#the fae flash but for shifting too so maybe it’s just magic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosegoldorigins · 18 days ago

Text

MCYT Halloween Gift Exchange 2024

For VoidRatWrites!

Happy secret gift exchange @voidratwrites! I hope you like this! :D

@mcyt-halloween

Notes:

Boo! I hit you with the fluff! (And a dash of angst like sprinkles on a sundae)

I don't know how spooky this is >~< I got carried away playing with your prompts so forgot this was a spooktober fic.

Prompts:

DreamSMP - SBI (Dark SBI optional) - Fae AU - Shapeshifter Tommy - Give some power back to Tommy. Don't let him get bullied.

Title- You Got Too Close (And That's Not Fair. I Fell For You)

Summary- Shapeshifter Tommy got himself in a mess with the Fae.

He could admit it was his fault!

The forced contract was expected. The love and care they gave him was not...

Maybe that wasn’t such an issue for humans. Tommy wouldn’t know, he didn’t masquerade as one often, but as a shapeshifter he get into deep trouble fast just by shifting into the right form and passing security.

-----

Tommy’s problem as a shapeshifter was he was always so curious.

He’d done it again. He’d slipped past initial impressions and modified his form to copy exactly what was in front of him. Even… even magic.

This was his biggest con yet he thought as he met the eyes of a fae. His bright pink hair and sharp red eyes made the world around him look more vibrant when Tommy stared at him head on.

Tommy was doing that too… He imagined the powerful creature was seeing a dazzling blonde fae with mesmerising blue irises, light shifting around him to highlight all his best angles.

Tommy wasn’t a fae. He wasn’t anything even close to a fae and though the ancient being before him could sniff his kind from a mile away Tommy was fooling him. He’d copied too perfectly. His magic smelled the exact same.

Tommy grinned flashing his sharp teeth. The fae sighed rolling his eyes as elegantly as royalty.

“How did you get in here?” Techno asked.

“I’m a mastermind!” Tommy teased. “A stealth artist and a-“

“Thief.” The fae supplied.

“I haven’t stolen anything!” Tommy refuted.

“Not yet.”

“I ain’t no thief!” Tommy shouted throwing his arms out and making magic sparkle around him.

God that didn’t happen for lesser fae, he checked in on Techno and saw his eyebrow raise. He’d noticed too. Tommy was ‘powerful’ by fae standards.

“I came to see what all the fuss was about! A ball? And I wasn’t invited?!” He acted appalled.

“You are nothing here.” Techno turned his head away dismissively. “You hold no land and no title why would I invite you?”

“I’ve got titles! Plenty of titles!”

“Like?” Techno tilted his head just enough to catch his eye over his shoulder.

“Like- like I’d tell you.” Tommy crossed his arms.

He knew anything he said would catch him out. Fae social classes were nothing like a dragons or racoons. You didn’t fight like a savage to get what you wanted, you spun tales and found loopholes to break your enemies apart.

Techno scoffed walking away.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted. “I wasn’t done talking to you!”

Techno ignored him as he traveled smoothly down the hall.

“You’re being rude!”

The fae froze like a spell was cast over him. As Tommy caught up the tension in Techno’s shoulders fled and he looked him over meaningfully.

“Apologies.” He said automatically.

“You don’t mean it.” Tommy bared a fang with a hiss.

The fae blinked at him, surprised by the feral sound. He turned slowly and bowed slightly keeping his eyes on Tommy.

“I am sincere in my apologies…” Techno said carefully. “I merely felt your lack of cooperation in the conversation was…” He considered his next words.

“Lack of cooperation?” Tommy spat. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Your titles.” Techno replied testily. “You didn’t share them.” He stood with a flourish of his hands. Tommy was jealous on how he could settle his clothes and hair so easily, even his copious amounts of jewellery didn’t jingle unless he commanded them to.

“Look Techno.” Tommy glared at him. “You didn’t greet me properly when I entered your territory, you called me a thief and you’ve been dismissing me for months now on the basis that I don’t meet your standards.”

He could feel his eyes heat up as magic fizzled in the air, this wasn’t something a shapeshifter was able to do. Sure he could copy visuals, pick up culture and language in a cinch but magic was always meant to be basic. This wasn’t basic. The fae’s eyes widened minutely. Tommy was presenting as powerful.

“Have you ever considered that my lack of cooperation stems from your behaviour?” Tommy growled. “If you treated me nicer maybe we wouldn’t be butting heads all the time!”

The fae bowed deeper making Tommy’s magic fizzle out in shock.

Techno never bowed… Sure the small one he’d done before was given to a million fae to appease testy lords and ladies. Even his swift dry apology was commonplace but a deep bow?

“I atone for my sins.” Techno said hurriedly. “It is a dishonour that I couldn’t pick up the strength of your power. You are clearly remarkable-”

“As all the others.” Tommy huffed crossing his arms. He taped his finger with a frown. He didn’t like this new behaviour in the fae, Techno bowed to no one… least of all a shapeshifter.

Techno looked up in surprise. Tommy’s magic was gone. He’d let it disappear into the aether.

A shapeshifter’s magic only worked for short sharp displays. It was all visual. All a lie. Techno straightened.

“Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Would you like to join me?” He waved down the hall.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he looked to him.

“I was heading to the training grounds.” The fae said awkwardly. “Balls were never quite my thing…”

Tommy lit up. “Sure big man!” He bounced up beside him. “Lead the way!” He laughed.

The simple earing in his right ear jingled at his swift movements. Techno’s eyes drew to it for a moment.

“Alright…” Techno began walking again.

“How good are you with a sword?” Tommy asked. “I’m the best.” He puffed his chest out.

“Really?” Techno deadpanned. “Do you not know who I am?”

“Enlighten me.” Tommy teased. “The legends have slipped my mind.”

Techno was widely popular for his strength in battle. He bowed to no one because he could kill faster than a fae could mutter a curse. Tommy knew all this. The fae was dangerous and for some twisted reason it drew Tommy in more than it warned him away.

Tommy got what he wanted. He was fighting the fae known best for his bloodshed.

If Tommy thought too hard he couldn’t pinpoint why he wanted it so bad. Why his curiosity urged him to test the boundaries of the strongest creature alive.

Tommy threw Techno’s attack off, swinging his sword and deflecting every blow.

The fae was smiling. Tommy couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile. Not with other powerful fae, not with the High King or even with the soldiers he trained.

Tommy forced Techno’s steps to slide back and he twirled around his opponent to test his reflexes.

The fae was fast, smart, he didn’t take the bait and body slammed Tommy as he got too close.

Tommy kept his footing even as the fae charged forward and he saw the glint in Techno’s eye that he was enjoying the challenge.

Tommy was enjoying it too…

As the fae fought harder his magic turned his aura red. Techno’s hair turned darker, his eyes shifted colour and his clothes looked like the spilt blood of a thousand battles. Even his jewellery shifted in tune to his fighting. Tommy grinned latching onto his power to soak up every piece of magic he could take.

He didn’t realise how it was turning him red too. His eyes and hair changed, his clothes moved with him like a second skin as his sword shone brighter and his teeth turned sharper.

Techno was delighted and Tommy matched him like every shapeshifter was naturally inclined to do.

As the battle progressed the strength of their magic grew. It burst in waves with each hit of their weapons drawing in curious souls.

They gained an audience…

Tommy taunted and bantered parrying the fae’s sword and striking at his openings. Neither of them got hit and it made Tommy wonder how he fought a little too well for his experience.

The realisation made him stumble and Techno took the opening enthusiastically.

Tommy was thrown to the ground and he gasped as the wind left him.

He’d been hit with a magical attack not just a physical one so his form disappeared in a moments notice leaving him raw and open.

He heaved looking up to meet those red eyes that offered him such a tantalising challenge. The fae was shocked and disgusted.

“Shapeshifter.” He growled.

“Tech-“ Tommy wheezed. “I’m-“

The fae marched towards him grabbing the collar of his shirt and lifting him up.

“You dare deceive me?! Do you know who I am? What I’m capable of?!”

“Yes, yes, I do.” Tommy grabbed his wrists weakly. His powers were still feeding off Techno’s. He could feel his form rippling just as the fae shook him.

“Stop that!”

“I can’t!” Tommy gasped. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” He bowed his head.

Within a moment he was the same fae as before. Blonde hair sparkling unnaturally, blue eyes aimed at the floor.

The audience around them were chattering and hissing at the imposter among their midst. Techno had to kill him. This was a display now. A public execution.

Techno rattled a growl as he pulled Tommy closer to his face. The shapeshifter flinched at his hot breath and sharp teeth.

“Why did you do it?” Techno asked quietly.

Tommy shivered as he shifted his grip on the fae’s wrists. “I don’t know…” He closed his eyes helplessly.

“Give me a better answer than that!” Techno hissed in offence.

“I-“ Tommy’s shoulders curled up. “I got drawn in!” He shook his head. “It’s stupid, stupid. I knew it was dangerous. I knew you would get angry!”

“Then why did you do it?!” Techno insisted.

“Because of you!” Tommy admitted. He met the fae’s eyes and his breath caught. The red reminded him of a vampires and it so enticingly held his attention like a thrall. That was the power of the fae. Their beauty enraptured you until it was too late. Until you were too close.

Tommy was too close…

“Me?” Techno replied flatly.

“You… are the best of the best.” Tommy said slowly. “You are the strongest and the most fascinating. Even from a distance…” He swallowed. “I guess I got tricked didn’t I?” He chuckled. “Fell for your charm like every other stupid human.”

The fae narrowed his eyes. “You really are a thief.” He said.

Tommy exhaled losing the adrenaline in his body. “Yeah…” He agreed. “All I wanted was your attention.” He grit his teeth. “I got what I wanted…” He tilted his head to bare his neck.

Tommy had shifted into many creatures in his lifetime. Simple animals, magical entities and proud predators. There was a universal language amongst all of them even when Tommy acted as prey.

Techno’s eyes widened at his submission. Fae were too proud to ever bare their weaknesses for the world to see.

His grip on Tommy’s shirt tightened then within a blink he stepped forward and warped into the castle.

Tommy spluttered. “What- How?”

“You aren’t after my magic…” Techno said curiously. Tommy swallowed as the fae looked him over. “And you have no bad intent…” He said in surprise.

“I-“

Techno dropped him to the floor making him gasp.

Tommy watched as Techno moved to the window. He looked over the crowd in his courtyard, all angry and growling at each other.

“I’m sorry…” Tommy said weakly.

The fae hummed tilting his head as the door burst open.

“Techno!”

Tommy whipped his head to the newcomer. It was the fae’s brother.

Wilbur met Techno’s eye then when their expressions flashed in silent communication he turned his sharp gaze to Tommy.

“Shapeshifter.” He growled in disgust.

Tommy dipped his head. It wasn’t surprising the fae hated shapeshifters, nearly every species disowned and exiled him from their ranks.

The fae’s feet entered his vision and he bowed his head deeper making Wilbur scoff. “Have you no pride?”

Tommy flinched and looked up. “What?”

“I heard you bared your neck to my brother and now you bow your head to me? If there’s one thing you should know about the fae is we hate weakness.”

Tommy looked carefully to Techno then flicked his eyes back to Wilbur. “You… want me to fight you?” He asked.

“I want you to defend yourself.” Wilbur corrected with a hiss. He threw his foot forward and Tommy dodged staring up at him with wide eyes from the floor.

“That’s better.” Wilbur nodded. He turned to Techno and joined his side. “So why is he still alive?”

Techno scoffed looking Tommy over. “He is… strong.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes at his answer. “Always so easily impressed Techno.” He walked over to the window. “Dad’s not going to be happy about this.”

Tommy looked between them in confusion.

“I think dad will be quite happy actually.” Techno jabbed at his brother.

Wilbur shrugged as he kept watching the commotion outside. “You’ve made a mess for me to clean up.”

“You enjoy the work.” Techno sighed.

Wilbur grinned. “Maybe I do…” He conceded. “But I didn’t ask for more fuel to the fire.” He slid his eyes to Tommy. “You’re going to be the talk of the century. I hope you like popularity.”

Tommy shivered.

The door opened again and in came the High King. Tommy bowed his head swiftly freaking out that the most powerful creature in all of fae kind was in the same room as him.

“Your majesty.” Techno mocked as he crossed his arms.

“Techno.” The King said amused.

Wilbur made a dramatic bow. “Evening dad.” He cocked his head. “Wonderful day for some drama don’t you think?”

Tommy paled at the two princes greeting their father. Tommy knew Techno was a general and one of the most highly respected fae in all the land but a prince?

“What do we have here?” The King asked towards Tommy.

“A shapeshifter.” Wilbur bounced over to his brothers shoulder. “And guess who wants to keep him?”

“Keep?” Tommy couldn’t help blurting out. He tensed at the High King’s eyes on him but he was too busy looking to Techno for a sign this was a misunderstanding.

Techno was watching him closely. “You think I’d let you go?”

“You think I’d accept being kept?” Tommy spat. He could feel his magic flaring again. Three powerful fae were in the room and Tommy was matching their energy. His eyes turned black and his aura turned red as his hair floated around his face. “I’m not an animal.” His voice echoed with power.

“Really?” Wilbur hummed. “I thought that’s what your species were well known for,” He smiled. “Filthy little animals that steal and cheat and lie-“

“Wilbur that’s enough-“ The King interrupted.

Tommy shot his hand out throwing a burst of magic at Wilbur’s face. The fae grinned as it flew towards him, Techno’s hand reaching out and intercepting the blow.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he looked to Techno. The fae was shaking his hand out with a frown at him. “So you are using my magic.” He said.

Tommy bared his teeth. “I’m using my own actually.” He growled.

“How does that work?” Wilbur asked curiously.

Tommy’s spine straightened. He was appalled they were having this conversation. He moved his eyes to the High King then pouted at Techno.

“I’m leaving.” He declared.

“Be my guest.” Techno waved his arm out.

Tommy stood and balled his hands into fists. Something was off here. Fae were all about tricks.

“Before you go…” Techno said idly. “I believe you owe me a deal for your deception.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Tommy growled.

“Don’t you?” Techno acted surprised. “You entered my land without stating your true nature, you sparred me in my own court and used my own magic against me.” His eyes turned dark as he glared at Tommy. “You’ve caused me a mess that needs to be dealt with.” He waved outside to the fae that would be gossiping and jeering at Techno’s behaviour. He should’ve publicly executed Tommy. That was tradition for a non fae infiltrating a court. It was an insult.

Tommy frowned and thought it over.

“I suppose…” He conceded. If he gave Techno his deal there would be no debt. Tommy wouldn’t be hunted down.

It was risky to make a deal with the fae but it was riskier to leave indebted to the prince.

Tommy straightened and let the magic he’d gathered settle properly into his form. He was as honest and deceiving as Techno now. They were on even ground.

“What do you propose?” Tommy asked carefully.

Techno grinned sharply. “Will?” He tilted his head to his brother.

Wilbur happily stepped forward. “We want your name.” He held his hand out. “Just to start easy.” He said innocently.

Tommy frowned at him. “You can call me Tommy.” He replied.

It wasn’t his True Name and Wilbur could tell. He pouted in disappointment.

“Is our deal fulfilled?” Tommy asked.

“Oh heavens no.” Wilbur smiled. “There should be terms. Give and take on both sides no?”

Tommy glared at him. “Your next words will be under contract.” He warned. “Don’t ask for things that do not relieve my debt.”

Wilbur giggled giddily. “Said like a true fae.” He stepped closer. “Well then… Tommy.” He said for emphasis. “The terms are as follows, you get to keep your life and we clean up the social mess outside,” He smiled. “for your returned presence at the castle for as long as you deceived us. Do you agree to those terms?”

Tommy pinched his lips thinking the deal over. Wilbur was a master of words. It was well known that if you wanted to succeed in your end of a deal you went to Techno not Will.

“I do not agree to those terms.” He decided.

All the fae in the room tensed, eyes glowing with magic.

“Instead I offer new terms.” Tommy appeased. “I will stay only for as long as I deceived you.” He stated. “Afterwards I am free without pursuit.” He gave Techno a meaningful look. “During my time in this castle I do no have to do anything you say.” He narrowed his eyes at Wilbur. “I am independent with no influence or magical sway. I will be safe.” He carefully looked to the High King. “And I will be treated with respect. You will protect me from any dishonour fae outside our agreement give me. And in return…” He sighed. “I will help clean up the social mess I’ve made.” He met Techno’s eye. “Do you agree to these terms?” He asked.

Technoblade smiled at him then passed a look to his brother.

Wilbur nodded and Techno stepped forward with his hand held out. “I agree to those terms.” He said.

Tommy took his hand and their contract locked into place. Tommy could feel it in his magic. He was bound to the terms he’d set. He couldn’t leave before his three months was up.

“Great.” Tommy withdrew his hand and rubbed it on his clothes. “It’s an honour and all that.” He rolled his eyes.

Techno scoffed.

“Do I get a room?” He checked.

He technically hadn’t asked for one so it was well within their right to make him sleep on the floor. Then again… would that be a breach of ‘treating him with respect?’

“Ha ha! Already so demanding!” Wilbur laughed as he flourished his hands. “These next few months will be a treat!” He gave a pointed look to his father.

The High King was watching Tommy closely, it was the most terrifying experience to exist under his gaze.

“I suppose I have some basic guest rooms you could use.” Techno drawled. “But don’t expect anything lavish.” He warned.

Tommy crossed his arms. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He scowled at Wilbur. “Fae don’t like shapeshifters after all.”

Turns out the fae really liked Tommy. Techno was fascinated by his magic and fighting, Wilbur was interested in how Tommy used his shifting abilities and Phil liked having something new going on in his court. They’d never had a shapeshifter stick around.

Tommy expected scorn and vitriol from the High King and his sons but they didn’t struggle at all with the terms he’d set. They respected him, they defended him against other fae and they made no move to hypnotise or cast a spell on him.

Tommy was having to adjust to them looking after him. They sought him out and gave him all he needed, they gave him entertainment and taught him a thing or two about how fae worked. It was nothing like how he expected things to go. The ‘social mess’ he was tasked to clean up was fixed swiftly in his first week of staying with them. Wilbur knew exactly how to cut arguments off and the power of Phil’s status left no room for the fae to budge on the family’s decision.

It wasn’t up for debate… a shapeshifter had entered their ranks and Technoblade had struck a deal with the critter. No one knew what the deal was but they were smart enough not to stick their noses where they didn’t belong.

Tommy’s only responsibility was staying on Technoblade’s territory until his time was up. It was exceptionally easy and he was waiting for the other ball to drop.

He was enjoying himself… and when he enjoyed himself that’s when things went bad.

The last month of Tommy’s stay was the best he’d ever experienced with a group that wasn’t his own species. The fae gave him passing pats, messing with his hair and pulling him into side hugs. They each had a special bond with Tommy and the boy had grown more in his skills and identity than he’d ever done in his whole time on earth.

He was missing them even as he still spent time with them knowing it had to end at some point.

He couldn’t live as a fae… he wasn’t one. (And they knew that. They were immensely accepting of his shapeshifter abilities. He got to be whatever he wanted, when he wanted.)

Tommy couldn’t gather the words to say how he felt. How he yearned to stay with them. How he wanted to keep having what they gave him.

The time came when his contract was up and Tommy left with a swift goodbye. He couldn’t handle doing it slow. He didn’t want to drag out the pain.

They didn’t follow him. Tommy knew they couldn’t but it still stung. This was his decision. Could he risk going back? Could he risk learning that the past three months was a ruse? That they’d never actually cared for him?

Tommy lasted a week. It was all he could do before his loneliness consumed him. He snuck into Techno’s room.

“Techno.”

Techno looked up and locked eyes with him immediately.

Tommy bobbed his head, dropping from the ceiling and shifting from the lemur he’d been to the fae he often presented as.

“H-hey.” He fiddled with his hands nervously.

“Hey.” Techno smiled.

Tommy didn’t know what to say further than that. He wasn’t able to spy on them and gather courage after observing, the fae would be able to sense him too easily. This was the only way he could get answers.

“How… how are you?” Tommy tilted his head so he was looking past his fringe at the fae. He knew he shouldn’t be here, there was nothing owed between them, sticking around was begging for another mistake to strike.

“I’m well…” Techno said slowly. It was a tell that he was lying. Techno was trying to find a loophole.

Tommy stiffened and looked up at him properly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Techno chuckled waving his hands. “It’s a small problem. Should take no time at all to fix.”

Tommy nodded dropping his shoulders. “That’s good.” He sighed. “Can I help in any way?”

Techno’s lips pinched. “You already are…” He admitted.

Tommy frowned.

He was already…? Oh.

“Did you… were you missing me?” He asked.

Techno snorted looking him over fondly. “You could say that…”

Tommy smiled and stepped forward. “Right.” He said with more confidence. “Because the great Techno, Fae of Blood and War doesn’t have feelings like that.” He joked.

Techno embraced him as soon as Tommy was close and he melted dropping his head onto his. “No.” He agreed. “It’s nothing like that.”

Tommy snickered hugging the fae back. “It was a week loser.”

Techno squeezed him and growled lowly. “That’s only as long as you were able to keep away.”

“Hey!” Tommy looked up at him indignantly. “That’s not-!”

Techno gave him a look.

Tommy coughed avoiding his eye. “You’re only kinda close.”

“Right.” Techno replied amused. “Because the great Tommy is unpredictable.”

“Exactly!” Tommy shouted. “I’ll hear no further slander!”

The fae chuckled, his voice ringing with power. “It’s good to have you back Tommy…” He looked the boy over. “You-“ He swallowed.

Tommy met his eye and saw something conflicted swirl within them.

“I want to give you my True Name.” Techno said.

“What?!” Tommy stepped back. “Techno no-!”

“Please.” Techno closed his eyes as Tommy left his arms. He opened them to smile at him sadly. “I need to know you can call upon me if you need. Even if you never want me around… I need you to have access to me.”

Tommy’s body trembled at the thought. Such devotion meant Techno wasn’t tricking him. The fae didn’t even ask for a trade. He wasn’t asking Tommy to return the favour, Techno only wanted him to have access to him.

“I-“ He said.

Techno held his hand out and Tommy placed his hand in his automatically.

“Tommy…” Techno exhaled. “I am giving you my True Name freely and without pain.” He looked up at his face. “It’s Technoblade.”

Tommy felt the fae’s magic wash over him, Techno’s True Name was his now. His to own and his to use.

“I’m giving mine in return under the same conditions.” Tommy stated. Techno’s eyes widened in surprise as Tommy tightened his grip. “It’s TommyInnit.”

Tommy felt his magic recede for just a moment to fill Techno up. The fae rolled his shoulders realising what Tommy meant when he said his magic was his own.

They were both red fae but there was a contrast.

Techno’s power was born from bloodshed and fighting, Tommy’s power came from fighting too but it was a different form, a type of survival that every shapeshifter was familiar with. Desperation.

Tommy could shift and steal like his life depended on it because it always did. He could mimic to look exactly like Techno and he could become a carbon copy of any fae in the court so they would accept him.

Tommy had been shifting his whole life and never found acceptance. Techno was the first one to show him what that felt like.

“TommyInnit.” Techno smiled.

“Technoblade." Tommy grinned back.

“I can't believe…” Techno shook his head.

“I guess Wilbur is going to have a field day with this.” Tommy joked. “He always said we were like brothers.

Techno pouted. “Can I own your name for a little longer without him having it too? He’s going to be such a pain about this.”

Tommy held back a laugh at Techno’s pettiness. He really was a fae no matter how much he said he felt disconnected from his kind. How long did he expect to have the sole privilege of owning his name?

“I guess a few more moments can’t hurt.” Tommy shrugged.

Techno pulled him into a hug and held him tight. “Can you stay?” He asked weakly like he expected a rejection.

“Mm.” Tommy pretended to think about it. “You do realise I just signed my True Name over right? I think that’s a pretty big hint that I’m staying.”

Techno pulled away slightly to look at him. “You… you don’t want to run away?” He asked.

“Why would I?” Tommy shrugged. “What’s a shapeshifter got out there that’s better than in here?”

Techno smiled sadly. “Freedom?”

Tommy gripped his arms and kept his gaze steady. “And a whole world aiming knives at my back.” He reminded.

Techno’s face fell. “You’re so strong Tommy…”

“But I don’t have to be when I have you.” Tommy said.

Technoblade blinked. “I suppose not…” He thought back to all the fae that had tried to kill Tommy. Wilbur and him had beheaded every last one of them.

“So I’m staying.” Tommy smiled. “And truthfully…” He looked away bashfully. “I’m glad you want me too. I thought…”

Techno snorted and bumped heads with him. “We all fell for you pretty fast Tommy… None of those three months was a lie.”

“That’s good to know.” Tommy leaned more into Techno’s embrace. “I was kinda worried.”

Techno squeezed him. “That’s fair.”

“But like you told me before…” Tommy reminded. “None of us are monsters.”

“No.” Techno chuckled. “Not me and certainly not you.”

Tommy hummed in disbelief. It would take some time to unlearn the hate he’d been given but at least he had the fae to help him.

“I love you big brother Techno.” He joked.

“I love you Tommy.” The fae replied. He was wholly serious when he said it.

Tommy hugged him tighter to let him know he returned the sentiment.

He loved his new family even as he struggled to get the words out.

He couldn’t wait to share his True Name with the others.

-----

I hope you enjoyed VoidRatWrites! :D I loved your prompts and I feel like we like the same DreamSMP/SBI stuff! Let me know what you thought! I tried to keep it short and sweet ^-^

[As always this story is purely for fun and to progress my writing skills in a topic I enjoy. These are my characters and have nothing to do with the content creators]

You can find more of my work on AO3! (I'm still new to Tumblr so I haven't posted much here)

I appreciate all comments and interactions! <3

#mcythalloween2024 #Tommyinnit #Technoblade #Wilbur Soot #philza #philza minecraft #Shapeshifter Tommyinnit #Fae Technoblade #Fae Wilbur Soot #Fae Philza #found family #fluff #hurt/comfort #fic #rosegoldorigins writing #ao3 fanfic #gift exchange #event fic

10 notes · View notes

we-dragons · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 22

The boy looks at me incredulously, as if he didn't believe a word from my mouth.

"You mean to tell me that the people who ran that dinky place you live in claim to be your family? Not only that, they are shape-shifting fairies from your dimension who want to take you with them and make you a member of royal court. Y/N I think that maybe you've been reading too much fan fiction and it's begun to blur your perception of reality and people."

"I'm not lying! it was so cold and impossible. Do you think I would hide in a closet and shake like a leaf for fun?"

"Well you've done weirder things-"

"This not a Joke!" I slam my hands on the table, shaking some of the cups full of pomegranate juice. My nerves are on end feeling for anything wrong, working over time. The bloody sigils glowing in where something was pushing against it. "I knew it was too quiet. It was too perfect. I know this sounds weird and delusional. If you still feel like something I said sounds wrong we can go back to the place in the morning. But it's too much right now, I-I just need to calm down." I slump over the table shaking, tears prickling my eyes. Something, I assume his chair, scrapes against the floor, and his hand rubs at my back.

"I'm sorry, I'll tell the others we are here, and ask them not to bother us. I imagine they'll want to know why." His voice is soft and firm.

I shake my head vigorously, I turn my body to hug him watching the marks on the walls. Something still pressing against it. "Ask them if they go out from now on, wear something Iron, one article of clothing inside out, and some of the blackberry stalks from Alfred's garden."

I had dealt with fairies in the past, one of my caretakers and mentors was a High fae of his world as well. His name was Enlil, an old man who had lost his people and his family to a plague that rotted people of magic from the inside. Enlil took good care of me while evading the Crow. The world he was on failed him and he sent me here. Time was odd there, but he taught me all he could. These sigils are his work, they just don't hold against the Crow.

I let my arms move from his side and open a small pocket, pulling out an iron bracelet. The bracelet had some things fae are repulsed by, marked with symbols, and cursed to those who would harm the wearer. I place it in his hands.

"I want you to wear this, I made it just in case something would happen to my brother. But I see that this might be more difficult than I had originally planned. It won't work on me, I made to many mistakes in the spell carving. But it will on anyone else. It should keep you safe from the....things outside."

He raises a brow but puts the iron thing on.

"I didn't take you for a superstitious person."

"I am a cautious person."

I look out the window. I see, no, feel something, move past it a shiver runs up and down my spine. When I turn around again, he is gone. I sit down on the ground. I hear whispers all around me.

