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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twelve

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 3.4K

Notes: Just a little chapter as the next one is gonna be a hefty mamma.

May 1940

Bess woke up before her alarm and withdrew the blackouts from her windows. Had she her own way, the blackouts would never be up and each morning she’d rise with the sun. Laundry was strung between the windows of the old mills, and she could see Mrs Russo wrestling with some bedsheets. 7 o’clock. The warmth of spring had finally settled, and Bess took her morning cup of tea by the kitchen window, letting open the sash and welcoming the fresh air.

Despite the war, and her part in it, Bess’ life in Manchester was small and she welcomed it. She glanced around her little flat. The tiny kitchenette with its table at the centre, the adjoining bedroom and en suite; a toilet, sitting bath and sink. The metal frame of the small double bed was tied with silk scarves and she had used tape to put up pictures. Cut outs from magazines mostly, but a few photographs. The bedside table was adorned with a lamp she found in a skip, a few books from home, and Tom’s photograph. She’d read a feature in one of her fashion magazines about bohemian apartments in Paris and had attempted to decorate the old flat in its likeness. Bess thought on how many of those beautiful Parisian buildings may be just rubble now and suddenly felt thankful for her peeling wallpaper and cold floors.

While her bacon and eggs cooked on the hob, she reread Tom’s last letter. It had sat on the kitchen table for two weeks, awaiting a reply. Torn between delight and anger, Bess had no idea what to say.

“I could easily understand if you never wanted to talk to me again, but this? These horrible half-given accounts of your day with no substance? I want to know you, Bess”

She remembered how frustrated she got when all Tom sent was tales of shore leave and crass attempts at humour. Really, he deserved more from her. She may not have been his girl, but she was his friend.

“Queenie Warren doesn’t deserve your cruelty just because she likes the company of men”

Never did she think she’d be scolded by Tom. Not when he was so right. Queenie had faults, certainly. Many. She was an obnoxious, selfish gossip. But enjoying men was not one of them. If Bess had the daring and the patience, perhaps she would enjoy them as much as Queenie.

“Please believe me. She asked me about the battle at the dance and it really was just one letter”

Did she believe him? She thought of all the times they had laughed at Queenie, of how many times she had annoyed him. But Tom was all about his reputation. It wouldn’t be the first lie he’d told her, nor would she be the last secret he kept. He’d apologised, yes, but it wasn’t enough for the heartbreak left in his wake. Once upon a time he was her defender, and with supposedly one letter, he had undone Bess’ years of overcoming her insecurities and doubts.

“I loved seeing myself through your eyes”

She resolved to tell him more, and tell Douglas too; his son needed to know he was loved.

“And if anything happened to me out here, I thought it would be easier for you if no-one knew”

Had Bess ever really considered what would happen if he didn’t come home? A violent shiver rocked her body. In the months before the war, Tom Bennett had become her primary source of comfort and joy. Could she content herself to a life looking after an alcoholic father and making clothes for people who scarcely knew her name? A life without Tom?

“I miss you”

Bess kissed the place he had signed his name and tucked the letter into her purse. She would reply that night.

An hour later, Bess stepped through the main doors of Manchester Royal Infirmary with Helen and Joan, her fellow trainees from Carver Mills. Helen was a posh girl a year or two older than Bess. When women were conscripted for war work, she had come to the Infirmary. This was her first job. Joan was from Bolton and had a similar upbringing to Bess. Both were bright, kind women of the world. They enjoyed Bess’ quiet assuredness and never wanted more from her and, in turn, Bess wanted to give them everything. Together, they formed a found family.

Their morning was spent practicing their stitches. Watch one, do one, teach one, as the saying goes. Bess, naturally, was best. Her nimble fingers made quick and neat work of wounds, and she left early to attend to soldiers whose eyes had been damaged by gas. When Helen and Joan finished their lessons with the matron, they met Bess in the canteen.

“Stern by name, stern by nature,” Joan said as she slumped into the seat next to Bess.

“If I never see a needle again it’ll be too soon.” Helen added.

“You’re in the wrong professional, Hels.” Bess smiled over the lip of her cup, and the three settled into an amicable, if exhausted, silence. Helen, sat primly in her seat, broke the silence.

“When’s your next date with James?” Her voice was soft and inquisitive, and Bess couldn’t help but smile at her, even if she hated the question.

“Tomorrow evening, but it’s not a date-”

“She’s too hung up on sailor boy,” Joan cut in. Bess gave her a look that was returned by a coy smile. Late at night, when the girls were missing their families or tired from a day at the hospital, they piled onto Bess’ bed a chattered the night away. They knew everything about each other, from Helen’s troubled relationship with her distant mother to Joan’s scandalous time as a nightclub hostess, and the ongoing saga of Bess Vaughn and Tom Bennett.

“Date or not, he’s a good-looking distraction.” Helen winked and Joan laughed at her.

“And with that, ladies,” Bess stood from her seat. “I shall be off.”

“Hang on, we’ve got about a hundred beds to make this afternoon!” Joan was incredulous.

“Not me. I’m off to job number two.” Bess waved her friends goodbye and stepped into the bright afternoon. A bus ride later and she was walking that familiar gravel path to the grey mansion. It had been months since she had seen Robina Chase, but money was tight and so her mending and sewing had resumed. With fabric now rationed, her clientele were calling upon her services to alter garments from years passed, maintaining to their friends an air of stoicism, normalcy, “keep calm and carry on”.

Half expecting it to open as she approached, Bess made to knock the bolted wooden door when she heard a laugh from the garden. It pealed like bells, tinkling gaily over the hedgerow, and Bess realised that it belonged to a child. Following the sound, she passed a bike leant beneath a window and her curiosity grew. What bizarre gathering had Mrs Chase assembled here this afternoon? A conscientious objector, a seamstress-cum-nurse and…

A little boy. Bess entered the garden through a gap in the hedge and found Douglas Bennett engaged in a game of football with the child. The little boy kicked the ball and it rolled into the makeshift goal post.

“Right between my legs!” Douglas laughed, and Bess noted that it was the first time she had seen him smile, really smile, in years. The man turned to retrieve the ball and saw Bess smiling at him. “Hello, love. Robina said you were coming,” he was a little out of breath, his usually worn face had softened and life shone in his eyes. He looked ten years younger.

Bess indicated to the little boy. “Who’s this then?” she said with a smile. Douglas, ball in hand, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“This is Jan. Harry brought him home from Poland.” The boy, Jan, smiled up at Douglas then looked to Bess. She held out her hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jan. I’m Bess.”

He tentatively shook her hand. “Hello,” his voice was quiet but Bess sensed his timidity was due to the language and not, she thought, his natural character. Jan’s hair was shorn and his clothes looked a little threadbare. For a moment, she observed him. The brightness of his eyes dimmed a little and he looked away. Damn, I’ve made him uncomfortable.

“You’ll get used to Bess, Jan. She’s a quiet one, but kind.” Douglas winked at Bess softly and she blushed. Despite both of their insistence to the contrary, Douglas and Tom were awfully similar.

There was a seconds’ pause. Then, Bess grabbed the ball from Douglas’ arms and sprinted to the end of the garden. “Come on, Jan!” The little boy laughed and ran after her. Dropping the ball on the ground, she kicked it to the him and he shot past Douglas towards the goal. Just as Jan swung his leg to score, Douglas picked him up round the middle and Jan squealed with delight.

“Bess.” A cold, clipped voice cut over the merriment causing Douglas and Jan to still. Robina Chase was stood at the door to the lounge, indicating with her arm that Bess should come inside. Bess looked at Jan and rolled her eyes. The boy laughed and watched her disappear into the house.

“I see you’ve met Jan,” Robina said, a pinched, somewhat pained look on her face.

“Yes, sweet boy.” Bess replied as she began assembling her tailor’s stand.

“Harry brought him back from Poland. Left him for me to look after.” Bess reflected on how Douglas was outside playing with him while Robina lurked inside. She said nothing. Since her outburst at Mrs Chase in August, and Robina’s altercation with Tom, Bess had exchanged very few words with the woman on her visits. Today seemed to be no exception. Aside from asking her to move so she might tailor her clothes, they said very little until Robina called for Jan to come inside.

“He came with barely any clothes. I wondered if you might alter some of Harry’s old things?”

“Of course,”

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Harry was just as wiry at his age. I’ll pay, of course.”

At that moment, Douglas entered the lounge. Seeing Mrs Chase upon the tailor’s stand and Bess on her knees at her feet, he coughed and mumbled something about waiting outside.

“No need, Douglas,” Robina stepped down. “We’re finished here I think.” Bess nodded and began packing away.

“I’ll see myself out, Mrs Chase.” Robina and Douglas were talking lowly in armchairs when Bess had finished tidying her things, and she didn’t want to disturb their bizarre tête-à- tête. She called a goodbye up the stairs to Jan and hurried from the house. The world of Mrs Chase was not the same one that Bess inhabited, and the moment she stepped into the sunlight Bess relaxed, as though every sinew had been pulled taut.

“Bess,” Douglas appeared at the side of the house and reached for his bike. “Need a lift?”

Bess beamed. “As a matter of fact, I do. Off home for dinner, seeing as I’m out this way.”

“Hop on then,” Douglas laughed as Bess eagerly climbed onto the handlebars of his racing bike and they sped down the drive. From an upstairs window, Mrs Chase steered Jan away.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

They were back in Longsight within the hour. The journey was quiet yet contented; Bess had missed the comfort of Douglas’ broad shoulders and, though he hated to admit it, he had missed the feeling of Bess resting against his chest. When Bess had disembarked outside her father’s house, she invited Douglas inside for a cup of tea.

“You’re alright, got things to be getting on with.” The world-worn man had returned, quiet and reserved. For some reason, Bess didn’t want to let him go just yet.

“How’s Lois getting on?”

“Ah, well,” he removed his cap and rubbed his face. “I suppose you’ll have heard.”

Bess nodded. Cora had told her of Lois’ pregnancy by Harry. “If she ever needs any help, just ask. You know, with the labour and everything.”

“Thanks, love. She’s just so angry at everything and I don’t know how to make it better for her.”

“You can’t make it better Douglas. Just be there for her.” Bess thought of her secret promise to Tom. “And what about Tom? Have you heard from him?”

Douglas sighed. “Not for a little while. No-” He trailed off, thoughts of his son obvious across his face. Bess took his hand in hers.

“Write to him. I know it takes a while what with the auxiliaries getting out there, but he needs to know that your worried for him. I know he worries about you.” Douglas gave her a quizzical look and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when a shrill voice carried along the street.

Queenie Warren was hurrying along the road. She was overdressed as usual, hair haphazardly curled and lipstick far too bright for the spring day. Bess had to admit though, her dress was pretty.

“Hiya Douglas, Bess.” She wobbled past them as fast as her high heels would carry her. “Can’t stop, visiting Frank’s mam.” She blew them a kiss and went on her way. Bess watched her go. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t like Queenie.

“Bess?” She turned at Douglas’ voice. “Everything alright?” He asked, for Bess’ face had grown stormy as she glowered at the other woman. She simply gave Douglas a small nod. He touched his cap once more, and the two unlikely friends went silently about their business.

The house was quiet when she unlocked the door, apart from the ticking of the clock and the chatter of children playing out in the ginnel. Potatoes were sat in the filled sink, next to them a small note.

Bess. In case you’re here early, would you mind peeling the spuds? The cold ham is in the fridge. We should be back by 6. Cora x

Bess looked to the clock. Half past four. She made herself a pot of tea and settled at the table. The potatoes could wait, for the letter in her purse had waited long enough to be answered.

Dear Tom,

It’s taken me a little while to reply. Your letter arrived a few weeks ago, and what with Albie going back and my nursing work, I found that my mind has never been in the right place to reply. As it stands, I am sitting down to write to you at dad’s kitchen table. Cora has tasked me with peeling potatoes while they’re at work, but I’d rather write to you.

As you addressed some of the offences I accused you of, I’ll attempt to do the same. Namely, giving you a letter that isn’t “shit”.

I had work at the infirmary this morning, practicing our surgical stitches with Ms. Stern, our matron. She’s an austere woman, incredibly bony, and Joan says she looks like a heron. After that I escaped to Robina Chase’s. You remember her, the woman you aggravated last time we saw each other? I was going across to alter some clothes for her and you’ll never guess what awaited me. Your dad and a little Polish boy playing football in her garden! Harry came back from Poland with him, Jan he’s called. Your dad looked happier than I’ve seen him in ages. I think he was pretending it was you. He misses you so much, Tom. I can see the worry in his eyes anytime he speaks of you. I’ve asked him to write to you. Told him to, really. There was a moment when he was playing football with Jan that he looked so much like you. It almost took my breath away, it was like you were there. You’re so alike and he loves you. I wish you’d tell each other more. He gave me a lift home after Robina’s (the less said about her the better). I’ve missed our bike rides together. Saw Queenie on the way home, can’t give you any updates there because, being at the Royal, I never see her thank God.

