#He could never figure out what that damn herb was though!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

roonotrue · 2 months

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Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #4

TW: Depiction of painkilling herbs being eaten- aka one loopy-as-hell cat.

Realizations - Narinder

Narinder is not a poet. Not a writer, or a master of words.

So it is no surprise that Lamb's confession stunned him into silence.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't."

How is he supposed to care if he didn't fucking know? That's not fair of them to hold that against him. It's not fair for them to act like some heartbroken beau that he led on, and then tossed aside.

And then they had the audacity to leave before he could even find a way to respond.

He supposes a part of him is relieved they're not kneeling in front of him anymore while he's trying to sort through his thoughts.

They cared about him. What does that even mean? In the context of a god and a follower?

He thinks he knows exactly what Lamb means, but he'll be damned if he just assumes...

He tries to look back and pinpoint the moments that could give him some kind of hint, or insight into what they mean. Moments that he somehow missed the first time around.

But looking back, all of his memories feel hazy.

Like a terrible, violent fever dream of being so angry, in pain, waiting... Then the betrayal. Every time they try and think back on moments with the Lamb they are greeted by that moment.

When they refused to give the Red Crown back, and instead chose to raise their blade to him.

And every time he is reminded of that moment, he is filled with this cold, dead weight in his chest that he wants to call rage but he knows it's something different.

Hurt.

And hurt made him angry.

Why did it hurt so much? Because he let himself become fond of the wretched beast, he tells himself. He grew attached, even though he knew exactly how things were meant to end.

But they didn't end that way, did they? And now here he is. Alone.

Looking down at his bandages, he can still feel the cooling, refreshing sensation of the medical salve, easing the soreness of his wounds. It didn't help at all with the cramping in his muscles, or aching in his bones, causing the horrible shaking throughout his limbs.

But a feeling that trumps the cramping, or the cooling of the medicine are the traces... The traces of Lamb's touch linger all over his body. His arms, around his ankles, his back and torso. Everywhere he tries to focus his attention he feels them.

Such light, careful care, embedded all over him deeper than the injuries left by his chains.

It had made him forget how angry he was, and say things he shouldn't have... Feel things he shouldn't have.

Things like that horrible fondness, that make him want to hear Lamb's laughter again. That makes him want to hold them in his hand, and hope that they're bold enough to duck under his veil again so he can see them better...

They were so close to him, and when they pulled away, he grabbed them. Not wanting to lose the feeling. The momentary peace that being so close to someone after so long brings. Even if that person is them. The one who...

Who makes him so hurt and so angry every time he thinks about them. About what they did, or what they're doing now. Being so kind, and so damn sincere that he wants to believe them, but he can't.

He can't trust them, he or be fond of them, and he certainly can't care about them, because they took everything from him. His power. His divinity. His dignity.

The only thing they left him with is his life, and he's still 50/50 on whether that's worse.

His torso has yet to be bandaged. The lamb left so quickly, that he can only assume they are going to get this 'Miki' person to do the stitches and finish wrapping him up.

He doubts it will be the last time he sees Lamb while he's... 'Unwell' like this. So he needs to figure out what to say when they do come face to face again.

Does he need to say something? Does he want to say something? Should he confront them about the unfairness of this situation? Or just let it go and pretend it never happened?

Narinder has already come to terms with the fact that he's stuck accepting their help and afterward being stuck as a mere follower- he'll be damned before he has to do any pathetic chores or menial tasks though.

Now, though... He's conflicted. He had planned to ignore Lamb after he was healed and didn't need their assistance anymore... But he wants answers. He wants to know what Lamb means when they say they care, and why their admission confuses him so much.

Makes him want to clarify things.

Tell them that he might not have... Cared in the same way he thinks they mean, but that he had... Preferred them to... Past vessels?

Fates, he feels like a fool.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd throw himself back onto the bed and bury his head under the pillows to try and block out all these thoughts and feelings.

"Um... Hello? Narinder, sir? May I come in?"

He's still leaning over the bed, glaring daggers at the empty ground where Lamb had been when the clear-toned voice interrupts his inner conflict.

"Come in." He sighs, and the fennec fox's head pops through the curtains, looking around before stepping inside.

The light from outside has turned a deep orange and pinkish tone. The sun is setting.

She's holding a small wooden box of well-organized metal tools and supplies, and she strides up to him, holding her silence, and focused gaze as kneels behind him, and examines his back.

Narinder wants to whirl around and hiss at her to back the fuck up, but he doesn't have the physical energy or pain tolerance to do so.

"I'm guessing you're Miki?" He sighs, giving up on doing anything but sitting down and just dealing with whatever he's handed.

"Yes. I take care of most medical-related issues around camp. The Lamb was right, these do need stitches, a lot. I imagine it's just as bad in the front. Are these scars anything to worry about?" She points at the two identical scars running just below his pecs, and he shakes his head.

"No. I've had those since before all this. Top surgery scars, I don't think any of you followers know what that is..." He sighs, and she shrugs.

"We have top surgery, it's just not as... Safe. As it could be. I'm working on making it safer. We can talk more about it later because I do have questions regarding where your surgery was done and by whom, but for now..." She pauses to meet his gaze and holds up the curved needle in her hand.

"This is going to take a while so settle in and lay down on your stomach. I can offer you some herbs to numb the pain, but they'll make you very tired, and kind of loopy. It's up to you if you want them though." She steps back to give him space to move.

Lamb clearly didn't tell her that he can't move very well without help, and he isn't about to admit it.

So he settles for trying to force his body to move through the pain.

His back is the worst of it, digging a deep growl out of his throat as he tries to twist himself around, onto the bed on his stomach, without moving the blanket off of him and giving the poor follower an eyeful.

"Do you need assistance? I understand that you can't move very well, but I wanted to see it for myself to analyze. Can you describe the kind of pain you are experiencing?" Ah, so she does know.

"It's a cramping. So bad that I can't stop shaking, or get my limbs to do what I want. My back and legs are the worst." He explains as she places a slightly too firm grasp on his shoulders and mildly manhandles him to lay on his back.

Giving her a full view of his injuries.

"Hmm. I have dealt with a few similar cases in people who haven't moved for long periods, usually only a few months, but years... Well, I'll tell you now, it's not an easy fix. Do you want the herbs? They won't take effect immediately, but it will make everything less painful, stitches and cramping. They'll also probably put you to sleep for the rest of the night." She talks slightly faster and far more monotone than he expected for someone who follows Lamb.

Something about the lack of emotion in her voice creates a professional air in the whole shelter. An air that makes him feel far safer than he's felt in his entire time being here.

"I'll take them. How do I get rid of the cramping?" He asks as he hears her shuffling around the supplies.

She moves around and he turns his head to look at her as she holds out a small leaf-bound bundle, he swallows it quickly as the bitter taste nearly makes him gag.

"I don't want you to push yourself too much because of your outward injuries, but the only real way to help regain your strength and control over your limbs is to exercise and stretch them. Water therapy would be best, but submerging your stitches isn't an option." She explains, her hands poking and prodding at his back, pulling painfully at some of the deeper wounds.

Far less gentle than Lamb had been.

"Watch it." He hisses, in pain, and then lets his curiosity win. "And what's water therapy?"

"Swimming, essentially. A gentler alternative to normal physical therapy. Either way, you'll need someone to oversee it, myself ideally, but I can train the Lamb to aid you instead if you are not comfortable with my presence." He only hums in response.

His body doesn't hurt as much, and as she said, he's becoming drowsy. His eyelids are heavy, and the shaking in his arms is subsided. He hardly even feels the sharp piercing as it follows a horizontal path around his waist.

He's half asleep when it stops and moves up around his left shoulder blade. Then right. Then the same monotone voice asks him to turn over so she can 'evaluate the damage'.

He would think that the newfound lack of agony coursing through his bones would make it much easier. Instead, the fatigue pulls him down and makes his whole body turn to dead weight. She's talking again, and he peeks his eyes open but quickly decides that whatever it is, isn't as important as sleep.

So he closes them again.

~~~

"You've done well vessel. Soon enough, my chains will be broken, thanks to your ruthless efficiency." He's staring at them, as they sit in his hand, only a few inches from his face.

They're awfully silent this visit. Usually, they break into a ramble about the crusade they had just died during, or the way things around the cult are going. And Narinder would listen. Their voice is soothing. Easing the burning tension in his body the moment they arrive, and look up at him with that radiant smile, so overjoyed to see him again.

~~~

He opens his eyes when there are small hands- the fennec fox's hands trying to lift him to roll him over. He can't recall her name... Miku? Mimi? Something like that. She curses under her breath.

He tries to aid her in her weak attempts, even though his mind is hazy. But he must have done something right because now he's on his back, and the piercing is on his stomach now so he closes his eyes again.

~~~

He likes this one. This vessel. A small, innocent-looking Lamb, with all the fire and maliciousness of a thousand suns, scorching all who stand against them. Yet when they stand before him, they are soft-spoken. They laugh a lot, usually at something he does or says.

He doesn't know what's so funny, but the sound is like music, so he doesn't question it.

Others, like Ratau, were weak, but not just that, they were so... Boring. They didn't speak much, didn't respond well, and only ever bowed to him before being sent back to the overworld.

~~~

When he opens his eyes again it's to the sound of Lamb's voice.

"Narinder, I'm just gonna help hold you up while Miki wraps the bandage around you- oof! Okay- this, uh, this works. I guess." Their laughter is nervous, hesitant, and not the carefree one he would much rather grace his ears.

He is leaning forward, his head resting against them. They don't smell like blood, or death like he expects now that they are the God of Death. No, they smell like they always have. Like wildflowers, and fresh air after rain.

They're warm, and he bunts his head against the side of their face, before burying it into their neck, shutting his eyes again.

~~~

"What troubles you, my vessel? You have not spoken, by now Aym and Baal are ready to kick you out themselves." He chuckles, as he looks down at the mentioned twins, who side-eye glance at each other and shrug in agreement to the statement.

His dear Lamb looks up with startled eyes, and he can't help but chuckle. They must not have realized how obvious they were being...

"Nothing! Really it's nothing, well, not nothing, nothing, just... I want to tell you something, but it's hard to... Word. And I don't think that right now is the best time..." They ramble now.

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything...

~~~

He opens his eyes this time because Lamb laughs again. A good laugh at something the small fox said. Soft, but sincere, and he can feel it reverberate through their chest. He wraps his arms up and around them to pull him closer and they become stiff as a board.

He doesn't care though, as his hands rest at their waist, and a deep rumbling is sounding from somewhere... Is it coming from him? Is he purring? He hasn't purred in a long time, and it's hard to recognize the sound.

He shoves his face into his Lamb's soft wool as he closes his eyes for what's hopefully the final time...

~~~

"Silence, Lamb, you need not speak of it if you wish not to. I only wish to know, so that I might ease the worries off of your face. I much prefer your smile." He raises his other hand to lift his Lamb's chin carefully with the tip of his clawed pointer finger.

They smile as they meet his eyes, but it is still nervous, and unsure. They glance away from him, their eyes darting around the afterlife, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I... Appreciate that, but I think I'll save what's on my mind for later. How about after I've gotten you out of these chains? Deal?" They now look a bit more energetic, as they jump up, and duck down, and before he has time to process it...

There they are. Underneath his veil, peering up into his blood-soaked eyes. Smiling, without a care in the world, as if what they've just done isn't enough to get them massacred by any other God in their right mind.

They lean against his nose, and he is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they smell like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. Such a refreshing... Lively scent. As if they aren't working for the God of Death, but rather frolicking fields with a God of Life.

They rest their arms on his snout and blink up at him, tilting their head ever so slightly in curiosity when he remains still in stunned silence.

They then laugh when he laughs, and he wants them to stay right there for as long as it might take for him to grow sick of their presence. But he's not sure when that might be. A century or two? Maybe three if they don't run out of things to talk about too quickly.

But alas. There are still Bishops to defeat, a cult to maintain, and chains to be broken.

Perhaps before he has them kneel to sacrifice themselves to him, he can ask them what it is they had planned on saying.

"Deal."

~~~

He wakes one final time when he's being carefully laid back onto the mattress and a soft voice is mumbling. His Lamb's voice.

Something about changing the bed sheets in the morning, and the current ones being bloodied.

"Lamb..." His voice is so quiet, it's a miracle he can even hear himself.

He has a tight hold on their fleece.

"Yes, Narinder?" Their voice is wobbly, and he tries to force his eyes open.

He wants to see them, but he's so tired.

"You planned to confess... After I was freed... How could I not see that you..." How could he not realize that they loved him?

Was he so oblivious? He could have read their mind at any time, but he didn't... He could have seen their feelings. He could have also seen their betrayal coming, but somehow, this is less important than their feelings.

"I... You're all loopy, Nari, go to sleep, and I'll bring you breakfast in the morning." They pry his hand off of their fleece, and he lets them, with a soft hum.

"Nari? I like that..." Nari. His siblings used to call him that when he was still very small, but stopped when he got older.

When he got the Red Crown.

"Hm. I'll call you it more often than if you promise not to try and kill me when you're less high." They stand up and pull one of the blankets up over him, and then they're walking away.

No. Stay.

Please stay.

His brain screams, but his mouth can't keep up, and the fog in his mind is so heavy and his limbs are so heavy and his heart is so heavy, and everything is just so damn heavy...