"Y/N~Join us~"

The voice is raspy and quiet, as if directly in my ear to scold me. I stay on the floor contemplating. I can't hear the world around me. Just these voices. So many voices. I can't hear Nightmare. I can't feel the boys. The world around me feels blank. Just the voices. The ones who can't reach me but they know where I am. I feel like I'm back on the ship, again. I want not to exist again. I can't speak my body hurts. I'd rather fight the Crows again. I hate It here.

I hate fairies.

I claw at my face. Anything, to drag myself from this. I feel something cold run down my face. No pain, but I gather that its blood on the floor. I try to move, but my hand slips on the ground at first. I manage to get up again. I force myself to a window and watch the world. I forgo my usual perception of the world and let myself see the world in between.

I blink and frog eyes stare back at me. I jolt back. A twisting grin flashes at me showing sharp teeth caked in blood. A shiver runs down my spine.

"HelLo PriNClinG."

I hold myself, fingers digging into my upper arms.

"Leave me alone!"

The creature cocks his head.

"LeAvE?" It laughs blinking his eyes one at a time.

"Shut up and go away!" I sob, screaming at the window. I want Nightmare, I want my friends, I want my tea.

"hOW UnCoUth WHAT evEr SHouLd i do? the PriNCeliNG is a mESs. NoT LIke olD prinCE, OnLY smiLeD oNce iN 500 yEaRs." It claws at the glass. "OLd pRInCe likeD wAr AnD blOod, neW PRINCe MOM MADe olD pRINce sofT. DOn't LikE IT."

You could kill him.

My spine straightens, and I drop my hands from my arms.

"Yeah, I can do that. Can't I?"

Then what are you waiting for? My permission?

The beast looks confused at me, frowning.

"PRIncEliNg doEsN'T loOK lIKe PrINcelING."

Kill him now.

I pull out a dagger from my pocket portal.

Bleed him

I step closer to the window eyes meeting the creature.

Cut him open

I raise an arm holding a dagger.

Ha ha!

What am I doing? My arm shakes and the creature laughs at me. My blood boils. Something in me wants to kill this thing I feel it in my body.

Come on Y/N, what's his life to you? This thing doesn't even like you, right? Just give in. Let me take a turn. When have you ever been so weak? Get a move on.

"Shut up! Shut up!! SHUT UP!!!" I throw down the knife. "Get out of my head! I don't need you! I won't kill this thing. I don't care! Mom-"

Mom is dead! Dad is Dead! Want revenge just a little you god fucking idiot! Why not release some of your anger, your frustration? Kill him. Kill him now!

Something appears in the window, no I do, I'm in the glass. A gold-eyed version of me. Choking the creature.

"W-WHat?"

You should take notes Y/N, this is what you should be doing to those who wrong you.

4 notes · View notes

bubbledumbbinch · 3 years ago

Text

Kinktober 2021 - Tickling

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x GN! Reader

Prompt: Tickling

A/N: This piece of writing is strictly 18+. NSFW. Minors DNI.

Warnings: yandere, dubcon/noncon, mild angst(?), jealousy

Your muffled moans struggled to come out. Bounds restrained your arms and legs as you felt like you were being tortured. Well, because you were.

It had all started back when Lilia Vanrouge, your upperclassman from Diasomnia, had taken a liking to you. That's definitely what he would call it, not an obsession. Lilia's infatuation started when he was able to get closer to you and meet you during the time preparing for the Magical Shift tournament. His magenta eyes shifted with wonder as he watched you try to solve who was causing issues for multiple players across the school. Since then, Lilia had taken a secret liking to you.

Recently, Lilia had spent more time trying to court you, sending small gifts and talking with you more. Retelling his memories from the fae war was one of his favorite pastimes. He could feel the excitement radiate off of your body and your eyes were so cute. "Wow, Lilia-senpai! Sounds like you were really tough back then, that's so cool!" Your voice repeats in his mind, sending sparks to his heart. Flashing you a sharp toothy smile whenever you made him laugh, looking at you with large, almost expectant, eyes. To say the fae was entranced with you was an understatement. He felt like he was so very close to asking you to become his partner.

That was until he noticed you embrace his fellow club-mate, Cater. A smile was visible on Lilia's face as his heart wrenched. He approached you as usual, brightly exclaiming your name. You turned to face him, still smiling after your interaction with Cater, who had already left.

"Oh, Lilia-senpai! Hi!" you giggled as the bicolored hair boy was close. "How are you doing?"

"Hi (y/n)! Ah, I was just wondering if we were still going to my room later to hang out." His voice was cheerful, but carried a bit of tension, which you had yet to notice. "I thought we could go into another… history lesson?"

Your eyes lit up at the idea, excited to hear another one of Lilia's stories. "I would love to! I'm finished with everything, so let's go now!"

"Mm, I love your enthusiasm (y/n)." Magenta eyes turned dark as he took your hand and led you to Diasomnia.

Lilia's room was cozy and familiar. You sat with him on the side of his bed as he joined you.

"Hm, I think it would be interesting to discuss how we… interrogated our enemies." Lilia's voice trailed off, maybe in a way where he was thinking of the past.

"Oh, like… torture..?" You asked, unsteady. He turned to you, his smile back on his face. "Yes! And if it's okay, I'd like to show you, with a demonstration."

You were confused, yet intrigued. "I- okay," you started hesitantly. "Is it gonna hurt?"

The fear in your voice only made Lilia's heart soar. You were so cute and you were all his. "No, my dear, I assure you it won't. If anything you might like it..!" He giggled as he shook his head.

Your eyes scanned the floor, searching for words. Eventually, you returned his gaze. Y'know what? Sure, show me, Lilia-senpai!"