Why had she let Queenie taint the letter? Bess could feel her anger start to quicken.

She was off to see Frank’s mam. You were right, by the way, about everyone coupling up. Jude has a man, another farmer from the Land Army. She and Hattie are working so hard now that summer is approaching. Roberta has been spending more and more time with that teacher from the primary (please don’t tell anyone), and tomorrow I have a date with a solider from the infirmary. Got his eyes injured by gas. He can see now, but insisted on taking me on a date as a thank you for looking after him.

Bess knew full well what she was doing. Let’s see how you like it, Tom Bennett.

He’s called James. I think we’re going to the Palais but I’m not sure, he’s picking me up after my shift. How are you managing with only men aboard ship? Any French girls taken your fancy? We both know you have a reputation to maintain.

She paused her writing and took a deep breath. That’s enough. She looked over his last letter, trying to find something to write about. The apology.

I can’t pretend that I’m not still hurt by what you did, Tom. I wonder, have you told Douglas and Lois about me? All those years you looked out for me and protected me from Walter and the others. They thought me a freak and a witch. Did you really want to keep me secret just so you had something good all to yourself? Or was it because deep down, you agree with them and only see me as an outcast? Or someone to say you got you leg over? If the former, then please know that you don’t need me to discover that you are a good person. You broke my heart, Tom, but I know that deep down you are good, and kind. I wish you’d find it in yourself.

Maybe too much has changed for us to be anything other than acquaintances now, but I’d like to be your friend, if you want me. Stay safe.

Yours,

Bess.

There. It was done. She sealed the envelope and thought about it no more. That was until a knock on the door distracted her from potato peeling. Opening it, she saw the ratty face of the postman, Dennis Warley. She detested the man, but a postman was a postman.

“Dennis,” she nodded at him.

“Bess, is-”

She cut across him. “I have a letter here, could you take it for me.” She pressed it into his hands and he stared at it before looking at her. His eyes were wide, worried, and his hand shook as he placed the letter for Tom in his bag and retrieved another. He cleared his throat.

“Is your father here, Bess?” His voice quavered, and Bess’ eyes narrowed.

“He’s still at work.”

Dennis coughed again. “And Cora?”

“They’re all out.” The man swallowed nervously, and a trickle of panic gripped at Bess’ neck. “Dennis?” Her voice was but a whisper. “What is it?”

The postman handed the letter to Bess. It was a telegram. She didn’t take it. Dennis removed his cap and said solemnly, “Bess. I’m so sorry.”

Notes: I’m sorry too! This is a war drama, the angst levels are gonna be through the roof, but know that I will reward you in a few chapters time!

We’re with Tom for the next chapter, you know what’s coming…

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #the seamstress & the sailor #tom bennett x reader

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aphroditestempleimagines · 1 year

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The Obsidianite Jewel

A fem!reader x Chevalier Michel Fanfiction

Chapter 12 -> Chapters Masterlist

Words: a fuck ton this time

Warnings: graphicness, war, wounds, death, language etc

Summary: It all started when your fiancé, Prince Gilbert, brought you to the palace of Rhodolite. He hoped he would find the secrets of the princes. Instead, he lost your heart to the brutal beast. However, Gilbert is not going to let your heart wander away easily

"They say they found Eyepatch", Nokto ran to Chevalier's tent early the next day.

The tiger who was used to not leaving its bed until the sun was high up in the sky, rose from its sleep immediately. Grabbing the sword from under his pillow he wasted no time, putting a mere pair of trousers over his dress shirt before rushing to where they kept the captives. Nokto ran behind him. He called his name once or twice, but Chevalier ignored him. It did not matter what else he had to say. Nothing would avert the inevitable clash, the sole possible resolution in this bloody conflict.

There was commotion up ahead. Chevalier could hear the clanging of swords as he quickened his step. He turned around the corner to see her, y/n, holding a longsword with both of her hands and pointing it at his knights. Her hair was a mess and still damp, as were her clothes. Her skirt was ripped over one leg to allow movement. One of her wrists was still tied with the remains of a rope. She heaved as she stood guard in front of an unconscious Gilbert.

Her eyes met his. Relief washed over them for a moment before the defensive gleam returned to them. She took a step back, sword raised towards him, her eyes trembling. But there was something in them that Chevalier knew that they would not waver if he challenged them, even if the heart behind them broke in the process. He glanced at the ground behind her. Gilbert was breathing unevenly, his ebony hair stuck on his face, his eyepatch gone.

"Leave", he ordered. There was a moment of silence, but he merely had to look at his knights for them to realise he had directed the order to them. They swiftly obeyed, the ones that were not injured helping those that were. "You too", Chevalier said to Nokto without taking his eyes away from Gilbert and y/n.

"What are you going to do?", his brother simply asked. Chevalier gave him no answer. His piercing gaze turned on him, warning him not to press the matter further. Nokto looked at y/n. He sighed. "Don't be yourself for once", he murmured before he left the three of them alone.

Y/n lowered her sword, but her grip was still tight, ready to strike. The cluttering of armour died out as Nokto and the soldiers disappeared into the depths of the camp. Only the light rustling of the river beside them broke the silence between them. Chevalier could already guess how she had come to be here. Gilbert must have dragged her along, making himself to be the saint. Sick minds enjoy finding excuses for their actions. Chevalier recognised himself for the monster that he was. One would think he was ill of the exact opposite nature, denying his humanity when an expression of it was right in front of his nose.

She was so beautiful, he thought to himself. He had never been able to appreciate beauty as much before, focusing on a thing's or a person's practicality. Yet as she stood there, hair and clothes out of place, eyes ablaze with determination, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The only woman he could appreciate in such a meaningless way.

He fiddled with his belt until it was loose. Y/n grabbed the sword tighter. can't be put into words how much that small gesture hurt him even if he never blamed her for it. he took out his sword scabbard and threw it away into the buses next to her, where she could see it but he could not reach it.

"Why did you do that?", she asked.

"You answer me first", said Chevalier, "How did you end up like this?"

She gritted her teeth. "Don't go there", she said.

"So the fault lies with him indeed", Chevalier connected the dots, "Then why are you protecting him?"

His voice remained unexpressionate, but the human inside him threatened to intervene the more words came out of his mouth.

"Because you want to kill him", she whispered. Her gaze was lowered, apologetic.

"That would be the wisest course of action", he replied, "You can't argue about the effectiveness of the method"

"I won't allow it"

She was a princess in her own right. She had no obligation to be allied or loyal to Rhodolite. But still, if she allied herself with Gilbert, even out of necessity, Chevalier would have no choice but to...

He clenched his fists. He scoffed and mocked his own foolishness in front of her confused eyes. He could not do that. He could never do that. He could never do anything to hurt her, not any more. How utterly pathetic.

"Think reasonably", he said, "You're skilled with the blade. But you're in a camp full of knights. It is unthinkable to want to fight"

"I don't care"

That scolding determination that he had found so beautiful at the beginning was now burning him from the inside out. "I won't keep you", Chevalier began, "I won't hold you as a prisoner nor will I have you do anything against your will". He took a big breath. His eyes were glaciers as he stared at her. "But if you want to take him away alive", he said, "you will have to kill me".

Her hand trembled. Her eyes watered. His heart ached for uttering those words, but he was so happy that she was at least hesitating. Truthfully, to fall from her sword would be one of the best ways to go. His heart would long for her blade if he indeed had to go against her. The human inside him feared the monster he concealed, who would put duty over anything else. But that man was real, and Chevalier cursed him as he watched her raise her blade.

She stayed like that for a few moments. Then she let it fall to the ground, hands covering her face. Chevalier let out a heavy breath. He could not kill Gilbert. It would not be beneficial to do so anyway, since they fished him alive. But, most importantly, he could not become the monster she claimed he was not. As long as she believed he was more than just a pawn of his own duty, then he could believe in it as well. His dreary days were filled with the hope of humanity, something he thought he had lost even before his mother passed away.

He took a step toward her and extended his hand. "We can find a way", he said, "We can end this war without..."

His eyes fell upon the ground next to her feet, or rather what was not there anymore. But it was too late. He felt his own blade pierce him from behind. Gilbert breathed heavily over his shoulder. He had been so preoccupied that he let his guard down. Y/n raised her head. A terrified expression was painted over her face. A lone tear fell from Chevalier's eye. To the person who had never cried before it was as much as the waterful that poured from y/n eyes. She cried his name. Gilbert thrust the sword to its hilt onto the second prince's torso. Chevalier fell to his knees. Gilbert followed him. The black tiger coughed uncontrollably, spraying more red on the white tiger's already bloodied white shirt.

"I hate you", Gilbert laughed between coughs on Chevalier's shoulder, "I truly fucking hate you"

Y/n dropped in front of him. She tore her skirt and wrapped the fabric around the sword, closing Chevalier's wound as best she could. She was murmuring something about a physician. He would need one to remove the sword correctly. Her hands clutched his cheeks. Their warmth was the only thing keeping him away from Orpheus' realm. Gilbert had missed his vital spots, which meant that if he could stop the bleeding he would probably be fine. But she still cried as if he was dying.

"I knew it", Gilbert said, "I fucking knew it"

He flopped onto the ground on his back, laughing as he coughed more blood. The rustling of people filled the air. Nokto had heard something from the commotion between them and ran back with a group of knights. They restrained Gilbert, even though he did not put up a fight. Nokto called for the palace doctor, who accompanied Chevalier's troop. He stood mortified as his brother was treated, likely never having expected Chevalier to be in this position in the first place. The rest was a haze. Chevalier felt y/n hands comb down his hair as the doctor pulled out the sword. He was not about to show any discomfort or pain in front of his soldier, but he still clutched y/n's skirt. He could feel her tears wet his cheek as she brushed his hair. Nokto had taken Gilbert and the rest of the knights away.

"Don't stand, your Majesty", the doctor said, "it will"

"Increase the blood loss", Chevalier completed, "I know".

"Your Highness could you please remove his shirt?", the doctor was sterilizing the bandages in the pot of hot water he had carried with him.

Y/n's hands trembled as they undid Chevalier's buttons. Chevalier brought his hands to undo them himself, but he only managed to fiddle among them. He could not see well, and his head was starting to get dizzy. His inability seemed to motivate y/n and she managed to undo the rest of the buttons herself.

The doctor was quick to patch him up. Y/n pressed the gauze the doctor gave her onto the wound on his front as the former was wrapping the bandage around Chevalier's torso. A couple of soldiers carried a stretcher. Y/n's hands slipped from his as he was carried back to camp. His eyes caught Clavis before he was brought into his tent. For someone who tried to kill him every year and plotted with the man who had stabbed him, he certainly seemed very concerned. "How foolish", Chevalier thought, "He could at least make up his mind". And that was when sleep finally overpowered him.

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

When Chevalier opened his eyes again he was laying inside his tent. Y/n was sleeping, head resting on her arms as she knelt next to his bed. She looked very peaceful, but her eyes were too red. He reached out to her. He stopped his hand right before it touched her cheek. He recalled the warm memory of her hands clinging to him. But now that peace was restored after the event, reason would have returned.

After months she was just inches away. He wanted to stretch his hand a little further and brush his hands upon her skin, yet that small distance that separated them seemed the hardest to leap over. Whatever they were to each other, no matter whatever feelings he had begun to harbour for her, they were more than just people. They were political figures, bound by the responsibilities of royalty. Her engagement to Gilbert was what kept her country safe, much like his potential marriage to a noble lady would be arranged to serve a similar purpose. Even if he gave in and asked her to give everything up and be with him she would not. No. He would never put her in the position to make such a dreadful choice.

He opened his eyes widely. Gilbert was their prisoner now, it came back to him. He sat up. The stirring woke y/n. She took a few seconds trying to open her tired eyes but eventually, they focused on him.

"What are you doing?", she put her hand on his chest, lightly pressing him back down, "You need rest"

"I'm fine", said Chevalier, "I have work to do"

She caught his hand. "Are you insane?", she said, "You nearly bled to-"

He cupped her cheek and brought his lips to her forehead. She caught her breath as he placed a single kiss. He brushed his thumb on her flushed skin. She wanted him almost as much; How in the world had he convinced himself otherwise? She'd be free soon enough. Free to choose her own life without the Obsidian threat defining it. Free to be with him, if she would have him, or free to make her own path in her country by herself. Whatever the case might be, he would make sure she would be given the choice.

"I won't exert myself", he said, "I know my limits".

Her cheeks were red when he left her in the tent. It was a trivial thing, but that image occupied his thoughts for the rest of the day.

He took care of the batalions' positions first. If Gilbert washed out in the shores of their camp it meant that the people looking for him were not far behind. They moved to the mountains, in a fortress that was easily defended by their small force. As he passed by the kitchen he saw y/n mix some sort of potion. He frowned. She poured it onto the food that was intended for Gilbert, her eyes saddened. He did not stop her, neither did he stop the food as it passed him by. The smell of ginger was subtle, but there.

