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aylacavebear · 4 months

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Stockroom Antics - Chapter 3

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 1474

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 3

You and Sarah went back to the hardline to finish unboxing what had come in on the truck that day. She was still laughing a bit from the little sofa incident, taking out her phone and getting it posted to her social media account.

“So, he was hot,” Sarah mused as she put her phone back in her pocket, pulling some items out of the box in front of her.

You shrug your shoulders, working your own box, “He’s FBI, probably married anyway.”

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have flirted a little bit with him,” she teased you.

You now rolled your eyes, “Men are nothing but trouble. How many are flirting with you these days?” you asked, teasing her a bit.

“A few,” she chuckled.

The two of you chatted while you worked, laughing and joking around, as well as planning your next antic to film. Luckily, management was fairly lenient when it came to goofing off at work. Most times in the stockroom there were jokes, laughter, and better than any comedy show you’d ever watched. It all managed to mostly take your mind off of the sulfur question the agent had asked you about but it never fully left your mind.

Your break came up around two-thirty, a typical time when you worked till five. You liked sitting outside in the sun, even on chilly days like today. Most times you’d scroll through Tumbler, reading some fanfic about one of your favorite characters. These days it was Damon from The Vampire Diaries. To you, it was just fantasy. You knew vampires weren’t really like that, and you had no desire for a domineering man in your life either.

Five minutes before you had to go back in, you looked up as the scent of sulfur moved across the air from behind you. Almost a dozen people were walking around the parking lot and the sidewalk in front of the businesses there but none of them stood out. You took a deep breath, the sulfur smell gone as you felt your heart rate increase a little, knowing you’d have to be even more vigilant than before.

As you took care of the hummers for the last half of your shift you paid more attention to the customers in the store, but more for the scent of sulfur. If you had been running the racks of clothes, you probably would have smelled it but since everything on the hummers went in the back half of the store, you never noticed.

Several customers asked you to unlock the bathrooms for them, which you did with a friendly smile, enjoying being able to help them with something. You missed cashiering, which was your last job at the Wal-Mart across the street. Ross hadn’t started cross-training you yet, so for now, you just enjoyed helping the customers who came up to you on the floor. You smiled while you worked, dancing around a little to the music playing in the store. Sometimes something you liked came on even if most of it was more new-aged.

“So, if we get pillows in the shipment tomorrow, pillow fight on hardline,” Sarah told her as you put another hummer in the backroom near the end of your shift.

“Oh my god, that is gonna be so much fun,” you laughed, thinking about it.

“We’ll see who else we can get in on it and get to film it,” she chuckled.

The two of you were always coming up with new ways to have fun at work, “How’d the last video do?” you ask her, mildly curious.

“They loved it and want your profile so they can check your stuff out too,” Sarah told her.

You laugh a little as you look away from her, “You know I’m not into all that stuff. I’ll just be a silent contributor.”

She rolled her eyes, “One of these days you’ll cave,” she teased you before asking you for a code 99, as she did every day the two of you worked together.

You check her bag, say your goodbyes, then clock out and head outside. The smell of sulfur is present but you can’t identify its source. You stop at the edge of the sidewalk, looking both ways and around the parking lot. There is a really nice Impala sitting in the parking lot but you can’t make out who’s inside it, not from this distance. That was not what you should have been focusing on but it was the only odd thing that stood out. What you didn’t notice was the couple that was watching you from near the Petsmart, right next to your work.

Once the way was clear, you crossed the small road and headed toward your truck, feeling your heart rate increasing as you walked. You at least were aware that the sulfur odor was coming from somewhere behind you but that didn’t mean you didn’t suspect whoever was in that Impala either. You’d warded at least the inside of your truck from demons, making it so they couldn’t enter. The breeze blew again, sending that sulfur smell back over you as you closed the driver’s door of your truck.

For a moment, you just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, attempting to calm your racing heart, as well as looking around for anyone suspicious. You saw them, the couple standing near the Petsmart, watching you. One more deep breath, and you started your truck, heading toward home. It was a half-hour drive from where you worked, out in the quieter part of Avra Valley.

You checked your rearview mirror repeatedly as you drove home down those long stretches of road. There was the usual five o’clock traffic but out this way, it was minimal compared to in town. A couple of times you thought you were being followed. You even slowed down, going five under the speed limit. The cars passed you, and you sped back up, now back to five over the speed limit. There was also a brief moment when you could have sworn you saw that black Impala in the small line of vehicles behind you but it wasn’t there when you rechecked.

It was five-thirty-five when you pulled into your driveway. You lived on an acre of land in a mobile home attached to a scamper with a twenty by seventeen-foot enclosed porch that connected the two. As you put the truck in park and shut off the engine, you sat there, taking several, slow deep breaths. You’d already found a decent protection spell with sigils that you’d marked each corner of the property with, as well as warded your house as a just in case.

The sun was low but not quite down, not for another half hour at least, and the wind had picked up again. You sighed as you climbed out of your truck and headed inside. Luckily you’d remembered to leave your heater going so the scamper was warm, that was where you slept and spent most of your time.

Your regular night routine consisted of changing into comfortable pajamas, setting up your coffee pot for the following day, checking Snapchat due to Sara and her tagging you in the antics you did at work, and then spending the evening enjoying your favorite show at the moment. Dinner was leftover baked chicken while watching The Vampire Diaries.

After dark, the neighborhood dogs started up like they usually did. There were plenty of strays in the area but within the last week, the neighbor's dogs had gotten more annoying. It was almost as if people were taking a walk or someone may have been lingering too long. No matter how many times you checked outside, through your window, you never saw anything, not even a stray dog. With the subdivision across the street, lots more people had dogs in the area. There were also the annoying drivers who either blared their music or had the bass turned up so high that you could hear them coming a mile away. It was the usual light traffic for the night since it was a weeknight. On Friday and Saturday nights, all the kids and teenagers were out on dirt bikes and quads.

When eight rolled around, you reluctantly turned off your show before heading to bed. You knew you’d be up for at least another hour reading some fanfic on Tumbler, or several. It was probably the most relaxing part of your day. Snuggled in your bed, leaning against your pillows, letting your mind drift to some fantasy through a fanfic, even with the dogs going off from time to time outside. There were plenty of things you weren’t aware of that night as you plugged in your phone, turned on some relaxing music to sleep to, and turned off your light.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 4

Link to the series Master List

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solivagant-muse · 2 years

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Continuation of Oc Emoji Asks

🪤 MOUSE TRAP - what will always lure them into certain danger? a loved one in danger? a promise of something they are always searching for?

Iris: She can only be "lured" if she is already chasing a victim she likes. So, using a bait she likes might do it...

Finley: Blackmail on him that might ruin his (social) life.

Odile: Definitely a loved one she cares about.

The Patron: Someone harming an artifact of great artistic/cultural value or a muse he cares for being in danger.

"Alice": Someone threatening to expose her true identity.

☆

❇️ SPARKLE - what is their most prized possession? what do they value?

Odile: She had to leave everything behind after the fire... her dress is the only thing she has of her old life. So, that's probably it.

If not, that would be her sewing and embroidery kit.

The Patron: All the gifts his favorite obsessions have dedicated to him... those are invaluable.

He also owns a few sculptures, book editions, and paintings by artists he loves. Those are in his private collection.

☆

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

Iris: She doesn't want to be remembered. She just wants to be a ghost.

She'd rather have people never know she even existed. A ghost, a boogeyman. That's it.

The Patron: A Patron of the Arts and a man dedicated to preserving the cultural value of things.

He wants to protect the beauty of art for future and present generations.

☆

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Lmao, none of my OCs trust others easily. The only one who does is Odile, but only if that person is her prince charming. If not, she trusts no one, not even herself.

They've all been backstabbed one way or another.

Most to least likely to turn their back on someone:

Iris

Finley

"Alice"

The Patron

Odile

Most to least likely to betray someone:

Iris

The Patron

"Alice"

Finley

Odile

☆

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Iris: Nothingness, absolute nothingness inside out. No desire for anything or anyone. Does she exist?

Finley: His entire life has been event after event of "what ifs." Never had the courage to do or try anything. He feels like his train has already parted. He misses his high school best friend, he misses his grandparents. He longs for a life that will never be.

Odile: She ate her first love after she accidentally killed him. She doesn't feel like she's a human even though she can breathe and feel and bleed.

The Patron: Hasn't spoken with his family for decades. They don't want anything to do with him. They don't even know or care if he's alive.

