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nav-arre · 4 years ago

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Hang the Stars, and Name Them Too

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It was cold. It wasn’t winter, or he wouldn’t be here, but it put an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach regardless. Three months until he left for Kaer Morhen, and yet there he was, bundled up in his bedroll, an extra blanket stuffed inside, letting the warmth of the campfire linger on his face for at least an hour longer than he would have normally. Geralt lay there silently.

Jaskier, however, did not.

The topic of conversation had moved from Roach, who earlier had snatched Jaskier’s last apple and eaten it in record time, to apples, to orchards, to the unseasonable weather, to …wind, maybe? To the moon, to stars, to the sky, and now to Jaskier’s Oxenfurt days.

“Really, though, I don’t think I should have earned half as good a mark as I did. I’m not knocking my abilities! Well, I am though, but only in Astronomy. I only did so well because Adrien let Essi and I borrow his astrolabe last minute. Pretty little thing, I think it was his grandfather’s; don’t you just love seeing little trinkets like that passed down through the generations?”

“Hmm.”

It was one of the nice things about traveling with Jaskier. It had taken Geralt a long time, years longer than it should have, maybe, to figure out what Jaskier wanted from him. The answer was nothing. Perhaps ‘nothing’ was a bit too simplistic, but Jaskier had really meant it when he’d said he just wanted to see the world, write some songs, travel the Path. He wasn’t after a conversation partner, or even someone to listen, necessarily. Frankly, Jaskier hadn’t even been looking for someone to be kind to him, which put a discomfort in Geralt that he didn’t bother addressing. So Jaskier would talk, and Geralt would allow it to wash over him, and if it happened to keep his mood up even when things got difficult on the Path, well, that was fine.

A wind picked up, strong enough that Geralt felt a chill run down his body, as wrapped up as it was. The fire flickered for a moment, bending against the wind and slowly climbing back as the air around them settled. He tossed a glance at Jaskier. After years of traveling with Geralt, the bard’s bedroll was a least sufficiently packed; warm, largely weatherproof, and, when they had time to stop by a market, scented. But even still, he could see Jaskier shudder against the cold with a small wince.

It wasn’t that Geralt didn’t think of Jaskier as human, it’s just that he preferred not to follow the line of thought. Early on, he’d pointedly remind himself every time they crossed paths; Jaskier was human, Jaskier was no different than any other human, Jaskier would either turn on him, or grow tired of him, or, at the very least, one day grow old, or get injured, and die. And Geralt would have to move on, without him. Years later, it had become more and more difficult, especially as they spent longer stretches together.

The thoughts of Jaskier turning on him had faded fairly quickly— if nothing else, Jaskier was loyal to a fault. It had taken years for him and Yennefer to get close, and longer still to not worry when she and Geralt fell back into bed together, time and time again. Geralt was grateful the two had moved on, even if they were an absolutely devious pair.

The thought that the bard would grow tired of traveling with him faded as well; much as Jaskier complained, Geralt had learned he needed to be a bit dramatic to let off energy, to not keep the frustration inside him. It was always surface level.

By the time the final options were all that was left, Geralt had just… stopped thinking about them so much. He didn’t like to think of Jaskier as a fragile thing. He didn’t feel fragile. He felt whole, and solid, and there in a way very few people had felt before. Most everyone felt like wisps of smoke, here and gone before Geralt had really registered them; his bard was not.

“…and, in any case, I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about anyway, but I wish I did know, just so I could write something scathing to have published in a journal. Maybe that’s what I’ll spend the winter doing, hmm? Learning about the stars just to tell Valdo fucking Marx his song is off. Is that awfully petty? I know it’s petty, but is it overboard? Before you answer, I want you to know I respect your opinion, but I may not care about what you say; this is almost certainly happening. But I do want the approval.”

Geralt snorted a laugh, and Jaskier gave a small giggle in response. All was quiet for a moment, and Geralt turned his gaze skyward. The clouds passed over the moon quickly, and a few bats flew to some nearby trees, wings flapping excitedly. A cricket chirped somewhere south of them, Roach was nibbling on some grass, and Jaskier’s heartbeat was pleasingly calm and steady. He still itched to pack up and start heading North, but the constancy of his bard kept him anchored. More clouds moved aside and then the sky was open above them, hundreds of stars glinting down.

“Wow,” Jaskier said, and that was enough. The night sky was irreplaceable, and even Jaskier knew when to let things speak for themselves.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed again in response. They lay there in silence again. Geralt wasn’t really good at showing affection, and his gestures of appreciation were more often practical than frivolous. But the stars had given him an idea, and though Jaskier had never asked for kindness, Geralt liked giving it when he could. Time had softened him, a bit. “Come here.”

Jaskier looked over at him, bemused, but Geralt simply gave a ‘come here’ motion with his head.

“Alright, alright. Give me a second, and if it’s bumpy over there I’m moving right back, do you hear me?” and Jaskier shuffled over, head inches away from Geralt’s own.

Bracing for a moment before the chill, Geralt maneuvered his top half just out of his bedroll to point up at the sky. “Polaris, Sirin, Caph, Alpheratz, Hadar, Octantis, Elviran— you know where those are?”

“Oo!! Okay, a lesson on the stars, yes, let me see, ah—” and slowly, Jaskier pointed them all out one by one. “Got that, I think. Directional stars I remember, only way to figure out my way half the time.”

“Mmm. Do you know their constellations?”

Jaskier blinked. “I absolutely do not. I mean. Vaguely, maybe? They’re somewhere in my brain, probably.”

Geralt smiled and pointed up. “So, Caph—” Which was directly above them, “Is part of the Dragon constellation. It’s the eye, see it?” Geralt traced a rudimentary image of a dragon with his pointer figure, and Jaskier’s eyes followed dutifully.

“Alright so,” Jaskier said, wiggling a bit out of his own bedroll and a bit closer to Geralt’s, for warmth. He pointed up. “So that’s the eye, and then this— this is the neck?”

“The nose,” Geralt corrected.

“Neck, nose, all the same really—”

“The same? I feel sorry for your bed partners.”

Jaskier swatted his hand. “Oh, hush. Now— now so that’s the— oh, oh! Oh, this is the foot here, isn’t it? And that’s the wing and that’s the— Oh, Melitele I actually see it now,” he said softly.

“Mmm. Want the story?”

“The— the st— yes of course I want the story, Geralt, who do you think I am?! You’ve been holding back on stories from me, I knew it.”

“If you’d paid attention in your Astronomy class, you might already know it.”

“Yes, but then you wouldn’t be the one to tell it to me, and that’s far more fun.” He snuggled back into his bedroll. “Alright, Alright, Tell me.”

So, he did. Eskel had always been better at telling stories, and Lambert had always made them more exciting, but Geralt remembered the details well enough and made sure not to skip the parts he knew the bard would most enjoy. But nobody told the stories like Vesemir, who had read every version, studied every line, translated a few copies himself. He knew every detail, made sure to preserve them all in his library, but most enjoyed telling the version he’d been taught as a boy, before even his own trials. Those were the versions he'd tell his wolves gathered around a fire in the dead of winter, sipping on something warm, all kept close to him.

The story came to him more naturally than he had expected. Geralt figured it was easier to tell stories that weren’t your own— no need to hide the pain or the details that stung your eyes. No obligation to the truth, if you didn’t know it. Really, it didn’t matter if the stories attached to constellations had any truth to them, the only truth that mattered was that they had been passed down for generations. So, myths, legends— Geralt could enjoy those, to an extent. Telling his own stories— there was nothing to tell, was there?

When he’d taught the constellations to a much younger Ciri, she had always wanted to add in her own details, change the stories and make them her own. Maybe that was its own sort of tradition.