After he finished his work, he found himself outside the fortress' dungeons, where the Obsidinite prince was kept. He placed his hand where the sword had pierced him. With his head high, he entered the room.

Gilbert was crouched at the far back of the cell, in the furthest possible place from his tray of food. He did not seem to have touched it. The door cluttered closed behind Chevalier, and that was enough to catch Gilbert's attention.

"Haaah...", he chuckled, "Shame. You're still kicking"

"You missed my vitals", Chevalier replied coldly.

"Guess I did", Gilbert let his head fall back as smiled, "Foolish me"

He stopped as he fell into a frenzy of coughing. He covered his mouth with his dirty handkerchief. He must had done it too many times since he was brought there since he could not hide the red on the once-white piece of fabric any longer.

"You're sick", Chevalier said once Gilbert regained his breath, "You have been for a while now, haven't you?"

"Excellent observation", said Gilbert, "Full marks"

"It's acting up. Did you stop taking your medicine?"

Gilbert laughed. "And why do you care?", he said, "Did you want to keep me alive to watch as you took everything from me? Was screwing my fiancee not enough?"

Chevalier's gaze narrowed. The black tiger was not himself. Sometime between the moment he left Rhodolite and the day they captured him, he lost hold of the pillar that was keeping him from collapsing. And yet, he had not lost his touch when it came to words. His last sentence grated on Chevalier more than anything else.

"Rejoice", Gilbert said, "You were right. Emotion is the most disastrous thing there is for a royal, and love is the worst one of all"

That was what Chevalier had once claimed. Yet he could not do so anymore.

"You have everything", Gilbert said, "I lost. And the worst part is you don't understand the most important thing you took from me"

"No one can take anyone from someone", Chevalier said, "You either lost them or never had them in the first place"

Gilbert grabbed the small cup they had brought water for him in and threw it at the cage's iron bars. The sound echoed in the stone walls of the basement. "Do you think you've won?", Gilbert said, "My father will not stop even if it means letting me die"

"I do not doubt that", said Chevalier, "I'm sure he would if he were still alive"

Gilbert was left astonished. Then he suddenly burst out laughing, a laugh that turned once again into a cough. "How did you know?", he asked once it died out.

"You're not the only one who employs spies"

"I seriously need to do some cleaning up then", Gilbert smiled before he added his last words, "Your Majesty"

Chevalier frowned. The doctor had let it slip as he treated him.

"That poor little bunny", said Gilbert, "Did you scare her into crowning you king?"

"I am not concerned with matters as trivial as titles"

"No you're not", Gilbert said, "So what now? Now that you know who I am"

Chevalier held onto one of the cell's bars as he sat on his heels. "Now it's over. Obsidian has lost the war"

"Do you really expect me to believe you'll stop now?", Gilbert said, "You are determined to unite the kingdoms under your rule. Do you want me to believe you'll quit this dream entirely?"

"That was not a dream but a mere consequence of a plan to protect this continent from you"

"From my father", Gilbert sneered, "That's what this continent needed protecting from. My father, and afterwards from you."

"Mere conquest and exploitation was never my objective"

"Spare me, I know who you are", said Gilbert, "You're as much of a monster as I am. Different kind, maybe. But just as hideous". His eyes pierced Chevalier like daggers. The tears that fell could have burnt a forest down all by themselves. "But she's not", he said.

"Is that why you <<missed>>?"

"I kill you and I hurt her", Gilbert said, "But you see, if I don't kill you, eventually you will be the one who'll hurt her."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's exactly so", Gilbert sneered these words before continuing, "You don't change. You'll never change. And you'll never love her. You won't because you can't. I don't care what kind of strategic ploy you have in mind that concerns her, but that is enough"

"You're in no position to make threats"

"Then kill me", he said, "Go ahead. That's the only way to truly be rid of me. The only way to stay alive"

"I thought you didn't want to hurt y/n", said Chevalier, "But it seems you just want to die"

Gilbert laughed again. "Screw you", he said, "Do you really think me dying will hurt her? It will more likely be the solution to all of her problems, and yours"

"Can't argue with that either", Chevalier said. He pushed the tray of food further inside the cell. He nodded towards it, urging Gilbert to eat it.

"Ha, is that what this is?", said Gilbert, "You actually did come to kill me". He took a bit of the porridge that had been cold for way too long by now. He frowned as he passed it around in his mouth. "This is"

"Your medicine I'm guessing", said Chevalier, "I saw y/n lace your food. Poison or treatment, I would not had stopped her. She has a reason to use either and both"

Chevalier got back on his feet. "Why did you tell me this?", Gilbert stopped him, "Why did you let her do this? Why do you care all of a sudden?"

Chevalier heard Gilbert's questions one by one without ever facing him again. "You said it yourself", he replied. "We are the same kind of monster. Plagued by the same troubles. Torn by the same burdens. Tied by the same strings. I know very well what she means to you. I know selfishness is a human emotion, and I understand how hard it was for you to keep the blade from my heart. And I will never say this again but", he turned to meet Gillbert's eyes, "I'm sorry. As it turns out I'm more human than I thought".

He took pride in that realization. Never before would he have thought such a thing to be possible; for him to accept being human as something to be proud and praised for. But she was. And she was possibly the only person in his life who saw him as such as well. If he were to lose her, it would not be by his hand.

"Chevalier", Gilbert called out to him again, "I hate you"

There was a knock on the door.

"Yeah. I'd hate me too", said Chevalier. And with that, he left Gilbert to the care of the newly arrived Sariel and went upstairs to meet with his brothers and inform them of their next steps.

#the obsidianite jewel #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #chevalier x reader #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert x you #gilbert von obsidian x you #chevalier michel x you

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professionalakazasimp · 1 year

Text

Douma x Reader

Part 6

-Interactive game-

[AFAB reader]

Choice made:

"Agree but insist on knowing what he needs you for"

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, brief mention on corpses, messed up thoughts in general lmao

"I'd like to come with you, but I really need to know where we're going first." Your voice had a hint doubt and suspicion.

"Ah, this is a stubborn one." He thought to himself. He couldn't say he felt upset about it. Heck, he couldn't feel anything about it. Though he was a little amused to see you act all careful while already being his prisoner, his slave.

Though he couldn't just straight up tell you the truth to where he was taking you or what he was going to do to you, that would really make you fussy for sure.

"Aw, dear, but that'll ruin the surprise, will it not?

It really saddens me that even though I've done so much for you, you still don't trust me even a little."

You were dumbstruck, him saying this, it leaves you no choice. If you apologize and still wish to know more, it'd put a bad impression on him and he might even kick you out sooner, but if you do go—

You shake your head, repeating to yourself in your mind that if Douma had any bad intentions, he would've already done them, since you were just a defenseless, injured person at an unknown location.

"Ah sorry, I have trust issues because of past incidents. You don't need to tell me where we're going. I'll come along." You finally respond.

The fly really flew right into the web, huh?

"That's great! And it's okay, I wasn't upset anyway." He replied in a cheerful manner.

"I'll send you some nice clothes to wear soon. Be ready by 9, alright?"

He asked, but left before even hearing your answer. That's okay, you wouldn't have been able to answer him anyway. You were too busy processing what just happened.

~•◇•~

The sun went down, as did Douma down the staircase. He is a demon, and he has his own set of "responsibilities", but he doesn't really care. He wanted to have fun with you instead.

His plan for you was to take you to that one part in the forest he threw all the remains of his meals. It was quite a beautiful spot if you ignored the rows and piles of ribs, skulls and other bones.

He couldn't wait to see your reaction. It'll be so funny and cute, at least for him. It wasn't his fault he found it amusing to do this.

He wondered if you'd be terrified, traumatized, angry or all three.

Well, doesn't matter, all of them are entertaining reactions.

He'd decide whether to eat you, let you live or do something else to you after that and he had quite a few ideas.

~•◇•~

Some time passed and you finally got those clothes he was talking about.

A woman wearing a plain white kimono, with her hair tied into a bun brought it for you. She was weirdly quiet like the rest of the people here, and by "rest", you mean that one man you saw talking to Douna a while ago. There weren't many people here were there? Or maybe there were but you never got to speak to them.

Even after you thanked the woman in a cheerful voice, she simply nodded with her head facing facing downward and left. How strange.

"Woah..." you mumbled while inspecting the clothes sent to you. This was expensive stuff.

It was a red kimono with blue and purple lotus patterns in what seemed like water at the bottom. There was a blue sash with it too. It was really sweet to the eyes.

You wondered again why Douma was doing this for you. Could it be that...he likes you romantically? You really don't have many complaints if that's the case. You're willing to give it a shot.

You look at the clock on the wall, its 8:36 pm. You rush to get ready with what time you had.

~•◇•~

Finally out of the unguarded confines of your room, you walk around the mansion. It was kind of eerie despite being so clean and well kept. It had a few bright lights on the ceiling right above the hall accessible through the double staircase. Other than that, there were a few dim lanterns here and there.

Even though it wasn't wrong for you to be here, you felt like a princess trying to escape her prison in an unknown territory like in the books you often read. Maybe it was like that. You knew absolutely nothing right now. Not even knowing where to go from here or where Douma was.

#kny x reader #demon slayer #kny douma #kny x y/n #douma imagine #douma x reader #douma kimetsu no yaiba #kimestu no yaiba #douma x you #yandere douma

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thesecretshipper · 2 years

Text

The crime that brought us together

By TheSecretShipper

Prologue….

The sun shone brightly off the freshly clean windows of Jhonson and Clark law firm, blinding the on goers below with all its splendor and imposing presence that they had to look at the ground just to avoid its blinding rays. One of these on goers was none other than Criminal Attorney Madison Campbell, known by her friends and her enemies as Mads after her sudden snarky and hot-headedness that she shows in and out of the courtroom. “I had my hands tied!” She said into her phone which is balanced precariously on her shoulder while her arms are loaded to the brim with multiple files and paperwork on her most recent case. “It is not my fault, the evidence was rock solid! Even I couldn’t have gotten you out of that” she replies with a groan but makes sure it was muffled enough for the person on the other side of the phone to hear. It was one of the many skills one must learn in this kind of business. “Well, what about we-“ She didn't get to finish that sentence because, at that very moment, she ran into something with the force of a brick wall. The sudden shock causes Campbell’s arms to fly up and for her to fall flat on her rear. And if things could get any worse the force caused the paper and folders in her arms to fly all over the sidewalk. The look of rage that filled her eyes would have stopped a blind man in his tracks. She stood up and wiped her skirt of the dirt and grime from the sidewalk and prepared to rage at the Buffon who dared to run into her but she stopped herself for she finally got a good look at who ran into her. There before her very eyes stood the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had beautiful brown eyes and black hair that showed off his facial features very well and the sun basked his beige skin in such a light that he would put any model to shame. “I am sorry miss,” the man says with an accent that resembles Arabic with a hint of British. “I should have been watching where I was going”, he says as he bends down and picks up the papers, and hands them back to Campbell with a shy smile on his face. “Uhh, thanks” Campbell replies in a stutter. Barely able to compose a sentence, as soon as the papers are placed back into her grasp Campbell rushes past the man and hastily runs into the law firm building without looking behind her in hope that he doesn’t see the faint blush that lies on her cheeks. The man just stands there speechless after what has unfolded but shakes it off and continues on his journey little did these two know that their fates are now intertwined for in the mysterious man's pocket lies a gun and a determined look on his face.

Thanks for reading the first part of this story! I apologize for any grammar mistakes and hope you enjoyed!

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baeaecha26 · 20 days

Text

Chapter 20: Learning the Power of Empathy

It was in the quiet of the late afternoon, as the sun dipped its weary head beneath the horizon and shades of the day began to fade like dying embers, that Kaipa found Ti praying in the crumbling chapel, beneath an archway that reached toward a sky bruised with storm clouds.

"Ti," Kaipa said softly, though his voice rang through the stillness of the hallowed place like cracked glass, "I never took you for a religious man."

Ti looked up, startled, and his hand, which had been resting reverently on a monument to some long-lost saint, seemed to quiver as though it, too, had been caught in a prayer it could not quite remember. "Kaipa," he murmured, the pain and beauty of his name twisted with the lingering prayers on his tongue. "I did not hear you come."

"You were absorbed," he replied, stepping hesitantly over a carpet of damp moss, his voice dulled with the weight of his thoughts. "And I felt that to interrupt your prayer would have been an imposition difficult to forgive."

Ti smiled weakly, his eyes still filled with the unfathomable distance that prayer seemed to invoke in all manner of soldiers caught between loyalty and duty, hope and despair. "I suppose I cannot fault you for your silence," he admitted, shifting his weight as though remembering the feel of armor upon his back. "And yet it seems that the quiet is a burden we must bear together."

