#I tend to get lost in the movement and colors if I look too long

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Linchpin - Fear Factory

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist from this ask meme: [ 🛁 ] - running them a bath, Shadowzel.

-----

“She is in pain,” Lae’zel says, pacing back and forth before the bar on the Elfsong’s bottom floor. The ale Karlach purchased for her sits undrunk on the wood bartop; she seems to have forgotten its existence. “And it is a pain I do not know how to soothe,” she growls. “It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Karlach says, watching Lae’zel’s quick, restless movements with an air of sympathy. “Fucking sucks, when someone you care about is hurting. And this kind of hurt… whoof.” She breathes out, rattling her lips heavily. “I lost my parents, back before the Hells, but at least they went… normally, y’know? Bad fever, overturned cart. Things like that happen to people. This, what she had to do… that’s a whole different ball game…”

“This is not helping,” Lae’zel says curtly.

“I’m commiserating,” Karlach says with a slight shrug. “I don’t really have an answer for you. ‘s not the sort of thing you fix.”

Lae’zel comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face Karlach directly. “There must be something,” she says. “I--” She breaks off abruptly and scowls down at the battered slats of the floor. “You know of these things,” she mutters. “I do not. I must have your help.”

“These things?” Karlach cocks her head slowly to one side.

A pause. Lae’zel flushes, her jaw working with frustration at the struggle to articulate her own feelings. “Romance,” she finally says carefully. Another pause, then suddenly rapid, “No. Not romance. Something more. The gentleness that comes with it. I feel the need for it, but do not know…” She falters, her ears flushing a deep olive. “I do not know what to do.”

“Oh.” Karlach would be tempted to smile, were it not for the fact that Lae’zel looks so terribly agitated. “Well, I’ll let you in on the first secret I know,” she says, “which is that we’re all making this the fuck up as we go along. I certainly am.” She nudges the barstool next to her with her boot toe. “C'mon, sit down."

Lae'zel sits abruptly, a soldier obeying orders. Karlach studies her for a moment thoughtfully. "Y'know," she says slowly after a little while, "sometimes when my engine's real bad, Hec'll just... do things for me. Just so I don't have to. Get my dinner served up, or clean out my armor, that sort of thing. And it helps." She rubs at her jaw. "I think, with this sort of shit... it's not about fixing. Not really. It's about... just being there, and holding some of the weight. Helping her keep living, while she sorts it all out."

Lae'zel considers this with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says slowly.

Karlach's teeth flash in a cautious grin. "We've got a proper bathroom in our rooms upstairs now. You could draw her a bath, bring her dinner after... give her a night not having to think about anything."

Lae'zel nods. "Yes," she repeats. Her whole body is stock-still except for her fingertips which fidget almost imperceptibly against the floral-carved edge of the bar. 

Karlach's smile softens. "The way Hec tells it - it'll make you feel better too," she says gently. "Maybe feel a little less like your head's eating itself alive." She claps Lae'zel on the shoulder. "Look. We're gonna make this happen," she says. "And I'll help. She likes night orchids, right? I'm gonna go right now over to Bonecloaks and shake that woman down for every blossom she's got, and then Jaheira and me'll take the boys off on an adventure for a while. Leave the rooms upstairs all yours till, say, ten o'clock?"

She doesn't expect thanks - the whole crew, by now, is well aware that Lae'zel doesn't tend to say it out loud. What she does get, though, is a sudden tight grip on her forearm from the gith's long-fingered hand; a gesture of camaraderie - or perhaps the clinging of a drowning woman to a driftwood life raft. "That is... generous," Lae'zel mutters.

"Just doing my part to make love bloom," Karlach says airily.

Lae’zel flinches, her color deepening again. “We have not spoken of love,” she says stiffly.

Karlach lifts her eyebrows innocently. “Oh, are we not saying that part out loud yet?” she asks.

“Kainyank…” Lae’zel grumbles, rolling her eyes - but Karlach notices she doesn’t argue the point.

-----

Shadowheart sits on the bed, leaning against the window, her knees drawn to her chest. She’s dimly aware that the others haven’t come back from dinner yet, but it’s hard to muster the energy to care. Ever since the House of Grief, she’s felt drained, empty, surrounded by the shattered pieces of a world she doesn’t know how to reconstruct yet. She feels broken.

There’s the soft sound of a footstep up the stairs. Rustling movement in the center of the shared floor of their lodgings. The sound of running water from the magical taps in the bathroom. Shadowheart ignores it all, focusing her eyes on the progress of a fly climbing up the outside of the window glass. 

Then-- “Shadowheart?”

Something in her heart loosens just a little, hearing Lae’zel’s voice. It’s astonishing, given how they began, the way that Lae’zel has come to mean protection, and understanding, and calm. Lae’zel is safety in a way that none of the others are, because Lae’zel too has had her life taken apart, and the two of them have built a new one out of the ashes. “Yes,” she says softly, forcing herself to stir and lift her head. “I’m here.”

To her surprise, she finds that Lae’zel is standing watching her with a bundle of deep blue flowers in one hand. The gith shifts awkwardly and then sets the plants down on the nearby table. “I--” she says haltingly. A pause, and then she presses on doggedly as if expecting a burst of laughter from some corner at any moment. “All day you have sat here alone. I have drawn you a bath. Will you come?”

“A bath?” Shadowheart tips her head, mildly bemused.

“Yes.” Lae’zel shifts her weight slowly from one foot to the other. Then she adds, almost sheepishly, “Karlach said it would help.” A pause, then so low Shadowheart almost can’t hear it, “Let me help. Please.”

A sudden tight lump settles in Shadowheart’s throat, making it hard to speak. “Lae’zel--”

“I said I would protect you,” Lae’zel mutters. “But there is no enemy to strike. There is only this. These small things. It is not much, but…” 

“No.” Shadowheart slowly uncurls herself from the tight ball in which she has spent the last few hours. The barest hint of a smile pulls at her lips for the first time in days. It’s not about the bath, not really - she didn’t need or even really want one. It’s the reminder that there is more around her than the impenetrable shadow Shar has draped over her world. That Lae’zel is driving it back with both fists, even when she doesn’t think she knows how.

“No,” she repeats softly. “That sounds perfect.”

[tavvattales]

helloooo can i request a fluff lof y/n taking care of their injuries after some long fight? with childe, xiao and diluc 😊 thank youuu

Oh my goodness, yes of course! <3

And if I may be bold to say, you're my first ever ask! Thank you so much for enjoying my work. I hope you enjoy these stories I wrote especially for you! 😊😊

---------------------------------------------------'--

GENSHIN IMPACT Character x gn reader fluff stories~♡♡

Scenario: Cleaning up their wounds

Characters: Childe/Tartaglia, Xiao, Diluc(seperate)

Pairings: Childe/Tartaglia x gn reader, Xiao x gn reader, Diluc x gn reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injuries, minor swearing

SFW----> Lots of fluff down below. Click at your own risk. ;)

Childe/Tartaglia:

● He's a skilled fighter, he wouldn't be a Harbinger if he wasn't, so very rarely would he come to you with a wound. When he does he's always embarrassed, but he'll come to you because you never pass judgment, instead your eyes are filled with worry and love.

● He loves how gentle you are when you tend to him. The way he looks at you when you clean him up and the way you smile at him, telling him how glad you are it wasn't anything serious. He knows how much you love him and it makes him fall even harder for you. Every. Single. Time.

A loud, rapid knock to your door startled you awake. Groggily you stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes wondering who it could be at this time of night. As you reach the door, you peer through the peep hole. Surprised, you open the door.

A Fatui agent stood there, bowing to you. Immediately you knew what was wrong before the man could have a chance to speak, "Where is he? How bad is it?" You asked, rushed, already putting your coat on over your sleeping garments.

"He's at the Northlander Bank. He would have come here himself, but this time it's. . .bad. He's lost a bit of blood," The agent spoke grimly. You felt the lump in your throat rise and you tried to swallow.

"Thank you. ." You manage to say to the man before rushing past him, grabbing the medical supplies in the process. You didn't stop running through the brightly lit streets of Liyue until you arrived at the bank.

Panting and gasping for air you pushed past the two Fatui agents who were guarding the doors. They already knew who you were so they didn't even try to stop you, otherwise you would have had their tounge.

You quickly made your way to his room where a few more agents were attending to him as he lay on his bed, clutching his side with blood soaked rags. Your nose was immediately met with the smell of iron, "Childe! Oh my Archons, what the hell happened?!" You rush to his side, pulling out your medical supplies.

You shooed the remaining agents out of the room so you could focus. "I had a run in with a peculiar traveler named Aether. He put up quite a fight. ." His breathing was heavy and staggered, fading in and out of consciousness.

"I need you to keep talking to me, my love," you say to him gently, trying to stay calm, "I'm going to cut off your shirt so I can better assess your wound, okay?" You swiftly take out your surgical scissors and cut away the crimson soaked fabric clinging to his upper torso.

You gasp, the wound was a large slash across the side of his abdomen. You stifle back tears before meekly saying, "You're going to be okay. I promise. You'll need several stitches, but I'm determined to keep you alive."

He lets out a small laugh before wincing in pain, "I'm lucky to have someone as kind and caring as you, Y/N" Childe weakly reaches over to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand for a brief moment before replying, "Take this for the pain, and this to help stop the bleeding. Afterwards I'm going to need to disinfect the wound," You hand him two pills and he swallows them quickly, "It's going to hurt, love, so bare with me. ."

You open up a bottle of alcohol and offer your hand to him, "Squeeze my hand," You say to him as you start pouring the alcohol over his wound. He grits his teeth and lets out a pained groan as he squeezes your hand tightly. You work quickly from there, stitching his wound perfectly.

Once you're finished you clean up all the rags and place a clean damp one over his forehead. He's now asleep, getting the much deserved rest he needed. You place a gentle kiss upon his cheek, not leaving his side.

He'll live to see another day, thank the Archons.

Childe/Tartaglia x gn reader END

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

Xiao:

● He also isn't one to get injured so quickly, though when he does you're always quickly by his side no matter how big or small. Even though he's not much for human interaction, he quite enjoys the attention he gets from you.

● He'll always thank you in his own way with odd gifts he made himself. You find it charming. By now you have quite the collection and they're all your most prized possessions.

Today you wanted to travel to Mondstat as you heard there was a festival going on and Xiao offered to accompany you, but only for protection he insisted. He thought human customs were a waste and didn't want to be bothered with them.

The journey to Mondstat would take half a day, and sometimes the roads could be treacherous, so you made sure to pack all of the necessities.

Snacks for the road? Check. Extra water? Check. A med kit? Of course. You triple checked everything and you were about to check it a fourth time when Xiao stopped you and said, "Y/N, you have everything we need. Trust me," He placed a firm, but gentle hand on your shoulder, "Now let's get going before it gets too late. The roads will get dangerous is we wait any longer."

You let out a small sigh and nod, "You're right. Sorry, you know I always gotta make sure everything's in order." You could have sworn you heard him huff and that made you smile. Xiao always had a cold exterior, but you knew a different side to him. He was gentle, kind, always looking out for you. You loved him so much for that. He'd never let anyone but you see this side of him.

Grabbing your sack you sling it over your shoulder and secure it as you both prepare to head out. Xiao was never one for small talk, but you still engaged him in conversation while you two walked. He secretly loved the sound of your voice so he kept you entertained just so he could keep hearing it.

After a few hours of walking both of you had arrived to Stone Gate, you decide it was time for a break. You stretch your arms upwards and arch your back before plopping down on top of a log you had found, patting the spot next to you for Xiao to sit next to you, but he shook his head and continued to stand on guard, "Oh come on, Xiao. We've been walking for hours. It's okay to rest for a bi-"

He quickly raised his hand to stop you from talking and put a finger to his lips before quietly saying, "I sense something evil coming our way," He readied his jade spear before continuing, "I need you to hide someplace safe."

"No way am I going to let you fight on your own!" You retort, getting your sword ready. Determination burned in your eyes as you glanced over to him.

He met your gaze and let out a small sigh, his golden eyes glimmering before giving you a nod, "Fine."

You started hearing rustling from all around you both when it finally clicked that it was an ambush. A charge of at least twenty Hilichurls and three large ones came at the both of you from all sides, "Tck. . Damn. There are more than I expected, " Xiao muttered angrily, knocking back three with his spear in one swift movement, killing them instantly.

You swiftly take out two more, rushing at a third one. You two made a hell of a team. You didn't have a vision, but you were very skilled with the sword and whatever you didn't have, Xiao made up for it creating the perfect synergy between the both of you.

"So much for a peaceful break!" You call out to him as you hacked away a few more, so far you've managed not to get hit. Xiao managed to take out the rest rather quickly.

You rush to his side, noticing a rather long cut across his right cheek, "Xiao, you've been hurt," you said, a frown forming on your lips. He reached up to touch it and he winced slightly.

"I must have been nicked by an arrow, " He muttered, "I'm just glad you're not hurt," He softly took your chin in his hand as he tilted your head gently, side to side.

You blush furiously, avoiding his beautiful gaze, "Let me at least tend to your cut. It's the least I can do" you say, rummaging through your sack taking out the med kit.

Xiao took a seat on the log you were previously sitting on as you kneel in front of him, gently tending his wound. He winces each time you dab it with the disinfectant, but he's grateful to you.

After placing the bandage on his cut, he gingerly takes your hand and places it back on his cheek, nuzzling into it, "Thank you, " He said in a hushed whisper before kissing your hand.

You smile at him and leaned upwards, giving a quick kiss to his bandaged cut, leaving him stunned. "That's to make it heal faster" you say giggling softly at his expression.

He still wasn't used to human customs, but this he could get used to.

Xiao x gn reader END

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

Diluc:

● His work as the Dark Knight hero brings him home with several injuries a week, but you're quick to assist him and most of the time he's careful not to sustain anything too horrible. Though you never fail to scold him for being reckless and to take it easy once in a while.

● He always studies your features as you tend to him, falling in love with you all over again. You're so tender with your touch, careful not to cause him any further harm. He always pulls you into a tight embrace afterwards, grateful to be back in your arms after a long night.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you study the mildly battered Diluc. His bright fiery colored hair, falling in locks in front of his face as he plops down in a chair, leaning his head back. He had several small cuts from what you could tell with the amount of tears on his clothing, "You over did it again, didn't you?" You asked, hands on your hips.

"Mm, perhaps I may have, " Diluc replies back, slowly taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, preparing for you to clean out his cuts and scrapes.

You click your tongue in response to his answer, "You worry me so much, you know that, right?" But you're quick to blush as he slides off his shirt, his perfectly sculpted abs catching the dim light of the room, creating perfect shadows across his skin.

He smirks at you, "I'm aware, but I also love seeing how you care for me after a long night, Y/N," Diluc takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips as he gingerly kisses it, glancing up at you with his gentle crimson eyes.

You fidget shyly, meeting his gaze, "O-of course. I'll always support you, but it's okay to give your body a break once in a while too. ." You say, smiling softly wondering what you were gonna do with him.

Diluc lets go of your hand, letting you get to work on cleaning his several small cuts. You're careful not to further hurt him as you dab them clean, applying a bandage to each one, "All finished." You say, proud of your handiwork.

"Thank you, my dear," He says as he gets up, pulling you into a warm embrace. Your heart pounding in your chest. You lift your face up to meet his loving crimson gaze as he leans down to give you a soft, warm kiss upon your lips.

You may not like to see him hurt, but you live for these gentle moments.

Diluc x gn reader END

I hope you enjoy <3

[angelicimprisonment]

space cowboy; captain rex blurb

“General, we’ve located the bounty hunter, Cad Bane, at a seedy club on the south side of sector H85.” Captain Rex gestures to the holotable in the middle of the command center. Anakin approaches, chest puffing with excitement. 

They’ve been tracking Bane for a few days now, who once again is messing with Jedi. Apparently, this time he managed to get ahold of Skywalker’s lightsaber, who has been mortified and in a very distressed state since this whole ordeal started. Something about being a good role model for Ahsoka, Rex isn’t too sure why this is the tipping point for change but he’s going along with it. 

“Fantastic, I want men stationed up and around the exits of the club. Let’s catch this bounty hunter and get my kriffing lightsaber back.” Anakin looks around cautiously, “And remember, even if we catch this guy, nobody tells Obi-Wan why I suddenly had a vested interest in hunting him down, got it?”

Rex holds back a smirk, “Understood, sir.”

Once arriving at the club, the Captain and Skywalker hide themselves across from the entrance, hidden behind some flickering pink fluorescents advertising the “pleasure” shop below them. Fitting, Rex thinks. 

Skywalker pulls up his binocs and peers in to the clubs small windows. “There he is, at the bar closest to the dance floor. He’s also definitely trying to chat up some poor girl, so we should speed this up.” He hands the binocs off to Rex.

As Skywalker comms the other men stationed around, Rex assess the situation himself. Yep, there is Bane at the bar, and the woman he’s chatting up- wait. Rex pulls the binocs down, and then looks back through them. That’s you. You’re sitting at the bar in a club that he does not feel good knowing you’re at, seemingly alone. Rex realizes he’s been quiet for too long when Skywalker asks, “Anything changed?” 

“No, sir. He’s still there. I just think we should go in carefully. There’s quite a few civilians in there that we don’t want caught in the crossfire.” He and Skywalker begin making their way out of their hiding spot to the front of the club.

“I think you’re right Captain, but that’s gonna depend a lot on Bane. He doesn’t tend to go quietly.” 

They enter the decently crowded club. Everybody seems to notice the entrance of a clone captain and a Jedi, most moving back into cliques and trying to avoid eye contact. Anakin leans over to Rex, “Such a warm welcome.”

Anakin signals to the troopers outside to be on alert as they both head over to the bar, hoping to stay in the blind spot of the bounty hunter for now. However, as they approach, Rex notices most of the patrons behind them have decided to end their night early. But you are still there, at the bar with a very dangerous bounty hunter. It’s weird, he thinks, you don’t look scared or uncomfortable, just annoyed. He’s not surprised, you’ve always hated being bothered when you are trying to mind your own business. 

“Skywalker,” Cad Bane drawls. All movement around them ceases as the tension in the hot room increase, “Can’t you see me and this pretty little lady are having a good time without you?” 

You whip your head over Bane’s shoulder and notice the Jedi, eyebrows shooting up. But then you make eye contact with Rex, and all the color drains from your face. Oh kriff my ass, you think. Rex’s body language definitely indicates shock, and you really hope not too much anger.

“Bane, you have something of mine and I would like it back please. Not a very bothersome request, if you ask me.” Says Anakin. Rex carefully places his hand on his blaster, knowing that if he were to have to use it, you would be directly in the crossfire. 

The bounty hunter stands up and faces the Jedi, shielding you from view. “You see, Jedi, I don’t have anything of yours. And even if I did, I don’t see why you deserve it if you lost something so precious in the first place.” Rex notices a glint of something metallic hidden in his coat as he gestures. He still has the lightsaber on him,

“Sir,” whispers the Captain, hoping Skywalker noticed it too. He catches the faintest nod coming from his general. Skywalker takes a step forward. 

