. Who was this stranger, why did they speak so strangely? “Má fhanann tú beidh na arrachtaigh ag teacht.” He pushed back against them, perhaps a bit too hard. Unsure of his own strength. “Tá brón orm!”

Why had he been able to push them? Wasn’t he always chided about how little use he was to the farm, how thin he was, how wiry? Wait no, That was…

The boy stood taller then, no longer a fledgling but not yet full grown. Of course, that was all just a ball of hazy memories. They’d come back to him only because of how similar that weird interaction was to the situation he’d waltzed into. Another teen knelt before him, talking strange tongues and reminding him much too much of himself. That vicious buzzing gnawed at the back of his brain. He knew them, why did he–

“What’d you say this place was again?” His accent was thicker than a bog and just as acidic. The words were still so foreign to him but maybe this teen would be able to understand better than the galige.

–

The push was so sudden, with more power than Metzli had anticipated. Fresh wounds were cast ablaze, throbbing and shooting pain through every nerve. A small yelp escaped their lungs, and they wanted to cry. Knowing all too well that they were too old for tears, they scrambled to sit up. “¡¿Por qué hiciste eso?! Yo—Oh. Que…” Reality shifted again, making panic constrict their throat. Air wasn’t getting into Metzli’s lungs fast enough, sending them panting as they searched for a way out. Everything was changing, even both of their bodies. They transitioned smoothly, memories altering to only what they should know at the associated age. Something festered at the back of their skull, though. Familiarity wanted to be found, but the search party in their mind could find no such thing.

A finger pressed against Metzli’s lips, noticing they were back in the decrepit basement. Too much noise was practically asking for punishment. “Shh…shh. Te va oír.” The room looked worse than before, aging like milk as blood and suffering clung to the walls and rotted them away. It smelled and looked foul, but what truly sent a cold shiver down their spine, was the door whipping open to reveal their mother holding a switch. Lips pursed tightly together, attempting to stifle any sound that wanted to escape as they stepped in front of the boy to protect him. Even at seventeen and over six feet tall, Metzli was terrified of their parents, but they didn’t want the strange boy to get hurt like them. He didn’t deserve that. He was innocent. With each heavy step, they flinched, knowing what was to come, but they stood their ground. And just as suddenly, the image poofed. Like a cloud of smoke, it dispersed and instantly changed.

In the inbetween (the points both before and after) the pair returned to their natural state. As if the term natural could truly be applied to either the lampade or vampire. A stuttered shaking shunted them back into their bodies, bringing them to the here and now. Had they been somewhere else? How did they get from there to here? Wherever ‘here’ was exactly. Endless walls stretched out before them both. An impossible liminal space. Nothing particularly descriptive about them. Pin pricks in a sea of shifting songless stones. The man, now grown enough to be called so, turned. Correy recognized his companion. Though it felt as if he’d never not. Constants. Variables. Waking from a dream, half remembered in feelings not actions.

“M-etz–” His voice croaked. Right. He’d been screaming. Why was he screaming? More than that, why did his throat feel like sandpaper? His glamour too tight to his skin. Too heavy. Where was he? What was going on? “How did you get…here?” He gestured half-heartedly around as if he had a better explanation for why he was… wherever this was.

–

Everything flung together. Reality snapped like a rubber band, pulled by an unknown energy and set free onto the pair. Metzli grumbled, holding their head while an invisible jackhammer beat against their brain. “W-what the fuck is happening?” Correy always looked a little rough, but what happened to the two of them really seemed to unhinge the man. And really, the vampire understood why. If the places they experienced were not just theirs, but his too, the children of mother night had more in common than once thought.

“I honestly don't know how we got here. I still don’t really understand what all we just saw and especially don’t get why it happened to us!” Metzli grew angry, really needing something to punch. Or bite. Biting sounded so good at that moment. Being with their partner sounded even better. She always knew how to hold them and sing the right melodies. With all the animals curled around them. Why couldn’t the images be of that? Did it have to always pick the worst parts of their life?

“How are you doing there, chico?” Metzli patted Correy’s shoulder awkwardly, taking a look around the void. If there was a way in, there was a way out. Just had to find the exit.

“Wait- What happened to us?” His mind still swam against the riptide, struggling to catch up. Sweeping nausea bubbled up bile but Correy held it down. A pain rocked him sideways, crashing into the wall beside him. He clutched at his side, what must have been a phantom pain, as nothing seemed to be there. “Shite. S-somethin’s not ri–” Hoarse and struggling for breath, the lampade curled his fingers tighter and pushed back off the wall. Stumbling a few steps before regaining some semblance of sturdy.

“I know this ain’t normal, but it don’t feel–” A wave of coughs caught him in a fit. Black ichor dribbled out of the corners of his mouth, quickly wiped away with his sleeve.  He bit back and swallowed what was left in his mouth, clearing his throat a moment later. He was here but not. There but somewhere else too. “It don’t feel real. Not even–” Before he could finish the sentence he saw a flash. Someone running across the hall, one door to another. Two shapes. Far too fast to see. Correy steadied himself against the pain and pushed forward. Not another word. Slow loping steps turned into a harried run. They wouldn’t get away. Not this time. Something between fury and drive pushing him onward.

“C’mon that eejit’s got the feckin lantern.”

–

Metzli’s nose was sent into a frenzy, doing their damndest to find anything concrete. It was like the pair was somewhere and nowhere at the same time. Discomfort tightened their muscles, growing worse at the sight of black cascading down Correy’s skin. That wasn’t good. They wondered if his blood was like theirs somehow. But that couldn’t be right. He was alive, after all. Wasn’t he? They weren’t entirely sure since their knowledge of fae was so limited, but the time for that wonder wasn’t then. Asking Macleod all the questions that whirled around their mind would have to happen later. There was a figure running off with something—a lantern—and they apparently needed to get to them. “You sure you’re okay enough to run? Correy! You don’t even know what that thing is!” Something in Correy’s eyes looked familiar, something Metzli understood too well. To them, it appeared to be the one thing that motivated the sound that their life was composed of—wrath.

“Hey! Come on, you’re…” Correy’s body grew distant as he proceeded forward without acknowledging if Metzli was following or not. “Puta madre…!” They muttered to themselves, jumping to their feet and bursting into a sprint right behind. With no oxygen to breathe, endless energy, and long legs, catching up was easy. Likewise, it took no effort to catch up to the lantern-holding enigma. The void was endless and jarring, like someone was flipping the channels over and over again. Flash after flash, Metzli’s teeth clenched together in effort and frustration. Even after what felt like minutes of running, the being still felt the same distance as before and their legs started to feel like they were going through molasses. The sensation felt oddly familiar, something long trapped in their human days.

“Fuck this guy!” Pushing harder, Metzli leapt forward with all the power they could. Victory was finally theirs, landing on the body of—no, there was no body. It puffed into a cloud and flashed away, leaving Metzli to land on the ground with a grunt.

Gravity met Correy the moment he crossed the threshold after the pouncing vampire. Pulled him down hard. Face to face with an old persian rug, musty with age but not filth. The figure was gone, the chase ended. A beastial growl escaped the lampade as he slammed his hands on the floor. The sound only dampened by the rug. “Dia ár sábháil–” He hadn't lost their common tongue, only the temper thinly veiled behind a wall of shadowed calm. The pain that plagued him a moment ago was replaced with bright hot soreness. Like he’d been running for three days straight.

Around them a living room blossomed in the growing candle light. Coming into focus as they noticed the details. Unveiled. Kitsch, but no heart. Trophies. Taxidermied heads of monsters, jars with bits and bobs of all the things that go bump in the night. Everything was placed just-so. A musée de la mort. Inspire awe from those less fortunate, and fear in those less than human. Perfectly carved mahogany chairs arranged around a fireplace. A portrait of a man with a lantern and a skull carved with sigils or runes or some other spellcaster shit.

He recognized it immediately. The dream hadn’t robbed him of this. Let him sit in the panic rising like the tide. The seething vile wrath took him. Pitched him up from the floor in one fluid motion. Correy yanked at the painting. Pulling it down to his level so he could scratch and tear at the patriarch. A wild rabid rage incensed him on. Like this was the most important thing for him to do. Destroy. Feel that anger and let it boil over. What he couldn’t remember is why. The lost resonance behind the sour chord. He knew he was angry. He knew this was his captor. But there was something… something more. Something he’d even forgotten in his waking hours.

–

A heavy and sharp weight loomed beneath the surface at the sight of the painting. The staunch and petrifying detail in the man’s expression sent a cold shiver down Metzli’s spine. An ire came to life, burning in his eyes like an uncontrollable blaze. Room was too dry to alleviate the waves of red, orange, and yellow. Only drove the flames like kindling and Metzli knew they were too close, likely to get burned. The way Correy turned the painting to scraps made them back away slowly, giving him room to annihilate the image that truly haunted him. Within a few paces, their back struck icy brick, sending rusting chains to rattle.

The sound was like deja vu of the worst kind. The type that sent someone into immediate panic because the association of it was only pain and death. Endless torture that molded a monster that Metzli never had a say in. With a shaky breath, they turned to see themselves—with that godawful long hair Eloy forced them to keep—sobbing. “Puta madre…no. No, no, no.” Everything went dark except for the wall and everything on it. Every fleck of blood and flesh, every crack, every print of time and death wearing down on it. Metzli knew death came to all eventually. Everything someone was or did was either reduced to dust or a box being ticked off from a really long to-do list. They just hoped, prayed, their end wouldn’t come by the hands of—“Ah…mi hermosita. ¿Ya aprendiste?”

Eloy walked in from the darkness, like the demon he was. Head whipped around to lock sight of him, craning quickly back to the image of themselves, only to have reality become a blip. In a matter of a blink, Metzli was in the chains instead. “¡No! ¡No! ¡Por favor, no!” They begged and begged, feeling Eloy’s scruff graze their cheek as his lips planted a kiss. He laughed. He always laughed and it always reverberated from wall to wall. “¡Esto es para que aprendas, maldita culera!” His arm raised and Metzli shut their eyes tightly, bracing for impact, but it never came. Just as suddenly as the vision had emerged, it was gone.

“C-Correy…I want to get—Please I want to get out of here. How do we get out?!”

With a final blow the object of his wrath was destroyed. He stood low, still shaking with half-manic energy. Chest heaving with the effort. But what lay before him was not a portrait. Though he was sure he never took his eyes away from the thing, it somehow slipped away laying helplessly at the end of his arm was a young man. Barely old enough to be called that. Peach fuzz and rounded cheeks stained bright crimson with his own blood. Still alive and so full of fear that every inch of him exuded absolute terror. “P-p-please I tried to h-elp y-you” Correy’s face shifted immediately from anger to a panicked shock. No. No no no no no no. Shite. He’d seen this before, this boy, this room– His hands loosened and the kid dropped heavily to the floor. The lampade retreated only observing the blood on his hands until he heard another voice crying out.

Metzli. Fuck.

His gaze shifted quickly, flicking to the special hell that was prepped for the vampire, then back again. But the room with the persian rug was not there any longer. It was like the anomaly was listening to them. Feeling out the parts of themselves they’d give anything to hide away from. Bringing them to life and playing out the scenes for an unknown watcher. A vile charade. Correy crossed the distance of the room, and found himself by the vampire’s side. He took their wrists and eased his thumb over the marks left by the chains. Concern washed over his face, allowing them to see him plain and raw.

“We’re getting the fuck outta here. I swear it to you, okay Metzli? We’re gonna be okay.”

It appeared they were back in the corridors. Along with that, the pain in his side returned in full force. Something he’d have to work through, as they had bigger fish to fry. He didn’t know how, but it felt like they were closer to where they needed to be. The eerie purple light that echoed down the halls was stronger. Felt like it held a physical weight. But it was moving. Swept along in a repeating pattern. One that felt familiar but distant. He couldn’t place it. So he slung his arm around Metzli’s shoulders and limped forward. “This way”

–

Correy swore, and that had a heavy meaning behind it. He bound himself to getting the two of them to safety, but Metzli wasn’t sure whether to be scared of what might happen if he didn’t complete his pledge, or to simply put their faith in him. Determination and effort often fueled one another, so they decided to hang on to the latter. With a nod, they swallowed their fear, the lump struggling down their throat. They stood taller and moved Correy’s weight to rest on them as much as possible, following the purple light with fervor with a firm arm wrapped around their friend. And if they made it out of the damned place, he’d likely become something more. In their experience, no one stayed a mere friend after such an ordeal as nightmares coming to life. Somehow, it wasn’t Metzli’s first experience with memories finding life, and if that was the case, they knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“This place feels different. I-I don’t understand how, but the energy feels altered. Like…like it’s heavy and displaced. And for some reason, that feels familiar.” Like they were dreaming. Which was impossible now that they were technically dead. Metzli didn’t recall laying down either if White Crest had somehow found a way to push their mind into a dream. Milo had a nightmare, so it stood to reason that they could eventually, too. What bothered them though, was that they had been awake, making whatever place they were in a different dimension somehow. “Do you—” A booming voice interrupted, “¡Vente para atras!” Metzli was yanked back with a small shriek. All they were left with was a torn piece off of Correy’s shirt. Looking back and forth from the fabric and Correy, they noticed a rectangular light—a door! “Correy! Go through there! Now! G—” They were yanked again, but this time, they were dragged. Away from the potential exit.

Metzli looked back in horror to find Baltazar, their father, had his grip on them. His eyes were crazed, a smile accompanying the dangerous look he held. They panted and screamed, digging their nails into the fist that grasped them so tightly. The action only angered him and forced him to halt and slam Metzli to the ground with a crack. “¡Ya me enfadaste!” He screamed, scaring and disorienting them, but only for a moment. In the time it took for Baltazar to gather himself, Metzli kicked him down and ran to catch up to Correy.

–

“No- I’m not leaving you–” He was growing wise to the tricks this place had to pull. Tear them apart, divide and conquer. Well Correy vehemently refused. Whatever the hell this place was, he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to be its toy any longer. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it do that to Metzli either. By now they’d shared more than a moment in each other's mind. Gotten to see the demons that dined on their sanity. Beckoned them back into solipsistic sadness.

No more.

The vampire had been more than good to him. Gave him a second chance where he honestly deserved a slap, or worse. He was about to turn and run after them, tear through the man that dared lay on hands. But they took care of that problem quicker than he'd been able to cross the distance. “Good, No more distractions, fuck this place, fuck whoever that was, and anyone else who decides to show up.” Correy spoke with what he hoped was resolve, but came out more as desperation. But he grabbed on tightly to Metzli’s hand and pushed forward toward the door.

Beyond it, a room filled with that sickening purple glow. Lined with mirrors along every surface, no two the same design. Some as small as a compact, some as big as a doorway. The long corridor stretched out far, but not endlessly. Another door was at the end, and through it Correy could see something familiar. “There!” Half elated he dashed forward, still holding so tightly to their hand. Ignoring the unexplained but persistent pain in his side.

–

Metzli was used to not seeing a replica of themselves in those pieces of glass that so many utilized everyday, but it was rare, impossible, to not see a fae’s. Right? Right? As the pair flashed by each mirror, nothing appeared. But there wasn’t time to react to that realization as another surfaced instantly. Correy was gone. “Correy!” They yelled, spinning around and finding no trace of their friend. Only the door. He must’ve already reached the door and they must’ve let go of his hand when their mind stuttered. “Correy!” Metzli called again. Running forward, a rush of energy surged through their body as it passed through the light. They watched as darkness bled into twilight. Their body met cold, hard ground, but the feeling of it couldn’t be more welcomed. It was as lovely as pools of blue on grass on a spring’s night. And it grew lovelier as they realized the room was one above where they had sat in before. The lighthouse. But where was the keeper? Where was Correy?

Scarlet hues scanned, landing on a lump on the floor. The sight was one of pure horror, turning the lovely consummation of their return into one of terror. A warden stood above Correy, bloody knife in hand. Metzli snapped their teeth with a blazing fury that was as red as their eyes. Death was an inevitability that could not be escaped, but it wasn’t his time. Not if they could help it. Slipping their feet into a crouch, they pounced forward onto the warden, not flinching once at how he plunged the knife into them repeatedly. Iron did nothing. His effort to avoid the very death he wished to bestow on Correy was fruitless. He was only making Metzli’s hunger grow until it had amassed into its release out of the cage. Teeth attacked in, tearing and sinking, and the feast began.

–

In a flash his mind snapped back to his body. A hoarse breath ragged its way through his lungs. Pale eyes shot open to darkness, for a moment panic hit until he realized it was just a blindfold. A way to keep the monster's eyes at bay. But there it was. His heart wept at the familiarity of the ceiling of the observatory. The lighthouse’s bulb still shone, swinging in its endless toil. Each time the powerful beam passed over his weakened frame he felt himself ebb away a little more.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Just as they’d walked through memories with him, they were here too. Correy couldn’t help but croak out a laugh. Which burst into a fit of cackles when he saw the state of his assailant. This caused a host of other problems, but none the lampade cared enough to do anything about. Limply he grabbed for the blade, letting the hilt burn him just a little so he could get one good stab in for himself. As quick as he’d grabbed it he let it go and rolled back over on his back. Letting the cool of the ground seep into his skin, still slick with sweat and blood.

“Metz…hah… I dreamt of you–” Correy’s voice was a whisper on the wind as his sight faded in and out. His hand had found his side, and through bleary eyes he could just make out the black ichor that coated his pale fingers. With a soft thud, his hand hit the ground. Only able to make one last retort before unconsciousness took him. “I don’t think I’m doin’ too well. Might have to cancel our plans.”

–

Metzli scoffed a little bit in disbelief, a little bit amusedly. “Rest, you silly pendejo. We can reschedule.” They wiped what blood they could from their face and laid down next to Correy carefully. After what they had undergone, they were more than just friends. And as long as he needed, they would remain next to him. As long as he needed, they would be family from then on.

[cryoculus]

oddity - xiao/reader

one of my closest pals is celebrating their birthday, and i took it upon myself to write a little lantern rite piece! i don't usually post my stuff on tumblr, but it wouldn't hurt to try ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pairing: xiao/gn!reader word count: 3,549 words premise: you and him are nothing but outsiders beneath the sea of lanterns — that’s all there is to it. ao3 link here!

“Traveler, what brings you here?”

The wind whistles through the reeds of Dihua Marsh when you hear his voice. The yaksha emerges from the shadows that cloak his form, piercing yellow eyes studying you with rapt attention. Your chest heaves as your sword glimmers out of existence before wiping a sheen of sweat off your brow. A smile graces your face — one that makes him arch an eyebrow. 

“Xiao,” you acknowledge him with a nod. “Just clearing out hilichurl camps for a commission.”

“And your friend?” he asks, arms crossed. “The loud one that floats around?”

You immediately think about how quick Paimon ditched your daily commissions just to get a head-start with the festivities down at the harbor. You didn’t particularly mind the fairy’s excitement, but it was a little lonely without her squawks of encouragement as you shilled monster after monster for the sake of scraping up some mora. But the peace of mind offered by Paimon’s absence is something you liked to indulge in every once in a while as well. Instances like this could bring about new experiences.

Such as running into the Vigilant Yaksha himself, for example.

“Paimon’s gotten quite engrossed with the Lantern Rite.” A lone sigh flees from your lips as you your gaze rivets upward. South from here, the lanterns offered to heavens can be still seen — even all the way in Bishui Plain. They dot the sky even brighter than the stars, burning through the darkness of the night so the heroes could find their way home. 

Somewhere much nearer is Wangshu Inn, its massive tree rising above the fog that began to roll in come sundown. You aren’t too far from his stronghold, but what reason does Xiao have to crawl out of his seemingly-eternal solitude? Last you’ve seen him was during that whole Starsnatcher fiasco, and you didn’t think you would cross paths again so soon. But the curious glow of his eyes — devoid of the indifference he’s worn like armor — tickles the back of your head. 

If you’re able to…could you try to convince Xiao to go with you?

Right. Verr Goldet asked that specific favor the last time Huai’an commissioned you to repair the Inn’s rickety staircase (again). You took her request without a second thought, despite being wholly unsure of how you’re even going to drag an adeptus back to Liyue Harbor. Though the rift between the land’s guardians and its people has long been mended, Xiao’s hostility wouldn’t be so easily quelled. But it’s as if the stars have guided your fates to intertwine tonight — holding each other’s prudent gazes as you both waited for the other to speak. 

Xiao is the first to break the silence. 

“I see,” he murmurs, resting his back against a sturdy tree. He draws his eyes up for only a moment before meeting yours once more. “Don’t you have a festival to celebrate, Traveler? If my memory serves me right, there’s only a few hours left before they release those pyro flowers into the sky. It’s…a popular spectacle among humans.”

You crane your head slightly, not quite catching his drift. Pyro flowers? A popular spectacle among…  

“You mean fireworks?” you snort.