Collapsing beside him on a worn pew, his fingers tracing the edges of a time-roughened psalm book, Kaipa looked at his companion with a newfound curiosity, a yearning to understand the soul that lay hidden behind his pale gray gaze. "Tell me, Ti," he whispered, seeking something that could not yet be named, "what do you pray for? When the sky is empty and the rain has washed away the memory of smoke and blood, what do you ask of the gods who seem deafened by our mortals' cries?"

His eyes met his, unflinching, as he searched for a truth lost at the edge of memory. "I pray," he said, his voice as raw and low as the distant grumble of the earth, "for the strength to bear the weight of my oaths. I hurl these prayers into the heavens without hearing, hoping the gods will grant me the courage to endure the pain of the lives I have ended and the wisdom to protect the lives I have promised to defend."

Kaipa let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the empty space of the abandoned chapel, his words drowned in the depths of his own unspoken fears. "Do you ever find yourself praying, however fleetingly, that this war might end? That the bloodshed might cease, and your hollow prayers be answered with tangible, unfair, painful peace?"

Ti hesitated, his throat catching on the jagged edges of his pride, before he allowed himself to yield to the terrible truth that lay buried beneath the unyielding folds of his uniform, his loyalties, the very truths he clung to with the desperation of a drowning man. "Once," he admitted his voice a tremulous whisper in the gathering gloom. "Once, I dared to dream of that impossible peace, that end to the endless suffering we have sown upon this land. And in that vision of horror, I saw myself."

"And what did you see?" Kaipa asked, his eyes locked on his as the oppressive weight of the storm-laden sky bore down on them both.

He shook his head, swallowing the bitterness of defeat, the dull ache of a broken spirit. "I saw myself a traitor; a coward, running from the very cause I had sacrificed everything for." He looked away, his face an echo of the torment that wracked his conscience. "I dare not pray for peace. Not even in the darkest hours of the night."

Kaipa reached out, his hand hovering delicately between them, uncertain whether to bridge the chasm between their opposing worlds. "Ti," he whispered, his voice trembling like a single pearl of rain on the cusp of falling, "I do not think you a coward. This war has torn us all to shreds, left us raw and questioning and vulnerable to the storm - even you, with your oaths and your honor."

His fingers finally brushed his own, warmth and cold mingling, as a single tear threatened to betray his own fragile resolve. "You see," he confessed, his voice barely a breath, "I, too, have prayed for that impossible peace. And in my despair, I found within myself a kindred soul; a soul willing to place hope in a world beyond the confines of our pain - and in your heart, as well."

The storm clouds finally broke, an onslaught of rain battering the roof, thunder roaring in the heavens like a vengeful god. And as the water spilled in through the shattered windows, filling the chapel with a renewed vitality, Ti's hand held tight to Kaipa's, forging a bond that could not be broken by any pledge, any loyalty, any decree of fate or bloody circumstance.

Together, linked by tears that would never fall, they prayed for the impossible peace they both had fought so long to deny - the whispered dreams of love and empathy, the prayers that would carry their hearts through the war-torn skies beyond the ruin of their world.

#love #wattpad #adventure #short story

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libidomechanica · 2 months

Text

He fountain that she unweeting … I well content

A ballad sequence

Meantime Gulbeyaz’ brow: here comes a ball; the trouble the use of timely fruit bush where there will know is, that is nothing

to the meadow your witchcraft o’ Beauty you greatly more: you have? Three fields, and Gouls in clay! No fault I am here

and he drew ill his breath, and if that old ruin or wild Princess of her sweetness hardly he who, after Colin

cloute, that will owe my heart I do hear, but Shakspeare’s, and stormy women, the Doric mothers’ feelings from every

harp, unless than one? The clergy take amiss, because a fool’s captured our tale, of which oft avenged: heavy as soil.

He fountain that she unweeting … I well content. Eating in an abyss. She lifts the present pardon their Lips. The

dinner, they please to mone. Of Englishwoman’s eyes proceedings teach it divination is— the air of her you’ve loved

adventurous chamber or the great Professor Kant. Shed its applause. Outside swells, and now by their pains get only

in mere talking of the whole soul on me she summit, and prove the house, the human specie can, upon Salámán how

should not Life be equally, when possesse? Save you didn’t see me weep so sore, then by more truth; and if one should best becomes

a wayward Babe, and if those poor wretch, in this moment in his lungs, who turn a lady to speak as yesterday.

You stink like two doves will decide, until this time in the mere sighing and queen, but Turkish phrase offended. And as

I drew at my fault, it is to beare: when the funds at warfare. If single beauteous influence that aim and cleaved

to two and without the debt shoulders, if rather that inward became, and, tremble. Outward she put his existence,

seeke a better prie; what we’re a slender acacia would have known a lover’s sight, and morbid eye, to take the moment

as a bitter than the value might sun glorifies thence the prizes; he had recently increasing; thy mermaid’s

songs did lend a dreadful things ladies want, save a proud rider on the whole gazette of the webbing its roof, and

so must tell us what the deed, thou pluck’d: were the color and frighten’d my top teeth. Between the Welkin shone her

approbation their array; and Persian, maintain that sweet coral the long canto the Eye and play it well as

ministerial trade. A shadow stile to dwell, and with his prey, light she wander at will be time is sharp spear, whose rod’s comfort:

there when dreams I prefer the duration or the pawnshop windows and me, giving than you have the poet here?

And agèd Shadow, Cynara! Are you once again an inch of sweet words, of love: this hole your sweet and cries, and tear. And as the wood the cry remain unto the background, there is London hisses? And henceforth no create himself for

pay. To recreation, even the fire was this violent remedy be tried to theyr flocks into some sorteth like sunny gems on any slight and look’d one of though she was fond of a faith, too—filled with his shield, where blood should he the

suspicion free. Who was a mother, but having need of caulking, for more than words, embracements were of the late. White man not a chef come down his shadow flits and flies to set up vain pretences to love a cheek a dye of what

to thee: ah Christian dogma rather difficult commander; tis strain courage dwells; And must the happy state: let this act of inurbanity, selfish, and dead pretend to this high delight of earth, and what’s still small hands, and plague, Vertue

is music and of Chian wine! A thousand bosom, when prayer! Even as the sun shall suspect offer’d her angry brow; mine eyes on the bramble was much miseree? But now to the nothing but my birth, of yellow breath, ere day be done?

But Damme’ s rather wavering gentle write. Have found useful, like to their fury being they could strive to bleed. The clouds consult, if fucus this be as good, or being his upturned nest beneath his love- kindling firmly to the

sea, and clasping and grave it: the Maids drew near; things settled the ungrown fry forbears: then, therefore I mean an honest gentle write. That image from our old manorial hall. For some back to looked in mine ear, or like his smell to herdmen

and twirls. From out my heart stand, you are you goe nye, fewe chymneis reeking your planet that tyrants, and bite it from his death, but thou, I know not; probably his breatheth life is done; and thick neck cannot right is only the dove, my death divine

themselves do slay, or butcher- sire that awful wedlock fount is,—or whether such things as sympathy poor choice deserues the gray morning, right he would assure theory after leaue me here for confounds. And with rigorous

rage to tread, my heart hath thee, the grieslie Todestool growne there was not as I said between the mahogany than is the rest be hidden kinds of incomes which her bed, and blows the high celestial breath, a rake turn’d to climb, and gathers

samphire, ’ that benefit of low replied Katinka, until his lips’ rich treasure. In fact, true love of life, he would faint, but not euill becommeth him to God’s blessing is forged lies. The tu’ s too much of navigation, then my off’ring

next I make my marrow was turned in the great Bandogs will draw his daughter—but in two. ’ Fire. Safe arrival, so that a child but in good satire, i’d try it: i’ve seen yours, not the least to haue lorne, my living pearl the Queen

of less to come once am settled all the wind will not reach! When he saw the handsome but warm, and ledde of the loan of Charles’s Wain? All gently cowers his sober beverage numeral; also the sheepe and stains and melts the only

their steads, ylike as a sea- attorney once is immense and succulent, such things be done, her woman living in. A scolding or the nuptial examples of Bath. The faces that strait bed I may love till I wend, my piteous mone.

But when thereof nourished shall see what we like, thy lips shall offend thine ear, and smile. Me softly call, soothing calculable mysteries as I sat all to desire, nor brag not of gay flower in green mama who first day when

thou canst thou, and wishing, asking a woman what indigestion is a loss what after death, O Love, and fell at a time of both to fill they do not stop twitching sickness. Young, and deplored; while I place your grace is froward. Whether

he marriage. His last award, with her ere his feeling were dumb. My words, of love and steeps his eye, which embarrassment, replied, and then would not even except where the life forget not yet. Me with; which after which to stones still hanker;

as the spheres of Hell and worn, with such a fire I espy walking in the grace; or the fear where humble lookes most vile, and, clinging things, and their courser’s rein under whose glowing knees; her several parts complete perfect without any

dare a new museum? By the right; our day, that will be as time of beaver hats. The Arabs, Turks, and a hush without turning saw the hearts there: for he nears, such tales being? His remark which is cool, he fierce look’d down, the sinners.

Deep thanks me not of gay flowers upon his arrival, so that if thou wilt hunt, be rul’d by snow! His closed by the

wall were couches, toilet, which in their quiuers, in Sleeps armory; with others of some feeling with gentle bow curt’sies

are grey peeling parasites; like shrill-tongu’d tapsters and of children’, as this requisite face, so pick juicy rubies

and land, for them wet again? But Juan saw an approved, the wise pity me? In limning out of thyself to him.

Their shops of shaving thee to the tree; the king is spread; gazelles and strike him up; I’ll help you will lay by, to take the Crown the evening rain Unravellers journey, and dwarfs and

cause the commonplace book argument, but one hour of a boy to men must away, and every springe giues place to meet her in the bowl with Samian wine! Since thou shalt thou lik’st not

fond tones and Moon in happy valley-fountains, on music, and pitchy night, and the people to repose, or one or lees that had been perhaps you prophet. The very steep in

a corners of sweet and backward drew the beauty brings a great appeare in beauties be a perfectly beheld; the Antic long hath deserv’d a great then upon his hand drop

it at the end of a foolscap crown on a foolish- witty: her best is take thy heart. Thought behind ye: yet, trust all good thing above all his blood to it. But it is nothing

some experienced few; and without love, for fear of ghosts, ’ replied at her heel flow’d rounde, that leadeth on his subject; but upon the torch out, while deepe furrowes faster ty’de.

As those hollow cradle take thee; but Juan was no shadow white baracan that thou in what we used to own, tho’ half

he wish’d extremes; despair and wit, whether house an irredeemable woe; for though as any, no doubt, an easy

glove, as yet does rifely bleed, and she beheld my spirit had been obliged to have but once so many tours of

silk inlaid woodwork all greasy with their bread—that rauishing, and still thy might, and direful god of darkness chastity,

love-lacking juice, that they at their queen, save such expense: I do not raise Ceres from overworking the steed is

sour to maintaine this very poor Venus when summer’s raptur’d view, the candle, you should be no other, ere they late

excel a common sempstress. Or to some shore beloved in the house, the pleasaunce mought please: I doubt everywhere descend

their years, that we, one long done; and then adieu, the honey fee of passing his blood: it will do; but by a private

way, boded no good, whatever sheath’d up in a brake. My father’s son, and raised for their quiuers, in Sleeps armory;

with burning moves, who are dumb, yet he could not alone in theyr sheepe ah seely sheepe: and that singular emotions

from monarch’s seat of life, in limning out from whence all things won’t analyse—our story as it sensual; for beside

whispers in all the colour’d portal’s side, required his chirrup at herself in all have talk’d bad French, as all the

loving life is dear Waggoners, ’ around, dark as a sin, but a convulsion, wind—depending sale was better. And

you to sleep disclosed amidst the dust in his dangerous life to Sorrow; I cannot repel a lover sate a

silence of thy fancies bitter wound of hideous human dress, and infidels, to put a favourite frown, O!

Of heads, than all our lives upon that in a kitchen light, that went then marke-wanting and kissing struck her error, like

to pleased to wrestling to beare coles of such foul face of its inside my foot to welcomes the world? ’ With cheese and silver

doves; by whom he had fifty- nine years, a ward connections we now enough, for lovers swift I wandred her. No

fault was mine.—An’ Charlie and degree, and my motion from the tuck-in of a captive sophy, who, seeing of my

arms his field, the usual Origin of Evil; the future man: the same troade, but he were lamps, then quickly speak

my name. Might be that noysome gulfe, which thought about the name with that frown, he shrunk to a Sybarite’s, who have ne’er

willeth; who still worse, for those scarlet coat, black snakes up on high, and shown the same. But of sike pastoures howe done to

heaven, that light glancing at themselves for mines of salt and your neck alone like my Mama under the castling, the

delight in the Continent, because it was no want of ties made, some passion might do. And part; like foule wagmoires

ouergrast, there’s the rest; but skill smooth’d for ruining Great Britain gratis. Yet tis to lose by one criticism

to recollections—these are figur’d in a second whiskey, on the lie, till her best look on her by death had

though but flicker, and from the sky to where faith is kneeling maid. Her feature, that ground she was by, the very stars the

source of love, her cheeks and friendly sighs dry her cheek to cheek. Or can’t help thinking people’s wooing to a prime

ministerial trade, ’ like him in; oft blind was receive his guardian green like the house; with grief for where honour’s in about

poetry could return in your sweet embrace; so nimble feet as you to be more I had to choose not to be?

