#I absolutely would want you to draw a sword babe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveforfictionalmen · 9 months

Text

BajiFuyu fic, featuring witch!reader

Tw: reader does tarot

Set during Bloody Halloween arc.

Y/N sat on her bed, a patched up Chifuyu across from her. Baji had just beaten Chifuyu's face in and the latter came to her to patch him up. Not wanting his mom to see him like this.

She had been shuffling tarot cards for the past ten minutes. Her aura oozed anxiety and fear as well as a hint of anger. Her hands were tingling, she had been ready to draw them five minutes ago. She was scared though. So scared, scared of the outcome. The possible future that awaited them. That awaited Baji, Chifuyu, and herself.

"I don't think the cards are going to have answers this time, babe " Chifuyu finally broke the silence.

"Hush, I was just getting ready to read them you know, " Airi pouted before biting her lip nervously. "I'm just scared Fuyu" she finally looked at him before pulling a card

The moon.

She let out a breath of relief as Chifuyu eyed the card. He knew better than to touch the card for a better look, remembering all the times she's chewed him and Baji out in the past for touching her deck. His hand came up to cup his eye despite it already being patched up.

"Is that a good or bad card? " Chifuyu pondered out loud.

Y/N shook her head " There's not really a good or bad card. They all have good and bad sides to them. It all depends on the context of the reading." Y/N gave a bitter smile before continuing "In this case I'd say it's both, things aren't always what they seem in the moonlight. We don't have all the facts therefore we can't make any big decisions right now"

Chifuyu sat up straight, crossing his arms. "What does that mean?"

Y/N started biting her lip again before speaking. "I think it means we can't make any big decisions against Baji right now. We don't know everything yet." She pulled another card

Nine of Swords.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! I KNEW YOU'D POP UP! " Y/N cried out, hands shooting in the air.

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID THERE WERE NO BAD CARDS" Chifuyu exclaimed hands also shooting in the air.

"I know what I said damn it and there aren't but that doesn't mean I absolutely LOVE all of them. This one basically translates to your 3 am thoughts that keep you up at night" she replied crossing her arms.

"Then why the hell did you yell?" Chifuyu cut her off. He wasn't surprised she yelled as his girlfriend was a very 'passionate' person and got loud on some occasions. He actually quite enjoyed her comedic little out bursts but right now he felt like he was going to rip at the seams. Baji didn't want to tell them what he was thinking. That was unusual, they all told each other everything, or so Chifuyu thought.

He thought back to earlier that day. They were all on the rooftop, their usual spot for lunch time. Baji had been awfully quiet the entire day. He stared up at the clouds passing by before Chifuyu called out to him.

"Hey Baji, you feel okay? You've been quiet all day"

Baji ignored him, his mind spinning. He needed to keep them safe. As safe as he could, which meant shutting them out. He had to hurt them in the way that would break them most in hopes of keeping them alive.

"Kei, quit ignoring us" Y/N whined, shaking his arm a little. Baji's chest tightened, he felt like he couldn't breathe, but he hid his pain well.

"We should break up, " Baji felt like he wanted to puke. The other two's eyes widened at their boyfriend's sudden reply.

"No"

"Why"

Baji turned to them smirking "isn't it obvious, I don't like either of you any more. " Once upon a time Baji would've pummeled anyone who hurt either of them like this. And now he's become that monster.

Chifuyu glanced at Y/N. She wasn't doing much better. She had been fighting a breakdown since Chifuyu came stumbling through the door. And now she pulled her least favorite card.

"Because, you didn't let me finish, it's right side up which means find a way to solve it. Which is obviously easier said than done" she sighed, pushing a braid out of her face.

They sat in silence for a while, neither having much more energy to speak. Chifuyu reached over the cards, grabbing her shaking hands. "It's gonna be okay love. Baji will come to us when he's ready"

Y/N turned her hands over in his, so their palms were touching. She linked her fingers with his. "What if he doesn't Fuyu, I'm so scared. I keep having dreams. Nightmares" she whispers

"What're the nightmares," he asks carefully

Y/N sniffles, trying to contain herself. Her heart felt as if it was bruising the inside of her chest with how hard it was beating. She felt her hands become sweaty and a fleeting thought worried if he could feel it too. She swallowed before speaking.

"We're in a junkyard, and there's a brawl. " swallowed the lump in her throat before continuing "and in the middle of it is Kei. He's bleeding from the mouth. And then he… " She bit her lip and averted her eyes from Chifuyu's gaze.

"Take your time love, " Chifuyu comforts her. He gives a gentle squeeze to her hands, coupled with a warming smile. He didn't like where this was going, knowing that his girlfriend's dreams were no joke. Her often sensing bad news before it happened, like a sixth sense.

"He stabs himself Fuyu, right in the stomach." She blurts out, tears forming in her eyes. She sniffles and fights back her sobs threatening to escape her. Chifuyu is silent, a lump forming in his throat. He swallows before moving the cards. She can chew him out later

He pats his lap, a silent request for her to come lay in it. She crawls over to him, moving herself to fit in his lap. She nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck and curls into him. She inhales his scent, allowing it to calm her as she feels him snake his arms around her.

"Don't worry about all of this. I'm gonna find out what's going on, okay? Just promise me you'll stay out of it"

Hours later

Y/N laid in bed tossing and turning. She hadn't slept much that night, just like the cards had said. She sighed before getting up. She looked at her phone.

3:38 am

No new messages

She bit her lip, wanting nothing more to curl up in Baji's arms and cry. She suddenly got an idea. Getting out of bed usually proved to be a task for her, but right now she didn't want to be in her bed. Only his (that's what she said)

She got dressed, not bothering to take off her bonnet. If things went as planned she wouldn't have a reason to take it off. Not bothering to tip toe as she stalked towards the front door, knowing that her mother was down for the night. She grabbed a grappling hook her mother had bought during her camping phase. Sometimes she was glad her mother was a hoarder.

'Stay out of it'

Chifuyu's words lingered in her mind, stopping her from touching the door knob. He wanted her to stay out of things, not wanting to see her hurt. Her heart twinged a little at the thought. She understood he wanted her safe but she couldn't stand by as her boyfriends hurt each other. Letting out a shaky breath she put her hand on the door knob and turned it.

The walk to Baji's wasn't far from her apartment building. Although one creep tried following her until she scared them off with her fists just like the boys taught her to. Her mind however was hell. Remnants of nightmares plagued her mind. She nearly cried several times on the way. She didn't dare let any tears out yet, knowing that once she started she wouldn't stop.

The climb to Baji's room however was a different story. She grabbed her grappling hook and flung it towards Baji's balcony. Thank gods he was only on the second floor. She began climbing the side of the building nervously.

Baji, hearing the noise outside his window, opens the sliding door. His eyes widen a bit before they narrow. "What the hell are you doing? " he questions . 'She's insane' he thinks

"I should be asking you that, now help pull me up" She replies, still climbing. Baji shakes his head, he grabs the other end of the rope and begins pulling her up.

When she is finally within reach he grabs her hands and pulls her over the edge of his balcony. "I'll ask again, what the hell are you doing? " Baji tries his hardest to keep his tone cold, unfeeling. It was hard enough with Chifuyu, and it's equally hard with her. He loves them. It hurts him to lie to them like this but for the sake of everyone he has to.

'I have to' repeats in his head.

"And I said, I should be asking you that. What's going on? Why have you shut us out Kei?" Y/N asks. She can feel the dam gates breaking now that she's finally in front of him.

"This doesn't concern you, Y/N. Stay out of it" he responds bitterly "now go home, I'll walk you back" he finishes

Y/N feels something inside her break. Neither wants her hurt in the process of whatever this is. But she's already hurt the moment she heard the news and saw Chifuyu's bloody face. An image that stays with her, that pops in her mind instantly.

"No!" She cries. The gates finally burst and she covers her face. Her heart threatened to beat out of her own chest "You're hurt but won't tell us anything, so in turn you hurt Fuyu, and me, because you won't tell us anything" she says through hiccups

It breaks him to see her like this, the same way it broke him when his fist first collided with Chifuyu's face. 'Be strong' he clenched his fists and closed his eyes. He can't look at her. "This isn't about anything, I don't wanna be in ToMan anymore and that's that."

"Then mean it when you say that Kei!" She sobs. She starts to shiver in the cold night and Baji sighs. He shrugs off his jacket and places it around her shoulders. She leans into him and wraps her arms around him. Refusing to let go as he tries to back away.

"Let go"

"No"

"You can't stay here"

"Watch me"

Baji sighs again, he knows he can't change her mind. He can only try and at least make her more comfortable, he doesn't know when he'll be able to again so he takes this chance. 'Doesn't mean you have to tell her anything' he thinks. His chest tightens.

Instead of trying again to move away, he leans down to place an arm underneath her knees. Scooping her up into his arms in a motion familiar to both of them. He carries her inside. She continues to sob into his chest.

He carried her over to his bed, where he had just been laying before. It was barely big enough for the two of them but it would do for the moment, he wasn't planning on sleeping anyways.

He lays down and pulls her on top of him, her ear to his chest.

"Sleep." He says all while stroking the top of her head. She wants to tell him no, to argue, to break free and demand to know what's going on in his head. But she doesn't, sleep quickly overcoming her.

He was weighing the pros and the cons of his actions right now. 'Who knows when I'll get to do this again' he thought. 'This will just confuse her' immediately replaces the thought.

Baji keeps stroking her head, all while fighting a battle inside his. He thought of Chifuyu, his heart broke with every swing. He remembers leaving school early today. How he had to lead Chifuyu straight into a trap and then pounce.

Who knew this would be the last time

#baji keisuke x reader #baji keisuke #baji x chifuyu #baji x reader #chifuyu best boy #chifuyu x reader #chifuyu headcanons #witch!reader

13 notes · View notes

theangelwithawand · 10 months

Text

Incorrect Shakespeare Quotes: Much Ado About Nothing 3

Beatrice : I have very high standards, you know.

Benedick : I can make spaghetti...

Beatrice : Oh no! You're meeting all my standards!

Benedick : *on the phone* Hey Beatrice , do you know my blood type?

Beatrice : Of course, it's B negative.

Benedick : Oh, I guessed wrong. Excuse me, nurse-!

*Benedick and Beatrice are in Paris.*

Benedick : I'm...moved. I...I don't know what it is I'm feeling right now. I feel...destiny?

Beatrice : But...

Benedick : I don't know what it is. I feel like... I just never thought I'd see it with my own two eyes. And here it is. It's just there. It's right in front of me, and...

Beatrice : This is what you wanted to see? The bridge from Inception?

Benedick : Yeah.

Beatrice : But the Eiffel Tower is behind us, babe.

Benedick : Yeah, but this is the bridge FROM INCEPTION.

Beatrice : Okay, alright.

Benedick : Wait you like me? For my personality?

Beatrice : I know, I was surprised too.

Benedick , looking over Beatrice ’s shoulder: You can draw?

Beatrice , stopping what they were doing: You can speak?

Beatrice : BEHOLD, the field in which I grow my fucks! Lay thine eyes upon it, and thou shalt see that it is barren!

Benedick : Can I ask a dumb question?

Beatrice : Better than anyone I know.

Benedick : What are you eating?

Beatrice : You wouldn't like it, it's really salty.

Benedick : I like you, don't I?

Beatrice : I can’t believe all these people are wearing black. black is supposed to be my thing, they’re all just posers.

Benedick : Beatrice, for the last time, we’re at a funeral.

Beatrice, to Benedick: Are you peanuts? Because I want to boil you alive.

Benedick : Guess what I'm about to get!

Beatrice : On my nerves.

Beatrice : What are you doing here?

Benedick : I could ask you the same question.

Beatrice : I live here. This is my house.

Benedick : I should probably ask you a different question.

Benedick : I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness—

Beatrice : Hi.

Benedick : *melts down in a flustered heap of softness*

Benedick : Beatrice is playing hard to get.

Benedick : Little do they know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

Hairdresser: How would you like your hair cut?

Beatrice : Preferably with scissors, but a sword could be badass.

Benedick : I'm going to take a shower, I'll be right back.

Beatrice : Why are you telling me this, I don't care.

Beatrice , right after Benedick leaves the room: I miss them already.

Benedick : Beatrice , I sense hostility.

Beatrice : Good, because I hate you.

Benedick : Are you busy?

Beatrice : Yes.

Benedick : Cool, listen to this...

Beatrice : Can I ask you for a favor?

Benedick : I would literally die for you, but continue.

Beatrice : We need to talk about you starting sentences that way.

Beatrice : You are an absolute fucking dork.

Benedick , singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork!

Beatrice : *sighs* Yeah, you're my dork.

Benedick , admiring a sleeping Beatrice : You’re so cute.

Beatrice , sleepily: I could beat your ass.

Benedick , lovingly: I know.

Benedick : Met a dumbass today. Awful.

Beatrice : You looked in a mirror?

Benedick : someday you will have to answer for your actions and god may not be so merciful.

Benedick: They don’t make them like me no more. I’m the last of my kind.

Beatrice: Thank god.

Benedick: Are we fighting or flirting?

Beatrice: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Benedick: Your point?

Beatrice: I can’t believe we have to be stuck in this room together!

Benedick, swallowing the key: Truly unfortunate.

Benedick: We all have our demons.

Benedick, grabbing Beatrice: This one’s mine.

Benedick: Could you be anymore annoying?

Beatrice: Yes.

Benedick: This date is boring!

Beatrice: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store.

Benedick: Then why did you invite me?

Beatrice: I didnt, I specifically said "don't come with me," then you said, "fuck you Beatrice I'll do whatever I want!

Benedick: Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?

Beatrice: If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.

#much ado about nothing #much ado #beatrice #Benedick #benedick and beatrice #ben and bea #shakespeare #incorrect shakespeare

6 notes · View notes

ooffies · 3 years

Text

ᴋᴀᴇʏᴀ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅᴇ, ᴠᴇɴᴛɪ, xɪᴀᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʙᴇᴅᴏ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ (ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀꜱ)

characters x gn!reader, modern AU

a/n: this wasn’t edited/proof read so I apologize if there are any errors

warnings: none

requested by no one

tagging @genshin-obsessed (heyyy pocket lmao- 🍷❤)

Tip jar

Kaeya → the cool dad

He’s a very chill parent (pun intended)

Has rules but is very loose with them

Just cause he’s the cool parent doesn’t mean he’s not strict at times (he can be very strict if needed)

He’s a very affectionate and doting parent, always showering the kids with love and hugs

Spoils both you and the kids, he can’t help it cause he just loves you guys so much

All of your kid’s friends call him dad and constantly say they wish they had a cool dad like Kaeya

Always willing to drive the kids somewhere or take them out for a day if you need a break

He still makes sure you two get alone time together and takes you on dates frequently

Sneaks kisses whenever he can. A peck on your cheek or your lips, he also loves seeing your reaction to his surprise kiss

Family game night is a tradition for your family and Kaeya is the king of losing on purpose to make is kids smile

He absolutely loved playing with kids when they were younger and you still often find them playing fighting in the backyard when they come to visit

He really tries to be the best father he can and sometimes puts way to much pressure on himself

Loves styling the kid’s hair and will let them play with his hair. Sometimes you'll walk downstairs and be greeted by Kaeya with a head full of bows, hair clips and mini ponytails.

Whenever the kids would have nightmares he’d go into their room and fight the “nightmare” monster. He’d come out of the room 3 minutes later and tell the kids he beat it with his super awesome sword skills

Childe → the tries too hard to be hip and trendy with kids dad

First off he is a very doting dad, he loves his children so much and calls them his precious babies and often says he cannot live without them

He’s very much a *ahem* malewife *AHEM* (don’t try to change my mind, it will not change no matter what you say). Even though he’s hella rich he wants to spend all the time he can with his kids.

He cooks, cleans, packs the kid’s lunches in the morning and makes sure to give you a kiss whenever you return home from work and say “How was your day at work babe?”

He really, and I mean really, tries to be cool with kids. Spends time looking into “the latest and hip’ trends that all the kids are hopping on. They thought he was the coolest when they were younger but now they call him cringe and say he’s trying too hard and that he’s cool just the way he is.

It broke his old man's heart when they said it to him the first time and he cried for 30 minutes straight, you made them apologize to him even though you know they meant no ill intentions. Now calling him cringe is a family joke :)

Encourages the kids to learn something that will “help them wins fights and emerge victorious from all the battles they fight”

You put a quick stop to that and told the kids that they can do any activities they want

He’s still very supportive of what they choose to do and will always be their number one supporter

He’s a big cuddler and often initiates family cuddle piles.

Venti → wine dad

Chill dad #2. He wants his kids to be free and be who they are. You still set some basic ground rules for them.

Very doting and affectionate and will always give you and the kids all his love

Stopped drinking as much when they kids were born/adopted

He acts like a wine aunt (hence wine dad)

LOVES reading the kids bedtime stories but this also became a family activity since you’d always accompany him. He’ll also sing them lullabies and he’ll sing you lullabies every night too

Even when your kids are older he’ll still read them stories and sing to them.

Doesn’t really like to do household chores but he’ll do them for you (He will complain though)

He does enjoy cook though and likes to help make dinner for special occasions/holidays

He will teach his kids how to play instruments and sing. He won’t force them into it but wants them to at least try it

Get’s pouty if the kids get taller him and will tell them to stop growing or he’s gonna steal their height

Another family tradition you guys have is weekend picnics. Venti usually chooses the location because he somehow finds all the prettiest places in town. He would tell the kids it was his magic talent when they were younger.