His heavy thoughts fill with thoughts of Lamb. His Lamb. Who smells like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. His Lamb. Who he was once so fond of, but now can't bring himself to feel such fondness without it reside beside pain. And anger. And distrust.

And they are in pain, angry, and distrustful too.

So how do either of them fix it?

~~~

When he wakes up he is alone, and his head is still hazy, and his body is in agony.

Stiff, and sore, his torso is immovable, a dull throbbing making him groan in pain. His arms and legs hurt just the same but aren't as bad as they were.

Maybe he's just too focused on his torso to care about the tremors as they start racking his arms again. Or, maybe it's the haunting realization of his own drug-induced actions last night that really keeps him frozen in his place, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't know he could be so... Touchy. When tired. But the smell of them is still swirling around in his mind, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else he did.

He doesn't remember all of it, not clearly anyway, from having been in and out of consciousness. But he remembers the moment Lamb arrived. When they laughed. When he leaned forward onto them. When he shoved his head into the wool on their neck. When he started purring so deeply he could feel it vibrating his whole body...

The room is cleared of all medical supplies, and the nightstand is cleaned off.

He's not exactly sure what time it is, or how long he's been asleep, but he knows, from the light slowly brightening around the edges of the window and doorway curtains that it's close to morning.

And that Lamb promised to bring him breakfast. So he needs to get his thoughts in order quickly.

He still needs to confront Lamb about their sudden admission to him. Then about that day... That distinct memory replaying in his mind helped him connect the dots even in his herb-induced state.

Lamb had wanted to confess to him after they freed him, and he...

Guilt is still a foreign emotion to him. He used to feel it in small amounts when he was a child and would get into spats with Leshy, or Heket and say something he didn't mean.

The worst time was during a thunderstorm that he had gotten caught in on his way back to the temple. He doesn't remember where he was returning from or when the first strike of thunder sent him running out of his own damn skin, but he does remember hiding.

Hiding, terrified in the small hollow of an old tree trunk. The mud soaking around his feet, and the bottom of his robe. When Shamura found him he was so afraid he hadn't wanted to get out from under the trunk, and when his older sibling reached in to grab him, he'd just... Lashed out.

His claws hooked on Shamura's forearm damn good, and he knew he drew blood when they tried to pull away and his claws yanked out of the skin it was caught on.

He felt the wave of guilt hit him harder than the fear and strike as quickly as the lightning of the storm around him.

And no matter how many times he apologized, or how many times Shamura tried to assure him it was alright, he was haunted by the feeling.

The guilt. That made his heart sink like lead in water every time he saw the paper-thin scars on Shamura's arm.

But all those times happened long ago before he was even given the Red Crown. Since then, this degree of guilt has snuck up on him twice. Both because of Lamb.

When he had snapped at them the other and they rushed out of the room on the verge of tears, and then now.

Feeling this overwhelming guilt because of this horrible realization that the entire time he had been waiting for the day they would sacrifice their life to him...

They were waiting to tell him that they were in love with him.

He wonders how they felt in that moment. The second he asked them to kneel, did they feel the same sinking dread in their chest that he felt when they chose not to?

Did they feel the same horrible dread when they marched to their death earlier that year, standing before his kin as they prepared to kill the final lamb?

If so then it truly confirms the thought that's been plaguing him for the last hour.

He's no better than them. Hell, he might be worse. At least they didn't trick any of the lambs they were slaughtering into trusting them. Or become selectively blind when said lamb fell in love with them.

Speaking of the new God of Death...

The moment that they knock on his door and step through the curtain with a soft, sad smile, and a warm breakfast in their hands he realizes something that makes all of his other realizations that much more horrid...

He never would have asked them to kneel, if he had known they loved him.

Maybe I even would have...

"Morning, Nari. I brought another mixed meal, everything is bland and seasonless, but there's a bit more variety. I'm also going to get started on those upgrades for your shelter. Nothing perfect, but function for now." They sit on the bed next to him, and he's glad to find that he can sit up a little easier on his own, without as much pain as before.

At least in his arms. His torso is irritated and sore as shit. Lamb moves to grip his arm and help him, and he bites his own tongue to stop from purring at the touch.

The herbs clearly haven't worn off completely just yet...

Looking them in the eye there are a million things he wants to say but what comes out isn't exactly what he's expecting.

"I'm sorry."

A simple two words as Lamb sits beside him to help him eat, just like they've done the day before. They freeze in place, staring at him with widened eyes, and he stares back.

As stunned as he is, he's surprised to find that he doesn't regret the words.

He's not sure that his own anger has subsided. Hell, looking at them now, glancing at the Red Crown on their head that was once his... He can still feel the flickering flames of frustration, and the much stronger flame of humiliation and embarrassment.

But neither are as strong as they once were. The raging wildfire has died down, turning to something more... Tired.

He just wants all this pain to stop, and to be able to move freely again.

He wants to be free.

It's all he thinks he wants anymore. Before the desire for freedom lived closely beside his desperation for revenge.

To destroy the other Bishops. His family. Make them pay for locking him up in the first place.

At some point... Maybe after the thousand-year mark, or maybe two thousand years, freedom became his main priority.

Revenge became an... Added bonus.

And now? It's all he's been thinking about- thoughts of Lamb not counting.

Wanting so desperately for the pain to subside so that he can once again see the world outside of this shelter.

And all the anger still buried inside is just a footnote in comparison to that desire.

So when he looks into the Lamb's eyes and sees their confusion, he doesn't have it in him to take the words back or snap at them.

He can't forgive them, at least not now. Perhaps not ever. But he knows he's tired of being mad. Tired of lashing out every time they reach out to help, and then feeling guilty an instant later.

And he is Sorry.

Sorry that he didn't know. Sorry that he never gave them a chance to tell him. Sorry, that...

In the end, he really wasn't any better than his siblings. Maybe he still isn't. He's not sure anymore.

What he is sure of, is that even if he's still angry, they have a right to be angry too, and yet...

They're helping him anyway. Caring for his wounds, feeding him, helping him move, and upgrading his shelter so he doesn't have to leave if he doesn't want to, and can just spend the rest of his immortal life locked indoors...

And all he's doing is complaining, snapping at them, and making them cry.

Even his shitty siblings, if they were here, would agree that that's not fair.

"You're... Sorry?" They repeat, head tilting, unsure, and stiff as a board.

"Yeah." He wants to lean forward towards them again but resists, grabbing the blankets below him just to keep himself anchored in place.

"I'm still angry at you. So... So angry. I hate that you spared me. I hate how pathetic, weak, and humiliated I feel. I hate that you're the one that's made me feel this way... But I... I recognize that you're angry too and that what I did was not... I shouldn't have... Fuck, I don't know..." He sighs, lifting a hand to drag down his face, and pausing to think of his next words carefully.

At this point he's glaring down at his remaining hand as his claws dig into the blanket, refusing to look back up at Lamb.

"I don't know that I regret what I did, but I regret that I hurt you when I did it. I regret that I didn't know because if I did... I'm not sure things would have played out the way they did. But we can't change that now, so I'm sorry. Sorry, that I was, and that I have been, ignorant." He finishes his botched apology.

It's not elegant. Not exactly what he wants to say either, but it will have to do, because now his head hurts.

He just wants them to respond already, but glancing up, the deep frown and contemplating look on their face tells him their gonna need a minute.

A long. Long minute.

"You're wrong..." They breathe, the words a whisper in the silent room.

His eyes dart to theirs, but they carefully avoid his questioning gaze.

"Do you remember much of last night? When you were talking to me before I left?" They ask, setting the bowl on the bed beside them, and bringing their hands into their lap, twiddling their thumbs.

I remember I didn't want you to leave...

"I remembered the day you ducked under my veil. The action distracted me from the conversation, but I remembered it last night. That day... You were planning to tell me that you... Cared." He doesn't dare say the real word. Not out loud. "Weren't you?"

"I was. I had this silly idea that... That after you were freed, I would confess, and you would accept, and I would show you the camp and everything I've built for... For you. And that maybe we could... I don't know. It's stupid, thinking about it now." They stand up and move around the bed towards the window.

Still avoiding his eyes, as they follow their movements with far too much interest.

Lifting a hand, with a single finger he cracks open the curtain just slightly, letting the morning light peek inside, as they look out.

"But then... Everything happened... You were right when you called me weak. When you were defeated, and I had the choice to spare or kill you, I was weak. I couldn't bring myself to do it, because a part of me still hoped that if I spared you, you would..." They let out a shaky sigh, and finally turn to look at him.

A pleading look in their eyes, begging him to understand so they wouldn't have to say it out loud.

"Oh." A dim response. But what the hell else could he say?

"Yeah. Oh." They give a dry laugh, and move back, sitting on the edge of the bed, before sliding down onto the floor.

They rest their hands over their eyes.

"But you're wrong about me being angry at you. I'm angry at myself, and every time I look at you I'm just... Miserable. Sad that nothing happened the way I wanted it to, and now here we are. You're wounded and in pain, and I'm so conflicted and confused about this." They motion up to the Red Crown.

"I mean, I'm a god now. I never planned on that! I've been leading this cult with the expectation that you'd take over once I freed you, but instead, I'm going to be their leader for who knows how long! And I can't even get half of them to stop wanting to eat their own shit!" Their voice rises the more they rant, and he snorts at the last part.

"Yeah, well, followers aren't as smart as they used to be. Back when The Old Faith was at its best, Shamura had a strong school system in place, and Kallamar was an expert in medicine and hygiene, sharing his knowledge with his most devout so that they could spread the word of what is and isn't good for you. Such as eating shit." He comments, a small smile gracing his face.

"But that was... A long time ago. Since my imprisonment, the Bishop's wounds, and the genocide of the lambs, everything has deteriorated. Now those who remain are just trying to survive. No shepherd to guide them." Another realization, he notes as he speaks.

"You are the only god remaining now, Lamb. The only one that can create so much as a semblance of society, so that they no longer have to struggle. So that they can actually enjoy life before their bodies wither, and they have to surrender their souls to you. The new God of Death." He sits up and tosses his mildly aching legs over the side of the bed.

Moving as slow as he can for his torso's sake, and relying solely on what little arm strength he has, and a bit on gravity, he pushes himself down onto the floor. Next to Lamb. The blanket is dragged down with him.

"Well, that really makes me feel better." They grumble, looking at him and his tail involuntarily brushes against their arm, an attempt at comfort.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better-" Liar. "Just telling the truth."

"... I've been leading them long enough to know what I need to do, I just don't know how. Some of my more valued followers like Noon, and Miki are trying to help, but neither of them knows much about the divine aspect of it, like shepherding souls, maintaining the afterlife, etc..." They lift a hand up, grabbing the crown of their head and bringing it down in front of them to examine.

"I do." He blurts, not fully thinking about how much it sounds like an offer.

They too jump, head darting to look at him.

"You'll help me?" They ask, disbelief heavy in their voice.

"Maybe. If your cult doesn't fall apart before I can breathe without pain, then maybe- and that's a very strong maybe. I'll consider giving you some pointers on how to be a proper God of Death. A way to earn your forgiveness, since I doubt my words mean much to you." He subconsciously moves his tail again, brushing it along the side of their face.

When he sees it, he quickly grabs the offending part and pins it to the ground. He's grateful when Lamb chooses not to mention it, only glancing at the now pinned tail with a soft giggle.

A giggle that makes his fur stand on end in a fluttering feeling he can't even begin to identify.

Embarrassment. That's what he's going to call it. Embarrassment.

"They do mean something, Narinder... I know it took a lot for you to say them, so thank you, for apologizing..." Their smile drops, and they turn their gaze away.

"But?" He can feel it coming from a mile away.

"But I think it's going to take a lot more to fix things than an apology. I'm still not even confident that when you get better you won't just try to attack me and get the crown back then..." They're right to be paranoid about that.

He's thought about it. A lot.

Is still kind of thinking about it.

"Right. Well, I don't plan on doing that right now, we'll see about later though." He can't help but smirk at the small glare they send his way.

"I guess I can live with that. And for the record, I'm sorry too. Not for choosing not to die, but that you feel weak and humiliated because of me. But you should know, Narinder, that you are not pathetic. You're strong, and I beat you by a hair, and now, here you are, dealing with a pain that no normal mortal alive could tolerate... You're..." They pause, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

There's something there. Something akin to adoration- much like the kind they used to wear on their face when they looked up at him when he was a god.

It makes his fur stand on end again in embarrassment.

Embarrassment that's all it is.

He has to break eye contact, turning to look at the window, and flinching when light hits his eyes. The small opening Lamb made earlier still bleeding light into the room.

They notice his flinch.

"Oh, right, your eyes. Sorry." They stand up, quickly, moving a single step forward to close the curtain properly.

"It's fine." He hadn't even realized how close they'd been. It was just so natural. Being so close to them...

It felt strangely right.

Now though, with the distance between them, the spell is broken. Even they seem to realize it.

"Right well, I do have a lot to do today so... Why don't I switch your bedsheets, get you back in bed, get you fed, and then work on those shelter upgrades, hmm?" There is a newfound pep in their step.

And in a second they're bouncing across the room with an energy that does not match the conversation they've been having for the last half-an-hour.

A mask. One that they put on so easily it's almost frightening.

But he doesn't complain. He's gone through enough emotions to last him a week, and right now, he just wants to eat and go back to sleep.

Of course, Lamb isn't going to make it that easy.

"Sooo, about last night, was it the herbs that made you all cuddly or am I just that adorable?" They look back at him with a teasing smile that could light up the darkest of nights.

"Shut the fuck up-!!"

