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zaharadessert · 9 months

Text

Sacrificial Lamb

for CSSNS 2023

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: cultism, demons, kidnapping

Length: ~6k

Summary: Princess Emma of Misthaven's coming out ball does not go as expected

Notes: Thank you so much to @kmomof4 for both betaing and making me art! It's awesome! Also thank you to the @cssns mods for running this event again.

Tagging: @kmomof4 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @jonesfandonfanatic @undercaffinatednightmare @anmylica @elfiola @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @myfearless-love @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart

Also on AO3

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Emma’s head felt foggy, and she was shivering with cold.

As she opened her eyes, they struggled to comprehend the space through the darkness around her.

She felt weak, as though she wasn’t in control of her own body, but she tried to sit up. The harsh wooden bench beneath her dug into her hips and snagged at the delicate white lace of her gown.

She blinked in confusion as her hair shifted around her shoulders. It had been coiffed to perfection, hadn’t it?

The last thing she remembered was dancing with the Captain of the Guard at her coming out ball…

But then the memories started to filter in.

The windows shattering and covering the entire ballroom with coloured glass.

Dozens of figures in black cloaks almost floating across the floor as they overtook the room. One, wearing a robe edged in gold, pushing through the main doors and making their way directly towards her. A hand flashing out to freeze everyone else where they stood. Her parents eyes darting frantically between them as they met in the middle of the room, Graham’s sword frozen in place, half drawn in her defence.

Her own magic sparking to life in her palms. And then…

Powder blown in her face, making her stumble and sway before her eyes fell closed and she hit the floor.

That was why the hard bench hurt so much.

She swung her feet to the floor, drawing them back from the cold stone with a hiss at the feeling of ice-cold stone beneath her feet. Her shoes had been removed, as had several layers of petticoats, causing the layers of skirt to tangle around her legs and making the material far too long. It was now nothing more than a cumbersome mess rather than an elegant sweep of fabric.

It was then, too, that she noticed the jangle of chains, connecting her feet to one end of the bench and her wrists to the other.

The echo of footsteps started to float through the air towards her, but she couldn’t tell from where.

She sat up on the bench as best she could, and concentrated on finding her magic so that she could free herself and get out of here before the men in cloaks- because she couldn’t imagine who else would be walking down here right now- came back.

But nothing happened.

She couldn’t feel anything more than an itch under her skin.

The footsteps got louder, closer, and Emma started to yank frantically at the chains.

With the nearing footsteps came a glow of light, illuminating a long rocky corridor with moisture glistening on the walls. It crept closer, highlighting the uneven walls and the hoods of the cloaks that bobbed as the people contained within walked.

She could feel panic start to rise in her chest, pushing away the remaining fog from the enchanted sleep the powder had put her into.

The light flickered and danced, torches held above the heads of the procession.

“What is the meaning of this?” Emma snapped as the figures started to surround her.

The figure in the gold-trimmed cloak walked right up to her, his face shadowed from view, but his hand reached out, fingers pale and cold as they clasped her chin, turning her face this way and that.

“Yes, the Demon we seek should be very pleased with you, Princess,” he said, his voice as cold as his fingers. “It will be a delight to watch him devour your virgin soul in return for the resurrection of the Dark One.”

Emma’s eyes widened in horror. She’d heard tales of the Dark One her whole life. Everything she knew about magic cast him as the cautionary tale in how high a price it required. She’d heard, too, about the cult that had sprung up in his absence, the men obsessed with returning Darkness to the realm.

“No!” she cried, pulling her face out of his grip and struggling against the chains once more, doing her best to summon her magic but only feeling a fire start to burn under her skin which made her cry out in pain.

“Your magic will do you no good down here. There is too much darkness, no true light can survive. Not for long, anyway.”

He flicked his hand at the chains, which released themselves from the bench. The ones attached to her ankles formed a shorter chain between them that would allow her to walk. The ones around her wrists snaked up over her shoulders and met around her neck.

The man pulled her to her feet by yanking on her arm which tightened the chain around her neck noticeably as she struggled to stand.

“You will walk.”

Emma scoffed. “To willingly assist you in returning Darkness to this realm? Never.”

Another twist of his hand and the chain between her wrists started to shrink, drawing her hands up towards her throat. The chain tightened around her neck, making her choke as she struggled to breathe. She could feel her eyes starting to bulge. Emma sank to her knees, clawing at her neck, and shivering even more as her head swam with dizziness.

Suddenly, the chains lengthened and she could breathe again.

“Do as you are told, and I’ll make this relatively painless. And the Dark One might even spare your kingdom for your assistance in his return. Get up.”

Emma realised that there was no way to fight this, not now. She would have to wait.

She struggled to stand. The long skirt of her dress, now wet with the damp filth from the floor, was heavy in her hands as she lifted it to allow her to walk.

Hands closed around her upper arms, guiding her through the torchlit gloom, preventing her from slipping on the slick ground.

They entered a chamber, rocky walls painted black with gold symbols, the same as adorned the hem of the golden edged cloak.

In the centre was a large stone altar, and Emma found herself lifted onto it, the chains at her wrists and ankles moving as commanded to secure her to it.

She struggled and cried out in protest but there was nothing to be done. The chill of the stone crept into her body. She could feel it sapping her strength and making it harder to concentrate on fighting what was being done, stealing away the hope in her heart.

All her parents had done to train her to protect herself, and… it was all she could do to lay there. Like the pathetic damsel in the stories princes and knights loved to tell.

Despair joined the fear encasing her heart as the cultists moved around her, painting more symbols on the floor.

Emma’s eyes flicked frantically around her, looking for anything to help her escape.

The cult leader arranged her dress- making the sleeves lie perfectly around the chains- splayed her hair around her head in a fan of gold, and smoothed down the wrinkles in the dirtied lace. Every time she tried to move the chains tightened a little more. He rounded the altar and stood by her head, drawing from the depths of his cloak a distinctive dagger, the edge curving wickedly like waves and held it over her body. He started to chant and she struggled against the chains until she couldn’t hold back the tears of pain any longer.

She let them fall, the heat of them almost burning her cold skin as she let out one desperate whisper as she closed her eyes.

“Please, help me.”

Emma didn’t know who she was asking or what the chanting around her meant. All she knew was that as much as she thrived on being able to save herself most of the time, she couldn’t help herself this time and her parents wouldn’t have any idea where she was. They’d been trying to rid the realm of the cult of the Dark One for years and they’d never found them. It was most unlikely they’d be able to do so now, even with the added motivation of finding her. They could still be frozen in the ballroom for all she knew.

She felt the soft, hot tracks of her tears across her face before they splashed on the stone.

Blinding pain radiated up her arms as knives sliced into her skin, burning as blood started to pour into the grooves on the table, staining her dress immediately as the tears, too, turned into a flood.

Emma screamed in agony and defiance.

But through the pain she felt a soft weight on her head and at her waist, a warmth gently passing over her hair.

“Fear not, My Queen. All will be well,” a voice like liquid velvet intoned softly next to her ear.

Her head started to swim as the blood drained out of her body, but with each weakening heartbeat, the hand on her head and at her waist felt more real.

“Can’t save…” she whispered back, shaking her head. “Dark One…” she tried again, needing him to understand.

“Isn’t that why you called on me?” the voice replied, and now she could feel breath across her shoulder and cheek as he spoke.

Emma forced her eyes to open and she looked up into brilliant blue fire. They were his eyes, of course, but in her drowsy state she could have sworn they danced with real fire. His gaze filled her with warmth, and she blinked lazily as she smiled up at him. She’d never looked into a face like his before and she found herself immediately entranced by his dark beauty.

The chanting stopped, and cries of joy rang against the walls instead.

“Who are you?” she breathed, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with fingers that almost burned her skin with their heat.

“Foul Demon, I have summoned you…”

The demon, Emma now had the wherewithal to notice the horns poking out of the top of his head, looked up at the cultist still holding the knife over Emma’s head.

“Who summoned?” he asked coldly, and Emma felt his thumb ghosting over the wound on one of her arms, could feel warmth creeping back into her limbs as her heart started to beat a little surer once more.

“We cast the spell, we sacrificed…”

“I think you’ll find it’s her blood on the table, but interestingly, it wasn’t that which summoned me.”

“I command you to resurrect the Dark One in exchange for this sacrificed soul!”

The demon sighed and looked down at Emma. “I’m sorry, My Queen. Explaining this gross incompetence might take a moment,” he told her apologetically.

“Can’t go anywhere…” She breathed sleepily.

The demon grinned roguishly, and with four deft flicks of his clawed fingers he shattered the chains holding her down, but Emma still didn't have the strength to move. The demon sat down on the altar beside her, his fingers now trailing over the wound on her other arm and healing that one, too.

“Now, I’ve seen some truly ridiculous cults in my time, but you lot? You really do take the biscuit,” he drawled. “Firstly, this altar accepts any liquid, and you let her cry, which hit the table before her blood. So. As you were intending to use the blood, she used her own tears to summon me. Secondly, if you’d wanted her blood to work you had to partake of it somehow, because even if her blood had worked to summon the demon you intended to summon, she’d still have had control over it. Lastly, and most importantly, you’ve ended up saddled with the demon responsible for condemning the Dark One to the deepest, darkest depths of hell where his mortal soul will face its darkest fears for eternity. So… do you really think I’m going to be the one to let him out? All in all, you’ve gone and fucked this up royally…” He glanced down at Emma and grinned. “With a very pretty royal, too,” he added, and she shivered as his eyes looked her over and part of her wished she had the strength to do something to hide herself. But then his gaze flicked back to the cult leader and darkened with anger once more, his casual, instructive tone fading into menacing darkness. “So, while I appreciate the effort to find me such a delectable offering, I’m afraid… You’ve hurt My Queen…”

Emma watched as demonic darkness overtook his features. His skin turned red and his eyes turned to flame and the reality of the world around them seemed to crack as he rose to his feet, growing in height, muscles bulging, forked tail whipping back and forth in anger as a language of darkness rolled off now black lips and tongue. The long coat he wore furled out into enormous black wings which sliced the two closest cultists in half, exposing his muscled chest and drawing her gaze despite her predicament. Flame speared out of previously nonexistent slices in the very air, wrapping around the cultists and setting them aflame as he sat up and grabbed the cult leader around the throat.

“So I’m afraid it’s your souls I’ll be consuming in her name.”

The man seemed to burn alive from the inside, screaming in agony until he exploded in a shower of embers that made Emma flinch.

The demon turned back to her, his features fading back to the handsome, tempting human she’d first seen when she’d opened her eyes.

She felt a sob of relief, of gratitude rising in her chest despite the fact that she was now slightly terrified of her saviour.

He settled himself back on the side of the altar and pulled her to him, cradling the back of her head and running his hand up and down her spine, his warmth seeping into her and bringing her back to shivering rather than weakly numb with the cold.

“Fear not, My Queen. You are safe now,” he said, soothingly.

For some reason, Emma believed him, and allowed herself to sob into his shoulder as she let the fear that had plagued her since the moment the windows in the ballroom shatter subside.

“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

The demon seemed to stiffen in surprise.

“Demon or not,” Emma reasoned as she pulled back, “I should like to know the name of my rescuer so that he may be properly acknowledged.”

The demon looked suddenly unsure of himself.

“You may not think so kindly of me in a few moments,” he replied, sounding almost sad about it.

“You were part of the vanquishing of the Dark One, and you just saved me from helping bring him back,” she pressed.

“Aye,” he replied, his voice strained.

“There are conditions to your summoning that I am unaware of,” she replied. It was a statement, not a question and he nodded in confirmation.

“The altar may not be fussy, but I’m afraid Demonic Law is,” he replied carefully.

“You still need blood.” He nodded again but she sensed there was more. “My blood.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied again. And despite his being a demon, she believed him.

“So I still have to die?” she asked, shrinking back from him a little.

“Ay…” The response had been on the tip of his tongue, but he suddenly pulled back, rising to his feet and pacing.

Emma watched him curiously as he muttered to himself, reciting something in the dark tongue she’d heard him use before. The way his lips curled around the words made her squirm a little on the cold stone and she shivered once again, the absence of his heat allowing the chill of the stone to creep back into her bones.

“Apologies, My Queen,” he said briskly, returning to her side and encouraging her to lean against him.

“Emma,” she said with a sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

“Ah, then… I daresay no one is going to like the alternative much better,” he said as his fingers trailed up and down her arm, making her hum in contentment. He smelled amazing, far more appealing than anyone- let alone a demon- had a right to. She let herself breathe it in, getting a little lost in it.

“What is it?” she asked. Her voice sounded dreamy and sultry, even to her own ears.

“Your Highness, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, lifting her head to look into his eyes.

“Make it harder for me to not claim what I am owed without explaining myself first,” he managed to grind out through gritted teeth. There was no anger in his words, only a possessive spark in his eyes as he looked her over.

Emma straightened her spine, her eyes wide and startled as her breath stuttered in her throat. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he replied with a warm smile. “The other option to spilling your blood and claiming your soul for hell now, since I have fulfilled the task you summoned me for, is to take an… alternative virgin blood.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat immediately with embarrassment and she looked away.

He hooked his finger under her chin, and looked into her eyes.

“I understand what this would mean in human terms, but you would need to understand this in demonic terms. We would be bound to each other. I would relinquish my immortal calling and live by your side as your protector and… lover… until your soul and your mortal body part ways. At which point, we will return to hell, and you are bound to me for eternity.”

He was being honest, that much she could tell.

“But that isn’t always the case, is it? I mean… don’t demons regularly defile virgins?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend him.

He chuckled, low and deep and it rumbled in his chest making her breath catch.

“It’s complicated. But most cults realise that virgin blood simply means from a vessel that has never been used for a sacrifice before,” he explained.

Emma frowned, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. “But then… my blood wouldn’t work that way, anyway.”

“Technically, their ritual was not completed so your blood remains viable. I could still just kill you. But Princess, you’re far too lovely to waste on such a thing when I can have you for eternity…” His tone was laced with hunger that made a shiver run down her spine. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her neck again and making goosebumps rise across her skin. “Let me seduce you, My Queen. I promise you won’t be disappointed in the result. We’ll rule your kingdom together, you light magic balancing out my darkness and when we get back to hell you can torture every soul who ever hurt those you care for into madness.”

Even his offer was seductive, and Emma’s eyes slid closed, her head tilting away from his, almost offering him her neck. His forked tongue flicked out to caress the shell of her ear and she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she pulled back just a little. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

“I smell good, don’t I? Your body knows what we could have. It’s a rare opportunity. Not everyone can even hope to make this attempt. You are unique, Emma. I can feel your soul calling out to mine and it’s taking everything in me not to claim it.”

She could feel it too, the want, the need to let him have what should have been promised to the prince of another kingdom. Something she should be guarding with more fervour than her own life. But who was there to stop her? There was no other heir to the kingdom, if she died today…

“My kingdom will need an heir,” she found herself muttering.

“Then we’ll give them more than enough to pick from,” he promised without hesitation.

“They’ll be… human?”

“As much as it matters. Like I said, my darkness and your light will create a balance within them. They will likely have magic as you do, and they may be stronger than other humans, live longer, I mean. But… is that such a curse?”

Emma absorbed this. Why she was asking him this, turning this into some kind of negotiation she wasn’t entirely sure, but here they were. She needed to think of her kingdom and not let the need singing in her blood overpower her just yet.

“Tell me your name,” she replied, looking up at him, determinedly.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not going to agree to eternity with someone who won’t even tell me their name,” she declared, almost haughtily.

“If I tell you my name…?”

Emma held his gaze, and smiled. It was small, almost seductive.

“Then I shall be yours. For eternity.”

“My name is Killian Jones,” he told her, in a way that suggested he hadn’t spoken it aloud in a very long time.

“Be gentle with me, Killian,” she requested, suddenly nervous.

With a groan, Killian hooked a finger under her chin once more and tilted her head up, bringing his lips to meet hers.

Emma felt a rush in the pit of her stomach as the warmth of his lips brushed hers and her eyes slid closed.

His hands moved to cradle her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her as his lips caressed hers, pulling back and changing angles, guiding her as his fingers threaded back into her hair. His lips peppered kisses across her cheek and down onto her neck.

Her eyes snapped open as she gasped at the sensation sparking through her entire body. Her hands curled around the lapels of his now returned coat, soft leather and velvet warm under her palms.

One hand moved around to her back, hand splaying across her spine and pulling her into his lap where she shuddered at the way his warmth seemed to wrap round her. Her own hand moved, threading into his hair, silky and soft and she pulled back a little to look at him again, breathing ragged, chest heaving, before she pulled his lips back to hers, moaning softly as he responded with a groan that made her core clench with need.

She kissed him harder now, taking back a little control and letting instinct take over.

The sticky dampness of her skirt forgotten, pain wiped from her mind, Emma kissed him like her life depended on it. He responded by holding her tighter against him and she could have sworn her skin was burning where the lace of her dress was thinner.

And then she felt calloused fingers on her back, not having noticed that he’d been undoing the delicate buttons down the back of her dress. She gasped as she pulled back to look at him, eyes wide and unsure.

“Don’t back out now, Darling. I don’t think I could restrain myself,” he said, his tone soft but his eyes full of dark promise.

Her core clenched again at his words. “I’m not, I…” she swallowed, trying to gather words that could explain. “Touch me more,” she requested, shyly.

“Gladly.” He grinned back at her.

A sweep of his arm and a twist of his claws tore the encumbrance of the sodden lace from her legs. Winding his other arm around her waist, he lifted her just enough that it slipped from her form and onto the floor, leaving her more exposed in front of a man that she had ever been in her life and she found herself revelling in the thrill of it.

He set her down so that she was straddling his thighs, exposing her and making her flush with excitement and self-consciousness in equal measure. His fingers barely grazed her thigh, but it felt like a spark of magic across her skin.

“More, My Queen?” he asked, and she could hear the smirk in his voice before she even looked up at his face.

The moment she met his gaze, his fingers started a teasing dance across her skin and she couldn’t help but moan, her eyes falling shut and her head falling back into his hand, just waiting to cradle her head.

“Such perfect, delicate skin…” he murmured, watching as his claws raised red lines on her pale flesh, and she whimpered at the hint of pain through the burning pleasure she was already feeling. His hand splayed over her thigh, gripping and squeezing as his other hand slipped down from her neck to continue to unbutton the back of her dress.

“That’s it Darling, let me hear you,” he murmured just before his lips found her neck once more. Kissing down towards her collarbone, his pointed teeth grazed her skin, always followed quickly by the soothing heat of his tongue.

And Emma gladly sang the pleasure of it towards the ceiling of the dim cavern, moans and cries and gasps spilling from her lips until the dance of his fingers ran through the slickness between her legs. Her hand twisted in his hair, making him hiss in pain and growl, delivering a slightly sharper nip to the skin of her shoulder.

“I won’t be able to be gentle with you if you can’t reciprocate, Darling,” he told her, firmly, speaking right into her ear and nipping at her earlobe.

Emma responded with a moan and a roll of her hips that had his fingers brushing that spot again. “Killian, please,” she whimpered.

“Do you really think I’m going to stop?” he questioned with a chuckle. “Oh, Princess, you have no idea just how much I have in store for you.”

“Show me,” she replied breathily.

“As you wish…” That was all he said before his head dipped, his teeth catching the neckline of her dress and twisting his head to tear the lace and the silk chemise from her chest, exposing her corset.

Emma shivered as the cool air of the cavern hit her skin, but the cold didn’t last for long as Killian’s lips found the tops of her breasts, kissing, licking, sucking and nipping as her chest heaved with panted breaths and the fingers below started to caress in earnest.

Her hips rolled into his fingers, her back arched to bring her chest to meet his mouth and the angle caused her corset to slip just enough that the next sweep of Killian’s tongue wrapped around her nipple.

Emma bucked in his arms, and as he growled with want, his assault of pleasure on her body was renewed. He seemed intent to torment her with it, to ensure that she thought of nothing else ever again other than the next time he could put his hands on her body.

With every sweep of his tongue or caress of his fingers, Emma was sure this was it, that it could not get any better. But with every frantic beat of her heart, he proved her wrong. She was babbling incoherently while he murmured encouragements into her skin. Emma didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing his velvety dark voice telling her how beautiful and perfect she was, that she was made for this, for him. He was relentless and determined, and she didn’t care how wanton she might look, all she wanted was for him to keep going, to drive her higher, to…

“Come for your demonic prince, My Queen,” he commanded, his lips just below her ear, pressing a kiss to her pulse point before dropping back to wrap around her nipple, sucking hard as his tongue flicked over it just right.

And then her whole body seemed to freeze in place, stars dancing behind her eyes as her muscles started to tremble and he pulled her more securely into his arms, his lips now caressing her hairline, his murmurs calming, soothing, reassuring.

She let herself breathe into his neck, shallow breaths coming out on satisfied hums as each muscle in her body seemed to relish in the slow drift back from the peak of her pleasure.

“That was…”

“Remarkable to behold, but we’re far from done,” he promised.

“I’m not that naive,” she protested, pulling back to frown up at him. Okay, so she’d never been told details, but animals did the deed, too, and…

“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow that made her eyes narrow even more. “Then would you like to tell me what I plan on doing with my tongue, next?”

Emma flushed scarlet and dropped his gaze. With a soft chuckle he hooked a finger under her chin once more and made her look into his eyes.

“I’m going to lick your pussy clean, and then I’m going to make a mess of you all over again,” he promised, his hand dropping from her chin to press the fabric of her dress into the wetness still dripping from her.

Emma whimpered, her eyes sliding closed and blushing even harder.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her lips. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Am I?” she murmured back, her lips blindly chasing his for another kiss.

“Let me taste you, Emma,” he replied, nudging her nose with his own before capturing her lips again. His tongue pressed them apart to caress hers and she welcomed him into her mouth with a moan.

“I take it that’s not how you meant?” she queried when he ended the kiss with a soft peck to the tip of her nose.

He shook his head with a salacious grin. “Lie back for me.”

Emma looked over her shoulder at the stained and bloody table before looking back at him.

But it seemed she didn’t even have to voice her discomfort at that idea, and with a roll of his shoulders, the leather vanished from under her fingers and was once again transformed into wings which curled around her and easily took her weight as she sank back into their warmth with a hum of contentment.

The intensity with which he looked down at her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before and it made her blush.

He grinned. It was toothy, and hungry and it was only a moment before he leaned in, pulling the soiled white dress from her body as he kissed his way over each revealed inch of skin. He pushed apart her bare thighs and she squirmed under the heat of his gaze as he licked his lips salaciously before lowering his head, his eyes meeting hers as he brought his tongue to her core.

It was Emma that broke eye contact with him as her back arched with pleasure and her eyes closed with the potency of it. The heat of his tongue was like nothing she’d ever imagined. The graze of his fingers on her thighs was intoxicating. She could feel the vibrations of words she couldn’t hear through the rush of blood in her ears, could feel the hoarseness of her voice increasing with cries that she couldn’t comprehend.

He built her up quicker this time, the feelings so overwhelming she could feel her consciousness wavering. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of an abyss that part of her longed to welcome, but he kept licking, caressing, sucking on her until she came back to herself with another wave of pleasure as he shifted above her. His mouth found hers, kissing her hard and then she became aware of a slight burn and pressure down where his tongue had been.

Her eyes snapped open as she squeaked with the discomfort, building towards pain. “Relax, My Queen, the pain will be over soon,” he purred into her ear. “Let it happen,” he encouraged, his fingers finding her clit once more and making her back arch.

She felt him slip further in, and then something inside her seemed to break and she cried out at the sensation. She didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure in that moment but she had never felt so full.

Above her, he let out a strangled groan, his muscles tense as his eyes fell shut for a moment before they snapped open, burning with blue fire once more.

“Mine,” he growled.

“Yes,” she choked out. “Killian…”

He kissed her again, and started to move. It burned slightly, but with each thrust of his hips the discomfort turned to pleasure and she found herself moving with him, meeting his hips with her own as her legs curled around his waist.

