#house just risked his life to try to save amber and all he wants is for wilson not to hate him

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

so i finally watched house's head/wilson's heart

[archfeykoi]

when house says "you want me to risk my life to save amber's" and wilson reluctantly nods and house agrees because he loves wilson so much that even after everything he did to try and get rid of amber so his relationship with wilson wouldn't change he would still do anything for wilson. he just wants him to be happy and yes most of the time house wants wilson to himself because wilson is a large part of house's happiness but that's why he would do anything within his power for him. that's why he risked his brain, the thing that he knows most of all he wouldn't be himself without. the thing he values more than anything. and he agrees to do it. because he loves wilson. is anyone hearing me

[oldmanffucker]

my first instinct upon seeing this was to get angry and want to hit this person with hammers, but actually I want to talk about this.

this post, and I didn't even want to click in the read the rest bc it made me to sad to see, is saying that Wilson and Amber only dated for a maximum of three months, so should he really be this torn up about her loss?

So, as a grief support specialist and house fan, let's talk about it.

First and foremost, it's the depth, not the length, of a relationship that matters. Quality over quantity, all of that. Of course. But also, if we look at Amber and Wilson's relationship itself, this is kind of the first time Wilson is in a relationship that feels really good to him. Amber doesn't just want Wilson bc she needs him and needs to be put first by him, she wants him to take care of himself too. He's being challenged for the first time (in a romantic context) (canonically) to not put himself on the back burner for everyone else, but to think about what Wilson wants. House, of course, does this too, but in different ways. Which is also to say that Amber is a revelation for him because she is like House--House who is his longest and arguably only real friend, the person he trusts the most, is most able to be himself around. And now he's found this person who he can feel all that in a romantic and sexual context too.

Which is all to say that this relationship wasn't like any other three month fling he had, this one had a depth to it from the very beginning that was really important and profound to Wilson, and was changing some parts of himself in a way that was really kind of life altering, even as it was also pretty subtle in many ways to the casual viewer.

This, plus the fact that her death itself was really sudden, very traumatic, and prolonged (a couple days and many really traumatic failed attempts to save her life, including his best friend risking his life for her), really adds up to someone being profoundly affected by this loss.

But beyond this, Wilson did not only experience the loss of Amber with her death. There are losses we grieve beyond simply dying. The whole experience before finding out she was even missing and hurt, of seeing House without memory, of even for a little while thinking they may have had an affair, of watching House kill himself (literally) to bring back his memories - this portion of the situation alone is an experience of a loss of safety. He's realizing that life is random, and terrifying in a whole new way than he may have known it before. His best friend was in a bus accident. Life is random and he could have died. There is no guaranteed safety. His best friend who knows everything suddenly knows nothing. A loss of the status quo, of what he's assumed is the way things are. he's watching his best friend go to extreme lengths in order to capture his memories. he's watching his best friend fucking die on a bus floor as he tries to revive him with his boss. Loss of control, loss of the norm, loss of the future they could have had if none of this happened.

THEN.!! He's made aware that Amber was involved in all of this. And we don't know where she is or how she's doing. He's now been introduced to ambiguous loss (which he has experienced at great length with his brother who went missing, and is now experiencing again). Now they have to find Amber. Okay and now they've found her and she's in a coma and really on the brink of death. And this too is an ambiguous loss of another variety. He's experiencing both sides of ambiguous loss about Amber back to back (1. Physical absence and psychological presence (ex. someone missing/estranged) 2. Physical presence and psychological absence (ex. parent w dementia, someone in a coma))

He then has to skip over the grieving part and jump into problem solving and trying to keep her alive. and then his boy best friend has to risk his life for amber and wilson and almost die. And then Wilson has to realize that now, his kind of technically-alive-but-not girlfriend, he has to let her go. And she's woken up and he has mere moments to say his goodbyes and I love you's.

And ALL OF THAT is just the loss itself.

Then he is "grieving" or "mourning" in the way that is generally understood by the average person. If you ask the average person (esp in the US) what grief is, they'd usually point to this--after someone dies when you're sad--and none of the many paragraphs of grief and loss grappling I wrote about just before that.

The average bereavement leave is 3 days. Grief will invariably last more than three days. The amount of time we see Wilson grieving is frankly, really fucking regular. Even for a death less fraught and traumatic (subjectively) than this one.

Besides all of this, there are a number of different grief styles, and I think that Wilson's grief style is that of the Intuitive, or Heart, Griever (isn't that just perfect? I wonder if the writers knew that when they named the episode Wilson's Heart...).

This type of griever is more overtly emotional than the Intellectual, or Head, Griever (the other 2 styles are the Blended, or Head & Heart Griever, and the Dissonant, or Head vs Heart Griever). But is again, really common! Perhaps the asker of this original Reddit question is a head griever, or a dissonant griever, or perhaps even someone who has never yet had to grieve, and has only been fed the myths about grief, and they're trying to make sense of such a large grief.

There is no right way to grieve, there is no correct length of time that that grieving should last. There's no correct amount of time you are allowed to know someone before you grieve their death or pain. The way you grieve is the way you need to grieve, you simply have to try to honor it.

(I don't have a reddit so I can't respond to this directly, but feel free to link this in the responses to the post itself if you feel so inclined)

[privatehousesanatomy]

hi this is a very controversial topic in the house md fandom i feel like and i'm going to speak on it. feel free to agree or disagree in the comments and reblogs, but truthfully i don't think anything you can say can or will change my view point.

that being said - house was never the "bad guy". is he a great guy? absolutely not. he's deeply flawed and i can understand why a lot of people hate him. it's hard to like somebody when all you're seeing is what's on the surface. he's cold, abrasive, mean, and an entire list of other words i could use to describe house but that's not the point of this post.

i can guarantee that there is not a single person on this planet that could go through even a quarter of the shit that house has gone through and still say that they're not miserable. you cannot expect someone to go through hell and not come out of it a changed person, and you cannot get upset with a person who's gone through hell and is bitter because of it.

let's start with his childhood. it's always been kinda up in the air just how abusive house's father was - the only real instances we were ever given detailing the abuse was ice baths, being made to sleep in the yard, and being given the silent treatment, which are all absolutely horrible things to do to child, however his childhood wasn't something that was ever touched on a whole lot. house even admits that there were good times, and a lot of people overlook that fact. a lot of y'all aren't willing to accept that people can have good memories of their abusers - that's how they become abusers in the first place. especially in terms of abusive relationships - there had to be good memories before the bad ones could be made. we don't know how john house was in terms of how he spoke about his son to other people. he could have described his son as his pride and joy to the general public but behind closed doors shamed house for not being more like him. having a tainted relationship with a parental figure is damaging and it's really no wonder why house grew up with such a skewed perspective on the concept of unconditional love.

chronic pain is a whole other issue. he was forced into a medical procedure against his will and regardless of whether or not it saved his life, it was still a direct violation of his bodily autonomy and to make it worse, the person that did it to him ending up abandoning him when he became too much of a burden. chronic pain is already hard enough to deal with. i deal with it myself and i completely understand why house gets the way he gets when he's in pain. to the rest of the world, they watch him function and think that the pain can't be that bad, and it's the same shit i experience in my own daily life. the pain is incredibly overstimulating at times and despite how good we might be at pretending that it's not, we're suffering inside.

another thing that doesn't help is how many people remind house on a daily basis how horrible he is and how they're worse off for knowing him. do you honestly expect him to start acting like everything is all sunshine and rainbows when people are practically telling him he's better off dead? that the world would be a better place if he wasn't in it? he is the way he is because everything in his life has proven to him that for some god forsaken reason, the universe is working against him and the only way for it to not hurt him is for him to become an isolated, antisocial individual. can't get hurt if you don't let anyone in, right?

while i'm here, i'm also going to touch on instances in the show that he gets blamed for. amber's death and chase getting stabbed were not his fault. everyone wants to sit here and blame him but there's no blame to put on him. with amber, he specifically called looking for wilson. he told amber to find wilson and send him. amber came anyway. it wasn't her fault either. it was no one's fault but the guy that drove into the bus. house risked his life to try and save amber's, and yeah she died but it wasn't his fault.

and with chase getting stabbed, that wasn't house's fault either. house might have taken the blame for it because if the blame has to be pinned on someone, might as well be him, right? but you can't blame him for either situation.

idk maybe im yapping too much and maybe none of this makes sense but it makes sense to me

[fandombead]

Janus’ Guide for Cynics Who can’t Admit They Need a Family

First of a few Sanders Sides Fics I want to post~

Chapter 1: Right into the Fire

Word count: 2,257

Characters: Janus and kid!Remus

Summary: Janus just wanted to live his life and leave his past behind him. Until a random kid throws a flaming rock into his plans of traveling alone. Why couldn’t he just be selfish?

____________________________

Janus was not one to risk his own life to intervene in other people’s. It just wasn’t who he was.

It stayed the case that it was none of his business while passing a village in flaming doom.

He wasn’t one to be nosey in other people’s spats with the elementals or vengeful spirits that were also none of his business, because the potential of getting irreparably staked in it would mean getting in the way of his self-preserving principles. That was just the sort of thing that would get some other fool, one with a bleeding heart, killed. And Janus was no fool in the slightest. He was in it for himself and didn’t have room in that plan for sticking his neck out for anybody. And that’s why he planned to leave immediately before he drew unwanted attention or saw something he couldn’t un-see.

It seemed he’d lingered too long already as he stared at the alluring blaze, people yelling and scurrying to save possessions more than themselves. Their small forms were easily hidden by the growing flames. Half the wooden buildings were already entirely consumed, the husk roofs and dry paneling only added kindling now, growing the cloud of black smoke towering over the town like a tidal wave cresting.

It was hot even from where Janus stood from the treeline as an on-looker and really wished he knew why he didn’t just walk away now before he somehow got caught up in it. How he’d spotted a scampering child in the chaos of fleeing carts and denizens and domestic animals, he did not know, but they’d caught his attention.

Perhaps it was because this was the only living thing running towards the flames and not away.

No one was trying to stop him as he shoved past hurrying pairs of legs and almost tripped another.

…Only to dart into a weathered house that looked like a repurposed old storage. With the thatch roof and half the side up in flames. Janus gaped and tried to see if anyone else saw that, but they continued on with their own cares. Was literally no one going to stop the senseless half-pint?

It seemed the universe had unfortunately promoted him to active participant now because he’d gone and made the mistake of being a witness. Curse the guilt that clung to his soul, he owed no one anything. Who was his conscience to tell him what to do? How easy it’d be to turn and just leave if not for the threat of knowledge haunting him for the rest of his short life. He couldn’t get involved, he…he was already across the ditch that separated the trees from the dirt road.

Janus didn’t know when he’d fought his way out of the brush to stand outside the door the kid had run through. No one had spared the child a second glance and Janus realized for too long a moment he had already disappeared well inside. Sure, this building on the end of the row slightly back from the others hadn’t caught quite like it had already razed most of the quaint town, the sky amber and raining soot from all the wooden structures the flames devoured and grew from, reaching for more. It would happily take the boy too.

The house wasn’t large at all, at most just two rooms within it. What little had been in it was all but enveloped in flame and at the back of the room was the boy in all his three-and-a-half feet of feral fury, frantically trying to claw and yank his way through a solid door not yet taken by the flames, but close to it.

Janus didn’t know what the hell was so important, but as parts of the thatching fell through flaming, his only goal was snatching the kid and getting out un-barbecued.

Shouldn’t take more than 10 seconds, right?

Within 4 he had crossed the living space with burned hazards like what could’ve been a low table mistaken for a campfire. The kid looked scruffy, in an old green tunic a few sizes too big on his scrawny frame. Janus noted the bedraggled mostly brown hair he didn’t look to have ever attempted combing. He seized the child under their arms, worryingly lighter than he’d anticipated. Oh well, all the easier for him, no time to dwell. Back they went.

Or so he thought.

His plan was thwarted as the child exploded into a fury of limbs now trained on him, entirely ungrateful for Janus’ charitable rescue. A kick to his shin even as he held the child out had him swearing he’d be selfish and jaded the rest of his days.

Janus held the child away from him like you’d hold an angry cat you couldn’t put down, cursing internally. “ You dastardly little heathen, unless you want us to learn what the afterlife is like—“

Janus was cut off by a rather feral snap at his arms.

“Let GO!! I’m getting Roman! I’ll bite your hand off!” he screeched at Janus as if he were kidnapping him from his fiery demise.

Janus gapped at this, brain short-circuiting to process that. Well, it wasn’t because the kid was scared of his scar. “You… what?? Who—“

“MY BROTHER’S IN THERE, I’m not going yet!!” he snarled, desperate trying to throw himself free using his little weight against the traveler, and Janus’ mind stuttered again.

But they didn’t have time for him to leisurely consider that. Okay, so he had to readjust his previous timeframe with this new information. Would a minute work? Two? It would have to, because he didn’t have time and their other exit was far more perilous now.

He all but dropped the kid back onto his feet and grabbed the brass doorknob. The door didn’t budge, either blocked by a collapsed support or from expanding in the flames. Janus hoped it was the latter, otherwise, he didn’t think they’d be getting out alive at all.

“Hello? Kid, you conscious in there?” Janus called through the door even as he pulled up his sleeves. There was no reply, which didn’t help his hopes any.

With one more glance down at the child and seeing an insistent wave at the door and intense pointed stare of shockingly red eyes– had he just been lured by some sort of demon pretending to be a child to his admittedly deserved slow death after all? Was that why no one else had been stupid enough to follow? -- Janus stepped back and rammed his shoulder into the wood with all of his weight. He did it again while trying the doorknob and was relieved when he felt it give inwards, the pain of bruises he could feel blooming again, having him cursing himself for being here.

But if not him, no one, and then two children would be gone because no one had cared. Well, it’d be all three of them now, but they weren’t goners yet and so he wasn’t entertaining it.

Let it never be said that Janus didn’t try once in his life, though.

He coughed from the effort and how hard it was becoming to breathe, the hot air burned his eyes. Heat licking at the back of his neck, He took a step back and ran the four feet of room he had into the door with all his weight. It slammed open with a crack and he fell to the floor due to his commitment to his momentum, groaning.

Smoke billowed at the ceiling but the holes in the roof seemed at least to help in not choking them here. He was really banking on the thickness of the roof’s slats to buy them time before it fully collapsed in, but that thickness would also trap them if it fell early, the weight of it not enough to crush them, but a slow way to die from the surrounding smoke and flames. Janus grimaced.

The rotten goblin child scrambled in over top of him, the audacity. As much as he would rather stay splayed on the relatively cooler earthen floor, he knew he had to get up as the very real possibility of the half-burned roof trapping them at the bottom of what could become a bonfire grew with each passing second. He pulled himself up while grabbing his fallen hat as his shoulder let him know just how reckless it thought he was.

Janus pushed the plank door closed against the inferno behind them. It wouldn’t be a viable exit anymore anyway and might as well buy them time, futile and minuscule as it was.

The air was suffocatingly arid regardless and Janus needed to identify their new exit preferably soon.

The child to his credit was standing on the old bed frame trying to shove the window’s frame outwards and struggling due to his height, back to Janus.

Janus frowned and whirled around, expecting to see another kid occupying the little room. There was an old rumbled thin bed with no sheet and lumpy pillow that looked like a burlap bag stuffed with scrap cloth and wool. A worn brown blanket that looked like it was made the same way a sack would be (was it just a cut sack?) was rumpled on the floor beside the bed, discarded.

Perhaps he was hiding by the old wardrobe that was catty-cornered opposite the bed? But when Janus checked the place over, there was absolutely nowhere for another person to effectively be hidden away, no matter how short. The bed was high enough Janus saw the floor beneath it, also child-free.

Janus’ eyes snapped again to the only kid actually in the room, confused. The kid looked unbothered by a lack of this “brother” around, and only now Janus noticed a little crocheted doll in the crook of his arm, inhibiting his attempts to open the window as he refused to put it down.

Janus blinked a few times as his brain drew a conclusion just as the kid seemed to reach the latch. He gave a gap-toothed grin at his achievement and shoved it open before hopping down quickly and wiggling under the bed.

“I— you—!!“ the caped man sputtered as realization sparked a fiery fury, his blood pressure suddenly louder in his ears than the fire. “You made me break into a room in a burning building to get a doll??!” he hissed, unable to mask the vitriol in his tone.