"Heh, I knew you'd do this for me~"

~~~

Your arms were tied to the upper corners of his bedpost with your legs free. Your jacket had been placed neatly on his chair. A cloth was stuffed into your mouth. It all felt so… weird for some reason, even though you already verbally agreed. Trusting Lilia should have been enough, though, he had been so nice to you. There was nothing to fear.

Suddenly, as you felt the sides of your shirt lift, you couldn't help the surprised whimper that fell from your mouth. His cold fingers descend onto your exposed sides, causing you to start giggling in joy. "MMPh!!!" your core was contracting with the laughs that wracked your body.

"Aah, my sweet (y/n), your laughs are so precious. I want to hear more!" Lilia's eyes grew darker as his grin extended. He crawled on top of you, sitting on top of your crotch. His cold fingers tickled the sides of your body once more. He reveled in the way you writhed under him.

"Nnnh!! hh- hmm, MMH!!!!" You did your best to shake your head and kick your legs, signalling you wanted him to stop.

"Oh, you want me to stop?" Lilia questioned innocently, turning his head to the side. You nodded profusely, sighing in relief when he finally did.

"What were you doing with Cater?" it came out as more of a demand rather than a question. His tone automatically brought sweat to your face. In the confusion, you could only manage to say a measly "huh?"

"(Y/n). I saw him touch you, earlier. He likes you doesn't he?" Lilia's smile was slight, still there, but small. And his eyes seemed like they looked in yours, but were almost looking beyond you.

"How about this, I'll remove the cloth so you can talk to me." As soon as it was removed, you breathed in and out rapidly, gasping for air.

"I- Lilia-senpai, Cay-kun and I are just friends…" You said, gulping. Yet, his expression hadn't changed.

"And, even if he did hug me, I didn't do anything wrong! You and I are just friends too, so you shouldn't question if other people like me or not…"

Wrong answer. Lilia's smile faded and he seemed visibly upset, crossing his arms.

"Hm." Was the only noise he released as you felt the tickling begin at your sides again.

However, his eyes were still trained on you, and his arms still crossed. Looking down, you saw green feathers moving on their own, tickling up and down your sides. You laughed - laughed until it really started to hurt. There was pain in your abdomen that only worsened over time. Your kicking legs suddenly felt as if they were bound in place, probably also due to Lilia's magic.

"Ah, aahn- Lilia-senpai, s-stop!! Please!!" You cried, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"Hm, let's amp this up, no?" Lilia brought his hand to his mouth, smiling deviously.

Lilia's weight was lifted off of your body along with the torturous ministrations the feathers wreaked on you.

Chest heaving up and down, you felt as if your body was too tired to do anything. However, as soon as you felt your pants being unbuttoned and undone, you spared some energy to lift your head.

Lilia's fingers dragged your pants down to your knees, chuckling once he saw the arousal in your underwear.

"Aah, my sweet (y/n), I guess you don't really hate this, no?" He teased, bringing a finger to swipe at your clothed crotch. “Hmm, you’re so wet for me!”

"Oh!!" You turned away from Lilia, embarrassed about your own situation. "Lilia-senpaaai~, please, haanh, stop…!" You moaned, finger still rubbing at your arousal.

Again, the feathers started to torture you. The tickling brought pain and tension back into your body. Your screams molded into moans, heat coming straight to your cheeks as Lilia's fingers were still stroking you through the thin cloth.

"Hm, I'll think about it! How's this, I'll stop once you tell me you love me. You'll be my sweet (y/n) and I'll be your boyfriend!" Lilia's eyes shone, staring into yours. Goosebumps littered your skin as you heard his words.

"Ah, wh-what!? N-no..!" You protested, still writhing underneath him.

"Tsk, I guess you've chosen this then…" The speed of Lilia's fingers quickened their pace, ultimately slipping under the waistband of your underwear, stroking you directly.

"Oh- ah, oh fuck… " You couldn't help but let a curse slip from your mouth. "Lilia-senpaiii~ don't… stop…" You close your eyes in shame, as the sensation of Lilia's fingers invaded your senses.

"My sweet (y/n), oh my darling." Lilia coos, "It seems like you really like your punishment, don't you?" His tone teased you.

"Haah, fuck, I- I love it, so- aanh~ much..!" your babbling only grew as your climax approached rapidly.

Your moans only grew louder as you felt the feathers now tickling your pert nipples.

"Lilia, Lilia, haanh, Lilia-senpai!!!" You repeated his name like a mantra, breathing and growing more and more erratic.

Your moans were making the fae's cock twitch in his pants, yet he held himself back. He wanted to really take you when you were lovers. But that would be soon enough, wouldn't it?

"(Y/n), am I making you feel good?" Lilia's voice drew out. His voice was deep with lust and only sent tingles throughout your body.

"Y-yes, fuck! Lilia-senpai, I love- mmh, it feels so gooood~" you moaned, eyebrows furrowing together. You felt sinful, in pain and yet also pleasure. The tickling was stimulating your nipples while Lilia's fingers kept going faster.

"Lilia-senpai~ I- I'm gonna cum…" you turned into his pillow, muffling your moans. Drool was spilling from your mouth and you didn't even realize it. "Please, Lilia-senpai, make me cum!! I love it!! I- I love you, Lilia-senpai!!" you screamed, teetering on the edge of your orgasm.

Lilia moaned with you, absolutely loving your drunken confession. "Yes, my love, my (y/n)!" Lilia groaned. "Cum for me, my darling. Then we will be bound together!" His fingers stroked you with fervor, feathers teasing your body even more.

You reached your orgasm, screaming as liquid spurted out of you. As you rode your high, Lilia's fingers slowed. The feathers' torture on your body also ceased, leaving you to breathe heavily. Your arms were unbound, and you didn't even realize you were shivering from head to toe. Even with the freedom to move you couldn't.

Lilia's lithe body found its way to slump next to yours, arms wrapping around your form and pulling you close.

"I love you, (y/n). You're mine, now." Lilia's voice whispered softly into your ear.

#yandere lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge smut #lilia vanrouge x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #kinktober 2021 #twst smut #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst smut #tw dubcon #tw noncon #kinktober

894 notes · View notes

ulalumewitch · 3 years ago

Text

I’ve had this Elucien fic rolling around my brain for a while and decided to put it out there. No warnings with this one. Just angst and bits of hope for possible futures (I swear I write things other than angst all the time - haha).

Happy Sunday everyone!

Word count: 2,807

Themes: Angst/Hope

Choices

Lucien couldn’t believe it. He could not believe that another Winter Solstice ended in utter ruins because of his mate. Because of his godsdamned mate and he’d had enough. He would end it, and end it now.

“Elain!” He shouted at her retreating figure.

But she pulled the ruby red cloak tighter around her shoulders and quickened her steps. Fresh snow remained mostly untouched on small front lawns and sidewalks of Velaris as he ran from the front door of the Riverside Estate after Elain. Most families and friends likely hunkered down in their homes enjoying fires and brandies and gifts and laughter with no cause to go out walking as the last hours of Solstice crept by entering the darkest hours of night before the dawn.

The longest night of the year. The longest three years of his life. Three years of being both rejected and not rejected by his mate. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you stop,” he growled as they reached the gate, “You owe me one conversation.”

Elain stopped. Her spine snapped straight. She turned and glared at him, her eyes molten with pure hatred.

Lucien had chosen his words carefully. Tempers he could handle, he’d had enough practice over the centuries with a hot headed High Lord. He could handle master manipulators and sweet talkers. He could handle battle worn generals and courtiers of the most delicate constitution. He could handle gossipers and those genuinely interested in friendship.

But what he could not handle was nothing. He could not handle the looks that went right through him. The unanswered questions. The blank stares. The Solstice presents delicately placed to the side and left alone as if they didn’t exist at all.

“I owe you nothing. Leave me alone.”

“I won’t. You are my mate -“

“I don’t want to be your mate!”

“Then reject me and reject he bond!” Lucien yelled, his voice echoing through the silent night.

The stars glittered in the black sky, now completely clear after the fast moving snow clouds from earlier in the evening had dissipated. It brought just enough snow to coat the city white before moving on. As if the Mother heard every prayer from the younglings of Night Court for a white Solstice, and then granted their wish.

Elain’s nostrils flared and for a moment, the briefest moment, her eyes flashed an emotion he couldn’t quite place but had seen before. And it hit him. She’d possessed the same look of bewilderment when she’d still been sopping wet from the Cauldron’s waters, Nesta clawing at her sobbing. The look of knowing but not knowing.

“Reject it,” he rasped, the fight and fire receding slightly, “Reject it so that I can move on. You think I enjoy this? You think that any of this has made me feel good over the last three years?”

“I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want any of this,” she cried.

Lucien took a breath. It was rare he lost control like this. He’d spent centuries honing his reactions and temperament to be the Fox and mold his features and behaviors into whatever he’d needed in order to ferret out information, or to keep his own secrets safe. But he couldn’t do that around her, his mate.

“I didn’t choose you either,” Lucien said.

She flinched, and looked away down the street. She crossed her arms and shivered. Her cheeks flushed a pink as if kissed by two rose petals and once again her beauty struck him like a slap across the face.

“I know you were in love with another male -“

“Stop it -“

“I know you hate being Fae. I know what you did to try and turn yourself human again -“

“I said stop it,” Elain growled through clenched teeth, “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien stated, willing himself to be calm, to stop shouting.

He needed this conversation. They both did.

“You wouldn’t know this because you refuse to ever speak to me but I was in love once too,” Lucien said and took a step closer to her, “I was in love with a female and planned to marry her. And my - And the High Lord of Autumn had her killed in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”

Elain’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Her brow furrowed. For a moment he thought she might ask a question, but instead she closed her lips and looked down at he ground.

“I didn’t choose to live without her. I didn’t choose to run away to another Court and make a home there. I didn’t choose a life of intelligence work, books, sparring, warring, and everything in between. But we don’t always get a choice, Elain. What we can choose is what we do with the things that happen to us.”

Lucien paused but she remained silent. Because of course she would stay silent. Fine. Maybe it would be easier this way.

“I chose to deepen my friendship with Tamlin and to truly be a part of his Court and I made the best of it. I chose to continue my education of Courts and history and everything in between so that I could help keep the peace as much as possible. I chose to become trained as a warrior so that I could be as strong and prepared as possible for any situation. I chose those things to make the best of my life. I chose not to wallow in the what-could-have-beens for centuries because no one can survive that way.”

Lucien took another step towards her so that they were only a few inches apart. He could see Elain’s breathing had increased slightly. Her arms tightened across her chest. But she did not move away.

“I did not choose to be your mate, no one gets that choice,” Lucien whispered, “But we can choose, together, whether we want to reject this mating bond to try to lessen its effects as much as possible. It will never go away completely, but if we officially reject it then we can at least bury it and move on separately and away from each other.”

“Is that what you want?” Elain whispered, and she glanced up at him, her eyes somehow still sparkling as if the sun reflected in them.

Lucien’s heart ached. It was the first question she’d asked him since asking if he could hear her beat those years ago. And she’d been so broken then, he could barely breathe around the memory of seeing her in such a state. So he told her the truth.

“What I want is for you to talk with me and be honest with me,” he began carefully, “I want to know why the Cauldron and Mother saw fit to pair us together. Do you know that mates are equally matched and often so is their magic, their power?”

Elain glanced away and nodded. She shifted on her feet slightly.

“I’ve done some research on it.”

Lucien leaned closer to her and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her or those obnoxious bats, whom he knew lurked in the shadows, to think he would touch her. Overbearing babysitters the lot of them, even if their hearts were in the right place.

“No one knows what I’m about to tell you Elain. You could use the information against me and spread it to the Inner Circle, or anyone who might wish me harm, or you could tuck it away for private reflection. But I have much more magic and power than anyone thinks. I only let a very little bit show in the company of others. And since we are mates, I have a theory that you are the same. You only show a small bit of what you are actually capable of and have hidden the rest away. Your sisters are powerful, Elain, and I find it very hard to believe that you would be different. I also think that one of the reasons you are so unhappy is because it scares you. I could help you discover what you’re capable of - learn about it, grow with it, strengthen it, control it, and use it. You were not given a choice to become Fae and I am sorry that neither Tamlin nor I realized what was happening until it was too late. You have no idea how sorry I am. And I am sorry that you lost the love of your life in the process. I’m sorry.”

Elain stared at him. Stared and stared.

Lucien could scarcely breathe. His heart lurched forward in his chest, begging him to tug on the bond, to bring her nearer. To touch her. Kiss her. Love her.

But he forced the instinct down. Even though every beat of his heart echoed, my mate, he shut all of it down.

“There are options other than rejection,” he began slowly, “If you would like, Elain, we could discuss it, but it can’t only be me talking. And if I’m being honest, it kills me that I don’t know you. Feyre used to talk about you all the time at Spring Court when she lived there. And over the past three years I’ve gotten bits from her and Nesta, on the rare occasion I speak with her. But those are their perspectives. I would like to know first hand, about you.”

Elain looked away and cleared her throat, “What is it you want to know?”

Hope sparked in Lucien’s chest. He tightened his hands behind his back. Carefully. He had to tread so, so carefully.

“Well, for starters, I’ve always wondered if there is anything other than gardening you enjoy? What do you like? What are your passions? Your dreams? What makes you happy? Upset? Do you have any religious or spiritual beliefs? Do you enjoy sports? Do you have a favorite season? Hobbies? Preferred genre of music? Books? I want to know about you, Elain, and not from anyone else. I want to experience you. I want to know why the godsdamned universe decided why you and I should be together.”

Elain let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a huff of annoyance. He wasn’t sure which, and it killed him that he didn’t know his mate well enough to know which it was.

“I hate winter,” she whispered and looked up at the sky, “I hate the cold. I never want to be cold again. I’ve had enough of it after living in that godforsaken hovel all those years. Spring has always been my favorite season. Is … how is it there?”

Lucien frowned slightly, “Improving at a glacial pace.”

“I remember the night Azriel and Feyre came to rescue me at Hybern’s camp,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her, “And I remember Azriel holding on to me as I held on to that poor girl and watching in horror as those beast things closed in on my sister. I thought she was dead. And then Tamlin came out of no where and saved her. Saved us. I think of that quite a bit actually.”

Lucien stared at her. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“If he needs assistance with his gardens, I could help. I’m bored to tears in winter here and I don’t think the High Lord of Spring should have flagging gardens, do you?” Elain asked and met his eyes then.

Strength shone in them. Her chin tipped up slightly and Lucien lost his breath. A shiver ran along his spine as he realized his assumption on her untapped and hidden power had likely been correct. He did not stare into the eyes of a doe but a Wolf. Of course a godsdamned Wolf would would lurk under her skin. She was an Archeron sister after all.

“No, I don’t think so either. It might help Tam, to have his estate restored a bit,” Lucien suggested carefully, “If you ever wanted to get away from the cold of Velaris during winter, I could arrange it.”

Elain looked away again and whispered, “I’ve been so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”

Lucien frowned as pain wrapped around his heart, and realized with utter horror, it was not his pain but hers. Gods, had she been living with this?

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, “All I’m asking for is to share one meal. One conversation. I’m not suggesting we get mated or married or any of it. Hell, I’m not even asking for a date. I’m only asking for one conversation so that we can both maybe decide if rejecting the bond really is the best thing or if maybe, maybe, there might be something here worth exploring, growing, tending like one of your gardens. No expectations. Just …”

“Just time to decide what kind of choice we want to make with what the Cauldron gave us?” Elain offered quietly.

A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rasped through his lips. His gold eye whirred. He blinked and golden light swirled around Elain hedged with blush pink and warm vermillion. She looked like a goddess inside the sun, and gods did he want to worship her. But was she worth worshiping? He desperately wanted to find out.

He blinked and his eye showed her as any one would see her once again. Lucien nodded his agreement.

Elain cleared her throat and looked down the street, “I didn’t eat. Did you?”

“Not much, those fools love their drink on holidays,” Lucien offered with a small laugh, “They’re a happy lot though aren’t they?”

Elain shrugged, “I suppose. Are you hungry?”

Warmth spread through his chest. Lucien allowed a smile to touch his lips.

“I could eat.”

“Do you think any of the restaurants are open?” Elain asked.

“You want to have this conversation now?” Lucien asked incredulously.

A smile bloomed across her face. Her rosy cheeks pinked further and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life before.

Elain released her arms and crooked an elbow to him. He stared at the offered arm. Was he dreaming?

“Well, Fox?” Elain asked, “Shall we?”

Lucien’s heart leapt in his chest. He closed the last few inches between them and looped his arm through hers. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand stones of grief and dejection lifted from his shoulders. His heart felt so light he could have wept.

“I know of one restaurant that will be open. It’s not the best, but it’s decent and within walking distance,” Lucien began, “And after this conversation, if you would like to have another - if we would both like to have another - then I can take you to my favorite restaurant. It is in the middle of the largest botanical gardens in all of Prythian.”

Elain raised an eyebrow, “In the middle of winter?”

Lucien grinned at her and winked, “It’s in Summer Court.”

She nodded, “I would like that, if,” and softly cleared her throat, “If we both decide we would like another conversation after tonight that is.”

Lucien nodded, “Very well, Lady Light. Are you cold?”

A small smile. An even smaller snicker.

“A little.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucien offered his free hand to her, palm up.

Elain stared at his open palm. Lucien felt a small lick of pride at how still she became, like a true Immortal creature, she’d mastered the art of preternatural stillness.

Then, she lightly rested her hand against his. Lucien maintained eye contact with her as he closed his fingers around her hand and touched the spark of fire within him. Elain gasped and her eyes widened.

“How did you do that?” She murmured, and a small laugh escaped her, “I’m positively toasty.”

Lucien’s heart fluttered but kept his tone airy, almost bored, “A small bit of magic for me. It’s a gift not everyone possesses. Not many know I can do it. Shall we eat? I’m rather hungry myself.”

Elain nodded, “I would like that, thank you.”

Lucien nodded and let go of her hand but tightened his arm still hooked around hers slightly. He didn’t bother to hide the widening of his smile as she gently squeezed back.

He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as they walked arm in arm down the street, their tracks the only pair as they made their way away from the High Lord and Lady’s Riverside estate and into Velaris.

Lucien didn’t know what choice she would make in the end. He didn’t know what choice he would make in the end. But at least, for now, there was a sun dawning to end the longest night of the year. And he’d never been happier to see its light.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#elucien #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien #angst #possibility

261 notes · View notes

authoressskr · 3 years ago

Text

Tracking Death and Magic, pt 2

Characters: f!Reader [known in this fic as Duchess], Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Phil Coulson, Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Maria Hill, mentions of Dr. Strange, OFCs

Warnings: Language, death, angst, and no Beta :: Notes: this was written for @captain-kelli’s #ckcomebacktour – WELCOME BACK!! :: Word Count: 10,414

Mythological + Fairy Tale Creatures AU feat. Alpha Werewolf/Vampire!Bucky, Alpha Werewolf/Vampire!Steve, Giant!Hulk side Bruce, Born Witch!Wanda, Hellhound mix!Reader

Someone is hunting down those with Fae blood in New York. And no one can figure out why or who is behind the crimes. So higher ups in the city hand the case over to SHIELD, who deals with the more difficult supernatural cases. But even after two weeks, this small elite team can’t seem to figure out where the person or persons responsible will strike or the reasoning behind it. Anyone with a drop of Fae blood is scared…scared of being kidnapped or killed. Time to call in some outside help.

Prompt: [*In Part 1*] “All of those people are alive right now - all because of her.”

[ Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, translate, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION. 18+ ONLY PLEASE, all content providers don’t want serious repercussions from underage interactions, myself included. ]

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and *very* appreciated! -+-

Part One

You could feel it as you walked up to the sidewalk where Cyrus had been killed. The now dried and cleaned sidewalk not hiding it’s dark shadows from you in the waning late afternoon light.

The creeping, underhanded power of the Seelie Court brushing against you.

The poison is a prominent smell to your hound side still since it’s only been a day and a half. Cyrus’s soul hasn’t lingered, so that at least is a blessing, but the conversation with your uncle and this fresh site is putting your nerves on the very edge. You can ‘see’ the faint magic outline where he died, you knew he’d be wearing his homemade medallion to ward off evil. Swallowing, you kneel where his feet would have been, reaching out with your magic.

The flashes that echo painfully through your mind make you gasp.

The cloaked figure is stealing magic. Taking it violently. To him, the more violent and quick, the better. It honestly just makes your stomach roll, the saliva building in your closed and clenched mouth.

But why? You can taste the lighter magic associated with the Seelie Court - the Court of Light - the kind that humans and others often think of when they think of the fair folk. The court thought, it doesn’t deal with humans or others unless absolutely needed…

When you told Hades you suspected a member of the higher courts on your little walk, you hadn’t anticipated to be able to feel it. The boots, the glistening silver swords, the escape when you had moved a forgotten tiny part of the sithen under the alley -- now it all makes a lot more sense now. The shiver that runs down your spine at the implications this creates. May the God and Goddess spare all those innocents involved, you pray quickly.

A henchman for the shining Seelie Court, sweet baby Jesus. What had you gotten yourself into?? What had SHIELD stumbled into??

The residual death is quick, but still it steals into you, taking away what little baited breath you had. Feeling the tears prickle your eyes as you try to figure out these new pieces of the puzzle.

Hades can’t help you - Gods can’t interfere with other pantheons businesses, good or bad.

Hades can’t save you from the other half of yourself.

It was something you had always known in the back of your mind, but the harsh slap of it hurt more than the death and falling pieces of this horrible plot. But...just maybe there could be a light in this cave of fae intrigue and murder. There are others whom you can save.

The three stolen wouldn’t be taken to the sithen, that would be too obvious of their involvement. Plus, they were fae and thus could leave as long as not put into a dungeon there and theoretically had enough power and know-how to do so. But had the cloaked figure been draining them, you weren’t sure if they could get out or away.

So, that would mean they were still somewhere close by.

The last traces of magic from the murder, Cyrus’s own traces, and your hellhound senses in overdrive to track everything - you’re drowning as the sun sinks just a tad lower in the sky, creating the beginnings of the lovely orange autumn color you adore. Fall was closer than you remembered. You can vaguely hear your name being said, like being underwater almost. Then you can smell sage, lemon and juniper - the sweet smells of the entrance to the Underworld.

The way the newcomer says your name grounds you, while Bucky calling your name brings you closer to the surface - your mate...Bucky brings you back to reality. And he’s protective and bristling slightly at the other man who is holding your arm’s firmly.

You’re looking up at the slightly blurry face of a traditionally handsome Greek man, all muscle and blurry smile, with thick black hair and sweet honey brown eyes.

“I hate your human disguise sometimes,” You grunt and turn to plop down on your ass as Bucky watches as the man lean in and proceed to lick from your chin up to your hairline. “Okay, okay...thank you Cerb,” You shove his chest gently to get him to release you, reaching for Bucky’s hand automatically. “This is my mate, Bucky. Don’t snap at him.” Cerberus gives you puppy dog eyes, his nerves calming down slightly to hold his form better. So at least now it was one face instead of the three blurry ones superimposed over each other.

“Did you just say Cerby?!” Wanda sounds astonished.

“As in Cerberus?” Natasha questions calmly. The guardian to the Underworld stands up and he’s visibly excited looking from you to Natasha and Wanda.

“Yes,” You coo. “This is my best friend in the whole world and Underworld, Cerberus. Cerberus, this is Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers is his best friend. Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Phil Coulson. Wanda Maximoff and her twin, Pietro.”

“Pleasure,” His deep voice almost has an echo to it. “Lord said you needed looking after, pup. He was right. Too close.”

“I know,” You sigh out as your hand subconsciously clenches Bucky’s a little tighter even after he helps you up.

“No,” Cerberus growls. “Close.”

“Fucking great,” You growl out in reply, anger rising.

“See anything?” Phil asks, forehead furrowed just so. You sigh again, anger dissipating as quickly as it had boiled up.

“We are in a shit ton of trouble.”

“We are aware of that, kid,” Steve states, crossing his arms over his wide chest.

“Nooo. Like real shit ton of trouble. Seelie Court trouble.” Phil lets out a string of curses as Clint’s stance gets more rigid. “The cloaked asshole is working for the Seelie Court. I can taste the residual light magic. And he’s stealing magic. That’s why he’s been killing most of them. Kidnapping the more powerful ones to drain them continuously, I’m guessing.”

“He can’t take them back to the golden sithen,” Phil states, following where you’re leading. “So they’re still in the area.”

“I think he took them where there’s more greenery and nature, it would make it more comfortable for him. Someplace secretive to drain and hide them.”

“Central Park,” Bucky reasons. “It makes the most sense. It would be easy for him to hide them there, especially if he was -” He stops as you start exhibiting nervous energy beside him, enough to upset his wolf and your scent to change. “What is it?”

“Only royalty can move the sithen,” You whisper, eyes focused solely on Phil.

“I have to let Fury know…” Phil looks at you with pity and sadness appearing in his blue eyes. “Everything.”

“I figured as much when I tasted their magic,” face contorting with a pained expression is all Bucky sees on your lovely face as you whisper the words defeatedly. He’s on edge now with your changing emotions and scents, trying to keep his eyes from shifting too much or his fangs popping out to prepare for the impending fight, the need to protect and soothe you almost overwhelming him internally.

“I’m sorry,” He offers, moving forward to squeeze your shoulder sympathetically, withdrawing the phone from his pant pocket as your free hand shoots forward to grip his wrist tightly, a plea written plainly for all to see on your almost panicking face.

“Please Phil...delay it til the morning. I can’t...they’ll -” Bucky and Steve can taste the fear that’s rolling off you now, raising his hackles as Cerberus eyes him with interest before returning his gaze to Duchess.

“I won’t let your other side harm you,” Cerby snarls, his handsome olive face contorted with anger as you wince hard. Bucky tugs you into him as much as he can with your iron grip still on Phil, soothing the pacing and snarling wolf in his head as much as he is soothing you.

That’s why you said you should be better at wording things, Bucky thinks to himself, nuzzling his nose into your hair, fangs no longer a worry as your scent shifts yet again to worry. Only now he realizes you are concerned about how he sees you.

“Do you care I’m a werewolf and vampire crossbreed 100 year old plus former assassin?” Bucky mumbles softly against your head, making you pull away to look up at him, shock and confusion making you wrinkle your forehead at your mate. Your scent shifts to calm Bucky now, eyes tearing up just a tad as his wolf shakes and settles down. Mate needs reassurance.

“No!” You release Phil’s wrist to cup Bucky’s cheek, thumb moving over the course hairs of his beard. “I don’t care what you are. You’re mine, James.” The light in Bucky’s eyes stun you with his smile, his eyes crinkling beautifully. Just radiating his happiness in that simple little motion of his elated smile, your inner hound almost dopey at the tenderness your mate is exuding.

“Then why would I care if you're half fae?” He presses his forehead down against yours, making you squeeze your eyes closed to prevent the tears from falling. “You’re my mate, Duchess. I don’t care what you are, as long as I get to keep you. Understand, doll?”

“I just don’t want to be known as one of them...as one of the Shining Court. That’s not me.” You keep your eyes squeezed close, taking comfort in your mate’s touch and his surrounding scent, blocking out everything but Bucky.

“You moving that fast with that sword was hot though,” Bucky rumbles out, making laughter just peel out of you, opening your eyes to be met with those intensive cerulean orbs.

“You’re too good,” You copy his statement from the closet earlier, smiling up at the most important person in your life.

But that comment does make you think, yanking your forehead away from Bucky to snap back to Coulson.

“Phil! It’s for my father!”

“You sure?”

“It has to be! Only royalty can move the sithen! The High Prince has probably a quarter of the fae power I do and his son probably barely enough to magically open a doorway in the sithen.”

“Wait,” Clint starts, twirling a toothpick between his front teeth before pointing it at you and continuing. “So you’re a fae princess?!”

You wince again, Bucky’s metal fingers slipping under the edge of your shirt bottom to stroke your skin to ease the emotions swirling in and around you - at least they are much more in control and subdued than minutes ago. “Technically, yes.” You admit in a defeated whisper. “My grandmother is the Queen of the Seelie Court.”

“Which is why Peter said you were ordering the cloaked man to answer you,” Steve states, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension. Too late you realize that since Steve and Bucky are actually pack that he was getting some diluted effects of your emotional rollercoaster just now just by being so close to the two of you. ‘Sorry,’ You mouth to him as he gives you a soft smile in return.

“So that’s why the ground shook?” Bucky asked, forehead slightly furrowed at Phil then down to you. “How can you move the whole sithen?”

“Oh, I can’t. I couldn’t do that unless I was Queen and would need a whole lot of blood magic to back it up to move it. And honestly, the sithen is a living thing, so it would need to be...um...convinced. But moving pieces of it - especially forgotten or ‘dead’ spaces that the court don’t access - is fairly easy if you know what you are doing. Hades is Lord of the Underworld. Is the “Underworld” just under Greece? No. It’s everywhere AND a specific place. The same properties apply to the sithen,” You shrug as if it hasn’t really occurred to you the schematics of it all.

“Ahh, sort of like the Sanctum Sanctorum of Dr. Strange’s,” Pietro supplies, tapping a finger against his chin with a small grin.

“Yes and no.”

“I was thinking more like the jet,” Wanda supplies to her twin who frowns at her.

“So if Dr. Strange had a Sanctum Sanctorum jet?”

“Jesus. Christ.” Coulson and Natasha mutter loudly in sync, sighing and turning away slightly from the twins and Clint who is nodding along with their continued discussion.

“So could you find the piece of the sithen in Central Park?” Steve moves the conversation back to the kidnapped victims, you watching him unclench and clench his right hand slightly. You move a little more into Bucky and reach for Steve’s right hand. His head snaps over to you almost comically fast, while you just try to exude a calming energy. Bucky whispers a soft ‘thank you’ against your temple before gently reaching over to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. You can almost feel Steve’s blood pressure drop once both you and Bucky are calm and now working on calming him.

“Yeah, I could. I’ve scented the magic signature he’s used both attacking me and at the crime scenes, so shouldn’t be too hard to locate it. I mean, I won’t be exactly spot on, but will be close enough to be able to move the sithen bit to me and manipulate it open hopefully.”

“So that’s the play,” Natasha states as Phil whips out his cell, causing another spike in anxiety to roll through you, but Bucky and Steve both quickly whisk it away with their touch.

“Yes, sir,” Phil states evenly. “We may have located the kidnapped parties. I request a team to subtly clear and surround Central Park. Yes, sir.” His right eyelid gives one lone twitch. “Yes, all Avengers to the Park. We are dealing with Seelie Court involved matters. Yes, she is here and will be leading us to the kidnapped hostages. Affirmative. Will do, sir.” He hangs up to find everyone staring at him. “Tony will be bringing everyone’s gear and then we’ll head to Central Park. If you have any requests or needs, please bother Stark. I have a whole ops to coordinate.” A black suv pulls up behind him, which no one even flinches at. “I’ll meet you all in an hour. Stark will know the location.”

“Onward to probable death!” Pietro mutters with fake enthusiasm and you frown at him, Cerberus moving closer to you until his arm is brushing. The scent of sage, juniper and lemon - overlapped with the scent of coffee, cinnamon, cedar and a soft ocean breeze, things distinctly Bucky to you, even the scent of orange faintly coming from Steve - do nothing to help the pit in your belly.

How true, you muse morbidly, glancing up into sad honey brown eyes. You can both catch the faint, trace smell of death.

And you both know it’s from you.

-----*****-----*****-----

Tony had brought you several SHIELD jumpsuits in various colors: gray, blue and black, smirking as you had raised an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, little hellhound. They’ll all form to fit you. Bucky and Peter mentioned swords, so I brought some thigh holsters as well as a back holster, since I didn’t know the length of your swords. Natasha has extra guns aboard the jet if you are into that. Also, we don’t have time for you two to be frisky, so -”