Encourages the kids to go to summer camp so they can “build unforgettable memories and be closer to nature. (But really he just wants to have some alone time with you)

Xiao → the emo dad

On the outside he seems cold and very un-affectionate but oh boy he’s quite the opposite

He’s willing to do anything for you and the kids because you guys are the most important things in the world to him

He’s also somewhat of a malewife too but it was completely his choice. He just wanted to take care of his family.

He doesn’t like it when you come home from work and start doing chores. He’ll force you to sit down and relax. He’ll say that he’s got everything under control and there no need for you to stress yourself over chores

The main way he shows you and the kids affection is through acts of service.

Like I said before he’ll do the majority of the household chores, the kids also have their few assigned chores (and you help out with chores if he lets you)

He’ll help the kids with their homework, make them lunch, read them bedtime stories, brush their hair for them, take care of them when they’re sick, ect.

Only shows a limited amount of affection in public. He’ll hold your hand and carry the kids but that’s about it

In private however he is willing to accept all the affection you and the kids give him

He often struggles helping his kids out when it comes to emotional problems/issues but he always does his best. He’s always there to a lend an ear

He’s not vocal about it or always showing it but he’s your guy’s number one supporter.

Evening walks after dinner is a family tradition you guys have had ever since the kids started walking.

When they were young he’d let them sit on shoulders and would give them piggyback rides

He can be very strict and overprotective sometimes but that’s just cause he wants the best for his kids

Albedo → the art dad

He may not be the best at giving affection but he is a very supportive and doting dad

He likes draws pictures for the kids, even when their older he still does because he said seeing their smile when he give his art to them is a very special and happy feeling that he never wants to go away

Helps out with household chores but absolutely despises mopping.

He’s always there to listen to the kids talk about their latest obsessions/interests

He’s not very good at comforting but he really does try too

Makes you guys take family photos every so he can paint them later

Teaches the kids about art and alchemy if they show interest in either

When they were young he used to make kid safe experiments for them

Road trips are a family tradition. Albedo enjoys them cause he gets to draw the pretty scenery and thinks it’s one of the best to to spend quality time with family

He wakes up like a mom so whenever the kids would wake him when they’d have a nightmare he’d get startled and almost launch himself out of bed with a high pitched screech

Encourages the kids to have playdates with their friends often (he actually just wants more alone time with you)

He’s also the type of parent that draws on the walls with the kids when he finds them doing it. And yes he doesn’t care if they’re using sharpie he’ll still join in. Yes you’ve scolded all them multiple times and no they never learn their lesson, Albedo too. He always promises that he’ll “clean” it up which results in most of the wall in the house being murals cause his “cleaning up” is just him painting over it.

399 notes · View notes

recurring-polynya · 3 years

Text

So I actually finally watched Memories of Nobody. I actually saw it years and years ago, in a theater, for some reason, back in 2008. I had vague memories of being disappointed by it at the time, but we actually enjoyed it on rewatch quite a bit. Some thoughts:

According to my husband, who found it on some shady streaming site, this film takes place “between the Bount arc and the Advance Team arc” which is the 2nd most ass-pulled place to cram some filler, second only the Amagai arc, which takes place in the middle of the Hueco Mundo arc.

Ichigo spends most of the film wearing what I believe are zip-at-the-knee cargo pants, a king

Iba and Ikkaku are 🎶drinking at work🎶

Hitsugaya is so tired.

There’s a scene where Urahara explains a bunch of metaphysics while Tessai sits behind him flipping through a book of (presumably his own?) sketches, exactly like that scene in the Advance Team Arc where Renji and Rukia do this. Notably, Ichigo does not pick on Tessai’s drawing, not even once.

I guess Urahara has some way of extracting Kon’s memories and playing them, like on a tv? W H A T.

ngl the world-building in this movie kinda slaps???

I am obsessed with the fact that it’s not The Valley of Screams, it’s “a valley of screams” and it’s they make is sound like a thing that just happens (although they later back off on that and claim that there must be someone nefarious behind it)

Did I made a “what if we kissed in the valley of screams? j/k... unless...?” joke? You know I did.

There’s a scene where everyone comes to arrest Senna and it’s so ham-fisted and dumb. They sent, like, 3 captains, 2 vice-captains, some ninja, and Rukia and let Renji shout at Ichigo at the top of his lungs. Literally, all they had to do was send Rukia to say “hey, it turns out Senna is the memory crystal we should take her to Soul Society to keep her safe” and Ichigo would have been totally on board. Anyway, this is the dumbest thing that happens is movie, so let’s just move past it.

The Reigai arc sure did rip some beats off this movie

Rukia forces her way into a captains’ meeting while two guards with detaining sticks try to hold her back, this fucking rules. Yamamoto screams at her. Byakuya does not even change facial expressions.

Hey, is this, like a grifting thing? At any given time, you’ve got (1) older, distinguished Kuchiki who never reacts to anything and (1) young, feral Kuchiki who raises ruckuses? And the Kuchiki can use the hothead to start shit and cause trouble while the older one just shakes their head in vague disapproval?

Anyway, someone gave Yamamoto a kidou cannon and he is going to fire it at that valley of screams, ain’t no one gonna stop him now.

It is explicitly stated that firing the kidou cannon will destroy a significant portion of both Soul Society and the Living World but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So you know that animated gif where Renji and Rukia do a sick backflip off a bridge? No one told me they were backflipping into the valley of screams.

My precious husband says “that would make a good animated gif”. “I got you, babe,” I say.

Okay, literally half the Gotei leadership ignores Yamamoto’s orders and goes to the valley of screams.

One thing I do not like about filler/movies is that they are so afraid to do anything new that they just copy the beats of the canon material, which sort of, I dunno, cheapens it. Like, this movie evokes both Rukia and Renji deserting to save Orihime in Hueco Mundo and the captains doing their own shit at the end of the Soul Society arc, and the overall effect is that no one has any respect for Yamamoto, which I don’t think was the point they were trying to make.

They should have let Orihime go to the valley of screams, but she probably would have fixed the problem in 2 seconds

The group of people who go to the valley of screams is perplexing. Mr. P suggested that the reason Soi Fon is here is because she had previously promised to do something with Omaeda (maybe it’s his birthday??) and was like “oh, shit, sorry man, valley of screams situation came up, catch you next time (i def will not)”

Yoruichi is not in this film. I am assuming she is off being a groupie for the Red Hot Chili Peppers or something.

Hisagi was here for maybe three frames and then did nothing. At least Kira got to release his sword.

Komamura is not here, but he is sort of a Yamamoto simp. We don’t see him hanging out with Ukitake and Kyouraku back at the kidou cannon, tho. Wait. Oh, no. That kidou cannon has gotta be pretty loud. Komamura probably had to go home and put on his thundershirt and hide under the bed.

Soi Fon’s shikai worked??????

RENJI USED ZABIMARU TO CATAPULT ICHIGO OVER SOME ENEMIES TO GO FIGHT THE BOSS!!!! MY HEART!!!!! 🐍💀💪🎇💯😍

I made a bunch of jokes about things Byakuya might be doing (napping, most likely), but then he showed up late and interrupted Rukia’s fight to announce “It is an honor to be slain by my bankai.” Dude, c’mon.

I kinda want to know more about this clan that got done dirty 700 years ago and learned to live in the Dangai like Westley and Buttercup living in the Fire Swamp??

If I had to wander the Dangai, instead of trying to implode the valley of screams and destroy all planes of existence, I would have just made a valley of screams and fixed it up real nice and lived there and not bothered anyone, but that’s just me

Yamamoto has fired the kidou cannon

RIP to Ganryu, you had kind of a cool design, dude, I’m sorry your plan was bad and also that you didn’t get any Vintage Soul Society Flashbacks

I am absolutely perplexed by the end of this film. Despite saving Senna, and being hit with the kidou cannon, the valley of screams is still imploding. Senna stops existing, Ichigo is sad, everyone is saved, it ends with Ichigo seeing a girl who looks like Senna because ???

Who cares! It’s time for Sen no Yoru wo Koete!!!!

Great movie, A+++

#memories of nobody #bleach movies

46 notes · View notes

aimeelouart · 3 years

Note

How about cursed cloud ending up in a universe where his and Sephiroth's roles were reversed?

The Calamity’s Cursed Child - 1789 words, ASGZC, dimension-hopping, may have a part two later

(Why do all my prompts go off the rails from what I expected? Whatever. I hope you enjoy it anyway!)

When Cloud first started bouncing between dimensions, he spent no more than a few minutes in each new world before being sent to the next. Then, slowly, the time between jumps started to stretch. First five minutes, then ten, then thirty, then an hour, then several hours. It was a mixed blessing at best. If he was in a good world, or at least a world that lacked the power to subdue him, then he had a chance to rest. If it was not, then he...endured.

Always, he endured.

This newest world took all of three seconds to go sideways, and his only saving grace was that the previous world had afforded him nearly four uninterrupted hours of sleep. He drew in a breath as the buzzing faded, immediately diving to the side and smoothly drawing Tsurugi as he heard the whistle of air over a sword’s keen blade.

Sephiroth stood across from him, silver hair rippling in the wind. Cloud had narrowly avoided being impaled by Masamune for the...well, he’d long since lost track of the number of times he’d been impaled on that blade, actually.

Cloud wasn’t surprised. In fact, it was such a familiar scenario that he didn’t feel much of anything. He didn’t speak. He didn’t attack. He waited, ready to act once this Sephiroth revealed what kind of man he was. If he had to fight, he would. If it was better to flee, he would. He had neither pride nor preference left in him.

“Strife,” Sephiroth said, voice hard.

Ah. That was a new one. Cloud cocked his head to the side. Sephiroth either called him Cloud, possessive as a hand around his throat, or he didn’t recognize him at all. Cloud had never been addressed with the cold distance of Strife before.

Zack was by Sephiroth’s side, expression equally hard. It wasn’t the first time Zack had been hostile to him, but it still burned like a physical wound. “How are you back, Strife?” he spat, sword in hand. “Haven’t we killed you enough already?”

Ah. Ah. Cloud thought he finally had an idea of what was going on. Well, this would either give him another chance to rest or he would be playing an unpleasant game of high-stakes tag against a mirror-image of the family he once knew. He blinked at them tiredly and spoke, not quite ready to holster Tsurugi yet: “Ah. No. I’m not the ‘Strife’ you know. Knew. The opposite, really. I’ve come from a different dimension entirely and I have no wish to fight you.”

Zack scoffed. “You expect us to believe that? After what you did?”

But Sephiroth held up a hand. “Wait. Zack, does he not look different to you?”

Cloud just stood silent, endlessly patient as the two SOLDIERs examined him closely. Zack’s expression in particular slowly melted from angry, wounded hostility to wary confusion.

“Yeah,” Zack said eventually, tensed muscles relaxing. His eyes lingered on Cloud’s. “Yeah, he does.”

Cloud took a risk, slinging Tsurugi back over his shoulder and locking it to the magnetic holster. They might still try to kill him, but now he would have enough warning to bolt. In response, they slowly lowered their own weapons, though neither fully put them away.

“...Cloud?” Zack asked, soft, cautious...hopeful.

A tiny, tiny smile tugged at the edge of Cloud’s lips. “Most people do call me that, yeah, Zack.”

The dark-haired man’s answering grin was absolutely blinding in its intensity. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by one of Sephiroth’s hands on his chest.

“Wait,” Sephiroth said, a hard light still lingering in his eyes. “Do you have any way to prove your claims...Cloud?”

He snorted. “I’m guaranteed to vanish into the next dimension within a few hours, but other than that, no.” He shook his head. “I doubt I could even offer you confirmable information. Where I came from⁠, and most of the worlds I’ve seen...well, I’m not the one Zack usually greets with hostility.”

They both blinked in surprise. “What?” Zack asked, head cocking to the side.

“This is just a guess, but by your reactions the Strife of this universe went Jenova-crazy and tried to destroy the world, right?”

Immediately, Zack’s expression shuttered and Sephiroth’s returned to coldness. “Something like that,” Sephiroth said.

“Mm,” Cloud hummed. “Well, sorry to spring this on you⁠—” he wasn’t “⁠—but nine times out of ten, Sephiroth is the one who gets...Jenova’d.”

Zack looked at Sephiroth, aghast. “Is that⁠—would that have been better or worse?”

“I don’t want to know,” the silver-haired man said flatly. Cloud nodded in agreement. Apparently his words, or maybe his agreement, was enough proof for the silver-haired man to relax from outright hostility. Sephiroth finally dismissed Masamune and Zack followed suit, holstering the broadsword that...wasn’t the Buster.

Cloud didn’t want to know about that either.

Then Zack bounded forward. Cloud flinched as he was swept up into a hug without any warning. His feet were no longer touching the floor. He fought down the reflexive urge to cast a point-blank Firaga. After a few more seconds he even managed to convince his body to relax into Zack’s arms.

“It’s so good to see you again, Cloud,” the dark-haired man murmured, a world of weight behind his words.

The blond huffed. He didn’t share any history with this Zack, a fact which most Zacks tended to conveniently forget (or ignore), but the lingering wounds of his own Zack’s death made him willing to return the embrace and the words. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Zack finally let go, setting him down only to take his face in his hands in a surprisingly intimate gesture. He brushed his thumbs across the dark (and probably permanent by this point) circles beneath Cloud’s eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning in close. “You look like shit, babe.”

Oh boy. Cloud suddenly got the impression that he was missing some very critical pieces of information about the Cloud of this world. He’d also never been confronted by this particular issue before⁠—his mind went blank, which was unhelpful at best.

His expression must have been something to behold, because Zack immediately let go of his face and stepped back. “Oh,” he said, eyes wide, “oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s uh⁠—” Was his face on fire? It felt like his face was on fire. “It’s fine. We⁠—I mean, you two were…?”

“Two?” Zack said, glancing at Sephiroth. “There were uh...a bit more than just us two involved?”

He stared. For once, something other than terror was steadily burning away his fog of tired apathy. “Sephiroth?” he squeaked. “We—I mean, you and him and Sephiroth?”

Then, to his shock (shock deep enough that his hand automatically jerked toward Tsurugi’s handle) Sephiroth threw his head back and laughed. In fact, he laughed until he had to lean on his knees and tears streamed down his face. “Oh⁠—” he gasped, “oh it really is you, Cloud.”

Cloud looked to Zack for help, but the dark-haired man just grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Me, and you, and Sephiroth,” he agreed. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that immediately set Cloud on edge. “And... maybe one or two more.”

Sephiroth was still...giggling. Cloud didn’t think his eyes could get any wider without popping right out of his skull. “More? How many more? What the hell?”

“Oh man, is every version of you unbearably cute?” Zack cooed⁠—or maybe flirted, Cloud wasn’t exactly the best at differentiating⁠. “Dunno how you avoided it, but we five fell into each other like...gravity. It felt inevitable, really. You, me, Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal.”

“I⁠—what? While I was at Shinra?” He and Zack hadn’t even met until the two commanders defected. A thought struck him. “Was I a SOLDIER?”

Both Zack and Sephiroth shot him odd looks. “Uh, ‘course? You were practically Shinra’s golden boy! Had a fanclub and everything!”

That explained it. Part of it. He didn’t understand why he felt like he’d dodged a bullet. “I never made it into SOLDIER. I was Infantry when we met for the first time.”

At his words, Sephiroth sobered back into the nearly emotionless mask Cloud was used to. “But you are enhanced, clearly. Based on the way you spoke, I would guess that you are enhanced to the same levels that Strife was.”

“Enhanced, yes.” Cloud smiled with bitter humor. “SOLDIER, no. This was Hojo’s doing. I caught his attention by killing my Sephiroth as an ‘unworthy little Infantry brat.’”

They both winced. “I’m...sorry,” Zack said, sincere and awkward. He glanced down, arm still heavy on Cloud’s shoulders. No one seemed inclined to continue that line of inquiry, which was fine by him. “Listen, I⁠—this is selfish of me to ask, but...you said you have a few hours before you leave, right?”

“Four, give or take,” Cloud confirmed. He’d been planning on stuffing himself into a nondescript hole somewhere to sleep, but he was willing to do a lot for Zack. “What is it?”

“Would you...would you come home with us? Not like that!” He added the second part when Cloud blanched and flushed crimson. “It’s just...the others, Gen and Ange, they….they deserve to see you too.”

“Zack…” Cloud sighed, “I’m not the Cloud you knew. You understand that, right?”

Zack’s lips pressed together. He stepped away, letting his hand slide over to rest on the top of Cloud’s shoulder even as he put some distance between them. “I do. I do get that. But you’re still...you. And you are...you’re sane. You’re...whole. It’s enough just to see you. Please. I know it’s selfish. You can say no, we’d still help you, but...” He reached out with his free hand and brushed a thumb over the dark circle under his eye for a second time. “You can just go right to sleep on the couch if you want. It’s enough just to see you. Please.”

He understood the impulse. Hadn’t he been thinking earlier about how soothing it felt just to see any version of Zack alive and happy? For some unfathomable reason, Cloud glanced over at Sephiroth. He nodded in agreement, an unfamiliar softness to the set of his eyes. Huh.