“I didn’t ask you to come too! I’m his brother, of course I had to get him! Roman can’t move,” the insane child’s muffled voice replied with the tone of someone having to argue the grass was green.

The kid squirmed back out holding a curved circular object that looked like an oversized wooden plate in his hands. It was too shallow to be a bowl and had badly attached leather straps that looked like they were one good tug away from falling off. He then made a grab beside the bed and didn’t seem to be listening as he set the two items down.

Janus had half a mind to chuck the doll in his fury, but as it was they’d already committed to the damn thing, and causing a fuss now would absolutely delay their departure. He wasn’t so sure his rescuee wouldn’t go charging into the fire after it before Janus could grab him. Later, then. He could chuck it back through the window once they were safely outside to teach the child a lesson in self-preservation priorities. “A doll is replaceable!! What, you think you’re indestructible?! Last I checked you're a squishy little brat! Neither of us is fireproof!!”

The mini menace just glared and had the nerve to wiggle past Janus as the adult looked on incredulously.

He shoved the circle out the window first then quickly went for the other on the bed.

“Oh, yes, please do take your time packing, the blazing roof over our heads will wait for you.”

Janus lurched after the kid with his goodwill and patience all but abused and spent. He’d be chucking the kid out at this point because clearly he had not been born with any survival instinct. At all.

The child barely managed to wrap his free hand around the stick of the wooden sword before Janus was hiking him bodily over his shoulder and they were — with as much grace as a fawn on fresh ice— tumbling through the narrow window. It was all Janus could do not to squash the kid as they landed in the dirt.

They had landed and then rolled five feet from the fire and Janus couldn’t find it in him to move any further. Janus could only lie there, somewhat dazed, and coughed faintly. If death somehow still got him at this point, then so be it. Though he somehow forgot he wasn’t the only person here in that too-brief moment.

The kid sat up after 3 seconds of recovering from the rough landing.

He peered down over Janus, tipping Janus’ hat back onto his forehead from where it had rolled off. “Are you dead?”

Janus stared up and blinked slowly as the punctual roof finally fell in, throwing burnt hay and smoke up in the wind. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Oh. Okay~” the now homeless child shrugged, sitting back beside Janus. The doll was held loosely in his arm as they watched the fire burn down everything manmade in front of them. “I’m Remus!”

“...charmed.”

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 16 - Bus Crash

Wilson called Anna the second House was being seen by Cameron.

‘Is he okay?’ She asked, worried.

‘He’s fine, he’s concussed and being his usual insane self,’ Wilson sighed. ‘When does your flight get in?’

‘I’m just about to board.’ She sighed in relief. ‘Just try and contain him to the hospital, at least that way if he does anything stupid, someone might be nice enough to save him.’

House was trying to track his movements after he left work, he was convinced he’d seen something and even Wilson could admit him taking the bus was unusual, he left on his bike. Chase was called in to hypnotise him so they could find out what caused the crash. It was an odd process and he mentioned seeing Amber.

He was at home after throwing up, Anna arrived just in time for House being put on house arrest. Wilson updated her and she got on with helping in the ER.

‘You should call him.’ Wilson said as she took her gloves off, sending another patient home.

‘He’s stable and he’s home.’

‘He was in a bar drinking at five in the afternoon because he missed you, you should call him.’

Anna sighed and agreed. He was fine, still hallucinating and trying to remember what happened, but he was okay.

House figured out what was wrong with the bus driver, but somehow they were still on a bus re-enacting the crash. House was popping Alzheimer’s pills and eventually passed out. Anna was on top of him, trying to restart his heart with Wilson. The first word he said was Amber.

Wilson felt his whole falling away, Amber was dying.

I went with Wilson and House to see Amber in the hospital across town. Wilson was a mess and House was running high. I did what I could to keep her alive in the back of the ambulance, Wilson suggested freezing her, it wasn’t a bad idea and it gave House more time to diagnose her. I had a very bad feeling about all of this.

I didn’t leave him all day, I checked his heart, I kept him functioning.

‘Why was Amber there?’ I asked, suddenly fearing the worst.

House just looked at me. ‘I wasn’t having an affair.’ He said.

‘Do you believe that?’ I leaned on my hand observing him.

‘Yes. I wouldn’t do that to you.’

‘Would you do it to Wilson?’

House watched Anna fall asleep. He wondered if she was right, could he have been having an affair with Amber? Could he really have done that to Anna?

Despite his doubts, Anna didn’t leave him. She followed him around and made sure he stayed focused on the case, but the closer he got to answers, the guiltier he felt. Did he really do this?

Anna had never been anything but nice to him, she didn’t deserve for him to be having an affair, he wanted more with her, not with Amber. He was screwing up everyone’s life and making Anna miserable, but he needed to save Amber for Wilson.

They waited for the treatment to work, but Cuddy got involved and began warming her up. Wilson was upset, but his idea to risk his life to save Amber’s was a risky move. Anna wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t let Wilson down.

He was truly sorry for what happened.

I watched House seize and slip into a coma after he’d found out what happened to Amber. I cried as he was taken to a room and looked after. He’d risked far too much, but it was no less than I would have done for him. I left my department in the hands of the other doctors and I stayed by Greg’s side until he showed signs of waking up.

It was just for a moment, he needed to rest, but I stayed with him all night until he was ready to go home.

‘Wilson hates me.’ He said as we managed to get him into bed to rest.

‘He’s in pain.’ I said, snuggling in next to him. ‘Give him time. Give him space.’

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[seiyasabi]

Beta

(This is a Yandere Alpha N’Doul x Beta Female Reader! I hope you guys enjoy this :))

TW: !Noncon/Dubcon!, no stand au, sexual harassment (from the big man himself, Dio),  mentions of disability(blindness)!, mentions of organised crime!, mentions of violence!, !knotting!, breeding kink!, you have no rights even as a Beta :((, !Alpha kink, !slight scent kink, !slight body horror at the end but nothing explicit!, etc..) 

When you accepted the role as a caregiver, you assumed that the man you were going to watch after was normal. After all, the man was rumoured to have a trust fund, and you assumed that he was rich from old money. 

How wrong you had been. 

How would you have known that the man you’re helping is in one of the most feared mafia’s in the world? 

You’d found this out by accident. He’d asked you to bring an expensive wine for him and a ‘friend,’ but when you walked in, you saw his ‘friend’ sprawled out on the floor, dead. That’s when he used his ‘Alpha Voice’ on you for the first time. He demanded you move into his estate, because he couldn’t risk you being a snitch. 

The ultimatum was to move in, or die, and by God, you weren’t going to die. 

-

“If you weren’t a Beta, I’d have stolen you away a long time ago,” Your hands shake slightly when you pour an expensive scotch into the blond Alpha’s cup. You’d always been sensitive to an Alpha’s scent or words, and this man’s smell is overwhelming. 

“Thank you, Mister Brando, but I’m sure my boss wouldn’t like that,” You chuckle nervously, as you swiftly move away from his large form. Taking a small glance towards N’Doul, you see an impassive look on his well-sculpted face. He’s used to his boss’ crude words towards you, but the annoyed pheromone in his scent is very apparent. 

“Of course he wouldn’t, you’re one of the few useful servants here,” He swishes the amber liquid around in his cup, the ice clinking against the glass making you flinch, “But, I have a proposition for you that I know you can’t refuse; you smell very… enchanting for a mere Beta. This is a known fact. The only differences between you and an Omega is that you’re level-headed and less annoying. That means that you’ll make a very good mate for one of my most trusted men,” By this time, you’d made your way to your boss, and were in the middle of pouring him a glass of a strong smelling bourbon. The blond Alpha’s words make your blood run cold, and you quickly stop pouring N’Doul his drink in fear of your shaking causing a spill. Dio’s golden eyes flash in amusement, “Why do you seem so surprised, Beta? You’ve been faithful to us for quite some time now, and I believe you deserve some comfort. If you marry him, you’ll live a lavish life. The only thing you must do for us, besides giving us unwavering loyalty, is bear him many children. The mafia needs a future generation, after all.” 

You gasp in disbelief, your free hand covering your gawking mouth. He can’t be serious. You weren’t born into a mafia family, you weren’t rich, you aren’t good on the field, etc., why would he want you to marry one of his high ranking men? 

“I, uhm, I’m flattered that you’d offer me such an amazing, uhm, opportunity, but I don’t think I can up and leave my boss. I’ve helped him for about two years, so it might not be very good for him-” N’Doul suddenly grabs your right wrist, scaring you half to death. You almost drop the bourbon bottle in your left hand, but luckily regain your hold on it. 

“She’s right, Master Dio, I still need her assistance in my manor. She helps me write my paperwork, reads off important messages, and assists with many other equally as important tasks. It would be quite hard for me to find someone who is as trusted and reliable as she is,” He slowly releases his hold on you, gently squeezing your right hand’s fingers. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, Dio looks positively pleased with himself, while your boss looks in his general direction with an unamused expression. 

“Are you both sure that you want to miss out on this opportunity? I didn’t even say the Alpha’s name yet,” The both of you vehemently nod, you because you don’t want to marry some rando to become a baby factory, and your boss because he can’t bear the thought of you being mated to someone else. “I see, what a shame. I was actually going to offer her to you, N’Doul, but I guess she can continue to be your servant if you want,” The dark haired Alpha’s scent turns sour, making you gulp in both fear and confusion. 

“Master Dio, what are you implying?” 

“You want to marry her, don't you? Your sweet Beta always takes care of you, she’s willing to do anything to make you comfortable,” Oh God, Dio thinks you’re in love with your boss, “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the change of your scent when she walks into the room, or how you treat her so kindly. The N’Doul I know wouldn’t have hesitated to kill someone if they found out his secret, yet you spared her without a second thought. It seems that the both of you have found your match,” He throws his drink back, finishing it with a single swig, “But, if you still don’t wish to marry, I understand-”

“Please don’t play with my feelings,” Your boss stands to his feet, his scent now overwhelmingly angry, “Of course I’d want to marry her, is that really a question you must ask?” Dio smirks at his uncharacteristic anger. 

“Oh, is that so? Then I suppose I will allow it,” He stands to his feet as well, easily towering over the both of you, “Now that that’s settled-”

“Wait! I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but don’t I get a say in this?” N’Doul, who is closest to you, tries to reach out for you again, but you easily dodge his hand, “I’m sorry Master N’Doul, but I don’t want to marry you. I also don’t want any children, and I don’t want any direct involvement with the mafia. I’m fine helping you out around the house and doing my job, but I don’t want anything besides a professional relationship,” It’s quiet for a long moment, a look of hurt flashing over your boss’ face, along with an upset smell permeating the room, before Dio begins to laugh. 

“Oh my, it’s so adorable that you think you have a choice. Did you forget that even though you’re not an Omega, the law still views you as lesser to an Alpha? For once, we’d be following the law in making you submit to your Alpha,” The blond rounds the left side of the table, heading straight towards you. In a panic, you try to move to your right to round the table and run for the door, but you run into your boss. 

Instead of being thrown off kilter like usual, he stands firm. His arms wrap around your middle, forcing you up against him. You think that he’s surprisingly well built for a man who needs your help 24/7, and that’s when you realise that you’re just a cover. The police know that you work for him, and whenever they’ve questioned you, you’ve always said the same thing; he has no sense of balance, he needs your help to get around the house, etc.. But, looking at the situation at hand, it’s clear that he’s never needed you for anything besides his mafia paperwork. 

“I think she’s figured it out N’Doul,” The scary Alpha is now before you, staring down at you with a shit-eating grin, “Though, that doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you listen to me well,” Oh no, “You’re going to marry him, whether you want to or not. You will give him as many pups as he wants, or else you’ll be punished. If you try to escape, you will be punished. Do you understand me?” He’s used his Alpha voice on you. Normally this wouldn’t phase a Beta, but you were no normal Beta. 

Against your better judgement, you nod, saying a very forced, “Yes, Alpha,”

“Good. His rut will begin in a few days. When that happens, you will service him as an Omega would. I will give you some heat inducing pills, and you will take them the moment his rut begins,” You stare at the ground with a frown, and nod. 

“Okay… but how will they work? I’m not an Omega-” N’Doul’s hold tightens around your ribs exponentially, making you wheeze. 

“Don’t act too rash,” He scolds the dark haired Alpha, “That’s an excellent question, Beta,” You flinch at his words, and freeze in fear when he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, “There are many drugs on the market that can trigger a reaction from your kind. Many Alphas find it fun to break a Beta down into a gushing, cock or pussy hungry whore. You, my dear, are going to be my dear friends’ mate, which means you need to be ready for a long and hard week. If you aren’t you’ll surely die of exhaustion,” N’Doul growls at that, causing Dio to shush him softly, “So, to stop that, you’re going to go into heat as well. It’s as simple as that.”

His words are calming ones, trying to lull you into a false sense of security. But, you know better. You know that both men can kill you easily, you know that your boss could give you up, ending with you becoming a sex slave. So, to save your own skin, you give in. 

“Okay. I understand.”

-

The next few days are a whirlwind of emotion. Because his cover has now been blown, N’Doul refuses your help with any task besides paperwork. Turns out, he’s very high functioning, and he is able to count his steps to-and-fro, and is also able to do things like cooking without your help. 

Ever since that day with Dio, he’s been trying to make it up to you. He’ll make you your favourite food, dress you in pretty dresses, help you shower, etc..  It’s honestly suffocating, but whenever you try to distance yourself, one of his few servants will detain you, only to return you back to the patient Alpha. 

The day before his scheduled rut, one of the female servants took it upon herself to wax your entire body. Unfortunately for you, she’s a very old fashioned Alpha, and she had no qualms in using her Alpha voice against you. So, she sat you down on the edge of a large jacuzzi like bath tub, and went to town. When your soon to be mate called for you, it’d taken all of your power to walk down the stairs without falling flat on your face. He’d known something was wrong, because your smell wasn’t as lovely as usual, and the way you walked sounded completely different than normal. You didn’t bother lying to him, and to say he was pissed was an understatement. 

A low growl draws you from your thoughts, along with the heavy smell of arousal trailing from N’Doul’s quarters. Sighing in dread, you head towards your dresser, grabbing the pills Dio gave you from a small unused jewelry box. Chucking them into your mouth, you unscrew the cap of your water bottle and take a large swig, swallowing down the aphrodisiac you are forced to take. 

Shuffling towards your door, you hear the male’s groaning grow loader. Is he outside your door? Grabbing the cool doorknob, you practically throw the door open, expecting to see him kneeling outside. When the hallway is exposed, there’s no one there. Sticking your head outside, you check to see if he was farther down the hall. Nope. It’s empty. 

You see his room a few doors down, and realise he’s just that noisy. 

Straightening your posture and taking a deep breath, you trudge towards his abode. Knocking lightly on the door, you call out to him, “A-are you okay in there?” All noises cease, leaving you in suspense. Putting your ear against the door, you try to listen in to see if he dropped dead or if he was walking towards the door. You hear nothing, and prepare to pull away, only for the door to open, making you fall forward. Two warm arms catch you with a quickness, before you’re dragged into the dark room, and tossed onto a very comfortable bed. 

You bounce once you hit the mattress, only to be pinned down in an instant. He noses your throat, ghosting over your scent glands. His tongue laps at your neck greedily, trying to taste your skin on his tongue. N’Doul’s large, Rough hands grope at the fat of your hips, trailing up to your breasts. He seems to be trying to get a reaction out of you, but all you do is cringe. 

The pills haven’t fully kicked in yet, so you’re very uncomfortable under the rough treatment the Alpha is giving you. Noticing this, he growls in annoyance, “Don’t act shy, Darling. I’ll make you feel good if you make me feel good,” Did he truly mistake your discomfort for timidity? 

“I, uhm,” He silences you with a heated kiss, both of your spit mixing together, much to your disgust. His fingers pull and prod at your blouse covered nipples, twisting slightly to elicit a reaction. A gasp leaves your lips, as you try to remove his hands. The medicine was slowly, but surely starting to work, making your breasts more sensitive than usual. 

He grips the material of your shirt with two fingers, a small snarl coming from his lips, “I want this off. If you want to keep it, you better strip fast,” You practically throw your shirt over your head, moving as fast as you can. Your best friend had given you his shirt years ago, and you’ve used it as a sleep shirt ever since. 