“Yes, whatever those are.” Though his face doesn’t bear any hint of being flustered, the tips of Xiao’s ears turn the lightest tinge of red — barely visible in the lacking light, but you see it regardless. The yaksha mumbles something under his breath before saying, “I assume a lot of people await your return. What are you doing squandering your time here in the marsh, then?”

If Paimon were here, she would have swooped in and taken this as her one and only chance to make good on your unspoken promise to Verr Goldet. Even in the absence of your floating companion, you begin to consider your chances as well. It’s not like you assured the brooding adeptus would be present during the Rite. Just that you’d try to make sure he was there. 

And try, you did when you ask, “I was wondering if you’d want to come along, actually.”

You’re more than aware how…forward your invitation just sounded, but it’s not like you minded whatever answer he’s going to give you. In all honesty, it’d be easier if he rejected the offer and went on his way — doing whatever retired adepti do with their thousand years’ worth of free time. But as you steel yourself for his typical, cold-hearted dismissal, Xiao tilts his chin in the direction of the lanterns released en-masse in the south, gaze softening with a tenderness that’s all sorts of foreign to you. 

“I suppose I can spare a few hours.”

The lights down the docks seem a little too bright, and the jovial music rings a little too loudly when you’re conscious of an introverted companion. Xiao’s aversion to human interaction is no secret to anyone, but the adeptus manages to play it cool as you wade across a throng of festival-goers. He flinches a little when strangers bump into him, but does nothing to antagonize them. (Although you do hear the slightest hint of a growl when the stranger in question doesn’t apologize for the inconvenience.) Nonetheless, you make sure to hover around close to make sure you don’t lose him in the crowd. 

You consider holding his hand for but a sliver of a moment before chucking the idea out of the window. Xiao would probably hurl you into the next world if you touched him unsolicited, and the mere thought sends an unpleasant shiver down your spine. 

It doesn’t take long for you to spot Paimon in the midst of it all — wearing one of those peace talismans around her neck as she nibbled on a stick of grilled tiger fish. The fairy perks up at the sight of you, but she nearly gapes when she sees who it is on your trail. 

“You managed to drag that loner here?!” she shrieks, but the shock in her voice was thankfully obscured by the loud music. “How much almond tofu did you give him? Paimon bets it takes an army to make enough almond tofu to convince him to go out of hiding!” 

“No such coercion happened for them to bring me here,” Xiao clarifies. “I simply want to witness how things have been faring in the harbor since Rex Lapis’ departure. Hmph. Humans still do so much all in the name of traditions that have long lost their meaning.”

Paimon gasps, as if personally offended. “Lost their meaning…? You! You have no idea how important the Lantern Rite is to Liyue Harbor’s citizens, do you? Come on, Traveler!” The fairy huffs, tugging on your arm insistently. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the festival without the immortal party pooper.”

You gulp. “Paimon—”

“Honorary taste-tester, there you are!”

The familiar lilt of Xiangling’s voice pierces through the deafening melodies of the Rite. She bounds towards your little group with a devious smile curled across her lip — eyes shining with enough intent to scare you. Paimon is a bit more oblivious to the young chef’s intentions. Your companion even greets her once she was close enough.

“I have a huge custom order for the Qixing dinner at midnight, and I was wondering if you could try out my stuff!” She hums, spinning Paimon around gleefully enough to make the fairy forget that she was even frustrated with Xiao. Xiangling, however, notices belatedly that the said adeptus is in her company. “Oh, the guy from Wangshu Inn! What brings you here?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” the yaksha grumbles with a clipped tone. “Didn’t you say something about taste-testing for the Qixing?”

“Ah, right! Traveler!” Xiangling turns to you. “Can I borrow Paimon for a while? I’ll make sure my dad doesn’t turn her into emergency food. I promise!” 

“Hey!” Paimon protests. “Who’s turning who into emergency food?” 

With the slightest nod of your head, however, the chef is already on her merry way — dragging poor Paimon back to Chihu Rock despite her plethora of complaints. You sigh, telling yourself you’d make it up to her after you’ve attended to Xiao. Speaking of which…

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” you ask, eyes darting around for anything worthwhile to show the adeptus. When you spot Ruijin somewhere at the end of the baywalk, your brain clicks in place. “How about you and I play a few rounds of Theater Mechanicus?”

Xiao’s nose wrinkles at the unfamiliar name. “Is that another one of those strange human contraptions?” 

“Uh… You can say that.”

You’ve played a couple of rounds with Xingqiu yesterday when the Feiyun heir practically dragged you here after collecting your rewards from the Adventurers’ Guild. So to speak, tower defense games were not your strong suit. At first, dozens of imaginary enemies have slipped past your elemental wards all because of your poor strategizing skill. It’s a good thing that Xingqiu was quick to pick up on the rules, though. He managed to win you both enough peace talismans to make the Xiao Market turn maximum profit. 

Your current comrade, however, is probably just as terrible as you are.

“I don’t get this,” Xiao snarls, banging a fist on the wooden table. “Why can’t I just attack the enemies myself when they arrive? The towers are too weak to defend anything.” 

Ruijin chuckles, ruffling the yaksha’s hair as if he was a child. “Patience. The more you play, the stronger the mechanici become. Besides, warriors grow to be more powerful the longer they stay on the battlefield. You know that pretty well, right?”

You have to nudge Xiao’s leg from underneath the table to keep him from pouncing at the game master right there. When you manage to catch his gaze, you shoot him a stern look to keep him in check. Deep inside, though, you’re actually panicking. What if he turns the harbor into some anemo wasteland all because of a silly board game? If that happens, Zhongli might just declare you persona non grata even if he was already retired. 

Thankfully, Xingqiu’s knowledge about Theater Mechanicus has rubbed off on you enough to win you a round. Ruijin rewards you both with only half the amount of talismans you garnered when teaming up with the Feiyun heir, but Xiao doesn’t really need to know that. He stares at the jade-carved sigils disinterestedly before pocketing them in his garbs, walking away without a word. As your shoulders droop, you sigh and shoot Ruijin an apologetic look before chasing after your charge.

“Sorry if that wasn’t really your type of past time,” you tell him, matching the adeptus’ pace as he marches forward. “We could always try other—”

“If you’re going to play diplomat between myself and the harbor, listen here,” Xiao interrupts, shooting you a yellow-eyed stare. “Neither of us belong in this city. You’re an outlander, and I’m an adeptus — two creatures that aren’t meant to delve too deep into human affairs. And if you have even an ounce of respect left for our respective origins, you won’t tell me off for being needlessly hostile.”

Huh. So he’s aware that he’s being needlessly hostile. 

Though he spoke each word with an even-toned seriousness, all you could hear was a boy that didn’t want to be scolded at. You were a bit surprised to see him lose his patience over such a trivial thing earlier, too. Your mouth quivers into a soft smile, marveling at how human Xiao can be despite insisting he was anything but. 

“I’m heading up to Mount Tianheng for a while,” he announces once the two of you reach the end of the road. “Are you coming or not?”

You have half the mind to tease him for checking in on you despite the fact that he can pretty much leave you in the dust if he wanted to. Xiao glances at you impatiently when you don’t give him an answer, and you decide to push away any thought of discouraging him for another time. 

“Sure. What are you going to—”

Several things happen all at once. Xiao cuts your words short when he dons his mask, clouds of miasma curling around his form in black wisps. He scoops your knees from underneath you, cradling you to his chest faster than you can blink. And you can only gape in disbelief as he princess-carries you across the city — jumping from roof to roof with the grace of a feline. Xiao doesn’t spare you any looks the entire time, keeping his eyes forward as he holds you securely in his grasp. This reminds you a little of the time he saved you from falling to your death when the Jade Chamber collapsed, but you dared not think of it too much. 

You resign yourself to the fact that there isn’t much you can do when Xiao is in Bane-of-All-Evil form and observe the way the tattoos on his arm glow with each precise movement instead. In spite of the corrosive energy emanating from the rest of his body, the aura that those blue-green marks emit is…serene. It’s not all that different from the feeling you get whenever you stand near a Statue of the Seven in Mondstadt. Hm. Maybe Venti’s personally keeping an eye on this one. 

The yaksha only stops when he’s gotten to a high enough vantage point, setting you back to your feet. You’re just about to thank Xiao for the ride, but you notice the way his knees buckle once his mask dissolves from his face.

You’re quick to rush to his side, supporting his weight with yours as he shoots you a disgruntled look. All those millennia of keeping to himself probably made Xiao unused to your efforts, but you don’t give him enough room to complain. 

“You’re hurt,” you observe as you help him down to the grass. “I thought I was just seeing things when we went to the karma-heavy cavern, but that obviously isn’t the case. Does that have anything to do with the Abyss?” 

“You think I’d let myself be tainted with that kind of corruption?” Xiao scoffs, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “This miasma…is all my own. This is the price I have paid for eons of endless slaughter — I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Hasn’t anyone told you that you’re too hard on yourself? No wonder Zhongli is still worried about you until now. The medicine he asked me to give — it’s for that…miasma, isn’t it?”

 Xiao closes his eyes, sighing. “Traveler, I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

That makes him stare back at you inquisitively. Xiao’s gaze narrows slightly as you lift your hands — palms facing the clueless adeptus before you. Your eyes flutter closed, recalling the way you purified a dragon’s tears all those months ago. This is essentially the same, right? Xiao is a creature who has borne the weight of suffering for countless millennia, much like Dvalin when the Abyss manipulated him into their favor. You managed to purge the murky tintage of their corruption despite the odds being against you. 

Who’s to say that easing Xiao’s suffering — even just for a moment — is impossible?

Flecks of starlight dance across the tips of your fingers, glowing in time with the marks of anemo he bears on his arm. Xiao watches you, stunned into silence as he lets you do as you please. He spots a brush of qingxin flowers just a few meters away, but the gentle breeze that wafts across his face makes him feel like he’s not sitting atop Mount Tianheng, but on another peak entirely. When the yaksha closes his eyes, the qingxin blooms have morphed into gentle cecilias, dancing to the rhythm of a lone bard’s lyre. 

Peace, he thinks. He hasn’t known peace in a long, long time. 

When Xiao opens his eyes again, it’s to the feel of his head resting on top of a plush surface. The moment his mind registers your face staring down at him with a kind smile, he nearly scrambles out of your lap out of reflex, but you keep him securely in place. 

“You napped for quite a while there,” you inform him, one hand smoothing down his hair. “Any interesting dreams you want to share?” 

He relaxes back onto the grass when he realizes there’s no escaping you. This oddly reminds him of the quieter days of the Archon War, when Guizhong would let him doze on her lap for hours on end. 

“I’d like to…apologize,” he whispers.

“For what?”

After a few moments, Xiao sits upright and this time you don’t stop him. Demonic yellow eyes turn to the vastness of harbor before him — reminding him that the war has long ended, and a new era is in bloom. 

“When I told your friend that these traditions have lost their meaning… I bear no ill will to the words,” he murmurs, fingers grazing the blades of grass beneath the both of you. The lanterns have grown in number this year, and they’re much more beautiful compared to when he watched them every year from his balcony in Wangshu Inn. “They offer their lanterns, they offer their wishes to lead their heroes back home. But humans have always enjoyed the leisure of being blissfully ignorant.

“Only a handful of adepti have survived to this day. The heroes they sing their praises to have long passed — unable to hear a word of their gratitude. So forgive me if I deem such traditions pointless.” He closes his eyes and thinks of all he’s lost — his fellow yakshas and the gods that have fallen to defend Liyue alongside Rex Lapis. Though he’s convinced himself he’s already desensitized, Xiao still feels the slightest twinge in his chest. “It’s not as if we ever expected recompense for our deeds. We protected what needed protecting because it is our duty. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He expects you to wear the crestfallen look that Verr Goldet always shows him whenever he rejects her invitations to come along to the Lantern Rite. Xiao has been faced with that expression year after year by countless others, and he thinks it would be no different if you look at him the same way, too. But instead of a tight-lipped frown, your mouth twitches into a grin — barely containing your own laughter as the adeptus starts to glare at you.

“Oh no, I didn’t think someone like you would take that so literally,” you say, wiping a tear off your face. “Xiao, listen to me. The Lantern Rite isn’t just for thanking those who protected Liyue; it’s also to honor their memory. Sounds to me like you’re really downplaying how much the people respect the adepti. Isn’t that little truce with Ningguang enough proof of that?”

Xiao stares at you listlessly, and gets the feeling that he’s being made fun of. “I…might have failed to consider it in that light.”

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin on top. “So Zhongli isn’t the only adeptus who has rocks for brains here.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing! Say, do you want to let me hitch another ride and we can craft some lanterns down at the harbor? My treat.” 

He decides to overlook the backhanded insult you just made about himself and his lord. This is an era of peace — everyone jokes about things like that more often now. And though it comes as quite the pain to him, Xiao thinks it was time he learns the way of the people from this era sooner rather than later. 

As you scribble your own wishes on the sides of the lantern you crafted, Xiao watches attentively on the sidelines. You told him to write down his own as well, but people like him only wish to serve the purpose he’s been summoned to make. Xiao has already fulfilled that eons ago.

When you both let the lanterns drift up above, the pyro flowers — fireworks, he mentally corrects — bloom across the night sky. They come in dazzling colors that make even him, an adeptus, wonder how human craftsmanship has evolved to this day. Perhaps you were right. Xiao does downplay many a detail about the people of Liyue, and that goes beyond their utter respect for the adepti. 

However, the citizens are the last thing on his mind as his yellow eyes continue to observe you — the soft gasp that escapes your lips when the display of fireworks has reached its end; the golden lanterns shining across your eyes as you beam with delight. Xiao doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever thanked anyone — fearful that they’ll react the same way he does when faced with pure gratitude. Would you turn away indifferently? Would you dismiss his sentiments even after quelling the darkness in his heart with a single move? In the end, he decides that none of it matters.

You and him are nothing but outsiders beneath the sea of lanterns — that’s all there is to it.

[weareallstoriesintheend]

As Above, So Below

Story Summary: A story of love and loss set in the marvel cinematic universe, where Reader tries to find her true place and purpose in her ever changing world. 

Story Warnings: Fluff. violence, mental health, major and minor character death, infidelity. 

Note: Thank you to @saynotoshityouhate​, @agirlwhoisaphantom​ and @peachyproserpina​ for your help with the first draft, you are invaluable! 🥰

Also a big thank you to @desparadowrites​ for convincing me to write this in the first place 😘

Chapter 1 - Battle 

Word Count: 2,552

Warnings: Mental Health, Fluff  

“There she is, successful as usual I presume General?” Thor boomed, his arms rose in jubilation of your return.

You nodded with a knowing smile, wiping the lingering sweat from your forehead, the group raised uproar with cheering and fists banging on the long oak table. Drifting up from the table were the smells of fine wines and foods, always something of the very best at this table. The delighted chortles of Hogan, Fandral and Volstagg were the comforting echoes of home and Thor began to pour you a glass of whatever wine they had chosen this evening.

Your helmet dropped onto the table with a satisfying clank and you playfully punched Thor in his gut “What did I miss dear brother?”

“Drinking, merriment… the usual”

You took the full goblet that he passed to you and drank down the sweet maroon liquid in three swift gulps. You sighed, feeling it flow through you like blood, your body was singing with the relief of being at rest once again. Thor raised his own goblet to you and looked at you with an expression that made your chest rise with happiness.

Thor had always reserved a special place of pride for you, as your friend and brother-in-law he had always fought in your corner. Reminding both his father and the rest of the kingdom that the fair maiden he had grown up with had the ability to be a better warrior than anyone else Asgard had to offer – except for himself of course. His gestures and inclusion of you in the rabble of men in Asgard had always sunken any doubts you had that you were not enough of a warrior for this place.

“Where is Loki?” you asked, noticing that you did not see your husband sat around enjoying the jollity. Not that this in any way surprised you.

“Nose first in a book when I last saw him” Thor thudded his body back down into his seat.

You smiled and raised your empty glass to the group before placing it back on the table, “I must go and remove the guts of our dearly departed marauder friends from my hair. Please excuse me gentlemen.”

“Of course Princess” Fandral tipped his glass to you as you passed, eyes glinting with his usual cheeky expression. You rolled your eyes, landing a backhanded blow to his head before turning to the door leading to the royal quarters, your voice trailing behind you “What have I told you about that word!”

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The waters of Asgard glittered. This place hadn’t always been your home but upon arriving here as a child you had noticed that everything seemed so much…more; high walls of intricate gold, incredible mountains and vast seas. Right now, as those waters washed the blood and dirt from your sore skin you thanked the gods for that decadence. For a thousand years you’d indulged in the brilliance of this realm. However, something was pulling at your mind, a feeling that sat in the base of your chest and tightened itself around you like a snake putting an end to its prey. A voice in the back of your mind told you there was more, something else for you to see.

Things were changing around the palace and it played on your thoughts so despite your victory this day you could not settle your mind. Thor was growing more and more in Odins favour and soon he would be accepted as the next in line for the throne above Loki, with this Lokis temper had become full-fledged rage at times when the doors were closed and you two were alone.

You loved him with everything you had but the fear that rose in your chest when his wild eyes and grimaced mouth would turn to you for answers was hard to ignore.  Your place in the kingdom was changing, peace reigned throughout and despite some minor incursions your place as leader of the army was nothing short of boring – Odin had given you your place in this story many years ago and by his word there you shall stay there till your final days or until your body is too fragile to wield a weapon.

But as the years ticked on and you headed towards more than a thousand years within this realm your mind began to question if it was enough to just live the story given to you by others. Your doubt rambled on inside your brain in the moments of quiet and you feared the sickness that seeped into your stomach. You wondered if this meant you were losing your love for your husband and your found-family but this could not and would not be true. It was your purpose that worried you; your place outside of being a warrior, friend and wife.

Who were you?

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

Upon drying yourself and combing your hair you changed into a thin, black shirt that was once Loki’s undershirt; it made a comfortable night dress for when the winds of Asgard blew a little warmer.

The bedroom was dark, lit purely by a roaring fire that was casting glimmering images onto the walls, with thick fabric donning the large windows at the back of the room. The smell of burning embers filled the room and you were comforted by the cosiness that surrounded you. Your bed was fresh and neatly made by the handmaids this morning; the dark gold silk sheets looked almost liquid in the dull light. Loki's armour and the grand horns of his helmet were sitting in their usual spot ready for his morning patrol and you placed yours, ready to be cleaned, beside them.

Loki sat in the small nook by the fireplace, his lengthy body somehow looking comfy cramped into the space. His sharp features were cast in shadow from the backlight of the flames and you admired the divot where his eyebrows were drawn down over concentrating eyes down to the shadowed contour of the notch of his throat. The sleeves of his green undershirt were rolled neatly to his elbows and he was barefoot, flexing his toes absentmindedly as he read.

“Always alone” you mused aloud, leaning against the wall watching Loki run the tip of his finger over the pages of whatever book he was enthralled in.

He raised his eyes to you smirking slightly “It’s my preferred state whenever you aren’t here”

You shook your head at his comment “Always the romantic darling”

“I presume today was fruitful for the victorious warrior?”

“Of course, would you expect anything less?” You said twisting your fingers, plucking the book from his hands, allowing your dark blue energy to capture it before placing it neatly closed on the floor beside him.

He looked up at you agitated at first before his face melted into one of amusement. He shuffled in his seat, opening his lap to you; you crossed the room dropping onto his thighs with a huff.

“Of course not dear one, you always succeed don’t you?” he sniggered; you tried to ignore the anxious feeling that there was malice behind his statement.

You settled into the warmth of his chest as one of his hands played up and down your back, the thin shirt you wore did nothing to stop the shivers that ran up your spine. You ran strokes lightly over the sharp angles of his beautiful face; your favourite motion was running the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose and watching him scrunch it.

“You really should spend more time with your brother before everything…changes, Loki. You can’t stay in this room forever” you mused, waiting for his predictably diplomatic response. You studied his face as you pushed back a few strands of sleek jet black hair, watching flickers of dancing firelight on his pale skin.

Loki by nature was difficult to read. Your husband, in spite of his fondness for reading, was not an open book and despite your many years there were countless secrets hidden in that gorgeous face that you had yet to decipher.

“That won’t happen for another handful of years, we have time. We always have time” he smiled, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

More and more these days Loki was changing; his sly behaviour and ways of speaking that once filled you with excitement now struck a deeper, darker cord. There were times his ever-changing nature frightened you but it was these moments, curled up in the glow of a fire, that you remember that you know him. Deep down this Loki, sweet and quiet, will always be yours. 

He was so unlike his family, even his mother, all darkness and piercing features. It was no wonder he preferred to be shut away in your quarters than stand out there being so different. It was what drew you to the younger prince – his mystery and clever ways. His silly tricks that he used to fool his brother, and friends, that had amused you so much more than anyone else in the palace.