“Oh I didn’t lose it, I just couldn’t resist sharing it for a little bit. It’s a pretty nice weapon.” Skywalker shoots his hand out and uses the force to pull his lightsaber into his hand, and ignites it. 

In a flash, Bane shouts in anger, and pulls out his blaster. Rex raises his own, ready to pull the trigger. Both Skywalker and Rex begin to run closer to Bane as he whips around and wraps his arm around your neck and presses the cold blaster against your temple. 

“I’m sorry darlin’, this wasn’t how I was intending for the night to go,” says Bane as he carefully positions himself behind you and begins walking towards the exit. 

You whisper back, “well, maybe you should have listened to me before trying this shit again.” You cannot believe this is how the one night you have off this week was going. And of all people to witness it, it had to be Rex.

Meanwhile, Rex is seething. Being forced to watch some disgusting and heartless being use you as hostage for an escape is about to make him do something really stupid. He briefly wonders if Skywalker can feel his fear. I hope not, he thinks.

“Let her go Bane. She’s not apart of this.” They remain a decent distance away from him as he backs out of the club. 

“You’re right, she’s not.” Bane leans in, whispers something in your ear, and pushes you hard into Skywalker and Rex. As they both catch you, they watch as Bane effortlessly jumps off the platform and onto a speeder bike, coat billowing behind him. Skywalker bolts past Rex, but is ultimately too late to catch him.

Rex quickly raises his vambrace to his helmet, “Men, Bane has gotten away. He’s headed up towards sector F20. Track him.” His men confirm that they watched the altercation and have already begun to follow him. Rex breathes a sigh of relief as he helps you back up on your feet, placing a gentle hand on your waist to keep you steady. Rex leans in and asks, “Are you alright -uh -ma’am?” 

You look at him with those doe eyes, the ones that turn his legs into jelly, “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Just shaken up is all.” Your gaze turns sheepish though, and before he can ask Anakin approaches the two of you.

“Are you hurt?” He asks. You give him the same reply and thank the both of them for helping you. “Yeah, We know a dangerous creep when we see one, stay safe out here ok? Rex?” Skywalker gestures to the door, wanting to at least give some chase to the criminal, even if their goal was achieved. Rex nods, and Skywalker walks outside to the platform. Before he follows, Rex lets his hand drift from your shoulder to your hand, and squeezes tight.

“I’m very relieved you are ok, but what in the world are you doing here? And with Cad Bane?What did he whisper to you? Did he threaten you?!” Rex asks incredulously. You know exactly what face he’s making under that helmet, eyebrows raised and eyes all wild-like. 

You blurt out all at once, “Um, no he didn’t threaten me. We -um, had a bit of a thing for a little. Long time ago. And he found me here waiting for a friend and tried to talk me into one more night. I said no obviously.” You let out a big stressed sigh, waiting for Rex to process what you said. Oh Maker, I sound ridiculous, you think. He’s gonna hate me and think I cheated on him just now. Coming to this realization, you begin to panic and ugh here come the tears. 

Rex just kind of stills for a minute, but as soon as he realizes you’re crying, he begins to hush you. “I believe you, I believe you, I’m sorry I- I just-“ The front door to the club flies back open, Skywalker looking around confused.

He finds you both and crosses his arms, “Rex, you’re really taking your time today huh?” 

Rex snaps up to attention, “Yes General, Sir. Uh I- uh sorry, sir. I’m right behind you now.” Anakin just shakes his head and holds the door open for them. Rex takes a step before slightly turning his head and trying to be at least somewhat discreet, “I still have a lot of questions for you. Be safe,” and continues his way out the door.

You breathe another sigh of relief, but then stiffen up when you realize you have to explain how Cad fucking Bane is an ex of yours to your military captain boyfriend. Grabbing your purse off the ground and starting towards the door, you hear the Jedi ask, “So, you wanna tell me what that was about?” Followed by a very strained clone captain reply, “With all due respect General, no. Absolutely not.” 

[rebrandedbard]

3 for Jaskier×Geralt please

3. “Please, don’t leave.”

tw: heat stroke

wc: 1706

Rain Rain Go Away

Geralt takes on a contract to resolve tensions between an angry nymph and the farmers who insulted her. Jaskier doesn’t do well in the heatwave she sends in retribution. Light angst ensues as Geralt learns why Jaskier hid his struggle.

-

Above them, the sun blistered. Geralt had walked astride Jaskier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. Though he ran hotter than humans, his body adjusted well to heat, and a bit of sweat went a long way to keeping him cool. As usual, Jaskier had elected to accompany him. He carried with him only his notebook, tucked in the hem of his trousers. This contract required no fighting and Geralt had been happy enough to leave his armour behind at the inn. Despite his initial reservations, he knew it would have been more uncomfortable to wear it in this weather, and if things took a wrong turn, his signs would be enough for such a simple confrontation. The humans hadn’t angered anything particularly powerful.

“Can this heatwave really be the work of a nymph?” Jaskier quietly complained. He tugged at the front of his shirt, fanning air inside. The hair stuck to his forehead was almost black, being so saturated with sweat. The bottom of his shirt had long come untucked and hung loose around him. He was talking to himself, the words breathy. Even now he was beginning to lag behind.

“They complained of the rain,” Geralt replied. “She sent it as a blessing for their crops. Until I can make their apology formally known, this is how things will be.”

Jaskier grunted and said no more. His feet dragged on the dirt path. Now and then he took a deeper breath and paused, braced on his knees. He would then compensate by jogging up to Geralt, though in a matter of minutes he would fall behind again.

The third time, Geralt turned back and said, “You’re slowing me down.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier said, perking up performatively. He straightened his back and fluttered a careless hand in the air. “You just keep pace and I’ll catch up when I catch up. In the past you’ve made your position perfectly clear on the subject—you don’t have to wait for me. Besides, it can’t be much farther. Then again, ah, how far is it to this nymph’s hideout exactly?”

“It’s there,” Geralt said. He pointed to a small grove beyond the last farmer’s field.

Jaskier slumped, following his finger. “That’s … not so very far. Except that it is. Quite far. I thought you said that was the last hill just now and here we are, about to climb another. I may walk everywhere we go but—phew!” He paused to pant. Talking only seemed to make his face redder with effort. He sighed and sat in the dirt, head lolling forward. “Fuck, Geralt. It’s bloody hot. I’ll get blisters in this heat.”

“Go back and wait it out.”

“It’ll be twice as long going back as going forward. Besides, I doubt the nymph is keeping her grove as hot as the village. My blood would boil in the deepest basement there, but the grove … it’s probably … very cool.” He groaned and lay back on the ground, one arm over his eyes. “Damn heat. Can barely—well, you know. The thing I do.”

He flapped a hand above his head like a little mouth, opening and closing.

“Talk?” Geralt surmised.

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “That, yes, thank you.”

Geralt sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. We’ll be there in ten minutes if you keep walking.”

“Right. I’m up. I’m—oh.” He wobbled on his feet, pitching forward. Geralt caught him with one arm, but found he needed two to keep Jaskier upright, taking the full weight of him. Jaskier groped at his shoulder, his eyes unfocused. “Stood too quickly,” he said. “Just give me a moment, I’ll … I’m alright.”

He pulled out of Geralt’s arms and marched deliberately forward, following the path downhill. He made it two steps before swaying once more and stumbling to his knees. The momentum carried him and he rolled sideways, sliding on his back in the dust.

“Jaskier!” Geralt rushed down the hill and held him upright. He could hear his heart racing unnaturally. “Jaskier, how long have you been pushing yourself?”

Jaskier looked at him, confused. He patted his ear, brow furrowed as he focused. “I can’t hear you,” he whispered. He looked at Geralt in alarm, patting his ear still. “I—I can’t … can’t hear … what … ” His eyes lost focus once more, then his eyes rolled back and he went slack.

“Jas—Jaskier? Hey!” Geralt snapped in front of his face, but Jaskier made no response. “Fuck,” he hissed. He ought to have been more concerned when Jaskier stopped talking before. He scooped Jaskier up, draped over his shoulders, and hurried along the road. They needed to get somewhere cool fast. He only hoped Jaskier would be right about the grove.

“Idiot complains about a pebble between his toes but never thinks to take off his boot,” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier wasn’t the most pragmatic when it came to problem solving, preferring vocalization to action. “Now he keeps his mouth shut. Still doesn’t take off the boot.”

It was a struggle to jog without jostling Jaskier. He made for an awkward bulk, tipping Geralt’s balance on a few steps. Geralt had carried him before, but it was always a surprise to him how much more Jaskier weighed than expected. He was no easy burden.

It troubled Geralt that Jaskier had not taken steps to keep himself cool, or even to give any hint of his condition. He’d never been one to suffer in silence. Surely he would have noticed that something was wrong; he could not be so blind to his own circumstances.

When he reached the grove, he was relieved to find it was cool. He carried Jaskier into the center and set him under the dark shadow of a tree to keep him out of the sun. Carefully, he stripped him of his shirt and trousers. To help him cool off, Geralt wet the hem of Jaskier’s shirt with his water-skin and dabbed it on his face and chest, letting the air do the rest. Tilting Jaskier’s head back, he poured water down his throat, then left the remainder with him, just beside his hand.

The nymph found Geralt not long after he started his search. It was just as well that Jaskier had fainted, for he likely would have fainted had he been awake to learn that the nymph recognized him. She had heard his songs from the men who passed through her grove, humming and singing on their way to work, and from the children who sat in its shade. It happened that she was quite the fan of his music, and she was horrified that he’d become a consequential victim of her ire.

As the hot winds died down, the clouds were once more permitted to gather. The sun was hidden away and a light drizzle rained down over them. She wove Jaskier a fan of grass and twig, tending to him until his skin returned to its usual color. Geralt sat with her and made the apology as promised, though she’d long forgotten her anger in her distress over the famed bard. She lingered until he had sufficiently cooled, then went to inspect the villagers’ fields.

By the end of the hour, Jaskier began to stir. Geralt helped him sit up against the tree and would not allow him to try his feet. He passed him the water-skin, made him drink, and folded the shirt behind his head to keep him off the bark. When he was sure Jaskier had recovered enough, it was time for his scolding.

“What did you think you were doing?” Geralt quietly demanded. He saw the way Jaskier started and adjusted his voice. He sighed and took to folding Jaskier’s trousers more neatly, keeping his eyes lowered, giving him space. “If you were struggling, you should have said.”

Jaskier twisted the cork of the water-skin nervously. “I … didn’t want to be left behind,” he replied. His voice was weak, no more than a huff of air with each word. “I thought if I just kept going, I would learn to adjust. I would just get used to it. And I did, up to a point.”

“Why would you think—” but Geralt stopped himself. Jaskier had every right to believe it. Geralt had threatened to leave him behind if he ever lagged behind when they first met. Jaskier had been slow at the start, and over the years he had adjusted well to life on the road. Until now, he’d kept up. But Geralt had never slowed down.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Jaskier concluded.

Geralt placed the trousers in Jaskier’s lap. The movement startled Jaskier and he seemed to notice for the first time where he was, and under what circumstances. While he struggled with mixed feelings toward his current state of modesty, Geralt switched the empty water-skin with a second. He picked up the fan and waved it between them.

“You’ll always be a burden,” Geralt said. He handed Jaskier the fan and leaned over to adjust the shirt behind his head before it could slip down. “You’re a burden,” he explained, “but I don’t mind carrying you. You’re not so heavy. And even if you were, I’d … if you were, I’d adjust.” Though it was not as eloquent as the feeling he meant, it was the best Geralt could do to say it.

Jaskier stared at him in astonishment, the water-skin limp in his hands. Geralt opened it for him, helped him to drink it, then made him lie down once more. The contract was complete, but Jaskier needed rest still.

Geralt retrieved the empty water-skin and turned. A river ran nearby, and Jaskier would need more water when he rose. But as he turned to stand, Jaskier caught his arm. He looked up at Geralt with uncertainty in his eyes.

“Please, don’t leave,” he whispered.

And Geralt sat down once more. He put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll stay, Jaskier.” He would always stay, as long as Jaskier asked it of him.

-

Send me drabble prompts!

[loveofafangirl]

A Promise

[Baron Zemo Masterlist] [Marvel Masterlist]

Pairing: Baron Zemo x F!Reader/You  (no race or body type described)

Synopsis: You accompany Zemo to the Sokovia Memorial. *Hurt/Comfort*

Background: After protecting a child in Latvia, Zemo offers you his services to assist with tending to your wounds. You invite him to stay the night at your home.  This is a follow up to The Right Thing. It can probably be read as a standalone, but it is the same reader/character from that story and picks up the next morning. 

Word Count: ~2,000

TW: mentions of previous character death/death of a child; grief centric; angst with uncertain ending. 

A/N: I know my fluffy Zemo stories are more popular but in my HC, you don’t get Soft!Zemo without putting in the work and helping him through his deep-rooted grief. So it’s important to me to explore this side of him too, as there is no redemption possible without it. My HC is that you can read this reader throughout almost all of the stories. 

The floorboards in your old apartment creak in the quiet of the morning, you strain your ears, listening to your guest's movements. You continue preparing breakfast, hopeful that he might join you, but the footsteps lead away instead of nearer. 

You follow the sound, noting how the area where he had slept had since been tidied. 

"You don't have to leave," you offer with a subtle shrug as you approach the entrance. "Stay...at least for breakfast."

His lips pull at the corners as he nods in contemplation, but you can tell by the strained expression he had already decided to go. "Thank you for the hospitality, but I must depart." 

His hand taps almost subconsciously over one of the inner pockets of his long dark grey coat. Your mind drifts back to the previous night when he had offered the garment to you. You had noticed a small bear tucked inside. You had been curious but hadn't wished to pry. 

"There is something I must do," he stated solemnly.

You nod your understanding. You knew he wouldn't stay; why would he? Nevertheless, something inside of you begged you not to let him go. You watch as he continues toward the door. At the last moment, you take a quick step forward.

"Wait!" You blurt out with more volume than you had intended. "Do you want company?"

"Where I'm going, I don't anticipate having much time left." He turns back toward you. "I have a promise to keep and then—" he pauses, knowing what he has to do, knowing his freedom was only ever a short-term gift, one he would exchange when his work was complete. He continues, "—I have an agreement to honor." 

You look away, trying to school the disappointment on your face until you realize he hadn't entirely said no. You feel a slight rise of hope as you study his features. You sense the heaviness in his heart in his sunken gaze, despite the mischievous smirk toying on his lips. "I could use some air, even if it isn't that long." 

He inhales, considering your offer. Neither of you fully understand the curious feeling growing inside; yet, both of you are reluctant to ignore it and part so soon. He nods thoughtfully. "I've called for the car. It will take us where I need to go."

Your eyes grow inquisitively at his words. You had assumed the place was nearby. But more so, the ease in which he mentions such a luxury takes you by surprise. Not many from your neighborhood could afford such a thing. 

You grab your coat and follow him out into the streets. You pause as you near the black car, questioning for the first time if this is a wise decision. Your thoughts are pulled back as he opens the side door, motioning you inside. 

Your face warms at the gesture. It wasn't often you encountered manners such as his. He was different, and that intrigued you.

He closes the door carefully behind you before walking around and joining you on the other side.

"The memorial, if you please." These are the only words spoken for the duration of the trip. 

You watch your city fade away to the countryside that eventually gave way into a bareness. Despite the years since the battle, the land had yet to recover fully. Some new growth highlighted the landscape, but much was still bleak and lifeless. 

Every now and then, you stole a glance at the man beside you, deep in contemplation. Occasionally, he would record his thoughts in a small notebook that he kept guarded.

As the car arrives at the memorial, you wait, watching for him to take the lead, not really knowing what to expect. 

His hand pauses as he reaches for the door handle. You watch his deliberate movements, almost forcing himself forward. 

The grief drawn on his face pulls your own features down in reply. You wonder for the first time whom he had lost.

He nods to himself as if willing his body to continue and leave the car.

You linger with the intent of giving him a moment. However, to your surprise, he opens your door for you and gestures you out. 

You take in the expansive memorial to the fallen country. A lake to the right had formed as the land resettled. A monument at the center with a serene trickling fountain welcomed you quietly.

But what caught your attention most was the wall of names. The Avengers had saved a lot of people that day, but the list of the dead was longer than you expected. Your stomach drops at the realization as your gaze scans the seemingly endless wall. The news covered the victory and the destruction, but it did little to prepare you for this truth. The cost of human lives should have outweighed any other press, but it didn't. 

You whisper a silent prayer to honor the dead, knowing so many of them may no longer have anyone to remember them. 

He stands beside you, his gaze distant.

"It's beautiful." The words slip from your lips in reverence. The memorial was simple yet powerful. You couldn't help but feel the weight of the loss standing before the massive wall in the distance, but the fountain and the lake helped ground you. "I wonder who designed it."

"I did," he replies, his voice marred with pain. "I may be a man without a country now; but, it is still my duty to care for the ashes of my beloved land and all those who were lost... and those I failed to protect." 

The more he talked, the less you realized you knew about him. He spoke of Sokovia with deep admiration as though he were once a significant member of its ruling body. You wonder how a man who seemingly had so much ended up hiding in the shadows of your city. The sorrow in his expression answered your question. Loss. Loss cuts more deeply than any physical wound ever could.

"It's beautiful," you repeat quietly. You know that no matter what you offer, it will never be enough to satiate his loss.

He doesn't acknowledge your reply; instead, he continues forward, heading toward the end of the list of names.  

You stay near the fountain, giving him space and privacy to mourn. You try to turn away, but you can't help but continue glancing in his direction. You want more than anything to understand him. 

You watch his body grow rigid, the color draining from his face. He leans against the wall for support, his fingers tracing a line of names. He reaches in his pocket and retrieves the small bear. His hands shake as he looks between the toy and the wall. 

You press your fingers to your lips, wondering what memories the token holds for him. You could practically see this man's heart breaking in front of you. 

His knees buckle under the weight of his grief until he crumbles to the ground, clutching the bear tightly in his hands. Despite being hidden by his jacket, you see his body rock as he weeps silently, his suffering too great to bear.

This man who confidently came to your rescue, who despite his mysterious nature had offered an air of self-assuredness in all that he did, was now broken in a way you realize only the loss of a young child could cause.

You move silently behind him, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The two of you might be strangers still but, you knew he needed to know he wasn't alone. 

"I'm sorry," he cries quietly, though you know the words are not meant for you. "I failed you. I should have been there. It should have been me."

He had spent years grieving in silence, throwing himself in his mission to avenge their deaths and later in prison, reading philosophies to justify the actions he had taken. He had never given into the sorrow, not in a meaningful way. It was easier to stay angry and to hate those responsible than to let the weight of his grief suffocate him as it did now. But, he had made them a promise that they would never be forgotten—that no one loss that day would be forgotten. He promised to remember them and then to visit once the memorial was complete. And now, he could keep that promise, even if it meant little compared to the one promise in his life that he had failed to keep—to protect them above all else.

You remain silently at his side, letting him grieve. He didn't recoil under your touch, so you kept your hand on his shoulder, knowing it would do little to quell the sadness of the loss of a child—the ultimate tragedy. 