A small smile decorates his harsh features, as he is finally able to feel your skin against his. He squeezes your breasts, loving the feeling of your fat between your fingers. You try not to look, hoping to zone out the entire session, but the rapid heat appearing in your tummy is making it very hard to do so. 

“I can’t wait until these are filled with milk, your Alpha might have to have a taste for himself,” A gasp leaves your lips at his erotic words, especially when his lips connect with your right nipple. He suckles on it like a child, whilst toying with the hem of your panties. With one swift movement, he shucks them down your legs without separating from your chest. 

A loud moan escapes your throat, as he starts to toy with your puffy pussy. The waxing from the night before makes you more sensitive than normal, eliciting all the right reactions. He removes himself from your chest, bringing your panties to his nose, breathing in your slick. 

“Such a yummy and cute little Beta, no wonder everyone everyone confuses you for an Omega,” He licks the seat of your panties, practically cumming in his drawers at your taste, “Fuck, you even taste fertile. Does your little womb want my cum, Darling? Want me to pump a cute baby into you?” His words send another wave of heat to your core, causing your slit to gush out your arousal. 

“Yes, yes please! Please fill me up!” He smirks at your neediness, and he shoves your legs apart. The smell of your arousal permeates the room, causing the large man to choke on his own spit. 

“Oh my, your pussy smells so good,” N’Doul practically dives between your legs, sniffing at your dripping pussy. Your hands reach down and grip at his black locks, practically begging him to eat you out. 

“Please lick my pussy! I was to take your knot,” He starts to kitten lick at your clit, causing tour hips to buck into his face, smearing your arousal over his chin and nose. He moans, loving the thought of everyone knowing that he belongs to you. 

“Such a Good Girl, in no Time, we’ll have a cute pup running around. Then I’ll fuck another one into you, giving them a sibling to hang out with,” You keen at his words, especially when he inserts two fingers into you at once. He scissors them at a fast pace, sucking on your clit harshly. Your cunt gushes in your first orgasm, making your back arch and a scream leave your lips, “What a good Darling, loosen up so I can fuck you full.” 

He adds two more into your cunt, your pussy sucking his fingers with an iron grip. His hips rut into the mattress below, as he brings you to a second release. 

“I’m gonna stuff you full, keep you locked on my knot. My Darling Beta, my cute cumslut,” he withdraws his hand from your heat, making you whine. But, he’s quick to shut you up with another heated kiss. Pushing your knees back, he puts you into a mating press. With one hand he keeps you in that position, and the other pushes his drawers off of his hips, kicking them off onto the floor. 

Lining his tip to your slick hole, he dips it in, testing the waters. When he feels your ring of muscle practically pulling you in, he can’t help but slam his entire length into you, causing you to scream out in both pleasure and pain. His tip rams into your cervix harshly, trying to access your deepest point. 

He doesn’t give you time to adjust, and starts to roughly fuck into you. His heavy balls slap against your ass in a rhythmic fashion, whilst he forced your knees by your head. 

“Fuck, your sloppy cunt is taking me so well. I love the way you gush around my cock,” You can’t say anything, too overwhelmed with pleasure. Your mouth falls open, eyes rolling back into your head. Pathetic moans rattle your chest, as he smashes himself as close as he can to you, “Don’t worry, Beta, your Alpha will fill you up nicely. I’ll make you round with my baby, I’ll give you pretty milky tits, and I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life!” 

He picks up his pace, trying to draw out more noises and slick to help him force his way in. His knot is quickly forming at the base of his cock, and it pulls almost painfully at the opening of your slit. 

“A-Alpha, I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!” He smiles at your admission, starting to force his knot inside. 

“Good Beta, cum around your Alpha’s knot,” N’Doul forces his entire weight onto you, bucking his hips even harsher than before. 

His knot catches on your opening one more time, before breaching your drooling cunt. He ruts into you for a few moments longer, before his knot hardens fully, breaching the opening of your womb, locking himself inside of you. 

The feeling of him knotting you causes you to squirt, your release just barely slipping past your stuffed opening, painting his abs with your cum. He forces his mouth onto yours, as his seed pumps into you in thick spurts. He fills you up so much, that you feel bloated, your tummy poking out a little bit more than normal. N’Doul Real esse your legs, letting you settle into a comfortable position, his warm hand lays on your stuffed womb. 

“My beautiful mate, I’m so happy you accepted me. We’ll have the best pups, I’ll make sure none of you want for anything. Fuck, why’re you squeezing me so harshly?” 

You whine in both pain and pleasure, laying your forearm across your eyes, “I think I need to go to the hospital. Betas aren't meant to take knots, and you’re currently deep in my womb,” He scrambles to pull himself out, only to yank on your womb harshly, making a small scream of pain escape your lips, and tears dot your eyes, “No! No! Not right now, oh god, that hurts so bad!” 

His moment of post nut clarity, brings him to kiss your face with multiple tender kisses. 

“It’s okay, Darling, we’ll patch you up soon. Maybe Dio will have a drug to make this less painful for you.” 

You stare up at the ceiling with dread, the pills he gave you makes you feel good, yes, but the pain of no longer having freedom and a knotted cock in your womb is enough to make you sick. 

Hopefully your kid will be cute. Because, if not, you don’t know what you’ll do. 

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

What Fresh Hell?: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst, talk of child pornography, talk of sexual abuse with children

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

Billie’s father is seen parking in the driveway, and even from where you’re at, you can feel how angry he is. He turns this whole blue energy of the house into a light purple. Both red and blue mix to create a whole mess of emotions. He’s not right in the head either, but that’s clearly not going to stop him from marching in here. As soon as he does, him and Billie’s mother just go at it.

“I have been calling you all night!” she yells.

“I'm sorry, Marilyn. I turned my phone off.”

“How could you turn your phone off? What if Billie got sick or—we needed you!”

“I said I was sorry!” he groans.

She slaps his arm and gives an angry scoff. She turns away and leaves the room. Thankfully, William stays put to give her time to cool off.

“What's being done to find my daughter?”

“We're assessing that right now,” you answer.

“She's been missing since yesterday! What the hell have you people been doing since then?!”

“Where have you been, Mr. Copeland?” Gideon wonders.

“Me?”

“Where were you all day and all night?”

“I have a cabin in Brandywine Valley,” he says, but that doesn’t tell you where he’s been this entire time.

“The police tried you there.”

“Well, maybe I was out at the time.”

“Billie tried your cell phone yesterday afternoon. You didn’t answer then,” you comment.

“Well, I shut it off sometimes. I like the solitude.”

“You didn't fight your wife for custody of your daughter, but you like being in her life,” Gideon rattles off the facts.

He wants to make him nervous. It’s working.

“I want her to grow up in her home with her friends around. This is the only place she's ever lived.”

“So, you love her very much.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you waste any precious time we have left?” Gideon sighs and cuts to the chase for this is taking too long. “You weren't at your cabin. You weren't at work or with friends. Police didn't call us until a little while ago because they thought your daughter might have been with you—that you might have taken your daughter. Until you can give us a satisfactory accounting of your whereabouts from the time your daughter went missing until—would you help me understand why a devoted father who talks to his daughter every night suddenly turns his phone off and disappears for almost twenty-four hours?”

“I was… busy,” he hesitates.

“It was 1:30 in the afternoon. You called your wife at 11:30 that morning and found out Billie was missing.”

“So?”

“Well, Brandywine Valley is fifteen minutes away. Where were you, Mr. Copeland?”

William knows he’s been caught, so he chooses the right option to tell the truth. He sighs heavily and sits down with a long and tired look on his face.

“I—I was at Sloane Kettering hospital in New York City. Dr. Baylan Mahal is the head of Oncology. You can call him if you want.”

“I will. Did you have a relapse?”

“It's in my lymph nodes now. There's nothing more they can—” he cuts himself off. “Please find my daughter. Find my daughter.”

“Call Sloane Kettering,” Gideon instructs of you.

“Yes sir,” you say, already taking out your phone.

The bad news is that Sloane Kettering vouched for William, confirming he was with them the entire day with proof through cameras as well as the sign in sheet. If he didn’t take his own daughter, then that means it really is a stranger abduction—most likely. The good news is that Derek, Elle, and Hotch did have something when they returned from the park. You didn’t want to upset the parents even more, so you had a small meeting on their lawn as soon as they arrived.

“What do we know?” Gideon asks as he jogs up to the rest of the group.

“We talked to a kid who had contact with the unsub. He came back to the same street more than once,” Hotch informs.

“Well that tells us he's at ease in the neighborhood—comfortable talking to kids in plain view,” you fit the pieces together.

“He lured Billie with a story about a lost dog.”

“She recently lost one of her own.”

“That indicates previous knowledge of the victim,” Spencer says.

“But it doesn't necessarily mean that she knew him personally. This only means he's aware,” you counteract.

“Actually, it's not uncommon for predators like these to know the kids that live around his area. He’s from this neighborhood.”

“Then we go door to door and ask for voluntary searchers,” Detective Russet speaks up.

“The neighborhood is already crawling with uniforms. They're everywhere. Having more searchers is only going to make the man who did this go into hiding,” you point out.

“So far, you followed the child abduction response plan to the letter,” Gideon trails off.

“For the past few hours, yes,” the detective nods.

“So now we need to move past the guidelines and change tactics. If we don't, Billie isn't gonna make it past the next twenty-four hours. I want you to corral these clowns,” Gideon points to all of the news cameras. “We're gonna need 'em—all of 'em.”

Before you can deal with the press, it’s about time to give the profile. Usually, you’d have more time to put one together, but Billie is very high risk. If you don’t put one out now, she could die sooner rather than later. Every single cop that’s around this area is in one room, listening to your team give the profile. Each and every one of them are listening intently, taking down notes as you go along.

“Billie Copeland has been missing for twenty-two hours. It is vital that we locate her in the first twenty-four,” Gideon starts off.

“The unknown subject, or unsub, in this case is most likely a resident of one of the subdivisions around the park. We have cancelled the amber alert. We need to coordinate with all your officers to pull everyone off the street immediately,” Hotch explains.

“That’s fucking crazy,” a random officer scoffs.

“Just hear us out—”

“But it goes against court procedure. You guys wrote the damn thing.”

“Actually, Carp is just a guideline for immediate response to child abduction. Believe it or not, we're already late in the game, and we do know enough about this unsub to know that if he feels like we're closing in on him at all, he will kill Billie to avoid detection. If anything, we need to lessen the pressure on him,” Spencer spits out.

“This man fits in because nobody knows what he is. Can we really know our neighbors? He walks his dog and does yard work. Solitary activities appeal to him. However, if you watch closely, you'll see he pays a little too much attention to the neighborhood kids. Largely goes unnoticed because he isn't perceived as a threat. He’s a white male in his late twenties to thirties. He has a menial or temporary job and is socially marginalized and frustrated. He relates better to kids than he does to adults. It’s not his first offense to children, but it is his first abduction,” you explain.

“How do you know that?” Detective Russet asks.

“First-timers hunt closer to home. Experienced predators don't.”

“He's had a recent stressor—a job loss or other setback. Unable to maintain a normal relationship, he'll have extensive pornographic materials in his home and on his computer. And while they won't all involve children, some of them definitely will,” Hotch takes over.

“Since he used the missing dog ruse, and we believe him to be a regular fixture of the neighborhood, it's quite possible that he truly does own—or did at one point—own a dog named Candy. We recommend cross-checking veterinary records with residents in the neighborhood,” Spencer says.

“He will not inject himself into this investigation.”

“Don't these guys like to know what the cops know?” the detective says.

“No, not this type of unsub. He's hiding. He doesn't know what anyone saw. He doesn't know if there's any information about him out there. He's unlikely to walk in and ask us, ‘can I help you?’. But I can guarantee you he will be watching the news. So, how we handle them is very important,” Gideon stresses.

“Check your canvass records. One of you may have had contact with him in the early stages.”

“What about registered sex offenders?”

“We've got somebody working on that right now.”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, everyone clear on that? Good luck. Thank you,” Gideon closes this meeting out.

Derek immediately leaves off to the side to call Penelope to have her work her magic touch on the already growing pile of suspects. You’re scheduled to go back to Mrs. Copeland’s house with Elle just to make sure she and her ex-husband are doing alright. Before you do that, however, you walk over to Spencer who is kind of all by his lonesome.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” you ask.

“Could be better. What about you?”

“Same. This is just going to be another nightmare to add to my list,” you sigh sadly.

“Do you dream of children often?”

“It’s a lot less than what you’d think it’d be. I swear this job never gets easier. When I agreed to take this job when Gideon offered it, I was ecstatic. I thought I’d really make a difference.”

“But you are—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut him off. “All I get are some victims that are saved, and a shit ton of nightmares to follow it. The payoff is actually worse if I think about it. Just as I’m about to collapse from extreme depression, I think of this team. I think of you and Penelope and JJ and Derek. I think of kids like Billie. I think of everything good that comes out of these cases. While there isn’t much, I try to hold onto the good as tightly as I can in hopes some of it will rub off on me, you know?”

“Try going through life with an eidetic memory.”

“Bless your heart, Dr. Spencer Reid. Seriously. You’re doing a great job if it means anything.”

“It does. Thank you,” he smiles shyly but brightly.

“Y/N, come on!” Elle calls for you.

“Duty calls. Save that smile for me when I get back, yeah?” you flirt.

You’re already gone before Spencer can come up with anything clever to say. All he’s getting are flushed cheeks and a fuzzy brain. You actually make him forget what he’s about to do… and that’s saying something.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why!

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[amatchinwater]

Second square for Steo Spooktober. I knew there was a reason that I was saving this wip!

Square filled: Free space- vampire/warlock AU

Warnings: Blood, talks of death, reincarnation, explicit sexual content, uhhh...that's it?

Words: 5705

Ao3 link

AU inspiration

Post/song for title inspiration

Brand New Set of Bones

In a world where the supernatural is more or less known, vampires like Stiles are able to live freely. Without worry of mobs with torches and pitchforks like the days he was turned. Stiles was born again in 1792 when the witch trials were trying to make a comeback for all things that went bump in the night. People didn't take too kindly to women who put too many herbs in their dinner because of the health benefits. You know, not actual witches. Imagine how the townsfolk reacted when they discovered a young man who drank blood for sustenance. 

If you guessed badly, you'd be correct. 

Three months after being turned by a vampire- who had intended to feed from him and compel him to forget, but fucked up and nearly killed Stiles- he was left on his own. Turns out his maker, a man named Peter, ran afoul with one of the largest families of hunters in the world; the Argents. His maker didn't necessarily leave him high and dry being brutally murdered and all. Once he realized his mistake of almost killing Stiles, Peter offered to turn the human to save his life. 

Stiles agreed. 

Being in his early twenties and orphaned at a young age, he was no stranger to living on the streets and begging for scraps. But Peter insisted that wouldn't be his life anymore. That he comes from a very wealthy family overseas- the Hales- and it was now Peter’s responsibility to take care of the newborn vampire. 

So Stiles moved in with the man. In the three months he had with his maker, they tirelessly worked on Stiles' control of his hunger. Teaching him how to compel- he wasn't the best, even worse in stressful situations- and release people. And to stay away from silver if he wants to keep his skin. 

Peter tried to teach Stiles everything he knew as hard as the newbie tried to learn it. But then Peter got caught. One of the Argents followed him down an alleyway while his maker was stalking dinner and staked him right as Peter’s fangs ripped from his gums. Stiles felt it in his own heart. The connection between a vampire and their maker is much like that of a pack bond for werewolves. Stiles was gone when it happened. 

Apparently the hunter wasn't alone. The man who killed Peter followed him from their home instructing his son to keep an eye on the house in case it was a nest. The younger Argent heard Stiles' mournful screams and rushed the grieving vampire. Literally dragging him through the town by his hair as bloody tears stained his pale, mole speckled cheeks. The vampire caught sight of the boy he had been enamoured by before he was turned: Theo. His blue eyes filled with rage under his dark green cloak, watching Stiles being tied to a stake in the center of town. 