“Shut up, Tony,” Bucky had growled from behind him, just making Tony smile wider. Seeing Bucky in his hero suit was a whole different sexy than last night and this morning. Well, you now understood why Tony was having concerns about you two because - dear gods did you want Bucky to bend you over something and take you with that suit on. You’d be equally happy to just drop to your knees and thank your mate for this look. Bucky obviously can see and sense the changes as you are basically drooling and clenching your thighs, while having an iron grip on the dark blue suit you had been favoring.

“Remember!” Tony says loudly while shaking a finger at you before Steve comes up beside Bucky and herds the grinning man from the room where you’re surrounded by suits and weapons.

“Eyes are glowing again, doll,” Bucky purrs as he comes to a halt before you.

“Can’t help it, it’s an emotional reaction most of the time,” You breath out, a smile playing on the corner of his lips at your answer. “Used to just do it when I was extremely pissed off. Now apparently it decides to pop up whenever I’m -”

“Horny?”

“Focusing. On. My. Mate.” You insist as he rumbles out a laugh, bending forward to kiss your forehead sweetly. You tilt your head up to catch his eye again, giving him a small smile as you reach out to take his flesh hand. “But just FYI, I can smell you’re horny too. And them pants is tiiight.” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, pulling you so tight against his chest that the buckles dig into you a little, just making you all the more riled up.

“Mate,” Bucky’s voice is part plea and warning in it’s roughness after you two pull apart, you nosing along his throat, kissing the skin where your mark should adorn.

“You could leave to let me get dressed…?”

“Where the hell is the fun in that, doll? Huh?” Both of you are chuckling, touching each other as much as possible but struggling to keep it PG.

“Bucky, I know you don’t want to bring this up…”

“Don’t.”

“But this could be it, ya know? So I need you to sort of brace yourself if it does.” His back is now ramrod straight and his jaw clenched tight, but holding your gaze.

“I won’t let it happen.” The determination from your first meeting is back, but you can only muster the softest look in reply, letting the suit fall to the ground as you cup his face with both hands.

“Sweetheart,” You coo gently, watching the sadness dance in his eyes that he’s trying hard to hide. “I adore you. I trust you inexplicably. I would happily spend the rest of my life with you. To mate you, to marry you...to have a little baby that looks just like you, that’s all I want. You deserve some peace and so. much. love.” His hands are gripping tight onto your waist, you can feel the fingertips digging in as you continue. “But you know I’m marked for death, Bucky. They’ve tried most of my life to circumvent it, stop it, undo it. But death comes for me regardless. I need you to not pull away from everyone if that happens. You’ll need them. Please.”

“I don’t - I don’t want to deal with that. I can’t. I can’t lose you too. I said I would protect you and keep you safe. I’m no Alpha if I don’t try. I’m no mate if I don’t try.” You’re at a standstill, both now in emotional turmoil over this topic, trying not to let it bleed into the other. He presses his forehead against yours hard, staring into each other’s eyes. “I love you,” He whispers and it’s all you ever wanted to hear. Right now, you had all wanted right here - a wonderful mate who loved you and would try to move heaven and earth for you, who didn’t care what you were. One of the most beautiful men in the whole world who looked at you like the sun rose and set by your whim. The whole thing was unfathomable.

“I love you, Bucky,” You breathe out in reply, longing for any other outcome but the one you know is coming. “And I will love you as long as you live.” Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, a couple tears sliding down his cheeks as yours begin to fall freely, letting him wrap his arms so securely around you as his beautiful blue jacket absorbs your quiet sobs.

-----*****-----*****-----

The sun is nearly set, the sky streaked a hundred hues of dark pink and red as New York slowly descends into darkness.

Bucky is standing right beside you, outfit bringing out his eyes as he surveys the scene stoically. You’d chosen the dark blue jumpsuit to match his, arms brushing subtly as you stand just outside the magic lines - and sight lines from the sithen - of Central Park.

Although you can’t see them, you can vaguely sense the score of SHIELD agents and Avengers scattered on the edges of the treelines. But you can ‘see’ the edge of the piece of sithen just shy of the Azalea Pond at the center of the Ramble. Bucky had been the one with his tablet naming things off to you - you had only moved to New York two years ago after all - trying to help you narrow down areas where it could have been. You wish you had had the time for him to show you around New York, around Brooklyn, and places that still stood from when he was younger.

Cerberus is on the other side of the pond, should the cloaked figure try to escape, swathed in the grip of Underworld magic to keep him invisible and thus much more easy to herd or pounce.

Wanda is piggybacking off your abilities, twined with yours temporarily so she could sense the heartbeats of the victims now that you had a location. Sam is in the trees to the left of the pond with Peter, Steve and Tony on the right while Clint, Natasha and Pietro cut off any other possible exit points. Bruce is staying by the ambulances, ready to Hulk out should the need arise, although you could tell from his face he was radiating the bright hope it absolutely would not.

Any way the cloaked figure ran, he’d be funneled where the Avengers chose. There would be no escape. As a failsafe, Pietro would be the only one to engage with him except you, since he would be the most able to take him on with the fae speed.

You drag yourself back to reality, turning to gaze over at Bucky and steeling yourself with one last deep breath before starting down the short path to the Azalea Pond.

“Be safe for me, doll,” Bucky says softly, almost as soft as the small breeze suddenly around you two. You manage to nod, throat closing up again. The fair folk do not lie. It had been beaten into you, quite literally, when you were little at court. You want nothing more than to lie to Bucky in that moment. To reassure him you will be safe for him. But the fair folk do not lie.

Good thing you are not solely fair folk. You reach for his hand, grasping just his flesh fingertips in your grip and squeezing them hard. It’s a millisecond in time, but it seems like one of those Lord of the Rings moments that are in that slow, dramatic, longing-filled motion. “I’ll do my best, handsome.” Dropping his hand before you lose your resolve, you take the barely visible path towards the pond. Your magic is swirling with Wanda’s, your senses all in overdrive - so much so you can’t even register the smell of the flowers blooming along the landmark.

Pursing your lips, you whistle a simple five note tune that fae had used for time beyond memory.

From behind you comes that deep, craggly voice, “Greetings, highness.”

“Greetings, servant,” He gives a little hiss at the title you bestow. “SHIELD has sent me to inform you that if you cooperate, you will not be sentenced to death.”

“They are mostly human. I do not fear the humans.”

“You are not wise to not fear them,” You give a pregnant pause, making sure you give that haughty look the court loves to disperse. “If you do not accept this offer, I am to inform you that I, Princess Duchess Propolos Hekatos, will be judge, jury and - if need be - executioner.” He pushes back his cloak hood back, allowing you to finally see his scaled face. He was probably one of very few left over of those lizard scaled dwarves who stayed closer to the caverns around lakes and seas when humans first emerged as semi-civilized, with beautiful almost translucent rainbow sheened scales around his eyes and cheeks, his mouth set in a thin line with no lips.

“I was damned from the get go, princess.”

“We are only as we choose to be - it doesn’t have to be that way,” You insist, leaning a little forward, softening your eyes. Even if you disliked court life, the snobs of court who’s magic had begun to dwindle long before you were born, and how you were treated there - he was the same as you; a discarded fae. He doesn’t reply, though there is a flicker of something in his eyes, simply just unsheathes his double swords and gestures to you with his chin.

“Prepare, half breed,” Although his insult has less venom than the alley last night, you huff out a sigh at his tone. Like he’s just going through the motions. Asshat.

You shift your feet just so, straightening your spine as you wait for his move. Physically you are in that moment, but your power shifts the sithen opening to the side where Steve and Tony are waiting, causing the cloaked man to hiss, baring slightly sharpened front teeth at you. “Little bitch!” And his steel meets yours. “We will both die for this!” He snarls as he tries to drive you back towards the trees and brush opposite the pond, you holding the line as you wait for Wanda to signal you that the people had been recovered.

“I’ll deal with them when the time comes,” You growl low, blocking his blades yet again with a heavy clink, shifting just so that you can reach for Bucky’s favorite knife at the small of your back, tinged with the poison that your cloaked friend had been favoring and stabbing it into his side and piercing his lung with a squelch.

“The poison will do nothing to me,” He spits at you as you twirl your wrist to disarm him of one of the swords and slide Bucky’s knife back into its sheath.

“It will now. Dr Banner mixed it with another, a heavy iron involved one - infused with belladonna - to make you human slow,” You lean in as you block another wide swing from him with the one sword left, smiling wide. “And heal human slow.” The whole of Central Park shakes as you show your hand.

“No! NO!” He screams and hisses, attempting to swing his meaty fists at you now that he was without a weapon.

“I am still my grandmother’s first born grandchild. I am still the High Prince’s first born. I am a Princess of the Seelie High Court.” You lean in as your tone becomes more malicious with each word, watching true fear alight in his mossy green eyes. “And with all the inbreeding and decline for the last century,” You straighten up, your blue flames engulfing you as he attempts to scurry away from you, shielding his eyes against the light you emanate as he falls on his ass in the dense brush and dirt. “Let’s face it - I am probably the most powerful fae aside from the Queen of the Seelie and the King of the Unseelie.” Leaning down, fisting your hand in his cloak, you yank him back upright, snarling as your power dances behind your eyes, careful still to at least to not burn him with your flames. But watching him flinch at the heat, the basic fear all animals have towards a large flame, sets you more alight at the taste of that fear. “And absolutely the wrong person to piss off!”

“Spare me! Please!!” He screams, more high pitched than you had imagined, nearly making you wince as you see the red sparks above the tree line and see a blue clad shadow moving along the treeline coming closer to you. Pietro blurs past you, slapping old iron cuffs on the cloaked man, which sends him quite literally howling and screeching from the burn of the metal.

Your flames give off a few large flickers before they begin to die down when Pietro says that they’ve gotten the kidnapped people to the ambulance they had on stand by, Bucky coming down the path towards you with a small smile on his lips as your eyes meet. Your magic shrinks back towards you, the weight of all the magic and your now overworked abilities settling back into you, your shoulders sagging a little with relief. It wasn’t over, but once your grandmother learned about your father and half-brother then she would be the one to end it.

The look in his cobalt eyes shift quickly, widening and moving to glare directly over your shoulder, his mouth moving in slow motion as he begins to barrel towards you, you begin to turn - only to feel the jerk of your body going forward instead. A glance downward shows a shiny red tip of one of the cloaked man’s swords protruding from just under your breasts, when you hear the mournful howl echo in and around your ears - only to realize it’s three distinct howls. The tang of blood spills into your mouth in a surprised gasp, turning slightly to see who has murdered you.

Your half brother’s hand is shaking slightly as he backs away from you, surprise written on both your faces as the scent of death finally fully fills your nose.

“I never thought -” You wheeze out, taking a few shaky steps towards your half-sibling as Bucky slides to a stop before you, his boots kicking up the fallen green leaves on the grass, both hands grasping your hips firmly as his eyes wander all over your body and face, tears already tracking down his cheeks. “You would have the balls!” You finish with another wheeze, the metallic taste much stronger now.

Bucky turns you to face him as Tony and Peter keep your half-brother from escaping, the darkening greenery of the world around you narrowing down to just Bucky. It’s a beautiful world to be relegated to actually.

“No. NO. Come on, doll. You - you gotta stay with me.” His voice is raw sounding, like he’s trying to not be loud, his metal hand putting pressure on the front wound as if it would help. His forehead is shoved against yours, your entire gaze narrowed to his blue eyes and his damp cheeks as he pulls you into his lap, collapsing the both of you to the ground. It’s funny almost to you in the moment...like you can still hear his loud, pitiful howl like a haunting melody behind everything he’s saying. “Doll, you gotta...come on, gotta fight. I need you to fight. Cerberus, he - he went to get Hades and Hecate. They’ll fix it. Just hold on til they get here, okay?”

“I love you soo much, James Buchanan Barnes,” You’re heartbroken to watch him see your bloody bottom lip tremble, and the color seeping from your face. You can see him weighing all his options through his tears, trying to move your tired hand up to touch him, to comfort him.

“I love you too, babydoll, but please God, please … just stay with me.” The choked up sound of his voice makes you want to cry for causing him this pain. No amount of forewarning could have prepared you for this feeling - the feeling of slowly breaking and killing your mate.

“Mate,” is the last thing you manage to get out before you just go limp in his arms, those jewel eyes he loves so much already just staring up at the first stars twinkling in the sky unseeing. In the back of his mind, his vampire side offers up the idea which he swore to God he would never do. But all too late.

The howl that rips from his throat is pure misery and heartache, his body bowed over his mate’s, his grip still holding her in a vice. The blood cloys her scent, furthering his heartbreak.

He looks up, needing Steve on a near visceral level, only to not see anyone at all. Confusion slightly mars his grief, looking over his shoulder and all around the darkened area, but met with no familiar faces or words in his comms. Confusion gives way to his war training, the alertness on it’s highest notch as he scans around, sniffing delicately at the air as the world seems much darker now than it had just been. When he turns back towards the pond, on edge at the very tampered down scents surrounding him, he spots three almost identical women standing there with those dark pink azaleas framing behind them almost like a fresco - just appearing as if from nowhere like Hades had earlier on the street.

“James Barnes,” The one on the left begins, long dark brown hair falling freely to her waist. “We are sorry for your loss,” the one on the right continues, her hair half up in intricate braids. “But now that we have fulfilled our ill-spoken creed,” the middle speaks, all that dark mahogany hair piled atop her hair like a crown, before they all join hands as the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand to attention at the sudden surge of power that surrounds him, his arms tensing as a wave of azalea scent blows around the two of them, bringing Duchess as close to him as possible again. “We will return our little cousin back to you.”

His mouth goes dry, forehead wrinkled in not understanding as he looks down at his mate, her eyes still open and her skin still dampened with that death pallor. Bucky gently uses his metal digits to close her eyelids, grief and nausea rolling through him simultaneously while the ground beside Bucky gives a small shake and splits open, Hades climbing so elegantly and easily from the ground below with Cerberus - in three-headed giant black dog form - with a wispy blue thing dangling from the middle head’s mouth. There isn’t even enough room left in him to be shocked, there is just acceptance of whatever this shit show was.

“Turns out, sometimes you just have to accept Fate and go through it in order to stop it,” Hades murmurs in his deep molasses voice, bending down just so, his long fingers gripping the back of Bucky’s neck loosely. “Will you accept your fate now, Bucky?”

“I’ll do anything for her,” Bucky rasps out with conviction shining in his tear-riddled eyes.

“Splendid,” Hades motions with his free hand for Cerberus to come forward. “You must take a mouthful of this first.” He orders sternly as a beautiful blonde woman, shorter than Duchess and with a more heavy hourglass shape, emerges from the crevice to the Underworld with a black and golden chalice. Bucky marvels at the tiny wild roses popping up in her wake as she walks around Cerberus to stand between himself and Hades. She sniffles as she looks at Duchess, one hand leaving the chalice as she frowns over at the Fates before brushing two fingers down his left cheek to his chin, the warmth from just her fingers seeping quickly into his icy feeling skin. He doesn’t even notice the Fates disappearing just after that, he’s so focused on the goddess before him.

“Remove the sword, Hades.” It’s gone with a wave at the woman’s order, Bucky unconsciously tightening his hold once again on his mate. “Now, Bucky, sweet little honeysuckle boy, take a mouthful of this - but don’t swallow.” She brings the cup to his lips and tips it up. “Now, when Cerberus drops her soul back into her body, kiss her and push all the ambrosia into her mouth. It’ll take a few seconds for her soul to readjust and the ambrosia to heal her before she comes back to consciousness, okay honeysuckle?” Bucky manages a jerky nod, rewarded with a pat to his cheek before she backs up towards Hades, Cerberus giving a huff as he leans down towards Duchess’s body.

“Three. Two. One.” Hades counts down, Cerberus’s light brown eyes locked onto Bucky’s before the middle head gently opens it’s very large jaw and the blue wisp floats down to her body. “Now.” Bucky smashes his lips against hers, feeding the liquid into her mouth with an edge of desperation barely restrained within him.

“Now we wa-” A gasp startles you all, her jewel-toned eyes blinking rapidly as her hands claw at Bucky’s waist where they’re trapped between them, until they’re focused on Bucky. Bucky lets loose a sob as she smiles up at him, blood now gone from her face.

“Hi handsome,” A tiny little cough to clear her throat. “Bucky,” Duchess manages to rasp out before she’s crushed to Bucky’s chest.

“I lost you,” Bucky half gasps/half sobs into her hair, the scent of blood seemingly long gone, a terrible dream from which he can now finally awaken...it was just her again. Just his mate.

“But you found me, handsome.”

Bucky manages to get out a soft chuckle as he pulls back to cup her face in his hands. “You do anything like that again, doll, and I swear I’ll -” She cuts him off with a kiss but he doesn’t miss the smile and silent eyeroll. When they break apart, she brings her hand up to cup his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone repeatedly as Bucky just reveals in the warmth of her fingers and palms against his skin.

“You are mine,” She whispers so damn gently, like a breath of life gently fanning over his lips as her forehead bumps against his softly. Bucky understood this was her sign that everything was alright, that closeness of foreheads pressed together and reading every emotion in each other's eyes.

“And you are mine,” Bucky affirms, electricity buzzing down his spine before he smiles wide at his mate, happy to see her own smile widen as he does so. “You’re stuck with me for forever now.” She tries to feign a disappointed look and tone, to school her eyes and keep her lips from twitching up in a grin is poorly executed.

“Oh, no. What a terrible thing, Sarge,” It comes out more as a purr, lighting a warmth and fire from within Bucky, elation now bleeding as a scent out of him at this tiny but monumental moment with his mate. A deep voice clearing his throat behind you brings you both a bit back more to the present, Bucky glancing to the left as your smile stays gracing your gorgeous face.

“Welcome back!” The goddess burst out, tears opening flowing down her lovely and soft olive oval face, falling to her knees behind Duchess and throwing her arms around her shoulders, squeezing her fiercely. She even pulls Bucky closer, smoothing a hand up and down his back as she hugs both of them just this side of painful.

“Thank you, theía.” Duchess grunts out from the tight sandwich she’s in, looking over to her uncle. “Theíos, what happened to that little motherfucker?”

Hades stern looking face breaks out in a tiny smile, looking so kindly down at the scene before him as Cerberus’s three heads lap and nuzzle at the three on ground. “He’s still being held on the other plane. And speaking of which, we should return quickly. Hecate might actually kill him and start a bigger conflict than which we already have on our hands.”

“Well that answers some of my questions,” Bucky mutters just behind her right ear, nipping at the earlobe gently as Persephone releases you all, gently wiping away her tears.

“I’ll fill you in as best I can later. After someone fills me in, that is,” Duchess promises with a quick but warm kiss to his lips. Hades helps his wife up, kissing both of her palms and exchanging a long, loving look before extending his hand for Duchess, Bucky shooting up beside her as they each have a hand hold on her and help to steady her as she sways just a touch.

“Much later,” Bucky agrees with the barest hint of a nod, just needing to soothe his mate still. Frankly, just needing to reconnect and optimally be alone with his mate. Hopefully uninterrupted for at least two weeks, a month - two months would be absolutely dreamy and very, very far fetched with all the shit they’ll have to deal with afterwards regarding this case. But Bucky would move whole cities to make good on what she’d said to him aboard the jet too. Finally get him some of that apple pie life that he, Steve and the Commandos had talked about all those years and years ago.

He watches as you roll your neck, gently pushing away one of Cerby’s heads to shake both your arms out before reaching up to finally scratch at each of Cerberus’s heads one by one, kissing at their muzzles with gusto as the giant hellhound wiggles it’s butt with abandon. “I didn’t get that warm of a welcome,” Bucky remarks with a smirk, his mouth breaking into a wider smile at the look she shoots him.

“Because that is something personal you’ll get later on, Sarge,”

“Geallaidhean, an dannsair beag agam,” Bucky growls softly, making sure to seal it with a deep, hard kiss. Promises, my little dancer. She looks a little flustered when they break apart, eyes not as focused as before. He knows she can smell the very pleased scent rolling off of him at her reaction.

“Such an Alpha,” She mutters with a teasing eye roll, keeping her hand on his chest. “You wear that jacket and you can have whatever you like,” comes the whisper against his lips, a soft growl punctuating the end before he takes another kiss. “Okay. Okay. Now, let’s go shank the little fairy prince,” Baring your teeth is more cute to Bucky than terrifying initially, but knowing what you’re capable of does make it scarier. And sexier, he wasn’t going to lie to himself. He loves that his mate is that intimidating.

And quite honestly, what will be more scary to the little prince than someone he feared and loathed coming back after watching them die? What's more, coming back for their retribution on him from the other side. Bucky can bet anyone that it’s not a hell of a lot actually.

“Brace yourself for it,” She whispers, hand wrapping tight around his metal one. Bucky feels a tug at his navel as the whole world around him seems to lighten at least ten shades, the overwhelming scent of blood returning, along with the pond waters, and Steve suddenly all fill his nose at once, Steve’s hands suddenly wrapping just this side of painful on his upper arms.

The scent of confusion and awe fill the area around them like a sudden breeze, the fair folk Prince calling for the God and Goddess to protect him in a whisper which might as well be a shout in the eerily quiet park. It seemed like even the regular wildlife noises in the Park had shown restraint, watching the otherworldly conflict in reverence.

“Did you miss me, brother?” No one on the other side of Manhattan could mistake the venom in her voice for anything other than deadly.

“You don’t understand!” The man - if you could call him that, no one in Central Park would though - shouts defiantly with a slice of whining at the end, his pupils blown as his eyes dart around the small clearing with barely restrained panic, nearly everywhere but on Duchess.

“Spare me your bullshit, Bradye,” Duchess growls, the lights beginning to dance behind her eyes as she moves closer to him, leaving her mate behind her. She smiles a bit triumphantly, maliciously. “You have come into this realm and by doing so are now subject to its rules and punishments. That useless title you hold will do you no good.” A few tsks come from her, “For you will face a death punishment either way. Hecate has requested the Queen come here and you and our father will pay for, let’s see, eight deaths and three kidnappings.”

“The fair folk do not lie,” He reminds in a taunt, thinking he’s won something. Her dangerous smile makes his millisecond of gloating worthless.

“Oh, of that I am well aware. I was schooled in that rule with leather. And steel. And sharp blows...and I think it may have slipped your mind, but I DID die. Charon saw me waiting upon the shore of the River Styxx. And he cannot lie about the souls he sees and ferries. Is the shaking of your hand as you drove your servant’s blade into my chest so quickly forgotten? Don’t worry,” Flames begin to gather around her ankles, slowly creeping upward like a nonsensical dance. “I have worked with SHIELD to document all you and our father have done. Did you know that there are some cameras opposite where your servant was seen entering and exiting? And that it has files that date back to before the first murder? Where you can make out two male figures walking into the park and it has a slight shake to it? Almost like an earthquake...or perhaps even a sithen moving…” The color drains from his already pasty face as Duchess strides closer, the blue and white flames now licking up her hips and lower back. There is a slight odor of urine, making Steve and Bucky both wrinkle their noses as Tony takes a small step away from him.

It’s a power move, not just the ever shifting flames but Bucky can clearly spot how sharp her teeth have grown, how her midnight blue fingernails are now black pointed tips. She’s allowing her fae side out as well, those multicolored lights bobbing and dancing behind her irises as each step she takes results in tiny little faerie rings, the tiny flowers blooming in the colors of the pinks, greens, and light blues that dance behind her eyes as small little beings descend from the trees and pixie-looking fae flit from the flowers around the Azalea Pond.

“You have no proof,” The haughtiness returns, looking down at Duchess, and had his voice not shook, might have pulled it off. He also eyes the fae joining the group in the clearing around the pond, his eyes catching sight of the faerie rings behind her and the shock that shows in his eyes is nearly equal to watching her appear back on this plane - alive.

“You hear that, Grandmother? Everything I asked Hecate’s handmaidens to give you is not proof.”

Bucky will remember that look forever. The snapping up of his head so fast it looked like it hurt, the look of complete and utter stunned surprise that seems to echo through and around him and actually make a tremor run through the little slimeball as Fury, Coulson and a lovely looking older woman with hair that went from silver at the top of her head and slowly gained a darker red as it came to rest at her waist came behind him into the clearing.

“I have heard all in this park. I have watched your hand slay your sister.” There is a flash of fury in her eyes, which Bucky notices are mismatched. One green as freshly mowed grass and the other a dark pine bark brown. “And had she not been preoccupied with keeping everyone in this park safe, sealing the sithen closed, and focused on her mate, you wouldn’t have stood a chance, you preposterous, moronic, useless child!” Her voice raises but her face never changes from an indifferent look that Bucky had seen Queen Elizabeth sport more than a few times on tv. “You and your father will be punished to the fullest extent of this plane’s laws. Before that you both will be brought before both courts of Fae and stripped of all your titles, rights, magic -” She looks down her nose at him with a sniff of disdain, “This applies more to your father as he actually has abilities. And you will also be made to pay for restitution to the families of those you had killed and of course those three whom you stole magic from and tortured. By our laws and the old ways, your sister has death rights on all three of you involved. And I must say, if I was her, I would drag your punishments out slowly...meticulously...painfully.”

Duchess strides back over to Bucky, hands already reaching out for him as the fire dies down around her - not as consuming, but still a bright warmth that shadows her entirety. Wrapped safely in his arms, Bucky rests his chin on the top of her head as Steve gently brushes his hand up and down her arm a few times, just reassuring her of their pack bond before taking a small step back to let them bond more. She pulls back a little from the comfort of his arms, tilting her head back to look up at him, Bucky knowing exactly what she wants. This was all very familiar to what happened just before she died...and honestly they all need that reassurance that everything is okay still. And this is the simplest and best way he can do it now; Her lips are soft and easily molded to his own. His sensitive ears can still pick up the little chirps and flitter sounds of small wings of the tiny fae that had climbed into this plane at Duchess’s silent command, gathered closer to her than her Grandmother, waiting for something else it seems.

A sharp featured man dressed in a black suit jacket with heavy, shining gold threaded designs along the wrists, collar, and lapels comes into the clearing with two men trailing behind him dragging a third between them.

The tiny beings begin a high pitched whine as the dragged man is thrown at the Faerie Queen’s feet. The man in black eyeing the tiny creatures with an unreadable something in his eyes.

Bucky is shocked at how much Duchess shares her face shape and nose with her father. Everything else must have come from her mother, making her features softer. Her eye color - she had told him last night - had come from her mother’s father, her mother’s side also responsible for her more soft Greek eye shape and supple body as well. Her father’s face however is harsher, more weathered looking than even his mother’s face. His eyes are a muddy brown and he looks to be maybe an inch or so taller than Duchess herself, unusual for a male - and even most women - of high Fae blood to be that short and not claim Brownie or Goblin blood, both of which a high Fae would absolutely loathe to admit to tainting their line. Him and his son seem to have been the tailings of a long and powerful bloodline, while Duchess was an anomaly of both sides of her family tree which was probably why she was so powerful. She was seemingly that red-headed gene in a sea of black hair which came about once every few generations.

Steve moves closer to the two of them again as the Queen looks down at her son with even more disgust than her grandson, which Bucky would not have thought possible a second ago. The sharp featured man comes to stand before Duchess and gives a deep nod, the two men behind him taking a knee as they come to a stop, the High Prince of the Seelie Court and his son watching from behind the Queen with shock and anger mixed on both their faces.

“Your highness, we at the Unseelie Court are thankful to you as it was a forgotten part of our court that was taken.” His bright green eyes look almost hesitant for his next words. “We are indebted to you for clearing this up. And also for clearing our court of involvement. The Unseelie Court is indebted to you, Princess Duchess Propolos Hekatos.”

Duchess pulls away a little from Bucky and Steve to sink into a deep curtsy, “Thank you, King Odhran. May your debt be cleared swiftly.” The two men behind him rise and they all go over to the Seelie Queen as Duchess’s flames die down further, pulsing softly in time with soft flutters and swayings of the tiny fae that have moved closer still.

“I will be seeing you later for their merited punishments, cousin,” The man says indifferently while also containing a hint of malice.

“Good evening until then, Odhran.” He and his men disappear as the Queen waves her hand to the men and women holding the prisoners formerly known as her family. “Fury. Coulson. We will be off now. They will be put into your custody in a week’s time. My granddaughter will, of course, be there for the handoff as a representative of the good will of my court.” Bucky doesn’t like that she’s ordering Duchess, fighting to suppress a growl. Does she not know he has plans for his mate?? She turns to address said granddaughter. “You will attend this handoff as a Princess of the Seelie Court. Come see me the morning before the handoff, as we have things we need to discuss. Please thank your goddess, Hecate, again for her swift actions and Hades for his too.” Duchess sinks into that deep curtsy once again before nodding at the trees and pond, the tiny creatures melting back into the waters and darkening branches like shadows, her Grandmother watching with something close to fondness on her face as the guards and prisoners disappear first, then her elegant frame takes a few steps and is gone as fast and quietly as the others.

Fury holds his hand straight up in the air after they vanish, no one making a move, just light breathing as everyone glances around the clearing, looking at Duchess and then Coulson who both give a firm nod before he lowers his hand and clears his throat. Fury’s good eye looks tired as fuck to Bucky.

“Alright people, shit shows over. Wanda, please begin magically cleansing this spot with Pietro, I want to be out of here in under an hour. Coulson, get me updates and signed paperwork from the three rescued for prosecution. Tony and Vision, keep the area contained until after the cleansing. SHIELD agents, please collect photos and evidence before the cleansing. Originals we keep, copies to the NYPD. Falcon and Spidey, back on patrols for the next few hours. Barnes and Rogers, take the lady home. I think she’s done and had enough for tonight. Everyone else, find something to do to make this go as fast as goddamn possible.”

“Roger, roger!” Bucky and Steve call out, Bucky tossing his flesh arm over her shoulder, Steve on his left side as they all wave silently to their friends and begin their way out of Central Park.

“This is one of the most terrible evenings of my life,” Steve mutters as Hades, Cerberus - in his human form - and a third figure, who Bucky can scent and see is definitely not the extra curvy Persephone, wave from further up the treeline ahead of them. “And I was just on the edge of the whole thing - witness and secondary pack feelings between you two. I might need a cigarette.” Steve mutters as he runs one hand through his hair and then down his face after taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“You haven’t smoked since 1938,” Bucky remarks with an eyeroll. “And that was before we knew it was bad for you, punk.”

“And this was one of the most terrible evenings of your life so far!” Steve turns his light blue eyes towards her with his Captain America signature disapproving glare at her overly perky tone. “The Seelie Queen says thank you. In that special fair folk way,” Duchess lays on the happy sarcastic tone as they approach the trio.

“As if I give a single fuck,” The woman’s dark voice growls out, her full lips set in a frown at the news. “How do you feel, mikrí mou skoteiní?”

“I told you, your little dark one is fine,” Hades reiterates with an eyeroll.

“I feel wonderful now, eroméni.” Duchess squeezes Bucky’s hand before ducking under his arm and pressing her forehead against Hecate’s as they intertwine both their hands, the power swirling softly around the two of them.

Bucky can feel the comfort in the darkness and mist that surround them temporarily, the two pulling apart and grinning at each other more like sisters or best friends than what they were.

“Mistress, this is my Bucky,” She stretches her hand out to him, Bucky forever heeding her siren call as he slips his hand into hers. “And that is our Steve Rogers.”

“I am honored to be in your company, gentleman. My mikrí mou skoteiní needs more family. I am glad she has found not only her mate, but a pack.” Her face shifts minutely from ecstatic to a little teasing. “One that will surely grow soon?”

“My baby doesn’t need to be having babies just yet!” Cerberus says in his deep honeyed voice, the slight echo noticeable now.

“My ma raised me right, ma’am. I got to mate and marry her before we go that path. My girl hasn’t even been to Coney Island.”

“Psssh. You haven’t been to Disneyland.”

“I was starting with Brookyln and Coney Island, doll.”

“Whatever you say, handsome,” She sighs out with a smile as Hades chuckles.

“And so it begins, Bucky.” Bucky grins down at his mate.

“I can’t wait.”

“Cheeseballs...the both of you,” Steve laughs out as Hades pulls Duchess into a hug, kissing her forehead before pulling away.