As his grief quiets and his body relaxes, you give his shoulder a gentle squeeze and retreat, offering him time alone with the family he had lost.

He kisses the crown of the bear's head and rests it against the wall. He remains a while longer in silent vigil. You keep watch from the fountain, admiring how the sun sparkled on the lake, offering a promise of hope for the future amongst the wreckage. 

When he returns to you, his mouth opens in gratitude, but his words fail. He nods simply, and you understand all of the unspoken meaning it held.

"What will you do now?" You question softly. 

"Wait," he replies, sitting stoically beside you.

"How long?" You had already been away almost a day and were curious where this was leading.

"As long as it takes?"

"For what?"

"I made an agreement. As easy as it would be to go on my way and accept this freedom, I must honor the vow I made. What would a man be without his word?"

You don't understand what he means, but you sensed his peace in his decision. "Okay."

His gaze meets yours. "The car will take you anywhere you wish to go."

"What about you?"

"I trust other means of transportation will have been arranged."

You take this as your cue to leave, so you stand, despite your reservations. "Thank you... for your help last night."

"It was my privilege to do the right thing."

"Will I see you again?" The question slips from your lips before you can stop it.

The corner of his mouth twitches up momentarily. He reaches in his pocket, retrieving the black notebook he was writing in earlier. "That is entirely up to you."

You shake your head in confusion as he hands the book to you.

"This is who I was and who I am." His head tilts to the side, reflecting on the time you'd spent together. "It also holds what events I trust will transpire in the coming days and where to find me should you wish to after you've learned the truth."

"I don't understand."

"I know. You will if you read this." He offers a halfhearted smile. "If we don't meet again, I understand, but if we do,  I'll know—" he goes quiet, choosing his words carefully. "I'll know there is more work to be done. That you have seen what I could be, and I'd like that chance."

You stare blankly, wanting to understand but sensing you can't.

"Thank you," he paused, his voice rising, searching for something more.

"Y/N," you whisper. You had both decided the previous night it was best to keep your identities concealed.

"Y/N," he repeats, reaching for your hand. He brushes a kiss on your knuckles. "It's been a pleasure."

Your eyes mist over, even though you're not sure why. You wait, hoping he might return the sentiment with his name, but his lips press together, and his only reply is to gesture toward the book he handed you. 

"Go," he encourages.

You feel yourself walking away even though that's the last thing you want to do. You hold the book—his book—a little closer, not daring to look back. Despite the slight promise in his words that this wasn't the end, you couldn't help but feel like this was an unspoken goodbye. 

A/N2: I started writing after episode 4 when Zemo first mentions the memorial. The original ending wasn’t angsty/uncertain, but I wanted to make it work with canon so I wanted him to decide to stay alone so he could return to prison, keeping the agreement he made to Sam and Bucky in the beginning. There may be a third part in their story... just saying 😉 

Marvel Perma(til the end of the line): @the-soot-sprite​​​​; @fandomxreaders ;  @moonstuffsteve​​

Zemo tags: @montypythonsholysnail​​​​ ; @killsandthrills​​​ ; @noavengers​​​​ ; ​@nalabarnes1031 ; @trelaney​​ ; @willowtheewisp​ ; @marchingicenotes7 

[actress4him]

For Bad Things Happen: could you please do Keith strapped to an operating table with Shiro coming to rescue him? (Ironically the opposite of what happened in canon 😆)

Sure thing! I enjoyed this one, though I wrote the last bit with a fever so I’m hoping it makes sense and the quality didn’t drop.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Strapped to an Operating Table

Warnings: human experimentation, noncon body modification, non-graphic amputation, non-graphic mouth whump, emeto, blood mention, death mention, threatened eye whump but nothing actually happens, needles

.

.

The first few times, Keith fought against the restraints. Growled at the Druids that stuck needles in him and pulsed magic through his veins. Screamed his anger to disguise his fear, despite the fact that no one listened or cared.

That changed after the first surgery.

When they took his arm, a bit of his defiance went with it. He didn’t have the energy to fight so hard anymore. After all, it had been days with no sign of anyone coming for him, and now there was this thing attached to him that he refused to acknowledge as his own.

He didn’t know how Shiro did it. How he just...accepted something of hers being part of his body. Used it like it was nothing, like it had always been there. Like it hadn’t been crafted specifically for him by the witch who took pleasure in torturing him.

As the experiments dragged on, he still snapped his teeth at any fingers that strayed too close to his face. Still glared his hatred at the emotionless masks that hovered over him.

But he remained silent. Stoic. Stopped rubbing deep rivets into his wrists and ankles, pulling on metal straps that had no give. Haggar noticed the change, smirked that infuriating smirk and commented on how much better behaved he was.

He couldn’t fight anymore, but he wouldn’t let them see how he was crumbling to pieces inside. Only once he was returned to his cell did he allow himself to curl into a ball, metal arm laying out as far away from his body as possible, and let his thoughts run wild.

Why haven’t they come for me?

They’re not coming for me.

They shouldn’t come for me.

I don’t want them to endanger themselves.

I can’t keep doing this.

I want to go home.

The second major procedure wasn’t quite as bad as the first, though when the choices were ‘amputation without meds’ versus ‘teeth removal without meds’ it wasn’t really something he wanted to dwell on comparing.

A metal contraption was shoved into his mouth, the crank on it turned until his jaw was forced wide open, and Haggar herself took out both his upper canines and replaced them with what he’d find out later were fangs. She tended to lurk in the background while her Druids carried out the tests from day to day, but she took over the major stuff herself. Keith wasn’t sure what was worse, having to stare at the Druid’s masks, or at her ugly face. At least with the Druids he couldn’t tell that they were actually enjoying the whole thing.

And he didn’t have to worry about her seeing when a few tears slipped down to his temples.

That night in his cell he accidentally bit his tongue, his lip, then his tongue again with the sharp new fangs. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip them out with his bare hands, but he was too much of a coward to go through that pain again. She was turning him into something he didn’t want to be. She was making him look like...like them, like a monster, like the half of his biology that had enslaved and murdered so many people, the half that he tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist.

What will Shiro and the others think when they see me again? Will they even recognize me by the time she’s done with me?

Are they even coming?

It’s been so long. Has to have been over a week, at least.

Maybe it really is better if they don’t come at all.

The next experiment they ran made him violently ill. He really couldn’t afford to lose any of the sparse food they gave him, he’d already lost so much weight. The only good news was that they were forced to cut the testing short that day, dumping him back into his barren cell to fend for himself.

He was so tired. Tired of being there. Tired of being poked and prodded and cut and changed. His body was flagging, all of the substances they’d injected him with and the blood he’d continuously lost taking its toll.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. If the team was coming...they might be too late.

After that day of puking his guts out, he no longer even had the energy to glare or snap. He let them drag him to the lab, shove him onto the table, and pin him down with all the many restraints without so much as a sound, and stared up at the ceiling doing his best to ignore what was being done to him. All of his fighting now went into keeping the tears he could feel burning his eyelids from escaping.

Shiro...I’m sorry. I tried to stay strong. You should...you should just forget about me.

More time passed. By Keith’s best guess it had been a few weeks since he’d been captured, but he’d kinda stopped bothering to count. They strapped him down to the table again, and he didn’t even really care until Haggar appeared above him.

She was going to take something else from him.

How much more, until he was no longer himself at all?

“Such unusual eyes,” she croaked, dragging a far too sharp fingernail across his cheekbone. “More advanced than Champion’s, for sure, but still nothing like they could be.”

Dread crawled up Keith’s throat and stuck there, making it difficult to breathe. “No,” he whispered. “No, please, don’t…”

A smile lit up her face. “Ah, he finally begs. I’ve been wondering what it would take.”

He didn’t even care anymore. “Please don’t take my eyes, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She turned to the side, busying herself with tools. “I’m only taking one for now.”

He was gonna be sick. Panic blared in his mind, burning his chest and throat and eyes...his eyes, his eyes. He’d never really liked them all that much. They were a weird color, not normal, an outer indication of how different he had always felt.

But he didn’t want them to be taken. He was...he was gonna end up looking like Sendak, wasn’t he? The thought only increased the pressing nausea.

He turned his head to the side, sure he was about to throw up, when an alarm began wailing out in the corridor. Red lights flashed overhead, and he squinted against them, confusion taking over his panic. Haggar and the Druids suddenly hurtled into motion, snatching up tools and gathering around the table, but their frenzy was interrupted by the door slamming open and more people pouring inside.

The next few moments were chaotic. Keith couldn’t lift up his head enough to see what was going on, but he heard the familiar enough sounds of fighting and dared to hope. That this was finally over, that someone had come for him, that he wouldn’t have to lose anything else, after all.

“Stop!” Haggar screeched. Her hand fisted in his hair, and his breath caught. “You really don’t want me to inject this into your precious Paladin. You see, I’ve been saving this for a later experiment.” A sharp point grazed the side of his neck. “Pure quintessence. What will it do to him? Even I don’t know. Quintessence is a tricky thing. I’m hoping it will bring out more of his superior lineage. But it could very well turn him feral.”

“Haggar. Don’t.”

That was Shiro. Shiro. He was really there!

“Then drop your weapons,” she hissed.

No. He was so close, so close! “Sh-shiro, please…”

“It’s okay, Keith. It’s gonna be okay.”

The silence was so thick that he could hear Shiro’s arm power down, hear two different bayards return to neutral and clatter quietly to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears to stay put.

The crack of a gun split the air.

Keith’s eyes flew back open, but he barely saw Haggar jolt and disappear through the sudden pain stabbing through his neck. He screamed, and he didn’t know how much of it was from pain and how much from fear.

Shiro materialized over him, and he would have laughed aloud from relief if he hadn’t been shaking so hard. “Hey bud, it’s okay. You’re okay now.”

“N-no, no, get away, get back, get away from me. You can’t…” Keith sobbed. “I don’t wanna hurt you, you have to leave me.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Shiro replied firmly. “Look.” Gently, telegraphing his movements, he reached for the syringe and pulled it out of Keith’s neck, eliciting a whimper. Then he held it up for him to see the golden liquid. “She didn’t get to actually depress it, see? You’re good. You’re safe.”

Safe. A feeling that he’d never thought he’d have again. Shiro was here, running his hand through his greasy hair, and the others were cutting through the restraints, and it was over.

Except that it never really, truly would be. “Shiro, she...she…”

“I know.” He pointedly didn’t look at the arm and the teeth, but they were there on display for everyone to see. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get through this, okay? Together.”

He was free now. No more metal restraints. No more Druids or Haggar. Shiro gathered him up into a huge hug, and it was the best thing he had ever felt in his life.

“Okay,” he whispered, tears running down his cheeks and the front of Shiro’s armor. “Together.”

——————————

Instructions for requesting a square here!

[mckennamayfairgoode]

Don’t Leave Me Now, You Might Love Me Back

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: In which feelings get involved in a friends with benefits situation and you are tired of watching Billie Dean Howard walk away.

Warnings: Just a little angst and some pining. Also implied smut, but nothing too graphic. As a treat.

Song: One Day by Sharon Van Etten

A/N: I’m not saying all of my fics will be angsty with a side of yearning, but I’m not saying they won’t be either. 🤷‍♀️ This one kind of ran away with me. Hopefully it’s comprehensible, at least.

The faint sound of a soft indie song plays through the speakers in your apartment, a gentle melody that makes you think of morning walks in the springtime. A time you tend to keep to yourself, selfishly maybe, but one you treasure. You cherish those moments when you can see the world beginning to wake up around you. When spouses send their significant others off with a kiss at the front door, children tote their backpacks to the bus stop, dogs are walked, mail is delivered, life blooms. You cherish it, and when you can, you capture those moments like lightning bugs in a jar.

You lay on your stomach spread across the bed sideways with your feet hanging off the edge and the sheets twisted around your hips like an octopus. You’re opening the hatch of your old Polaroid camera when lips begin to trail kisses up your spine. Shivers follow in their wake, leaving goosebumps along your skin. “I don’t understand your fascination with that old thing,” her voice husks from behind you. Long, acrylic nails travel up your bare sides as she crawls on top of you. 

A smile plays at the corners of your mouth. “Careful, Billie Dean,” you tease without malice. “There’s a lot I could say regarding my ‘fascination’ with things older than me.”

Billie laughs, low and husky, from the back of her throat. The tingle it shoots down your body makes your toes curl. “Oh, darling, we both know the consequences of you saying anything like that.” She nips at each of your shoulder blades, one after the other. Her actions are slow and purposeful, just enough to tease you, to torment, to torture but never enough to hurt. Her nose follows a path up the back of your neck before you feel her lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” she asks, coming to rest completely on top of you in a pile of skin and limbs and warmth. 

Your eyes flutter closed, your hands pausing in their motions as you get distracted. The smirk you feel against your skin causes your belly to jolt pleasantly. “Do we?” you ask playfully, once you feel you can speak without your voice wavering, just to see how she’ll react. As you always do. A part of you is aware that playing with fire is a mistake, but deep down, you know it’s a mistake you will make again and again. You would withstand the heat a thousand times if it meant you could sit in her fire, let her flames consume you whole, and remember how it felt for her to burn you right up. 

Billie captures your earlobe between her teeth. She bites down gently, just once in reprimand, before letting go. You swallow the moan in your throat and go back to your Polaroid. Billie Dean loves to play games and she is infinitely better at them than you are. From the moment you met her, you were destined to lose. 

Her arms come up around your neck, cheek brushing against yours as she settles her chin on your shoulder. You can feel her eyes following the movements of your fingers. “Tell me,” she demands quietly.

You hum. “Tell you what?” 

She pinches your hip playfully and smirks to herself when your body jerks beneath her. “What’s so special about this camera? You know phones do it better, right?” 

You huff, throwing her a look out of the corner of your eye. “Yes, but phones are so impersonal.” You pull out the old film cartridge and throw it on your bedside table, sliding a new one in place and securing the hatch. “If you take a picture with this, you’re in the moment. You’re a part of it.” You raise the camera above your head, just enough to get the right angle. “You get one shot and you have to make it count.” You look at the camera and click the shutter release button. There’s a whirr as the picture drops free and slides through the slot. You grab it and give it a few shakes, before turning and showing it to Billie. “One shot, one memory. Right here.”

She hums, a peach colored nail tracing the edge of the photograph. “It is a nice picture,” she admits. Your triumphant smile lasts only a few moments before she speaks again. “Until it gets destroyed or lost or tossed in the garbage.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the picture back, holding it protectively against your chest. “That’s why you take care of the things you love, Ms. Howard.” You miss the adoring smile she gives you as you look fondly down at the picture in your hand. Your heart blooms in your chest. You’re smiling at the camera, the light in your eyes bright like the happiness inside you is bursting at the seams and nothing could quite possibly put out your fire. Your gaze slides past your own face, drawn to Billie always, no matter where or who you're with. She is your sun and you will keep looking no matter how much it hurts.

While Billie always takes your breath away, you think she looks her best like this: make-up free, disheveled hair, and bare shoulders. She’s smiling, that real smile she reserves for those moments when she’s away from the cameras and her nose crinkles ever-so-slightly at the corners. It makes her eyes shine, beautiful and bold and adoring, where they look into the camera’s lens. But she’s not looking at the camera.

She’s looking at you.

--

The bed jostling underneath you is what rouses you from your deep sleep. It takes you a moment to orient yourself before you breathe in through your nose and stifle a yawn against your pillow. Cracking open your eyes, you sleepily lift your head and take a peek around the room. There’s a sliver of light filtering through the crack beneath your bathroom door. You lay your head back down and listen to the sink run in the background. The sound of Billie in your apartment, existing in the same space as you, fills you with a warmth that causes you to doze off.

You manage to open your eyes again when the sounds of rustling and movement perviate the room. “Billie?” you call sleepily. 

“Shh,” she soothes you softly, brushing your hair back with a slender hand. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Where‘re you goin’?” you slur after opening your eyes and catching a glimpse of her fully dressed in last night’s clothes, purse in hand.

Her nails trace the outline of your neck before she dips her head and presses a kiss against your forehead. “I have to go, baby. I have a show to film in the morning.”

You hum sleepily, leaning into her touch where her nails scratch gently at your scalp. “Stay,” you whisper, your tongue not obeying your mind to be quiet and let her go.

“I can’t, sweetheart. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

You withhold a sigh. “Okay,” you say even though you’re not sure you believe her.

With one more kiss pressed to your head, she turns to go. You watch through bleary eyes as Billie Dean Howard once again walks out of your life. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, but the weight is an anchor and you feel it so deeply.

--

You shuffle through the junk mail you pulled from your postbox, hovering in front of your own apartment door like you’re waiting for someone else to invite you inside. You’re lost in your own head, stuck in an endless cycle of trying not to think about Billie Dean Howard while simultaneously doing nothing but thinking about her. 

You knew getting involved with her would only end in heartache on your part, that you were nothing more than a passing fancy, a distraction she entertained only when she was in town. But the moment you met and she looked at you with those eyes and that smile, you knew you were done for. You knew from the beginning that you would give and give and give until there was nothing left for her to take. 

That’s okay, you decide internally for it’s easy to have resolve when she’s not in front of you. When you’re not inhaling her perfume or touching her skin or hearing her voice purr sweet nothings into your ear. I don’t need her.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

You freeze in place, heart thumping a steadily growing rhythm beneath your rib cage. Turning your head, you find Billie standing behind you, one hand holding her purse and the other a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than you earn in a month. An acrylic nail traces the edge of one lens, a rouge pink color that matches her sweater and the floral pattern of her dress. You raise your gaze to hers and feel your breath hitch when your eyes meet.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” she purrs, her lips twitching into that familiar smile, part seductive, part amused because Billie knows she holds the entire world in her hands and uses that power to her advantage. 

“Hi, Billie,” you manage to say, inwardly cursing yourself as the resolve you previously had drains from your body and all that’s left is the desire to curl into her warmth and call her home.

Billie steps closer to you, backing you up until you feel the cool surface of the apartment door against your back. “I missed you, darling,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your lips as she stares into your eyes with an expression that makes your knees particularly weak. You want to believe her. You want to believe that the shine in her eyes is honesty and not proof of a lie well said. You want to believe, but you don’t and you can’t. So you kiss her.

She kisses you back feverishly, pressing against you in a way that allows you to feel every part of her and you want nothing more than to peel her out of her clothes and feel her skin beneath your hands. You push your tongue into her mouth, wanting to taste, to consume, to worship. To get on your knees and beg her to love you. But you can’t and she won’t. So you keep kissing her.

She smells of expensive perfume and cigarettes. You breathe it in like one would a bouquet of flowers and wonder if it will ever be enough. There’s a soft thump as something is dropped to the floor before you feel both of her hands cup your cheeks and pull you impossibly closer. You cling to her, tightening your grip on her hair. A hum passes from her mouth to yours and you have never felt so high in your life. She is a drug and you are addicted.

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when Billie pulls away, her chest rising with each heavy breath she takes and you watch it with half lidded eyes, consumed by lust and love and want and need.