You were always destined for royalty from the moment you were born. The daughter of the dwarf Ivaldi - your family had been intertwined with Odin’s for eons. Your abilities were akin to that of the gods; however your mother’s heritage was never told to you. Rumours of an enchantress, elven tribes and demi-gods had flooded your childhood much to the chagrin of your protective father.

The energy that coursed through you, it seemed, could be used in any way you so please – telekinesis, shielding, mind control – the wisps of sparkling dark blue you could produce from your dainty hands had caught the attention of Asgard for many years. Given your abilities and capacity to age beyond the years of your dwarven heritage it seemed you would be a perfect fit for one of Odin's two sons.

Upon your father’s death you were promised to Thor and appointed the Goddess of Victory; assigned to the role of General for one faction of the Asgardian Army. Your purpose was to protect and serve Midgard and the borders of the Asgardian inner sanctum. It was thought that you would be the perfect fit to fight alongside the God of Thunder in battle once he proved himself worthy of the throne.

However the plan was derailed by the charm, wit and silver tongue of the younger prince. Loki was the outsider and yet, to you, was always the more endearing of the two. From childhood you played and ran through the halls together, playing games and learning magic at the stead of his mother Frigga. Despite always running at the coattails of his father, seeking the approval always given to Thor, he served his place and grew in talent, strength and ability.

You watched as he blossomed – your heart fell and fell and fell before you could deny no longer that despite well-made plans you did not, and could not, belong to Thor. Odin, stern and unyielding as he was, was far too fond of his wife and a little persuasion from her had pushed him to allowing you to marry Loki and follow your heart instead of your duty.

You had stayed by Loki’s side for hundreds of years; a perfect mix of doting, loyal wife and vicious ruthless soldier, you earned your place in the palace of Asgard. Asgardian marriages, however, were different to those you’d seen in your studies of other planets. Midgardian marriages were messy and rigid - caught up in the ties of money and property. For most they only lasted a mere handful of years before Midgardians would get bored and move on.

As they are much longer in years, things in Asgardian marriages were more complicated and flexible. It seemed, for the most part, there were more leniencies for change. As much as you loved your husband – hundreds of years of standing by his side was growing weary. Loki’s growing need for approval drove his cunning nature and yet he always seemed to fall behind his brother.

You yearned for something else and yet when you looked into your future to see what was there, it was nothing but white noise. Everything had begun, you hated to admit, to feel impossibly empty. Battle did nothing to stir the buzzing in your blood, sex held nothing but occasional comfort and despite how your heart ached with love – love wasn’t enough.

“Your mind wanders” his voice cut through your thoughts, wide eyes musing at your distant expression. He murmured your name and tilted his head like a puppy as he stroked a strand of hair out of your face behind your ear. It instantly reminded you why you stayed – for him. His soft, curious expression made your heart melt and although there was darkness that ran deeper through his veins you knew this man would always, somehow, provide a home for your soul.

“Ah, before I forget dear one, I have a gift for you” he said, gesturing for you to remove yourself from your comfy position on his lap.

“A gift?” you said, following him. He raised his hand to stop you before removing a box from under your bed.

“Yes, a replacement for the ones you lost in Muspelheim” he smirked, placing the black box into your giddy outstretched hands.

You opened the box, shuffling on your feet like an excited child, as he continued to speak “I had them crafted myself, happened upon a mine of Uru whilst out on an excursion. I figured they would serve you well.”

What sat in the box were two twin daggers with the blades cast from polished Uru and the hilt adorned with patterns of emerald green and deep royal blue. The design echoed that of Loki’s own blade; your heart stuttered in the wake of such thoughtfulness.

You placed the box carefully on a stool that was sat in front of the fireplace before running to Loki. You jumped, lifting yourself up to his height using his shoulders for leverage; he grunted at the impact but that dissolved into soft chuckling laughter as he wrapped his arms under your strong thighs.

“Thank you, my love.” you whispered, placing several gentle kisses to his waiting lips.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said, smiling as he lowered you back to your feet. “I must go find my brother before the day is out. Hopefully there isn’t too much wine in those veins for him to talk business. I shall return soon, dear one.” He lifted your hand to his lips, kisses short but sweet.

You felt your momentary glee lower from your face, you were not upset that he was leaving but that this temporary happiness had done very little to fill the void you could feel growing within you.

You watched him saunter from the room as you settled yourself onto the bed. You knew what you had to do – this had confirmed it. A gift, an action so wonderful, had done nothing but temporarily lift your spirits. Your selfishness pushed tears to well in your eyes; you hated your mind for the torture it was bringing upon itself. But your decision had been made.

Time to go.

[secondhand-trash]

A/N: it’s been a long time without any new bentos but its back uwu I know we usually clown osamu a lot in this series but this one is kinda where we give him the appreciation he deserves hehe also its winter and I just have to write about something winter related so enjoy ouo

Warning: sickness, Osamu being baby

Word count: 2375

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the notes, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

-

Winter in Hyogo was lovely, by all accounts. Not too chilly, but cold enough for the gentle sunshine gracing on your skin to feel like a blessing from the universe when you walked on the streets. 

It would have been a flawless season if you were to be given the luxury of staying underneath your thick, fluffy futon every morning after waking up until your body was sufficiently warmed up and the worst hours of the day had passed before you finally had to leave the comforting confines of your bed. But alas, you wouldn’t get paid for staying in bed and before the day that such a magical occupation becomes a reality, you still had no choice but to give up on the blissful warmth of your blankets at unholy hours in the morning before leaving for another day of sitting still in a cold office with nothing but lifeless documents as your company.

You let out a sigh as the blaring screech of your alarm kept ringing, shutting your eyes tight to relieve yourself of the soreness lingering behind your vision before turning it off in frustration. The room was still dark, and it would not be until you were ready to leave the door that any light would shine through the curtains.

That was winter work days for you, always making the offer of early retirement all the more tempting.

Rolling to your side, you sucked in a deep breath to brace the impact of what was to come before lifting up the corner of your futon that you would certainly miss throughout the day. The chilly air broke through the trapped heat within the layers. You shivered as you hastily searched for you cardigan that draped at your bed side table, slipping your toes that were numb from the cold into your room slippers. Osamu shifted in his sleep at the sudden evasion to his warm little bubble, curling up uncontrollably at the sudden loss of his heat source as you left the bed.

Wait, Osamu?

“Samu?” you called out for him gently, putting your hand on top of his body that was wrapped up by the blanket that he now occupied entirely. 

“Hm...”

There was a whimper that came from beneath the layers, hoarse and muffled as the man barely moved. 

No wonder why it was so quiet this morning. Osamu was rarely up later than you, always out of the bed at the first alarm to start preparing for the day. You had taken being woke up to the smell of warm breakfast and the sound of pan sizzling for granted with it being one of the few motivations you had to actually open your eyes. 

But right now, he was still in bed with seemingly no intention of waking up. You walked to his side of the bed, clutching your cardigan closer to your body as you bent down to push down the blanket that was covering his face just a little. His brows furrowed at the miniature, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead as he clenched his jaw. His face was flushed but his lips looked dangerously chapped, the few strands of his bangs that had fallen down matted to his forehead.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily, the clear nasal in his voice making it sound like there was something stuck at the back of his throat as he spoke.

“8:30.” You replied, rubbing your hand along his arm as you took in his expression.

He shuddered at the time, kicking away the blanket but seemed more tangled up by it under his attempt as he shifted and tried to get up. “Shit... that’s so late. Why did I miss the alarm?”

You did not miss the way he nearly fumbled the moment his feet touched the ground, leaping forward to hold him by the shoulders before he could fall. 

You had expected it when you saw that he didn’t get up. Osamu rarely misses his alarm, and the number of times this had happened as a careless mistake on his part was near none after he had the responsibility of Onigiri Miya on his shoulders. 

But you knew your guess was correct when you pressed your forehead against his as he slumped over you. He was burning up, his face and his entire body as it laid on yours despite it being difficult for you to hold up his much larger frame. However, the person who was basically a human furnace in your hold was still struggling to stand back up straight as you held him there.

“Osamu,” you said, patting his back and trying to urge him to lay down, “go back to bed.”

“No...” he replied stubbornly, but ended up sounding more like a child who was trying to sound serious with his voice coming out weak and shaky.

“You are sick, I won’t let you get up like this,” you peeled off his hand that was latched onto your forearm, the lines between your brows deepening when you felt how he was sweating from his palms.

“But-”

“Miya Osamu.”

He let out a defeated whine, succumbing to the way you coerced him back onto the mattress as the dizziness weighing on his head finally took over. He was still mumbling about all the things he needed to do today under his breath as you tucked him back under the covers, reminding you to contact the staff that was supposed to come to work this morning as you reassured him again and again that you would get it figured out for him.

He spoke slower and slower as you fixed the pillow underneath his head, words melting into near incoherent slurs before he finally closed his eyes back up.

You did not move away until you saw the heavy breathing returned to a steady pace, even though the loud inhales indicated that he was still having a hard time. Sighing as you relaxed your hands that had curled into fists at your side when you hadn’t paid attention, you pressed your finger to your own forehead where it felt like his heat was still lingering on your own skin.

-

You had gone back to work as usual after spending too long pacing around that morning to call for a day off completely, but managed to file in to leave early. Just the thought of a sick Osamu being alone at home had you shifting in your seat. What if he woke up while you were gone and tried to force his wobbly body to handle chores? You had never packed up your things as quickly as you did when the clock finally strike at the hour when you were allowed to leave, dashing out near immediately the moment you finished off the work at hand. 

Osamu was still deep in sleep by the time you got back, much to your relieve. He seemed slightly more at ease now than he was when you left the house, the cooling pad on his forehead sufficiently absorbing the heat emitting from him. It had been a long while since you last saw him so vulnerable, his lashes fluttering at his eyelids jumped at the way your finger brushed against his cheek when you reached to check his temperature.

“Mm...you’re home,” he fought his eyes open when he sensed you moving away under his half-woken state. 

“Don’t go...”

You forgot how needy he always was when he was feeling unwell and how weak you were against his glassy eyes. Patting the back of his head, you tried to appease him as you cooed, “Let’s try to get you something to eat first, I’ll be back soon. Ok?”

He did not seem to be happy about the suggestion of you leaving his side, but still, let you go with a whine. Grey eyes stared at you from behind hooded lids, his cheeks squishing against the pillow as his hands curled and released at the corner of the futon he was grabbing onto. “Ok...”

When was the last time you ever stood in front of a stove? You were not completely useless in the kitchen by all means, but the long period of having all your meals being taken cared of by someone who not only knew what they were doing but found so much love in doing so had reduced you to nothing but a clueless cloud as you stared at contents in the fridge. There sat the jelly you had got for Osamu, which apparently was recommended to feed to patients for increasing appetite and reducing heat according to the articles you looked up on your way home. But other than that, it was a territory of unknown to you.

There were several Tupperwares labeled with different dates in Osamu’s scribbles. He had always been smart when it comes to domesticities, making sure that the best before was always marked clearly on the package of everything he bought. The drinks and soda cans were always refilled, which you had clearly taken for granted because the suddenly empty space stood out to you more than ever before. There were a few plates stacked up at the corner with sticky notes on the side and you felt a hollowness in your chest when you saw what it said.

“Monday’s bento.”

Oh baby boy...

You clasped your hand together as you gathered your thoughts, not giving yourself the room to stand around doing nothing. There’s a patient waiting for you in bed, and you couldn’t just let him suffer through a fever with an empty stomach.

You rolled your sleeves up, bracing the winter cold that graced against your arm, before searching in your sea of memories of all the times someone had taken care of you when you were sick.

The sweet smell of rice gathered in the steam, warming up your body with each inhale. You lifted up the lid tentatively and was pleased to see the all the grains had already melted together into a soft, fluffy cloud. The strings of egg added a tint of flavour to the otherwise bland congee. It was all starting to come together, and you let out a relieved sigh to know that at least he wouldn’t have to starve. The mess around the counter was evidence that you had to stumble through each step, the ingredients that you choppily diced up still lingering around the cutting board. 

You thought of the way Osamu always out so much effort into making sure you were well fed each day and all the thoughts he had put into each bento. 

The sheer cheesiness and absolute embarrassment that followed what popped up in your head made you shiver. Since when were you the type of person who could even think of things like that? But still, your hand moved to pick up the knife that was put to the side with the other reaching for the scraps that were left from the cooking.

He would probably like this a lot.

You hope he would like this a lot.

-

“Samu? Are you awake?”

The creek of the door was met with a soft whimper. The man on the bed swung his arm over to the side so his still heavy body could move with him, a small smile crawling onto his face when he saw you.

“Took you long enough...”

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I cooked anything,” the wooden tray landed on the bedside table with a clank. He tried to get up on his own, but the shaking of his arm had you rushing to help him at once. He looked sheepish as you lifted the cover of the pot, mixing everything together with the spoon before handing it to him.

Osamu was always touched by food, but maybe the lack of taste in his mouth all day had done a number on him when he had to choke back the urge to sob when he smelt the warm steam filling his nostrils the moment you opened the lid. 

“Is that a heart?” he was grinning ear to ear as he pushed around the congee with the spoon.

“Yes,” you huffed with a defeated laugh under his knowing stare, “now hurry up or it’ll get cold.”

He looked up at you, and your heart nearly skipped a beat when he pouted. 

“Feed me,” he demanded, his voice sweet and like a kid as he held out the spoon in his hand.

You knew he would be all over it. You let out a soft tsk as you took the spoon back in your hand, sitting on the small space next to him on the bed as you scooped up some of the rice.

Osamu felt a warm swell in his chest at the way you carefully blew against the congee, one hand cupping beneath the spoon before bringing it to his lips. His head was still pounding, and the dryness felt nearly painful as he had his first bite of real food of the day but he loved, simply loved the way your eyes never left him for even just a second.

The congee warmed him from within, and he indulged in the leisure of laying against your shoulder while you babied him. 

He latched on you when you were about to move away, rubbing his face against you as he whined. “It’s cold without you.”

“I need to get this in the sink or else it’ll be hard to clean up-”

“Nooooooo,” he held out for the last note of his voice, burying his face at the crook of your neck, “do it later...”

“You’re such a child when you are sick,” you joked, pushing away his bangs and caressed his jaw with your thumb.

“Yeah?” he muttered, leaning into your touch, “Good thing I have you here to take care of me then...”

You sighed, knowing that there was no way you could win when he was acting all clingy and cute like this. He let out a satisfied hum when you climbed under the covers, wrapping your arm around his waist while tugging his head against your shoulder.

“Get well soon, you big baby.”

[flowercrown-bard]

To give without knowing (12/?)

word count: ~10k

read on AO3

previous  / next /  masterpost

content warning: self-deprication, fear of abandonment

The tap room was smaller and quieter than the average one Geralt encountered on the Path. It was a nice change. People enjoying their quiet meant that Jaskier didn’t leave Geralt’s side too often to play and when he did, he was not once met with angry criticism or things being thrown at him.

Right now, Geralt was leaning back on the bench at the edge of the room, watching Jaskier perform with a quiet smile that no one but Jaskier would notice.

Jaskier was sitting perched on top of a table with some sailors banging on the surface in rhythm of the sea shanty they had requested. Today must be one of the rare days that they asked for more music than usual. Perhaps as a last farewell before going back to sea the next day.

Whatever the reason, Geralt didn’t complain, not when Jaskier had found such an appreciative audience.

This was so different from how Jaskier usually performed, but it was obvious that Jaskier was enjoying himself. His face was flushed and every once in a while he interrupted his singing and let one of the sailors improvise a new verse. As he sang foreign songs of sailors longing for their loves they had left behind on land, he kept glancing at Geralt.

It sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine and he couldn’t have torn his eyes away from Jaskier if he had wanted to.

Geralt wasn’t foolish enough to let himself believe that this eye contact meant anything. Jaskier just wanted to share this happy moment with his friend, nothing more. And it should have been enough, really. But there was no harm in imagining that there was more to it. If Geralt’s eyes lingered on the curve of Jaskier’s smile a little too long while he imagined what it would feel like to taste that smile, no one needed to know. Jaskier would never need to find out that for just this moment, Geralt let himself dream that maybe Jaskier wanted to kiss Geralt until his perpetual scowl turned into a smile of his own.

With the way Jaskier’s eyes were shining with joy when they found Geralt, it wasn’t hard to pretend that Jaskier didn’t want to ever look away from him.

But he did.

Vaguely, Geralt was aware of the door opening. It didn’t really matter until Jaskier’s eyes drifted to whoever had wandered in. His entire face lit up with the brightest smile and something cold settled in Geralt’s stomach. He had gotten too used to that smile being directed at only him that he had forgotten what it felt like to see Jaskier look at someone else like that.

Without meaning to, he turned to follow Jaskier’s gaze. The pit in his stomach grew when his eyes landed on the woman. There was no reason for him to scowl at her and will her to go away, but apparently the selfish part of him that wanted to keep Jaskier’s smiles to himself didn’t need a reason.

He wanted to get up, to disrupt Jaskier’s song and ask him to leave; anything to stop him from talking to her.

But as he watched the woman return Jaskier’s smile and wave at him, Geralt knew that it was already too late.

Which was fine. Geralt had no right to stop Jaskier from talking to others, especially not when the sight of them evidently made him happy.

Even in the dim light of the tap room, Geralt could see the woman’s strikingly blue eyes that were almost as bright as Jaskier’s. At least that was true for the one eye Geralt could see. The other one was hidden behind a strand of light blond hair that fell into her face. It was the sort of thing that Jaskier would be able to sing countless ballads about. The sort of thing he would take as a temptation. In his mind Geralt could already see Jaskier brushing the hair behind the woman’s ear before leaning in for a kiss.

Geralt’s insides twisted, even though he told himself that his worries were unfunded and unfair. Jaskier was just greeting her, nothing more. Even if he did kiss her, it was none of Geralt’s concern. Jaskier could kiss whomever he wanted. What was it any of Geralt’s business if that was anyone but him?

Despite his pathetic attempts to calm himself, the twist in his gut didn’t go away. His treacherous thoughts were bad enough, but the reality of the situation was so much worse.

Jaskier stopped playing mid-song. Jaskier never interrupted a performance – except, of course, for when Geralt came into a room bleeding and covered in monster innards, but that hardly counted. It wasn’t as if any attention would stay on Jaskier if Geralt appeared like that.

Now, though, Jaskier jumped from his spot on the table and left the sailors to continue the song on their own. He swung his lute onto his back and spread his arms wide as he walked towards the woman with purpose.

“A sight for sore eyes,” he declared with a grin.

Before Jaskier could reach her, she rolled her pretty eyes at him. “Don’t think you can distract me with compliments from the fact that you stopped playing as soon as I came in.” She quirked an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Scared I’d leave again if I had to listen to you sing?”

Geralt’s frown deepened with every word and he gripped the edge of the table tightly to stop himself from getting up and putting himself between Jaskier and the woman who dared to insult him like that. Jaskier could handle insults well enough on his own, but that didn’t chance the fact that Geralt’s insides twisted at her words. Just moments ago, Jaskier had been brimming with happiness. He had been so excited about learning those new songs and having appreciative company to sing with.

Geralt’s chest clenched at the thought of Jaskier’s face falling at the woman’s words.

But Jaskier’s face didn’t fall. His shoulders didn’t slump and he didn’t turn tail in dejection. Instead he threw his head back with a hearty laugh, as comfortable as if he had known the woman for years. As if her words hadn’t been insults at all but intimate teasing, not unlike the way Geralt bantered with Jaskier whenever he asked him for a review for his songs. But that was their thing.

Once Jaskier’s laughter subsided, he breached the last bit of distance between himself and the woman and pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her cheeks.

Geralt couldn’t see Jaskier’s face when he pulled back, but he was certain he knew exactly how Jaskier looked at the woman. It must be the same way he had looked at countless other pretty people. The same way that Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Except contrary to Geralt, Jaskier was allowed to admire, to touch, to kiss.

This was... This was fine. Good even. Jaskier shouldn't have to admire from afar. He deserved to be happy. And oh, he looked so happy right at this moment.

And Geralt... He was happy for Jaskier. It didn't matter that his smile had turned into a thin-lipped line or that his hands were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his own skin painfully.

When Jaskier gestured over to him and took the woman by the hand to lead her to Geralt's table, he forced himself to relax. He didn't know what to feel. A part of him was preening with satisfaction because Jaskier had remembered him even though he had the attention of a beautiful woman on him. Another bigger part of him wished Jaskier could have forgotten about him and went somewhere else instead. He dreaded what was surely to come. It was one thing to know what Jaskier was up to while he was out of sight. It was something else entirely having to sit at the same table and bear witness to how Jaskier looked at and touched someone else into he was Geralt longed for.

An ugly green-eyed beast reared its head inside Geralt’s chest and it took all of his willpower to stop himself from scowling at the woman who sat down next to Jaskier, opposite of Geralt.