"Alice": Is there truly a place where she can call home? Will she ever feel safe? So many eyes are on her, or is she imagining it? Does she want to be known and understood? Opening up is terrifying.

☆

🚆 TRAIN - what is their answer to the trolley problem?

Iris: Hijack the trolley to make it drift and kill everyone.

Finley: He doesn't want to be involved in anything. He just lets the trolley do its thing: run over the 5 people.

Odile: She doesn't want to kill anyone like that unprovoked! She'll divert the line and try and help the individual.

The Patron: Who in the railway is an artist? If someone is, that line lives. If not, divert the vehicle to kill one person only.

"Alice": Divert the vehicle and kill one.

#my ocs #my oc #slasher oc #oc emoji asks #oc: 'alice'#oc: the patron #oc: finley madigan #oc: odile #oc: iris #slasher: the patron #slasher: odile #slasher: iris #final boy: finley madigan

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dmc-tings · 3 years

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The Lord's with an S/O (who just found out about their powers)

Alcina Dimitrescu

Noice 👌🏾

But what did you do for this woman to spare you?

She's like... the biggest man hater anywhere

So... if your a guy, you are lucky boi (or if you identify as a guy)

Or perhaps your a lucky lady?

I feel like she won't discriminate if she feels like your important to her

But for whatever reason she CHOSE YOU

So take that as a win

Sure, she's a vampire and has to eat people

Which was something you didn't know

But she doesn't eat in front of you

Even lying to the point of telling you she's drinking wine

You get curious, of course

So when she leaves to "take care of business", you look onto her glass or cup

You see red

"Ok... but it dont smell like wine..."

You take a sip, only to spit it out right away

Retching with disgust, you tasted blood

Your not an idiot, at least not fully anyways

Alcina rushed back, hearing you gag, thinking one of her daughters were bothering you

Only to see the sight in front of her

You looked at her in fear

Which hurt the tall woman's non beating (?) heart

You backed into a corner, thinking the worst

Looking for a makeshift weapon, you grabbed a spoon

To which made the Lady shake her head

"Love, you know I wouldn't-"

"Your a damned liar!!" You barked weakly, "W-what the fuck are you!?"

She sat calmly in the chair in front of you, gesturing for you to take a seat as well

You hesitated, but did comply, not letting go of your weapon (the spoon)

She huffed sadly, normally this behavior would have sent her into a rageful fit

But this is YOU we're talking about

Her little muse, the only mortal that makes her truly happy

"My Love, please calm down."

When you showed no sign of relaxing, Alcina took her glass in her hand, swirling the blood

Then takes a small sip, and lighting a cigarette

She offers you one

You cringe, and with that she pulls back again

After taking a puff, she begins to explain

Mother Miranda, the other Lord's, the creation of her daughter's, the Village, and everything else, prior to your showing up

After she finishes, you lower your loyal spoon

Drinking in all of the information

You looked up at her

"So that's why your so keen in keeping the girls away from me..."

The large woman nodded, looking at you

You bit your lip, but let go of your spoon, placing it back into the table

Alcina looked at you, watching you relax

You nodded a calm understanding

"Well seeing as I know what's going on now... is Mother Miranda going to-"

The Lady Dimitrescu, shook her head

"She has allowed for me to keep you. As long as you only stay in the castle... seeing as that the village is too dangerous. And I don't want you mixed up with the rif-raf."

You smiled and sat in her lap, (cause you can do that) and planted a kiss on her cold cheek

She let out a pleased humm, and returned the kiss

"Just... next time, if you choose a weapon, Love, make sure it has a SHARP end."

Salvatore Moreau

You had known Moreau since before Mother Miranda made an impact on his life

You saw less and less of your significant other

He would disappear and cut your alone time short, whenever the woman called

You were saddened when he finally told you that you couldn't see him anymore

But that's didn't stop him from speaking to you through whatever door, that separated you both

He didn't keep you locked up, but he would lock whatever door was between you

So you couldn't see the monstrous transformation, causing him pain

All you knew is that his voice was becoming more and more disgruntled

As said, you knew Salvatore before this

He was a handsome and intelligent man (despite what's written in Miranda's notes)

And to hear your man become... so in thralled by this other woman, made you suspicious

One day, you both were speaking, with a door between you, as usual

Unbeknownst to Salvatore, you were picking the lock

Eagar to see him

He never noticed the change in your tone, when you got it unlocked, nor the click of the lock

Shoving the door open, and pushing Salvatore back

The male let out a yelp, trying to rush in to the nearby darkness

You stepped through the threshold, eyes blazing and searching

You scanned the room and finally landed on a heap of a shivering... beast?

"Moreau? Is... is that you?" You crept closer, and gently put a hand on his back

"D-dont look at m-me...." he shivered, trying to hide himself

Horrified, you took his face on your hands

"I-is this... the work o-of-"

He cut you off, "Do-dont. Mother loves me... she does... I know she does..."

You felt tears pour down your face

You couldn't bring yourself to speak

That vile woman, had destroyed your dear Moreau

The man you knew and loved was beaten and broken into this sobing heap before you

He looked at you, and reached up to wipe your tears

"Oh... please don't cry... thi-this is her will..."

You shook your head, "what kind of will is this, Salvatore? To turn you-"

He pulled away from you, snarling, "I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!!! Mother loves me, and i-"

You slapped him, your tears stopping, "What kind of man have you become?!"

Disgusted, not with his appearance, but his sniveling attitude

You left

But... not unaffected by what happened to the man you cared about

You left... everything behind, the Village, your family...

Salvatore Moreau never left your thoughts and you never left his

It was a bittersweet life, but you were glad to leave what was happening behind

Angie and Donna Beneviento

These two kept you in their estate

Though Donna hid Angie from you, worried that you wouldn't understand the need for her doll

She also kept the pollen from her plants away from you

You were the first person Donna could talk to, without her illness bothering her

No need for Angie!? And this person don't care!?

Fucking Jackpot!!!

Though Angie does get a bit upset that she don't get to see you

That's about to change

You and Donna where sitting in the backroom, overlooking the waterfall

Enjoying an afternoon tea

"Dear? How are you feeling today?"

Donna looked at you, taking your hand in her's giving you a smile

"I am well." She reassured you, giving your hand a squeeze

Then you sneezed, surprised cause your allergies hadn't started up, due to the lack of pollen

And the abundance of snow and cold

Donna gasped, looking over her shoulder

"Angie, n-"

Angie revealed herself, giggling and plopping herself in your lap

You froze, "A-a doll? Donna... is this a gift?"

You never really liked or disliked dolls

Angie gave another giggle, "No, stupid! I'm Angie. Donna's most favorite doll. And a friend."

Your eyes widened at the living doll, "Uh... im-"

"I know who you are!!" She floated infront of you now

"And we like you!"

Donna was quiet, not surprisingly, but you reached out for her

She gently took your hand in her's

"Donna. Tell me whats going on. Please."

Donna nodded, quietly starting to explain.

The gifts from Mother Miranda, the plants, the pollen and finally Angie

You looked at the floating doll, who was nodding her head along, with Donna's words

Then finally, you pulled Donna closer to your side

"You don't ever have to hide things from me. I never had a problem with the other ways that you cope, Donna."

Your encouraging words sent the woman into tears of joy

She buried her face in your chest

You smiled at Angie, who patted you on the forehead

Karl Heisenberg

You sat in the smaller, (safer) part of his factory

It was a part he had built to keep you safe

From what?

You had asked Karl several times, on different occasions, what was he building

"Its none of your concern." He waved a hand dismissively, "Whats for dinner?"

You always had huffed out whatever meal you made for the pair of you

Karl was always one of three places: meeting his "family", in the factory, or right next to you

The "family" was always thrown into air quotes

You knew he disliked his "family"

He announced his leaving out again, not telling you where

But leaving nonetheless, as usual you waved him off

But today was different, you WERE going to see what the hell was in that factory

Not paying attention to the warnings he gave you, you made your way down

Once at an elevator, you pressed the button

It came up and you were met with a large, large portly man

"Why if it isn't Heisenberg's little kitten."

Shocked you jumped back a bit, but then inched your way inside

"Its alright. I mean you no harm. Come, come."

You stood next to him, "Uh... who are you?"

"You may call me The Duke." He hummed, "But what are you doing here? Don't you know it's dangerous to play here?"

You lifted your chin, "I can handle myself. Thank you."