She throws a glance over your shoulder at the door behind you. She doesn’t linger there, returning to you like you might disappear if she stops looking into your eyes for more than a moment. Her thumb trails along your jaw causing you to arch your neck and lean into her touch. You bite back a whimper, trying and failing to quell the heat inside. Her words come and when they do, they are a slow, gentle rasp that causes your stomach to ache pleasantly. “Can I come in?” she asks.

You barely manage to nod, vaguely aware of her stooping to pick up her purse from the floor as you struggle to find the right key with your shaking hands. She pulls you into another kiss, open mouthed and heady, while you put the key in the lock and give it a twist. As you open the door and Billie guides you backwards into the apartment, as your hold tightens on her hair, as your breath mingles with hers and it feels like you are not two souls anymore, but one, you realize, with a pained lurch of your heart, that you do need her. And how you hate to be wrong.

--

“So how are things?” Rina gives you a curious glance over the rim of her coffee cup, one dark brow arched.

“Fine,” you answer, shrugging and absentmindedly leaning your chair back on two legs. To avoid her knowing gaze, you observe through the window as people meander down the sidewalk, passing by the coffee shop where you and your friend sit. It’s only mid-morning, but the weekend has coaxed most people outside and into the city. They rush around in groups and pairs, tugging on scarves and talking on cellphones. You watch as a little boy darts down to the toy store a few shops away much to the chagrin of his parents. A small smile pulls at your lips as he gestures excitedly to the display he can see behind the glass.

Rina’s voice comes abruptly from the other side of the table, breaking the easy silence that had settled like a warm blanket between you. “Where’s your camera?”

You shrug again. “What do you mean?” you ask even though you know. 

She gives you a chastising look. “You know what I mean. Any other day, you’d have that old polaroid glued to your hands.”

“I don’t know,” you say, the tips of your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. A couple walks by your window, holding hands and cuddling close in the cold autumn weather. Two men, one shorter with blonde hair and a kind face, the other older and distinguished with grey at his temples. You find them lovely. The younger man’s scarf suddenly comes loose, blowing behind him in the chill breeze. His partner gives him a fond look, reaching over and tucking the garment more securely around his neck. The younger man grins, dimples appearing in his cheeks, before he leans up and kisses his lover on the tip of his nose. The older man smiles and you can see the years disappear from his face as he looks at his lover with stars in his eyes. Click, you think. “I just haven’t been taking pictures lately,” you respond finally. You try to ignore the jealousy rearing its ugly head inside of you, the envy you feel for something you never had. Something you couldn’t call yours in the first place.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Rina sits up and ducks her head to meet your eyes. “What ever happened to Miss Hollywood?”

You snort. “Nothing happened to Miss Hollywood,” you answer casually, as though you haven’t been thinking about Billie Dean Howard since the day you met her.

“You sure? Because you don’t talk about her, and when you don’t talk about something, that means there’s more going on and you’re just not telling me.” Rina’s big brown eyes plead with you from across the table. You know she has good intentions, but you’re just not ready yet. How can you explain something you can barely understand yourself?

At what point in your fling with a medium did you even fall in love with her? You don’t know. All you know is that every time she walks away, you feel a little less whole. All you know is that whenever you see her smile, you can feel the cracks within you sealing like fresh cement in a fissured pavement. You know you miss her when she’s gone and she smokes in front of a window so you don’t have to breathe it in and she likes to cuddle after making love. And you realize, with a start, that you don’t remember when having sex became ‘making love’ either.

You feign a sigh. “Where did you get your Psychology degree? Because I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with someone who’s not a trained professional.”

“Y/N!” Rina gives you a gentle kick beneath the table, sounding so exasperated that you laugh, genuinely for the first time in weeks and it feels so good, you can’t believe you forgot how. The coffee shop’s bell rings and you turn to look, more out of reflex than anything, as two women stroll into the cafe. The laughter dies in your throat. Oh.

Billie Dean stands in front of the counter, another woman at her side. She’s beautiful with high cheekbones and long, golden hair piled atop her head. They stand close, exchanging laughter and smiles, their shoulders brushing with a familiarity that makes you burn from the inside out. You clench your mug in your hands and deliberately turn away. 

--

That night, you find yourself pliant beneath Billie’s expert hands, her lips hot against the skin of your collarbone. You’re a mess underneath her, but that burning jealousy is not far from your mind. “Who was that?” You manage to gasp between rakes of her teeth against the tendons of your neck. Maybe if your head was a bit more clear, you wouldn’t have asked. Maybe if you weren’t foggy and clouded and full of so much emotion, you would be able to think straight. But you haven’t been able to think straight since you met Billie.

“Who was who, darling?” She asks, sliding her hands under your shirt and raking her nails down your sides.

“At the coffee shop-” Your breathing stutters to a stop as her thigh shifts between your legs. “Downtown,” you emphasize, tugging at her curls to get her attention, but mainly because you just need something to do with your hands.

“You saw me?” She asks curiously, but she doesn’t sound worried. The words are muffled against your skin as she trails kisses up your jaw.

“I was there-” you whimper as she bites a particularly sensitive spot “-with Rina.”

Billie hums against your neck. “That was just a friend, sweetheart. I’ve known her for years,” she explains offhandedly like you had just asked her for tomorrow’s forecast. Frustration builds inside you, but just for a moment. It’s hard to focus with the woman you love making it difficult to remember even your own name.  

“Okay,” you say even though you’re not sure you believe her. But it doesn’t matter. You tremble and shake and fall apart in her hands only for all your pieces to scatter on the ground at her feet. You know you’re going to have to pick them up yourself, but until then, you will savor this moment. The moment you made love to the sun and did not burn.

--

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call and you barely give it a glance before you answer. “Hello?”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” a warm voice purrs in your ear. You almost drop your phone, but manage to keep a tight hold on it as you press it closer to your ear. Like if you do, you will feel Billie’s warmth.

“Billie?”

“Who else would be calling you at two in the morning?” The teasing tone in her words is familiar and your heart races at the sound of it.

“Just you as far as I know,” you say, smiling into the phone.

You can hear her hum, just barely, followed by the flick of a lighter and the sound of her inhaling. “I just got into town. My flight got delayed four hours due to some storm in the middle -of-nowhere Kansas." The exasperation in her voice makes your lip curl fondly. "I know it's late, but I was wondering if you would like some company?”

“Are you saying you want to see me?” you ask, feeling bold when she’s not there for you to crumble beneath her knowing eyes.

There’s a pause, just long enough for your heart to clench uncomfortably, before you hear her exhale. “I want to see you, Y/N,” she says, all sincerity and tenderness. You feel like flying.

“Then come over,” you retort, warmth lacing your voice and you wonder if she can hear the love threaded inside. A sudden knock at your door has you turning from your spot at the counter. “Hold on, Billie, someone’s here,” you say into the phone before making your way over and tugging it open.

Billie smiles at you, one shoulder leaning against the door frame. She still has her phone to her ear as she meets your eyes. “Hello, darling,” she says and you realize you are soaring.

--

You always seem to know the moment she leaves the bed. The instant she moves, you’re wide awake like your body is attuned to every movement of hers. She, the goddess of beauty and elegance. You, her faithful and loyal disciple. Always.

You blink steadily at your apartment ceiling. You should just roll over and go back to sleep, but something keeps you awake. The need to hear her, maybe. The need to just feel her presence, possibly.

You listen as she moves around your bathroom. There’s the steady sound of the sink followed by cabinet drawers being opened and closed then the sink again. A car honks outside. You suddenly remember that a world exists outside of your bubble and any moment now, Billie Dean will be out there without you.

Eventually, you hear the bathroom door open and you suddenly can't bear the thought of her leaving. You know that one of these days, you will lose all control. You will get on your knees, heart in your hands, and beg her to love you, but you don't want that day to be today so you roll over, feigning sleep. A few short moments later, heels click on your hardwood floor. Your body buzzes at her presence as she stops at your bedside. You feel her fingers brushing the hair from your eyes then trailing down your cheek. 

Lips press against your forehead, one long moment that makes your insides clench. “Sweet dreams, darling,” she whispers against your skin. It is sweet and intimate and you wonder if she’s doing it to further convince you of the lie or if it actually means something. You tell yourself it has to be the former. 

She moves away, taking the sound of her expensive heels with her.

You listen, but you can’t watch her walk away. Not anymore.

--

“I can’t do this,” you murmur.

“What’s that, darling?” Billie asks, her back to you as she sits in front of the hotel vanity. Her hand pauses, hovering in the air with a mascara brush firmly in her grip. You can feel her eyes on you, and it takes everything inside of you not to meet them. 

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you. “I said, I can’t do this,” you repeat, stare firmly fixed on the ceiling. 

“Can’t do what?” Billie sets down her makeup and turns to face you.

“This,” you gesture at the room aimlessly. Frustration balls up in your stomach like a spool of yarn, tangled and twisted and infinite. You sit up and start reaching for your clothes, tugging them on haphazardly as Billie watches.

“Now, Y/N-” Billie begins. 

You cut her off, “No, Billie. Please.”

She pauses, eyebrows drawing together. You tug on your shoes, almost stumbling over your own feet in your haste to get out of the room. You won’t let her leave this time. This time, it will be you. Billie’s voice comes out in a croak when she speaks: “Please what?”

“Please just let me go,” you plead, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You brush impatiently at your wet eyelids.

Billie stands, clutching the sheer robe in her hands as she pulls it tighter around her shoulders. Your eyes linger. On the hands that held you, on the throat she had bared just moments ago as she lay beneath you, on the mouth that said things it knew you wanted to hear. “I don’t understand where this is coming from, Y/N.”

You laugh bitterly, a fire suddenly roaring to life inside of you. “Exactly, because you can’t see. You’re a medium and you can see things that others wouldn’t believe, but you can’t see what’s right in front of you.” You sniff, the fire burning down to embers as quickly as it had appeared. You just feel tired. You shuffle closer to the door, refusing to meet her eyes. If you meet her eyes, it will all be over and you will cave as you always do. 

“Y/N-” Billie steps forward, hands reaching out for you as if the distance between you isn’t so unbearably large. As if there isn’t a vast canyon between you, as if you aren't more than just a speck on the other side. 

You shake your head and dart back another step. “I’ve tried,” you say, voice broken, the words stabbing you in the throat each time you speak. “I’ve tried for months, but I can’t- I just can’t, Billie.”

“Sweetheart, please,” Billie murmurs, her voice seeming to catch in the back of her throat. “Just tell me what’s going on. What don’t I see?” She sounds desperate almost, but you chalk that up to your ears only hearing what they want to hear. She’s proven time and time again that you are nothing to her but a way to pass the time. The reminder is a bucket of ice water poured over your head. It chills you to the bone.

You resist the urge to turn, to look, to comfort. “I just- I can’t keep watching you walk away. Because every time you do, you take a piece of me with you and eventually, I won’t have any pieces left.” You grab the doorknob and jerk open the door, staring into the empty hallway of the hotel. “I hoped for months that I was wrong, that maybe you could feel something for me, but it’s time that I realize it didn’t mean anything to you. I won’t let you take pieces of me anymore. I can’t,” you say, your voice cracking and hope wilting in your chest like a lone flower in the middle of the sidewalk.

You ignore the warnings in your head to run, to not look back. You chance a glance over your shoulder anyway, instantly meeting Billie’s gaze. It’s a blurry painting, but you can see the sadness in her eyes, the pain in her expression. It’s not real, a part of you whispers. Choking back a sob, you gather your broken pieces, and walk out of the door and out of Billie’s life.

--

Your phone lights up with another call, buzzing persistently in your hand. 

Billie Dean 

47 times in two days. You wonder if she’s sleeping. You remind yourself that it’s not your problem. 

Your fingers itch to pick it up. You know you should just turn it off. You know that the pain that lances through you every time her name appears on the screen isn’t worth the small victory you might feel when you see her leave another voicemail. Maybe a part of you reveled in watching her chase after you. Maybe a part of you wanted her to yearn, to feel, to need. Just like you. 

The other part of you, the part that loved Billie Dean with every fiber of your being, the part that bloomed like a flower in spring every time you thought of her smile, just wanted her to come home. 

You envision a world where you didn’t walk out of that hotel. Maybe you got to the elevator and maybe you turned around at the sound of your name and maybe Billie had chased you down the hallway in her sheer robe and maybe she kissed you. Maybe you made love once again with the sun rising to meet you, a new day, a new start. Maybe she asked you to stay. Maybe you said yes.

But this isn’t that world.

You turn your phone off.

--

You stand in front of your kitchen window absentmindedly blowing into your mug as you watch the sun begin its slow descent to the horizon. It’s springtime, your favorite part of the year. It doesn’t feel much like it, but the evidence is all around you. In the shade of the trees, in the flowers and the leaves, in the birds and the clear expanse of the sky. Even in the sound of children playing on the sidewalk. You wonder when you became so numb to the things you love. To the things that used to fill you with joy and warmth. And then you wonder why you’re wondering. Because you know why, but even after all this time, you find it hard to pin blame on the woman who promised you nothing. She was never yours, and she never said she would be. But dammit, you were hers.

You try to watch the sun set and not the street down below. You try not to notice how a woman walks by with hair a similar shade of honey blonde (too much blonde, not enough honey). You try not to remember how she once told you sparrows were her favorite, or how you can see them now as they sing and flutter from powerline to tree and back again. You try to ignore that feeling of longing you get when you hear a child’s excited squeal followed by the sound of someone laughing loudly, joyfully. You try to quell that sense of resentment burning in your chest as the world moves on while you feel stuck in a prison of your own making. You take a sip of your coffee and promptly make a face when you realize it’s gone cold without you noticing.

A sudden knock at your door has you turning on the spot. You give it a weary look, before sighing and placing your mug in the sink. You approach your door just in time to see an envelope being slipped beneath the crack. It glides across the hardwood floor and slows to a stop at your sock-covered feet. You stare down at it, too shocked to move.

It’s the loopy, elegant handwriting that catches your attention. Your heart plummets into your stomach. You bend down and scoop it up with shaking fingers. It’s a normal white envelope, a little plain for Billie’s taste, but you’d know that handwriting anywhere. It’s the words on the front that make tears well in your eyes.

It meant everything to me.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of glass with the way it tears you up from the inside. You try to swallow it down. You want to feel nothing. You want to want for nothing. 

With shaking hands, you open the envelope and watch as something small and square falls out and lands in your open palm. It’s a photograph.

It’s you. 

It’s- Billie Dean’s smile is soft as she looks at you, the both of you bare, you twisted beneath the sheets and her on top of you. Your heart aches and burns and cries. You don’t know what to feel when realization hits you, hard and all at once. I still need her. And this time, you don’t give a damn that you were wrong.

You drop the Polaroid, letting it float to the ground like a forgotten feather from a bird long gone, and speed towards the door, the hinges squeaking in protest when you throw it open.

“Billie!” You yell out, speeding down the hallway in your socks and your pajamas like a crazy person. You don’t care if the neighbors hear. You don’t care if they call the cops. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care. “BILLIE!”

You dart around the corner of your hallway, down the stairs and out the front door of your apartment building, still screaming her name at the top of your lungs and ignoring the bewildered looks of your neighbors as you let the door swing shut noisily behind you. You’ve just made it on the sidewalk when you almost run directly into a figure dashing back towards the front door steps. You manage to stop yourself from colliding, swaying dangerously as you try to regain your balance. The person catches you by your shoulders, steadying you on your feet. 

You look up and instantaneously feel yourself freeze. You’re breathing heavily from the mad dash or adrenaline or fear or maybe it’s just love; love for Billie Dean Howard and want for her too. 

Dark brown eyes the color of molasses look down at you fondly. “Hi, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice husky and warm and if home is a person, you know it’s her. It has to be. Because your heart has never felt at peace as it does in this very moment, with you in her arms, your face in her hands, and your fingers threaded in her hair.

“You’re here,” you whisper. You savor the moment, watching as her nose crinkles when she smiles, her eyes warm and tender in a way you have never seen before. The tips of her acrylic nails graze the skin of your cheek, gently as if she’s afraid you’ll break. I won’t, you want to say. I am whole.

“Of course I am,” she says back, just as soft. “Where else would I be?”

And there, in the springtime, with children and parents shuffling around you as they return home for the day, with dogs getting their last walks before bed, with street lamps buzzing, with life in bloom all around you, you finally feel complete. And there, in the middle of the sidewalk with sparrows singing a song from the trees above you, in the protective circle of her arms, you are home. 

And there, you kiss her.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment. 

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach. 

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

“Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

 “Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.” 

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

-

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series:  @seninjakitey​  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

[wevegottogetaway]

The one where it turns sweeter (part2)

TW: smut

So... this is my first time writing smut. I just hope that I did the piece justice and that you’ll like it. Tell me if that’s something you’d want more or also if you have any feedback/criticism/idea/request, I would love to hear your lovely thoughts. Please don’t be shy xx

Part 1

"Just shut up and come kiss your dork." 

Y/n certainly doesn’t need more incentive to comply; the sweet taste of his lips seeping through hers is plenty enough as it is. Her mind is a nerve-ending away from losing any semblance of a grasp on reality. This feels too much like a dream: fuzzy mind, sensitive skin and a desperate plea not to be awakened yet.

Except, all her senses are on overdrive, buzzing with more fervency with every new inch of her that Harry explores. And no matter how dreamlike it all seem, the thrills are much too intense to be sleep-induced and the details much too accurate to be conjured up by a deceiving mind. The way chills spiral up her spine as they follow the roaming of his hands underneath her shirt; the way her skin erupts in tiny goose bumps where his lips leave wet spots after careful ministrations. Starting at the corner of her month, as if reluctant to retire from their twin set, all across her left cheek to finally tease the area right below her ear and mischievously graze his teeth around the earlobe. 

Definitely real. 

"Fuck. I’ve been wai’in." He almost whimpers the extent of his relief, the rasp of his voice triggering a new wave of shivers across y/n’s straddling body. "Been waiting so long, love." 

"No more waiting now." She quickly answers with a pointed shake of her head.

Her hands also have a mind of their own, not wasting a second more to finally tread the land that had been forbidden to her until tonight. Now his neck was hers to scratch and his wondrous locks hers to grasp and to pull in taunting fashion. Now the grunts coming out of his mouth still tending to her ear, were hers to revel in and to swallow in a searing kiss. Now she was his to hold, to touch and to undo like the final tug to a bow on a wrapped present. Now the pleasure was theirs to share. 

"Off, take it off" Y/n breathlessly inquires after pausing their kiss long enough to voice her request. Her fingers have already made their way to the bottom of Harry’s jumper, slipping underneath the heavy material only to be met by more fabric. She pouts as she realizes there was more work than expected, but as soon as the first layer has been discarded and she takes in his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, the disappointment melts right off her lips. Her hands cups at his face as she bits a growing smile and her eyes dive into the green gems already focused on her. "Flustered, are we?" She teases before rearranging his hair back in one brushing gesture and sealing their lips back together.