The wrath wasn't directed towards Stiles, but the hunter hurting him. The citizens casting stones and cursing slurs at the vampire. He watched as Theo's eyes glowed a violent purple, ready to attack. Theo’s a warlock and Stiles never once judged him for it, it only made him love the other boy more. The vampire shook his head, knowing that if Theo exposes himself as a witch, that the townsfolk will kill him too. Stiles can't let that happen. Not to Theo. The perfect man he's known since they were kids. Fell in love with when they were teenagers. 

Though he never risked telling Theo. Not in this era. 

But the warlock is just as stubborn and protective as Stiles it seems. He rushed the makeshift stage, knocking the hunter out of the way. Wide blue eyes search his amber ones, "it's going to be okay." Theo assures him, ignoring Argent's yells. The warlock cups his face, "you should know I love you, too." Stiles never once said those words out loud. And before he can, Theo leans in and kisses him with everything he's got. 

There's cries of outrage at the sight before the citizens. The vampire reciprocates as best as he can in his restraints, crying tears of sadness and joy. "Please go, they'll kill you too. Theo, please," Stiles begs. 

The younger hunter grabs Theo's shoulders, trying to yank him off but the warlock holds firm. "I will find you again, I swear it." His blue eyes are so sincere the vampire almost believes him. "Leave this place. I will find you." 

Their lips brush one last time and when Stiles reopens his eyes, he's back in his and Peter's home. Theo just showed the entire town of Beacon Hills that he's not only gay, but a witch too. There's no way they're not going to kill him. But the vampire doesn't know how to save him. Theo's last wish was for Stiles to leave. Crumbling for a moment, the vampire heats the screams of the man who risked his life for Stiles' own. 

Fresh tears roll down his cheeks as he works his way through the house. Finding Peter’s will in the locked chest beside his bed- he left all of his possessions to Stiles, his "son"- and enough clothes to get him by. The vampire runs to a shop heading straight for Europe. 

Stiles lived in Romania- Peter's homeland- for two hundred years. His maker wasn't kidding about the Hales being a well known and extremely wealthy family. The second the vampire was off the boat and walked into the first inn he could find, Peter's last name was painted on the sign in big, bold, red letters. He met a woman named Talia. She knew instantly that Stiles was a vampire and took him in, explaining she was Peter’s sister. The vampire lived with them and became part of the family. Derek, her son, became Stiles' best friend. 

The two were inseparable. Worked together and hung out together. Told each other secrets. Derek was the only Hale Stiles told about Theo. The other vampire held him as he cried bloody tears for his lost love. Love he never even got to properly have. 

Then something amazing happened twenty some odd years after arriving in Romania. A family moved into town claiming to be natural healers. They opened an apothecary right next to the bookstore Talia let Stiles run. She let him keep Peter’s trust, but the younger vampire insisted on working. The family had two children that helped run the shop. Stiles was instantly entranced by their son. The young man with shoulder length black hair and skin nearly as pale as Stiles' own. 

But what got to him the most- what made the vampire cry and lock the bookstore for the day- was the man's eyes. Ocean blue that when the light plays its tricks could be mistaken for green. Theo's eyes. Stiles had laid his feelings for the warlock to rest nearly fifteen years ago. But here was this healer's son unknowingly dredging up the past. Violently ripping open scars on his heart. Then he introduced himself a week later when Stiles felt okay enough to start working again. The vampire thought a cruel trick was being played on him.

The store had been open for all of ten minutes before the bell Stiles hung above the door rang. He was at the shop alone, insisting Derek take a well deserved day off for picking up his emotional slack. Long black hair framing a chiseled jaw entered the shop with a heart stopping smile. 

“Hi,” was all the thick, melodious voice greeted.

“Good morning,” Stiles donned his work persona with ease, “can I help you find a certain book?”

His lips pulled into a smirk, “yes, I was hoping you had some books about vampires. I like horror stories.”

Stiles tried not to bristle at the request. He finds vampires' depiction by writers hideous and quite frankly insulting. “Right this way,” the vampire rounds the small counter, gesturing for the other man to follow. Stopping by a short row of books, “here we are,” Stiles says.

“Thank you,” the dark haired boy nos, looking over his options. 

“Let me know if I can help you with anything else,” Stiles tells him before trying to walk away.

But the young man’s voice stops him, “I will, thank you, Stiles.” He smiles widely.

“H-how do you know my name?”” The vampire pivots on his foot to look at the healer’s son. Unsure if he should be afraid or simply curious. Everyone knows the Hales, Stiles is one by default so someone could’ve just told him. 

“I told you I’d find you again.”

His breath gets punched out of his chest. “I-I’m sorry?” Surely Stiles misheard him or just imagined things. It’s been a few days since he’s fed, so it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. 

“I know I look a little different,” the other boy steps closer, forcing Stiles to back up into the stack behind him. “It’s me. Theo.”

The world stops. If Stiles wasn’t technically dead, the way his heart stopped in his chest, he would’ve died on the spot. But something in his gut turns sour, that this is some trick. “You’re not Theo,” he chokes on the words, “Theo died over twenty years ago.”

“I did,” the other boy nods. “I died saving your life knowing I’d come back to you.”

“Did Derek put you up to this?”

“Would I know that you were born in seventeen-sevety? Or that when you were six years old you nearly broke your arm falling out of the tree at my home? That your favorite color is purple?” The vampire’s eyes well without his permission, Derek didn’t know about the tree. “I promised you. I will always come back for you.”

“I missed you so much,” Stiles sobs, letting the blood flow freely.

Theo wipes them before they can stain his pale cheeks. “I missed you, too.” The warlock pulls him into a hug, finally connecting their lips. Theo found him. 

They shared a life together for just shy of twenty years until the warlock passed on. People didn’t live very long back then. Theo died with the same promise on his lips as in his first life. That he would find Stiles again.

Theo kept his word in 1864 when he was thirty. And again in 1914 when he was twenty-five. It was the longest stretch of time they got together with the advancements of modern medicine. Sixty years together. Theo died in 1974, peacefully in his sleep beside Stiles. The vampire offered in every life to turn Theo. The warlock declined, saying he might lose his power of reincarnation. That Theo could die and stay dead. While that thought did terrify the vampire, constantly watching the love of his life- his eternity- die over and over again hurt like nothing else.

But he always kept an eye out for those blue eyes. The only part of Theo that stayed the same across his new faces. 

In 1992, the Hales decided to move back to Stiles’ hometown of Beacon Hills. It has been almost twenty years and Theo hasn’t shown up yet. The vampire has learned from experience that sometimes it just takes a little longer. The warlock has to be born and grow up first. Talia said there was a reason Peter had moved there and she’d like to find out why. They built a mansion in the preserve where the family still lives to this day.

More years passed and in 2016 the blanket that covered the public’s eyes to the supernatural was lifted. Vampires, witches, werewolves, banshees, kitsunes, and so much more no longer had to hide in the shadows. Stiles wanted to show Theo this new world. The wolf they could not only love freely in, but not have to hide their nature either. Yet Theo is still nowhere to be found. 

In the year twenty-twenty-one, a whole forty-seven years since the witch last passed, Stiles was ready to give up. The only place the vampire saw those striking blue eyes were in his dreams. 

The accommodations made for vampires were weird to Stiles at first. Some places, big cities mostly, set up something of a mating run- which they did start for werewolves- in which those who didn’t mind could be chased and fed on. The blood banks that supply hospitals hold more drives to have a larger stock. And then there’s the feeding centers. Places added on to blood banks for those who prefer drinking straight from the source without the need to chase. Stiles wasn’t the biggest fan of that practice. 

The donors were willing, but it just felt weird to him since the bite can sometimes cause euphoria. It was a strange thing to want to share with someone not out of necessity. 

Until he was given basically no choice. One afternoon Stiles hadn’t eaten in a few days without realizing until one of his friends Isaac- a werewolf- told him he looked sick. The vampire went to the closest bank a few blocks from his bookstore. He stook in line patiently for a bag of o-negative. The rest taste like chalk to him. And it’s usually a good thing because that’s the universal donor so it’s usually available in abundance. Stiles just needs one bag to hold him on until he gets home.

The receptionist clacks away on her keyboard to put in his request. A frown immediately forms on her full lips, thick black eyebrows pinch together, “I’m sorry, sir. But it seems like we’re out of o-neg.” She frowns further, “there was a bad pile up on ten and they rushed our stock to Beacon Memorial. If you don’t like the others, I can see if we have a donor for you.” Her desk phone rings, “I’m sorry, I have to get this.”

He hasn’t fed on a person in five years. When everything came to light and the populace was surprisingly cool with it. It took less than six months for the changes to be made. Stiles opens his mouth to tell her it’s okay and not to worry about it.

“Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll send him to your office.” The woman- he feels rude for not asking her name- hangs up the phone with a smile. “My manager would like to apologize in person for the issue with our stock. He said he keeps a few extras of each blood type in his office in case something like this ever happened.” She smiles warmly, “it’s through the double doors at the end of the hall. You can’t miss it, but I could show you there, if you’d like.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll make it.” Stiles returns the smile, though his fangs have come forth from his hunger, “thank you…”

“Celeste.”

“Thank you, Celeste,” the vampire bows slightly. Old habits die hard. He’s two hundred and thirty years old, give him a break.

“You’re welcome!” 

Opening the double doors as instructed, Stiles follows the tan hallway to its end, finding a black door with a crystal knob. The vampire knocks, letting himself in hearing the ‘it’s open’ from the other side. 

A man with light brown hair has his back turned, signing papers on his desk. “Please,” he gestures with his pen towards the leather chair with brown legs, “take a seat, I’ll be right with you.”

Scrunching his face, I know that voice, why do I know that voice? Stiles does as told. “You know, you don’t have to share your personal-” the man starts to turn as Stiles speaks, making the vampire slow his words in wonder. “-stock with-” blue eyes lock on and Stiles forgot what he was saying to begin with. “Theo,” he breathes out.

Actual Theo! Looking the same as he did the first time Stiles lost him. Barrely sun-kissed skin, stubble on his jaw, and bangs flopping in his eyes. Those perfect blue eyes that the vampire didn’t know he’d ever see again. Not caring he could be wrong or dreaming- wouldn’t be the first time- Stiles throws himself into his arms.

It must be real and Theo, because arms are wrapping around him, holding the vampire close. Which in hindsight probably wasn’t the smartest idea because Stiles is hungry. And Theo smells so good! His fangs start to ache and the vampire has to forcibly let the warlock go. Taking several steps back.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles covers his mouth. Not once in over two hundred years of being a vampire has he ever fed on his lover. 

Smirking, he brings his hands to his shirt, “you’re hungry. Stiles, you need to feed,” Theo unbuttons the collar of his plum dress shirt. “I lied to Celeste. I don’t have blood bags in here.”

“Then why-”

“I’m o-negative, Stiles.”

That’s a very big revelation to be perfectly honest. He’s never drank Theo’s blood and yet it’s the warlock’s that appeals to him the most. Talk about irony.

“So you offer your blood to every hungry vampire when you run out?” Stiles lets a little bit of his jealousy show- just because he hadn’t fed on him doesn’t mean he wants anyone else to have done so. It’s personal. Intimate. 

Theo chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I bought this place in hopes you would show up one day.” The warlock reaches behind him to turn the computer on his desk, showing a fuzzy picture of the lobby. “I saw you on the cameras. When she offered you a donor I knew you’d turn Celeste down. Honestly, I’d have called you here even if we did have what you were looking for. But if you’re going to drink from anybody,” Theo steps closer with a slight tilt to his head. His pulse makes the vampire salivate. “It’s going to be me.”

Stiles opens his mouth, a refusal hanging on his tongue. 

“That’s not all you’re going to do either.”

“What?” The sampure looks confused. Having no clue what Theo could possibly mean by that.

The warlock gets closer still, reaching to hold Stiles’ hand in his, “you’re going to feed until you’re full. Then,” he silences Stiles’ protest, “I’m going to take you home and you’re going to turn me.” 

Shocked. Utterly fucking stunned. The vampire blinks rapidly, mouth slack in pure disbelief. “But your power. You could lose it. If you die,” Stiles takes a shaky breath, “you might not come back.”

Theo just smiles at him, “there’s a reason I look like how I did in my first life. I added to my spell so that I would look like me in the life that if you turned me, I wouldn’t die.” The warlock turns sad, “I made the clause when I didn’t find you in Romania in the nineties and got deathly ill. As I grew up, I realized it worked.” 

“So you’re telling me,” Stiles has to tear his eyes away from the tempting pulse. He slurs around his fangs, “fate decided that this is the life you won’t die if you become a vampire?” It’s really hard to focus when he can hear Theo’s heart in his ears. 

Even more so when Theo cups his cheek with one hand and pulls him by the small of his back with the other. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” the warlock confirms. “Now,” Theo tilts his head and Stiles can see the blood flowing in his carotid, it makes him shake in a breath. “Drink from me, baby. I know you need it.”

He does. Stiles really does. He found Theo this time. And he’s willing to let Stiles turn him. If the warlock had any idea of what’s going on in the vampire’s head, he’d blush. “Theo, I love you,” Stiles presses a gentle kiss on the warlock’s throat.

A soft chuckle comes from Theo’s lips. “I love you, too.” His words cut off in a moan when Stiles’ fangs sink into the offered flesh. “Stiles,” Theo whispers, his hand coming up to tangle in the vampire’s hair. Ensuring he doesn’t move until he’s actually full. He moans again, squeezing the vampire’s hip with his free hand.

This is why Stiles got jealous that anybody might be drinking from Theo. What he meant by it being intimate. Not everyone has this reaction, but if the person being bit enjoys the idea even a little bit, it sets off pleasure receivers in their brain so they don’t feel pain. And well, Theo’s neurons are working just fine. God, Stiles hasn’t heard that sound from the warlock’s lips in so long and hopes that literally no one else has. 

And his blood? It’s honestly the most delicious thing Stiles has ever tasted. Not one in his two hundred years has the vampire ever drank blood that didn’t taste like sucking on a penny. But Theo’s tastes like food. Real food. Like the warlock main lined a steak for lunch rather than chewing it. Maybe it’s a witch thing.

If Stiles drinks much longer, he’ll turn Theo now. He swipes his tongue over the two puncture wounds on the warlock’s neck, feeling his saliva close them. “Thank you,” Stiles murmurs against the skin, biting with blunt teeth. Just to hear Theo moan again.

Delivering with no problem, the warlock breathes out a moan, “you are very welcome.” Theo fists his fingers in the vampire’s hair, pulling him back to look at each other. His blue eyes hooded and glassy, “now can I get a proper greeting?” Theo brings their lips together before he can answer. Stiles has missed his mouth!

But he knows he just drank a lot from the warlock, Theo should not be making out right now. As much as he doesn’t want to, Stiles breaks their kiss. “Theo, you should sit down for a minute.”

Cupping the vampire’s cheeks, Theo chuckles, “I had a steak for lunch, I actually feel pretty good.”

“You had a steak for lunch?” Stiles squints and the warlock nods. “I could taste it.”

“I know,” Theo cracks a shit eating grin. He knows? “I did that too. Charmed my blood to taste like my last meal. You don’t get to eat real food anymore,” the warlock shrugs, “I figured you’d like to taste it again.”

Stiles doesn’t even know what to say to that. It’s kind of really thoughtful and his heart feels warm.

“I actually did it after my first life. But you always refused to drink from me. At least you got to taste food one last time.” Theo snorts, “good thing I picked steak then.”

“Theo, you-”

“Also, how could you not tell me how good that feels?” Stiles huffs out of his nose at the warlock’s excitement. He hasn’t heard Theo’s voice in decades. “Does that go away once you’re a vampire?” Stiles is still staring with an admiring smile on his face. “What?”

Shaking his head, he says, “nothing. No, the feeling doesn’t go away. Or so I’ve heard.” Theo can’t exactly bite that hard right now. “If you meant the capability of drinking another vampire’s blood. No, not really. It doesn’t do much, but it works in a pinch.”

“So what you’re saying,” Theo walks them, holding Stiles’ hips until he’s pinned to the wall, “is that you can bite me again?” The vampire gulps and nods. “And I can bite you?” The warlock leans in to lick the pale neck, making Stiles shiver and nod again.

“Yeah,” he gasps out. Sue him, he’s a little worked up having Theo press into him. It’s been far too long. His legs fall apart for the warlock to settle between.