~~~

Fun fact: Miki is based on one of my favorite followers from my first-ever game, a game that my little cousin ended up deleting when I let him play on my Switch. That's the real betrayal here. I still haven't forgiven that 11-year-old punk.

I'm thinking about making an 'introduction to the featured and background OC's post.' What do y'all think?

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ozmatippetarius · 1 year

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The Nembutal wasn't Henry's first attempt to poison Charles

Pretty late in the novel, Charles shares that Henry gave him a bottle of Nembutal capsules; Richard immediately recognizes this as a poisoning attempt and is horrified. (If you google "nembutal alcohol", like I did when confirming my understanding for this post, every result that comes up is a suicide hotline: that's how well-documented this interaction is.)

This isn't Henry's first attempt to poison Charles, though, although it's the first one recognized by the characters. Charles's "infection" that lands him in the hospital is. This one is a lot better planned-out and executed, and as a result is a lot less obvious to everybody. At this point Charles's mental health is in such a bad state that it's easy to believe that he could land himself in the hospital through poor self-care alone. I'll call out below a number of points that are pretty damning to Henry, though, from a narrative standpoint.

The hospital can't diagnose Charles's illness, and it resists treatment.

The doctors couldn’t figure out quite what was wrong with Charles. They’d tried two antibiotics over the course of the week, but the infection—whatever it was—didn’t respond. The third try was more successful.

If you've ever heard anything about poisoning cases, this will sound familiar. Even today, "It is difficult to determine whether a patient has been poisoned and, if so, what toxins caused the poisoning."

Henry discourages Richard from bringing Charles to the hospital.

After Richard picks up Charles, he tries to call Francis, who isn't home. Afterwards he calls Henry and is surprised when Francis answers the phone. Francis is clearly uncomfortable.

“Francis? What are you doing over there?” I said. “Oh, hello, Richard,” said Francis. He said it in a stagy way, as if for Henry’s benefit. “I guess you can’t really talk now.” “No.”

When Richard explains the situation, before Francis can give any sort of response, Henry takes the phone.

“Did you give him some aspirins?” “A few minutes ago.” “Well, then, why don’t you wait and see. I’m sure he’s fine.” This is exactly what I wanted to hear. “You’re right,” I said. “He probably caught cold sleeping out of doors. I’m sure he’ll be better in the morning.”

I'm obviously not suggesting that it's criminal for somebody to say the answer to a fever is "give him an aspirin, wait and see". I am suggesting, though, that narratively it's suspicious that Henry has apparently coerced Francis (the one person we know would be certain to say "go to the hospital") to come to his place, where he is clearly uncomfortable for reasons that are never explained to us, and takes the phone before Francis can make that recommendation.

Henry had opportunity to acquire poison.

“I mean,” he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “that strictly in terms of virulence there are any number of excellent poisons, most of them far superior to this. The woods will be soon full of foxglove and monkshood. I could get all the arsenic I needed from flypaper. And even herbs that aren’t common here—good God, the Borgias would have wept to see the health-food store I found in Brattleboro last week. Hellebore, mandrake, pure oil of wormwood.… I suppose people will buy anything if they think it’s natural. The wormwood they were selling as organic insect repellent, as if that made it safer than the stuff at the supermarket. One bottle could have killed an army.”

Henry had access to poison Charles.

Just days before Charles ends up in the hospital, Henry has been in his apartment moving Camilla out. The novel actually goes out of its way to remind us of this, and call out that Henry has had his hands not only on Camilla's things but on Charles's that were left behind, by telling us that when Richard goes to the twins' apartment, "The place was ominously neat." (We've been previously told that both of the the twins are quite messy.)

Henry had motive to poison Charles.

Just a reminder: Charles and Francis were 100% not involved in the farmer's death, and serve as each other's alibis. I've written about this elsewhere, but I think it's clear that Camilla implicated herself intentionally to protect Henry (believing that Charles would never go to the police to report Camilla, when he very much would have reported Henry.)

We know that the twins' estrangement begins during the visit to the Corcorans' for the funeral. Francis speculates that Charles learned about Camilla's relationship with Henry during this time, and Richard is reminded that Cloke told him about a conversation between Camilla and Henry that he overheard on the phone, while Camilla thought he was asleep. Richard never gets more details of this phone call from Cloke, but Charles (who spent this entire visit hanging out with Cloke) certainly did.

I feel certain that whatever it was that Cloke overheard and shared with Charles was badly incriminating, and exposed that Camilla had been disingenuous about her involvement in the farmer's death. Imagine how shocking and awful that would have been for Charles to learn: instead of having participated in the murder of his friend to protect his sister, he actually did it to protect a man he actively hates.

I mean, this isn't jealousy. This is a more deep-rooted anger about a very serious betrayal.

“Have you talked to my sister?” he said to Francis. He said it in a very cold way, as if he were saying Have you talked to my lawyer? “Yes,” Francis said. “She’s all right?” “Seems to be.” “What does she have to say for herself?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “I hope you told her I said go to hell.”

(And I mean, if you do think that Charles is just jealous about their relationship here... this actually becomes quite funny. He was expecting Camilla to have spilled her guts to Francis about having left her incestuous relationship for another lover? Absurd.)

Anyway, this is all to say: at this point Charles is furious and no longer has as much reason to shield Henry for the farmer's killing. He's now a liability who could go to the police at any time.

This conversation between Richard and Henry while Charles is in the hospital.

As he said this, he trailed away. “There,” he said at last. “Does that look all right? Or do I need to open it up more in the middle?” “Henry,” I said. “Listen to me.” “I don’t want to take off too much,” he said vaguely. “I should have done this a month ago. The canes bleed if they’re pruned this late, but better late than never, as they say.”

#i actually have more on this but i'm attempting to practice self-control #the secret history

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deanmonlover · 2 years

Text

Let's make a deal

a/n: okay so this idea came to me because I can't deal with the end of Halloween ends so I came up with a witch reader who brings him back bc he can't go like that 😭 and angst shall ensue this might become a small series it might have been inspired by supernatural but yeah sorry for rambling. let me know what you guys think! 🖤

Tears stained your cheeks as you looked down at the crimson stained hands that once held yours so tenderly you can't help but let out an ear shattering cry.

"Corey please, please don't go."

Your voice echoed in your head, followed by his last words to you.

"If I can't have you...no one can."

The steady drum of your own heartbeat reminded you that you were still alive but the love of you life was still laying there motionless on the ground. Michael simply stared at you, knife glistening in the pale moonlight that slipped in through an open curtain.

"He's...he's coming back." You stuttered, nodding your head as if it would make it more real. Corey wasn't gone, no he couldn't be.

That was impossible he was just here holding you hours earlier, your naked body beneath his own with labored breaths as he ravished every part of you. Open mouthed kisses littered every part of your body with 'I love you' following each one.

"Fix him. Fix him damn it!!!" You screamed at the shape hovering over the both of you. It was because of Michael that he was dead. There had to be something, anything that would bring Corey back.

When you were younger, your grandmother often talked about a spell that was forbidden. It was something that most witches would never think to try but you were willing to risk it all if it meant bringing him back. You would burn the world to ashes just to see him smiling again and honestly he would do the very same.

You reluctantly let go of his hands that held your own before running to grab a long forgotten book from the dusty bookshelf in the kitchen.

"It's got to be in here somewhere..." Your hands hurriedly flipped through tattered pages, hopelessly searching for a cure. Something to make it all better again. "I'm trying Core, I am." You whispered, bookmarking the page with your thumb before grabbing some empty bowls from the cabinets, a knife, and some herbs.

Michael hovered in the doorway staring holes in you but you could care less if he wanted to kill you too he would have done it by now, wouldn't he?

"Okay a little bit of this...and that—" Your words were cut short by a tall figure sauntering past Michael but it was as if he didn't see it, only you.

"Well, well, well what do we have here? Little miss make a deal with an old entity for a human boy that ended his own life." The creature shook its head at you, clicking its tongue in disapproval.

"Just go ahead and make the damn deal already. I need him back, I don't care what it takes." Your heart already hurt, it killed you to even glimpse over at the curly haired boy laying there.

"Ah, but you already know what it takes. I want it sooner than that though."

"Wait what?"

"I want it much sooner. I give you a year in exchange for the return of his life."

"Deal. Just do it already! I don't care." You spat, not thinking of the repercussions because a year seemed like forever at the current moment in time.

"Humans, they never seem to learn." And with a snap it was gone and suddenly a rustling from the hallway could be heard and then came the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

"y/n, are you okay?" Corey was covered from head to toe in blood but he was...alive. His eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion but his expression turned to worry when he caught sight of you covered in blood.

"I should be asking you the same thing." You were so dumbstruck but relief quickly flooded your body along with several other emotions as you practically broke your neck to get over to him. Your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as you all but jumped into his arms.

"Woah, babe it's okay. I'm okay?" He questioned looking down at his coveralls covered in red. You nodded, burying your face in his chest the beat of his heart filling your ears had to be the second most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

"Mhm, you're okay." You whispered, the gravity of the situation not yet hitting you. The fact that you only had a year to spend with Corey until it was you that would be the one being longed for. Time was cruel and it would catch up with you sooner or later but for now Corey was once again yours and that was all that mattered.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends

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ailelie · 2 years

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10 rumors

So someone on Facebook requested rumors they could use in their D&D campaign. I was bored, so I wrote up some for a small farming town PCs could conceivably stop by during their travels.

Of course, the downside of doing this is that I now I want to write up this small town adventure.

(1) It's been over a year since old Harris died, but his youngest daughter, Lisbeth, has been going to the cemetery every day the past few weeks, always with a heavy covered basket that's empty when she returns home. It is driving her poor oldest sister up the wall. Maryn is doing her best to keep that family afloat and really doesn't need Lissy's odd behavior making things difficult.

(2) That thrice-damned merchant is back. Now I'm not saying he's the twistiest bastard this side of the Carseil mountains, but nothing he sells is quite right, now is it? Did you hear what happened to old Tommen when he bought some contraption off that man? Exactly. I don't know what he's doing here, but he needs to get gone.

(3) So Clara is chasing Finn who is apparently pining for Rory who has *her* eye on Clara. Now, I know it isn't kind to make fun of others' romantical distress, but come on, place your bets. Who ends up with who in this mess?

(4) Tabitha's sick again. I got Ellis, the doc's assistant, drunk--not that it was that hard on a full moon--and he let spill what's going on. Apparently, Tabby's too stubborn to leave her farm to go for the healing she needs. Something about having to keep watch or some nonsense. The doc could maybe finagle something for her cure-wise, but she needs some special herb or something that's not from these parts.

(5) Tell me, do your kids creep you sometimes? Because Lucy has got me on the bloody edge these days. Have you heard about the Dewdrop Man? You have? Dear every god that's listening, where did they come up with that? I caught her this morning before even the damned rooster was up just staring out the window humming some broken little melody under her breath. And then she asked if she could take a bit of bread and milk as a sacrifice for the Dewdrop Man. He'll apparently come for her if she doesn't play nice. Why can't kids just play with sticks and dolls like we did growing up?

(6) Is it just me or has the Grover family been a bit lucky lately? I mean, their old mutt returns out of the blue and suddenly everything is just a bit too peachy, you know? Benjy's found money lying on the street. Anice got that story published in the city paper. I even think she's pregnant even though I know the doc said she never would bear a child. It's weird, right?

(7) Weyla found some rocks in the woods. Yes, I know forests typically have rocks. Shut up and listen, okay? She found stones polished up like jewels in what she said was a perfect circle in the woods. When she walked near them she apparently heard music. Now, she didn't move them because of course Miss I Can Play Three Instruments wants to go back and figure out the tune coming from the weird rocks. But I think we ought to do something. I mean, if that's real, it's got to be dangerous, doesn't it?

(8) I don't know what's up with old Lawrence, but he's claiming his son, Toby, isn't Toby anymore. Toby's all kinds of hurt about it, of course, but Lawrence is adamant and is saying he'll pay all he's got for someone to find and bring home his real son.

(9) Now, I don't know what Benjy's got on Doc Caitlyn, but it's something. She's agreed to be on call for the fight tomorrow night. You know what that means. No holding back.

(10) I hear Rory's been having night terrors about some sort of chaos underground. Now you know I don't truck with that foresight nonsense, but you have to admit, she was right about that big storm a few months back.

#d&d #rumors #ttrpg #DM resources #taverns

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 2 years

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I don’t really want to skip around in the new au, but I’m really liking this one and had an idea, so just... here, have something from a bit more down the line.

On with the fic!

“Shit.”

“What is wrong?” Lucian asked, setting aside the jar of... something he was looking at. It certainly was a dried up thing that had once been alive, he was sure he didn’t want to know what it had been.

“I’m low on supplies.” Peter sighed, looking at the cupboard. “And we need stuff for dinner.”

“Then I suppose we’ll just need to go into town then.” There was a loud, annoyed groan that came from the alchemist, who slammed the doors to the cupboard closed. “I take it this is not something you are pleased with doing?”

Peter turned, giving him a tired stare. “I’m not a fan of them and they’re certainly not a fan of me. I mean, fuck ‘em, but they get me the things I need to make a livin’, and to live, cause I sure as hell am not going to be doin’ any farmin’ around here. I tried, once, with a chicken, did pretty well with keeping her alive, until some bastard came and stole her.”