He littered her neck with kisses and nips as she cried out his name into the darkness around them. She embraced the peak of her pleasure once more, fingers tight in his hair, lips sealed against his as she tried to keep herself moving for him, so that he could finally join her.

“This will be a little hot…” he warned as his thrusts sped up, hips stuttering a little before Emma felt a rush of heat inside her. It was strange, but she fell in love with the feeling, knowing she would want more of it before long.

“I feel so…” she started, searching for the right word to convey everything. There would never be anything like this, wrapped in his arms, filled with his seed, feeling his breath across her neck. “Complete,” she settled on.

Killian raised his head and smiled down at her, brushing his nose against hers.

“Incredible,” he murmured, shifting to pull out of her. Emma felt the flood of his spent leave her body and he glanced down, shifting his wings to let the mix of his cum and her blood fall onto the altar. “And now all immortal planes are satisfied, as well as us,” he said, looking back up at her.

With the sweat cooling on her skin, Emma felt suddenly self-conscious and looked away.

“Regretting me already, Princess?”

Emma’s eyes snapped back up to his face, to find disgust starting to settle in his features. She reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers across his brow.

“No, I… I’m sore… and almost naked with a demon, and… I don’t know what to…”

“Your demon,” he corrected, a hint of a smile starting to curve at his lips. “We can be completely naked, if you would prefer? Or maybe you’ll make me wait for a human wedding night to have that final prize?” he teased, making her blush all over again.

“I can’t go back home without a corset. I’m already severely lacking in the rest of my attire,” she reasoned, embracing the chance at levity.

“Well, for the moment, that is a sacrifice I am happy to watch you endure,” he commented, taking a good look, his fingers tracing the edge of her corset.

“You’re incorrigible,” she commented with a sigh. “But I really would like to get out of here if that’s all the same to you.”

“We’ll find you some clothes on the way out.” He offered his hand to help her sit up, gathering her into his arms.

“Just get me out of here, and I can summon something from home,” she said with a smile as she laid her head against his chest.

“As you wish, My Queen,” he replied as he stood from the altar, wings melting back into his leather coat. Shadows curled up around them as the cavern melted away, but even once they were out in the open again, there was no chill strong enough to reach her. Not with her demon by her side.

#captain swan #cssns23 #zaharadessert writes #demon killian #princess emma #art by krystal

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strange-dreams-are-made-of-these · 2 years

Text

Can You Hear The Silence?

Pairing: Stephen Strange x F!Reader (Established relationship - Married)

Word Count: 2,913

Warnings: canon-typical violence, post-battle shock, fluff

Summary: A trip to the deli turns into one of Stephen’s worst nightmares. Will he act quickly to save the girl?

A/N: This is based on an Imagine I posted last week. I hope you enjoy the result!

Stephen had walked down the grand staircase of the Sanctum, wearing a pair of tennis shoes, jeans, a plain grey t-shirt that fit him loosely, and a black cardigan. It wasn't a cold day, but certainly cool enough to warrant a second layer of clothing. Wong had been following next to him, pulling some cash out of his pockets. "A tuna melt, if you will." He spoke, handing it over to Stephen.

Stephen stopped, taking a hold of the cash. "I'm sorry, weren't you the one who said something about the need to separate yourself from the material things in life like money?"

Wong nodded, "Yes."

Strange titled his head to the side, confused. "Then where did you get the money?"

A voice chimed in from the bottom of the stairs. "I gave it to him." A woman had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was dressed reasonably warm like Stephen was. Her tennis shoes were different from his, sporting a three-inch heel in them. Her jeans were dark, sporting a yellow tank top under her jacket. The jacket was made out of a polyester mix, a gym wear jacket she often wore when working out.

Stephen and Wong continued down the staircase, meeting the woman on the ground floor. "You gave him money?" Stephen asked her.

She nodded. "Yes, I did. Now, the next part of the journey is convincing him to walk to the deli to get his own tuna melts." She spoke, smiling brightly at the two men.

"The Sorcerer Supreme has higher duties to uphold," Wong spoke, holding his hands behind his back as he looked between Stephen and the woman. "As I recall, you two enjoy your walks to the deli."

Stephen turned to look at Wong. "Higher duties?"

"Come on, Hunny," the woman spoke, reaching her hands out to gently grip his arm. "Let's leave the great Sorcerer Supreme to his duties. I can walk around with the Guardian of the New York Sanctum... Who looks like he just walked off the set of a Taylor Swift music video."

Stephen turned to the woman, his jaw-dropping slightly. 'You have a lot of room to talk. Did you do stunt work on Bad Blood?" He asked her.

One of her eyebrows arched up, "You listened to Bad Blood?"

Stephen winked at the woman, using one hand to move hers, securing her hands between his chest and elbow. "I've listened to 1989." Stephen led the two out of the Sanctum, taking a left after leaving the stoop of the Sanctum.

The woman looked at her lover, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "I just never pinned you as a Taylor Swift fan."

Stephen looked over at her, finding her amusement funny. "I never said I was a fan."

The woman hummed before looking forward again, walking down the sidewalk of Bleecker. She had her loving husband by her side, the most cherished relationship she has had in her entire life, and nothing but the whole world before them. Everything was still in the city. It was peaceful. In fact, it was a little too peaceful.

The couple rounded the corner just as a car was thrown down the street. People began to run in several directions while a deafening growl could be heard. She shook her head before pulling her hands away from Stephen, unzipping her jacket to unveil two pieces of what appeared to be ordinary wood. Y/n was not a user of the mystic arts, but thanks to Stephen, she was actively learning the martial arts they studied. "Ah, damn. I should have stayed in my tennis shoes."

Stephen had changed his clothes with the help of his magic, the cloak of levitation securing itself on his collar. "Looks like Wong's sandwich is gonna have to wait."

Stephen began walking forward, not seeing an immediate source for the growl. The woman followed behind him, twisting the sticks in her hands before extending her arms out to the side, revealing the sticks to be staffs. There had been etchings on it glowing in orange. Stephen had used the Eye of Agamotto, pulling his hands to the side as he unveiled a group of people dressed in dark garments. They made themselves invisible to everybody. "How do we do this, babe?" The woman asked him, carefully watching the people that were attacking innocent people.

Stephen looked at the group. There had been at least seven of them. "I'm going to try to get as many of them as I can. Go left, let's try to keep them in the middle of the street."

The woman nodded before running to his left. She was regretting changing her shoes, but there was nothing she could do about them now. She needed to get the ones who were attacking the civilians away from the innocent people. Her first target was a man who was twice her size. He had seen her running towards him. He brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles and grinning at her. Y/n was a master at identifying weaknesses, noticing how the man had been very built in his arms and chest. She used this to her advantage.

He stepped forward, throwing his fist out towards her. She slid on her knees, avoiding his fist. She swung around, swinging her staff at him striking his upper back. She popped up quickly watching as the man took a few seconds to turn around to face her. He was durable, yet slow. "Aww, is the big bad man afraid to hit a girl?"

He did not like her taunts. He shook his arms out in front of him, balling his hands into fists. Y/n took off running, slowing her pace so he could chase her. She had her eyes set on another target in front of her. Two people had weapons, a type of sonic gun. One of them pointed at the woman running toward them. The man pointed his gun at her, firing the weapon. Y/n was barely able to avoid the initial blast, quickly ducking behind a car that was tossed in the middle of the road. The blast instead hit the taller man that was chasing her, knocking him backward with an audible thud, shaking the ground beneath him.

The woman looked up, seeing the pair again. She watched as the man with the gun ducked down, fumbling with the weapon. She guessed it had to have some type of charge in order to fire, as and weapon of its caliber would require. She darted out from the side, going towards the two individuals.

As she was running, she heard the cries of a young child. She was caught off guard as she spotted a young girl standing next to a trash can, a stuffed animal in her hands. She couldn't continue fighting while a helpless child was caught up in the middle. She veered off her path for the two people dressed in dark garments, heading for the child. She put her staffs away, tucking them into her jacket again. She held her arms out, scooping the child up. 'Come on, let's get you back to where you belong." Y/n was careful to shield the child from any debris that was falling from the sky. She spotted two men standing at the corner of the street where she and Stephen had been earlier. They were frantic, looking at the chaos, and the girl pointed at them, calling for them.

Y/n ran towards the men, slowing down once meeting them. She held the girl out to them as one of them reached for the girl. The woman didn't stay around for long, heading back towards the fight. She was stopped by another one of the opposing figures. He stood his ground as he stared at her. The woman stopped before him, keeping her distance. She knew he meant business. "How does this go? Do you talk first? Do I talk first?"

The man's fingers flexed, pointing towards her. Her arms were forced to rest at her sides, her legs pulled together. She was then pulled towards him, stopping a foot before him. It felt as if all of her muscles were forced to flex, feeling her back and neck strain. He chuckled under his breath before beginning to float, heading to the top of the building next to them, overlooking the battle below.

Wong had joined the fight, making quick use of his eldritch whip and sword. The man rested peacefully on the side of the building, Y/n still encased in his hold but floating in the air. Below her feet was nothing except for space and the road. They must have been at least six stories high, observing the fight. "Your friends have made many enemies, Miss. It's a shame really, we could all have what we want without having to make things so messy."

He turned her around to face him. She tried flexing her fingers and toes but to no avail. It was almost as if she was in a total paralytic state. Her jaw clenched, trying to speak to him. He had made sure she was silent, his hold controlling her vocal cords.

The man smirked, looking down at the road below them. "Do you have a fear of heights? I find them dizzying myself, actually." He kicked his boot out slightly, a rock falling from the roof to the street below. He looked up at her, pointing his finger. "It's simple, really. What my employer wants is down there." He moved his hand to point toward Wong. "Give us the Sorcerer Supreme, and all of this goes away. We leave your city, and you go back to going on your lovely jogs and whatever it is you do for this place."

The woman had struggled to make even a little bit of sound, but her attempts had all failed. The man shook his head looking at her. "I can't seem to help but feel this conversation is all one-sided. So, let's make this easier. You get one word, one word only. Just say yes. Say yes, and you get to live. Any other word, and it's the concrete floor for your final resting place. I know you'll cooperate."

She could feel a slight pressure leave her chest and throat. She knew she could speak again. She looked below her, seeing Wong and Stephen fighting the others, not too many were left standing. There was no way she was going to let them think they could take Wong away. She wasn't talented like they were. She wasn't an Avenger, she wasn't a mystic arts user. She had been employed by Stark Industries years ago, working in the Avengers tower. That was where she had met Stephen, how they got to where they were today. She looked from the street to the man, taking in a deep breath.

He eyed her, holding his hand out in front of him. "Come on, we don't have all day!"

She spoke the first thing that came to her mind, yelling it as loud as she could. "STRANGE!"

Stephen had knocked two of the people out, putting them under a bind using his magic. He spotted the big one that Y/n had managed to take out moments earlier. He saw Wong battling two more people, but he couldn't help but think something was off. There were three people knocked out, Wong was dueling two people, and the chaos was diminishing. But where was-

"STRANGE!"

His eyes widened. She never called him that. Of all the times they spoke before dating, she always called him Doctor. While they were dating, it was Stephen or Hunny. Since being married, it was Hunny, Babe, Stephen, or another soft pet name. She never called him Strange, never yelled it out. Something was wrong.

He looked up, seeing his wife begin to fall from the top of the building. IN a swift motion, he commanded the cloak of levitation to race towards her. The woman was falling faster and faster, thinking that she was going to meet her end. She took in a deep breath before feeling a light sensation again. The cloak wrapped itself around her, beginning to take her towards Stephen. Once within arms reach, Stephen grabbed the woman, holding her close to him. The embrace was a desperate one, seeing how quickly his happiness was almost shattered. Y/n wrapped her arms around him, not knowing how to feel. She wanted to cry, run, scream, throw up, and hide. She almost felt numb, more than likely shock setting in.

She pulled away from him, his hands searching her face for any injuries. "They... They are here for Wong." She told him, her eyes meeting his.

Wong had finished battling the two others. He raced over, looking at the two Stranges. Stephen looked from his wife to Wong. After seeing he was fine, he looked back tot he woman, feeling terrible that she had to go through such an event. Police sirens could be heard, people were screaming and chattering, some recording on their phones. Stephen looked at the top of the building, seeing a man peering over the edge before disappearing into thin air. Wong followed his gaze, watching the man in black disappear.

Stephen looked back to Y/n, his hands holding her face as her hands reached up to hold his wrists. She looked pale, her gaze falling from his face. Stephen knew she was in shock, and she needed away from the scene quickly.

Stephen returned the two of them to the Sanctum. He made sure Y/n was comfortable, sitting in the sitting area at the top of the stairs. She was silent, something he never knew her to be. "Y/n? Sweetheart?" His hand reached out to cover one of her hands.

She looked over at him, her eyes focusing on him. She had felt time passing her by so slowly. "Babe?" She asked him, wondering what was going on. He was out of his casual clothes, wearing his blue garment set.

Stephen grew concerned over Y/n. He knew that his wife was an incredible woman, but she wasn't a superhero. She was selfless, and she was willing to fight by his side if it meant being with him. He knew he should have had her run back to get Wong or hide. He trusted her too much in battle, something that could have gone wrong easily. It almost did.

She watched the way he was acting, and it bothered her. She placed one hand over the top of his, being careful of his scars knowing how light sensations could cause him pain. "I'll be fine. Nobody got hurt, did they?" She asked him.

Stephen looked at her, relief flushing his face. It was normal for her to be more concerned about others before herself. "Nobody got hurt. Except for the ones who deserved it." She nodded, a thin smile painted on her face. Stephen observed her as she let go of his hand, reaching her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as he could.

He always smelled so good. It almost grounded her, and in times like these, it really helped to settle her nerves. "That little girl was so scared, Stephen." She whispered, remembering saving the girl and returning her to her dad's.

Stephen caressed the back of her neck as she nuzzled her way into his neck. "I know, but you saved her. I'd say that makes you a hero."

She was silent for a minute or so before speaking again. "Do you get scared?"

Stephen nodded, licking his lips. "You gave me a good fright there for a moment." He replied. "But, that fear is a part of the job. If there is a part of you that isn't scared about the outcome, then you're not fighting for the right reasons."

She pulled away from him slowly, but only to be able to look at his face, her arms still wrapped around him. "the right reasons?"

Stephen brushed a piece of hair out of her face. He smiled at her question, pulling her closer to him before pressing a kiss on her forehead. "I used to do all of this because it is what I made out of myself. Now, I do it for you. You are what I focus on during my battles, being able to come home to you and seeing your face. How incredibly lucky I am to have you in my life."

She looked down the entire time, only looking up at him at the end of his sentence. She hated how he still made her blush, much like the first time they met, but she loved him more than what she thought she was capable of. He was her world, she would be lost without him. "I never call you Strange." She replied, her eyes searching his. "I was just..."

Stephen nodded. "I know. It's okay. You're home now." She felt comfortable again, having slipped out of her shocked state. She reached up, pressing a kiss to his lips before nuzzling between his neck and shoulder. Stephen held her in his arms, leaning back on the couch with Y/n laying on his chest. The cloak had laid itself down on top of the couple, covering them up for some well-deserved rest.

#stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x y/n #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange x y/n #marvel

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tarydarrington · 3 years

Text

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath.

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #mine #mine:fic #caleb #essek

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Prima materia

Yandere!Kaeya & Yandere!Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 4156

CW: Yandere themes, mentions of violence, death and NSFW

An angel.

That’s what Kaeya thinks when he sees you - he’s far from being a religious person, yet this word appears in his mind, vivid and burning, pushing out any other thought away. He stands here, starstruck and unsure what to do, devouring your visage with his eye alone.

Your first meeting is incidental - he walks around the Mondstadt, looking for the leads for the recent mass disappearance case. An alarming number of people went missing right before the Windrise festival. All are destitute alcoholics with no real importance, all except one - Javier Lawrence, who in this case is a rich alcoholic, and a reason why investigation even started. Mondstadt may be a nation of freedom, yet money and status still dominate most of its social dynamics.

Kaeya goes to Eula first - Javier was her twice removed cousin after all, she ought to know something. The spindrift knight is restrained in her speech, careful not to insult her missing relative, despite the deepening frown. She says almost nothing new, stating that Javier had a passion for drinking and wasting his days away, she also mentions his favourite places to wander while drunk - gardens, plaza and the forest outside the city.

Visits to the first two bear no fruits - Kaeya doesn’t find any eyewitnesses, but hears tons upon the tons of complaints and insults directed at the missing, so he heads for the forest, expecting to find the mangled body among the heaps of green leaves - being drunk in the forest deep is never a good idea, yet he finds none. He stumbles upon you instead.

You sit among the wild flowers and bitter herbs, head bowed, closely inspecting the plants in your hands and humming a light tune as you do so. There’s a certain serenity about you, some kind of magical elegance radiating off of every movement, it’s deliberate, yet relaxed. You remind him of the forest nymph from the paintings he saw - celestial and seductive, and totally unaware of the effect you have on him.

This feeling is further exacerbated by the simple white shirt you're wearing - the material is thin and half-transparent, already revealing the outline of your torso. Kaeya gulps when he imagines it getting wet and clinging to your body, your skin and nipples showing through the flimsy fabric. The only thing that spoils this otherwise perfect sight are small dark bruises both hands, blooming like two ominous roses.

“Hello”, he finally suppresses lustful urges and steps closer, distracting you from the herb picking. “My name’s Kaeya Alberich, I am the cavalry captain of the Knight of Favonius, and I want you to answer a couple of my questions”.

You turn unnaturally still upon hearing his voice, hands squeezing the plants, even your breathing is impossible to hear. You are terrified. Kaeya turns his head to the side at this picture, eyebrows raised - this is… a very interesting reaction.

“I am sorry, I am not allowed to talk to strangers”, you say, finally collecting yourself and raising your head to meet his eye, and Kaeya finds himself struck again.

Stars.

You have star-shaped pupils. Just like him.

He makes a step again, back this time, as his chest starts to rise and fall faster, breathing accelerating. Why do you have these eyes? He thought he was the only one left…

“Sir Kaeya, what brings you here?”he hears a familiar voice. Albedo comes from the forest deep, quickly striding to him and then stopping between you and the cavalry captain. Alchemist's face remains indifferent and his tone impassive, yet through the haze of confusion and shock Kaeya still notes how he protectively put himself between you two, as if shielding you from his gaze.

“Investigation. I thought asking… this lovely person a couple of questions might help solve the case”, he flashes one of his most charming smiles to Albedo, who predictably remains apathetic towards such displays. You, on the other hand, still sit on the forest ground and have your eyes shifting between Kaeya and Albedo, with fear and hope respectively.

“I am afraid you won’t find any answers here. They are under my care, and they don’t know anything about whatever your case is”. Albedo’s voice still remains polite, but Kaeya can taste the hidden hostility, he almost backs off from surprise.

“Well, that’s unfortunate”, he admits defeat and puts on a smile again - it’s a colder one this time, less genuine - and turns on his heels, throwing “have a nice day” as the afterthought, insides burning with the strange mix of disappointment and resentment.

He almost leaves the forest, as he hears Albedo talking to you: “It’s alright, [First], I won't punish you for speaking to him, he asked you first”. You reply something, but Kaeya is too far to make out any of your lovely voice, yet the things he witnessed today are enough to spawn a horde of questions.

Why does Albedo act so possessive? Why do you allow him to do so? What connects you two together? And most importantly: Who are you?

Thousand different theories fleet through his mind, as he mulls over new information. He doesn’t come back to that place, despite his curiosity nagging him to do so, he can’t - Kaeya is now acutely aware of the power Albedo seems to hold over you and returning might anger the alchemist.

Cavalry captain returns to the case of missing people, yet his mind continues to wander off, thought returning to your face and voice and body and the colossal mystery cloaking you.

***

Investigation progresses unbelievably slowly - if he was a gullible person, Kaeya would’ve thought that all of the missing just vanished into thin air - no leads, no traces, not a single clue of what might have happened, leaving the knights with nothing but straws to grasp at. To add to the severity of the situation after a week of receiving the case from Jean, Kaeya is notified about the new disappearance of two other people - Joachim and Luckas. They’re also a pair of alcoholics, the first one was last seen around the Angel’s Share, the second one was heading for the Dragonspine.

Kaeya goes to the said tavern - at first he just talks with the patrons, effortlessly fishing out the information about the missing person, which brings nothing new (again), then he gets a bit bored with drunk-interrogating others and decides to ask Diluc what he might’ve seen. And that also reveals nothing new (again) - Joachim has visited the tavern, ordered some wine and after a couple of bottles downed, left. Nothing extraordinary or groundbreaking, just a day of another Mondstadtian drunkard.

It seems that he isn’t destined to find whatever spirited Joachim away, so Kaeya leaves the city heading for the snowy mountain in the distance. He asks around the adventurers camp near the ruined tower, only to hear that Luckas was seen around the mountain.

Kaeya walks to the Dragonspine, already feeling the chill at the foot of the mountain, and his determination slowly melts - Dragonspine is one big freezing hellhole, full of monsters and Fatuis who for some reason decided to reside here, yet one particular face appears in his mind. Seeing you again might be worth the whole trouble - he noticed you a couple of times, always in the company of the certain alchemist, so if Albedo is in his camp, then you’re most likely there too.

Now inspired Kaeya quickly traverses the mountain, skillfully avoiding the hilichurl tribes and skirmishes altogether. After a short, yet frankly gruelling travel he finds himself finally arriving at the camp, your figure seen from the entrance. You sit near the alchemical device, tightly bundled up in layers upon layers of warm clothes, a book in your hands with no Albedo in sight. The alchemical apparatus is on, dyeing the whole room into scarlet shades, something red boiling inside of it, filling the air with the strange metallic scent. “Recent history of Teyvat”, Kaeya reads the cover and takes a step in. You remain still, too engrossed in reading to hear his footsteps, which he uses to take another good look at you.

Your face still looks lovely as it was on that day, yet there’s now a strong aura of frailness present - a greyish undertone of the skin, dry, chapped lips, pinkish-red rims blooming on your eyes, duller hair, even the fingers holding the books appear to be thinner. You look emaciated and exhausted, you must be sick.

“Hello”, Kaeya decides to pop the bubble of tranquility again - you quickly lift your head to look at him and almost drop the book: “We met before, in the forest, remember? I am here because of an investigation”.

“I am sorry, but I don’t think I can be of any help and I am still not allowed to talk to strangers”, you say and return to reading, pretending that he isn’t here.

“Well, that means we can introduce ourselves, so we won’t be strangers anymore and you will be able to talk to me without breaking any rules, right? Hello! I am Kaeya Alberich and I work as cavalry captain in the Knights of Favonius, pleased to meet you!”, he puts on his warmest smile and outstretches his hand to shake yours.

“I am not sure that this is a good idea, Albedo warned me to avoid outsiders”, you say, looking uneasy, as you throw a quick glance, past Kaeya, to the entrance of the camp.

“Albedo and I are coworkers, we both even had to work on some missions together, sure he doesn’t think of me as some outsider”.

“If you say so”, you sigh and cave in, your palm finally touching his. Kaeya feels the corners of his lips creeping up at the sensation, his heart skipping a beat or two: “I am [First} and I am… Albedo’s ward, pleased to meet you too”

“Now with introductions done, can I ask you a question?”, he takes another step and you nod - a step more and he might feel the warmth radiating off of your body, or hear your faint breathing, or smell your scent.

“Where are you from?”, your eyes widen at that. Kaeya finds himself almost hypnotized by this sight: the stars in your eyes shine with a renewed strength, the pale sunlight bringing out their warmth and radiance.

“I don’t really remember”, you admit, voice quiet and small: “Albedo says he found…”

“I discovered [First] in the heart of the mountain”, alchemist ends it for you, standing at the entrance of his camp with both of his assistants by the side, hands occupied by the local flora.