“Good,” Blue, glassy eyes burn into him and it hits Stiles that he never has to stop seeing them again. “I want to take you home.”

“I can work with that,” Stiles melts into the warlock. His soul mate. His everything. “Take me home.” The Hales might be his family, but even they know when Theo’s here, Stiles lives with the warlock. Theo is home to him.

Sliding his tongue in the vampire’s mouth, Theo groans before pulling away. He reaches for the top drawer of his desk, grabbing his keys. “Come on,” the warlock holds his hand out.

Taking it, Stiles entwines their fingers with a smile. The two walk hand in hand out of the building to Theo’s truck. It takes about fifteen minutes to pull up to the two story house. 

It’s nice. Warm and inviting thanks to the brown and black tones. The dark railing of the staircase with white stairs. A brick and stone fireplace in the middle of the living room. There’s pictures all over the walls and Stiles is tearing up. The first actual photograph they ever took together hangs over the fireplace. The others line the walls beside it. And the ones they took in the seventies that are wildly embarrassing are all along the staircase.

Theo follows closely behind, letting Stiles explore and find their room on his own. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” Stiles skips the first door and opens the last one on the left. The master bedroom. Their room.

Purple sheets and a black comforter cover a king sized bed with black bed posts. Warm caramel walls and carpet keep the welcoming feeling. It’s really nice. They get to stay here for the rest of their lives. For their eternity.

“Good,” Theo closes the distance, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ middle, kissing the crook of his neck. “Because I’m not letting you leave for at least three days.”

“Promise?” Stiles turns in his arms. He has nearly no limit to his stamina. Theo’s always tried to keep up. Soon enough, he’ll be able to.

“Turn me and find out,” the warlock smirks.

Fangs rip from his gums and Stiles tilts Theo’s neck. Biting into the flesh, Theo moans, grabbing the vampire’s shoulders. Drinking until the warlock’s breath is barely audible and the blood flowing into his mouth nearly stops, Stiles lets go. Digging into his own wrist, the vampire places it against Theo’s lips, letting the warlock drink until his body slumps. He carefully lays Theo on their bed, waiting for the change to run its course. 

A few hours later, Theo wakes up and Stiles’ wrist is already reopened and waiting for him. Again, it won’t do much, but it’ll be enough for now. At least until he can get Derek or Talia to bring them more. The newbie drinks his fill, licking the smeared blood from Stiles’ arm. 

“How do you feel?”

“Really fucking good,” Theo tells him with a smile full of fangs, rolling over until he’s laying on top of his maker. Pushing into Stiles’ hips with his own until he can grind their dicks together. His already hard and wanting, urging the other vampire’s to rise to the occasion. 

“Already?” Stiles grins like he hasn’t been without for forty years. “You just woke up.”

Theo nods, ducking his head into his maker’s neck, fangs grazing the skin, “I did.” He kisses the pale flesh, nipping enough for a drop of blood to come forth. “And I feel great. And I need you, Stiles,” Theo groans as their hard cocks rub together through their pants, nails digging into the other’s side. “I missed you.”

Grabbing Theo by the back of his hair, Stiles pulls them face to face, “I missed you, too.” He connects their mouths with a harsh kiss. Pouring every pent up ounce of passion and emotion of the last four decades into his lips on Theo’s. His fingers curl into the hem of the other vampire’s shirt, yanking it up to his shoulder as he rakes his nails down Theo’s back. 

With a loud, hissed moan, Theo pulls back and his eyes flicker a beautiful shade of lilac. Seems as though he’s still a warlock too. Guess that isn’t something that vampirism can take away. “Jesus,” Theo groans, yanking his shirt off and pulling at his maker’s with need. Fumbling with his fingers, the new vampire grunts, leaving the fabric to work on Stiles’ pants. Having much better luck, Theo takes his lover’s pants and boxers off in one tug of his wrists. 

Truly loving that Theo wants this as badly as he does, Stiles bites his lip and pulls his t-shirt off. Moaning and carding his fingers through the warlock’s strands as he takes Stiles’ cock in his mouth. Theo’s fangs gently graze the shaft of his way down and looks up in apology- because that has to fucking hurt- only to see his maker drop his mouth in a low, guttural moan. Stiles’ own fangs dropping from the pure pleasure coursing through him. All too quickly, Theo releases his dick, sucking the budding precum from the slit, leaving it cold. The older vampire goes to protest only to be cut off by Theo’s tongue pushing into his tight hole making him keen. 

When he can feel saliva dripping down his cheeks, a finger presses inside- fucking finally. He’s needed Theo inside of him for far too long. So much so that he doesn’t care about the burn, “more,” he pants. “Theo, please,” Stiles fists his hands in the sheets. “I can take it, please.” 

“I won’t hurt you,” he says, reaching with his free hand between the mattress, coming back with a bottle of lube. “Trust me, I need this too. I’ll go as fast as I can, okay?” Stiles nods, grinding against the finger inside him while the other vampire lubes the rest of his digits, pressing a second inside. “Fuck,” he groans, hooking his fingers and spreading, eyes locked on the way the ring of muscle just gives way to the intrusion. 

“Theo,” Stiles moans, clenching when a third joins the others, fucking him open into a needy mess. “Please,” he pushes against Theo’s thrusting hand, moaning, “I need you. I need you inside me, Theo, please.” 

Sinking his fangs into Stiles’ thigh, not daring to let a single drop stain the mole covered flesh, Theo spreads his fingers more, his free hand squirting lube onto his throbbing cock. Licking the wound that’s already healing, he grins as the scream he provoked. Seeing Theo with bloody fangs while his fingers are buried in Stiles’ ass is probably the hottest thing the older vampire has ever seen. Removing his fingers despite the greedy clench of his maker’s hole, Theo positions his dick at Stiles’ entrance, slowly inching forward.

Wanting absolutely none of that, the older vampire wraps his legs around Theo’s waist and pulls him in balls deep, moaning loudly when their skin’s flush. “Oh my god,” he mewls, stupidly happy to be so perfectly full again. Theo pants into the crook of his maker’s knee, nipping at the flesh until Stiles is adjusted. He’s so past adjusted it’s not even funny. The older vampire pushes his hips down, “Theo,” his name whispered like a fucking prayer. A vital need to be fucked out of his mind. 

But the warlock has always been one to tease. Drive Stiles mad until he’s a proper mess. So Theo pulls back to just the tip and slides forward, purposefully ignoring his prostate, only thrusting in halfway just to do it all over again. “You feel so fucking good, Stiles. Go ahead and clench all you want- fuck- I’m enjoying this too much.” He bends down to lick his maker’s chest, keeping his leisure pace, toying with Stiles like he always does. 

Yanking Theo up by his hair, the older vampire sinks his fangs into the crook of his neck making him cry out and slam his hips forward. Stiles moves up his neck, biting again and the warlock screams his moan, fucking with a purpose. Stiles’ head falls back against the pillow with a cocky smile, all too pleased with himself for making Theo lose it like that. Eyes rolling into the back of his head as he moans, Theo railing into that precious bundle of nerves like it’s made to be abused. For all Stiles cares, it is. 

Leaning up, Theo grips his hips hard, relentlessly pounding into the tight ring of muscle. “Can’t believe,” he pants as he thrusts harder, “you never bit me before. That’s what I’ve been missing?” The younger vampire chuckles, dropping his palms on the mattress to fuck into him faster. “God, I want your fangs in me all the time, Stiles.”

Despite his very hazy brain, the older vampire recognizes the beat around the bush request and bites at Theo’s wrist propped near his head. Stiles moans around the blood in his mouth, his dick twitching as heat pools in his gut. His orgasm rushing to the surface at high speed. Stiles reaches a hand between them, releasing the warlock’s wrist to stroke himself. Theo slaps his hand away to do it himself, needing to take everything that Stiles has to offer. 

Powerful thrusts and the delicious roll of Theo’s wrist has the older vampire writhing, gasping for release. Torn between seeing Theo’s face when he cums and pinching his eyes closed in pleasure, the pressure inside him reaches an explosion finally forcing his eyes shut as he cries out. Screaming through his orgasm that steals all of his breath and whitens his vision. 

Theo hums in approval above him, “I forgot how pretty you look when you cum,” he runs a finger along Stiles’ jaw. Cupping his chin, the younger vampire whispers, “so beautiful.” Theo kisses him and the older vampire bites Theo’s bottom lip. Moaning around Stiles’ mouth, his hips jerk a few more harsh thrusts before he’s spilling his release deep inside his maker. “I love you,” he huffs, resting his head on Stiles’ chest. 

“I love you too,” the older vampire runs his fingers through Theo’s hair, wrapping his free arm around the younger vampire. Stiles doesn’t mind the cum leaking out of his ass or that Theo is still hard and inside him, he just wants to relax. Enjoy the feeling of finally having Theo back and never having to say goodbye again.

[wherethewordsare]

DESIDERATUM Pt2

Beginning>> Next

Summary:  Desideratum - to long for. Five times Jaskier needed Geralt, plus one time Geralt needed him.

Hey yall, this is another train fic! Keep an eye out for the next part on Friday from our next mystery contributor!

He told himself it was for a number of reasons that he went out looking for Geralt. He told himself it was because he was bored at court, because Virginia was in a cooling phase, that Arthur was due back home any week now and Jaskier wasn’t looking forward to another shouting match between the count and countess. 

Jaskier told himself so many things as he followed the rumors to the river as to why he went looking for Geralt but the true reason. 

When he came down the path, he took a beat, watching his- his what? Geralt would never let him call him anything that made Geralt his anything. But there Geralt was, his shoulders drawn in a hard line of tension, sleeves rolled up over his elbows. 

Everything had gone tits up so fast that Jaskier didn’t know what else to do, so he did what he always would do. He clung to Geralt and hoped that the look of worry and concern were real and not just a creation of his own panic as he struggled for breath. The lump in his throat when he looked at Geralt was no longer just metaphorical and it crushed against his windpipe in a way that felt too much like a hand strangling the air from him. 

He tried for words but nothing came and Jaskier simply let himself be dragged along, first to a healer who was simply ineffectual and then to the witch. He was out before too long, sliding into a hazy sleep where he couldn’t call out for Geralt any more than he could with that thing blocking his voice. 

Coming to was no more illuminating than before, but he had a taste in his mouth of dust and blood and something sharp like magic meant to harm, In his fog he thought maybe he had been put in a bed in an inn somewhere and turned, reaching for the solid line of Geralt’s side that wasn’t there. For a moment, panic swelled in his chest and he thought the magic had come back, choking him again, but it was just the same pain he realized he was growing accustom to. 

The woman on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him was gorgeous and haunting, her black hair cascading down her naked back-

Her naked back. What had happened? Where was Geralt? Why did Jaskier remember an orgy? 

“Not to be untoward or anything, but did we-” he gestured vaguely between himself and the woman but when she turned, her face was a mask of determination and power. He scrambled from the bed, his boots by the door. 

When she asked for him to try some scales, the only song he could think to sing was Geralt’s. If he was close, maybe he would hear, maybe he would come and save him. Jaskier needed him to appear, to pull him out by the scruff of his neck as he always had and make those faces at him again, the ones Jaskier could tell himself made it feel like Geralt actually cared, even a little bit. 

“Make your last wish!” she demanded as she stood above her circle of candles. 

He knew what he desired, what would sooth the thing roiling in his gut but in the moment, he didn’t want to risk putting Geralt into the path of this crazy woman. “I- I wish very badly to leave this place forever!” 

When she started chanting, he ran. 

“Oh Geralt, thank the gods,” he huffed. It would have been so easy to just lean into him, into the space where Jaskier knew he’d be safe. He could pretend that Geralt would be happy he was alive even as he rushed in to save the witch that had just nearly tried to kill him. 

“She saved your life, Jaskier, I can’t let her die.” What was he supposed to do with that. 

Jaskier stood in the middle of the road, watching as the house seemed to partially collapse, and his heart collapsed with it. His chest constricted in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Sure he had cared for Geralt but something else, something like poison slipped between his ribs and festered into his heart. 

Jaskier didn’t just care for Geralt, he might have been just a little bit in love with him and it hadn’t been fair that he had resigned himself to a life chasing after the impossible. 

“... It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” There was a war within him. His- not his. Geralt was gone and Jaskier was left behind, as always, picking up the pieces of something he hadn’t realized would shatter so easily. 

“They’re alive!” Chireadan slumped down in front of him, pulling him to the window

Jaskier pushed in beside him, expecting relief to sooth the vibration under his skin. They were alive alright, and fucking their way to proving it. It had never bothered him before the idea of Geralt sleeping with someone. It shouldn’t have mattered then and so he told himself it didn’t. 

Just this once, and then we’ll never see her again. Jaskier reasoned, turning away quickly. 

But of course it wasn’t. 

And it wasn’t… and it wasn’t… and it wasn’t. And each time they ran into Yennefer by chance, by fate, or by Geralt’s own undefined need, a part of Jaskier chipped and cracked and threatened to shatter. 

“I thought we had a contract in Vizima?” Jaskier bounced along side Roach, his fingers working over a particularly tricky chord procession. 

“I have a contract in Vizima,” Geralt deadpanned, not looking at Jaskier.

“That’s all well and good, but this is the road to Murivel,” 

“I know how to read a map, Jaskier,” he growled back, but there didn’t seem to be any heat behind it. Instead, Geralt seemed almost pleased with himself. 

“I don’t doubt your ability with a map, Witcher, but I’m starting to doubt your sanity. What are you playing at?” he jogged up a bit until he was nearly in step with Roach, pushing his lute back over his shoulder. 

“There’s a bardic competition in Murivel for one of their festivals.” And there it was, that smile Geralt gave him on the rare occasions when the coin was alright, the people weren’t awful, and all the gods agreed that Jaskier should have something at least slightly nice in his life. He tried not to admit how much he had come to live off those smiles or to read into them. 

“What about the contract?” 

“Hm,” Geralt smirked, urging Roach on, leaving Jaskier to follow. 

They had found a room at a tavern on the edge of town and Geralt had even agreed to attend for Jaskier’s performance. 

“I mean it, Geralt! I’m counting on you,” Jaskier teased, throwing a towel at him as he climbed out of the bath. 

It felt like nearly every eye in Murivel was on him when he took the stage, but even through the haze of pipe smoke and the setting sun, Jaskier could still make out Geralt towards the edge of the square, his eyes not leaving Jaskier as he began to play. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed just that one set of amber eyes on him to settle his nerves. 

Jaskier had glanced away for a moment but when his eyes found Geralt again, those same eyes were now caught in violet ones framed by dark raven hair and a smile like a knife. It cut Jaskier to ribbons and his fingers tripped over the chords he otherwise knew in his sleep. 

Geralt had said it was because of a bardic competition, but as Jaskier left the stage, knowing that he lost points for his sudden loss of breath mid performance, he felt… played. 

Geralt would come back, of course he would. He always did. Jaskier sat at the end of the bar in the tavern and watched the door as he slowly tipped himself into the well made mead, spending nearly every coin of his third place winnings. He watched and waited as the tavern slowly emptied out, the barkeep getting more and more aggressive with insisting Jaskier call it a night. And so he did. 

Jaskier climbed the stairs alone and pushed into their… his room. The only thing there that had even suggested he wasn’t travelling alone was a second cloak hanging beside his on the back of the door. He reached out, adjusting it without purpose until he couldn’t bare to touch the thing any more. 

The note he left for Geralt was short and to the point and Jaskier didn’t think he would even think anything of it. Jaskier was prone to taking off randomly and this would have been no different, not from where Geralt stood anyways. 

He hadn’t slept and he watched through the tiny window as the sky beyond the city went from a deep bruising blue to a soft gray. He had set out then, not looking back as he found the road west. 

Jaskier swallowed around the lumb that had caught in his throat, the memory of the djinn tinging it with that same sharp taste that still left him breathless and helpless. 

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die,” he said, his eyes softer than they normally would be. 

The exhaustion in his bones couldn’t outway the burning in his chest that propelled him forward. Jaskier had never understood why Geralt couldn’t have let her die while Jaskier himself stood there choking to death on a need he could not name. 

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

@stinastar got Eskel on my brain so I had to throw some love (see also: whump) his way

Here darling, have some suffering... as a treat.