“I’m sorry?” Lucian frowned, watching as Peter moved about, grabbing for a bag, along with a cloak, some rather dramatic, fancy looking thing that seemed far more suited for a play than a trip to the markets.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, that was back during my first year here, just figured trading and spending a few coins could get me the things I need. People hate me, but they like my herbs and spices, and the fact that I can get them snuff.”

“Snuff.”

“I know someone who can get me the good shit for cheap, then I mark up the price to sell to the idiots here.”

Lucian wasn’t sure about Peter’s business practices, but then again, he never really was one for understanding the human’s need for money. Trading weapons and pelts (from animals they hunted) worked just fine for him and his people, thank you very much.

“Do you wish for me to come with you?” Lucian asked, approaching. He was in a much better condition than he had been two weeks ago upon his arrival, and Peter had yet to kick him out of the cottage. He wondered if Peter was keeping him around for something.

The human looked at him, blinking, before shrugging. “’s up to you, but people will talk.”

“Don’t they always?”

A smirk came to Peter’s lips. “You’re a bit of a bastard, Lucian. I like that.”

The village was of a decent size, from what Lucian could tell, busy and loud as most human settlements were. He could smell a number of things in the air, from human scents to fresh bread, to cured meats from a shop. He also noted that people were watching him and Peter as they walked towards the market square.

“Is the staring normal?” He asked quietly.

“Yes, this town doesn’t know how to mind their own damn business.” Peter muttered before walking right up to a stall once in the market. “Johnson, I’ve come for my things, and I have yours.”

The man behind the stall glared at Peter, but looked up when the taller of the two held up a jar that contained something. “Is that-?”

“Yes, it’s exactly what you asked for, but you didn’t get it from me. Now, give me my things.”

A small bag was given to Peter in exchange and they left the stall. “Those were mushrooms.” Lucian noted.

“A special kind, makes you see things.” Peter replied. “Johnson’s good about getting me the best sage, I give him the best shrooms so he can see music.”

Lucian wasn’t sure what to make of that, or of any of the other things Peter had in the bag he was carrying. He followed him around the market, where Peter traded or paid for herbs, eggs, things like that. They had gotten some nasty looks, especially from people who seemed weary of Lucian, a stranger with an accent.

A few older women seemed fine with him, though he suspected that they were flirting with him. Still, apparently his good looks was enough sway to give Peter a discount on a side of pork he was trying to get.

“I think that handsome face of yours is quite the weapon you’ve got there, Lucian.” Peter smirked, giving him a little nudge.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Lucian rolled his eyes. Yes, he was good looking, but really, such a markdown just because he smiled and said she looked nice? How easy humans are to swoon at a simple compliment.

Well, Peter was easy to make a blushing mess if he said a few things that were a little more... adult, that was more entertaining.

As they walked about, Peter pointed out things in the town. The church, the best pub, the worst pub, the home of the man who still owes him quite a lot of money, and the bad well that still seemed to contain the body of a man who fell in weeks ago.

While Peter spoke, Lucian noticed someone approaching. He looked to be a young man, possibly not even twenty yet, calling out to Peter. The human at Lucian’s side sighed loudly and turned, hands on his hips. “Brewster! Don’t shout my name like that, the whole damn town doesn’t need to hear it!”

The boy panted, coming to a stop. “S-sorry, Peter. It’s just- haven’t seen you in a number of days.”

“Been takin’ care of a patient.” Peter gestured to Lucian. “Charley, this is Lucian, my patient. Lucian, this is Charley, my... apprentice.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Lucian greeted, trying to be nice. Charley looked at him strangely before taking the hand that Lucian had offered.

“Same to you, sir.” He quickly pulled back his hand before turning to Peter, trying to keep his voice quiet. “There’s talk of mysterious deaths in the town by the lake.”

Peter’s face turned rather serious. “What sort of deaths?”

Charley glanced at Lucian. “Should we be discussing this next to... him?”

“Lucian is aware of otherworldly beasts, it’s fine.”

“Lucian would appreciate it if you didn’t speak about him like he wasn’t here.” Lucian pointed out and Peter snorted.

“Bastard. Anyway, start talkin’, Brewster, what sort of deaths.”

Charley frowned. “People are going missing, and when they’re found, they’re drained of blood. I think we might need to go on a hunt.”

The alchemist nodded, looking troubled. “Alright, I’ll have to prepare some supplies, any idea what kind?”

“No, not a clue.”

“Shit, I’ll have to bring a variety of things then... alright, we’ll meet at the usual spot at eleven tonight, got it? Good, now get out of here, go find your betrothed or whatever you and Amy are.”

This made the younger human embarrassed and he told Peter off before leaving. Lucian looked to the man at his side. “You’re going to hunt a vampire tonight?”

“Seems so.”

“Do you wish for me to come with you?”

Peter turned to him, frowning, looking concerned. “Are you even well enough? I know you said you’ve fought vampires before, but you were still bothered by the silver until a few days ago.”

“I feel fine, and I don’t mind helping you in the hunt. Think of it as my payback for you taking care of me.”

“Y-yeah, uhh... fine, sure, but if you’re in any pain, you will let me know, got it?”

“Of course.”

They’re gonna hunt together and I think that Lucian will save Peter’s skinny butt during it.

#lucian x peter vincent #john's drabbles #good omens extended universe

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maiuoart · 4 years

Photo

Since this deals with the same things~

@dianamoonposts; The brothers share a love for meaty foods of any type~ But Abyss loves whatever he can chew while Azure loves meatpies!

@desithecubi; Abyss and Azure both flush at your wonderful compliments and thank you kindly; As for Abyss’ favorite treat; Give him meat on a stick any day! Or even Jerky!!! Azure honestly likes just straight up water, but there was a certain herb he had once that... Made him feel super good. He doesn’t know what it was called, but it was a memory from trying a drink from a Village when he was younger! :)

#dianamoonposts #desithecubi #Mai replies #DragaSwaps #Abyss LOVES Jerky or anything on sticks #He loves to chew and keep his jaw active #Azure had a horrible habit of sneaking into Villages #And stealing what he could cause little kid was curious as hell #Stealthy little guy #But I think he got drunk when he was younger #He could never figure out what that damn herb was though!!!#Either way!!! It was good!!!#But water is always his go-to

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anantaru · 2 years

Text

𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗦 𝗢𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 !

˖˚˳⊹ they like you (but you’re oblivious af) feat. heizou : dainsleif : baizhu : enjou x gn! reader : part two

˖˚˳⊹ genre: fluff : crack

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗭𝗢𝗨

heizou never loses! He's the greatest detective after all, isn't he? But archons are you a tough case indeed. Normally it wouldn't take him more than a few days to solve a case, of course, depending on it's difficulty. But you actually realizing that he's been sending you signals all day long, yet not getting it at all, isn't even difficult anymore, it's literally impossible.

That one time he talked about this one old couple that would always walk around Inazuma city hand in hand, telling you that it kind of reminded him of the both of you, and you responding with the most clueless "We're not that old though." he almost lost it. "That's literally not what I meant (y/n)."

But Heizou isn't discouraged by it, he loves a challenge and if he's being honest, you being this oblivious is actually pretty darn cute. He wonders what else there was about you that he didn't know yet but would find out eventually, he's a people reader after all. And then after his countless times of reminding you of this one place he absolutely adored and just how ideal it would be for dates, it finally clicked in you, or at least he hoped so.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗗𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗜𝗙

dainsleif knew it wasn't easy for him to actually find a person he'd love to spend time with. Until they're gone and leave him behind at least. So for him, it was never really up to debate to actually date or look out for someone because he knew sooner or later he'd be all alone again. But now with you he wasn't able to contain himself any longer, if he was going to make that step he'd have to tell you about his feelings, if you wouldn't be so damn oblivious.

Dainsleif would mention relationships every once in a while, trying his best to phrase it as naturally as possible not to make a fool out of himself in front of you but even if he'd make it extremely obvious, which he once did when he literally said the only person he could date is you, you looked up at him with those eyes that drove him completely nuts and just- laughed right at his face, calling him a comedian and that's when Dainsleif knew, it's going to take a while to get his point across.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗕𝗔𝗜𝗭𝗛𝗨

baizhu needs every help he can get when it comes to his work, that's why he was so delighted to hear when you went up to him and ask if you could help out at his pharmacy every once in a while to earn some money for yourself. Naturally it wasn't a problem, like mentioned, Baizhu needed all the help, he didn't in fact hire you to get closer to you, no, he wouldn't, never *wink*.

He'd always make sure you accompany him whenever he went out to pick herbs, though when he actually managed to get you to tag along, a certain zombie would always steal his show, taking all your attention away from him.

But that wasn't a defeat for him. So instead of actually getting you out of the pharmacy to go out on the mountains and see the beautiful herbs with him, he decided to make your shifts mirror his to at least 99% (1% less to not make it too obvious) but even then, whenever he did try to enter the next stage with you, you thought he was either joking or talking about another person in general.

Baizhu was a proud man, but he'll never forget that one day when he thought you finally had it figured out and then proceeded to ask him if he's in love with madame ping. Hitting him right where it hurt the most.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗢𝗨

enjou barely had any time for himself, or anyone else in that matter. What he was grateful for indeed was the fact that the both of you served under the same person, so it's of course easier to spend time together when assigned on the same missions. Enjou would make sure you would always accompany him whenever he had to go back to enkanomiya to research certain events that had happened down there.

Because there wasn't another way for him to express his liking towards you other than show you (not that he would admit it ever but he was simply too scared to tell you face to face) he'd make sure to pick out the nicest places in enkanomiya he could find to tag you along and then once he was finally able to make you accompany him to said places, he had planned exactly on what to say next.

That would contain of being lonely in the abyss and how happy he was to have someone like you by his side. You'd lock gazes for a second before you made the first step over to him, placing your hand on his arm and tell him, with the purest expression ever, "That's what friends are here for!"

requested by: @stygianoir | enjou art by: @chimkennuggieee on twt

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

#heizou x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #dainsleif x reader #shikanoin heizou #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact baizhu x reader #enjou x reader #baizhu x reader #genshin x reader

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I'd like to see more of the Jiang Cheng has spider venom fic. Mostly because I want to see him bite someone else. How about a Jin?

Normal For the Spider - Extra: 5 People Jiang Cheng Bit, Some of Whom Deserved It

ao3

1 – Wei Wuxian

“So I’ve been exchanging letters with shijie on account of the whole theoretically banished business,” Wei Wuxian said as they strolled down the Qiongqi Path together, Wen Ning behind them making shy stuttering friends with the handful of Jiang sect disciples Jiang Cheng had brought along with him – he’d deliberately picked the friendliest and most social of the lot, the ones that acted like overgrown puppies and wanted to adopt everyone they met, and sure enough they’d mobbed Wen Ning like a bunch of crows intent on raising the poor little sparrow they found into a proper bird. It was no more than Wen Ning deserved, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. Someone needed to socialize him, and clearly neither his sister nor Wei Wuxian were doing crap about it.

“That’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “If by nice you mean extremely suspicious. What about in particular?”

“Your family inheritance.”

“Is this about the summer house we have near that mountain lake? I told you, it’s been deserted for years and may possibly be haunted by something resistant to the usual liberation techniques, but if you really want to go there, you’re of course allowed…”

“That’s not the inheritance I meant and you know it.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He did know it. “What questions do you have now?” he asked. “More medical stuff from Wen Qing?”

She’d recovered from the venom very well and immediately started wanting to know everything. Recovered a little too well, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion.

“No, this one’s for me,” Wei Wuxian said. “We’re going to Lanling City in order to let Jin Ling bite me as a way to establish familial ties and let him ‘absorb’ good aspects from my personality, right?”

Jiang Cheng nodded.

“So in some cases, biting is an act of affection?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, a little more warily.

“Then how come you’ve never bitten me?”

“It’s only affectionate when you’re a baby,” Jiang Cheng said. “Once you grow into your childhood venom, it starts being dangerous, even to family; you don’t do affection-bites after that point. And when you’re an adult…well, you saw Wen Qing!”

“Eh, she’s fine now,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “I feel like I missed out! It’s not fair, Jiang Cheng. I deserve a bite! I’m practically your brother! We share essential bodily organs!”

“Wei Wuxian! Don’t talk about that!”

“Bite me and I’ll stop.”

“I’m not biting you just to make you stop being annoying –”

2 – Jin Zixun

“What are you doing here?!” Jiang Cheng demanded. “This is an ambush! Is the Jin sect considering waging an act of war against the Jiang sect?”

Jin Zixun scowled at him. “Not against the Jiang sect,” he said haughtily. “Against the Yiling Patriarch.”

“He’s my head disciple!”

That got a confused sort of frown. “But you banished him…?”

“Rumor,” Jiang Cheng said, with dignity, the way they’d always planned. “Baseless rumor, that’s all.”

Rumor he’d never denied, and had instead implicitly encouraged so that people would leave his Jiang sect alone for a little while as he gathered up strength and resources to tell them to fuck off.

“But…” Jin Zixun hesitated. “You just – attacked him?”

Jiang Cheng glared at Wei Wuxian, still lying prone on the ground with his head in Wen Ning’s lap to elevate it and his neck bandaged but still a little red – surely the paralytic had worn off by now?

Wei Wuxian noticed him staring and gave a jaunty little wave, grinning and very clearly regretting nothing, which meant that the paralytic had worn off and he was just lying there to be comfortable while watching the fun.