“Timaeus, sort and prepare ingredients”, he hands the herbs to the man: “Sucrose, you check up on [First] and give them.. the medicine, don’t worry I’ll just talk to sir Kaeya there”, Timaeus and Sucrose rush to the assigned task, with the latter taking out a red vial from the alchemical drawer, the liquid inside shimmering and glowing with an unnatural glitter. The last part is said to you, as alchemist gestures for the cavalry captain to go outside, quickly leaving the room.

Kaeya follows him as they both leave the camp - Albedo walks unusually quickly, not looking around even once to check if he’s still behind, and only when the both of them leave the camp far enough - so far that you, Timaeus and Sucrose turn into a small dots does he stop.

“What do you need? Why did you interrogate [First]?”, Albedo says, skipping all of the courtesies. His voice remains neutral, but Kaeya can feel the displeasure - it radiates off of his pose and faster speech, how Kreideprinz’s disinterested eyes suddenly turned cold and piercing.

“Easy, easy”, Kaeya half-laughs, raising his hands in mock defence: “interrogate is a strong word here, we two just had a friendly chat”.

Teal eyes narrow at this whimsical answer and alchemist’s face sours: “Leave [First] alone”, he voices, darkly and angrily - Kaeya almost backs off from surprise - it’s quite unusual to see Albedo express his disdain so freely and openly, yet he replies in the same carefree tone:

“I won’t, not until you say where they’re from at least. [First] has star-shaped pupils, we both know what it means”.

“I already have said that - I found [First] deep underneath the mountain, completely frozen. Cold must have trapped them in the ice and preserved their body for all these years, yet it also damaged their memory. They seem to be unaware of what happened to your homeland five hundred years ago, nor do they have any idea of the present world". Kaeya intently observes Albedo as he says that - alchemist is certainly hiding something.

"That's how.. Well, I wish [First] good luck in retrieving their memories", he decides not to press further - Albedo is already in a bad mood and won't tolerate him fishing for more information, nor will the alchemist agree to share what he hides. Kaeya asks him a couple of questions pertaining to the missing person and he gets the expected answer - Luckas wasn't seen by Albedo or any of his assistants either. Alchemist says it a bit quicker than he usually talks, Kaeya chalks it up to annoyance.

***

The first useful lead appears after the third disappearance this month - Masha Haedle, who was characterized as hardworking and passionate, yet troubled by her alcohol addiction, vanished on the way to her job. Her employer sent one letter after another, demanding her to visit her workplace, lest she will be fired. Haedle didn’t answer any of the messages, nor was she spotted anywhere in the next few days.

It was her concerned neighbours who notified the knights, who quickly connected her disappearance to the series of other missing cases and Kaeya was dispatched again - he decided to start by investigating her house and he was right in doing so.

Her place is barren, but tidy, Haedle's diligence and financial issues shining through the simple interior. Kaeya strides among the neatly cleaned house until he enters a small bedroom.

Unlike the rest of the place, the bed here is undone, sheets lay messily across the nightstand and floor, with a couple of plant pots knocked over, dry soil sprawled everywhere. He comes closer to this picture, taking in the small details - there's a trace of fingernails on the wood, as if the victim was latching onto the furniture as she was dragged back, a part of the sheets is actually burnt, with a small candle crushed on the floor - it could be knocked down when kidnapper attacked Masha, and the most glaring piece - an orange dimly glowing crystal.

It crumbles and disintegrates the same second Kaeya picks it up, but this short moment is enough to feel the warmth radiating off of it - it's a geo crystal, formed by the reaction with pyro.

Whoever attacked miss Haedle was using a geo vision to put out the fire, and might also be the reason of other disappearances. After all, a vision user kidnapping the drunkards is just as nonsensical as said drunks just vanishing into thin air, leaving nothing behind.

***

Mondstadt embraces the Windrise festival with the same warmth it always did, as citizens of all sorts start to prepare for the coming festivities. Some decorate their houses with dried and paper flowers that they consider anemones, others stock up on both sweets and wine, no doubt for a celebratory dinner, bards recite the new songs, praising the anemo archon and caroling the freedom that Barbatos gave them, and knights, both high and low ranks alike are piled with even more work.

Kaeya finds himself temporarily dispatched from the dead-end investigation, tasked to look out for any suspicious persons and possible lawbreakers, as a horde of tourists and traders flooded the city. He spends the entire day working, and catches a breather once the sun starts to set. This break, however, is swiftly interrupted, when Jean summons him, asking to deliver some messages to Albedo for the lack of workforce.

Unsurprisingly, the alchemist spends his time outside of the city in a temporary camp, preferring the fresh air and forest landscape to the human loudness and cheer. He finds you alone again, with Albedo nowhere to be seen. Seems that whatever disease has plagued you started to back off - your tone is still far from healthy, yet it stopped being so ashy and grey like the first time, and your starry eyes no longer look like you’ve cried all night non-stop.

You stand near the table, slowly sorting the alchemical compounds, with both sleeves rolled up, exposing the delicate, elegant wrists and the old bruising on the forearms. The setting sun almost lights your visage on fire - you look brighter, more vivid, than you did under the pale Dragonspine sun or the cool shadow of the forest. You look like you glow too.

Even with the fatigue, he still smiles - ah, you’re so easy on the eyes, he rests just by looking at you..

“Hello”, he approaches, distracting you from your task for the third time: “is Albedo here?”.

“He left some time ago, he wanted to sketch hilichurl tribe. Said it’s too dangerous for me, so I am just standing here, waiting for him”, Kaeya can sense a mild disappointment coming from you, which is not surprising - spending your time in the wilderness, while the city before you is set ablaze in the celebration can frustrate anyone. He gets an idea.

“I see you want to see the Windrise for yourself, am I right?”, your affirmative nod, “How about I accompany you to Mondstadt and we both have some fun?”.

“I would really want to, but Albedo asked me to stay here. I don’t want to disappoint him”, you reply, the hesitation in your voice clear as day.

“And you won't!”Kaeya retorts: “I will take all the blame, say that I spirited you away with my persuasion skills”, he adds dramatically and outstretches his palm in a theatrical gesture. You giggle at that, obviously entertained by his antics.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me”, you take his hand, before asking: “this is why you came? To invite me to a festival?”

Oh, he forgot about messages.

Kaeya leaves them in the secure box you pointed to, before taking your hand again and almost running back to Monstadt. Something tells him that Albedo will be livid once he returns to the now empty camp.

***

“Oh gods”, you gasp, looking at the burst of colors exploding in the night sky - some travelers have brought fireworks from Liyue and Inazuma and decided to set them off, creating a breathtaking scenery. Kaeya even forgets how to breathe, but not because of the fireworks, but you - you look so excited and amazed, and all kinds of colours reflect from your eyes, the stars in them resembling two large diamonds. He’s ready to kill for this sight.

The next half an hour are spent with him following you, as you excitedly run from one thing or another - turns out Albedo didn’t allow you much outside time, so even the main streets of Mondstadt are novelty to you. He drinks in your reactions, all the faces and sounds you make are stored away in his memory as you get amazed by the simplest things.

In the end, he decides to take you to the Angel’s Share, you’re already so cute and he can’t imagine how much more adorable you’ll become all drunk and giggly. He orders a bottle of a young wine for you two - made from the spring dandelions, it’s taste is perfect for the atmosphere of Windrise - it tastes of freedom and adventure, the spirit of Mondstadt encapsulated into a beverage.

“It tastes nice”, you comment, taking a small sip, “it’s sweet but not too sweet”, before your face suddenly contorts from pain and you bend in half, hands clutching your abdomen.

“[First]? What’s happening, [First]?”Kaeya rushes to you, his hands stopping your fall. You mumble something incoherent, before going limp in his hold - you are unconscious. He shakes your form to wake you up, yet you don’t respond, inner panic slowly rising - what to do, what to do, what to do?

“Did you give alcohol to [First]?!”, suddenly someone hisses near him. It’s Albedo again and it’s the first time Kaeya sees him so angry. “We need to get [First] to my lab quickly. Every second counts”, Albedo helps him to lift you up and almost runs out from the tavern, pushing others away to make way for Kaeya and you in his hands.

“Put them here”, alchemist point to the big wooden table, quickly knocking over all empty flasks down, uncaring of the equipment he might break, as he rushes into the further part of the room, taking out the already on alchemical apparatus from the depths of his cabinets.

The strange red liquid slushes inside, as Albedo swiftly opens the top and adds some hideous mix of blood and pieces of flesh into the device, the reek of blood and alcohol permeating the air.

Kaeya wants to gag. “What’s this?”, he asks, not bothering to hide his disgust.

“Medicine”, Albedo quickly replies, teal eyes shifting from the mix to your sick face.

Over time the stench subsides, and apparatus starts to glow and shimmer with that scarlet radiance Kaeya saw in the Dragonspine camp, replacing the stink with the same strange coppery scent. Albedo takes out a glass vial from his pocket and connects it to the faucet of the apparatus, collecting the fat drops of the produced liquid.

Kaeya takes a good look at the product, mesmerized by the strange glitter and shimmer - it looks alive, and then suddenly everything clicks - the origin of medicine, the smell of alcohol coming from meat and even the disappearances of the drunkards. He remembers the tales his father used to tell him, about khemia and the wonders and horrors it could unleash - artificial humans, endless gold and…

“Philosopher’s stone”, he breathes out, utterly shocked by his revelation.

“How? How did you know”, Albedo looks at him with scared eyes, almost dropping the vial with “medicine”.

“Why?! Why did you do that?!”Kaeya yells instead of answering the question, still shocked and horrified, a taste of bile appearing on his tongue.

Alchemist seems unsure and totally lost for a good minute, as his usually calm face rapidly shifts between different emotions: sadness, shock, horror, shame and even anger, until finally resulting into the expression of total defeat: “It’s for [First]’s sake”, he tiredly admits the dark secret: “The frost has severely damaged their internal organs. I’ve been trying to heal them, but to no avail”.

“So you decided to break alchemical laws and create the elixir of life”, Kaeya grimly concludes, face scrunching up from disgust.

“Yes”, an unsettling lips makes its way onto the alchemist's lips as he lifts his head and looks captain right in the eye: “I’ve broken the laws, killed people and used their bodies. All to save [First]. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same, I’ve seen how you stare at [First] and I know what you want to do with them”.

.Was he that obvious?

“I see”, Kaeya replies, sensing the growing headache and rubbing his temples: “I won’t tell others of what you’ve done”. He can’t just imprison Albedo and doom you to a slow, agonizing death.

“I knew you would agree with me”, alchemist sighs “[First] is getting healthier, they won’t need… medicine as often, yet their organs will never be in a top condition”.

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many people per year?”

Albedo turns quiet again, the creepy smile vanishing as quickly as it appeared, as his eyes adopt that contemplating look again.

“No more than three people. Once I fix that liver damage you gave [First] with your wine, they won’t need no more than three transfusions”, he says his verdict and Kaeya weighs his words - three missing people per year is a miniscule number.

“I make at most philosopher’s stones per year and you cover my tracks in exchange for time with [First]. Deal?”, Albedo extends his hand for a handshake and Kaeya takes it, yet doesn’t shake it, asking instead:

“Can I get to taste [First]?”, he smiles, remembering your face and imagining your body.

“If [First] consents to that, then yes”, Albedo becomes that inexpressive again, yet he can still feel the displeasure and indignation coming from alchemist’s answer.

“I am sure they will, I think they like me”, he finally shakes the other’s arm.

They sit in a silence for a while, before the vial gets completely filled by the “medicine” - Albedo takes out a syringe and injects the mixture into your bloodstream through the veins on the hands. Kaeya smiles even wider, looking how a healthy colour returns to your face - he can’t wait to reap the fruits of this agreement.

#Yandere Kaeya #Yandere Albedo #yandere kaeya x reader #Yandere Albedo x reader #Yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere #Yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #male yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #my writing #Albedo is tired #Reader is furniture

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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Prompt: Date Night Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Gen Content Warnings: None Summary: Geralt ask Jaskier to go to the Yule festival with him. Jaskier misunderstands his intentions. ao3

“There’s a festival happening tonight.”

Jaskier looked up from where he was working on his latest composition. Geralt was leaning against the doorway to his bedchambers, which Jaskier tended to use as a study as well so that he could reserve the main space for entertaining. He took a moment to set down his quill and wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. It was almost overly warm in the room, the fire blazing at full height to fight back against the chill of his outward facing chambers. The single, tiny window above his desk ran with moisture, the frost melted away by the heat of the room.

“Yes,” he answered, turning in his plush chair to face Geralt fully, one ankle coming up to cross over his knee. “There’ll be a procession at sunset starting at the main gate, to light the lanterns. And then dancing and such in the main square. Typical Yuletide celebrations.” As he spoke, Jaskier allowed himself to observe Geralt in full, briefly sweeping a glance over his companion. It was exceptionally rare for them to spend winters together; Geralt almost always chose to spend the colder months in Kaer Morhen with his brothers, while Jaskier returned to civilization. This year they had been deep in southern Sodden when the first snows unexpectedly hit, and by the time they’d made it back to Redania they’d received word from Vesemir that the pass to Kaer Morhen was closed. Jaskier had been offered a position teaching for the winter semester, along with a fairly lucrative retainer with a local lordling, so he’d offered Geralt a place to crash while they waited for the witchering season to start up again.

The downtime suited Jaskier’s companion nicely. Geralt’s hair was pulled back into a customary knot behind his head, but it was clean and soft looking, free of dirt and monster guts. His skin shone in the firelight, and the dark circles that always seemed smudged beneath his eyes were faded after weeks of consistent rest and food. He’d taken to walking around without his armor on, content after a few days with the knowledge that Oxenfurt was populated by nothing more threatening than overenthusiastic academics. At the moment he was wearing a pair of old black trousers and a dark blue shirt that stood out against his white skin like a splash of wine on a silk tablecloth. It had cost Jaskier a small fortune, but it was worthwhile to see it clinging to Geralt’s shoulders.

He looked good. Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up as he realised he’d been staring. Snapping back to the conversation at hand, he realized that Geralt had been speaking.

“- if you wanted to.”

“Sorry, what?” Jaskier asked, blinking. Geralt rolled his eyes, used to Jaskier’s lapses in attention. The motion carried annoyance, but when his eyes fell on Jaskier again there was fondness in them.

“I asked if you’d planned on attending. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be working.” Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, stretching the dark fabric across thick biceps. Jaskier swallowed.

“Ah, well, typically I would indeed be regaling the crowds with my sonorous melodies. But considering I had company, I thought it might be better to leave myself, uh.” He cut himself off, feeling suddenly exposed in the admission. While he had taken the time off initially hoping he might be doing something with Geralt, he hadn’t truly expected the witcher to want to do more than maybe get drunk on overpriced Redanian wine. “Well. You’re here, after all,” he finished lamely.

Geralt blinked at that, something odd crossing his face before he looked away. Staring at the fire across from Jaskier, he said, “You could still go.”

Something was off about his tone - overly flat, which he only did when he was trying to muffle some kind of emotion. What it could be, Jaskier had no earthly idea. Confused, he said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to leave you all by yourself on Yule, Geralt. That wouldn’t make me a very gracious host! I’m entirely content to spend the evening with you here, if that’s what you would prefer.” And he was, truly. While he typically spent Yuletide amongst the people, dancing and singing and visiting with friends, he imagined it would be just as rewarding to spend the evening with Geralt, in the cramped comfort of his quarters. The two of them tipsy on ale and spirits, sitting before the fire, trading stories back and forth like they usually did on the road. Cuddled beneath a blanket, pressed up against each other despite the warmth of the hearth, drink making Geralt’s face flush as it almost never did…

Yes, Jaskier imagined he would be perfectly content to spend the evening right here.

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, we could go. If you want. I - We should go. Together.”

It was choppy work, even for Geralt. He still refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze, staring with absolute focus at the fire. His shoulders were braced, tense as if waiting for a blow. It was baffling.

“Well, of course, if you’d like to go I’m amenable to that,” Jaskier agreed. “More than, actually. It’s great fun, you’ll see.”

Geralt finally turned to look Jaskier in the eye. A shiver traveled down his spine at the intensity there, but then again, that was how he often felt under that golden gaze. “Together,” Geralt said again.

“I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else,” Jaskier said with a dismissive wave, laughing a little. It was typical to attend the festivities with a spouse or sweetheart, but he’d not taken a paramour of any kind in several months, and nothing serious in years, if he was honest. His attention was unfortunately captured elsewhere. He spared a single moment to mourn the private evening he’d envisioned with Geralt, but he was already warming to the idea of attending the festivities. He’d already shown the witcher around Oxenfurt, but it was exciting to think of showing the city off again in a new light. Geralt had probably not attended many Yule festivals, he realized, having always spent the winters in the mountains. Something released in his chest even as his stomach dropped in disappointment as he realized Geralt probably didn’t even recognize the romantic implications of his offer.

Geralt, at least, looked relieved. The tension dropped from his shoulders, and he gave Jaskier a soft smile. Jaskier’s traitorous heart skipped in his chest, and Geralt’s grin suggested that it may have been audible. Jaskier wasn’t sure what to do with himself, hands fluttering across his desk to meaninglessly straighten papers and notes. “Good,” Geralt said, the grin softening back into that disorienting smile. “I’m assuming you’ll want to change.”

“Ah, yes, can’t very well go out in this,” Jaskier agreed, still feeling slightly unmoored.

“Of course,” Geralt said seriously, but his eyes danced with mirth. “I’ve got some things to do in the market before the stalls close. Meet you at the gate at sunset?”

“Perfection,” Jaskier said, and Geralt nodded before peeling himself off of the doorframe and disappearing into the other room. A moment later Jaskier heard the telltale sound of the exterior door opening and closing, the rusty hinges creaking. He sat for a moment in the empty room, going over the encounter in his mind and trying to determine what had made it feel so off.

“Strange,” he said to himself, and began packing up his things. He had a festival to prepare for.

***

Dressed appropriately in his finest woolen tunic and the thick fur lined cloak Geralt had gifted him the previous year, Jaskier set out from his abode to meet Geralt. An hour or so had passed since their conversation, and the sun was lying low and languorous on the edge of the horizon. Its dying light rippled across the Pontar where it split around the island, the light layer of snow that covered the landscape transformed into gold dust. Already he could see the crowd gathering on the far side of the bridge, led by the priestess of Melitele, returning from the temple outside of the city. Jaskier stood inside the city gates, scanning the faces around him for familiar features.

After a few moments he saw him - highlighted against the backdrop of the setting sun, his hair turned to fiery gold in the dying light. Geralt smiled when they made eye contact, and immediately began to push his way through the crowd towards Jaskier. He too had dressed for the weather, his own wool cloak muffling his form. As he stepped into Jaskier’s space, he said, “You ready?”

Jaskier had the feeling that he didn’t know exactly what he should be ready for, but he nodded anyway. “They’re just beginning,” he said, waving towards the group approaching on the bridge. It was slow going, the procession stopping every few meters to wait while the priestess lit the lanterns lined up along the walls. They would be at it for the next hour at least, making their way around the circumference of the city to light the protective lanterns and then returning to the bridge, where the large crowd would release their own floating lanterns to carry their prayers for the new year to Melitele.

“There’s music in the square,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could just barely hear it as well. Normally he would be amongst the performers, but tonight he was there as the audience.

“The flutist is off key, I can tell already,” he said with a grin, though he could hear no such thing from this distance. Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s arm, just above the end of his glove. Geralt’s fingers were bare, his witcher metabolism keeping him warm enough without them, and they were a cold shock against the skin of Jaskier’s wrist. He let himself be led into the square, which was packed with people. Tables had been set up with food and drink around the edges, while the far side was dominated by a low stage. In the center, couples and groups danced, circling each other in common folk movements. The tune was jaunty and fun, a lively song to help fight back against the dark that threatened the edges of the gathering. Defiant in the best of ways.

“I don’t suppose you know any of the local dances?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer. Geralt confirmed it with a shake of his head. “Well then be a dear and get us some ales, hmm? We can still watch.”

Geralt, for once, did as he was bid without comment, probably just as interested in the alcohol as Jaskier was. He found them a spot to stand near the mouth of an alley, where he hoped the noise of the crowd would be a bit reduced. Geralt was sometimes bothered by the bustle and murmur of a large group of people.

Geralt rejoined him shortly, offering him a mug of mulled wine. Jaskier took a grateful sip, feeling the hot liquid settle in his gut and warm him from the inside out. It was very good - spicy and strong, just how he liked it. Geralt hummed appreciatively when he took his own drink.

They stood watching for a while, Jaskier making the occasional snide comment about a bad dancer or an overplayed tune if he thought it would make Geralt laugh. And it did, more often than not; Geralt was open and affectionate this evening, leaning down to whisper conspiratorially in Jaskier’s ear as they watched a couple sneak away from the dancefloor. Jaskier laughed into his glove, quickly beginning to feel light and soupy from the drink.

“I know this one,” Geralt said suddenly, drawing his attention back to the band. It was a slightly slower song, a couple’s dance. Bright gold eyes turned in Jaskier’s direction. “Want to dance?”

Jaskier gaped. “With you?”

Geralt’s eyebrow quirked upwards, betraying only exasperation. “Don’t see anyone else here making an offer.”

“Well, you - I - Alright,” he said, finally, swallowing his confusion. Geralt offered a hand, and Jaskier accepted.

They moved out towards the dancers, Jaskier feeling his heart rise in his throat. When they reached the edge of the pack, Geralt turned and gave Jaskier a short bow, overly formal for the setting. With an incredulous laugh, Jaskier returned the motion, and when he raised his head again Geralt was in his space, hands coming up to rest lightly on his waist.

It shouldn’t have been able to take his breath away so easily, but it did.

The motions of the dance were simple, basic circular pathways as they stepped out and back in together. Their hands never parted, but every time the steps pulled them apart Jaskier found himself missing Geralt’s warmth beside him. Slowly, the tempo picked up speed, until they were twisting and whirling around without pause. When the song ended, Jaskier was panting for breath. Geralt looked winded himself, though his chest rose and fell at the same rate it always did.

They made their way off the dance floor once again, ceding their spot to another couple. Geralt’s arm curled around Jaskier’s waist and he leaned into the touch, feeling more drunk than he should be. “You’re good at that, witcher,” he said, accusatorily. “I could have been taking you dancing all this time! How many balls have we been to?”

Geralt flushed faintly, the color staining his ears a fetching red. “The Wolf witchers use techniques that are similar to some dances,” he said. “The pacing, some of the moves, are familiar.”

“I’m never going to let this go,” Jaskier warned as they shuffled back towards the mouth of their alleyway. “You’re going to have to dance with me at every festival, ball, and banquet we ever attend from now on.”

Geralt smirked at him. “I don’t know that I mind.”

And what was that supposed to mean? Jaskier felt a flush spread down his cheeks, his throat, even his chest felt warm. Geralt didn’t mind dancing? Or didn’t mind dancing with Jaskier? Panicked, he said, “I’m going to get us more drinks!”

By the time he returned with more warm wine, he had managed to wrestle his emotions back into place. He passed Geralt one of the mugs, giving him a wide grin that he hoped would cover for his accelerated heartbeat.

As they drank, Jaskier found himself at a loss for words. He was happy to be here, truly. It was always enjoyable to spend time with the object of his affections, but at the same time, he felt something cold settling in his stomach that the wine could not touch. He glanced at Geralt out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man observe the dancers. His hair was in slight disarray from the dancing, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Jaskier wanted him so badly it felt like a wound. He wished he could lace their fingers together as other couples around the square were. Wished he could sit in Geralt’s lap and feed him sweetmeats and honey cakes as the festivities melted away around them. It was difficult to be so close, and yet so far from what he actually desired.

Geralt glanced over at him, and something in Jaskier’s face must have betrayed his sudden turn into maudlin, because he didn’t look away. “Should we go?” Geralt asked, concern drawing his brow together.