Jaskier deserves to be happy. He repeated over and over in his mind. I can't scare her off. She’ll be gone by tomorrow morning anyway.

“Geralt, this is Essi. The second-best bard on the continent,” He gave Essi a playful smirk that only got wider when she elbowed him in the ribs, “and a dear friend of mine.”

Geralt’s clenched fists relaxed and the frown slowly disappeared from his face. Of course. She was a friend. Not everyone Jaskier met was someone he’d want to kiss – Geralt was living proof of that. The hint of a real smile tugged at Geralt’s lips. It was nice to meet a friend of Jaskier’s instead of an old lover for once.

Evidently encouraged by Geralt’s smile, Jaskier added, “Maybe you’ve even heard of her before? Though probably under a different name. She goes by Little Eye, for obvious reasons. She might be the second-best bard, but alas, even I can’t pretend that she isn’t the one with the prettiest eyes.”

Geralt almost opened his mouth to protest, when he froze. It was – no. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be her.

With all his might, Geralt tried to keep the memory out of his mind, but the lines Jaskier had sung so many times, praising his beloved and longing for them – for her – came back to him unbidden.

Lines about blazing eyes that were beautiful enough that Jaskier wanted to spend all day looking into them.

How often had Geralt scoffed at those verses, not only out of jealousy? He had always thought that no pair of eyes could be remarkable enough for Jaskier to fall for them so deeply. But now here he was, attempting to make his friend blush with sweet words about her eyes.

He looked at Essi more closely, desperate to find something that would disprove his dreadful suspicion.

But Essi’s blond hair could surely be described as moonlight-strands and the way she moved was undoubtedly graceful, maybe even as deadly elegant and dancelike as Jaskier called it in his song. Jaskier’s rhymes for his beloved spoke of bravery and kindness. Certainly, no one who willingly followed Jaskier to sit at the same table as a witcher could be anything other than brave and kind.

With every second spend trying to find some flaw in Essi, some hint that she couldn’t be the one Jaskier had yearned for for who knew how long, Geralt only found more and more evidence – more and more reason for Jaskier to be fascinated by her, to adore her.

In one word, Essi was beautiful. Exactly the type of person Jaskier would fall in love with with naught but a glance. Geralt had seen such a thing happen countless times before, but foolishly he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to witness it again. Now that he knew what it felt like to fall in love, he didn’t think he would be able to bear seeing Jaskier do so again.

There had been verses about gentle and talented hands that created the most wonderful things– and what hands could be gentler than those of a bard who was able to create music out of thin air? After all, Geralt had stared at such hands before, craving their touch. Why wouldn’t Jaskier do the same?

And what better reason to come to the coast than to finally find the woman he had been singing about for months?

As if Jaskier had read Geralt’s thoughts, he said, “I’ve been meaning to visit her for ages.”

Essi lifted one perfect eyebrow in amusement. “Is that so? I was under the impression that you were avoiding me. Or rather, you were avoiding introducing me to your companion.”

Jaskier spluttered something unintelligible and rubbed the back of his neck, but he didn’t deny the accusation. Geralt’s heart dropped. He knew that Jaskier enjoyed his company, but he also had other people that were important to him. Loved ones that evidently he hadn’t been able to see in a long time because of Geralt.

Was it because despite liking spending time with Geralt, he was ashamed to be seen with him? Surely there was a difference between appearing together in towns were no one knew them personally and showing his friends who he was travelling with. Or had Jaskier hesitated to let Geralt meet his friends because he knew that Geralt would make them feel uncomfortable?

Hadn’t Geralt known that all along? That his looming presence was the thing that kept Jaskier’s beloved away from him?

Whatever the reason, Geralt had been the one who had kept Jaskier away from people that were important to Jaskier, even without meaning to.

He couldn’t ruin this for him, not again, not now, not when he had been so happy to see Essi.

Geralt couldn’t bring himself to thaw his smile, but he nodded at Essi in greeting. She didn’t seem to mind his rudeness. As if Geralt’s behaviour was perfectly normal and polite, she leaned forward and looked at him with barely concealed interest.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to meet you." Her cocked her head to the side and the strand of her fell away from her face. "You know, Jaskier normally doesn't hesitate to talk about the people he lo-"

Before she could finish that sentence, Jaskier cut in. "Ah, Essi, dear, could we maybe talk about that later?" His eyes darted between Geralt and Essi, while he tried and failed to look nonchalant. "Somewhere a little more private? Alone?"

Jaskier wasn't especially subtle in telling Geralt that he and Essi would need a room later nor was this his best attempt at flirting. If Geralt hadn't known any better, he'd even say that he wasn't flirting at all.

Except that Jaskier flirted with everyone. Almost everyone.

Perhaps he had known and courted Essi for long enough that there was no more need for subtlety. She certainly didn't seem to mind the clumsiness of it, if the widening of her grin was any indication.

"By the way, Jaskier, you're looking gorgeous today, as always." Jaskier gave her a confused look, but then he blanched and gave her the tiniest but still empathetic shake of the head that she ignored. "Wouldn't you agree, Geralt?"

Geralt's throat went dry. He couldn't - what was he supposed to say? He couldn't very well tell her the truth, that there was nothing as beautiful as when Jaskier laughed and that he didn't want to ever look away from his eyes when they sparkled with joy. He couldn't say that. Not to Jaskier and certainly not to the woman who probably got to see his smiles far more often than Geralt did.

So instead he just let out a grunt that came out more strangled than it should have. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Jaskier's shoulders fall, probably in relief that Geralt hadn't said anything incriminating.

Geralt didn't want to know how Jaskier would react if he had told him the truth.

Essi didn't seem to mind Geralt's non-answer. She was clearly having the time of her life watching Geralt squirm uncomfortably, for her attention didn't drift back to Jaskier as it should.

"So, Geralt, tell me about what it's like travelling with Jaskier. It must be wonderful to spend so much time with him. Surely something one would want to do for the rest of their life?"

It was wonderful. The best thing that had ever happened to Geralt. And lately, ever since Jaskier had started talking of how he would stay with Geralt, he has started to hope that he could have this. That he could keep Jaskier by his side for the rest of his life.

Now he wasn't so sure anymore. When Jaskier has said those things, there had been no pretty woman sitting next to him, implying that he could stay with her instead.

Geralt's jaw clenched and he did his best to ignore the sound of Jaskier drumming a nervous rhythm onto his own thigh.

He swallowed thickly and searched for what he could say that was close enough to the truth but far enough that it wouldn't make Jaskier uncomfortable in the presence of his conquest.

"It's... different. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

How could he, when all he had known before were cold, quiet, lonely nights and sneers, shouts and stones?

Despite his best efforts to keep his tone neutral, his voice must have shown some of what he felt, for Jaskier let out a shuddering breath and Essi’s brows furrowed.

"That's it? Different?" she asked in disappointment. "But different how? What are the best parts of being with Jaskier? What do you love most about him? I'm sure there is a lot to love after all and –“

"Essi," Jaskier said quietly and his face was unreadable as he placed a hand on her arm. "Please." Something shifted in her expression. It became soft and almost protective. She put her hand on Jaskier's hand gave it a gentle squeeze as she nodded.

With seemingly no trouble at all, she steered the conversation in a different direction, but Geralt paid no attention to it. His mind was too preoccupied with the question that had sounded so innocent and that was so impossible to answer at the same time.

There was too much that he loved about Jaskier. The way he leaned against him while laughing about a particularly bad joke. The way he would quiet down when he noticed that Geralt needed it. The way he was dishevelled in the mornings, uncaring that he didn't look as perfect as he normally did. To Geralt he did then too. Maybe even more so than when he dressed up for balls or banquets. It wasn't Geralt's favourite part of travelling with Jaskier - it was impossible to pick just one - but the way Jaskier would blink up at Geralt in the mornings, maybe grumble a bit as he hid under the covers, might just be Geralt's favourite part of each day.

It made Geralt want to brush his ruffled hair out of his face and kiss him.

Gods, how Geralt wanted to kiss him. In the mornings when they were both barely awake, when his eyes shone during a performance, when it was just the two of them in a quiet forest clearing, when they were surrounded by other people and Jaskier was the only safety beside him.

It was just a fantasy - an impossible one at that, now more so than ever - but Geralt treasured it, even if all he could do was watch Jaskier and admire him from afar even as they were sat right next to each other. Even so, Geralt knew he wasn't allowed to look at Jaskier in the way he wanted to. In the way everyone else was allowed to, those people who might give Jaskier coy smiles and openly admiring glances until in return Jaskier gifted them with a kiss and his love.

Geralt wanted that. He wanted it so much it hurt.

But maybe he had something even better. Because Jaskier didn't stay with his lovers. They didn't keep his kisses and undivided attention for long.

Geralt, however, Geralt has had Jaskier by his side for years. No matter how alluring a lover was or how much they begged Jaskier to stay with them, he would always return to Geralt.

Some days, this knowledge was the only thing keeping Geralt's chest from splitting wide open when he watched Jaskier approach someone else with a smile and the clear intention to charm and fall in love. Knowing that Jaskier always came back, even though all Geralt could offer was friendship and a hard Path, might be what Geralt loved the most about Jaskier. It wasn't much but it had always been enough, just how Geralt for some inexplicable reason had always been enough for Jaskier to return to.

Except now it - he - might not be enough anymore. Jaskier obviously knew Essi, had clearly held her dear for a long while. And he had come back to her. From the way he looked at her now and joked with her easily, Geralt was sure that Jaskier would happily return to her again and again. Worse even, with his song Jaskier had unmistakably declared that he would want to stay with her forever.

Would Geralt now become one in a long line of people left behind heartbroken by Jaskier while he stayed with someone he held more dear, forgetting all about him?

Geralt had thought having to watch Jaskier fall in love would have been hard, but this was so much more painful. Jaskier was already in love. Maybe even with one who would finally drive him from Geralt's side.

Essi was stunning. She clearly was talented, if the way Jaskier had praised her before was any indication. She was someone Jaskier might just stay in love with.

Cold dread pooled in Geralt's stomach. It was just as clear that Essi loved Jaskier - and how could she not? She knew that Jaskier was beautiful, she already imagined living with him forever, just like Geralt did. Except he was sure that Jaskier wasn't imagining living with him forever, no matter what he said. With Essi however...

Geralt wanted him to stay. No matter how selfish and unfair, he wanted Jaskier to never leave him.

"And this is the first one I found after the bear broke."

Jaskier's voice tore Geralt out of his thoughts. His eyes left Jaskier's face just long enough to see that he had taken out the wooden bird Geralt had carved so many months ago. Essi's eyes widened.

"You found two of them?" she asked, her voice full of wonder. She hesitated for a heartbeat, asking Jaskier for permission with her eyes before she reverently touched the bird. Something inside Geralt grew hot and acidic at the sight. Luckily, Essi didn't notice. "They are so rare! Most people are lucky if they find one."

Jaskier's smile became smug and his lifted his chin. "Oh, my darling Essi, I have found far more than two. The others are in my room. I just like having the bird with me for good luck while I sing."

"How... Jaskier that's incredible." She took a sidelong glance at Geralt. "Is it because you're travelling together? A witcher and a bard, that must be something the fae would find interesting."

Jaskier hesitated before sharing a knowing look with Geralt, though Geralt couldn't figure out for the life of him what exactly that look was supposed to mean, what secret knowledge they were supposed to share.

"Well, I can't really tell why I'm getting all those gifts. But they appear more often when Geralt is happy. Or they seem to make him happier after I got them."

Essi's lips twitched. "Better keep him happy then."

Jaskier blushed furiously but didn't respond.

He didn't need to. Geralt spoke up before Jaskier could even think about opening his mouth.

"It's not about me. Those are for Jaskier and only him. To make him happy, not me."

Both bards looked at him dumbfounded for a second. Essi was the first to get a grip of herself, turning her attention back to the bird in Jaskier's hands. Jaskier on the other hand kept his eyes on Geralt, an unreadable expression on his face that made Geralt want to lean forward and trace the small crease between his brows with his fingers until it disappeared under his tender ministrations.

"Have you ever found any carvings, Geralt?" Essi asked him curiously.

He shook his head, grateful for the excuse to avert his eyes from Jaskier's burning gaze, though simultaneously he mourned the loss.

"I have no need for them. Witchers don't need luck. We don't get gifts." With a hint of bitterness, the next words slipped out before he could stop himself, "We don't get to have beautiful things."

He forced himself not to look at Jaskier at those last words. It didn't help that he heard his soft gasp anyway and that Jaskier's hand found his where it was balled to a fist in the table. He relaxed under the almost tender touch and it took all of his will power not to turn his hand and intertwine their fingers.

When he met Essi’s eyes, he tensed. There was something in the way she looked at him that unnerved him. Her eyes drifted to where Jaskier was touching him and then back to his face, searching. Then, her eyes widened in recognition and Geralt’s stomach dropped.

She knew. Somehow she knew what he felt for Jaskier.

Cold sweat tickled down his neck and he forced himself to pull his hand away from Jaskier’s touch despite how desperately he wanted to keep him close. With Essi watching him like a hawk, he knew he wasn’t allowed to indulge in this hopeless fantasy anymore. He wouldn’t hinder Jaskier’s happiness with Essi by making her think Jaskier would stay with someone like him. He wished Jaskier would want to. He wished Jaskier’s assurances that he did could be believed. And he had believed them. He had trusted Jaskier; he still did.

And maybe that was the problem. Jaskier had promised Geralt he’d stay by his side. Geralt didn’t doubt he had meant it. But now…either Jaskier would break his word and Geralt’s heart or he would keep his word and break his own heart.

Geralt knew which one he preferred.

When he had first heard the song about Essi, he had been torn about what he’d do if he ever met the object of Jaskier’s love. If he was being honest with himself, he still didn’t have a clear answer. A part of him still wanted to make sure Jaskier would stay with him. Another part that put a heaviness into his chest knew that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Maybe he wouldn’t be strong enough to tell Essi to confess her love to Jaskier, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything to keep them apart.

He wanted Jaskier to be with him, more than anything, but not at the cost of his happiness. Geralt couldn’t be Jaskier’s happiness. But maybe Essi could.

So Geralt plastered the hints of a smile on his face, trying desperately to ignore the way Jaskier’s face fell when Geralt pulled away from him and turned the conversation and Jaskier’s focus back to Essi where it belonged.

Too bad the only thing Geralt could think to say, was still related to his own aching heart.

“Have you ever found one of the fae-gifts?”

He cursed his own words as soon as they had left his lips. He didn’t know what answer he feared more. It was irrational and petty, but he didn’t want Essi to have one of his carvings. For years it had been none of his concern who kept hold of them, but now it seemed to be of utmost importance that Essi didn’t have one of them.

But maybe worse than that would be if she had never found any. True, Jaskier was protective of his collection, but he had given away the sheep to someone who was practically a stranger. There was no guarantee he would hesitate to give one of his animals to Essi.

Perhaps the bird, to compliment her undoubtedly beautiful singing voice. Or maybe he would give her the cat and make a play of words on a cat chasing a songbird or something of the sense. Surely not the fish, because Geralt couldn’t for the life of him figure out a way in which Jaskier could possibly give Horse to Essi without it coming across as an insult. The same was true for the snake.

Geralt’s stomach churned. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the possibility that Jaskier might give away the wolf. The mere idea was enough for nausea to rise up in him.

So lost in his own thoughts, Geralt barely caught Essi’s reply.

“Sadly not. Not all of us can get so lucky as Jaskier.” She grinned at Geralt as if they were friends, as if she wasn’t about to take the most important person in Geralt’s life away from him. “Then again, he needs all the luck he can get and then some.”

Jaskier squawked in indignation, utterly undignified in the particular way he normally only was when Geralt complained teasingly about his music. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” He huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, but after a brief pause and a glance at Geralt that Geralt tried his best not to read anything into, Jaskier’s eyes softened. “I believe I can count myself very lucky. Probably the luckiest man on the continent.”

Geralt snorted before he could stop himself. The very notion of Jaskier being lucky was ridiculous. Jaskier didn’t need luck. He was charming and talented and beautiful. He had earned every single good thing that had befallen him.

Geralt on the other hand still didn’t have the slightest clue what had earned him Jaskier’s presence in his life. Out of the two of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was the lucky one.

Thankfully, before Geralt had a chance to run his mouth and voice any of his incriminating thoughts, the sailors from before called out for another song.

Jaskier looked at Geralt as if asking for permission to get up and play again. Geralt did his best to give him a look that conveyed that he was good enough and needn’t fear playing in front of Essi despite her teasing. It must have worked, for Jaskier picked up his lute again before turning to Essi.

"Will you join me?" The teasing twinkle was back in his eyes. "Play a little duet to determine once and for all which one of us is better?"

Essi snorted, her lips curling up. "I think we both know who is superior." She waved him off with a hand and a mischievous grin. "You go play first. I wouldn't want to take all the glory away from you without giving you a chance to get some applause first."

Jaskier hesitated, his eyes darting between Geralt and Essi.

"Fine," he sighed eventually when the shouts demanding another song continued. "Be nice, Essi."

"I always am."

It was strange that Jaskier didn't warn Geralt to not scare her off. Maybe he didn't think it would be of any use. After all, he had known Jaskier for long enough to know that Geralt's attempts at being nice weren't very successful most of the time.

Jaskier bit his lip for a second and looked down at the bird he had still clutched in his hand. Geralt's insides twisted. Any moment now Jaskier would hand the figure to Essi.

He didn't. Instead he held it out to Geralt, as if it was the most natural thing; as if there wasn't a pretty woman right next to him who would love to hold the figure in her hand.

Geralt's heart stuttered in his chest and he had to will it to slow back down when Jaskier gave him an indecipherable look.

"Take care of the songbird?"

Geralt enclosed the bird with both of his hands and his fingers brushed against Jaskier's as he slowly let go.

"I always do." Geralt's voice was more serious than the situation called for, but for whatever reason, Jaskier approved, for he gave Geralt one of his brilliant smiles before he left, a song already on his lips.

A lump formed in Geralt's throat as he watched Jaskier take his place in the middle of the room once more. His attention was so fixated on Jaskier that it took him embarrassingly long to notice Essi scrutinizing him curiously with her chin propped up on her hand.

When he finally noticed, she lifted an eyebrow knowingly and her lips twitched.

"Oh, don't let me stop you from watching him," she teased. "He is a bit pretty, isn't he?"

Geralt didn't reply, not knowing what kind of answer would be acceptable.

Still, something must have shown on his face, for something shifted in Essi's expression. Her gaze dropped to the songbird held carefully in Geralt's hands.

"He seems to think you need luck talking to me," she said with a nod to the bird.

Geralt's brows rose. "Do I?"

He was sure that he already knew the answer.

"That really depends."

Dread pooled in Geralt's stomach. "On what?"

"On whether or not you're planning on hurting him." Essi's eyes narrowed and the easy smile from before fell away, revealing a calm sort of sternness that would have intimidated any man who wasn't used to facing worse than an angry woman. It might even come close to the look Vesemir got before scolding the younger wolves. "Because if you do hurt him, no amount of luck in the world will keep you safe."

The words were clearly meant as a threat, but something unwound in Geralt's chest. "He's really important to you, isn't he?" he asked quietly. "You won't let anything happen to him?"

"Never," she said heatedly. "I'd fight the world before I'd let him get hurt. I'll fight you if you ever so much as think about hurting him."

"I won't," Geralt said and it felt like a confession.

He didn't have Essi's empathetic words, but he had this certainty in his chest that whatever he did, he would do everything in his power to keep Jaskier safe. Then again, travelling with Geralt was the most dangerous thing Jaskier could do. Even if Geralt would never hurt him, he couldn't promise that no harm would come to Jaskier as long as he was with Geralt.

A wry smile twisted Geralt's lips. "But I don't think you'll have to worry. We both know he won't be travelling with me for much longer."

Not if he could be with Essi instead. Geralt didn’t want to think about this possibility, but it wouldn't be fair towards Jaskier to drag him away from her. Geralt wouldn't stand in Jaskier's way, even if it led him away from Geralt.

"Why?" Essi asked with sudden urgency. "For years Jaskier had only talked about you but he refused to let me meet you. Why now? What has changed between the two of you?"

Geralt faltered at the question. His mind was racing, trying to come up with an answer, but he found none. Nothing had changed with Jaskier. He had been happy as ever.

It was true, he had sung more of those yearning love songs but that wasn't anything irregular. Nothing in his behaviour had even hinted at him wanting to leave Geralt anytime soon. If anything, he had been more adamant than ever to stay, touching him with increasing confidence and laughing with him more carefree than ever.

So if Jaskier hadn't changed that only left one conclusion. The problem wasn't Jaskier's changed feelings, it was Geralt's.

Though they hadn't exactly changed either. Geralt had just finally realised what had been there all along. He had finally found a word to the feeling that had been creeping up on him and ensnared him without him realising or resisting.