“…so, they shuffled around the stars, and made the constellation,” Geralt finished and then pointed to a small cluster of stars just below it. “There’s the apple.”

“You hear that Roach? An apple you can’t reach,” Jaskier said, muffled by his bedroll. “That was really good, Geralt.”

“Mm. My brother tells it better. And Vesemir tells it best.”

“It’s like—” Jaskier yawned. “It’s like the astrolabe a little then, isn’t it? It’s the thing you pass down. I know Witchers aren’t especially materialistic, but this, you have. It’s,” he paused, looking anywhere but at Geralt, “It’s nice. You can’t lose a story.”

“Mmm.”

“I think that’s really why I like writing songs so much,” Jaskier said quietly. “Nobody can really take that from you, can they? It gets remembered. Even if it’s changed, it keeps getting passed along. Not everybody even has to like the story, it’s just got to be someone. Anyone can tell you you’re going to be forgotten, but that way you really can’t be.” Jaskier shifted. So did his mood.

“Now, I don’t— I, I mean, a songwriter, a writer of any kind, a storyteller, really, that’s all you need, they’re going to be remembered more than many kings and queens and earls and duchesses and so on and so forth. You don’t have to be some powerful person to be remembered! You don’t! You tell a story, and really, it sticks there. In fact! The people who hear it don’t even have to know they like it or say they like it!” Geralt smelled Jaskier’s anxiety rising, tart, and sour, and his heart had begun to race.

“Jaskier.”

“I mean, really,” he continued, allowing no pause for Geralt, “Nobody will care about some obscure law or edict or whatever. This, this is the way you can be rememebered. You tell stories and you write things that make the world maybe a fraction of a kinder place to be, and that, that, you won't get forgotten like that. There’s always someone who will hear it, and remember, and tell someone else, and if it’s good enough, you know, really good enough, people care about getting it right, about remembering what you said, and how you said it. Right? Even—” he sped up a bit, the same nervous energy he got when he knew Geralt would reject his idea to stay at an inn, or when he asked to divert their travels to stop for a Bardic competition.

“I mean, even Yennefer once told me that at Aretuza the students stay up all night sometimes, telling versions of the same myth they heard growing up, trying to compare versions from all over the Continent and figure out how much could be true. What the original story was. Tracing them all back. Finding themselves, finding other mages, discovering feelings or experiences they thought they were alone in having. But the storyteller knew, or the characters knew, or someone, somewhere in the past, they knew. And you feel less alone and so you hold onto it. And then you remember the person who told it to you and then in some way you remember the person who told it to them, and back and back and back to the very first person who told it. I don’t know, it’s nice, right? Keeping someone else close like that, even if you never met,” he finishes, almost breathless. He waits a beat. “Even when you’re gone.”

There was a silence. Geralt’s hand had yet to retreat back to his bedroll, and Jaskier’s breath had begun to be visible right above his lips. Geralt closed his eyes. He knew Jaskier, knew he was waiting for Geralt to shut him down, even playfully. But he didn’t have the heart.

“Mm. You’re right, for once,” He said, voice gruff with tiredness. If Geralt had been expecting a playful retort from Jaskier, it never came. They lay there, side by side, and watched a lone cloud roll by.

The sounds of the evening fell around them. Roach let out a small huff, and Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed a bit. Geralt’s itch to move was still there, his thoughts still gravitating back to the halls of Kaer Morhen, but Jaskier’s warmth kept him steady.

“We should put out the fire,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt just looked at him for a moment— his gaze was still skyward, his eyes a little lost. It didn’t happen often, but it reminded Geralt of just how little he knew about his bard, sometimes. He knew everything and nothing. Jaskier didn’t talk about his past much, save Oxenfurt, and Geralt was fine to leave it that way. And then occasionally Jaskier would look lost, like now, and he’d wonder.

“Mm.” Geralt agreed. The fire, he noticed, was dimming on its own. “…One more?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier asked after a moment, confused.

“One more constellation?” Geralt asked. “There are plenty.”

Jaskier blinked at him, once, twice. “You’re talkative tonight.” He’d been more talkative for ages now. One of Yenn’s more positive influences. Ciri’s, too. Ironically, Jaskier’s chattiness usually enabled his desire to keep silent. But there was something else in that moment that he wasn’t willing to name, easing his way.

Geralt shrugged. “Some nights it's easier.” He looked at Jaskier. “Some nights are harder. Just happens.”

“…Yeah. Ah, yes, yes please, another tale would be lovely. Bedtime stories with Geralt! Perfect way to end the night.”

“Elviran?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier was quick to pull his hand out again and point it out. “Good. That’s Lara & Cregan— it’s where their hands join.” He pointed to the left, “That’s Lara,” and to the right, “That’s Cregan."

“Ah! Yes, this one I actually know, I wrote a song all about them at Oxenfurt. It wasn’t terribly good— I should rewrite that one, actually, now that you’ve mentioned it. An elf and a mage, the bridge between cultures, all dashed to pieces… it’s a good story! I mean, tragic, I almost hope it’s not true at all, but a good story is a good story.” Many years ago, Geralt would have been fooled by Jaskier’s deceptively cheery tone, but he knew his bard well enough now.

“Mm. Sirin?” He asked.

Jaskier pointed the star out once again and said, “That’s the wolf one, though I’m afraid I don’t know more than that.”

“That’s the chest— the head is here—”

“Do you mean— wait, I can’t see. Is it the—”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and guided it along the unseen lines of the constellation. Both their hands were so cold it didn’t even register as such, and Jaskier’s head twisted to see the stars from another angle, hitting the side of Geralt’s neck. “Oh— oh! Oh, I see, so—” and then Jaskier’s hand, still gripped in Geralt’s own, had begun leading them both excitedly. “So, head, this is the head, yes? And then Sirin is the chest, and the legs go here, and then the tail is this way? Okay yes, yes, yes, absolutely, I am on board with the star dog, I see him now. Is this a special one for Witchers? Wolf Witchers like yourself, at least?”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed, and went to nod, but knocked his chin into Jaskier’s head a bit. He let it rest a moment in the soft hair, the breath from his nose hitting back at him, warming his face.

“He always caught what he hunted,” Geralt began, and let Jaskier’s hand warm his own. Or, maybe he was the one who warmed Jaskier’s hand, it was hard to tell. The two were truly huddled now, Jaskier’s head rested comfortably in the crook between Geralt’s chin and shoulder, and their bedrolls nearly overlapped. He used their joined hands to point out more of the constellations, more stars, and eventually, Jaskier made the simple but somehow stunning gesture of interlacing their fingers together. It was practical, it was easier to guide Jaskier’s hand around that way, but then, Geralt hadn’t needed to do that, had he. Just wanted to, he supposed. He continued the myth as Jaskier’s heartbeat slowed, and their hands got somewhere close to truly warm. It was just returning the favor, he reasoned; every day they had traveled together, Jaskier talked and allowed his words to hang in the air, not expecting a response or even acknowledgment; now it was his turn. After all, Geralt more than most understood the value in someone trusted filling the silence.

By the time he was finished, Jaskier’s arm had turned a bit heavy and they were both nearly asleep. Geralt let their hands come down to rest between them, though still outside the bedrolls, which was just too cold to maintain. But neither moved.

“You really are good at that,” Jaskier said eventually.

“Not like Vesemir. Or you.”

“Yes, well I’ve had lots of practice. You’re good at it, really.”

“Hmm.”