The Duke gave a small laugh, as you pulled the switch, but didn't speak again

Hitting the bottom floor, you disembarked, waving goodbye

You noticed a door and pushed through

Only to be met with a metal drill nearly splitting your face in two

With a strangled yelp, you lept backwards

"HOLY SHIT!!! WHAT THE HELL-"

"Who's in my damned- KITTEN!?"

You heard Heisenberg's voice above you and looked around frantic

"Karl! What-"

You didn't get to finish, the same monster came at you again

Dodging to the side, only barely missing getting drilled

Running in to the labyrinth, you were soon cornered

You shook with fear, hearing more monsters come after you

Closing your eyes, waiting for the blows to take you to the Great beyond

Your waiting was cut shirt hearing a series of clang's

You moved your hands and opened your eyes

Seeing Karl, standing in front of you shoving all the monsters back...

But he wasn't touching them....

"What... how-"

"Dont just sit on your ass, get up!" He barked, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind him

Once back in the safe zone, you slapped him, breathing heavily

He took it, it was a well deserved slap

"E-explain yourself!"

He sat heavily down, telling you everything.

The reason for the factory, the monsters in it, his powers, Miranda's plan, even pouring out his emotions about it all

You finally understood and took his hands in yours, kneeling down infront of him

"You idiot. All you had to do was talk to me. Not be a "big tough guy" about it."

You kissed his rough hands

And he chuckled at you

"Always understanding. Thanks Kitten."

#lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #Salvatore Moreau x reader #moreau #salvatore moreau #angie beneviento #angie and donna #donna beneviento #angie and donna beneviento x reader #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Note

spiderman kiss but it's with darknight hero diluc

pairing: diluc x gn!reader. modern!au vigilante!diluc thing ??? cw: just pretend he can go upside down just pretend its normal ok,,, i am begging,,, also uh pretend his darknight mask is different from the webtoon one bc ik the webtoon one sure isn't fooling anyone! a/n: the way i was in the middle of writing a fic but saw this and literally FLEW to write it oh my GOD,,, this gave me such bad oc brainrot LMFAOOOO i literally had to stop myself from making the reader a reporter

---------

"you shouldn't be out this late," a voice echoes from behind you, causing you to glance up to the nearest fire escape.

"y'know, i've never met a controlling man that's worth my time," you muse. you can almost hear the roll of his eyes, yet the mask of the familiar vigilante above you prevents you from actually seeing it. darkness shrouds the both of you, yet the inescapable lights of the city streets still provide some semblance of visibility. you can make out the crouched figure of the darknight hero on the platform of the rickety metal fire escape and you bite back a sigh.

ever the one for dramatics, huh? you think, yet the mysterious vigilante had always been this way from the moment you met him.

"i'm not trying to control you, i just... desire for you to be safe, that's all. crime in the city is only going up," the darknight hero chastises and you let out a soft laugh.

"well, you always seem to be just around the corner of wherever i am. i'm fairly certain mondstadt's favorite hero wouldn't let me get hurt, would he?" your tone is playful yet a faint edge rests within it, as if you're beckoning the darknight hero to step up to the challenge of being your protector.

"i never believed you the type to want to be rescued," the vigilante muses and you bite back a smile at the rare instance of him actually bantering back with you. "but i suppose we all have our secrets."

"speaking of secrets," you say and you can almost hear the sigh the darknight hero bites back. "when are you ever going to lift up that pretty little mask of yours?"

"the mask preserves my identity," the hero comments and you stare at him, a sly smirk forming on your face. back to base one, you think as his tone grows increasingly more withdrawn. after numerous encounters with him, you still have yet to predict which statements will pull out his nearly-hidden playful side and which will only make him grow more distant.

"well, you only have to lift it up partially in order to give me a kiss," you tease, not expecting him to actually take the bait. however, the vigilante lowers himself so his face is upside down, directly in front of yours.

"is that so?" he breathes. you wonder if he's nervous. "then maybe i can indulge you, just this once."

your breath catches in your throat. oh. giddy butterflies erupt in your stomach. with nervous hands, you lift your fingers up, gently pinching at the end of his mask, yet not moving. you wait a moment for him to tell you to move, but the vigilante only gives you a subtle nod of reassurance. gently, you push down the mask until it rests just below his nose.

as adrenaline rushes through you, you gently hold his cheeks in your hand and place a soft kiss to his lips. the hero who had protected you so many times was now yours to kiss, even if you did not know his name or face yet. not wanting to be too overbearing, you eventually pull away and smile, admiring the way you can see the faint flush of his cheeks, even in the dim lighting.

"stay safe, darling," the vigilante says as you pull his mask back up. before you can exchange any further banter, the darknight hero slips away into the night, leaving you stunned.

archons. your best friend (and longtime crush), diluc ragnvindr, is almost guaranteed to laugh at you if you tell him about your newest encounter with the darknight hero. maybe some things are best kept a secret, you think to yourself, none the wiser to the darknight hero's true identity.

#haha the way this is so ooc but idc #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #writing.diluc #mail.diluc #//mail

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komotionlessqueenmm · 3 years

Text

Swimming Lessons.

(1-1)

Short story # 9

2,350 - Words

Fandom - Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing - John Marston X Reader

Summary - Based entirely on Imagine # 662, which reads. imagine taking it upon yourself to teach John how to swim.

Warnings - Light smut, its just a handjob. (Cause I'm a horny bitch, especially when it come to Mr. John Marston.)

----

Looking to her left (Y/n) began snickering quietly when she noticed John snacking away on candy. "What?" John cocked a confused brow at her, still munching away. "You and your candy." (Y/n) shook her head with a grin. "What, I like 'em." John frowned, hesitating his chewing. "Oh nothing, I think it's sweet." (Y/n) joked making John roll his eyes playfully. "Ya got any to spare for your favorite girl?" (Y/n) hummed as she rode beside him, batting her lashes. "Oh I don't give Grace candy." John retorted as he pat his horses mane, his words making (Y/n) huff with a frown. "I see how it is." (Y/n) crossed her arms, spurring her horse into a trot. "Now hold on darling." John called out spurring on his own horse. "I was only playin' sugar." John nudged her shoulder, holding out a few pieces of candy. "And here I am, going out of my way to help you. And what do I get in return, the nerve of some people." (Y/n) sassed turning her nose up at his offer, a fit of giggles erupting from her when John practically pulled her onto his lap, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry darlin'." John whispered into her hair as he nuzzled into her neck. "Oh alright, I forgive you." (Y/n) sighed playfully, adjusting herself back onto her horse, afterwards leaning over to plant a kiss on John's scared cheek. "Here sugar." John hummed as he grasped her hand, pushing a few pieces of candy into the palm of her hand. "Awe thanks honey." (Y/n) cooed making John chuckle at her, smiling contently as they continued their journey.

A few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. "We're almost there, but the path isn't the safest to travel at night, we should set up camp then continue in the morning." (Y/n) suggested. "Alright." John agreed with a nod of his head. "Where you wanting to set up?" John asked as they trotted across a bridge. "There's a clearing up ahead, looks like a good a spot as any." (Y/n) pointed to the clearing in the distance. "Sounds like a plan." John agreed as they neared the sight. "Where is it your wanting to go tomorrow?" John asked with curiosity. "Dodds bluff just south of widows Rock, there's an abandoned shack we can set up in." (Y/n) answered his question. "Why there?" John asked with curiosity. "Several reasons, one because the water up there is beautiful, and always a comfortable temperature in the summer, plus we're far away from our friends, so you don't have to worry about them teasing us." (Y/n) explained as they moved from the road to the grass to find the best spot to set up camp. "What exactly are we doing, that they would tease us about?" John eyed his girlfriend wearily. "I'm gonna teach you how to swim finally." (Y/n) stated as she dismounted, her words causing John to freeze up. "Swim?" He muttered in worry. "Yes John, swim." (Y/n) laughed softly as she unpacked her things. "I-I um..." John stammered nervously. "John sweetie, we'll take it slow I promise." (Y/n) assured him as she approached his side, resting a reassuring hand onto his knee. John smiled softly, his heart melting. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me." John whispered softly, his confession making (Y/n) blush under his tender gaze.