(As always, I didn’t bother editing so if you see anything ridiculous, please let me know)

________________________________________________________________

Humming a melody, Jaskier was contemplating his next ballad. He had some good material from the last of Geralt’s hunts he had snuck along on a few weeks back, right before the two parted. Jaskier was feeling this one should be nothing short of epic, a wonderful, and maybe slightly annoying, surprise for his favorite witcher upon their next run-in.

Smiling while he tried to think of a good rhyme for “reckless”, Jaskier let his eyes roam over the village he was approaching. It seemed like a small settlement, but large enough to have an inn. He was in a fairly remote part of The Continent, but he was hopeful that his charm would serve him well, even if there weren’t an inn.

As Jaskier got closer to the village an odd sight made him lose his train of thought. In the middle of the main road going through the village it seemed that most of the residents had gathered round in a loose circle, and in the middle Jaskier could see two poles that looked to be made of metal sticking up. Perhaps it was some sort of festival or ritual in the area, thought Jaskier as he tried to get a better look.

When Jaskier finally got close enough to hear the villagers, he still couldn’t quite see what they were circling, but the snippets of conversation he heard weren’t particularly encouraging. Jaskier slowly waded through the crowd, concern growing as he heard the villager’s whispers, “monster” “it’ll be good to see it die” “it deserves to suffer”.

Finally, Jaskier was able to push through to the front of the crowd, getting to see what it was that had the villagers so excitable.

He let out a sharp gasp, his eyes widening in shock.

Before him was a man, his arms chained to the metal poles, stretched high above his head, his knees on the ground, his ankles chained to the bottom of the poles. His knees were bloodied, and the man was entirely bare, save for the chain he wore around his neck.

Well, more like a medallion, really.

A medallion in the shape of a wolf’s head.

Jaskier felt panic run through him as he realized he was staring at a witcher, just as broad and scar covered as his witcher, wearing the same medallion. The man’s head was bowed as he sagged in his chains but Jaskier knew that his eyes would be that same golden amber that frequented his dreams. The only difference between this unknown witcher and Geralt that Jaskier could see seemed to be their hair, this witcher’s hair a dark brown color so very different from Geralt’s white.

Before Jaskier realized what he was doing, he had taken a step forward, closer to the witcher. Jaskier felt a sharp pull to his arm and turned to see an elderly man with a severe face holding him back, “Best not get too close, son. We’ve weakened the monster but he’s not close to death just yet. Got another week or two in him at least.”

“Right. I’m sorry, I’m a bit confused. What, exactly, is going on?” Jaskier pulled his arm out of the old man’s grasp, quickly righting his doublet.

The old man smiled, revealing far fewer teeth than he should have had, “We tricked the blasted mutant, that’s what! Weakened him and tricked him and now he serves his penance for his sins.”

Jaskier’s mind raced, trying to process what was happening. The witcher had been captured by the town, it seemed, and now was strung up and being left to die.

Having travelled side by side with a witcher for nearly a decade, Jaskier had seen more than his fair share of intolerant people and towns, but never had he seen the malice in this man’s face. The old man was clearly proud of his accomplishment, happy to watch the witcher in front of them suffer for weeks on end before death.

Well, Jaskier certainly wouldn’t just sit around and let this happen, no sir. But what to do? He wouldn’t be able to fight the entire village, and any village willing and able to do what they had done wasn’t going to be swayed by pretty words and a catchy song. No, Jaskier would have to be clever, he had to find a way to sneak the witcher away with none the wiser.

“I must admit, good sir, I’m very impressed. How did you manage to catch a witcher unawares?” Hopefully, he would be able to get the old man to give him information.

The old man let out a laugh that made Jaskier’s stomach roll with disgust, “It came asking after a contract and I was able to slip it a special mix in some food and drink while we spoke. Family recipe - helped do in four other of these monsters, though this’ll be the first since I’ve taken over as alderman, only the second in my life time. A very exciting day, all around. Sent the mutant into the woods and ambushed it.”

“And you’re still poisoning him? To keep him weak?”

“No, no. No need, those shackles we had special made for an occasion like this. Dimeritium. The beasts are weak to it, it’ll stay weak just from that ‘til it finally dies.” The alderman was beaming at Jaskier, clearly delighted with his accomplishment.

Jaskier wanted to beat the man bloody. “That’s very impressive, and do you have the town guards keep watch over him? Or hunters?”

The alderman laughed, “Needn’t waste the resources. The dimeritium does the trick and it’s locked in. I keep the key with me so there’s no need to go guarding it.”

Jaskier smiled, “You’re clearly a brilliant man, tell me alderman, did the witcher have any belonging you’ll be selling? I was accosted by some bandits on the road and lost my weapons and my horse. I’d be happy to pay.”

“Ahh, we’ve it’s things in the stable still. A brilliant stallion. We’ve no real need of it in the village but some coin wouldn’t go amiss! All it’s other things are in the stables as well, if there’s anything you want I’m sure we can work out a fair price. Follow me, if you will.”

Jaskier let his gaze fall to the witcher again. The alderman claimed the witcher had at least another week but Jaskier wasn’t convinced, the man looked close to death. Hopefully, he would be able to acquire the horse and he would be able to use the stallion to get the witcher to safety.

Dusk was approaching when Jaskier finally left the stable, his purse lighter, but now in possession of a horse, two witcher’s swords, saddle bags full of various potions and clothes and other witchery things, and an invitation to join the alderman and his wife for supper.

Jaskier hurried to the small inn the alderman had mentioned and quickly purchased a room for the night, hurrying into it, thankful it was on the ground floor.

The only thing keeping the witcher imprisoned were shackles around his wrists and ankles, shackles that simply locked with a key. A key the alderman kept. Although Jaskier was hesitant to sup with the alderman and his wife, particularly considering they apparently have a poison that, not only isn’t detected by witcher’s, but also is enough to subdue them, he figured that it would be his best chance to get the key.

With any luck he would be able to unchain the witcher and get him to his horse and then get him to safety.

Jaskier knew very little of dimeritium but Geralt had mentioned it in the past, mentioned it weakened him, made it impossible to use signs. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long it would take for the witcher to recover from the dimeritium bonds and whatever poison was still in his body, but he hoped it wouldn’t take too long. Jaskier wasn’t sure where they would be able to go that was safe so they would have to stick to the woods for a while at least. Until the witcher was well enough to defend himself. And Jaskier, hopefully.

Letting out a long sigh, Jaskier sat heavily on the bed. He wished he had a quick way he could contact Geralt, some back up would be nice. Although bringing another witcher into such a dangerous place might not be a great idea when Jaskier wasn’t even sure what poison they were using on witchers or how exactly they administered it.

Poison. Right, Jaskier needed to go to the alderman’s house. Surely supper would be ready soon.

Gods willing, he wouldn’t be poisoned too.

-

Attending supper at the alderman’s house wasn’t Jaskier’s favorite experience, what with the concern of an undetectable poison and the looming threat over the witcher outside, but it was helpful to his plans. As the alderman bragged yet again about capturing and subduing the witcher, he gestured to the heavy key ring with one sing key on it, hanging just beside the door leading to their back garden.

The alderman had also made it fairly apparent that the village as a whole didn’t concern itself far too much with security. Being so remote, they got very few travelers, and the villagers themselves would never do anything to risk the ire of their poison-happy alderman. All of these things boded well for Jaskier’s rescue attempt. He should be able to sneak out of the inn, into the alderman’s house to get the key, and back to free the witcher if he was careful.

Returning to his room, Jaskier started packing his bags, mind racing with his plans.

He would need to get the horse ready to leave town before doing anything else, a quick get away would be very important to the pair’s survival. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long the inn keep would be awake cleaning so it would most likely be best to sneak his belongings, and himself, out through the window.

Ideally, any stable boy would be asleep and Jaskier would be able to tack up the horse and strap all their bags and his lute to it with no one the wiser.

And then things would get trickier. He would need to get to the alderman’s house without being noticed, get inside, get the key, and run.

If the alderman or his wife noticed the key was missing too soon, then they might not make it out of the village.

-

Sometime later, Jaskier was lurking in the back garden of the alderman’s house, trying to make sure he and his wife were soundly asleep before he snuck inside to get the key.

After a while of waiting, Jaskier still hadn’t heard any movement from inside or seen any lights so he crept to the garden door and made quick work of the lock, thankful that he hadn’t forgotten how to pick a simple lock. He pushed the door open slowly, looking around in the dark kitchen, satisfied to not see anyone awake, grabbed the key, and pulled the door shut again.

Sticking to the shadows, Jaskier hurried as quickly as he dared to the center of the village where the witcher was chained. Hurrying up to the weakened man, Jaskier grabbed at the shackles on his left wrist, trying to will his normally steady hands to stop shaking. Jaskier made efficient work of the shackles on the man’s wrists, the man collapsing on his hands with a grunt. Jaskier hurried around the witcher to undo the shackles around his ankles before he grabbed the witcher by his shoulder, pulling his off his hands, “C’mon witcher. We need to get out of here before anyone notices you’re free. C’mon, your horse is saddled and ready to go, we just have to make it to the stables.”

“Wh’re you?” The witcher groaned in pain, his head finally lifting, his golden eyes meeting Jaskier’s. Jaskier quickly took in the man’s face, he looked remarkably like Geralt, save for the deep scars marring the right side of the witcher’s face.

“Ahh yes, I’m Jaskier, and I’m trying very hard to keep the both of us from dying, so if you could cooperate, I would appreciate it.”

The witcher slowly raised to his feet, leaning dangerously to one side. Jaskier quickly ducked under the man’s arm to provide support, hurrying the man toward the stable.

Once inside, Jaskier threw a set of clothes to the witcher, letting him dress while Jaskier led the horse from his stall. Jaskier mounted the horse quickly and held his hand down to the witcher. The witcher gave him a skeptical look before mounting the horse behind Jaskier, leaning onto him.

Jaskier urged the horse forward, heading west, “I’ve no clue where to go around here that will be safe so I thought we should stick to the woods for a bit until you’ve recovered some.”

The witcher behind him hummed and Jaskier decided it must be in approval.

The two rode hard, putting the awful village behind them before Jaskier veered off the road, leading the horse into the wood and finally stopping in a small clearing.

“Tell me, witcher, do you hear anything nearby we might need to worry about attacking us?”

The witcher slowly dismounted the horse and closed his eyes, “Nothing close enough to worry about. Fire should keep anything away.”

Jaskier jumped off the horse and walked to the witcher, ushering him to sit, “I’ll get started on a fire now, you rest.”

The witcher watched curiously ask Jaskier puttered around the clearing, starting a fire and setting out bed rolls.

“Eskel.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Eskel.”

Jaskier’s smile was blinding, “It’s lovely to meet you, Eskel.”

-

Sequel is here

[cellophanejpeg]

skinny love - part ii

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After a rough mission, you finally confront Javier about the night you’ve spent together.

Requested: #50 I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand

warnings: angst, alcohol, vague descriptions of sex (+18)

word count: 2.2k

part i || masterlist

It’s funny to think about how many things you have no control over in your life. Time. Weather. Natural disasters. The past. The future. The wind. The tremble in your hands.

The cabin of the helicopter feels tight, even though the wind blows violently. The straps of the seat belt tighten your chest and you feel like crying. But you’ll die before you let yourself shed a tear in front of Javier Peña. You watch as he holds Christina Jurado’s hand, comforting her. You wish it was you.

Fifteen hours earlier, Javier had pulled you aside at the embassy and asked, in hushed whispers, for your help. You thought it was weird, given that you haven’t spoken in months, ever since that night he spent between your sheets. Months that you’ve been drowning in booze, either in your apartment or at bars, sulking in your own pain. It shouldn’t have hurt that much and you hate yourself for feeling that sad about a one night stand with Javier Peña. You haven’t been with anybody ever since.

Javi had asked your help on a rescue mission and, for a moment, you were confused. Why would he ask for your help, instead of other experienced agents? You wanted to say no. Everything about the mission screamed shady business and you weren’t to risk your life in an illegal mission. But then he said those magic words:

“You said you wanted more field experience.”

You realized then that he remembers. He remembers everything you told him that night. You thought he had forgotten about you already, that you were just a blurry drunken night, but– But he remembers you.

So you said yes. And your guts were right. The mission was shady and risky. The Castaños did most of the killing, but that didn’t mean you didn’t see some of it. You knew what you were getting into, but you weren’t prepared for it.

It was a bloodbath. You’ve never seen anything like it before and you hope to the gods you won’t have to again. That night was the night you decided to quit.

When the chopper lands, you see the sun peeking through the trees. By now, the trembles on your hands are gone, but the unshed tears behind your eyes are still there. Any time now, you’re going to break down.

You only come to your senses when you feel someone sitting beside you and taking your hand. Turning to look, you see Javier staring at you. You swallow hard as he tightens the grip in your hand, trying to hold back your tears.

“You did good,” He says and your heart warms, even though you don’t want it to. “You did great.”

Oh, shit. The tears blurry your vision as you pull yourself away from him, unbuckling the seat belt and ignoring the way he says your name. You hop out of the helicopter, leaving him behind again.

…

It’s only two days later that Javier shows up at your doorstep, a heartbreaking look on his face. Your heart drops when you see him, hands leaning on the doorframe, his gaze on the floor.

“Javier?” You call for him and when he looks up your breath hitches.

“Jurado is dead.” His voice is strangled, broken. Your eyes widen.

“Christina?”

“Franklin.”

He shakes his head. He’s tired. He’s done. And you can see it everywhere. You don’t have to ask if he wants to come in, you just give the space so he does. Removes his leather jacket, looks around the living room as you lock the door behind you. His eyes take in the place until they land on you. He stares at you in silence for a moment before letting out a long, heavy sigh.

“I’m tired.” He confesses.

“I know.” You whisper as he approaches you slowly. “I know, Javi.”

His hands twitch, eager to touch you, to feel you. To get the comfort he came for. But you look away and cross your arms, protecting yourself from him. He understands. He fucked up. He didn’t mean for it to be like that.

That night, all those months ago has been burning in his memory since it happened. No matter how hard he tried to take other lovers, he couldn’t get you off his head. All he saw was you. Always. And he doesn’t know why, but it is what it is. You’re the only one for him.

He just doesn’t know how to express this feeling.

Javier calls your name softly, but you speak before he continues.

“Do you want anything to drink?” You ask, walking over to the kitchen. “Tea, water?” You pause to look at him standing awkwardly in your living room. “Whiskey?”

He looks at you and gives you a half-smile. He doesn’t have to answer for you to know what he wants. Taking two tumblers from the cupboard, you open a bottle of whiskey and pour some of the amber liquid in them. You don’t hear when he enters the kitchen and watches you as you turn around, almost bumping into him. A small laugh leaves your lips as you hand him the tumbler, sipping from your own.

You know it’s risky, to have alcohol and bad feelings mixed together, a perfect recipe for disaster, but you don’t care at the moment. Javi looks like he needs a drink and you’re gonna need the alcohol in your system to tell him what you need to tell him.

His eyes are on you as he gulps the whiskey, the beverage going down his throat like water. You look so beautiful in the dim lights of the kitchen, the yellowish glow favoring your best features.

“So, what happened?” You ask and it takes a moment for him to realize you’re asking about Franklin. He clears his throat, looks away, and swallows.

“Stabbed to death in jail.” His voice is better now, not too rough as he grows more comfortable around you.

You grimace, not wanting to think about it. Franklin Jurado was the only one who could decipher the code in the ledger they recovered from Miguel Rodriguez’s house, and now that he’s dead…

“What now?” You mumble, your gaze on the floor as he shrugs, shaking his head.

“I don’t fucking know.” He admits. “It seems like we take one step forward and two steps back. Every fucking time.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you take another sip from your glass. You both stay in silence for a moment. A silence that comes when two people understand each other, comfortable, quiet. Until Javi breaks it, by clearing his throat after downing his drink and setting the tumbler on your kitchen counter. He says your name softly and you look up at him.

You know what he wants. He leans in until your noses touch. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

"Javi…" You whisper softly.

Javier's lips press gently against yours, a kiss so sweet and different from the first time he kissed you. He starts to press his body against yours, but you back away as soon as he starts feeling the kiss. His eyes have a puzzled look in them when you shake your head and slowly turn your back to his, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

He says your name again, a line between his brows.

"Why did you leave?" Your voice breaks.