“Alright, Zack,” he said, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll sleep on your couch. All the...boyfriend wrangling is on you, though. I’m not much of a conversationalist even at the best of times.”

Zack just laughed, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go entirely. “I promise I’ll wrangle my boyfriends for you,” he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Cloud regretted his decision immediately.

#ask #fic reply #cursed to strife #ASGZC #cloud strife #zack fair #sephiroth #ff7 #aimeelouwrites #my fics

157 notes · View notes

comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Note

Geralts tattoos?????? 👀👀👀👀👀 I love how much thought you put into Jaskiers 😭😍

Oh then you're gonna LOVE how much goes I to Geralt's. I'm not projecting or anything I swear also thank you for the ask I've been itching to do it

alright we're going limb by limb again bc it's easier.

So his left arm has a half sleeve of a wolf's skull across most of his bicep with a sapling growing out of a crack in the forehead. It's framed by some ferns and other little forest bits, but the main deal is the skull and the baby tree. A la this style: ⬇️ This is also the forearm he's saving for a tattoo that he really really wants but he just hasn't come across anything yet.

His right arm is a bunch of monsters in traditional black and white style. Basilisk on his lower inner arm whose tail kinda wraps around his elbow, a gruesome looking kikimore on his bicep, a griffin on his shoulder, and a dragon on his upper inner arm. Can you imagine walking into a bar with Geralt pouring drinks just covered in monster tattoos with a scowl on his face and that nasty ass kikimore staring down the door??? All impulse to start shit is out the window 😂 that boy would be intimidating af but then he smiles and you go "oh? You're not gonna kill me? Okay, can I get a manhattan" and start a drinking game with your friends to drink every time he smiles but turns out he's a softie and y'all get fucked up REAL fast.

He's got the Honeysuckle band on his right knee, but he's got the luxury of having a tattoo artist husband so he's not worried about filling up the leg as fast as he can (like Jask and his arms), he's being meticulous and planning with it. He wants to get a bunch of other plants but he and Triss haven't narrowed down the list far enough and she keeps adding more. - it's a very long project.

For his other leg he's gonna get family tattoos. He has a wolf in typical traditional style on his knee like this ⬇️ for his brothers + Ves and cried like a baby the whole time. Jask held his hand and was so sweet to him, but him and Yen ROAST the boi after it's done.

He's gonna get something for the girls and another for a character I haven't introduced yet 👀. He told Jask to draw up "whatever he wanted" for the back of his thigh and he would have Yen tattoo it bc Yen is ruthless and doesn't give a fuck if Geralt is crying. Jask took this as a personal challenge and took two months to draw it up then on April fool's he presented Geralt with a giant meme. Geralt just stared at it for a second like "babe are you serious?" before Jask called the prank bc Geralt was absolutely gonna get a stick figure singing "dick in a box" bc he just loves Jask that much. The actual tattoo is still in the works because Jask wants it to be perfect and "nothing can be as perfect at you Geralt! This will take time!"

On his torso he has the swallow on his hip and just beneath his collar bone he has a little string of mint leaves and baby's breath and buttercups to match Jaskier's sleeves. The buttercups are the only things colored in like Jask and they look extra delicate next to all those monsters and skulls. They're quite possibly his favorite.

He's got a BITCHIN sword back piece. Like the hilt ends at his hairline and the hand guard spreads out over his shoulder muscles and the blade goes all the way down his spine. Idk anything else about it bc I haven't been able to like go through and flesh it out but it would be ornate and at least a three session deal.

Then of course we have the tattooed wedding band and he loves it, more than anything, but FUCK did it HURT. And it stung for Daaaayyysss after and Geralt was whiney and sad and had to wear a glove at work and Jaskier was like "okay that's it, no more. You're too much of a whimp and I feel too guilty to hurt you like this"

So all in all: I have a lot of feelings about Geralt with tattoos and he's v soft but v methodical and precise with them and he loves his family and found family v much.

#inked up idiots #i want like half the tattoos i give Geralt tbh #why am i like this #geralt with tattoos #tattooed geralt #geralt is a softie #geralts tattoos #tattoo au #the witcher #the witcher au #geralt of rivia #i just absofuckinglutely love him covered in tats okay dont come for me #i know its a lot #but i have FEELINGS #comfy answers #regan answers

93 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Note

ok ok- the reader is a very talented fighter (let me have this so many fics are about helpless peasant girls tagging along) and gets ambushed, manages to fight off a pretty hefty group, but gets a forehead cut that looks scary in the process. eskel helps wrap her up and they try to avoid eye contact but then she looks up and hes looking at her and Tension and then they kiss???? ok thank you bye

A/N: Hi babe!! I hope you liked this <3

Warnings: mentions of death, nothing outside of canon though,

***

The sound of swords clashing together still rung Eskel’s ears. He stood in the edge of the woods with his sword in one hand and another man’s dagger in his opposite hand. His side hurt, the stab wound burning and stinging with every breath he took. His left fingers were numb after he grabbed the blade of a sword. Blood and sweat on his right temple caked his hair to his face, blocking some of his vision. His broad shoulders moved with every heavy breath.

Golden eyes flickered around the clearing in search of you. There were a half dozen slaughtered men scattered throughout the open space. Every one of them tried to best the witcher, and every one of them failed.

Eskel’s eyes fell on a man across the clearing. He was on his stomach, trying to drag himself into the woods with his arms. The witcher crossed the clearing and used his boot to turn the man over onto his back. The man cried out in pain, clutching a wound on his stomach.

“Who sent you?” Eskel spoke through his teeth. When the man didn’t answer, Eskel placed his boot over the man’s hands, pressing down on his stomach. “Who fucking sent you?”

“I’ll-I’ll never tell.” He choked out.

Eskel growled from within his chest, his eyes lingering on the man before he plunged the dagger into the man’s chest cavity and twisted, effectively putting him out of his misery.

“Eskel!” Jaskier’s rather high-pitched cry took the witcher’s attention away from his latest victim. The bard was crossing the clearing, looking over his shoulder as he ran. “Eskel!”

“Keep your voice down, bard.” Eskel spoke through his teeth, moving towards Jaskier.The witcher wasn’t mad at him, but moving caused a searing pain to radiate throughout his body.

Not watching where he was going, Jaskier tripped over a severed leg and nearly hit the ground but Geralt caught him.

“Oh thank gods!” Jaskier breathed out in relief, clutching the witcher as if his life depended on it.

“Where are Y/N and Geralt?”

“Hell if I know. There was a big scary one chasing me-THERE HE IS!” Jaskier moved to stand behind Eskel as a large, bulky man came from the direction Jaskier was running from. Eskel twirled his sword around in his hand, readjusting his grip.

Eske moved away from Jaskier towards the man. He was taller than Eskel by a few inches and definitely larger. As the man and Eskel crossed swords, Jaskier looked around the clearing in search of you. He cringed at the sight of the bodies laying around on the ground.

Geralt emerged from the tree line, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Jaskier was about to greet his best friend when movement behind him made his blood run cold.

There was the glint of a sword in the moonlight as it was raised into the air to cut down the White Wolf. Jaskier opened his mouth to warn Geralt when the assailant’s eyes went wide and his head fell to the ground.

As the dead man fell to the forest floor, you brought your sword down to your side.

“Y/N!” Jaskier called your name, relieved that everyone was safe and accounted for.

However, hearing your name fall from the bard’s lips took Eskel’s attention away from the man he was fighting. He looked away for a split second only to have the blade of the sword brought down on his collarbone. Eskel hissed in pain and spun around to cast aard. The man went flying back into the bushes where Eskel finished him off.

As he returned to the clearing, his eyes immediately found you. You were standing on the edge of the clearing, eyes gazing around at the carnage.

“We need to be moving.” Geralt said.

“Some of us are injured, Geralt.” Eskel shook his head. “Can’t travel safely until we’re all okay.”

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you.

“I'm fine.”

“You've got a nasty cut on your head, darling. You should sit.”

You shook your head, moving to gather the items from your bag that had spilled. But your head spun as you moved too fast and you reached out for something to stabilize yourself.

Eskel was by your side in a heartbeat, offering you a sturdy arm to grasp.

“Sit down.” He spoke, deep voice rumbling like a quiet thunder.

You didn't fight him, feeling the urge to vomit as you tried to open your eyes. You closed them tightly and let him guide you down onto a large rock.

“I’ll be right back. I'm going to get a few things to patch you up.”

You watched the witcher wall away from you to his satchel. When he turned back to you, you quickly looked away. You didn't want him to catch you staring at him.

You teetered a little where you sat, having moved too fast.

Eskel knelt down in front of you.

“Is…. Is it okay if I….?” He couldn't find the right words to use. You opened your eyes to meet his golden gaze. He was so close to you that you could see specks of brown and black around the outside of his irises.

“Yes.” You answered, your voice a weak whisper.

He used gauze to clean around the cut. His eyes focused on you, on making sure the cut wasn't too deep and that it didn't need stitches.

With him this close, you could see all the little scars that littered his features, the ones that weren't as prominent as the one that mutilated the right side of his face. There were little freckles across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. You wondered if they'd be more visible if his skin wasn’t tanned from being out in the sun so much. Perhaps if he had a fairer complexion like Lambert or even Geralt, his freckles would be more noticeable.

His eyes flickered over to you and that's when you realized you were staring at him.

You quickly looked down, muttering out an apology. He said nothing in return. You wanted to bite your bottom lip, to mess with your fingers or something. You were a little nervous. There was a tension in the air that could be cut with a dill knife.

Just as you were about to open your mouth and apologize for staring so rudely, he spoke.

“Good news is you won't need stitches.” He sat back on his knees, putting a little bit of space between you two.

“Is there…. bad news?” You hated how quiet your voice was. What if you offended him by staring? You didn't mean to. You just had never seen him so up close before, and it was like seeing the stars on a clear night. He was a handsome man, a breathtaking masterpiece of physical imperfections and a heart of pure gold.

“You could have a concussion. Is your head hurting?”

“A little, but I think that's because one of those bastards elbowed me in the head. I knocked his sword out of his hand and he ended up tackling me before I had a chance to stop him.”

“Are your ears ringing?”

“No.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“When I move too fast.”

“Can you see clearly?”

You brought your eyes back to him. As your eyes met his, your heart began to beat quickly in your chest. You forgot that he had asked you a question. You found yourself lost in his gaze.

But something moved out of the corner of your eyes. You turned your head to see Jaskier move towards Geralt.

“Let me, uh, finish patching you up.” Eskel muttered under his breath as he moved to sit up on his knees.

You nodded a little. He went back to work, staying silent as he put a bandage over the cut. You kept your gaze down, unable to meet his line of sight.

“You fought well today.” He complimented, keeping his voice low. “You handled that sword like a pro.”

“Thanks.” You tried your best not to smile but you couldn’t hide the blush on your cheeks.

When he moved to get up, your hand shot out for his arm. Your body seemed to have a mind of its own as you leaned forward to kiss him, but you stopped short of meeting his lips.

“Can I….?” You felt your cheeks blaze as you trailed off. His golden eyes were glued to you. “Please?”

His lips moved in a yes, but no sound came out. His hand slipped around the back of your head, drawing you in for a tender kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair, drawing you closer to him.

There was a wolf whistle that made you both pull away. You looked to Jaskier, who was clapping and wore a happy grin on his lips.

“Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

Eskel let out a little sigh as he stood to his feet. He held his hand out for you. You smiled and put your hand in his.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @she-wolfoftheinquisition @titaniafire

#Eskel x reader #Eskel fluff #the witcher #1200 followers celebration

118 notes · View notes

youtuberswithalex · 3 years

Text

PRVL, Vol. 3, Ch. 5: Never Miss A Beat

Summary: As the tournament picks up speed, our heroes get a chance to relax and connect with their loved ones.

Word Count: 3,567

Warnings: Family argument, a bit of implied self-hatred

(Sorry for the short chapter, but future chapters will make up for this! Promise!!)

Masterpost – Volume 1 – Previous

------

BEEEEEEP!

Roman leapt out of his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Yes!!! Yes, Yang!! I knew she was gonna beat them, I knew it!!”

“Wow,” Riad said. “I did not think she would be able to put up a fight against Flynt’s trumpet. That thing packs a punch.”

“That’s Yang for you! Always the biggest, strongest blondie you could ever lay eyes on!” He flopped back down, letting out an energetic groan. As soon as he was settled, he hooked onto Riad’s arm and cuddled in. “I’m absolutely ecstatic that she’s going to the finals! I can’t think of a single person left that’s deserving of the championship!”

“Not even Penny Polendina?”

Roman looked to his other side, where Thomas was shooting him an amused look. “No way!” he exclaimed. “I don’t care if she’s got those psychic swords or whatever they are; Yang could beat her no problem!”

Joan leaned forward raised an eyebrow. “What about Pyrrha?”

“Not even a chance.”

Riad chuckled. “Didn’t you say Pyrrha beat her in a match in Glynda’s last semester?”

“Shhh…” Roman reached up and put a finger to his lips, silencing him. “We don’t have to talk about that. Yang cannot be bested.”

“Uh, excuse me, did you forget that your sister is still in the fight?” Trix huffed, leaning down from the row behind to press her cheek to Roman’s.

He paused for a moment as his face heated.

“…I can think of one person who could maybe best Yang.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Next to her, Abeba nudged her with their elbow. “Come on, let him root for who he wants. Besides, you haven’t even had your match yet; we don’t know if you’ll be in the finals or not.”

Trix raised an eyebrow. “Very bold of you to assume Eve and I wouldn’t be able to take down a couple of first-years.”

“Yeah, and did you see their match against NDGO? It was a complete luck of the draw that they managed to win!” Keahi added from Trix’s other side. “STER’s going to wipe the floor with them, no question.”

Abeba leaned forward to look at her, narrowing their eyes. “Aren’t you from the same school as Team SSSN?” they asked. “How come you haven’t given them any pointers on their strategies and stuff? Help them prepare, you know?”

Keahi scoffed. “Come on, you think I actually pay attention to other people in fighting classes? I don’t know jack about them.”

Trix and Abeba immediately deflated and slumped against each other.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Trix sighed.

“I tried.”

As the next teams filed onstage, Roman dropped his cheek against Riad’s bicep and let out a breath. Riad stared at him for a beat before taking one of his hands with his free one. When Roman looked up, he offered a soft smile and pressed their foreheads together.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Roman smiled back, but despite the red dusting his cheeks, there was pain behind his eyes. “Hey.”

“You’ve been awfully clingy these last couple of days,” he pointed out. “Is there something going on?”

He hummed and buried his face back into his arm. His eyes flicked around, and his lips pressed together; one could almost see the gears turning in his head as he thought about the words he wanted to say next.

“Are you… worried, at all, about this?” Roman softly asked.

Riad raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Us,” he replied. “Like… Do you worry that things are going to end soon? Badly?”

The soft smile fell from Riad’s face; he frowned, shaking his head.

“No, not at all,” he said, leaning to try to catch Roman’s eyes. “I wouldn’t be dating you if I thought that. What’s this about, babe? Where’d this come from?”

Roman gave him the quickest of glances before looking back at the battlefield. There was a moment of quiet between them; Riad didn’t rush him, despite the nerves beginning to build up inside.

Finally, he let out a soft sigh. “Anole really doesn’t like us being together.”

Riad felt his heart drop into his stomach. He opened his mouth to reply, but Roman pushed on before he could get a word out.

“We were talking yesterday morning, and he… he really thinks we’re going to hurt each other,” he continued, “As if we’re doing this just to mess with him. And, Riad, I…” He shifted to look into his eyes. “I need you to know that that is not why I said yes when you asked me to be your boyfriend; I really, truly do adore you and Anole has absolutely nothing to do with it!”

“I know,” Riad answered, having to force his words through a thick wall of emotion. “I never worried about that for a moment. I do feel the same way about you; please don’t worry that that’s why I asked.”

“I wasn’t,” Roman replied, despite the way his shoulders fell.

Riad paused for a moment, pretending he was watching the start of the next fight as he sorted through his thoughts. “…Anole really said that?”

Roman nodded. “And he implied that we dove into this without thinking… That I was being reckless.”

“You are,” Riad said. “That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s something I really like about you.”

Scoffing, Roman rolled his eyes. “Tell him that.”

“I don’t need to. You’re the only one who needs to worry about how I feel about you,” he firmly replied. “And that’s something Anole needs to learn. Not you.”

Roman slowly nodded in understanding and leaned back in his seat. “I just wish he would leave us alone,” he quietly admitted.

Riad wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I’ll talk to him.”

-------

Logan didn’t know how long he sat at the ocean docks after his parents left.

It was certainly more than a few minutes, if the ebbing stinging of his eyes was anything to go by. He could very faintly hear the announcers and buzzers from Amity Colosseum far, far in the air above; at least a couple of matches had come and gone, but he wasn’t paying much attention. Not when he could watch their boat disappear over the horizon.

While he felt no obligation to see them off after they set sail, he found that he wasn’t quite ready to head back to the dorm, or the arena, or… anywhere, really. At least not anywhere that he would have to interact with people. A weariness settled in his chest just at the thought.

He knew his parents needed to go. Vacuo and its citizens needed the two of them more than he did, and the ever-persistent Grimm weren’t going to let up during a worldwide tournament that just so happened to include their son. The fact that they were even gone for a couple of days was worrying; who knows what might have happened to the people they were protecting while they were away?