But Geralt had thought... He hadn't behaved any differently, had he? He hadn't said anything to let his secret slip and he hadn't let his eyes and hands wander to Jaskier too often. Or maybe he had?

He must have done something wrong to tip Jaskier off.

Fear's icy claws plunged into Geralt's chest. Jaskier knew. Of course he did. He sang about love and yearning constantly. If anyone were able to recognise Geralt's emotions, it would be Jaskier. Perhaps he had even known for longer but had been able and willing to ignore it as long as Geralt hadn't acted on it. But now that Geralt knew what he felt as well, maybe Jaskier was uncomfortable being around him? It was one thing being a witcher's friend, but it wasn't unlikely that even Jaskier drew the line at being loved by one.

An abyss opened up in Geralt's chest. Was this truly it? He didn't want to believe it, but it was the only explanation he could come up with that made sense.

Judging from his songs, Jaskier had been yearning for Essi for a while now. So what better excuse to get away from Geralt than to pursue his own love? If Jaskier broke Geralt's heart in the process and made sure Geralt would stay away from him because of his hurt feelings, then that was just an added bonus. Perhaps he even wanted Geralt's protection to get to the coast, a convenient way to get there safely.

Geralt couldn't imagine that was it, didn't want to imagine. Jaskier was many things, but he wasn't cruel. He was Geralt's friend and Geralt trusted him.

Or perhaps this was Jaskier's way of being kind, of letting Geralt down gently? If Jaskier showed him now whom he had to compete with - as if Geralt could ever have any hope of winning Jaskier's heart even without competition - then surely Geralt would forget about his feelings before he'd do something stupid like confess his feelings and make them both uncomfortable and miserable.

Well, if that had been Jaskier's goal, he had failed. Though not too long ago Geralt himself had thought that he would be able to get rid of this ache in his chest when he saw Jaskier with his beloved, he now knew better. He wouldn't be able to forget this feeling, whether he had his heart broken or not. And he didn't want to forget. He'd rather watch Jaskier be in love and still admire how his eyes softened when he looked at his beloved than never feel that warmth in his chest again, however painful it was. Jaskier was too important for him to just forget.

But oh, how painful it was. Right at this moment, as Jaskier sang if love and the fear of loss, his eyes drifted over to them - no, not to them, to Essi - so full of longing and aching and love.

How could Geralt not recognise the look when it was the same one he gave Jaskier when he wouldn't notice? When it was how he wished he could look at Jaskier openly? When it was how he wanted Jaskier to look at him?

But he didn't. He never would. Geralt could fantasise all he wanted that he was the one Jaskier's eyes were resting on with so much wanting, but he knew it wasn't the truth. He knew the real object of Jaskier's longing was sitting right across from Geralt, still waiting for an answer she wouldn't receive from him.

Maybe she already knew. Judging from the way she looked between him and Jaskier there was no hiding from her. It didn't matter anyway. Geralt knew he stood no chance against her. He was no threat to someone like her.

She must be aware of that too, for her eyes crinkled with a smile that unnerved Geralt more than any threat could.

“It must be the fae-gifts,” Geralt blurted out. It was an obvious and pitiful attempt to distract from what he felt, but it was better than letting the truth hang between them. It was better than giving Essi the chance to say it out loud. “He started finding them in spring. He said that those who find them will find their true love within a year.” And evidently Jaskier had known perfectly well where exactly he had to search for his love to find her.

Something shifted in Essi’s expression and for a moment she looked like she wanted to say something before her mouth snapped shut. There was a question in her eyes, then a realisation.

Geralt’s stomach sank and he was left feeling cold.

Essi hadn’t known. Somehow, through some miracle, she hadn’t known what Jaskier felt for her, even though his affection was as clear as day to anyone who bothered to look at him for longer than a second.

And now Geralt had brought forth her realisation. He didn’t know what was worse; the guilt of taking away Jaskier’s chance to confess his feelings properly or the fact that she now focussed back on Jaskier, a determined look on her face and stood up.  

“Excuse me,” she said, sounding not at all apologetic, “I believe it is time for me to join Jaskier.”

Geralt didn’t protest, though his fingers twitched to hold her back. Not that it would make a difference. It was already too late for him, whether Essi joined Jaskier or not.

Still, it was a special kind of torture watching her lean in close to Jaskier and whisper something in his ear that made his eyes widen and a blush spread across his cheeks.

Geralt’s mouth went dry when Essi started playing the intro of the next song while Jaskier still stood frozen, watching her, transfixed.

It didn’t take long for Geralt to understand this reaction. It wasn’t just that Essi was good, it was that the song she was playing was the song. The one about beautiful eyes and moonlit hair. The one about her.

Jaskier threw a helpless, almost panicked look over at Geralt who offered him an encouraging and apologetic smile that hopefully didn’t look as forced as it felt.

Jaskier accepted Geralt’s smile and silent apology with a small nod. Though he didn’t appear any less anxious, his voice was clear and full of feeling when he joined in the song, harmonising perfectly with Essi.

With a sudden jolt of his heart, a calm washed over Geralt that was almost enough to push the agonising burn in his chest away.

This was what Jaskier deserved, standing on stage with another bard. Someone who could be close to him and understand him in a way Geralt would never be able to. Someone who could compliment his voice with theirs just as they could give compliments to him; words that weren’t clumsy and almost insulting even as they were meant to make him feel appreciated. This wasn’t just what Jaskier had yearned for. It was what Jaskier deserved. Essi was.

They looked beautiful together. Like they belonged together. Whereas when Geralt stood next to Jaskier, the bard’s beauty only made Geralt’s flaws all the more apparent. No one would ever look at Geralt and think that he could belong to the beautiful, brilliant bard.

Essi however…she looked gorgeous. Someone Jaskier didn’t have to be ashamed of being seen with. As long as he was with her people would throw roses instead of stones and praise instead of insults.

Geralt averted his eyes. They fell on his own twisted reflection on a dirty window.

His jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to flee. He didn’t. There was no doubt that Jaskier would notice if Geralt stormed off, even if his eyes were trained on Essi and Geralt couldn’t risk ruining this moment for him.

When the song finally ended and the two bards returned to their table, Geralt let out a relieved sigh. Not that watching them touch and smile at each other this closely was any better.

But for some reason, Jaskier didn’t stay close to Essi. Instead he slid onto the bench next to Geralt, so close that their thighs were almost touching. Geralt had to resist the urge to breach the distance. It wouldn’t do to lean into him. Especially not now that Jaskier’s love was letting herself fall into a seat opposite him. Perhaps that was the reason why Jaskier had sat down next to Geralt; not to be close to him, but so he could better look at Essi. The gods knew she was more pleasing to look at than Geralt.

Especially now that she leaned forward and brushed the strand of hair behind her ear, revealing both of her sky-blue eyes that Jaskier was so enamoured with.

“So, Geralt,” she began and tipped her head to the side, “we need you to be our unbiased judge. Which one of us it better?”

Geralt risked a glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, undoubtedly nervous that Geralt would say something wrong.

Geralt’s jaw worked as he frantically searched for an answer that would help Jaskier with Essi, even though a small treacherous voice in the back of his mind told him that this was his chance to say something that would let him keep Jaskier.

But that would never happen. Either he would lose Jaskier to Essi or he would drive him away by keeping him from his happiness. Either way he would lose him. The only difference was whether Jaskier would remember him with affection or disdain.

His hand clenched around the bird he was still holding onto tightly, as if it would fly away if Geralt weakened his grip. As if it was the most important thing in the world to keep for as long as he was allowed to. A poor substitute for the real songbird that was slipping through his fingers at this very moment.

“I think…” he said slowly, doing his best and failing miserably to avoid Jaskier’s anxiously expectant gaze, “I think that I might be the least unbiased person in this room.”

Essi’s smile grew wider. “You really like Jaskier’s singing, don’t you?”

Yes.

But Geralt was afraid that if he said as much as that one simple word, he wouldn’t be able to keep its true meaning out of his voice.

He plastered a sarcastic smile on his face, hoping against hope that it would be enough to fool the two masters of acting. “Maybe I’ve just heard him often enough to find him boring by now.”

“Boring!” Jaskier gasped in outrage and swatted Geralt’s chest. “How dare you accuse me of such a horrible thing.”

Jaskier’s indignation was familiar. Soothing.

Geralt’s smile became more real. “I said ‘maybe’.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him. “Nice try to save that. You still owe me a better apology.”

“Oh?” Geralt leaned closer to Jaskier. He pretended not to notice the way their shoulders brushed. “And what do you want me to do to make it up to you?”

“Oh, that’s easy, my friend. You already know what to do.” Jaskier lifted his chin, a triumphant smirk on his lips. It took all of Geralt’s strength not to let his eyes linger on his lips. “Give us an honest review. Three words or less.”

 Us.

There it was again. That reminder that this wasn’t a moment Jaskier and Geralt shared. It was one that Geralt intruded on.

He drew back again, putting enough distance between himself and Jaskier so that they wouldn’t be able to touch accidentally.

“You’re good together,” he said in a hollow voice. Geralt swallowed thickly and pushed himself off the table. After a painful moment of hesitation, he let go of the songbird and put it on the table between the two bards. “So I’ll better leave you to it.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out and grabbed Geralt by the hand. “What do you – Geralt, where are you going?” Inexplicably, dejection flashed over Jaskier’s face and the fingers of his free hand started fidgeting. “I thought we wanted to go stargazing later?”

Geralt’s stomach twisted painfully as he gave Jaskier a meaningful look. “I don’t think I’m the one who wants to look at the stars with you.”

It was a lie. But Geralt had been telling a lot of them lately, whether with his words or by pretending with his actions. It was for the better. Geralt might want to spend the night with Jaskier looking at the stars and watch in wonder how Jaskier’s face shone in the pale moonlight, but Jaskier would be better off doing it with Essi who might find a way to describe to him how breath-taking he looked with the moonlight illuminating him.

Maybe when Jaskier left him, he would remember Geralt as the one who had helped him get into romantic situations with Essi. It wouldn’t have been romantic with Geralt. Jaskier wouldn’t have been as happy with him.

And perhaps there was a little pettiness involved as well as Geralt pulled his hand out of Jaskier’s grip and made his way to their room with pointed casualness.

As long as Geralt occupied their shared room, Jaskier wouldn’t bring Essi there to spend the night. It was a small consolation to know that they would go somewhere else to do what Geralt didn’t even want to imagine, but it was a consolation nonetheless.

It didn’t help keeping the images of the two bards together out of his head. All he could think about was Jaskier holding Essi in a lover’s embrace in a different room or maybe even underneath the moon. He would kiss her and whisper in her ear how beautiful she was, how perfect. Maybe he would even repeat the words of his song to her, intimately like a promise. And she would be allowed to return those words to him. She would be allowed to run her fingers down his back and pull him ever closer.

All the while Geralt would be alone in this room that was too big for one person. He stared at the bed in disdain and let himself fall onto it. It was too big. Too cold. Too empty. He should have shared it with Jaskier. They should have traded jokes and whispered stories before falling asleep within reach of each other and maybe entangling their limps as they slept.

Perhaps, if Geralt was lucky, Jaskier wouldn’t stay the night with Essi. Maybe after they were done, he would come back here and Geralt would get to hold him again, despite him smelling of Essi and the joy Geralt couldn’t give him.

It was a stupid thought. Jaskier wouldn’t return. He would spend the night with his love and in the morning he would only come to Geralt to tell him that he would stay with Essi.

It had been a while since Jaskier had last sought out company for a night. Geralt had known, of course, that it had only been a matter of time until Jaskier fell into bed with someone again. The thought hadn’t bothered him. Too much. But now, with her, it was different. From the way Jaskier had sung about her, his beloved wasn’t someone he’d forget after a night. She was someone he wanted to be with for as long as he’d allow him to.

Despite himself, despite his aching heart, Geralt hoped that Essi would keep him forever. She would keep his heart safe and if there was one person Geralt trusted to keep Jaskier happy, it was this woman who had threatened a witcher should he harm Jaskier.

A long breath that was almost a groan left Geralt and got lost in the too quiet room. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as if that could stop the pictures of Jaskier and Essi intertwined from forming in his mind.

It felt like hours of restless tossing and turning until he finally sat up. As much as he had wanted to find refuge in this room, it now felt suffocating to him.

Surely by now Jaskier and Essi won’t be downstairs anymore. They must have either found a bed to fall into or gone to the beach to look at the stars, like Geralt had planned on doing with Jaskier.

But wherever they were, there was little to no chance that Geralt would come across them. There would be no harm in going to the stables to clear his head talking to Roach. Or in trying to get drunk instead and dulling his thoughts until none of the ache and the poisonous images of Jaskier looking lovingly at Essi were left.

He shouldn’t have hoped that it would be so easy. Too lost in his own glum thoughts, Geralt didn’t notice Jaskier’s familiar heartbeat in the tap room until it was already too late.

Geralt should leave. But his body wouldn’t obey him. He stood transfixed in the shadows at the edge of the room and stared at Jaskier and Essi who sat in an even more secluded corner than before. Jaskier leaned heavily against Essi who whispered soothing nothings into his ears and petted his hair comfortingly. Lovingly.

Geralt’s stomach churned at the sight.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. He didn’t want to.

But the look on Jaskier’s face was so strange. Geralt would call it heartbroken if he hadn’t known any better. Maybe it was just a trick of the dim light, but Geralt could have sworn that his eyes were red-rimmed. There was no reason for Jaskier to look like that. Geralt had left him alone with his love, he had made sure they could have a romantic night together. He had done all that he could. Jaskier should be happy.

Evidently, he was not.

“Thank you for listening.” Geralt had to strain his ears to hear the words Jaskier muttered into Essi’s shoulder. His voice sounded tight and choked. “I really needed this. It feels good to finally tell someone.”

“Why not tell him?”

Geralt’s breath got stuck in his throat at Essi’s words. It was the same question prodding at his own mind. Why hadn’t Jaskier come to him to talk about what bothered him so much? Geralt knew he was horrible at giving advice, but surely Jaskier knew that he cared. Surely, he knew that he could trust Geralt.

Then again, could he really? After all, wasn’t Geralt eavesdropping on him at this very moment? Hadn’t he toyed with the thought of whisking Jaskier away from his beloved?

“You know I can’t. He’s…he wouldn’t want to hear something like that.”

Geralt’s chest tightened and he had to press himself against the wall to not do something stupid like cross the room and assure Jaskier that he would listen to him, that he always would be there for him when Jaskier needed him.

“I think he’d listen to you,” Essi said softly and brushed Jaskier’s hair out of his forehead. Gently she lifted his chin so that he would look up at her. “You said you were friends, didn’t you?”

“Yes. We are,” Jaskier’s voice broke off. Their faces were so close and Jaskier looked so desperate. “But, Essi, I’m in love.”

He sounded so broken, so hopeless.

Geralt didn’t want her to say it back. He didn’t think he could bear it if she did, if he had to watch Jaskier’s face light up at her confession and kiss her.

What Essi said instead was worse.

“You always are.”

Essi smiled and Geralt’s blood turned to ice. She wasn’t taking Jaskier seriously. Yes, Geralt too had been consoling himself with the knowledge that Jaskier’s loves were fleeting more often than not, but he wasn’t the one Jaskier was in love with. If he was, he would treasure every second he was granted being loved by Jaskier, however briefly. And Essi who had Jaskier’s love, who had his trust, who had said she’d fight the world to keep him from hurting… she was breaking his heart.

“Not like this.” Jaskier looked so lost. So small. And yet, despite Essi’s dismissal, a bittersweet smile danced across his lips. “It has never been this beautiful. It had never hurt like this. Gods, it hurts. I’ve been in love for years and sometimes I think it might be requited, but then…we could be watching the stars right now. And instead I am a mess sobbing at your shoulder.” His voice became quiet enough that even Geralt could barely hear his next words. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll fall out of love again.” Words meant to soothe made Jaskier wince like they were cutting into him like a knife.

“I don’t want to.” With a jolt, Jaskier sat up straight and stared at her imploringly, begging her to understand. “This time it’s different. I want to stay and I want to love and I…I don’t want to ruin what we have. It’s too important to me.”

“You won’t ruin anything,” Essi cupped his face with her hands, stroking tenderly across his cheeks with her thumbs. “I promise you. You are one of the most amazing people I know. You are a wonderful bard and an even better friend. Anyone who wouldn’t love you back would be a fool. You know how important you are to me. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I promise.”

Jaskier was quiet for such a long time that Geralt began to wonder whether he would speak up again at all. A hint of hope flickered across Jaskier’s face and his voice wavered when he asked, “How could I not ruin it?”

“You could just say it.”

Jaskier let out a bitter laugh and a sour grimace twisted his lips. “What, just like that? I should just say I love you?” He shook his head and his smile became softer again. Geralt couldn’t see it from where he was, but he could have sworn that Jaskier’s eyes would be full of fondness as he looked at Essi now. “That’s not enough. That doesn’t even come close to what I feel. I want to say so much more. Words aren’t enough for this.”

Essi tilted her head to the side and one of her hands wandered back to Jaskier’s hair. “Why don’t you show it then?”

Geralt couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch this anymore. He wouldn’t be able to bear watching Jaskier follow Essi’s advice. He couldn’t watch them kiss.

For once in his life, he wished that his heart was truly as hard as people said. Then at least it couldn’t shatter as it did now.

How foolish he had been to think that the ache in his chest would ever go away. Geralt doubted he would ever be rid of it. Perhaps it would be the only thing he would get to keep of Jaskier; a painful memory of what he had lost, of what had never been his to begin with.

Without another look at Jaskier, he pushed himself off the wall and fled.

---

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[imagine-overwatch-heroes]

Thistles and Weeds

Pairing: McCree x Reader (She/Her) Rating: Teen and up Audiences Word Count: 3194 Summary:  Soldier 76 pulls you off an upcoming mission and you stay in Gibraltar - just like the infamous Jesse McCree. Supposedly you can't stand the cowboy, but there's more to it than that.

Bored, you balanced the pen on your hand, barely listening as the commander explained the situation and assigned the roles for the upcoming mission. The briefing was more boring than usual and if Soldier:76 wasn't such a strict commander you would have put your boots on the table and leaned back. But woe betide the one who messed with the mysterious commander, then there was usually house arrest and so much punishment work that you were busy for the next three weeks. "Am I boring you?" Everyone suddenly stared at you, and you looked up from your playfulness with the pencil, scrutinized the annoyed faces around you, and froze at the impatient, angry aura of Soldier:76. "Not, Sir!" you replied and looked forward to the screen. The tactical advance for the mission was recorded there and you tried to make sense of it, but without much success. Which of those little arrows were you again? "All right, you're out," growled Soldier:76 and made a sweeping hand movement. "I'll take Tracer instead." "What?!" you shouted angrily and jumped up from your chair. "I have been looking forward to this action for weeks! I've been stuck in this stuffy base for ages-" "Silence!!", thundered your Commander and you immediately fell silent, but gnashed your teeth furiously. "If you feel like the briefing is unworthy of you, then you will not come. Dismissed." You stared at him for a moment, opened your mouth in protest - but denied yourself the biting answers. He was your superior, your commander, and an objection would be disrespectful and have serious consequences. "Yes, Sir." you rumbled and turned around and disappeared from the conference room under the gaze of the other agents. Anger bubbled in your stomach as you stepped to the elevator. You banged your fist violently on the button and waited for the doors to open. You just did a fantastic job, there was an interesting mission and you were stuck here in Gibraltar! To make matters worse, the base was virtually deserted, as almost all of the other agents were in the field. Only Tracer, Mercy, Hanzo and McCree were still there and now Tracer would take part in this mission instead of you. It made your blood boil. The elevator door opened and you stared into a familiar face, even if it wasn't necessarily your best friend. "Hanzo, hello." you greeted the archer with a friendly nod, but he just raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms as you entered the elevator. "You are angry." he remarked softly and you rolled your eyes next to him. Why were the Shimada brothers so good at reading people?   "76 took me off the mission." you murmured softly and Hanzo snorted an amused snort. He knew about your temperament and your disinterest in the conferences and briefings. It wasn't the first time you had messed up a mission before it even started. "So you'll be alone with McCree all week." he said with a hint of gloating in his voice. "I hope that the base is still standing when I get back." "Wait, what?", you dug in, suddenly wide awake at his words. "You're leaving too?!" He nodded. "Genji asked for some help with the operation in Brazil." he replied. "I have accepted." "But- You can't leave me alone with this idiot cowboy!" you begged immediately, tugging at his sleeve. "Hanzo, please! This badly aiming poncho idiot is-" "Is what, exactly?" The door to the elevator had opened and you saw the hat, the poncho and the crooked grin. Your voice must have been too loud, because Jesse McCree had overheard everything. He looked at you, seemed to want you to finish the sentence. You pulled the corners of your mouth down and moaned in annoyance, while Hanzo could hardly resist a quiet laugh. Your tiffs with McCree were all too familiar to everyone in the base, you were really like cat and mouse. He loved to tease and your huge ego collided with his almost daily. Several times it had ended in fisticuffs, and in the end, you always ended up sitting with Mercy in pairs, getting patched up and scolded by her loud and clear. At times it had become so bad that Soldier:76 could no longer assign you to a mission together. Sure, it was unprofessional - but Jesse McCree was the biggest pain on the planet! "Oh, he's a really lousy shot, and even with a plastic pistol I'd have him on the mat in less than two minutes." you finally finished your sentence, and McCree snorted mockingly, one hand on his Peacekeeper. "Try it." he replied, and Hanzo immediately slid between the two of you, one hand on your shoulder and one on McCree's chest. "Enough." he said emphatically, giving the cowboy a challenging look. "Jesse, I thought we were going to train. But if you'd rather argue with her--" "You'd better teach that cowboy something else," you hissed and looked at the dirty poncho disparagingly. "Or he'll hurt himself on his next ride!" "Is that the best you can do?" he growled in return and tapped his hat. "Real weak - even for you, sweetheart." You immediately wanted to reply to the 'sweetheart', but Hanzo already pushed Jesse to the shooting range and you had no choice but to give him the middle finger and go to your quarters with an angry growl stuck in your throat.

