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kassandras-one-braincell · 4 years ago

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Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

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banqdanfnfic · 4 years ago

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which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

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dragon-kazansky · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous | Helmut Zemo

AU! Race car driver Zemo 😎

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Masterlist]

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

I AM SO SORRY FOR WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ.

Happy Birthday @goddessofmischief03 I'M SORRY THIS IS YOUR PRESENT FROM ME!

Part 8

The pair of you drove for hours. Zemo didn't care about where you wanted to stop. All you had to do was say the word and he would pull over here and there. You had taken so many photos on your phone. Though a lot of them were just of him. Maybe you would get those printed and make an album. Maybe you were just getting carried away.

The evening rolled in. The wicked woman had texted you an hour ago to state what time she wanted to meet you. Zemo had dropped you off, kissing you before letting you go. He left to meet with Sam, hoping to get his forgotten car back home.

You entered the bar. It was pretty empty, finding her wasn't hard. Lucky for you, she was alone. You took a deep breath as you walked over to her table and sat down, but not even offering her a smile.

On the table right in front of her was a file. That scared you. Whatever this was about, she was serious. You tried to keep your emotions at bay as you sat still, hands in your lap. You stared at her.

She stared back.

"You came," she said, almost as if she expected you not to.

"Of course I did, I'm not a horrible person who stands people up. Even if I'm here for nonsense."

She narrows her eyes at you.

"Neither am I."

"You're right. You're just blind," you cross your arms over your chest and ignore the waiter who brings you each a glass of water.

"I'm not the blind one," she hisses after he leaves.

"No? What kind of sick game are you playing here? Tony Stark isn't in love with you. It's all a publicity stunt."

"It's not!"

"See? You're blind to the truth. You're being lured in by the fact you admire him. You have been a fan of racing much longer than I. You have seen Stark win over and over again, season after season. You're in love with the idea of dating a professional racer."

She looks pissed.

"It's all lies. You know nothing. I'll show you who that man really is. Chasing Zemo is a mistake. You'll regret ever knowing him after you learn the truth."

"What truth? What are you talking about?" You try to resist raising your voice.

"This!" She slams a hand over the file.

"What is it? What's in there?"

She hands the file to you. You take it, but don't yet open it. You stare at her. On the outside you look cold, calculating. On the inside, your heart is racing and a million thoughts are running through your head. You're freaking out.

"What had Helmut Zemo told you?" She asks, looking you in the eye.

"About what?"

"About him."

"Not a lot. He is wealthy. Has houses all around Europe, owns a large collection of cars that have been passed down through his family. He doesn't have a large racing background, but he is passionate about cars." You shrug, not knowing what else to say.

"So he didn't you he was a Baron? That his family was literally royalty before Sokovia surrendered in the war? He wasn't even in the county when it collapsed. That's why he doesn't talk about it. His family is dead."

"Why are you telling me this? I know about Sokovia, it was global news. A whole country destroyed in the crossfire. If you have any respect for the dead, you'll stop talking about his family that way," you say, glaring at her.

"I'm not done. Open the file."

You glare a moment longer before you open the file. You look down at the first page you're presented with.

"Who is that?"

There was a photo of a young man. Dirty blonde hair, tall, blue eyes, sweet smile.

"That's Pietro Maximoff," she tells you that name as if you should know who he is.

"Who is he?"

"Pietro Maximoff was a racer."

"Was?"

"He died." She reaches across the table and points to some information below his photo. You can't the words on the page.

Pietro Maximoff

Deceased

Died on impact

Cause: Car accident.

Speculation of foul play by the hands of Helmut Zemo. Car appeared to have been tampered with before hand. Witness testified to sighting of Zemo tampering with car. No solid evidence provided.

You stared at the words, letting them sink in. The woman across from you says nothing as you scan the ink before you.

You swallow.

"It says no evidence was provided."

"There doesn't need to be. He was seen."

"Why who?"

"No one knows. They remained anonymous," she shrugs lightly.

"What are you trying to tell me?" You look at her. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold back your emotions.

"Baron Helmut Zemo killed Pietro Maximoff because Maximoff was his competition. Zemo has raced before, but his career was cut short after this. Unfortunately there was no actual proof to pin on him, the witness only had their statement. Maximoff was the next big racer and Zemo dealt with him."

You stand abruptly.

"No."

"Zemo is a murderer," she tells you.

"Stop, please."

"He didn't tell you any of this did he?"

"You're lying."

"All the evidence is in that folder."

The tears fall. You shake your head and try to control your breathing. She's lying. She has to be.

"Stark told me everything. He even provided the information."

You shake your head again.

"I don't believe it. Why are you doing this to me? Is this your sick way of getting back at me? This is cruel. This is so cruel."

"It's the truth. You won't find anything by looking up the Baron, but if you look up Pietro Maximoff you'll find the story. Zemo killed a man so he could win. What's stopping him from doing it again?"

"Are you implying he would kill Stark? Are you insane?" You almost yell.

"He has killed a man before. What's once more?" She asks, angrily hissing out the words.

"Please don't do this to me," you plead.

"Read it. Accept it. It's true. They might not have anything solid on him, but you know as well as I that it's true."

You shake your head a third time.

"Look at it. Read the articles." She moves the file on Pietro over and underneath is a newspaper article.

Racing star, Pietro Maximoff dies in horrific accident

Baron Helmut Zemo disqualified from racing season over foul play speculation.

Helmut Zemo to stand trial

Baron Zemo walks free

"He wasn't found guilty of anything."

"I said it doesn't matter! He did it. Everyone knows he did it."

"You can't just give around accusing people of murder," you his quietly. You had sat back down, not wanting anyone to see your rage.

"Open your eyes."

"You don't know him," you say, voice falling to defeat.

"You don't know Tony Stark."

"I know him better than you." You close the file. "Do not ever come at me with this. Unless you have hard evidence that Zemo was there and had done what he was accused of, I won't believe you."

"You say that now, but trust me. You're going to come around," she gathers the file and stands up.

You watch her storm away.

You bite your cheek as tears fall. Taking out your phone, you search up Pietro Maximoff.

Zemo's name popped up several times.

He really has been accused of killing this young man.

Why did your chest hurt so much?

Maybe you should have asked him earlier when the thought crossed your mind.

You continue to sit at that table, ordering a drink mindlessly when the waiter comes over. It's all you have.

You look at the photo of Pietro on your phone. He had to be in his early twenties. Probably the youngest racer you had come across so far.

You sit there for ages, slowing drinking.

Your phone then starts to ring. You stare at the name lighting up your screen.

Zemo👑

Did you dare answer?

Having spent too long trying to decide, it clicks off. You stare at the screen. It lights up a second time.

Zemo👑

He must be worried. Yet, looking at his name flashing up on screen, dread fills you. Yob your phone, leave money for the drink, and make your way out.

The cold air of the night feels sharp and bitter against your skin. When did it get so cold? Or was that just you?

There was no one out here.

You're not sure if you felt glad about that. Your phone rings again. You know he'll be coming to pick you up, especially if you don't answer his call.

You swipe the call button and hold the phone up to your ear.

"Y/N? Thank goodness, you were not picking up. I was worried something bad happened. I'm on my way to you now, are you alright?"

You listen to his worried words. You stand there wondering who it was you were actually talking to.

"Y/N? Are you there?"

There is panic to his voice.

"Zemo..."

"Y/N? What is it? What's happened?"

You just knew he was picking up the speed right now. He was going to do anything to get to you now.

"Have you been honest with me?"

"What do you mean? Of course I have."

Lies. He is lying. That little voice in the back of your mind is repeating that to you. Lies.

You begin to cry.

"Who is Pietro Maximoff?"

Silence.

"Zemo, who is Pietro Maximoff?"

"How do you know that name?"

"Who is he?"

More silence.

You sob into the phone. His silence was an answer. He knew who you were talking about and your mind spiraled out of control.

He's dangerous. Stark was right.

You hang up. You turn your gaze down the street and decide to walk. You needed air.

Zemo was losing his mind. That wicked woman! What had she told you? Why had she brought that up?

When he realised you had hung up, he put his foot down. He had to get to you. He had to explain, he had to tell you himself.

He couldn't lose you. He couldn't.

This is not how he had imagined his night to go. Suddenly, things were falling apart.

@ajeff855 @moonstuffsteve @sky-writes-stuff @lieutenantn @lostghostgirl94 @friday18eo @yaskna @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @gingerwriter97 @lunamooney2406 @wilder-fangirl @nectav @whovianayesha @thesuitkovian @cathrin2405 @deathtothepatriarchy @belle82devart @dxrksxul06 @killeromanoff @alex-the-nb @latenightartist-author @hb8301 @goddessofmischief03 @xxidontwikeitxx @themeanestlittlewitch @scuttle-buttle @fillechatoyante @lucky-luck-lucky @zemosimp420 @avengersofmischief

#zemo #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #marvel #AU #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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comehomeducklings · 4 years ago

Text

Past [Part 2] (Obsession)

A/N: Some chapters will be named with either “Past,” “Present,” or “Future,” then their numbered part coming right after it. This is to confuse you less when flashbacks or anything happens. As you have probably noticed, it says “Past” for Part 2. This is going back near when Tom and her just met. Thank you for reading! <3

Tom Riddle's Moodboard

Main Character's Moodboard

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

1940 - 3rd year

“Potions is not that bad, I swear. You just have to be good at measuring.”

At the table, my friends and I are discussing our classes this year. Potions being one of my favorite topics. Devyn absolutely loathes that certain class. We have to drag her there to make sure she doesn’t skip. Poor girl tries her best to not mess up but the cauldron always ends up blowing up. I even watched her do every step once, never missing a beat. The potion still ended up failing, even though she did everything correctly. She gave up after a while, who wouldn’t. I help her do extra assignments for extra credit to keep her grade up. She also studies with me to make sure she can memorize everything and pass her tests. Amelia is pretty good at the class, she’s luckily paired with Devyn most of the time. Carrying the potion to success, with a little bit of my secret help. It’s not cheating, it’s using your resources.

I’m resources.

“Potions is not that bad,” Devyn mocks me. “If it weren’t for you two I would have gone insane in that stupid class.”

Amelia just laughs at her while eating her hash browns on the plate. She reaches her hand out to take some more eggs.

“You were able to do it before. Not the way you were supposed to, but it worked,” Amelia says.

“Exactly, just start doing it your way at this point. I don’t think Slughorn will care how it’s done, just how it comes out.”

Devyn nods her head and points at me with a fork. Her mouth full of food so she settles for that response. My plate doesn’t have much other than some bacon and fruit. I’m not usually a breakfast eater. I get my appetite at lunch and dinner time. It’s just too early for a bunch of food smells, the smells make me kind of nauseous. I’ll eat though, enough to hold me off till lunch.

The chatter in the lunchroom rises by the minute. Everyone refilling themselves before their busy day. All energy levels rising while everyone wakes up from their groggy morning mood. While my friends finish eating we continue to talk about our classes and share the schedules for this year. Most classes we had were the same except for our electives. I tried taking as many electives as possible. My family back home never really did magic. I actually came a year and a half late since my family wanted me to have a normal school experience. I learned to do everything without the use of magic, the only thing my mom taught me was the floo network, creatures, and plants. I would often accompany her to Diagon Alley when she shops. I got an Owl for my 10th birthday. A cat would have been amazing if I wasn’t allergic to it. My owl is a brown and white-furred barn owl. Don’t ask me why I named it Bartholomew. I was ten okay, give me a break. Speaking of the floo network, my mom had to chase me through it quite often because I kept teleporting everywhere. I once ran into the Ministry of Magic’s building and got lost. They had to take me home to my parents. Their faces told me everything I needed to know about the punishment waiting for me.

Halfway through the second year is when I came to Hogwarts, a second letter coming that year asking my parents to let me learn more there. So when they finally let me attend, everything was pretty new to me. My mother was the magic one in the family. Her grandmother, my great-grandmother, before her had the magic gene. Going to school was the same experience as going from a muggle-borns perspective. The difference is, I knew more about its existence. I would look at yearbooks my mom had from when she went here. She earned a lot of titles, all the achievements being recorded down. I always wondered why she never wanted me to come here. Did something happen to me, to her? I’m guessing she just wanted a normal life with dad. He has always supported her through everything. A love, a bond like that is hard to come by. He would also learn about magic right next to me. At least, the stuff my mom allowed to let us know.

That’s why I want to learn as much as I can, of what’s available. Why learn math in the muggle world when I could be learning divination. Spells of all types, potions for everything of inconvenience. My chores could be completed with just a flick of my wand. I’ve lately been learning wandless magic, on my own. Albus has helped by providing me with material to study that type of magic. The only thing I’ve managed so far is a spark coming from the tips of my fingertips. Sparking hope that I could actually, maybe, achieve that level. Now I won't get my hopes up, but that can lead me to a certain advantage in dueling. That being one of my weakest skills. Always panicking, saying any spells that pop up in my mind, and making random movements coming from my wand. Often confusing who I’m up against, although they recover from that confusion fairly quickly.

Riddle, met him once. One too many if you would ask me. I dissuade ever wanting to speak to him. Arrogance and pride flow through his tongue like second nature. I do take pride in succeeding above him in 3 classes. He is 2 classes above me but, that’s not the point. I do admit, he’s attractive. Only a little though, how else would he charm his way through the professors and students.

“Alright, I’m ready to go. You guys done?”

“Yeah,” I say. Devyn and I start leaving our seats and heading towards the huge doors.

Amelia hurried from her seat, a few steps behind since she took some fruit with her to eat on the way. More and more students also started making their way towards the first period. Not wanting to be blamed for the loss of house points. This system causes so many fights, everyone’s competitive side getting the best of their common sense. I would be lying if I said it didn’t get the best of me before. Amelia being her usual bubbly self skips backward while chatting with us. Before we could warn her to stop, she pushes someone ahead of her. Both falling down, hitting the floor. She spins her head extremely quickly, her hair sticking in her mouth from the force of the wind.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she explains. Quickly trying to digest her situation. I make my way towards her and pull her up. I fix her robe and dust off any dirt on the cloth from the floor.

“Clearly idiot, can you not use those bug eyes of yours to see?”

Devyn and I make eye contact. We understand that there are witnesses here, and one of them is bound to snitch on us if we fight. A huge scene would probably make Amelia feel even more embarrassed as well. Instead, I guided Amelia by her back. We continue on to class while I comfort her. Devyn is staying back to “talk” to the guy. Lestrange is in for it now, any poor soul would be when in the fiery path of her anger.

Devyn’s loud yells could still be slightly heard when entering the potions classroom. First class of the year, and day. On Slughorn’s table, I can see a vial with the wideye potion contained inside. I set Devyn’s textbook on her station, turning to the page that contains information on the potion. Hoping to save her confusion and time.

“Welcome, welcome! Nice to see some old faces, and new ones,” he says with the biggest grin on his face. “Today we’ll be learning about the Wideye potion. Can anyone tell me what this potion does?”

I quickly raise my hand, rather eager. I did some reading about a lot of potions during the summer. Trying to get a headstart on my studies. This potion being one of them. Only 3 students raised their hand, one of them being me. The other, well, Riddle.

“Yes, go ahead and answer,” the professor looks my way.

I smile, “The wideye potion prevents the person consuming the liquid the ability to fall asleep. Which is often used in the medical field to wake someone from a sleep caused by a blunt force or drug.”

“Precisely! 10 points.”

I look back rather smugly at Riddle, rather happy I got chosen instead of him. I know, he could have easily answered that too. I’ll let myself bask in the small achievement for now. 30 minutes of class is just spent writing down notes, preparing us for the potion we will make. Note-taking is my favorite, especially the little doodles I get to make. We use a feather instead of the regular pen. I found it rather amusing and liked the certain feeling of writing with it. The dipping noise that the point of the feather makes when hitting the liquid ink is a very profound sound. No real writer’s bump forming on my fingers.

“That’s enough writing, I need you all to prepare your cauldron, gather the materials you need, and start your potion. If done correctly, tomorrow when we add the finishing touches and check on it the potion should be a blue/green color,” Slughorn comments. “You have 10 minutes to study your notes, then the rest of the class to make your potion. No looking back at your notes after those ten minutes.”

After scanning my notes, I stand up and walk towards the ingredients on the shelves. If I remember correctly my potion requires snake fangs, standard ingredient, and wolfsbane. I gather all that in my hand and set it down near my cauldron. Before I start, I take a moment. I’m missing something, I’m sure there was another ingredient.

Wolfsbane, check.