“Thank you, by the way. I’m sorry I— it just happens, you know—”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“Thank you, still,” Jaskier said, and a moment later he had untangled their hands, and it slipped away as though it had never been there at all. The itch the cold brought, to pack up and move on, head North, returned. He tried not to think about it. The cold settled around them, and Geralt put out the fire with a wave of his hand while Jaskier, head still nestled under the witcher’s chin, let out a soft breath. Geralt adjusted his arm back into his bedroll, and relished the warmth the fur inside brought; it was never the same as the contact with skin, but at least this was familiar, and didn’t promise to leave him one day.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, as though they weren’t pressed up against each other. He felt the breath on his neck and tried not to think about the ghost of a touch. “Would you mind if I— You’re warm and— ah, fuck it,” he mumbled, and suddenly Geralt felt Jaskier shift his body to lie on his side. A warm, calloused hand slip between Geralt's bedroll and landed on his chest, sitting just below his medallion. “I’ll move if you mind, but your bedding has fur, and—”

He didn’t think about it, really. He just reached up and grabbed Jaskier’s hand with his own, kept it safe and warm between his own hand and his chest. For a moment, it was as if the night held its breath. Geralt thought about how rarely Jaskier’s fingers stood still, and waited for something to break.

Jaskier exhaled softly, and Geralt could feel his smile against his shoulder. “This is nice,” he said, not a whisper but still almost lost on the light breeze that blew past.

“It’s cold,” Geralt said, because it was all he could think to say. It was Jaskier’s turn to hmm a response, and soon Jaskier’s breathing had evened out, and sleep finally claimed him. Geralt followed soon after, the itch to move finally settled, a warmth blooming within him.

In the morning, they’d slid apart from each other as they always did after nights they’d huddled close. It wasn’t that unusual; sometimes it grew cold, even in nicer inns. Sometimes it was something else unspoken, the need to hold, or be held, and it had always just been allowed to exist between them, a quiet reality. This had been something else, and he’d feared the worst when he woke. But whatever existed in that nebulous space, whatever had been built the night before didn’t feel quite broken to Geralt, at least not yet. He had been braced for impact, even if it were small, and yet… the day felt… delicate, not fragile. Jaskier’s mood was lifted considerably from the night before, and was happy to go on about how all the talk of myths and constellations had him dreaming up a new song. And eventually, a new idea entirely.

“Alright! New goal,” the bard said as they walked the Path, the sun high in the sky, chill of the evening prior replaced by a pleasant breeze. Roach walked between them, soaking up the sun and setting some safe distance between the two travelers. Jaskier let his fingers dance over the strings of his lute as he spoke. “I’m getting you a constellation. It’s happening! Do they still make those, actually? When was the last time we got a new constellation? I think it’s far past time for a new one, don’t you think?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “That’s not how it works.”

“You know, people have been saying that to me my whole life, and I’ve never listened. And now look where I am!” he strummed a few notes. “Valdo Marx wants to write a song about stars, he can do what he likes. But I’m getting you a constellation. Another crown jewel in my legacy.”

“If it’s your legacy, why would I be the constellation?”

Jaskier waved him off. “Oh, you’re far more memorable. More adventures, more stories. Really, now that I’m thinking about it, if I really work at it I think I could write enough that they’d make a constellation for Yennefer, too. Maybe Ciri as well, but I think another bard might have to come and finish what I started with her. She’s so young! Do you ever think about that Geralt? I know she’s grown, but Melitele, she’s still so young.”

If a pit had formed in his stomach, he didn’t mention it. “I’m not sure you’d be able.”

“You doubt my skills, after all these years? Geralt please, my stubbornness is outdone only by your own. I’m a master bard. Crafting myth is my bread and butter.” Roach huffed, and Jaskier squinted. “I’m going to choose to believe that was an agreement, but you’re still on thin ice, miss. I haven’t forgotten your apple-related crimes.”

“You could manage all three,” Geralt allowed, hiding a smirk. “But you wouldn’t have time to sleep with anyone. So I don’t think you will.”

“Rude!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Rude, terrible, you’re so cruel to me. I write you songs, I make you famous, surely I’m allowed a dalliance or two!”

“Or ten.”

“How could you ever imply— I’ll have you know my reputation is impeccable, in many social circles—”

“Twenty. More in the winter.”

“This is— this is friendship treason. And here I was, thinking we had grown closer last night! Listen, I may not be alive to see it, but when you inevitably get that damn constellation, you better remember it was me that put you up there.”

It was all fun, really it was. But it was like Jaskier had shone a light on the delicate thing, and Geralt didn’t really know what to do with it. He tried to remember the truths about Jaskier he used to recite to himself. He’d grow old, he’d die. He’d be remembered, but Geralt would have one fewer constant in his life. And still, he’d spend his life hanging stars in Geralt’s honor.

“…with the way things are now,” Jaskier said as Geralt tuned back in. “See I couldn’t do it this winter, I don’t think, I’m fairly set on the course, and much as I love scrapping everything and starting again, I really am trying to get in the new headmaster’s good graces. Her name is Beatrice— have I mentioned her? — A goddess, truly, but she comes from the history department so she’s far more structured than we are. Actually, history, mythology, sort of the same almost, don’t you think? I’d have a good shot at convincing her to let me teach it next year. Wait! Let’s think of names. A good course must have a good name, it’s where half my colleagues go wrong. Okay, I go first, You’re second. Roach can go third if she likes. How about— how about, ‘Hanging the Stars: Crafting Your Own Mythology’. Is that something?”

“I’ll remember,” Geralt said.

“Hmm? I’ll Remember— actually you know what, that’s not half bad for part of the title at least—”

Geralt’s grip on Roach’s reigns tightened. Jaskier made many things easier, but this was not one of them.

“No. I mean. I’ll remember. What you were saying earlier.”

There was a pause as Jaskier muttered softly to himself, tracing the conversation thread. Geralt took the relative quiet to appreciate the rolling hills around them, and fought the urge to run for them. Jaskier made a small sound of realization. “Oh. Oh. Oh, Geralt, no, I know you would. You know I know you would, don’t you? I don’t worry about you remembering me, so much. I used to, early days, you know. But not now. No, I know you.”

“Mm.”

“Everyone else, well, we’ll see. Or, you will. I won’t. Ha. I mean, unless I haunted people, but I don’t think you’d appreciate if I turned into a ghost, would you? I’m certain you’d be cross with me. I’m not even sure I’d enjoy it, really. I like touching things too much.”

He meant to let Jaskier’s words was over him again, but he couldn’t. Jaskier wanted nothing from him; he didn’t even feel compelled to ask for kindness. It was stinging in Geralt now, hitting the same place the itch to return to Kaer Morhen had the night before. Instinctual, almost familiar. He thought of Yenn’s fear of being alone for too long, of Ciri’s hands gripped tight when something startled her, thought of his own need to soothe those worries, and the knowledge that had come with age that he couldn’t. Could only ease their way.

“You’d end up there too,” he said. “A constellation.”

Jaskier paused, and the sound of their footsteps against the soft dirt road sounded so much louder than they had even a moment before. “Well. Maybe. That’d be nice, I think,” Jaskier agreed.

And suddenly it hit him like a torrent. Like he had broken a dam he didn’t know was there, and all he could see and feel was that delicate thing that sat between them. “I’d want you up there. You deserve to be up there just as much.”

“Geralt—”

“I mean it.”

“Is there…” Jaskier frowned and kicked a stone from in front of him. “Is there something wrong? Can you smell me dying, or something? You’re not usually like this.”

“You’re not dying,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! Really, Geralt, trust me, I do, I’m loving this, I’m just... I want to make sure you’re not saying it so that you don’t say something else, I suppose.”

Well, there it was again. “And if I am?”

“I’d prefer you just say it,” Jaskier said, though it sounded like a guilty admission. “But— I know you’re not one for words. Which is fine! It’s why I’m relishing this right now. But sometimes… well, I don’t think it’s surprising that a bard enjoys hearing words, really.”