Jaskier cursed himself, plastering on another smile. “No, no, dear heart, I’m enjoying myself plenty. The lanterns will probably be lit soon, don’t you think? Maybe we should go find ourselves a spot before the crowd arrives.”

Geralt nodded, still looking a bit worried. It was flattering, that he was clearly concerned about whether Jaskier was having a good time, but it only made him feel more wistful. Not looking to see if his friend was following, Jaskier began to pick his way out of the square, doing his best not to jostle any of the other partygoers. Geralt dogged him like a shadow, and they both emerged some minutes later in the silvery moonlight of the river walk.

Already Jaskier could see the bridge, some ways away to their left, dotted with lantern lights. The procession had made its way back. He stepped up to the edge of the river, leaning against the low wall that held the city back from its edge. Geralt stayed a step or two behind him, arms crossed against the chill. “This will be a good spot,” Jaskier said, leaning over the railing to point. “They’ll release them there, so we should be able to see them as they go up.”

“They do this every year?” Geralt asked, voice a low rumble. Now away from the noise of the crowd, it shook Jaskier’s bones.

He nodded. “For the last, hmm, thirty years, I think? The lanterns carry wishes, you see, requests for Melitele. They go up into the heavens, and when they come down they carry her blessing. So they say.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. They stood together in silence as the little pinpricks on the bridge became a sea of candlelight, and slowly, one by one, began lifting up into the air. Soon the sky was awash with golden sparks, hovering above them.

Jaskier leaned against the wall, watching the lanterns make their way skyward. “Wish I’d thought to make one ahead of time,” he said wistfully, watching their lights twinkle in the darkness. “I didn’t know we’d be -” He turned to look at Geralt, who was rummaging around in his bag. “What are you doing?”

With a triumphant huff, Geralt found what he was looking for. He presented it to Jaskier with a sheepish looking grin, an unusually bashful look for the witcher. In his palm was a small square of paper and wood, maybe half the size of the other lanterns being set loose from the bridge. “I found someone selling them earlier,” he said, setting the little thing on the ledge of the wall in front of them. “Thought you might want to join in.”

Jaskier clapped his gloved hands together, delighted. “Oh, it’s just adorable,” he said, feeling his grin pull at his cold cheeks. He picked the thing up, cradling it delicately in his cupped hands. The paper sides were decorated with a floral pattern - tulips, or maybe buttercups. Jaskier reached forward towards Geralt. “Would you light it for me?”

Geralt reached out and snapped, the clean sound cutting through the still air. Immediately the paper in Jaskier’s hands began to warm, the little lantern glowing merrily. Carefully, Jaskier made his way to the edge of the river wall and leaned over the side, letting the lantern rest on his flat hands as it grew lighter. After a moment, it lifted gently off of his palms and started to drift skywards.

Geralt stepped up to join him, their shoulders pressing together as they leaned against the railing, watching their little lantern float up to join the sea of others. A wave of golden light blanketed the city, giving the river an otherworldly glow as it reflected the sky. Jaskier sighed happily, allowing Geralt’s constant warmth to wash over him. He turned to comment on the spectacle, but his words died on his lips as he found Geralt already looking at him. The warmth of the lanterns reflected in his eyes as well, making them glow with their own light in the darkness. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, his cheeks warming.

“This was nice,” Geralt said, his voice pitched low. The rumble of it sent a shiver up Jaskier’s spine. They were so close together, and Jaskier found himself turning into Geralt’s heat like a flower to the sun.

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, a beat too late. “It’s always a pleasure to spend an evening with you, my friend.”

Geralt hummed, a distracted noise, and lifted his bare hand up to Jaskier’s jaw. “Oh,” Jaskier said, surprise and confusion and clamouring hope blossoming in his chest, and then Geralt was kissing him.

It was a chaste little thing, but Jaskier felt himself light up at the touch. His own hands came up to grasp Geralt’s hips, the gloves or the shock making him clumsy. Geralt hummed again, a wickedly satisfied sound that made Jaskier shudder embarrassingly. He tasted like mulled wine and cinnamon, the taste lingering on Jaskier’s lips as they pulled away.

He stared at Geralt for a moment before clearing his throat. “What, erm. What was that for?”

Geralt gazed at him fondly, a thumb skating over Jaskier’s cheekbone. He knew it must be warm to the touch. “I wanted to,” he said, shrugging. “And it’s the customary way to end a romantic outing, I’m told.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Romantic outing?”

Geralt’s head tilted to the side, giving Jaskier a confused look. “What did you think this was?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again. “Oh!” He pulled a hand away from Geralt’s side to slap over his own forehead, feeling both extraordinarily foolish and giddy. “God’s above, this was a date?”

Geralt’s expression shuttered slightly, and his fingers slipped from Jaskier’s cheek to his shoulder. “You didn’t realize.”

Jaskier leaned forward, desperate to wipe the nervous look from Geralt’s face. He wrapped his own hands around Geralt’s neck, squeezing the base of his skull slightly. “I’m sorry, dearest, I didn’t, but I am delighted. Ecstatic, overjoyed, elated, euphoric, exultant -”

Geralt laughed, cutting him off. “Alright, I get it. You’re happy.”

“More assuredly so,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. He felt lighter than he had in years, floating on a bubble of joy. “Though I will say, we will probably need to go on another ‘romantic outing’ to be sure we do it right. I won’t have our first real date be one I wasn’t even aware of.”

Geralt leaned back in, his lips ghosting over Jaskier’s. The bard shivered, anticipation making his breath come faster. “I don’t know that I would mind that either,” he said, and then his lips found Jaskier’s once again. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, and knew that there would be many more chances for the perfect date to come.

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt #fan fiction #fanfiction #fic #my work #witcher fic #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #sugar and spice #s&s

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solaris-writing · 3 years

Text

My Darling (Diluc x Reader)

Warnings: None

A/N… Its been a while, but hey! Here’s a Diluc drabble as an Easter present. Next up on my list is Kaeya and Albedo unless there are requests 👀 The ending is somewhat rushed but hey its here anyway.

…………………………………

The rain wouldn’t stop pouring. It was beating constantly against my head and a cloak wasn’t doing much to keep out the chill, no matter how many layers I wore. My joints were nearly frozen as I could see the Dawn Winery in the distance.

It was late, so it was illuminated by lanterns and torches in the storm. However, one room remained alight. It was Diluc’s, no doubt. Waiting for my return.

My frozen feet carried me as fast as they would allow. My breaths came out in small puffs of steam. Paimon was nowhere to be found and had long since abandoned me, too scared of the thunder to come out and help.

I managed to reach the door, nearly stumbling as I fiddled for my key with trembling fingers. Even though I was frigid and nearly immobile, I couldn’t help the bubble of excitement in my chest. I hadn’t seen Diluc in a week.

I had began to miss him the moment I walked out the door. Even though I thoroughly missed his affections, I had also missed the simple things. Like enjoying breakfast with him, cleaning up the tavern on late nights, or even just resting in the library with him. And I hadn’t been able to contact him, considering I was working up in a remote area of Dragonspine.

I finally managed to get the door open, my numb cheeks flushing with a grin.

The main area and living room was bright with golden light from the fireplace and I could feel the comforting warmth from the door.

Yet, the red-haired man was resting on the sofa, his head resting on his arm. I could only see the back of him, yet I could imagine the dreamy look on his face: eyes closed, slightly fluttering lashes, lips slightly parted. It was a look I tried to my hardest to memorize. He was out of work clothes, only wearing black pants and a loose button-up. His thick hair was down, pooling around his shoulders, looking like tongues of flames in the firelight.

I continued to sneak up behind him, eyes bright with mischief. An open book rested on his lap.

“Love,” I murmured, gently shaking his shoulder, “My love, I’m home.” He hummed a little in his sleep. He curled further into his blanket.

“Diluc?” I couldn’t help but touch his hair. He would have killed me if he knew I was touching his hair. He never let me touch his hair, so I took my chances while he slept. He sleepily sighed and nuzzled into my hand.

“Love,” I murmured once more, “Diluc?”

“My darling?” His auburn eyes peered up at me, bleary and warm, before they widened in excitement.

“Y/N!” Diluc lunged up, grasping at me as if I would disappear again. He pulled me over onto the couch and yanked me onto his lap, “My darling, I didn’t hear you come in!”

“You were sleeping, my love. You need to rest more.” I shivered and he noticed my state. He quickly shrugged off my cloak and threw several blankets at me, pushing me down on the sofa. Diluc nearly stumbled trying to gather up more covers.

“Diluc, dear, just come and sit with me.” I sighed as he sat down by me, curling up in my lap and resting his head on my shoulder. Even though the pouring rain beat upon the roof of the winery, I was warm with the thought of my lover. We spent the rest of the night wrapped up with him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact Diluc #Diluc #Diluc x reader

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starswornoaths · 3 years

Text

Wild Rose

Not long before the formation of the Crystal Braves, Minfilia bequeathed a special set of armor unto one of the Warriors of Light.

It was just a surprise that it wasn’t her favorite one.

Or:

I love Minfilia, and the Wild Rose Cuirass, and Firion, and none of them get a fair shake, and they all deserve better. Also, I fawn over @holyja‘s Hyana Geriel, but what else is new :p

Word count: 2,558

~*~

When Minfilia asked for Serella to hold back a moment, at the conclusion of their mission report, she couldn’t hide her surprise; there had been others in attendance— several others had been in attendance— Hyana among them, and it had been a mundane enough operation, what would merit being spoken to alone with the Antecedent? And why Serella, specifically?

Even Hyana had a look of mild surprise, and had hung back, bouncing in place on the momentum of her abandoned mid-step to turn back, before she could stop herself, and the two Warriors of Light passed that expression between one another for a moment.

Before Serella could even think to reassure her, Hyana had retrained her features into immense disinterest. Rather than words, she reciprocated Serella’s silent nod of reassurance, a quiet we’ll catch up later, shared between adventurers, and within the next moment, Hyana had wound her spindly, scaled tail round the door handle to shut it behind her, on her way out.

And then it was just Minfilia, and her most stalwart companion, just as she had asked.

“Is aught amiss?” Serella asked, once she had properly faced the Antecedent.

There was nothing but peace radiating off of Minfilia, as she shook her head. When she spoke, her words were sweet, but not sweetened; though she charmed as she spoke, her charmspeak was nowhere to be found.

With a radiance found only in the warmest sunrise, Minfilia reassured her, “Naught more than we’re already working on! I wished only to speak to you, regarding a matter close to both of our hearts, I should think.”

Curiosity piqued, Serella canted her head in a quiet show of interest, to avoid interrupting. It was obvious that Minfilia was nervous: even without her Echo’s sensitivity to emotions, from the tick of Minfilia’s fingers tapping at the pommel of the dagger, ever slung close to her hip.

When it was clear that Serella was waiting for her to elaborate, Minfilia steadied her hand by laying it over her heart. Her smile eased into something softer, as she said, “I felt it high time to bequeath to you a fitting reward, for all that you have done for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

“How formal of you, Antecedent!” Serella laughed brightly, and mirrored her Antecedent’s motion, to tap a hand over her chest in momentary salute. “That’s not necessary, though. You know that.”

“I do. But it’s necessary to me.”

When Minfilia smiled at her again, it more resembled a wince. “Grant me this one trespass, my friend?”

Serella wanted to snort indignantly: Minfilia should know better by now. Still, she reminded her, “You can’t trespass where you’re welcome, Minfilia.”

It seemed she had, in fact, been in need of a reminder; her smile widened around a startled, delighted gasp.

“For all my ability with charmspeak, you seem to always know just what to say!” Minfilia beamed at her. “Thank you. Pray, grant me a moment to find the right words to explain, while we walk.”

With another nod from Serella, they made their way out of the Antecedent’s chambers without further delay. As they rounded the bend to walk past the bar counter, Serella turned and happened to catch Hyana watching them hawkishly. There was a burning curiosity in those garnet eyes that watched them; Serella hoped the smile she threw back at her was reassuring enough. Judging by the way Hyana squinted in response, she figured she had failed. Ah well.

The armory itself was as well stocked as it was unremarkable; Serella had been in here more times than she could care to keep track of, in the time since they had moved to the Rising Stones. She could only imagine how many more times Minfilia has had to come in here, for routine inspections, and scheduled maintenance.

Rather than keep to the main room that Serella had grown familiar with, Minfilia instead guided them over to a door in the far corner of the room, one that Serella had noticed before, but had never had the clearance to inspect— or at least, had no merit to ask, at least.

A key wrought in iron cleared the way for them, and Minfilia ushered her inside. It was dark, but there was no smell of must that hung in the air; this room still had consistent use, even with its limited access. Save for the singular slice of light that had carved a misshapen streak in the floor, Serella’s eyes could only make out the outlines of several suits of armor, and several miscellaneous weapons, all carefully hung on racks.

Holding the door open with one hand, Minfilia brought the other up in front of her, as she leaned toward the lantern hung on the wall. She scattered her breath over her palm, as though she were gently blowing away the fluff on a dandelion. The air from her lungs ignited in petal-like sparks, that drifted, intently, to the wick on the lantern. Immediately, the mageflame flickered to life, clinging to the wick on the lantern, without burning it.

Dancing leaves of light fluttered in the air over her palm, as she then swept her arm out, as though she were presenting the room. Those fractals of light scattered, striking the other lanterns in the room in streaks of brilliance, like comets across the night sky.

As it always did, Minfilia’s radiance filled the room with warmth, light, and life. The details became much clearer, and Serella made a noise in the back of her throat, as her brain caught up with what she was looking at.

The suits of armor draped so carefully, the weapons mounted so meticulously, became obvious in the light: this was the reliquary, from the Waking Sands, wherein they had enshrined the arms and armor of heroes past, recovered and restored.

Serella had wondered whether they would make the move to the Rising Stones, alongside them, but then, she supposed that she needn’t have bothered; some of the pieces here belonged to Minfilia’s father, according to F'lhaminn. It only made sense that they would be here, then.

With another wordless motion, Minfilia beckoned her deeper. Obeisant, Serella followed gamely, curiosity mounting with every step. Worming through the boxes that had yet to be unpacked, the yet barren racks, and the odd armor rack with only some of its set unboxed, they eventually came up to a particularly intriguing set, tucked away in the corner.

Serella had certainly seen other sets that had been designed in the same vein; an understated darksteel set, tasteful embellishments here and there, draped with fine fabric that looked as though it were spun from lilacs. The detailing on the fabric was more bold, patterned, and pinned with a labradorite brooch, at its shield-shoulder.

Combing through her oldest memories, Serella would almost swear she had seen this specific like elsewhere. As if in the fairytale book, read to her as a child, as she had dreamt of a brighter future than this.

Minfilia seemed content to let Serella ruminate on this, as she gathered her thoughts. After a breath, she explained, “It feels as though it were a whole other lifetime ago, the last time I gifted one of my best suits of armor. But the time felt right again— though I must ask that you forgive me, as it comes with a personal request.”

Serella couldn’t hide her surprise for anything today, it seemed; she recalled how Arenvald had been so proud to wear the armor that Minfilia had gifted to him, when they had only known the Waking Sands, and the Waking Sands had only ever known peace. Before those halls were so filled with ghosts, that the living all but vacated.

As Minfilia said: a lifetime ago.

Were it almost anyone else, Serella would have to fight the urge to roll her eyes at being asked a personal favor. But this was Minfilia; if anyone understood what, precisely, she was asking of Serella, it would be her.

Thus, her response was as swift and decisive as her sword strokes, when she said, “You need only ask; if it’s in my power, it will be done.”

It seemed both the right and wrong thing to say; Minfilia was graceful enough that it was only the ripple of hesitation in her aether, that betrayed her lingering uncertainty.

“I would bequeath to you this armor— it is among the oldest of our recovered arms and armor.”

Though Serella got the impression that Minfilia was stalling, to try and find the right words, for the heart of the issue. Thus, she entertained listening to Minfilia recall a tale of a Warrior of Light, not unlike Serella herself. “His friends called him Firion,” the Antecedent supplied. “By all accounts, he was a good man, who defended all against the darkness— those who fought alongside him, included. I thought the tale sounded familiar!”

The playful twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes was only answered with a wry twist of scarred lips, though only for a moment, before they both dissolved into delighted giggling.

“Go on,” Minfilia said, once they had gotten their breath back, with a gesture toward the display. “Try it on, won’t you? It’s been fitted.”

With a sigh and a smile, Serella stepped up to the rack, and settled for being grateful that she had dressed down from her armor, upon return to the Rising Stones; it made donning the mantle simpler.

Despite being told that it had been refitted, it still surprised Serella, how well the armor settled on her shoulders. How the cloak draped elegantly around her neck, over her shoulders, how the layers of fabric that lined the belts were made of the supple, soft purple fabric. It hung on her form, as though it had been hammered for her from the first. As if it had always been made for her.

Rowena must have overworked poor Gerolt again. That, or Uthen took on a more personal commission, this time around. Serella could think of no other hand to guide a hammer to making such an impeccable craft, save for either of them.

When she turned to present herself to Minfilia, the Antecedent gave a gasp, as she clapped her hands together, once, in delight.

“Why, it looks just right on you!” She declared, with a giddy bounce on the balls of her feet.

Serella believed it, unquestioningly, because Minfilia always told her the truth. She was one of the few people that Serella could trust, to do so.

“You honor me, Antece—”

“Stop.” Minfilia said, though it sounded like a plea, and shattered her voice on impact, like a brick through a church window, ruining something blessed.

It sounded wrong. Serella snapped her jaw shut with a click more audible than the rattle of her new mail, when she flinched bodily.

A motion Minfilia mirrored, though she flinched outward— even in her own upset, she could only think to reach out to comfort.

“I— I’m not asking, as your Antecedent, that you take this armor.” She said, and slowly curled her arm back into her own chest, as if to self soothe. “Please. I’m asking, as your friend, to accept this gift.”

Softening her shoulders, Serella swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Alright, Minfie,” she said softly, and held her hands up in reassurance. “I’ll put it to good use.”

The relief that she felt, when Minfilia’s posture melted into joy again, was indescribable. It felt like benediction, and dispelled the tremor in her heart.

Thus settled, she peered around, curious, and searching for a set that would be more befitting one more beloved to them both. When no such mail was forthcoming upon cursory view, she couldn’t hold back the question that formed on her tongue, following that observation.

“What of Hyana?” She asked, looking back at Minfilia.

The Antecedent seemed surprised at the question. “What do you mean?” She asked, tone touched with a hint of caution.

“If I may speak as a friend?” Serella asked. At Minfilia’s nod, she answered plainly, “You love her.”

The comment didn’t bother Minfilia. It had no reason to. Nonetheless, she fiddled with her hands in front of her, and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, as she contemplated her choice of words.

“That I do. But we both know her: she would never accept it, as a point of pride, and, in part, in reluctance to have something so claiming, upon her person.” After a moment of further hesitation, Minfilia stepped close enough to flatten her palm across the spot over Serella’s heart.

She focused her gaze on the back of her hand, pressed there over the breastplate, as she cautiously spoke again, “And...you love her, too. I know, in giving you this armor, that she will be safer.” After another moment, she lifted her gaze, to meet Serella’s. “I have little choice, in sending the both of you out there, to face such horrors as the Ascians may inflict upon us. But I can give you the best chance, of bringing her back to me.”

There was a peculiar ache, in the space where Serella’s heart was meant to be. Not quite raw, not nearly a wound, but still something tender and pointedly ignored. Where Minfilia might have, however unknowingly, pierced something too close to the truth and most certainly unrequited, Serella chose to fill that hole with pride, with joy.

And why would she not? She was a trusted friend to both of them. Trusted enough, by Minfilia, to be sent into battle with armor she could never hope to properly deserve. Trusted enough, by Hyana, to fight alongside her.

Was that not, in itself, a sort of love? What had she to mourn?

“As you say, my friend.” Serella said, on a soft exhale, and laid a hand atop Minfilia’s. “On all counts. I pray I will be worthy of such trust.”

“You already are, my friend!” Minfilia insisted.

When her eyes glimmered peculiarly in the lamp light, the two of them embraced tightly, and took a few more moments to be human. Not long enough to form the habit, but long enough to be reminded of the feeling.

By the time they stepped back out of the armory, and Minfilia locked up behind them, none were the wiser, that such a conversation had happened at all.

Hyana had most certainly noticed, however, the new armor that gleamed to an almost headache-inducing shine, in the light of the Rising Stones. Her eyebrows met her hairline, as she watched Serella approach.

“The hell'd you do, to earn that?” She snorted into her drink, and poorly feigned disinterest.

The truth settled heavier upon Serella’s shoulders, than the mantle she now wore. How could she profess to love Hyana, if she were to inflict such a thing upon her.

“My fucking paperwork, Geriel!” She instead half-lied, with a playful elbow to the Dragoon’s side.

A half truth was still true enough to slip by, undetected, it seemed, as Hyana rolled her eyes, and grew immediately bored with the conversation. As was her wont.

Serella took no offense; how could she, when Hyana then pressed a flagon into her hands, with a half-restrained smile. How could she, when that was, in itself, a little act of love, too?

And wasn’t that enough, for her? Wasn’t this, enough?

#ffxiv #Minfilia Warde #Serella Arcbane #Hyana Geriel #vague 2.0 spoilers #Two Woman Wolf Pack #they're fine and everyone is fine and I don't actually mean that in a sarcastic way #like sure. Serella would love to be loved by Hyana. possibly even Minfilia.#but she doesn't have to be loved romantically by either of them to still be loved #so like. it's bittersweet #but it's not bad. and it's not a loss.

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essektheylyss · 3 years

Note

How about a "wearing their lover’s clothes" one, though going out of intent here: mayhaps Essek wearing something of Caleb's because Essek's wardrobe is a little oh-so-conspicious? 👀

this turned into a bit of Fjord friendship but I could not imagine you would mind lol.

This bedroom of the building Fjord has rented for them all to lay low for a while is smaller even than the one he had occupied at the outpost, and a far cry from the cool, dim room of his own now-empty home, but the ocean breeze that meanders lazily through the open balcony doors makes the summer’s heat almost bearable, and the linen curtains that it catches on shade the room from the harshest of the morning sun.

“You should change,” comes the whisper at his back, as he peers through the curtain into the narrow side street below, as bare arms snake around his waist, and he leans back into Caleb’s chest, humming softly and letting his eyes close for a moment.

“Into what? I have nothing here besides what I had with me in Aeor, and none of it is suited for the Menagerie Coast.” He has already shed his fur-lined cloak and mantle, and Caleb fumbles with the clasp of his outer robe, leaving him only in his base layer, and he is reminded again of how different the Coast is from where he has just left, where even one layer of wool is too warm.

“Jester is already planning a shopping trip, but you cannot wear this.” He tugs at the thick sweater that Essek still has not shed. He has abandoned a lot today, and he is not excited to lay himself wholly bare here, a final rejection of everything he has just left.

While he retains the clothing he wore before their hasty and unannounced teleport out of the outpost, he can pretend like maybe if he cast a spell, he could return, that things would be the way they were, even though he knows it’s not true.

Caleb’s arms wrap tighter around him, and he shivers as lips press into his hair. He has to wonder how a part of him can even consider that the way things were was preferable to this.

He pulls the sweater over his head and drops it with the other lined, heavy clothes he has shed. “And what do you propose I wear instead?” he asks, crossing his arms over his now bare chest and turning to face Caleb, who raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I thought you may want to borrow something of mine.”

Essek slouches just a bit to stare up at him, emphasizing the sizable height difference between them. “I don’t think your clothes will fit.”

“My shirts will be a bit large, but they’ll be fine.”

“I can’t exactly forgo trousers.”