Snake fangs, six of them.

I have the measures of Standard ingredient.

There’s one more, I try to look around the room. Then I remember that we get an automatic failing grade if caught cheating. There’s no way I’ll let my grade drop like that. Over something so small and inconvenient too. Making my way to the shelves, I scan over the ingredients over and over again. Trying to see if any of the names pop out to me.

No.

Definitely not.

That’s an ingredient?

I don’t even want to know how that one was obtained.

This one, of course it’s this one. I even remember putting a star next to the name in my notebook. Dried Billwig stings, I believe six of them were needed. All that time wasted. Hurrying to my seat I get to work. The time goes by quickly, all that could be heard was the sizzling and whooshing of our potions. I almost knocked down my vials a couple of times. Someone actually did, their time spent on cleaning the glass off the floor. After heating the first three ingredients, I crush them together in the mortar. Then stir clockwise from what I recall, three times specifically. Finally, I wave my wand over then leave it to brew.

Just in time from the looks of it. I glance at Devyn to see how it went for her, and she looks pretty proud of herself. I take that as a blessing that it didn’t blow up this time of round. I’m guessing she took our advice and did it her own way.

A student raises his hand, “May we leave?”

“Oh yes yes, go ahead. No assignments for the first day, only the potion you made in class.”

Before I leave the classroom I examine Riddle’s station. He already left the room. His potion looks similar to how mine turned out, his workspace thoroughly cleaned. Everything used properly placed back to where it should be. Perfectly spotless, not a single speck of dust in sight. All done without magic too, surprising for someone born into the wizarding world. When I mentioned that I met him once, it wasn’t much of anything. The only way I know how he really acts is through other people. Much admire his intelligence and strong will. Others are jealous of the potential he holds for the future.

Girls are already trying to slip love potions into his drinks. I would feel bad if he wasn’t so rude to them. Only just before touching the disrespectful line. He almost drank one of their attempts before. Wouldn’t want to imagine how that turned out. Tom riddle, in love. That man probably doesn’t know the feeling of happiness, let alone love. I feel bad for his future girlfriend, she’s going to have to deal with a handful of baggage.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

“How much do you want to bet Nott will demolish him?” A Gryffindor girl to my left whispers.

Nott, part of Riddle’s group from what I’ve seen. They all eat lunch together and talk to one another so it’s a reasonable guess. Very talented duellist, one of the bests here.

“I hate to admit it, but he’ll definitely win this. I’ll still have hope for the other guy though,” I whisper back trying not to sound mean.

Nott and the other Slytherin boy are up right now. It’s a courtesy for the audience to stay quiet until someone casts the first attack or defense. From then on all you will hear is shouting of encouragement and the opposite. Nott’s eyes are focused, zoning in on the opponent before him. His wand is steady, mouth slightly parted to breathe through better. Whole-body alert and tense waiting for something. From what I'm getting, I believe he’s waiting for the Slytherin boy to go first. Nott casts spells quickly and thinks them through decently. Sometimes you're not able to create a counter-spell quick enough to defend yourself against him.

Riddle’s group and himself are near the corner of the platform. All seemingly analyzing every breath he inhales and exhales. I finally hear the whoosh of a wand and a whiz of light fly past the platform. The glow from the spell lighting our faces for a millisecond. Nott quickly counters that spell and moves to cast his own. Magic flies across the platform, all of our eyes going back and forth like a ping-pong match. The Slytherin boy starts breaking a sweat. He’s only been able to get a couple of offensive spells in there, most of his plays spent throwing off Nott’s. If he doesn’t turn the battle soon, the outcome will become very clear.

It is a little less exciting since we only know a handful of spells. So whatever you know from your own studies you use in these duels. When we move up the years the class will become more serious and dangerous. Right now it’s just to teach us how to counter and cast quickly. The proper etiquette and movement. You use spells that you know, they aren’t supposed to harm someone. Either stun them, make them fly back, or disarm. Most of those spells require a little of a higher level, most of us not even knowing of its existence yet. So what’s mostly cast between competitors is a basic spell to exert force. That force should be aimed for the legs, or the wand to disarm that way. The way someone can win here is to make their knees or hands touch the floor, or disarm their wand. As I mentioned, it will get more intense as time goes by. We're only just starting 3rd year right now, a lot more charms will be learned later on.

I shake my head to get rid of any lingering thoughts. My attention goes right back to the duel taking place in front of me. Nott quickly aims a spell at the knees and manages to bring the other boy to his knees.

“Mr. Nott wins this duel! Please step off the platform, we will evaluate your performance.”

During the practice duels today, you watch it, think of ways to help the person improve, and point out things they might have done wrong. At the end, the professor picks people raising their hands to allow them to give their feedback. Participating is part of the grade you get in here. I personally prefer giving feedback then dueling. I’m not the best at casting, I do give out good defense spells though. That should mean something, I hope.

“Let’s start with Nott, does anyone have feedback for him?”

A couple of people spread apart raised their hands. One by one they all ask questions and give feedback. They mention his feet and posture when he stands. Arms fully stretched out where it would have been more flexible to bend it slightly. When he casts he shouldn’t be walking backward. They shortly switch to the other boy’s questions and feedback. The way he never gave himself the opening to cast an offensive spell often. He would move around his area a lot. Almost slipping off the stage during one of those movements. Tom and his group privately discussed with one another. They’re probably giving Nott their own feedback and suggestions privately.

“Now, Riddle I want you to come up and…,” he scans the room for another student. After some time he points his finger at me. “You.”

I could have had a smooth sailing class. I was so close to not having to go up there. My hands start sweating a bit, my anxiety jumbling my thoughts together. Riddle’s already up there and soon to be on his side of the platform. Taking his wand out and wandering his fingers over the design. I gulp, a big toad stuck in my throat. I wipe my hands on my robe and start up the stairs. Riddle seems as unbothered as ever. We bow, turn, then walk ten paces back. During this time I try predicting who will cast first. I don’t know him very well, I’ve also never seen him duel.

I take my dueling stance and wait for the signal to start. Hoping, praying, that I don’t embarrass myself. Slipping up is not allowed, not when going against him.

~////////////////𓆙////////////////~

Taglist:

@empath-bunny

#tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #lord voldemort #death eaters #voldemort #horcrux #hogwarts #harry potter #wizard #post wizarding war #enemies to allies #enemies to lovers #angst #oc #poc #Oc is any race #moldy voldy

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malachi-walker · 4 years ago

Note

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

#answers #rhythm & blues #the catradora rockstar au #featuring adora's big gay realization #and also fantasy christmas

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bellemorte180 · 4 years ago

Text

Prompt: Beach @klarosummerbingo

The waves rolled in, crashing into the shore line and the sight caused Caroline to smile. The breeze was intoxicating and she felt a sense of warmth come over her. The beach had always been one of her favorite places. When her mother was able to pull herself away from the station desk to remember she had a daughter, Caroline would spend at least one week out of the years playing along the shore.

Since becoming an adult and being able to support herself, Caroline has made a yearly trip to the beach. While the salty breeze, warm sand and beautiful waves were something she loved dearly, she always knew that part of her draw to the ocean shores was because of the words inked onto the flesh of her wrist.

What can I say? The waves are beautiful.

While Caroline could not admit that she knew for certain that she would meet her soulmate at a beach, or at all, she couldn't help but be hopeful. Most did not meet the person who would be their other half. The theory that had been tossed around was due to the choices one made that led them down the paths that would connect the two souls but it was extremely rare. Caroline had never met a single pair of soulmates, but that did not stop Caroline from wishing that she was the exception.

So, she sat down on the sand and watched the waves roll in and out as the sun set on the horizon. She took a deep breath of the salt air and closed her eyes, just letting the warm sun beat down onto her. At twenty-eight, Caroline was far more happier sitting on the shore, alone, than she had ever been in Mystic Falls.

Perhaps I should make the move permanently. She thought to herself, wondering if she would be able to make such a transition work. She turned her head and looked across the shoreline to see a young man also sitting only a few feet away from her, staring off into the horizon with a sketch pad in hand. Caroline watched as his hands worked furiously against the paper, taking in the sight before him. She smiled, enjoying that she was not the only one who felt at peace at the beach. He looked up from his sketch, almost as though he could sense her watching him and gave her a warm, dimpled smile, causing Caroline’s heart to flutter.

“Klaus! Come on! Drinks are on me at the bar and you’re out here playing the starving artist!” A loud booming voice interrupted her solitude and she turned to see a tall lanky man stroll down the beach towards the artist. She took in their similarities and came to the conclusion they were related and gave the annoyed look on the artist’s, Klaus, face she could assume that they were siblings, for it was the same expression her friend Elena wore when dealing with her brother Jeremy.

“What can I say? The waves are beautiful.”

And then she felt it, the burning sensation of salt and rubbing against her skin where the words were inked on her skin. Her eyes flashed down to her wrist and towards the man on the beach again. She watched in a dazed stupor as he pulled himself from the sand and pushed the particles off his pants, clearly going to leave with the man who called him. Her wrist burned again, pushing her forwards and refusing to allow this moment to slip through her fingers.

“Wait.” She called but neither stopped. “Klaus, wait! Please!” Klaus froze, his back going rigid and Caroline could see how tight his shoulder blades were. Caroline pulled herself from the sand and all but ran to him, her feet sinking into the perfect white sand as she made her way towards him. He did not turn around at first, but slowly he did, and Caroline had never seen someone look so perfect. “Hi.”

“Hello….”

“I’m Caroline and I know this probably sounds insane but you’re my soulmate.” She held out her wrists, and the words that he had just spoken. Klaus reached out, taking her wrist into his hand and tracing the words on them. Caroline could feel a spark surge through her, a pleasant feeling that she could not explain. It tingles and pulsed, a warmth consumed her that she could not explain. “I was never expecting to actually meet you. I mean soulmates are rare but here you are.”

“Here I am.” Klaus whispered, his fingers tracing up her arm and the side of her neck. He cupped her face, tracing her cheek bone with his thumb. Caroline sucked in a breath, taking in his blue eyes, that both seemed overwhelmingly happy and incredibly sad. “I’m Klaus, and to be honest, I never thought I would meet you either. I wondered, of course. I was curious as to who you would be and what you would be like.” He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand away from her but Caroline reached out, gripping it tightly. “You are far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m renting a beach house, just down the way for a couple of weeks. I live in Mystic Falls, Virginia, so not too far from here but maybe we can grab dinner? Get to know one another? How long are you here for? Or do you live here?”

“I-well, it’s complicated.”

“Wait!” A voice sounded from beside them and both Klaus and Caroline were pulled from their trance, turning to look at the man who had been with Klaus. His brown eyes were wide and a smile on his lips. “She is your soulmate? Like you’re 100% sure? You do not have a single doubt in your mind?”

“Kol. Stop.” The man, Kol, began to press on but Klaus cut him off. “Yes. She is my soulmate. I can feel it.” Klaus smiled, dimples creasing in his cheeks and Caroline felt her heart flutter a thousand beats a second. The world felt right, felt as though the stars had aligned and the sun was finally rising in the dead of night. Caroline had never realized how empty she had felt before, but having Klaus stand before her, she knew that she was meant to spend her life with him. “And she is perfect.”

“Oh thank god.” Kol muttered, running his fingers through his brown hair. “Okay, so does this mean the wedding is off? Because I already like her better than Aurora. I mean, Aurora is hot and all but she is insane. WHY you thought it was a good idea to agree to marry her, I will never understand.”

Caroline felt like a cold bucket of water was poured over her. Sher looked between both Kol and Klaus, trying to understand what was being said. Klaus’s shoulders slumped and an almost terrified look came over his face. She did not fully understand what it was about but Klaus gripped her hand tighter.

“Kol…”

“Look, I’m just saying that you’re going to need an escape plan. Once Aurora finds out that you met your soulmate and are ditching her, she is going to lose it, and it will not be pretty.” Kol told him and Caroline could not fully understand exactly what he was saying. She looked at Klaus and his expression was concerned but he would not let go of her hand. “I mean, you are ending it with Aurora right? You’re not marrying her? Right?”

“Obviously.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Kol. “I’m not going through with it. Not now. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. I just need to figure out how to tell her.”

“You could just not show up tomorrow.”

“Kol.”

“Wait..hold on. Whose getting married?” Caroline asked, terrified of the answer even though she already knew it. She wasn’t angry nor could she blame him, for he had not expected to meet her, just like she hadn’t expected to meet him, but a fiance did complicate matters and she did not know if her heart could handle the sight of her soulmate marrying someone else.

“Me. I’m getting...or I was….going to be getting married tomorrow.”

Review at A03

#klaroline #klarosummerbingo #beach

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jaskierek · 4 years ago

Text

Wildflowers

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Geralt finally found Jaskier, months after the dragon hunt, and now he has to find out what happened to him.

It took a minute for his mind to catch up. His palm rested on the ridged bark of the willow. He tried pushing, not really expecting it to move but not knowing what else to do. Jaskier had been right there. He’d been right there.

“Geralt?” His name came from behind and the Witcher fumbled on his knees to turn around, scrambling until his back hit the trunk of the tree. His instincts were going haywire, medallion vibrating incessantly. Something was very wrong and his impulse to attack warred with his need to protect because Jaskier was standing right in front of him. It was Jaskier but it wasn’t. There were parts missing.

He felt familiar, the curve of his nose, the line of his jaw, the tilt of his head. It was his strong brows, arched and hidden under the soft, brown fringe that had grown out. His eyes were still blue and open. His faded-blue doublet was open, revealing a soft chemise and dark chest hair that used to drive Geralt insane.

It was Jaskier, but it wasn’t.

Every living thing has a presence, one that most people can sense. It’s the feeling of being watched, being followed. The person before him had none. He had not sensed it as he had approached, he did not sense it when he was behind him.

“Geralt.” Not-Jaskier said again, lowering himself onto his knees so he was level with Geralt. He smiled. He smiled as if they had merely parted for a few weeks and had run into each other again. He smiled as if they were to go on another adventure together, to set off on the Path once more. Nostrils flaring, he tried to keep his breathing steady. This Jaskier’s eyes weren’t as bright. They were glazed over, as if he wasn’t really seeing what was before him. His once-pink lips and rosy cheeks were pale.

“Jaskier.” The name came from Geralt’s lips like a breath. He wanted to reach out, to touch him. He wanted to pull back and run away. He wanted to push Jaskier, have him land with a dramatic yelp and a scolding on his lips. He wanted Jaskier to push him, to be upset with him, to ask him why. He wanted anything but this pale imitation and gentle smile.

“Jaskier,” he tried again, “what-what happened to you?”

The bard’s brows pinched curiously, the smile looking more uncertain.

“What…happened.” He frowned. Red shocked the white of Jaskier’s chemise. It soaked through and spread like an ink stain on poetry. Blue eyes looked past the Witcher and his smile fell. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his sight.

Geralt could only watch.

“Jaskier.” He whispered again. At the sound of his name the bard’s eyes snapped back to Geralt’s, soft confusion on his face. Red continued to dye his shirt. It gathered at the corners of his mouth, slipping down his chin and falling onto the green blades of grass between them. It was as if he couldn’t feel it, had no reaction to it.

Geralt couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out again, reached out to cup the bard’s face. Jaskier didn’t move to stop him, only continued to look in confusion. His hand paused before the bard’s skin. He ached to make contact, to sweep his thumb across Jaskier’s cheekbone.

Before he could, the air rippled and Geralt was left facing the leaves of the willow. He inhaled shakily, arm still outstretched. All he could see was the image of Jaskier, blood trickling down his face, seeping through his shirt. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his palms into his eyelids until his vision went white and spots danced before him when he opened them again. Jaskier was still gone and the leaves were still there, hanging limply.

Geralt pulled his knees up, curling in as tight as he could. He felt himself shake as he rested his forehead against his knees.

—

“That one’s Draco.” Julia said, pointing up at the clear sky above them. Julian looked up from where he’d been pulling up grass with stubby fingers.

“Where?” He asked, squinting.

“There!” She insisted, still pointing. “See? There’s the tail and there’s the head.”

Julian huffed. He was no good at constellations. Julia had taken a liking to them recently, spending hours pouring over dusty, old books that Julian couldn’t care less about.

“Doesn’t look much like a dragon.” He muttered, looking back down at the grass and clenching it in his little fists.

“I thought you’d like it.”

“Why?”

“Dragons, adventure, I don’t know. They’re always in those games you like to play.”