It was true, Geralt knew he’d lap up any gesture, any token, but Jaskier lived on words. It had never been that words had been hard for the witcher, but words related to... emotion, to feeling, to himself, those never quite came. These, though, these were words he could give Jaskier. Ones he deserved to hear. Geralt sighed. “If I have to end up some… some constellation, some amorphous... thing, I’m dragging you with me.”

The silence was comfortable, at least. Jaskier played a short, wordless tune. Then; “You really would, wouldn’t you.”

“I really would,” Geralt replied. It wasn’t serious, he didn’t think a constellation could possibly have consciousness. But it felt serious, somehow. And he’d long since given up believing anything was impossible.

“Well! Well, to the stars we go, then. I’ll look forward to that.”

“Mm,” Geralt said, and gods, did he desperately want to leave it at that because saying anything else truly scared him, he was willing to admit that. But time had softened him, and if his child surprise had taught him anything, it was that sometimes the scary thing was the thing you needed to reach for most. “I will too.”

“Eternity with you doesn’t sound half bad,” Jaskier said, and if he blushed, Geralt didn’t look over to see. “You know, it sounds like a joke. ‘A Witcher, a Mage, a Child Surprise, and a Bard walk into the stars and become constellations.’ I don’t know what the punchline is, though.”

“‘And the sky was never silent again’?”

Jaskier barked a laugh. “Good! Get them all talking. Good, yeah, I could spend eternity with you, I think.”

Geralt swallowed. He would have to talk to Yenn about this. “I could too.” She would probably agree.

“Mm, and Yennefer? Don’t think she’d get sick of me?” Jaskier’s hands brush against the strings of his lute, and a few high notes ring out.

“You’re too fun to tease.”

Jaskier brightened with everything Geralt said. Surely at some point, he’d grow too brilliant to look at.

“And Ciri? Think she’d grow weary of me?”

“No more than she would of me and Yenn. Better make her a comet instead,” Geralt reasoned. “Don’t think she’d like staying put very long.”

“Mmm, you know that girl well. Oh! Roach. Dear girl, I haven’t forgotten you. I figure she’ll be in your constellation though.”

“Roach is her own horse.”

“Actually— yep, no, you’re right. She gets her own. We’ll keep her close to the Dragon constellation, so she can finally get some elusive starry apples. You’d like that, wouldn’t you girl?” Jaskier asked as he gave her a pat on the neck. She tossed her mane in response, before she gave Jaskier's shoulder a gentle nudge with her nose.

“You know, if we were up there together, you’d have to hear me ramble on and on and on. No breaks in the winter, or slipping out of the inn before I wake up and running off somewhere. I’d be up there watching the turn of the world with you forever. I’m certain you’ll both lose your starry minds over me eventually.”

For the first time that day, Geralt looked over at Jaskier for longer than a glance and waited until Jaskier had finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t. We wouldn’t.”

Jaskier flushed in the cheeks, and for once, Geralt didn’t want to wave it off as the sun, or Jaskier being a bit out of breath. Geralt had done that, had caused that blush. The delicate thing grew more solid, then, took root somewhere in him, and he let it. Jaskier swallowed, and Geralt watched the bob of his throat, and missed when they’d been so close he could feel that small movement against his own skin. (Yenn would have a field day with this.)

When Jaskier speaks next, his voice has that honest, soft quality Geralt had always liked, the kind Jaskier only had when he was saying something he’d kept close to his chest. Like he was offering something to you, hand out, knowing you could grab it, twist it, ruin it, and trusting you not to. And yet, still, bracing for impact.

When Jaskier speaks next, it sounds like every song he’d ever sung and a million more he hadn’t even written yet.

“Then I’m with you,” he said, “Til the stars run out.”

“And every day after that,” Geralt replied, and he let the words wash over him, and into him, and he kept them there, like a star to guide him and ease his way.

#The Witcher #Geralt #witcher fanfiction #Wiedźmin #Geraskier #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #From the Inkwell #Short Fic

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hamiltalian-creates · 5 years ago

Note

Oo!! I wish you would write a fic where... (ask thingy) Logan is totally oblivious to Remus’s attempts to score a boyfriend. He thinks that remus is just being impulsive and saying random sexual stuff at him when really Remus is trying to gain the other’s attention! Also hi!!

Hi, CJ! Thanks for the idea, I’m glad we’re on the same Intrulogical brainwave lol

Words: 3,424

Warnings: Remus being Remus

Remus was weird. All of the sides and Thomas himself knew it and acknowledged it and Remus wore the word like a bad Christmas sweater, but, lately, he’d been acting weirder than Logan would’ve expected from him. For the latest example, Logan was just trying to go about his day and get some reading done in the living room when Remus sat beside him and pulled him into his lap and began speaking.

“So, Logan, how does this sound: You and me, my side of the imagination, 8 o’clock tonight, anything you want.”

Logan hummed in thought as he skimmed the page for where he’d lost the his place once Remus had jostled him. “I’m not in the mood for a hookup, but thank you for the offer.”

Remus pouted, but he wasn’t one to give up that quickly. “Alright, no sex. How about now?”

“I’m busy at the moment. I’d rather finish this book uninterrupted.”

Remus huffed and moved to get up, stopping as Logan grabbed his shoulder.

“At least move me more carefully, I am reading.”

Were it any other side, Remus would’ve just stood up and let him fall to the floor with a satisfying thump and maybe even a nice snap or crack, but this was Logan. Remus wanted to date him and Logan had to like him for that to happen. So, he carefully lifted Logan out of his lap and stood up before placing him back onto the couch, patting his head as he set him down.

Logan nodded. “Thank you.”

But that wasn’t the last of Remus’s exceptionally weird moments with Logan.

Just the next morning, as Logan was making himself a healthy, balanced breakfast of biscuits and jam, hold the biscuits, Remus strolled in and smacked Logan’s behind, an action that Logan was pretty used to by then.

“How about some hang time in the library after breakfast?” Remus asked. “You might have to wait a while for me though, I’m getting hungry from staring at an absolute snack.”

Logan looked down at his jar of jam and then back up at Remus before handing it to him. “It is quite a delicious treat. And I’ll have to pass on the library, ‘hanging’ doesn’t sound very fun.”

Okay, that one was Remus’s fault, bad choice of words. “I mean, like, hanging out,” he clarified, dipping two fingers into the jar of jam and scooping some out before eating it.

“Hanging anywhere sounds uncomfortable. Keep the jar, I have plenty more.” Logan went over to a locked cabinet and pulled the key out from his pocket, unlocking and opening the door to reveal that the entire cabinet had been filled with jars of various Crofters jams.

“That’s quite the collection there.”

Logan shrugged and selected a jar before closing and locking the cabinet again. “I keep the bare minimum, I don’t want to take up too much kitchen space.”

Remus nodded as he watched Logan leave. That nerd really was obsessed with Crofters jams... Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Remus began grinning as he had a brilliant idea.

Logan went a surprisingly short time before having another run in with Remus and his stranger than usual activities, though this one almost made him laugh. Of course, laughing would’ve been a sign that Logan actually felt that Remus’s stunt was funny and, as someone who didn’t feel, that couldn’t happen.

As Logan came out for his afternoon jar of Crofters, Remus was waiting in the kitchen, facing the counters until he heard Logan walk in.

“Hello, Nerdilocks,” Remus greeted as he turned around, showing Logan the newest addition to his usual outfit.