“Bring the boy down in a few days for brunch. Persephone will be elated, well more elated, to see you mated and bonded. Steve is welcome as well. You know how we love certain companies in the Underworld.”

“I shall bring the handmaidens as well. Perhaps we can get Mr. Rogers a mate as well,” Hecate teases again as Steve’s ears and neck turn bright red.

“We’ll call to check in tomorrow,” Hades continues, hand stuck out to Bucky who shakes it more firmly than last time which makes the God of the Underworld’s smile widen. “Gentlemen.” He extends his hand to Steve, giving him his own hard handshake before stepping back for Cerberus to enthusiastically hug all three of them.

“I love new pack members!” His echo-y deep timber reveals his obvious happiness, Hecate eye rolling good-naturedly beside him.

“I’ll text you later,” a smirk is painted on her full lips as she stares at Duchess. “But I understand if you are busy.”

“Goodnight Hecate!” comes Duchess’s embarrassed reaction, Bucky wrapping his metal arm around her waist and winking at Hecate. “Stop that!” She swats at Bucky’s chest playfully, just for him to catch it and kiss her fingertips.

“Let’s head home, doll.” Her eyes brighten instantly.

“Ooooh! I’ve never been to Stark Tower!” She states as Steve full belly laughs.

“He meant your bar or our shared apartment in Brooklyn.”

“But I’ll take you to the Tower in a few days,” Bucky promises with a kiss to her open palm as her temporary puppy dog eyes brighten.

“Goodnight all,” Hecate and Hades state simultaneously as Cerberus gives Duchess one last kiss to her cheek before rubbing his own cheek against it.

“Goodnight!” Steve, Bucky and Duchess chime in reply, watching the gods and guardian take a handful of steps before disappearing further up the path to the right, Bucky leading his pack down the left path towards 74th Street.

“So, whatcha up to later, Sargent?” Duchess begins as they enter the area just before the Boathouse Restaurant, squinting just a bit at the brightness.

“Well, I got this mate who smells like fresh baked bread, lemon squares, cayenne, and a little hint of mint - who is in dire need of a mating mark and bond. And lots of baby making practice. Then I was thinking I take her for lunch at the Tower in a couple days to show her off.”

“Can you schedule an old school tour after the Tower lunch?”

“Of course, doll,” Bucky’s accent thickens a little as her eyes soften as she looks up at him. “I’ll even show you everywhere we got our asses kicked when we were young.”

“And by ‘ours’ he means mine after 1934,” Steve says from Bucky’s other side with a scoff, sending Duchess a wink as they get past the Alice in Wonderland bit and start on the path down towards the Model Boathouse.

“Whatever you guys wanna show me,” Duchess sighs out happily, leaning into Bucky and reaching around his back to take Steve’s hand. Steve squeezes back before kissing the back of her hand and releasing it, happy to have her in the pack.

“I’ll grab some stuff, but I’ll stay near - up in Natasha’s apartment a few floors up. Just let me know when it’s safe,” He chuckles out as a flustered look passes over her face. “Don’t worry, kid, it’s natural. Just lots of good luck to our furniture in the house with this Alpha.”

“Is Natasha’s floor far enough away, punk?”

“Well, I love my pack already,” Duchess murmurs as Bucky and Steve continue ribbing each other, watching the stars compete with the New York City lights as a few leaves rustle in the breeze and fall on the bright path ahead of them.

“Doll, as corny as it sounds, it’s amazing how I could try but I could never explain what I hear when you don't say a thing. Just your scent and hearing your heartbeat is a different kind of magic,” Bucky whispers against her hair before kissing her soft cheek, his metal fingers entwined with hers naturally.

“If every bit of magic was stripped from me tonight, I would be okay with it. Because the best magic I’ve ever received is you.”

Bless ya’ll for making it through my long ass rambling stories <3

@stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @galaxiesinmymind @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @mizzezm

**PICTURE IS NOT MINE - FOUND ON GOOGLE**

**ALL RIGHTS TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS**

#bucky barnes x reader #ckcomebacktour #authoressskr writes #bucky x reader #bucky au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader au #marvel fanfiction #marvel au

43 notes · View notes

highfaelucien · 3 years ago

Note

Hmmm maybe lucien and elain playing with nyx and elain marveling at how good lucien is with children...

@bow-dawn also requested "give us elain watching lucien playing with nyx and that warms her heart enough to have a talk about their mating bond 😭" Everybody wants Lucien with babies because they know he's baby catnip. And I have no idea how children work but an attempt is gonna be made!!!!

send me ship prompts! platonic or otherwise!

Elain's arms were starting to get sore. Even with her being fae now. Arms that had stabbed the King of Hybern were somehow unequal to holding one small Ilyrian baby.

He was a very important baby, to be sure. Since he was her nephew. And the son of the two most powerful people in Prythian's history. Or so everyone kept saying.

Maybe he knew that. He was certainly doing everything in his power to make sure the whole of the Night Court, maybe the whole of Prythian, was aware of him right now, with the racket he was making.

They weren't sure which powers of his parents' the babe would inherit yet, he was too young. But he had an incredibly potent pair of lungs, of that she was sure of.

She'd been holding him for what felt like decades, bouncing him in her arms and trying to soothe him. He had managed to wear through her considerable patience, and she was now bordering on the edge of desperation.

This was her first time babysitting by herself. Feyre and Rhys had trusted her with their son, and she couldn't get him to stop crying! She was a terrible aunt. What kind of mother would she be? Unable to comfort her flesh and blood.

That thought made her stomach plummet. Had she lived out that other life, the one she sometimes saw reflected mockingly back at her in mirrors and pools, and married Greysen...She'd likely already be a mother. Would probably have at least one baby of her own.

She pushed that thought away before she joined Nyx in his crying.

"Cauldron boil me, Feyre!" A voice called from the stairs leading up to the roof where she'd taken Nyx hoping some fresh air might calm him. "What in the name of the Mother are you doing to that hellspawn child to make him scream that way?"

The voice was familiar, but unexpected. But she barely had a moment to process that before the door banged open and she found herself staring at Lucien.

"Oh," they said simultaneously.

Then Lucien, his cheeks changing colour to match his hair, said, looking abashed, "Lady Elain, please forgive me. I, I expected to find Feyre up here."

"I can tell," Elain said, giving him a little smile, "By the way you were shouting her name."

"Yes, well," Lucien muttered, looking rather flustered.

She found she quite liked that look on him. She always tended to see him as the polished, silver-tongued courtier, always composed and prepared to handle anything.

"I, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up here. I would not have spoken to you that way if I'd known you weren't Feyre," he said, with a bow.

"Why not?" Elain said, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not some delicate flower that can't handle hearing curse words, you know," she told him, almost defiantly, "Amren has taught me many new ones. Cassian showed me how to do it in Illyrian. Rhys can be quite inventive when he's grumpy. And when all that fails, I can always just fall back on the word fuck."

He blinked at her, then grinned broadly, "Shockingly, I don't make a habit of cursing at people that I don't know all that well. Feyre and I are good friends, so she has earned my fragrant cursing at her."

"She's also High Lady of the Night Court," Elain said, raising her eyebrows, "With more power than anyone in Prythian's history has held in a long time."

Lucien waved an idle hand, "I knew her before she became all Made and Rhysandish," he told her, "Once you've seen someone puke faerie wine into a fountain of the mother at the Solstice it's hard to see them as too grand to curse at anymore."

Elain giggled at that, then winced, as that apparently seemed to upset Nyx even more.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at them, "Cursing aside," he said, leaning idly against the wall, "My question about that one still stands - what by the Cauldron have you done to him?"

"Lots of things!" Elain said, her voice snapping a little bit, "I've fed him, and I've changed him, and burped him. I've tried to put him down for a nap. I've tried to rock him, and bounce him, as swoosh him side to side. I've talked to him, and I've sung to him, and I've begged him and he still. Won't. Stop. Crying!"

Lucien smiled slightly, which made her want to smack him, because this was absolutely not funny, and she felt tears of frustration starting in her eyes.

"Feyre and Rhys trusted me to look after him on my own and I can't get him to stop crying! I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she confessed hopelessly.

"May I hold him for a moment?" Lucien asked.

Elain hesitated a moment. But Feyre had let him hold her son before. She had seen tears in his eyes when he'd done so, and it had bridged some connection between them that had never fully healed since the war. She didn't think her sister would protest, as long as she was still here.

And she was so tired. Her arms were so sore, and Nyx was becoming a very heavy and dense weight in her arms. So she nodded gratefully, eagerly pushing the little bundle into Lucien's arms.

Lucien held him with a surprising ease, as if he'd done this thousands of times before. A broad, genuine smile spread across his face as he peered down at him, bouncing him slightly in his arms.

Nyx peered up at him. Elain expected this to trigger an increase in the volume of his howling, but, incredibly, he quieted almost at once, seemingly entranced by Lucien's face, his glinting metal eye.

"There we are," Lucien said, smiling, but raised a finger as Nyx started grumbling again, "Now, now, we won't be having any of that," he told him calmly, "Ah, you have wings, don't you? Let's see then..."

Lucien carried him over to the table, unwrapped his blankets. Before Elain could protest about the cold, he rewrapped him, but gently extended his wings first, and curled them around his little body, securing them in place around him with his blankets.

"You know about babies with wings?" Elain asked, bemused.

Lucien nodded, "Certainly," he said, then seemed to consider, "Not Illyrians, and not Rhys-spawn," Elain giggled against her will, "But I'm hoping the principles are the same."

He scooped him up and bounced him. Nyx actually giggled at him, the little monster.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded, peering down at the baby, who was now lifting his chubby little hands and grabbing, as if trying to catch the glinting eye above him.

Lucien smirked, "I have a known gift," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Elain would have whacked him for that, if he hadn't been holding her baby nephew.

"You, you've been around a lot of babies?" she asked.

Nothing in his history, though admittedly she knew little of it, had implied that babysitting had been a big part of it.

"Oh yes," he said, very seriously, "Fae with troublesome younglings came to me from all over Prythian, every court, lesser and high alike so that I could use my gifts and soothe them."

Elain put her hands on her hips and growled at him, "Don't you bullshit me Lucien," she said, as sternly as she could, poking a finger into his chest.

He snickered, still grinning at her, shifting Nyx slightly in his arms as he started to fuss again, "I have a very big family," he said, shrugging.

"I thought you were the youngest of your brothers," she said, frowning.

Lucien nodded, "True," he confirmed, "But I have lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and friends," he added, with a flicker of some emotion she couldn't quite read. He took a breath and added, "Regardless, they all felt that, as the Lord's seventh son, I didn't have anything better to do with my time than babysit all of their offspring. I've had a reasonable amount of practice."

"Well you saved me today," Elain said, collapsing into the seat that Rhys always liked to sit and brood in, overlooking the Sidra, "I don't know what I did wrong," she muttered, bracing her chin in her hands and sighing dejectedly.

Lucien cautiously approached, Nyx still cradled in his arms, and sat in the seat next to her, also glancing out over the city. "If it helps," he said, "You did everything right. Sometimes babes are just tricksy little bastards," he said with a shrug,

She frowned, trying to determine if he was patronising her.

"They like to be dramatic and seek for attention," Lucien told her calmly, "Especially when they have Rhysand, Night Discomfort, Death Irritate, the most dramatic bastard to ever spread drama, as their father" he added in a lofty voice that acutally sounded uncannily like Rhys.

Elain stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself snorting as she laughed.

"He is very dramatic," she agreed, tickling Nyx's tummy.

Lucien smiled down fondly at the babe, and for all his comments about him being dramatic, there was a tenderness in his face she had never seen before from him.

It made him look younger. His face was still scarred and strange, with that mechanical eye, but there was a gentleness in him she hadn't seen from most fae in her time in Prythian, it made her feel safe and calm.

Nyx started fussing a little again, and Lucien hushed him, and fluttered his fingers in the air above him. Little lights appeared above him, circling like a mobile and flashing different colours.

Elain let out a little gasp of delight watching him, which was echoed by Nyx.

Lucien glanced up at her, a wry smile on his lips as he said, "My magic isn't particularly powerful or impressive, but it's very good for entertaining infants."

"I think it's beautiful," Elain said, quiet, but sincere.

Lucien smiled.

Then he turned his head back to Nyx, tickling him with his free hand while the lights continued to circle, swooping down and booping the child on the nose, causing him to giggle.

Elain felt a sudden pulse of warmth and joy blossom in her chest like a swelling rose, and she let out a little, "Oh!"

Lucien glanced up at her, startled, "Are you alright?"

She put a hand to her chest, without breaking eye contact with him, "I, I fel you," she said quietly.

"I apologise," he said, looking truly sorrowful, "I usually keep better control of myself, but being around you makes that more difficult."

The little river of his joy faded away as he closed off the bond on his end.

"No!" she cried, with a desperation she couldn't quite explain, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, "No," she repeated, more quietly, "Please don't, don't close down on me."

He raised his eyes, and held her gaze, unwavering, unfaltering. She felt that river again, the joy at holding the babe still there, but also excitement, anxiety, and almost unbearable anticipation. Though she had the sense he was trying to keep her from the worst of it.

"It's good," she whispered, "It feels good. I've, I've had dreams of you," she told him, "So much pain. So much guilt, and sadness, and hopeless need."

He ducked his head, turning away from her, seeming ashamed, "I'm sorry that you-"

"No," she said, quiet but firm, cupping his face in her hand, tracing his scar with her thumb, "No. You don't apologise to me for the things that others have done to you. You never do that," she said, with a fierceness that surprised even her.

"I shouldn't have let that touch you," he said quietly, "I, I don't want anyone to feel that, least of all you."

Elain held his gaze and, for the first time, she tentatively tapped at that string inside her, on her bottom rib, that one that extended beyond her in a way even her newfound Sight did not.

Through it, carefully, she pushed all of the depression, all of the pain, and all of the grief, and hopelessness, and even the darkness that had almost claimed her, caused her to step into it and never return.

He started, and his eyes filled with a thin veil of tears. But not because of the emotions she shared, but the fact that they were twin to his own. The fact that, as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had felt what he had felt.

"We are the light for so many," she said quietly, "The sun that they grow towards, the thing they reach for in their own darkness, when they need hope, and someone who will always find a smile for them."

Lucien nodded, and picked up that thread she'd left dangling for him, causing one of his orbs to circle close to Nyx. The baby tried to catch it, giggling, and Elain saw that, but also the shadow it cast on his soft skin.

"But where there is light, there is shadow," he murmured, eyes not leaving hers, "That is the quiet burden we bear to be their light."

Elain nodded, and together they looked back down at Nyx, and let the warmth and joy at him flow, tentatively, between their bond.

***

thank you!! I hope you enjoyed!!!

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #Nyx archeron #acofs #acotar series #acotar fic #elucien fic #my fic #mine #answer post tag #fic prompt fill #taryn fills prompts #IM DOING IT OKAY IM DOING IT #IM MAKING MY WAY #THERE'S JUST A LOT #AND I CANT STFU #long post

122 notes · View notes

kevin-day-is-bi · 4 years ago

Text

For my dear @frenemies-to-lovers , who is my Knife Wife!! This did turn out on the long side, but I hope you like it!

It’s a Human Thing

Cardan was absolutely, completely, and totally in love with the girl in front of him. He was also not able to focus on how amazing she was because of how odd his human pants felt against his skin. Jeans, Jude had said, thrusting them into his arms. They, she had told him, were going to buy presents. And now they were in this store, this store that was bigger than the High King’s Palace in Elfhame, where everything was bright red. Jude had a list clutched in one hand and was pushing a shopping cart, as she had called it.

“Okay,” She said, turning the cart down an aisle. “We both need to think of something for Taryn. I am going to get her a new scarf. A human scarf.” She turned to me. “You need to get her something, too.”

Cardan frowned, staring at what they were walking past. He pulled one off the shelf and popped off the lid. It was a candle.

“It’s a scented candle.” He looked up at Jude. She was leaning on the cart and smiling slightly. “Sniff it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, then sniffed the candle lightly. It smelled like vanilla. Cardan hummed and looked at the other candles on the shelf. He pulled another one off and smelled it. It’s light, jasmine. He held it out to Jude.

“Would Taryn like this?” She smelled it and nodded. He tossed it in the cart and they kept shopping.

This was going to be Jude and Taryn’s first Christmas since they were stolen. In Elfhame, they celebrated Solstice. They celebrated it much like they celebrated everything else, with drink and dancing until dawn. Cardan had been assured that they still had drinking and dancing for Christmas, but that there were a few important differences.

Vivienne and Heather were hosting a party Christmas Eve and Christmas day, and Jude had invited the original Court of Shadows to come. Somehow, three humans and six fae were going to fit into Heather’s incredibly small apartment. When Cardan had voiced his worry, Jude had given him a look.

Cardan received a lot of looks from Jude. There was a ‘you are being very annoying’ look, a ‘you need to stop drinking now’ look, a ‘you are making me very turned on in the middle of this important meeting’ look. Cardan felt he gained a new look at least once a week. This was a new one. He was pretty sure it meant ‘if you ruin this for me I will cut off your head with Nightfell’. So he had simply assured her they would easily find the space and changed the subject.

“Ok!” Jude said, tossing a soft-looking midnight blue scarf into the cart. “Ready to go? We still need to wrap them.”

…

“Explain the hat.”

“It’s a human thing.” Cardan raised his eyebrows, looking skeptical. Jude sighed and plunked the red-and-white hat down on his head. “There’s this story they tell kids, I don’t know where it came from, but this fat old man goes around the world Christmas night and delivers presents to all the kids who have been nice, and coal to all the kids who have been naughty.”

“Is he a fae?” Jude made a face.

“Not that we know of.”

“But he is magic?”

“Yep.”

Cardan tilted his head, soft black hair falling over one eye. Jude had her hair pulled back in a thick knot, and Cardan found himself wishing he could run his fingers through it.

Decorating was more fun than Cardan had thought it would be. There was a tree - not real, Vivienne had said with a scoff. Real ones were messy, - and several garlands of holly strung over windows and doors. Heather had pulled out several boxes of decorations from somewhere. Jude had held the plastic and glass ornaments in her hands every time before she hung them up, seemingly trying to comprehend their existence. Cardan was helping, although he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing it right. There didn’t seem to be much of a pattern, it was more of ‘hang things up where you want’.

Oak was also helping, though he was doing more talking than hanging. Cardan found himself fascinated by tales of mortal school; hearing a fae child talk about lunch lines and playing games felt like the whole world was slightly tilted.

“Oh, and in art class we made Christmas decorations! We cut out snowflakes and glued them to blank CDs and decorated them with Sharpies and gems. I brought mine home.”

Oak ran to the door and dug around in his backpack, pulling out the ornament. It was slightly misshapen, with very bright red and green scribbles on it. Cardan raised a brow, but Jude grabbed it and hung it up right in the front.

“I hope you aren’t ruining the tree,” Vivienne called from the kitchen. Cardan examined the tree. It had several empty spots and looked as though they had simply thrown the boxes at it.

“No,” He called back, and Oak snickered. Vivienne came in balancing a tray of mugs and began passing them out. It was hot chocolate with white floating things in it.

“What are these?” He asked. Heather, having followed Vivienne in, gasped.

“You’ve never had marshmallows?” She looked horrified, and distantly Cardan wondered if she was as horrified as him on the first night Jude had kissed him. He doubted it. Oak jumped up and down, sloshing his hot chocolate down his arms.

“They’re amazing! They’re fluffy and light and sweet and you have to try one.”

Cardan hesitantly took a sip, catching a marshmallow as he did it. After a moment of thoughtful chewing, he nodded.

“I believe I do enjoy marshmallows,” He said, trying to get another one with his next sip. Oak giggled.

When Cardan looked up, he noticed Jude giving him another look. He had seen this look before. ‘You are incredibly attractive right now and I am struggling not to throw myself at you with wild abandon’ was the general meaning of it. Cardan was not one to leave and let lie, so he smirked at her, showing just a flash of teeth. Her chin jutted out, challenge ripping through her eyes.

Cardan went for another sip, but someone knocked on the door. Vivienne went to get it, but when she opened the door she inhaled sharply.

“It’s a fae,” She said, voice quiet. Jude and Cardan looked at each other and walked over. It was indeed a small fae, short and furry with distressingly long teeth.

“My King,” The creature gasped, bowing. “My Queen.”

“Yes, what is it?” Cardan was annoyed. He had hoped not to be called upon, just for tonight and tomorrow.

“Your pardon, Majesties. I was told to bring this to you.” The fae held out a cream envelope with a shaking hand. The thick red seal on the back had already been broken, but Cardan could see it was Madoc’s.

Next to him, Jude drew in a sharp breath. Cardan unfolded the letter and scanned the few short lines of text. Wordlessly, he passed it to Jude. She gave him a quick look and read the letter. Cardan was carefully still, shoulders tight. Her head jerked up to look up at him.

To Their Majesties,

I will arrive at sundown. I am excited to see the girls and Oak. I am bringing presents.

…

“He’s coming?” Jude stared, wide-eyed, at Vivienne. Vivienne was leaning against the counter, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Her own cat eyes went huge, and she pushed off the counter.

“He isn’t supposed to be.” Vivienne set her mug down and put her hands on her hips. “He certainly isn’t coming into this apartment.”

Next to her, Taryn pursed her lips and shifted. She fixed her attention on her own cup of coffee and took a sip.

“Taryn?” Cardan cocked his head slightly. “How do you feel about Madoc coming over?” She mumbled something into her coffee, not looking at any of them. Jude spun to her, eyes narrowed.

“What was that?” Taryn lowered her cup and reached a hand up to push her hair over her shoulder. She still wasn’t looking at them.

“I may have invited him.”

“What?” Vivienne and Jude spoke at once.

“Well, he raised us! This is his first Christmas and he’s in the mortal world and we haven’t payed him any heed and I wanted to be nice.” Jude stared at her, horrified. “It’s not like he can ruin the whole day. Even he doesn’t have that much power.”

“He almost took over all of Elfhame.” Jude grabbed Taryn’s shoulders, shaking her a little. “He ruined our childhoods and almost ruined both Cardan and I’s reign! Why would you think he can’t ruin Christmas?!”

Taryn looked taken aback. Cardan crossed his arms. She really should have thought this through.

“I thought-” Taryn bit her lip. “Maybe Oak would want to see him.” Everyone craned their necks to see into the living room where Oak was furiously typing on a laptop. Jude was the first to snap out of it.

“Maybe, but if they miss each other a half-hour visit in the park does just fine.” There was something in Jude’s voice, and Cardan turned to look at her. There was anger and annoyance, but Cardan could see in the tightness of her mouth eyes that she was worried, as well. Worried and scared and hurt.

Taryn kept stammering, but Cardan stopped paying her any attention. He watched Jude, watched the annoyance and anger crest, watched her eyes turn stormy. She turned and left in the middle of Taryn’s pleading to Vivienne, who was just watching with narrowed eyes. Taryn stared after Jude. Cardan followed, nodding slightly to Vivienne as he went.

Jude stormed to her bedroom and stood by the small window. Cardan shut the door quietly behind them and perched on the bed. He remained silent, waiting for her to speak. She broke after only a few short moments.

“I don’t want him here.” Her breath was coming short and fast as she crossed her arms. “I don’t care if it’s childish. This is my first Christmas since I was six, our first break since Eldred stepped down, the first time we are together and not being attacked, not fighting, not having to plan and plot and handle Orlagh or Nicasia or Locke. I wanted a time where I could be with Vivienne and not be mad at Taryn and see Oak smile.”

She broke off, tilting her head back slightly. When she spoke again, it was softer than before. “He has been a presence in my life forever. Even before I knew it, my life was ruled by him. I just wanted this nice human holiday without him.”

Her voice rose, and she lashed out a hand and punched the wall. The plaster cracked ever so slightly, and Jude grunted softly. Cardan rose and skirted the bed, going to stand by her. He took her hand gently. Her knuckles were red, and one of them had split open. He glanced up at her face.

To say she was angry was to say the sea around Elfhame was wet. True, as he couldn’t lie, but vastly underplaying. Cardan had never wished more that he could lie, just so he could hold her and tell her Madoc wouldn’t ruin anything. But Madoc was in the habit of ruining things. Jude sniffled. Cardan looked at her in surprise.

“I’m not going to cry,” She said sullenly. “Unless it’s out of anger.”

Cardan hummed and pulled her close. He tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her arms. Cardan had found out that when Jude was upset, physical touch grounded her. Otherwise, she got in her head and spiraled into anger. Cardan, having the opportunity to touch someone he loved for the first time in his life, was all too willing to comply.

“I can’t stay here,” Jude whispered. “Not with him, not in the same apartment. I don’t want to fight, and I know he’ll ruin it.” She sighed, shoulders hunching under his grip. “I suppose we can go back to Elfhame.” She didn’t sound thrilled. Cardan wished he could just snap his fingers and disappear Madoc.

“If we go back to Eflhame,” Cardan said, mumbling into Jude’s hair. “We could spend the night in my rooms. We need not deal with anyone else.” She pulled back and wrenched her head towards the window.

“I don’t have a choice. I simply cannot be in the same apartment as him.” Cardan straightened. Spending Christmas alone was not the worst idea, but it was for Jude. Cardan wondered…

“Come back to Elfhame, and I will try to distract you.” Jude flashed him a smile.

“You always do such a good job.”

…

Jude opened the carved door. Hair dripping down her back from her bath, she slipped into a blood-red doublet and thick green tights. She sighed, relishing the feeling of the velvet and wool against her skin. It felt like home.

She squeezed out her hair, then braided it back. Cardan had said he had to do something, then left her to bathe. The bath hadn’t been pleasant, all her anger and fury and worry over Madoc coming out in great heaving gasps. When she had dragged herself out, she had sworn not to think about him for the remainder of the night or for Christmas tomorrow.

Someone knocked on her door, and she rushed to open it. She blinked in surprise. It was Fand, out of her usual armour and in a black doublet. Fand bowed.

“Your Majesty. The King asked me to find you.”

Jude reached back inside the door and found her boots, the comfortable worn leather supple beneath her hands as she laced them up. Then she followed Fand, slightly confused. Fand did not lead her to the throne room, instead leading her to a small dining room attached to Cardan’s rooms.

When Fand nodded at her and opened the doors, Jude was taken aback. Inside, someone had put up a large pine tree, and it was covered in bright berries and soft glittering cloths. The whole room seemed to shimmer, and wreaths were flung over every chair and onto the mantlepiece. But what was more shocking were the fae inside.

Surrounding the table were Cardan, The Bomb, The Roach, The Ghost, and Grima Mog, all dressed in fineries. Fand slunk by her and joined them, cerulean skin standing out against the soft browns and greens. The Roach even had on a velvet Santa hat, though it looked odd on him.

Cardan stepped forward, holding two spun glass cups of wine. He handed one to her, taking a sip of the other. Jude shut her mouth, which had fallen open slightly, and gave him a grin.

“Merry Christmas,” He said, the words sounding odd in his mouth. Jude laughed, taking Cardan’s goblet and setting both of theirs aside. She flung herself at him, hugging him tightly enough he gasped for breath. The Bomb cheered loudly as Jude kissed him. She reveled in the softness of his mouth. He put his mouth to her ear and breathed. “I love you with all of my shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous heart.”

“I love you, too,” She whispered back, laughing again and clutching him tighter.

Merry Christmas!!!

Thank you, @jurdannet and @jurdannetrevels, for hosting this!

#Jurdan #Jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #high queen of elfhame #christmas #christmas fluff #@frenemies-to-lovers #knife wife #secret snusband

163 notes · View notes

scarletaire · 4 years ago

Text

homeland (Chapter 6)

A/N: Here we are at the end! And Cardan isn't quite done surprising Jude just yet.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Have you known me to have any other kind?”

He has her there. Jude tugs at the blindfold around her eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“To the beginning and the end of all this.”

“What does that –” Her voice cuts off as the boat rocks precariously beneath her. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You like very little, Jude, and that is a problem of yours.”

I was stupid enough to like you, she almost says. Instead she asks, “Why did we have to take a boat? More importantly, why are you the one rowing? You’re the king.” The boat rocks again, and Jude finds herself thinking longingly for a ragwort steed. Steady, secure, reliable — or, well, as reliable as Vivi’s magic allowed them to be.

“Crossing the water myself proves a fine reminder of my position to those who yearn otherwise.”

“A power play? That’s what you woke me up so early for? Cardan, there are a thousand more things that need my attention back at the brugh.”

It was still light out when she’d felt lips behind her ear, nuzzling her awake. They had probably been asleep for a mere few hours at most. She’d woken up slowly and sweetly, like dragging a spoon through thick syrup, with Cardan curled around her — arms, legs, and tail — and his mouth soft on her neck. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d woken up the previous night that Jude melted right back into his embrace, her body heavy and worn out in the best way possible.

But then he was pulling away, coaxing her to get dressed, murmuring into her skin that he had something to show her.

Promising that she would like it.

The fae cannot lie, but that last part has yet to come true.

“I’m taking this blindfold off.”

“Jude –”

She can hear the petulance in his voice and that just makes her rip the stupid thing off even faster.

It turns out that “crossing the water himself” doesn’t much include actual rowing on his part. Instead, iridescent, aquamarine scales flash across the surface of the water underneath them, their movement rippling and propelling the boat forward.

Merfolk.

Pulling their vessel on his whim.

A power play, indeed.

Jude raises an eyebrow at him, impressed despite it all. He continues to pout at her and the blindfold in her hand.

Then, something catches in her mind.

“Salt and seafoam…”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmare.” She’s staring at him now, understanding how it fits together but not quite believing it. “You said that when you dove into the sea and couldn’t find me anywhere, it was because there was nothing left of me but ‘salt and seafoam.’”

“Yes.” The word is like water on burning coals.

“You –” The sentence is inconceivable even when she tries to form it in her mouth. “Have you… have you been reading fairytales? Human fairytales?”

He scoffs. “Nothing Faerie about them.”

A yes, then.

“So –” She’s known about him reading Alice in Wonderland and even wondered at the way he had kept the mortal book in his rooms. It boggles her mind like this next thought does. “So…” How does she say this? She has no clever ruse with which to coat her words, and so she gives up and goes for direct. “The Little Mermaid. That’s what caused your nightmare?”

He cuts her a look, like she’s being stupid. “No, Jude, your kidnapping and prolonged torture at the hands of my brother and the Undersea while I waited powerless and unable to help you was the cause of my nightmare. And many more of its kind before it.”

She doesn’t much like how he speaks to her like he’s explaining something to a child, but she holds her sharp tongue and wields her silence against him.

“But fine.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. The mortal tale about the moronic mermaid and her wayward prince may have… exacerbated any woes I may have already been carrying. Don’t know why I bothered,” he grumbles under his breath. “I hate stories.”

“No,” she says, thinking of the way he fancies himself a villain even though he hasn’t truly been one in a long time, “you don’t.”

He looks pointedly over her shoulder. “We’re here.”

And Jude turns her head to see where it is that he has brought her this morning.

She has to shield her eyes a little from the amount of sunlight that refracts off the massive stretch of sparkling sand in front of her.

No, not sand. Ash.

She knows where they are.

Insear.

The beginning and the end of all this, he said.

When they disembark, Cardan holds out his hand to guide her from the boat.

She doesn’t need his help.

She takes his hand anyway.

There is still something of last night humming underneath their skin, and so if they lean into each other’s warmth and stumble across the shimmering shores of the Isle of Ash, a little lovedrunk while they walk — well. There is nary a soul to see.

It’s somehow even more beautiful in the daylight. And with Cardan here, the island seems to unfurl even further, coming alive just a little bit more the moment he steps onto the soil. The air turns sweeter the farther inland they go, the blues and ivories and blacks of the native flowers populating everywhere they turn. When Jude looks back at their footfalls upon the ash, she sees little sprigs of myrtle springing up from the indents they leave behind.

“There’s something I want to check on,” she says when they reach the thicker parts of the forest. “I’ll come find you again.”

“As you like.” Cardan’s gaze is caught on something up ahead. “Dally not, wife.”

When Jude returns to the clearing where they had encountered the fallen falcons the previous night, she finds no trace of them save a single, tawny feather in their wake.

A token.

She pockets it with a smile.

That same smile fades far too fast when she comes back to find Cardan reaching out a hand towards a shrub of suspiciously familiar, dark-petaled flowers.

She’s between him and the shrub in seconds, pushing him away a little too violently.

In that moment, she was more seneschal than queen. And in the next, when her fingers tighten around his lapels out of their own accord, she is more wife than seneschal.