"So darling, how long you plannin' on us staying out here?" John asked as they sat up the camp, one tent for them, and the other to keep their supplies dry if it rains in the night. "However long it takes until your able to swim on your own confidently." (Y/n) hummed as she moved on to feed the horses some grain. "That could take awhile." John chuckled nervously. "That's okay, I let Arthur and Dutch know we wouldn't be back for awhile." (Y/n) shrugged casually. "How'd you manage that?" John asked as he finished up the last of the work. "I found a few gold bars while out exploring, and I donated two of them." (Y/n) hummed as she brushed her horse, John joining her to brush his own horse. "How many did you find?" John asked with astonishment, both surprised and impressed that she found any gold bars to begin with. "Four." (Y/n) smiled at him, a certain gleam in her eyes. "And what are you planning on doing with the other two?" John asked with a curious gaze. "Well someone real special has a birthday coming up." (Y/n) mused with a playful grin, making John feel all giddy inside like a little kid. "Darlin' you're just to much sometimes." John shook his head with a smile, making (Y/n) giggle softly. "You love me for it." (Y/n) shrugged, gasping when John hugged her from behind. "I love you for more than that baby girl." John cooed as he nuzzled into her soft hair, inhaling her natural scent.

When morning came around (Y/n) was practically bouncing with excitement, while John sluggishly followed after her. Having broke down camp and packed up, the couple continued their journey. The small road they took seep and narrow in some spots, making John understand why they didn't risk riding on last night. "There's the shack." (Y/n) pointed to the little shanty, a wide smile upon her pretty face. "The water looks kinda fast." John pointed out as they neared the small building. "It's slower upstream." (Y/n) hummed as she dismounted her horse. "If you say so." John murmured skeptically. "Are you sure no one lives here?" He added as he dismounted. "Yeah I've come up here a hundred times, no one's ever here." (Y/n) shrugged while unpacking their supplies. John wasn't convinced however and removed his bolt action rifle from his saddle, approaching the house first. "Let me just check first." John explained when (Y/n) eyed him funny. "Oh alright." She smiled up at him before he turned his attention to the door, which he pushed open slowly with his rifle. Humming with satisfaction John turned back to (Y/n), shouldering his rifle. "You were right, it's abandoned." He walked down the steps of the porch, taking the supplies from (Y/n)'s hands to take inside. "I would say I'm always right, but you've proven me wrong plenty of times." (Y/n) laughed as they continued their work, her words making John chuckle. "Oh you mean like that time you thought you wouldn't like it when I stick my-" (Y/n) threw an apple at him, cutting him off. "Yes John, like then." She sassed with pinkness in her cheeks, making John laugh a hardy laugh. "You walked funny for three days, but not once did you complain." He teased with a grin, making (Y/n) whine as she hid her face in her hands. "Can we please stay on task here?" She groaned between her fingers, making John beam with pride. "Sure thing sugar." He mused into her ear, relishing in the sight of her shuddering from his voice alone.

After everything was dealt with, and the horses tended to (Y/n) led John a little ways upstream. "Are you sure about this?" John asked as they began stripping out of the majority of their clothes. "What of someone sees us?" He added with a nervous glance. "We're far from the main road, and people don't really use this road. We'll be fine, and even if someone sees, it doesn't matter. What we're doing is none of their business." (Y/n) assured her lover, pecking his lips to comfort him. "Hey I want a real kiss." John pouted as he followed after (Y/n), who was now hip deep in water, having gone into the small stream that connects into to river. "Then come get it cowboy." (Y/n) teased as John stood on the back, having an internal debate. Gathering his courage he made up his mind, and began walking into the shallow stream. "The things I do for love." John huffed when he reached (Y/n), his hands instinctively resting on her hips. "I've got you baby." (Y/n) hummed before connecting their lips, the sweet feeling of her lips against his detracting him from his fear of the water. John's grip tightened when she began walking backwards into deeper water, their lips still connected in a passionate kiss. "Wait." John broke the kiss with a strained voice, looking at the water beyond her shoulder. "Hey John look at me." (Y/n) grasped his face between her hands, turning his attention solely to her. "Do you trust me?" She asked as she peered into his dark eyes. "Of course I trust you, I trust you with my life." John proclaimed with a series tone, knowing she'd never hurt him or betray his trust. "Follow me, and stay focused on me, I'll keep you safe." (Y/n) smiled softly, slowly walking back towards the river. John nodded his head, his grasp on her hips still tight as he followed her obediently. His breath came out shaky as he breathed through his mouth, his eyes still locked onto (Y/n)'s. With each careful step they moved deeper and deeper into the water, until the water rest now at chest height. "How you doing John?" (Y/n) asked as she stroked his hair back, smiling at him reassuringly. "I'm alright, just need a moment." He admitted his hands noticeably shaking against her hips. "Take all the time you need baby." (Y/n) cooed as she leaned forward, catching his lips to distract his mind.

When they broke for air John had relaxed quite a bit, now ignoring the sounds of rushing water, he focused solely on the woman before him. "I love you." He murmured softly, so touched that she wanted to take the time to teach him how to swim, something no one else had ever tried. "I love you too John." (Y/n) leaned into his chest, resting her head into the crook of his neck. They stood their in a relaxed tranquil state in the water, allowing John the time he needed to truly relax. "Let's keep going." He suggested softly. "How about we stay here, so you know you can stand up if you begin to panic." (Y/n) countered his suggestion, slowly lowering herself into the cool water until she was on her knees. "Okay." John muttered to himself as he followed suit, slowly lowering himself. "You're doing good." (Y/n) praised when he finally sank down before her, the water now up to his neck. "I'm terrified." John admitted with a shaky voice, wrapping his arms around (Y/n)'s hips now. "Relax sugar, I'm here." (Y/n) hummed as she rubbed his back soothingly, smiling when his back muscles relaxed under her touch. "You know I might just have to reward you for doing so good." (Y/n) mused with a suggestive tone, her words causing John's breath to hitch in his throat. "R-really?" He stammered with surprise, his excitement building in an instant at the lewd thoughts popping into his head. "Yeah." (Y/n) hummed softly, one hand slowly drifting under the water, and down his body. "(Y/n)." John murmured quietly, his cock hardening as her fingers brushed against it. "All for me?" (Y/n) smirked before slipping her hand into his underwear, grasping his manhood by the base, and giving it a gentle squeeze. "All for you." John nodded his head in agreement, his hips thrusting forward, desperate for more friction.

(Y/n) giggled softly as she began stroking his length, rubbing her thumb against the underside of his cock firmly, from time to time. John's mind went hazy with pleasure, his eyes closing as he rest his forehead against (Y/n)'s shoulder. "Just relax baby, I'll take care of you. Make you feel good." (Y/n) cooed and then began peppering his face and neck with kisses. "So good." John praised quietly, unaware of his surroundings anymore. (Y/n) twisted her wrist while brushing her fingers across the tip of John dick, causing a shutter to run down his back. John hissed in pleasure his cock throbbing with need, twitching a little as he neared his end. "Cum for me honey." (Y/n) encouraged picking up her pace, the erratic movements of her arm, made the water slosh around them. "(Y-Y/n)!" John stammered in a moan, ropes of cum spurting from his cock as he came undone for her. "Good job baby." (Y/n) praised her lover, still stroking his cock slowly, working him through his euphoric high. "(Y/n)." John murmured her name, pecking sloppy kisses against her neck. "John my sweet sweet John." She cooed tilting his head up to look into his eyes. "You didn't even notice." She added with a playful smile, her words causing John to take in his surroundings. His heart froze for a moment when he realized they were now much deeper in the river, his feet just barely able to touch the bottom. "See John, swimming ain't so bad." (Y/n) brushed his hair back softly, smiling at him warmly when he noticeably calmed. "Y-yeah I guess you're right." John smiled remaining relaxed when (Y/n) moved back a little, allowing him to float on his own. "It's kinda fun actually." John chuckled as he got the hang of swimming in place. "It is." (Y/n) agreed with pure joy, beyond happy to have taught John Marston how to swim. The couple spent the next three days swimming, and the next four nights making sweet love under the stars, and within the privacy of the little shack. Only leaving when John felt comfortable with swimming. The pair of them worn by the time they got back to camp, Arthur watching them excuse themselves straight to bed with a knowing smile.

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Favorite Food Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out. ao3

The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.

“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.

“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”

“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”

“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”

Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”

Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.

Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.

But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.

Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.

And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.

What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.

He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.

He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.

He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.

It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.

The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.

And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.

But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.

But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.

He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.

Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.

It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.

He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.

It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.

As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.

The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.

It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”

It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.

The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.

He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.

He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.

He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.

“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”

Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.

Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.

Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”

“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.

“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.

“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”

He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.

He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.

It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.

Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--

“Geralt?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.

Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.

“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.