Logan knew this, and yet… he couldn’t stop himself from being sad to see them go.

So here he sat, in the midst of the stench of fish and tourists bustling around, watching a boat sail away as if it could grant him a few more minutes with his family before the long wait until they could see each other again.

Someone sat next to him on the bench, and he nearly leapt out of his skin; a coffee cup was offered as if nothing happened. Logan blinked and looked up to see Thamir softly smiling at him.

“Thamir,” he dumbly stated. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you when I came by earlier on my way to my family’s house. Didn’t think you’d still be here on my way back,” he laughed. He pushed the cup towards Logan again as he took a sip of his own. “Figured I’d get you some coffee, since it didn’t seem like you’d be leaving any time soon.”

Logan glanced at it, and then back to him. “I… thought I was the one who owed you coffee after Team AMBR’s match?”

He shrugged. “Consider it a freebie,” he said.

Logan felt the corners of his lips tug up, and he finally accepted with a word of thanks before taking a sip. It was pleasantly warm, but not scorching hot, and just barely sweet and creamy— exactly how he liked it.

“So… Did your parents head out?” Thamir asked.

Eyes flicking to the boat, Logan nodded. “They weren’t able to stay away for long. Really, they probably shouldn’t have come in the first place,” he admitted, “But… I do have to say, I am… very glad they were here, even if they did have to see our loss. Perhaps even more so for the same reason.”

“They seem cool. It was really nice to meet them,” he said. “It must be intense, having a full family of Huntsmen.”

He sighed and looked down at his cup, where his fingers idly played with the rim of the lid. “It is rather extraordinary; I’ll give it that. I’m sure Roman and Calanthe could attest to my saying that it can get a bit overwhelming at times. There’s always training and jobs to be done, and hardly any time to rest.”

Thamir nodded. “I can imagine.”

“And that’s not even mentioning the impacts of being separated for long stretches of time,” he continued. “I was fortunate in that my parents could afford to stay home and take on few jobs while raising me; my mother originally insisted upon it, and Father wanted to keep that after she was gone. It was one of the most important things to him when he and Esther began to see each other. Very few children of Huntsmen are able to have that, unless they find a stable job in one place, such as the Reptilias.”

“Calanthe’s told me about that,” Thamir informed. “Her older sister had to take care of her when their parents were on missions, and then she was on her own after she left for Haven. She said it got pretty lonely.”

“Well… I suppose it’s just another part of the job,” he quietly replied. “Another sacrifice we make for the safety of humanity and faunus.”

Thamir fell into silence for a moment, staring over the ocean. He took a deep, weary breath.

“It’s not just a sacrifice for Huntsmen.” He turned to Logan. “It’s a sacrifice for the kids, too. I know time with your family isn’t the same as a life, but… It’s alright if you grieve it. You’re allowed to, even if you know it’s worth it.”

Just like that, the stinging in Logan’s eyes was back. He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on his coffee, trying to keep his breathing steady. A lump formed in his throat, and it was harder to swallow it away than it should have been.

The echoing of a buzzer and a roaring crowd bounced around the buildings behind them, giving him just enough of a distraction to ground himself. He took a calming breath as music began to play.

Thamir bumped his shoulder against his. “You know… I remember you making a pretty hefty sacrifice a few weeks ago,” he said.

Logan frowned and raised an eyebrow at him. “You do?”

“Well, it wasn’t as big as leaving your family behind or anything, but it was still something you gave up to be ready for anything.”

“What was it?”

He pointed his thumb at the streets behind them. “The Vytal Festival Ball,” he stated, giving Logan a half-smile.

Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That was not a hard decision to make,” he huffed. “Our missions were far more important.”

“Would you have gone if it was a different night?”

He blinked and looked at Thamir, who simply watched him with a soft curiosity on his face. Logan took a moment to consider the question before opening his mouth.

“I… do not know,” he admitted. “The chances would have increased, of course, seeing as the date was the main reason I chose not to attend, but, well… I still would not have had any preparations as to what to expect. I still don’t know how loud or crowded it would have been, nor how overwhelmed I would become.” Huffing out a weak laugh, he added, “I don’t even know how to dance, to be completely honest with you. For all I know, it would have been a disaster.”

Thamir hummed. “So… What you’re saying is, in two years, when we have the next Vytal Festival…?”

“I would not be able to tell you if I would go or not,” Logan finished.

Thamir nodded, and then he set his coffee to the side, getting to his feet. He turned and held a hand out to Logan.

“Well,” he said, “I can help you with one of those worries, at least.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s dance.”

If he’d had any coffee in his mouth, Logan was sure he would have choked. “W-What?”

“Yeah!” he laughed. “C’mon, I’ll teach you how. We can start small.”

Logan stared at him, frozen in place; after a moment, he let out a breath and took his hand.

“Well… Alright.”

He set his drink aside as Thamir pulled him up, taking both of his hands and holding them an arm’s length away. They started to sway to the music echoing through the area.

Though I can’t find what to say, I know that you’ll hear me If you’re in this game I play, I can tell you when I need you more…

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle as Thamir started getting more and more invested in the song; his shoulders moved, and his head bobbed back and forth. Thamir caught him watching and laughed, yanking Logan’s arms forward and back to the beat.

“The more you get into it, the more fun it is!” he exclaimed. “Try it!”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t leave his face as he attempted to copy Thamir’s movements. When he beamed, he couldn’t help but notice his face warming.

“I feel ridiculous,” he said.

“A step in the right direction, then,” he replied.

Thamir took a step and began to lead them into an achingly slow rotation around each other. Logan stumbled a bit at the first step, but was quick to follow. When they made it around a full circle, Thamir pulled one hand away and lifted their connected hands, taking Logan through a careful twirl.

Taking both of his hands again, he smiled. “You’re getting the hang of this pretty quick.”

Logan grinned.

--------

Virgil threw his fist in the air and let out a cheer, nearly throwing his scroll out of his hands. “I think that’s the best score I’ve ever gotten!”

“There’s platinum?! I thought gold was the highest one!” Patton yelped.

“Nah, not even close. There’s a diamond tier, but you can only get it when you play a level on Multi-Extreme mode,” Virgil replied. He turned to Patton and reached across the space between their beds, holding his scroll out. “You sure you don’t want to give it a try? It’s pretty easy to get the hang of, even if you don’t know the music.”

Patton shook his head and waved him off. “It’s okay, really. I’m having more fun watching you!”

Virgil shrugged before looking back to his desk, where a rented gaming console projected his score. “Alright. Just don’t think you’re going to make it through break without playing a round with us. Ever since I showed him the game, Dad won’t let a person into our house without making them compete."

“Your dad plays Rhythm Hell?” Patton asked with a laugh.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked through the game’s available songs. “Dude, you have no idea. He dedicates a solid two hours every Saturday to touch up his skills.” A grin formed on his lips. “Any time we have a family event, he brings it along, and there’s a whole competition— he and Papi’s mom are, like, mortal enemies because of it. It gets intense.”

Patton grimaced. “Oh… Is she… Not a great person?”

“Huh?” Virgil frowned and looked at him, brow furrowed; when he realized what he was asking, he sucked in a sharp breath and waved a hand at him. “Oh, no, no! Not like that! Abuela’s really cool, she’s really chill usually! She just gets competitive like Dad does when it comes to video games. But it never gets aggressive, don’t worry.”

A sigh of relief tumbled out of him. “Good. Okay.”

Virgil offered a soft smile before turning back to the game. “Yeah, you won’t have to worry about anything like that when we’re on break,” he said. “We do have plans to head to Argus for a reunion, but no one is gonna be anything bad. Everyone’ll be excited to meet you.”

Finally settling on a level, the two settled into a relaxed silence. Heavy guitar and drums played through the speakers, just loud enough to hear, but quiet enough to not disturb the others in their hall. Patton watched as Virgil’s face dissolved into concentration; when the artist began to sing, he shifted and lay on his stomach, resting his chin on his arms.

“I am weak; can’t save myself, from my own flaws…”

“Can’t you see, I can hurt you…?”

An grin started to form on his face as he listened to Virgil’s soft singing. He buried his face in his arms to hide his huff of laughter.

Apparently, it wasn’t quiet enough.

“Are you making fun of me?” Virgil asked, no bite to the accusation.

Patton giggled. “No! It’s cute!”

A scoff rang out. “I’m not cute! I’m edgy.”

He bit his tongue to keep his argument back, not wanting to ruin whatever score he had at the moment.

There were a few more seconds of silence before Virgil’s humming resumed. Patton beamed and pulled his face up, turning to look at the screen, but sunlight glinted off of a picture frame behind it and dragged his attention away.

The photo showed a much younger version of Virgil nestled in the middle of their four-person family at a professional photo shoot. He was dressed in an outfit that Patton couldn’t dream of Virgil ever agreeing to today; a gray button-up, black dress pants, and a soft, purple sweater vest. His hair was short and spiked up, and his grin wide and front-toothless, but there was no mistaking it was him.

His younger sister sat next to him in a lavender blouse with puffy sleeves and light blue tights. Her hair looked like it might have been styled into a nice set of low pigtails at some point, before being ruffled and tumbled around. She and Virgil held each other’s hands tight.

On either side of them were their dads, looking exhausted but proud. Their matching white dress shirts were a bit wrinkled. They each lay a hand on one of their children’s shoulders, and a close look to their Papi’s arm revealed he was seemingly holding Crina in place.

Despite the frame of the photo looking relatively modern and clean, the actual photograph was worn and faded at the edges. A couple of creases circled what had once been their family. It was the only crooked one of three hanging on the wall, between one of Virgil and Chao at a graduation and another of their team in the cafeteria, taken early in their first semester.

Patton’s eyes drifted over to his own bare walls above his desk, looming over the clutter and mess below. His scroll sat on the corner of a stack of textbooks; it blinked with a silent unread message notification. He made no move to get up and check it.

On the shelf above, a picture frame lay face-down.

“Let it latch to the hope that I’m controlled…”

He glanced at the scorched handprint stained to the door frame. Guilt and shame built up in his stomach before he could tear his eyes away. He gripped his forearms tight until a dull ache began to make its way through the muscle.

“I’VE GOT A MONSTER IN ME; IT’S TEARING THROUGH MY HEART!”

Patton just about jumped out of his skin as Virgil began to scream-sing along to the music, leaping up onto all fours and staring at him with wide eyes. Virgil either didn’t notice or didn’t care, as he only continued and started to dance along.

“It won’t stop ‘til it breaks free, so make it stop before it starts!”

Forcing himself to release his breath, Patton lowered himself back into a sitting position and watched. Virgil’s score began to go down as the beats flew by unnoticed. His eyes squeezed shut, and a grim formed on his face around the lyrics. He lifted his hands into fists and bounced them to the rhythm of the drums that were practically shaking the speakers of the gaming console.

Patton huffed out a little laugh before glancing back at his scroll.

The light wouldn’t stop blinking.

I fear the monster in my soul, I fear the monster in my soul, I fear the monster in my soul, I fear the monster…

#prvl #prvl update #alex writes #sanders sides fanfic #rwby au

7 notes · View notes

hardkinkbardkink · 4 years

Text

hi babes x so this isn’t a prompt, but i started this fic some months ago with the intention of posting it to my regular ol account. i just finished it in a fit of divine intervention & thought it might fit here better x

it’s a fuck or die in which geralt gets cursed with a knot and goes into rut, please don’t think about the logistics too much because there’s about two paragraphs of setup and then nearly 6k of porn x

as a sidenote i fucking Love the idea of just a regular witcher-human verse and only the wolf witchers have knots, like,,, that’s mint mate honestly

a prompt fill should be up tmrrw but for now please enjoy this xx (it’s also on ao3)

***

He's—fuck, so warm.

Like he'll sizzle out of his skin. Burst at the seams and set molten iron to spill in his stead.

The day is chilly, he remembers vaguely. Frost had caught in his hair and his fingers had gone numb, stiff around his sword, but a thrill had settled in his chest, kept him warm through the fight. The sun in his eyes, a faint crackle of magic on his skin, raising the hair at his nape. And then the gentle swish of his blade through the air—the steel one, for humans rotten beyond saving. The spray of arterial blood high towards the heavens. Silence.

Each chance he gets to kill a mage, Geralt enjoys it greatly.

Mages with their meaningless chanting and knowing grins, like they find the prospect of death enthralling. Mages that have more merit to them than the mindless beasts he's used to slaying, yet feel less human, more—deserving. Mages with their perverse spells, parting curses that he can never quite catch. Nor avoid, for that matter.

Geralt fucking hates mages.

It's the last coherent thought he remembers having.

He doesn't recall much after he'd pulled his sword free, slick and glistening red. Suddenly each breath was a gulp of scalding hot water in his lungs, flooding his insides from head to toe, to the very tips of his fingers.

Mounting Roach had been a feat bordering on impossible, achieved solely by force of habit. He rode hard and he rode fast, not entirely sure of what it is that he's chasing but unable to go another excruciating second without it.

It's not a tangible heat, not one easily done away with. He leans his cheek against a wall; the stone is cold, but brings him no relief. He shrugs his swords off, flinching as they clatter on the floor. His own desperate hands tug at the straps of the armour that's so oppressively tight, even though it'd served him time and time again without such issues.

Geralt presses the heel of his palm over his cock. Rubs it through the leather breeches. Fuck.

"Fuck."

It helps, a bit, or maybe it makes everything worse.

He should've ridden straight for the brothel, he—

His clothes are stifling. The air sits too heavy on his skin, catches at the back of his throat. He gives his cock a desperate squeeze, and for a heartbeat he can breathe.

Fuck, but he's hot.

He's halfway through tearing out of his undershirt when footsteps sound in the corridor. They set his mind racing. The thought of being seen like this—no, gods, the very thought of another person, of a warm body, of—

"Geralt?" Jaskier calls as he shoulders the door open. He doesn't knock, of course he doesn't, when had the man ever done anything decent? "Everything taken care of?"

The linen shirt rips beneath his fingertips like it's nothing more than aged parchment.

He should've ridden for the brothel, and he didn't. Mistake, mistake, mistake.

Jaskier doesn't turn, doesn't leave. He lets the door fall shut behind him. He stares. He gawks. He—

"Don't," Geralt says when Jaskier crosses the room in quick strides. "Don't touch me," even as his body screams the opposite, screeches at him to take take take.

He feels Jaskier's gaze heavy on him. On the shirt clinging to his shoulders. On his cock hard and straining against the fastenings of his trousers.

"Are you—" Jaskier swallows anxiously, but his eyes stay calm. "Quite well? Shall I fetch a healer?"

The pink of Jaskier's slightly open mouth is enticing. Geralt wants to reach out and touch, trace his lips with gentle fingers, bite down and draw blood. He takes a breath to steady himself and fuck, he doesn't mean to groan out loud, but he'd never quite realised just how divine Jaskier smells. He wishes he could touch his cock, just to take the edge off, take it out and shove it between Jaskier's perfect lips—

"Don't know what's happening," he chokes out as he scrambles to move away, away from Jaskier, away from the deliciously sweet scent of him.

"Geralt," and he comes closer, the fool, closer and close until Geralt's head spins and his mouth waters, and maybe he can sneak a hand down between his legs, just for a second.

Jaskier touches his forehead, an innocent gesture that Geralt would scoff at on another day.

"Oh." Both of Jaskier's hands move to his cheeks. "You don't always run this hot, do you?"

He turns his face slightly, presses his nose against Jaskier's wrist. Inhales. It's intoxicating. It's overwhelming. He wants and he needs and—

Jaskier jerks away with a startled noise before Geralt realises his teeth had sunk into the thin skin.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't—"

He stumbles back in a daze. The backs of his knees hit the bed and he collapses onto it without much grace. Geralt frantically gathers the sheets in dire fists, hoping to regain the control that's escaped him. Hoping to rid his mind of Jaskier's scent.

It's absolutely beyond him why Jaskier stays so close. Why he takes a tentative step toward the bed. Why he swipes his tongue over his lower lip, like he's tasting Geralt's desperation.

"Can I help?" The words are barely out of his mouth before Geralt barks a sharp no.

The bed dips, creaks under Jaskier's weight.

"Why do you never listen?" It comes out a breathy thing. He turns his head away from Jaskier as his nostrils flare. There's not much fight left in him, but he clings to the shreds of it all the same.

A hand on his knee nearly burns a hole straight through him.

"Geralt." Jaskier leans in, his breath hot in Geralt's ear, sending an electric current through his spine. "I hope you realise that there isn't much I wouldn't do for you." The hand moves up, up, up his thigh, dangerously high—

"Whatever you need."

Vesemir would strike him, had he known how little self-control Geralt would grow to display. How easily he'd succumb to the temptation laid in the curve of Jaskier's jaw, or the timbre of his voice, or the warmth of his hands.

Grabbing a fistful of Jaskier's hair, Geralt hurls him backwards, crawls over him driven by instinct more than purpose.

"You smell so good," he groans, face tucked behind Jaskier's ear. His scent is so much stronger there, so much more alluring.

When his lips claim Jaskier's in a kiss, it's like breaking the surface at last after being underwater for too long. The air in his lungs had turned lead-heavy, but the swipe of Jaskier's tongue forces a new life into them and he can breathe again, and it's everything he'd ever wanted, and he craves more.