“Did you touch it?” Panic raises her voice. “Did you get any of it on you?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the flora –”

“Idiot, that’s probably the flower that poisoned me.” She’s checking his hands, his clothes, for traces of shimmering, black pollen.

“Is it?” He plucks one and raises it to his face before she can stop him.

“Cardan –”

“Peace, Jude. It cannot harm its maker.”

And Jude pauses, because it’s true. This flower, this island and everything on it, is Cardan’s creation. He is the root, and as he has proven last night, he is also the remedy.

A beat passes between them, and then: “Did it really have to take a noxious, mood-altering flower for you to tell me about my brother?”

Jude scowls at the insinuation. “I was going to.” She weighs the next sentence in her head. “It’s just… easier to talk to someone when you don’t give a crap what they think.”

The human word is out of her mouth before she can reel it back in, but Cardan nods.

“Yes, I think I can understand that.”

She watches him twirl the flower in his hand. With his dark hair and eyes and clothes, it is without the shadow of a doubt that he created it, that it sprung forth from him and his magic. It belongs with him; it is him. She can imagine it pinned to his collar, petals of black glitter, an extension of his essence.

“We should inform the Bomb. Tell her that an antidote won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cardan grins at her like they are old friends trading a secret joke. “I can think of a few ways that an antidote could be useful.”

And Jude feels a thrill up her spine, because there is something conspiratorial in his voice, like he’s letting her in on his plan, like they are in it together, and maybe she enjoys that more than she thought she ever would. Having a partner.

“Scheming, are you?”

“I learned from the best.”

He is always more than what she thinks he is.

“That flower is connected to you. This whole island is, actually.”

“To us,” he corrects immediately, and she marks the strange note in his voice. “The island is connected to us.”

“Me, by extension,” she concedes. “But you raised this island with your own magic.”

He sighs then, as if a great burden has befallen him. “I suppose it now falls to me to name this flower, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you don’t have to name it now. We can always come back later –”

“Bitterblack,” he pronounces solemnly and somberly, and with a swiftness and surety that couldn’t possibly be borne of extemporization.“This bloom, flourishing upon the Isle of Ash, the land raised from my own bitterness, shall henceforth be known as bitterblack.”

“Um.” Jude blinks at his pomp. “Okay. Raised from your bitterness?”

“The birth of Insear marked the moment I deemed the crimes of the Undersea – against you, and against the crown — unforgivable. It was a bitter heart that sowed the seeds of this land. Perhaps it is only fitting that it was a full one that healed its poisons.”

Cardan casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling, like the edge of moonlight peeking through the spidersilk canopy of their bed. A gossamer thing, but the light shines through.

A shame that this island will have to go belong to someone else, when she will forever remember Cardan here with her, looking at her like that.

“You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes.” And oddly enough, his smile freezes a little. Jude narrows her eyes at it.

He leads her towards another clearing among the birches, tucking the bitterblack behind one pointed ear. There is more space here, and the air is crisp and clean, threaded through with the scent of salt and sunshine. The birches stand tall, but the sun reaches high enough to set the ash dusting the tops of the trees afire with crystal brilliance.

“What is this?”

His tail flicks once behind him. “The solution to the Insear claim.”

“What? Wait. You mean you knew how to resolve it all along? Randalin was right. You have been putting it off.”

“Not putting it off, waiting for the right time.”

“It’s been going on for weeks.”

Cardan shoots her a look. “I was supposed to ask you during the revel.”

The events of the revel — and the way it had ended, with Randalin bleeding in her chokehold — play out in her head. “Oh.”

He waves his hand. “No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time you caused a scene in front of the entire kingdom anyway.”

Jude crosses her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it, then. Tell me now so that we can put this whole thing behind us.”

He hesitates.

“Come on. Explain your solution.”

“This isn’t how I planned for this to go.”

“Planned for this to – Cardan. Just spit it out already.”

“Alright, fine,” he hisses. “I want to build a home with you. Here, on Insear.”

For a long moment, Jude wonders if she heard him right.

“Are you drunk?” Even though he couldn’t possibly be.

“I wish.”

“But the claim –”

“Is ours. Rightfully.” He raises his brow at her. “This island is connected to us, raised by my own magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

She stares at him.

“You know how this works, right?” Exasperation is clear in his voice. “I ask you to make a home with me on a new magical island, and you set yourself upon me, your acquiescence falling delightfully from your lips –”

“I do nothing delightfully, Cardan.”

“Oh, I could make a good argument otherwise.”

The entirety of last night, every sordidly delightful detail, flashes behind her eyes.

She clings to any rational thought she can find. “We already have a castle.” She thinks of the brugh, the entire sprawling mass of it. “A really big one.”

“Yes. And the Palace of Elfhame is the first place the High King and Queen should be. But often, it is also the last. A royal castle is just as much a royal warground.” He gives her a meaningful look. “As you and the rest of my family are well aware.”

Jude swallows. “What are you saying?”

“Our brugh will be the first place we make a home of, as monarchs. But it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

He turns her to face the clearing. His arms come around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they gaze out into a landscape stolen straight from the pages of a book.

“We could build something. Right here, in this glade. Where we don’t have to worry about anything. Where nothing else can touch us. We’ll close it off. We’ll come whenever we want. No spies, no interruptions, no watching our backs.”

And Jude recognizes the way he is holding her, because it’s the same way he held her in their secret room behind the throne, confessing the truths of his nightmares. “This is about protection.”

She feels him shrug. “A part of it, yes. Mostly I just want us to never be interrupted again. But there is power in protection. Wouldn’t you like that, Jude?”

Her head is swimming, because he’s put ideas into her brain, of waking up to the smell of birchwood and of walking along a glittering, moonlit shore — and they’re wonderful, damn him. If she’s being honest, those ideas came to her the moment she first stepped foot on Insear, like something in her had taken root in its sparkling soil, but she hadn’t let herself linger over them, knowing that the land would soon be treatied away.

But now, it’s like Cardan’s words have opened the floodgates, and her entire being, connected to Insear through his magic – their magic – thrums with the song of I could live here, I could thrive here, I belong here, and she aches with the rightness of it all.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admits, and doing so feels like she’s left her flank vulnerable during an open duel. She twists around in his arms quickly, before she can dwell on it. “But let’s get one thing clear.” Her fingers fist into his collar. “This nonsense about my being your weakness, that’s your problem. Not mine. I refuse to be held back by your fears.”

He nods with more gravity than is probably required. “And I could never ask it of you.”

“Then what do you ask of me now?” And because so much has changed between the two of them, because of everything that has led up to this moment, she adds, “What do you ask of me now and forever?”

He cups her face in his hands even as her fingers tighten on his shirt. “That you stay by my side. Through it all.” His mouth crooks self-deprecatingly. “And that you do not begrudge it too much that I miss you when you’re gone. That I worry. That I fear. Not because you are human, but because I hold you in my heart.”

She hates how swiftly her breath leaves her.

“Okay,” she says, more to steady herself than anything else, because this is a lot, and she’s never been good with dealing with a lot of feelings all at once. “Okay. I –”

“The rest of the kingdom belongs to the crown.” He presses closer, as if he can see her weakening. He takes a breath. “This… this could be ours. Just for us.”

“This island is too big for just the two of us.”

“No, Jude.” The look on his face is a little pained. “Us.”

A breath. A slice of time separating this moment into a before and after.

He isn’t talking about just the two of them. He’s talking about –

“Oh,” she breathes. “Us.”

“Only –” He’s scrambling a little now, she can see it. “Only if you want them.”

Them. Plural.

Jude sways a little. She’s not prepared for this. He should’ve warned her or something, because she doesn’t know how many surprises she can take in such a short amount of time.

Cardan is looking at her funny and she realizes she’s been quiet for too long. Something moves at the corner of her vision, and she realizes it’s his tail, flicking back and forth with the nervousness that he doesn’t show on his face.

“I want –” she begins, and he stills immediately, as if he could live or die on the next words that leave her mouth. “Okay. I don’t actually know what I want. I haven’t really had time to think about it. I want to talk about this. I do. And we’ll have to talk about it one day. But today, I don’t know if — if I know how, today.”

“Very well.” He says the words like he’s learning the shape of them on his tongue for the first time.

“It’s not a ‘no,’” she says quickly, before he gets the wrong idea. “It’s a ‘someday.’ Someday, you can ask me about children again. And in the meantime, I’ll think about when I can say yes. Deal?”

He touches her cheek, gentle, too gentle. “Deal.”

And all too late, she remembers the rule that she’s lived by all her life, the rule she’s broken time and time again when it came to this bewildering, beautiful boy that has made a place for himself between the stained-glass shards of her heart — never make a bargain with a faerie — because really, really, he shouldn’t be smiling like that, not like she’s given him the world when she’s barely even agreed to anything.

“Did you really plan a revel just to ask me about all this?”

“Yes. And you ruined it by taking a slice out of the Minister of Keys.”

Jude can’t help it. She throws her head back and laughs. “You’re a disaster.”

He glares, but there is no heat to it. “Only because you render me into one.”

Then something clicks into place. Something Tatterfell said while lacing her up in the dress he designed for her. For the king’s sake.

“Tatterfell knows.”

“She was most knowledgeable in your living preferences. How you like your room. Your furnishings. Your floors. I decided that I might know them, too.” He glances at the open space before them, at the sheer potential of it all. “Just in case.”

“We’ve been married for months. You could have asked me.”

“Would you have taken me seriously?”

She changes the subject, because he has her there. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A while.” Another shrug, less carefree this time. “Almost as long as the nightmares have come to me.”

Something hard glints in his eyes, and Jude recognizes the sharp lines of revenge if only because she has worn it too many times on her own face.

“All of this was as much a scheme,” he admits, “as it was a proposal to you. For to take a land borne of bitterness and remake it into a land of bliss, it would be –”

“The ultimate power play,” Jude finishes for him.

He grins down at her. It is heady, the realization that only she knows the true, full depths of her husband’s wickedness.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with blissful homes.” She feels the sudden urge to make sure he knows this. That he understands. It’s as much of a promise as she knows how to make. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping one.”

“Nor I. We’ll have to learn together. Knowing you, there’ll be plenty of knives involved. But I think it starts,” he says, gathering her closer, “just like this.”

And when Cardan kisses her, Jude is sure that this is what conquerors must feel like. Because for years, she has fought for her place in Faerie, fought and bled and killed to belong somewhere.

And here it is.

Here it is, and she could dream entire worlds in his arms.

But she doesn’t have to. She has a whole world spread out before her already.

It’s a land of magic, raw and untested, ready to be discovered. A land of possibility, of infinite potential, waiting to be shaped by their hands. A land where sunlight grows and wayward falcons find peace. A land where the future blooms in full color, one amongst the thousands of flowers.

And it is theirs.

Their homeland.

______

Chapter Visuals:

Myrtle. (Love and partnership, marriage.)

End Links:

Everything: an edit.

His Door. (Cardan POV drabble, post-homeland.)

_______

End Note:

This fic represents a lot of firsts for me: my first completed multi-chaptered story, my first time (heh again) trying my hand at smut, but most importantly, my first time encountering some of the nicest, most thoughtful people as readers.

If you’ve read and followed this little fic of mine up until the end, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been an absolute honor to have readers like you. ❤️ I've learned so much from writing this little fic that could, and I hope to continue to grow as a writer. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey and bringing so much value to the fic writing experience – kudos, comments, and your wonderful insights and all.

As always, you can find me and my open ask box on tumblr.

Much love to you, always!

________

Tagging: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks

* Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics (Jurdan or other fandoms!) and it would be my absolute honor to do so!

108 notes · View notes

capri-ramblings · 4 years ago

Note

Hiya ^^! How the dorm leaders gonna react if their S/p suddenly hug them from behide and not let them see their darling face because they just shy?

Some of the S/O's reaction isn't shy but hope this is well enough! ♥️ Requests are open but will be updated slowly, any inconveniences is greatly regretted.

Veiled Embrace

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is greatly taken aback. His small figure turning stiff the moment his s/o arms wrapped around him.

"What on earth are you doing?" Slips out of his mouth with a gasp, and he's already trying to shake them off which proved to be surprisingly hard since they resisted the rejection.

"___,face me! What do you think you're trying to pull?"

It's not that he dislikes it but growing up with such strict procedures, public displays of affection was something even his mother rarely did. She always told him that it was improper to be so straightforward with ones feelings,it made you seem weak and dependant.

Riddle attempted to pry their hands off of him but then he noticed how they were hiding away their face,burying it into his uniform. They were trembling too. Worry soon etched into his expression and rather awkwardly, he stood there with their arms still embracing him from behind.

"I don't know what's gotten into you so suddenly" He said, "But this position is uncomfortable and it's hard for me to look at you"

"Maybe I don't want you to look at me" Came the reply,all muffled.

Riddle sighed, and yet his heart fluttered joyously at the sight of them clinging to him. He wasn't the type of boy with a strong built like Leona and Jack, so it was amusing to see them act like it was and throwing themselves at him so carelessly.

Was it because they genuinely depended on him despite his flawed physique?

"You're going to cause a scene if people walk by and see us like this,you know?"

"Just a little longer?"

Another sigh, another fluttering sensation.

"Only a bit."

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was facing his vanity mirror, hands gracefully applying the new face mask he'd bought yesterday. His fingers pressed the mask lightly onto his skin, smoothing out the edges before admiring how despite it being entirely covered, he was still extremely elegant.

His purple gaze glistened pleasantly when his s/o's reflection greeted him from behind.

"Daffodil,how do I look?" A gentle laugh echoed in his words but instead of receiving an answer, his s/o furrowed their brows and bit their lower lip before wrapping their arms around him in an embrace. Taking him by surprise.

"Not the sort of answer I was looking for but—" His laugh came out this time, and Vil had to remember to compose himself before speaking again. "I'm pleased you like my new look,though I would've been more appreciative if this came after I took the mask off"

Their face nuzzled into the silk robe he wore, Vil felt a rush of heat course through him as they shifted in the embrace. He was often particular with physical interaction but when it came to them,he always had a slight softness to spare.

The only thing he found odd was how they kept him from seeing their face.

"You're awfully shy today,my sweet"

Grumbling came as a response and Vil smiled, slightly coyly as he leaned into their touch.

"If you keep grumbling like that I might have to teach you words, mein lieb."

Azul Ashengrotto

He honestly didn't know how to react. His self-made facade was slipping and the fact that Jade and Floyd were grinning at him for his dumbfounded response wasn't helping.

While preparing for Mostro Lounge to open for business, his s/o came barging through the door and without even saying anything grabbed him from behind,by his waist and muffled their scream by pressing their face to his back. It all happened so quickly, his reaction was only natural wasn't it?

"What's wrong with you?" Azul managed after letting out a gruff cough, an attempt to re-compose himself. He looked over his shoulder only to see that they were covering their face, but from the way their shoulders shook he knew they were upset.

He sent a narrow eyed glare towards the silently snickering twins, a warning for them to dismiss themselves, before he addressed the matter as calmly as possible.

"You're going to ruin my suit,___."

"I don't care." They murmured, earning another heavy sigh from the Mer-male. He wasn't used to intimately physical interaction, especially not from a human, but it was something he had learned to adapt to since it was considered a normalcy to their kind. Though,it always seemed to tip him off.

"What's this even about? You don't usually assault me with your need for intimacy like this"

"Grim keeps eating the leftovers I keep and I was this close to skinning him alive" They proceeded to show their frustration by bringing up two fingers touching each other, though their face was still kept hidden.

"But I didn't want to so I ran over here"

"To assault me"

"To a safe zone!"

Azul's brows furrowed, confusion clear as day on his face. Truly,land folk were very odd.

But he endured it. For them.

"I'll get Jade to prepare a meal for you,will that make you feel better?" Azul sighed,one brow cocked upwards as a small smile curled on his lips. His s/o nodded their head.

"Can I hold you for a bit longer?" They asked, quietly.

"I run a business here, seashell...But just until Jade's done with your food, understood?"

"Yes,sir!

Leona Kingscholar

He was deep asleep when his instincts kicked in and his eyes flew open only to find that the one disturbing his slumber was none other than his fussy s/o. They had their head buried into his chest as their arms wrapped around his waist despite the awkward size difference.

They didn't seem to be sleeping from the rise and fall of their chest,but their eyes were shut closed.

Leona let a sigh, a deep rumble that shook their body.

"You're taking up a lot of space here, herbivore" He drawled,the gruffness of his voice a mixture of exhaustion and irritation, and yet he made no attempt to pry them off of him.

When they didn't answer him though,Leona shifted so that he was on his side and had one free hand to tug at their hair until a small yelp escaped them.

"Stop that,Leona! It hurts!"

"Ha? Serves you right for ruining my sleep"

"You're always sleeping when you don't have anything else to do..." They grumbled aloud and the young prince didn't even need to see their face to know that they were frowning when the words left them. But seemingly unfazed, he tugged their hair again, a ghost of a smirk flirting about his lips as he felt his s/o squirm.

"So, what? It's not like there's anything interesting to do anyway"

His smirk grew wider before he leaned into their curled up body against him and felt them turn stiff from the contact.

"Unless you have something in mind?"

"Leona!"

Their head jerked up and roughly collided with his chin. The loud thud of the impact earning painful groans from both parties.

Eyes half opened,they rubbed the top of their head as Leona hung his low,one hand grabbing onto his throbbing chin. Both persons stayed like that for a while, engrossed in their own physical pain, before Leona lift his head and elicited a low growl.

"If what you were looking for at first included sweating,I hope you prepared yourself to run for your own life, mousey, cause when I catch you, I'm going to return that impact twice as hard."

Idia Shroud

He felt light headed and if it wasn't for his sturdy built, he would've toppled down the moment they held onto him from behind. Latching their body close to his as if in an attempt to squeeze him of any energy he had left.

When a laugh erupted from them,the awkward dorm head had to crane his head back to look down at them.

"You're so stiff, Idia! It's ridiculously amusing." They chirped happily, the rumble of their laughter reverberating through his body. He was never this close to anyone for him to receive such an intimate touch, and though he did rather quietly enjoyed it,he was still very much adapting to it's consistency.

"What makes hugging so complex to you, anyways?" They asked him, the slight hint of teasing rang in their voice blatantly and had Idia struggling for words.

Goodness,if Ortho was here, he'd have died from embarrassment.

"...And you think I should know?" Idia murmured this underneath his breath,his heart beating rapidly echoed through his own skull and his cheeks dusted a faint pink.

"Did you say something?" Looking up, his s/o's gaze seemed to make the entire situation harder to cope, what with glistening eyes filled with softness,and Idia was left with wondering how he got into this relationship in the first place.

"You...Why are you here?" He asked before reassessing the question.

Their eyes widened, surprised by the question but then warmth coloured the hues of their orbs and small smile graced their lips.

"Cause I like you, silly."

Well, that was a surprise.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim would be pleasantly taken aback. One of the most physically affectionate dorm leader out of the seven, he himself surprises his s/o with embraces and kisses as well.

It was no different today when they came rushing from behind him and squeezed their arms tight around his body. He let out a shocked gasp but then upon realising it was simply his Jewel of the Earth, a smile flashed on his face and his arms were quick to return the embrace.

"Hahaha! You're lively today! Did something good happened?" He cheered, voice warm and loving as always. They kept their face hidden from him, but somehow he could just feel the smile on their lips as they nuzzled against him, and his heart fluttered.

They were always his source of energy. There was no way he would ever think otherwise.

"Today, let's fly on my magic carpet! Jamil said they were going to have a new bazaar open near by, I'm sure there'll be lots of food there for us to eat together!"

A soft laugh escaped their lips then as they nodded to the idea, and Kalim let out another enthusiastic cheer.

Malleus Draconia

Physical affection was one of the things this Fae had to adapt to and it was surprisingly easier than he thought it would be.

He found them extremely pleasant and soothed his nerves more than his midnight walking. If he were to be honest, he simply hadn't gotten the idea at first, humans could rarely even talk to him while remaining eye contact, so naturally he would think the same when it came to things such as hugging.

Though, he was proven wrong when his beloved would oh so casually wrap their arms around his body or lean their head against his shoulder at any given time. He thought it odd, of course he did, and even went as far as to inspect if being with him hadn't somehow caused them to be stuck in some sort of curse, but then when they would laugh it off and smile at him as genuine as he'd seen any human do, he accepted the fact they truly liked his presence beside them pretty well.

Suprises such as coming up behind him and pulling him into an embrace became a familiar sort of sport to Malleus and often time when they did it, the Fae couldn't help but chuckle in amusement. He doesn't mind them at all and sees it as a way to indicate his beloved's emotions, whether they were happy or restless, sad or angry, he could tell simply from how their embrace affected him.

Right now, they were flustered, their arms squeezing him tight as their face buried into his back. The mere heat running through their veins somehow ran through him as well, and the slightly rapid beating of their heart reverberated through his bones.

"You're flushing" He said simply, "Did something happen?"

"I passed Mr. Crewel's test"

Malleus arched his brows,curiously. "Congratulations. He must be glad as well"

He felt them press themselves even further into him, almost to the point Malleus thought they were trying to join their body with his.

"Oh yeah,really glad. So glad he had me stand in front of class while he patted my head and said, "Good, pup! Those extra classes of ours worked well to train you into a smart puppy after all."

'Ah' Malleus thought, finally understanding the situation.

"You should've seen everyone look at me! Even Deuce looked like he was going to burst out laughing!"

They lifted their head then,eyes teary yet flaring with emotions. Their lips quivered and Malleus couldn't help but smile, his hand coming up to pat them on the head.

It took them by surprise of course.

"You did well, and he congratulated you albeit teasingly, I'm sure he meant well. Don't let it sully your achievement"

His s/o pursed their lips, head resting against his chest.

"Fine."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst riddle #twst vil #twst leona #twst azul #twst Malleus #twst idia #twst kalim #twst imagines #twst wonderland fluff

402 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! For your monster prompts, maybe Fae indruck? Either nsfw or sfw is cool ✌🏻💕✨

Here you go! I went with NSFW

When the sun sets over the Monongahela, Lake Greenbriar becomes a sky burning with stars. The woven crowns, strung through ash leaves for men or rowan leaves for women, each bear four small candles which flicker in the twilight as they bob on the water. If they sink, their owners will return home alone. If they make it to another part of the shore, the one who picks them up and the one who set them afloat are meant to be together.

By the time darkness cloaks the trees, all but one of the crowns is sunk or retrieved. Duck Newton sits on the shore, skipping stones across the black water.

This happens every. Goddamn. Year.

He makes his crown, he sets it on the lake, and it floats aimlessly until the candles go out. It doesn’t sink, and no one ever picks it up. Two years ago, when he was allowed to weave ash leaves instead of rowan into it, he thought that might fix the issue. No such luck.

It’s not that Duck is hoping to find his true love; every one knows that the Festival of Floating Light is an excuse to hook-up in the woods with no repercussions. Kepler is strange like that. Sex is private, unless there’s a an ancient ritual involving boning down in public, in which case it must be observed every year.

That’s not the only strange thing about his home, far from it, but as moans and cries of pleasure punctuate the darkness it’s the one on his mind.

He’s contemplating whether to go home when his crown changes course, floating purposefully to a point diagonal from him. Lo and behold, a figure picks it up, and there’s a flash of silver as they lift it. But instead of moving towards him, they turn into the woods.

“Man, what the fuck?” He grumbles, getting to his feet and running towards the dimming candles, staying on the shore to avoid tripping over an amorous couple hidden in the trees. Duck catches up to the mysterious figure just as they pass into a clearing, moonlight spilling onto the grass around them.

“Y’know, real rude to turn your back on your true love.” He teases.

A rustle of fabric as the figure turns and Duck bites back a frustrated groan. Standing before him is a man with silver hair, faintly glowing red eyes and, god help him, short, feathery antennae. He smiles wide, showing teeth just sharp enough to be worrying.

Six years of waiting, and the first person to get his crown is a fucking fae.

“That seems rather forward.” The fae cocks his head, “I was of the understanding this night was for more, ah, casual activities.”

“I was, uh, just goofin around. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize for such a jest. Here” tan arms offer the crown back to him, “I came to observe, not participate. I was running late at that, and thus thought I would see the lake empty. Only this remained and when it came to me I assumed it’s owner had long since given up.”

“Uh, thanks.” He blows out the candles, not wanting to start a forest fire, “yeah. This same thing happens to me every year. Don’t stop me from waitin until the last moment, hopin it’ll be different.”

The fae looks at Duck’s feet, gaze slowly moving up his body with an unreadable smile.

“I know many consider this festival a mere game, rather than true magic, and you are the proof” red eyes lock onto his face, “Such a handsome man is left floating year after year? No decent magic would allow that.”

Duck knows that fae flirt with humans all the time, that people come back with stories of being bewitched until the member of the Unseen Court had their fill. But this one seems too earnest for that.

No sooner does he think this then the fae steps back, “Oh, ah, apologies, I did not mean to alarm you with my compliment. You need not fear trickery from me, Duck Newton, I promise.”

“Uh, my, my name ain’t, uh, fuck, my names really Way-, no, no uh. Fuck.”

“Do not worry. I am a seer, and thus learned your name by following your futures. But magic has odd ways about it; because I can learn others' names with ease, I cannot use them for any sort of spell or binding.”

“Thank fuck.”

The fae snickers, then bows, “Indeed. You may call me Indrid,”

“Indrid. Right. Uh, well, been nice meetin you Indrid, but I’m gonna head back into town.”

“You wish to return to a lonely bed and a night of disgruntled dreams?” Indrid raises an eyebrow.

“N-ye-uh, fuck, I mean, what else am I gonna do?”

“You could stay with me awhile. I would offer a meal, but I foresee you being wary of it and, honestly, that speaks to prudence on your part. Fae are fae, after all. What else do you like doing at night?” He sounds excited, as if he wants nothing more than to indulge Duck’s most mundane fantasies.

“I like stargazin.” Duck mumbles, certain the fae will leave rather than stay and listen to him babble.

A wave of the hand and a thick, green blanket covers the ground. The fae sits down with less grace than expected, flopping onto his back with a sigh. Cautiously, Duck joins him. As he lays back, a pillow forms to cushion his head.

Crickets call near their heads. Duck likes silence, but a growing part of him wants to talk more with Indrid. He points to a cluster of stars, “There’s the Great Ship. Always did like that one.”

“You know, we call that The Pine. But now that you say it, I can see the ship as well.” Indrid’s finger traces lines through the air.

“Huh, never occurred to me y’all would see different things. What about...that one. Cygnus.”

“It seems we both saw something avian. To me, that is The Crane.”

The trade constellations for a time, then move on to their experiences in the woods. Their conversation chases away Duck’s nerves, and soon they’re shoulder to shoulder, the human pointing out a particularly notable Spruce. When he lowers his arm, the backs of their hands bump together. Duck turns his hand, an offering to the stranger direction the night is taking. Cool fingers link with his, and he swears Indrid purrs at the contact.

“Can’t wait to write a friend of mine about this. He’s jealous that I live somewhere so fuckin weird.”

“I take it ‘weird’ is not something you enjoy?”

“I mean, there’s nothin wrong with it. But things like spells and prophecies, magical destinies, leylines, Unseen Courts, they ain’t something I want to stick my finger into. But uh” he squeezes Indrid’s hand, afraid he’ll get the wrong idea, “there are some parts of it I don’t mind.”

The conversation turns towards fate and Indrid’s misadventures trying to get people to heed his visions. A lull hangs between them just as a moan curls towards them from far off in the woods.

“Jesus, thought folks’d be done by now.”

“Perhaps they got a second wind. Or are making use of the darkness to do things they would not otherwise have the courage to ask for.”

Another moan and Duck shifts, uncomfortable with the fact the noises turn him on. He wants to focus on Indrid, not on his low-level, frustrated boner.

“It appeals to you, doesn’t it? These dalliances in the trees?”

“I mean yeah. Some of us like to touch as well as look, mister just-here-to-observe.”

Indrid lightly whacks Ducks’ thigh, “I told you, I came to see the lights on the lake. They sound captivating. That being said, I am not opposed to doing the, ah, traditional activity with you. But my visions suggest that would be too much.”

“It would, at least so soon after meetin you.” It’s the safest option, and he hates it.

Indrid drums his fingers on the blanket, “Ah ha! What about kissing?”

“Hell yeah” Duck rolls onto his side, Indrid mirroring him. The fae strokes his cheek, but does nothing else, waiting for Duck to initiate. He’s glad to, leaning in to press an exploratory kiss to cool lips. Indrid chirps softly as he returns the gesture, and Duck moves his hand to caress his cheek and play with the starfall silver of his hair. Curves his fingers down Indrid’s neck, chuckling when the fae teases his lower lip with concentrated kisses.

“AHhnnnnrrrrrrr” It’s half chirp and half purr.

“Fuck, sorry, thought you just had a scarf on.” Duck starts pulling his hand away from the ruff of dark feathers around Indrid’s neck, only for the fae to grab his hand and press it deeper.

“NoOoo” he wiggles closer, hooking an ankle over Ducks calf, “that is divine, please, touch it as much as you like.”

“It’s so fuckin soft” He pets the down, gets that same chirp followed by a flurry of kisses on the cheek.

“My k-kind come in many form. Mine is uncommon, some would even say offputting due to it’s commonalities with moths.”

“Bullshit. Wait, does this mean you have win--HOLY fuck, I thought that was a cloak!” He lays there, stunned, as Indrid sits up and extends two night skies from his back. The wings, pitch black, dusted with hundreds of small, pearlescent spots are the most beautiful sight Duck’s ever seen.

“A common mistake. Do you like their coloration? It is very handy if I wish to go for a night flight to clear my mind.”

“It’s incredible Indrid. Can I touch them?”

A playful smile, “Why, Duck Newton, first you come to me professing to be my true love and then ask to touch my wings. You move far too fast for a shy fae like myself.”

“Ohhh, is it a sex thing?”

“To a degree. Perhaps in the future I will permit you to touch them. Speaking of which” he lays back on his side, waves a hand in the air above Duck’s bound chest, ‘am I correct that you want me to steer clear of this part of you.”

“Uh huh. Wish you could touch a little more of me, but the damn things are hard to get rid of.”

“Of course. In that case” his hand skates over Duck’s side, pushing on his lower back to bring them closer, “I shall explore all the other parts of you that you will allow.”

Duck stays on the blanket until dawn peers over the horizon. In that time they trade touches of gentle desire and kisses that grow more fiery with each hour. At times they stop to lay in each others’ arms, Duck explaining how, if he had his way, he’d be like the fae forest stewards, watching over the woods and helping them grow. It’s with reluctance and his fingers carding through Indrid’s ruff that he says it’s time for him to go unless he wants a search party from Kepler to come looking for him.

Indrid stands, helping Duck up but not letting go of his hand, “I foresee my court duties requiring a great deal of time for the next few months but when I do have time, ah, if you are amenable, I would like to meet with you again.”

Duck brings his hand to his lips, kissing it, “I’ll see you then, ‘Drid.”

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

What nobody tells you about magic rituals is that there’s a fuck-ton of waiting. Duck’s been on his back on this fucking stone slab for at least a half hour and, depending on the whims of the Unseen Court, could be here even longer.

At the exact midpoint between the spring equinox and the summer solstice sits the Green Marriage Ceremony. The belief is that the ceremony not only ensures bountiful fields, but ongoing peace between humans and fae. Any residents of Kepler who are of age and unmarried put their names into a bowl, and one is selected to fulfill the human side of consummating the “marriage.” In the old days it was mandatory to accept if selected, but the fae now insist that the participant be willing. This year, Duck was the chosen one.