“No, I suppose not.” Caleb grins wickedly, and Essek momentarily considers kissing him to wipe the smirk off his face. “I bet I know someone who could alter a pair of pants, though.” He pulls a copper wire from his pocket and speaks into it. “Fjord, we could use some assistance, if you have sewing supplies somewhere in your tool kit easily accessible.”

Essek blinks. “Fjord?”

“Of course.” Caleb lets go of him and turns to the bed to rummage through his things, unceremoniously dumped there an hour earlier by Fjord himself as he had distributed the contents of their recently-retrieved bag of holding. “He says he’ll be right up.” He holds up some well-worn brown trousers, and offers them to Essek. “How about these?”

“Anything is fine.”

Caleb grins again at his resigned voice as a knock echoes on the door, and Fjord pokes his head inside. He raises an eyebrow as his eyes find Essek, taking a seat on a chest at the end of the bed, and Caleb, still sorting through clothing, both shirtless. “Can I help you? Tell me you have a favor to ask that will get me out of this shopping trip.”

Essek barks a laugh. “It is quite optimistic of you to think your girlfriend will allow that.”

“Essek has nothing to wear, so I thought I’d lend him something of mine, but he is of course, ah—“

“Short,” Essek offers, deadpan, and Fjord laughs this time.

“Well, you’ll have to put the pants on for me to fit them, but yes, I can make that happen.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and unfolds a small leather-wrapped sewing kit, setting pins on the nightstand as Essek awkwardly shuffles to Caleb, where he is at least somewhat out of Fjord’s view as he changes. The pants that Caleb offered are at least six inches too long, and a bit large in the waist, but admittedly less ill-fitted than he’d expected.

Fjord beckons him over and pins the hem, and Essek stands perfectly still for several minutes in silence. He is familiar with getting fitted for clothing, but he is not particularly comfortable when it’s a friend doing the fitting.

“This is the quick and dirty method, and you are, somehow, not nearly as disproportionately skinny as your boyfriend, so I’m not going to bother much with the waist,” he says. Essek flushes further at that, and Caleb coughs behind him. “It will be a bit of a shit job, but it’ll work well enough for an afternoon. If you are attached to this pair of pants for whatever reason, I can do it properly tomorrow, but Jester threatened to start baking if she does not get out of this building within an hour, and then the entire day will be lost.”

“Is there anything here to bake with?”

“Yeza and Veth already returned with their groceries, so I imagine she will go knocking for some flour soon enough.” Fjord pulls back. “Okay, you can take them off now.”

Glad of the warmth, Essek flushes and strips the pinned trousers carefully to avoid getting stabbed. He puts his own pants back on in the meantime, even with as hot as they are, and Fjord gets to work.

“Where did you learn to sew?” he asks, taking a seat on the bed and helping Caleb organize the pile there, keeping an eye on Fjord’s deft stitching.

“Fjord was a sailor,” Caleb pipes up, but Fjord shakes his head, barely glancing up.

“It was certainly a useful skill on a ship, kept me in the good graces of whatever crew I happened to be a part of, but I learned to sew at the orphanage. Otherwise I wasn’t going to have much in the way of clothes, as fast as I grew as a child.”

“Orphanage?” Essek blinks. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“No, I don’t believe you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not something I speak of often. It’s not far from here, actually.” He speaks around a few pins in his mouth easily. “Caleb, these are very worn out. They’re going to need a patch on the knee soon enough.”

“Ah, yes, they are… they’re the first pair I stole after I escaped.”

Fjord raises an eye at the pair of them, landing on Essek, who fidgets again.

Caleb changes the subject by tossing a thin linen shirt to Essek. It buttons halfway down, without much in the way of a collar, and he pulls it over his head. Already it’s an improvement over the wool he has abandoned on the floor, and he stands to collect it and fold it and tuck it away in the chest, where he wonders if he will need it again. Already it feels like a shoddy disguise, a costume he put on trying to be someone.

Wearing Caleb’s clothes, it doesn’t feel like he has quite settled into someone else, but it’s a step closer to someone he wants to be, without all the constraints of the life he has shed.

What little he carries by way of possessions put away in the small closet, which Essek imagines they will later magick to accommodate a bit more space, Caleb settles beside him on the bed and fixes one button that has not been pulled all the way through.

“You look good in my clothes,” he comments softly, and Fjord makes a derisive retching sound in his throat without looking up.

“If you want my assistance, please wait until I have finished and left, thank you. I’ve third wheeled Beau and Yasha too many damn times—“

“Alright,” Caleb says, laughing. The heat of this city in midsummer is stupefying, and the shift in weather—in life, really—has been quite a lot for just one day. Essek rests his head in Caleb’s lap, fingers threading through his hair, and exhales.

“How long do you think that’ll take?” he asks, his voice already thick with sleep, and Fjord glances at him.

“Maybe another half an hour,” he says, and if he wants to make another teasing comment, he hides it well.

“Okay,” he yawns. He weaves his hands around Caleb’s shin, and lets his eyes close. They have time, of course. He can rest for a few minutes while Fjord completes this sewing, while Caleb combs through his hair, while the breeze from outside pulls the fear from him with every new breath. “Wake me then.”

#critical role #cr fic #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #fjord #fic prompts #freckledmccree #me: and all of them go hide in port damali and rent out a four unit building #and beau and yasha have a floor and caleb and essek have a floor and the lavorres (marion jester and fjord now adopted) have a floor and th #because everything's fine! it's totally fine!#they're just gonna go be cute roommates and hide in port damali and lay low for a while! everything's fine!#maybe they take a side quest to kill a snea snake #yanno lots of options because they are all completely fine #hahahahahaha it's great! we're doing well #anyway lmaooooo #also it's me so it doesn't need to be said but also this is sfw don't worry

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sonderwalker · 3 years

Note

“I can’t believe you’re still standing” w/ obikin, in the middle of the clone wars anakin is sick at camp with a high fever but when obi-wan gets captured/stuck behind enemy lines he’s the only person able to go and get him?

oooooo this is kinda long! I’ll try my best from these prompts

As much as Anakin hated sand, he was starting to think that he hated the cold even more. He thought he liked it- anything that wasn’t hot and dry he thought he liked more than what he grew up with. But all this planet seemed to offer was cold rain and mud. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt dry or warm.

He felt a shiver run up his spine, but there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. He was wearing multiple layers and had his cloak on, the hood pulled over his head. His bones ached, and he wanted to do nothing more than head back to the resolute, go into his quarters and not emerge for the next standard day.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t think about anything else than the fact that Obi-Wan was behind enemy lines, captured by Grevious. Wanting to go back and curl up under the covers of his bed was a selfish thought. Obi-Wan was more important than that.

“Are you sure you want to go after General Kenobi on your own?” Rex had asked him before he split ways. And Anakin had reassured him- that it was better that he go alone to get Obi-Wan out while the rest of the men distract Grevious.

His boots squished in the mud as he made his way around the far side of the base. Gross.

Anakin looked up, flinching slightly as cold raindrops his his face. There was an entrance ahead and it looked unguarded.

He leapt up, landing on his feet but quickly dropping down into a crouch, both to remain as inconspicuous as possible, and to try and right himself as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

But Obi-Wan needed him so he straightened back up, inhaling and exhaling slowly. The cold air was a stark contrast to the heat that seemed to be rolling off of Anakin in waves. His body switched from being too warm, and he would pull the hood off of his head, allowing the rain to slide down the back of his neck. And then he would suddenly be too cold, quickly pulling the hood back over his head, clenching his fists and his jaw to try and stop himself from shaking too badly.

He was pretty sure that Rex and Ahsoka noticed anyway, but neither of them said anything to him about it.

And knowing Ahsoka, she was probably waiting until Anakin admitted that something was wrong so that she could tease him about taking better care of himself. But he couldn’t say that anything was wrong. Maybe he could- he wasn’t really sure.

The guilt mixed in his stomach with the feeling of excitement that always came with seeing Obi-Wan. With being with Obi-Wan. He wanted to be close, but knew that he couldn’t. He wanted to tell Obi-Wan how much he cared, but couldn’t.

He also wanted to get off of this planet as soon as possible, but he couldn’t do that either.

There was a faint warning in the force and Anakin quickly stood up, igniting his blade just in time to deflect several blaster shots that came his way. A group of battle droids were approaching him, but he sliced through them with ease. His blade hissed softly as the raindrops his the plasma and evaporated. He almost didn’t know where his saber was swinging at one point- all of the motions and the blue light seemed to blur together. His mind was muddled, but his muscle memory and the force we guiding him through this.

And they would guide him to Obi-Wan as well.

Anakin kicked a droid arm away from him and turned back to face the door. He sighed again, but it got caught in his throat and he began to cough. He muffled them as well as he could- not wanting to alert anyone else to his presence. He ignored the tight feeling, the heavy ache in favor of pressing ahead and entering the compound.

And although the temperature didn’t really increase, at least it was dry. The separatists base looked like any other- metal walls and bright florescent lights. He kept his hood over his head, not only to hide his face from any cameras, but because the chills were back and he could only focus on so much.

As he progressed through the base, he could hear the sounds of droids marching around, giving orders, and alarms going off in the distance. But all of the sounds seemed to echo and bounce off of the walls, distorting where they were really coming from.

He relied on the force- there wasn’t any immediate threat that he could sense, so he kept going.

But as he approached the cell where Obi-Wan was, there were droids waiting for him. He wasn’t surprised- what had been surprising was the lack of droids that confronted him on his way to get here.

“Freeze, Jedi!” They ordered, pointing their blasters at him. Anakin ignited his saber again, but the light seemed to go in and out of focus.

The droids began to fire at him, and he deflected their shots, doing his best to ignore the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears. But it was distracting, and one of the shots from the remaining droids grazed his shoulder. He swore, almost dropping his blade before scowling.

The shot seemed to drag him out of his fever-induced haze, and Anakin rushed forward, quickly slicing through the remaining droids, their parts hitting the ground.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to open the door?” He heard Obi-Wan ask from behind it, and despite the situation, hearing Obi-Wan made him smile.

“I dunno, I thought I’d wait another five minutes.” Anakin replied, warmth rushing through his body. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was blushing or because of something else, but he pushed his hood back off of his face and sighed before opening the door.

“You look horrible.” Obi-Wan pointed out as he walked out of the cell.

“That’s how you’re gonna thank me for saving your skin?” Anakin asked.

“I’m surprised that you made it here in once piece, Anakin.” Obi-Wan replied, his eyes narrowing.

“Thanks.” Anakin muttered as he turned to walk away, trying to ignore the stinging feeling that left in his chest.

“Anakin, wait.” Obi-Wan said as he caught up to him.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Anakin replied through gritted teeth, looking around a corner to make sure there were no droids before proceeding.

“I can see you shaking.” Obi-Wan deadpanned.

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan.” Anakin huffed, and then bit his lip so hard it bled to try and stop himself from coughing.

But even the pain from doing that wasn’t enough to ground Anakin when a wave of dizziness overcame him. He swayed to the side, leaning against the cold wall of the base and closed his eyes. Things were moving in front of him, someone was saying something to him, but he couldn’t make it out over the roaring in his ears.

Sights blurred together, his vision fading in and out until it faded out for good.

The first thing Anakin noticed when he woke up was that he felt like he had been hit by a speeder. Multiple times. And the second thing that he noticed was that someone was holding his hand. He gently squeezed it, smiling slightly when he heard Obi-Wan speak.

“You didn’t say anything about getting shot.” Obi-Wan whispered as Anakin opened his eyes.

“Wasn’t that important.” Anakin mumbled. keeping his eyes closed.

“And you didn’t say anything about being unwell either, but I was able to assume that based off of your appearance.”

“Getting you was more important.” Anakin replied as he now forced his eyes open. He squinted against the bright lights, but knew where he was.

The medbay, back on the ship.

“How long was I out?” He asked, turning to face Obi-Wan.

“At least an hour, if not longer.” Obi-Wan replied softly.

“You seemed to be fading in and out a lot, so I’m not surprised to see that you don’t remember anything.”

“Oh.” Anakin replied, looking away. Obi-Wan squeezed his hand again, and Anakin looked back up at him.

“Is there anything you need?” Obi-Wan asked softly. “I’d imagine that you’ll be in here for a few days before being released to your quarters.”

“Can you stay? Anakin asked suddenly, instantly regretting it. He felt his face heat up, but he wasn’t sure if Obi-Wan could see that the flush on his face was from that.

“Of course.” Obi-Wan replied with a soft smile, brushing a lock of hair out of Anakin’s face with his other hand.

I totally got carried away, whoops.

#asks #answered #prompt #whump #obikin #my writing #writing #drabble #i posted this and then realized that i never had obi-wan even say the actual quote because i was too involved on writing anakin pining and b

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Iron 11 (Peter Parker x Fem!Oc)

A/N: Iron man 2 ends here!

Words: 2,191

Masterlist

Chapter 10

“So, if someone decided to build an armor like yours. Could do it without having your workshop?"

"Put down my things, Kid,” answers Tony from the other end of the call.

"It's not my fault you have a mess.”

"Shouldn't you just sit still watching TV like any other kid?"

"I don't want to see Hammer showing off his toys," She complains.

When Tony managed to stabilize the reactor, he asked Jarvis to assemble his armor, but, with the remodeling and the little time to prepare everything, some pieces were loose, so Lily did not hesitate to check them. One of them is shaped like a huge pill.

"Dad, what’s this?"

“Don't touch it. When everything’s over, I will explain…”

"But-"

"I'm already at the Expo, I'll inform you in a few minutes," He hangs up.

She pouts.

"Jarvis, do you know what this works for?"

“At a distance, it emits a light capable of blinding anyone for a few seconds, and if the button is pressed it releases an electric shock. It is not lethal.”

“Cool."

She returns to a monitor screen when the Iron Man armor arrives at the Expo. The audience goes wild and Hammer tries not to look surprised, pretends to get excited. Tony walks up to him.

She can't hear what Tony says, but what Justin says everybody can hear it.

"What?" He asks from his microphone. “Who? What are you doing here, man?" He asks smiling. "Hey, it's not fair that you want to remove me from the spotlight, after all, this is your expo, right?" The audience just screams. Hammer's smile disappears and he sneers at Tony. "Or do you want to make another important announcement?"

From their seats, Natasha and Pepper look at both of them confused. Tony keeps talking, but from one moment to the next, Hammer pulls away and claps his hands.

“Of course, I will break the news, dear Tony! It would be a great honor. Dear friends, the great Tony Stark has traveled here to tell us that he has become a father!”

People are surprised and murmur.

"Oh no,” says Lily looking at the screen.

“Oh, but don't worry, it's not that it was just born. As far as we know, his daughter must be six years old. The best kept secret! Couldn't even keep it in his armor,” He teases.

"I'm eight, you idiot!” She yells.

“What a joy that Tony confessed all this to me, very few people knew about it, like an important Vanity Fair reporter, who had already seen the girl at Tony's mansion. Congratulations Anthony!"

Tony can't take it anymore and grabs Hammer by the collar of his shirt, lifting him a few inches off the ground, but everything changes when the armor for the army that Hammer was presenting along with the one the colonel is wearing point their weapons at Tony.

The programming ends when Iron Man rises and exits through the roof of the Expo, as the armor shoots in his direction.

Colonel James Rhodes and Tony maintain a call trying to warn each other of the possible attacks that the other droids may have as they have no control of any of them. Rhodes can see on his screen the location of each droid, one catches his eye.

“Tony," He calls with difficulty. "One of them changed course.”

"Where?"

"To your house.”

“Shit."

***

"Isn't there something else in the news about my dad?" Lily asks towards the AI.

"Not yet, Miss Stark.”

She sighs and leans back in the chair.

"An unknown object is approaching at high speed,” reports Jarvis. It's a droid that was at the Expo.

"Initiating the ‘Baby in trouble’ protocol.”

"Wait, what?"

The lights get off.

“The intruder's course stabilizes. He will enter through the terrace,” informs Jarvis low enough for only Lily to hear.

Lily can hear her own heartbeat and thinks about what she can do. She doesn't know what that protocol can do, but she can't stand idly by.

‘I don't think the hands thing will work again,’ She thinks feeling her hands tingle. Also, Fury had advised not to use it until she could control it. To tell the truth, since he explained it to her she is more afraid. But an idea comes at the right time.

"Jarvis, will it go down to the workshop?"

"Affirmative. He’s already on the property,” at that moment a loud knock is heard.

Lily does not waste time and goes to the desk, she takes the huge pill that she had seen before. She goes to the entrance of the workshop, she counts a few steps, calculating the distance that the droid could possibly be and hides the device in a place close to the ground.

"At that distance, there are great chances that the device will be activated.”

“Perfect."

But she needs something more. She grabs some leftover cables from the remodel, ties them up a short distance from where she put the device, and runs to the other side, hiding in the rubble.

Strong footsteps make her shudder.

"Incoming call from Mr. Stark," Jarvis reports.

"Now I can’t," replies Lily.

Her breath is cut off when the droid destroys the glass at the entrance.

"Please work…”

The droid walks into the workshop and checks the entire perimeter. Lily watches him from her hiding place. As the droid approaches the device, a strong light starts and she complains putting her hand over her eyes.

The light was not enough and the noise she made helped the droid locate her. Lily looks up and notices that the droid is pointing a gun at her. She runs dodging the shots, hiding behind the wall where the prototypes of the armor are.

She hears the droid approaching.

"Come on, brain, think!” She says agitated, feeling the sweat run all over her body. She must return to the entrance to activate the shock.

She inhales and exhales with difficulty and runs to the other side of the wall. The droid follows her closely. Lily runs to the device and grabs it, but before she can turn, the armor grabs her by her shirt and lifts her up. She squeals, closes her eyes, presses the button and throws it at him.

The discharge causes the armor to fail and release it. Lily watches her not quite sure if it worked. Some lights on the droid flicker, but after a few minutes they return to normal.

"Plan B!” She places her hands on the chest of the armor and orders her body to make all the fire come out to destroy the armor. She closes her eyes.

The fire spreads uncontrollably burning every circuit, however, before she gets any further, it raises its metal arm and tries to hurt her, but something interrupts it.

“Protocol activated,” Jarvis reports, then launches several projectiles at the droid. Lily listens, sees the projectiles, and runs away quickly.

Within seconds, the armor begins to shake uncontrollably. A light comes off the droid. She backs away not knowing where to go. The light becomes more powerful, blinding her. The floor shakes making her fall, she raises her arms to protect herself and a roar shakes the place.

After a few seconds, she opens her eyes. The armor is lying not far from her, some things around are destroyed, this is not what surprises her, but the thin orange layer that covers the perimeter, only a few centimeters outside her body. Her hands are still in the air, her chest rises and falls agitated.

Lily lowers her arms and the cloak that protected her disappears. She sees her hands.

“Cool."

She carefully stands up, looks at the droid, and kicks it lightly.

"Ha! See what I did to you?" She says she confidently and then laughs. "I did it!"

Everything’s interrupted when the arm of the armor falls, scaring the girl. She screams and then runs off to the first floor of the mansion.

***

While Lily stops one of the droids, Natasha is tasked with helping Tony regain control of Rhodes' armor. When she succeeds and warns him of the other attacks, Tony warns her that one of them went to the mansion. The redhead, after finishing her work as a hacker, returns with Happy to the Stark residence.

“Lily? Lily!"

"Here!" She can be heard from the kitchen.

Natasha runs up there and watches the little door under the sink. The girl looks out. The redhead frowns, but she can't help but smile.

"Nobody checks under the sink,” She walks out of there carefully. Happy also walks into the kitchen and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her. He runs up to her and carries her into her arms with a big hug.

"I was very worried.”

"Imagine how I was,” She answers, moving away a bit still in Happy's arms.

"And the droid?" Nat asks.

"In the workshop, I uh- I took care of him," She’s proud of what she did, but she still feels her body tremble with fear. "But I'm not 100% sure if he's still the same.”

"I'll take care of it,” says Nata walking towards the stairs

"Wait," says Lily. “Be careful where you step. Someone may or may not have vomited in the entrance hall.”

"Got it,” says Nat laughing.

The redhead looks with shock at the whole droid disaster and informs her superior about what happened, then she tells Tony and Pepper that the little girl is fine.

"Nice work, kid,” She says smiling.

Lily stays in the living room along with Happy.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep?

"I want to wait for Tony and Pepper," She says with a yawn. "Can we eat something?"

"Sure, what do you want?"

"A cheeseburger,” Happy laughs.

***

After all the disaster at Stark Expo, Tony is taken to a small makeshift S.H.I.E.L.D. barracks. He waits for Fury on the other side of a desk with multiple screens on the sides.

On the desk are two folders, obviously Tony couldn't resist taking one of them. Avengers Initiative: Preliminary Report. But before he can open it, Fury stops him.

“I don't think I want you looking at that. I'm not sure it pertains to you anymore,” says the director sitting down. "Now this, on the other hand, is Agent Romanoff's assessment for you," He adds, handing her the other folder.

Tony opens it.

"Uhhh. Personality overview. Mr. Stark displays compulsive behavior… In my own defense, that was last week,” Fury stares at him. “Prone to self-destructive tendencies. I was dying. I mean, please. And aren't we there? Textbook narcissism? ...Agreed. Recruitment assessment for Avenger Initiative. Iron Man? Yes. I gotta think about it.”

"Read on.”

“Tony Stark not… not recommended? That doesn’t make any sense. How can you approve me but not approve me? I got a new ticker. I'm trying to do right by Pepper. I’m in a stable-ish relationship — even the girl and I are on good terms, she’s already starting her training.”

“Which leads us to believe at this juncture we’d only like to use you as a consultant,” explains Fury. "And another thing,” He adds, handing him another folder.

Tony frowns.

"Why did Agent Romanoff evaluate my eight-year-old daughter?"

“Read."

Tony obeys and only reads important words out loud like ‘Fear', 'Potential' ‘Training', ‘High IQ’.

“Recruitment assessment for Avenger Initiative. Lily Stark. High potential?” He looks up. "You want to recruit her?"

“She has better results than you.”

“She's just a kid.”

"That at some point we will need. There’s the report of what she managed to do with the droid and you already have our instructions.”

Stark sighs and stands up. He shakes Fury's hand.

"You can't afford us," He says and then walks towards the exit, but in the end he turns around. “Then again, I will waive my customary retainer in Exchange for a small favor. Rhodey and I are being honored in Washington and we need a presenter.”

"I'll see what I can do,” answers Fury.

***

"It is my honor to be here today to present these distinguished awards to Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes and Mr. Tony Stark, who is, of course, a national treasure.”

"That's cheating,” Lily whispers to Pepper.

"It was a favor," She replies, shaking her head, seeing how both men are awarded.

"It's still cheating.”

At the end, everyone claps, takes photos, and celebrates. Pepper and Lily are escorted away to congratulate them.

"Everyone looks at me and takes pictures of me," She complains after hugging her father.

"It must be because of that dress," Tony points out. The girl looks at him annoyed. “I'm kidding. You'll get used to it.”

"Mr. Stark!" says a photographer approaching. "A photo with your daughter?"

Tony looks down, waiting for a response from the girl, who just shrugs.

“Sure," says the man.

Tony arranges Lily to be next to him.

“Smile," He tells her.

The first official photo confirming the existence of the only daughter of eccentric billionaire Tony Stark, is now on every cover of magazines, internet portal and television channel.

Lily Stark will return in The Avengers

Taglist

@silenthappyplace @yourbonesareinmybody @aylauwuuniverse @skittles-skittles @hufflepuffzutara @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs @heavenlymistakes @my-love-of-books @dielgonacoffee

#Iron #peter parker fanfiction #Peter Parker #Peter Parker x oc #Peter Parker x reader #Avengers #Avengers fanfic #Marvel #Marvel fanfic #Tony Stark #Lily Stark #Stark! reader #Pepper Potts #James Rhodes #Iron Man 2 #Spider man #twoidiots writing

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Ash Pt 12

Side to side in front of the floor length mirror in the Seamstress’ tailoring room you twisted and eyed the deep silver over the torso and bright yellow resembling the leaves in fall in the leaf shaped scales that coated your arms, shoulders and upper chest and back. “What do you think?” Glorfindel asked from the doorway behind you adjusting the glove on his hand in your turn around to look the ruby red and grey armored robe he was donning underneath and additional chest plate and arm braces. “Outside of our forests the trees of the wild are still brightly colored for those that still have their leaves. New buds should be sprouting on each of the flowering trees we pass as well. If you were puzzled about the color.”