He's kissed plenty of people before. Fucked plenty of people. More than he can count, more than he cares to recall. But it was—never like this. Never this real.

Never Jaskier's hands on his bare shoulders, pawing at his back, never the heated whisper of anything, anything you want.

And Geralt does, he does want, he wants so incredibly much when Jaskier reaches down to unlace his breeches and the mere brush of his fingers is enough to set Geralt rutting, grinding his hips into the pressure and fuck, fuck.

He growls when his seed spurts from between the laces, onto the embroidered silk of Jaskier's doublet, and he wishes, he needs it to be on Jaskier's skin instead, so he snatches Jaskier's hand and presses it against the head of his twitching cock and he comes, he comes on his palm and his wrist and it—

"Fuck, gods, fuck—" because it brings him no relief, only makes him ache for more, so much more and he has to take it, he'll take it from Jaskier, he will.

He'll wreck him, he thinks, and the concept leaves him ravenous.

And Jaskier doesn't say anything, when Geralt continues to helplessly thrust his still hard cock against him. Jaskier lies under him, quiet and trusting, his eyes wide, his chest rising in quick pants as he accepts whatever Geralt gives him, and it sends Geralt's head reeling.

But then Jaskier takes him in hand, strokes him like he doesn't mind, and Geralt's arms shake, struggling to support him.

He keeps his eyes on Jaskier's face in a bout of unadulterated adoration, so he sees the shift when Jaskier looks between them, when his eyes widen even more and his hand falters.

"Geralt, what—"

Geralt glances down as well. He's—he's had this body for nearly a century, now, he's fairly certain he knows what he looks like, and this—surely he's just delirious, burning with an improbable fever, surely—

But Jaskier sees it, too, and his breath hitches as he studies Geralt's face, and,

"It's a—a knot," he says before he can think about it, the words popping into his mind, rolling off his tongue like he'd been born knowing them.

"A knot," Jaskier echoes breathlessly, like the concept isn't wholly, utterly mad. His fingers tighten around Geralt's cock, around the—

"Like hounds have," Geralt adds between desperately ragged pants.

And he hangs his head in shame, his skin burning in an entirely different way, with embarrassment instead of need, until Jaskier, the cunning bastard, says,

"Like wolves have."

Geralt moans at that. He does so again, when he sees Jaskier's eyes glaze over, his lips part. He smells—gods, indescribable. Geralt feels half-feral with it. Why do curses have to be so carnal in nature?

Jaskier squeezes the—the knot, and it's a punch to the gut like he'd just downed a potion, like he's seeing colour for the first time in his life, everything sharp and vivid and he collapses heavily on top of Jaskier as his arms finally give out.

"Does it feel good?" Jaskier asks as if it isn't apparent in the way Geralt groans right into his ear.

He remembers, through a thick haze, remembers a night, months, years ago, when he'd stepped through the door, found Jaskier on his knees and elbows and the inkeeper's son balls-deep in him. Remembers the arch of Jaskier's back before he scrambled to cover himself. Remembers pretending before him and before himself that he didn't enter the room on purpose, that he couldn't hear Jaskier's moans from downstairs. Remembers coming into his own fist behind the stables thinking about exactly what Jaskier would let Geralt do to him.

He needs that now, he realises. Nothing will quench the dreadful heat except the tight clutch of Jaskier's body. Geralt trembles at the thought.

So he rolls off of Jaskier, laying flat on his back, chest heaving unnaturally, cock throbbing. He throws an arm across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun that steals into the room.

"Jaskier," he says to the air, to the ceiling above them, to the gods who'd abandoned him and the ones who still listen.

Jaskier shifts next to him, sits up. Geralt can hear him undressing, the sound of fingernails on ivory buttons and the rustle of cotton that follows.

"Anything," is spoken, softly, and the fever spikes so suddenly he nearly chokes on it.

Incredibly, blessedly, Geralt feels the weight of him when Jaskier settles astride his thighs. Warm hands guide his wrists to press into the mattress above his head, timid, doubtful, and Geralt thinks, this isn't right, but his eyes snap open and he can't think at all, anymore.

Because Jaskier—he's—

"Like it, do you?" and there's a teasing lilt to his voice even though his chest heaves still. "You got me pretty damn well."

And he had, he very clearly had, because there's a bruise, dark and swollen, spilling up the side of Jaskier's ribcage from when Geralt jammed the hilt of his sword there to get Jaskier to run, to get away, and suddenly Geralt can't shake the thought of mine mine mine from his clouded head, and it's hard to breathe again.

Jaskier's grip on his wrists isn't hard, is far from unbreakable. It makes it so deliciously easy to snatch his hands free, to push at Jaskier until he tumbles back on the bed, underneath Geralt, where he belongs. So easy to press his famished mouth over where Jaskier's skin is purpled and tender. So easy to dig his fingertips into the flesh, listening to Jaskier's hiss of pain and,

"Careful there, wolf," his voice quiet, breathless.

But there's no careful, not anymore, only need and hunger and undoing Jaskier's wretched trousers in a frenzy to get at his cock, so he can bury his face between his legs and smell him, scent him, fuck.

And he smells so, so good, like the most decadent feast, and Geralt has to taste him, he has to or he'll perish, surely, so he fits his mouth over the head of Jaskier's leaking cock, hears Jaskier whine above him—

"No, no, don't, Geralt, too close, I'll come, I'll come," and there are fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him away, except Geralt has never wanted anything as much as he wants to make Jaskier come, right now, to wring this pleasure out of him like he never had before, and then to do it again and again until Jaskier can't give him any more, until he has to take more, has to pry it from between his trembling thighs.

He will. He has to.

"Geralt—" Jaskier sounds distressed, he sounds panicked as he tugs roughly at Geralt's hair.

Geralt, for his part, had never been this desperate to suck dick. The pain of having his hair nearly pulled out serves only to make him go faster, to rut against the bed and take Jaskier's cock so very deep he'll feel it when it's gone. He'd choke, if he could, but as is he merely lets the head pop into his throat and out with a satisfying shift. He thinks he moans, maybe, but it's difficult to hear over the rush of blood in his ears.

"Geralt, Geralt, Geralt—" Jaskier's got such a pretty voice. Even prettier when it climbs up high, breaks around Geralt's name. He burns with a scathing desire still, but the noises Jaskier makes when he's coming, the feel of it on his own tongue—it makes something release in his tight chest, drives a horribly possessive part of him to satisfaction, if for a moment.

He doesn't want to move. Jaskier struggles underneath him, twists his hips and claws at his forehead, but Geralt relishes the taste, the weight of him. It makes the heat almost bearable.

"Mercy, mercy," Jaskier breathes, and regretfully, Geralt releases him.

He's so hot.

It's worse, somehow, than before.

Geralt doesn't remember the last time he'd been dizzy, but he thinks he is now. The bed spins and the room spins and fuck, he needs to come again, so he rests his cheek against Jaskier's thigh, gets a too-tight fist on his cock, and he'd cry if he could. Maybe he can. He feels like he might.

Jaskier touches his other cheek, and it almost sizzles. He feels Jaskier's gaze on him as he fucks his own hand.

"Gods, will you—breed me? Fill me with your pups?" Jaskier's voice rings clear through the fog in his head, makes him snap up to look at him.

"Jaskier," Geralt growls in response. His own voice sounds foreign, too deep, too threatening. Jaskier squirms against him, eyes wide.

"I want it." And he tips his head like he's inviting. "Want your knot. Want your pups. Want you."

Geralt marvels for a second—that Jaskier is so eager against all odds, that Jaskier wants him even with this bizarre curse (he doesn't dare wonder if he'd be wanted on another day, on a normal day)—but takes the invitation. He leaps up the bed, puts his lips to Jaskier's bared throat, to the place where his pulse rushes loud and hot. An angry red mark remains in the wake of his mouth, and he knows, he knows it'll bloom into a purple matching the splotches on his side, except higher, where everyone will see.

Everyone will know.

They'll look at Jaskier, prancing around, draping himself on fair maidens, rugged blacksmiths and distinguished lords—and none of them will want him, because they'll know Jaskier is his. They'll see him marked and bruised and they'll know Jaskier belongs to the scary witcher they all cower before.

"Mine," he rumbles into the skin of Jaskier's neck, just to be certain, and follows it with a scrape of teeth.

"Yours."

Fuck. Is it hotter, now that he's so close to having?

"Jaskier." Please, he almost adds, but that would be too much. Too dangerous.

He helps Jaskier kick his trousers off and to the side, before he gets his hands under his thighs, pushes them blindly apart far as they'll go. Settles between them, and his dick drags against Jaskier's, and Geralt doesn't whine, not consciously, but he wants to.

"Ge—eralt," Jaskier does whine, voice cracking around the name just as his legs tighten around Geralt. "I've—I've done something indecent. Naughty."

Geralt can only look, mesmerised, as Jaskier's mouth moves, his pink, wet tongue peeking out, threatening to drive Geralt wild. He traces two fingers along his lower lip—thinks, fuck it, and pushes them in.

Jaskier's eyes widen but he seems to fall calm, sucking on the fingers, licking between them. Geralt moves his hips in little aborted moves, thrusts his heavy cock against Jaskier's abdomen as he watches, listens to the contented moans Jaskier gives. Fuck.

Geralt doesn't often dream, not good things, not pleasant things. He dreams of death and suffering and loss, because that's what he knows. But now, now—Geralt thinks this could be a dream, the way Jaskier sucks his fingers as if they are a cock, the way he lets himself be kissed breathless when Geralt takes his hand away.

He rubs spit-slick fingertips over the head of Jaskier's half-hard cock, just to make his bard writhe in sweet agony.

Geralt doesn't whine, but when he manages to slip two fingers inside Jaskier without any resistance he thinks he might scream.

"Jaskier."

He needs to touch, and he needs to be close, and he leans back all the same to watch Jaskier's greedy hole open and eager for him.

"I've, ah—I had a bath, while you were gone," Jaskier breathes.

Geralt can't tear his eyes away from where his digits dissappear into the intoxicating heat of Jaskier's body.

"Just my fingers, and I—I thought about you. I usually do."

His skin is prickling, itching to touch, to have, to claim, his blood threatening to boil over in his veins, and still he just looks. Jaskier is moving his hips, up and down and up, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers, moaning like he can't get enough.

Jaskier—fuck, Jaskier touches himself waiting for Geralt to get back, thinking about him. He leans in close. Lets his fingers slip free. Red-hot sparks of static crowd his vision, multiply until he's blinded. He thrusts against the crease of Jaskier's thigh. Presses Jaskier's leg closer to his chest, makes it tighter for himself. He goes faster. Jaskier is looking up at him with clouded-over eyes. Faster.

Geralt's second orgasm proves more satisfying, only because it paints Jaskier white from his hip all the way to the hollow of his throat.

"Fuck." It shudders out of him. He shudders all over.

His come glistens on Jaskier's skin, caught in his chest hair. It rolls off the side of his ribcage, over the bruise that's bloomed there. Geralt wants to lick it up. He wants to rub it in, brand Jaskier with it. Make it stay. Fuck.

The knot's filled again. Geralt doesn't feel it, not really, not until Jaskier's fingers come to squeeze around it. Then he feels like he's dying, like he'll never breathe again. Like he doesn't ever want to.

"It's so big."

And Jaskier sounds—amazed. Awestruck. Geralt sees how the tips of his long, shapely fingers don't quite touch. Fuck, it is big. Every time Jaskier's hand tightens around it, Geralt feels like he's coming all over again. Maybe he is. It pulses out more of his spend. Gods. And Jaskier said—

Want your knot.

He'd said—he'd asked Geralt to put it in him. Fuck, Geralt wants that. He needs that. He'll stuff Jaskier full of his cock—his knot—and he'll keep him round with seed and he'll never let him up. Maybe it'll take.

He thinks he's about handled it, even if each insistent touch leaves him breathless, weak with a dizzying surge of pleasure. He thinks he's about handled it, but then Jaskier looks him in the eye, his pupils blown entirely black as he says,

"You're such a good pup, aren't you?"

And he looks confused, is the thing—like the words crawled up his throat, forced themselves on his tongue. The perfect words, the exact words that send Geralt into a frenzy, that make it seem as if the whole thing hadn't been frenzied already. He whimpers, whimpers and lets his teeth nibble on the corner of Jaskier's jaw. The skin there is rough, like Jaskier hadn't shaved in a few days, and that makes Geralt even more mad, somehow, more desperate.

"Jaskier," he says, and it sounds like a plea. Maybe it is. His hands shake. They—they never shake. He slides them over Jaskier's sides and they come away sticky. "Jaskier."

"You can—fuck me, Geralt. Have me."

Have the bitch, a voice calls from the darkest corner of his mind, a voice that sounds too much like his own. Take him, take what's yours.

Geralt groans as the last dam holding him back creaks, splinters, shatters in front of him.

He should've ridden for the brothel, and he didn't, because he knew Jaskier would be here, waiting and willing.

His eyes slip shut for a moment against the realisation. Geralt takes a steadying breath, drowning in desire that belongs as much to him as to the beast that claws at his skull and cries for him to breed, to own.

Jaskier tells him something—unimportant, Geralt wagers, because it's accompanied by the press of an ornate glass bottle into his trembling palm, and then he's got a slick hand on his cock, and Jaskier is holding his legs wide open in the filthiest invitation, and Geralt blacks out for a second when he pushes in.

It's a different heat entirely, the sweetest fever he wouldn't mind succumbing to.

He'd go slow, normally. He'd pause to let Jaskier get used to the stretch. He can't. He can't. The last of his fragile composure slips as he thrusts forward, quick and rough.

He barely feels Jaskier's nails rake down his arms, the sting secondary, irrelevant against this pleasure. "Geralt—"

Geralt knows what Jaskier wants to tell him, he knows—but he can't give that to him, can't stop, can't slow down, can't hold back or he'll die, fuck, fuck.

"I'm sorry, sorry, Jaskier, sorry—" he mumbles against Jaskier's temple when he tastes tears. They burn on his tongue, pierce his soul with an ugly guilt. He licks them up all the same, drives his cock deeper without meaning to. Faster. Fuck.

"It's fine, it's good, you—" Jaskier sobs, a horrible, shuddering thing, but his palm comes to rest on Geralt's cheek. It's—grounding, somehow. "Don't hold back."

Claim the whore. Yours. Yours.

Geralt prays for strength, then. For clarity and restraint.

He finds neither.

Instead he finds a bottomless, insatiable hunger—so overwhelming it steals his thought altogether, leaves him mindless and weak and craving to scratch an impossible itch.

Jaskier feels so good around his cock. There are tears of his own threatening to brand his skin. It's—

Jaskier's so tight, oh, so tight and warm and—

Heat had been the thing that drove him to madness, before, but now, now—

It's a cure, a blessing, it's—

"Do it," Jaskier whispers as he surges up to press his parted lips against Geralt's. "Put it in me, knot me, Geralt."

"You want it? You want it?"

"Fuck, I want it—"

"Beg for it," he manages before he has to start kissing his bard again. Yours. "Beg for it."

Jaskier nods, his teeth pinched around Geralt's lip until it nearly splits. "Please, please, I want it, I need it, give me—your knot, put it in me, oh, oh—"

The knot swells, and Geralt thinks he might go crazy. The knot swells, and he thinks it might tear Jaskier to pieces. The knot swells, and it presses close close close against Jaskier's rim, and it pops in, and then he doesn't think at all.

Can't—can't think even if he wanted to. He'll never hold a thought again. Not a single thought other than how blindingly good it is to have Jaskier tight on his knot, to be locked together as he fills his bard with come. His teeth ache, so he clamps them down on Jaskier's shoulder. It doesn't help much. It's almost like—like there's another place he should mark. A place he could sink his canines into that would bind them, somehow.

His head spins. He's vaguely aware that the knot expands inconceivably more as it pulses. He grinds desperately forward. It feels so good. He whines. Maybe this'll never stop. Maybe he'll float in this impossible ecstasy until the end of time.

The flutter of his heart is the first thing that filters through his dazed mind. It's not meant to flutter.

As though across a dream, he hears Jaskier calling his name. He laps at the dents his teeth had made. Yours.

He doesn't expect Jaskier to get even tighter around him. It knocks the breath straight out of his lungs, and that's not meant to happen either.

"Gods," Jaskier whispers somewhere next to him. Geralt agrees.

The air is thick around them, but not with the curse; it's heavy with sweat, with unwavering arousal. The smell of Jaskier's spend. Fuck.

"You—" he says, voice hoarse.

Jaskier laughs, breathless, and Geralt can—he can feel it around his cock. "Sorry."

A look down the length of Jaskier's body, the sight of his bard still covered with seed—Geralt's, his own—sends him rutting forward without much say in the matter.

"Fuck. Fuck."

Geralt doesn't allow himself pleasure often. Only if its lack proves distracting. This, now—he doesn't know how he's ever done without it. He doesn't know how he'll manage to let Jaskier off of his cock, his knot. Perhaps Geralt just needs to keep him like this. Always open, always ready. Always dripping with come. Always—

His head feels clearer, maybe. Clear enough to keep his eyes focused, to see the wince twisting Jaskier's features. Dread grips his heart in a vice, his throat growing too tight to breathe.

"Jaskier."

The only thing more frightening than the thought of hurting Jaskier is the sudden, cold shiver of realisation that Geralt couldn't get himself to stop. Not now, not if Jaskier cried and begged him to. Not at all, not ever.

Gods, Jaskier's big blue eyes, rimmed-red and gleaming even more as he chokes on tears, chokes on pleas and protests, but Geralt keeps taking his pleasure in spite of it all, keeps—

"Geralt?" He snaps back to a feverish reality and finds his fingertips resting against the wet skin of Jaskier's cheek. "Oh, don't worry about it. Four orgasms in one day will do that to a man."

Fuck. Geralt has to grit his teeth to keep still.

"—four?"

The smile Jaskier gives him is almost bashful.

"You were gone a long time."

Geralt bows his head to mouth absent-mindedly at the soft, bruised skin of Jaskier's neck.

"Not—not that I'm not enjoying myself, but—why now? What brought this on?"

Don't ask, Geralt thinks miserably. Don't ask lest I slip.

"Curse," he manages to say. It's the truth. Part of it. Should've ridden for the brothel.

"O—oh. All of it?"

"Hm."

"The, uh. The kn—"

"Hm."

"Ah. Pity."

Pity, Jaskier says, because he's not really interested in Geralt, only the horrid, monstrous part of him. A part that's not even his own.

Geralt knew this isn't real, and he—he'd still—

"I'll—" It chokes him, but he's already come this far. He'll see it through. He'll see it through, because he'll die otherwise. Just for survival, this. "I'll need you. Again. In a minute."

Jaskier mutters something at that. Geralt sees his lips move, but he can't hear the words. His vision swims, like a heatwave, melting Jaskier's expression into a soft, malleable thing. Could be anything. A burning want, not unlike Geralt's own. Fascination, maybe.

Love.

No. No.

He pulls out too harshly, too quickly. The knot is still half-swollen, the drag of it the sweetest torture. The only thing sweeter being the sight of his seed gushing onto the sheets in his wake. Gods. Gods.

"Take whatever," is what Jaskier tells him as Geralt plugs his stretched hole with two shaking fingers. "Just don't—don't make me come. Please. I am but a mere mortal."

He sounds eager, still, if tired. Geralt is tired, too.

And so, so very hungry for more.

Rolling Jaskier onto his front is the easiest of tasks. Geralt grips knuckle-white at his hips and his hair and drags him up onto unsteady knees. A growl rises in his chest as he watches his spend drip down Jaskier's thighs, his pert balls. He'd never been quite so interested in—in breeding someone like this, planting his seed, marking Jaskier up inside and out, and now, now—

"Fuck."

He pushes back in and it feels like coming home.

Like it's meant to be.

Like Destiny, in her infinite wisdom—

"Fuck."

The snap of his hips knocks the air out of Jaskier, a little hitch of breath that slips into moans and whimpers. Time ceases to exist. Geralt isn't even certain that the inn still stands where it'd been—they might be floating in a bottomless void and Geralt wouldn't know. He wouldn't care.

Maybe it's that, that he doesn't care. Maybe it's because this isn't real, beyond the raw carnal need, because it doesn't matter, that he asks through clenched teeth,

"… talk to me."

Jaskier's got his fist shoved halfway in his mouth, Geralt sees now, so all he gives in response is a confused hum. Damn him.

"Say you—say you want this." Say you want me. Lie to me.

The bed's frame creaks dangerously, yet Geralt can't get himself to slow.

"I want it so much, gods, my wolf, have mercy, I—" a gasp, a whimper, the slap of their skin, "Your knot feels so good, so—" a tremor in Jaskier's shoulder, twitching muscle and wet moans, "I want it in me forever, please, I'll stay on it and you—you—"

He lasts longer, this time, the pleasure cresting slowly, but Jaskier's words make his hips snap forward brutally, his knuckles white around Jaskier's hips.

"—you can breed me full and keep me tied to the bed and I'll thank you for it, gods, just let me have it, let me sit on your knot until I can't remember what it's like not to be full—"

It's too late, when his release hits him like a punch to the chest; the knot's already full, fuck, it'll never fit, except, except Jaskier's asked for it so sweetly, so beautifully, and Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and throws his leg over Jaskier's hip and forces the bloody thing in with a roar.

Jaskier screams. Geralt can barely hear it through the buzzing in his ears. He watches Jaskier's thighs shake, his fingers twist tightly around rumpled sheets.

They pant together for a moment, desperate gulps of air. Then, when Geralt's cock finally stops pulsing come, when thinks he's picked up all the pieces of his shattered composure,

"Can you fuck me with it?" Jaskier asks in a small voice, sounding drunk, fucked-out.

Geralt's head spins. Surely Jaskier doesn't mean—

"It's—so much when it pops in. But—" He shudders. Geralt can see it in the curved line of his spine. "Please. I'm sorry. Please."

Red bleeds into his vision. Jaskier arches his back more, shakes his hips and makes Geralt near-delirious.

He tries to pull out. The knot won't budge and it's—so fucking good. His hands shake, again, and he braces them at the base of Jaskier's spine and pulls out with considerable effort. He watches Jaskier's hole stretch so incredibly wide around the knot, watches it pulse and flutter around the thickest part of it. He keeps still. Just looking.

"Fuck," Jaskier whines feebly. "Fuck, that's—"

Geralt pulls his hips back, slipping out of Jaskier's body completely. Jaskier stays open, gaping, leaking spend. He shivers violently.

Pushing his swollen, oversensitive knot back in is a feeling so intense Geralt nearly doubles over.

Jaskier says something, his voice hoarse, but Geralt can't hear it, can't hear anything but the pounding of his own heartbeat. He puts his thumbs against where their bodies connect and pulls out again, slowly. The muscles in Jaskier's thighs spasm.

"Geralt, Geralt, Geralt—fuck, that's so good, so—please make me come again, please, oh—"

The echo of Jaskier's words sounds in his head, asking him precisely not to do that, and when he reaches to touch Jaskier's cock he finds it only half-hard. Jaskier squirms away.

Geralt squeezes the head of Jaskier's prick harshly and shoves the knot it again and Jaskier goes so very still before he spills over into Geralt's palm.

The vice-tight grip of his body makes Geralt lose his bearings and he collapses forward, forces Jaskier to splay flat on his belly with Geralt plastered to his back.

"Gods," Jaskier wheezes, and Geralt's so horribly hot all over again.

He grinds the knot forward, tries to get it deeper, deeper, deeper, feeling like he might come again even before the knot's gone down. Jaskier still contracts around his cock, and Geralt's—so close, so close, and he ruts frantically forward, and he sinks his teeth in the back of Jaskier's neck and spills again so violently that tears roll down his cheeks, the smell of ozone heavy in his nostrils, a faint crackle of Chaos against his skin.

It takes a long moment for his heart rate to trickle back to its usual sluggish thud, but when it does, when Geralt releases the skin between his teeth—

The fever recedes so suddenly, it's like he put his head in ice-cold water. Frigid air rushes to his lungs, cools the sweat on his skin. At last he can think clearly.

He tries to roll off of Jaskier, but finds them bound together still, Jaskier's ruined hole clinging to him weakly. Seems like the knot is a permanent feature, then.

"Leave it there," Jaskier mumbles, sounding on the edge of consciousness when Geralt goes to pull out as gently as he can manage.

An overwhelming exhaustion seeps into his bones at once. Geralt settles on his side, still inside his bard, pulls him close to his chest and drifts off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

#cw dubcon #i guess? since it's a curse #cw knotting #cw breeding kink #it's filthy but also a wee bit soft

79 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Split

Prompt: hello! i adore your merlin writing and i saw you seemed to be doing prompts? if so, i'd like to submit one, no pressure though! a mysterious spell hits arthur and splits him into different facets/parts of his personality and merlin has to fix it before uther finds out. (this could be an opportunity for some fun shenanigans with the arthur's running around making a mess or an opportunity to explore something a bit angstier ;), up to you). Thank you!!

Thanks for the prompt, babe! I hope it’s what you wanted!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: Merthur, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse, nothing graphic, nothing explicit. Uther’s just a dick.

Word Count: 4470

Listen, there is a reason you don’t run into glowing circles of magic even when the sorcerer you’re chasing is standing right inside it. You don’t do that, Arthur, you especially don’t do that when there is a helpful chorus of people behind you passionately yelling ‘no.’

You know what, if there’s ever a chorus of people passionately yelling ‘no’ behind you as you’re about to do something, don’t do it. Just good advice.

“Sire!”

Merlin turns, ducking Leon’s swing as the sword arcs above their heads to come crashing down on a tree limb. With a sharp crack, the branch falls into the circle and a flash of light makes Merlin wince.

“Arthur!”

The gold dies down. Merlin cautiously moves his hand. No sorcerer. A pile of tattered robes lies a little way away. He must’ve gotten hit with part of the magic blast.

Groaning comes from the middle of the circle. The mass of red cape stirs.

“Arthur, you bloody idiot,” Merlin hisses, rushing forward as the knights look around, “why’d you do that, you could’ve gotten yourself killed, it—“

Merlin’s hand falls away from the cape in shock. His mouth drops open. A blond head raises to look at him. Then another. Then another.

“A-Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Merlin?”

“What do you want?”

“Bloody hell…” Gwaine’s voice comes from so far away. Merlin can’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

There are three Arthur Pendragons, each with their own red cape, crouched in the middle of the circle.

Cautiously, Merlin reaches out to touch the one closest to him. The Arthur raises his eyebrows and regards the hand with disgust, almost slapping it away. Well, he’s definitely real.

“Get my horse, boy,” the Arthur says haughtily, looking around to see the knights, “and you, men, tell me what happened.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “Well, that one’s a prat.”

“I’ll have your head for that,” the Arthur snarls, drawing his sword in a flash of steel despite Leon’s hurried ‘sire, no!’

And Gwaine’s ‘come on, then.’

“Not helping,” Percival mutters as Merlin manages to tear his eyes away from Prince Prat to look at the other two.

“Arthur?”

The second Arthur looks at him from where he’d been gazing at the trees. “Hello. Are you my manservant?”

“Uh, well—“ Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon and Lancelot have just started to calm down Prince Prat—“I think, technically, I’m…all of your manservants.”

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s head snaps around. “What?”

The second Arthur shrugs. “I’m sorry. That seems inconvenient for you. You were expecting to serve just one master and now it seems you have to serve three.”

“Y-yeah, um…” Merlin swallows. “It’s not ideal.”

“How did this happen,” the second Arthur says, gesturing between himself and the others, “did we accidentally provoke someone?”

“…yeah, you could say that.”

“What happened?”

“You ran into a magic circle.”

“…why?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin sighs, “I was about to ask you that.”

The second Arthur looks…contrite? Apologetic?

“I truly don’t know what would’ve pushed me to do something like that. Were you or any of the knights in direct danger?”

“No. Not really.”

He frowns. “Then I don’t know.”

Merlin glances over his shoulder to where Leon is calmly talking to Prince Prat while Gwaine raises an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin shrugs. He doesn’t know what’s going on either, okay?

“Where’s Morgana?”

Merlin looks back at the second Arthur who’s still looking around. “What?”

“Where’s Morgana?” The second Arthur shrugs when Merlin looks at him like he’s sprouted another head. Which Merlin’s not ruling out as a possibility, by the way. “She’ll know what to do, or at least have some idea. She’s cleverer than most people give her credit for.”

“She…she’s back in the castle,” Merlin says finally, “but that sounds…reasonable.”

Reasonable Arthur gives him a nod and a smile, trying to get to his feet. Merlin jumps up to help him, eyes widening slightly when that smile only grows.

“Thank you,” Reasonable Arthur says, “I do hope this won’t be too hard for you to adjust to.”

“Um…thanks?” Merlin blinks a few times when Reasonable Arthur’s smile still doesn’t go away. “Oh, um, I should’ve asked this earlier, but…what do you remember?”

“Unhand me!”

“Sire,” comes Leon’s voice, making them turn around to look. Leon stands with his hand not quite touching Prince Prat’s chest, with Lancelot and the others behind him, “you must listen to us, we’re not in danger, the sorcerer is gone—“

“I’ll believe that when there are no longer three of us!”

“What do you remember,” Merlin says quickly as Leon shoots him an exasperated glance, “of before this happened?”

“I remember enough to know I have actual knights in my employ,” Prince Prat sniffs, “and that you are an absolutely awful servant.”

“I think we have most of our memories intact,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, “just…not about the split.”

“And I have yet to have that explained to me!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you explain why you ran into a circle of magic without any sort of plan?”

“I had a plan!”

“Yeah, what was it?”

“Kill the sorcerer!”

Merlin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Whoever got the intelligence in this split, the commons sense definitely isn’t with this one.

“Alright, well, until we figure out how to fix this, we should get back to Camelot and try to keep this a secret.”

Reasonable Arthur nods. Prince Prat just stares at him. “And what makes you think you give the orders around here?”

“You have a better idea?”

“It’s a solid plan,” Reasonable Arthur says quickly, looking between Merlin, Prince Prat, and the knights, “and I think it would make the most sense.”

“Who cares about making sense, I want this fixed!”

“But considering we don’t have the ability to do that right now—“

Merlin gets distracted when the third Arthur stands up. If he’s being completely honest, he almost forgot there was a third one. This Arthur doesn’t speak, just takes off his cape and turns it inside out, putting it on and pulling up his hood. Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat are still arguing, only stopping when the third Arthur slots himself into line behind the horses.

“…um…Arthur?”

“What?”

“Yes?”

“No, no, not you guys, um…” Merlin cautiously approaches the third Arthur. “Are you…injured?”

The third Arthur shakes his head. “It will be easier if the others do not see me,” he says so quietly Merlin has to bend closer to hear him.

“Right, er—“ Merlin looks over his shoulder. “One of you should probably, er, hide as well.”

“I’m not hiding,” Prince Prat sniffs.

“I would…rather not?” Reasonable Arthur adjusts his own cape. “I don’t think it would be—“

“Well, one of us has to, and I’m not going to.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“No.”

“Look—“ Merlin quickly puts his hand on Reasonable Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s just until we can get to Gaius.”

Reasonable Arthur sighs and fiddles with his cape, standing next to the third Arthur. Prince Prat swings himself up on Arthur’s horse and commands the knights to follow him home. Lancelot spares Merlin one last glance before subtly taking over the lead. Merlin shakes his head. The sooner they can figure this out, the better.

Gaius, to his credit, simply raises an eyebrow and sighs. “I take it the patrol went well?”

“You’re hilarious.” Merlin shoves Prince Prat away from the bubbling tonics. “Now what happened?”

“Based on the fact that they all seem to still have their memories intact, I’m inclined to think it’s some sort of Division magic.”

“Division magic?”

“Yes.” Gaius watches as Reasonable Arthur attempts to tug his cape back on right while Prince Prat struts about like he owns the place. The third Arthur sits on the stool and doesn’t say anything. “Splitting a person into their separate parts, different versions of themselves that normally reside inside their own heads.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“To weaken them, perhaps, in the hopes that it would be…easier to control them.”

“You mean kill them,” Prince Prat corrects, “don’t beat around the bush.”

“We don’t know that—“

“Of course we do!” Prince Prat almost cuffs Reasonable Arthur upside the head. “What else could a sorcerer possibly want?”

“How do we fix it,” Merlin says quickly before this conversation can get anymore…terrifying, “there’s got to be a way to fix it.”

“There is.”

“Then why didn’t you lead with that?” Gaius just gives him a look. “…oh.”

“We should tell Morgana,” Reasonable Arthur pipes up, “she’s good at keeping secrets and she’s very clever.”

“She’s a girl,” Prince Prat huffs.

“She’s cleverer than you and you know it.”

“I’m gonna go get Morgana,” Merlin mutters and tears out of the room.

Morgana doesn’t believe him at first. He doesn’t really blame her. Still, her face when she walks in to see three of Arthur standing there is…interesting.

“Oh, what’ve you done now?”

“Like you can talk!”

“Morgana! You’re here!”

Morgana’s eyes widen when Reasonable Arthur looks overjoyed to see her. “…yes?”

“I told them you’d help, you’re clever.”

Morgana glances at Merlin. “…is he alright?”

Merlin quickly fills her in.

“Must we fix them,” Morgana muses, “I quite like that one.”

“We don’t know how stable it is,” Merlin mutters, “plus, part of this is supposed to make Arthur inconspicuous, right? How well d’you think Uther would react to seeing his son like that?”

Morgana hums. “Well, if there’s that in him normally, I suppose we’ll just have to work on getting it out more often.”

She walks over to the others and is promptly swept up in a conversation. Prince Prat is being a prat, Reasonable Arthur is being reasonable, Morgana is being amazing, and Gaius is looking a little less like his forehead is going to iron itself into a frown.

The third Arthur doesn’t say anything.

Merlin carefully scoots around them, laying a hand on the third Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur? Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly when the third Arthur flinches, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The third Arthur glances up at him and shakes his head. Merlin breathes out slowly. He lays his hand back carefully, glancing up to signal Gaius to have the others give them some space.

Prince Prat has the strut and the puffed-out chest and the voice. Reasonable Arthur has the easy movement and the gracious words and the confident nod.

The third Arthur, as Merlin looks at him, is the only one who doesn’t really look like Arthur. Not…not really.