"Mhm, got me all hot an’ bothered, darlin’" he quips back as he rids her of her top, successfully leaving her in a simple black laced bra. Damn, she didn’t have the same multi-layer luxury he had apparently. The special endearment is also not lost on her, its appearance quite new between them, but in retrospect it can just be added to the list of ‘new’ things their relationship now entails. 

Harry takes in the sight of her exposed cleavage, one hand swiping the strings of hair still resting upon her right collarbone, before finally dropping kisses down her neck and across the top of her breasts. One soft grip at her waist, his other hand crawls back to press against the area between her shoulder blades in a desperate attempt to get her that bit closer than she ever was.

"You’ve got one more." Y/n reminds him, her head slightly tilted upward as to avoid a mouthful of Harry’s mane. At her words, he slowly leans back to take in her own flustered state.

"This not enough fo’ you?" He asks knowing full well she was just as antsy for skin-to-skin contact as he was.

"Not even close" she proudly responds while taking the matter into her own hands. In a swift and not too clumsy motion, she’s got his undershirt in a bowl that she hastily throws behind them.

"Better?" He smirks at her. 

"Halfway there" is all she retorts and goes back for a much needed kiss, hands finally embracing the smooth expanse of his bare back. She can feel his own smile spreading so wide he can barely follow the kiss’ dynamic. "What?" She finally asks him in suspicious banter, keeping her face an inch away from him, a finger swiping across the corner of his bottom lip.

"Nothin’" He murmurs along her jaw, before elaborating. "Just…livin’ on a prayer."

Y/n can’t help but laugh at the Bon Jovi reference, the moment is so Harry-like. A few words were always enough to make random songs pop into his head, and then the temptation is too hard for him to pass up the opportunity to make a pun about it. That’s just how he’s brain works and y/n has always loved this quirk of his. He is a music enthusiast after all, and the passion he’s derived from is what made him such a force to be reckoned with, so really, y/n doesn’t mind.

"Care to clue me in on that prayer of yours?" She says instead, before she suggestively takes a bite of his lip. The statement earns her a chuckle as Harry goes back to flowering her neck his tender pecks. 

"Don’t worry darlin’, you’ll be singing them in no time." He chirps back seductively, bringing his hands to grasp at y/n thighs still straddling his lap. Then in one swoop, he lifts her and lowers her back until she’s laying on the ground. Quickly his tattooed torso follows suit as he comes resting above her figure and reunites their lips in an unprecedentedly passionate kiss. 

This time around, y/n’s hand concentrate on the inked work adorning his front, fingers tracing each of the artist’s lines. It mesmerizes her how the art seems to be such an intrinsic element of his skin now. Like all the graphics and doodles had been embedding the tissue since birth. Swallows flying across is chest as he learnt how to walk; laurels flourishing along his pelvis as he became less boy and more man; butterfly metamorphosing some every day he grew closer into the amazing being he is now. 

So y/n may have lost it a little, but in her defense, Harry has always been her weakness and now he’s kissing his way down her chest and playfully nipping at her belly button…so she’s officially relinquished any sovereignty she may have once possessed over her body. Harry softly pecks the palm of her hand when she brings it to his cheek, her gaze already clouded in euphoria. After sharing a knowing look like two accomplices on the brink of mischief, he mutters a soft "can I?" as his fingers tease at the waistband of her jeans. 

A hazy ‘please’ is all he needs to work her zipper down and button off, all the whilst sporting a smug corner smile. The task gets a bit more tedious when it comes to peeling the fabric from her legs but it’s not Harry’s first skintight jeans’ rodeo. Plus, the sight he is privy to once they’ve joined his long forgotten undershirt and jumper somewhere behind the couch, is quite unparalleled in comparison. Smooth legs that take his head for a spin with how elegant yet how strong they look; cotton panties, still matching in color, covering wonders he has yet to experienced; so much flesh and skin ready for the taking and calling out for his touch. 

A soft groan escapes him as he lowers himself back to place a wantsome kiss on her timid smile. "Fuck, look a’ you, love." More kisses. "So pretty…so delicious." He utters against her throat, nose tenderly rubbing against the skin. 

His lips retell the same stories as they travel down y/n’s body once again, this time making a longer halt as they gloss over her breast, blindingly enclosing themselves around y/n’s nipple though the garment’s lace. She swears she can feel him smiling against her boob as the small bud hardens from pleasure, and when he adds in a quick graze of his teeth once he’s satisfied with his work, y/n’s hand flies out to the one making its way up to her other nipple. 

The gesture isn’t meant as a restraint so much as an encouragement which Harry happily embraces. His thumb starts circling the areola in a slow and teasing manner, every now and then applying increasing pressure in its center. Y/n’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, as if afraid he would suddenly stop, while the other slides down his back to squeeze at his bum. 

"Touch me" she breathes out.

"I am."

"Touch me more." Her insisting words have him lift his head from her skin to process her demand: at this point, his mind might be fuzzier than hers. 

"My girl wants somethin’ more? Just have to ask, darlin, I’ll give it straight t’you." 

His hand starts moving underneath hers, and once she’s pleased with the path it’s taking, she lets go of it. Just as her hand settles back on his shoulder, her fingers dig in the flesh in retaliation to the dragging caress Harry is delivering underneath her panties. He is being awfully slow at it, collecting wetness all around and bringing it back to slick up her neglected clit. He has readjusted his body back to her level, not wanting to miss the slightest manifestation of her pleasure on her face.

As his movements around the bud speed up, her legs fidget more and more in between his, until the pressure starts building strong in her lower belly and her mind is once again pleading to get him closer to her. Untangling their lower limbs to wrap hers around his waist, his response comes in a feverish kiss and his ministrations moving from her tingly clit to her wet opening. They resume their circling motion, index teasing its way in but never quite making an entrance; the patience game he seems to be playing not to y/n’s liking as she groans against his lips.

"Flustered, are we?" He has the audacity to use her own words against her but somehow it turns her on even more. Makes her all the more curious to discover just how sassy he can be when he’s got her in a puddle at his fingers. Quite literally. 

"Don’t be mean." Y/n pouts before laying open mouth kisses along his neck. Maybe that’ll motivate him.

"Sorry, love. You’re just so drippy down there, it’s driving me crazy. Is it all fo’ me?" He kisses her forehead in a vain attempt to make up for all the riling up he’s doing. 

He forgets he can be as easily riled up though, when y/n susurrate at his ear "You know it is." 

The admittance has him pushing his hips against her, effectively pressing his fingers harder on her pussy. They both moan in unison at the friction, heightened pleasure coursing through their bloodstream, saturating their veins. It’s then they realize there’s so much more to come, like the moment ticked something off in their brains, and now they can’t get naked fast enough. Frantic hands pulling at the remaining clothing articles left of their bodies while their lips are caught in an equally raging war. A war they’re battling on the same side as they fight for the same thing: intimacy, passion, closeness. 

Once they’re both left bare to the other’s eyes, they take a second to revel in the moment. It took all the patience and abnegation in the world to get them to this point. Days of yearning stifled in silent admonition and nights of supposedly wishful thinking that left them wanting more at every new sunrise. So much anguish turned into so much elation as the truth prevailed though. That’s a lot pleasure warranted to make up for lost time. 

"Been dyin’ to taste you, darlin’. What d’ya say?" He asks in between kisses. Their naked bodies are so untangled they can’t tell beginning from end, but Harry is all too willing to unweave himself form y/n’s loving limbs if it means he gets to have her on his tastebuds. And apparently so is she, if the high-pitched ‘please’ breathing past her lips is any indication.

The smugness returns on his face as he once again undertakes the delightful descent to her sensitivity. There is no material stopping him this time though, just more skin begging to be brought to life. And when his lips finally surf across her mound, the goose pumps blooming in their wake just prove him right. Her breathy noises only spur him on, tongue finally taking a long swipe across her lips, like a secret weapon kept under wrap for the most opportune time. 

Y/n’s hands are quick to grab onto something, and the absence of linens underneath her only hastens her reach for him: one hand buried deep in his headful of curls, the other resting on his own hand at her hip. She feels his thumb rubbing soothingly at her skin there and she loves how tender he can be, even while simultaneously devouring her in greedy licks. The contrast as her vision blurring and no matter how much she wants to watch him have the meal of his life, her body is too riddled by pleasure to keep herself focused enough. 

The feeling only keeps intensifying as Harry properly delves into her, tongue first, his other hand eventually coming to hold her thigh down as it keeps clamping back shut at every new wave of ecstasy rushing over her. "So good, Harry. Feels so good." She keeps chanting in delirium, and Harry’s own excitement is starting to grow unbearable. There’s no way he can’t let go of her to relieve himself for a second though, he’ll just have to wait for her unravelling.

"Taste so sweet, love. Come on, please cum fo’ me. Need it real bad." He pleads for her undoing as though Time was about to rip her away from him before he got to properly have her.

Deciding the moment calls for a change in tactic, he brings two fingers to her wet hole and swiftly slides them inside of her. Rejoicing when he is met with no resistance, he quickly brings his lips back to her sensitive bud, alternating between hard sucks and pacifying licks.  

It doesn’t take much longer for the knot inside of her to come undone and her orgasm to take over every parcel and every atom of her. And Harry can’t get enough. She’s everywhere: all around his tongue as he keeps fucking into her in earnest strokes; up to his nose while the angle has him brushing against her clit; down his ears with songs of uncontrollable bliss; underneath his hands as he can feel every spasms seizing her body. 

He tends to her sensitivity until she’s too overwhelmed to bear it, and complies when she gives a small tug at his hair. Their lips immediately find each other even though they were both rendered breathless by y/n’s climax. She can taste it on his lips so vividly, it makes her moan at how utterly crazy he’d gone at it. She tenderly swipes away the wetness on his chin while their tongues waltz together, and brings him closer to her with a koala move. Soon they are both made acutely aware of Harry’s excitement as his hard member is trapped between their heated bodies. 

"You’re incredible." Y/n finally voices with a look of unadulterated love and pure wonder. Her smile only emphasizes her confession and Harry’s heart swells so hard, he wonders if the butterfly on his stomach feels it too. He mirrors her beam with one of his own before lowering his forehead against hers. His muscles are starting to feel sore from the tension that has yet to be liberating from his body, and it takes all he’s got, not to drop the support his arms provide as they lay on each side of y/n’s face.

"Got me so hard, love. Feels like imma bout to explode." He admits while sliding his cock back and forth along her sweetness. He feels like a ticking bomb, winded so tight from years of nerve-wracking suspense, that have never felt more like foreplay than right at this moment, as y/n reaches out to him. Her hand confidently wraps around his shaft to deliver long strokes that have him shudder in pleasure. 

"Gonna do something about it?" She murmurs tauntingly at him.

"Mhm" is all he can respond before taking her hand from his cock and holding it down above her head in an interlocking grip. Taking a hold of his hard member, he then proceeds to gently tap her clit with his sensitive tip, in retribution for a teasing behavior. "Do we need a rubber?" He remembers to ask in between her moans.

"Not on my account." She answers truthfully, and Harry exults in knowing there will be nothing but warm smooth walls enveloping his dick once he finally has her.

"Yeah? Gonna let me just slide in? Take me all the way an’ keep me there forever?" The words have a clear purpose to wind her up further, but Harry thinks he might have screwed himself over with that one, as he finds himself equally aroused at the idea. Precome is already leaking from his reddened and swollen tip, only adding to the mess they’ve made together.

She answers him with a gentle kiss and her free hand comes to hold his jaw, thumb caressing his cheek in light motion. Their lips part for a shaky breath as Harry slowly pushes himself inside of her. They both sigh when his hips meet hers, every tensed molecule in their body uncoiling at the delicious friction. 

As he starts rocking into her, Harry’s hand grabs at y/n’s thigh to keep it close around hip. His other hand is still interweaved with hers by her head and he doesn’t think he’ll ever let got of it.

He’s movement starts to speed up, as the pleasure becomes stronger and the change in pace has y/n arching into him. He takes the opportunity to slide his hand up her back, when his fingers come in contact with a tiny item on the floor. In confusion, he takes it out from under her, and brings it up between them. Puzzled faces relax in recognition as they take in a square shape piece of their long forgotten game, the letter G carefully painted on its surface. 

"Guess I found it, huh." He jokes before tossing the piece away, and they both burst in laughter at the silly pun, Harry’s face buried in her chest. How can one have still so much wit even when balls deep in their secret-not-so-secret-anymore crush for the first time? Y/n loves it, though. It makes all the rapture even more delectable to know the one giving it to her is the same old Harry who almost gave her a heart attack once from how hard she was laughing. 

Laughters quickly merge into gasps of pleasure at the pressure of y/n’s walls tightening around Harry’s cock. Just like that, the playful interlude is over, letting lust conquer all. Powerful thrusts resume their pounding motion as y/n once again dissolves into colorful moans, and Harry takes his hand back up her spine until he’s holding onto the back of her neck. Kisses are trailed down her throat as he tilts her head slightly to the side. "Squeezin’ me so hard, love. Must be doin’ somethin’ right," He says against her skin, as he pounds into her. He can feel her walls clenching again, body twitching around him and he knows she’s close to her peak.

Removing his hand from underneath her, all the whilst not relenting from his earnest fucking, he brings two fingers to her lips, caressing the soft flesh before dipping past them. "Come on darlin’, make ‘em wet for me." He commands and the mere word have her throbbing from anticipation. Obediently, she accepts the digits in her month and starts wrapping her tongue around them like she would his cock. As she indulges in a soft suction, Harry’s hips snap even harder, making her wheeze in response. 

Fingers free from the confine of her warm mouth, he fits them down where their body meet and starts rubbing at her clit. "About to cum, aren’t you? Can feel it too, you know," he starts rambling to distract him from his own impending climax, "Gonna give it to me good, yeah? Wanna feel it all around, makin’ a mess o’ me, alright?"   

"Yes, Harry. ‘M so close," y/n answers before giving a sharp tug at his hair, "fuck me harder, please." It takes all his might not to nut right then and there, but the prospect of sharing the sweetest high of all with her, gives him enough resolve to hold back. Instead, he endeavors to make good on her request by delivering hard and vigorous thrusts that has her bucking against him. Wet noises start feeling the space around them, arousal coating their joined bits as well as Harry’s busy fingers. "That’s it, that’s it, almost there" he keeps muttering like prayers whispered to the Almighty. And it seems like the heavens are responsive tonight as a couple of hard calculated shoves is all it takes for y/n’s orgasm to rupture and send her spiraling. 

"Harry," his name on her lips at this very moment might just be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. "Feels so good." Bliss and ecstasy are written all over her face, and the visual coupled with the sensation of her pussy still hugging tight onto his shaft, send him to a euphoric release of his own. Goose pumps pave their way across his skin as he gives a few more rolls of his hips to accompany the ribbons of cum spurting out of his cock. Y/n’s name is the only thought consuming his hazy mind, the only sound leaving his mouth against the tender skin of her throat where he’s buried his face. Slowly he then removes himself from her - not without a whine at the newfound emptiness greeting them both - and plops down by her side.

The living room is filled with an eery silence for a minute, as both y/n and Harry process everything that just transpired and give their body and chance to recuperate. Their sides are still touching, sticky from sweat, their breathing slowly regulating back to an even level. Harry carefully slides his hand into hers and they both share a look of affection.

"That was amazing." Y/n breaks the silence first in a hushed voice, and her confession makes Harry smile in pride.

"Fuck, com ’ere." He says although he’s the one lifting himself up on one elbow to give her a languid kiss. As he settles next to her, yet another Scrabble piece makes an appearance, this time stuck to the skin on the side of his shoulder before it falls off in a soft thud on the floor. He must have laid down on it in post-orgasmic bliss and the sweat made it stick there for a second.

Y/n picks it back up with a beaming smile as she inspect the little token. "Damn, for once I was actually kicking your ass at Scrabble. Kinda screwed myself over, didn’t I." She laughs at how she’d been so intent on winning the game, yet had been the one to throw the game board  along with caution to the wind.

"Actually love, I believe I was the one you screwed." Harry playfully retort, earning him a small slap to the stomach. The gesture only makes him laugh some more as he engulfs her in a crushing embrace. 

➪ Masterlist

[fanfic-cave]

Migraine

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Hunter x GN!Reader

Warnings: War Flashbacks/implied PTSD, angst & guilt, people be crushing on eachother, is this fluff? perhaps...

Summary: You start with a normal day with TBB, when a migraine comes on and you relive your worst traumas. How do you cope, especially when it happens on the havoc marauder?

I came up with this idea when I was having a migraine the other day, and I kinda infused it with an OC I had thought up. I decided to leave it GN for the readers, but technically its a part of their story, if that makes sense. (I actually think the story is kinda cool so I might write up chapters we'll see...)

Leave feedback if you'd like! :)

Today started as a normal day for you. You made a trip to go visit the most interesting group around, The Bad Batch. They seemed to appreciate your company, and you enjoyed theirs. Often they expected you to come over and socialize for a good chunk of the day. You remember what a stark contrast this was from when you first met, each of them suspicious of you (well, except for Omega), and you skeptical of them. Once you asked for their help making a trip to Dantooine, you protected each other in battle, and the walls started coming down. Now you had each other's backs, you’d all proven it countless times.

Except you’re still lying to them. The unwelcome thought intruded your mind. You still haven’t told them why you’re really avoiding the empire.

*Y/N, did you hear what I said?* Tech spoke in Ryl. Once he heard you knew several languages from all over the galaxy, he enjoyed taking the opportunity to speak a different language with you.

You shook your head. “Sorry Tech, lost in thought, what did you say?” You had replied in common instead. He looked slightly disappointed at your doing so. “I asked you if you’d seen the improvements I made to your vibroblades yet.” You looked down and saw he had definitely made some adjustments. “Oh, no I haven’t. I need to try practicing with them.”

“You’d have better luck with a blaster.” Crosshairs voice came from down the hall. He shouldered past you, bumping into you intentionally. You laughed at his comment, massaging your forehead as an attempt to combat an oncoming headache. “Hah, do I need to remind you what happened when you let your snarky attitude get the better of you while I had my blades?” You managed to see him shake his head in response, the lights in the room suddenly started to bother you.

His voice became faint, you heard “Lucky … only close … shoot you.” His voice was coming in and out, and a harsh pounding pain began at the top of your skull. You gripped your head and tried laughing at Cross’s comment, you’re sure it was probably his usual attitude. You thought you heard Hunters voice coming down the hall, but you couldn’t make out words. You saw through squinted eyes Tech was analyzing your behavior, and his lips began to move.

Finally you had to squeeze your eyes shut, and voice as loudly as you could “Gotta go.” The lights seemed too bright, and your headache revealed itself as a full-blown migraine. The bright lights seemed to cut into you, making the pounding in your head stronger. You felt like a big fist was punching you from inside, trying to break your skull open. You stumbled down the halls and managed to find the bathroom, rushing in and shutting the door.

The pounding subsided slightly, now that light was absent. You groaned and settled yourself on the floor. Unwelcome thoughts began to flash through your head. Separatist forces engaging you and the battalion. BANG. Tanks firing. BANG. Dead clone troopers lying on the ground, their voice screaming. BANG. Your own body lying on the ground unable to move. BANG. Tears streamed down your face, both from the pain and the horrible memories.