"A real tomboy, huh?", Jesse asked as he looked at you and Hanzo turned his eyes on his friend. "If you like her so much, why do you wind her up like that all the time?" the archer asked, entering the code to the shooting range on the control panel of the door. Jesse, on the other hand, was still staring down the hall, almost as if he hoped you'd come back and throw more insults at his head. "You know very well she's very hot-headed." "Yup, she really is," the cowboy agreed and followed Hanzo to the training area, which was located under the base and was used much more often by Hanzo than by Jesse McCree. "And a real beauty, too." Hanzo gave him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye and put on his gloves, running his fingers over the string of his bow. "You should be nicer to her," he said softly, tensing the bowstring a few times, pulling his arm back and staying in that position to warm up his muscles. "She has no idea that the badly aiming poncho idiot gets a watery mouth when he thinks of her." "Hah, you got me there!" Jesse confessed and pulled his revolver out of the holster, took a quick look inside and nodded contentedly. "She's a real eye-catcher, that girl." Hanzo didn't answer, but instead pulled an arrow out of his quiver and tensed the string, held his breath - and hit the mark. The easy-to-repair training robots were not real enemies, but they were enough to warm up. Hanzo took another arrow and hit the next head shot perfectly, as well as the third and fourth. Jesse watched the whole thing silently, took a puff from his cigar every now and then, and seemed to be a little lost in thought. "The mission scheduled for the day after tomorrow," Hanzo suddenly said, looking at his friend with a mischievous smile. "Soldier:76 has grounded her." "No way!" it fell from McCree's lips and he stared at the archer in amazement. So would you stay here at the base? While the otherwise eternally bouncing tracers and D.Va were also in the field? "I guess she was messing with the commander again," Hanzo continued, watching as Jesse straightened his hat and threw the poncho over his shoulder, holding the revolver in place. "The day just keeps getting better and better..." the cowboy murmured, and he took aim, held his breath for a split second - and fired. Two, three, four and five robots disintegrated into a pile of scrap metal, while Jesse gloated over the coming days. Oh, this would be such fun!

Two days later, you were sitting in the evening sun of Gibraltar in a bad mood, trying not to get too upset about the mosquitoes and the stuffy weather. The base was actually emptier than ever before and you tried with all means not to let your anger get the upper hand. Instead of sitting around here, you could be on your way to Italy right now - but no, you had to be stuck in that dusty sea of cliffs and caustic encounters with the cowboy. McCree was even more annoying than usual, now that Hanzo had left the base as well and apparently he was bored. The fitting of his new prosthetic arm kept him here with you, otherwise he would probably have flown to Italy instead of Tracer with Soldier:76, Winston, Reinhardt and some other agents. "Hey, beautiful." Speak of the devil. You heard the deep, smoky voice and the metallic clang of spurs behind you, and yet you didn't even bother to look up. "What do you want?" you asked coolly, but Jesse didn't let your dismissive manner get in the way, stopped beside you and took a deep puff of his cigar to blow the smoke into the evening sun. "Hanzo is not here" he replied. "I could use a substitute partner for practice." "Usually they have to drag you to the shooting range with force." "Come on, sweetheart, don't leave me hanging." he tried again and your stomach lurched once more at the nicknames he gave you. "Sweetheart", "Beauty" and "Love". This cursed, tempting cowboy would drive you out of your mind again! You'd love to sink your fingers into that brown hair and have him above you while he whispered naughty things in your ear in a dark voice... "Get lost," you growled instead and crossed your arms in front of your chest. You would never give in to temptation, especially not this man! He looked at every woman with growing enthusiasm, whistling appreciatively when she had a nice rack, and that pissed you off for a long time. If he was looking for a bed bunny after all, you were not to be had for that! "Do I have to beg on my knees before you?" Finally you looked up to him and under the shadow of the brim of your hat you saw two brown eyes looking at you with a provocative look. As theatrically as possible you groaned and held out your hand to him, which he immediately took and pulled you up from the ground. "Half an hour." you agreed. "Because I can't bear you any longer!"

"Welcome." Athena greeted both of you at the shooting range and on one of the monitors your statistics from last time appeared. "The usual setup, Agent?" "No, Athena, thank you," you replied to the AI, looking at your training partner. "Standard, please." "Of course." the pleasant voice of the program was heard over the training area. Life came into the little robots and they began to roam around, ignoring you. "A special setup, huh?" McCree asked teasingly, and you waved aside, not wanting to tell him that you were planning on doing target practice at every opportunity. "Let's see what you can do," you said, leaning against the wall behind you. You didn't mean to start, no. If the cowboy wanted to practice, then he should start! "Hold this." To your great amazement you got the red poncho pressed into your arms and you looked at McCree, who in his tight black shirt pulled the gun out of the holster. On such hot days he didn't wear his bulletproof breastplate and the black shirt emphasized his muscular stature, letting you swallow briefly against your dry mouth. Damn sexy cowboy! "You don't have to undress right away," you hissed angrily and although you wanted to sound as annoyed as possible, your voice was much higher than usual. A quick sideways glance from brown eyes silenced you and you watched his movements closely. He lifted his Peacekeeper up and you saw him narrow his eyes for a moment, finally emptying all six chambers in one seemingly single, flowing movement. Six robots collapsed, McCree tilted his head and made his neck crack slightly. You had seen his extraordinary ability Deadeye several times before and yet, it impressed you every time. You could call him a bad shooter as often as you wanted, Jesse McCree always hit his target. The drinking, smoking cowboy with the silly hat and spurs on his boots was an impressive man whether you liked it or not. But you certainly wouldn't rub that fact in his face! "Your turn, beautiful." He threw his revolver at you and surprised you stumbled forward, the poncho in your arms and with noisiness you caught his gun. He nodded invitingly to the new group of robots that were just making their way in through one of the flaps to the workshop. "It's way too heavy for me!" you growled and threw his poncho at McCree in return, and he put it aside, but shook his head at your statement. "Nonsense." he replied, and just as you were putting new bullets into the chambers, he stepped behind you and looked over your shoulder. The smell of tobacco and the cowboy himself beguiled you for a fraction of a second and you took a step forward to escape from his immediate vicinity. "I'll show you." Shocked, you flinched as you felt a cold hand on your left shoulder and his real, warm hand gripped your wrist to lift the revolver. "You know I don't work with these bulky, heavy weapons," you muttered, concentrating all your efforts not to blush and keeping your pulse under control. He was much too close to you, you could feel his body heat and feel his breath on the sensitive skin of your neck. "Doesn't mean you can't handle it, huh?" you heard the smoky voice in your ear and his upper body pressed against your back. He lifted your right arm a little, corrected the position of your shoulder a little, and finally leaned completely against you to secure your stance from the recoil. "Aim well over the rear sight, you have no sight here." "I know...!", you hissed irritably and tried to concentrate on your target, but it was quite difficult to aim when hard muscles were pressing against your back. "You're way too tense, why don't you relax your shoulders?" "Shut up!" You pulled the trigger and wow! - this fucking heavy gun had a tremendous recoil! Your second shot even missed the target and a deep growl in your chest expressed your frustration about it. You rarely missed, but Peacekeeper was far too heavy for your untrained hands. Your weapons were all riffles like Soldier's:76, there was not such a powerful recoil as McCree's choice of weapon. A third shot was fired and you were glad that his right hand stabilized your shoulder. Distracting or not, his upper body caught you and you didn't have to take an evasive step back. "It's fun, isn't it?" you heard him ask and you almost looked up at him with an approving smile, but just in time you made the smile disappear and shrugged your shoulders. Stay cool. "I have to admit, it's quite entertaining," you replied bored in a playful way, but he didn't buy it. McCree leaned down a little over your shoulder and the tips of his hair tickled your cheek. He was too close, it was way too close! "Jesse!," you growled and turned from his grip instantly. "Jesse?," he asked immediately, and the rough, dark laugh sent a pleasant goose bump down your neck. "You've never called me that before, dear." "Yes, I- Ah...", you tried to find words and talk your way out, because the sexy cowboy was unfortunately right: You had never called him by his first name before, it just sounded too familiar and not hostile enough for your everyday dances. "Don't crowd me." "What, you don't mind a little help with the shooting?" Again he came a step closer and you looked at him suspiciously, pressed the revolver into his hands and turned your head away, trying to rebuff him as hard as possible. "Or was it for any other reason?" Jesse McCree was a charmer with a silver tongue, he always knew exactly what to say to either freak you out or leave you speechless. You were a seasoned Overwatch agent, a tough woman who could get her way - but when the cowboy got that close to you, your knees went soft like butter. "Jesse McCree-!" you started a little rant. You took a step towards him and nudged his chest in anger, while he looked at you with just two amused sparkling eyes. "Are you suggesting that I'm really attracted to a complete idiot like you?" He silenced you by leaning the last piece towards you, bending down and his right hand grabbing your neck. He kissed you, pulled you to him and after the first second of the shock you put your hands against his chest to push him away from you. "Jesse-!," you shouted outraged, but he shook his head and nipped your protest in the bud with another kiss. That damned, tempting cowboy actually dared to kiss you just like that - and then he was so damn good at it, it was enough to drive you crazy! The stubble of his beard scratched slightly at your skin and you tasted the cold smoke of his cigars, but that hardly bothered you, because even if you deliberately denied it: you wanted Jesse McCree to kiss you. You wanted to feel his hand on your neck, how he pulled you a little closer to his upper body and that the kiss became more and more erratic and unstable with every second. It wasn't until a faint gasp came over your lips that you realized what it all meant and you leaned back and escaped his lips. "Sweet as honey..." he growled softly and in return he received a light slap on the shoulder from you. "What, it's true!" "Idiot." you muttered and rolled your eyes. He snorted, pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth and grabbed your waist with his left arm to pull you a little closer. You let it happen, and yet your thoughts turned over; What was there between you? What was the reason why he kept getting on your nerves so much? "May I be your idiot then?" he asked, and he leaned down, kissed your neck, and his free hand played with a strand of your hair. Good question, did you agree inside. Was that it then? Was he your not so badly aiming, poncho-wearing idiot cowboy? "Let's see how long I can stand you," you muttered with wildly pounding hearts and your stomach made a backward somersault at the thought that this show-off man seemed to like you very much.

[yandere-wishes]

Gambling man //Yandere Idia Shroud Gang AU//

This has got to be one of my longest fics so far, if only because I tried to stuff it with Greek mythology references. Let me know how many you guys can find!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

I met you once, I loved you twice that's the way this tale begins

You took a deep breath, straightening your black dress for the third time that minute. You weren't supposed to be here, this wasn't something "good girls" did. They didn't lie to their mothers just to sneak out to casinos run by one of the seven notorious gangs of Night Raven city! But what choice did you have? Money was tight, you're mother's flower store was barely surviving. No one wanted freshly picked Forget-me-nots or bouquets of narcissus and roses! Any "normal" person in Night Raven city didn't have enough money to buy dinner for their families let alone an assortment of flowers. The truth was that no one in the city could ever make ends meet, not with the amount of "protection" money the seven gangs demanded. Each territory had a set price range, all inhabitants of those territories had to pay that exact price every two weeks, failure to do so would lead broken bones, burnt homes and as a last resort dead family members. Each time gang took over a rival gang's territory the price would increase as a sort of punishment for the residents. It was cruel, unjust, but then again so was the world.

You and your mother lived in the current "Purple territory" run by the Octavinelle gang, the greediest out of the dreaded seven. Ever since someone tipped the local cops off about a gang-related kidnapping, the "protection costs" had risen by 20%. Whoever was barley scavenging money back then was surely penniless at this point. So that's why you were here, hoping to somehow win enough money to pay at least a quarter of the next "protection rent". The blue division nicknamed the underworld was one of the better divisions. People there paid less, lived more prosperous lives, businesses their earned fair income somewhere even booming with business. One of the blue divisions most alluring aspects was the Night Long casinos, a place where people from all over the city tested their luck. 

The skull doorknobs were icy to the touch, sending shivers up your spine upon contact. It was almost like you were willingly walking to your death. For a split second you closed your eyes, grounding your thoughts. This was stupid, everyone went to the casino when they were short on money. Of course if they actually gained anything -or lost what little they had- was all up to faith. 

the bright lights glared from every corner. Blinding any who dared to open the metallic black door. Music reverberated off the walls, rushing to crush the guests. Everything was blinding and uproarious, beyond overwhelming for any newcomers. Your body shook, torso feeling too heavy for your frail legs. 

"Fist time kid?" You turned around rapidly, a cold sweat broke over you, had you done something wrong? How could that even be possible? You just got here! When your attention shifted to the source of the voice you were momentarily stunned. Sitting behind a desk, a blue screen floating close to her face, was the most exquisite girl you had ever seen. Tiny black skulls decorated her curly blond hair, her fair milky skinned hand carelessly swiped through digital documents on a hovering Netscreen. Her Olympic blue eyes circled with heavy dripping black makeup, were fixed on you, bearing right through your soul.

Your voice refused to leave your throat, words stabbed the inside of your neck sticking themselves to your throat forbidding air through. The girl behind the receptionist's desk let out a haughty giggle before outstretching her arm beckoning you forward. Hesitantly you stepped over to her, body trembling with every step. As you approached she leaned forward a playful smirk shining over her face. "You're new here aren't you sweetie?"  inelegantly you nodded. For a second a look of sympathy fashed over her divine features. "Money's tight huh?" again you nodded, head half away up something shined in the corner of your vision. A blue and back armband fastened tightly around her bicep. She was a member of the Ignihyde gang, not just some lowly secretary. The girl didn't seem to notice your staring, her eyes were darting across the packed rooms. "Those two bottom feeders seem to be occupied" she mumbled more so to herself. "That would just leave Ortho," cupping her hands around her mouth she yelled over the roaring music and endless chatter. In moments a young-looking boy skipped over....except he wasn't a boy at all! You're eyes frantically scanned the boy's stark white body. His feet resembled hooves more than usual feet. Half his face was covered by a muzzle of sorts that blended in the snowy appearance of his torso.

"Ortho, be a dear and show this young lady around, she's new and wants to earn some quick cash." No sooner had the words left her mouth that her attention jolted back to the hovering screens, back to scrolling through names and credits. "Right this way miss" The young boy, who you presumed was named Ortho called, somehow he'd already skipped ahead. You rushed over to him, following this the shine that the metal of his body emitted. "And this is the blackjack table, my big brother is in charge of running games, let's stop by and say hi!!" "O-okay"

In the past nineteen minutes that you had met Ortho, all the young boy talked about was his "amazing older brother". How wonderful this man must be to have engraved his presence so deeply in the mind of such a young...child. Steadily you followed Ortho over to a green table in the middle of the room. Arching over the soft green table was a black neon sign with bold white lights spelling out the word "BLACKJACK". Tiny money chips and playing cards flashed around haphazardly.

Ortho ran up to the table, slapping his palms on the fuzzy surface, sending frail cards flying in all directions. "Big brother! I met a new girl a the door! She's so nice, a bit quiet but she's so sweet! Hey, big brother do you want to meet her? Do you? Hey (y/n) come over here! This is my big brother Idia!"

Dame that boy really could talk a mile a minute couldn't he? Tensely you eyed the tall man that Ortho was talking to. It took a minute for everything to click. The blue hair that resembled wild flames, dark yellow grief-filled eyes, and teeth as sharp as a shark's, it had to be him!

Idia Shroud the inherited leader of the Ignyhide gang, sister organization to the avaricious Octavinelle and owner of the Underworld casinos.

The man was rarely seen in public, it was rumored that he suffered from a strange curse which is why he remained locked up in his mansion most of his life. Yet here he was, nodding along to the ramblings of his....younger brother? For a split second his golden orbs darted towards you, absorbing every detail of your frame before returning to his brother. You stifled down a yelp, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself. Endless minutes seemed to scurry by as Ortho drowned on about every little thing he had noticed about, every theory for why you walked like there was a gun pointed at your head, or why your eyes lingered longer the 0.58 seconds on every someone every time they started celebrating their victories.  It was mind-numbing, you wondered how Idia could just nod along without bang his head on the table out of annoyance.

"Hey" You felt a sharp tung on your arm, almost knocking you off your feet. Subconsciously you let out a loud welp, casing the two Shroud brothers to turn to you. You craned your neck trying to look behind you. A tall slender man's fingers where wrapped suffocatingly tightly around your forearm, causing the appendage to turn white. "Are you here to play or just stare at Idia-sama?" his voice bordered in between a threat and a question. His honey-colored eyes glared daggers at you.

You tried to for a coherent answer, your throat only pushing out a few syllables repeatedly like a broken record. "Actually Pain she was just getting ready to play blackjack with me" Idia's voice was creaky and horse, it was like his words were coming from the inside of a damp cave. The flame-haired man's lips pushed apart forming a smile of sorts, displaying his fang-like teeth. The man quickly let go of you, pushing you slightly towards the two brothers. Obediently you took a seat on one of the tall stools. Idia began to shuffle a deck of grayish blue cards, his eyes never once leaving your form. "Come one Pain let's go get them some drinks" Ortho cheered as he capered over to the taller man and guided him into the sea of players. "How much do you want to be?" Idia queried, his long fingers rearranging the deck in a mesmerizing manner. It suddenly occurred to you why you had even come to this suffocating place in the first place. To win some money, to help mother. You shuffled through your purse and scavenged out a crumpled twenty dollar bill, nervously you leaned over the table to pass it to Idia. His thing fingers grasped the bill and shoved it into the pocket of his tuxedo pants. Half-heartedly he tossed you two blue chips and a green one. "Um I think you made a -" he brought a finger to his lips and made a "shushing" noise. You simply gulped and awaited him to pass you your cards.

Hours ticked by, people began to leave, the once crowded room had been reduced to a bored-looking secretary, two bodyguards tossing cards back and forth and a little robot who gazed at the pair at the blackjack table. Glee and sheer excitement pooling in his electronic iris. The game had started out in utter silence, every single sound around the two of you had by some magic faded into the abyss.  You had surprisingly one three rounds gathering a total of one hundred thirty-five dollars, not nearly enough for even a quarter of next month's payment. The next two rounds were one by Idia who didn't even seem to be paying attention to the game. It was around this time that he had reluctantly asked you why you were here. It might have been the optimist in you or maybe the drinks that Ortho and the bodyguards kept serving periodically. But you had cracked, told him everything. How you're mother couldn't make enough to afford three meals a day, how she starved her self to be able to feed you a minimal breakfast and lunch. How the Octavinelle gang had risen the prices on their "protection money" and how you just wanted to help! You were desperate to make life just a tiny bit easier for your mother! Every time one miserable story came to an end there was another waiting to take its spot. Sometimes you swore you saw pity and sadness cross over Idia's features but again that could just be explained by the drinks you had consumed. 

It must have been the third round, Idia had won for the fourth time in a row. You were about to push the few chips you had to his side, when the Ignihyde gang leader slammed his hand on the table, imitating his brother's action from earlier. "I can help!" he blurted but then quickly recalled hunching his shoulders. "I can pay your mother's debts!" Your eyes widen, ears ringing with the mystical words you had just heard. No No No! There was no way in hell that a heartless mob boss would agree to help your family. "W-what do...what do you mean!" for the first time his golden eyes locked with your (e/c) ones. "I'll tell Azul to lower the prices a bit and I'll pay your mother protection money" You jumped to your feet about to hop over the table and hug him! Joy coursed through your body your brain spinning in every direction trying to make sense of what you had just been told! How could a descendant of the "Lord of the dead" harbor such kindness in his heart! "THANK YOU IDIA I--" before you could finish or even get close to him he stuck out a pale arm. "But there's a price", sadness and threads of shock washed over you, of course there was a price. There was always a catch with everything in this city, even kindness didn't come for free. Your eyes lowered staring at your shoes, then his shoes, and back to your shoes. "Which is?" you mumbled. Horrific thoughts flashed through your mind. What was he going to make you do? Force you to work as a waitress in the casino? Maybe a stripper for the VIP lounge? Would he force you to become a prostitute on the street to repay him the money he had so "graciously" offered you!?

A cold sweat began to glisten over your face, just what had you gotten yourself into? You could feel Idia's icy slender finger pinch your chine as he gradually tilted your child up. There was a look of uncertainty on his eerie face. His lips would part, move even but no words would fly out. The once comfortable silence had now turned rotten and began to decay. Finally, the tips of a word became to clumsily fall from his mouth."S-s-stay....stay here with--" his eyes fell to the floor, the quickly swam up to stare into yours with also much faux courage as he could muster up. "Stayherewithme!" he blurted out in a single outstretched breath. It took a moment for your brain to nitpick the words apart, analyze each jumble to comprehend what they meant.

"The lord of the dead use to have a queen, it was said that dispute her being a powerful goddess she could not obstruct the dreadful curse that the Lord of Olympus had bestowed on his younger brother. But her mere presence was more than enough to subdue the pain that he felt." Idia leaned forward, his greying chapped lips brushing against your soft ones, for a second it resembled a kiss. But before your lips fully touched he slithered both hands up, to cup your cheek as he rested his forehead against yours.

"But why me?" You quizzed. After all you had just met him a few hours ago. It didn't add up! From the distance you heard an exhausted sight before a silvery voice yelled.

"You the first girl to talk to him, since he was a kid. So the idiot thinks it's destiny and you are meant to be the spring goddess to his god of the underworld!"

Your eyes went up to meet his, all you had to do was stay with this man until your mother, had saved enough money to lead a comfortable life. Then you could escape and reunite with her once more. Either way he wasn't really leaving you much a choice, even if you decline he could order those two brutish bodyguards to drag you to his mansion and chain you up there. You closed your eyes tightly, he may not show it outwardly but he really was a cold-hearted monster, a fiendish salesman through and through. Dangling you and your family's fortune in front of you and pretending like he was giving you a fair choice.

"I really don't have like time to bat this around I'm kind of on a schedule I got plans for august I need an answer like now!... Going once...Going twice1" Idia declared as his once blue flamed hair began to taint a fiery orange-red.

Your eyes and mouth seemed to have made the choice for you, the second your eyes flashed open your mouth parted and said...

"ALL RIGHT!"

I've never been a gambling man, I've never had the winning hand but for you, I'd lose it all!

[closedafterdark]

Author-Nim if request are open may I request a scenario where mommy Irene takes you as a plus one to a party. Irene had to go somewhere and she left you alone. Suddenly, Jennie walks up to you and starts flirting with you and she ends up touching your crotch. Next thing you know Irene comes from behind and whispers in your ear “I bet you think your acting real cute letting Jennie put her hands over you” she takes you outside and fucks you in front of Jennie

Tonight is the annual celebration dinner for Red Velvet Company. An entire hotel was rented out, much to the annoyance of customers who booked hotel rooms in advance. A sea of upper high class people filled the ballroom, drinking rather expensive wine and talking about golf.

You sighed, standing next to the h’dourves table as you sipped the terrible tasting wine. You felt out of place, black suit and tie dinners were never your forte. Not to mention you were only a guest here, a plus one to your girlfriend and CEO of the company, Bae Joohyun.

“Why the sad face?”

The lovingly soft voice causes you to turn around. You smiled as you saw your girlfriend standing before you. She wore a beautiful red, strapless dress that complimented her milky white skin. Her hair was neatly parted in the middle, not a single bang on her forehead out of place. You were always mesmerized by how beautiful she looked, often times feeling inferior to the beauty that called you her own. She smiled as she saw you admiring her and gives you a soft kiss on the lips.

“Mind telling me why my loving boyfriend is standing next to appetizers by himself?” Joohyun softly asks. She was never one to raise her voice when it was just the two of you.

“I’m sorry, honey. You know I’m never good with these kinds of things” you said.

“I understand. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care for them either” she said, pouting at you. “I’m sorry I had to drag you along to this”

“Babe, don’t be sorry. If anything it should be me who’s apologizing. I’m bringing down the whole mood”

Her large glassy orbs shined brightly, staring at you as her beautiful smile melted all of your troubles away. You both stared at each other, as you bring her hand and caress her cheek softly, pinching it. She laughs and licks her lips, planting her extremely soft lips against yours. The two of you don’t care that it was a public area, exchanging in a passionate and tender kiss. Joohyun moans as your hands caress her exposed back and make their way down to her extremely soft bottom. She pulls you even closer, her tiny right hand making a fist as she hits your chest for caressing her ass while you two were in public.

You both pull away from each other after several minutes, smiling as you push your forehead onto hers softly. Both of you try to catch your breath as you look lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“I love you” Joohyun said.

“I love you too, wife” you replied. You recently started calling Joohyun that, causing her to always giggle as she felt so loved by you. You gave her several more kisses before squeezing her butt softly once more.

She hit your chest as she asked for one more kiss and told you she was going to go to the restroom to freshen up.

You smiled, watching her walk away as her cute butt could be seen through her dress.

“Quite the show you put on just now”

You turned around and saw a woman slightly taller than Joohyun looking at you, her cat eyes seductively alluring. She had nice hips and equally nicer thighs, her outfit a bit more revealing than what others wore. You were happy to see someone else who was familiar to you.

“Hi, Jen. What’s up?”

“Joohyun’s pretty hot” she said, approaching you slowly. “But what’s such a handsome guy like you doing with an old hag like her”

“That’s not cool to talk about my girlfriend that way, Jen”

“I’m just saying” she said as she grabs the knot of your tie and fixes it. “You need a younger pussy to satisfy you”

“Oh yeah?” you asked.

“Yeah” she replied in a dangerously seductive tone. Jennie’s accent always came out whenever she spoke naughtily. “I have a little something planned for you tonight”

“And what might that be?” you said, both of your faces close together as you inhaled Jennie’s intoxicating scent.

Jennie smiles as she plants a kiss on your lips before grabbing the back of your head and whispers into your ear. Your eyes widen as words leave her mouth and begin to process in your brain.

Jennie smiles as she takes your lips once more, her hands roaming your back as you smack her ass hard. She yelps in surprise, causing her to bite your lower lip. You break the connection between you two as Jennie sees your expression.

“I take it you accept my proposition?”

You nod, still stunned. Jennie grins as she takes your hand in hers and brings you outside the ballroom area. She leads you past the various security members assigned to the event until you both find a private bathroom with two stalls.

The moment you lock the door, Jennie captures your lips once more. Her kisses were more aggressive than Joohyun’s, sloppy and full of lust. She takes control by sliding her tongue inside your lips. Your hands find their way back onto her waist, as they naughtily roam every part of her body. You found Jennie’s hips were much wider than Joohyun’s, as your hands return back to their previous location in the ballroom: her bottom. You unbutton her extremely short shorts and massage them, causing Jennie to moan as your cold hands contrast her warm skin.

Jennie’s hands are now around your neck, kissing you hungrily before they find the buttons of your shirt and begin to remove them. When she finally unbuttons the last one, her kisses plant a trail onto your neck as you see your body be marked by her bright red lips. You remove your shirt and tie as she continues to kiss your chest until she finds her way to your abs. She looks at you with lust, smirking as she drops to her knees and finds your bulge in front of her face.

Jennie bites on your tip through the cloth fabric, causing you to moan as she unbuttons your slacks, already having unbuckled them in the ballroom. With one swift motion, she pulls your slacks and boxers down as your throbbing erection hits her cheek. She giggles, as she grasps ahold of your base and licks your tip. You let out a soft moan as you leaned your head back. Jennie’s hands were cold, which felt wonderful on your warm cock. You felt shivers down your spine as you looked down at your former booty call, pure joy and excitement seen on her face as she lathers your cock generously with her spit.

She strokes you in a delightful rhythm, getting aroused from hearing your cock be wet with her spit as well as your moans of satisfaction. She continues as her mouth kisses your balls, making sure they were sloppy before taking each individually in her warm and wet mouth. You let out a longer moan, as she sucked your balls one at a time. Her suction of them was your favorite thing she did to you, hearing the beautiful sound of them being released from her mouth with a loud pop. She moaned as she cupped your scrotum.

“These balls feel so heavy... and all of it just for me” she said.

You wanted to scream as Jennie’s mouth returned to your balls, taking both of them inside her mouth simultaneously. You started to feel lightheaded, forgetting about Joohyun as you watched an old flame give you oral that kept you up at night sometimes. She releases your sack, both of you gasping for air.

She smiles, kissing your tip as she only takes a few seconds to rest before dragging her tongue from the underside of your scrotum to your cock tip. Jennie knew what you liked, flattening her tongue as much as possible while she drew long licks. After several times of doing so, she reaches the tip. Giving you another kiss and licking up your leaking precum, she parts her lips and takes you inside her mouth.

“Holy fuck...” you moan as your cock enters Jennie’s comforting mouth. Her tongue seamlessly glides your underside as she teases you by only taking you halfway before retreating until only your tip is inside her. She looks at you and smiles with her eyes until she pushes her head down and begins slurping on your cock. You smile as inch by inch of you enters Jennie’s slutty mouth.

As you watch her, you notice the differences in techniques between her and Joohyun. Jennie forms an air tight seal on your cock, as her lips contain your shaft. She pools as much spit as possible to warm and wetten your cock. Joohyun preferred deepthroating, wanting you to facefuck her until you came in her mouth. Jennie loved teasing you, methodical in her actions of swiping her tongue across your tip and shaft. She never left your balls unattended, massaging them whenever she sucked your cock or taking them in her mouth whenever she stroked you. Joohyun never was the first to initiate ball play unless you convinced her to do so. Jennie’s blowjobs were imprinted in your memory, you missed the feeling of her mouth on you even though you were happy with Joohyun.

You failed at suppressing the loud moan that escaped your lips.

Jennie’s soft hands leave your balls and grip your thighs harshly as she began to suck your cock at a faster pace. She took you deeper into her mouth, her previously tight seal on you opening up as you felt her spit fall onto your base and balls, staining the floor. The sounds of Jennie gargling on your cock filled the restroom as you look at Jennie’s beautiful brown eyes and see her welling with excitement. She hums through a mouth full of cock, jamming you as far into her throat as she could.

You reached down and caressed her softly, she felt both of your hands on the side of her head as you rapidly force her head up and down your cock. You both maintain eye contact, as you fuck Jennie’s mouth. You loved hearing Jennie gag for you, her eyes spilling out tears of pleasure as her spit clings to her slutty mouth and chin, dripping onto her chest. Her hands remained on your thighs, digging into your skin. You feel yourself reaching a euphoric high as Jennie’s moaned loudly through your cock.

“So this is what you wanted to do...” you heard a woman’s voice say as one of the stalls open. You saw your girlfriend, a sweaty panting mess as her fingers were still inside her.

“N-noona, I...”

You were about to withdraw your cock from Jennie’s mouth as she hits your thigh and forces you to deepthroat her. You moaned as your hands instinctively grip her head and push her deeper.

“Shh. Don’t worry, baby. I’m not mad. In fact... why don’t I join and show this little slut here how mommy takes good care of you” Joohyun said as she gets on her knees next to Jennie.

“Oh, please” Jennie shot back as she regretfully withdrew her mouth from you.

“Daddy likes when his little girl is bad”

[rae-is-typing]

Bravery

Description: Your uncle has to pick you up early from school. A case the BAU is working on lands you in a tough situation.

Characters: reader, the BAU, unnamed officers and school staff

Warnings: non consensual groping, fighting, guns, hostage situation, reader shoots someone for self defense, swearing

Word count: 3.6k

“Hotchner!” 

You glance behind you to see the giant teenage boy stomping towards you, fury radiating off of him. He shoves other students aside. Greasy brown hair falls into his face, he doesn’t bother brushing it aside. You roll your eyes, shut your locker, and shoulder your bag. You begin walking away from him, which fuels his self-righteous anger. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, dumb bitch!” 

You keep a straight face, and keep walking the busy halls of the school. Students had started parting like the red sea, not wanting to be bulldozed by the titan toddler throwing a fit. A hand grips your shoulder hard, forcibly turning you around. You come face to face with an acne covered, pissed off linebacker. His breath smells like rotten egg so much so you physically gag. 

“Listen here, bitch-” He was cut off by you ramming your knee into his crotch. You rip your shoulder away as he doubles over, clutching his balls. Adjusting your bag with a huff, you whip around and walk away, all the while ignoring the gasps and stares you received in the hallway. 

Twenty minutes later, you’re called to the office. You stand up from your desk, grab your things, and march to the office, ready to fight the principal. 

“Y/N, have a seat.” Mrs. Huffman, one of the three secretaries, says. Her wrinkles are amplified by the fake smile gracing her cracked lips. You give a curt nod, taking the uncomfortable seat closest to the door. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, opening it up, and mindlessly scrolling through twitter.

‘Y/N,” Your vice principal, Mr. Roberts, starts, exasperation seeping into his voice. You look up from your phone to see him beckoning you into his office. You get up and walking into his office, dreading what he’s going to say. 

You sit down in front of his desk, and he takes a seat in his. “Tell me what happened in the hall, Y/N.”

“Tyler grabbed my butt before the period ended. I told him off. The bell rang, I left the classroom. He ran after me and grabbed me again. I kneed him in the crotch so he wouldn’t hurt me.” You explain, unable to keep the underlying anger out of your words.

Mr. Roberts sighs. “You can’t assault other students in the hallway, Y/N.”

“I shouldn’t have defended myself?” 

“You shouldn’t resort to violence.”

“I should’ve let it happen?”

“You should’ve waited for a teacher to get involved-”

“So I should’ve let myself get assaulted by someone twice my size without attempting to get myself out of the situation at all?” You challenge once more, anger rising further. 

“You’re a good kid, Y/N. You’re the top of your class, you have a bright future, and you have a clean record. Don’t throw it away because another student bothered you.” “Being groped is being bothered.” You deadpan, unable to keep the utter shock out of your voice. “Tell me, Mr. Roberts, has anyone ever grabbed your ass without consent?” 

His face hardens at your choice of words. “I’ll let you off with a warning. This won’t go on record. If it happens again, I will suspend you. Your uncle will be here soon to pick you up. You can wait in the office for him.” 

You grab your bag, flinging it over your shoulder while you gave him the nastiest look you could muster. Stomping out of the small subsection, you take your previous seat closest to the door. Your leg bounces up and down, your hands shake, and you’re ready to fist fight someone.

It doesn’t take a long time for Aaron to get to your school. His eyes are hard, so is his face. Rain drops fall from his coat as he marches in like a soldier on a mission into the office. His face doesn’t change when he sees you, and he signs you out without a word. You follow him out to the SUV. It’s stormy, rain pounds the sidewalks, and thunder rolls in the distance. 

The ride to his work is quiet at first, filled with tension so thick it chokes you. 

“I was just defending myself.” You say, eyes locked on the storm in front of you. Aaron’s grip on the wheel tightens, making his knuckles appear white.

“This was the worst possible time, Y/N. I understand that you get annoyed by your peers, but this has to stop.” Aaron tries to make his words even, but exasperation drips off of every letter. 

“He grabbed my ass and was going to attack me in the hallway!” You snap, turning to look at him. “Aren’t you always saying that I need to stand up for myself?”

“Not like that. There are better ways-”

“Like what? Letting myself get harassed and not do anything about?” You cut him off, hands still shaking.

“You’re supposed to get an advisor or teacher when this happens.” “Like they’d do anything. They didn’t do anything when Leah was groped in the middle of the gym. They didn’t do anything when Caleb was shoved into a locker after being beat up. They didn’t-”

“That’s enough, Y/N!” It’s his turn to snap. “You used violence when you knew that is against the school’s policy. I understand that you were put into a rough position, but sometimes you have to let it be.” 

Knowing that Aaron won’t back down, you make a noise of aggravation and sit back against the seat. As soon as he parks the car, you throw open the door and storm to the building, completely ignoring the rain that gets in your eyes and soaks your clothes. 

Security is a breeze to get through; everyone knows you and your bag is almost empty. You’re making your way to the bullpen when someone calls to you. 

“Bambina! Why aren’t you in school?” You turn to see Dave pacing towards you carrying a small tray of coffees. He holds his arms out and you step into them gratefully, and he wraps his free arm around you. “What’s the matter?”

“People fucking suck,” You sigh, embracing the older man. 

“Language, darling. Care to elaborate?” He asks as you pull away. You sigh, willing your hands to finally stop shaking from anger.

“Some dumb guy grabbed my butt at the end of class. He was going to do more in the hall, so I kneed him in the dick so he didn’t.” Dave cringes, placing his hand on your back while you walk at a slower pace to the larger area of the bullpen.

“Something tells me that isn’t everything.”

“Aaron doesn’t think I should’ve resorted to violence.” You say, some frustration returning to your voice.

It’s Dave’s turn to sigh. “Your uncle only wants the best for you, Bambina. Violence is a great way to get kicked out of school.”

“It was self-defense.” You defend. “The school system doesn’t see it that way.” “Yeah, well the system is a piece of-” “Y/N, what are you doing here?” You and Dave spot Penelope and Derek walking into the bullpen at the same time as you. You open your mouth to say something, but Peneolope beats you to the punch. 

“N/N, you look upset.” Penelope gasps, rushing forward, the sound of her heels clicking against the tile floor reverberates throughout the busy bullpen. “Oh, my precious thing, what happened? “This guy grabbed my ass, so I kneed him in the balls, and got excused from school.” You say as she cups your face. This is standard behavior from Penelope, in her words you’re ‘A precious bundle of sunshine that I must protect at any cost because you’re one of the only good things left on this deranged planet.’ 

“I’m sorry, N/N. Are you okay?” She all but coos.

“I’m fine, just really frustrated.”

“What a scumbag. What happened to him?” Derek asks.

“No idea, but I hope he feels it for a few days.” You scoff. “If he gets off with nothing, I’m gonna be even more furious.”

The murmurs of agreement that spread throughout the small group is swallowed by the sounds of not only the other BAU agents, but regular police officers too. There are at least six officers, and many other FBI officials. “Am I allowed to know what’s going on?”  You frown.

“Some stuff with the local PD. Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Derek remarks, ruffling your hair to make a point. You smile, batting his hands away. Dave passes out the coffee, and you sit near the group table, pulling out your phone as a distraction. Aaron comes in a moment later.

“Y/N, head up to my office. You don’t need to hear anything about this case.” He says without making eye contact. You don’t respond verbally, only get up, grab your stuff and go to his office. Normally, you’d put up a fight, but you’re barely allowed in the bullpen as is, and you don’t want to sacrifice that privilege. 

His office is clean save for the papers littering his desk. You take a seat on the chair behind the desk, and go back to playing on your phone. 

It’s not long before an alarm goes off. It’s high pitched and shakes the room. Your hands immediately shield your ears from the screeching noise. Officers and agents alike are scrambling out the door, leaving half the BAU and only four officers left. 

One of the officers barks something into a walkie talkie, and the alarm finally shuts off. You relax back into the chair, but keep a watchful eye over the rest of the bullpen.

Within minutes, two new officers have replaced the old ones and are getting in Dave’s face, not trying to hide the fact that they’re arguing about something. Penelope and Spencer are trying to diffuse the situation, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

Then the lights flicker. It starts slow, then gets faster until the lights just give out. The bullpen is now shrouded in darkness, making Aaron’s office pitch black. You’re about to turn on the flashlight on your phone when you hear two loud bangs.

You’ve heard the sound of gunshots before, but that was when your uncle took you to a shooting range in a very controlled environment. Remembering everything Aaron has ever taught you about active shootings, you fall to your knees and hide under the desk. You press you back against the desk, clutching your knees to your chest. Breathing as evenly as you can, you strain your ears for any sound.

Muffled yelling wafts through the air and reaches your strained ears. Two more bangs. The yelling stops. You breathe hitches as tears fill your eyes. Someone is dead, you’re sure of it. Pressing your hand against your mouth, you keep the sounds of your distress at bay.

What feels like hours pass when you hear footsteps coming towards the office. Curling up tighter, you try to make yourself as small as possible. The door is thrown open hitting the wall with a boom. You bite down on your lip, dig your fingernails in the soft flesh of your palm, and hold your breath.

Loud stomps come towards you and stop. “Come out, kid. I know you’re here.” He barks. A few more steps. “You better show yourself or you’ll be sorry.” A couple more steps. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks. Wiping them away, you start to resign yourself to your fate. 