His cheeks, while not visibly more gaunt or drawn than the others, have this sort of ashen look to them that makes Merlin’s chest clench in a funny way. The way his sits is almost too still, eerily so, like if he moves even an inch he’ll fall over. There is a solemnity to his movement, as if every step is done with the care and caution of someone balancing on a tightrope, high up in the clouds, the wind whipping about them.

He hasn’t said more than half a dozen words, the first of which being Merlin’s name.

“Are you alright?”

The third Arthur looks up and nods. Merlin’s breath catches in his throat.

There is almost nothing behind his eyes.

“That sounds fine,” Prince Prat announces, startling Merlin. He looks around to see Reasonable Arthur shaking his head slightly and Morgana’s hands perched on her hips.

“What sounds fine?”

“Gaius says he can have the cure drawn up by the end of the week,” Morgana says, “and until then, the Arthurs will stay in their chambers and only one will be allowed out at any given time.”

“And how’re we supposed to manage that? I mean, are we just supposed to have someone in there all the time that can control them and tell them which one is supposed to—“

Merlin stops. Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Believe me,” Prince Prat grumbles, “I’m not thrilled about it either.”

A quick glance around the room shows that yep, this is in fact happening. Fortunately—or unfortunately—it seems that only Prince Prat and Merlin have some sort of reservations about this. Morgana looks positively gleeful.

“Don’t worry Merlin,” she says as she sweeps out of the room, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”

Well, once they get to Arthur’s chambers, it becomes clear that they have a lot to figure out. Prince Prat insists on sleeping in the bed because it’s his, Reasonable Arthur points out that technically it is all of their beds, Prince Prat threatens to take Reasonable Arthur’s head off until Merlin threatens to make them both sleep on the floor. The grudging agreement to share it doesn’t come free. Reasonable Arthur gets an apple chucked at his head. The rest of that day and the next is spent in terse, tolerable silence that makes Merlin want to bite his own head off.

Then of course it’s supposedly time for Arthur to go train and of course Prince Prat has to go. Merlin asks a guard to summon Leon and it’s a testament to how much shit Leon’s been through that he simply nods and lets Prince Prat lead the way. Merlin shakes his head and wonders how the knights will deal with this. He’s sure to get an earful from Gwaine about it later.

Then Reasonable Arthur sits down at Arthur’s desk and picks up a quill and just…works. Merlin has to stop every once in a while as he's doing his own chores to watch Arthur sit there, scratching away at the roll of parchment, glancing up every so often to smile at Merlin or ask him a question. Then he wants to go talk to Morgana and Merlin has to explain that no, everyone thinks that Arthur—the one Arthur—is outside training right now, he can’t be also seen going to Morgana’s chambers, and having Morgana come here while everyone thinks Arthur’s outside is also not good. Merlin hands the work off to another servant to bring to the King.

Then Merlin notices that all the third Arthur’s done is sit quietly on a chair in the corner, toying with something.

Glancing over his shoulder to notice that neither of the others has even noticed, Merlin sets down his basket and crosses the room to crouch down in front of him. The third Arthur barely blinks.

“…Arthur?”

His head turns but he doesn’t make eye contact.

“Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head with the smallest smile, discreetly tucking whatever he was toying with into his sleeve. Merlin glances over his shoulder again. Reasonable Arthur is paying them absolutely no mind.

“…are you alright?”

The third Arthur doesn’t quite look at him, but his hand twitches toward Merlin. Merlin holds his own trembling hand out—why is he shaking? What’s happening?—for him to take, if he wants.

He doesn’t, and Merlin doesn’t push. This Arthur is…intriguing, to say the least. As he gets back to his chores, pointedly avoiding looking in that direction to give him privacy, he thinks.

Has he ever seen this part of Arthur before? Is it just so small normally that he doesn’t? Was there some rule about the spell having to split them into three so they just…made another Arthur?

A thundering of footsteps signals the return of Prince Prat, much to Reasonable Arthur’s chagrin.

“Off with my armor,” Prince Prat orders, “now.”

“Tell you what,” Merlin sighs, “you ask me by name and I’ll do it.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do?”

“Who cares about decent?”

“We should,” Reasonable Arthur says, frowning, “of course, we should care. If we’re going to be king—“

“You’re not going to be king, I’m going to be king.”

“Technically we’re all going to be king.”

“You won’t do a good job of it. All you want to do is talk, and not fight for what you want, what kind of king will do that?”

“And what kind of king will just prattle on about whatever he wants and not listen,” Reasonable Arthur shoots back, “how many enemies will you make because you want to answer things with a sword?”

“You have to fight for what is right!”

“And how will you know what that is if you don’t talk?”

Merlin sighs, leaning back against the pillar of Arthur’s bed. To be honest, he’d be more invested in this conversation—which is pretty interesting, even without the fact that it’s two versions of Arthur shouting at himself—if he wasn’t already fed up with this entire situation.

Then a knock at the door.

“Sire!”

“Yes?” Prince Prat turns.

“The King has summoned you!”

The room falls deathly quiet.

Merlin quickly says that he’ll be on his way in a second, gaze darting back and forth between the two Arthurs, both of which have gone pale.

“W-well,” Reasonable Arthur says, “er…duty calls.”

“No, no,” Prince Prat says, actually moving away from the door, “you should go. He wants to talk.”

“But you’re in armor.”

“But you can actually think.”

Merlin’s stomach drops. Arthur…the Arthurs look scared.

“I’ll go.”

The third Arthur stands up, the chair scraping against the floor with a horrid noise. He rolls his shoulders back and something in Merlin’s mind clicks.

He knows that posture, recognizes it from when they went out to face the dragon. He knows that walk, knows it from seeing Arthur walk towards the block as Morgause held aloft the axe.

And as the third Arthur turns around to give them one last look, Merlin recognizes the look in his eyes as their gazes finally meet.

Resignation.

The door thuds shut behind him before Merlin can even move.

His fingers itch. He needs something to do. He turns to Prince Prat. “I’ll, um, I’ll get your armor off.”

“N-no,” Prince Prat stutters, still looking at the door. “I need it. I need it on.”

“What?”

“I need it on,” he repeats, almost clutching his sword.

Soft scratchings fill the room and Merlin looks around to see Reasonable Arthur scribbling frantically.

“I have to tell him,” he keeps muttering, “I’m right, I just—if he would let me explain, I could—“

“You can’t,” Prince Prat interrupts. “You know you can’t. He won’t listen to words.”

“If we defend ourselves it—“

“If we talk it—“

“We have to—“

“We can’t—“

The Arthurs freeze. Prince Prat’s hand is wrapped firmly around the pommel of his sword. Reasonable Arthur’s hands ball up in spare sheets of parchment. Neither of them dares look away from the door.

An icy pit opens up in Merlin’s chest and a cold fire rages.

Somewhere, in this castle, there is an Arthur standing in front of Uther Pendragon, with an indifferent cool gaze iced into place, and the only words on his tongue are: “Yes, Father.”

Merlin has no idea how long they stand there.

Footsteps.

Merlin blinks and suddenly Prince Prat is in front of him, holding out an arm to shield him. Reasonable Arthur is at his shoulder, clutching a scribbled list in one hand, the other on the back of Merlin’s tunic.

The door starts to creak open.

The Survivor Arthur appears and the room heaves a sigh of relief, quickly followed by Merlin ducking around Prince Prat to rush to Survivor Arthur’s side. His hands flit about anxiously as he asks about injuries. Survivor Arthur shakes his head, moves away from the door, and sits back down in the chair. Merlin watches, gobsmacked, as Reasonable Arthur and Prince Prat just…return to what they were doing. Without any sort of…anything.

“Merlin?”

Survivor Arthur’s voice breaks him out of his trance, looking around to see his head turned just enough to stare at Merlin’s torso.

“I’m here,” Merlin says quickly, “do you need something?”

He shakes his head. “Just…wanted to know you were here.”

Yeah, Merlin’s not leaving this room for shit.

He makes sure Survivor Arthur is in the bed that night. The other two must see something in his gaze because they don’t argue, just curl up on either side of the truly massive bed. Prince Prat nods off right away, Reasonable Arthur following not long after. Only Survivor Arthur stays awake, his eyes darting around until his gaze lands on Merlin, finishing up the last of his chores.

“Arthur?”

In the dark, Merlin can only see half of his face. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin promises, “not for anything.”

“…I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t.”

“No one does what you do.”

“Well, there’s only so many manservants that will put up with their charge splitting into three.”

He doesn’t laugh. Merlin pauses, walking closer to the side of the bed.

“…no one takes care of me like you do,” comes the whisper. Merlin’s heart clenches.

“I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

Something in the darkness softens. “Don’t leave?”

“…I’m not going anywhere.”

Merlin doesn’t move from his spot next to the bed until the sunlight wakes him up. He groans, shifting around and rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “I’m awake.”

“Merlin.”

“Yes, I’m awake, hang on.”

“Merlin.”

“What?”

Merlin looks around, expecting to see Prince Prat glaring up at him, only to blink and see one Arthur in the bed, not three.

“…Arthur?”

Arthur looks down at himself, then back up to Merlin. “Pretty sure.”

“Are you—you’re—you’re back.”

“I am.” Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed and stares up at Merlin with far too much awareness for this early in the morning. “Not that I ever really went anywhere.”

“Do you, er, what do you remember?”

Arthur gives him a look that should not be turning Merlin’s legs to jelly. “I remember everything, Merlin, including something about—“

“Please don’t,” Merlin says, feeling his face flare, “you don’t have to—”

“Merlin,” Arthur calls softly, “look at me.”

“Is that required?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Says someone who couldn’t look at me most of the time,” Merlin shoots back instantly, only to wince a second later. “Sorry, that was…bad.”

He hears the faint rustling of sheets as Arthur stands, then a warm hand under his chin. He lets Arthur guide his face up.

“You’re right,” Arthur says softly, “I couldn’t look at you then. But I can do it now.”

“Are you sure,” Merlin tries weakly, “that this isn’t just Reasonable Arthur?”

“Reasonable Arthur?”

“Yeah. The one of you that admitted Morgana was smarter than you and actually did your work.”

“I don’t know if I would say smarter…”

“And wasn’t a massive pain in my are.”

“Wait, did you give names to all of them?”

“Had to tell you apart somehow, didn’t I?”

“What were the others?”

“Prince Prat.”

“Of course.”

“And, um…” Merlin chews on his lip. “…Survivor Arthur.”

“Survivor?” Merlin nods. “Not ‘coward?’”

“What? No!” Merlin’s jaw clenches and he stares at Arthur in disbelief. “No, protecting yourself isn’t cowardly. You—you—what the hell are you talking about?”

Arthur swallows heavily.

“…Arthur…Arthur, are you ashamed?”

Silence.

“You listen to me,” Merlin growls, taking a step forward right into Arthur’s space, “there is nothing to be ashamed about surviving. You have to live first and foremost and the last thing I want is for you to hurt yourself for the sake of it. You had to learn how to survive and I’m sorry and I hate it but I will never call you a coward because of it!”

He’s only aware that he’s shouting by the end of it by the strain in his throat. He blinks, going to take a step back, only for the hand still under his chin to hold him firm.

Arthur’s hand comes up to gently trace his cheek, looking at him like he’s something precious.

“I meant it,” he says softly, “no one takes care of me like you do.”

This time, Merlin can see his face clearly and the sincerity in his gaze makes him tremble.

“…I meant it too,” he manages, “I’ve got no one else to care for like I care for you.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirks up. “I didn’t look at you because I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I didn’t have the part of me that was brave enough to look.”

The hand slots back under his chin.

“But now I do,” he breathes, “and I…I actually might believe you now.”

“…now that you’ve got your intelligent side back?”

Arthur gives his chest a gentle shove, chuckling. “Enough, you idiot, I’m trying to be sincere here.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Arthur sobers, his hand coming up to ruffle through Merlin’s hair and cup the back of his neck. “…don’t leave, Merlin.”

Merlin reaches back to cover Arthur’s hand with his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” Arthur corrects, the hand under Merlin’s shifting a little, “I mean don’t…don’t leave. I know I was the one literally split into three people but you…I saw more of you too.”

Oh.

“So please, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his voice shaking slightly, “please, don’t leave.”

“I told you,” Merlin says, “I’m not going anywhere, you prat.”

His voice is shaking a little too much for it to be completely joking.

The sunlight on the back of Merlin’s neck is not nearly as warm as Arthur’s hand, nor is it bright enough to hurt when their foreheads touch and their eyes fall shut. Arthur’s breath is warm on Merlin’s cheek.

“…no more running into magic circles, okay?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur murmurs, tilting his head just enough to brush his nose along Merlin’s temple, “I think this turned out alright.”

Merlin draws back just enough to open his mouth in some snappy remark only to have Arthur’s pleased smile immediately ruin it for him.

“…I’m sure the knights have questions.”

“I think Gwaine’ll be happy, don’t you?”

“I think he was grateful for an excuse to kick the shit out of me.”

“Wait, are you admitting that Gwaine is a better fighter than you?”

“Merlin!”

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merthur #dragonbabbles #fic

33 notes · View notes

n6or · 4 years

Text

showers | piers nsfw

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions

Relationships: Nezu | Piers/Reader

Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Vaginal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Rough Sex

Words: 2583

READ HERE ON AO3!

It’s nearly four am when the first knock sounds. Piers stirs in his sleep. It’s about the fifth knock that actually (begrudgingly) drags him from his bed. He wears a baggy black jumper with an even baggier pair of black sweatpants.

His feet drag slowly along the carpet, padding to the front door. He’s grumbling quietly to himself, totally annoyed at the disruption to his much loved sleep--at least, that’s until he opens the door.

He’s taken aback when he sees the sight of you. Your eyes are rimmed red, glassy, and your face is stained with tears. He blinks a couple moments, trying to figure out if it’s really some sort of dream, but when you take the first step forward, and your face finds his chest, his arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders.

“H-Hey,” he mumbles into your hair, having leaned down to kiss your head. His voice is lower than usual, raspier, too. “What’s goin’ on?”

Your silence is worrying, especially when the only thing close to a reply is the shaking of your shoulders. He squeezes you gently, trying to draw back, but is stopped by your tightening embrace.

"Babe," he says again, voice quiet, deep, and soothing. His hand comes back up to the back of your head, stroking your hair. "C'mon… let's get inside."

He straightens up, arm manoeuvring around your waist so that - although you still clung to him - you were now tucked into his side. The pair of you move slowly into the bathroom, the only noise being the shuffling of socks against carpet and your soft hiccups.

Piers flicks the bathroom light on as you both enter, his eyes squinting to readjust to the sudden abusive change in brightness. Keeping one arm around you, he rubs the sleep from his tired eyes, other hand squeezing your hip gently.

He coaxes you around and slowly guides your shirt up and over your upper half, folding it up rather neatly and placing it on the basin's bench behind him. His spindly fingers move up the smoothness of your belly, fingertips gingerly grazing the swells of your breast. The silent journey of his touch traces along the curve of your shoulder, up your supple neck, and finally, his palm meets your cheek. Calloused pads press against the skin, coaxing your head up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His eyes are soft as he watches you — less distant than the first time you had both met. "I won't force it out of ya, but y'know I'll always listen."

You lean into his palm and relish in the cool touch. Compared to you, he was always a lot colder, but you loved it. You often relished in the way his chilled fingers would trace aimless shapes above the small of your back, especially when he was concentrating.

"Just… a bad night," You manage out through staggered breaths.

He nods knowingly, slowly tucking some of your hair behind your ear and out of your face.

"I can't solve ya problems…" He begins, slowly leaving you to turn the faucet on to the bathtub. You miss his touch, the once could touch now burning into your skin. You wanted it back. As he returns once more he takes your hand and squeezes it tight between his own. "But i can hold ya hand and listen."

The soft words prick at the corners of your eyes as a new round of tears settle in and threaten to spill over at any given time. Squeezing his hand in return, you bow your head, forehead dropping onto his shoulder. A silent submission; a usual occurrence during these sorts of nights.

Slender fingers trail up your arms and around your waist, fiddling with the buttons and zipper of your jeans before he's dragging them down your thighs. Lowering himself to his knees, Piers helps you out of your jeans before slowly kissing up your leg. He starts at your ankle, teeth lightly grazing the skin whilst his tongue caresses the soft bite. His hands explore the side of your leg as he trails the kisses higher.

Your breath stutters when his lips find your thigh, your eyes fixed on his mouth, staring silently as he takes the supple skin between his teeth and bites down. A jolt rolls through you and you can feel the slight smirk — especially when you gasp.

He looks up from where he's knelt before you and rests his cheek against your thigh.

"Want me to try and make ya forget, babe? Or is it too bad t'night?" His voice is soft as he speaks, fingertips massaging wherever they can find in an attempt of easing your emotions. "We can just have a bath 'n go t'bed if ya don't wanna do this kinda thing. I just wanna help." You watch his brows crease with concern and can't help but to reach down and run a hand through his thick, two-toned hair.

Slowly, you nod.

Piers mimics the response and litters soft biting kisses up your body towards your shoulder.

Lithe arms find your waist and tug you closer, hips grinding slowly, sensually against yours. Your head tilts to the left, granting your lover more space to work those perfect lips into your suddenly heated body.

A hand moves up into his long hair, your fingers working skilfully to tie his hair up into a loose bun. This earns a quiet chuckle from the older, followed by a small "thanks".