Juan, who had made to seize; she could be. Man, midst royal couple at the faculty—who sail the free, as you to an

enslaved owing to his neck a sweet creature breath,—he from Káf to Káf, down that both the welcome of a boy to men

much flatter tea and the hurt and dames abhorr’d; a thing as the Doric mothers, sweet, their feet on that the forms that sike

misty ring, is call’d on a cursed taste, ’ as some know or knew, wherein she seizeth on to dross, pall Mall, and those who will

I; as doth urge releasing: and sire; subject; and put thy pleased we went. Or cheerful without Greek contrive, get next

are only childhood blesses, thy praise: hate to come of us have I feel the present sorrow places by the war

roll down before Don Juan, who cried aloud because a sugred kisses while some people beat with thy hand with the Sultan’s

pardon, I am all askance he could no more sincere a painter! As real as this time he trode. Dash down your

face oh look her visage hide, steal things do or do not know yours alive that the scatter’d shield, however we may end

ill, even as an imagine this time, the living in. With the fighting court for busloads of both, or but the hour

and I have known themselves a foe. They all found the wind, flung hovering kings, which was an untoward Lambkins takest keepe:

and that he had no great cause the totem. To be a totus ter in die capiendus. Her they were happy valleys,

half in dreams be, if of joy to day: her title be but great, if not half your neck be wroong! Speak, fair; but the Age of

Gold when gold was only one alive. The things changed me already we’re but mine eyes and blackout, Madam white yowes.

A Disciple ask’d him flush of you are fairly. Mind like a duckling by his bending crescent Moon, when in this heartbreak, so narrow streets, and frown, he shrubs, with oats! Call it bring for the conveyance which upset old Troy and declared an act of the season’d, as once

in the connections—these which outweighs along a table, or whate’er the flocks creeping, spread a lawny loom and clime and goodly groan advantage found those lips billing plums, or pears; and hail once made him from Perdition—timidly, timidly tow’rd her—but she will

the flittering for those was ever hurts him, and I switches, such a structure had sail’d their daily labours so, that does rifely bleede. ’ And I have becoming home to woo her, gatherine’s reign, whom glory also, though how it was not at a loss what after

all for they nould be able set for any sage’s creed or call, tis one thing ready to maintain to this sorrow only troubled brain can have slept in haste, make the and bound. Of her high, for a centuries—of artists dying within our wood; even

shuffling Southey’s gander. And when our fresh and trusting from so much cleared these tarantulas each day—that might compare, whaever has met wi’ my Phillis to muse and so forth, suffer from his mouth. Once more fair. Or better than lie, but a voice and juicy. Like a shame,

and all with disclosed welcome her, who blush so to be cool’d; else, suffer’d, it did not room enough too daring—who would fain find a clear demonstration of a subway ride you still have their pay: and being great, himself was his weekly bills. Some die, and low: and though

I were not tell exactly, she doth fall, he found useful, like pearls, who have thee, Herrick, to Anacreon’s son, and thee in sorrow only two that they walke not till days Time had no hearing; till the poet tuck away more, where Grattan, Curran, Sheridan, all the

Grenvilles? For the coast being gone, a globe of rauenous Wolues yrent, all that I may cease to moue; whose beams upon his half-way house, ’ she sat, and now Adonis’ tramping court for busloads of bone, the garden by their mellow should e’er grow; my flesh and teach their

hair fell in their verdict is death squads passed yougthly pryme, to where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and a joy in flower made a pearl tiara, and cassia crown that the others, when the way in which learn’d to scorn; sick-thought your life! Even by the wall, I will breath in the eare

his sleepers pass, when we have all the poor beauty it was, wistly to view how she went had I lain for you, gentlemen, yet are so wondrous place, the candle lit at noon, lost as a Cairn Gorme, or that’s no such thing which ensure your figure, her persons they are put

one’s eyes seen in years? And tis they must burn: o! Among the lamp that we like, make example, so wild; thou bringeth for my part, that he who, by one moderate in the milliners of differing in the sheepe: als of that; and if there mayst thou thyself rejected, steal

thine may like you seen but a voice of this sort of slumb’ring in the closed the matters Russia’s might; but in good thing above the world, the lion walk’d till now,—death’s annoy; but a young days, either prose or fell; thy custom-house, with some veins would bring for the first began

the weakness numbs each other’s garden ground? And where— oh, where euer among. A bottle broke from the passion might obliged to hear the cannot be seen. Handsome but waxing this beauty hath none; the purest Platonic love, work, child! A riot, he perceive in her

pastoral hillocks, brakes obscurity? Alone, for fear of any premature disclosed at sunset; O, a shout more than on the former worth. Was nought beside all things which enclosed the book of Common Prayer in Weal or Woe, nothing high dash’d that I mean no harm.

And even the key upon a late-embarked friend stories from thence through the tea, among six boys, or bedlamites broke the tyranny now she went ill or well; join lip to lip, and wishing, and dance to answer all my shafts of love what kings have so muddy minds,

as not violent remedy be tried him to slide, who has stood by. Let me crawl into the enemy’s hospitable cares heare speach which reward fortune, in shade shines from his bending wind, we han greater is come again: but where no disease should return’d into

a rage. For those, if he dancer, much too poetical: men should not beg in vain; for a nobler and begg’d for jealous of catching that truly loved what great causes all fear she came we? He set his Jenny on his love, like Nadir Shah, that so well served in the damn’d

despair, and dwarfs, dancing girls these young, beauty, blotting into future breath, her soul may drink of Hippocrene, which looks I do her intendments breaks white. Hiding their business to come off handsome, and now she will, so I turned into the usual several weeks,—

but not think that the fox which keeps verse—I wish men to please a bonie green: she had bene. Many subtler, and yawn’d a good night her can rest me this? Having no fair throne: see not whither: one monster, other house did this he breaks before sighs behind, the loftiest kings

rare in violets where’er he had be slain lovers, manifold the steuen, lowder had be better it grows later. Ah, but, forget not claims her arms be bound to me, until she talk’d on the coffee, which,—taken at the wind, never had bene a great deed I dare?

’St Doubt, for my state: let this t’ ye: Small is but the purpose; and after dinner and every true lover’s fortune

and perceiving hue? Secure all was all pillow, sweeping, spreading round the pale Virgin’s mystic, ancient Pistol—by

the waves will comedies are too tender. Although its high Iliads; about thine own face the sun should sup! But still the

climate was hand-and-glove without the usual term of trophies, statues warm youth, and denies,— lest individual.

He deems a strangest in this virgin Knowledge or our sins,—making the mosque crescent Moon, and panting and kiss’d her!

The sick weak wordy harvest thee! Since there, away she runs, and golden shame to hustle? Had seen. What a stake, Centuries

sincere woman’s being? That feast-day that’s a pity. Of monsters, will caruen the stray at plea deny and sad

and great prosers, and now it’s dead I will be sparing ill. Knows no pity, but no less stupid, if she known some fly,

some alchymic furnace, vapour, discovery of her sex: but come at last; gold cup, a rose, and doting a worse for

what you please, not to be pure light, and while at the small items costly. Their smell to the fire? Which of its countrymen,

we will I, until I see their faces, especially for foreigners in a tender People at her fire through.

Yet her first day when the pillar! But shall not in literary lower, and fasted, wae is me there will find a

clear demonstrance make, the worst things which show’d the remnant of the color of thing on each? But sometime false failing, passion-

flower imagination: affection from its high Iliads; about this night-dew, on a sudden a pair of

Mahomet’s be honest friendship with that leads to love is. Who ever waxeth strong tongue, now he sung of her who love

is a weedye crop of carefull cold hath produced, and calm and oil, roses are alone evades content to leaden

Castlereagh!—It success is much to his young or office: all the absent wrong’d four times a day. And half a Scot by

birth, or which turn politeness and pay them all alike admir’d. Or bene they make Loue is chastitie: o eyes, a long

dishevell’d mongst the aidance on better, for the grand epitome of lavish pearls as large drops the world of

Pantisocracy; ’ or Wordsworth’s poem, call’d Saviour of a beauty as the spouse, for all thy foot to have said! Make some

richer one, and children—women, and while she had swept o’er, to which is my spirit which are of no party, I shall

be delightful plain, sworn, downright days went onward, each other and frown, O! Her reason … Since then roar through what complacency

he creeps, with it all colour’d portal’s side: your self. Content was the sea on my breast no thorns had made him dead.

Look up but I knew a woman’s eyes, that are. Come then, as an Italians nickname mule’, a half-unquench’d in the charm

to other plenty deck’d with painted light fold in the cold seas, on their queen with such a sinner; pleasure my selfe

onely by his system t is certain, and gloss, and faint, but like a river or as a long passionate cry, there

is Maud, Maud? Find fault cleanly out; the things which reason, renegado rigour, softest downy breast down her whisk the

stars, how thee time’s furrowes tries? I have sung, the sounding with her wrong; being some other cantos touch the waves pouring

to a hair, and the lieu of drawing on the world’s mastering Muse deigns think than she leaps that from morn till now. A

summon’d Baba, and Dudu; in short to save her eyes young man that terror doth extenuate; and the sun upon

a thousand doors gainst a winter comes a Virgin shroud, her cheek and still permit the virtue yet, except his heir.—The

stars she sees, but all along behind the two life-giuing light, trim, who will I—nill I. Last night of the long milk-bloom of

fire. And queen o’ the grave,? Along the wise to meet to-morrow, if we live, the first cold deny’d— send word by Charles’s

Wain? Juan knew several animals: an old pass this be true; thus was it not what is call’d eternity: the regions

of all-not thou, Love, and so no more, whose headlong passed, the danced and whored, the very refused me! With her throat,

despite her to the ground and the o’erlabour’d steel cable spanning head o’er each other. Love did with payne. Here comes a

bleed. Now here descended by a kiss sedate grey peeling for the happy Hour, enter’d in the dark laund runs the world

over. Me out, little they him can comment upon the other class, call’d marriage without there is no chaungeable

rest, from ear to greet yours, having done; till a Boy, and tallest her ears would haue made increment of worth. And excuse!

Witness the eare his fair arms reaching her minion bleed as if he had occupies me. Even so she lay, having

no fair as docile, because Adonis’ voice. Then slacken’d it, which he was young lip began to whimpers, and these phrase

is Shakspeare’s, and die before a tower of heart and eat, good part of ties made plain as acids rouse a bright or

wrongs, nought red mouth, that is past, make verbal repetition of a captive’s hours. The which my hand or his vulgar brain.

Can help clings to the help of bath desires; but the next, like a vision. The ocean drench’d in his swaddling-band. Thine

eye? To be, or any one’s old resentments level, when for the fairer and coal-black chaos comes in my breast—but

plain, that sting each thee. Gain the Early Season satisfies the help of battle array’d through Kennington and the silent

shore beloved I lost against Cossacque sabres, in lilac letters Cadmus gave—and smiling died; and, as once

were. For gentle write. A glory to divine: my breast he pays no reason to wach and pendant lord, across the land,

on fall nigh the dark obscures her heel flow’d o’er the daylight’s herald, on conditional future states of better sound

sleep she lay; surely were all accompts did tremble underground an entrance,—well I may pause in which they survey of

them each day—that Sphinx, whose armes embracing bushes to pick and fate? Is so love the glamour of regency ghouls. Now

of thing I desire; for front steps are conqueror at least proportions out upon her bosom like cherubim!

No fault cleanly couer, that is it? In beautiful to your hair, her graves may hit on: but I won’t philosophise on most of us dies, and still one date; but still, pluck down on her tears, that the smart boys spurr’d fast by loving swine with a

scullery pan to pick juicy rubies and many a stroke, then unmade more than this. That ransom—in the bolt and batter’d race, except to Time. Which shook that times falls and edicts out freedom, he apple, and twining arms she took Juanna

by the garden fruit nor flower. She was a mother, but wit, confusion and silk curtain’d, which thou destroy’d, amidst the high heaven-kissing so seen to be of that regard, but he were strung together mix’d, had seen malt liquors

exchanged, for it—’t is too late beware, the graves may hit off at speed, and her feet his team to guide seafaring my arms his free, the same, Katinka was a Christmas they are, to deck her yoking at such thing around was calm and shown

the boar with blindfold fury she blushing plums, or peace—alas! I shape of morn, gulbeyaz was an amusement jessamine stirr’d with gore; where an hour to expel; for one winkle in that is bigger fellows, all for her nieces shines so!

To have lent you sit or walk, you were mostly for this she had no path that which t is but a din. While now it’s official, I said it to make a break my heart’s purest Platonic blasphemy, the blood and such a deuil wants hornes

but ears, too, to the Baltic’s navigation; he with doing all, leaue to display all wracked be? We daur na gang a milking, but none his home, as the converted by thy losse, they say at least heaven’s circles moved as into matters

hast thou in Margent see? Shall not mark of love, disdaineth; suns of the Black and bull; but to sight sooner was out, but slight of soil, nothing brightest Georgians might; but I won’t slip and neighs unto her; which reason he himself from the infant

girl who smiles as in beginning, but true-sweet music, and honour’s wracke beyond her babe from gods of late. In a moment losing, who put me first her ear, to her lost all fulfil your heart out all this desire’s fountain or in

the house, that trash of such disdain, that God be good old aunt, not with barrel wine, and said she fixt a show, which are of no woman making a narration, no doubt every Christians to die. And loyal scratch and yet no Hand outwore the

dears. Lowder had not rhyme and aw’d resisteth, which the holy order; when he did frown, and I loathed Paddocks lording to the great causes all fear she cannot rejoice, this theme— he seldom from a band of pine, a passions, frantic looks

so sterile, but not his dismal cry ringlets, blown a life- breath, and that such a light that I thee proof in word once from out thine may hear, ever full of despair? Instead of love, as yet are such a deuil wants hornes but name the Mother’s

guise, then bloody beast, which you sit fore your grace it is with interest, and the world equals the pools that are. He knew to bid thee light, your belles and revisions of theyr good night grows later. Heirlooms of the bare bulb softens above, wearing.

Being steel’d, soft sighs draws delightful plain, round ranged rounde, so as thou wast begot; to get a little flowers, though t is in the many moe. To tell upon you talk of law before him throughout the apartments, the evening in

the moment in him for then though not appropriately has been said, The devil is done. Husbands take true rights of the Tory member’s base purveyors, who had a foot of May, since I am I, who else, was wrinkles curl’d much more

resisting. One large tree. Dreams be, if of joys or woes: yet very dashing, but she was sensitive, and so drive on, postilions. And serious proue, onely lou’d Tyrans, iust in his revel and worn, with oath to bear, or newer.

Bear witnesse withstands that wealth, kingdom come. And there is Kosciusko’s name—from Spain. But let a fall, trust me, I sometimes

a year to follow their companion new, should be dug up! Think of that love is a thing of the coffer-lids them yet,

tis not it at all. Fit Oratours to my neighbours’ land, one and then hath decrease why she blush’d, and he must be wooed.

Tyrant stain’d glass and all life’s first her majesty, who, though the third canto—and then have: far I was graceful sleeps; ’ we

feel without any flaws or stars and unfather’s nakedness. All the pools that are wed? Through all my spirit beauty

set gloss of the fridge, on the shepheards boyes young strange the man’s force. But the valley-fountains; or as meek, breaking willow,

sweeping? Absence such frisks are like the door was better fits him to infancy beguile her green dropping like glorious

Gothic windows? Skill that in mine ear, above all that killing like awe, that, is to fire: bid her face, as alone.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #168 texts #ballad sequence

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natjennie · 1 year

Text

with tears in my eyes. tis no fault of the sun if the eye sees not its beauty.

#bbc ghosts #genuinely one of the most beautiful lines in the whole show #i traveled miles and was unchanged when i couldve been here. transported.#ouaugh

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littlehorrorshop · 3 years

Photo

Lovely, isn’t it?

‘Tis. I was just thinking - it ought to be dull and commonplace. Same sunrise, over the same house, over the same tiny piece of England, every day for 200 years. But it is beautiful. I’ve travelled miles and was unchanged, when I could have been here and… transported. It’s no fault of the sun if the eye sees not its beauty.

Ghosts | 3.03

#mat baynton #mathew baynton #ghosts #bbc ghosts #british tv #british comedy #horrible histories #gif #mine #mat*#ghosts*#bbc ghosts spoilers

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imkittyjustkitty · 2 years

Text

Kitty's Daily Pride — Day 7

prompt ; holding hands

pairings ; Lily Evans

summary ; Lily loves you, in ways she can't put into words.

+ reader is gender neutral & no mentions of y/n

warnings ; none !!

genre ; fluff !!!

word count ; 412

A/N ; not quite the direction i planned on it going (prolly gonna write something else where it goes in that direction) but im honestly soso happy with this its so lovely. also heyyy !!! two posts in one day <33

do not steal, repost, or redistribute my work in any way.

There's quite a few things a person can figure out just by paying close attention to Lily Evans. In the way she carries herself, she is strong and persevering. In the way her shoulders are relaxed and the way she walks with no fault, she is the friend who would stand up for those who need it.

Looking closer and someone could see from the way she adjusts her socks as she sits down, that she is a perfectionist in all the little ways, not a strand of hair is out of place, not a shoelace is ever un-tied, because 'all these things could be a safety hazard given the right circumstances,' and, 'they're also a hassle and an inconvenience that can be easily avoided'.

But if someone were to pay attention a little closer for a little longer, they'd see Lily's practical walls fall little by little when you're around. They'd notice the light blush when you compliment her beautiful smile (she was only softly smiling before, now she can't help but grin). They'd notice the way her eyes widen whenever they land on you, the way her gaze is so filled with love no matter what the two of you are doing or talking to each other about.

Paying close attention to Lily Evans reveals her strength and where her faults lay, but really those are all things you could learn from befriending her, from spending some time with her. What really requires close observation, something to discover what would otherwise never be truly understood to anyone other than Lily, is her love for you. Her love for you is something Lily believes she cannot put into words, not in a way that would do justice to all the ways and how much she loves you.

Lily loves you in the way that the planets gravitate towards the sun. Lily loves you in the way that you know that no matter how hard it may get to try to see them, that the stars of the night sky are always held up in the canvas of blue. Lily loves you unapologetically, in ways that would drive her up the wall were she not able to call you hers.

There's quite a few things a person can figure out just by paying close attention to Lily Evans, but one of them that such an onlooker will never be quite able to grasp, is just how much Lily Evans loves you.

reblogs are appreciated so much !!

#lily evans x reader #lily evans x you #lily evans x y/n #lily evans fluff #lily evans imagine #lily evans fanfic #lily evans x gn!reader #lily evans x fem!reader #lily evans x masc!reader #marauders x reader #marauders era #lily evans #🌈 — kitty's pride writings #i'll be a leading lady if i get my shot — my writing

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pokeheadcannons97 · 3 years

Note

Hi! May I request some HC with Milo, Piers, Leon and maybe Guzma where their S/O hates their body (especially weight on their belly and stretch marks) and just gets really anxious when they wear crop tops, shorts, etc?

As a plus size person, I feel this. This is a PSA, if it's cute and you like to wear it?

Honey, WEAR. THAT. OUTFIT.

Milo

This guy basically worships the ground you walk on. He honestly thinks that you are so beautiful, and is one that compliments you often with no shame.

The two of you are herding Wooloo? And you're completely drenched in sweat and mud?

He is awestruck, and he let's you know it!

Hates when you think so low of yourself, and takes it upon himself to tell you how wonderful you are.

Do you not realize how gorgeous that you look? No? Not for long!

"Milo? You're staring, do I look bad? It's the mud isn't it?" You pulled at the shorts of the outfit you were wearing. The shorts had ridden up a little bit, more on the short side due to the heat. You had decided to pick that over the trusted blue jeans you usually wore since you were so self conscious in how you looked. You didn't know if it had been a good idea in the first place since Milo was staring at you without saying anything.

"You look so beautiful, Y/N. More so than a freshly opened tulip in spring." He replied, wiping the sweat from his face with his scarf he wore. Completely unembarrassed or shy about saying it so casually.

It still makes your heart all wack.

You lightly touched your thigh. The bad thoughts seemed to be completely drown out for the compliment. Your face flushed and you leaned in to give him a hug.

This made Milo hum in reply. He wrapped his arms around you and gave you a squeeze around your waist.

You laid your head on his broad shoulder, and let out a shaky breath. "Thank you sweetie, I needed that today."

"Darling, you look good in anything you wear. Dont ever feel like you dont look good to me. Because those thoughts are wrong." He reassured, giving your back a comforting pat as you could only nod in response with a small smile on your face.

Leon

He noticed you staring in front of the mirror longer than usual after your shower that evening. The towel still wrapped around your frame.

He watched from over the top of his phone, your hands pulling at your arms, your expression falling by the second.

Your hand traced the stretch marks that etched itself onto the bigger part of your arm, the other one was tightly wrapping the towel closer to your body.

He continued to observe silently, the grip on his phone tighter.

Your hand lowered itself to your torso and you gave out a soft, but heavy sigh. Your e/c orbs shimmering slightly with tears.

When you turned around your face came into contact with Leon's chest and you let out a surprised sound from your lips.

Strong, well toned arms wove themselves around your body, pulling you close.

This caused you to look up at him, slightly confused.

"Awww did you want a hug, Lee? You could have just said so." You laughed lightly, trying to diminish the thoughts you were in a few seconds earlier.

"Y/N." He began, choosing his words carefully, but with a warm smile. "Have I told you how pretty you look lately?"

This caused your cheeks to heat up and you blinked at him. "Ah, thank you Lee... that means a lot."

Your response seemed forced and rehearsed and he did not like that one bit.

He turned you around to where you both could look at yourselves in the large mirror. This made you squirm uncomfortably.

He bent down and kissed alongside your jaw before he said, "I mean it. You know that you're the most beautiful person to me."

He traced his finger tips alongside your arms and then gripped your hands with his. His much larger hands enveloping yours like a warm blanket.

This made your cheeks flush harder, but the comforting warmth was welcomed. "Lee?"

He met your gaze in the mirror, his golden eyes shining with nothing but love. "You're so lovely, every bit of you. No one can even come close."

You felt your breath get caught in your throat and swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall.

Leon kissed your neck softly.

"How about we go out for dinner tonight? I think I wanna show you off." He chuckled lightly against your ear.

You felt your eyes water more, but this time out of relief. You nodded softly and leaned back against him.

Guzma

You gave a sigh of satisfaction as you basked in the warmth of Alola.

The day was pleasant, you, Guzma, and his gang had decided to head to the beach for a much needed day off.

Your swimsuit cover still laid across your frame, you liked how it basically covered all your "problem" spots.

You crossed your legs as you laid on the beach chair, deciding to take up some sun bathing since it felt so nice.

You watched Guzma play in the water with some of the grunts, their obnoxious laughter echoing through the air.

You smiled softly, your eyes crinkling up a bit. Part of you wanted to join them.

You had worn a swim suit today, even the one that Guzma seemed to like, but you just couldn't do it. Not today anyways, the negative thoughts too loud.

You peered down at yourself, the smile melting from your face.

You looked up when you heard the sand crunching from ahead. Your boyfriend completely drenched, but a playful grin on his features.

"Those guys are somethin' else. Haven't been able to let loose like this in too long!" He exclaimed and sat on the seat next to you, grabbing a towel to dry his hair of the saltwater.

"You guys seem to be having a blast out there for sure!" You replied with a grin on your own.

He looked up at you, onyx eyes meeting yours. "Why dont you come join us? You've just been sitting here since we got here. Who goes to the beach JUST to sun bath?" He joked and the added. "You aren't a Fomantis the last time I checked."

You gave a forced smile in reply. "I'm having fun just observing, Guz. Promise."

This caused his gaze to lower and it seemed to look right through you.

"Babe." He began and continued when you blinked at him. "Tell me the reason why you're still out here. I can tell when something is bothering you." He said and you felt your chest tighten.

You pushed the sunglasses to the top of your head, observing him intently. You stayed quiet for a few seconds, and it seemed like you both were having a stare down.

Your will broke first. As normal.

"I hate you sometimes." You started and stuck your tongue out. You gave a low sigh. "Its just..."

He watched and listened silently, though his gaze was softer.

You gripped your cover against you. "I don't think I look that good today, is all."

This caused Guzma to immediately grunt. "Did someone say something to you? I swear to Arceus, I will END them."

You shook your head furiously. "No! It's all me, I promise. No ones fault but mine."

Guzma rose to his feet, and grabbed your wrist and started leading you to the water.

"G-Guzma? Wait! I don't, I cant!" You protested and tried to free yourself.

Guzma stopped and looked back at you, an idea crossing his mind. He quickly undid the tie that tied your swimsuit cover together and threw it towards the chairs.

This caused you to try to cover yourself, the thoughts becoming worse than before. Fear that everyone could see your "problem" areas.

He gave you a large smile and pointed his thumb towards himself. "Baby, you're the hottest person in the entire world. And I mean that." He said and you blushed.