“I was curious, I would stick out in seas of green and brown.” You said in a brush of your long braid over your back while the feathered decoration hung freely opposite the chin length side swept portion of curls tucked behind your left ear decorated with small braids and gem beads to help keep them from your face the whole ride. “It is a beautiful color.”

“Yes it is,” he said and gestured his hand to the side that signaled your reach for your bag that was shouldered on the way to the door in a hopping trot off the platform to cross the floor and join the noisy hall with what seemed to be hundreds readying to depart. “Quite stunning on you and I do not doubt that you will certainly stand out at King Thranduil’s side. Nolwe is being dressed by him and will await you at the gates. Are you nervous?” he asked to the fidget of your fingers on the strap of your bag draped across your chest.

“How could I not be. Last time I was out of the forest a dragon came for Dale. No telling what my luck will draw out on a two week trek.”

“You are quite safe with your luck, which is very much the more pleasurable alternative to ours in our old age we have encountered many more foes than a dragon and always when we are in small numbers. Today we are departing with hundreds. Pay no mind to threats. Pathways to Imladris are quite protected.”

“So who are you bunking with?” You asked to try and calm yourself down and had him chuckle at the odd question. “Four beds in my tent apparently.”

“I am sharing with Elrond’s children as usual. The tents are quite spacious if you are concerned on space.”

“I tend to roll,” you said and he chuckled again.

“We all do. Pay no mind to that. And there are rest sights along the way set up for relief and also bathing quite often so there will be little discomfort there and no threat of an audience while cleaning. We always divide for privacy. Though I cannot promise the waters will be very warm, it is still the cups of spring yet.”

“I am accustomed to cold water.”

“I imagine another memory of your childhood home.” That had you giggle as he chuckled along to the clear humorous note on your slightly grim past of which Legolas had clearly shared more of what he had learned off your ride alone. While in each step your hands smoothed over the mid thigh length flaps that hung over your black pants and matched the grey of your tall boots you had chosen for the travel. Surrounded fully by more and more brightly colored bodies in various states of armored layers they felt comfortable to travel in.

“Good news,” you heard upon reach of the field of readied horses and covered wagons where Thranduil approached with letter in hand in a step from Nolwe’s side a few feet from Tuo who was speaking to his son about his first trip from the forest. “You have received a response from King Thror.”

“Oh, that’s good. I mean we’re leaving, but that’s good so quick a response?”

Lowly he chuckled and broke the seal to your agreeing nod and stepped to your side in Glorfindel’s smirk laced path away to his own waiting steed while you took notice of the yellow and silver robe that matched yours the King was wearing underneath his deep silver cloak contrasting the polished mithril chest plate and arm braces. “King Thror thanks you for the offer of aid in cleansing Moria but wishes to inform you this is a matter he must consult the remainder of his clans in other lands and their Lords who would also profit from the reclamation. Which will take time, however he is writing to warn the matter could take some months in deliberation to weigh the differences in sway to either decision. He hopes, should it take long, that your kind offer, on top of what you have already gifted to them in aid against the Fire Drake that strove to take their home, that time may not encourage a revocation of said offer. And that the offer is not imagined to be anything less than remarkably selfless and one of a foundation of steadfast friendship they will never forget.”

“Is this about that stone? They need permission?”

To himself he chuckled as he folded the letter he placed into his pocket under the end of his robe and offered you a hand to guide you to Nolwe. “Not permission, reinforcements and time to ready his people and kin who would wish to return and to whom he would grant regency to rule in his stead once it is reclaimed.”

Up onto the knot he shifted your hand and helped you up onto Nolwe’s saddle, once secured there his hands rose to ensure the reins were folded safely in your hands and around Nolwe’s head he strolled to her other side awaiting Tuo’s step closer. Gently his hand patted your knee after a check that the stirrups were at a proper length for your comfort, “It is a good sign. Surely by month’s end they will have all agreed and be locked in deliberations as for how to plan who will travel and what jobs they will return to. There will be ample need of the month that mint will have charge of the mines.”

Legolas in burnt orange and golden scaled armor strolled past to his own white steed while saying, “I cannot imagine they will be able to find for a suitable window of time to settle upon a worthy gift for the Dragon let alone this offer.”

“I don’t need a gift.” That had him simply chuckle along with his father who stroked Tuo’s cheek in his approach ready to let the King on his back. “I don’t, Dew Drop when we get to Rivendell you have to write them and say I don’t need a gift.”

In a glance back at you he said in a playful retort to take up the chance to try his own nickname now you have publicly given named his, “Well my Darling Starlight, that is not how the world works. They will decide and send a gift once possible.” Into the stirrup his foot moved and you simply huffed for another chuckle worthy moment in his climb up onto the saddle he settled into. Once in the moment possible his hands were on the reins and he guided Tuo closer to Nolwe, a move aided by the nearly half a foot the Elk had on her to alleviate his antlers being in the way, “You may not need gifts but you however do deserve them. Dwarves give fine gifts, including furs, perhaps several blankets or a fur shawl could be hinted if that would be suitable?”

“You are determined to make this difficult aren’t you?”

Again he chuckled and in a reach over raised your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, “I was about to ask you the same thing. For now, I believe you are ready for an adventure.” Easing your hand back to the other to take hold of the reins under the momentary pat his hands gave yours through an adoring smile that ended in a head nod and his turn forward for Tuo’s advance to his verbal utterance that had you glance down to Nolwe in her step forward knowing full well you hadn’t learned the verbal cues just yet.

Trees for miles stretched and in a stagger beside Tuo, Nolwe trotted in a steady pace with head forward in your glance back to the wagon and rider packed trail behind you. Radagast bubbling with animated chuckles caught up to your side on his rabbit pulled sled and said, “Have a fine journey Queen Jaqiearae. Once you are through feel free to visit my forest of Fangorn anytime, you are always welcome!” Forward his sled raced in your thanks. And then your eyes widened to what you saw as a vast field open and faintly lit to the rising colors of a misty dawn under a hidden archway you passed into an unknown open.

“Whoa,” you muttered to yourself and drew Thranduil’s eye to your glance around.

Once there was room Legolas rode forward to your side and pointed off in the distance to where Radagast was headed, “Fangorn Forest is farther South, beyond Lothlorien which you will catch a hint of once we cross Anduin River.”

“There’s a river out here?”

Thranduil chuckled and said, “We won’t reach that until morning after our breakfast.”

“If it takes a day to get to the river how long to cross it?”

Legolas chuckled out in response, “Just an hour there is a bridge.”

“An hour,” it already took hours to leave the forest after having left after midnight.

Thranduil said, “Just beyond those hills we will reach near midday is a rest area where we will stop for lunch. If you grow tired at all we can move you to the nearest wagon to rest.”

“I should be fine. I could probably outlast you on lack of sleep.”

That had him chuckle and state, “We shall not be testing that theory.”

True enough the hills came. With sight of empty stables hours past a lonely looking cottage and carefully down you were helped to the ground to join others to the doorway in the side of the hill. Through which you smirked in inspecting the internal woven halls to toilets and baths that thanks to Hobbit connections through the years are now safer and hidden under hills along the way between kingdoms.

Back out again once through you stepped and with a look around followed the glint of white blonde hair to find where Thranduil had set up a stool for you beside his at the chosen lunch spot for a cool lunch of fruits and prepped sandwiches and jams on scones for the in between meals.

Eager shifts of the horses and Elk lured the lot of you to clean up and a second chance to help you up was stolen in a brief press of lips to the side of your temple. “I bet by the time we reach the city you’ll be tired of helping me up.”

“Bold lie, who might have given you that impression?” Lord Celeborn asked on his way to his own wagon where he rode with his wife and children on this first leg of the trip.

Elrond answered in a smirk on his own way past, “It is an honor to assist our Ones onto their steeds each and every time. No matter how frequent. A much approved form of affection to tend to the simplest of matters.”

Into the saddle you settled and watched Estel being carried back to the wagons to ride with the twins muttering about the day he could be big enough to ride his own pony with everyone else. You glanced to Thranduil who said through a smirk, “The final distance he rides with one of us out of the wagon. Do not let him fool you. We grant him ample freedoms. Each of our youths are the same. Legolas mastered his own fair share of guilt trips in his time as did I.” That had you giggle to yourself in his climb onto his own saddle to ready the path ahead for the brightly adorned riders.

“Get some rest Nolwe,” you said in a stroke of her head once she was undressed. And softer you added, “I’m sure Dew Drop’s mom misses you very much.” Softly she leaned into another stroke of her face while the eyes of the King and Prince flinched off of you once their stunned stare at the comment ended to your adding, “Such strong legs, ran all day without slowing down, even with me on your back.”

To which Thranduil cut in, “You are nowhere near as heavy as you imagine yourself to be. I could carry you all day and in a few years I would imagine Estel could as well.”

“He’s barely to my knee,” you retorted stirring up chuckles from the men around you in Nolwe’s stroll off for her dinner that left you to take up the stool Thranduil settled out for you beside his again. Fires were lit by the cooks as groups of guards set up watch while the other chosen people in each sleeping group began to assemble the tents. “Should I-,?” you pointed to Legolas in the process of unfolding the supplies of the tent you would share and Thranduil shook his head and settled on the stool beside yours with a scoop of his hand around yours resting atop your knee.

“No, even I have tried to intervene before and have been cast off. Little leaf and Tauriel have a longstanding race for this task.”

Estel however popped up in front of you and with his hands on your knees asked, “Queen Pear? Can we have another story?” His eyes grew wider and before you knew it all the other children had crowded around you for a chuckle worthy reach into your bag to bring out the book that Thranduil released your hand to allow you to open and flip through the book to the tale you had left off at.

Just one story and the meal was served out in dishes that once cleared Thranduil took hold of your bowl and stated, “I will wash these, to grant you time to change.”

You nodded then stood as he did only to ask, “What do you wear? Should it be a just pop your boots on ready to go in the morning? Or..?”

Adoringly his smile bled out and he answered, “Sleep however you are comfortable. Though I sleep in my pants and a tunic when on travels.”

“Simply astonishing,” you teased on your way to the tent drawing a chuckle from him that had him shake his head to his confused but smirking friends around him as to what the joke could mean between you.

Out of your outer robe and boots you sat atop the fainting couch molded cot closest to you to remove your socks as well then stand again. Both socks were tucked back into your bag and near the trunk along the outer wall to keep from stealing someone else’s chosen spot. Barefoot with your comfy tunic and the same pants on display out again you stepped through the front flap where you spotted your sleeping group all in line in wait for a sign that it was safe for them to enter. “Comfortable?” Thranduil asked and you nodded, “Good, were you to change your mind later simply inform us and we will step out. We shall remove our traveling layers and boots as well.”

Legolas said, “You are welcome inside, we will not remove much else beyond our socks.”

Through the flap that Thranduil opened for you again you stepped in and to the side for them to enter. Estel hurried to his favorite spot and Legolas smirked to himself in a move to take up the spot beside him to grant you and his father the other two side by side cots.

Atop your newly designated cot just beyond the wash basin but before a tall chair that was an apparent travel version of Thranduil’s Throne you lowered to sit. Slightly intrigued by the difference of the feel of this cot. The original you had sat on opposite his father’s was now claimed by Legolas was less giving while this one seemed to have an added layer of cushioning and a spare fur blanket folded across the foot of this traveling bed. Clearly it was meant to wean you into long traveling trips and by the trio of pillows Thranduil pulled from the trunk now you had two pillows and he chose the smallest of the three and began to lay his outer layers atop the trunk.

Between the two sets of cots Estel hopped out of his boots and left a line of dropped things in his ready for bed while Legolas opposite the entrance flap wall of tarps from the table there poured himself a glass of water and took a sip mid unbutton of his outer robe. Once through with his drink he passed the remainder to Estel in his trot over to claim a drink himself that enabled the elder Prince to pick up the abandoned clothes the boy returned in a thunk of the empty cup back onto the table to help him gather to plop at the foot of his own cot. Promptly the boy hurried to clamber himself into sleep, with Legolas in his own cot right behind once the boy was properly covered and cuddled up with a pillow.

“Do you require another pillow?” Thranduil asked and your eyes flinched to him in his lower of the chest plate he’d just removed.

“No,” you said and shifted on the cot to unfold the fur to stretch out across the lounge framed cot.

Your eyes however shifted to Estel in his wiggle onto his side to say, “Don’t forget your dogs,”

With a grin you said, “I don’t really need them here,” then added to his reluctant nod from your cut off of his try to ask for one you said, “But you can borrow one if you like.” You said in a rise to your feet to head to the trunk with your things, into the bag you reached and brought out the one he had cuddled with before and took it over to the boy who smiled and hugged it to his chest in your smooth of the blanket over him again. “Sweet dreams.”

A yawn was your response, Legolas however chuckled in asking, “Are you certain we cannot fetch you something.”

“No thank you. If I drink anything else I’ll wake up halfway through the night and no doubt get lost.”

Thranduil, “There are guards on watch who would not allow that.” His eyes followed you back to your cot where you again stretched out and laid back covering the fur that once his robe was removed he moved to help you straighten to your shoulders. All the same still for a moment he lingered there above you and just ever so gently brushed a stray bit of curls behind your ear that had folded up to lay across your brow then simply stepped back to lower and stretch out across his own cot.

His fumble with the folded blanket however was not so graceful, as it had a fold in the middle he ended up kicking apart on its tangle around his foot. The whole thing a telling common place routine and irritant to him. At least until he heard your hushed giggle you tried to muffle in a dip of your lips underneath the fur bunched under your chin, then he simply relented and gave the blanket a good fling upwards to let it fall across his body and right the tangle on its own in his own low chuckle to himself.

Hours was what you could have guessed you lay there unable to sleep, while Thranduil amusingly timed you at just a hair under ten minutes until he heard the clear sign that he could turn his head and see that you had indeed fallen asleep.

Legolas did this on purpose. It was shared and well known you slept alone for over a thousand years. But one day if the momentous wedding was ever to come that would have to change. And his son surely planned to have you on the cot just five inches from his. So close yet with an invisible barrier of honor he would not cross it. No matter how badly he wished to be able to roll over and drape his arms around you and nestle you into his chest again to let you know even in sleep he would shield you with himself if he had to for protection. Even just to fix that same stubborn strand of curls that had seemed to use your sleep to bunch up and cover part of your face again he would wait and endure the taunt of that one zigzag of your face that he couldn’t adore and etch into his mind of this first chance to sleep beside you. Legolas had to have known he wouldn’t be able to sleep had you been placed anywhere else, he would be up all night pacing across the rug coated floor of this tent just to see that you were sleeping soundly.

Sharply however in the blur of time his eyes clenched shut in the deep inhale and turn of your body as if to evade being caught staring should your eyes open. Yet the tap by his foot had his eyes open. And to a grin inducing sight he lifted his head to find you now mostly on your belly with arms tucked around the largest pillow and in a lower of his gaze to find what touched his foot he saw your leg out of your blanket and foot now settled beside his lower leg. Somehow in the turn you went from center of your cot to the very edge and that five inch gap was nothing to your new comfy position now partially across his cot as well. Straight up he sat and in timid glances your way took hold of your leg to lift it just enough to ease the slide of his blanket from underneath it that he settled atop the intruder to ensure at least that even if it kicked him later the barefoot now bridging the gap between you would be warm come morning.

It was just simple contact. Exactly what he seemed to need as in the bend of toes against his leg his eyes shut to your content sigh that your slumbering move had stretched you as far as possible underneath his warm fur he drifted off to sleep and hoped that come morning his slumbering self wouldn’t have pulled your cot closer to enhance the chance of snuggling even more. The very last thought in his head however was one of debate on his lack of a kiss goodnight and if he should try to mend that with a tender kiss good morning.

An unexpected push on his leg however had his eyes blink open to find that to the sound of the first woken to ready the meal from the silent dawn had lured a grumble of a plea for more hours of sleep from the disheveled and comfy fur coated heap on the cot beside him. Unable to help it he chuckled to the sight of the nose and flash of forehead that your same unruly curls, while still tucked back into a braid had loosened and pooled across the face it would appear he was not allowed to wake up to.

Another grumble came, though this time from Estel in his knee top rise with blanket sliding off his back to the rub of his eyes. Again you nestled more into the pillow as the boy seemed to spring to life and with stuffed dog in hand raced over towards the foot of your cots where he froze in stare at the leg blocking his way. Smalls hands patted the leg that stirred a deep inhale from the body attached to it and in a quick dip under the leg from having seen the pale blue eyes on him the boy dipped and hurried to crawl then climb onto the cot with the smiling father of his best friend. Right on top of his chest Estel moved to sit and he said, “You have lost room on your cot.”

“It would appear I have. Not much however. Sleep well?”

Estel nodded his head to Legolas’ literal stretch and collapse off of his cot that woke him and stirred his rise to come and join the younger Prince on his father’s cot. Seated right on his free side with a lean into the chest accustomed to supporting the weight of both bodies for the usual morning chat until given the all clear the meal was underway and the other Lords’ families were awake, as they usually woke the earliest and got earfuls for not having woken the others who begrudgingly took such awakenings. “Perhaps we should get you a bigger cot, Ada. It would appear you are now supporting four.”

Thranduil simply chuckled and said, “Plenty of room.”

Legolas, “Well, one thing for certain, at least our Queen will be well rested for today’s ride. Just beginning the rougher rides.”

“What about muffin pies?” you mumbled through a waking sigh that lured out grins from the men who got to watch your rise from your warm nest to blink the trio into focus. Conversation came to bridge the time from waking to when the food would be ready. And upon notice of what exactly your foot kept pressing against from his cot to yours your leg tucked and you sat up with legs crossed to continue the talk until you could apologize.

The call to eat did come and after the men respectfully stepped behind the diagonally hung tapestry in the back of the tent you now saw as a changing spot for them the each swap out their tunics then tugged on new socks and their boots you were alone with Thranduil.

Across the tent he moved to your side and when you rose he was at your side and right away stole his chance. Just as he had imagined it, a bit more than he had dared before, with palm to your cheek and arm draped around your back into his chest for the rather romantic kiss. As if he hadn’t seen you for days his lips and body melted around yours, perhaps a bit too much for just a few moments behind a tapestry to count for a parting. But the curl of fingers into the tunic at his sides in the break for air gave warning to the slight shift of your head to claim a second kiss of your own. Warning murmurs from outside found him in a shift back with arm loosening its hold to prevent others from finding the pair of you alone in such a state of embrace that would surely rush things along.

Sweetly in a low hum a breath from your lips he spoke, “Take up as much room on my cot as you require.”

“I,” you cracked out only to have the rest of your sentence die in the next kiss he used to break it.

“As much. I will let you change,” the continued hold on his tunic however lured him back again only to freeze in his try to pull back when the fingertips once locked in his tunic rose to glide along his neck towards his ears.

Barely above a whisper he gasped and his hands rose to cradle yours in their pull away, “Sorry,”

“No, no,” he said and drew the cradled hands into his chest with a press of his lips to each. Again he stepped forward to calm you in another kiss and hum, “I will let you change,” he repeated and as if you had pouted or pled again he leaned in for a final chuckle laced kiss he broke in a whisper, “They will come looking if I don’t leave now.” He said more in a plea to himself to release your hands in a reluctant glide of freed fingers and stepped away with kind grin while he coaxed himself out or the tent before he could ruin things.

Not to his waiting friends but towards the hidden baths he went to lock himself in a stall to simply breathe and refocus upon the plan. He had to focus on patience. The plan that now had him burning with lightning coursing underneath his skin to each touch and every kiss. One good morning kiss, one. That was what he promised himself and now he had gone and drawn you flush up against himself and now that his heartbeat had felt yours his chest had begun to ache since his step away. That look in your eyes however once you had touched him, that had him gasp, that silent question if you could be so bold and be allowed to touch him back. Painfully he had to stop, they would have come in, surely they would have seen what he had started at this impossible time. Everyone would wait for you, no matter how long you wished to have been alone but you didn’t deserve that gossip, those stares once you did leave the tent to restart the trek onwards. And possibly never dare to steal a moment again. No, he would wait for Rivendell, there you could drag him about to your whims and keep him wherever you wished for however long and spend the whole time in his arms if you so desired.

Cold and clear the water from the wash basin was used to wet your face to calm you down. The temperature not helping the tingle of those fingers that had you shake them once done with the towel used to dab your face and chin dry left back on its stand. This was madness. “It was just a kiss.” You muttered to yourself, “Then another, then another,” you didn’t get it. “Why couldn’t I stop?” you asked in the path to your bag to fetch a new shirt as it dawned on you. The proof having been from so many epics with great romances laced within them, lust. “Oh no,” you said tugging off your tunic that to the bumps rising across your skin had a second pulled on over your neck with an arm rapidly pushed through to the end of the sleeve, “I’m lusting after Dew Drop.”

The other arm was next and to your pitifully withheld groan outside Arwen and her brothers paused to hear you mutter, “And he knows! He has to know! He’s got a kid, full grown kid for Merlin’s sake.” Now you were pacing and the audience outside your tent had their parents and grandparents watching from near the fire wondering for what they were listening in on. “We’re sharing a tent with his kid and another kid and I’m just over here lusting away-!” Sharp and clear what sounded to be half of a squeak and a gasp reminiscent of a pained yelp from a small animal had everyone, including the now returned Thranduil along with the two Princes who’d followed him and brought him back from the hidden baths, now frozen to look at the tent.

Arwen asked, “Queen Jaqiearae? Are you alright?”

Through a pained tuck of your leg to your chest to grip the throbbing toes in question you replied, “I’m fine. Just my foot.”

Elladan, “Do you require a Healer?”

“No, just walked into the trunk. I’m fine.”

Ellohrir, “Should you change your mind we are a shriek away,” his sister patted the back of her hand on his chest to silence his internal chuckle of amusement and the trio walked to the waiting group where his chuckles could no longer be contained.

Arwen rolled her eyes and Celeborn asked, “You were listening to the Queen’s tent?”

Arwen answered, “She was speaking to herself, softly in a language we couldn’t understand.”

Elladan, “Then she ran into her trunk it seems.”

Legolas, “Perhaps a morning itinerary, or a debate on clothes. This is her first trek.”

Thranduil sighed and said, “Either way perhaps we should think up a travel game for when boredom might strike.”

Right away Ellohrir’s mouth shut to his parents and grandparents saying at once, “No copper petal.” That had the twin huff and take his seat for the game that always ended up near to fist fight level arguments over the detail heightened game of scavenging the oldest quotes possible from tales mentioned.

Thranduil, “Perhaps her second trip we will then entertain a brawl worthy game to not frighten the young Queen from traveling again amongst us.”

Promptly once your foot stopped throbbing socks and boots were added again and once a vest was added over your loose low dipping tunic with the last button and tie secured out you went to sneak a trip through the crowd that pretended it hadn’t heard your mystery of a conversation towards the hidden baths. Though by the time you joined them the group had all seated themselves and watched you step over your designated stool to settle down beside the King who chuckled as you said, “Apparently trunks don’t have to move for me to run into them.”

Pt 13

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

Ash - @devilishminx328, @fandomsstolemylife00, @lilith15000

#Thranduil x OC #Traveling #Tent Mates #Glorfindel #Legolas #Estel #Thranduil #Elrond #Celeborn #Arwen #Elladan and Elohrir

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fuzzhugs · 3 years

Text

Cycle - Redwall Midwinter Gift Exchange 2020-2021

Made as part of the @redwall-midwinter-gift-exchange. A gift for @autobot-scout-riella.