Julian looked up at his sister. Her shoulders were slumped and she was doing that thing when she was upset where she pushed out her bottom lip. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. He knew she’d been sad lately and was just trying to share with him what made her happy.

He looked up at the stars again. It’s not that he didn’t like them, they were pretty and he could see why Julia had taken such a liking to them. It was just that they’d taken so much of her time that he was left playing adventure outside by himself. All the boys that his parents wanted him to befriend were older and mean to him so all he really had was Julia. Julian was learning that he didn’t like to share much, but he knew that that was unfair.

“It’s more of a wyrm than a dragon.” He offered weakly. Her blue eyes looked at him curiously. “Wyrms are long like snakes, dragons have big wings. It doesn’t have wings - the star.”

“The constellation.” She corrected but she was smiling. “Draco’s a better name than worm though, what an awful thing to call a collection of brilliant stars.”

Julian scrunched his nose.

“It’s not worm, it’s wyrm.”

“Sounds the same to me.”

“I hate you.”

Julia laughed and Julian realised it was the first time he’d heard her laugh for a long time. He looked down at his hands. He was getting that itch in his nose that he got when he wanted to cry. He pinched his nose, trying to get the feeling to go away.

“Hey.” His sister said softly. He heard her shuffle so she was sitting in front of him crosslegged. The end of her dress was green with grass stains. Mother wouldn’t be happy. Julia reached out and pulled his hand away from his nose, holding it in hers. He hated holding hands but he let her take it. “What’s wrong, buttercup?” It was that voice she used when things were too harsh for him and he wanted something soft.

Julian looked up. Julia’s eyebrows were raised, a small smile on her lips. Her blue eyes were darker in the nighttime. He thought they suited her better a bit darker anyway.

“Tell me about the harp one again.” He asked. She rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“It’s not a harp, it’s a lyre.” She said, sounding playfully tired of explaining it, but he knew that she loved talking about it. She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go to point at the star. “It’s that one. See those five stars?” Julian nodded. “It’s called Lyra.”

She turned to him with a smile and he looked to her with big eyes.

“That one’s yours,” she said, “that one belongs to the artists.”

Julian watched her gaze up at the stars as if she wanted to be up there with them, miles and miles away.

He couldn’t help but hate them just a little.

—

He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, curled up.

Eventually, Roach’s impatient whinny brought him back into the present. Geralt lifted his head from his knees, peering at the mare through the leaves of the tree. She shuffled a couple of feet away from the edge of the willow, tail tucked between her hindquarters. Running his hand down his face, he picked himself up. He glanced back at the trunk of the tree, not knowing what he was expecting to see. Nothing. Just the serrated edges of the bark.

He pulled back the curtain separating him and Roach. She skittered nervously but allowed him to place his hand on her muzzle. Mumbling gently, he tried to soothe her despite his own instincts itching at him to leave.

Jaskier’s bloody chest flickered through his thoughts and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Roach’s snout.

He couldn’t leave.

“I may not be able to find his physical body, but I can perhaps find his spirit.”

A spirit separate from the body.

Not an Ethereal nor any type of Wraith. Most Spectres resemble the state of their physical body. Geralt fought down the bile rising in his throat. If Jaskier were truly dead and appearing as some sort of ghost, he would appear decomposed in some way; blackened fingers, green-tinted skin, bloating. There had been no signs of that on the apparition of his friend. Until the blood had begun to seep through, Jaskier had seemed normal, if a bit pale. That would not have been a possibility if he were a Wraith.

Geralt cradled that knowledge close to his heart.

Nevertheless, his medallion had confirmed the presence of magic. It didn’t resemble any spell he was familiar with, yet he wasn’t well versed in the more complicated magics.

There had been a time in Toussaint where a woman had been turned into a tree, he remembered. The love of her life had never returned and she was left, waiting for him forever, dwelling in her longing and grief. People living in the neighbouring town would hear her wails distantly when the wind rustled her leaves. Her sobbing had also been heard when the tree was harmed, blood spilling out of a wound on the bark instead of thick sap.

Reluctantly, Geralt turned back to the willow. It was not a plant he ever would have associated with the bard. Pale where he was bright, tired where he alive, weeping where he was…

Giving Roach one last pat, he pushed past the vines, tracing the knife at his side. His thumb brushed the space between the hilt and sheath. He pulled it out and rested the steel gently against the bark, breathing in.

He was hesitating. Why was he hesitating? Jaskier, bloody and confused flashed through his mind.

He pressed his hand against the trunk, right next to the point of the knife.

With a sharp exhale, he pushed the blade in and dragged it down the bark, revealing the lighter shade of wood underneath. No blood.

Geralt didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He was left hanging in the space between.

Ah, the face of loneliness.

—

Not really sure what to do with himself, Geralt set up camp in the clearing not too close to the willow. He doubted he’d be able to sleep through the unease if he were too close. He wasn’t far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to spot someone underneath it though. He briefly thanked his enhanced vision.

He’d laid out what he needed at the edge of the field, his back to the line of trees. He doubted anyone came by often, or else he would’ve seen a notice for the extraction of a Wraith in the nearest town. Consequently, he felt comfortable leaving Roach and the beginnings of a fire pit as he went to hunt down his dinner. He tried to be quick about it, not wanting to miss Jaskier if he appeared again. He’d exhausted his rations of dried meat and bread on his trek to find Yennefer and then Jaskier.

He didn’t know how long he’d stay there. He knew he needed to find Yennefer, to ask her for help yet again. It was more likely she’d be aware of whatever curse had afflicted his bard. He knew this but he couldn’t help but long to see him. At least once more.

The Witcher returned with a rather thin rabbit. He’d gone for the first animal he’d seen. Yellow eyes scanned the open space as he returned. Nothing. No sign of the bard. Just the rustling of leaves. He looked to the willow, ears straining. No wails. He breathed a brief sigh of relief.

Sitting down beside the fire pit, he placed the dead animal down and started the fire.

“Hey!”

Geralt’s head snapped up at the shout. His medallion shuddered. Witcher eyes cut through the darkness to see a man sitting in the middle of the field. He swallowed, put the knife down and stood up, stepping around the fire to get a better look.

“I’m stargazing!” He yelled again, waving his hand and urging him to step closer. The impatient gesture was so familiar, Geralt almost smiled. He left the light of his fire and stepped further into the clearing.

The closer he got, the more Jaskier came into view. Brown hair blowing and blue doublet open against the cool wind. Bleeding mouth and reddened chemise, soaked through.

He felt the breath leave him. Something screamed in him to leave.

He stopped in front of the bard. Jaskier patted the grass next to him.

It didn’t feel right, sitting beside him. Jaskier smiled and lay back, lifting his arms and resting his head on his hands. Blue eyes darkened, reflecting the sky. Geralt suppressed the trembling beneath his skin and lay back next to his friend.

A memory tugged at the Witcher, the same one that had pulled him to the meadow before. A warm day, their day together. One with flowers and colours and humming.

It was a sick imitation of it.

His throat tightened, he felt choked by it. He felt out of breath.

“Geralt?”

Geralt closed his eyes in a long blink as he turned his head.

It hurt to look at him.

“What happened to me?” Jaskier asked, eyes still gazing at the stars. An elegant drop of red slid down from his lips. It fell to the hair curling at his nape. Geralt reminded himself that whatever he was, he wasn’t dead.

He was silent for a while, watching Jaskier look up. He hated it, the quiet. The undercurrent of Jaskier’s heartbeat had followed him for too long for him to be looking at the man and not hear it.

“I don’t know.” He finally responded. The bard smiled, a watery, wobbly thing.

His hair looked soft in the starlight. If he touched him again, would he disappear? Would he come back? Geralt didn’t know why he was appearing to him again now. Was he tied to this place or did he go somewhere else when he disappeared? Where was his body? He didn’t know if he wanted to see it if this was how Jaskier looked now. The image of Jaskier’s body, bloody and limp lying in a ditch somewhere flashed through his mind.

“I’ve always thought that Lyra belongs to the artists.”

Geralt was snapped out of his thoughts. He looked up at the constellation.

“Placed there by the gods, taken from the dead hands of a musician killed by a vengeful god.” Jaskier said. “Value only after death.”

The Witcher knew the myth. A lyre so great, it was said to have charmed even the rocks and streams. Music that quelled the voice of sirens, yet existing as a form of it itself. Although it had never been the lyre, had it? It had been the man.

“It doesn’t look much like a lyre.” Geralt commented.

There was a burst of laughter and Geralt jerked to look at the man next to him. He was looking back at him, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I knew you’d say that.”

—

Yennefer had been watching the bard for some time now. To be fair, his performance drew very many eyes. The sorceress grudgingly admitted to herself that he had some talent, him and the ensemble backing him up. It was a shame he was wasting it on bawdy tunes and bloody tales. She briefly wondered what a her own ballad would sound like. Though she had to admit, her’s would be its fair share of bloody.

The second she’d spotted the bard, her violet eyes had swept the hall for a certain gruff Witcher. She cursed herself for being disappointed when she hadn’t spotted him. Nonetheless, she’d brushed it off easily. It meant that perhaps the bard would stay away from her.

However, she was curious as to why he was here in Temeria alone. She distinctly remembered seeing him a year ago in Redania at a similar gathering, only three years after they had first met in Rinde. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one’s desire for entertainment, their second meeting was rather uneventful. They had both steered clear of each other, the large banquet hall allowing for easy steering.

Being a known sorceress meant that she was invited to many parties thrown by lords and dukes and any other form of aristocracy. She didn’t often attend, it was her bad luck to run into Jaskier twice now. Though it was to be expected, being a bard. What was not expected, however, was the bard’s seeming association with the leader of the Redanian Intelligence. His presence in Temeria, whose relationship with Redania was rather tense at the moment, was curious.

She took a sip of her crimson wine and tuned back in to what the lady beside her was saying.

“-prayer, oils, herbal treatments. Nothing’s worked!” The woman, Lady Webb, continued to explain her issues with infertility. Yennefer’s grip on her goblet tightened infinitesimally and she tilted her head politely. High society clients have deep pockets, she reminded herself. And all sorts of connections. And whilst she may not have found yet a treatment for her own…issues with fertility, she could perhaps be able to help this woman.

“-and when we mixed it, we learned that it was indeed me and so-“

“My Lady,” the sorceress interrupted, “come visit me tomorrow and we can ascertain what exactly the problem is. There are certain remedies that may work, but I cannot promise anything at the moment.”

The woman beamed at her and clasped Yennefer’s left hand, the witch held the goblet in her right afar so as not to spill it.

“Thank you so very much, dear.”

Yennefer gave her a tight smile, removing her hand from her grasp. She registered the end of the musicians’ set and set her glass down, excusing herself a bit curtly. Perhaps the bard would be a bit more fun and Melitele knew she needed a distraction.

The cast of musicians had disbanded for a brief interlude and she could spot Jaskier not too far from the stage, already chatting someone up.

“Jaskier.” Yennefer greeted. He turned from the young lady he’d been talking to, his face abruptly falling.

“Yennefer. What brings you to Temeria?” He asked, almost conversationally but the sorceress picked up on the undercurrent of displeasure. She gave him a lazy smile.

“Oh, you know, a smile here, an enchantment there and suddenly I’ve found myself with a lovely little cottage and an invitation to some local Count’s party.”

Jaskier bristled.

Yennefer watched the small blonde behind him look her up and down over the bards shoulder. With a disappointed sigh and a not-so-subtle glance at the man’s ass, she turned away and walked over to a table, grabbing a healthy glass of wine. Yennefer pitied her mildly, she had no intention of stealing the girl’s evening prospects from her.

“I am interested, however,” she continued, “as to what you are doing here?” He raised his brows questioningly.

“Really? You’re interested in what a bard is doing at a party? I would’ve thought my lute would give me away.” He said, pointing to the instrument resting on the small stage behind him.

She had to admit, he played the part well.

“Only interested as, if I recall correctly, you and Sigismund Dijkstra seemed very well acquainted in Redania only a year ago.” A knowing smirk and a tilt of her head had the bard gritting his teeth. “And whilst I know your taste is broad and varied, I wouldn’t have pegged him as your type.”

Blue eyes glanced around sharply, before an idle smile slid onto the man’s face.

“A travelling musician must take work were he can, sorceress, not all of us can have someone spilling their pockets at the snap of a finger.”

Yennefer let the subtle bite wash over her without a blink. She knew the bard did not think highly of her. The feeling was mutual. Though she had to admit, she was vaguely impressed. He wasn’t quite the ditzy bard she had thought, following his Witcher around like a lost puppy.

Yennefer hummed. “Do you remember the punishment for espionage in Temeria, bard? Was it death or simply a whipping?”

“What a macabre thought to have in the middle of such a lively party. Honestly, Yen, learn to live a little.” With a quirk of his lips, he turned back to his set, calling out to the guests to gather and dance. Not thrilled over the prospect of being caught in a crowd, she stepped away.

She’d catch Jaskier flitting around for the rest of the evening, chatting up lords and ladies, landowners and aristocrats. She’d also catch him scrutinising her occasionally, likely trying to determine some sort of ulterior motive. She let him watch as she created her own connections. Many were interested in having an Aretuzan witch at their beck and call and for now she’d let them believe she’d answer.

As the night drew to a close, few were left in the banquet hall. A table of men, determinedly still drinking, lovers in dark corners and balconies, the few who’d found good conversation and were languidly refilling glasses.

“Off to the lovely little cottage for you, then?” A voice asked from above. She looked up from her seat at an empty table. Jaskier stood, head tilted slightly, lute strung over his shoulder. His cheeks were pink, from performing or drink she didn’t know, and the ends of his hair curled from the heat. Yennefer swirled the wine in her goblet, watching the plum-coloured liquid ripple.

“Lovely cottages unfortunately don’t include free wine.” She answered, looking ahead and hoping the bard understood the dismissal in her voice. Whether he did or not was unclear as he took a seat beside her anyway.

“Let’s see then.” He said. Yennefer turned to him, confused. His hand was outstretched, reaching for her wine.

“Not afraid I’ll poison it, bard?” She crooned sweetly. Jaskier smirked and shook his head.

“Death or whipping, right?” He responded, smooth as silk. Yennefer blinked. She couldn’t help but laugh lightly, handing the goblet to him.

He took a sip and hummed, licking the red off his lips. She assumed he hadn’t been drinking much if he’d asked for it now. It was likely challenging to obtain state secrets when intoxicated.

“Not quite the wine of Toussaint, is it?” He handed the drink back. Yennefer tilted her head in agreement. With the state of Nilfgaard in the Continent at the moment, the famed wine was difficult to acquire. She’d tried.

“Does he know?” She asked, referring to the one person that connected them.

“No.”

Yennefer brought the wine to her lips and passed it back to the bard.

She wouldn’t say she liked the man, but it wasn’t a bad way to end the night, drinking together.

—

Jaskier appeared again the next morning.

Geralt was woken by his medallion not long past dawn.

This time, the bard was sitting under the tree.

As he approached, he saw the lack of blood on the man’s shirt and the tightness in his chest was relieved somewhat. This way, it was just Jaskier, his friend, sitting under a tree, waiting for him to join him. Still, it pained him to look into those pale eyes, not quite as blue as they used to be.

Jaskier watched him pull back the leaves of the willow and walk closer to him, sitting down with his back against the tree. He wished he could feel their shoulders brushing.

They were both silent for a while. Was he waiting for him to speak first? Geralt wanted to apologise but felt the words get caught in his throat. Would this Jaskier even remember what he’d said to him on the mountain? His memory seemed spotty. Selfishly, Geralt hoped he wouldn’t remember.

“My dear Witcher.” Jaskier said, so quietly he almost missed it. Geralt ached at the endearment. “My dear Witcher, do you think I’m dead?”

“No.” The answer came so swiftly it had surprised the Witcher himself. Yet his bard remained impassive.

“I think I am dead.”

“You’re not.”

“I feel it.” He was looking at Geralt with a mellow sort of sadness. “I feel this pain in my chest. Sometimes I’m choking on blood, other times I feel it in my throat but it’s dry, stuck to the walls of my larynx like peeling paint. Sometimes there’s so much of it, I can’t speak. All I can do it let it pour out of me as I heave. I’ve tried closing my mouth, but it comes nonetheless, it bursts at the seams like too much wine around a cork.”

He looked down at his hands with a frown. “My hands are so pale, I hate it. I bet my face doesn’t look much better. I bet it looks grey and ashen.”

He looked at him as if he expected Geralt to confirm his guess.