Typical.

“A friendly exchange,” he said, trying to maintain his dignity. “Also? Not the Jin sect’s business. What about you? What did you want with him?”

“I want him to remove the curse he cast on me,” Jin Zixun said, and he strode forward before Jiang Cheng could stop him and kicked Wei Wuxian in the side. “You hear me, you bastard?! I want the damn thing gone this instant or else –”

3 – Wen Ning

“So this is going to be a little awkward to explain,” Jin Zixuan said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, but that was possibly a side-effect of having Jin Zixun as a cousin. “Tell me, why are my cousin’s flunkies – er, I mean, my cousin’s friends convinced that it was Wen Ning that poisoned him?”

Jiang Cheng scowled.

“No offense meant,” Jin Zixuan added, nodding politely to Wen Ning. “It’s just, you know, you’re very much not a Yu, or even a Jiang.”

“No offense taken,” Wen Ning mumbled, though to Jiang Cheng’s eyes he looked a little pleased, even if his stiff wooden face still didn’t do emotions all that well. “It’s nice not to be automatically feared.”

“It’s because Wen Ning punched Jin Zixun in the face at the same moment that I bit him,” Jiang Cheng interjected, because someone needed to answer the actual question. “And then Jin Zixun fell over and someone started shouting about corpse poison – even though he’s obviously turned purple! Purple venom, purple spider, purple lightning…what part of this thematic color scheme is not obvious?!”

“Technically, the livor mortis spots generated by corpse poison are also purple,” Wei Wuxian said, completely unhelpfully. “According to Wen Qing, it’s the lack of oxygen in the blood pooling under the skin or something, which is the same thing your mom’s poison does.”

“Do you think you’re helping?” Jiang Cheng demanded.

“No, not at all. Did I sound like I was helping? I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m going to bite you again, you little…”

“My father isn’t going to want to let Wen Ning through the door if he’s considered a possible threat,” Jin Zixuan said, wisely deciding to carry on with the conversation despite their bickering. “You know he’s been saying all those things about how dangerous the Yiling Patriarch is – this’ll just feed into that.”

“I’m not going to Lanling City without Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “Wen Qing made me promise! It’s his first time visiting such a big place, too!”

“I’m pretty sure Wen Qing made you promise not to leave him behind because she was worried about your well-being, not Wen Ning’s ability to be a tourist,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Doesn’t matter! I’m not leaving him, and I’m definitely not going to not attend the party, so you have to fix this!”

“I don’t know how to fix this –”

Wen Ning coughed lightly. “Uh,” he said. “Jin-gongzi…would your father let me in if I wasn’t a threat? Say, if I was unconscious?”

A moment of silence.

“…does venom work even on fierce corpses?”

“Of course it does,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “It wouldn’t be much of a defense mechanism for a cultivator if it didn’t.”

4 – Jin Guangshan

“I didn’t mean to!” Jiang Cheng said, his hands over his mouth. “I really didn’t mean to! It’s Wei Wuxian’s fault!”

“How is this my fault?!” Wei Wuxian asked. He looked amused, which was never a good sign, and even less so given the extreme crisis of the situation. “I wasn’t even in the room.”

“You encouraged me to keep biting people as a solution to everything!” Jiang Cheng hissed. “It got me in the mood. I wasn’t thinking!”

He looked down at the unconscious (and swiftly purpling) Jin Guangshan and grimaced. There was no convenient Wen Ning to put the blame on this time: it had been just the two of them, Jin Guangshan and Jiang Cheng, alone in a room together. Jin Guangshan had wanted to have words with him, sect leader to sect leader, which mostly meant that he wanted to throw his weight and seniority around to try to brow-beat Jiang Cheng into doing what he wanted, except that wasn’t going to work because Jiang Cheng was prepared, okay, he’d worked so long and so hard to try to build up the Jiang sect until it could resist Jin sect pressure.

And he’d probably just ruined everything.

“He has legitimate grounds to declare war against us now,” Jiang Cheng said miserably. “Or maybe to demand that we hand over that stupid Tiger Seal he keeps bugging you about as reparations, or in order to keep him from declaring war…”

“We can’t let him have it,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “It’s far too dangerous. I’d destroy it, first.”

“But then he’d still have a reason to strike against us…”

There was the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, and at first Jiang Cheng thought it was Wen Ning but when he looked up it was Jin Guangyao, instead. He looked the same as always, gentle and personable and smiling, which struck Jiang Cheng as being unaccountably weird for some reason that he couldn’t figure out until he remembered that the man’s father was currently lying on the ground being poisoned and maybe Jin Guangyao shouldn’t be smiling so much.

“If you don’t mind,” Jin Guangyao said, “I might have a suggestion that would get rid of that problem…”

5 – Wen Qing

“…and long story short, Jin Guangyao is going to run Lanling Jin until Jin Zixuan is done having kids, which may be never based on the soppy looks he and my shijie keep exchanging, and we all have the Jin sect’s blessing to move back into the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian concluded. “All’s well that ends well, right, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms and glared, admitting nothing.

“I’ll be happy to move anywhere that has decent food,” Wen Qing remarked. “This damn place won’t even grow radishes properly, and it’s Yiling; the radishes should be practically growing themselves.”

“I’ve arranged for some farmland for your people,” Jiang Cheng said, because practicalities he could do. “There’s still lots left over from before the war, lying fallow, and some of the places are medicinal herb fields – we need people with cultivation to tend to those, so I figured that might work for you. You’d have half regular farmland, to make sure you can grow whatever food you feel you need to be comfortable, and the other half, the herbs, can be sold to the Jiang sect at profit.”

“That sounds good,” Wen Qing said.

“Especially since they’re medicinal herb plants,” Wei Wuxian chimed in. “You could stock up on medicines you need!”

“A lot of medicines have to be obtained through trade, you utter nincompoop! I can’t make medicine just using what a single medicinal herb field will generate!”

Jiang Cheng nodded approvingly, thinking to himself that at least there was someone else in the world who understood exactly how aggravating it was to have to deal with Wei Wuxian’s unbridled and illogical optimism on a regular basis.

“And as for you,” Wen Qing said, turning to Jiang Cheng, who blinked owlishly at her. “Don’t think I missed the part of that story about how biting people is a sign of affection!”

“It’s – what?! No, you don’t – that’s when we’re children– it’s –”

Wei Wuxian started cackling.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #wen ning #jin zixun #jin zixuan #jin guangyao #wen qing #my fic #my fics #normal for the spider

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it.

They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

#geraskier #memory loss #200 fic celebration #no.1 #the witcher #rex writes

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

---------------

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ‘artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

#star wars #han/leia #dinluke #lando calrissian #fic #ficlet #don't mind me I'm just thinking about petty neighborhood politics

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

How about a fairytale scenario? A prince/princess/royal is in love with a very uninterested darling who manages to run away and make a deal with a witch who turns them into a monster in an attempt to make their yandere leave them alone? Maybe the cure is true loves kiss but since they don’t love the yandere it never works? Idk I think it’s an interesting concept and it’s been stuck in my head for a while

Ooooh! I like that! Very good idea anon, thanks for sending it in ♥

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“My Beloved!”

The prince’s voice made you flinch as it shook you from your nap. As good as you could, you heaved your giant head in the opposite direction from the door, pressing your snout to the cold stone wall. Its smell and temperature weren’t pleasant anymore, now that you were... well, whatever creature the witch had turned you into. Your heightened senses didn’t make it easier, now that you could smell every speck of mold and hear the scratching of tiny bug legs skittering through the stones.

The heavy, silver chains all over your body and limbs didn’t help either.

“We found a cure!” he claimed, his voice as sweet as honey, caring and hopeful, and yet so, so revolting since you knew the person behind it better than anyone else. It was easy to fool a kingdom with a sunny smile and encouraging speeches, but the one person he’d never trick again with his rotten personality was you.

Teeth clenched, you tried to ignore him, hoping he might be discouraged by seeing you unresponsive to his words. There had been too many potions, too many plants, he made you digest which were supposed to ‘help’ you, that you’d never want to even open your mouth anymore. You never even asked for his help; you just wanted him to leave you alone! When you hatched the plan of how to escape this fanatic, being recaptured by him and held in the dungeon, far away from anyone except the prince and the magicians he hired to ‘help’ you, wasn’t a part of it. You still blamed yourself that you hesitated to injure him worse than just breaking his arm when he found you. That you hesitated long enough for a bottled potion to hit you, bringing you down into a deep slumber and allowing them to bring you back to your personal hell that was the prince’s castle.

“My Beloved,” he repeated, this time in a tender whisper while he sank next to your disfigured body, a gentle hand coming down onto the fur of your front leg, caressing it comfortingly. “We’ve been wrong so many times...” he lamented, but you could hear the smile on his lips as he continued. “But finally, we know, and it’s no potion nor herb that will turn you back into a human.”

So what is it? you were inclined to ask, though you kept quiet. Just so you’d know what to avoid in the future.

“It’s a true love’s kiss,” he swooned, following it up with a deep sigh of longing. Your stomach churned as you heard his solution to your ‘problem’, but all you could muster was a haughty huff, thinking how you’d never love him. This wouldn’t work, you were already aware.

There was no way you could love the person that tore you from your family for his own amusement. Who humiliated you in front of other nobles so he could have some giggles, and yet, when you decided to run away from his maltreatment, chained you into his private room, sobbing into your lap of how he cannot live without you after keeping you there without food and water for days. What was real and what was fake about him was a thin line to discern, but you had been forced to stay long enough with the prince to not trust even one word of his. He’d try to suck up to you with presents and food, promising the world to you. And then, the moment you said you didn’t like what he did, he’d turn his back on this love he swore to harbor for you, punishing you and threatening to hurt your family too if you’d ever break his heart again.

It was then that you figured out he was lonely, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but be scared of his actions.

“You know there is no one else, no human nor monster, that adores you as much as I do. Thus, I will lift this curse from you, my Dearest! There isn’t anyone else who can do it. Right?”

Hearing his question made you not want to move your head in his direction all the more. But even with one hand, the prince knew where to touch for it to be uncomfortable. That damn spot under your throat made you flinch when you felt his fingertips drag over it, and you raised your head as far as the chain holding you down allowed. Growling at him didn’t concern the prince at all as he scooted closer, his hand falling to the side of your head, his face burying into the soft fur that covered all of your newly-obtained body.

Secretly, you wished that someone would come to save you from all this. Not particularly your new monstrous form, but rather, the prince and his doings. You wanted a real prince in shining armor to come and kiss you, whisk you away on his pretty, white steed. Never to be seen again. That would be your dream. This act and tragedy had been going on too long, and you feared that as it was, it would never end in a happy ending for you.

The prince kissed you between your eyes, observing if anything was happening for a few seconds before his lips proceeded down your snout. After every caress, he stopped, watching if anything changed. As you glanced briefly into his eyes, you saw the frustration grow. It would have been easier if it had worked - you had to admit - for both of you. Because every kiss more he had to watch fail, the more he grew unrestraint, his expression darkening and teeth clenching hard while his hand began to shake from frustration, or perhaps anger already.

“Why is it not working?” he asked as if he expected you to answer him. However, if it wasn’t a growl or whine, your vocal cords didn’t speak the same language anymore. Surely, there would have been a lot you would have told him if you could have opened your mouth and spoken. But this way, and much to your own surprise, he had to figure it out himself.

“Is it because you don’t love me?” he asked, fingers tangling into your fur harshly. “That’s what you said, right? That you don’t love me.”

A short, desperate laugh escaped him as he looked up and stared down at you with wide eyes. “It’s supposed to be a true love’s kiss, don’t you understand? Are you too stupid to even understand that? Do you want to stay like this, looking like a rotten mutt? Do you hate me so much?”

His questions were unanswered, even as he yanked hard at your fur, a stinging pain shooting through your face. “Answer me!” he demanded, screaming it into the void that was the dungeon where no one but you and him resided. “Ha... Hahaha...”

His laugh was muffled by his hand tearing away from you and instead clasping over his face, making him take a deep breath. “That’s okay. You’ll have a lot of time to learn to love me. Or you rot down here, it’s your decision.”

Standing up, the prince left you behind, a pitiful pile of meat and hair, chained to the ground by the most expensive chains he could buy from all the money he possessed. How much did it anger him, you wondered, that even though he had everything, he couldn’t have you?

“Don’t forget.” Glancing over his shoulder, the heavy doors slowly closed behind him. “You can be with me forever, or you can die here alone. No one mourns such a hideous creature when it’s gone. Only I can love you as you are now, but you lack choices. My darling Monster.”

With the prince disappearing together with the light of the torches, you were cast into the darkness reigning in your new home. Alone, pitiful, quiet. Restraint and captured as nothing more than the beast of a kingdom. It was the same darkness that never let you forget who and what you were.

Nothing. You were nothing without the prince who walked in the light while being the darkness himself.

#Prince #yandere prince #yandere!prince #monster #monsters #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #Anonymous

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jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

Text

Hayloft (p.1)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts...)

Warnings: Abuse, mentions of drinking, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!

__________________

When your car finally pulled up the old dirt driveway to your family's farm house, the sun was already setting, casting an orange hue over the acres of land that your father had inherited from his father. It was beautiful, really. The sun was behind your old two story home made of wood planks that were covered in chipping white paint. The door’s paint was also chipping, only this time it was old navy blue paint - at least that’s the color it was supposed to be when it was painted who knows how many decades ago - that peeled back to reveal the wood beneath.