Logan wouldn’t have looked down at his crotch to see it were it not for the fact that it was hard to ignore the large, white writing on his black pants that read “Open here for Crofters” and the large white arrow pointing right at his, thankfully hidden, penis. He took a deep breath as he read it, trying not to let himself show even a hint of the entertainment he felt seeing that.

Remus grinned proudly as he noticed Logan’s lips twitch just the tiniest amount and looked down at his outfit’s new addition before looking back up at Logan. “What do you think?”

“I think that somebody else might find that hilarious and I appreciate your attempt at making me laugh.”

Remus bounced on his toes and inwardly cheered. “Are you taking the offer? I know you’re here for your afternoon Crofters.”

Logan shook his head and went over to his hoarding cabinet. “I’m here for a jar of the brand of jam called Crofters, I’m not currently interested in your penis, which, I assume, you have nicknamed ‘Crofters’.”

“Okay, but what if I told you that my dick is literally covered in Crofters jam right now and you have the opportunity to taste it and guess the flavor yourself?”

Logan stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was serious before realizing that he absolutely was. “Then I’d say that I really admire your persistence and your dedication to this series of practical jokes you’re playing on me. And... I honestly wonder what that feels like.” Logan had absolutely no intention of doing such a thing, but to say he wasn’t curious would’ve been a lie and he wasn’t Janus.

Remus swooned, Logan’s sense of curiosity being the main thing that drove his attraction to the nerd. “It’s sticky and gross, just like we could be if you say yes.”

“As much as I love Crofters, I wouldn’t particularly enjoyed being covered in it. But I appreciate the offer, I suppose that would sound like an appealing activity to you, so I’ll take that as a good thing.” He grabbed two jars from his cabinet, giving one to Remus before grabbing a spoon and leaving with his own jar.

Remus waited until he left before groaning in frustration and going to take a shower. As much as he loved the warm, wet, sticky feeling that he was getting from the jelly that was covering his dick, it reminded him all too much of how he felt on the nights when he’d wake up after dreaming about Logan.

While he was in the shower, he decided to take advantage of the thought and daydream about those situations with Logan, hoping the post nut clarity would help lead him in the right path here.

And it did!

Remus snapped his eyes open and made quick work of scrubbing himself clean before throwing on a quick outfit and dashing over to Janus’s room. He was a nerd, just like Logan, and he was smart! He’d know what to do!

Remus stormed through his door and jumped onto the bed, where he had been reading peacefully. “Janus! I need your advice!”

“And I need a day to go by where I can actually relax,” Janus grumbled as he marked his place in his book and put it down. He was annoyed by Remus’s interruption, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to help him.

“I need help asking Logan out.”

Ah, yes, Remus’s very obvious crush on Logan. For such a smart guy, Logan was so stupid when it came to realizing that Remus had a huge crush on him. Then again, most people didn’t express their affection by saying that they’d want to rip your head off and place it on their nightstand. Janus supposed that it was just years of living with Remus that made it feel obvious that that was Remus’s way of saying that he wanted to wake up to Logan’s face everyday. “Maybe try speaking a bit more his language.”

“I already tried slathering my dick in Crofters and he didn’t even want to taste and guess the flavor!”

Janus wished he wasn’t surprised by that, but Logan did have a pretty unhealthy obsession with the stuff. “That’s not what I meant. I meant try being straightforward. Tell him in very plain words that you want to go on a date with him or fuck him or whatever it is that you do.”

Remus paused for a second and sat up, a dumbstruck look on his face. After a few more seconds, he smacked his forehead, looking absolutely enlightened. “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

Janus shrugged. “You and Logan have a lot in common and one of those things is that you’re both incredibly smart and, at the same time, incredibly stupid.”

Remus nodded for a second before looking at his friend with a grin. “You think we have things in common?”

“Get out of my room and go get a boyfriend.”

“Thanks, Jay!” Remus hopped up and ran out of the room, going to work on his latest plot: properly asking Logan out.

It took him a few days to come up with a plan and, as he did, Logan grew confused. Remus had been so friendly with him, talking to him everyday and constantly touching him, that seeing Remus just kind of vanish was almost worrying, except he didn’t worry. Remus was a grown man and a figment of the imagination, it wasn’t like he could’ve gotten hurt. The more likely answer was that he’d gotten sick of Logan’s lack of response to his actions and moved on to the next side.

Now, as the logical side, he may have put up a show of not being able to feel, but, unfortunately, Thomas didn’t allow him such a luxury and he was stuck with the burden that was human emotion, figment of the imagination or otherwise. And, currently, his emotions surrounding the idea of Remus going to find another side to mess with just because he wasn’t particularly responsive were anything but positive. There was sadness, a hint of anger, and a fair amount of jealousy that he especially wouldn’t want anybody to know about. After all, Logan already got picked on for the things he liked when they were philosophy, psychology, and astronomy. Who knew how the rest of the sides would react when one of the things he liked was Remus.

Fortunately for them and unfortunately for him, it seemed pretty clear that Remus had no interest in him, at least not in that fashion. Remus was just impulsive and there was a very high probability that he was sexual and touchy with everyone, so it wasn’t like he treated Logan any differently from his rest. And this was Remus he was thinking about here, Remus of all sides, would’ve made it the most obvious if he had a crush on him, even more obvious than Roman, as insanely open and honest as Remus was. Not to mention, Remus probably wouldn’t have stopped talking to Logan if he actually liked him.

So, all that was left to do was for Logan to start on the process of forgetting about his stupid crush. It wouldn’t have worked out, anyways. Remus got bored of him as a friend after a few weeks, there was no doubt in Logan’s mind that he would’ve gotten bored of him as a partner or boyfriend even faster.

Fortunately, with all of the practice he’d had, it wasn’t hard for Logan to hide how hurt he was by Remus’s absence. He went about his day as if nothing had changed whatsoever and attempted to enjoy a peaceful day, something he wasn't particularly used to anymore.

Thankfully, it seemed like he wasn’t going to have to put up with that kind of order for very long.

A few days into getting used to Remus’s absence, Logan was grabbing a jar of Crofters for his afternoon snack, fighting the urge to grab a second for a side who wasn’t even there, when he was interrupted by said side’s voice.

“Logan!” Remus called out as he stepped into the kitchen, hiding his hands behind his back. “I’m glad to see you here, I have to talk to you.”

Logan stood up and looked back at him, his jelly collection briefly forgotten. “Remus. I haven’t really heard from you in a few days...”

Aww, he noticed. Remus beamed and nodded. “Yeah, sorry about that, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to talk to you!”

Here it was. Remus was going to say he didn’t want to hang out with him anymore. “What is it?” Logan asked warily.

Remus stepped forward and shoved a bouquet of a variety of flowers in Logan’s face. “Here! I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I brought you some of everything.”

Logan blinked a few times, surprised, before hesitantly taking the flowers.

“Don’t be so scared, there’s nothing dangerous there. Except for the thorny roses, but nothing too crazy,” he said with a shrug, smiling as Logan started analyzing the flowers.

“Thank you... These are really nice. Um... May I ask what they’re for? It’s not a holiday or my birthday or anything.”

Remus put his hands over Logan’s, glad that he’d arranged the flowers so that the few roses were in the middle, unable to stab Logan’s hands. He was too excited to not grip Logan’s hands as tight as he could. “I had a special question to ask you! Would you like to go out with me?”

“Go out?...” Logan asked slowly, putting the pieces together as he looked between his and Remus’s hands and the flowers enclosed in them and the bright blush on Remus’s face as he beamed. “You mean... Like on a romantic outing? Forgive me if I’m wrong, that’s just the context that is usually meant by the phrase ‘going out,’ at least to my knowledge. Unless you’re asking me to go out with you as in die in a fiery explosion and these are a sample of the flowers that you’ll leave to be left in my grave?” It was an unconventional use of the phrase in comparison, but it was more likely in this scenario, considering that it was Remus he was talking to.