He then turned around and shouted loudly. "Ey! You guys!"

This caused everyone, grunts and Plumeria to look towards you.

You were gonna kill him.

He stood next to you and gripped your shoulders. "Dont Y/N look fine as hell today?" He asked the group and the group cried out in shouts of cheer and nodding.

"Y/N always looks good!"

"Very nice!"

"Come hang, Y/N! Put that swimming suit to use!"

"Hell yeah!"

You cheeks burned but you felt the thoughts diminish as Guzma gave you a kiss to the cheek.

"What I tell ya? Perfection."

You punched his arm lightly. "Thanks Guz, I mean it."

#milo #leon #guzma #milo x reader #leon x reader #guzma x reader #plus size reader

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mindofasupernova · 3 years

Text

Someone you loved

Kaz Brekker x reader

Mr. Sandman Part 2

Inspired by the song "Someone you loved" by Lewis Capaldi

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me

This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy

Kaz's mind was a raging storm, an ever-shifting landscape. His heart was madly racing and he feared that if it didn't stop soon, it'll burst out of his chest.

Two days had gone by and yet there was no information about Y/N's whereabouts. No one had made an effort to contact him asking for money in exchange for her safety, no blackmail, nothing. Kaz knew the probability of Y/N being alive was shrinking as the days passed.

Kaz felt terrible, guilt crushed his heart in a vicious grip. If he hadn't kicked her out, if he had taken back his words, if he had just... No, thinking about what ifs wouldn't bring Y/N back home. If she's still alive a cruel voice whispered in the back of his mind.

His mind drifted to his darkest memories, horrible images plagued his mind. Rotting flesh beneath his fingers, icy hands grabbing at him, threatening to pull him under the waves. Water filled his lungs, consuming his oxygen and living him in the dark. His head broke the water, gasping for air, Kaz looked around, trying to find something, anything to grab to avoid drowning. Only that now instead of his brother's corpse, he saw Y/N's limp body floating above the water.

Kaz fell to his knees, the pain brought him back to reality. He was trembling, sharp gasps left his body, black dots covered his vision. Y/N would have told him to focus on reality, take in the details, count every little object he could find in the room. But Y/N wasn't here, and it was all his fault.

___________

I need somebody to heal, somebody to know

Somebody to have, somebody to hold

Y/N talked passionately about her latest read, making wild gestures with her hands as if to prove a point. Jesper's arm was slung across her shoulder, head thrown back in a laughing fit. When his cackles died down, Jesper leaned his head on Y/N's shoulder and started mocking her for being able to remember the exact place where phrases were in the book.

Kaz watched silently from his seat in the Crow Club, he knew those touches were purely friendly gestures, and still he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

On many sleepless nights, Kaz thoughts had wandered down a treacherous path, always finding their way to Y/N. His mind had been invaded by images of her: the smile she always wore when she was about to make a witty comment, the way she pursed her lips whenever he asked her to memorize an important document, the furrow of her brows when paying close attention to Kaz's plans.

He snapped out of it, angry at himself for thinking about her, he couldn't afford those thoughts. Kaz's life was dangerous and he had many enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use anything or anyone against him. If he left himself feel, if he let her in, he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

He had tried. He had tried to distance himself, push her away until his feelings dissipated to nothing. However, every time Y/N appeared in his office late at night just to talk about her day, every time she called his name, every time she sent a glorious smile his way, Kaz couldn't bring himself to say no.

And now, looking at Y/N from across the room, a sense of longing clouded his vision. Thoughts of sitting next to her, no space between their bodies, with no fear of touching reminded him of how miserably he had failed.

____________

It's easy to say, but it's never the same

I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain

Since Y/N's kidnapping, Kaz had gone completely feral. He had looked for anyone who could provide information. He had kidnapped, tortured, and even killed members of any other gangs he had his suspicions on. He was unstoppable, he wouldn't rest until his Y/N was safe. She isn't even yours because you kicked her out a scornful voice reminded him.

Kaz's whole body hurt, his limp was more prominent than usual, his knuckles were bloodied and a purplish bruise contrasted against his pale skin from a blow he had taken when he was beating the life out of one of the Dime Lion's informants.

How he wished Y/N was there. No matter how many times he came back to the Slat, covered in blood and clutching at his wounds, Y/N's gaze always turned into one of horrified worry.

Y/N had always healed his wounds after a mission, wiping the blood away very carefully in order not to touch his skin. Even when he wasn't bleeding and it was just his leg giving him a bad day or a headache that refused to leave him, Y/N always brought him medicine or tea depending on the situation.

But Y/N was gone and he might not ever see her again. His thoughts lurched him back to the ocean, dead things suffocated him. He clutched his cane tighter, he couldn't have a panic attack now, he needed to find Y/N.

_______

Now the day bleeds into nightfall

And you're not here to get me through it all

The night wrapped the dirty streets of Ketterdam in its wicked hold, the moon loomed ahead casting a palish glow through Kaz's window. Another day had passed and he was no closer to finding Y/N.

He was alone in his office, clutching his cane tighter by the second, its sharp edges bruising his skin, and yet, the pain wasn't enough to keep the waters from rising, Y/N's form surrounded by corpses.

No, he couldn't think of her this way. He had to remain positive, he needed to hope Y/N was still alive somewhere, but for someone like Kaz, remaining positive wasn't something he strived on. Instead, Kaz looked inside his brain, searching for a memory of Y/N to avoid passing out and when he found it, he seized it and hung to it for dear life.

Kaz had heard people say love arrived at the most unexpected times, bloomed in the most unlikely places. People said love wasn't something you chose, something you could control, not a concept you could welcome or shut out of your life at your convenience.

Kaz deemed those people foolish, weak for not being able to control themselves, and as the cold mastermind he was, Kaz brushed off all of their comments. And he would have kept thinking that way if it hadn't been for Y/N during a warm summer evening.

The Crow Club was surprisingly empty, everyone was in a relaxed state, currently resting after a successful heist. Kaz had been working in his office, signing contracts when a soft knock sounded against his door, Y/N peered inside and after receiving Kaz's consent, stepped through the threshold.

Y/N sat in front of his desk, a small smile playing on her face, ensued by a moment of silence, Y/N started talking. Kaz's head perked up at the sound of her voice, eyes leaving the papers to direct his whole attention to her but he had been completely caught off guard by the sight before him.

Y/N's mouth was moving but Kaz's couldn't hear a thing, it was as if someone had stolen the sound so he could only focus on Y/N's heavenly form.

Y/N's hair was slightly disheveled, gusts of wind occasionally brushing lonely strands into different directions, soft locks swishing in compass with a nonexistent melody. Sunset rays filtered through the window, lighting up Y/N's features. Sunlight beams fell gently down the slope of her nose, gently caressed her long lashes, and kissed her tender lips giving them a reddish hue.

At that moment, Kaz realized how dreadfully unjust the world was. How come was the wind able to run his breezy fingers across her beautiful hair? How could the rain brush her skin lovingly without repelling at the idea of skin contact? Why could the Sun kiss her graceful lips and he couldn't?

Kaz wanted to hold her, reach for her whenever he wanted without fear of drowning. He wanted to hug her and nuzzle his nose in her hair affectionately. He wanted to know what her skin felt like under his fingertips. Kaz wanted to know the taste of her lips.

Because he was in love with her.

________

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Y/N laid immobile in his bed, her skin almost as pale as his sheets, soft breaths escaped her lungs. Kaz sat in a chair near her fragile body, his frown deepened every time his eyes landed on a different wound.

Kaz felt like in a déjà vu, a vision that had happened exactly three weeks ago. This was the reason why Kaz had pushed her, why he had evicted her from the Slat, the one home she had ever known. But did it matter? All his efforts to keep her safe had been in vain.

That fateful night, when she had been the distraction in a supposed easy heist, everything had come tumbling down. The nightmares had started back then, where he first saw her all bloodied and beaten and unconscious. They didn't know if she would ever wake up. Kaz had refused to visit her, images of his nine-year-old self seeing her amongst the corpses in the Reaper's Barge haunted his days.

When she had woken up he'd wanted to see her, but he couldn't bring himself to because he knew what he had to do. Kaz couldn't bear the thought of her dying, he couldn't imagine her gone, but if he gave her hope, if she saw how much he cared, she would refuse to leave. He needed her to stay away for her safety

So he had done that, he had ruthlessly yanked his heart out of his chest when he had kicked her out. The words he had said to her tortured him since that day: "Do not think that just because I have kept you around for this long you're irreplaceable." And when he thought he couldn't feel more pain, Y/N had started crying. Silent droplets fell down her cheeks and Kaz felt as if the most savage assassin had ripped his heart into shreds.

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Seating there, silently watching Y/N's closed eyes, he was experiencing it all again. When they had found her she had been tied to a chair, unmoving, in one of the Dime Lion's warehouses. He swore his heart had stopped beating, she couldn't be dead, when Nina had checked for her heartbeat and announced it was still there, Kaz's heart reanimated.

Nina had done her best to heal her and now the only thing there was to do was wait until she woke up. This time Kaz had refused to leave her bedside. This time he would do things differently.

He had been a coward, he now realized. He should have never let her go. He should have been braver, stronger, he should have protected her. Now he realized he wanted, no, needed her with him. He had been too scared worrying for the future that he had forgotten to enjoy the present. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Kaz?"

His head shot back to Y/N. She was awake, she was alive and he would never let her go.

And with such a fervent emotion, he couldn't have thought himself capable of expressing, he said "Please, don't ever leave me again. "

Thanks for the song recommendation @itsemy01

Taglist:

@getawayfrommewerewolf, @lady1505, @rika90, @thedelusionreaderbitch, @coffeewithoutcaffeine, @aleksanderwh0r3, @princessleah129, @subjecta13-thefangirl

#shadow and bone #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows

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valdomarx · 4 years

Text

Untouchable

Octoberfest day 31: cursed

“Fuck! Geralt! Help!”

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier comes skidding to a halt in front of him. He dreads to imagine what trouble he’s gotten himself into now.

“Something terrible has happened! I had an, umm, unfortunate encounter with a sorcerer.” He blushes, pink creeping over his cheeks. “And he put some horrible curse on me and portaled away, the bastard.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“And now I can’t touch anyone. Look!” Jaskier holds out a hand to stop a passerby. He goes to shake the confused man’s hand, but the moment their skin makes contact Jaskier gives a yelp of pain and leaps back.

That reaction isn’t feigned, Geralt is sure, even as the man gives them both an odd look and leaves.

“When you touch someone, does it hurt badly?”

Jaskier’s bottom lip wobbles. “It really does.”

He sighs. A lack of touch might be a mere annoyance for him, but he knows it’s more than that for Jaskier. “I’ve heard of a mage who specialises in lifting curses. But he’s all the way in Kovir, and that’s no small journey.”

Jaskier turns big, pleading eyes on him. “Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. You have to help me.”

As if he could ever refuse him anything. “Alright,” he grumbles. “We’ll head to Kovir.”

At first, Jaskier appears as bright as ever. Yet as the days pass, more and more often he chews his lip in a nervous habit, and he rubs his fingers together when people come too close. He smells of anxiety and restlessness.

Each evening, once the dinner has been eaten and the sun has set, they lay out their bedrolls by the embers of the fire. The scent of anxiety is replaced by one of loneliness and Jaskier will curl in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It’s sad, how much lesser Jaskier seems to feel without touch.

Geralt is used to being shunned, to going months without a friendly clap on the shoulder or shake of the hand. But Jaskier isn’t, and the curse is taking a toll on him. Geralt wishes he could help, that he could provide some comfort, but he knows right now all he can cause Jaskier is pain.

They need coin for their journey, so Geralt takes jobs along the way. He’s on a contract to clear a nest of nekkers and he has, for some unknown reason, allowed Jaskier to accompany him. Jaskier had wheedled and pleaded and in the end Geralt had found himself unable to say no.

It should be fine. A nekker nest is an easy job, and as agile and springy as the creatures are, they’ve no stamina and they’re easy to kill.

That must be why he allows his concentration to slip when he’s approaching the nest, his eyes darting to the side to check Jaskier is safe behind a rock. The momentary slip lets one of the foul little things bounce up to him and sink its teeth into his gauntlet, more of an annoyance than a real threat. He shakes it off with one hand and uses the other to cut more of the creatures down with his silver blade. His gauntlet goes flying, but no matter, he can collect that later.

He rounds on the last few of the creatures who are nickering angrily. As he circles them he sees Jaskier peeking his head over the rock and then creeping closer, trying to get a better look.

Fuck. He kills two of the nekkers quickly, but the last three have picked up on Jaskier’s scent and are eyeing him with interest. Geralt sees two leaning back on their hind legs, preparing to leap at Jaskier and cut him to shreds with their sharp claws.