A soft knock at the door pulled you back into the moment, and you realized you had been banging your head on the wall. “Y/N?” You heard Hunters voice on the other side.

“I’m fine.” You said weakly. “Headache. Give me a minute.” You heard voices on the other side of the door, and footsteps shuffling. The head pounding in your skull still continued, but the flashes were gone.

“Close your eyes.” Hunter spoke quietly now. You covered your eyes, not having the energy to argue with him right now.

You heard the door open and he walked it, quickly closing the door. “What’s going on?” He knelt onto the floor next to you. You could make out his figure, and see a concerned look etched into his face now that your eyes adjusted to the dark. “Migraine. I’d like to be…” Alone. You tried to say it, but you couldn’t. You’d never had someone around when the pain was this bad, and part of you wanted him to stay with you the whole time. You gripped your head with both hands as a swell of pain surged through again.

Hunter gave you a moment to finish your sentence, once he realized you wouldn’t he sighed. “Let me at least put you somewhere more comfortable.” He spoke in a whisper, trying not to agitate you too much. He waited for a response. “Can you move?” You tried standing, pain swelled, and you settled back down. You knew it would only get worse when the door opened and the light would come through. You tried shaking your head. “I’m gonna carry you, okay?” He waited for an objection. “The light…” you breathed out. “Don’t worry, I'll handle it.” You heard him shuffle around, cloth moving, and then he gently wrapped a towel around your head. Your eyes were now effectively covered.

You felt one arm wrap around your back, his hand gripping your side, the other arm began securing you under your legs. In one fluid movement, Hunter lifted you up and your body was leaning against his. You pressed your towel-covered face into the crook of his shoulder, preparing to block out the light. You felt him take a sharp breath in as you pressed your face tightly against him. The door swung open, and you were relieved that you could see no brightness. The pain continued its pounding, but it began to dull. You felt comfortable and secure in his arms, and you realized nobody has ever taken care of you quite like this. You were suddenly grateful you had the towel on (which you realized had quite an unpleasant smell too), because it hid the blush that filled your cheeks.

Hunter's body swayed a little and you heard his feet move. Do I even weigh anything to him? You wondered, since he carried you so easily. Another door opened, and then shut. He took a few more steps, then you felt him adjusting your weight, beginning to set you down. He settled you onto a comfortable cot, a soft blanket underneath you. He gently rested your head down on the pillow, and removed your towel. The room was dark, darker than in the bathroom. You looked around and realized you were in Hunter's room. It was small, but it had enough room to fit you on the cot and him standing at the foot of the bed.

You both looked at each other for a moment, the pain lessening a little. “That towel smells.” You whispered. Hunter shrugged. You wrinkled your nose at him and then went to massage your forehead. You turned onto your left side so you could face him better, and fully relaxed into the bed. Although there was a slight stink, the bed smelled like him too. You pulled the blanket up a little to hide your face, and to take in the scent more. It served as a good distraction.

“Stay as long as you need to,” he said quietly. You heard him begin to shuffle out of the room. “Wait-” you reached out, not close enough to grab him, but the gesture caused him to freeze. You felt a slight surge of embarrassment, but ignored it. “Stay a bit. Please. I think it helps.” You saw his chest move up, like he was holding his breath. You wished you could see his face, to try and pick apart what he might be thinking right now. You continued massaging your head, moving to your temples now. You closed your eyes and tried relaxing, not wanting to pressure him by staring. You didn’t hear his movement, but the bed shifted, and you felt fingers move in between yours, and they began taking over the circular motions. You looked up and saw Hunter sat on the bed, a few inches in front of your body. You hoped he couldn’t see the color in your face change as he gently took over massaging your temple.

Although you were a little flustered by him doing this, you felt your heart flutter and your body relax to his touch. The pain was a soft thud now, and you could more easily ignore it. Your eyes had wandered away for a minute, but you searched for him again. You saw that he was watching you closely, and you thought he looked concerned, although his face seemed to betray no expression. The massaging turned into a head rub that went in circular motions all around and through your hair. It felt amazing and you sighed, resting your head more onto the pillow.

You watched Hunter for another minute. He never made eye contact with you, but you knew he was watching you, just as you were watching him. After a few more moments passed, you reached up to grab Hunters hand to stop his motions. He looked into your eyes questioningly. “Thank you, Hunter.” You smiled softly, and began to sit up on the bed. He hesitated, and then his hand retreated back. “Sure, we take care of each other here.”

What does this mean? You thought, as you both looked into each other's eyes. You had wondered at one point if there was something more to Hunter, or something more between the two of you. You both seemed to get along well, and you couldn’t deny there were moments you had. Tending to wounds, protecting each other in a fight, you wondered… Could there be something more here?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t deserve it. I don’t even deserve their trust.

You looked away from him and began to stand. “I should be getting back.”

“Already?” He seemed surprised. “Everyone will be back soon.” You remained silent. “I know Omega would like to see you.” You felt a sting in your chest as he mentioned her. Omega was your first friend in the group. Her innocent kindness towards you had been the beginnings of your relationship with everyone. You had a soft spot for her, just like everyone else seemed to. You managed to look back at him and smile softly “You’ll have to tell her hi for me.” You allowed yourself another moment to look at him. He broke eye contact fairly quickly and said “Alright then, fine.” You sighed and recognized that he was disappointed in your decision.

Could this be more?

The sting in your chest seemed to tug at you with this thought. “I’ll see you around Hunter.” You turned away and started to leave.

Maybe.

[yourlocal-lichen]

hello. *insert question abt ur worldbuilding*

oh boy :D

I've been writing a lot and so suddenly the answer to this *question* is under the cut :)

I kind of shitposted about the basic premise of the city like a week ago but it's pretty much a city built in and around these giant trees with like streets winding between and under roots. The streets are walking paths, paved for accessibility, and a kind of surprisingly high amount of the city budget goes into maintaining them because the ground is very soft and while the pavement is reinforced with a bunch of stuff it's really hard to keep these paths flat and elevated for very long.

Most of the streets are designed for walking/wheelchairs, but there are express streets for bikes that also make it through. Elevated above the streets and (most of) the roots is the light rail, known as the RiboMetro (like ribosomes! eh? eh?) which is a bit like the Loop in Chicago but a lot more extensive.

The local climate is very moist (hence the soft earth) and the forest is known as le forêt qui coule (the forest that drips) because of condensation dripping from... kind of everything. There are moss and vines growing on every available surface pretty much, except those specifically maintained to stay clear. To offset any of the lost moisture to the tree roots caused by buildings and walkways, there are gutters running alongside most of the walkways that facilitate the movement of clean water, both for the inhabitants of the city and for the trees.

It's relatively dark here, too. Sun makes it though the canopy here, but the natural light is not very strong. It does not take much for it to get very dark, be that early dusk or rain. Most of the lights turn on pretty early in the day.

An important thing to note here about it is that the primary building material here is a kind of bronze/copper-looking metal. It's not like an elven civilization where everything here is made out of wood. These are still humans who inhabit it, too.

While any electrical lines are underground, there is still an appearance of electrical wires, which are upon closer inspection just vines strung between buildings. Buildings often have brightly colored awnings, not just on the ground level but also protecting windows from rain on higher levels. It's really not hard when looking around this city to find every color in the decorations and architecture everywhere. The smell here is a mix of damp earth, plant air (I can't really explain it but like the smell when there's a lot of plants in a room, especially when there's a breeze? My bedroom smells like it sometimes and it's amazing), and wet metal (ew ew ew). There are sounds of dragonflies, mosquitoes, birds, and the RiboMetro is also pretty loud when it's going by.

Finally, of the most notable parts of the city, at the center there is a (natural) clearing where most of the farming is done. While livestock and such are kept more on the outside of town, there is a massive vegetable garden in the middle, mostly kept on raised beds. It can get very sunny here, and this is where the city maintains free-access foods. It's not the best crop of vegetables ever, and there is better produce to be found by vendors throughout the city, but it's free, and tended by city employees. This space is called le Bois de Cœur and is surrounded by a wide street with stores surrounding it, which are a little bit in the trees themselves. I need to make a map at some point.

[bitacrytic]

Black Rose (6)

Read previous part HERE

♧

“You’re selling this place,” Yohan said, gently nudging the makeshift posts beneath Gaon’s bed.

“Excuse me,” Gaon replied, closing the door, but making no move to come back in, careful of the distance between them.

Yohan hated the distance.

“You can’t keep running back here every time we get in a fight.”

Or if he’d somehow laid himself bare to a man, he knew nothing about.

♧♧��♧♧

Yohan took a tentative step into the apartment, into Gaon’s world. It wasn’t lost on him that they’d only ever interacted at the office or at the mansion, or anywhere else that was of Yohan’s machinations. He wondered if it was to his advantage that things between always happened on his turf, on his terms.

The apartment was small but roomy enough to afford him movement because Gaon didn’t clutter the inside. He just had a bed, a closet, and a reading area. Gaon reserved all his clutter for the veranda right outside his door where there was barely any room to step for fear of crushing a potted plant.

It was quiet, but not in the menacing way that the mansion was. He could still hear cars from the road and conversation from the street and other apartments. Living in this apartment, was not insolation. This was comfort. This was calm. This was an avenue to community. Three things that the mansion was not.

No wonder Gaon kept coming back.

“You’re selling this place,” Yohan said, gently nudging the makeshift posts beneath Gaon’s bed.

“Excuse me,” Gaon replied, closing the door, but making no move to come back in, careful of the distance between them.

Yohan hated the distance.

“You can’t keep running back here every time we get in a fight.”

Gaon clenched his fist, then buried them in his pockets.

“I’m not selling my house.”

“I’ll buy you a better one. One closer to the mansio-"

“Did you come here for a reason, Sir?”

Yohan wanted to ignore him and finish what he’d started saying. Instead, he sat on the bed. Soft. He tried to bounce on it, but it didn’t bounce. It just absorbed his weight and pulled him in.

“Come back with me.”

“Sir-"

“It’s what we do Gaon. We fight and then we make up.”

Gaon leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his hands in front of his torso.

“That’s not the best way to live.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. And I don’t want to pressure you-”

Yohan laughed.

“-into anything that you don’t want.”

“Do you think we’ve done anything that I don’t want?”

“You may have wanted it at the moment, but regret tends to colour memories of the experience.”

Gaon was right. Yohan had wanted it, God, he’d wanted it like his skin was burning and Gaon had a bucket of water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so desperate for anything before that day at the office where he’d kissed Gaon and sucked him off.

The moment they were done, Yohan was wrought with shame. His depraved needs were usually confined to protected walls with partners who knew better than to speak of it.

“Do you know where I’m supposed to be today?”

Gaon shook his head.

“Think.”

Comprehension dawned on Gaon.

“It’s the third Saturday of the month.”

“Yes.” Yohan nodded. “I have a standing appointment that I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep.”

Gaon pushed off the wall as his hands fell to his sides, then he schooled his expression, attempting to pull back the veil of nonchalance he’d worn ever since Yohan entered the apartment. Eventually, he gave up, placing a hand on his hips.

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean?”

As the words left his mouth, Yohan didn’t think truer words could have existed. He was starving and for some reason, Gaon felt like the perfect source to quench his thirst. He could go for his appointment. He could have Josephine or Stephen whip him till his body quivered and craved release. He could do that. But it wouldn’t be enough. Not anymore.

“What does that mean?” Gaon asked again, sounding worried. “We’re not doing anything until we understand what we want from each other.”

“I want everything from you,” Yohan replied quietly.

“Sir,” Gaon said softly taking a step forward, but backing up immediately.

Yohan frowned at Gaon’s feet. He wanted Gaon to cover that distance, but he didn’t know how to say it. He couldn’t find the words.

“I should be more specific,” Yohan said. “I don’t want you to hurt me. I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I hate it when you leave.” His voice shook.

“I’m right here, Sir.”

“I hate that you still call me Sir. Gaon, you’ve ejaculated in my mouth for fucksake.”

The words came out harsher than he’d intended. As Gaon’s frown deepened, Yohan rushed to rectify his mistake.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. You can... you can call me whatever you-"

“Yohan-hyung.”

Every word in Yohan’s mind screeched to halt after Gaon spoke. Unable to speak, he just sat there with his mouth hanging open.

“Hyung-nim?” Gaon asked, walking towards Yohan, slowly. “Or just Yohan?”

Yohan-hyung. That was the one Yohan liked the best. But he couldn’t convey that because Gaon was getting closer and closer till he crouched between Yohan’s legs and knelt on the ground.

“Which do you prefer?”

“What are you doing?”

Gaon took Yohan’ hands in his own and held them to his chest. He was so close. He was still so beautiful. Oh, how Yohan just wanted to kiss him.

But before he could, Gaon leaned up and pressed his lips to Yohan’s in a soft, fleeting kiss.

“We’re talking terms and conditions, right?”

Yohan nodded.

“Yohan-hyung,” Gaon said, sounding like he’d decided. “But I’ll still call you Sir at the office.”

“Anything you want.” He licked his lips, looking down at Gaon’s and wanting another kiss.

“I want you to talk to me.”

“I can do that.” If things were going where Yohan thought they were, then he was going to agree to anything.

“Listen to me,” Gaon said, squeezing Yohan’s arm and drawing his attention away from Gaon’s lips. “I don’t want you to agree to anything just so we can have sex.”

“I can talk.”

“I mean, reallytalk. If I ask a question, I just want answers. That’s how we can avoid hurting each other. Usually, you make vague statements that mean nothing and eventually it blows up in both our faces because I draw all the wrong conclusions. If we’re going to do this, my biggest condition is that we talk to each other.”

Yohan knew that. Most of their fights escalated because they didn’t communicate when they should have. Question and answer. Right? It could be that simple if Yohan allowed it to be, right?

“Alright.”

“You have to be able to ask for stuff too.”

“I ask for things.”

“Do you?” Gaon asked back. “You set traps and beat around the bush till I do what you want. Just ask me anything. You’re my hyung now, right?”

Yohan’s insides felt mushy and giddy hearing Gaon speak that way.

“Can you kiss me?”

Gaon smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him again. Yohan kissed back, holding on to Gaon like his life depended on it. When Gaon pulled back, Yohan went down and kissed him again before he sat back.

“One day,” Yohan said. “One day I’m going to…” he cleared his throat. “One day I’m going to ask you to do something that… uh… something that I don’t think you’d like.”

“Are we talking about the reason for your monthly appointments?”

“If we’re going to do this, we have to be honest, right?”

“Yes.”

‘Then you should know about the things that I want.”

Gaon stood, gently pushing Yohan against the bed as Yohan obliged, shifting to accommodate him. Together, they lay, facing each other.

“I’ve’ been reading about it,” Gaon admitted, picking at Yohan’s collar, and avoiding Yohan’s eyes. “Honestly,” he said, as his cheeks colored. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

“Really?”

“But I don’t know exactly how you like it.”

“I can show you.”

When Gaon met Yohan’s eyes, the open adoration in them was enough to take Yohan’s breath away. This foolish boy who thought he could handle anything. Yohan didn’t know he could ever feel this way about anyone. He had no idea anyone could ever feel this way about him.

“You can show me,” Gaon agreed, caressing Yohan’s lips. “I’ll learn anything from you.”

Yohan liked that too much. He scooted closer, lifting himself till his upper body was above Gaon’s.

“I like that,” he smiled.

“But I’m not selling my house.”

“You can keep it,” Yohan allowed. “This bed is growing on me.”

Gaon reached up, running his hands through Yohan’s hair, a gesture that was so reminiscent of that first time in Yohan’s office, when Gaon had done it. Yohan leaned into his touch, soaking it in, anticipating what it would feel like to have Gaon’s hands all over every other part of his body.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Yohan said, diving down and capturing Gaon’s in a kiss so full of intention that he was quaking in his bones. He’d wanted this for so long and even though he’d thought he’d only get it as some broken thing, some secret, some stolen moment that could never truly be, he couldn’t believe that he was here.

He was getting Gaon, intentions bared, and wounds left open. Because he’d been a fool to think he deserved anything less than everything Kim Gaon had to offer.

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 10

Well finally, chapter 10 is here sooner than expected ! Happy reading my friends 💕

Chapter 10 : You are very far from the account, my beautiful

- I've been doing quite a bit of research on the powers of aengels and dragons since the other night, and there is something I would like to try. But for that, you have to trust me a minimum.

- All right, tell me what to do.

Without warning, Lance grabbed my hand and held it in his, this one made slightly rough by its semi-transformation. He had no say in letting me understand what he was waiting for. Closing my eyes, I focused on the now familiar tingling sensations of the contact of his skin against mine. The latter, still weak, ran through my fingers with a pleasant feeling. It was soft, almost natural, as if my palm had only waited for this contact to finally feel completely itself.

Locked in the cold huge cage of his tanned hand, my fingers began to vibrate slightly as the comforting warmth of my powers began to roam my arm. One against the other, our palms seemed to constantly counterbalance two radically opposed temperatures, struggling to find a happy medium. Strangely, I felt soothed by this sudden contrast akin to a duel of fire and ice. It was a reflection of our interactions, at Lance and me.

Complex, yet intense.

When my light finally diffused through our fingers, I felt its quiver slightly as it gradually grew more confident. I visualized it penetrating his skin, running through his muscles, up to his arm. Exactly like his ice had done on my body two days earlier.

A slight breath escaped his lips, which made me open my eyes again and, for a moment, I couldn't take my gaze from the smile that marked his face.

A proud smile, and above all sincere.

I couldn't stop my lips from echoing his. My powers thus awakened, I felt fully myself, and it was powerful, exhilarating. My light took on vividness, of a color with equally warm hues, marking the skin of the dragon in multiple streaks similar to mine, like a multitude of beams of light. I could see my energy pouring into him, running through his veins, marking every one of his pores.

Suddenly, his ice mingled with my heat. The fine lines of lights that ran through his arm multiplied into new ones in bluish hues, these seeming more vivid than mine. With astonishment, I discovered them running through me in turn. Slowly, as if trying to perfectly marry those already existing, mingling with dissonance on my pale skin.

I was totally hypnotized by the spectacle that presented itself to me, so much so that it took me a while to notice that Lance had loosened his grip to come and let his fingers run languidly over my wrist, thus tracing invisible shapes against my skin. Several shivers ran through me under his slow movements and I wasn't sure he himself noticed what he was doing. Closing my eyes for a moment, I focused on the gentle, yet sure, movements the dragon made. So, as with Leiftan, I thought I felt an emotion that was not mine. A light feeling, close to admiration. Confused, I opened my eyelids and looked into his blue eyes.

Lance hadn't taken his eyes off me.

He suddenly understood what had just happened. Pulling on my wrist, he pulled me closer to him, bringing his lips to the hollow of my ear.

- Who allowed you to enter my head, little human ? he whispered to me.

His voice, both sweet and teasing, sent a shiver running down my spine. So I could feel his breath against my neck and knowing him so close to me made me both nervous and languid.

- It's you who is far too easy to read, I had nothing to do with it.

His weak laugh, with much more hoarse intonations than usual, grabbed all my attention.

- How did you do that ?