When he didn’t, he continued, “At least there’s no blood on me this time. I quite like this chemise and I don’t like seeing it ruined. I still think I’m dead though. I’m not quite sure where my body is.” He turned to look at him again and his brows furrowed in concern. “Why are you crying Geralt?”

He hadn’t even noticed the unfamiliar wetness of his cheeks until he’d asked. He touched his cheek gingerly and pulled it back, looking at the wet shine of his fingertips.

“Jaskier-“

“I know, I know, you hate it when I go off on a ramble but I feel like I should be let off just this once. I am dead after all-“

“Jaskier, shut up.”

“Come on, Geralt, I still-“

“Please,” the word cracked in his throat, “please, please stop talking. Stop.” He turned away from the man and pressed his palms into his eye sockets, trying to stop the tears yet they came unbidden like…like too much wine around a cork. He tried inhaling a shaking breath. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.”

Geralt looked at the bard. He was looking at him as if he didn’t quite understand why he was so upset but sympathised anyway.

“You’re not…,” he began then trailed off, not quite able to force the word past his lips, “you’re under some spell, Jaskier. I’m going to find Yennefer and she’s going to help you.”

“Yennefer,” the bard repeated with a sad smile, looking past Geralt somewhat, “longing and heartache and lust.”

Geralt frowned. “Jaskier, what-“

“Don’t leave.” He said, pale blue eyes snapping back to the Witcher. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I need to find Yennefer-“

“You always need to find Yennefer.”

“I need her to help you.”

“She cannot help me. You cannot heal the dead.”

“You are not- you’re not- Jaskier-“

“Just for a while. Just...just stay with me for a while, then you can go back to her.”

Geralt paused.

Weak. He was weak.

“She was the one that helped me find you.” He said after a while.

Jaskier huffed out a laugh.

“Guess that hagstone didn’t work then.”

—

Jaskier was humming as he strolled around the meadow. Geralt wondered what he was thinking. He walked in circles, following the line of trees. Every time he passed the Witcher’s camp, Roach would get skittish and step away, huffing nervously. He would give her a sad look and walk on. It was Jaskier’s form of quiet. Yes, he was humming, but the usual string of inane pondering and chatter was absent.

Still, Geralt felt a sort of comfort. The quiet stifled him now and the bard was to blame. He couldn’t bring himself to begrudge him for it. He thought he knew what being lonely was but only when he had driven Jaskier away did he learn true, aching loneliness. Geralt watched him scuff his heel on the ground, frowning, then carrying on.

Geralt was still not used to the incessant buzzing of his medallion whenever the bard chose to appear. The itch to find Yennefer and get her to help was ever-present. He was adamantly sure she could help. He didn’t allow himself to think otherwise. But Jaskier wanted him to stay. It pained him to think of the bard existing here alone. He had said he didn’t know how long he’d been there, but Geralt suspected he’d been there since all news of the famed bard had ceased. Two months ago.

“What are you doing?” He finally asked on his latest lap, putting his sword down where he was sharpening it. Jaskier stumbled, as if not expecting Geralt to say anything. He stopped and faced the Witcher.

“I’m walking.”

Geralt levelled him an unimpressed glare.

“Why?”

“Exercise.” He replied flatly.

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“I wonder where I got that from.”

The Witcher didn’t respond, knowing that the silence would eventually be filled. Jaskier huffed and sat down across from him, elbows on his knees and cheeks resting on his knuckles. He looked like a crabby child. He looked down at the grass as Geralt waited for him to speak.

“I can’t leave.” He finally said, looking up at him. “The meadow.” He added on at Geralt’s look. “It’s like there’s a wall blocking me from moving past the line of trees.”

Geralt nodded slowly. He’d assumed as much. There was a part of him that hoped that Jaskier would have looked for him if he could have. He didn’t want to ask.

Geralt still questioned where Jaskier went when he wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t go anywhere, maybe he simply chose not to reveal himself, present in the form of a willow tree. He wondered what his connection to it was. He knew now that the tree hadn’t been there the last time. Whatever had happened to Jaskier, he and the willow were linked, tethered together.

“If I am dead, this is surely purgatory.” Jaskier muttered, pulling at the grass half-heartedly. Geralt watched him rip it out of the ground, opening his hand and letting it scatter back down.

He’d learned to become aware of the bard’s moods, spotting slumped shoulders and tight smiles. He just didn’t know what to do with that information. At first, he had believed it wasn’t his job to keep the man happy. He had chosen a life of hardship beside a Witcher, and he had to deal with the consequences. Yet Jaskier had a way of tearing down walls and situating himself firmly in someone’s life, earning affection, and it had grown harder to ignore him.

Nonetheless, Geralt still didn’t know what to do. Witchers weren’t particularly well-versed in the intricacies of human emotion, even less so their own. And while knowing physical comfort and soothing words supposedly helped, he still couldn’t figure his way around it. Jaskier had done it for him before, when Geralt was injured or what the bard annoyingly called ‘grouchy’. Geralt had yet to puzzle it out for himself.

He watched Jaskier pluck out another clump.

The silence itched at his skin.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” The bard asked sharply, eyes hard.

“Pull at the grass.”

Jaskier blinked at him then broke out into a grin.

“Why not?”

“It’s bad for it, makes it harder to grow back.” Eskel had told him that when they were children at Kaer Morhen. Geralt had found it difficult to care about much during the trials yet Eskel’s soft words and concern for the turf of the dark castle had made his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry.” Jaskier replied, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He tried smoothing the grass back awkwardly, as if to apologise. Geralt felt his lips quirk. “I’ll try to rein in my habit next time.” He informed the Witcher and Geralt grunted and nodded like a teacher satisfied at a lesson learned. Jaskier laughed softly and stood up, wiping his hands down his trousers before continuing on his circle of the field.

It was only later, as Geralt was falling asleep, that he realised that Jaskier had physically touched the grass. When he’d shot up out of his bedroll, the bard was nowhere to be found. He was somewhere in the space between his spirit and his body and Geralt ached to hold him.

—

Gods, it had been a long day. Dijkstra had said that his most recent case had been requested personally by the king. Jaskier didn’t believe that for one second. He didn’t know what to think of King Radovid, if he was honest. On the one hand, a brilliant strategist, on the other a paranoid, slightly brutal nutter. Consequently, the validity of this current job was a bit in question, but he accepted it nonetheless. The months apart from Geralt, though more comfortable in terms of lodging and food, proved decidedly less exciting.

Yennefer’s question two years ago rang in his head “does he know?” Jaskier shook it off. Geralt didn’t have to know everything. Melitele knew he didn’t. Fortunately for him, the Witcher didn’t seem interested in delving into the bard’s past, as opposed to the bard himself who made it his mission to glean everything out of Geralt that he could or that he was comfortable with sharing.

He’d been renting a small apartment in the Redanian town for three weeks. Two weeks in and he’d been practically tackled to the ground of the local marketplace, only catching a glimpse of blonde before he was bracing himself against a stall wall. He’d somehow found himself with an armful of Priscilla.

“Jaskier!” She’d exclaimed, arms around his neck.

“Priscilla,” he couldn’t help but smile, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“The real question is what the hell are you doing here?” She asked, pulling away.

Jaskier frowned, tilting his head in confusion.

“When I was passing through the next town over on my way to Tretogor, I heard that the famous master Jaskier was staying nearby.” She clarified. Despite having what some might call an over-inflated ego, Jaskier couldn’t help but flush. “Nearby in this lovely shithole of a place.” She added with a smile

“Ah, yes, I’m currently hired by Lord Bachar for a while.”

“Never heard of him.” Blunt as ever.

He wasn’t surprised, it was a small town but quite valuable for mining as it was close to the mountains. However, that did make it freezing which Jaskier noted as he regarded Priscilla who was most definitely not prepared for such weather. She noticed him gazing down at her dress, much too thin for the crisp air.

“I left most of my clothes with my horse, bard.” She clarified, rolling her eyes as they began to walk together, arm in arm. Jaskier laughed.

“You’re not allowed to say bard like that, you’re a bard.”

She tutted, waving her hand dismissively. “Semantics.”

“Right, of course,” Jaskier said, shaking his head, “are you staying long then?”

“Why? Looking to have a little fun?” She asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Jaskier briefly thought back to a couple of rather pleasurable nights but shook the thoughts out of his head. He was there for a reason, after all, and Priscilla’s rather lovely curves would have to wait. Anyway, he’d rather resentfully discovered that sex was not quite as enjoyable when one’s heart was dreaming of another.

“I’m only teasing.” She acquiesced. “Honestly, I wasn’t planning to, but after seeing you I realised truly how long it’s been.”

Jaskier looked away, guilt nagging at him. With travelling with Geralt and his swiftly flourishing career, he had to admit, he hadn’t seen much of his friend. Their time in Oxenfurt during the winter really being the only time he got to visit his peers. And Priscilla truly did hold a special place in his heart.

“I know, my dear, I’ve missed you terribly but duty calls.”

“Duty meaning trailing Witchers and singing for unknown Lords?”

“You make it sound as if my songs haven’t reached every corner of the continent.”

Priscilla snorted and rested her head on his shoulder as the walked.

“They truly have, Jaskier.” He couldn’t help but preen slightly at the pride in her voice. “Anyway, I was hoping that I could stay with you for a bit, if you’re going to be working for this Lord Barbar for some time.”

“It’s Bachar. He may be rather unknown but he can still send his guard after you.”

“Please, I’m too famous for that.”

After that, it was difficult to say no. Priscilla was already aware of his arrangement with Sigismund Dijkstra, however he’d hoped to keep her out of this case.

Lord Bachar had eagerly employed Jaskier the minute he’d heard of the famed bard’s presence in his town, throwing multiple banquets and events in the three weeks Jaskier had been there. The Lord had been raring to display Jaskier to everyone who’d watch. The bard supposed that was the drawback of ruling such a small town, the need to prove something.

Fortunately, but in Lord Bachar’s case more unfortunately, Jaskier had accepted. In the time he’d been hired, he’d grown to somewhat earn the trust of the Lord. Pushing ale into his hands between performances, Jaskier had managed to loosen his tongue enough to learn that the rumours that the Redanian Intelligence was concerned about were true.

With access to the manor under the pretence of needing to accommodate his set to the “echo of the Lord’s mighty hall”. He’d easily picked the lock to the office, praying that the lock wasn’t old enough that it would break under the damage of the picking. The drawers of his desk held the evidence he’d needed to send to Dijkstra. Papers detailing the illegal human trafficking that had been happening in the small but somewhat economically valuable town.

He’d also had to drug a guard that had been waiting outside of the study, bringing him some spicy wine for them to share. Jaskier knew how to use his natural talents, blinking big blue eyes and pouting his lips, leading the man to a storage closet with a sway of his hips. The wine hit him just as they made it in and the guard slumped against the wall. He’d likely woken up thinking they’d had sex and Jaskier had left. It didn’t bother the bard much, the man was attractive and if he was going to tell others about his time spent with the famous musician, however false it may be, Jaskier couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by it.

Lord Bachar’s wife was rather meek but he would feel her eyes on him as he’d perform or talk to her husband. Not only was he being watched by her but also by the Lord’s witch. Jaskier had no clue as to why a small-time town needed a sorceress but he’d steered very much clear of her. She tended to stay by the Lady’s side anyway, leaving Lord Bachar open and vulnerable.

Jaskier’s long day in question had been at the end of his stay when he’d been asked to preform for a lunch banquet, the perfect occasion for Dijkstra’s Special Forces to storm the place and arrest the Lord. In the rush of events, people had been herded out, Jaskier among them.

He gave Dijkstra a quick nod before riding the wave of people flooding out of the hall. A shoulder pushed past him, trying to part the crowd, pushing through it and into the room rather than out. Jaskier caught a glimpse of dark hair as he stumbled from the force of the hit, clutching his lute to his chest. He quickly regained his footing, glimpsing over his shoulder before being pushed forward. He managed to catch a glance of Lady Bachar struggling in the grasp of a guard, trying to rush forward and run away with the crowd, eyes shining - in anger or desperation he didn’t know.

He hoped that she had nothing to do with the illegal activities he’d revealed.

“So,” Priscilla started as Jaskier pushed through the door of their rooms, “today was the day, huh?”

Jaskier groaned and went straight for his bedroom, throwing himself onto his bed face-first. He heard Priscilla come in, felt the bed dip when she jumped up beside him.

“How did Lord Rubarb take it then?” She asked. Jaskier couldn’t be bothered to correct her.

“Not very well, I think.”

Priscilla hummed sympathetically, lying down and stretching herself out beside him. Jaskier turned his head to look at her.

“Don’t know what he expected, honestly. Did he think he’d get away with it?”

Jaskier thought for a minute.

“Maybe he thought they’d let him.” Priscilla gave him an incredulous look. “I just mean, with the threat of Nilfgaard, trading routes are collapsing. Redania’s economy is already suffering. Maybe he thought, with some forced labour, he’d revitalise the kingdom through the mining industry and it would be overlooked because…”

“Because the rich would get to stay rich.” Priscilla finished.

Jaskier looked at her for a minute. Her blue eyes were focused on the ceiling, brows pulled up in frown. With a sigh, he turned onto his back, looking up. They lay in silence for minutes.

“His wife cried.” Jaskier said softly.

“Was she nice?”

Jaskier hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Priscilla nodded, then sucked in a breath and Jaskier knew from experience that she was about to say something that she wasn’t sure she should be saying.

“I’m worried about you.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise and turned to look at her, finding her light blue eyes already looking back.

“Why?”

“Why?” She asked disbelievingly. “Maybe because you spend half your time hunting monsters and the other half among…a different kind of monster.”

Jaskier gnawed at his lip. She had a point. He hadn’t even realised how dangerous his life had become, yet inexplicably he felt safe. How could he describe to her that he’d never felt safer and more alive than when he was with Geralt? That he couldn’t imagine spending his life beside anyone else?

“Well,” he began uncertainly, very much making it up on the spot, “I’m not doing the monster hunting, an actual monster hunter is, I just tag along. And really, the other stuff doesn’t take up nearly half of my time and it’s normally just dancing around and talking to people and as you know, I’m quite good at that.”

Priscilla scoffed but didn’t respond. Jaskier could tell he hadn’t soothed any of her worries but he really didn’t know how to.

He wouldn’t stop, he knew. It served as a thrill when he and Geralt split ways. A thrill that paid well and allowed him to travel comfortably and not sleeping on dirt ground. He couldn’t imagine himself settling down just yet, he was too restless, he needed to move. And this way he could spread his music throughout the continent.

After several more quiet moments, Priscilla broke the silence.

“I paid a mage to turn Valdo’s hair green.” She blurted so quickly, it took Jaskier a second to catch up. He looked at her to see if she was kidding, finding her grinning wolfishly to herself, clearly reliving the experience.

He laughed so hard, he rolled onto the floor.

—

Jaskier hadn’t appeared for two days. It was time to find Yennefer.

As Geralt was strapping his bags onto Roach’s saddle, he wondered if Jaskier would appear when he was gone. His mind conjured Jaskier’s pale blue eyes when he’d asked him not to leave. He of course planned to return, but Jaskier hadn’t seemed so sure. Would the bard even remember that he had been there in the first place? There was so much unknown about his current ghost-like state. Maybe he only recognised Geralt’s presence when he saw him, otherwise forgetting that he’d been there, that he’d looked for him.

Geralt scowled as he led Roach through the clearing, feeling like he’d swallowed a stone.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s soft, questioning voice drifted from behind him. Geralt closed his eyes, dreading having to explain his leaving. He slowly turned, coming face to face with the bard.

“Jaskier.” He grunted, trying to string together a convincing sentence in his head.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, yet it remained muted, not accusatory. Geralt still felt a needling of guilt.

“Yes.” He urged himself to say something more, to tell him why, to tell him that he needed to save him. And he couldn’t do it alone.

Jaskier nodded, brows pinched. He opened his mouth and Geralt braced himself. Then he disappeared. He blinked and felt something unpleasant tug at his ribs. He rolled his shoulders and contemplated staying a bit longer. He imagine the smile on Jaskier’s face when he’d tell him that he was staying.

He’d begun to catalogue Jaskier’s smiles over the many years, ever since he’d noticed the pattern of warmth spreading through his chest at the sight. There were the smiles he gave his crowds during a performance he was proud of, thriving on the high of attention and adrenaline. There were the breathless smiles he gave Geralt after they’d nearly escaped with their lives from a beast. It was a face-splitting, red-cheeked thing. And then there were the smiles when Geralt did something for him; stitched his torn pants, allowed him to sleep in briefly, bought him a warm meal. Though they were more rare and far between, those were soft and Geralt’s favourite.