He accepted for two reasons: one was that, once you’re selected, your name is taken out of the running in the future, and why not get the weirdness over with when he can. The other was that he hopes whoever the fae send will be willing to take a message back to Indrid to let him know Duck still wants to see him.

So here he is, in a white shirt and loose, green shorts, at the center of a stone slab the size of a wealthy mans bed. White curtains form a tent around the slab, flowers strewn about and an unlit lantern hanging from the center of the ceiling. Juno helped him get the required flowers into his hair, (“gotta help you out how I can because Duck, I love ya, but I ain’t gonna hang around and listen to you get fucked”).

He’s not nervous. It’s not an actual marriage, just a symbolic one. The fact that he’s supposed to spend from now until sunset enacting a wedding night with a fae sounds exhausting, but assuming the fae isn’t a dick it should at least be fun. He’s heard horror stories about the human participant disappearing at the end, but that hasn’t happened since his grandfather was young.

The whispers outside the tent change, more earnest than idle, which means the fae have arrived. He has no idea how many come along with their chosen participant; like Juno he’d rather not hang around while someone he knows gets fucked for eight hours, no matter how great the food and games at the festival are.

A swoosh of fabric has him sitting up on his elbows to see who his partner will be.

“Oh” sighs a familiar voice, “I did so hope I was in this timeline.”

“Indrid” He sits up all the way. His fae is draped in flowing silver robes, which he doffs to reveal an outfit that matches Duck’s.There’s no hesitation as he joins him on the “bed,” waving his hand so the stone disappears beneath a thick, moss-colored blanket.

“My, my, they left me the most handsome husband imaginable. Lucky me.” He purrs, straddling Duck and leaning down to kiss his cheeks.

“H-how’d you end up with this gig?”

“The same way you did; pure chance. I saw you in most futures, though in some you decided to withdraw at the last moment. I am glad you did not.”

“No fuckin kiddin.” Duck grabs his head with both hands, pulling him into a kiss that spins sparks up and down his spine. When they part Indrid sits back, studying him.

“That is still not how you wish it to be?” He tips his head, indicating Duck’s chest. Duck shakes his head. Then he bolts upright, ripping his shirt up and off to stare at the newly flat space.

“‘Drid, you, did you just-”

“If that is not what you wanted I can fix-”

“No, no it’s fuckin great! I, I never asked a fae for that kind of help because, well, the whole bargains bein’ tricky thing.”

“Of course. Though I must warn you, I had selfish motives. I wanted to be able to touch all of you.” He pulls Duck into his lap, kisses him as he glides his hands over his chest. When he plays with his nipples the human gasps and the fae grins, “oh yes, I am going to have fun with you, sweet one.”

Duck tilts his head back with a groan, lets Indrid guide them down so he’s on his back once again “Fuck that’s good.”

“Very. But I suggest we start consummating the marriage in the traditional way soon; the futures show everyone getting antsy should we delay.”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck tosses his pants away, stares as Indrid does the same before undoing the tie that helps his shirt accommodate his wings. The feathers of his ruff continue down his shoulders, turning to a light dusting by the time they reach his elbows and collarbone. Duck runs his fingers through and over them as Indrid positions himself between his legs.

“This does not need altering for you to be comfortable doing this with me?” His fingers rub Duck’s inner thighs.

“N-not right now. I mean, if you wanna whip me up a bigger dick later I might be ready for that.”

“Noted. My, you are quite aroused already.”

“I around you, it ain’t hard.”

“On the contrary, it is very hard.” He rubs the head of his cock across his folds, grinning.

Duck giggles, “Christ that was awfulAHHHhhnnnfuck’Drid.” The fae sinks into him with tender determination.

“Nonsense, I learned how to ‘goof’ from the best.” He kisses his nose, purrs, “mmmmm, you fit me perfectly, sweet one.”

“Did-didn’t know fae were on the uh, the bigger siIIiide.” He moans as something catches the tip of his cock.

“Ah yes, that ridged ring at the base is always popular with humans. It seems you are no exception.”

“Nuhuh.” Duck wraps his arms around feathered shoulders as Indrid rocks his hips, “fuck ‘Drid, want it more, want you.”

“Here I am.” Indrid kisses him and the world dissolves. As their lips trace over each other, he dips his tongue into Indrid’s mouth, the hints of sharp teeth making him shiver. In the warm, soft light of the tent, Indrid’s body moving in time with his own, it’s all too easy to see the marriage bed as it could be. A cozy house full of light, nestled in the trees, with a big, soft bed where his beloved fae could comfortably sprawl his wings open as they spent each night tangled together.

A short, high chirp brings him back to earth, Indrid raising up onto his palms and snapping his hips purposefully.

“Oh, oh yes, Duck, sweet one, yesss.” He thrusts deep, wings abruptly opening halfway, and cums with a charming trill.

When he pulls out Duck opens his mouth to protest, only for the fae to reverse their positions. Dizzy, Duck puts out his hands to steady himself. They land in Indrid’s wings, close to his body.

“AHfuck, goodness that’s wonderful keep them right there while you ride me.” He guides Duck down onto his cock; if every fae is this quick to recover, Duck’s pretty sure he knows who set the length of the ceremony all those years ago.

The feathers in these sections of the wings are a mixture, some long and satiny, others the downy tufts Duck is growing used to. He sets a slow pace to match the drag of his fingers through the inky heaven of Indrid’s wings. The fae purrs constantly, bucking his hips now and then but otherwise letting Duck lead. That is, until his orgasm starts to build and he grinds down harder.

“AHhhnnn, yes, good little human, so good, please, sweet one, my antenna are sensitive too please touch them.”

Duck gropes fistfuls of wing, “Thought you wanted me to pay attention to these. Make up your mind darlin.”

Indrid growls, yanks one hand up to his head, sending Duck down with an amused yelp. The instant he toys with the base of one, feathery antenna Indrid moans louder, gripping his ass with sharp nails and driving up into him. The ridge on his cock catches just right over and over, sending Duck over the crest of his climax as he pours a groan down Indrids throat.

The fae, still hard inside him, holds him tight and sits up, keeping Duck in his lap. Starry wings encircle them. It’s so intimate, a world that is theirs alone, and being surrounded by those sumptuous wings has Duck bouncing on his cock even as his own body grows sensitive.

“That’s it sweet one, goodness, the way your ass moves when you do that is delicious, I will have to find all the ways to make it bounce and, ahnn, and tremble laterrrr” he breaks off into another trill, gathering Duck even closer as he spills into him. The human rests his check on the feathered part of his chest, sighing happily as Indrid plays with his hair.

“Since I see you asking, yes, we can try some different things if that part of you needs a rest.”

He makes sure Duck is laying comfortably on his back, then straddles him so his cock drips pre-cum at the center of his chest.

“Use your hand, sweet one, and I will use mine.”

“To do whaAAAfuck, ohfuckyeah.” He hurriedly strokes the cock before him as Indrid cups his chest, pinching and teasing his nipples. They’re sensitive, having gone untouched for years, and that combined with the fact that they’re exactly how he wants them to be makes Duck whimper and eagerly work his cock.

“Mmmmm, you turn such lovely colors when I play with you like this. Would you--ahhhnn, yes, use your thumb like that--like me to get you some jewelry for them.”

Duck whines, nodding his head as the image of Indrid affixing a god chain to each one floods his mind.

“I could even make ones that connect chains from here to your wrists or neck; that way I could play with them no matter what direction I took you fromOH, oh, oh, oh” he smirks as cum spatters up Duck’s neck and chin, “you do like that idea. Here I thought it was idle dirty talk.”

“Nope, fuck, darlin, I wanna do so many goddamn things with you, wanna do every filthy thing two folks can do.”

“Is that so? In that case” he crawls a few inches, sets the shiny head of his cock on Duck’s lips, “open.”

Duck obeys, loses himself in the sensation of Indrid ravishing his throat as he tells him how’d he leave him tied on a bed and fuck him every hour. He uses his foresight to keep from pushing to far. All the same, by the time cum drips down to his stomach his jaw is sore and his lips swollen.

Over the next few hours Indrid fucks him a half-dozen ways, from kneeling on the ground to suck his dick to working his cock into his ass in increments as he coos praise into his ear.

By late afternoon, Duck is exhausted and Indrid is close to joining him. The fae stays on top of him, fucking him so lazily that at times they barely move. In place of their earlier ardor are whispered confessions and languid kisses, even a few jokes. Duck takes advantage of the lull to groom Indrid’s feathers into order, the fae humming happily under his touch.

Twilight approaches and lamps flicker to life outside the tent. Indrid reaches up, turning on the lamp above them.

“We have about twenty minutes until they call the ceremony to an end. And the new arrangement of light means they can see our shadows.”

In spite of himself, Duck moans.

“Does my sweet husband like being watched?”

“Only with the tent up. Fuck, ‘Drid, the idea of them knowin’ I’m yours. Knowin’ what you do to me…”

A wicked smile flashes into view and then Indrid maneuvers him onto his hands and knees. This time, he thrusts in hard and sets a rough pace, Duck crying out in pleased surprise when he does.

“I think they deserve a little show. Deserve to see how lucky I am, and how eager you are.” His fingers dig into Duck’s hips as fucks him harder. Duck tries to stifle his next moan, the sound broken and desperate, and Indrid tuts, “None of that. I want them all to hear you. I want them to know how, even after a day of spreading your legs for me, you are still pleading for your husband to fill you again.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid, yes.”

Cool fingers run down his right thigh, through the still-wet lines of cum, “Just look at this. This sinful body of yours is practically covered in my spend, and yet you want more.”

“Yeah, fuck, yes I want it ‘Drid, want you, want you forevermmmph!” Cum-streaked fingers shove into his mouth, don’t leave until he sucks them clean.”

“You do not mean that, that is just these needy holes of yours talking” he gives a sharper thrust for emphasis.

“No it ain’t, ‘Drid, pleaseplease.” It comes out as a sob and the fae stops, leaning down to hiss in his ear. Outside sounds of townspeople taking themselves in hand or bending each other over just out of sight fill the air, but Indrid’s voice drowns them out.

“Do you really mean it? Do you wish to be with me?”

“Yes, ‘Drid, for fucks sake, you know I can’t lie. I fuckin hated bein away from you, thought about you everyday. Please I, I think I’m in love with you and if I ain’t, pretty goddamn certain I’ll get there.”

Indrid pushes him down to his elbows, “I feel the same. Now, listen carefully…”

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

The last few minutes of Green Wedding are the most vigorous anyone has seen in years. As the sun sets and the tent goes dark the onlookers agree that the Newton boy won’t be able to walk for days.

What they are not expecting is to open the tent and find it empty. The fact that the fae guards are equally surprised could suggest genuine spontaneity, some strange agreement between the “grooms.” Or maybe it is simply part of the act. After all, fae are fae.

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #reader requests #monster march #monster boyfriend #fae au

40 notes · View notes

moody-blues-requiem · 4 years ago

Text

Dullahan of the Opera (afab reader x Dullahan!Prosciutto)

SPOOKTACULAR FICS GO!

First up is the winner of the poll in a 3:1 victory, Dullahan Prosciutto!

Fic is n/s/f/w, mild warning for semi-public sex.

Enjoy!

Deep in the heart of Venizia and dressed to the nines on a temperate October evening, Prosciutto clasped your delicately gloved hand to his side as he guided you carefully along a narrow sidewalk. You were blindfolded, eyes hidden behind black silk, matching the simple, open-backed gown and elbow-length gloves you wore. Walking blindfolded in heels was a feat in itself, but one you managed with grace. You hoped Prosciutto wouldn’t be too distracted with guiding you to notice your impressive performance. Before he had put the blindfold on you, you’d gotten to see him in a different suit than his usual patterned one; rich black with gilded details, and of course, his usual pendant dangling from his neck.

When asked why a blindfold, you were told to trust him. When asked where you were going, you were told to trust him. You trusted Prosciutto with your past, present, and future, but that didn’t stop you from playfully pouting at your lover. “Can I get a hint, at least?”

“Alright,” he said. “You’re wearing the blindfold because I want to surprise you with where we’re going.”

Even without your sight, you could feel the smug aura practically radiating from him.

The sounds of the city around you changed as you approached your destination. You hear more voices, softly murmuring and mingling together, indicating a crowd of people. The light shifted just a touch warmer, you were approaching somewhere bright. Soft music played from some unseen source. Where…

Prosciutto placed his hands on your hips, stopping you from going any further. Sturdy fingers removed the blindfold over your head, carefully brushing your hair back into place after. The sudden light took a moment to adjust to, but once you could see you immediately recognized the building before. Tall and grey, with beautiful stone pillars, statues, and decorated with colorful flags. A sculpture of a bird adorned the entryway sign, but you didn’t need to read it to know where you were. One of the most famous opera houses in all of Italy, Il Teatro La Fenice. Prosciutto flashed two tickets in your direction, with a sly smile. “Private opera box,” he said. “Just for us.”

It was rare for Prosciutto to splurge like this, but when he did, he went all out. Waiting for you in your private seating was a chilled wine that you knew had to cost at least half a job for him. Was it wrong to enjoy such finery at the cost of blood money? Maybe. Were you going to indulge yourself anyways? Absolutely.

The show opened with a beautiful duet piece sung by a couple, a young woman and a slightly older gentleman. Something about restrained love-- even as a fluent Italian speaker, the way they sang could make the words difficult to understand, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. The passion in their voice spoke (or rather, sang) for them. The wine was delicious, the music beautiful, and your lover had his hand protectively on your thigh the whole time. Even alone in the opera box, he liked asserting a subtle dominance over you.

It was a bit less subtle when, out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Prosciutto begin to nod off, but when you looked, his head was off his shoulders completely.

You knew he was a dullahan. He’d taken his head off in front of you countless times. You’d never adjust perfectly to the sight of his stump neck, glistening red with blood that didn’t flow like the blood in your body. He’d explained that it was perfectly natural for his species of fae to be able to remove and reattach their head at will, and no, it didn’t hurt. He could still talk, and even eat with a detached head and the food would still make it to his stomach. “Fae magic, I don’t know”, he said, as if that were a perfectly good explanation. “Why is that harder to believe than a detachable head?”

The blonde passed his head from one hand to the other, delicately placing it in your lap. You tore your eyes away from the singer on stage to look down, met with the sight of a smirking Prosciutto. “You *did* get my text about what to wear, didn’t you? Or more specifically, what not to wear?”

You… had an idea of where this was going. Prosciutto had asked you to forgo your panties for the evening, though you assumed that would be for when you got home, or maybe the car ride… and a while back, months ago, he’d asked your thoughts on sex in public.

“Not just out in the open, no,” you’d said. “Maybe something more private, where we could get caught but probably won’t… I think I could do that.”

And then he just… never acted on it. So you forgot. Until now, of course, as he looked up at you with a fire in his eyes. “Pull up your dress, love. Let me see.”

You kept Prosciutto balanced expertly in your lap while you maneuvered the dress up over your knees, the slit over the left leg making it easier to pull the material back and expose yourself. The thought of anyone other than Prosciutto seeing you like this made your cheeks flush a deep pink, which only darkened as Prosciutto spoke again. “Show me, [y/n]. I’m afraid you’ll have to hold me, my hands are a bit occupied.”

Careful not to mess up Prosciutto’s hair, you held his head back and spread your legs, giving him a nice view of you. You’d shaved everything, just as he liked. Already the thought of being so impure with your boyfriend, here of all places, had you glistening wet with excitement. You turned your head just a bit to glance over at Prosciutto’s body, and nearly dropped the man’s head when you saw his cock out, flushed a deep red and leaking precum, hard and desperate for attention.

“Careful!” Prosciutto hissed. “But I could see just how you responded to that…. You got even wetter, didn’t you, naughty little girl? Give me a taste, before I let you play.”

You brought his head in close, enveloping him between warm thighs and the scent of your desperation, earning an aroused growl from Prosciutto’s clenched teeth before he dove in with his tongue. For as prim and proper as he was in other respects, there was absolutely no decorum when it came to eating you out; he went at you like a man starved. Lapping at you with feverish strokes, fucking you with his tongue, letting the end of his nose rub over your clit just to heighten your sensations farther. Your hips bucked and rolled against his severed head, but he was kept firmly in place by your clenching thighs.

When you felt your thighs growing shaky, Prosciutto growled. “Enough,” he said, between gasps for air. “Set me on the table, where I can see my body. I want you to fuck yourself with my cock, darling. Don’t stop until you cum on me, but if you dirty that suit one bit the dry-cleaning bill is on you.”

Prosciutto’s eyes were practically glued to your body as you, pulling up your dress a bit to give him an even better view, slid yourself down onto his waiting cock. Prosciutto groaned, the combination of your wet walls surrounding him with the sight of his cock disappearing into your tight hole was incredible. You groaned as his length slid perfectly inside of you, as if you were made to take him. Prosciutto regularly reminded you that you were.

“Move,” he commanded, barely audible over the voice of the opera lead beginning an emotional solo piece. “Fuck yourself on me, amore, go…”

You wasted no time, swirling your hips over his lap before setting a slow pace up and down, bouncing, feeling his length push just a bit further with every thrust. His hands grasped your hip bones like handles, commanding you to go deeper and faster. You tilted your head down to nip at his collarbones, both to tease your boyfriend and to help silence your desperate little sounds. The opera singer’s voice dominated the large auditorium, but you didn’t want your own little solo to accompany hers.

You found your hips moving in pace with the song, a ballad fiery with passion and… maybe anger, you weren’t exactly paying attention, but the tempo and feeling of the song compelled you to move faster and faster, moan a little louder, clench a little harder around Prosciutto’s cock… The man’s head was biting his lower lip, blue eyes blown wide with lust. “Fuck, amore, I’m close,” he whispered. “Keep going. I want to feel you cum, I want-- I *need* to fill you up.”

“Prosciutto, please!” you gasped. You could feel your end approaching as the song reached its’ fervent peak. “Please please please--”

Prosciutto growled, wilder and more unrestrained than you’d seen him before. His manicured nails were digging into the skin of your hips. “Cum for me, amore, now!”

You fell apart at his command. Stars danced in your vision, the song faded in and out of your ears, masked by the waves of pleasure overtaking your whole body. Distantly you could feel something thick and warm filling you up, Prosciutto’s cock pumping into you, his hands pulling you in close. You were sweaty, disheveled, but you didn’t care. Let those fancy opera-goers see who gave you pleasure unmatched. Let them see the inevitable stain on Prosciutto’s suit (oops). The body beneath you leaned over, grabbing Prosciutto’s head and returning it to his shoulders before the man leaned in for a kiss, ruling his fingers through your now-messy hair.

“That was incredible, Pros,” you whispered against his lips. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, dear. And besides,” he looked over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman on stage bow at the crowd’s thunderous applause. “We still have two acts left.”

#prosciutto #jjba prosciutto #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra di esecuzione #dullahan prosciutto #dullahan!prosciutto #my writing #n/s/f/w #va

71 notes · View notes

bytheangell · 4 years ago

Text

Go the Distance

( @shadowhunterbingo Square: Long Distance) (Reyhill, light angst, happy ending, canon compliant) (Read on AO3)

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Lorenzo says, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s only a month.”

Andrew, objectively, knows that a month really isn’t that much time in the grand scheme of things. He knows it’s practically the blink of an eye to an immortal. But when you’re still in a relatively new relationship, the idea of being apart for an entire month has a way of making itself feel like the end of the world.

“Yeah, I know,” Andrew says, trying not to make a huge deal out of it. “It isn’t like you can’t just portal back to visit, too. Or maybe I could come to visit you? I can see if Alec will shift my off days so I have a couple together,” he adds hopefully. At least, Andrew hopes he manages to keep his tone at ‘hopeful’ and not ‘desperate’, which is a line he’s afraid of crossing just then.

“Perhaps,” Lorenzo says. “It isn’t as if I’m on vacation there - I will be working most of the time, but I’m sure I can manage a bit of ‘off time’ as well,” he allows. Andrew wonders if he’s simply trying to keep his expectations realistic or if he’s trying to tell Andrew he’s totally fine with the time apart - maybe he even wants it.

Andrew tries not to overthink as he kisses Lorenzo goodbye.

---

Andrew does not succeed in his attempts to not overthink it. He tries to wait for Lorenzo to call him first because he doesn’t want to come across as clingy or needy - after all, Lorenzo doesn’t seem to have a problem at all with being away, and if he doesn’t then neither does Andrew. Or so he tries to convince himself.

Andrew makes it two days before he’s dialing Lorenzo’s number on his lunch break. It rings to voicemail. He tries again toward the end of his break and this time it goes straight to voicemail without ringing.

Andrew winces.

He gets a call back while out on patrol, and it takes all of his self-control not to answer it the moment he feels the phone vibrating in his pocket. Instead he sends a quick, ‘sorry, patrol’, and almost immediately gets a return ‘Of course, be safe, dear’. Sighing, Andrew pockets his phone again and finishes out the patrol.

He gets back at 2 am, which is 8 am in Spain, and tries again, stifling a yawn as Lorenzo picks up.

“Why are you not asleep?” Lorenzo says at the sound.

“Miss you, too,” Andrew says.

Lorenzo laughs. “Of course I miss you,” he says. “How was patrol?”

If Lorenzo is annoyed with him for calling twice earlier or only waiting a day and a half to call at all, he doesn’t show it. They chat for a little while - not nearly long enough, but Lorenzo has to go to meet his client and Andrew really should get some sleep - and hang up with the promise to talk again soon.

---

Soon ends up being the next day, which is wonderful… until that’s the last time Andrew hears from Lorenzo for the better part of a week.

He expects it, which makes the wait a little more tolerable. Lorenzo warned him that they had to make a trip to a particular subsection of ley lines located in a very remote area, and that most of his energy would be depleted from the spells they’d be performing there… but that doesn’t make Andrew worry less over the continued silence. Especially not imagining Lorenzo repeatedly draining himself somewhere he can’t call for help, magically or the mundane way.

“Everything alright?” Alec’s voice greets him, drawing his attention from his phone back to reality.

“How do you do it?” Andrew asks. Magnus is also in Spain, just for the week to help out with what Lorenzo described as a ‘gradual gathering of magic’, some rituals performed daily along with very intricate potion brewing.

“Do what?” Alec frowns.

“How do you deal with not hearing from him, given...” Andrew motions vaguely around him, not quite willing to vocalize the concept of their lives being dangerous and literally life-threatening on a daily basis sometimes.

“It sucks,” Alec says honestly. “But it’s part of our lives. Sometimes we get called away for longer missions or trips to Idris, too. The portals help, when they can, but sometimes you just have to wait it out and know that as much as you’ll always do everything in your power to come home safe to him, he’ll do the same for you.”

It’s spoken like someone who gives themself this particular pep talk pretty frequently… Andrew wonders how many times he can go through this, and surprises himself when he immediately thinks ‘however many I have to’ in response.

---

It’s a long six days, but finally, Andrew’s phone rings and Lorenzo’s name flashes across the screen, bringing an immediate smile of relief to his face.

“Ren,” Andrew says, sure the smile can be heard in his tone.

“Andrew,” Lorenzo’s voice greets him. He sounds exhausted.

“How are you doing?” Andrew asks, hoping Lorenzo will supply the information without him fishing for it, or implying that his boyfriend sounds awful. Andrew knows how poorly that goes over with Lorenzo after making the mistake once before of telling the warlock he looked tired. Andrew definitely doesn’t want a repeat of those defensive reactions right now.

“I’ve been better,” Lorenzo admits, and Andrew feels an immediate pang of concern, made worse by the fact that he isn’t there to help - or at least to insist Lorenzo rest properly. “But I’ll survive. Nothing a good day of recharging won’t solve.”

“Is that what you’re doing today? Actually resting?” Andrew sounds dubious.

The sound of Lorenzo laughing lightly eases some of Andrew’s concern that he’s downplaying how he feels.

“Yes. And if you talk to Alec, don’t let Magnus take all the glory for a successful first round of spells. He seems to think he was the only one holding that connection together,” Lorenzo huffs.

“We both know you were invited first for a reason,” Andrew is quick to stand by Lorenzo and is rewarded with another laugh.

“Precisely,” Lorenzo agrees.

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up from resting,” Andrew says. Hanging up is the last thing he wants to do just then, but he should give Lorenzo time to actually recover and not keep him awake talking.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lorenzo says, and even though something sounds off Andrew just writes it off as the exhaustion. “Talk to you later, then.”

The line disconnects and Andrew fights the urge to change his mind and call Lorenzo back, reluctantly turning back to the monitors in front of him.

---

Andrew gets a few days of short text replies after that. He can tell something is wrong, but every time he tries to bring it up Lorenzo changes the subject. Worrying that he’s being too much of a bother while Lorenzo is, technically, working, Andrew decides to play it safe and stop texting first altogether.

Which doesn’t work as well as he hopes when it results in no communication at all.

It doesn’t take long for his thoughts to jump to every worst-case scenario, always coming back to the idea that Lorenzo simply isn’t as invested in them as Andrew is. Maybe they were something convenient here, while they were in such close proximity, but now that they’re apart and things take a little extra effort… maybe Andrew isn’t worth that.

The idea of this being something far more casual for the Warlock than it is for him hits Andrew hard, but he isn’t about to go out without a fight.

Andrew calls Lorenzo and doesn’t realize how much he expected the call to be ignored until he feels the surprise at hearing Lorenzo’s voice answer on the other end. There are a few minutes of small talk while Andrew works up the nerve to say what he called for - to tell Lorenzo how much he misses him and see if there’s any way they can meet up, even just for an hour, when Lorenzo asks him first.

“There’s something of a party this week, a few of the local warlocks and fae will be attending, some old friends from when I used to live here… if you’re free, you’re more than welcome to come,” Lorenzo offers.

“I’d love to,” Andrew agrees, almost before the offer is fully extended. “I was just thinking of ways we could get together, so this is perfect.”

“I’ll text you the details. I have to run, but I’m looking forward to having you join me. Oh, and don’t worry about what to wear - I’ve seen quite a few suits here I thought you’d look stunning in, now I have an excuse to get you one.”

Lorenzo is consistently trying to treat him to things - clothing, jewelry, artwork, single meals that are somehow the same price as Andrew’s entire month of groceries - and Andrew usually manages to stop the worst of it from happening. There isn’t much he can do to stop Lorenzo from buying him things half a world away, however.

“Lorenzo, I have perfectly good suits here, you really don’t-”

The line goes dead and Andrew shakes his head at the now silent phone in his hand.

If it means getting to see Lorenzo again sooner rather than later, Andrew is more than willing to suffer a much-too-fancy suit.

---

“I missed you so much,” Andrew says, melting into Lorenzo’s embrace the moment he steps out of the portal.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Lorenzo replies, his arms pulling Andrew in a little tighter before stepping away. Andrew notices they aren’t alone in the room - there are two others sitting on the other side of the room at a table. Hesitating, Andrew leans in and steals the briefest of kisses in greeting, unsure of the company they’re in but unable to not kiss his boyfriend after being apart for the better part of the month.

Lorenzo smiles into the brief kiss but doesn’t move for a second.

“Come, I want you to meet some of my oldest friends, then we really should get dressed for the party,” Lorenzo says, pulling Andrew along toward the men in the corner.

Andrew does his best to relax - this is a social gathering, after all, despite the presence of more Downworlders than he’s ever been in the same room as before outside of official Clave business. There are many introductions, and with each new name and face he feels a little more overwhelmed.

He isn’t sure what he expected, but he has such little time with Lorenzo to himself. Instead, Andrew stands beside him, and a little behind, and barely says a word. No one, including Lorenzo, seems to notice or mind. Lorenzo is full of loud laughter and animated reminiscing over adventures during times Andrew only knows from history books. Everyone here seems to know Lorenzo and he’s constantly surrounded by a small cluster of warlocks and fae.

Andrew is aware he’s the only Shadowhunter here, especially when every Downworlder eyes Andrew warily. He can’t particularly blame them, but it doesn’t do wonders for making him feel welcomed. It gets to the point that with every concerned look he gets, Andrew fades more into the background, hands instinctively clasped behind him while he watches rather than partakes in any proper socializing.

It’s barely over an hour into the evening that Andrew excuses himself to go outside for a moment. He isn’t even sure Lorenzo notices his departure, but a few minutes later hears the sound of a door closing behind him and feels a familiar presence by his side.

“Is everything alright?” Lorenzo asks, his hand coming up to rest on the small of Andrew’s back.

A part of him wants to say yes, and dismiss every concern he has, but that isn’t fair to either of them.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Andrew says finally.

“I was afraid of this,” Lorenzo sighs. “I thought something was off when we spoke… from how quick you were to get rid of me on the phone last week, and then the days without talking…”

Andrew frowns. “What?”

“I was worried being apart for so long early on would be too much strain. I was right. It’s alright, Andrew. I’m hundreds of years old, I can handle a break-up-”

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Andrew says, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you wanted to break up with me. I felt like every time I called you I was bothering you, so I waited until you called first, and when you never did I just assumed you didn’t care if you heard from me or not.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lorenzo scoffs.

“And in there, I can tell I’m making people a little anxious. And you have so many friends, and they all know you better than me, and honestly, they all seemed like much better company. I can’t imagine why you’d want me around to ruin that when I clearly don’t fit in here,” Andrew adds, because if he doesn’t get it all out now then he never will.

“No time spent with you is ruined,” Lorenzo says. “I’m sorry you felt like that. I should’ve taken it into consideration, but I was so eager to have you along I didn’t think of the other company.” Lorenzo frowns. “I’d much rather be speaking with you than any of them, I promise. In fact…” Lorenzo glances at his watch. “I think it’s time I make our excuses, and we retire for the night. Just the two of us.”

“But the party-”

“I have something far more important than a party to attend to,” Lorenzo insists. “We should go and talk.”

“What if we stay for another hour, then leave?” Andrew offers. “I’d like to try this again, but properly this time. I may have written off the night prematurely.”

They both have a bit of work to do on communication, but Andrew is just as guilty for making unspoken assumptions as Lorenzo. For now, at least, Andrew can start with going into this evening with a more open mind.

Lorenzo smiles. “Alright. If you’re certain?”

Andrew realizes he’s suddenly pretty certain about a lot of things - not the least of which is the distance he’s willing to go to make sure this relationship works. It helps to know Lorenzo is in it with him to meet him halfway.

“I am,” Andrew confirms, as Lorenzo takes him by the arm and leads him back inside.

#reyhill #andrew underhill #lorenzo rey #shadowhunters #hmdiscord #been a hot second since I wrote these two in something a bit longer #i know i hit them during the flufftober rounds but this was fun!#also eyyyy another double fic day #long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

25 notes · View notes

longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years ago

Text

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XVI.ii

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

The last chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕 I cannot belive this is almost over

_____________________

Jaskier’s blue eyes cut so deep into him, they reach his heart.

Geralt’s first instinct is to hold his hand out, almost as if to show that he’s unarmed, that his words are not meant to hurt.

Jaskier looks at him for a few silent, endless moments, not a hint of sleep left in his eyes, and there are so many emotions in his scent that Geralt can’t pick them apart.

Finally, very slowly, he asks:

“Are you sure?”

Geralt nods, throwing the blankets off and getting out of bed, offering Jaskier a hand.

“Come,” he says softly. “Look for yourself.”

Not immediately, but Jaskier places his hand in Geralt’s, his fingers trembling slightly. Geralt squeezes them a little harder, reassuring and warm.

In the silence of the early morning, he can hear Jaskier’s heart beating in his chest, fast and hard, like a trapped bird. His chest rises and falls heavily, like he’s holding back panic, and though Geralt desperately wants to do something about it, calm him down, he knows that right now the only thing he can do is wait.

They make their way to the tall standing mirror in the far end of the room - an exact replica of the one that broke a few weeks before - and Jaskier stops in front of it, looking at his reflection for a long, drawn-out moment before turning around to look over his shoulder.

Where there used to be a glowing mark in-between his shoulder blades, his skin is now clear.

Jaskier looks at himself for a very long moment, not even breathing, his blue eyes welled up with tears that he stubbornly holds back, and then he’s taking his hand away from Geralt’s and reaching for his warm dressing gown.

He throws it on, tightening the belt with unsteady hands, and, before Geralt can stop him, runs out of the room.

Geralt curses under his breath, reaching for his own discarded clothes, and dresses up as quickly as he possibly can, thankful to all the gods he knows that the long years spent in training at Kaer Morhen taught him to do so in record time.

It barely takes him a minute.

As he runs out the door, he can hear Jaskier’s retreating steps somewhere on the first floor. The staircase seems even more endless than usual, a five-story descent making Geralt slow down, and when he finally catches up with Jaskier, he’s already outside.