"What–"

"That morning after." You turn to face him, face stained with tears. "You left and acted like I was nothing in the office. I understand it was a one night stand but–" Sobbing, you shake your head. "You can't deny something was there."

The frown on his forehead deepens. "You were the one who acted like nothing happened."

It's your turn to frown as you tilt your head, confused.

"I tried to talk to you." He explained, resting a hand on his hip. "In the break room. But you walked away."

You exhale, remembering that morning, months ago. Warmth blooms in your cheeks as you realize your mistake.

"I–"

"I'm not denying it, honey," He says with a soft voice as he approaches you. "There was something there. There still is."

Javier uses his calloused fingers to wipe the tears on your cheeks.

"But you left…" Your voice is small, but he silences your argument with a kiss.

"I know, baby," He mumbles into your mouth. "I'm sorry."

You finally kiss him back, tangling your fingers on his hair. Javier grabs your hips, pulling you closer to him. But you pull away too soon, with a heartbreaking look in your eyes.

"Javi, I'm leaving."

The look in his eyes breaks your heart. "What do you mean?"

"I quit this morning. They gave me a month."

Javier backs away from you, a confused look in his eyes.

"T-that mission–" Your voice trembles. "It was too much, I-I–"

"I thought you wanted this."

"I thought so too, but–" You sigh. “I don’t think it is.”

He stares in silence at you for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think I want to be part of something like that.” The confession catches even you by surprise as you voice your thoughts to someone for the first time. “I mean, we rescued Christina Jurado, but at what cost? They killed all those people and Franklin ended up getting killed anyway.”

Javier looks into your eyes with a serious expression. He looks almost offended as if you insulted his bloodline or something.

“Sometimes you gotta do bad things–”

“To catch bad people, I know.” You interrupt him, playing with the buttons of his shirt. “But I don’t think I’m capable of doing bad things.”

He takes a step back and you feel the tension growing between you two. It’s almost palpable, you can almost taste it.

“Then you’re not the agent I thought you were.”

It stings. It shouldn’t but it does. His opinion, or anyone’s, about you shouldn’t change how you view yourself, shouldn’t hurt that much. Deep down, you knew Colombia wasn’t for you. And maybe you’re not an agent as good as Javier is, but his words sting so hard in your chest that you feel hot tears of anger blurry your face.

“Maybe not.” You tell him, voice cracking. “But at least I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing I walked away from this.”

“And what?” There’s venom in his words. “Let millions of other people die of cocaine abuse and the consequences of it?” He exhales, wiping his mustache with his hand. “I’m willing to do anything to save these people’s lives! It’s not easy, but at least I’m doing something!”

You pause as you look at him, the tears already streaming down your face.

“And how is that going?”

The crease between Javier’s brows disappears as he takes a step towards you and crashes his lips against yours again. You don’t fight back, kissing him fervently as you let him yank your shirt over your head and pull you towards your bedroom. You practically rip his shirt, trying to get it open and push down his shoulders.

Unlike the first night together, this one isn’t a sequence of memories blurred by the alcohol. Sure, you’re both hot with anger and frustration and you both take it out on each other, but he’s still there when you wake up the next morning. An arm heavy around your waist, his soft breath on your neck.

“You were right about that mission.” He’s the first to talk when he realizes you’re awake. “It was too much.”

You roll over until you’re facing and shake your head, sleep still clinging to you. “Let’s not talk about this. Not right now.”

You make love with him that morning. And later that night. And every night for that entire month. And for a moment you are in paradise. You get to see a side of Javier Peña you’ve never thought you’d see. He can be soft and he can be rough and he can be real with you.

But you knew it wasn’t meant to last forever.

“Thank you,” you tell him as Javier helps to take your luggage out of the trunk of his car.

He sighs and nods, looking into your eyes.

“I’d tell you to call but…” You trail off, uncertain about the future. He brushes his knuckles on your cheek.

“Maybe when I’m done here, I can go and find you.”

Nodding, you smile at him. A sad smile. “Yeah.”

Javier takes a deep sigh and drops his hand on his side, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t know how to express his feelings, his hands twitch to hug you, kiss you, touch you in any form or way that can console him from your parting.

“I’m sorry about everything.” He ducks his head, his gaze on the ground.

You tilt your head to meet his eyes. “It’s okay.”

And then he kisses you. You taste coffee and cigarettes on his lips for the last time as you kiss him back, inhaling his scent and storing it in your memory forever.

“Goodbye, Javi.” Your voice trembles.

Javi nods, hands on his hips. The tears only stream down your face when you hear his strangled voice, soft and murmured as you walk away.

“Goodbye.”

__

perm tag: @bestintheparsec @murdermewithbooks @forever-rogue @haildoodles-writing @hiscyarika @aerynwrites @goldafterglow @yespolkadotkitty @theocatkov @adikaofmandalore @opheliaelysia @buckysalefty @din-damn-djarin @the-wishmonger @mistermiraclee

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[thiswasinevitableid]

77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

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

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

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

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

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

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

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

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

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

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

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

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”

[anythingbutmar]

Mistake

Diego Hargreeves x reader

Summary: After you turned 18, Diego and you pretty much distanced from the other members of the academy, so when you all meet for Reginald’s funeral you have some explaining to do.

A/N: I kinda love this concept but I changed a few details of this request so the reader is not raised as a sibling and her relationship with the others is in no way familial. I missed writing, specially for Diego, so thanks anon! This is quite long too, so sorry about that. I had a lot of fun too, so let me know if you’d like me to make this into a series, cause I might do it.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of homelessness, but overall just fluff and a bit of angst.

You liked to say that the life you made by yourself happened because of a simple mistake, because you had come across the Umbrella Academy on a very particular way.

You could say you had a decent upbringing, your mother wasn’t abusive but she was pretty much the definition of overprotective, and as a child you were never told that it was because a man had literally tried to buy you on the day you were born, in fact, you didn’t know anything about him or the children he managed to adopt because your mother and grandparents wouldn’t let you get anywhere near any piece of information of whatever existed outside your little hometown.

They told you they were doing it because your father had left you when you were just a baby and they wanted to protect you from the dangers of foreign men, of course you thought that you were born from a normal pregnancy, and you believed everything, that and the fact that you could control any element to your will, which they said was wrong and kept hidden. You were homeschooled, and you could only socialize with the kids from your neighborhood which was good, but it wasn’t enough, and we all now overprotectiveness can really mess with someone’s mind.

And so, even though you went along with it for many years, when one of your only friends suggested you both snuck out for a party on the big city for your sixteenth birthday you couldn’t say no, and that was the mistake, if it is possible to call it like that.

On the best Rapunzel style you went out your bedroom window, got on a bus and drank so much alcohol you completely passed out on a strangers lap and woke up on an unknown bed with a beautiful woman smiling down at you. Well, maybe that wasn’t Rapunzel’s style, but it sure felt like it at first.

The next series of events happened so fast it almost felt like a dream. You met a handful of strange children, one of which you later remembered had brought you there while being just as drunk as you were, his name was Klaus, and he later became the best friend you ever had; then you had the most overwhelming conversation of your life, in which an incredibly mean old man explained how you were actually born and made you understand just how different and important you were, but not in the wholesome way.

About an hour later your mother stormed through the academy looking for you, but one of the girls whispered something in her ear on her dad’s command which changed your mom’s entire attitude, with her allowing you to stay as if it was a boarding school, or so she told you, but she only visited once every few months and she didn’t seem as caring as before. According to Allison, that was in no way her fault, and you believed her, because at the end of the day you trusted your newfound friends much more than the woman that lied to you your entire life.

And so, you learnt to control your ability like never before, while also enduring Reginald’s cruel treatment, but it didn’t matter at all, because in the midst of everything you found Diego, and with him came all the things you never experienced before. He brought you happiness, love, trust and overall, lust for life.

Two years later you were living your best teenage secret romance. You snuck out at nights to visit all the parts from the city that he wanted you to meet, and you shared tiny kisses whenever Reginald and the kids weren’t watching. But Diego left, just like he had planned since he was a kid, and you weren’t brave enough to follow him. It wasn’t until his other siblings started leaving too that you realized that no matter how hard it was to be outside on your own, holding on to life with him was better than anything else. It was actually thanks to Allison, the smart girl had noticed you two holding hands under the table and knew just how heartbroken you were without him. “Chase him, Y/N, you won’t have this opportunity ever again.” She said right before she left, and she was absolutely right.

It took you less than a week to find him on a motel, bruised as ever and with barely enough money to pay for another night, and in between hugs, kisses and forbidden touches you promised him that you’d both get out of there. He told you he had been on that place for three weeks and a half, but the first few days after leaving the academy he had to sleep on a park bench until he gathered enough money by playing with his knifes to amuse people on the street. It had been hard, but now that you were together everything was so much better.

After many years living in the back room of a rusty gym, both of you taking turns in wiping it’s floors while also trying to study and save people at nights, because the one thing you learned from Reginald was that you loved helping people, and Diego’s vigilantism was just as appealing to you as it was to him. Diego was accepted into the police force and you finished your studies on a cheap school, which allowed you both to get a job you liked, and when you were finally able to buy a house for yourselves Diego proposed.

“Y/N, before you arrived my life was a nightmare, and all I ever wanted was to stay as far away from that place as it was possible, and everything that reminded me of it I planned on cutting from my life, but you arrived with your sweet smile, your shy eyes and those damn legs, and you completely switched my view of the world because I knew right there that I would love you forever, and I do. I love to see you in your weird ass robe, making potions-”

“I’m a chemist babe, not a witch.” You corrected him laughing.

“Let me finish Y/N!” He laughed with you. “I love how you treated me and my siblings, and I love how you helped mom, and god! I love how you used to beat bad guys with fucking wind on our nights out! I love everything about you sweetheart, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” By then you were both crying, and of course you said yes, how could you not?

Cut to ten years later and the day you had silently both dreaded and hoped for came. Reginald Hargreeves was dead, and you couldn’t even tell if you were sad about it, after all, the man had saved you from Mother Gothel, as Diego and you started calling her after watching Tangled with your daughters, but he saved you at what cost? You now had quite a few burn scars in your body from his dangerous training, you loved each one of them because they reminded you just how powerful you were, but still, no teenager should have to go through that.

And you couldn’t even get started on Diego. You wondered how and when he would take the news. He was out on his monthly vigilante night, which was kind of a gift you gave to each other, you were allowed to leave for the night once every month on different days because now that you had kids you could no longer risk your life everyday like you used to before. The kids, oh boy, what were you gonna do with your beloved girls? You weren’t sure if taking them to the funeral with you was the right decision, you wanted to shelter them from death and all the evil things in the world, but then again, you weren’t your mother, and you had no one to leave them with.

Just as you were thinking about maybe even staying, your husband entered your home, and he looked destroyed. It was one in the morning and you had been waiting for him while thinking of Reginald, and clearly he had been thinking about the same thing. You quickly stood up and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“He’s d-dead.” He stuttered on your shoulder. He didn’t even sound sad, he just seemed shocked.

“Shh, I know baby, I know.” You stood there for a while, just comforting each other in the middle of your kitchen before going to bed, you needed to rest for the next day because you knew it would be anything but ordinary.

And in the blink of an eye you were ringing the bell of the academy, each of your girls holding their father’s hand, the three of them standing behind you in your small, useless effort to protect them.

Grace opened up, and you couldn’t be happier to see her. You gave her a small hug and then gave Diego some space so he could properly say hi to his beloved mother. He introduced Luna and Amber and she was delighted to see Diego in a stable, loving family, she just seemed a bit off, but you’d talk to Diego about that later.

And then... Lord help you, you entered the livingroom and ran headfirst into Klaus who instantly hugged you, twirling you around and making you laugh as you both landed on the floor.

“Y/N, love! How have you been?” He sat up, looking at the doorframe, as he seemed to notice the two pair of eyes that stared in curiosity. “Oh I see you’ve gotten busy! Hello my little munchkins, I’m your uncle Klaus!”

“Wait Y/N/N, you’re with Diego now?” Luther asked from the other side of the room. Despite his rivalry with your now husband, you were quite close to him during your small time on the academy.

“Honestly Luther, I love you, but you can be quite oblivious sometimes.” You stood up with his help and hugged him tightly, getting a comforting feeling from his embrace.

“I’m here too, you know, your brother, Diego?” He finally entered, still holding your daughters’s hands and analizing the scene.

“It’s not our fault that you can’t say hi to anybody.” Allison came from behind him, scaring him, which made the girls laughing.

“Hi Allison.” He mumbled, rolling his eyes at his sister.

“I always knew you liked keeping your secrets but this two are way too big to hide” Se kneeled down to pinch Luna’s cheek, who smiled bashfully at her aunt.

Amber, your youngest, ran towards you and pulled your hand. You kneeled to her height as she whispered in your ear. “Mommy, I want to meet uncle Spaceboy.” You smiled softly at her sweetness, carrying her towards him. She instantly jumped in his arms, which took both Luther and you by surprise, she wasn’t the most sociable girl after all, but you kinda understood, his big frame and natural akwardness made him look quite huggable.

“Damn bro, you’ve gotten big.” Diego joined you, leaving Allison to play with Luna, who was now excited to know that she had a cousin her age, and you left before the two started bickering, but much to your surprise, the presence of your daughter seemed to retain them from fighting like they used to. Maybe bringing them was a good idea after all.

“Well, this is is quite the frame” Pogo entered the room with Vanya right behind him. You all waved at them, tired already of all the hugs already.

“Hi everyone.” Vanya entered uncomfortably, allowing Allison to hug her and having a small talk.

You turned to Diego and looked at him, a warning in your eyes. You knew your husband all to well, and you could see how much the book had hurted him, but you weren’t going to let him start a fight in the middle of a family meeting.

But of course, he wouldn’t listen to you.

“Why did you do it?” He started walking towards her as you mentally facepalmed. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Really, Diego? This isn’t the right time.” Allison scolded him, standing between him and her only sister.

“Then when is it, Allison? The next time we see each other? Should we wait another twelve years?” Allison just scoffed and stormed out of the room, Luther following after her, Vanya left silently, looking hurt, and Klaus snuck out in the heat of the moment, probably looking for money.

You sat on the biggest couch in the middle of your daughters, surrounding them with your arms. “That went well.” You stared at Diego, who pocked his tongue at you.

And it was about to get worse.

After having a tiny dance party, thanks to Luther’s incredibly loud turntable, you heard a thunderlike sound and watched as a bright blue light appeared outside. You looked at Diego, knowing what to do from all the years of practice that you had together. Each of you grabbed one of the kids, running outside to meet the others, who surrounded you in a protective manner, protecting their newly met nieces.

There was a portal in front of you, which Klaus tried to close with a fire extinguisher, but you could tell it wouldn’t work, because that wasn’t made of fire, or any other element that you were familiar with, for that matter, and you were an element bending chemist, for christ’s sake.

“What the hell is that babe?” Diego yelled, trying to understand.

“I have no idea, but there’s something coming out of it!” You yelled back, and everyone turned to look at what appeared to be an old man coming out of the portal. And in a flash of blue, a small boy landed at your feet, he looked incredibly similar to the portrait of the lost sibling that hung on top of the fireplace.

“Does anyone else see little number five?” They all nodded at Klaus, who clearly wasn’t sober enough for this, or maybe the poor thing thought that was the ghost of him, and you knew he already had enough with one dead brother following him around.

“What on earth is wrong with this family?” You said, looking at the odd teenager.

                                                             --

Minutes passed as you all stared at Five, who was preparing a goddamned sandwich, in the middle of one of the most confusing moments of your life.

“You’re new.” He simply stated, looking at you.

“Umm yeah, we haven’t had the chance to meet before, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand, which he didn’t take, the tiny bastard.

“Oh we’ve met. You were the one with the girls, holding his hand.” He pointed at Diego, sandwich in hand.

“I don’t understand, you weren-”

“Look kid, I’m sorry, but I can’t trust you, you need to leave.” Diego was ready to jump at him, but Luther stopped him and you grabbed his arm softly.

“It’s ok honey, I get it.” You whispered and left to look for Grace who was taking care of the girls.

You let out a sigh as you walked by your old room. You had been wanting to scream ever since you got there, but this was your first alone moment in the whole day, and a sigh was just as effective as a scream, it helped.