- I don’t know how to explain it. It happens to me sometimes in Leiftan's presence since we fought together, but I didn't think it was possible with anyone else.

The dragon imperceptibly contracted its jaws at the hearing of the aengel's first name.

- I see. Again, it's probably because of this exchange of powers, he told me, pausing a little before resuming, a slightly more sullen tone. So does that mean you feel his emotions ?

- It happens sometimes, yes, I answered him innocently.

He let out a much less jovial laugh as he leaned on the dresser behind him, his back arched slightly in my direction. Never breaking the link between our skins, he nonchalantly put his hand that still held mine on one of his thighs, his palm up, leaving me free to withdraw it if I wished.

- I guess he's still overflowing with sweet feelings for you.

I gave him a heavy look, which he answered with a vague shrug.

- Don't look at me like that, you had to be blind not to see what he felt for you. I remind you that I spent a lot of time with him and I can assure you that he only had your name in his mouth.

It’s true that Ashkore and Leiftan had been allies, there was a time.

I realized that, when he behaved so relaxed around me, like a moment ago, Lance sometimes managed to make me forget this tumultuous past that we shared. And I had to admit that these moments, however fleeting they were, were sometimes pleasant.

- Nothing ever happened between Leiftan and me, his feelings have always been one-sided and to be honest, I think he felt that much because I was like him. What's more, I was with Nevra at that time.

My interlocutor observed me for a moment without saying anything.

- Andraste, you can believe me when I tell you that he fell madly in love with you the moment you arrived. It's not just a matter of race, although I can understand that it sounds appealing. I myself was curious as to why you were so important to him, but I came to understand that he was just really infatuated with you. On the other hand, I'm intrigued that you still feel his emotions if this phenomenon dates from the battle, he added.

I pondered his words. Leiftan's feelings for me troubled me, I didn't know what to think.

- I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe spending the last few years together in the Crystal has brought us closer together, who knows ?

Lance winced slightly at hearing the theory that didn't seem to please him much, it seemed.

How was it possible that I could feel their deepest emotions, and most importantly, why didn't they seem to feel mine in return ? I didn't understand a thing. I had convinced myself that this was the result of our aengel powers, but why was this also happening with the dragon ?

Our conversation having distracted me, I realized that my light still continued to shine weakly on his skin, running under the sleeve of his top. And it was... simple. Without any effort to provide. I then remembered a detail. During our training several days ago, when my powers had reactivated as anger had risen in me, their color had turned whitish, totally cold. While at this precise moment, the latter shone a much more orange hue, pouring a pleasant sensation down my muscles. Did my emotions interfere with the process ?

Catching me off guard, Lance pulled on my wrist and pulled me even closer to him. So brought together, I could make out every detail of the scales that dotted her neck and jaw, they bewitching me with their almost unreal shades.

- I don’t hide from you that I don’t hope that it’s the case, he said to me in a deep and low voice, making my heart beat a little faster without me knowing why.

- And why is that, exactly ?

His gaze became more penetrating. He raised an eyebrow as I leaned in a little more, until I in turn came to press my lips close to his ear.

- Oh by the way, if you could stop calling me "little human" when you light up the room with my powers, I added lower.

I felt his lips widen against me as he slid a hand through my hair to reposition it behind my ear.

- A human with two or three powers, at most. I wait a little better to be blown away.

Angered, I pulled back to slap him on the shoulder with my free hand. Lance rubbed the affected area before laughing frankly at my daring.

- You are easily offended.

- And you should avoid letting your guard down in my presence, you know that I tend to get carried away a little.

- I thought I noticed it, indeed. But I guess I tend to like it myself, he said with a mischievous sneer.

We stared at each other for several long seconds, a silly smile stuck on our faces as our hands seemed unwilling to let go. Positioned in this way, our bodies standing far too close to each other to remain conventional, I felt strangely relaxed. And when his eyes suddenly drifted lower, peering down at my mouth with some undisguised curiosity, I found myself wondering what would happen if our lips met. If the simple contact of our skin had such virtues, what would it be in the face of more privacy ? I had the impression that each of my emotions was heightened tenfold in his presence, and like an addiction, I had this impression always wanting more, never to be entirely satisfied.

Lance seemed to recover and I was surprised to see his scales slowly resorbing.

- We're going to stop there for tonight, he said softly as he began to regain his human form.

His skin finally returned to its usual appearance and quickly, no more draconian attributes marked Lance's body.

Cautiously letting go of my hand, he let his fingers run along my skin until only emptiness caught up with me. The broken link, our powers diminished in liveliness, descending the lines drawn on our respective skins in the opposite direction, to the tips of our fingers. Disappearing totally, I felt a cold suddenly embrace me as the warmth of my light and the coldness of his ice no longer caressed me.

I was cold for the first time since waking up, and I felt that as I left Lance's coolness.

The dragon leaned a little more against the edge of the dresser and observed me for a moment without saying anything, as if lost in an internal reflection that he didn’t seem to want to share with me. Suddenly, he raised an arm and came to rub a loving hand through my hair, catching me totally off guard.

- Well done, Andraste. I had my doubts you'd make it, but ultimately I'm impressed, he told me as he slowly pulled his fingers away from my scalp, pouting mockingly.

I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised in annoyance.

- You really don't have any hope in me, actually.

His soft laughter echoed again as he finally pulled away from his prop. Leaning over me once again, his large figure towering over me completely, he whispered to me, like a secret :

- If you knew what I think of you... you are very far from the account, my beautiful.

(Chapter 11)

[hotdogct]

blooms in adversity ||| n.jm

pairing: na jaemin x reader genre: angst-ish, fluff. words: 1.8k a/n: you ever get rejected from a job and have a complete meltdown over your future hahahahahhaaa just asking for a friend :) title is an obvious nod to ‘mulan’, i listened to way too much hippo campus while writing this. enjoy!!!

network tags: @czennienet​

At this time we have decided to move forward with other candidates in the hiring process. Thank you for your interest and we wish you the best of luck in the future.

The rejection email might’ve landed in your inbox late in the afternoon, but you had been anticipating its arrival all day long - the thought of it lingering, stagnant, weighing heavily on your brain like a storm cloud that refused to pass. 

Jaemin knew this, anticipated it. It’s why the two of you were outside, taking full advantage of the warmth the sun was providing this late spring day. After noticing the neglected planter on your balcony in the early days of your relationship, Jaemin wouldn’t stop nagging you about his ‘legendary’ green thumb. As soon as winter began to fade to spring he began to wax poetic,  explaining the overwhelming benefits plant ownership has on a person and pretty please can-he-take-you-to-the-nursery and-

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate flowers. Some of your fondest memories of the early stages of your relationship were the bouquets Jaemin would spoil you with at each date - how you used to keep them on display prominently in the kitchen, a silent reminder of his newly blooming affection towards you. Even after they wilted, lost their petals, there was seldom time to mourn. A new bouquet would always take its place, and the absentminded cycle could continue.

Absentminded. That was your whole problem, the reason for the sad remains of dead flowers residing in the neglected planter. You had started off with the brightest of intentions when moving into your first apartment - wanting to establish routine and create the perfect place to unwind at the end of the day.

Nervously you had browsed the outdoor section of the nearest hardware store, shaky hands brushing over begonias and marigolds, before settling on a flat of dusty pink petunias to take home. None of these names meant anything to you, no terms familiar. Equipped with extra gardening tools courtesy of your mother, you spent that afternoon carefully digging into the soil. Gently sitting each starter petunia into place and covering their roots as if tucking in a child for the night. For the next few days, you’d make sure to have your daily nightcap of wine out on the balcony, watch the sunset and water the planter. 

But one day you forgot. The next you were tired. Then you went out of town for the weekend. And at that point, shame left you frozen. Rather than attempting to salvage your petunias, you passively let the entire idea and label of “plant mom” slip from your brain.  A pattern that followed you your entire life - never quite being able to follow through, see something to completion. Sometimes you almost feel as wilted as the abandoned petunias themselves.

This was why Jaemin, with his prince-like features, his romantic gestures and bouquets, swept you off your feet almost instantly. Rather than nagging you about a drawer being left open in the kitchen, a light left on in the living room, the messy dining room table after a night of arts and crafts, he would simply take care of whatever chaos you had left in your wake. You might’ve been a storm, tremendous and unpredictable. Yet Jaemin thought there was nothing more beautiful, and decided he was up for the thrill of the chase. 

So it was only fair to humor him, to try again at the “plant mom” thing. After his consistent nagging reached a crescendo that rivaled only the oncoming cicada brood in terms of volume, you found yourselves strolling through the nearby nursery bright and early on a weekend morning. 

“You’ve put this off all Spring long,” Jaemin lamented, gesturing wildly with his hand at the expanse of greenhouses before the two of you. “And look! Now there’s nothing pretty left!”

“What are you talking about, Na?” You could easily spot at least three to four different flats of colorful starters that had already caught your eye, and started to walk tentatively over in their direction. Before you could get too far, Jaemin’s firm grasp on your wrist prevented you from moving much further, a pout apparent upon his features. Instead he pivoted you both in the opposite direction, towards the more complex greenery and shrubs. You shot Jaemin a confused glance, which only led to a small laugh escaping his lips, followed by words that left your cheeks as crimson as the nearby roses:

“Those flowers weren’t nearly pretty enough for the balcony, let alone pretty enough for you.” 

It had been Jaemin who had pushed you to apply for this job. You were blinded by the familiarity of the stressful retail gig you held long before the two of you even met. The ever changing schedule, along with the grueling work and constant understaffing was your unshifting reality. But you had health benefits and a small, but earnest 401K started - what could you really complain about?

Turns out, quite a bit. It wasn’t until one late night in bed, where Jaemin was massaging your back and shoulders wordlessly after a brutal shift - doing his best to water and tend to you, his most beautiful flower. Silently pressing his hands firmly on, around, all over your shoulder blades in a busy pattern, he tried his best to keep his anger contained to the intensity of his movements. How could they neglect you so? A flower of your caliber needed full sun - and Jaemin didn’t need to feel the tight knots your muscles had twisted themselves into to know that you were wilted. While he was especially gifted at keeping his mouth shut, a brief look at your pained, exhausted expression was all it took for him to slip, speak up.

“You deserve better than this.”

Immediately wide eyed despite how tired you were seconds before, Jaemin realized the vagueness of the previous thought, and clarified, pulling away from your body so that you could roll over, sit up. “N-not like that. This job is going to kill you.” 

Your face softened. While stubborn to a fault, even you could admit Jaemin’s argument was sound. When was enough enough?

And then, doubt. Before you could even begin to imagine the possibilities, the blue sky ideas that could await you. Instead, you immediately hone in on the skills you don’t possess, requirements you don’t meet. The idea of not running on automatic, the thought of having to try, of doing something new. The overwhelming fear of rejection. Pulse racing now, each shallow breath in only made the thorns that had grown around your ego constrict themselves further, pressing in uncomfortably.

Jaemin’s arms find their way around your trembling body seconds later, his added weight bringing you back down to earth. You periodically feel his lips leaving gentle kisses, pressed with the utmost care along the back of your neck, the curve of your shoulder. In between, ghost whispers of comfort land reassuringly in your ear.

“You have so much to offer the world.” 

“You deserve to be somewhere where you can shine.”

“Let's get you blooming again, yeah?”

The smile that graced Jaemin’s face when you told him you had a second interview scheduled was so bright it could probably be seen from outer space. True to his word, over the last month he helped revise your resume, hunt for job listings, prepare for interviews late into the night. There was gradually less and less tension in your muscles when Jaemin would massage almost nightly. Buds slowly began to appear on your stems, where rot had once been. 

The second interview went great - or so you had thought. Then the hours after turned into a day, then two, then the week passed without hearing back. Your expectations had plummeted like a sagging helium balloon, days past its prime. The subject went unmentioned by both you and Jaemin, the silence instead speaking volumes.

The two of you were out on the balcony, music blaring. You’re sitting on an uncomfortable stool watching Jaemin below you, donned in a gardening visor and bright pink gloves. He was planting the flowers you were absolutely frightened to take care of, when the rejection email arrived, unceremoniously. 

You blink once, twice, comprehending the words on your phone screen individually. Move forward - are you now set back? Other candidates - no, that’s you, you feel like the “other”, luck - you’ll need it, alright-

Deep breath. 

You look over and down. Jaemin is so heavily invested in covering a starter daisy just right with soil that he missed your initial reaction, your brief show of raw emotion.  Sensing your eyes on him, he looks up at you, squinting into the sun, smiles bright. If autopilot didn’t fail you now, the small smile on your face would convince him you’re fine, everything was fine. 

But Jaemin was intuitive, he was smart, and he knew better. The speaker was playing some cheerful pop song, the weather was cooperating and tolerable. His nail beds were caked with dirt and soil, a favorite feeling of his from childhood that comes with the satisfaction of gardening. His wide eyes were still studying you. There you were, his radiant flower, sitting in the fullest and brightest of sun, and he had nurtured you back to growth.

So why weren’t you blooming?

“Are you okay?”

A small chuckle leaves your lips, knowing the truth and the inevitability of it all. This time when you blink once, twice, in an attempt to avoid Jaemin’s overwhelming gaze, you can feel hot liquid streaming down your cheeks, taste the saltiness of the tears once they hit your lips. You can hear the clatter of gardening tools being abandoned, plastic flats of flowers being shoved aside, and you can feel Jaemin’s broad frame envelop you seconds later, almost knocking both of you off the stool. 

You lose track of the time, sobbing into Jaemin’s chest. An exaltation of the saddest manner, but necessary when coming from someone as normally stoic as you. His tight grip around you never wavered, the softest of rocking motions to settle you down, his familiar hands massaging at your weary frame. Loving words on loop from his lips.

“This is just a minor setback...it’s alright...”

“They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“We’ll get you back out there tomorrow.”

Eventually your brain stops screaming, though a headache remains. Your breath steadies into a slow rhythm. As quickly as it had arrived, the overwhelming anxiety courtesy of the rejection email disappeared.  The once raging storm had subsided.

And still, Jaemin thought, there was nothing more beautiful.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 15

A/N: Phew this was a long ass chapter to write! Feedback is greatly appreciated lovelies! That way I know I’m doing this right. 😂 I hope you all have a lovely day! Mwah!

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, blood, scars, brief mention of past trauma and torture

The world seemed dimmer as you sat there on the ground with your back leaned against the metal container, your hand clutched to your aching side from where the bullet had managed to pierce your skin. The bottom of your shirt was soaked with your ichor as you groaned from the sharp pain, your breathing uneven as you looked up to the skies. This had never happened to you before, this wasn’t supposed to happen. With tear stained cheeks, your thoughts focused on your daughter Athena. You couldn’t die, not now. Not when you have your daughter waiting at home for you, no matter how much you wanted to see your family and your beloved violinist. After all the years of heartbreak and wishing to be just as mortal as everyone else, your daughter was the only thing that added color to your life, gave you hope and had you looking forward to the future. No, you were not going to die. You weren’t going to leave your daughter alone in this cold world the same way you were left alone. You were going to be there for her, raise her and watch her grow up. Watch her go to school and graduate, then live out her dreams and aspirations. You absolutely refused to die.

“Gods please.” You choked out, squeezing your eyes shut against the tears that flowed down your cheeks. “Mother, father, uncle, if you can hear me. Wherever you may be resting. Please, not now.” For the first time in many years, you felt like a child, scared and hurt, only this time you were alone, not a single member of your family left that you could turn to.

Lifting up your shirt with a hiss, you stared at the wound right below your rib cage off to the side of your stomach, blood pouring out of the bullet hole with each slight movement. “Fuckin shit. Fuck!” You knocked your head back against the metal container. Sooner or later the guys would be worried about your absence and would come looking for you, and you did not want them to find you like this. If only you could remember the damn healing spell or had any of your healing herbs with you. Ripping off the inner lining of your leather jacket, you tied the strip of fabric around your midsection, tightening it to stop the bleeding until you got somewhere where you could fully tend to the wound. With a deep breath you pushed yourself off the floor with a pained grunt, still leaning against the container for support as you zipped up your leather jacket to hide your soaked shirt. Your vision became blurry from the movement as you straightened up and cleaned your hands off, putting away your sword in your bag before starting to head off to find the guys, each step making you more exhausted than the last. But you kept your posture and pushed through, refusing to succumb to defeat. You turned the corner and a small load was taken off your shoulders, relieved to have found the group safe and without an injury. Thank the gods.

“Y/n!” Sam rushed towards you once he saw you heading in their direction. “Where were you? You nearly had us searching the whole damn place.”

“I was off fighting bad guys off course.” You rolled your eyes, trying your best to keep your composure despite your injury.

“You okay?” Sam stood in front of you with his hands on your shoulders as he searched your face. “You look sick.”

“I’m fine.” You faked a yawn. “I just could use a nap. And some food.”

“You sure?” Sam raised his brow, unsure of your answer.

“Of course Sam. I’m practically bulletproof remember?” You smiled at him before giving him a pat. You smiled at Sharon and went over to Bucky, giving him a pat on the back as well. “Good job guys.”

“Well I don’t know if I’d call that a good job.” Bucky retorted before looking at you once more and studying your face. “You sure you’re okay? You don’t look too good, and you’re sweating.”

“Yes, for the hundredth time yes. I’m fine. And gods can sweat too by the way, we’re not made of plastic.” You added with a quirked brow before looking around. “Where’s Zemo?”

Just as you finished your question you saw Zemo pull up in a classic convertible with a smirk on his face. “Supercharged.”

“Where the hell did you get a car?” You furrowed your brows at him. “You found it didn’t you.”

“You’re going back to jail.” Sam noted, obviously done with Zemo’s antics.

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” Zemo sighed at them before looking over at you, raising his brow as he noticed how your skin had slightly lost color and looked sickly, as if you had a fever, though you stood as if nothing was wrong with you.

“He's right. We need him. And there's two of us, and at least 20 of them. Come on.” Bucky added as he hopped in the front passenger seat.

“Fine.” Sam glared at Zemo as he got in the backseat. “But if you try that shit again...”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Zemo replied as he watched you get in the back from the rear view mirror.

You hesitated, eyeing the pristine white seats with shifting eyes. Shit. You didn’t want to get them dirty and you definitely did not want them to notice you were bleeding. With a silent prayer that you didn’t mess up the seats with your blood, you slid in the backseat next to Sam right behind Zemo, trying not make a strained face from the movement. Zemo had noticed this, how you were extremely careful in getting in his car, and he wondered what went wrong with you to act this way. It looked as if you almost didn’t want to get in. Your behavior was strange.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” Sharon commented as she stood by the car.

“Come back to the States with us.” Sam offered her.

“I told you I can't. Just get me that pardon you promised me.” Sharon mentioned before walking away.

“You're not gonna move your seat up, are you?” Sam glared at the back of Bucky’s head.

“No.”

“Can you kids chill out? Don’t make me put you on time-out.” You muttered, grabbing your sunglasses out of your jacket pocket and putting them on. You were starting to get a massive headache from your wound and the sunlight was not helping at all, only blinding you at the moment.