Remus cackled and shook his head. “No, Logan, I would like to go on a romantic outing with you. If you are interested, I would like to partake in a romantic relationship with you and I’ve been trying to ask for a while now. It’s kind of my fault for forgetting how crazy literal, but oh my god, you’re really stupid literal.”

Logan laughed awkwardly and nodded. “Yeah.. That’s kind of your fault, you’re so straightforward that I can’t help but to take everything you say literally... And you’re so straightforward that I almost think you’re serious right now.”

“Uh, I am always very serious,” Remus responded, feigning offense before grinning again. “I am serious, I want to date you! You’re smart and cool and you’re curious enough to not be afraid of everything I say and I don’t like that you’re helping Thomas not be scared of me, but I love that you’re helping him not be scared of me. I really, really want to be your boyfriend and I can’t believe I didn’t think of just outright asking you like this any sooner.”

Logan liked to think he was the most composed side, but right now, he was an absolute disaster of a gay. His brain was figuratively short circuiting and he couldn’t find very many words to say, much less figure out how to put them together in coherent sentences. “You think I’m cool?...”

“Of course I do!” Remus was getting excited again, bouncing on his toes and fighting every urge to grab Logan’s stupid face and kiss him all over. “You’re so cool! You’re not scared of the weird things I say and you’re not afraid to call out the others when they’re in the wrong and I really really like hanging out with you. You’re totally cool and it’s taking every bit of restraint for me not to kiss you silly right now.”

If Logan were a more impulsive and a less composed side, he would’ve gladly invited Remus to do just that. Instead, he freed one of his hands and loosened his tie ever so slightly - he wasn’t sure when it had gotten so hard to breathe, but he was pretty sure being this flustered didn’t help, not that he’d admit it - and cleared his throat, hoping that his own brain would start working with him again. “That sounds like a very lovely proposition.”

Just as Logan had spent a while misinterpreting Remus’s romantic advances, Remus misinterpreted Logan’s acceptance as consent for what he wanted to do and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a kiss. Just like everything else that Remus did, it was passionate and chaotic, a mess of mashing lips and clicking teeth - Remus was saving using his tongue for later.

Logan wasn’t one for displays of romantic affection, especially not ones that were so public, but Remus’s passionate kiss was too hard not to get into and he found himself lost in the kiss before he could control himself, putting his previously freed hand over one of Remus’s and keeping the other wrapped around the bouquet that he was holding.

Unfortunately, just as they had a tendency to do every single time Logan showed even a sliver of vulnerability, one of the sides decided to show up right at that moment.

“Hey, Logan, would you mind if I grabbed a- Aaaahhhh!” Roman screamed as he walked in and saw his brother making out with their nerd.

Logan was too used to ignoring Roman’s every word and too into his current activities to pull away at the sound of the scream, but Remus was pretty sure that, in a more clear state of mind, Logan wouldn’t have wanted Roman to just watch them make out, especially not when it was their first makeout session, so he took every bit of his will power and pulled away from the kiss, turning back to glare at his brother.

“Fantastic timing, dipshit.”

Roman made a series of offended noises and gestured vaguely at the two of them, unsure of where exactly he went wrong in this scenario. “You’re making out with Logan in the middle of the kitchen where anyone can see! It’s not my fault that I happened to walk into our shared kitchen!”

Logan began pulling himself out of his daze, standing up straight and clearing his throat. “Roman, you’re not usually one to just walk into a room without loudly announcing yourself first.”

“You’re not usually one to just make out with anyone in the kitchen, especially not my brother!” Roman leaned against the wall and dramatically gripped his stomach. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick... I have to leave!”

And just as fast as he’d arrived, Roman ran out of the kitchen, leaving the other two sides behind.

Remus sighed and turned to Logan, his usual smile making its way back onto his face. “So, we’re boyfriends now?”

Logan nodded and adjusted his glasses. ”Yes, we’re boyfriends now.” He decided against adding on the fact that their relationship was what he’d been agreeing to before, not the kissing, not wanting to let Remus think for even a second that he didn’t enjoy that amazing kiss. “And perhaps we could do more kissing later, when there aren’t any sides around to bother us?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “Wait, will that include sex? I’ve been asking for a date, but I’ve also been asking for a lot of that.”

Yeah, Logan had noticed that much, he just preferred to be in an established relationship before going to that level. ... Wait, was asking for sex also one of Remus’s ways for asking for a relationship? That didn’t matter now, they were dating and there was no confusion about that. “Maybe after you take me on a few dates, yes.”

Remus cheered to himself and grabbed Logan’s shoulders, leaning in and kissing his forehead before letting him go. “Meet me in my side of the imagination at 8 o’clock tonight, dress according to whatever kind of activity you want to do, you’re choosing our first date.”

Logan simply nodded and watched as Remus left him alone in the kitchen, staring down at his flowers once he was out of sight. He and Remus were dating now... Sure, they could’ve been in a relationship sooner, had Logan been better at understanding the meanings behind his words, but that didn’t matter. They were dating now. And, for once, Logan couldn’t think about anything else.

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ofmythsandmadness · 6 years ago

Text

i wanna dance with somebody...

...who loves me.

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PAIRING: diego hargreeves x reader. WARNINGS: honestly, not much - there’s a few swear words, maybe. WORD COUNT: 1255 PROMPTS: 34. “are you drunk?” “off my love for you? one hundred percent.” 62. “have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She’s spinning.

He told her that it was a bad idea, that it will only make her throw up, but there was no reasoning with her intoxicated mind. And so she spins. She's drifting in stumbled circles, her laughter echoing through the small living room and bouncing off the walls, trapped in the tiny room. It's haunting, and beautiful, and all those stupid things he would never say allowed. She hates her laugh, but he adores it, and at that moment he wants to die only hearing that sound, the little hiccuping giggles and snorts of pure joy.

Her hands are raised above her head and her body twirls and twists and it’s almost beautiful, the drunken ballet she pulls off - even though she looks ridiculous and crazy and he would think it stupid, if it was not her doing it. As it is, he can't take his eyes off her.

He wishes he could be as happy as her. Or maybe just half that. Half that carefree, half of that laughter sending shivers down his spine. How long has it been, since he's laughed that hard?

They both had too much to drink. But where alcohol raises her spirits, it brings him all the way back down. Makes his misery rise to the top and drowns any good thoughts with the reminder of his own self-hatred. He becomes self-reflective and then self-destructive, seizing his insecurities and making them ever so much worse than when he’s sober. It’s a silent tragedy building in his mind, and Diego can only breathe through it, downing more and more of the liquid poison as though it’ll make things better. He’s staring forward, watching her, but as the daze grows his eyes glaze over and he only sees her shimmering, shaky silhouette amongst the blur. And then he’s sucking in a breath, trying to control himself but-

“-come dance!”

He’s broken out of the daze, forced back into reality by her voice. Her sweet, sweet, voice. In the mere seconds of his broken reverie, Diego had missed her ceasing her moves and springing over to him. Her hands extend and they towards his own. A bright smile dances up her lips. An angel, in the form of a snarky, extremely drunk woman who dares to say she loves him.

He shakes his head. "Sorry," he murmurs, downing yet another gulp of poison. He barely feels the sting as it goes down. “I can’t dance.”

“Ha, right. Bulllll-shit.”

“That’s the tru-”

-she’s laughing, cutting him off with a teasing remark of, ‘there’s no way you move like that in your little leather getup and you can’t dance'.

She pauses, waiting for him to just so gently break a smile before asking again. "Come on, baby.” Her hands press against his, pulling slightly. “Dance with me.”