                                                            --

Then came the funeral, and it was hard. Luther scattered the ashes and you manipulated the wind so they wouldn’t look like a pile of grey shit, which actually, was an accurate depiction of Reginald, but you did it for him and Pogo, it was the right thing to do.

And after a few out of place comments, Diego and Luther started fighting right in front of your daughters, so much for the agreement. Luna and Amber started crying, hiding behind Five, who, much to your surprise, covered them with his body as he slowly took them inside. It was infuriating to see the men fighting in front of you, but you couldn’t help but smile looking at Five.

It was that moment that truly made you feel home, like you really were in family, and it warmed your heart.

-End of maybe part one?-

[estellaelysian]

It burns (Ethan x MC)

A/N: This is super self indulgent and doesn’t lead anywhere so proceed on your own risk

**********

The alcohol scorched down his throat as he let his mind wander in the memories of the day, which seemed too distant now that it was over. Evening shaded into night beyond the red-brick walls of the bar – which were lined with numerous neon signs, the glow spilling onto nearby tables and people. Ethan chased the shadow of Alishka as his mind jumped from one moment to the next in all those where they had interacted with each other over the day. The image of her deep green eyes, wavy brown hair and full lips remained forever etched into his mind, giving him warmth like an eternal flame would.

It was late when he made it to this bar – Russo and Dale – but it was also when he found Boston the most loveable, shimmering in the glow of night, her streets thrumming with life and beating hearts and cheerfulness. He had taken an unnecessary walk from the hospital to his destination, wanting to feel anonymous in the dull crowd of people who were walking down the street. The permanence of the aged buildings, the restored Victorian row-houses surrounding English-style corners and the glowing yellow street lamps in South End seemed to give somewhat of a reassurance to his bruised and tired soul as he weaved his way among the sea of strangers. Walking wearily past dark shops, while the sky turned to a deep blue-black above him, he tried to find solace in the anonymity.

But now, at long last, when he found himself alone again, the unease returned, stronger than ever. He took a sip of the amber liquid, then another and then a third, but nothing seemed to ease him as he listened to the determined thud of a bass from the neighboring dive-bar. The foolish chatter around him did not drown out the rising voices inside his head – her voice and his, as they had argued in his office long into the afternoon.

That one argument had been enough to disrupt the entire balance he had built with the same woman whom he had disappointed today. But it was a mutual disappointment. She had been irrelevant to.

Shaking his head, he took another sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he stared – quite intently – at the marble counter in front of him. It was amazing really, that the woman from whom he drew his strength could also be one of his greatest weaknesses. That was exactly why he had retired to his old office in the afternoon. He had lost focus, so instead of looking into patient care, he thought drowning himself into paperwork would help.

But indeed, it had not. Did it ever?

His mind, like a blissful dog scampering back to its lamppost, seemed to be stuck at the argument – making assumptions about the way she sounded, acted, spoke – no matter how much he tried to distract himself. Everything blurred around him, as if he had tuned out from his surroundings.

Why, he thought, was it so necessary for her to be insistent about things that did not matter to him? To latch onto one subject and stretch it until his patience snapped?

Or had he been truly unreasonable this time?

Oh dear God…

He swirled the gleaming liquid in its glass slowly before taking another sip, intent on numbing his brain, only that it refused from being so. Over and over again, her voice tortured him from deep inside; calling him out on the stubborn asshole he was before fading, only to return for the millionth time.

But wasn’t that the point of tonight? To get as far away as he could from the hospital, go to a bar in South End, and let the alcohol ease his pain and anxiety.

The door opened and someone stepped in, bringing together a cool Boston breeze and faint traces of wildflowers. Though his senses seemed unnaturally sharpened at this point, his eyes remained glued to his glass. But just a few seconds later, he found the woman right beside him, the scent of wildflowers much more perceptible.

Green flashed in his mind, deep and comforting, as he connected the scent, almost instinctively, to the one person it reminded him of.

Hold yourself, Ramsey.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the woman flag down the bartender and order a rainbow colored cocktail before turning away for a moment or two.

‘Quite the pain-relief, isn’t it?’ she asked in a mellifluous, sweet voice which fell like honey onto his tongue.

He could swear it was Alishka’s voice, but maybe he had dived too deep into the alcohol pain-relief. He had started imagining things.

Sensing that she was probably still expecting an answer, he nodded before looking straight at her.

And almost immediately, thought of Alishka Roy, even though he had put up a boundary between him and those insistent, maddening thoughts.

He didn’t realize it at first, but that smile – he would recognize it anywhere, anytime, no matter how detached he was.

But Alishka?

Nonsense. He was losing his mind.

‘I should’ve guessed my boss would come here after the much-exhausting day he faced at work today. It would’ve atleast saved me the time I spent wandering about.’

He raised his eyes to her face again. This was not an illusion. She was real, he thought, as he glanced at her hot coral lips which now wore an amused smile. He was not dreaming.

But why would she feel the need to wander about for him?

Do you really need an answer for that, dimwit, his mind chided.

‘Ofcourse you’d follow me here too,’ he said bluntly, battling away the sweeter responses, raising the glass to his lips.

‘You are not my boss outside of work, Dr. Ramsey. It is my freewill to do as I want to once I step outside the hospital.’

He looked up at her again, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. ‘Says the woman who bothers me all the same, inside or out.’

She made a dismissive wave, an easy laughter leaving her. ‘You’ve got a horrid sense of humor,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is why everyone is terrified of you, even now.’

The last two words stung with an unimaginable burn, questioning the character he had spent years to build.

‘What do you mean, “even now”?’ he asked, the words coming out much more defiant than he wanted them to.

She smiled a benevolent smile as the bartender dropped off her cocktail, which smelled strongly of Pernod. Raising the glass up to meet her lips with tantalizing slowness, she said, ‘Even now, when they’ve learned that you can love something, someone more than medicine. Wholeheartedly.’

He choked on his drink involuntarily, but she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. ‘And yet, at the same time, you can manage to be incredibly bitter to that someone.’

She took a long gulp of her cocktail, and again, before he could respond to her grievances, she said, ‘But anyway, I am not here to discuss that.’

Play pretend, he thought.

‘And why exactly, is it that you are here?’

‘Same as you. Pain-relief. My boss can be a real bore sometimes,’ she answered with the faintest traces of a smirk.

Let’s hear it now, shall we. ‘Who is your boss?’ he asked, going along with her little game.

‘Some world class, renowned, grumpy attending diagnostician.’

He liked how she complimented him and got a dig at him in the same sentence.

‘He seems to have a stressful job,’ he said, looking over the glass to her heavenly features, painted in the neon glow of the bar.

‘That he likes to imply. He is good at what he does.’

He nodded, trying to contemplate her answer, thinking that there would be traces of sarcasm in her answer, but found none.

‘Cheers to that,’ he said, clinking her glass with his own, their fingers brushing slightly, setting his body ablaze with the kind of fire that raged through forests. It was the closest they had got to touching that day, morning apart.

He finished the scotch in one long sip under her watchful gaze. Torture or bliss, there was no answer.

Though dulled by the excesses of the alcohol, he felt anger rise inside his body at the men who made glances in her direction, from a distance or even as they passed her. She seemed to draw much more gazes today than she did usually.

What exactly was it? Her rich brown hair, inching down her back, or those emerald eyes that gleamed with cleverness? And why, every time, did his jealousy had him to do things which he shouldn’t have been doing?

He didn’t know.

What he did know, was that he wouldn’t let those men even get near her.

So he raised a hand to her face, smoothing away stray strands of hair and tucking them behind her ear.

If she was surprised, she did not show it, but a lovely blush spread out on her cheeks, spreading down to her graceful neck and uncovered shoulders. She eyed him with a raised eyebrow, and he willfully ignored all the ideas that look gave him. Tonight was different. Even if they left the bar together, they would part ways almost as soon as they were outside, walking down in opposite directions.

Tonight they were fighting, even though it was different.

Even if he had to have his heart tugged and pulled and then torn, tonight was different.

Her emeralds met his sapphires, curious and bewitching.

He wished he could kiss those perfectly painted lips and ruin that makeup.

‘How about we make a deal then,’ she asked, setting down the glass on the paper napkin that was left on the shiny marble counter. ‘Tonight, let’s forget everything. Let’s forget that you are my irritating boss, let’s forget that I am a – what did you call me? – ah, bothersome resident. Let’s forget those men staring down at me from the opposite corner of the bar. Let’s put a pause on this battlefield, even though I am sure I can outwit you in every way, and let’ go home together.’

That was a tempting offer.

The suggestive tone and the desire burning plain in her eyes ignited his need for her.

How could he not resist her, even a single night?

His voice came out dusky when he spoke again. ‘Let’s put them topics to bed, and go fuck on the roof.’

Just to say that we did.

She smiled. ‘I’d rather your body than half of your heart,’ she said, quoting the song back to him, her voice the sweetest he had ever heard it to be.

Ethan blinked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her that he was far from fighting or if he wanted to claim those lips, right now, right here.

Then he saw, over her shoulder, a man whisper something to another before looking at her neck. He felt disgusted as his gaze traveled lower and lower. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to punch him in his filthy face, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, not betraying a single of the feelings he was feeling at that exact moment.

‘Let’s go home then,’ he announced, rising at once and reaching for her hand.

He led her outside into the cool crisp Boston night and she only felt justified in flagging down a cab to the way home, though it wasn’t that far away.

They could’ve walked there.

But then he wouldn’t get to do as he willed right in the cab, as he decided he need not waste a single minute of the time he had been gifted, by incidence or co-incidence, all the same. He failed to keep his hands to himself in the darkened cab, momentarily being illuminated by headlights and taillights of the passing traffic, as he crowed her into a corner, evoking soft moans. He watched her, bathed in red light, her sequined top glittering as the light shifted against her profile. Her eyes met his and he lost his sane, his coherent thoughts reducing to a small compass in his brain. Her lips commanded his attention, and he pressed his lips against them, evoking a gentle sigh as their breaths mingled. Her soft fingers grazed his rough beard as her hand rested against his cheek.

The music masked their muffled whispers and moans, but he could feel the drivers eyes, moving with unnecessary regularity, from the road ahead to the rearview mirror.

Even in the elevator, they stumbled, failing from keeping themselves from touching each other. The button to the thirteenth floor was pressed before he felt the soft pressure of her lips against his own. Her tongue was cool and sweet and tasted of Pernod.

‘Alishka…’ he managed to say between the kisses. ‘Why do we fight at all?’

‘Because we are …’ a little giggle. ‘Both … very stubborn …’

A few seconds later they stood at his door, which was unlocked with haste and shut close with a loud bang. The moment they stepped inside, he dipped his head and closed his lips over hers.

‘Nothing makes sense without you…’ he murmured into her ear, proceeding to tug her tight against him.

‘Then accept your defeat …’ she returned immediately, making a quick work of his shirt buttons. ‘But then again, we’ve called a temporary pause on this battlefield, haven’t we.’

Albeit reluctantly, he agreed. ‘We have.’

He led her to the bedroom, helping her out of her clothes before easing her down on the mattress gently, deciding the bitterness and pain had been enough for the day. The night had to be different.

Slow, gentle hands grazed the newly exposed skin with caresses too soft, before he leaned down on her, gazing into her eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers.

‘I love you.’

She giggled again. ‘I love you too.’

**********

Kudos to you guys if you made it out of this chaotic mess my brain put together. I honestly don’t know how this happened, but I guess it’s just me after a full, very real college day with loads of note-taking.

Tagging: @tenaciouslandvoidgiant @choicesaddict5 @schnitzelbutterfingers @starrystarrytrouble

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Hi! Can you do a fic where Geralt saves the reader's life, and as a thank you, she kisses him on the cheek? And then like 3 seconds later, she panics because she definitely should not have just randomly kissed a big scary Witcher without checking first but Geralt doesn't mind and is surprised cuz its one of the nicer reactions he's gotten?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Geralt x ReaderWord Count: 995Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston a/n: I do so enjoy Soft Geralt. I hope you do too

It was a beautiful spring day and you were terribly bored.

You loved the little town you’d grown up in but lately you’d been dreaming about what life may be like beyond its borders. Your family fretted about the dangers and you knew they had good reason. Still, a little voice whispered to you that perhaps some risks are worth taking.

“Good morning Y/N!” the baker called, as he did every day.

“Good morning,” you answered.

“Fine weather isn’t it, Y/N?” the florist called with a little wave.

“Another perfect day,” you agreed.

“MOVE!” a brusque voice yelled behind you, punctuated by the sound of sudden hoofbeats.

That was new.

You turned to see what was going on and heard the florist cry out your name as a large black horse with an unknown rider ran straight towards you. The rider seemed to have lost control of his steed and in your terror you lost control of your body, unable to force it to move as you waited frozen in fear. Something gripped you and pulled you back so fiercely you would have been knocked prone if you weren’t held upright, close against a tall, sturdy form. You were released on your feet gently and then whatever or whoever had saved you ran after the horse who was rearing dangerously close by a fruit seller’s stand. He had silver, shoulder-length hair that was half tied back and you marveled at how a man old enough to have such hair could also be so physically strong and agile. As he spun around in front of the horse, raising his arms and muttering something in a language you didn’t know, you saw his face and gasped. His eyes were an amber color which was admittedly odd but what struck you the most was that this was easily the most handsome man(?) you had ever seen. His features were chiseled but not hard, classically handsome but not boring. And he had saved your life.

The horse mellowed after his words and he moved forward, eyes softening as he gently stroked the horse’s mane and spoke words of comfort. The rider passed him some coins and then, as if uncomfortable by the scrutiny of the market, he moved swiftly away. You paused for just a moment and then you ran after him, past the many worried, good-hearted people you’d grown up with and knew, eager to catch up to this stranger who raised so many questions.

“Wait! Sir!” you called, though he did not slow his strides. “Gods’ blood would you please just hold on?”

He finally stopped and you could see the rise and fall of his broad shoulders as he sighed. He turned to look at you and his eyes shifted from cautious to surprised.

“What is it?” he asked, the low baritone sending a little shiver down your spine.

“You saved my life,” you said as you tried to catch your breath.

“Consider it on the house,” he said, and turned to move away again. You stilled his progress with a hand on his arm. He glanced down to it and then back up to your face.

“I still want to give you something,” you insisted.

“You really don’t-”

Geralt’s protest was cut off as you screwed up all your courage and rose to press a kiss against his cheek. His stubble grazed your lips and his skin was warm and you felt very satisfied and proud. For approximately three seconds after which you felt utterly mortified. You knew it wasn’t alright to kiss people without asking first. What if he took it as a slight? He stared at you with a strange look in those strange, lovely eyes and you felt your breathing grow shallow as panic overtook.

“Gods I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that, that wasn’t right, I should have asked, you probably… I mean… Oh damn,” you muttered the words quickly and began to anxiously twist your skirt in your hands but his eyes just scanned your face as though he were trying to figure out what he was looking at. Whatever it was he decided it wasn’t a threat as his gaze softened which only flustered you worse.

“It’s just I know better, I swear I do, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable I-”

Geralt pressed one finger gently against your lips and your words ceased immediately, eyes locking on his. He removed his finger slowly and pulled one of your hands away from the skirt, pressing it in his and squeezing gently. His hand was warm and calloused and strong and you swallowed hard, fighting had thoughts of all he could do with it.

“That was the best payment I have received in some time,” he said, the low voice soft and gentle. You blushed and your eyes dropped to your joined hands.

“Was it enough?” you asked, attempting a flirtation.

“That is a difficult question,” Geralt replied, “It was more than I could have hoped, but your life is worth much more I am certain. But I’m not in the business of haggling.”

He noted the little tinge of disappointment in your eyes. You’d been hoping for a good haggling.

“May I at least make you dinner?” you offered, reluctant to let his hand go and watch him walk out of your life.

“Your husband may not appreciate it,” Geralt said, though he had already felt for a ring on your hand.

“He might,” you said with a nod, “If I had one.”

“Your parents won’t find it… unsettling?” he asked. You didn’t know what he was but you knew this line of questioning and you smiled, finding your courage again.

“It’s just me,” you answered, “Unless, for tonight, it wasn’t.”

It was a beautiful spring day and you walked back towards your home with the man who introduced himself as Geralt and you had the strange feeling that your life would never be boring again.