Roach nudged his face with her snout, snickering at him. He gave her a look that said yeah, yeah, I get it.

He was about to turn back to his path when he saw Jaskier appear again. This time a few of steps in front of the willow tree. He saw him reappear and he saw him stumble back. Red spread across his chest and he looked down slowly. His knees buckled and he hit the ground hard.

And Geralt was running. Leaving Roach and sprinting to his bard, his Witcher speed carrying him headlong in a blink. And suddenly he was on his knees, skidding forward and catching Jaskier as he keeled forward onto himself.

Except he didn’t, his hands slipped through, Jaskier falling through his fingers in a ripple as he clutched his chest and gasped raggedly. The gasp giving rise to the blood flooding his throat. He heaved heavily onto the grass, pressing a palm to the ground, trying to hold himself up.

A noise escaped Geralt’s throat, one he didn’t remember making as he tried to grasp the hand braced on the ground. Of course, he only passed through, feeling only grass. He clutched it tightly in his fingers, feeling dirt press under his nails. He tried to call his name, only for the word to get caught in his throat, choking him as he watched Jaskier choke on blood.

The bard whimpered and pulled the hand away from his chest to reveal more of the red spreading, blooming across his white chemise like a rose unfurling. The arm holding him up shook and he looked up, looked up at something past Geralt’s shoulder. It was the first time he got to see the bard’s face fully.

Face pale, eyes glassy and pleading, swimming in tears. It looked like he was looking to someone. He opened his mouth, only to retch out more blood, spitting it out onto the grass. The begging in his eyes made Geralt look behind him, finding nothing yet wanting to scream help him please help him. He turned back to the bard whose arm had finally given up. He was pressing his head to the cool soil.

You feel like you just want to rest your head forever.

And Geralt felt terror claw at his throat, clearer than it had been for decades. He wanted to say something, anything. He wanted to yell at the bard to get up, to not give in to the ache in his body that was telling him to rest. He wanted to scream, to hold him, to press on the wound, to cup his cheek, to lace his fingers in his own and promise safety and everything that Jaskier deserved.

He wanted anything other than this powerless, helpless static where the words got caught behind a wall and his fingers passed through flesh with nothing but a mocking shimmer.

Jaskier rolled over with a grunt and only surrounded by green grass and budding wildflowers did Geralt notice the lack of blood pooling. It shocked the white of his shirt and stained his hand red but did not stray from the bard’s body. Jaskier released a shaky breath, blood spluttering over his lips and spilling onto his cheeks.

And Geralt was left to watch desperate, painfully vivid blue eyes pale and cheeks turn ashen until the only colour left was the stark red of blood splatter.

He was beautiful in death. Hair falling over and sticking to his brow in messy curls, skin porcelain, fingers curling in his hand and a shirt so scarlet like the indulgent silks he used to buy.

Geralt scrambled back and retched into the grass, heaving violently. Eyes wide and lungs struggling to inhale, Geralt found he still could not make a noise. He tried to scream, to cry out. The sound built up in his throat and got caught. Geralt painfully swallowed it down.

He turned and found Jaskier still there, unseeing eyes looking up as if cloud-watching. Crawling back, he let his hands hover over the body that he knew was not really there, that would pass through his hands like sunlight through the air.

He couldn’t look at him anymore, so he turned his gaze up to the clouds and lay himself beside his bard. Another cruel mockery of a day they’d already lived. His heart clenched painfully at the memory of sun-warmed skin and Jaskier’s voice. He felt hollowed out, like someone had scooped out the contents of his ribs and left him to lie.

And so two corpses lay together, chests gouged out.

#there will be more #some of them are kind of ooc #sorry #the witcher #my rambles #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #fic written #fanfic #angst

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vinylhazza · 5 years ago

Text

A Lesson Learned (E.D) Part 1.

Summary: Ethan’s job as a teacher is to give his students the best education that he can. But when Y/n, a student that has caught his eye a time or two, catches him by surprise in his classroom during lunch, he’s unable to hold back the fire that was sure to break free at some point.

Word Count: 8.1k

Warning: Rough sex between student and teacher. You're welcome.

Ethan wasn't stupid. He knew that the girls in his class snickered and swooned over him from the minute they walk through that classroom door, to the very moment they left. That’s why he had a set of rules. They were simple, but very clear and strongly advised. 1. No consults or help during lunch 2. No help after school, under any circumstances. It was just too risky. It wasn't that he was worried he would slip up, it was just that the girls in his class were very bold with their advancements towards him and he was concerned it would get too out of hand if he allowed them to come in whenever they wanted for “help.” Because help was never really help with them. However; he did give the students an option to come in during a free period, where teachers flittered through the halls and his door was always open. He has yet to see any of the girls take him up on that offer, except maybe one of two that don’t really need the help.

He had three classes, Seniors, Juniors, and Freshmen. All Composition and Reading. They were all pretty much the same, just a slight curriculum change to make it harder for each grade as he saw fit. The girls in his Senior class were the worst with their flirtatious behavior, so bad sometimes that he’s had to call them out or send them to the principals office - feigning that he’s concerned they won't be able to focus enough in his class because of their small crush. It was a serious problem - some even slipped him their number when handing in their papers or passing notes on purpose during class because they knew he would take them away if they were caught. He’s never used them of course, simply throws them in the trash with a shake of his head. He wasn't meaning to be cocky about it, it just made him a bit nervous and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, some girls still hadn't gotten the memo.

But he was still surprised when he heard the light tapping on the closed door, small shadows of feet appearing against the tiled floor just outside. He understood that it was nearing the end of the semester and the students might be panicking a bit too hard over their studies, he’s been there a time or two during high school and college. But his rules were set in place for a reason. He figured it was better to make the rule for everyone rather than show “favorites”. He knew some of the students would probably love the extra study time, but he just couldn't take the chance. The lunch rule wasn't even his decision quite frankly, it was also a school rule that you must reside in either the lunch room, football field, or atrium during lunch hours - no sneaking off on your own agenda without a valid reason. Coming to his classroom wasn't really a valid reason. Yes, some students slipped past the radar, but it wasn't often. Girls were sneaky, and being one of the only males in an all girls school, he started to learn their little tricks.

He sat still behind his desk, eyes glued to the stand still shadow behind the aquatex glass window of the door. A frown stretched across his face as he wondered who it could be, the place was normally deserted and quiet during lunch break - a good 45-60 minutes of absolute silence. Depended on the day. He wondered briefly who it was and what they wanted. Even though the knock was quiet, it nearly scared him - that’s how unusual sound was at this time of day. He was sure he could blast his music as loud as he could and no one would be able to hear. He didn’t of course, it would disrupt his concentration.

It bothered Ethan sometimes that he had such a close eye on him at all times. Just because he was young, with a tall, sturdy frame, thick hair, strong jawline, plump pink lips, and a naturally prominent bulge that he couldn't hide no matter how hard he tried. There were always eyes watching his every move. No, he wasn't the type to flaunt his sex appeal. He didn't like that he was watched like a hawk because he was “hot”. He knew he was watched, knew the women lusted after him, but he kept himself in check. He also knew he was attractive, confident, and had a charm that could sway any girl to be on their knees within seconds. He’d used it quite a few times in college. But as far as he was concerned, he was at the school to teach Composition and Reading - not to stare at girls in their tiny skirts or at their shirts that they refused to button the way they should. He wasn't here for that, plus half of the girls were underage anyway. That and it was just simply wrong. Strictly against the rules.

And it wasn't just the students that would throw themselves at him - but the female staff as well. That made the eyes on him even heavier, as if someone higher up was just waiting for him to slip up, take the bait and get himself into a mess he’s sure he’d never get out of. Because of the close watch on him, he would try and escape from the prying eyes of his co-workers during his lunch break just to sit by himself and get much needed work done that he might not have time for at home or during the day. He liked that this was his alone time without anyone bothering his concentration. He actually thought it was one of the crucial parts of his school day.

He got enough sex to satisfy his needs elsewhere anyhow, not much, but enough. It slowed down after he had a small fling with a female teacher when he first arrived at the school - but it ended as quickly as it started. He fucked her twice and then she turned obsessive and he had to end it in the kindest way he could. He didn't have the energy for the “coworker against coworker” fiasco that would surely start if the word got out that he rejected her after they’d had sex. It would sound dishonorable to everyone that didn't understand the situation. But other than that, it was women he took interest in that were friends of friends, even some women he’s hooked up with before. It wasn't like when he was in college - he was kind of a sex crazy beast in his younger years. That hasn't changed, he just didn't have as much opportunity. Though since he wasn't really meeting anyone at school, he wasn't making it a point to go and find a random female to fuck. Just wasn't his forte. But he liked to believe he got enough. Enough to keep him from going insane.

He sighed softly, not all that happy about being interrupted, but not wanting to ignore whoever it was and be rude. He set his blue inked pen down, stopped the soft music playing from his phone, and pushed the hair back on his head neatly. He noticed that on many occasions it gets quite frazzled from him tugging on it when he was bored or frustrated. He wondered for a moment if it was just another teacher wanting to come and sit with him for some company, but that didn't sound appealing for him if he’s honest. He wanted to be alone and most of the teachers knew that. He cleared his throat, just to assure the person who was waiting that he was inside, before he finally spoke out calmly, but with enough volume that whoever it was could hear him, “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, slowly enough that he just knew it wasn't a teacher. Teachers opened the door with purpose, not a hint of shyness in sight. Students were always the ones that opened the door like it weighed 100 pounds. That thought in mind, he wasn't really surprised that he was right. But he was surprised to see the familiar face of one of his best students. He recognized her beautiful face immediately as she appeared slowly from behind the door. Blushing cheeks and all.

She stood almost nervous with her snug white blouse and grey plaid skirt. A dull outfit for such a bright girl. But it wasn't her fault she had to wear a uniform. He knew what the girls had to wear and he knew she was a little older than the rest of the girls in her class. She was in his Senior class he remembered. She was ravishing. Utterly fucking gorgeous and he couldn't deny it. Ethan tried his hardest not to look down her body. But he found himself holding back more than he thought was normal. She was normally very shy, sat in the back, had her head low during class, fiddled with her pen a lot. She had cute quirks that he caught onto early in the year. She was always the first to hand in her paper, and it was always excellent, had neat handwriting and wonderful thoughts - but she refused to participate in class discussions. He never thought anything of her silence, so he thought it was strange that she would come to his class unannounced and during a time she wasn't allowed. He knew she knew the rules that had been set in place for all four years and even before that.

She took a step inside the room, hands toying with the white bottom button of her blouse. A small smile rushed to her face at the sight of his eyes lingering on her patiently.

“Can I help you?” He ushered her forward, earning him a small nod and the view of her turning around the shut the door softly behind her. He took note that she twisted the lock quickly, secretively. His eyes flickered with confusion at her actions, but he shook his head to rid the look before she turned back around and took a step closer to him with a nervous huff from her rosy lips. If he looked closer, he might see her visibly shaking.

“You know I don’t usually offer help during lunch,” he explained, knowing she knew, but making it clear that she was breaking the rules. He felt bad for a moment that he sounded so harsh and cold. He was unsure why she was even here, she was the top of her class - she’d always had a steady A in the class - and every other class he’s sure. Surely she didn't really need the help.

“I know Mr. Dolan I’m sorry, I just need a little bit of help,” she finally spoke, doe eyes blinking a few times at him, showing off her long lashes. He saw that her pupils were dilated but chose to ignore it. He didn't want to make any assumptions that weren't true.

“You can come back 5th hour if you’d like, I don't really have the time during lunch...Y/n right?” He pondered, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest while he stared her down. God she was beautiful.

“Uh yeah.” A sweet smile makes it’s way to her face, along with a pinky blush. She rocks back and forth on her heels, a nervous habit he’s noticed a few times this year. She doesn't ask many questions, but when she does she always falls into that habit. She just never knew what to do with herself when it came to him.

“Well, Y/n just come back in a few hours with any questions you have and we can go from there, sound good?” The way she’s making his heart race is making him sweat, his hand coming up to loosen the tie from around his neck. He felt like he might choke if she kept batting her eyelashes at him like that.

“You don’t even have a second to listen?” she simpered, dipping her head to the side and giving him her best puppy dog eyes. There was a glimmer in her eyes he hadn't ever seen before, it had him clearing his throat once more. He really wanted to cut her some slack, just feeling the nerves radiating off of her was making him nervous now. The way she’d said it made it seem like she came to talk to him about a personal problem, and that alone had him tensing up from his neck to his shoulders. He’s not really all that good with personal problems, hell he’s not even good with his own. Plus if this is true, he doesn't know why in the hell she would go to him and not any of the many female teachers in the building who were far more equipped to help.

“I really don't mean to be bothering you, I can see your really busy. I’m just kind of nervous about my grades and with finals coming up I’m getting in my head about all of the work...” she carries on, resulting to chewing on her bottom lip to ease the nerves coursing through her.

“There’s really nothing to worry about, Y/n. You’ve always excelled in this class and I’m sure the final won’t be any different. I can assure you that you’ll find it easy. I can give you extra study material if you’d like, just to freshen up.” He really was trying to pacify her, not knowing exactly what to say to someone that was so nervous about a class that was clearly so easy for them. Not only that but she kept chewing on her fucking lip and it was driving him mad. She wouldn't even meet his eyes, seemingly making it worse for him.

“Honestly...that’s not really my problem,” she admitted with a sigh while she stepped the tiniest bit closer, noticing his eyes flicker down to where her silky smooth thighs rubbed together while she walked, “I kind of need some personal advice, sir. It’ll only take a second.”

The look she was giving him from under her long lashes was void of any of the shyness he’d seen moments before, no. This time he could see something devious and lustful pooling in her dilated pupils. She watched him closely as a look of confusion took over his handsome features once again. He chose to ignore the fact that she was now standing directly in front of his desk, keeping his eyes trained solely on her face and nowhere else.

“I think a female teacher would be better fit to counsel you with a personal problem, miss Y/l/n. I’m afraid I wouldn't be too much help,” he smiled softly at her, eyes full of sympathy. So handsome. “But I do advise you to get back to lunch before an administrator finds you in here. I don’t think they’d be too happy about seeing a student roaming the halls when it’s such a nice day outside.”

“Sir, I don't think you understand,” she rushes, “I really need your help. I came to you for a reason.”

He watches her tongue dart out and wet her lips quickly, but he noticed nonetheless. He notices a lot of the things she does.

“Is it serious? If it’s serious you should see the principal. But you really should get back to lunch, Y/n,” he urges on before she has a chance to answer, “You may come back 5th hour if you’d like. I’ll have more time to talk. But it’s best if you get back to your friends.” He’s nervous about how close her body is, breath turning shallow from the sweet smell of her perfume.

Her brows dip down as she huffs, frustrated that he’s not catching onto her obvious flirting - and if he is, that he’s not giving her anything to work with. Ethan sits upright just as she rounds his desk, the toe of her shoe pressing against the wheel to roll the chair back further. He stays still, staring up at her looming frame over him, too shocked to do anything else. If he was expecting anything from her, it definitely wasn't that. He feels the soft tips of her hair rubbing against his cheekbone just as she swings her leg over his exposed lap, fitting to him snug. She’s straddling him, clothed core pressed right up against his bulge. Her skirt was bunched up over her thighs, smooth skin exposed for him to touch if he wished.

“You see the thing is...none of the female teachers have what I want...what I need,” she whispers, staring into his hazel eyes that gawk at her twirling his tie between her fingers. Her tone is suggestive, seductive, everything it shouldn't be towards her teacher.

“Miss Y/l/n, this is extremely inappropriate,” he grunts, wanting to push her off of his lap in shock, but instead raising his hands so he’s not touching her at all. If someone tries to come in he doesn't want them to see his hands even near her body that fits with his so...perfectly. No he needs to focus.

“I’m just really stressed and anxious sir,” she whispers again, running her hands down his front and noticing how firm he was beneath the material of his dress shirt. She sighs as her pussy clenches at the thought of what resides beneath, “I haven't had sex in months which is far too long. I just need to be fucked right.”

“Y/n get off. This is against the rules and you shouldn't be here,” he spoke sternly, as much as he could through his voice shaking. He expected her to look hurt, maybe even offended at him rejecting her in such an embarrassing way, but he only saw a smirk.