“Exactly how far north are we?” Dandin asked Mariel as he shivered against the cold wind blowing in from the sea. “I think my blood is about to freeze.”

The Pearl Queen had made ground along the sandy shores of the far Northlands. Together with Bowly Pintips, the three warriors had been sailing for nearly a season since leaving Mossflower, traveling wherever the wind took them, stopping at whatever island or stretch of mainland took their fancy.

None of them had any great experience sailing, and after floundering around for several days, they came across a group of sea otters who had spotted their vessel in distress. A dozen of the younger otters, keen to explore the oceans, joined Mariel, Dandin, and Bowly, bringing their knowledge of the ocean wind and waves, helping ensure the vessel didn’t sink or run aground.

Mariel responded to Dandin’s complaint by throwing another cloak at him. “I didn’t realize sailing around the tropics had made you soft.”

“I’m not soft, I just prefer having feeling in my footpaws.”

“Better wrap ‘em up then. We’re gonna be staying until we’ve resupplied.”

“Assuming we can find anything edible in a place this cold.”

“That’s why you and I are going to go scout around.”

“Abandoning ship, mateys?” Bowly Pintips came up to them.

“We’re going to go see if we can find food for the stores,” Mariel informed him.

“What about me? Just supposed to stay here and sit on my paws?”

Bowly was young and often stubborn. Mariel saw a lot of her younger self in him. Though he had been reliable in the past, he was not highly experienced in foraging or wayfinding on land, so Mariel found him another task to do.

“Help the otters set up a camp along the shore. We’ll probably be staying here a number of days. Keep the tents on the windward side of the Pearl Queen. We’ll stay a bit warmer that way. Scrounge for driftwood as firewood too. We’re going to need to keep a fire going.”

Bowly gave an exaggerated salute and marched off to issue orders to the otters, Mariel and Dandin fighting to stifle their giggles over his comically serious demeanor.

Before leaving the ship, both Mariel and Dandin bundled up against the cold, wearing multiple layers and wrapping up their footpaws in strips of cloth. With practiced skill, they shimmied down the ropes and landed on the beach, marching along the cold, wet sand.

As the beach transitioned into plains, the ground became hard. The dirt itself was frozen. The otters had spoken of lands where there was no summer and the earth was permanently frosted over. Dandin found the idea of a land without summer hard to believe, but Mariel, after everything she had seen in her life, found there was very little that was impossible.

While the two mice wandered, they found a few bushes that managed to grow despite the cold. The berries produced by the bushes were bitter, but edible. Mariel noted their location and began making plans to send a foraging party to gather them later.

A short time later, Dandin stopped and squinted into the distance. “I think I see a pair of trees up ahead. On top of that hill.”

Mariel stood beside him and squinted as well. They had not yet seen any other trees along the plain, so it would be strange to see any standing alone in the middle of nowhere. Nevertheless, there they were. Atop a distant hill, two of the oddest-looking trees Mariel had ever seen. The trunks curved upward in an unusual fashion and the branches that she could see were bare of leaves.

“They look dead,” Mariel said.

“I still want to have a look,” Dandin replied. “We’ll be able to see for miles if we make the climb.”

Mariel nodded, and the two mice set off toward their new destination.

The hill was covered in a layer of thick, brown grass, coated with a thin layer of frost like much of the rest of the landscape. Shortly after beginning their ascent, Mariel and Dandin began to notice there was something odd about the hill.

“This grass is strange,” Mariel told Dandin, running her paw up and down the wiry strands. “It doesn’t feel like a plant.”

“And have you noticed that the ground feels softer and warmer than on the plain? Do you think we should leave?”

“I’m not afraid of a hill. I’m going to the top.” Mariel continued toward the trees near the summit. Not wanting to be left behind, Dandin hurried after her.

“What manner of trees are these?” Mariel wondered aloud as she felt the trunks. “No bark, no twigs, no sign of any buds. This doesn’t feel like wood, it’s more like…bone.”

“Let me feel,” Dandin stepped forward and rapped his paw firmly against the strange tree.

The ground began to rumble and shake, and the hill seemed to sway from side to side. Both Mariel and Dandin were forced to hang on to the tree in order to stay upright.

“What did you do?!”Mariel shouted as the rumbling intensified.

“I didn’t do anything!” Dandin shouted back as he clung to the tree with his eyes shut tight.

Mariel glanced over the crest of the hill to see if it was collapsing, only to see the ground was getting farther and farther away. They were rising into the air.

“Dandin,” Mariel said, her voice nearly a whisper, “this isn’t a hill.”

“What do you mean this isn’t a hill?” Dandin said, still clinging to the tree.

“It’s not a hill, it’s a creature. Some enormous creature.”

The rumbling and movement stopped as the creature held still. Now that it was upright, Mariel could tell that she and Dandin were standing directly on top of its head, which was higher from the ground than the roof of the Abbey. The creature stood on four legs ending in hooves. Mariel opened her mouth to speak when a booming voice rang out from beneath them.

“K’to tam naverk’hu?”

Mariel’s ears rang. This creature was louder than even her father’s bell that now hung back at Redwall. Whatever the creature was saying, she didn’t understand it.

“Ch’to tii delayesh ‘s moyey golovoy?” the creature spoke again, just as loud as the first time.

To the side, there was what Mariel took to be an ear. She yelled at it as loud as possible. “I’m sorry! I don’t understand you! We don’t mean you any harm!”

“Ah, small-folk,” the creature said, now speaking more quietly. It lowered its head to the ground and Mariel and Dandin scurried off. “What are you doing upon my head?”

“We thought you were a hill,” Dandin explained. “We were going to climb those…trees on you head to look around the plain. We’ve never seen a creature like you before.”

“My antlers. My people are called ‘deer.’ You small ones are not from around here, I am thinking.”

“We are travelers. Our apologies for disturbing you.”

“It is no matter. It is time for me to rejoin my herd.”

“Your… herd?”

“My kind travels in groups. For safety. For companionship.”

“Can we see?” Mariel asked, ever interested in seeing new things.

The deer lowered his head and Mariel eagerly climbed back on. Dandin followed more cautiously.

“You never told us your name,” Mariel called down toward the deer’s ear.

“Rufus,” the deer said. “I am called Rufus.”

Every step Rufus took was jarring, but the mice could tell that the deer was moving slowly and trying to step gently. He brought them over hills and waded through what would have been an impassable river to creatures of Mariel’s and Dandin’s size. Rufus came to a stop above a broad valley, and Mariel and Dandin were breathless at what they saw.

The valley was filled with others of Rufus’ kind. Some had antlers, others did not. The sea of reddish-brown fur seemed to sway and flow like the ocean. The number of deer before them was uncountable. Steam rose from the valley floor out of great pits in the ground, further obscuring the true size of the herd in a thick fog.

“Even in winter, this valley is kept warm by the heat from the earth,” Rufus said, “but we often must leave to find foraging ground.”

“Why not live further south?” Dandin asked. “It is warmer there, and there are plenty of good things to eat.”

“I did once wander far to the south. I have seen your forests. While their beauty is clear, they are not suitable for a herd of deer. The trees would crowd us in and keep us from running.”

“Running?” Mariel questioned.

“We are not the only creatures of this cold and barren land. There are others. The wolves hunt us down and consume us.”

The thought of one creature eating another sickened Mariel. Eating a fish was one thing, but even among vermin, only the worst would consume the flesh of another.

Now in the midst of the herd, Rufus stopped as another deer stepped up to him. They rubbed their muzzles together in some form of greeting.

“My mate, Sylva,” Rufus said, introducing the female of his kind.

“Privet malysh’ki. Dobro pozhalovat’ v’ nashu dolinu,” the deer said in her own tongue.

Sylva does not speak your language,” Rufus said to Mariel and Dandin, “but she welcomes you to our home.”

“How is it that you speak as we do?” Mariel asked.

“I was once as I imagine you are. A traveler. An explorer. I wandered a great distance from the herd, eager to see the world. I saw many great things and learned much on my travels, but I eventually realized I had wandered enough, and I returned to my home. Perhaps one day you will feel the same and return to where you came from.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever tire of traveling and exploring,” Mariel said.

“Maybe so. At the time, I desired to return to Sylva,” Rufus nuzzled his mate affectionately, “but I see you travel with your mate. Perhaps this will be enough for you.”

“We’re not,” Mariel started to say while Dandin shifted his paws awkwardly, but a loud bellowing interrupted her and echoed across the valley. Every deer perked up its ears and spun its head in the direction of the call.

Before Mariel or Dandin could ask about the noise, Rufus had spun around and began to run alongside Sylva. Neither mouse had ever traveled at such speed. As the wind rushed by, Mariel and Dandin clung to Rufus’ antlers, fighting to maintain their position as Rufus bounded along, adding to the thunderous rumbling of countless hooves pounding the earth.

As the entire herd ran, Mariel glimpsed grey figures running near the edge of the herd, driving the deer one way and then another as they fought to escape.

“Rufus, what’s happening?” Mariel shouted, trying to make herself heard over the din.

“Wolves,” Rufus gasped as he panted. “The hunters. The killers.”

As the herd ran on, the mice managed to see the wolves more clearly. They ran on all fours like the deer. Ears back and fangs showing, saliva dripping down their sharp teeth the wolves looked like monsters.

Within minutes, the deer had crossed a distance that would have taken the mice most of the day, but still the wolves pursued.

There was a scream of pain, and as quickly as the chase began, it ended. The wolves swarmed around a fallen deer and began their carnage, ignoring all of the other deer as they ate.

The herd continued to run for several more minutes before all the deer halted their retreat and settled on a new stretch of grassland. Rufus was panting heavily, his breath steaming out of his mouth and nostrils. On his head, Mariel and Dandin were likewise breathing heavily, their hearts pounding and limbs trembling.

“Are you small ones injured?” Rufus asked once he had regained his breath.

Dandin helped Mariel to her feet. “We’re fine, Rufus. How long until the wolves come again?”

“They will not hunt again for several days,” Rufus said casually. “They have made their kill and will be satisfied for some time.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mariel said. “Did you know the one who…fell?”

“No, but his sacrifice will be remembered.”

“Sacrifice?” Mariel asked, confused.

“One dies, the rest of the herd survives. This is the way it has always been.”

Mariel was shocked at Rufus’ seemingly callous to the loss of his comrade. “How can you say that? Those wolves are monsters!”

“They require food just as any other creature. They must consume meat in order to survive.”

“And why must their survival cost your people their lives!?”

“It would be far worse for us if the wolves did not chase us. If they did not take from us, our numbers would grow until we had consumed all of the plants in the land, and then we would all slowly starve to death, as would all the other creatures who call this land home. The chase ensures that we are strong enough to endure the harshness of the north. The old and inured who would otherwise perish painfully are given the dignity of a quick death. The death of one allows the herd to survive. Likewise, we encourage the wolves to be strong. If we did not run, the wolves would become fat and indolent. They would die as soon as hardship took hold. It is all necessary. The land needs us. The land needs the wolves. The wolves need us. We need the wolves.”

Mariel scowled, unhappy with Rufus’ explanation. “There must be another way.”

“What do you suggest? My kind do not have the clever paws to farm the land as you small folk do, nor are the wolves able to catch fish. While our way may seem unpleasant to you, it is nonetheless our way, and we must continue in it if we are to survive. Come, I will take you back to where we met.”

Rufus crossed the valley with the mice riding along. The wolves were still gathered around the fallen deer. Mariel made to look away when she saw the smallest of wolves nearby, running around and playing with each other as they stumbled on their inexperienced paws.

“Though they will grow to chase us done,” Rufus said, “I can still see value in their existence. Do the pups not deserve a chance to grow and thrive?”

Mariel did not answer. She was through arguing with Rufus. She remained silent until they reached the spot where they had mistaken Rufus for a hill. She gave him a cordial farewell, though she remained fuming inside. On the way back to the ship, Mariel and Dandin stopped to gather some of the berries they had spotted before.

Back at camp, the others were thoroughly impressed by the story Mariel and Dandin told them. Bowly was jealous that he hadn’t been along to meet Rufus. Mariel let Dandin do most of the telling as she warmed herself by the driftwood fire, staring into the flames as she regarded the northlands. She could not understand the casual way Rufus accepted the death of his fellow deer. Living and dying based on chance seemed an awful way to exist. Even as the fire died and everybody went off to sleep, the thoughts continued to run through Mariel’s mind until she too drifted off into slumber.

The next day, Mariel went off on her own, searching for other sources of food besides the bitter berries they had found the day before. She had wandered to the south where the grass was taller, hoping to find something edible hidden between the tall, leafy blades.

Late in the morning, Mariel’s ears caught the sound of some creature in distress. With a high jump, she was able to see over the grass into the distance where a pair of ravens were swooping down, harassing some creature who Mariel could not see. Pushing through the grass, Mariel made a beeline toward the ravens, getting her Gullwhacker ready to deliver a painful lesson to the disagreeable birds.

She came out of the grass swinging, delivering a solid blow to the skull of one of the ravens in mid-swoop. The birds gave a harsh cry and switched their attention to Mariel, diving toward her with talons outstretched.

With a whirlwind of blows, Mariel pummeled the birds with the knotted Gullwhacker, striking at the wings, heads, and beaks until they understood that their time would be better spent elsewhere.

Pushing through the rest of the grass, she came to where the raven’s victim lay. Mariel came to a sudden stop when she saw what it was. It was one of the wolves, but a young one. Though it was only a pup, it still stood as tall as a young badger. It was covered in scratches from the ravens’ talons, but it seemed unperturbed by its injuries now that the birds were gone. Its attention was now fully focused on Mariel.

Before Mariel could decide whether or not to run, the wolf shoved its face toward her a made a series of loud sniffs before it drew its tongue up the length of her body, leaving her clothes and fur slightly damp from its saliva.

“You’re welcome,” Mariel said, shaking herself dry. “I’ll just be going now.”

As Mariel turned to leave, she was suddenly lifted from the ground. The pup had grabbed the back of her cloak and was carrying her away, trotting along without a care in the world. Mariel thrashed about, trying to free herself, but the pup’s grip was too tight and Mariel was too small to have much of an impact on the pup’s behavior.

The pup continued carrying Mariel over several miles as she hung helplessly in its grasp. She had tried reasoning with the wolf, but either it did not understand her or did not care to listen to her, so Mariel waited, biding her time until she had an opportunity to run, though she had serious doubts that she would be able to outrun even this little wolf.

When they reached a clearing, Mariel spotted a fully grown wolf with several other pups nearby. When the adult saw the pup carrying Mariel, she bounded over and began to speak to the pup.

“Nikolas, ya zhe skazal tebe ne ukhodit. K’to eto? Chto vii nadelali?”

Though Mariel did not understand the words, she recognized the tone. At Redwall, she had heard Mother Mellus use the same sort of voice when scolding the dibbuns. Whatever this pup had done had evidently displeased its mother.

The pup responded, dropping Mariel as it did so, but its answer was more of a series of barks than an actual language. Nonetheless, the mother understood her pup and turned her eyes down toward Mariel.

“Tii ranen, malen’kiy?” the wolf asked, waiting for Mariel to talk.

“Sorry I…I don’t understand,” Mariel responded, fighting to remain calm while facing down the giant monster. “I don’t know your language.”

The wolf straightened up and closed her eyes for a few moments. “I speak…small tongue…little. Son say you… save son. This wolf… thanks you. My name… Sveta.” Sveta sniffed the air and looked back down at Mariel. “No need… fear. No harm you.” Sveta sniffed again. “You been with deer.”

“I met them yesterday,” Mariel said, finding her voice. “I saw them being hunted.”

Sveta nodded. “I not there. Hunters bring food… for mothers with pups.” She gave Mariel an appraising look. “I am feeling… you do not like this.”

“It is cruel,” Mariel said, unafraid to speak her mind. “Killing other creatures and… eating them,” she shuddered in disgust.

“Cruel to let pups eat?” Sveta asked. “Wolves no fish. No catch bird. No eat grass. Better to let pups die?”

“There must be another way. Some way for both deer and wolf to exist without all this killing.”

“You not first to think this. Grandfather Urgan try to abandon hunt. Leave pack. Not seen again.”

Mariel’s ears perked up at the name but she kept silent.

“Wolves not forget what deer give up. Come with Sveta. Sveta show you way of wolf.”

Sveta knelt down and allowed Mariel to climb atop her head. She barked something at her pups and led them out of the clearing along a trail which wound up into the hillside. The path took them to the bottom of a cliff that had undergone a rockslide at some point in the ancient past. Resting among the rocks and boulders were hundreds of deer skulls, some with antlers, other without. They were all perfectly aligned, obviously placed with care and purpose.

“Wolves not forget,” Sveta stated firmly. She stepped forward and brushed her face against one of the skulls an in almost intimate gesture. “Every moon pack visit memory hill. Remember prey. Thank prey,” she dug at a pile of dried vegetation, “bring offering to prey. Prey not only food. Prey are life. Life of pups. Life of wolves. Life of pack. Disrespect to prey, disrespect to pack. No kill without need. Punishment for wasting life high. Cherish life of prey. Cherish own life. Even pups know this.”

Mariel looked and saw that Sveta’s pups were walking up to skulls and imitating their mother’s gesture. Mariel had not seen any devotion to life this deep anywhere outside of Redwall, and though its form here was strange, it was not unrecognizable.

“The deer know of this?” Mariel asked.

“Deer know well. Deer know value. All have place in cycle. It is way. Small mouse understand?”

“I understand better than I did, but it is still difficult to grasp.”

“Small mouse need time to think,” Sveta proposed. “Sveta bring back to plains.”

Sveta gathered her pups and took them all back down the hills and through the clearing to where Mariel had fought the ravens. Sveta knelt down once again and let Mariel slide off her head and onto the ground.

“Thank mouse once again. Pup precious to Sveta and pack. Sveta remember mouse well.”

“Thank you, Sveta,” Mariel said. “I hope your pups grow up strong.”

Sveta nodded and called to her pups. Within moments, they were off, darting through the wilderness, no doubt going to rejoin their pack.

Dandin was visibly relieved when Mariel returned to the campsite. She had been gone much longer than she had intended, and with giant creatures roaming the land, it was no wonder he had been worried. Mariel didn’t say much, but sat by the fire, thinking about the way of life of the deer and the wolves.

“This is a strange land, Dandin,” Mariel said, “but perhaps not as strange as we first thought.”

#redwall #redwall midwinter gift exchange 2021 #mariel #dandin

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years

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BTS DRABBLE-Kim Taehyung 🎃

Halloween Series: Demon Kim Taehyung

A lonely queen with a lust for revenge. An unpredictable demon who is bound to her side. The only thing keeping them together? A few summoning symbols, a dark and bloody common goal, and a single, red thread of fate.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Halloween, Spooky Season, Kim Taehyung, Taehyung, V, Taehyung x you, Taehyung x reader, Demon Taehyung

Genre: Dark Fluff/Suggestive, Angst if you squint

Warning: Mentions of death and past child abuse

Title: Bound to Me

(image credit: https://twitter.com/kanux4)

“Will you leave today?”

It is the same question that has left your lips every day since you met him.

And when he answers, it is the same answer he has given you every day in return.

“My darling, why would I ever leave you?”

Some days, that is all he offers you. Other days, like today, he gives you more.

Tossing aside his book and leaving the comfort of the fire, Taehyung crosses the room to where you stand-staring out the window at the barren, snow covered garden-and sliding his arms around your waist to rest at your hips, he leans in, pressing his lips to the juncture of your neck, in a lingering, gentle kiss.

“Our contract is not yet met, darling. I have no desire to leave until it is paid in full.” His lips run a path along your bare shoulder, and you feel him smirk slightly against your skin, as he speaks again, a hint of amusement in his tone, “Besides, if I left, heaven knows who or what would take advantage of your empty summoning circle.”

“And what would you know about heaven, demon?” You quip back almost instantly-though there is no bite to your tone-and he chuckles softly against your skin, where his lips still rest, warm and moist, at the crest of your shoulder.

“Not much.” Taehyung admits lightly, as he nips at your flesh once more, the feeling of his pointed teeth sending a slight shiver up your spine, as he pulls away from you, and sits back down once more before the fireplace, reaching for his book as he glances over at your form, still beside the window. “Come on, sweetheart. Stop being moody and let me enjoy your company.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, and he grins wickedly at you, fingers held out as they beckon for you to come to him, black nail polish and the tattoos that adorn his knuckles flashing in the dim light. “Don’t be stubborn, darling.” He tilts his head-dark purple hair falling over ebony irises-and his grin widens into something a little dangerous and boxy and carefree. “Come over here this instant, or I’ll be forced to come and get you myself.”

You sigh, hiding the smile that suddenly plays at your lips, and cross the room to do what he asks.

Because Kim Taehyung may be a demon-bound to you heart and soul until you complete your task-but you are just as much under his control as he is yours, though you’ll never admit it.

Because Kim Taehyung is heady and intoxicating and everything you could ever imagine and you hope-one day-that you’re ready when he answers your reoccurring question with the words you dread to hear.

*******

The feel of Taehyung’s long fingers-rings cold against your bare skin-running methodically up the length of the scars on your back, tracing them like maps, makes you shiver in a pleasant way, face buried in the pillow so you cannot see him.

“Tell me again, darling,” He suddenly murmurs, voice low and dangerous, bordering on a growl, close to your ear, making you jump. “What you want me to say to that bastard right before I slit his throat.”

“You already know.” You reply, slightly breathless, as you turn your head to the side to glance up at him, raising a brow in his direction, as his fingers curl into the fabric of the pillow on either side of your head and he towers over you. “I don’t care what you say to him. As long as you make him suffer.”

“Hmmm.” The demon hums in low satisfaction under his breath, as he reaches up to brush your hair out of the way, baring your neck, before he leans over and runs his tongue-hot and wet and dexterous-up over the revealed flesh of your throat, to the juncture of your ear, nibbling on the lobe there for a moment with the feel of sharp teeth and a smirk.

“You do know how to drive a demon crazy, sweetheart. And besides-” He pulls back from you, gripping your chin in his fingers to make you look at him. “Pain and suffering are my forte. So rest easy, knowing that that son of a bitch who hurt you will plead and beg for every last, pathetic, drawn out moment of his life.”

You roll over onto your back, locking your gaze with his, his hands still denting the pillow on either side of your head, and you can’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction, as Taehyung’s eyes rove down the length of your naked body with something shamelessly akin to insane hunger and desire washing over his dark irises.

You reach up, letting your hands trace over the hard planes of his chiseled stomach and chest, driving him crazy for just a moment longer, before you say with a twist of your lips, “Now you’re catering to my taste, demon. Your words are making me want to beg-which is truly unbecoming of a queen-for you to take me here and now.”

The corner of Taehyung’s full mouth twitches upward into the beginning of a self satisfied smirk. “Really. Well,” His tongue darts out to sweep slowly across his lips, and he’s staring at your exposed flesh like a dangerous animal who is ready to devour his prey. “You know what I always say, sweetheart.” He reaches out, lightly resting his fingers around the base of your throat.

“You can be the queen in every other aspect of your life, but in our bed?” His long fingers, the charcoal nails dark against your skin, tighten slightly at the column of your throat, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest in response, making him flash pointed teeth at you and lean down, the intense hunger in his eyes now swirling dangerously. “I’m the king.”

*******

You’re sitting in the garden a few weeks later, bundled in a cloak and hat and gloves against the cold, when everything finally comes out into the open.

You’re getting so close to finishing your father, to finding the ending of the revenge you’ve carried close to your heart for so long, and with that, the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach-that has been slowly growing day by day, ever since Taehyung entered your life-has suddenly become too much to bear.

Flipping a page in the novel you are halfheartedly reading, you let out a sigh, your breath freezing in the cold winter air even before it can leave your lips.