She has a point - though she does not know it. Diego can dance, at least he could long ago. Memories dance in his mind, flashing images of Grace holding him, smiling gently as she guided him across the kitchen floor. His father had scorned it but he always appreciated her teachings, finding it a reliever of his real life. Took him away, at least for a little while.

But he has not danced in far too many years to count, and besides. He has already said no, he can not just give in now. And the insecurities still pull him down, dragging him into the depths, forcing his head under so he can’t breathe, so that all he can do is flounder haplessly.

“Baby…”

He makes the mistake of looking up again and immediately regrets it. She is glowing. Her lips pout as she looks down at him, but they still hint at a joke he has not latched onto yet. Her face is coated with a thin sheen of sweat and her hair’s going in every which direction, but right then, he truly believes she has never looked prettier. How can he say no to such an angel?

Diego chuckles, glancing away if only to save himself. Just then, she was like those sirens, pulling him to his death. Why is he so willing to go? “You’re too drunk.”

“Off my love for you? One hund-a-red percent.” She finds his hands again and pulls, harder that time, determination building on her face. God, he loves her. Too much. “I just want to dance with you, baby.”

“C’mon, Y/N…”

“I wanna dance, with somebody,” she chants, in a half talk, half singing voice that breaks his frown into a shy smile. “I wanna dance with somebody-yy, somebody who loo-ooves me!”

Her singing voice is terrible, but it is infectious and at that point, he could no longer hide his smile. The darkness still builds in his mind, but it is easier to push away, better to swallow back dry and forget about. As she talk-sings, his will wavers more and more, until he finally gives in and stands.

Immediately, she cheers and her hands pull him into the centre of the room. He had not even seen her move the table, but it was suddenly on the other side of the couch, giving them a whole stage to perform on. And she’s loving it; smiling from ear to ear, hands moving up his body until they intertwine around his neck. One pulls back at his insistence, though, and he moves it to hold in his. It’s almost deja vu as they assume position, only he’s no longer a small kid looking up at his mother. He’s almost a head taller than the woman in his arms, and there’s a sloppy closeness that was never there before. And a way that she touches him that heals all his wounds, tugs him away from the cliff he previously stood upon and back towards the light.

His heart’s beating harder, too, though maybe that’s just the alcohol moving to finally end him.

Her hips roll sloppily and they both struggle to stand straight, but neither one cares. What she cares about is him. It's evident in how she holds onto him, raking her eyes over him, blessing him with a stupid smile that still makes him blush like a schoolboy. It makes him want to do anything, feel like he could do anything - wrestle a bear, climb a mountain, swim to the darkest depths just to ensure she would never lose that crazy grin.

As he spins her around, her eyebrows raise. “Ooh, wee…you’ve been holdin’ out on me, baby.”

“Shud’up.”

“No, look at you!” she sings. Her hands dance and trace swirls into the back of his neck; he shivers. “You’re fucking incredible!”

He feels his cheeks run hot. Compliments were never easy, but when they come from her, teasing and light, he knows he’s a lost cause. Diego mumbles something back, but he can hardly process the words.

Y/N smirks even harder. She knows what she’s doing, surely. She has to. She moves in closer, pulling her hand away from his so it can join the other around his neck. Suddenly, his are on her hips and the two of them are spinning slowly like those middle school slow dances he never got to go to. He really can’t breathe, at that point, not with her looking up at him with those big eyes and teasing grin. He really knows nothing about astronomy, but in that moment they are two stars locked in orbit, left to twirl around one another in the midst of inky black space. And she’s glowing hotter and brighter than ever, so much that he can hardly stand there with her- but he has to, because she fuels him. Keeps him smiling, keeps him holding onto that feeling of forever floating off the ground.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” she mumbles, suddenly quieting down. Her smile is no longer a smirk but it’s gentle and sweet, telling him her words are genuine. She stumbles slightly, but is easily adjusted by him. “You’re so, so beautiful, baby. How’d I get this lucky-y?”

“You’re-you're crazy.”

“Hey, no no no-oo,” she hums. “I mean that, Diego. You’re - you’re - you’re fucking amazing-g-g.”

Her breath dances across his skin before her lips find his, pressing sweetly before slipping away. She moves just the slightest bit away, just enough so he can see her big, wide eyes, take in every fleck and speck of colour swirling. He’s floating higher and higher, and she’s coming with him - she’s pulling him up, really, and they might fly into the fucking sun but he could not care less. Just so long as he has her.

“And not to mention, your dance moves, I mean-”

-it’s then that he cannot bear it any longer, and finally Diego tugs her into him and finally kisses her, properly. Diego was never too good with words - not sober, and definitely not drunk off his ass, but he hopes in some way or another she somehow understands how much he loves her through that kiss.

And she just smiles.

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves fluff #diego hargreeves happy #diego hargreeves fic #diego hargreeves imagine #i love this boy so much #tua #the umbrella academy

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violet-knox · 6 years ago

Text

The Gryffindor Common Room

Year 6 - Chapter 34

Summary: First task of the Triwizard Tournament takes place and Severus asks you to accompany him, but you have something else in mind.

Word count: 2430

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

“You sure you don’t want one of us to stay behind?” two of the girls in your dorm were on their way out to watch the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, but you had informed them that you were too ill to join them, so they paused and hovered around your bedside before leaving, checking on you.

“I’ll be alright Jess,” you weaseled, pulling the covers tighter over yourself. “Go have fun. And let me know how it went tomorrow morning.”

You watched as they closed the door behind them, then quickly through your blanket off of you, pressing your ear to the door, listening as they all left and once you heard the portrait of the Fat Lady swing shut, you knew you were finally alone.

Making your way to the bathroom, you took a quick look in the mirror, fixing a few strands of hair as your lips slowly twitched into a sweet smile. You had dug up your favorite muggle outfit from the bottom of your trunk and were now staring at yourself wearing a nicely fitted shirt tucked into a nice flourished skirt that stops right above your knees. Smoothing out a few ruffles on your shirt, you made your way back to your room and sat on the bed as you tied your school shoes over your white ankle socks. Tightening your ponytail as you stood up, you left the dorm and peered around the common room, confirming that every Gryffindor had gone down to view the highly anticipated events down in the fields of the castle.

Severus had felt pressured to attend the event by his housemates and hoped you would accompany him as he had no desire in partaking in his friends’ antics for heckling the other schools Champions. He would have much rather sat in your silent company, even if he was surround by crowds of insolent students. He was already nervous when he asked, thinking you may not want to spend your evening fenced by so many Slytherin’s, but when he watched as you pause, heavily debating on his request before ultimately rejecting it, his heart nearly stopped. You only surprised him further when you had insisted on meeting him at Gryffindor Tower instead. So here he was, awkwardly shifting in his place as he watched what he assumed was the last of the Gryffindor students head to the arena he had initially intended to spend the evening.

As you popped your head outside the tower, scanning around, you found Severus hidden under a nearby tree and waved him over to you. He walked towards you with one of the most nervous expressions you had ever seen. Severus was a very calculated person. He impeccably planned what he would be doing every minute of every day, so you knew it must be killing him not knowing what exactly you had in mind for tonight. The simple fact that he trusted his precious schedule with you had you infatuated if not a bit jittery, hoping you wouldn’t disappoint him. You took his hand and smiled as you rushed back into the tower before anyone could see you.

“Where are we going?” he asked anxiously as you dragged him up the stairs. He looked up at you as you simply shot him a quick smile before turning your head back, picking up your pace.

“The common room of course,” you replied with what seemed like an eager tone in your voice. This answer seemed to only cause Severus to tense up as he felt his anxiety rise to a near breaking level. He struggled to keep up with you, wondering what on earth had gotten into you, hoping you hadn’t planned anything so inconspicuous as sneaking a Slytherin into the Gryffindor common room recklessly.