“Mr. Dolan I need a man,” she hummed, “a man that will fuck me nice and hard. I need you Mr. Dolan. I need you to fuck me.” She popped her lip out into a pout, still running her hands up and down his chest until she hooked her arms around his neck and leaned in close to his lips. If he just leaned forward a bit they would be kissing.

He really didn't expect for this normally quiet and shy girl on top of him to be so bold. He had never seen her like this and never thought in a million years these words would be tumbling from her mouth. He gasps quickly when she reaches down to tug at his belt buckle, staring down with a hungry look on her face, eye fucking him.

This had never happened before and he wasn't really sure what to do. Normally the advances from the girls were subtle and harmless, but this was...this was dangerous in many ways. To say his morals were floating around in his head in a jumbled mess because he can feel the heat from her pussy against his dick is an understatement. He wanted it but he didn't want to want it. He grabbed onto her wrist in an attempt to stop her, watching her pout return to her face at the fact that he tried to stop her.

“I’m well aware of your intentions Y/n. But this is wrong. I will not have sex with a student. No if, ands, or buts. Now leave and I promise we won’t ever have to talk about it again. I won’t tell anyone about this.” He meant it too. He didn't want a single person knowing that his student was sitting pretty on his lap in her...sexy uniform that wouldn't be sexy on anyone else but her if he’s being honest, “But I want you to get off my lap right now.”

She sat for a moment, just staring at him to gauge his reaction before she slowly let go of his belt, looking as if she’d admitted defeat. “Okay...I’m sorry I broke the rules, sir.” But just as it had before, that same sensual grin came onto her face, sending a nice thumping from his heart through his chest once again as she said, “I’m so sorry that I've been a bad girl.”

She slid her hips forward and back again repeatedly, not stopping even when his breathing stopped short and she felt his heart beating rapidly beneath her fingertips. She grabbed into the collar of his shirt, using it for something to hold onto as she rolled her hips into his, making it unbearable for him to stay in line. He watched in awe while she untucked her shirt from the waistband of her skirt, pulling it out and slowly undoing the buttons, one by one until she revealed the soft pink of her bra and the curves of her hips. She was breathtaking and he couldn't deny that if he wanted to. She pushed her core harder against his slacks, loving the pressure it put against her clit. His eyes traveled down the expanse of her body to where their hips met, feeling like he might pass out if she doesn't stop now.

If he’s honest, he’s wanted this for quite some time. She’s just...something else. He’s caught himself staring at her longer than he should in lectures and she doesn't know it but he can see right up her skirt when she sits at her desk, his eyes drifting down far too often from his own desk. But he would never imagine himself acting on anything. The consequences that would follow if anyone ever caught him kissing her like he desired to, were scary to say the least. But he wanted to so bad. That thought had him gulping while he looked at her all spread out on his lap and grinding herself against him. Her head was resting against her shoulder, a blissed out look on her face while she rolled over his clothed dick, the skin of her thighs causing a rubbing sound that he didn't mind much.

He was suddenly happy for a split second that she locked the door, even though he knew someone would be able to see the shadow through the glass window if they looked hard enough. He also know that the administrators and janitors had a key to his door and would surely use it if they had any indication something insubordinate was going on inside. It had him all jittery the think that someone could catch them even if he hasn't touched her...yet. He hated the fact that he was tempted, he was so tempted to fuck her senseless that it almost killed him to not have his hands dipping into her sides and roll her harder against him.

His cheeks were heating up fast by the quiet moan that emits from her lips, soft and angelic. He knows that if he lets it slide they will only get louder and he doesn't want a single soul to hear. He knows that the building is deserted, but just the thought of someone hearing her sounds is terrifying and sends a panic through him, causing a hand to fly up and cover her mouth, the other to wrap around her throat lightly. It was the first time he’s touched her and he felt like his hands were on fire just by touching her skin. He was going to hell.

She stared at him over his hands, breathing out through her nose and waiting for him to explain why he’d shushed her so frantically. He looks mad. And he is. He’s fucking pissed off that he wants her so bad and that he’s so hard beneath her he’s worried he’s leaking precum. He’s mad that she’s put him in a position that has his brain so out of order that he can't think of anything else but ramming his dick into her against his desk. He’s mad that he’s never wanted to fuck someone so bad in his life and he’s mad that she has to be his student. He’s mad because he wants her, and not just right now, but always and it’s driving him crazy.

“Don’t you realize what will happen if I fuck you, Y/n? Do you fucking know?” He seethed, a hand reaching to grip at her ass deliciously, leaving a smack against the flesh and feeling it jiggle in his hands. She jumps away from his hand against her mouth from the contact, surprised that he made such a risky move when he’s been frozen like a statue the whole time.

“You’ll cum...I’ll cum...we’ll have mind blowing sex,” she answers calmly, so sure it makes him more mad because he’s certain she’s right.

“Wrong. I’ll get fired. I will be out on my ass before I can even blink,” he snapped, “I will lose everything. We will both be in a fuck ton of trouble, including you...then you’ll really be stressed won’t you kitten?” he hums, a smirk plastered onto his face as he leans in to ghost his lips over her own, testing the line before stepping over it. She’s pouting agains, wanting him to kiss her and show her what he’s really thinking because this denial is bullshit and she can tell he wants it. She can tell from his hard-on that’s pressing against her right now.

She nods, not wanting him to deny her but still understanding why he’s so scared to want it. But Ethan takes her by surprise when he places both hands under her ass and lifts her up like a feather. She clutches his biceps tightly from his sudden movements, clinging onto him just until he sets her on the edge of his desk. He had one hand buried in her hair, making a fist and pulling.

“So I’m gonna need you to keep that pretty mouth closed okay?” he growled, sinister glare set straight into her eyes. He was serious. No games here. He was holding back a smile at the giggle she let out next, overjoyed when he spread her legs wider. She’s keeping herself up on her elbows, grinning up at his handsome face, tempted to pull him down by his tie for a kiss. But he still hasn't gotten an answer.

He grips her chin angrily, making sure she’s looking right into his hazel eyes, “Am I understood?” So stern. She knew that he was trying to assert himself, make sure she knew he was in the position of power. But he had nothing to worry about when it came to her, that’s all she wants right now. To have him take control and use her in the best way.

“Yeah, daddy,” she simpered once again, a tiny pout on her face. He could feel the blood rushing to his cock in an instant. He’s never been called that before but something about the way she said it had him addicted already, “I promise I’ll keep you a secret, I promise I won’t tell,” she carried on, dragging a finger across his sharp jawline, leaning up just enough to leave a peck against the skin of his neck. When she leaned back, she was biting her bottom lip again.

He couldn't think about how wrong this was. He couldn't think about the fact that he was possibly taking advantage of her when he was adult and was the one responsible for saying no. So instead of thinking he pulled her to the edge of the desk, tugging harshly on her plaid skirt. She sat in her matching baby pink panties, so delicate for such a dirty girl. He took the time to dip his hand down, cupping her heat and rubbing slowly, torturing her like she’d tortured him for so long. He only toyed with her for a moment longer before ripping her bra off, panties off as well, he groaned from deep in his chest as the sight of her dripping core.

He wanted to take it slow, feel every curve of her body, every inch of her skin - but considering his compromising position he needed to make it fast. He couldn't waste time. He needed to fuck her hard and fast like she wanted and get it out of his system because it’s eating him alive. He didn't have the time to caress her and kiss her tenderly. He just couldn't take the time right now. The thought of someone coming to knock on the door while he had her splayed out wide and wet on his desk was something that chilled him to the bone.

He paused for just a second so that the rapid thoughts in his head could quiet down and let him focus: What if she’s underage? What if someone comes? This is so wrong. You’re gonna get fired. But how could he ever say no?

Instead of getting lost in his thoughts and overthinking the entire situation, he chose not to think at all - let his instincts take in. He quickly grasped the cold metal of his belt buckle, peeling it from his belt loops on his slacks and pushing them all the way down his legs and to the side. He watched her gazing at him dreamily, so focused on his large hands pulling his massive length out for her to see, sitting so deliciously in his palm. She licked her lips when she noticed the tip was the same reddish pink as his freshly kissed lips. He tossed his underwear into the pile of clothes on the floor beside the desk, forgotten. He leaned over her, taking another second to land his lips on hers once again, tasting her chapstick and feeling his heart warm at the way she leans back up when he tries to pull away, sighing into his mouth.

When he breaks free he’s grabbing at himself to rub the head of his cock up and down her wet opening. Ethan teased her slowly, tapping at her clit just to hear her gasp and jump beneath his touch. She clenches with a wince when he tries to push in slowly, never has she been with anyone this big and she hope he understood from the whimper that slipped out. He gave her a soft smile, rubbing his hand over her soft thigh in understanding, making sure that when he tries again he takes his time.

He has to stop halfway, throwing his head back from the way she grips him so tight, overwhelmed. Y/n grips his arms, bracing herself for him to sink all the way inside of her. He captures her lips with his own as he rammed his cock into her time and time again, relishing in the warm tight wetness of her pussy that he’s not stopped thinking about since she unknowingly opened her legs from beneath her desk months ago and he caught sight of heaven on earth. His hips met hers with a harsh smack, loud enough to be heard from outside the door, but a delicious sound to his ears anyway. Ethan was over the moon, buried deep into the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, who happened to be none other than his student. He breathed hard when his gaze went from her bright eyes down to her chest that rose and fell rapidly, down to where he disappeared inside of her heat.

Y/n couldn't hardly breathe just looking at his body so firm above her, tie swinging with every thrust of his hips, buttons undone at the top of his shirt. She was tempted to shut her eyes simply from the pleasure and euphoria that took over her every nerve, but refrained when she saw the blissed out look on his face she’d only ever seen in her dreams.

She had envisioned this exact moment so many times within her daydreams, scribbling mindlessly while she watched him talk about nonsense in front of the class, scanning her eyes over his front the best that she could when he wasn't looking. It was maddening to want his cock so bad. She’d dreamt about being fucked against this very desk. She’d woken up in a sweaty gasping frenzy from the vivid image of what she is seeing right now. But this time it was real and she was being fucked on his desk. The grunts and groans emitting from his mouth weren't a figment of her imagination any longer. He was ramming into her shaking body so hard that the pens near her head were knocked to the floor with a clatter, binders falling, papers flicking off the wood and to the ground silently. But he paid no attention to the racket, only her loud breathing and gushing sounds coming from where he did his best to ruin her.

A spark of anger arose from deep within his chest when he looks up to find her grinning at him, a gloating sneaky little glare that reads “you love this and you know it.” It made him angry because she did this, she walked in here everyday in her short she knew was too short, she came and sought him out, made him weak, made him want her. With an angry “fuck” Ethan’s wrapping one hand around her throat - not too tight, but tight enough to make a point and grumbling low, “You knew what you were doing didn't you?”

She grabs at his wrist, hand fumbling with his fingers for a second, just feeling at them lightly with a smile, nodding her head and batting her eyelashes. She could feel her thighs shaking and tightening around his waist, her heels pushing into his thighs to push him into her harder.

“Such a fucking slut...is this what you wanted?” he continues to growl from within his throat, hard staring her with dark, lust-filled eyes.

“Y-yes,” she gasped, a strangled sound coming from her throat from the pressure of his hand around her airway, “fuck me harder daddy please. Love it so much.”

Ethan had become hot and sweaty quickly, a patch forming on the front of his shirt from where he’d soaked through, enough to have him yanking at his tie and hastily removing it from around his neck. He suddenly felt very large in a shirt that normally fits so well, but then again he was never pushing against the buttons and railing a beautiful girl into his desk, so that might be a factor to think about.

“Fuckin’ hot in here,” he grumbled to himself as he unbuttoned his blazer all the way down, feeling the cool air touch his chest for the first time and sighing at how good it felt. He still hasn't stilled his hips, his rhythm even and steady. It impressed her that he had a will to keep going to matter what and she just knew that even if someone did knock on that door - he wouldn't stop. He would finish what he started. But looking at his bare torso that showed under the unbuttoned shirt still had her breathless and swooning. She hadn't expected him to take his clothes off, too worried about how fast he needed to be for obvious reasons. But she wasn't complaining by any means.

The slither of tan skin that she could see had her whimpering and throwing her head back on the desk, nails reaching beneath the flailing fabric to rake her nails down the smooth surface - over every bump and ridge. She forced herself to open her eyes and appreciate the way his abs flexed with every thrust into her, the way his eyebrows were drawn down in concentration, the way he bit at his bottom lip and watched her closely. She hardly expected him to grip at the back of her neck to pull her up just enough to bury his face in the skin of her neck - kissing fiercely. His teeth dug in in the most delicious way, sucking on the sore spots and admiring the dark purple that was left behind from his assault. They would be nearly impossible to cover, and that made him proud. With a grin he gripped her hips tight, ramming himself into her harder still, chuckling at the bright red of her skin from his hips pounding into her own. If she wanted rough, rough was what she was going to get.

“Yessss daddy right there right there right there-” she screeched so loud he was sure the entire city would be able to hear. But he didn't have the heart to stop her. He craved to hear that desperate howl, frantic and scared he was going to stop hitting that sweet spot that drove her to madness. Well, he wouldn't dream of it.

“You like that spot kitten? Hm? Right here?” he mocked, pushing a hand down on her tummy and driving into her deep, stilling before pulling out all the way, and slamming right back in.

She whimpered pathetically, throwing her head back and trying to crawl away from how deep he was. She’s sure that if she didn't want to look tough, she would be crying right now. But she just wanted to be good for him.

When he offered two fingers for her to suck on, she greedily opened her mouth, tongue out, flicking around the digits while they settled against the flesh. Her eyes trained on his own menacing hazel ones while she sucked, letting him gag her if he pleased, adoring the way she felt so full in not one but two places. The tears brimmed in her eyes while he pushed his fingers to the back of her throat, fucking her mouth with his hand and loving the gagging sound she gave him.

“God look at you taking me so well...sucking daddy’s fingers like the good girl you are...so pretty,” he whispered, almost to himself with how low the volume of his voice was. But she heard, and it still made her feel good. The ball inside of her started to grow bigger the more he pushed into her, the harder he pounding, the more he gagged her, the more he praised and degraded her all at once. It was all too much and if he kept going she would have no choice but to let the fire consume her.

She bucked her hip up, taking notice of the sound of crumpling paper underneath her and giggling when she remembered it was probably papers he was grading from before. If only they knew. If only they could see the way their teacher fucked her raw and wild on his desk, fingers dipping into her skin, groaning low and dark into her ear, smashing his lips against hers like he really meant it. Did he really mean it? If only they could know that the crumple of the papers he was going to hand back would be from their sexual escapade happening right now. It all made her head spin in the best way.

Her screaming only rose in volume, his eyes widening and a hand rising to cover her opened mouth. He gave her a brilliant smile, but a warning still lingered in his eyes that looked down on her. “Shhh baby,” he shushed her, feeling her giggle behind his hand, her eyes shining at him innocently. But he knew so much different. He pulled his hand away only to lift her from the desk once more, shuffling her weight up his body, loving the way she fit him so perfectly. He held her in his arms, her own circling around his neck and kissing at his cheekbones lovingly.

Ethan was still buried to the hilt, so deep in her pussy, so warm. He took her ass into his hands and bounced her up and down on his muscular body, smacking her body down onto his own and sucking at her nipples while she moaned repeatedly above him.

Y/n hooks her ankles behind his waist, bucking her hips against his because she just couldn't get enough. He was addicting. She adored the way he gazed at her, sucked at her tits, treated her pussy like gold, kissed her like there was this passion he’s waited to set free for so long, adored the way he did a complete 180 from a professional that was scared to let loose, to a fuck machine that broke her apart with his dick. She moaned hungrily while she looked down at him suckling on her left breast, her bud rolling against his skilled tongue. She wondered for a moment what it would feel like on her pussy, wondered if it’s everything she imagined it would be. She had no doubts she was right.

“How do I feel baby? Is daddy doing a good job?” he growls, looking for the reassurance he honestly didn't need. He knew he was doing amazing by the shaking in her thighs in his hands. But he still wanted to hear her filthy little mouth say it.

“So good daddy, doing so good,” she emphasized every word, whimpering and moaning and gasping like a complete mess that she is. She would be okay if she finished like this, with him holding her like she doesn't weigh a pound, ramming her down onto his cock hard and fast and unbelievably easy. And she nearly complains when he starts to back up and tumble into the desk chair. It rolls slightly under the pairs weight.

He wraps her lips within a tender kiss once again, breaking free with a sharp intake. “Ride me kitten,” he grunted, continuing to kneed the flesh of her ass in his hands. He doesn't know why he’s doing it, but he knows he likes doing it. And he knows she likes him doing it by the content smile stretched across her face.