The garden is desolate and empty this time of year-the cobbles covered in a crunchy layer of snow, the trees nothing but dark branches against a gray sky-but winter has always been your favorite, because it is quiet and serene and everyone leaves you alone.

Everyone except Kim Taehyung, apparently.

“What are you doing out here?” The demon appears in one of the archways that surround the garden, and as he approaches you, you can already tell he is shivering violently beneath the coat he has thrown on. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re gonna freeze out here. Are you crazy?”

You don’t look up at him, instead, choosing to turn another page in your book, before you reply casually, “I forgot, demon, that you’re not used to the cold, being from such a hot place.”

“Hey.” He replies in a wounded tone, making you smirk slightly, as you keep your head bent to your book. “That’s a rumor, okay? Hell can actually be quite icy, especially if you get on the big guy’s bad side.”

He sits down beside you, rubbing his hands together for warmth, as you finally close the book and glance over at him.

You had always been told that demons were to be feared-dark, inhumane, cruel beings who simply did what you asked and then killed you when they had the chance-but Kim Taehyung is dangerous and dark and cruel in another way, and your heart thuds painfully in your chest just thinking about it.

He notices you staring, and turning his head to you, he asks, “What?”

You clear your throat, glancing back down at the book that is now closed in your lap, as you smooth your fingers over the gilded letters of the title. Finally, you manage to query in a small voice, “Will you leave today, Kim Taehyung?”

He sighs from beside you-though it is lighthearted-and leaning back on his hands on the cold, stone bench, he tilts his head back to look up at the sky, violet locks hanging down the collar of the coat he wears, as he ponders your question silently for several moments.

Finally, he quips back, “Is your father dead at your feet, darling?” He waits for you to answer, brow cocked, stunningly sharp and beautiful profile outlined against the winter sky, and when you finally shake your head, he nods, grinning at you, before he says, “Then no. I’m not leaving today. I still have work to do.”

You swallow hard at his words, your mouth suddenly dry, and your fingers grow still on the pages of the book in your lap.

Taehyung doesn’t seem to notice.

Standing up, once again vigorously rubbing his hands together, his breath coming in bright bursts of steam from his mouth, he looks down at you, offering a hand, as he exclaims, “Now come on. Let’s go warm up inside.” He tilts his head and offers you a slightly smug smirk. “Either by the fire or by our own methods.”

You don’t look at him, and you don’t take his offered hand.

Instead, there are several seconds of tense silence between the two of you, and then you suddenly let the words slip from your lips, quiet and fervent and cold, “I know everything, Taehyung.”

You don’t look at him, but you feel the pause in the air around you, as he considers your words.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, and there is a shake to his voice, though you are sure it’s just from the cold.

You finally manage to look up at him, your eyes meeting his own, and your fingers clench into the material of your overcoat, as you take in a shaky breath of your own and push forward, “I know everything.”

Recognition dawns across the demon’s ethereal features, but you do not stop, coming to your feet before him, the book tumbling to the cobblestones, suddenly forgotten in the moment. “When I summoned you,” You stumble over the words, as they all fight their way to the tip of your tongue, ready to be released, to be free. “I made a mistake.”

Taehyung’s eyes darken slightly, and his voice is slightly dangerous, as he murmurs in a low tone, “(Y/N)-”

You speak over him, hands now twisting into the fabric of your skirt feverishly. “I made a mistake. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I visited the summoning circle on a whim last night, and I saw-I saw what I had done wrong.”

His lips part, as if he’s going to try to speak again, exhale emerging on a cloud of frost from between the gap, and he steps toward you, reaching out to touch you, but you back away from him, almost stumbling over the bench you had been sitting on in your haste to put space between the two of you.

“You lied to me.” You point a trembling finger in his direction, and the words, and the look on his face, make a bitter taste flood into your mouth, but you cannot stop now. “You were never bound to me. I summoned you, and I messed up, and you’ve always been free.”

He sighs, heavy this time, something unreadable crossing his eyes, and then says gently, “(Y/N), I can explain-”

“Why are you still here?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, the words seeming to hang in the crisp air between the two of you. “Why didn’t you leave? You’re not bound to me, Kim Taehyung. So why have you stuck around?”

Your body is trembling and your knees feel weak, but you have to hear his answer. You need to know.

When he looks at you, his dark irises are swirling, and his features are set, normally full lips pressed into a thin line, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and truthful, “I stayed because of you.”

Your mouth drops open, and the only thing you can manage to say is, “What?”

He steps toward you once more, and this time, you do not push away from him, your knees resting against the cold stone of the bench at your back. He reaches out, lightly brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and his ungloved hands are cold against the rosy skin of your cheeks, as he runs a finger down to your jawline. “I stayed because of you, sweetheart.”

“Why?” You ask next, feeling suddenly and completely out of your depth.

“Because-” He sighs, and the pad of his finger goes across the skin of your lips like a feather, as his gaze holds yours. “Like an idiot, I fell for you the moment you summoned me into existence.”

You swallow, and your sure the demon standing before you can hear how loudly your heart is pounding.

“You were dramatic beauty and bloody revenge and sharp edges hiding an incredible soul and an even more beautiful heart, and I didn’t care that you had screwed up and I was technically free.” Taehyung continues, his voice a low murmur in the close space between the two of you, warmed by your shared breaths in the cold air. “All I wanted was to stay at your side and do anything you asked of me. For the rest of your life.”

“But you-” You began to say, and then stopped yourself, at the look on his face.

“I was never bound to you, darling.” He breathes out, letting his hand drop the base of your throat, where the pounding of your pulse could be felt easily beneath his fingers at the hollow of your collarbone. His eyes trace up the length of your neck, back to your eyes. “Not by magic. But absolutely by choice. And every day, every single day,” He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, followed by a slightly humorless chuckle. “You asked me if I was going to leave, and if I’d had a heart, it would have broken it every single time.”

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say on a whisper, reaching out to cup his face in your hands, the fabric of your gloves sliding over the flawless smooth skin that stretches across his perfect cheekbones. “I’m sorry for asking you that. And I’m sorry I never believed you when you told me no.”

The corners of his lips turn upward, and his fingers thread through your own, where they still rest on the planes of his face. “Now you know, sweetheart.” He shivered beneath your touch. “Damn it. Can we please get out of this cold?”

********

The door to the bedroom creaks open, and you stand from your seat beside the fire, anticipation and nervousness and hopefulness swirling, all at the same time, in the pit of your stomach.

You wait for a breathless moment, and then Taehyung appears in the darkened doorway, shutting the heavy door behind him silently, as you hurry across the floor on stockinged feet to his side.

“Well?” You ask breathlessly, as he turns to face you, and you meet his unreadable gaze.

He grins boxily, sharpened teeth flashing bright white in the dim light from the fire, and holds up a knife, dried blood marking the blade a deep maroon. “He’s dead, sweetheart. Just like you wanted.”

You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief through your teeth, as you manage to return his smile. “Thank you, Taehyung.”

Tossing the knife onto the chest of drawers beside the door, the demon cocks his head as he looks at you, a slightly mischievous look coming across his features, as he reaches out, hands going around your waist, to tug you to him. “Don’t you wanna know the details, darling?”

You reach up, pushing purple locks back from his forehead, and run a finger across a splash of blood that has marked the flawless skin above his dark brow. It is slightly congealed, but still liquid, and when you pull your finger away, the vivid crimson shines dark in the firelight on your fingertip as you admire the sight.

“No.” You reply simply, glancing up from the blood to meet his gaze once more as he watches you, body pressed against your own. “I trust you made his last moments a living hell. That’s good enough for me.”

You reach for a handkerchief, and swipe the blood-the last physical piece of your father-onto the crisp, clean white surface.

“Shit, you’re terrifying.” Taehyung growls out, pulling you back flush against him, as he bends his head to nip the skin playfully along the side of your neck. “I love it.”

You laugh, his breath tickling your ear, as he presses a sloppy kiss to the juncture of your throat, and pulling back from him slightly, so that you can look up at him, you ask seriously, “Are you ever going to leave, demon?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a smirk. “Never.”

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thegoodprincess · 3 years

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Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 3

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 1.7k [series, ongoing]

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

Author’s note: A character named Malachi appears in this chapter. His dialogue is italicized for the purpose of demonstrating that he has the ability to telepathically communicate with the main female OC. Just thought I’d point that out. 😉

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 3. Rescue

'Cause all I need is the love you breathe. Put your lips on me and I can live. — Mika

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In an instant I was completely submerged with a few feet of water above my head. I was met with the piercing feeling of the water right away. It was so severely cold that I was sent into a brief state of shock from the almost unbearable pain. Every muscle in my body simultaneously tensed, my throat felt as though I was being asphyxiated, and my eyes burned.

As ironic as it sounds, I took a few moments to ground myself. I tried as best I could to endure being suspended in the water. All four of my other senses were completely numbed out, forcing me to feel the full extent of the water.

Willing myself to focus on something else, literally anything that would momentarily distract me from the pain that had activated my fight or flight response, was when I noticed how eerily silent it was underwater. It was so much more strikingly different than it was on land.

The silence above the surface felt like being alone; blissful, refreshing, and introspective. But underneath the water it was lonely; pressurized, desolate, and suffocating.

Being beneath the darkness of the ice only amplified the absence of sound. This in turn made it seem as though the frantic thoughts in my head were the only thing I heard; they were deafening.

Once the initial shock wore off, I identified the pain as being equivalent to repeatedly being stabbed by a million extremely sharp blades all at once. The pain only intensified as I moved through the water. Every stroke of my arms and kick of my legs transformed each penetrating stab into an agonizing slice that tore deep along my skin from what felt like the inside out. Although I could not die, the sensation was excruciating as it traveled through every nerve ending of my body. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like for him.

Fighting through my discomfort, I adjusted my eyes in the dark water so that I could search for him. I spotted him slowing sinking further and further down, making no effort to swim. His eyes were closed and his face was serene as if he were sleeping. The water surrounding him was tinted scarlet from the blood oozing out his wound. It was safe to assume that he blacked out on impact from shock. If I didn’t get to him quickly enough, he was going to drown.

Using all the force I could muster I aggressively swam to him and was able to grab ahold of his wrist. After tugging him towards me, I did the only thing I could think of that would save his life. I kissed him, giving him my breath. Upon my lips meeting his, a blindingly bright light was emitted and my wings came around him engulfing him in a bubble of my aura. I closed my eyes and we ascended upwards near the surface of the water. Both of our heads broke to the surface. I took a big gulp of air, but he remained unconscious. Tucking my arms under his and gripping him tightly to keep his head above water, I swam to the edge of the river. Once I reached the edge I hauled the both of us up out of the water.

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I dragged his limp body back to the cold pavement. I tried as best I could to find an area that wasn’t coated in a copious amount of snow and gently laid him down on his back. In an instant my lips were back on his to breathe life back into him. I then pressed his chest to push out any water that he may have swallowed into his lungs. Immediately he began coughing up water, sputtering out between choked breaths. He was just barely conscious. His eyes flicked rapidly beneath his heavy eyelids. He barely managed to open them after I gently slapped at his face, but he only looked at me with a glassy stare. He wasn’t fully aware of what was going on or of my presence. His body was only instinctually taking in oxygen to fight for survival.

Taking a moment to assess his state, it was the first time I was able to fully take in his appearance. His skin was pale white, it almost looked translucent. His lips were already tinged blue and ice was beginning to form on his eyelashes. His hair was completely drenched and sticking in clumps to his face and scalp. I moved his bangs off his forehead.

He was shivering. I placed my hand on his cheek. His skin was ice cold to the touch. The water had gone through every fiber of his clothes despite the layers, throughly soaking his body down to the bone. The air around him only intensified the heat loss, bitting viscously at him. He was softly moaning and whining in pain.

It was then that I noticed the snow that was near his shoulder was beginning to stain crimson. Anxiously I brought my hands from where his collarbones were up to my face. The opaque ruby fluid clung to my skin thickly coating my fingers. His clothes were not only soaked with freezing cold water but an excessive amount of his blood. The wound was bleeding at a rapid rate now.

The odds of him surviving were stacked highly against him. Even though I had saved him from drowning, my efforts were going to be in vain. If I didn’t act soon he would imminently die in my arms from either hemorrhaging or hypothermia.

Taking two fingers I palpated his neck to check his pulse. It was sluggish, indicating his health was rapidly declining. His breathing was slow and labored. He was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness.

I used up a lot of my aura already saving him under the water, but had enough to temporarily mend the wound. However, it came with a catch. On the condition that I did heal him, it would result in me not having enough energy to teleport us back to my home where I could finish reviving him. Going on foot would take too long as it would surely run the risk of him dying before we even reached half way there. And on the off chance he did survive the journey, I’d first have to restore my own spirit before I could properly attend to him. Time was of the essence.

Weighing my options I decided to tackle one task at a time, that being to heal his wound, then worry about effectively warming him up after. Placing the palm of my hand gently against his shoulder, I closed my eyes concentrating, willing the golden light energy to flow out of me and into him. In my mind I could see the threads of his being fixing themselves, my aura weaving together the broken pieces. Thankfully his bleeding stopped, but he was still shivering. I felt weaker but it was important that I stay focused. Now I needed to call for help.

“Malachi!!!” I screamed using a little more of my aura to reach out to him, summoning his aid.

Suddenly the shadows that surrounded us quickly came together rising up from the ground and morphed into an intimidating silhouette that towered over us. Before us stood a figure shrouded in what could only be described as the shadows of darkness. They wore a oversized hood that covered a majority of their face. Using their blacken fingers, they removed the garment allowing me a clear look at their face. A boy’s daunting face was revealed.

He had ashen skin that looked as though he rubbed soot into it. Despite the gray coloring of his skin his face was handsome with sharp angular features like his nose, cheekbones, and jawline. All made him appear traditionally masculine. His chin-length hair was straight and the color of the midnight sky missing the glimmer of the moonlight. It fell haphazardly over one of his pale gray eyes, one of his only “light” features. Long billowy black silk robes cascaded down his lean frame further cloaking him in the shadows. Some may have easily mistaken him for the grim reaper, but he wasn’t such a being. He looked at us bemusedly stunned trying to assess the situation. Pity swam in his usually aloof abalone irises. His eyes nervously moved between the two of us as I laid embracing the mysterious boy’s body.

“Please Malachi, I don’t have enough energy. You have to get us home so I can help him. Hurry, he’s dying,” I yelled panicking.

Malachi looked at me confused. His hauntingly beautiful voice echoed in my head. “Mistress you are not allowed to get involved in human ordeals such as their death. It is against our nature.” He cautioned, but his warning was laced faintly with sympathy.

“I know but he wasn’t supposed to die tonight. Death was meant for another. He just so happened to get involved,” I defended hastily. The longer we spent discussing the events that unfolded tonight, the more this boy’s life force ebbed further away.

“Then that is his doing, we must not concern ourselves—,” Malachi argued coldly before I abruptly cut him off.

“Malachi! I beg you. Please.” I groveled in distress at his feet. I don’t know what convinced Malachi. It may have been the way my voice had cracked at the end of my plea, the continuous tears that brimmed over my eyes obscuring my vision and left trails down my cheeks, or how my body curled in anguish as I desperately clung to the boy in my arms, but he reluctantly succumbed.

“Fine. But if there are to be repercussions, you are to take responsibility,” Malachi negotiated bluntly, void of almost all emotion. Wearing a somber expression he knelt down, encircling us both in his arms. The shadows that had previously flowed around him had stretched out towards us. Swiftly they began to envelop us, shielding us from the scene of the river before us. With that we were transported home.

#taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #taehyung x oc #bts supernatural au #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts army #taehyung #my writing

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seasonal-shifts-au-fanartfunart · 4 years

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Father Christmas-Father Winter

We interrupt our regularly scheduled asks for a Christmas fic because A) inspiration from one of @marvelfangeek09‘s comments: #also i know youre joking but i have NO DOUBT that patton dressed up as santa and magicked a bunch of presents into peoples houses and B) I literally got kinda excited about the Tiniest little inch of snow on the ground this morning. and I’m gonna call this my summery.

Words: 1590~

Warnings: Look. Everything Winter!Patton related tends to get a bit melancholy at the end, I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I promise, this was supposed to just be cute and fluffy. Tell me if there’s anything I need to note.

Patton knew Good ‘Ol Saint Nick. He even still had the little cloak the man had given him. It was obviously too small for him to wear now, but, he still kept it in his room. (He knew exactly where it was too, it was folded neatly in a keepsake chest that he’d decorated to mimic a wrapped present with a little bow). Either way- Patton knew Saint Nicolas, so he didn’t mind that the little presents got attributed to him now. Besides, if he let everybody know it was him, the whole thing wouldn’t be half as rewarding or fun.

He did, however, miss when kids asked for things he could like... actually make.

“What even IS that,” He whispered, staring at the letter. “Ok, ok- um, maybe she’ll like... maybe a rocking horse? ah- no that’d be too big, I don’t think the parents would forget that- A doll is always a safe bet-”

“Santa?”

Patton stiffened. This is what he gets for talking to himself. Patton turned, smiling at the little girl as he leaned down to her level. “Hello little miss- uh-” he spared a glance to the letter, “Miss Jemima, is it? Whatever are you doing up?”

She tilted her head, “You’re younger than I thought.”

Patton smiled, nose crinkling as he restrained a laugh, “No kiddo, I’m just older than I look. I’m a good several thousand years old you know.”

The girl grasped his cheeks and pushed his cheeks up so it made crinkles around his eyes. She nodded decisively, “Ok.”

Patton laughed and pulled his face out of the child’s hands, “It’s very late, Miss Jemima, I’d think you’d be asleep.”

“The bells woke me up.” Jemima said, eyes fixed on the small set of bells that adorned the red outfit Patton wore (despite the fact that red was more Roman’s color than his).

She gasped, “Where’s the reindeer?”

Patton’s eyes widened. As much as he liked to indulge the imaginations of the world, he was not about to use all his energy to take flying reindeer of all things around a global trip. He just blipped across the world like he did normally. But- He pointed to the roof, and ever so slightly dropped the intimidate temperature so the wood in the roof of the house creaked. Close enough to the sound of the shuffle of hooves above them.

The look of wonder in the child’s eyes was worth it. She hopped, exclaiming ‘oh!’ a few times, and raced into another room before running back in with a couple of carrots and a few cookies. “For the reindeer! And for you!”

Patton shook his head, “Oh, oh, I don’t- I don’t need anything, kiddo, I’ve got all I need-”

Jemima frowned, “But-” She raised her collection towards him, practically pouting.

Patton sighed, shoulders falling, “Ok, ok. Just one cookie though, ok?”

“Are you suuure?”

Patton bobbed a little before shaking his head, “I am feeling a little dangerous-” She tilted her head and Patton extended a hand, “Alright, I’ll take a second cookie.”

The girl dumped the carrots into his hands and then topped the pile with two cookies. Patton laughed. “Thank you very much, little miss.”

In a gentle motion, he sent the collection back home- hopefully Logan or Roman could figure out a way to use the carrots-, after snatching one of the cookies from the pile.

He glanced down at the girl’s letter as she looked at him with wonder in her eyes. He glanced back up, “Now, um, I don’t have what you asked for, and I apologize for that, but, is there something else you’d really like?”

Jemima shook her head. She looked down at her feet before gasping, “Wait, can you make it snow?”

Patton startled, blinking. “Can I- what?”

“I wanna be able to play in the snow! That way it can be a ‘White Christmas’! I haven’t had one before! Can you make it snow?”

Patton glanced out the window. He could change up the usual weather plan, just this once... Patton smiled, “I can most certainly do that, kiddo. Anything else, at all?”

She shook her head.

Patton nodded, “Alrighty then, one White Christmas for one Miss Jemima.” He opened his palm a sparkle of frost coating the glove as he summoned a small snowflake. Jemima clasped her hands around the flake, melting on her palm as she opened her hand to look. Patton giggled.

“Look outside.” Patton directed.

Jemima raced to the window, as she looked out to the sky, the gentle flutter of snow curling through the sky.

He took a bite of his gifted (now incidentally frozen) cookie as he stood up, watching the girl’s amazement. He glanced down at his feet, and nodded to himself, and stepped backwards into the doorway back home.

“Thank you S-” Jemima turned, looking up to find her Santa Claus missing. Jemima glanced down at the floor, a light layer of slowly melting frost that curled from around a pair of boot-prints. The only proof he’d been there at all.

Roman probably shouldn’t be in Patton’s Room. Snowdrops seemed to follow him as he walked through the snowy room, and he half wondered if his presence would somehow hurt Patton.

Roman rubbed his arms. He just needed to find something... He’d be in and out and- Ok. He just... missed Patton. He can admit that. The idea was simple. Patton kept so many things, especially from the humans he’d befriend, and it helped him when he could no longer see them so, maybe something of Patton’s would help him.

That said, he was usually only in Patton’s room with Patton. It felt a little weird to be here alone. He eventually found the main portion of his room, Patton’s bed was blanketed (ha, pun.) with a layer of snow, untouched. Roman glanced down to the foot of the bed to see a small wooden chest. He’d seen Patton take out extra blankets from that before. Patton wouldn’t mind if he borrowed a blanket. He’d bring it back later.... after his own room stopped being cold. How did Patton ever sleep in this cold of a room?

Roman brushed the layer of snow off the chest, and let out a soft laugh as he discovered it looked a bit like a Christmas present. Roman undid the latch and lifted the lid, glancing over the contents.

Roman tugged out the largest of the blankets inside, pressing the soft fabric against his face. The blanket smelled almost overwhelmingly of pine and spruce, likely from being in the wooden chest so long, coco, and a faint hint of some spice- maybe cinnamon? Whatever it was, it was familiar. And vaguely comforting. Roman let out a soft breath and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Yes, Patton wouldn’t mind if he took it for now. He’d give it back when Patton came home. (Because Patton would come home. He just would....right?)

Roman moved to put the chest’s lid back, but- Was that the old cloak Patton wore during the 4th Century?

Roman dusted off the garment, most of the color seemed to have faded, having once been a pretty red. Patton always looked pretty good in red, in his opinion. (Although, he also just liked that color a lot, so maybe he was biased.) It was so much smaller than he remembered. Heavens, how old were they all during the 4th Century? Patton had to be maybe 10 in human terms? He ran his fingers over the cloak and glanced at what it had rested above-

“Oh.” Roman rested the old cloak atop one of the other blankets in the chest, looking over one of many letters, neatly folded. He pulled out one of them.

“Dear Santa Claws,

How are you? I hope you’re good!! I didn’t get to say thank you for the snow last year! Me and my friends made bunches of snowmen, and Papa took me out to go sledding! If you can, I think it’d be really nice to see more snow this year too. One of my friends said they don’t get Santa, they have a bunch of candles though. Do you do something else for them? Oh, and, Mama said that I probably didn’t get what I wanted last year because you didn’t know what it was! Sorry! This year I think just a fluffy puppy stuffy would be good!! With the spots! And if you can’t get one, I don’t mind! I think more snow would be just great. Or... maybe a bell, if you have extra? They were really pretty. Thank you! I’m gonna set out more cookies and food for the reindeer this year, I hope that’s ok. Oh! And what’s their names?! Give them hugs for me!

Thank you!

Jemima”

The letter was signed with a little heart at the end of the child’s name. Roman glanced over the other letters and laughed, “Oh, of course you’re Santa.”

Roman frowned, folding the letter and replacing it. He covered them again with the cloak and he shuffled through the rest of the chest. He eventually uncovered a red outfit, more fit to an older Patton.

Roman tugged on the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned his cheek against the blanket, “When did you stop being Santa, too?” Roman whispered.

Roman glanced over his shoulder towards the door from Patton’s Room. He let out a huff, “Dear Christmas Roses... Well... I do look good in red.”

#This is totally unedited but IDC #Season!Sides #Winter!Patton #Spring!Roman #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #fanfic #writing #Seasonal Shifts au

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