He’s barefoot, but standing in front of the gates, he doesn’t seem to notice the snow under his feet.

Jaskier’s breath is heavy, and Geralt holds back from touching him, unsure if the bard’s even aware of his presence.

He pushes on one of the arches of the gates, and it opens soundlessly, leaving an imprint in the fresh snow.

There’s just one step between Jaskier and his freedom, and Geralt doesn’t have to be a witcher to know that he’s scared to take it.

“Jask,” he calls softly, coming closer and carefully putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to go out first? So you can hold my hand?”

Slowly, almost like he’s still dreaming, Jaskier meets his eyes and nods.

His dressing gown slips from one shoulder, revealing the fair, flawless skin underneath, and Geralt wants to reach out to fix it, but he knows that right now every touch is overwhelming for Jaskier, so he makes himself hold back.

Stepping behind the gates feels like stepping over a threshold, even for him, and when he extends his arm towards Jaskier, offering him his hand, the bard hesitates, eyes downcast.

“I’ve tried so many times,” he says quietly, barely above a whisper. “I stopped last year. Almost made myself forget. And now that I’m back here again-- if it doesn’t work, I feel like I’m going to break down.”

Geralt finds it hard to take in a breath, but he makes himself do it, regardless.

“Jaskier,” he says, keeping his voice soft and comforting. “Your mark is gone. You told me yourself that it was the seal of the curse, and that once it was broken, the mark was going to disappear. Just take my hand. Trust me.”

In the pale morning light, Jaskier’s eyes are two bottomless lakes, welled up with tears.

Very slowly, cautiously, he raises his hand and places it in Geralt’s before closing his eyes and taking a step beyond the gates.

***

Geralt isn’t sure what exactly he was expecting.

A flash of light, a burst of energy, perhaps.

Maybe he was expecting the invisible wall to shatter and fall into pieces, like glass.

But when Jaskier steps beyond the gates and into his arms, nothing disrupts the still morning air.

The barrier of the curse is gone, like it had never existed.

For a long moment, it’s quiet, not even a birdsong to cut through that silence. Until, finally, Jaskier takes in a shuddering breath, and presses himself to Geralt, holding onto his shoulders so tight that there are going to be bruises in an hour or two.

Geralt holds him, close, as he shakes.

“It’s broken,” he says softly, touching his lips to Jaskier’s tousled hair. “You’re no longer bound to the mansion.”

And that is when it happens.

Jaskier looks up at him, tears shining in his impossibly blue eyes, and breaks away, taking three unsteady steps towards the forest before falling onto his knees and doubling over, hiding his face in his hands as his walls finally crack, and he breaks down, crying.

Geralt’s heart rips apart in his chest at the sight, at the choked, stifled sobs, and he crosses the distance between them quickly, reaching out to touch, but before he can the warmth of Jaskier’s skin against his fingertips, there is a blinding flash, and a wave of energy so strong that it knocks him off his feet, into the snow.

His medallion hums violently against his chest, and even through the haze of shock in his head, Geralt immediately knows exactly what it is.

He feels it, with his entire being.

Magic.

Jaskier’s magic.

Geralt's head swims with it, the ringing in his ears relentless, and he has to drag a hand over his face for the dark spots in front of his eyes to dissappear.

Around the bard, there is no more snow.

Instead, where he kneels, his head still in his hands, the ground is bright with fresh grass, countless yellow buttercups peppered all over it, like Jaskier is the Sun itself.

The shockwave goes through the forest around them, across the quiet gardens of the mansion, and long past them, making the treetops whisper in a rustling echo, the windows jolting in their frames and then steadying again.

Geralt’s own thoughts come back to him:

Magic like this is too strong to rely on the curse, it starts in his blood.

Jaskier doesn’t seem to even notice it, his chest still constricting with sobs, and it’s only when Geralt finally makes it through the barrier of his magic and touches him gently on the shoulder that the bard’s head snaps up and he blinks, as though waking up from a troubled sleep.

He looks around himself, tears still shining in his eyes, and, still trembling, runs the tips of his fingers gently over one of the buttercups, as if to check if it's real.

His touch leaves an imprint of gold on the delicate petals.

“I still feel it,” he whispers, looking at his hands as his magic slithers around them in shifting lights of gold and blue. “And it’s so strong-- As strong as it had been yesterday, at midnight. How can it still be so strong, Geralt? How can I still have it?”

There’s a panicked edge to his voice, and Geralt drops to his knees next to him, pulling Jaskier into his arms and holding him there, safe and warm against his chest.

His own heart is beating too fast for a witcher, and all the unanswered questions make him feel lightheaded and overwhelmed, but right now, the only thing that matters is Jaskier.

He's trembling all over, and Geralt knows that it's not beacuse of the cold.

“You’ve always had it,” Geralt says softly, the magic affecting him, making his skin burn with the intensity of it. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling. “It’s in your blood. Has been since you were born, or from a very young age, one that you can’t even remember. I've seen magic like this before, though only a few times, and the sourse is always the same.”

Jaskier listens to him, going quiet, and Geralt can feel his pulse slowly - very slowly - get back to its normal rhythm.

After a few long moments, Geralt gathers enough courage to ask:

“Do you know if anyone else in your family has magic? Or at least some hints of it? These things can skip a generation sometimes. It could've been your grandmother, women are more likely to pass it on to future generations.”

Jaskier shakes his head, barely enough to notice and, after a moment, says:

“When you asked me whether or not I’m a prince, there was one thing that you were right about even then: I’m a bastard. My father has always loved me as his own son, and raised me as his heir, but I’m not his. I don’t know who’s blood flows in my veins.”

With those words, everything comes together.

The childhood spent at court, the Academy, the taste for art and knowledge, the magic - all of it.

And that same thought, the one that had been with Geralt for the past six months - an illegitimate prince, hidden from the world.

Just not the human world.

Power like that can only flow through the veins of those strong enough to control it. Can only be held in blood as cultivated and carefully shaped as the finest of wines.

Royal blood.

Geralt sucks in a breath, suppressing a thrill that goes through him, and holds Jaskier closer, just breathing him in without saying anything. Here, in his arms, he’s safe, and there is no need for any other words.

If Jaskier doesn't know who's blood flows in his veins, then the only person who does is his mother. Whether it was forbidden love that had left her with a child and a broken heart, or a pre-discussed arrangement, the one thing that was certain is that twenty six years ago, her path had crossed with a fae - or perhaps an elf - of royal blood, most likely a King, and he had given her a son.

A son that had to be protected from his own people, for they never would have accepted a human woman into the royal family, and her child would've been hated, if not killed.

Now that the curse was broken, there was a chance that she remembered Jaskier again.

And remembered his biological father.

Geralt takes in another deep, steadying breath, running his fingers through Jaskier's hair and murmuring sweet comforting words against his dark, tousled hair.

If Jaskier decides to go though with this, there are going to be dozens, hundreds of questions they’ll have to find the answers to, but all of that will come later.

Right now, they both can just breathe.

"It's cold out here," Geralt whispers after a few long minutes, too aware that Jaskier is wearing nothing but a dressing gown, his feet bare. "Let's go back insine, my love. Back to bed. Would you like that?"

Jaskier looks up at him from under his long lashes, and, after a long moment, nods, bracing his hand against Geralt's shoulder to stand up.

"I feel like I need about twelve more hours of sleep," he smiles, tiredly. "Will you stay with me?"

Geralt gets up and reaches out to hold his hand, both to make sure Jaskier keeps his balance and to ground him.

"Of course," he says. "I'll stay for as long as you need me to."

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

2 notes · View notes

punsandfuturekingsmen-archive · 4 years ago

Text

Where all the other moments had been flashes, flipping between himself and not-him, this time was different.

When he was pulled under he was held there, drowning in a torrent of memories as they crashed against him, spinning him in their tumultuous tide and swirling around him in a foaming gush.

He was on the ground, outside purgatory. He floated as the ground fell so he didn’t fall, and could see a ancient castle beneath the earth where he had built his manor. He could hear the sound of beasts. He felt the way his heart panged as he hid the world beneath away, and built his manor again to reside in.

Suddenly he was holding his first Arthur. He felt the wrath burning at his skin and boiling him un-alive from the inside. He felt the way Arthur dangled by that prosthetic he had, where he held him aloft. And then he felt the metal tear and rip with a screech of protest, wires sundering beneath his strength, as he tore the arm from Arthur.

He felt something deep down. A hatred not for Arthur. But he ignored as Arthur ran away.

A flash*, colors swirling.

He was walking down one of the halls of his manor, deadbeats humming as the followed. His fingers brushed the locket he had hidden within his suit where it laid still, and he felt sadness seep over him as he brought it out, opened it to see himself with Vivi. Bone shifted to flesh and he could feel the shift as he changed, and he whispered words to her visage. She was his light of all lights that kept him lit. Kept him fighting. The words hung heavy on him, sapping away the green of him. But it returned as his memories turned from the content ones to those that made him what he is. He snarled, flames licking at him until he was skeletal again and stuffed the locket back in his jacket.

A flash*.

He was attacking one of the grey fae, the first time he had. His fist connected with a jaw. He heard a voice behind him, but his focus was zeroed in on the thing, a sneer and growl on his face and echoing out as he swung his hand out, and fire overtook the thing on the floor, until nothing remained but cinders. No Mercy.

Flash*.

Someone asked him about the moment in the cave. Why he had gone with him. He could feel an ache deep in his chest as he recounted. Arthur was scared, they wanted to go inside. Vivi was confident and Mystery could keep her safe. That he’d wanted to protect Arthur.

But something else tugged at his mind too. A thought of something that was almost warm, a question he’d had. But he pushed it away.

He looked away as he ended with Arthur’s betrayal, trying to keep the pain from leaving his chest.

Flash*

He was briefly alive by magic. And he was dying again. He was bleeding too heavy to save, the pain curling at his form and vision. Burns bubbled and lacerations sliced against his flesh. His hands were burned to numbness and his hair smelled awful, singed as it was. He could feel bones grind and the holes left in his body by jagged metal left him soaked in blood where they’d struck vitals. He collapsed as his knees stopped listening, and soaked the floor with a splattering, bloody cough. Old scars ripped with it, and he screamed until he couldn’t. He laid there then, left to die a slow death in the cold and dark.

Vivi was there now, standing in front of him. He could feel his rage frothing to white foam and a pain constrict his anchor as she screamed at him, looking up at him with intense and fiery eyes. They were her blue they were beautiful—

She wasn’t his and she screamed until the rage took him and he slammed his fist into the wall.

He was being asked a question again, something personal. He answered, soft. But he knew why. He wouldn’t be vulnerable. Not anymore.

Another death. His hand was seeping through ribs of another grey being, tearing them asunder with splayed fingers. He found their heart through the weeping injury. He laughed as he ripped it from the wound and squeezed it into nothing, even as a part of him recoiled.

The grey being had said He was cute. And that Arthur was. He protested before the rage seeped in, and he allowed the thing to know that Arthur was only a delight to see when he was sobbing underneath him, feeling as he rent Arthur’s flesh from bone and broke him apart with his own traitorous arm. Something twisted but he ignored it.

He saw himself this time. He recognized his earrings. Arthur-him was looking up at him, eyes wide and fearful but still trying to call to him. But also afraid and backing away like the coward he was. His own arm snatched out to grab Arthur-him, but Arthur-him jolted away from it, crying out to him in a desperate voice, trying to appeal to him and continuing to back away. He continued to move forward after Arthur-him, aiming to grab that arm.

Vivi and him were clashing again. He touched her shoulders and she yanked away from him, anger across her face that reminded him she would never be his. The pain creased his face and softened his features as he offered an apology she didn’t believe.

He was before her again, and she was incanting at him, trying to banish him and send him away. He was too powerful, but Vivi doing that hurt more than anything, and he split at the seams, separating briefly under her magic until he managed to excruciatingly pull himself together. He could feel the mark on his forehead branding itself back into his skull over and over (he was screaming was he screaming it sounded far away--). The corruption had eased just long enough for him to be float there in shock.

And that pause had gotten Vivi hurt. Stabbed in the back.

He dealt with the thing he couldn’t even call Lewis with his fire. Then he collapsed to hold her, blood staining her blue too red he hated it so red it was his fault he should have protected her his fault she was hurt she might die—

He screamed her name, clutching her close, before using his powers to slow the blood flow. To warm her. Then he removed the knife, and felt a himself pierced as she had been, as his hand burned the wound closed and she screamed. He left the faint outline of his hand on her back.

She looked at him after, a smile on her face soft and grateful, and it made his chest jump, before she fell asleep in his arms. He clutched her close, holding her like the precious thing she was to him. But he couldn’t forgive himself for the mark he’d made, that would never truly leave her.

He was at Vivi’s bed, laying her down with meticulous care. His hand traced her face, brushing away stray blue strands of hair and his thumb running over her cheek. The thought she wasn’t his, would never be, came again. The thought she would hate him, and it cracked at him all over again. The words he whispered were both pained and loving, before he vanished again into the night.

(He knew. Someone had told him years before, and he knew about him. His feelings, though at the time more fleeting. There was something there, curdling under the surface, but mostly it was something vindictive and amused as he spoke. He felt sick in a distant way.)

Spectrum had snapped and it cut him to his anchor. But he ignored it to focus on the better Lewis. He was cupping spectrum’s face, as his love tried to hide the damage to his skull. Anger seethed at him, as he asked to know who had done this, and spectrum softly admitted while trying to brush it away. He didn’t allow him to. Him recounting what was hurting him, and how the cave had gone, when Arthur-him had been turned into a monster. (His heart constricted somewhere far away. He didn’t know this. Why didn’t he know this? The sick only clutched him harder.)

He had the woman who hurt Spectrum in his sites, The Shiromori yokai. His eyes were ablaze until all he could see was green. His flames came out to consume her, the first letter of her name etched in the air.

Vivi apologizing, and his hands on her shoulders, not understanding it was for him, only feeling concern for her, pained at seeing her tears.

He was angry. He was upset that so many Lewis felt guilt over what they’d done to Arthur. The rage he felt at his death came back in full force, the loss of his family and the state of the bodies and coffins buried empty. He pushed for them to enjoy it, pushed loud, but even then his form twisted, chest constricting with a pang of guilt.

Vivi reaching out, but him pushing her away. He wasn’t good. He couldn’t hurt her. He was an unhappy ending, bound to happen.

Spectrum and Vivi both reaching out now, and his hatred of himself making him push them away, tell them he was alright and not to worry. Tell them they should leave, even when he didn’t want them to, because it was safer for them that way.

Again.

Again. So many he could make a montage of these moments.

He was in his manor now, hiding away and steeped in his pain and self-loathing. He refused to let his rage surface and now was alone, trying to contain it and keep all the others safe.

Him seated on the ground, ready for the other Lewis to strike him, almost wishing for it. He refused to fight even when they were angry, and he was ready to take the punishment he needed. At least it would make him feel alive.

Standing over Arthur-him, annoyed because he promised his friends not to touch him, and Arthur-him isn’t afraid. Arthur-him calling himself selfish, and him agreeing, before laying his threat at Arthur-him’s feet. That if something were to go wrong, he would do what he must for Spectrum and Vivi.

Arthur-him messing with his arm and admitting that maybe he didn’t know him too well. (It was a distant sound he didn’t react to, but a choked laugh, something pained, scratched at his memory). Arthur-him looked up at him and asked him to kill him if he needed to, to keep them safe.

He didn’t know how he felt on hearing that.

The wrath burning his skin he felt, finding that Vivi had been harmed, knowing his love was alive now and suffering, and that a demon had struck a deal with Arthur for a part of his soul. That Arthur had allowed it. It burned him and snapped the wavering control he’d managed thus far, leaving him aflame.

The rage in his chest boiled as he looked at Arthur-him where he was sitting on the bed. Weak. Just sitting there allowing this to happen. The green around them formed a cage, but Arthur-him didn’t try to run. He could feel the fear, but Arthur-him just sat there.

The thought of breaking every bone slid into his mind as he approached. The thought of leaving him on the floor crying and spending his last breaths. It felt so easy, and it tempted him over and over as he came closer. But something else was planned.

He called Arthur him what he was. A coward. A fool. Someone dooming everyone around him. He screamed the last of his words and his hand collected the front of Arthur-him’s shirt, dragging him to meet his gaze, Arthur-him now dangling. He made sure Arthur-him knew it was his fault.

Arthur-him only accepted it, pale face gaunt and exhausted. Arthur-him’s eyes turned wide as he held on to his fist, eyes seeming to glaze and he started to shake, tearing up but biting his lip. Arthur-him asked him to tell the others he loved them.

He told him to tell him himself, angry at how soft Arthur was but something else twisting too. He wanted to kill him, wished he could—he was sure he did. But he wouldn’t.

Instead his hang plunged in, into Arthur-him’s soul and burned it, burned every inch of it, inside and out. Leaving his mark on what was left of his weak little soul. He burned it through, both the outer edges and the inner core, leaving the Splatter Man’s mark behind.

It would protect Vivi and Spectrum, and that mattered to him most.

It upset him, when doing so and seeing the pain Arthur-him was in, didn’t satisfy. He didn’t enjoy it. It frustrated him in a way that was uncomfortable, but he waved it away, even if the feeling stayed simmering. It was because of the others.

He set him down gentle , and tore his collar, making a bottle of water and adding some to the cloth. He placed it on Arthur-him’s head before pushing the bottle in his hands too. Arthur-him looked up at him with glassed eyes. Arthur-him struggled to sit up and leaned against the wall. When he explained what he had done, Arthur was surprised to hear it would protect him.

He felt something pang watching him recover. He wasn’t pleased, wasn’t thrilled, and that feeling from earlier came back strong enough to pinpoint. Regret.

He answered. It had been his best option, to protect his friends….and it would keep Arthur safe. There wasn’t much, but a minor prick of warmth.

They were still talking. Arthur-him said something that made him appreciative, that Arthur-him understood why, and didn’t fault him. In a way that made him feel…not good. He was touching the damage to his suit and offering his thanks.

And then a bat collided with his skull.

It was one Spectrum had in hand. It hurt, and he struggled to get his skull back. Arthur-him fled quickly, leaving him with Spectrum, especially after hearing there was damage to his heart. The two of them started talking.

The moment he found out Lewis had been nearly killed by Vivi. The pain and guilt he felt, knowing the warpath she was on was because of him. The very idea he’d placed himself in the line of fire burned, and it only worsened knowing his own actions had been why.

Arriving at the place where he’d nearly been killed, and finding him. Placing his deadbeat in the other’s locket despite their soft initial protest, and feeling pain arc through his form. But he pressed on, watching with bated breath as remained still. Fear pricked at him that perhaps he’d been too late, until with a glassy grinding noise, the locket began to beat. Lewis Pepper took his second first breath, and he stayed between pain and relief. He stood on shaky legs, guilt that this was his doing beginning to itch at all of him. He’d made the choice he had with Arthur, he’d upset Vivi with it, and Lewis had been caught in the crossfire. He touched his skull and it ached where Spectrum had hit him. But he knew Vivi would do worse. But he almost accepted it, in a grim way.

The guilt continued to rise, the pain of his sacrifice still affecting him, but oh so worth the cost.

Someone asked what he planned to do. He answered true. That he would accept his punishment. He would allow her to hurt him, if it brought her back. He would never hurt Vivi. But if it made her feel better, he would take her anger, no matter what it did to him. He almost felt like he wanted it, to be punished That he deserved it after what he had done (the sensation was so familiar that his far-away body jammed with needles).

He was told Arthur-him was in trouble. Something tugged at him, but he tried to ignore it. He stayed with Spectrum, watching him rest. When Spectrum woke he moved closer, before jerking himself back. He felt small for once, nervous and fearful for Spectrum.

Spectrum insisted on going to Arthur-him and Vivi, but he tried to stay adamant, the thought of losing someone else who mattered curdling his insides in the worst way, and for now he listened. Spectrum tried to make him promise not to see Vivi, but he refused to give his word, knowing it might be inevitable. The thought of why, of his action that he’d taken, made the guilt drop his shoulders. The consequences were his doing alone (he wanted to protest, to tell Lewis it wasn’t true—but the words would do nothing here, and were locked away now as it was).

He paused in his conversation as it continued to insisting Spectrum eat and drink. He frowned at the feeling of something distant, but shook his head, focusing on his love. Spectrum didn’t seem happy without his word but accepted it, just like he had accepted if Spectrum must go, that he wouldn’t try to force him not to. They held each other.

The sensation grew worse, but he still tried to ignore it. He didn’t care. He didn’t. It was because of the others.

He pretended it sounded true when he thought it.

They were still speaking, him feeling the tired exhaustion of his sacrifice to his bones. The piece of his soul missing was painful, and the emotions he kept stowed and contained to focus on the others was hitting its threshold. He still kept it tamped down (and oh, the irony of that he felt to his own core, as the thought crossed their mind). He pretended it wasn’t hurting him, to make Spectrum feel at ease.

The feeling was getting stronger, and he pushed back against it. He didn’t care. He didn’t care—he didn’t-- Arthur didn’t—

He felt something make his core freeze, and he returned to his skeletal form. Fuck. Fuck he did—

He yelled for Spectrum to get running, and vanished in a haze of vibrant green flame.

Pain lanced up his arm, where the bat had struck him. He stood over Arthur-him, before herding Vivi back. Acting as a barrier between the two. He didn’t know why. He told himself and Arthur-him it was for Spectrum.

Then he focused on Vivi. On being that shield, ready to take her rage and allow her to mark hi with it and her bat. Arthur could reach her. He trusted that (his stomach fluttered and he hated himself for it). He told Arthur he had a plan, and Arthur-him trusted him without a second thought. It was hard to tell if he liked that or loathed it after everything.

It was working. The plan was working. He kept Vivi busy, kept her from Arthur while he called to her, appealed to Vivi. He did the same, trying to keep her bat from injuring him.

And then she’d slipped through his defense, going after Arthur-him again with a blow he couldn’t survive. He wondered why he was worried—this could be what he wanted. But the thought barely left him before he was in front, pushing Arthur away, yelling as he did. Arthur-him hit the ground, safe, but his chest was struck. He felt agony the reminding him of his moment with the Splatter Man the knife had sunk into his chest.

His voice was a wild scream as it loosed from him, and he felt his form twist and shift to his living one. His heart was broken it hurt so much.

He was down on his knee now, holding up his arm as a feeble defense. He was weeping, open from the pain, all of it, body and soul. He called to Vivi still despite that, in a voice that didn’t echo. He could feel himself fading. His vision was darkening, still in pain from earlier and now this. He felt like he was falling apart, but seeing Vivi fight back gave him the strength to call to Arthur-him to keep trying. Something coppery filled his mouth as he finished the request, and he coughed a splatter of it out onto the earth. His suit faded to the clothing he’d worn as he died.

He tried to stand on legs that wobbled and threatened to snap, but he still reached for Vivi.

It hurt again, and he was so weakened, that the next blast sent him to the ground. He laid against the earth, feeling his blood begin to spread beneath him. The holes that formed, the wounds he’d suffered in death, hurt (feeling them again hurt nonono Lewis you didn’t deserve this--).

Blood ran down his face, and he could feel it welling in his throat before he coughed. It dribbled down over his cheek. He could feel himself beginning to lose himself to shock, going numb and brain slowing. He fought to stay though, knowing he was needed.

Chains were on his arms but he hardly felt them, He saw Vivi above him, felt the kick that made him wince and cough. His bones ground together as her heel found his chest, blood seeping from his injury. He couldn’t understand her now. She was too garbled.

But he still told her how beautiful she was, as her bat raised up.

There was confusion when Arthur-him stopped it. But it quickly turned to a will to keep going, even if he knew Vivi was not his and the words reminded him like another bat to his heart. He was in pain, shattered, but he found his feet, held fast behind Arthur, and the two together, through every excruciating second, reached her. He consumed the spirit, and snapped at Arthur-him to go. To take Vivi away. But Arthur was stubborn and refused not to come back. He tried to tell Arthur-him he was fine. He always was. And he tried to sound cold. He didn’t need help.

It was annoying. He should be focused on Vivi, not him.

And then Vivi was blaming herself and it hurt (hurt a second time). He wanted to reach out with everything, but after all he’d caused, he couldn’t allow himself. He drew back, but pled with her to realize the truth. It wasn’t her fault.

It was his.

He couldn’t hold it together much longer. He tried to make them go. His chest dived when Arthur-him said his name, striking him hard (he didn’t know—he didn’t know. He wouldn’t do it if it hurt he didn’t know--). But in a gruff voice he ordered them gone. Fucking Arthur-him had to keep Vivi okay and alive. He fucking hated the concern, hated it from Arthur of anyone. He barely had the energy to be angry, but he was. They were both saying his name now and it was knives on him and finally he shifted, returning to his suit to hide his dying form, hoping that was enough for them to stop. He could feel blood seeping through the fabric but he ignored it.

He finally allowed Arthur to come back. They would get Vivi safe and to the better Lewis. He demanded they go, and when they complied finally, he watched before smiling. They were better off. They were all better off, and he’d done something…good.

He formed something to hide his body, and he collapsed with the sound of breaking glass into a hollow, lifeless heap.

Arthur came back to get him and brought him home. And then Arthur-him kept coming back. It was infuriating. He had Spectrum and Vivi to take care of! He’d be fine alone! Like he always was! What was the stupid man doing, being here and giving him gifts? Smiling at him like that was acceptable? What was he doing being here when they others needed attention too?

He couldn’t see Vivi—he couldn’t. She needed time, she wouldn’t want to see him, it was his fault she was like this, his fault she was hurt. He couldn’t see her, even if others needled him to. He couldn’t.

He was…. Afraid.

They were needling, the grey beings, and it hurt this time. They were right. He regretted it. He regretted what he did. He knew why but he hated it.

Maybe he should stay away. Maybe it was safer for everyone (the though cut at something deep and hidden).

He closed his manor doors, and all the lights went out as the doors locked.

He was dangerous. This was for the best.

Spectrum wouldn’t leave him alone. He was here, and honestly it was nice. He felt horrible, selfish, for wanting it, but his company was something, and he held them as they rested together, hating himself for how much he loved it.

Arthur asked for a kiss, and he was pissed. How could he? It was magical in nature, forced, but he could he ask for that? The knife in his back twisted at the thought (he’s sorry, he’s so sorry) as Arthur even asked. But he still held out his hand. He ignored Arthur’s grateful look.

His father was ill. His father was sick and they were telling him to go to him. But how could he? He was a monster. It was….. it was better this way. If he didn’t. He couldn’t hurt them anymore.

It was new years. He was healed now, in body, but his soul still echoed his pain in the fractures along his locket. The wouldn’t have happened if he saved Arthur. Why had he? He did care for some reason. Maybe how much it would have cost Vivi and Spectrum. But the damage was done.

His hand on the heart squeezed. It leaked with his power, but the damage made it harder to contain. His anger was consuming him, rage screaming over logic. He was hurting people. Ones he never wished to.

His fingers found the wall with strike, and he shoved the locket away into the dark. He would maintain control. He had to.

Unless it came to those who earned his wrath.

Lewis showed, returning his deadbeat now that he was healed. He almost wanted to refuse it, to tell Lewis to keep the deadbeat longer. But Lewis insisted in a way he couldn’t argue. He took it back with only a slight frown.

Vivi had showed, recovered as well as she could be. Her presence had shocked him after the converasation he’d been having with a creature. She laughed and it hurt so much, how long it’d been since he heard it.

He told her she shouldn’t be here. But she didn’t. She drew closer and the tension and fear pounded against him. She was so stubborn. He loved her for it but he couldn’t he shouldn’t she wasn’t his—

He noticed her clothing, and he paused. He wanted to reach out and his hand even twitched to, but he held it back.

She was crying now. She told him it was her. He showing herself as she was, with not barriers between them. She was hurt, scarred (so scarred he hadn’t even seen all of these). She choked on her words but forced them. She wanted him to stop leaving. She wanted him to stop hiding. And so in exchange… she wouldn’t hide from him. She was laying herself bare.

He felt himself cringe watching her cry. It cut him to his soul, leaving him lost for words. She had so much weight she kept hidden, so much she carried she let no one see.

Glass broke as she did. He took off his coat, resting it over her. He could only apologize. Tell her he never wanted her hurt. That… he was scared. And the apology came again. He was honest, vulnerable in way he seldom if ever was.

He was so locked in his thoughts, it jarred him when her fingers brushed against the skin of his face, wiping at his own tears. She was smiling at him now. Forgiving him. Her forehead touched his.

She called him by Lewis again and it made his chest tighten. Did he have a right to be Lewis? He wasn’t like any other. He was something corrupted and changed.

It felt wrong. Wrong for her to be this close. Wrong for her to say that name and to touch him. He felt walls crumbling, an internal scream to get away screeching on repeat. He had to remind her. He wasn’t her Lewis. He was alone. She deserved better than this. Better than him.

His hands shook as he too hers, curling them over hers where they framed her face. The temptation was so heavy, weighing him down. But he had to be strong. She shouldn’t want this.

But she did. He almost didn’t want her to, but she did. And she kept speaking. And she went to say-

It scared him and he tried to stop her—he begged even, afraid of the words that might leave afraid of what they might mean. His stomach was in his knees and his heart beat faster, thumping and damaged. He was shaking, knowing what was coming, And when she screamed them and he was falling, sliding down where he couldn’t stop. He shifted again, something living but between Splatter and Lewis.

He had her against the wall in a beat, and he ached until his lips found—

Another grey being. He held it in his hands, tempted to stop holding back. His family had been told of his death, and it was the one thing he didn’t want for them. He lost it, finally, and his fist crushed them into paste, burned until blacked ash when he was done.

He was filling up up up—up with too much so much he couldn’t breathe he didn’t need to but all this power was everywhere, and holding it back was so tiring. It hurt. Was he even him anymore? Could he be when this was turning him into a monster, no matter how he tried?

Thud

Thud—

Stop hitting him. Stop it wasn’t good. It wouldn’t end well please stop he didn’t want to hurt him please—

Thud

Enough.

Regret.

It pounded against him as he panted, looking down at the Lewis he had nearly destroyed. He cried out, feeling himself twisting around and lurching, before leaving. What had he done? Why had he done that? How could he? Was he Lewis if he fell to those moments? Could he even be a good man anymore?

Maybe he was just a monster.

Lewis was yelling. He cared, but he just stayed calm. Regret soaked him like gasoline and he was burning and nearly on fire for it. The words he said carried a finality because… it was. He was not safe. He needed the others away.

He placed his locket in Lewis’s hands. He would see what happened. Maybe he’d be free from this finally.

The grip began to tighten, growing tighter and then—

Lewis was on the ground and he was scared. He lifted him up, running, trying to find anyone who could help. Lewis told him how he had scared them, and he felt a pang a guilt.

But he would do—

Someone asked him if he felt things for Arthur. Pain trickled through as he whispered the truth. He was a better man, once.

The recounting was painful. He loved them. He did. Surely what happened was his fault when things had changed. And then he died. And now… a family seemed impossible. He wouldn’t bind them to his own fate.

*—

He was in the woods. He was crying he was bleeding he felt like he was dying—

He was him.

He made it. Arthur sobbed a ragged breath in the grass, heaving and shaking, filled with agony and relief. Everything was painful everything was so much it hurt it hurt he just—.

His eyes dimmed and then closed, and Arthur passed out.

#M!A: Memory Pain #end M!A #arthur speaks #ic #long post #LONG LONG POST #pretty pretty please tell me if i should change something aaaaa #i tried to be super true to the posts i reffed in some regards #but i worry #this was a drabble but i think it's more fic length #tho to be fair it's just a big old collection of vignettes so #and a lot of it is meh #and maybe jumpy #but yes!! M!A Done!!!#drabble #tw blood #tw death #tw injury #splatterlewis mention #i read a buNCH and tried to pepper in a bunch of stuff that was like-- semi-important or interesting jdjdd #it was kinda fun reading through older stuff #but i'm also glad it's over this has been a tough one to push through lol since it's just me #next post will probably have art and be arthur calling someone :DDDDDD #with him having woken up #and not having the oomph to get home himself

11 notes · View notes