She nodded at his demand, situating herself against his lap to find leverage before she started to bounce with purpose.

She continued to sink down, wiggling her hips just to tease him when she felt the small tickle of the tuft of hair near his belly button. She was clenching, grinding, genuinely throwing it back on him in a way he’s never seen before, and he doesn't think after this he’ll be able to keep himself in check.

She moaned in his ear just by the feeling of his large hands caressing up her back and down to her ass to leave a harsh slap, surely leaving a lovely red splotch behind. He found the strength to raise his head from her tits, tightening his grip on her ass and moaning softly at how good she felt, “Such a good girl for me. Ride my fuckin dick, yeah that’s it. Make me cum, baby. Be good and make daddy proud of you. Make me cum.”

Ethan could feel his orgasm coming in strong, racing through him fast. He sat back in the chair, closing his eyes and really feeling all of her walls contract around his shaft and hug him so tight. He breathed out hard through his nose, trying to decide whether he would have the strength to hold it if he opened his eyes again.

Y/n grinned at his struggle, bouncing faster and faster, moaning louder and longer. His jaw clenched with every swear word that tumbled from her rosy lips, reminding her of just how handsome he was. When she let go around him, her juices spraying out against the tan skin of his thighs, he thought he might lose it at the sight. She was writhing and dragging her nails down his arms, scratching at his skin.

“Fuuuckkkkk oh my fucking God that’s so...oh my fucking God right there,” she screeching louder than ever before, shocked that she hasn't felt him release into her yet.

The heat that had just erupted inside of her was unlike anything she’d felt before. Certainly one of the hardest if not the best orgasms she’s ever had. He gave her a cocky grin when he smacked his hand down onto her ass one final time before lifting her away. He couldn't risk cumming in her and her not be on birth control considering he hadn't used a condom for obvious reasons.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered her hotly, voice low and stern. She dropped to the ground with wobbly knees and a racing heart, her pussy clenching around nothing in particular now that she was empty. She still felt herself dripping in arousal against the floor beneath her, knowing she will most likely have to go home and change after this and feign illness. The soreness in her limbs already tells her walking won’t be the best option for the rest of the day.

She took him gently into her hand, wrapping her plump lips around his swollen head to suckle and kiss it gently. She wanted to drive him crazy, wanted him to look at her with pleading eyes and a panic in him that she won’t let him cum. When she removes her lips, she receives that very same look, begging without actually saying a word. So licks up the underside of him, a slow, hot stroke of her tongue. Messy and filled with saliva. He watched her carefully, resting a hand within her hair as she enveloped him in her wet mouth. He thought he might pass out when she pushed him all the way inside her mouth, deepthroating him with tears forming at the corner of her eyes. She took it like she was forced, even though he had simply rested his head back and let her work at him. It was all too much. She started to pump what she didn't have in her mouth, feeling him twitch against her tongue and buck his hips up randomly, gagging her.

“Y/n I’m gonna-” he’s cut short with a long breath from his nose, clenching his jaw tight while he finished down her throat in long hot spurts. She was clenching her eyes shut and taking it like the good girl she was, swallowing every drop he gave her. It surprised her that it was sweeter than she thought, all thoughts of the liquid being bitter now gone. He continued to groan above her, sensitive and wincing from her hand that kept pumping him. She knew he was completely finished, she removed him from her mouth with a pop and an angelic smile, kissing his tip one last time.

He was frozen in his chair, frozen and shocked and fucked out and scared. Scared because he’s never cum that hard in his life ever. Shocked because he didn't want her to go. Frozen because she was rising her feet already, giggling while she gathered her clothing from the ground and got dressed in quick motions. He couldn't even find it in himself to move from how hard he’d just orgasmed.

He watched her calmly, arms dangling over the arms of the chair, limp and lifeless, dick laying against his belly. He smiled softly when she leaned down to leave a breathless kiss on his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw while she held his face gently. “Thank you daddy,” she whispered, kissing his jaw just one more time before she leaned back to send him a wink, “I promise I won’t tell.”

Ethan sat still while she pulled her panties up her legs, then her skirt, before buttoning her blouse and tucking it in to try and look the same as she did when she walked through the door. His head spun at the swivel of her hips as she tugged up the skirt, knowing if he had more time he’d fuck her again. She grabbed her bag from the floor, swung it over her shoulder and looked back at him with a grin, raising her hand to wave at him just as she opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, leaving him alone. The door closed with a click, normally it was quiet, but now that the moans and slapping of skin were absent, it sounded deafening.

He looked across his destroyed desk, papers strewn every which direction, pens on the floor, papers wet from her juices, seeing it in a totally new light than he had moments before. He scooped the pens from the ground, then the runaway papers, then his clothing that he had ripped from his body in a moment of weakness. That’s what it was right? A moment of absolute weakness that can never ever happen again.

It was just a moment that will be erased in history, never spoken about. He tried cleaning his desk up as neatly as possible, trying not to worry about the fact that he was naked, that is, until the bell rang and panic set in.

He fucked a student. He actually fucked her. He didn't just have sex with her but he fucked her. He’s naked right now, in his classroom, cleaning up the desk that he fucked her on. He’s going to have to teach after this. He’s going to have to care about teaching her classmates after this. He’s going to have to think of her pussy now when he jerks off. He’s going to have to try and forget the way she just rode him in his chair like a dirty little slut. He’s going to have to try and forget the way she’d called him daddy. He’s going to have to forget that he wants to do it again.

“Fuck.”

tags: @dolandolll @stayalivw

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90slevi · 5 years ago

Text

Arguments {Levi Ackerman x Reader}

TW: strong language

"What the hell do you mean?" you exclaimed, holding the sheet of paper in your hands in front of Hanji. She grimaced with a shrug, scratching the back of her head. "He's taken me off the expedition list?"

It was currently 6pm, and the sun was beginning to set; although you'd only planned to meet Hanji for a few minutes before dinner, it'd turned into a little more than just that. You'd just received the list of people going on the expedition in a week, and despite being on Levi's Squad, you'd been completely removed from the list. Instead of your name being alongside Petra, Oluo, Eld and Gunther, you were nowhere. You hadn't even been put at the back!

"I dunno, I don't get told about this sort of stuff," she chuckled nervously, trying to not make you angrier than you were. "Although it is a bit odd that Erwin's removed you, out of all people. He never does that."

"Then why on Earth has he done it now?" you asked rhetorically, pissed off. As much as you enjoyed being safe inside the walls and not having to go on another traumatising adventure past the walls, you felt it was incredibly embarrassing to be removed for no reason at all while the others risked their lives for your future. "I mean, I doubt the Squad asked him. That'd just be ridiculous."

"I did see Levi go to Commander Erwin's office last night, so..." Hanji trailed off, realising she'd probably said something she wasn't supposed to.

You and Levi had been dating for about a year now, and while she knew for a fact the black-haired man would never directly upset you, it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to try and convince Erwin to remove you. He'd tried to do it last time, because the expedition before that had ended tragically. You'd almost been killed, and if it wasn't for him saving you from the jaws of a titan and almost breaking his own leg, you wouldn't be there in front of her.

After losing his best friends, Isabel and Farlan, in the past, she was sure he wasn't planning on losing you any time soon.

"That little shitbag," you muttered, wrinkling your nose.

You loved Levi. You really did. But removing you from the expedition list was so selfish you could hit him.

It wasn't up to him. He did not have the right to chose whether you risked your life for the greater good or not, and this was what you dedicated your life to. He was not allowed to force Erwin to remove you just because he was too selfish to see you go. Deep down, you knew what he was trying to do. He was just worried you'd get yourself killed, and he really loved you, but you were too angry to care about that. In your eyes, it appeared that he didn't trust you and he didn't believe you could do it.

"It might not be him!" Hanji suggested, an awkward smile on her face as she put her hands up in surrender. "Y'know, they could've been talking about something else!"

However, you ignored her and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. Hanji, sighing, face-palmed as she knew just what Levi was about to get into.

Walking down the corridor as calmly as you could, you looked at each office door and at the golden plaques, looking for Levi's name imprinted on one just to make sure you didn't go bursting into the wrong office ranting and raving. Eventually, when you found it, you took a deep breath and gently opened the door, not wanting to get into a full-blown argument with your boyfriend.

"Tch, can't you brats knock?" Levi asked, his voice blunt and monotone. However, when he noticed it was you, his eyes widened for a split second before returning back to normal. "Oh, hey."

"Levi," you begun, closing the door behind you as you tried to think of something to say. Levi looked down at the paper you were holding, and as soon as he realised what it was, he hesitated. You noticed this, and that was all the confirmation you needed to know that it was him who'd taken your name off. "Nice to know you've taken me off the expedition."

"I should've known you'd figure out it was me," Levi said sternly, standing up from his desk and slipping his quill back into the ink pot. "Look, let me explain-"

"No, I've already figured it out, thanks," you said sarcastically, slapping the paper onto his desk in frustration. "You don't think I'm good enough to survive out there, do you?"

Levi was silent.

"I've noticed the training exercises for me have become... different than the others," you continued, your mind going back to the small yet significant differences in your training schedules than people like Petra. "You've tried it before, to get me off the expedition lists just so I don't get hurt."

"Y/n, I have a reason to do that," he tried to say, but you continued in your rant. "If you'd just shut up for two seconds-"

"I couldn't give a fuck if I die or not, Levi," you said, wrinkling your nose as he rolled his eyes at your mini-outburst. "I specifically signed up for this just SO I could help out in the survival of humanity. You out of all people should know that! The amount of times I've told you why I want to do this and how much it means to me is insane. And if you're not going to let me do what I need to do because you're too scared I'll die, then... well, I dunno! It's just unfair!"

"Are you done yet?" Levi asked, his voice rising as he glared intimidatingly at you. It wasn't something you were scared of, but you knew you needed to shut up before he actually got angry. You closed your mouth and sighed, unable to look your boyfriend in the eyes. He leaned against his desk, rolling back his head as he tried to think of something that wouldn't upset you more. And, as everyone knew, he was not the greatest with words. "Listen, Y/n. And don't butt in until I've fucking done, got it?"

You nodded.

"First of all, I apologise for doing anything like that without your permission," he said, and your eyes widened at him for even saying sorry. "It was a stupid thing to do. But since your dumbass almost got fucking eaten, I don't want you to go on another expedition."

"But why!?" you exclaimed, your heart sinking. Levi glared at you again, and you quickly shut up.

"In all fairness, it is my own selfishness," he admitted quietly, only just loud enough for you to hear. "I'm not like precious Commander Eyebrows. He doesn't give two shits about who dies on the battleground, but I do. And I don't fancy one of my best soldiers getting murdered in a pointless expedition when I might need them in a more important one in the future."

"That's bullshit," you answered, and he raised an eyebrow. "Hanji and Mike are much better than me, and although they've nearly been killed multiple times, they still make the expedition list."

"That's because they're captains," Levi stated, his voice getting a little louder. "I don't have control over whether they make the list or not."

"Alright then, what about Eld? Gunther?" you asked, and Levi kept his mouth shut, unable to answer. "Exactly. Petra was almost stepped on last expedition if it wasn't for goddam Oluo, but she still makes the stupid list. She almost got crushed, too, but I get nearly eaten ONCE and now it's like I'm banned for good. If you're that bothered, just remove me from your squad altogether!"

"That's not what I want," he almost snarled, pushing himself off the edge of the desk and crossing his arms. "And you know that."

"Then what the hell do you want?!"

"For you not to die!"

A silence entered the room. Your mouth stayed agape as Levi stared at the ground, occasionally looking back at you with a glare that could slice through metal. Your heart pounded against your chest, adrenaline rushing through your veins, and you didn't know what to say.

"Ever since Isabel and Farlan, you're the only person I've managed to get this close to," he continued, quieter than he was before while his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his navy blue jeans . "I don't want to lose... the only family I have left. And I know that's unfair on you, but my selfishness got in the way."

"I... Levi," you said softly, wandering over to him and pulling him into a hug. He wrapped is arms tightly around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck, making you giggle when his warm breath tickled your skin. "I understand. I'm sorry for yelling."

"Me too," he replied, rubbing his fingers in circles on your back. Being this close to someone was an amazing feeling that he'd been missing for years and years, and because he didn't want to lose that, he'd decided to go out and do something you didn't want.

He remembered how he'd felt when he'd saved you from the jaws of a titan. You still had the scars on your stomach and back from the bite marks, and he couldn't get rid of the memories of watching you on the grassy ground, bleeding out as you went sickly pale and almost passed out. He'd hated every moment, including when he watched you get stitches in the hospital. Any one of those breaths could've been your last, and the anticipation he felt as he waited outside the ward room for you to wake up. You could've been in a coma. You could've died. You could've gotten brain damage so awful that you couldn't remember who the hell you were.

He didn't want to feel that ever again. Ever.

"I think if I were Captain, I'd do the same to you," you said, pulling away and taking his hands into yours. "I should've listened to you."

"I'll try my best to get Erwin to put you back on the Expedition list, if that's what you really want," Levi said, and you knew that by 'try my best', he meant 'if he doesn't, I'll beat the shit out of him'. He was very good at getting what he wanted. "But if you slip up like a total idiot again, I'll break your legs so you have a good excuse to not go next time."

As if he'd ever do that.

"Pfft, got it," you grinned, and he ruffled your hair before wandering back to his seat, presumably to finish off his paperwork. You pouted, unsure whether to stay here with your boyfriend or to go down for dinner. It was unlikely Levi would remember to get food; he usually was too focussed on his paperwork to get some or he just chose against it, so you usually bought some up for him.

"You look lovely today," Levi then said out of the blue, and your heart fluttered as a small smile appeared on your face. "You usually look beautiful, of course, but today, you look... really nice."

"Thank you," you replied, wandering over before planting a small kiss on his lips. "You look lovely too."

A chuckle escaped his lips before he looked down at his watch, taking note of the time. "Do you want to go down to dinner with me?"

"Sure," you answered, and once he stood up, he stretched out his hand for you to take. Overjoyed, you left the paper on his table and took it, your fingers interlocking just as he liked. He gave you a quick squeeze before adjusting the sleeves of his top and leaving the room, making sure to lock his office after leaving.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot #snk #fanfiction #anime #hanji exposes levi oops

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opes-magnas · 4 years ago

Text

『dear youth,』- Part 01

Welcome to the first part very unplanned fanfiction (?) series, ‘dear youth,’ that we are definitely writing to get rid of our writers’ block. A part of this series will be released everytime we’re not at our best, or want portray some of our concerns, or just want to give our readers and ourselves a light read. Enjoy!

The room glowed in a comforting deep orange. Eleanor Williams was softly caressing the spine of a book about Jupiter's moons in her grasp as she sat in a cozy corner alongside her two best friends, who like wise had their noses deeply buried in their books. The Slytherin observed as one was in confusion, devastated, distraught even, as he gazed intently into his copy of 'The Dream Oracle'. Divination gave James O'Carroll a massive headache with a cherry on top, and right now, he looked as miserable as his grades. Eleanor then shifted her eyes to the other one, Althaea Farley, who look quite miserable as well. The poor pure blood was stuck trying to understand the magic of the muggles- about something they called the Internet. Althaea's face looked as blue as her uniform. Eleanor was sure she was on the verge of dropping Muggle Studies as an elective (she tried to convince her earlier, but Althaea would not listen). A small smile appeared on her face as she recalled the incident that took place a few days ago.

'Ella! You've got to help me, please!', Althaea was clutching onto Eleanor's shoulders, fingers digging deep into her collar bones. Eleanor saw this day coming, for it was an inescapable trap - one that all humans, magical or not were fated to fall into. 'I gave you access to the Internet, what do you want now?!', The muggle-born said as her mouth perked up into a smug smile, knowing all too well where this was going. 'You've got to tell me the name of this man in this organisation called K-Pop!'

There it was.

To clear all things up, Eleanor was not a hardcore fan of the genre, but found herself bopping to the songs once in a while. And as it took the muggle world infectiously, the wizard was likely to follow and being the only muggle-born in her circle, Eleanor knew she had to deal with a crazy Althaea who she opined behaved very unwisely for a Ravenclaw. The system was flawed, huh. Now, she had a picture of a random man in slick black hair shoved up in her face. 'I MADE A COPY OF HIS FACE USING A FREAKY MACHINE.'