Your father’s truck wasn’t in the driveway yet when you pulled up and you sighed in relief because it gave you the opportunity to get dinner started before he got home. You headed straight for the kitchen. The only moment taken for yourself was the moment of silence when you leaned against the counter top and stretched out your back from the long day's work at the diner. The refrigerator was mostly empty and you made a mental note to run to the store after work tomorrow before your father could notice the lack of food. Thankfully, there was still enough scraps to piece something together for tonight between the fridge and the cupboards.

The house was swimming with the delicious scent of herbs, onions, potatoes, and stock as you boiled a stew on the stove when you heard the front door open. “Hi, Daddy! How was work?” You asked over your shoulder before you even heard his steps enter the kitchen, not actually caring but knowing he’d be upset if you didn’t ask.

He came around the corner but you could hear from the moment the door opened that there were the footsteps of more than one person entering your home. With a frown, you turned from the stove and took a few steps so you could see around the wall that blocked your view of the front door but your father and new mystery person stepped around that corner and into the kitchen before you could get that far. You stopped in your tracks, startled by their sudden appearance, and your hand flew to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry!” You chuckled awkwardly, apologizing for your jumpiness, “Didn’t think you’d be comin’ in here.”

It was a man about your age that stood just behind your father, a navy baseball cap twisted in his hands and his footsteps light so as to not knock dirt off onto the floor from his work boots, both welcomed displays of manners that you appreciated, unlike your father who left a trail of chunks of dried mud and grease everywhere he walked. This new boy, though, he was cute. Short curly hair that was messy, either from work or wearing the hat, big expressive brown eyes that reminded you of a puppy in the best possible way, a tight lipped expression that showed he was a little nervous and uncomfortable to be here, they were all a welcome, albeit unexpected, surprise.

"Work was good. This here is Arvin Russel. He'll be staying with us, at least for the night." Your eyes flicked back to the boy you now knew as Arvin when your dad introduced him and your heart skipped a beat at the eye contact.

He nodded his head slightly, a small cordial smile flashing on his face for just a moment, "Pleasure to meet you,..."

"Y/N. It's nice to meet you as well. If you're staying the night, let me add some water to the soup and then I'll go make up the spare bed." You pointed your thumb over your shoulder towards the pot of stew that was nearly done.

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

Before you could notice him moving, your dad was already beside the fridge and you reached out to try to stop him before he could open it. "Let me get you something! What about you, Arvin? You want a beer or some water?" You scurried to try and beat your dad to the fridge that you knew would earn you a reprimanding that you didn’t deserve.

You were too late though and your dad already swung the door open wide. You stepped back nervously, rubbing the sharp edge of your nails against your thumb. "It's damn near empty." He noted, voice stiff and dissatisfied. He stood, managing to produce the last two beers from the refrigerator before slamming it shut.

You flinched at the loud sound, hearing the few glass jars of preserves and jams clanging against each other inside from the force. Your eyes rolled beneath closed lids at his overdramatic reaction, even though it was one you expected. "I'm gonna hit the market after work tomorrow but I checked that we have enough for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow." Your voice was sweet and placating, careful to respond in a way that would keep his temper in check.

"It's that damn job of yours. I told you women shouldn't be working. They belong in the house where you should be. Now look. You went and let the kitchen run out." He passed Arvin a beer, which he reluctantly accepted, watching the way your father pointed his finger at you accusingly. “Ain’t no man gonna want a wife who can’t even keep the kitchen stocked up.”

Your tongue was raw inside from biting down on it so hard in order to keep yourself in line, as he called it. You didn't need a blow out tonight, not with Arvin here. "I manage to work and keep up with the house just fine, Daddy. We just got a little low on groceries but I'll be heading to the market tomorrow to fix it. Don’t you worry." Even you were surprised with how even and sweet your voice came out, that ever present fire of anger towards your father having been fanned into a decent blaze.

He popped the tab on his beer and sighed, dropping the topic for the time being, "Fine. But make sure to pick up some fixin's for that chicken roast you make. Patty is lookin' nice and fat in the coop so why don't you cook her up tomorrow."

You grimaced at the thought. Patty was one of the chickens in your coop out back that had been pretty slow when it came to laying eggs but you’d grown attached to her nonetheless. Ever since you were a young girl, your daddy warned you not to become attached to the animals out back but you never listened. Back then, you’d had your mother to step in and convince him not to kill the animals for whatever reason she could come with and opt for buying meat from the market instead. You hadn’t been able to convince him like that since she’d passed. Everything had been different since she passed.

“I don’t know, Daddy. Patty’s been layin’ a lot of eggs lately and we’ve been gettin’ extra money from sellin’ all those eggs. Why don’t I just pick up a chicken in town tomorrow at the store.” You insisted, walking back over to the stove to stir the stew.

“Don’t go wastin’ money on things we already got! We got some chickens out back. Just cook one of ‘em up tomorrow!” Your father’s voice was hard and stern now, enough to fill the air with tension in Arvin’s presence. You turned slowly, making eye contact with Arvin briefly before quickly avoiding it. You didn’t like the way he stood awkwardly, silently watching the interaction he clearly didn’t think highly of. Your father was already getting worked up and it would only get worse the longer the night went on.

Biting your cheek, you nodded, “Yes, sir. Now why don’t you boys go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready in just a minute.”

Dinner went relatively well, despite your father’s occasional grumblings about there not being any beer. Once you finished, you stood up and picked up yours and your father’s bowls before noticing Arvin’s was empty as well. “Did you want some more? There’s just enough for one more if you’d like it.” You offered Arvin that last bit of stew but he just shook his head and stood up.

“Oh, no thank you miss. Dinner was delicious though. Let me help with that.” He grabbed his own bowl before your hand could reach it and then took the bowls from your hands as well before setting them down at the sink.

You chased after him, “Thank you but you don’t have to do that! Please, sit. I’ll make your bed up when I’m finished cleaning up dinner.”

“She’s right, son. Kitchen ain’t no place for a man. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you the room you’ll be stayin’ in.” You father’s chair screeched against the beat up wooden floor as he stood, beckoning Arvin to him.

Arvin was standing right beside you, his arm only a few inches from yours as he lowered the stack of bowls into the sink. He looked over at you with deep soulful eyes that seemed to look right through your calm facade in a way that made you feel seen like never before. It was highly uncomfortable, almost violating after all these years of hiding away what you felt for the sake of keeping the peace, and you forced a smile, “Please, you’re our guest. It wouldn’t be right to make you do the dishes. You go with him.”

He gave you a drawn out hesitant look but turned away nonetheless and walked towards your dad. “Thank you again for letting me stay here till I get things figured out. It’s mighty kind of you.” Arvin thanked you and your father for your hospitality, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder before following your father down up the stairs towards the spare room.

You made quick work of the dishes, having cleaned most of them as you were cooking earlier anyways and scurried to the closet that held your extra sheets. As you passed the bathroom, you heard the shower running and knew it was your father bathing after his long day of work, like he always did right after dinner. The man was a creature of habit.

With your arms full of neatly folded faded steel blue linens and the thicker burnt sienna colored wool blanket, you made your way towards the guest room Arvin was staying in to find the door wide open and the man looking through his bag that was set on the bed. “Knock knock,” you announced your presence, waiting at the entryway for Arvin to notice you before entering.

He spun around, dropping something that you didn’t see quickly into his bag and pressing it down while flashing you a small polite smile, “Hello, ma’am.”

You walked into the room, raising the linens in your hands, “I brought some sheets so I could make up your bed.” You walked over to the wooden chair and set the top sheet down before making your way back over to the bed, unfolding the bottom sheet as you did, waving it up and down in the air to straighten it out before laying it flat on the bed.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, miss,” He moved his bag to the ground and jumped to lift the corner of the mattress and tuck the sheet beneath it.

You blushed at his kindness, not used to such help from your father, but shook your head, tucking the sheet beneath the mattress on the opposite side of the bed “If my daddy came in and saw you fixin’ the bed yourself, he’d kill me,” you chuckled to make it sound like a joke but you knew better than that. He wouldn’t actually kill you but you would certainly get some less than kind words thrown your way, maybe even a few beer cans thrown your way depending on how drunk he was.

Arvin shook his head, his hands falling on his hips, “Looks like you do most the housework ‘round here.” What he was insinuating was clear even though his tone didn’t change but you didn’t want to acknowledge it. He didn’t need to concern himself with the difficulties between you and your father.

“So how’d you and my dad meet?” You changed the topic, going to grab the top sheet and unfolding it. You laid it over the bed and tucked your side in, Arvin reaching down to tuck his side in as well in a silent act of defiance against your insistence that he didn’t need to help. It occurred to you suddenly after the question left your lips that you didn’t actually know anything about this boy but, for some reason, you still didn’t feel uneasy around him.

Arvin pulled the top corner of the sheet up to the head of the bed as he answered, “I just started workin’ at the garage with ‘im.”

“You like cars?” You questioned, spreading out the final layer on the bed, the wool blanket.

Arvin shrugged, “Never been really into ‘em but I can fix ‘em alright enough. Just needed the work and happened to see the wanted sign when I was passin’ through town.”

Your brow raised in curiosity, “You were just passin’ through and stopped in this old town cause of a help wanted sign?” The little town you lived in wasn’t terrible but it was far from a destination that people really moved to for work unless you a doctor desperate for a place to practice or something like that. “You must really be desperate,” you joked but immediately felt a slight pang of regret when a shred of truth could be seen in his eyes.

“Just tryna figure out where I’m goin’ ‘n what I wanna do. Figure I’ll find somewhere I like eventually.” Arvin picked up his bag and set it off to the side where it was a little more out of the way.

You stared at the man standing before you, taking every bit of him from the grease stains on his white t-shirt to his scuffed up brown work boots to his messy hair, dirty from dried sweat. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with him that you realized that you’d been staring in a settled yet weirdly comfortable silence. You stood up straight and smiled to diffuse the awkwardness you’d unintentionally fostered, “You’re more than welcome to take a shower. My daddy should be finished any second. I’ll set some extra towels in there for you.”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation but offered no further conversation. You could tell from the moment of silence that it was time for you to make your exit.

“Well, uh, I better head to bed. You need anything before I go?” You asked, backing towards the door and swinging slightly with it once your hand hit the old bronze knob.

Arvin shook his head, “No, thank you. ‘M all set.”

“Alrighty, then. You have a good night.” You chewed your lip as you opened the door to make your exit.

“G’night, miss Y/N.”

Butterflies flew wildly in your belly as you walked to your bedroom. It had been a long while since you’d seen somebody worth looking twice at in this old town but now a mysterious handsome man rolls into town and stays with you. In your house. It probably wasn’t the safest of situations but Arvin genuinely looked like a nice man. From your very brief interactions with him, you couldn’t really imagine him trying to hurt you or your father for no reason. Even if he did, you knew where your daddy kept his shotgun and you had no problem defending yourself. But like I said, you had an unearned sense of peace with Arvin that you hoped wasn’t a misjudgement.

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” Your father’s gruff but thankfully not entirely drunk voice made you stop in your tracks and turn towards his room with a suppressed groan. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom in nothing but an undershirt and long johns with his suspenders hanging loosely at his sides.

You shook the smile off your face. “Just thought of somethin’ funny that happened at work,'' you lied. “You need somethin’?”

“I watched you come out o’ that boy’s room with a big ol’ grin on your face. Better not let me catch you ‘n him. Ain’t no daughter o’ mine gonna be whorin’ around with some boy blowin’ through town, y’hear?” He threatened, his hands reaching down to pull up his worn out long johns.

Your blood boiled at the accusation and despite your best efforts to keep peace while Arvin was here, you spat words with venom, “I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ with Arvin. God forbid I have a damn smile on my face.” Your voice was low enough so that you hoped your guest hadn’t heard your outburst but when your father’s face darkened and he began taking slow, heavy steps towards you, you weren’t sure if your charade of normalcy would last much longer.

Your father hovered over you, exaggerating the size difference between the two of you, “I put a roof over your head. I put food on the table. You play make believe with that little diner job but I'm the head of this house. I'm your father. You watch that fuckin’ tone with me girl."

Your jaw was clenched tightly, matching your fists, as you glared up at him with indignantly furious eyes. Father your ass. He once had been your father, an imperfect but loving man who used to try. Now he was merely a selfish broken sperm donor. He inherited this house from his father, didn’t pay a darn cent, and you couldn't remember the last time he pitched in a dime for anything but alcohol and the occasional dinner he made when he was in a good mood. He did do that- have these strange out of character nights where he pretended to be kind and loving. They were far and few between though and, while you enjoyed the change of pace, it felt like walking on eggshells in some fantasy world.

A heavy silence settled between the two of you that crackled with a tension that could snap at any moment and turn into a full blown fight. Your eyes were narrowed on his as you refused to let him think he intimidated you anymore. Nevertheless, you turned on your heel, nails digging into your palm, and walked down the hall towards your room, leaving him alone.

“He wouldn’t want you anyways, fuckin’ attitude like that.” Your father grumbled to your back, hoping for one last reaction out of you that you refused to give.

It took all the control in the world to not slam the door in his face but you knew there was no way it would escape Arvin’s attention. You’d have to resort to the therapy of muffling your furious tear-soaked screams into your pillow until you finally fell asleep, like you did many nights.

#arvin russel imagine #arvin russell x reader #Arvin Russell #arvin x reader #arvin russell x you #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x reader #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #The Devil All The Time #tdatt #tdatt imagine #tdatt fics

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Glimpses of the future

Summary: Lily traces the third line of his hand. The loveline. 'What's going on with your heart, Potter?'

He wishes he knew.

For @sunshine-marauders who asked for Jily in Divination Class (I couldn’t add any real predictions, but I hope you enjoy this small journey of moments).

Rated T, with warnings for mildly swearing and for a teenager with hormones.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

________________

Third year

James curses his friends the moment he enters the classroom. They were supposed to share all classes and yet they did not sign for Divination.

Now he is stuck in this class for at least three years.

Great.

And he seems to be the only Gryffindor there; he watches the groups of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, wondering where he should sit, when he sees a table with only one person, their robes gold and red.

Then she turns around, and he recognizes Lily Evans.

They are not very close, not when she keeps weird company he doesn't support - one person only, to be fair -, but Evans is fine, he supposes. Sometimes he thinks she is funny; sometimes she laughs from something he does.

It's a start, at least, and she is the only other Gryffindor there. Gryffindors should stick together.

So he walks towards her table.

'Hi, Evans', he begins, giving her his most sympathetic smile. 'Is this seat available?'

She glances at him, her green eyes assessing him, as if wondering if he is joking with her, before she nods.

'Sure', she says, moving a little to allow him to share the couch with her.

'Your friends ditched you too?', he tries, hoping to engage her into some nice conversation. If they are to be partners, at least they can be is corteous to each other.

'What?'

'My friends. Those prats told me they would sign for this class and they gave up at the last minute'.

'Oh', she is staring at him as if she thinks he is lunatic. 'No, I wanted to study Divination. I always thought it was interesting'.

'Oh'. He thinks of joining that class just for the laugh, for the silliness it would represent since he doesn't really believe in it. But Evans is not smiling and James is not sure how to deal with it. 'So you believe we can get glimpses of the future?'

'Well, magic is real, why couldn't we?'

James shrugs. He never had thought about it in these terms, not really.

'Yeah, I guess. Then you joined the class for curiosity? Want to know what the future will bring?'

'Well, that too'.

'What else?'

There is a pinkness on her cheek, but Lily Evans looks nothing but resolute as she stares at him.

'Sev'.

'Ah', James doesn't refrain from grimacing. If only Evans could move on from her strange taste in friends. 'Don't tell me he is in the class'.

'No, he told me Divination was a waste of time'.

'And yet here you are'.

A grin shines on her lips; it is almost mischievous . 'And yet here I am', Evans agrees.

James grins back, approvingly. Perhaps there is hope for Evans after all.

~*~

Fourth year

Evans' hands are warm. James shouldn't notice this. He shouldn't feel so… so whatever he is feeling just because her hands are touching him, one hand holding his left hand and her other sliding over the palm of his hand as she traces the lines there.

It's just... her touch is so soft, like butterfly wings fluttering delicately or maybe a Golden Snitch's wings - he doesn't care much for the seeker position, but maybe he should, because suddenly he feels his hand is too rough with years of practicing chasing. Perhaps he should try some lotion for them, because she is hating to touch him.

Lily Evans' hands are so delicate, so small compared to his - maybe that growth spurt he had during summer turned him into some kind of ogre, because he feels so out of place next to her, and then he wonders what is the right place with Evans...

'Your lifeline is very clear, Potter', Evans is explaining, talking about choices and what it represents, and he tries to concentrate, but it's difficult because the tips of her finger dancing over the palm of his hand are sending shivers down his spine.

It almost tickles but that's not really what he feels; there is no urge to laugh, just… just to enjoy how good it feels. What's his problem? That's Evans. She can't stand him and he - he also doesn't like her much, though she is vivacious and funny and pretty and her eyes are really gorgeous and her touch is so tender -

'Now, that's interesting', Evans whispers to herself, consulting the book open next to her. She is tracing the third line of his hand. The loveline. 'What's going on with your heart, Potter?'

He wishes he knew.

~*~

Fifth year

'You are late', Evans complains the second he slids next to her on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room.

'I overslept', he mumbles, for a second refusing to look her in the eyes in a irrational fear she will know exactly the reason he had trouble leaving the bed. Then he grins uncontrollably as her words come back to him. 'Missing me much, Evans?'

Her eyes flicker, not impressed by his smile. Someone else might, he can't help but think. But nothing he ever does seems to amuse her lately.

He tries not to let it bother him, though, very much like her presence in his dreams, he can't help himself.

'If by missed you you mean that I missed not getting another partner for this project, yeah, then sure'.

'It's a start', he tries, still with that stupid grin he always has around her. She closes her eyes for a second, pinching her nose.

'Just let us finish this, Potter. The faster we do, the faster I can go back to my life and you can go do whatever you want'.

She is stressed. Same as everyone else, really, with the nervousness of the exams this year, but he never saw Lily Evans looking so impatient before.

He feels that twinge of guilt that only Evans can arise on him. She is the sole reason for a lot of his feelings lately.

'Sorry for being late', he tells her quietly, and her expression relaxes a little.

'Okay'. She bits her lips and James has to concentrate on keeping her gaze without blushing. It's not like those green eyes of her are not a participant in his dreams too - always staring down at him, for once not looking reprovingly, but invitingly -, but they are easier, much easier, than thinking of her lips that have also been on his mind lately.

Though for very different reasons. And in different situations. With different purposes.

He feels his face heating, which is ironic because the blood seems to be going from his head to…

He looks away, hurrying to pick up his things in his backpack, where it should be safer.

And he can put his backpack on his lap, just in case he needs to hide some of his more… evident reactions to Lily Evans.

Damn stupid hormones.

'It's a good thing you were sleeping, I suppose', Evans adds, her voice a bit warmer now, and James wonders what has been evident in his expression. It's not what he was thinking of, for sure; Evans would not be kind to him if she knew the ways she had been appearing in his dreams lately.

'It is?', he asks, confused. Truth be told he sort of napped during the last class of Divination (right after a Full Moon - he is not used to spending the whole night awake yet) and all he knows is that Evans is his project partner for this semester.

Fortunately she seems to take pity on his confusion.

'Yeah, here'. She takes out two sheets, giving him one. James freezes when he reads the title of it.

Dream diary.

'Tell me, Potter', she starts, taking out her quill and sucking the top of it. Sugarquill, James knows but his treacherous improper mind keeps remembering the way her lips were moving in his dream, and it was not over a quill at all. 'What have you been dreaming about?'

James gulps.

~*~

Sixth year

The classroom is hot with the vapour from the incense. James yawns, trying to focus, but there is nothing inside that crystal ball that gives him any clue at all of what he should be seeing.

There are none of the misty figures the book says he could see.

'Do not fret if you don't see anything', Professor Bath says, her voice sounding mystical since he can't say where she is. 'True sight is a rare gift'.

'So are good incenses', Evans murmurs beside him, and James chuckles lightly. He barely can see her through the smoke. 'Are you seeing anything at all?'

'I think it's safe to assume there will be a blizzard tonight', he whispers dramatically, and now it's her turn to chuckle.

That sound fills him with contentment. He is so glad he didn't give up this class - and neither did she.

'Move a little, I want to see better'.

He sits more to the left, but it's not enough space apparently. Evans comes into focus as she shifts her position, her hand brushing against his as she sits very near him - he can feel the heat coming from her body, the shape of her tight pressed against his and above all her perfume, a mix of garden flowers with scented herbs and he thinks her smell should not be more powerful than the incense in the room and yet it is.

He inhales happily now, taking in Evans' perfume even as he already accepted he won't ever have anything else, and Evans turns to him with a teasing grin on her lips.

'Enjoying the incense, Potter?'

Perhaps it's all the smoke (who is he kidding, it's not the incense, it's her), because James can only think of leaning into her and capturing her lips with his own; it would feel better than any intake of fresh air, he is sure of it.

But that's only a silly hope, so he just shrugs carefreely.

'It is not that bad after a while'.

'You are so high', she teases. James agrees with her. I am so high on you.

But he doesn't say anything and Evans shakes her head, seemingly amused by the light expression on his face, and moves forward to stare at the crystal ball.

Her face vanishes from his vision and yet he could picture the way her eyes are staring attentively at the crystal ball, the way she is biting her lips as she tries to make sense of that smoke that is supposed to give them glimpses of the future.

'Potter?', she calls him, her voice distant. 'Come here'.

He leans forward, joining her next to the crystall ball. Again the wave of her perfume threatens to numb all his senses and James tries to find something other to focus, though is hard. The crystall ball presents him misteries he doesn't really wants to unravel, not when her face is close to his, her dark red hair looking very vivid against the smoke around them and if he turned his face he could brush his lips against her cheek and then -

'What are you seeing?'

He turns almost desperately to the crystall ball, but it doesn't change much. Albeit a little distorted, all he can see is her face staring him back, green eyes sparkling over a face with small freckles he always feels tempted to count.

'You', he whispers. 'All I see is you'.

There is a moment of silence and through the haze on his mind, he suddenly fears that she understood exactly what he meant by that.

But then Evans sighes, taking a scroll and looking away.

'Funny', she says, her voice small too. 'All I could see was you too'.

~*~

Seventh year

'This is not what we should be doing with our time, Lily', he whispers, his voice lacking any reprehension as he pulls Lily even closer to him, his hands around her waist, feeling the skin of her back.

'I feel offended', she answers back, her head raised so her lips can brush his neck. It sends shivers down James' spine that have nothing to do with the cold wind around them. 'Professor Bath has told us we needed to be relaxed, right?'

'I am not sure if that's what she meant'.

'Are you relaxed or not?'

In answer, his lips find hers, and then James is lost in that sensation of kissing Lily, their bodies close together, her arms around his neck holding his hair. It's better than he ever dreamed.

He is not sure if relaxed is the proper term for how she makes him feel though.

Maybe desperately in love would be more accurate.

'Wow', he whispers breathlessly when they break apart, his fingers caressing her face tenderly. She raises her eyebrows, a spark of mischief tingling on her eyes.

'Feeling connected with your inner eye?'

'I'd rather feel connected with you', he assures her, and Lily grins. It's one of the most maddening smiles of her, the one that is cheeky and tempting and that she accuses him of teaching her how to.

'I don't know how you can find a prophecy on my lips, James', she jokes, eyes glistening, waiting for his answer.

James doesn't really care for this last project for Divination Class. Professor Bath has told them prophecies are rare to come and she doesn't really expect any of her students to ever make one, but they must take a try.

James is not even sure real prophecies actually exist.

'Maybe I can find somewhere else', he says playfully, lips brushing against the side of her cheek and then to her earlobe. 'Not here', he whispers and then his lips travel to her neck. 'Still no prophecy'.

He bends his head, enjoying the first opened buttons of her shirt. Lily moans softly.

'I am starting to hear words in my head…'

'Unless they are telling you to snog me right now, ignore them'.

James laughs, raising his head in search of her lips again and it's a blissful oblivion, a fog on his head with only Lily being clear, being real and tangible, and any thoughts of prophecies are forgotten.

#jily #jily fanfiction #fluff moments #canon compliant #james is so hopeless in love I wanna hug him #they are adorable #i hope you enjoy #cause except for the last line this gave me all the fluff writing it #t: fanfiction

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kushielsmercy · 2 years

Note

Another one for lambden (beloved)

(7) “Forever is a long time to have something like that tattooed on you.” & (13) Meet Ugly

Pleeaassse 😘😘😘😘

Thank you for this prompt, this one was extra fun to write!!!

Read on A03

Sometimes Vesemir gets it in his head that it’s not too late to play the father-figure and he’ll waste Lambert’s time rambling on about the value of preparation. If he bothered asking Lambert he’d know to save his breath, but he never bothers to ask.

On those nights, it’ll take Eskel half an hour to stoke the fire high, Lambert another twenty to dig up some of the really good stuff, and an hour past that for their tongues to loosen enough to air their dirty laundry.

So there Lambert will be, telling a hi-fuckin’-larious story about how he ended up killing three water hags with only his gloves, and Eskel will have put the palm of his hand over the top of his mug, absentmindedly rocking it in circles, the way he does when he’s close to calling Lambert’s bullshit. Except this contract happened, and he’s got the acid scar on his ass to prove it, so Lambert is fifteen seconds away from being a richer man.

But then, about twice a winter, on the rare occasion that he decides he’s not yet got one foot in the grave and can stay up with the youth, he’ll have a drink only to take offense to the fun, ruining a damn good time by scolding them to be more careful. Evidently, all Lambert needs to do to stay alive is keep his kit in good repair and his supplies fully stocked. Simple as that.

Lambert sure wishes someone had told him that earlier, he’d have saved a lot of coin bribing healers whose greed was only slightly stronger than their distaste for his kind.

Eskel’s told him the whole thing lasts forty-seven-and-a-half minutes, covering topics from herb preservation to boot polish. He gets a kick out of Vesemir’s serious face, because Eskel has issues. Lambert’s never made it past minute six: topic three sub point c - how to prevent rust in humid climates.

All told, it could be worse. Vesemir can lecture him like a child all he wants, but he can’t stop Lambert from taking his booze and drinking alone. It’s what he does most nights anyhow. But it’s a damn waste of a good fire, and just once it’d be nice if someone would bother checking the state of his kit before making assumptions.

It’s like this.