Suddenly, the chair is thrown back and your wrist is grabbed. You yelp sharply as your entire body is torn out from under the desk. An arm wraps around your neck, loose enough so you’re able to breathe, but tight enough so you’re unable to get away.

“Listen hard, okay? You’re going to come downstairs and play nicely while we get what we need, understood.” The man’s breath tickles your neck as he speaks, arm tightening around your neck ever so slightly as the other snakes around your midsection.

“Yes,” You say, desperately trying to keep the rest of your tears in your eyes. 

He drags you down the stairs. Through the little natural light, you can make out a small huddle of people in the middle of the bullpen. A shove to your back makes you land hard on your knees next to the huddle. Pain spreads up your legs and through you wrists, making you wince. Without much time to react, you’re gathered in someone’s arms. They pull you close to them and begin to whisper. 

“It’s okay, Bambina,” It’s Dave, and you want to bawl. You’re supposed to be the tough teenager, not a crying child. All of the adrenaline and anger had faded, leaving you shaking from fear and not indignation. “We’ll get you out of here.”

You can only nod along to the comforting words he whispers. He rubs one hand up and down your back, using the other to press your head against his chest. 

Glancing up, you see three officers. All of them wield what look to be rifles and they circling the group like vultures. There’s a pile of cellphones and weapons in the middle of the pile. You shift, confirming that your phone is still in your back pocket, covered by the sweatshirt you stole from Aaron. 

Suddenly, there’s a noise reverberating through the room. A generic ringtone, something overly obnoxious. You hold your breath and shift again, trying to feel any vibration. It’s not yours. One of the police officers walks out of the room. The other two get closer to the group, compensating for the loss. Dave tightens the grip he has around you. It’s silent for a few minutes. The only thing in the air is tension. You can barely make out the face of Spencer across the circle. He’s doing that thing where he has to sit still, but he’s busy putting two and two together to solve a case. His eyes dart around the room, his fingers drum on his legs, and he’s mouthing something. JJ sits next to him, a very concerned look etched into her face. Penelope is nowhere to be found. 

The sound of weighted footsteps approaches the small circle quickly. The officer that left returns, very infuriated. He holds his rifle close to his side as he once again yanks you to your feet and away from Dave’s protective grip. 

You gasp, immediately struggling. Cries of protest rise from the rest of the BAU. 

“Take me instead,” Dave demands, standing up. “I’m more valuable than her, you’ll get more of what you want if you have an esteemed FBI agent instead of a civilian." 

The officer’s face twists. Without hesitation, he slams the butt onto Dave’s forehead. He crumples to the floor, clutching his now injured head.

You fight tears once again. I need to be strong. I can’t be scared right now. I can’t be scared. I can’t be scared…. Your inner mantra replays in your head as your forced down a narrow hallway, the officer gripping your arm. You walk along with him, breath shallow and tears stuck in your eyes. 

But then you notice something.

A smaller handgun sits loosely in a holster attached to his hip. The grip of the gun is hanging out of the holster, almost falling out with each hurried step. 

If you could just… 

When you turn a corner, he lets go of you. You make your choice in a split second. Surging forward, you grab the grip, turn the safety off, and you pull the trigger. You hit him in the hip just below where a bullet proof vest would be. The you cock the gun and shoot one more time in his thigh. 

As soon as the last shot goes you, turn the safety back on, and begin to sprint. 

The only advantage you have in this situation is your knowledge. Thanks to Penelope and Kevin giving you a very in depth tour of the place when you first started tagging along with Aaron, you know every nook and cranny on this floor, and the ones above you.

With the help of another rush of adrenaline, you easily sprint down the hallway. All semblance of rational thought left your mind. All that’s left is the instinct to run as far and as fast as you can. 

You run until you’ve managed to get up to the top floor of the building. Because of the outage, every door is unlocked, but really heavy. You push the final door with all your might. It doesn’t budge. The blood rushing through you is the only thing that matters, it’s the only thing you hear and the only thing you feel. You give it another shot, using every muscle in your body. There is a loud creak as it finally budges, allowing you to slip inside.

The top floor is the only one you’ve never been in. The little natural light is starting to fade. You need to find a place to hide and find one fast. Jogging down the halls, you find that all of the doors to the offices are closed, and mostly likely locked. 

You swear under your breath, stopping at a corner. You hear the loud creak of the door as it’s opened. Fuck. 

Your blood runs cold. You don’t wait to listen for footsteps this time, you haul ass down the corridor until you’ve come wide area with a ton of doors. You slam your body against the door next to you while turning the handle. Nothing. 

You stumble to the door across from it. Locked as well. You try one last door as you hear footsteps over the blood roaring in your ears. 

Finally. This one is unlocked. You fall inside of an empty room, landing on your knees once more. A pained noise slips from your lips, and you freeze. The footsteps are still coming. You kick the door closed and push yourself into a sitting position next to the hinges.

Once again, you press your shaking hands over your mouth. Heavy breaths come out through your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, a few tears slipping out. You clutch the gun to your chest, slowly taking it off of safety.

At some point during the night’s events, your phone fell out of your pocket. You aren’t sure when, nor are you able to call anyone or tell them you tried your best to stay alive. More tears fall from your eyes. 

You’re going to die. 

Those fuckers are going to get revenge for their buddy, and you’re going to die. 

“Y/N! Y/N are you here?” 

What? You stop breathing for a second, that sounds like Derek. 

“Y/N!” And that’s Spencer. 

You don’t dare move, blink, or breathe as shock envelopes your body.

“Has anyone else found her?” Derek demands, sounding as stressed as ever. “Not yet. Morgan, what if she-” “No, Spencer. Don’t.” Derek’s voice is full of desperation, and mainly fear.

That’s enough for you. You push yourself off the floor with one hand. Opening the door, you get blinded by light. You wince, covering your eyes with your free arm. The bright LED light from their flashlights were a lot to take after not seeing any light for god knows how long. 

"Y/N, oh thank God.” Derek breathes out. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I-I don’t know." 

"C'mere.” He says, wrapping an arm around you. You feel the gun being pulled from your grip. “Spencer, call the others." 

You melt into his embrace as the tears finally fall, steadily and silently.

Downstairs, Aaron paces wildly with red rimming his eyes. The local police department was corrupt and had been after important documents that would lead to incredible opportunities for organized crime. The BAU caught on too late to stop the hostage situation, but when they realized what the officers had been after, they sprung into action.

When the others told him about you being taken by the leader, the gunshots they heard, and the fact that neither of you came back to the bullpen, his mind jumped to the worst. All of their minds did. But when they went searching, they found the leader bleeding out in a hallway, missing a gun with you nowhere to be found. 

Now, Aaron can’t stop pacing. Dave sits close by, injuries tended to. His attempts to comfort his friend fell of deaf ears. 

But Aaron can’t lose you too. He was supposed to keep you safe. He took you in because his brother couldn’t keep you safe. Even with the call from Spencer, he couldn’t believe you were okay until he sees it. He gets his reassurance when he sees the elevator opens. Morgan has an arm around you, bracing you and protecting you from any perceived threat. 

You rush forward when you see him, throwing your arms around his neck. 

“You’re okay.” He says, comforting both you and himself. “I’m sorry,” You choke out. 

“What for?” He asks. That was certainly not the reaction he was expecting. 

“I shot him. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do-”

“Y/N.” Aaron pushes you away from his chest so he can look you in the eyes. “You did what you had to. You were protecting yourself.” You can only nod with tears in your eyes. He brings you back into his arms, fingers carding through your hair for both your comfort and his. You bury your head in his chest, blocking the rest of the world out. 

Everything is going to be okay.

[narniadynasty]

Suddenly there came a most frightful jerk and a noise | When that awful jerk came I thought it was the beginning of a railway accident | I remember thinking it was taking the bend far too fast | There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang | There was a real railway accident | All of you are dead

Edmund sits quietly for a moment on the bed, staring at the painting, wishing for it not to be the end. He glances down to see Lucy give a wavering smile, trying to put on a brave face, and all he can do is shrug a little in return. Eustace smiles a small smile at them, much lighter than before making Edmund square his shoulders before he stands, Lucy rising alongside him as Eustace leads the way out of the room. For a moment it’s only him and Lu left, but while she starts to follow their cousin, he can’t help but take a glance back at the painting, hoping for something.

There is no something though, just a still painting of a ship at sea.

“I guess that’s that, Lu," Edmund says in solemn voice as he finally takes a step through the doorway, heart aching and eyes dry. 

“I guess so,” is all she says as she closes the door behind them with a solemn air.

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Edmund’s quiet in the days after their return. He’s always been the quiet one but now his silences are as heavy as his heart. It isn’t long until Peter shows up on the Scrubb’s doorstep waiting for Lucy and Edmund to join him on the way to the train station to pick up their parents and Susan. Lucy races through the station flitting between people like a bird, leaving Edmund and Peter watching with fondness clear in their eyes. Edmund goes to follow but Peter stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lucy wrote to me about what happened, Ed,” There’s no accusation or question in Peter’s voice about why Edmund hadn’t done so but it doesn’t stop him from feeling the sharp sting of guilt anyway. 

“What of it?" he asks in a low voice. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not here, maybe not ever but Peter doesn’t heed the silent plea in his voice. Peter doesn’t put the conversation off until later, until never. Peter makes the decision, and Edmund follows.

His brother takes a step in front of Edmund so he has no choice but to look at him. “I know it’s hard but you’ll be okay, Ed. You might not be able to go back, but that doesn’t mean you lost everything about Narnia." He says with a raised head and a soft sad smile, no doubt remembering his own final moment in Narnia. Edmund opens his mouth to speak, wanting to convey to his older brother, his High King, just how terribly and deeply he aches but before he can he catches a glimpse over Peter’s shoulder, of Lucy greeting Susan and their parents.

He sees the way Lucy dives straight into Susan’s arms.

He sees the way their parents avert their eyes to hide the minuscule hurt and summon almost believable smiles when Lucy finally turns to them, her hands gesturing widely and shirt untucked.

He takes a deep breath and swallows thickly, vowing to himself right then and there that he’s never the reason that such an expression crosses their faces again.

“I know, Pete,” he says with a smile and before Peter can question him further, before Peter can see how fake his smile really is, he steps around him and walks to where the rest of his family waits.

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Edmund sits quietly, reading at the garden table. A warm breeze sweeps through and he can hear the low soothing humming of his mother drift outwards, to where he sits, from the open window of their house. Lucy’s somehow wound up in the tree again, on one of the highest branches she could, swinging her legs back and forth to a rhythm only she knows while Peter tries to coax her down. Without much success, Edmund notes, because he keeps stopping to laugh at the youngest child’s antics in between the threats to ‘climb up the damn tree' himself to get her. Susan steps out from out the house, wearing a much to big hat for ‘blocking out the sun, Edmund’ despite the fact that ‘the sun went down about an hour ago, Su.' She's dressed in a lovely purple dress her father had bought her months ago.

"Edmund, come on!” Lucy shouts loudly from her a top her new throne, having taken to outright ignoring Peter’s attempts. “Eustace is coming soon and he wants to hear more about our adventures in Narnia!”

For a moment, Edmund is tempted. Tempted to share his stories with the still uncertain young Eustace, who struggles with reconciling who he has become with who he used to be. Tempted to reminiscence about Mr. Tumnus, and the Beavers, and Mr. Fox. He wants to speak about the young Tarkheena, later the Calormen Queen of Archenland, he’d met who was as hard headed as a certain young Pevensie sister. About Philip, his stead, his friend, who would always offer an ear for Edmund and his worries. He wants to describe the beauty of the Cair, their home, their heart. How he’d traversed vast lands and seas even more daring and adventurous than the last. 

For a moment, Edmund is tempted.

But the humming has abruptly cut off. His mother's voice has fallen silent and if he strains  his ears hard, he can hear her quiet shuddering breaths as she tries to collect herself once more, and in that moment he can’t help but think ‘Oh Lucy, you absolute fool.'

For Lucy, Susan, Peter, and Edmund, their time in Narnia was grand and adventurous. But for their mother who knows nothing about that other world, that beautiful world, all she can think of is her children, her babies, leaving and not knowing if she’ll see them again. How she sent them away —for their own safety— but sent away all the same. All she can think is how her children, children who have aged much more than they should have by anything in an old man’s old home, came back to her, different and strange and very much not children anymore.

The association of 'Narnia’, has become synonymous with the fear of never seeing her children again. It means having these much too old souls in these child-like bodies, that look like hers but they’ve grown and barely recognize her anymore, return.

Edmund watches Susan join Peter under the tree and he lets out a sigh as he stands, stretching his arms out. They await his answer eagerly, even Susan and Peter, no doubt excited to tell their adventures to this new audience, even if it is an audience of one.

“How about you tell them for me, Lu?” He asks instead setting his book down as he starts to trek back inside. “You’re a much better storyteller than I am.” He can hear his siblings squabbling over which adventure to tell and when he glances back for a second, regretful, Susan’s eyes meet his and she nods a small nod knowing where he’s going. He smiles, a soft saddened smile before turning back to where his mother, who's stifled sobs grow louder with each step closer, sits, heartbreak heavy in the air.

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"Have you made your decision, Mr. Pevensie?”  the advisor asks him, sitting with interlocked hands resting on the desk before him. Edmund sits quietly on the other, his feet planted solidly on the ground as he gazes around at the very brown coloured small room. He thinks about his future and his family and finds his heart set and mind made.

“Yes,” he says almost without conscious thought. “Law. I want to study law.”

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Edmund’s always been the studious type. And he finds himself quickly falling into a pattern each night, prepping as he must for his exams and future studies.

“Ed, you still have so much time until you actually start!" Peter cries one morning. He’s gotten back from studying with Professor Kirke and he’s bored sitting at home all day while Susan and Lucy have gone out with their mother. “Come on! Let’s go out to town for an hour! Or better yet, Eustace keeps telling us about how he and his new friend, Jill, have had quite the adventure in Narnia! You haven’t heard but...” and here is where Edmund forces himself to stop listening as he falls deeper in the thrall of the intricacies of the legal system. He doesn’t talk much of Narnia aloud anymore, has found himself on the alert to see where his mother and father are every time ‘Narnia’ is mentioned.

Lucy cares about her parents, how can she not when it comes to family, but she’s already grown and lived and Peter and Susan have been the ones to raise her, not mother, not father. She’s the youngest, and the freest, and does not pick up on the falseness of their parents smiles whenever ‘Narnia’ is mentioned. 'A hummingbird, indeed,’ Edmund muses privately to himself as he watches Lucy flit away at something new that has captured her attention, unknowing of the harsh blows she has dealt to her parents, left behind with false smiles slipping into pained frowns and tear-filled eyes. Their mother turns away, fingers raised to her lips as if to smother away the heartbreak that threatens to release, silent in her grief. Their father's hands are clenched into tight fists as he watches Lucy laugh and turn and run, eyes drenched in the colour of sorrow.

Susan’s much more knowledgeable and understanding of her parents and does her best to not bring it up whenever they are home, but mistakes are made as it is bound to happen with an almost taboo word and parents. She slips and finds herself declaring aloud to Edmund one afternoon of how ‘that’s not how we did it in Narnia, Edmund,’ over some mundane thing, oblivious to her parents who have returned, earlier than expected, for the evening. Edmund sees and the smile he had, his Susan-smile freezes abruptly. Susan notices, the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of teeth, because of course she does, a mother to a brother too young. She turns slightly as if shifting her weight but with that small expert movement her hair falls on her side shielding her eyes, as she catches a glimpse of her heartbroken parents behind her. She turns back to Edmund, quiet and sorry, eyes wide and heart broken as their parents take the stairs back to their room, silent.

Peter notices the changes in his middle siblings but he’s been off with Professor Kirke learning the ways of medicine and barely has time around the house anymore. He doesn’t think much of it when he comes home because Lucy is as loud and present as ever. Susan, stubborn and likely to glare daggers at him at the slightest mishap. Edmund has grown taller but that solemn quiet air is still ever present. He doesn’t notice, his mind whirling with new procedures and chemicals and technologies, how ‘Narnia’ is barely mentioned at home. Lucy still brings it up as much as she had before he’d gone. What he doesn’t notice is how Edmund ushers his parents away when he sees that look in Lucy’s eyes, head drooping while as if he shoulders a weight unseen, before she can open her small mouth and tear her parents apart once more. How Susan is quick to use every bit of diplomacy and conversational tactic she’s learned during their reign to get the conversation back to something mundane, something un-Narnian. He doesn’t notice because Susan still talks about Narnia with him when it’s just the four of them or they’re out of the house, away from their parents keen ears and fragile hearts. He doesn’t notice because Edmund still listens when they meet and speak of Narnia. He doesn’t notice how Edmund barely contributes to these talks anymore, how he’s always citing ‘homework’ as an excuse to leave as fast as he can. He doesn’t notice.

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Susan stands in the doorway of his room, one foot in and one foot out.

“Edmund,” her gentle voice flows through the slightly too warm room, soothing an itch in his skin he didn’t notice. He turns from his seat at his desk where he’d been buried in more and more books than usual. “Are you quite sure you don’t want to join us?” He can hear Peter’s voice drifting through the open doorway, loud and exasperated as he tries and gets Lucy to wait for him and Susan. He can hear Lucy’s quick steps as she goes for the door chanting "Let’s go let’s go let’s go-”

Edmund looks at her in confusion at first, mind still whirling with the new information he’s spent hours learning. It takes him a moment, a moment where Susan looks at him cautiously hopeful, a moment where Peter and Lucy’s voices grow smaller as they step out of the house, but he remembers all the same. Remembers about the regular meet up with the Professor Kirke, because he would always be Professor, and the others. Remembers how Ms. Polly Plummer would be the one to greet them at the door and how she’d usher them in with kind hands and an even kinder smile. Remembers how Eustace had taken to being accompanied by Jill after their own adventure together, how they’d barge in rushing past the Pevensie siblings, Jill leading. For a moment he wants, wants to say yes, wants to be there in step with Peter, Susan, and Lucy, wants to see the Professor’s twinkling eyes with still so many adventures to share, wants to stifle his laughter as he hears Jill and Eustace being scolded for their running in the house by Ms. Polly in the other room.

But then reality hits, as it often does, with a sharp smack on an unsuspecting face.

He remembers his assignments and readings and deadlines. He remembers how he’d promised his mates he’d be there for the next town trip seeing as he’d missed out on the last two, for his studies. He remembers his Professors expectations and imagines their frowns if he fails.

“I’m sure, Su. Maybe next time.” he says with a soft forlorn smile turning back to his studies once more without another glance. He hears her dejected sigh but is already slipping back the books of statistics and origins of different laws that he can’t bring himself to give her another glance.

(He’ll wish he had later.)

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There is a knocking on the house door that won’t stop. A sense of unease seeps through him as he realizes that there is no other voice in the house. No steps rushing to the door to see who’s there. No noise except for his all too loud breathing in a much too silent home.

He goes to answer, finding it strange how his parents haven’t returned from their visit at Aunt Alberta’s. ‘Strange,’ he repeats to himself wondering about his siblings absence because it is already much later than they usually stay out during the Narnia roundups.

He reaches the door and finds himself pausing without a clue why. His heart skips a beat and fear creeps its way in. He swallows in the heavy silence, calling himself a fool for thinking for even a second that something’s wrong.

‘They’ll be home soon,’ he tries to assure himself. He gathers his courage and grips the doorknob hard and pulls it open in one quick movement, knowing without knowing why, that if he doesn’t at that moment, he’ll never open it.

On the doorstep stands an officer

...and Edmund’s heart breaks.

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The funerals took place over an hour ago.

He’s at his Aunt and Uncle’s, but finds himself hiding out in the upstairs room to get away from all the condolences and pity. He’d wanted to get away for just a moment, just one, and had bolted the first chance he’d gotten, his mates offering a distraction from anyone who’d notice.

He’d taken the stairs two at a time and walked quickly as fast as he could and opened the first door he could think of when he’d finally slowed to a stop and couldn’t go up anymore. He shuts the door with a shuddering sob before realization crashes through him as he turns around.

Lucy’s room.

He’s in Lucy’s old room.

Lucy’s room from when they’d stayed with their Aunt and Uncle in what feels like a lifetime ago. Where he’d hide out from Eustace every chance he could before they’d gone on an adventure together. Where he and Lu would read Susan letters, always together. Where they’d talk about the adventures that Peter was in for after when he would finally finish his studies with the Professor. Where parcels from his parents would remain unopened until Lucy was finally awake. Where Lucy smuggled cakes and candies and everything sugary stealthily before their Aunt could see.

Lucy’s room with the floral bedspread and almost white walls.

Lucy’s room with a photograph of Susan and Peter, smiling, before boarding a train to their schools forever ago, on the bedside table.

Lucy’s room with a painting of a ship at sea.