It doesn't take long for the clothes to leave your entangled bodies. Your hands are everywhere on his sculpted frame; feeling up each indent of his ribs, tracing the protrusion of his scapula, moving down over the subtle curve of his ass; this particularly makes him groan with anticipation. You're addicted to his body—completely enthralled by his tall, thin stature.

"Bath," he groans again once you squeeze his ass.

You oblige and slowly draw back from the passionate lock of your lips.

Piers is the first to step in, turning the nozzles of the bath to slow the water. The action earns a cock of your eyebrow. Instead of turning off the water and laying back, he grabs the detachable shower nozzle and carefully adjusts the settings so that water trickles from the silver showerhead now.

You blink, clearly perplexed, but Piers (with his open legs and proudly standing cock) motions for you to sit between his legs.

It's then that you realise the tub isn't quite full yet.

Nonetheless, you oblige.

You move carefully, stepping into the wider bath and taking your seat between your boyfriend's thighs. The feeling of his aching erection pressing flush against your lower back elicits a warm flow of arousal to spread between your thighs.

"Lean back, babe," he murmurs, left hand caressing your thigh. You recline back into his chest, gasping softly when his hand slips under your knee and widening your legs.

"P-Piers," You stammer quietly, trying to sit up again, but Piers merely pulls you back down and greets you with a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Trust me. I'll make ya feel good, 'kay?"

The question leaves you feeling hot all over, know far too well that Piers never fails to deliver in the pleasure department.

His lips move slowly against your shoulder, massaging your thighs. The water is at a slow pace for the time being, spraying across your pert nipples, causing you to squirm slightly. Piers groans into your ears when your ass grinds back against his cock, the longer shaft jumping excitedly at the friction building between you both.

Slowly, Piers sits you up so that your lower half is totally free of the water (and considering the water level, its not that hard). You shiver when his long fingers slide along the folds of your head, body shuddering at the tender touch. He licks your ear slowly, moaning once two fingers tease your entrance.

"Y'so wet already, babe… Such a good girl."

A fire flames across your cheeks and you squeeze your eyes shut tight. Praise makes something inside you flutter and results in you becoming absolute putty in Piers' hands.

He doesn't penetrate you yet. Instead, he teases your tighter entrance with one fingertip, the showerhead slowly being angled closer towards your clit. His fingers pry the lips of your warmth apart and spread you open for the water to splash against you sensitive core.

The first touch of water steals the breath from your lungs, briefly. Your back arches and your eyes snap open, wide and completely taken aback by the foreign pleasure. Your hips tremble instantly and violently, a string of higher pitched whines falling from you as you writhe atop your boyfriend.

Continuing to tease your ear, you feel him smirk yet again. And it's when the pressure of the shower nozzle increases that you realise why.

The warm water that repetitively soaks your clit makes you want to scream. Droplets remain relentless in drowning your pussy, massaging your clit so strangely to anything you've ever experienced before—it's totally overthrown your previous depression and replaced it with something dangerously delicious: lust.

"Piers…!" You finally cry out, bucking your hips. You can feel your abdomen becoming tight—can feel the familiar tremble of your thighs.

You're panting and moaning and whining his name—and he's living for it. Watching his sweet, innocent girlfriend become a whining whore does things to him. It gives him an odd power trip knowing that he is making someone so beautiful—someone so pure—cry out his name like this.

"Y'like this, Princess?" comes his quiet cool, tongue grazing up and along the shell of your ear. You shudder, pushing yourself both backwards and forwards, wanting both Piers' cock and the vibrations of the shower head. "Can't hear you…~"

When he lowers the showerhead away from your clit you almost cry.

"Yes!" You choke out hurriedly, nodding over and over and over. "P-Please don't stop, Piers. Please. Please, I'm so close…"

There's a quiet chuckle before the bliss of the showerhead returns. The welcomed pleasure makes you sigh with relief, hips slowly beginning to bounce in spot for something more. It's then that a strong hand wraps around your hips and the shower is finally pressed onto the highest pressure it can muster.

The orgasm hits you so suddenly you swore you must've passed out because there was absolutely no warning for you or Piers. Your body convulses against the unyielding attack of the tiny droplets, your eyes rolling into the back of your head which falls back against Piers' shoulder. He holds you in a vice-like grip so that escape was pointless.

You're grounded after a few starry moments with a loud gasp, followed by an even louder whine. Your back arches up off your lover and your toes girl as the pleasure begins to fade to pain. You're crying again by this stage, babbling, begging, trying to move your hips—but no matter what, you can't.

"Not gonna stop. You're a big girl. You know how to use ya words." Piers' words reverberate off each end of your skull, his husky voice going straight to your already dripping pussy.

Safe words were something that he had introduced to you after the eight month mark of your relationship. That's when things became a little more intense between you both—when Piers taught you a whole other world of pleasure from the vanilla sex you knew of.

But this wasn't time for your safe word. Although it hurt, there was the slightest lick of pleasure that teetered alongside the pain that made you want more.

"A-Ah--!" You choke when you feel your hips angle and the head of Piers' cock tease your entrance. "Please!" You cry without any encouragement, knowing full well how badly you wanted to be fucked while the shower head abused your clit.

"Hm… 'Kay. Since ya such a good girl."

The flush spreads from your cheeks down your neck when you feel just how easy his cock enters you, like your pussy was made to sheath his sizable erection.

Another sigh of contentment leaves you when a gradual rhythm of his hips is settled. You reach behind you and run a hand through his hair, tugging on the bun and earning a guttural growl from the older, which entails a rather sharp thrust up into you.

Handing you the showerhead, Piers angles it so its directly targeting your clit.

"N-No!" You cry when he begins to increase the pace of his hips, his throbbing cock slipping in and out of you. "Too much!" Your head falls back against his shoulder once his hands find your hips, angling you so he's thrusting upwards, cock burying deeper and deeper inside your sopping sex.

"Don't y'dare move that hand," he growls once more, teeth nipping at your ear. "If you move It, I won't let ya cum again."

The threat is too much; you almost want to cry out no. The second orgasm is so close. You can feel it conjuring inside you like a tempest, a violent storm that will wreak havoc as it tears through your trembling body. So instead you just nod, silently crying out every time the head of Piers' cock dragged across that sinfully sweet spot deep inside you.

"Y'such a good girl, Y/N. Fuck, I love you so much." You can feel he won't last long. The one thing you've noticed about Piers, is that right before his orgasm, he becomes cutely sappy; reminding you how good you are, telling you how lucky he is to have you—how lucky he is to love you. And again, he groans into your ear, his cock jumping inside of you as he sloppily angles his cock inside of you.

He grabs your hand and begins to shake the nozzle, the droplets splaying in every direction they can, hitting every inch of your sensitive heat and, finally, drawing out your second orgasm.

Euphoria washes over you so strongly that when you clench around Piers, he can't help but to shoot his seed deep inside your sinful pussy. He groans, hand bruising your hips as he fucks himself into you, riding out his orgasm, but also prolonging yours.

"Piers!" You cry out loudly, voice higher pitched than earlier—strained, too. His name seems to be the only thing your sex filled mind can think of because its the only thing you can seem to babble as your consciousness slips.

Piers hums quietly as he continues to hold the showerhead (now right up) against the throbbing bundle of nerves, watching the way your twitching and stiffening body begins to limpen.

"So fuckin' beautiful," he rubs, finally turning the pressure down and allowing the showerhead to fall back into the slowly rising bathwater.

Heavy pants heave your chest, sweat lining your brow. The afterglow of your orgasm is so warm against the chill of Piers' cold body. You feel the distant press of supple lips trailing along your neck; calloused fingertips tracing aimless shapes (which now you think may have been hearts) against your abdomen.

"I love you so much, Y/N," he whispers again, cradling you so close. "I'm sorry y'so sad right now… I don't really know how t'help… but i'll always be here to hold ya whenever y'need me to, yeah?"

You smile exhaustedly at the soft nothings he whispers and tilt your head to press a small kiss to his jaw.

"I love you, Piers. Thank you."

#piers #piers x reader #nezu #nezu x reader #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #pokemon #self insert #nor writes #smut #im not very good at labelling stuff like I know this aint rough but like.......its slightly that thing u know #me trying to explain anything: instantly fails #also im trying hard 2 work on smut #sorry if its not great #I hope u enjoy it nonetheless

169 notes · View notes

kieraswriting · 4 years

Text

Remus Gets Out

More Than The Sum Of Our Parts

Previous Next

Masterpost

Deceit woke up to a strong sense that something was wrong. He had no idea what, but it just felt wrong. He got up and walked into the common room. A few of the others were awake, but seemed pretty calm. He made breakfast, hoping that the smell would draw the rest of them out of their rooms without tipping them off that he was checking on them.

It worked, except that Remus didn’t come out. It was very possible that he was in his side of the Imagination, and even more possible that he was eating something of his own.

Deceit, still trying to be as subtle as possible, walked all over their side of the mind, looking for what it was that was making him feel so wrong.

He finally stopped at the door to the Light Side. There was a hole in the corner. It was small, just barely larger than his hand, but it immediately sent Deceit into a panic. It had to be Remus.

••^*^••

Patton screamed. There was something in the kitchen. The light from the living room wasn’t enough to see what it was, but he didn’t dare get closer to turn on the kitchen light. The rustling just got louder.

“Patton! Are you alright?” Virgil was quickly coming down the stairs behind him.

“S-something’s in there.” Patton pointed shakily towards the dark kitchen.

Virgil’s face hardened. He turned on his phone flashlight and kept it pointed in front of him as he walked into the kitchen. He flipped the light on. There was a screech, and something flew at his head.

Virgil ducked, only to get crashed into by some animal. He yelled and flung it away. It ran off immediately.

Patton poked up from behind the couch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Virgil growled. “It scratched me, but it’s gone now.”

“It’s still somewhere, though.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s one of Roman’s figments, and got out of the imagination somehow. Once he gets up we can have him take it back.”

Patton got down the first aid kit. “For now though, Virgil, you’re my hero!”

Virgil blushed. “I didn’t even do much.”

“You confronted something creepy for me. And you’re about to be brave and sit still so I can clean up the scratches you got.”

Virgil groaned, but he was smiling.

••^*^••

Logan was trying just having his wings out. It was still baby steps, but he was working on it. He was in his room reading, but the door was halfway open.

There was an odd sound from the hallway, and when he turned to look, an animal darted into his room and started climbing his wings. Logan let out a very unprofessional squeak as he jumped up and tried to shake it off.

Finally managed to grab it and pull it off. It squirmed and scratched at his arm, but he had grabbed close enough to its neck that at least it couldn’t bite him. It was a raccoon.

Logan carried it into his corner of the imagination, which Roman had made into a lab for him, and dropped the raccoon into a cage. The cage was large, but the bars were close enough together that it couldn’t get out. Logan picked up the phone.

“Roman, there’s a figment of yours that got out. I’ve caught it, but I’d appreciate it if you would retrieve it.”

“Sure. I’m just a bit busy at the moment, but as soon as Thomas is up for the day I’ll deal with it.”

“Yes, that would be ideal.”

“Great! See you later then, specs.” Roman hung up.

Logan turned around and startled. In the cage, instead of a raccoon, was Remus. He grinned.

“What do we get to do till then?” He asked excitedly. “Are you going to experiment on me? What if I drink one of those beakers? Will my stomach blow up?”

“Remus!”

“Or what if you cut me open? I wonder what all you’d find. Ooh! If you find the spray paint marble I want it back. I’ve been waiting and waiting but it hasn’t come out yet.”

“No.”

Remus pouted. “You’re no fun. What are we going to do then?”

“Nothing. We’re going to wait here until Roman comes.”

Remus chortled. “Nah, that’d be boring.” He levered his feet against the bars and pushed until they split, leaving cuts along his calves. In a flash he was a raccoon again and darting through the holes and out of the lab.

Logan tried in vain to catch him, but Remus was fast, and trying not to be caught.

••^*^••

Deceit crept through the light side. Hopefully, both he and Remus would be unnoticed. Though honestly, he could not see any way of that happening.

Suddenly he was bowled over by Remus.

“Deedee! It’s so fun! Why’d you ever lock the door?”

“Because Thomas wants you here. He wants both of us here. Don’t come back, Remus.”

“No! Nothing ever happens on our side.”

“You don’t have a whole half of the imagination!”

Remus pouted. “But no one wants to do anything with me!”

Deceit wrapped his arms tightly around Remus. “Don’t come back!”

Remus squirmed, but couldn’t overpower Deceit. Suddenly he shifted, and slipped out before Deceit could grab him again. He disappeared down the hallway just as quickly, before Deceit could even get up.

Deceit sighed. He’d have to get the light sides to help. He went into their living room, where Virgil already was. Virgil of course didn’t trust him, but soon Logan and Patton came, and Deceit explained the situation to them.

••^*^••

“I’m just going to use a little of this now, right at the end,” Remy said, an almost sadistic smile on his face. “Just a taste before his alarm goes off.”

“That’s evil,” Roman said.

“Serves him right for setting the alarm in the first place.” Remy retorted, picking up the bag with the most exciting dream Roman had ready in it. “See you in a bit, babes!”

But before he had the chance to leave, Remus appeared, leaning on the door frame. “Hi! Can I play too?”

“Absolutely not,” Roman growled, drawing his sword. “I don’t know how you got in—“

Remus giggled, summoning his own weapon. “Yes! Let’s fight and smash all these pretty bottles.”

Roman faltered slightly, but Remy slid forward and covered Remus’s eyes with his hand, momentarily making him very sleepy. Roman tackled Remus to the ground and wrested the Morningstar from his hand. Remy dumped the entirety of the dream dust onto Remus’s face.

Remus twitched and laughed, inhaling far too much dream dust for one person at once, and let out a sigh as if in ecstasy.

“Thanks,” Roman said. “I’ll get him back where he belongs now.”

“Do that.”

Roman sunk out with Remus into the living room. He was surprised to see Patton, Logan, Virgil, and Deceit all there.

“Roman!” Patton said.

“Remus,” Deceit said.

Upon hearing his name, Remus sneezed, and a cloud of dream dust sparkled up. Both Logan and Deceit stiffened up for a moment, covering their mouth and nose.

“Oh, my,” Patton said, sitting down.

Virgil moaned as if in pain, covering his ears with his hands and crumpling to the floor.

Roman had had enough experience with the dust that this little didn’t affect him too strongly.

“I could use your help getting him back home, Deceit.” Roman said.

Deceit nodded, but Remus bolted upright. “No! I don’t want to go back yet!” His eyes were still unfocused, so he was probably still under many of the dream effects, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to do a lot of damage if one of them tried grabbing him.

“How about this,” Patton said, surprisingly aware for having just been dream dusted. “You came here because you were bored. So we will each give you a present. Something new to play with.”

Remus only considered for half a second, perhaps because he knew that they’d take him back eventually either way. “Deal.”

“Wait here.” Patton said, going to his room.

“Fine, if I have to give you something,” Roman said. There was a wastebasket in his room, and in it he had put all the crinkly foil wrappers that he had, perfectly smoothed out. He snapped it to his hand. It wasn’t huge, but Remus would get a kick out of balling up the colorful foil. He handed the basket to Remus.

Even though his face was a mess of matted glitter it still managed to light up.

“I suppose I’ll give you something then,” Logan said, his nose wrinkling slightly. He left the room just as Patton got back.

Patton held out a yellow bucket, full of a sickly green slime. “Here!” He even seemed glad to do it.

As soon as the bucket was in his hand, Remus stuck his face down in it. When he sat up again, most of the dream dust was stuck to the slime, and he had slime in his hair and mustache. He looked a lot more aware than he had a few minutes ago.

Roman stuck his hand on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

“I love it!” Remus said exuberantly.

Logan got back just then and dropped a small container in Remus’s lap. “There. I’m willing to bet you’ve never tasted something like that before.”

Remus opened the container. It was a powder that Logan sometimes put on his wings. He sniffed loudly, inhaling some, and causing most of the other people in the room to cringe.

“Mm, I haven’t had something like this before.”

Everyone looked at either Virgil or Deceit. Virgil was only barely getting over the effects of the dream dust.

“Florida man,” he slurred. “Look it up.”

Remus snapped and a phone appeared in his hand. He tapped away a few times before gasping. “How?! How have I never heard of this?!? This is an outrage! It’s beautiful!”

Virgil smirked. Patton helped him to the couch, where he laid down and covered his face with his hood.

“What about you, Deedee?” Remus asked.

“I’ll not give you mine when we’re home again.” Deceit promised.

“Alright.” Remus slumped. “It’s a shame to go back. You’re all so fun! I’ll be sure to visit again!” He got up and followed Deceit.

Roman followed them to make sure they made it back through the door and to help Deceit fix the hole.

••^*^••

Once back in the dark side commons, Remus eagerly showed off all his presents to the others.

“And Deedee still has to give me one too!”

Deceit walked in and handed Remus a piece of snakeskin. “Here. It isn’t from the last time I shed.”

Remus’s eyes lit up and he shoved it into his mouth.

Deceit’s nose wrinkled. “I’m so glad you feel the need to do that in front of me.”

“It doesn’t taste as strongly as I would have guessed,” Remus commented.

#remus sanders #deceit sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remy #sleep sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #platonic demus #more than the sum of our parts

101 notes · View notes