He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.

It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.

And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.

Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.

Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”

Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”

Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--

“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”

Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.

Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.

The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”

“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”

“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.

“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”

“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”

“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.

Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?

A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.

“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”

Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”

“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.

“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”

“But they weren’t--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”

They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.

“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.

Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.

“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.

Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”

It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.

“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.

This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #my work #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #fluff

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.5 (NSFW!)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

'Cassandra's favorite', the other maids call you.

You can't tell if they mean it as a good or a bad thing. Hell, you can't even tell which of the two it really is.

Being her 'favorite' does not make you immune to harm in any way; bruises litter your shoulders and sides from when she grabs you too forcefully and cuts from her nails sting at your neck and stomach, renewed each time she comes to take a kiss.

None of that existed back when you were something of zero interest to her. On the other hand, she's told you several times you're 'a thing of beauty' --her thing of beauty-- and she won't let anything ruin a natural piece of art.

If you know anything about Cassandra, it is that she takes art very seriously. Your interpretation of the word greatly varies from hers, you're sure, but it doesn't change the fact she won't easily raise a sickle on you.

Cassandra won't break you. She won't let Daniela do so, either. Bela doesn't even care to hurt you. It means you're safe for now...

Unless Lady Dimitrescu decides you're best taken away from her daughter. Permanently. You don't dare meet her eyes, but you can feel them on you, scrutinizing, every night at dinner.

You're pretty sure she knows.

The thought sits heavy in your mind while you're cleaning bloodied steps off a corridor at three in the small hours of the morning, along with another maid. Adella is a quiet and hardworking one; the two of you make a good team and you know you'll be done in record time.

But it only takes a single moment for everything to go wrong.

Adella is hastily walking back to you with a bucket of fresh water in hand when you hear a different set of steps approach from the side. You make to warn her, but it's already too late.

The collision happens at the turn where the two passageways meet. As soon as you see black robes dripping wet you pray to whichever God will listen for mercy.

Because Cassandra has not been in a good mood all night and she is not the understanding type regardless.

Adella gasps and shakingly backs away, a waterfall of apologies spilling from her lips. Cassandra rolls her neck and draws her sickle, advancing on her slowly. She looks terrifying.

"Don't move now." she orders.

And you just- can't watch this. You don't know why, but the realization you cannot hits you like a speeding truck. You can't stand there while the the woman you frequently kiss cuts away at a girl you know is as good and compassionate as a human under your circumstances can possibly get.

You react.

Before you can even think how impossibly stupid you're being, you drop the mop in your hands and dash forward, crashing into Cassandra's form. Your right arm wraps around her waist and your left grips at her wrist like a vice. Your heart is pounding. You don't even know what you're saying;

"Cassandra, no! Please. Don't." Cold and rigid as she is, it may as well be a statue you're holding. "Cassandra, stop. Please." Once impulse dies down, you realize you've just signed your death wish for two seconds of playing hero.

And you thought you were smarter than that. Ha. But maybe, just maybe, part of you wants to die, so long as it's quick and painless.

With Cassandra, though, you doubt it. Especially with how lethal she sounds when she says:

"You. Disappear." You hear, rather than see, Adella scurrying off for her life. "As for you..."

You only register a blur, nausea, cold nails piercing at your neck, over already existing marks. You are shoved into the nearest wall so powerfully you can't breathe for all of ten seconds. It's a wonder you don't hear any cracks from within your body.

Cassandra is on you, her fingers harsh on your chin and breath chilly on your lips. "Good pets don't bark against their own masters. What made you so bold, hm?"

You don't answer, too busy summoning your mental strength for what comes next. The way her eyes and the lines of her pretty face have hardened, she looks nothing like the flirty girl who comes to steal kisses from you at random times during the night.

"Maybe I've been too nice to you. The first time you call my name and it's for some other maid?"

She looks like she wants to let out a bitter laugh, break something and slice you into stripes simultaneously. And then you realize; Cassandra is jealous.

It doesn't get any worse than that.

"Maybe I should make sure you never say anything again." The corner of her lips curls up in dark amusement as she talks. "You don't talk much, anyway."

Well. She did say she wouldn't let anyone ruin your looks. Never promised anything about what's on the inside.

You're shaking, even if her grasp doesn't leave much room to do so. Your brain is restlessly trying to come up with something to get you out of this mess-

"I'm of way more use to you with my tongue intact." you somehow manage to speak without stuttering. It makes you wonder where the hell this confidence came from.

Cassandra stills for a moment. Her grip eases the slightest amount, probably from surprise.

You wonder what the hell you're even doing, yourself, when you bring your hands to her sides and lean in, to the curve of her nice jawline. You've never kissed her neck before, but you remember from the times you've given her a massage that she's very sensitive around it.

Cautiously, you press your mouth to the soft spot under her ear.

She smells so good and her skin feels so smooth you're not exactly forcing yourself to kiss her. If you're going to be mutilated anyway, the part of you that must be severely messed up muses, you may as well take some pleasure for yourself beforehand. Who knows, it may change her mind along the way.

So you lick her there and suck over her faint pulse. You don't get any stimuli from her, at first.

Until her hand trails from your shoulder to your nape, urging you harder against her. It's the green light to keep going.

You put all your skill into it as you lavish her neck and collarbones with open-mouthed kisses. She's loose and moaning low in her throat now.

You can't tell why, but the sound echoes right though your adrenaline-induced system, tickles down your spinal cord to pool low in your stomach. You either had a kink for danger you never knew of, or you developed one in the castle.

Whatever the case, your fingers are working on the buttons of her outfit and she doesn't seem like stopping you has even crossed her mind.

When the robes barely hang onto her shoulders, Cassandra maneuvers you to the closest room, shuts the door and presses you against it. Hard. Your lips slide together hungrily. You taste wine on her tongue.

At this point, your hands are the only thing supporting her outfit on her. She looks too fucking sexy for words like this, half-undressed, lipstick smeared, so turned on and ready for you. But you also want to see more of her, so you let the black fabric drop.

She's getting impatient, though. Being more vocal, tugging your hand to the apex of her legs.

"Cassandra." you moan when you push the midnight lace of her panties aside and touch her. She's so wet.

Her mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, brows drawn softly. "Oh, you're lucky I like my name on your lips." she says, breathless.

You did start this trying to prove to her how useful your tongue can be attached to your body, however... so it's only fair that's how you finish it.

Finish her.

Cassandra looks dazed and confused when you kneel in front of her, but it's quickly replaced with a broken moan when you take her into your mouth. You revel in every single gasp you coax out of her, every minuscule shake of her perfect thighs.

She bites into her own hand when she reaches her peak, nails leaving four parallel marks on the wall.

You're gentlewomanly enough to pull her outfit up for her while she's coming down from her high. Your gaze takes its sweet time admiring the contours of her chest as you button it closed. She really is the most attractive girl you've ever seen, if you somehow don't take into consideration her body count.

"Good?" you ask when she opens her pretty eyes to look at you.

"It's not cute to be smug, plaything." Cassandra makes a soft grimace at you, though you can see the lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "But. I suppose your tongue has its uses to me, after all."

You gently push off the door to let her exit at her leisure. The movement makes you realize you won't really be able to move tomorrow, with how sore you already are.

To your surprise, Cassandra takes a moment longer in the room.

She turns back to you and raises her hands to your torso, then carefully adjusts your wrinkled shirt. Her long fingers smooth over the imperfections she caused...

And you don't know why after everything the two of you just did, it's this that feels the most intimate.

The same digits brush over your throat as she pulls away.

By the time your mind starts working right again, Cassandra is already gone. Absently, you trace over the weeping scratches on your neck.

Later, at the main hall of the castle...

"Oh, boo, look who's late again." Daniela rolls her eyes at Cassandra's fashionably delayed arrival.

"Surprise, surprise." Bela smirks, casually leaned against the side of the fireplace.

"Are you two done being insufferable or should I come by later?" Cassandra asks.

"And scar our ears and minds with another round of your 'oh's and 'ah's, sister? I think not." Daniela comments.

Bela raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Had a nice time?"

"You two have very active imaginations, you know? Tells a lot about you." Cassandra chuckles. "She was just giving me a massage. But do go on. Be thirsty. I can wait."

Daniela and Bela share a look, thrown off their game by the nonchalance.