Ten vials of swallow, individually wrapped and stored in extra thick glass.

Fifteen of White Honey

Five of everything else

At least ten of every herb not local to his current area, dried and pressed, carried in a waterproof leather carrier.

Bombs. Many bombs.

He repaired his sword in the last town, even though he could have waited a few weeks longer. Horse got new shoes too.

He even splurged for new chain mail that is woven tighter than his old shit, it’s a good bit tougher to slice though. Pricey stuff - he’s spent a fair number of nights with his right hand lately because that used up most of the coin he’d saved for whores.

Call him what you want, but Lambert isn’t reckless. Preparation keeps him alive.

All that preparation is a lot of effort though, so sword to his throat Lambert could maybe see where people get the impression he should go hunting for extra fucks to give.

There are two categories.

Life and Death

Not Life and Death

Unfortunately, Life and Death activities are usually individual pursuits. Or if they start as group projects by the end Lambert’s the only one still breathing to know the score. Lambert’s Not Life and Death hobbies can occur in a tavern, a brothel, or even in a goddamn alley. They require far fewer brain cells and are subject to much higher public scrutiny.

“Forever is a long time to have something like that tattooed on you,” the hedgewitch says, hesitating with the point of the charmed ink stick hovering above his ass.

Lambert growls in frustration. The flower petals circling his left nipple aren’t fine art either, but a bet’s a bet.

“Get on with it,” he snaps, because for some idiot reason he’d dragged the cat along to the only tattooist for miles, determined to prove that he wasn’t some namby-pamby who backed out of a bargain. So now here he was at 3am, ass-out in some hut in the middle of nowhere, and this Aiden character has a front-row seat and most of Lambert’s coin.

“Forever ain’t that long for a Witcher,” Aiden drawls, flipping the elf another oren.

She bits down on it before nodding, clearly deciding that if she tried to interfere in every damn fool decision men make, she’d be broke before the week was out. Lambert feels the tip of the stick touch down on his ass, wincing from the unexpected sting. It takes more effort than expected to not pull away from the touch; the hurt isn’t anything once he’s ready for it but he’s a bit nervy. The cat wouldn’t even tell him what he’d decided to mark him with. He’d just sketched out a design and handed it to the hedgewitch with a wicked grin.

It’s a matter of moments before she’s done; judging by the scant number of strokes, Aiden only asked for a simple sketch. Probably for the best, it’ll be easier to pass off as some blacked out decision he doesn’t remember getting.

Aiden’s hands brush over the tender skin, causing Lambert to suck in a tense breath. They’re nice fingers, long and thick. No small part of why he ended up with nothing left to bet but his own ass, if he’s gonna get real honest with himself. The cat had kept fiddling with the cards in his hand, skimming his finger over their tops and reorganizing them again and again. Sometimes he’d shuffle them around with only the one hand, which was a special torture.

Lambert hears the coin purse jingle again.

“Will you stop wasting all my -”

“Not your coin anymore, darling,” there’s a smirk in Aiden’s voice. “Would you be so kind as to give us some privacy, ma’am?”

Oh. Well, that’s okay then.

“I don’t know why the hell you think I’d be crazy enough to leave two witchers alone with my supplies, but this is my home and you and your idiot friend here need to get out.”

Lambert hears more coin exchanging hands.

The women sighs the sigh of poor common folk everywhere. “If I find a single leaf unaccounted for, I will make sure you never work in his province again, you hear me?”

Aiden’s fingers trail down Lambert’s cleft. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. We’re just honest folk looking for some good, clean fun. My friend and I stay well out of trouble.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and out of the corner of his eye sees the elf do the same. It’s reassuring that he’s not the only one charmed by the cat’s specific blend of bullshit and flattery. Lambert doesn’t believe any of the tales the cat spun this even, which would normally would have caused Lambert to stalk off with the night still young, but Aiden doesn’t seem to have any intent to deceive. It feels like a game. We both know that 90% of what I’m saying is bunk, but the other 10% is the god’s honest truth. Can you guess which?

A long finger slides into him without warning and the elf makes a quick retreat, not one for a show. Lambert swears when Aiden crooks it just so, using his other hand to scrap his nails across the newly marked skin.

Which reminds Lambert - “So you gonna tell me what she drew or just make me wait until the next time someone sees me drop trou and starts laughing?”

Aiden hums and adds another finger. “I rather think it suits you - I’m not cruel. At some point you’re going to have to tell me how the fuck you got an acid burn on your bum. It was quite the inspiration.”

“Aiden,” Lambert threatens, gasping.

“Fine, fine,” Aiden relents. “It’s a dick with wings, and the burn is the cum shooting out.”

Lambert gathers enough of his wits to kick a leg back into Aiden’s balls. It’s good to keep a conversation on topic.

“That suits me? You fucking prick,” Lambert growls.

Aiden, admirably, gets back to finger-fucking Lambert long before he recovers enough air to defend himself. “I’m serious,” Aiden insists, “and right. You’ll get used to that.”

Lambert flicks him off. He briefly considers pulling off Aiden’s fingers to emphasize his point, but the damage is already done and this is building to be an excellent orgasm.

“You’re an unrepentant dick,” Aiden continues, undeterred. “Truly, honestly, horrendous. Your language alone is enough to give a priest a stroke. But somewhere in there is a bit of an angel -”

“You know fuck all,” Lambert cuts that right off.

“You didn’t have to help them with-”

“You going to fuck me or what?” Lambert gripes.

“And that’s why I said only a little bit,” Aiden says, triumphant. “I agree, you are almost exclusively a dick, and I can assure you there’s no need to worry, this is the standout piece of artistry. The proportions are lovely.”

Lambert is at least forty percent sure he hates the cat, but Aiden’s also tugging on his own laces, so Lambert opts to bury his head in his forearms and not think about it.

“You won’t be laughing when I fleece you next time,” Lambert tells the bench.

“Lambert, darling,” Aiden laughs as he slides in, “I’d never make a bet this dumb.”

#lambden #laiden #lambert/aiden #aiden/lambert #witcher lambert #prompt fill #shielwrites

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umiarumi · 3 years

Text

fucking three houses | raphael kirsten

try to write serious raphael smut challenge (impossible difficulty)

You grunted as your boots skidded against the grass, grimacing as the deer ran in an opposite direction. Watching it run into a distant flower field? You assumed that's what it was at least, otherwise completely clueless to what the hell those plants are.

Sighing, you cursed under your breath as another catch got away. Hunting for the monastery was never something you minded, yet, despite your upbringing, you weren't all too good at it.

You bit your lip before deciding to take after the catch. You weren't about to lose some good praise from Byleth just because of some dumb flower field! "Damnit, it won't hurt to try!"

You sprinted off into the flower field, ignorant of the sickly sweet smell of the pollen. It flew into the air as your nimble feet ran swiftly through the field. The pollen fell upon you and your hair, making you sneeze.

"Welp, no doubt they're flowers." You mumbled to yourself, eyes peeled open for any sight of a catch, as you exited the field, you crouched down to get a silent, low-profile scan of the place.

Funnily enough, it didn't occur to you how a certain tingle sent a pant down your spine. The way a rush of blood spurred through you.

"Nothing yet... damn, why am I so puffed?" You panted, wiping your forehead.

Chuckling, you got up and silently stalked the surrounding area. Raph could wait a while longer, but even though his love for food encouraged you, the sheer size of the dude didn't bring you too much hope.

"Well, everything aside, I still have the fish and herbs. Nothing like a bit of 'I tried!' To solve the day!" You cheered yourself up. Yet, that was when you noticed it.

You noticed the tingle which travelled down your spine, the bursts of heat rushing to your core, the pumping blood which seemed to heighten your senses.

"Then, what the hell did I run through..." You pondered. Trudging back through the field, memorising the appearance of the flowers. "I'll tell Manuela about these, if only we still had the other classes... Dedue or Ashe could've known something?"

As soon as you exited the other side, that oh so familiar pang struck you. You groaned as you slipped to the ground. "Fuck... what the hell?"

You crawled towards a tree, shielding your vulnerability. The sudden urge to satisfy and be satisfied was all too familiar to you now. Damnit! If only Claude or Ignatz were here, they wouldn't mind... surely.

"Ngh, damnit." You huffed, looking around the dense forest. You'd never been too much of an exhibitionist, and as undeniably hot as the thought of getting off in front of anyone was, you couldn't entertain it now.

God, it felt like you would die if you didn't satisfy yourself now. "Just... for safety... right?" You groaned, hand making its way down to your shorts.

You'd swapped out the armour for shorts considering the tiring activity, yet that useless information didn't plague you now. What was restricting you from getting your needs was.

Lifting your hips, you slipped out of your shorts and underwear. You moaned softly as your significantly colder hands met your heated pussy.

Your fingers delicately rubbed your clit, before diving straight in. You had no time nor interest in teasing yourself, you just needed release.

As you pumped your middle and index fingers in and out of your vagina, the only sounds of the forest seemed to be the birds chattering and the lewd sloshing of your cunt.

You groaned in annoyance, it wasn't enough. It wasn't deep enough, it wasn't big enough. You needed to be filled, it was such a base desire... why can't you fill it?!

"Hey, is that you pal?" The booming voice of Raphael called out to you.

You hissed a curse, scrambling to be at least somewhat decent, yet it was too late.

"Raphael, I-I can explain!" You interrupted him, his grin coming down onto your body before it faulted.

"W-Woah! You're naked! I'm sorry!" He yelled, and you quickly shushed him.

"Q-quieter please, Damn! I-I walked into some weird flowers... they made me... this way." You mumbled, panting at the emptiness.

He slowly nodded, looking over to the field you suggested. "And it's making you, uh, wanna do the dirty?" He asked curiously, laughing.

"Well, yeah." You bluntly stated.

"But, no matter. I'll deal with it when we get back..." You groaned, shifting to stand up.

"I can help you, ya know." He deadpanned, looking down at you. The sheer difference in size was only more noticeable in this situation. It made you wonder.

You don't know how you got here, men offering themselves to you... well, you weren't complaining.

"Y-you can...? You really don't mind?" You asked incredulously, heaving as you held his gaze

"Yeah, you're a friend in need and who am I to deny you! Besides, you are really pretty..." He blushed, looking away.

You would usually blush, but the heat on your face simply couldn't get redder right now.

"Then, Raphael... please."

And with your words, he leant over to pick you up. You gasped as you were lifted, body relieved as it was stripped of its constant tightening.

"Wow, you're already so wet. But, uh, could you help me warm up a little more?" He asked, looking down at the growing bulge in his pants. It wasn't even fully hard?! How the hell would that fit... no... no, you needed that in you. It didn't matter, he would be the one to satisfy you.

As he shrugged his slacks off, he grinned nervously at you. Your jaw hung open, he could hold a record with that thing.

"You don't mind if I use you, right?" He asked cautiously, asking for your consent.

"Please, do." You said, drooling at the anticipation.

He nodded, moving you up and down his dick, the wetness of your cunt giving him lubricant. The two of you moaned softly.

After a few repeated motions of this, he grew rock hard. You gulped, yet it felt more out of excitement than nerves now.

"You ready?" He asked, tilting his head. It was funny, even now he reminded you of a big puppy.

You nodded, biting your lip in anticipation.

And no sooner did you feel your back get slammed against the tree, did you feel the overwhelming filling sensation of Raphael bottoming out.

You moaned in unison, basking in the pleasure. Yet it only got better as he began to thrust, pushing you against the tree.

You opened your squeezed eyes to see the once nervous young man now a grinning, overarching figure,

The sight made you moan louder, and Raphael moved one hand supporting you to unbutton your top. As he tore your bra off, your face darkened impossibly further as your tits bounced out.

Raphael's gaze became transfixed on the routine bouncing and slapping of your tits, and so he thrust harder. You groaned, feeling yourself tighten.

"It's alright now, I'm gonna make you feel all better!" He groaned, slamming in and out of you harder. You could hardly even moan anymore, gasping in routine with his thrusts.

"Soooooo good, Raph!" You slurred, struggling to speak. He smirked at this, laughing as he thrust harder.

"You're so tight! But, you're a real good girl for fitting me in, nice and snug." He complimented, spurring you closer to your end.

You couldn't think, no... you didn't even want to. The overwhelming pleasure of Raphael's dick in and out of you was too much. Too good.

"You look so tasty like this! I'll have to try you some time!" He grunted as he stopped speaking, and as he felt you tighten around him, he got the signal.

The thrusting got impossibly deeper, harder and faster. Just how much stamina did he have?!

That was a stupid question, we're talking about Raphael here.

With a sudden, sharp, thrust you felt your cunt spasm. "Oh-Ooohhhh~" You moaned, body relaxing and tightening. Raphael bit his lip, apologising as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. You couldn't let out a noise, the overstimulating pleasure all too much.

And at the extra tightening, Raphael let out a loud groan as he came, the spurts of cum filling you up, a fulfilling warmth encompassing you.

"Now, let's just make sure that pollen hasn't got you anymore... a few more rounds should help, and I'm not tired!"

"W-wait, more!?"

#fanfic #fire emblem x reader smut #fire emblem x reader #fe3h x reader #fe3h #fire emblem smut #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #raphael kirsten #raphael kirsten x reader #raphael x reader #fe raphael #fe3h raphael #fire emblem raphael x reader #fire emblem raphael kirsten x reader #fe3h raphael x reader #smut #fanfic smut #fe3h smut

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