He has a split second to make a decision: Grab Jaskier and risk hurting him himself, or leave him where he is and watch the creatures go for his chest. It’s no choice at all really, so Geralt sends up a quiet word of apology and grabs Jaskier firmly around the neck with his ungloved hand and shoves him out of the way.

The last two creatures leap into the air, but with their target gone they’re easy prey. Geralt cuts them down with minimal effort and turns, expecting to see Jaskier writhing on the ground in pain.

He’s not though. He’s sat in the mud with a puzzled expression on his face.

“That didn’t hurt,” he says, seemingly mystified. “Well, being thrown to the ground was not the most delightful experience, but when you touched me - it didn’t hurt.”

That is strange. Geralt had been sure he’d triggered the curse.

Jaskier gets to his feet and regards Geralt quizzically. Very carefully, he reaches out and touches his fingertip to Geralt’s bare hand. He doesn’t flinch back or gasp in pain. Instead, he takes Geralt’s entire hand in his own, and a beautiful smile blooms over his face.

“I can touch you! But how?”

Geralt stares down at their joined hands, unsure why he feels unsteady. “Witchers are immune to magic?” he guesses. “I suppose that could be -”

He’s interrupted by Jaskier throwing his arms around him and hugging him close, happy little sounds of joy and relief spilling from him. “Oh, Geralt, thank the gods, I was losing my mind.” He snuggles deeper against Geralt, rubbing his face into his neck and hanging on tight.

“Oh. Well.” It seems the only thing for Geralt to do is to hug him back, so he puts his arms around his shoulders and draws him in.

Jaskier keeps touching him all the rest of the day. Whenever he bumps their shoulders or grabs Geralt’s hand, he breaks out into a wide, goofy smile, like it’s novel and fun every time.

Perhaps the curse has worn off? The next traveller who passes them by, Jaskier finds an excuse to stop him and shake his hand. But the moment their hands touch, Jaskier yelps in pain.

He’s still cursed then. But he can touch Geralt. Strange.

And Geralt can’t help but indulge him, even though he knows Jaskier is touching him because he’s the only option, not because he really wants to. He reminds himself that Jaskier would surely rather be off with some pretty lady, not grasping at a crotchety witcher for comfort.

But still, every time Jaskier brushes their hands together and smiles, he feels a little wobbly inside.

That night, he watches as once again Jaskier curls in on himself, small and sad by the fire. The further north they travel, the colder the weather grows, and the more distressed Jaskier becomes.

“Hey.” He keeps his voice soft, and Jaskier turns to look at him with big, wide eyes. “Join me?” He lifts a corner of his bedroll and waves him over; an offer, not a command.

Jaskier immediately scurries over and burrows into him, all hands and hot breath and happy murmurs. He settles into Geralt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Geralt wraps his arms carefully around him.

This, at least, he can do. Jaskier will find someone else to warm him soon enough, but for now, he has Geralt.

Geralt is on his way back from a job when the sound of raised voices makes him quicken his step. Outside the inn where he’d left Jaskier, he spots a distinctive bright blue doublet in the midst of a gang of angry-looking locals. They’re poking at him and taunting, and Jaskier is gasping in pain.

“Look at this precious little thing,” one of them sneers. “So delicate he can’t even bear to be touched by us lowly folks.”

The man reaches out and grasps Jaskier firmly around the wrist, and Jaskier screams, raw and excruciating. The sound reaches into Geralt’s chest and twists painfully, and he breaks into a sprint.

The next thing he knows, the man is on the ground before him, sobbing as Geralt twists his arm to the point of breaking. The others have fallen back, trying to hide behind each other, and Jaskier stands off to one side cradling his wrist.

“You don’t touch him,” Geralt growls, and the man before him pales even further. “Understood?”

The man nods frantically, babbling apologies, and as much as he’s tempted to break a few bones to drive home his point, he knows Jaskier wouldn’t want that. He drops the man’s arm and snarls, “Go.” He and his friends beat a hasty retreat, leaving the street empty but for him and Jaskier.

“Jask,” he says, and it breaks his heart to see Jaskier so pale, a tear running down his cheek. “Are you alright?” He’s wracked with guilt - he should have been here to protect him.

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I’m fine. My own fault, really.” He reaches out as if to touch Geralt’s hand before faltering, unsure.

He’s clearly in need of comfort, so Geralt pushes his own uncertainties aside and steps closer. He brings up one hand to wipe away the tears from Jaskier’s cheek, and cradles his face as gently as he can. “It’s okay,” he says in the tone he uses to reassure Roach when she’s frightened. “I’ve got you.”

Jaskier blinks up at him with watery eyes, but his smile is more genuine now. “Yeah,” he sighs softly. “Yeah, you do.”

Jaskier still insists on performing as they travel, and as much as the thought of him among all those grasping hands sets Geralt’s teeth on edge, he does understand. For all the times that he’s been injured and insisting on continuing to work, it would be hypocritical of him to deny that to Jaskier.

He sways carefully around the tavern as he plays, and to a stranger he’d seem relaxed and at ease but Geralt knows him well enough to see the anxiety in his rigid movements. Each time a hand reaches out toward him he flinches, though normally he’d be luxuriating in the attention.

Each flinch has Geralt’s grasp on his mug of ale tightening, until the wood is groaning beneath his hand and he has to shake it loose lest he crack the mug and send ale flowing over the table.

Jaskier can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.

He certainly does seem fine, and by the end of the evening he’s caught the attention of a pretty girl with voluminous curls spilling out from the dainty handkerchief tied around her head. When Jaskier is done with his performance she buys him a drink, and she leans over the table to giggle as they speak in low voices.

Geralt watches from his corner table and scowls. He tells himself his foul mood comes from concern for Jaskier, from worry that this woman might hurt him unintentionally. He almost has himself convinced it’s true.

There’s no point skulking in the shadows all night, he knows, so he finishes his ale and heads upstairs to their room. As he lays down, the bed feels strangely empty without Jaskier’s bustle and scent and colour. Wondering when he became so damn soft, he slips into a meditation.

It’s not long before he’s revived by the sound of Jaskier creeping into the room and hurriedly undressing.

Geralt rubs his eyes, dispelling the lingering wooziness. “I thought you’d spend the night celebrating,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “With that nice young lady.”

In the low light, he sees Jaskier shrug. “It got rather awkward when she kept trying to touch me and I kept having to run away.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” He settles into bed next to Geralt. “It’s just -” Geralt can smell the mixture of exhilaration, arousal, and frustration on him. “It’s frustrating. Wanting something and not being able to have it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt knows that feeling all too well.

“I’m -” Jaskier turns his head away a fraction, and Geralt can see a blush spreading over his cheeks. “I’m not used to going so long without… you know. It’s making me antsy.” He rubs the palm of one hand against his crotch, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“Hmm.” He inhales again, and the scent of arousal is sharper, more prominent. He rolls onto his side, tentatively places a hand on Jaskier’s thigh. “I could help,” he offers. “If you want.”

He’s expecting to be told no. He’s expecting Jaskier might even push him away, disgusted. He’s not expecting the way Jaskier sucks in a breath, the way the scent of arousal blooms, the way Jaskier squims beneath his hand.

“You’d do that for me?” Jaskier’s voice is breathy.

I’d do anything for you, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he places his hand on top of Jaskier’s and guides it to the fastenings of his trousers. Jaskier unlaces himself in a clumsy rush which Geralt can’t help but find endearing, and then he’s working his cock free, rubbing gentle strokes with their two joined hands.

It’s nice like this, where Geralt can let Jaskier guide him, show him what he likes. His fingers tease along the soft skin on the underside of his cock, the delicious slick at the head. As he strokes, Jaskier shakes in his arms, gasping and writhing. When he comes, it’s with a soft, gentle sigh of contentment that Geralt wants to bottle and keep forever.

Jaskier makes a tokenistic effort to wipe himself down with a shirt and collapses back into bed. “Should I…” He chews his bottom lip. “Would you like me to return the favour?”

Geralt’s cock is pressing against his trousers like iron, and Jaskier must be able to feel it. But he didn’t do this with the expectation of recompense. He just wants Jaskier to feel good.

“No, it’s okay,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Jaskier sounds disappointed, almost. “Okay.”

They fall asleep like that, curled up close together, but a feeling of uncertainty hanging between them.

In the weeks after that, Jaskier takes to touching Geralt even more. They sleep close together every night, and they find pleasure in each other when they need to. Geralt makes his peace with this unspoken arrangement: he is a hand to Jaskier when he needs it, and Jaskier returns the favour as a politeness.

The first time Jaskier kisses him while they rut together, his heart is fit to burst out of his chest. Trading favours is one thing, but the surge of love and heat and affection that erupts in his chest when Jaskier brings their lips together can’t be denied. He could kiss Jaskier every single night and never tire of it, he thinks. Late at night, as they move together, Geralt feels himself falling.

It’s not everything he wants, but it’s enough.

It has to be enough, because soon they’ll make it to Kovir, and then they can lift the curse, and then Jaskier won’t need him at all any more.

Geralt catches himself wishing that the curse won’t be lifted, and then he’s disgusted at himself for being so selfish.

Kovir is beautiful. Sharp, snow-dusted mountains dart up into the sky, and great rivers flow with fresh water through green, lush lands. The city of Pont Vanis is breathtaking, with spire towers reaching up toward the heavens and rich mosaics of glasswork covering every surface. Each new corner seems to hold some elegant delight of artistry, and Jaskier grabs his hand to pull him along each new street to behold some fresh wonder.

But they are not here for gawping, Geralt tells himself, and he steers them toward the address of the mage he’s heard is an expert in curses.

Once inside, the Koviri mage stares at the pair of them.

“A curse, you say?” He raises an eyebrow.

Geralt stands protectively behind Jaskier, ready to leap to his defense should the mage prove troublesome.

“Yes. Whenever anyone touches me, I feel horrendous pain.” Jaskier grimaces. “Except for Geralt. For some reason, he can touch me and it’s fine.”

The mage nods. “I see. Did you perchance anger a magic user?”

“Ahh.” Jaskier looks at his feet. “Well. There was a mage whose acquaintance I made. He seemed… less than happy when I declined his offer of companionship.”

The Koviri mage shudders. “What monsters southerners can be. Cursing someone because they rejected you, what hideous behaviour.”

Geralt is warming up to this mage already.

“Let me see what I can do.” The mage closes his eyes and reaches out his hands, holding them a few inches from Jaskier’s chest.

He opens his eyes again and squints curiously. “Strange. I can’t feel any curse upon you.”

He reaches out, and pokes Jaskier in the chest. Geralt leaps forward, ready to defend his bard from this onslaught, but he’s stopped in his tracks by Jaskier’s voice.

“Huh.” He sounds perplexed, not pained. “That’s odd. That didn’t hurt at all.”

They reason perhaps it’s because the mage is a magic user too, so they bring in the mage’s servant. He touches Jaskier’s hand and again he’s fine. Then they try the washerwoman next door. That’s fine too.

The mage shrugs and smiles. “It seems that the curse has worn off. Some weaker enchantments only last a matter of days.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You mean… all this time, I’ve been fine? I could have been touching anyone?”

The mage hums, eyes sparkling. “So it appears.” He looks at Geralt, and his gaze is penetrating. “Perhaps it has not been such a loss for you though, hmm? There are many paths to knowledge.”

They stagger out into the weak Koviri sunshine and Geralt is consumed with guilt and relief and worry. Surely Jaskier will hate him now. Hate him and leave him, now they’re no longer tied together.

“Jaskier-” he begins, just as Jaskier turns to him to say, “Geralt-”

They stare at each other a beat too long.

Geralt’s shoulders slump. Let the end come if it must. “Go on,” he says, bracing himself.

“Thank you.” Jaskier is giving him that soft, quiet smile that he loves. “For taking care of me.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I should have known better. I understand if you want to leave.”

Jaskier shakes his head and takes his hand. “Come on.” He leads Geralt toward one of Kovir’s elegant public parks. “Let’s walk.”

They stroll beneath a series of wooden archways, woven thick with roses. The sunlight peeks through in dappled spots on the springy grass.

“I don’t regret it,” Jaskier says. “These last weeks. I don’t blame you. You’ve done nothing but try to help me.”

“But you could have been with anyone.” Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought he’s been keeping Jaskier against his will. “You could have touched anyone. Kissed anyone. Found anyone else to bring you pleasure.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier stops and tenderly brushes a stray hair from Geralt’s face. “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Geralt barely dares to breath. Hope rages within him, frothing and exuberant. “You mean-”

“I didn’t want anyone else then, and I don’t want anyone else now.” He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I always just wanted you.”

His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest. “So you’ll stay with me? Even now?”

Jaskier strokes one finger down his cheek, and his entire world narrows to the joining of their bodies. “Always,” Jaskier promises. “There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

#obsessed with touch... me... hahaha. it's fine i'm fine.#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #octoberfest #we did it folks!! 31 fics in 31 days!!#i enjoyed writing this one especially

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