Cassandra hides a smirk under her hood and steps out first, into the peerless dark.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfiction #the thirst is real in this one guys #you have been warned

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koumine · 3 years

Text

🦑 take your tentacle monster on a date 🦑/ Ruri-chan headcanon [OM!] [tentacle monster Reader/Leviathan]

check out the first snippet from this fic here! -> [link]

content tags: tentacle monster!Reader / Leviathan, gender neutral reader, monster courting, fluff, humor, eldritch vibes, communication issues between a tentacle monster & a humanoid demon, my attempt at a Ruri-chan headcanon, one tiny mention of breeding (literally 2 words)

[rated T below] [WIP ZONE]

Courting Leviathan, it turns out, involves a lot more talking than you had thought it would. He’s still pretty damn adorable, bringing you gifts of strange little figurines and textiles and babbling on and on about them. But you don’t understand his fascination with them, or the need to amass so many of them when they all look so similar to you, though of course you safely secret away everything he gives you into a pocket dimension. Until one day, when you come up to meet him in the cool shallows just below the drop-off, and he beams happily as he tells you that this is his favorite and hands you a little clear rectangular prism with air trapped inside along with an idol of -- You hurl the box away from you, your tentacles writhing and flinching in fright. The Mistress of Poison! you howl.

“Hey!” Leviathan cries, snagging the box as it soars by him. “Why did you do that?!” You inch away from him, and the terrifying mint-condition idol he’s cradling in his arms. You have doomed us both, you wail mournfully. None can touch the Mistress of Poison’s unholy idols but for her most dedicated acolytes! He looks confused. “Um, this is just a regular-edition figurine, you can get these anywhere -- I would give you a nicer one, at least an SSR, but I haven’t quite worked out the waterproofing enchantments yet, and I wouldn’t want to waste a limited-edition SSR if it’s just going to get crushed by the pressure when you go home… But here, I doubt you care about mint-condition collecting, so you can touch this one!” And he opens the package, releasing the air in a stream of bubbles, and reaches in -- NO! you roar, and seize his arm to keep him from touching the idol, from being tainted by its venomous corruption and dooming himself, and he flinches so hard that he drops the box and it goes sailing through the water. And lands, open side first, on the tip of one of your tentacles. The idol is touching you. You shriek so loud it kills a nearby school of fish, and nearly tear a hole in the fabric of reality to hurl yourself away from this horrible plane of existence, before you realize -- you feel nothing. No pain. The tentacle touched by the idol is not withering away into a warped husk, no deadly corrupting venom is clawing its way through your being, the ten thousand voices of the Mistress of Poison are not crooning their song of murder into your mind. You’re fine. And Leviathan is holding your tentacle. “Are you okay?” he says, eyes wide with concern for you. You shrink down a little, drawing your tentacles inward. (Including the one Leviathan is holding. This brings him closer to you. Nice.) I am very confused, you admit. You offer the box back to him. This idol is safe to touch? “Yes,” he says, looking confused himself as he takes the box. “It’s just a plastic figurine. Ruri-chan doesn’t poison her fans.” He glances aside. “Anymore.” Ruri-chan, you echo slowly. A fittingly horrendous new name for the Mistress of Poison. He smiles, and gives a happy little giggle, looking at the idol fondly. “I know, right? She’s so cunning and adaptable!” Yes, you agree. You look at the idol, too. The “figurine”. Please tell me more about the recent exploits of the Mistress Ruri-chan, you say. I fear my seclusion in the depths has left me ignorant of Her Venomousness’ latest pursuits. He beams happily with his teeny tiny humanoid teeth, and launches into an adorably excited babble about the last five thousand years of Poisonous news, to which you listen attentively, frequently exclaiming in excitement, in between snacking on the fish you killed earlier, which your tentacles started grabbing as soon as you realized you weren’t about to die. (You try to feed some to Leviathan, but apparently he can’t talk and eat at the same time, so he only eats a couple, before rambling on. It’s ok, you’ll kill a proper meal for him to eat later. Maybe that mega-megalodon is still around?)

She infiltrated the human world? you exclaim. “Yes!” And didn’t poison them all?? “No, listen, you haven’t heard the rest yet --” You munch on your snacks, listening intently. “...and now she uses flower magic to destroy evil demons!” Flower-based poisons, you muse, sagely nodding several hundred eye-stalks, a truly ingenious means of keeping her foes at bay. “Exactly!!” He does an excited little wiggle in the water, and continues. She sang a diabolic duet with Levistus?? you exclaim, sometime later. “I know, right??” And I MISSED IT??? you screech, brandishing several half-eaten fish in agitation. He smirks at you. He’s still holding your tentacle, which makes your other tentacles shiver with joy. “I have the concert special episode on my D.D.D.,” he says. “We can watch it together!” Yes, you say immediately. A Date, a Proper Humanoid Date, aaaaa you are the luckiest direct descendant of Mighty Cthulhu to have ever spawned. “Oh, but …” His face falls a little. “My D.D.D. is only waterproofed to twenty meters.” He gives you a hesitant look. “You’ll have to come up to the surface…” You do your best to suppress the instinctive shiver, tightening your grip on his hand. Do I have to go … on land? you ask weakly. For him, you would, but… “No, the reef is shallow enough,” he says, “you can stay fully submerged the whole time.” Oh, you say, and relax. Reefs are fine. Tasty, though not filling. Let’s go then!

You watch the concert together with him at the edge of the reef, on a tiny little rectangular spell-stone that Leviathan summons and holds in both hands. Sadly, you don’t get to hold his hand during it. But he does let you cuddle up close to him, and blushes and smiles so delectably when you show restraint and carefully lay one (1) tentacle across his shoulders and along his arm. The concert is devastatingly good. You love everything about the new Ruri-chan, and continue to be incredibly satisfied that you pledged to tithe a portion of your ongoing soul collection to her all those eons ago. Your happy screeching (and your attempts to sing along with the one song you know, an old deep-sea trench classic) shatter a swath of nearby coral and shake a bunch of fresh fish and crustacean carcasses loose from the reef floor, so there are also snacks for your Date, oh infinite hells, it’s so perfect. Leviathan even eats everything you hand him, this time, prickling sea slugs and hornet shrimp and anemone-laden chunks of coral, and as he munches contentedly away at the snacks while watching Ruri-chan dance a dance of decomposition and destruction and decay, you feel the constant howling of feed your mate stuff him full feed him breed him FEED HIM in the back of your mind quiet down to a low hiss for the first time in an eon.

read more? -> [masterlist]

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cherrywoes · 3 years

Text

cuddle headcanons. (ft. diluc and kaeya.)

title: cuddle headcanons

characters: diluc and kaeya (separate.)

fandom: genshin impact

requests: open.

rating: nice and fluffy

a/n: thank you @sullen-angel24! i'm glad to see you in my ask box dear! <3 istg kaeya's was throwing me for a loop so i went with my best interpretation of his personality and in-game actions thus far. i'm a kaeya main and i struggle to write him smh. anyway! i hope you enjoy it! <3

diluc: cuddle headcanons

i feel like diluc would be one of those people who are intentionally a little skittish around intimate contact of any kind, but secretly loves it on the inside,,,

like there are only so many ways he can express his emotions through his words, usually which come out either wrong or not quite what he meant, so he can convey his emotions better through small actions, whether that be a hug or something else *wink wonk*

but on a more serious note, i do believe diluc is an actions over words kind of guy. he values actions over words, at least, because they mean more to him than anything you could say in the long run.

so cuddling with diluc would more than likely be a "behind close doors" affair, so to speak, he isn't fond of public affection and would much prefer it to be on his terms in a place where he feels safe.

that said!

cuddling with diluc is like cuddling with a heater. it can be comfy, depending on the weather (dragonspine) or it can be absolutely awful depending on the heat (mondstadt or liyue), but either way, the man runs pretty hot on a regular basis due to his abilities, so cool clothing--or none at all--is a must.

diluc very rarely wears much of anything because of it (this is if nighttime cuddles are a thing) so you'd have to be comfortable with an unusual amount of skinship with him. at first he might be a little wary and wear clothes, for propriety's sake, but would quickly grow weary of the whole thing and be as comfortable as possible.

since diluc has strong upper body strength (he has to, being a claymore wielder) he has a rather firm grip when it comes to holding you to his chest. it is pleasant and comfortable, not too hard and not too loose, but just enough to where you can feel comforted and protected--which is the goal.

if you are ever in distress, tired, sad, or anything at all, you can always track down diluc at the dawn winery and know he'll be ready to offer cuddles at a moment's notice, but only because it's you.

play with his hair. do it. he says he doesn't like it but he does. do it when he turns his back to you and just cuddle him from behind and run your fingers through his scalp, twist his hair into braids, muse it thoroughly--he'll be much more compliant and at ease than if you hadn't.

his favorite cuddling position is when he's on his back and you're snuggled right up to his side, resting your cheek somewhere between his shoulder and chest and a leg thrown over his hips, comfortable and leisurely. especially in the mornings, when neither of you have nowhere to go immediately and can just sit and bask in each other's presence.

his second favorite would probably be face to face but it's rare that it happens because he'd much prefer the first. he enjoys just flicking his gaze over your face if you've fallen asleep, or just staring into your eyes in general if you're awake, feeling as if his stare alone could convey the many words he would never say.

at the end of the day, diluc is a pretty soft boi with a fairly rough background so handle his heart with care please!

kaeya: cuddle headcanons

the opposite of diluc, i think kaeya would be opposed to any kind of skinship--for the most part. while he certainly appreciates a good hug or pat on the shoulder here and there, he's averse to contact for extended periods of time lasting longer than maybe a few minutes.

he is able to express himself more thoroughly with his words, i believe, than his actions, because his actions can be easily misconstrued, as past actions indicate. *cough* so he much prefers verbal affirmations to physical ones, but however, if the traveler (yourself) is more skewed towards physical affection, he supposes he can't complain, since it's you, after all.

with kaeya, you would have to start out small; lingering touches, never fully encompassing or heavy, but light and delicate. get him used to your extended presence, so to speak, and he'll be more inclined to be touchier because, despite what he says or indicates with body language, he does crave that interaction with you even if his mind vehemently opposes it.

in a compromise, he'll sit as close to you as possible, but the rest will ultimately be up to you.

cuddling with kaeya, at first, is a bit of an awkward thing. he isn't sure what he wants, so he tries to do what is natural--deflect with flirtatious comments and fond words, distracting you from his uncomfortableness, but you see right through it.

over time, as he grows more accustomed to it, he grows clingier, even going as far as cuddling you in public spaces. the knights of favonius' hq has never known him to be as close as he is to you at any given time.

if he's working late and refuses to come home, you can easily wedge yourself into his lap on his chair and cuddle him that way, which is counterproductive since he can't resist when you do that.

because he runs quite cool, being a cryo user, he's the best to have during mondstadt heatwaves or impromptu trips to liyue. he sleeps with several blankets so if you end up having a cuddle session before bed, either wear cool clothes or be prepared to sleep naked (not that he would mind). *wink wink nudge nudge*

he's a blanket hoarder and collects blankets. you can't persuade me otherwise. i will die on this hill.

in an interesting turn, he doesn't like his hair played with, but he will play with yours, although not in the neat and pretty designs you probably would. usually it ends up knotted and matted worse than before if you came off of a mission, because while his touch is playful, it more than often comes with disastrous consequences.

his favorite position is cuddled up behind you, as close as he can be, with an arm under your head and another wrapped around your waist, his hand close to your heart. you can either hold that hand or reach up and stroke your fingers down his arm and he'll be happy. bonus points if you twine your legs together with his, he loves that.

his second favorite is less of a cuddle and more of a bear hug; specifically, more like a koala hug. it's less of an intimacy thing and more of a "i enjoy being greeted this way" thing, especially if he's the one coming back from a lengthy trip or mission. just leap on him and hold tight with your arms and legs (don't kill the poor bby tho) and he feels loved and appreciated and actually wants to return to you than mondstadt.

kaeya, when all is said and done, yearns for affection and affirmation, so be careful with him; he does, despite what he claims, breaks easily.

#genshin impact #headcanons #diluc headcanons #kaeya headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc x traveler #kaeya x reader #kaeya x traveler #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

—————————

Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

#bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #got some fluff got some angst #casual reminder that daniela is capable of being just as cruel as cassandra #just normally a different kind

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kachuuyaa · 3 years

Text

— ELYSIAN’S FUGITIVES.

06072021 ; g.i oneshot , gn!reader , bsd!reader

genre ; angsty fluff ig i dunno???

includes ; WISP!CHUUYA MAKES HIS APPEARANCE :D mentions of death, gore, gods, chuuya being cute (He Squeaks!) chuuya and reader meant to be REAL, literally just a first meeting between aether n you Italics is Japanese

synopsis ; The punishment from the gods is to be sent to Elysian, then banished into a never-ending cycle of paranoia.

author's notes ; U FINALLY MEET AETHER. wisp!chuuya is the best thing I have ever written ever I was mentally squealing because oh my oiguoidsp[';][][21P]2;\.,sdmNXK

You couldn’t count the days you have roamed Teyvat, it has been too long since then. For 60 years (it was 60 years, wasn’t it? You don’t remember anymore), you have not crossed any country’s border, only listening to their seemingly endless musings. You have never been out in the sea, tensity and uneasiness forming in the pit of your stomach whenever so. However, being isolated from the land the gods rule upon, has earned you a title. Your name is being whispered as a warning or a legend like a scripture formed with the wind. Some were afraid of you, while some respected you. It was pathetic, really, how desperate these people were compared to those in Yokohama. There was no point in dwelling in the past, now, was there? Despite receiving unwanted attention by passersby, you paid no attention to those who whispered your name like a mantra, spouting vile, vulgar assumptions about you. You realized-- quickly-- that they only think for themselves, not for the benefit of others. Wouldn’t that be the source of their demise? Well, you don’t linger on trivial topics for too long, it’s only fair for you to care only about yourself in a world you don’t belong in (you know you belong here now, yet you felt as if Elysian was better than this place they call home).

You have heard of the outlander who caught the wind, saving a foreign nation he seemed to have been in once, only, and you have let the news flow from one ear to another. Who were you to care? No one should catch your attention in a world full of insatiable people. Each step made the grass crunch, making your way to the foot of Dragonspine. Chuuya followed suit, and he settled himself on your head. You figured out that he could shapeshift, probably his punishment as well, yet so far, he has only shifted into a bird and a wisp. His wisp form wasn’t as elegant as you may think, a small, hooded figure encased in smoke-colored clothing, resembling the coat he used to wear. On top, there was a small black X-shaped symbol in the middle of his chest. Around his small form were orange particles, that remind you vividly of Chuuya's ability. A little hat, one you were familiar with, was situated on top of his small head. It was the hat he was wearing during his time as a mafioso, you deduced as such. The tiny creature lets out small squeaks of content, nuzzling itself on your head; seems like he thought it was a good pillow. A chuckle of amusement escapes your lips, turning your head around to watch the scenery in front of you. Dragonspine was one of your favorite places to visit during your free time, snow piling on top of another, making the white mountain as beautiful as it is. However, you do not venture into Dragonspine, not wanting to risk your life for creatures who seem to always take your time.

As much as you hate to admit it, you have most likely killed more hilichurls than you ever killed back in Yokohama. The songs of relentless, snow-covered winds never fail to make your unease and worry falter, even for a moment. The glacial scenery of the mountain attracted your attention, especially your first visit here. A few snowflakes settled themselves on your face, melting due to the heat emitting from your body. If you had the chance, should you tell your friends about the scenery, they would love it too, wouldn't they? You know they would, however, how would you know so? They’re gone, and so is your attachment to anything but Chuuya. “Do you like the scenery, Chuchu?” soft taps on your head were his response, indicating that he was displeased with the nickname you gave him. He agreed nonetheless, sitting on the palm of your hand. He squirmed, looking for a more comfortable position, and stilled after a while.

Memories of the past have always plagued your mind, reminding you that you were alone, again. Despite the copious memories you have stored away, none will bring you back to the place you have regarded as your home. For once, you have felt safe, all the while knowing death follows you wherever you go. Death was the dark, hollow cloak you wore while walking the path of dread in your past life, hands coated with the blood of another, and your eyes held the burden you were forced to carry until the day you died. The amount of blood was enough to shatter the dreams children told you to believe in, you were holding on the thinnest thread, one soaked with blood, your blood, reminding you how much you have suffered and how you made others weak, on their knees, while keeping a straight face as you watch the life draining from their faces. You have learned that life was unfair, gods turning a blind eye to the generation you were put in, leading the people to be self-reliant, causing resentment and disrespect to be aimed at those who call themselves “gods”.

Did they even exist? You have heard, and read, tell of what the gods and goddesses have done to provide, to give, and to sacrifice. Did they give up? Were they satisfied with what they have gotten? Has their insatiable lust for approval and desire to fulfill their selfish, carnal desires quenched? Did they only long for what they have desired, using their power to prove themselves better among the world of mortals? Were they not the selfless, kind gods described in the books of old? Nevertheless, you had no respect for the divine. You only had yourself to depend on since the start. You controlled your own death, knowing that when you died, it was time. You could have stopped yourself from fading, though, but you were tired, you let it happen. And though you know that your death will be remembered, not in the history books, but in the Port Mafia, you will be forever remembered.

59 years have passed. There is no time to dwell in the past, all you have is the memories you swear to protect. Your fight with immortality has been futile, leaving you to bask in your own presence for 59 years. That is until Chuuya finally found you. And you? You found him. It wasn’t expected for you to know who he was, a mere spirit cursed by gods above to wander a world he was unfamiliar with. He was stripped of Arahabaki, leaving him with only his outermost ability, “For The Tainted Sorrow”. He didn’t mind, as well, Arahabaki resides within him, giving him a sense of dread, and leaving him with his identity that he can’t seem to solve. Arahabaki has forever stained him as blood stained your hands, giving him scars that will never leave him. In that life, and in the next. He had you, sweet, malevolent, outstanding you. Though he never voiced it out, he felt, well, complete, to say the least. And while feeling detached from not being completely human has affected him far too much, you were there to make him feel-- what did you make him feel, really? He can’t decipher his own feelings as his own identity. In all the years he has roamed this world as an insignificant wisp of the wind, he found himself tangled in another adventure with the “most insufferable partner aside from Dazai”.

Your footsteps were carried by the wind, walking to the City of Mondstadt, again, Chuuya on your shoulder, scanning the area for any enemies or the like. You were currently looking for food, choosing to shop in Mondstadt instead of catching wildlife. Each step has your coat moving from one side to another, boots making the grass crunch in every step. “Ne, Chuuya, do you want to buy pancakes from Mond?” you whispered, voice soft, only for Chuuya to hear. Said wisp only nods its small head, his little hood moving ever so slightly while he nods. Deciding that it would be best for him to rest, you put him in your breast pocket, his little head poking just a bit. Chuuya softly squeaked, nuzzling on the fabric, and opted to rest despite his unsaid protests. But before you could set foot onto the City Of Freedom, a high-pitched voice prevented you from doing so. “Hey!” they said, you whipped your head to the direction you heard it from, spotting a seemingly young-looking traveler, and a floating pixie-- wait.

Isn’t he the honorary knight? You thought to yourself, unconsciously cupping the pocket Chuuya resides in, feeling him squirm when he came in contact with your gloved palm. Instead of giving them a response, you simply stared at them, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Hi.” a simple, short greeting. Although you would prefer to ask the traveler some questions, that wouldn’t be necessary. You were able to decipher every detail easily, too easily, in fact. Aether, however, wasn’t fazed. He was well aware of how they described you, and how notorious you were due to appearance. Scoffing at the assumptions, he looked forward to meeting you. Perhaps he will look forward to his endeavors with you by his side, no? A star sent from Elysian would only brighten the mortal world, cursed with divine power and lonesome memories.

However, you did not know that a simple greeting exchanged on your first day of the meeting would bloom into something much more.

Ah, it seems that the show is starting once again, a different chapter, a different genre.

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lebenspurpur · 3 years

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nocturnal - Vincent Sinclair

Pairing: Vincent Sinclair x reader

Summary: This is so poetic idek

Warnings: None

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I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.

-- Vincent Van Gogh

Sunlight.

What an interesting topic.

It emerges from so far away human metric systems can't even describe the distance but somehow it still binds us to life. Without the touch of the sun's golden arms, we vanish.

It can kill as well. Sometimes the big star seems to be angry at us frail humans. Then it scorches down, its usual warmth gone and replaced by glazing heat.

I like to believe that the sun is like a mother to us.

Have you ever listened to a pregnant woman talk? Yes?

Then you know what I am talking about. They glow. As if the second life chained to their bodies sets them alight.

The sun glows as well. Maybe not in the same way a pregnant woman does but the star definitely does glow.

When mother sun is happy with us she gives us treats, warm days with enough wind to cool us down, protect us. When mother is angry she destroys everything that can shield us. Her fury is then inevitable.

But the sun is also dishonest. Her warm embrace is slowly destroying our home. I suppose her love is just too big.

And well if the sun is our mother, the moon is our father.

He guards us when mama can't. His arms aren't warm, they're cold and white. Somehow serene.

In my imagination mama wears a yellow suit. Her hair is the prettiest shade of orange, a nice and somber shade of marmalade. She's wearing her favorite sunglasses, red triangles to make her look like one of 'em hippies back before my time.

Papa wears a long, silver dress. It swivels around his feet when he moves and I can't help but marvel at the smooth movements of the cloth. A tiara is seated on his midnight-blue hair. It's silver and it shimmers like a thousand stars are kept in its crystals.

When mama laughs, birds start to sing and chirp. The plants lift their head to admire her white smile and the animals wake from their slumber to pay their respects.

When papa cries, his tears rain down on us. When they hit the shell our planet is kept in, they paint it in all kinds of colors. People travel miles to see papa cry.

There surely are thousands of other mama's and papa's out there. Thousand other children.

"You look sleepy."

"I'm not. I just feel peaceful."

We're silent. I can hear him breathing slowly. It is hoarse and raspy, like always.

He is in pain as well. I can feel his muscles, tense from being in pain. It must be horrible to have a constant ache in your throat.

I want to help him. I always wanted to. And helping him has been the biggest journey of my life.

The road has been long and bumpy at its best. Sometimes it completely stops and we have to turn around and find another way.

But we're slowly getting better at walking. Now it doesn't matter if the road's bumpy anymore. Maybe we will also get new shoes.

"What are you thinking about?"

I smile.

"You. I am thinking about you."

He moves over to me. I can feel him sitting down behind me. His thighs creep up next to mine. Seconds later I feel two arms envelop me.

His nimble fingers trace my hips without a care in the world, they keep on exploring my body like they help him see. Ten little eyes, one for each finger. Or more, who knows? Perhaps one finger has more than just one eye.

He sighs. The hot puff of air rushes past my ear. It toys with my hair for a second and leaves me again. Vincent's chin takes its place next to my face.

His skin is smooth against my face, I wonder how he keeps it so clean. It's cold as well indicating that he just entered the house.

"What did you do today?"

"I made a new statue."

Vincent works as a sculptor. That way he only needs wax and his hands to stay occupied. He has the talent and idea from his momma. She had the plan to make a giant house, purely out of wax!

Vincent is currently working on his momma's dream. His twin Bo is helping him. I can't visit it yet. Vincent says it's still not finished and he's a perfectionist.

Well that's not what he said. Vincent said everything should be perfect for me. So I have to wait until the house is perfect. I can't wait to be a witness of his life's work.

"Of whom?"

"No one particular. It was inspired by a hitchhiker Bo picked up last week though."

"Can I be there with you someday? When you make one?"

"As soon as it is safe I will gladly take you with me, love."

His voice calms me immensely and I lean my head back. A raw chuckle can be heard from Vincent.

"Did you ever make a statue of me?"

"At least a hundred."

Vincent often tells me that I'm his muse. His favorite piece of art. I suppose that's how artists compliment someone.

"Is everyone doing okay? How is Bo?"

He usually talks a lot about his brother. Bo is very important to him.

Unfortunately I've never met Bo before. Vincent says he is a busy man since he's the only one in Ambrose who really has a job and all. Apparently Bo's gas station is the only one in a hundred miles radius. People often visit the city and he has to help them all the time.

It's slowly getting dark. I know it's true because the crickets outside are louder than before. It must be nearing 10 pm.

I yawn as I feel my exhausted bones ache for rest.

"For someone who's not tired you do sound a bit sleepy."

"Perhaps I am a little bit tired."

I soon fall asleep, my head seated on his shoulder, his long hair being my pillow.

Vincent carries me to our room, he puts the crutches away and kisses the lids over my sightless orbs to sleep.

Vincent is the sun to my moon.

#vincent sinclair #house of wax #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent x reader

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is.

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament.

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?”

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.”

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.”

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment.

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy.

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.”

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].”

How considerate of him to spell it out for you.

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right.

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance.

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance.

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you?

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.”

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back.

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?”

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?”

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.”

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow.

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him.

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip.

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.”

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.”

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one.

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.”

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten.

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?”

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place.

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning--

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.”

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