'His name is Na Jaemin. And you used a printer.', she said. Althaea suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her eyes stared around the edge of her paper and she mumbled the word 'Printer' over and over. That's how she learnt new things. Her eyes found focus again and she stared into Eleanor's eyes and said in all seriousness -

'His smile does wonders on my stress.'

Eleanor couldn't wait to get herself out of that conversation. 'Oh yeah, it has magical properties.'

'YOU'RE TELLING ME HE'S A WIZARD?!', Althaea's eyes burned with curiosity.

Big mistake. Gosh Ella knew she conjured up a demon for herself by letting Althaea discover the Internet.

'Ella, Ella!' Eleanor was snapped back to the familiar corner in the library. She found her eyes fixated on Althaea, the smile she had earlier intact. Discomfort evident in Althaea's face. Her fingers were smudged with ink from all the writing she was doing, a small well forming into her fingers from holding her quill for too long. She finally decided to break the silence after feeling a stare coming in her way. 'I almost thought you were Peter.', she said, remembering the underclassman who was very sappily head over heels for her. If it weren't for his crappy personality, she would've found him cute.

'You were smiling creepily while staring at me, um, for about three minutes now.', she said looking at Eleanor for an answer.

'Creepy? I was clearly threatening you.', Eleanor said, trying to explain herself in a way that didn't make her seem like she was an idiot.

'Uh huh, whatever you say Ella.', Althaea said as she went back to writing her essay with misery. Yeah, that was an idiotic move, Eleanor realised. She decided to finished reading up about Europa. Her O.W.Ls were almost here in a few months, and as much as she hated studying, she wanted to do her best to become an Auror.

'Na Jaemin's smile is cute. Her best friend's smile is creepy. Gosh.', she muttered before melting into the pages of her textbook.

ii.

James, at this point, was just considering bullshitting through Divination.

He had already dropped out on Ancient Runes, and knew this was his last straw. And if you can't succeed well in something, might as well make it fun for the worthwhile. He remembered how Peter's friend Justin Brown had it worse. The Gryffindor was letting Peter off for his illegal Galleon-to-Muggle money business with a warning, when he found out that the poor 4th year could barely keep up with Divination, Transfiguration and History of Magic. Imagine being that worse off.

Oh wait, he was last year.

'I cannot believe you don't know the wand movements for these charms!', Eleanor chuckled. James was frustrated. He decided to pay attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts for once, and Charms completely slipped past his mind. 'Shh!', James pressed a finger on his lips. 'Don't let Thaea listen! She'll never quit otherwise. Can't you just help me? James was sure of the chaos he would bring upon himself if he ever told Althaea. The endless scrolls of essays, memory cards, being locked up in the library for hours, and perhaps the worst thing - an extremely stressed Althaea, which lead to further worse consequences than what the former listed would do on his free time.

'Alright, alright. I'll help you.'

James sighed in relief. Hopefully he'll pass this year. This year was barely anything. Next year, he'd face the O.W.Ls that would shape his entire future. And he would do anything to make sure that future didn't involve him on the streets.

///---

'How do you not know the locking spell?!', Eleanor said exasperatedly. It'd been almost two hours since the pair sat down in the Gryffindor common room. James was sat down on the floor by the couch facing the fireplace, eyes closed as he tried to recall the spell he learnt last week. The wand gripped in his left hand had barely produced any sparks the whole time.

'You know, you sound like Althaea right now.', James clicked his tongue. 'This is just too confusing to remember! Why do the spells have to be in Latin?! What happened to those rhymes?!'

Eleanor closed the book in her grasp and placed a hand on James' shoulder. She pat his back as she tried to think of words to comfort him. 'There's a reason 'buttock' shouldn't be used in the same sentence as 'lock'.', she said after a thought.

'That doesn't even make sense!'

'No no, you don't understand, I'm connecting the dots. This is why spells mustn't rhyme.', Eleanor said as she joined her fingers together.

'You're not connecting shit.'

'I've connected them.'

James stared into his friends eyes before he broke into a hysteria. He grabbed his tummy, and turned to his sides. Eleanor was actually surprised to see his eyes brim up with tears. Was it really that funny? Maybe her best friend was going insane.

'I'm a screw-up.', James stated. 'Even you're sick of me.' Something dropped in Ella's stomach. It wasn't laughter after all. 'James-', she started.

'Why's James crying?'

And when I tell you James squealed. The Gryffindor turned away immediately, wiping his tears away. Ella was too shocked to respond. She was torn between respecting James' wishes and genuinely trying to help him, which included having to tell Althaea about him. She chose the latter.

'He's afraid he's going to fail this year.', she began in a small voice. 'Can't get charms right.'

'Ella! I told you not to tell!', James croaked out. 'Thaea, I'm fine, you don't need to worry.', he got up from the floor with a sigh. His ears were a deep red from crying. And embarrassment.

'Wow James, Do you think of me as a person who's just not going to worry? Why didn't you come for help? I thought we were friends.', Althaea stated.

'We are, but you're going to worry and stuff me with books! And then you'll start talking about how unprepared you are, how you barely do any studying in the hours you're at the library and make me feel worse, and a thousand times more unprepared!', James couldn't control his thoughts anymore.

'Oh James! I'm sorry I make you feel that way,', Althaea said, blood rising to her cheeks out of embarrassment. 'I can always change my teaching methods! Come on, I'll help you out.', Althaea tried to reason. She settled down on the couch by the fireplace and opened the textbook Eleanor had previously abandoned.

'Well? Come on.'

////----

'OK James, you're actually doing quite well! Now tell me what the Box Blasting Charm is.' It was weird to see Eleanor be this helpful to anybody, and it made James' heart utterly thankful. But that didn't quite mean he knew the spell of course. James' eyes shifted to see Althaea gazing over in expectation.

What was that darn spell?

Althaea stood up suddenly and cleared her voice.'Ayo, Ay, this one for the boys with the boomin'...'

James and Eleanor could do nothing but stare in silence. Althaea Farley? Muggle Music? Nicki Minaj? Please, this was not her. This was the demon Eleanor unleashed.

'FINISH THE LYRIC BITCH'

'Sy-system.', James was still in quite in shock. 'System, system, Cistem Aperio! That's the box blasting charm!', he continued with a smile creeping in from both sides. He got the spell right!

'There ya go!', Althaea exclaimed. Eleanor on the other hand, was thrown into a fit of laughter. Her high-pitched cackle rang through the walls of the common room and made up for the traumatic moment the trio had just witnessed.

James was sure he'd pass that year.

And back from his flashback, James scurried on with his essay. He was supposed to write an interpretation of his dream for Divination, mostly because Professor Trelawney seemed awfully serious about failing him that semester.

'What do you reckon me becoming Head Boy in my dream means?', he nudged Althaea, just wondering if he'd get an actual response for once. She was writing down another essay for Muggle studies. Never the quitter, James thought. Althaea turned her head around to face James. 'Doom.', she deadpanned.

'You're probably right.', James nodded as he wrote it down in his essay. 'Doomsday at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,', he whispered, 'for all the students realise the facial prowess of James O'Carroll.' Thea chose ignorance. Eleanor rolled her eyes. 'Why am I your friend again?', she asked.

'That's not a question related to studying, and therefore I'm not obligated to answer that.', James replied as he scribbled down more praises about himself on the parchment. Hey, he did say he was going to bullshit through the subject.

'Who said we're not allowed to ask questions not related to books here?', Eleanor asked, 'I should be allowed to ask whatever I wish.'

'This is a library, the realm of the books and the smart ones. We'd seem like idiots if we spoke of puny friend stuff!'

'I don't think you have to worry about that, you seem like an idiot either way.', Althaea interrupted whilst refilling her quill with more ink before getting back to writing her essay. 'Good one, Thaea!', Eleanor wheezed.

'You too, Williams.'

///////-------

if you’ve read till here, hi i love you <3 tell us what you think of this nonsense hehe

general writing taglist (ask to be added / removed!): @kaavijournals (hbd sweetie <3), @hazelandsunshine, @47crayons, @artbyeloquent, @writing-is-a-martial-art, @the-writing-avocado, @shinesundark

(also please tell us if you do not want to be tagged in this series as it’s halfway between an og series and fanfiction!)

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lovemesomehwa · 4 years ago

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Come To Brazil

Shoyo Hinata

After hearing that the Greatest Decoy had trained in her home country, Y/N just had to find out what his experience was.

Based on: Come To Brazil - Why Don't We

Warnings- cursing, implied nsfw, she/her pronouns

a/n: This took way too long to finish, but I'm back ! This is the first fic I'm basing off a song so I'd highly recommend giving it a listen as you read <3

They were gorgeous, beautiful even. The red sequins sparkled in the light every time they moved. I didn’t notice how revealing it was until they sat down, the low cut complementing their build. I could tell they were nervous, but I couldn’t tell what for. I wasn’t one to talk though, my senses were on fire, leaving me a bit overwhelmed.

I don’t usually tag along on these things, especially not when Atsumu has anything to do with it. But tonight was an exception since it was his birthday. I told myself I was ready but in all honesty, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for this. The music was so loud I swear I felt the house shake. It was packed wall to wall with people, most I didn’t even know he knew. I didn’t even know them and we’ve been teammates for years.

Somehow I made it into one of the less crowded rooms, one of the waiting staff handing me a glass of liquor as soon as I came through the doorway. This one held a different vibe than the others, the music not as loud and you could actually see the floor. It looked like a lounge, the dark velvet couches pushed against the wall making it seem larger than it was. Curtains and solid tapestries covered every inch of wall available. I looked around, trying to find somewhere to sit that wasn’t already taken. Luckily there was a corner piece available that gave me a good view of the room. I took a deep breath and took a sip from my glass, starting to get anxious. I wasn’t one for crowds but one night couldn’t hurt right?

(Y/N) pov.

“Wait really?”

“Yea, he trained there for two years before joining the team. Pretty sure ya would like him, he’s yer type too…” I looked up at Atsumu, eager to learn more about his teammate. “Pretty sure he’s here if ya want to talk to ‘em.” He turned around, his attention shifting onto the next person. I scrunched my nose and walked off, wanting to find this ‘decoy’ ‘Tsumu was talking about. Something about Brazil had piqued my interest in him.

I pushed through the crowd, stumbling a bit from being pushed around. It took four rooms and one awkward intrusion before I finally found him in the lounge. It was definitely less crowded but there was still a good number of people. He seemed unbothered, taking a sip from his glass as he put away his phone and looked up. I made my way over, narrowly avoiding an elbow or two.

“Hinata right?” I spoke up, looking down at him. He smiled brightly and nodded, his mood seeming to change. This wasn’t my first time seeing him, he’s been on countless magazine covers and all over Atsumu’s page; but It was my first time up close. I finally understood why everyone compared him to sunshine. He truly was a ball of light, what with those wide eyes and bright smile, I felt like my heart skipped a beat just from looking at him. I couldn’t help but notice how nicely he cleaned up. His hair was gelled and swooped back, accentuating a fresh looking undercut. The white button up certainly made him stand out against the room's darker colors. I sat down next to him, adjusting my own clothes out of habit.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I flashed a smile, shaking my head.

“Afraid not, I’m one of Atsumu’s friends.” I laughed nervously, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “He was telling me about how you trained for a while in Brazil and since that's where I’m from I wanted to ask you a few questions-if that’s alright with you…”

“No no no, of course it’s okay! I’m actually quite interested in your experience now!” He shifted to face me, accidentally bumping our knees.

Hinata pov.

They were gorgeous, beautiful even. The red sequins sparkled in the light everytime they moved. I didn’t notice how revealing it was until they sat down, the low cut complementing their build. I could tell they were nervous, but I couldn’t tell what for. I wasn’t one to talk though, my senses were on fire, leaving me a bit overwhelmed.

made me more anxious than I already was. I took another sip from my glass, hoping it’ll give me some liquid courage. I felt my throat burn with the aftertaste, making me scrunch my nose.

“So, you first, what do you wanna know?” I looked over at them, locking our gaze.

“Well, what made you choose Brazil in the first place?” I grinned, happy to answer.

“It honestly wasn’t my first choice, initially I had wanted to go to California so I could learn to play on the sand. But I got an offer from a trainer who said he was based in Rio. Next thing I know I’m boarding a plane with nothing but a backpack and my passport!” I explained, chuckling at the memory.

“Woah, that’s so cool! You must’ve had so many offers from professionals who wanted to train right?” Their eyes shone with curiosity. I don’t think they did it on purpose but they got a bit closer, leaning in like it was an interrogation. I rubbed the back of my neck, gulping nervously.

“Well-not really, I didn’t have too many but I was grateful for the ones I did receive. I think one of my favorite things about my training there was how much time I was able to spend outside. The sun there is just so much more intense, it's honestly insane. I did get heat stroke during the first few days though. That was not fun.” I glanced to the side, trying to calm my sudden spike in nerves.

“I’m sure, did you get any sunburns?” They tilted her head, smiling. I nodded, humming and swirling my glass to make a whirlpool effect.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” She didn’t respond after that, instead she looked away. I couldn’t help but stare, admiring the stray hairs that refused to be pinned down. The way the gloss made her lips shine. I had to tear away my gaze before she caught me, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It felt like I was trapped, almost in a trance. It felt like a while had passed before she finally spoke up, turning back to me.

“Do you wanna dance or are you just gonna stare...?” I could feel my face warm up from being caught.

“I- sure…” She smiled, standing up and holding out a hand. I took it and pulled myself up, letting her guide me to the dance floor. I downed the rest of my drink while she led, hoping it would take the edge off. I blinked a few times, not expecting it to be that strong. I set the glass on a staff tray as we passed, not needing it anymore.

She ended up taking me through a couple different rooms before she found one she was satisfied with, if I didn’t know any better I would assume the house was just one giant maze. I couldn’t see much from where we were in the crowd but it was definitely hotter. The lights would alternate between blue, green, and red; similar to the lighting you would find at a rave. The room itself was hot, the temperature definitely warmer than the one we talked in.

We were awkward at first, trying to loosen up was harder than it looked. Whether or not it was the alcohol kicking in or not, I felt bolder, finally able to let go.

(Y/N) pov.

As we danced it felt like the rest of the world melted away, leaving just the two of us. The music was loud, but not as loud as my heart beat thumping in my ear. It only seemed to get faster as time went on, the bass on the speakers making the floor shake. The ghost of his touch left me with goosebumps and a feeling I couldn’t quite shake. I closed my eyes and put my hands up, letting my body move on it's own. In hindsight, that might not have been the best idea, but we were both comfortable enough at this point. When I opened my eyes we were noticeably closer, hardly any space between us as we moved in sync. I smiled at him, his eyes shining back in what little light reached us.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was music, or maybe it was how I wanted to know what he felt like against me. I dunno how it happened, but there we were, skin to skin in the middle of the dance floor with his lips on mine.

I looped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as I felt his hands drift lower on my waist. Our lips moved in sync as our bodies swayed, keeping with the tempo of the music that's just now starting to fade back in. Everything suddenly came to focus once I felt a cold slick down my back. I pulled away instantly, suddenly sober. I turned around, coming face to face with Atsumu while a disheveled Hinata stood behind me.

"You asshat, what was that for?!" The asshat in question laughed, swirling a clear glass filled with ice and what I had assumed was alcohol.

"Ya two were maken' a scene, if yer gonna kiss, do it in a bathroom or at least not in the middle of my floor!" Atsumu disclosed, smiling smugly and strutting off into the crowd. I turned back to the small ginger and smiled upon seeing his eyes quickly look up from where they were.

"You up for round two?" I ventured carefully. He grinned and grabbed my hand, nimbly leading me as we bobbed and weaved our way back through the dance floor, headed toward what I could only guess was one of the bathrooms.

I stared at myself in the mirror, smoothing out my clothes as if I wasn't just on my knees. Hinata watched as I fixed myself, slightly dizzy. I grinned, eyeing him as he sat, legs still spread from where I had been not five minutes ago. I hesitated before asking him a question as he fixed his hair.

"You got a pen?" He looked at me quizzically before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a green ink joy pen. "Hand please~" I took his wrist and turned it over, writing my number on it in thick green ink. He took it back and read the numbers, mumbling them under his breath.

"What's this for…?" He asked, tilting his head. I couldn't help but giggle at his stupidity.

"It's my number idiot, call me if you're ever back in Brazil. That way we can do this again sometime…" I ruffled his hair before unlocking the door and stepping through. "Maybe then you'll get a real welcome~"

#haikyuu!!#hinata x reader #hinata shoyo #haikyuu x reader #oneshot #haikyuu hinata #hinata imagine

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