“(Y/N), we could get caught-”

“Everyone’s gone to see the tournament. Don’t worry Sev, I’ve got us covered,” you threw him a wink before turning your attention back to the portrait in front of you. You bit down on your tongue, trying to keep from smirking as you were sure Severus felt completely unsettled by now. Finally arriving at your destination, you gave the Fat Lady the password and waited for her to let you back in.

“Back already?” she said annoyed how often her portrait had been flung open today. “And who’s this?” Her eyes shifted to Severus and you knew she was assessing him, trying to determine if he should be allowed past her portrait. Severus stared back at her uncomfortably as he tugged on his robes, trying to hide his green and grey tie and you noticed his expression harden defensively.

“Are you going to let us in?” you asked impatiently.

She huffed and muttered under her breath before she let you through and you pulled Severus into the hole in the wall, opening to the common room. He hesitated before following you in, pausing as the bright colors splattered all around the enclosed space hit him all at once.

“It’s… warmer than our common room,” he said cautiously as his eyes scanned the Gryffindor banners. He felt almost sick to be in here, but when he looked back at you, he realized why you had insisted on meeting him here instead of joining the rest of the school. You had the place all to yourself and it was definitely a step up from the astronomy tower, which did not have a fireplace encased by a comfy seating area.

You pulled him towards the couch by the fire and motioned for him to sit as you quickly went back to your dorm, fetching the bag of food you had hidden under your bed. Severus slid his school robs off his shoulders and began rolling up his sleeves as the heat of the fireplace had him feeling a lot warmer than he was used to. You returned just in time to watch him loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. Severus smirked as he saw your ponytail swing with ever step you took, your skirt bouncing along with you. He was never fond of muggle clothing, but he had to admit, he could get used to seeing them on you.

“I snagged it from the kitchen,” you explained as you placed the bag of treats on the table in front of you. You took a seat beside him and suddenly felt your nerves prickling under your skin. You’d been alone with him before of course, but somehow, this felt more special, more intimate in some ways. The Gryffindor common room was the one place you had access to in this castle that he did not, and sharing it with him was something you didn't expect to feel like a big deal, but right now, in this moment, it felt like you were sharing your home with him.

“Is this..” he hesitated as he peered at the food and the euphoric expression on your face. “A date?”

“No,” you quickly explained nervously as you shifted your gaze away from him. “Maybe,” you whispered, looking around the room as you fiddled with your fingers, hoping he hadn’t taken your advances the wrong way.

“Because,” he continued as he shifted closer to you. “I wouldn’t mind if it was.” he swept your hair away from your face as your eyes met. You tried to fight the smile that made its way onto your face, but your shy grin only caused Severus to smirk in return.

“Then, yes. It’s a date,” you whispered before he leaned in, perfectly connecting his lips to yours. He parted the kiss soon after, but as you felt the need for more and pulled his shirt towards you. He tumbling over you as you reconnected your lips, stiffening in shock before your touch had him melting once more.

You felt the warmth of the fireplace as your own body heated up from the passion you had burning deep inside you. Severus placed a hand on your waist, and you felt your urges overtake you as you straddled him. He tensed up at first, surprised by your actions, but soon enough, you felt his lips eagerly moving against yours, his hands slithering to rest on your back.

Slowly pressing yourself against him, your heart began pumping faster, the thrill of being so close to him for the first time sent sparks of heat through your veins. Is this what true passion feels like? Growing up, you watched the older girls at the orphanage dating during your younger years, some switching partners every other week, and you would always ask them what it was like, listening to them intently as they shared their experiences with you. But all those stories, all that detail, never would have prepared you for what you felt now. You had always cared a lot for Severus, that you knew, but this feeling, the one you felt each time he kissed you, was new. It was something you had never felt with anyone before. Could this be actual genuine lo- Nooo... it can’t, you’ve only been dating for a few weeks, it’s too soon to feel that.

Severus moved his hands to rest one on your lower back while the other travelled up, tangling into your hair as he deepened the kiss. You tilted your head as you wove your fingers through his long locks that somehow felt less greasy than the last time you had buried your hands in it. Were you getting used to it? Or perhaps he was putting an effort into his appearance now that you were dating.

You let out a small satisfied sigh as you thought about all the other small changes you’ve seen him make, assuming he had done so all for you that is. You first noticed it in his notes that he lent you. His writing was a lot neater as it appeared he had taken his time in printing them out for you, even leaving you small comments, just for you every now and then. You then took notice of his uniform which was always a lot more well-kept than his muggle clothing, but something had changed, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Was his tie tighter? Did he use a spell to iron his shirt? Is that… a hint of lavender that you smell?

As you parted, panting for air, you leaned back, resting your hands on his chest as you peered into his eyes that seemed ten times softer than before. Moving hair out of his face to examine the features of his face, you realized they seemed gentler to you now and every edge, every curve you laid your eyes on had your heart beating with excitement. Severus cautiously moved his hands to lay on your hips as he returned the gentle smile you gave him.

“So, what made you want to stay here with me rather than join the rest of the school to watch the first task?” he asked as you settled yourself beside him on the couch. You placed a hand over his knee, making soft circles with your thumb as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

You paused a moment as you thought your intentions were quite clear and wondered if Severus had reservation when he agreed to meet you here. You took in a deep breath as you leaned forward, grabbing the bag of snacks from the table in front of you and began to unwrap some lemon bars.

“I just thought it would be nicer to spend more time with you,” you shrugged, “alone.” You took out a lemon bar and handed it to him before nibbling on one yourself. Severus reached over and took the bag from your lap, placing it on the other side of him. He hadn’t gotten the answer he sought as his old worries about having you accompany him with his own friends as company causing you discomfort returned.

“You don’t want to spend some time with your… Gryffindor friends,” he asked. You were surprised to hear such a question as you knew he always hated seeing you around them.

“Sev, they’re not really my friends,” you said hesitantly. “I mean, they’re nice and I enjoy talking to them from time to time, but we aren’t close.” You tilted your head to face him as you fiddled with the treat in your hand. “Not like I am with you.”

Severus smiled, flustered at the thought of you keeping him so close to your heart. He gave you a small content smile as he watched you finish your lemon bar. Looking down at his untouched pastry, he slowly raised it towards you until it was inches away from your mouth, offering you another. You sheepishly smiled at him as you peered into his eyes, taking a small bite before he took one of his own.

You both ate, cuddled up to the warm fireplace as you talked some more, indulging yourselves in conversation as one of you would occasionally nuzzle the other with soft loving touches. As the evening passed, you felt relieved to see Severus silently praise you for choosing to skip the event the rest of the school had attended tonight. An hour later, you were reluctant to tell him your little date had to come to an end as you couldn’t risk the Champions finishing their task early and the rest of the school rushing back to the castle. He agreed and made his way to the door where he thanked you for the lovely evening, giving you one final kiss before hastily making his way out of the tower.

You watched him glide down the stairs until he was out of sight, letting out a long happy sigh as you closed the portrait and cleaned up the remaining food you had laid out. As you were about to head up the steps to your dorm, you noticed a set of robes lying on the couch and realized they were Severus’ from the green lining on the inside. For such a calculated boy, he sure seemed to lose his head sometimes. You felt yourself floating as you made your way back to your dorm, nose stuffed in the robes you had gathered in your arms. Lavender. You changed into your nightgown before slipping back into bed, and as you closed your eyes, you reflected on the night’s events, thankful you got to share such a warm and homey ambience with someone you held oh so dear to your heart.

Next Chapter

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