“Hey, don’t call us kids.” Sam glared at you.

“I’m 23,000 years old. I’ll call you kids whenever I goddamn want.” You leaned back in your seat, only to have Bucky and Sam look at you with an offended frown while Zemo smirked before driving away.

You had arrived at the landing strip where Zemo’s jet was. Being careful to get out of the car, you looked back at your seat in relief to see that it was still clean, not a drop of your blood on it. Oeznik greeted you all as you came in. And as you glanced at the seats of the jet, you rolled your eyes as you pushed your sunglasses up on your head. You forgot the seats of Zemo’s jet were also light colored. With a sigh you sat down, being careful not to move too much that would cause you to lose more blood. You don’t know how you had managed to last that long with a wound like that.

“Would you like anything to drink miss?” Oeznik approached you, asking you in Russian.

“Water is fine thank you.” You answered back in Russian as you smiled politely at him. You could really use a glass of cold water right now. Your wound was not only making you exhausted, it was also making you extremely dehydrated.

“I didn’t know you can speak Russian.” Zemo commented when he heard you speak.

“Perks of being a Greek god.” You turned to face Zemo in front of you. “We can speak all languages.”

Oeznik came back with your glass and you thanked him, downing the glass in one sitting. The cool water felt harsh against your dry throat that felt like the Sahara dessert, as if you were swallowing sharp shards of ice. The glass of water did nothing to quench what seemed to be a never ending thirst, you could have chugged down a 5 gallon jug of water but it still wouldn’t have provided you any relief. You wanted desperately to ask for another glass and another after that, but you couldn’t let the guys get suspicious. You didn’t want to delay their mission and have them be worried about you, there was already enough on their minds. So you slid your sunglasses back on, ignoring the anxiety, the pain, the weariness, and the uncontrollable thirst as you leaned back to get into as much of a comfortable position as you could get. “I’m going to take a quick nap. So if you three could not argue like a pack of chihuahuas, that would be great.” You noted before closing your eyes.

“We don’t-“

“Shhhhh Sam. Thank you.” You mumbled as you struggled to fall asleep, the symptoms you were feeling only getting more severe. The sooner you landed and found a place to rest, the sooner you could tend to your wound.

“Is she okay?” Bucky whispered to Sam.

“Yeah, she gets like that when she doesn’t get her nap.”

“I heard that.” You announced with your eyes still closed.

“I thought you were going to sleep.” Sam looked at you.

“I’m in the process.” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as you shifted in your seat, soon drifting off to sleep.

When you woke back up, you noticed that the plane was already starting to land. “So where are we landing?” You grumbled as you sat up in the seat, feeling more drained than before despite the nap you took. You rubbed your eyes from under your sunglasses, adjusting your vision to look out the window and seeing the clouds pass as you declined towards the earth.

“Riga, Latvia.” Zemo answered your question.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked you once he saw that you were awake.

“Almost there.” You lied. “Once I get some food in my stomach and a proper night’s sleep, not a nap, to recharge, I’ll be like brand new.”

Once the plane landed, you got up and checked the seat again with a quick glance, it seemed as if luck was on your side, in a strange and twisted away. The seat was clean. You thanked Oeznik on your way out of the plane and followed Zemo into the streets of Riga, glancing around at the European architecture. The four of you received a few stares as you went, making you lower your head and hide your face behind the strands of your hair.

“I heard what became of Sokovia.” Zemo spoke. “Cannibalized by its neighbors before the land was cleared of rubble, erased from the map. I don’t suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial? Of course not. Why would you?”

You winced at the jab Zemo made towards Sam and Bucky. Something told you Zemo hadn’t meant it towards you. Did he know you were there? You had visited the memorial once before with Wanda. At the time, you couldn’t help but feel guilty, despite your efforts to stay back after the defeat of Ultron to help clean up and find any remaining survivors. You, a Greek goddess, couldn’t even save the country from collapsing or the man you once loved. Who’s to say you can save your daughter if anything were to happen to her?

“We are here.” Zemo announced as he stopped at a building.

“I’m gonna go on a walk.” Bucky mentioned.

“You good?” Sam asked him.

You looked towards Bucky, silently asking him if he needed anything.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you guys in a bit.” Bucky nodded before heading off.

You watched him walk away with a raised brow, something was bothering him. You heard the sound of keys and turned back to see Zemo unlocking the door to a building, revealing a small flight of stairs.

“This way.” Zemo gestured. “We should stay the night here before heading off to find Madani first thing tomorrow.”

Fuck. You weren’t sure if you had enough strength left. You stared at the steps as Sam and Zemo went up.

“Y/n. You coming?” Sam called out to you, making you look up at him.

“Uh yeah.”

“Hey, are you sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nodded with a feigned smile before heading up the stairs behind them, using everything in you to not collapse right then and there as your side burned with each step. Halfway up the stairs you were hit with vertigo, clutching your head as the world around seemed to sway along with you.

“Y/n?” You heard Sam’s voice, muffled by the throbbing that grew in your head.

Your body leaned backwards, just about to fall down the flight of stairs before a pair of arms grabbed you. You fell limp into Sam’s arms as he stared down at you with wide eyes, searching your clammy face for any signs of what could be wrong.

“Y/n? Y/n answer me!” Sam held you with panic in his voice, your body felt frail and cold in his warm arms, making his concern and worry only grow.

“Quick.” Zemo affirmed as he opened to door to his place. “We need to get her in.”

Sam picked you up, your head falling back limp as he carried you up the stairs.

“Quick. Set her down over there.” Zemo nodded towards the couch in the living room before closing the door behind him, watching Sam go over and lay you down as gently as he could. A sense of perturbation filled within Zemo as he saw you there. In the few days that he had known you, he had grown accustomed to seeing you always standing strong, your head held high and and a look on your face that meant you were ready for whatever troubles that may lay themselves on your path. He had gotten used to seeing you as the immortal daughter of Zeus himself, the princess of Olympus. Yet here you were, laid out on the couch in front of him, looking mortal and frail. It looked as if death itself was hovering just centimeters from your body, ready to snatch your soul and leave nothing but an empty vessel behind.

“What is wrong with her?” Zemo asked quietly as he moved over to where Sam was crouched by your side.

“I......I don’t know.” Sam shook his head as he tried to check your pulse before pausing, his eyes growing dark. “She’s.....dying.”

“What?” Zemo replied, his voice louder this time. This couldn’t be happening, Sam had to have made a mistake. You used to rule the Underworld alongside Hades. You were the one that guided the souls there. And after what happened, you were left to rule the dead on your own. How could you, goddess and ruler of the Underworld, die?

As you laid there, cold and sweating with what felt like your whole body was on fire, and your mind spinning from the vertigo, you felt Sam’s hands move towards the zipper of your jacket. You grabbed his wrist before he could touch you, pulling his hand away from your body.

“Don’t.” You breathed out, straining to open your eyes as you looked at him, only to see a blur of his figure.

“Y/n. What the hell is going on?”

“Don’t touch me.” You rasped out, licking your lips from how dry they felt.

“Y/n.”

“Don’t make me force you Sam. I’m fine. I just need some sleep.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Sam glared at you, wishing you weren’t so stubborn even in a state like this. “I’m going to remove your jacket to try and see what is wrong.”

“Don’t.” You squeezed your eyes shut as you groaned from the pain in your side.

“Y/n.” Sam’s voice was stern. “I checked your pulse. Don’t give me that shit. What the hell is going on?”

You sighed, not wanting to look at Sam in the eyes. You heard the door click open and saw Bucky walking in, his eyes trained on you. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You whispered.

“No she’s not fine.” Sam sighed as he turned towards Bucky, trying his best to stay calm in a situation like this. “Her pulse is weak.” Sam couldn’t help but feel that he was to blame for this. He let you go on this mission with him, and now you were injured, on the brink of death with your daughter still at home expecting your return. He promised Athena he would bring you home safe.

“Her pulse is weak? What do you mean?” Bucky furrowed his brows as he rushed over to where you were.

“It means what it means.” Sam looked away, his heart wrenching form the thought of what might become of you.

“Sam said she might be dying.” Zemo uttered, his eyes trained on the floor at his feet, he still didn’t want to believe what Sam had said. He wanted to be by your side, to hold your hand. But how could he with Sam and James there? A part of him wanted to do it anyways, despite what the two thought, but he couldn’t. He knew you wouldn’t allow him.

“Dying?” Bucky looked at him in anger from the words that came from him, grabbing Zemo by the collar of his coat. “The hell are you talking about? How can she be dying?”

“Can you guys cut it out?” You said louder this time, making the men turn to you, they couldn’t exactly tell what you were going through. But to you it felt as if your head would split open in any moment. “Y’all talk too damn much.” There was no point in trying to hide your situation now. With a groan and using every last bit of strength you had left, you pulled yourself up to a seating position, struggling in taking your jacket off before tossing it down on the floor.

“What the hell is on your shirt?” Sam knitted his brows together as he reached over to touch the golden liquid that stained your shirt, unsure of what the strange substance was.

“I said don’t touch me!” You shouted as you swatted Sam’s hand away.

“Wha-y/n what the hell is on your shirt?”

“..............It’s my blood, or ichor. It’s......extremely toxic to mortals, which is why I specifically said to not touch me.” You spoke with labored breaths as you leaned back on the couch.

“Your blood?” Bucky’s eyes widened. “Why are you bleeding? And why is it gold?”

“Not everyone bleeds red James.” You rolled your eyes.

“...........lift your shirt.” Sam ordered you.

“Sam-“

“I’m not gonna ask again y/n. I know you don’t want us to go near you. But I at least need to see what the hell is going on in the first place.”

You hesitated, your lips firm as you stared down at the ground. Not only were they going to see your wound, they were going to see the scars on your back as well, and there was nothing you could do about it. With a sigh, you grabbed the bottom of your shirt, peeling it off your skin since some of your blood had dried and stuck to your torso. Wincing as you did so, you lifted your shirt up to the bottom of your sports bra and untied the strip of fabric around your stomach, revealing the bullet wound underneath.

“You’ve been shot? But how?” Sam knitted his brows together. “I thought you were bulletproof.”

Once Zemo received a view of your wound, the blood within his veins burned with rage. He tried his hardest not to go out there right now and kill whoever had managed to put you in such a condition. You had a bullet imbedded in you this whole time, suffering, nearly bleeding to death and he hadn’t noticed. Why did you keep this from them?

“I’m supposed to be bulletproof Sam. I did not expect to be taken down by some bootleg Duane Chapman. But don’t worry, he’s dead.”

“But how?” Bucky asked you, your reaction to being shot was not what he had in mind. “Are you...are you going to die?”

“Look, I’m just as clueless as you are.” You grunted, wincing from the pain. “All I know is that I have to take out this bullet and stitch up the wound as soon as possible. I don’t want to find out what will happen if I don’t.”

“Christ.” Bucky ran his hand threw his hair, thinking of any way he can help you, but you refused to let them near. They couldn’t even come in contact with your blood because of how you treated it as if it were acid to them. “So what now?”

“I’m going to have to do this myself.”

“No way.” Sam shook his head. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’ve patched up Spartans, gladiators and knights before Sam, and many others after that. After centuries of doing it, I think I know what I’m doing.”

“Well have you ever done this on yourself?” Bucky asked you.

“..........no. But I can manage. As long as you guys don’t freak out, I won’t freak out.” You blinked before gesturing to your jacket. “Inside my right pocket there’s a tiny duffel bag, can one of you grab it please.”

“Tiny duffel bag?” Sam raised his brow.

“Yes, that’s what I said. Now can one of you please get it?”

Sam went over to where your jacket was on the ground, pulling out a miniature duffel bag from the pocket.

“Good. Now set it down on the floor.” You watched as Sam set the small bag on the floor with confusion. He thought it looked like it belonged to a Barbie doll. What the hell were you doing with it? “Okay good. Now step away.” With a flick of your wrist, the men watched you with curiosity as you used your magic to turn the duffel bag into it’s normal size.

“Well that’s totally normal.” Bucky commented.

“Okay. Now open up my bag, I want you to pull out my bottle of wine.”

Sam looked at you quizzically before zipping open your bag and rummaging through it, finding your glass bottle of wine and handing it to you. “I thought you don’t drink.”

“Never said I didn’t drink, I just don’t drink your mortal shit.” You grumbled, popping open the cork with your teeth and keeping the cork in place to prevent you from biting your tongue. Slowly, you poured some of the wine on your wound, grunting from the stinging sensation that made you bite down on the cork. After a few seconds, you set the cork and bottle down beside you. “Now, would any of you happen to have a needle and thread? And some gauze? Or even some clean strips of fabric?”

“I can check.” Zemo offered before heading off. Shortly after, he came back with gauze that he managed to find, along with a sewing needle that already had a string of thread looped through.

“Thank you.” You grabbed the things from Zemo, setting them aside on the table that was within arm’s reach before hovering your hand above your wound.

“Y/n....” Sam’s voice was unsure, laced with concern once he figured out what you were going to do.

Zemo turned away. He had seen many injured Sokovian soldiers before, but this was different, he couldn’t stand to see you like this. To see you in pain hurt him in a way he never thought he’d feel when he met you.

A violet mist appeared around your fingertips as you attempted to regain your breathing, trying your best to keep your hand steady despite how nervous you were. Yes, you had patched up many people in the past, but you never once had to do it on yourself, and you were terrified. What if it went wrong? But you couldn’t have someone else do it, Olympian blood was considered toxic to mortals, killing anyone who came in contact with it. No, it had to be you. With a single deep breath, you used your powers to extract the bullet from the wound, clenching your jaw as you hissed from the pain. Tossing the bullet aside, you added pressure to the wound to prevent any more loss of blood before cleaning it out.

Holding the needle in one hand and holding out your open palm in the other, you muttered a few words in Ancient Greek, using a pyromancy spell to light your free hand up in a violet flame.

“What are you doing?” You heard Sam ask.

“I have to sterilize the needle of course.” You answered before holding the needle up to the flame to heat it up, waiting for the metal to turn red before extinguishing the flame. You grabbed your wine bottle again, taking a few swigs out of it before setting it back down. With a huff of your jagged breath, you started on stitching it closed, hissing each time the needle pierced your skin.

The three felt guilty for having stood there, not being able to do anything to aid you while you stitched yourself up. But what could they do? If your blood was as toxic as you said, there was nothing they could do.

Once you were done stitching up your wound after what felt like hours, you had Sam help you with the gauze since you weren’t able to move much. You were practically waiting for him to see the scars on your back and ask about it. What would you even tell them? How would they react? You had managed to hide those scars for many many years until now, it was a memory you did not wish to relive. Logan, Charles, and Erik were the only souls who knew about them. One thing was for sure, you did not have the strength to explain to them the story behind them.

“Y/n.” You heard Sam’s worried tone of voice. You didn’t even have to look at his face to know where his eyes had landed. You could practically feel the gaze of the three of them, staring at your back with what you could only imagine as horror.

Though Zemo had caught a glimpse of them in the dark when he was in your room, the shadows that were cast against them from the moonlight failed to show just how deep and jagged they were, as if the skin on your back wasn’t even yours.

“Y/n.” Sam spoke softly after seeing the troubled look on your face and how silent you had become. “Y/n.............what is this? What happened to your back?” Sam had seen these kind of scars before, but only in photographs in history books, never in person, and he was afraid to hear what your answer would be.

There was only one thought that came to Bucky’s mind when he saw your back. He had been in a similar territory. Those scars that lined your back were almost too familiar to him and he didn’t need to have the same ones to know there was only one possible way you could have gotten them.

“I know you guys are concerned, about my scars.” You muttered, your back still facing them as you were left in your sports bra while you changed into a clean shirt, hiding the skin on your back. “But I’d rather not talk about it right now. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some proper rest.”

The men nodded their heads, accepting your request before heading off in their own directions. They understood your decision and weren’t going to question it.

“Sam wait.” You stopped him, seeing him stop in his tracks to face you. “Please stay.”

Sam looked at you with a raised brow, wondering why you wanted him to stay before sitting down on the sofa beside you. “How you feeling?”

“I feel like shit, but less shittier than before.” You chuckled softly before wincing from the action. “But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Listen Sam, about my injury, please don’t blame yourself for what happened to me.”

“I’m not-“

“I can tell Sam.” You sighed. “I just want to let you know that none of it was your fault. I chose to go on this mission.”

“I let you come along and you got hurt.” Sam looked at you. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Hey, not everything works out perfect. Trust me, I thought I would be fine because only a god can kill a god..........but I obviously got shot. But the thing that matters is I’m fine. Sure, I thought I was going to die. Hell, you all thought I was going to die. But I’m still here.”

“Do you know why that happened?” Sam asked you.

“To be honest? I still don’t know the true answer to that. Part of me thinks that it has to do with the loss of my planet. Maybe my time away from my planet has left me weak.”

“Hey.” Sam spoke up. “You are not weak. You are the strongest woman I know.”

“Right after your sister.” You quirked.

“Right after Sarah.” Sam chuckled softly. “Look, what I’m trying to say is, and I’ve seen you do it, you need to stop thinking that you’re weak, and less important than everyone else. You have gone through so much, and seen so many things. I can’t tell you how to feel about the things you have gone through because I don’t know what that’s like. I didn’t grow up on another planet, I’m not a Greek god and I’m definitely not thousands of years old, so I don’t know what that must have been like for you. But what I can say is that you’re not alone, you have a daughter who you raised all by yourself with zero experience of being a parent, and you raised her well. And you have us, so don’t feel like you need to hide every single thing from us. We’re here to help. I get that there are some things better left unsaid, but please don’t feel like you have to suffer through everything alone. If you keep eating at yourself like you do, and bottle up all your thoughts and feelings, it’s only going to do you more harm than good.”

“Y’know.” You looked at him, staring into those beautiful brown eyes of his that you always loved, the ones that reminded you of a safe place that you could seek shelter in no matter when. “I was supposed to give you a pep talk, but you have beat me to it.”

“Hey, if it works.” Sam smiled at you.

“Thanks Sam.” You smiled back.

“Come here.” Sam opened his arms out for you. “You need to rest.”

A sheepish grin appeared on your face as you scooted over to him, letting yourself relax in his warm embrace. Sam always gave the best hugs. Back when you worked with the avengers, Steve, Clint, and Sam were the three you would go to whenever you wanted a hug or just someone to hold you to wash all your worries away. Before them it was always Thor, and your brothers before him. But Sam’s hugs always felt as if you were hugging a big soft teddy bear, and gods you could stay in his arms forever. You two had stayed like that for a while, Sam with his back against the couch, and you cuddled up against his chest, wrapped in his arms. Right before you fell asleep, you thought about what Sam had told you. You knew he was right. But your thoughts couldn’t help but drift over to the recent events, how you were slowly starting to fall apart to your titaness form, the dream you had of Athena, and how you had been shot. After thousands of years, your skin had been pierced by a mortal for the first time. You thought about the prophecy you had heard a long time ago, the one your father had warned you about. Did this have anything to do with that? Were you in fact becoming mortal, or was this just paving a path to something much darker, and far more sinister.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @gambitsqueen @awhorewithissues @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd