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plush-rabbit · 1 year

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Nullified Quirk

Request: ASFGSGSHS IDEA!!!

Shigaraki fucking Aizawas daughter/student/someone v close to him, and having Aizawa be forced watch and use his quirk so Shigaraki can touch her fully without her truning into dust

Shameful anon time, too embarrassed =w=' TW: Noncon Word Count: 4K A/N: don't be ashamed here, i started this blog with shameful stuf so please feel free to be gross and never apologize for it here

A copycat quirk isn’t rare, but it isn’t common. Yours is particularly strong with you not only gaining access to quirks- mutants even- but also gaining their appearance. It’s a useful quirk when the situation turns sticky.

No one really expected the underground hero, Eraserhead, to take a new hero under his wing, much less make the so-called new hero his official sidekick, and yet, there you were, standing beside him, ready to be his sidekick.

You preen when he praises you, with each pat on the top of your head, and each and every small introduction further into his life makes you feel special. He treats you as his kid, and you love that, you love knowing that the Eraserhead is more than that to you. He’s your mentor, he’s the one who patches you up after missions, he’s the one that you can call for a ride at two in the morning. He’s Shota for you.

Of course, you aren’t the only one that finds him so much greater than others. You remember the U.S.J. incident, and how the villain there mentioned how cool Eraserhead was- or is. You aren’t sure where his feelings stand now. You remember how the villain looked at you when Shota protected you- how the villain’s eye that was visible behind the hand had widened with realization at who you were when your name was screamed. Ever since then, you’ve felt as if you've been watched, and no matter the amount of eyes that you took, you could never find whoever or whatever it was that was prying into your life.

Now, you run alongside Eraserhead, clad in your own hero outfit that resembles his. Your boots splash against the puddles of water left from the rain. Air whips beside you, a strong hand gripping at your forearm lifts you into the air and you turn to see Eraserhead use his binding cloth to swing you both over a dumpster that was shoved into the way by the escaping villain.

The villain with the blue hair turns sharply. You stumble into the ground when you’re drooped, hand indented and scratched with loose pebbles, and your nails scratch at the concrete as you give a sharp turn, watching the villain enter the building,

“Shota!” Your wrists hurt, and the smell of wet trash is sticking to your clothes. “He went inside!” You push yourself forward, opening the door, only hearing your mentor’s words a second too late to hold on.

The inside of the building is trashed- graffiti painted on the walls, empty boxes and flat cardboard littered across the floor, and surprisingly, a few of the fluorescent lights still work, giving the building an eerie glow. You turn yourself around, arms outstretched and balled into fists, eyes scanning the corners of the room, wishing that you had copied- you freeze. You see him, standing in the corner, concealed in the shadows.

You take off towards him, and in a second, something wraps around your ankles and drops you to the floor. Your head smacks into the floor, and you howl in pain with tears in your eyes. Whatever it is that is wrapped around your ankle drags you and you squirm, unable to lift yourself up to undo whatever it is. Behind you, the door bangs open, and you stretch your neck to see Shota rush towards you, only for something to latch onto him, and pull him down, his head smacking into the floor.

“Shota!” Yelling only worsens the pain in your head, and your twist you body. Your palms smack against the floor, and you’re desperate to stop yourself. You're only able to watch as he lifts his head, arms outstretched towards you as he tries to raise himself up. You aren’t sure why he’s saying no, and your vision is beginning to blur around the edges. Bile is on your tongue, and something warm trickles down the side of your face.

You barely register that it’s blood.

Hands grab at your head and jerk you back into looking at the ceiling. You gasp, and twist upon yourself and you see him standing above you, his eye looking down at you and in your haze of blood and nausea, he looks monstrous. The hand that covers his face is menacing, and it seems like it's warping around him, distorting his features and you can’t register what’s going on around you.

Something cold holds onto your body and you think it’s death approaching, that the hit to your head was too harsh- it already feels as if your brain is spilling out and turning into mush inside of you. Shigaraki is above you, grabbing at your body, and you’re going cold, goosebumps rising over your body, and nails scratching at your skin. Your calves are bare and cold, but your thighs are constricted and you lift your head. In a cruel world, this is when your body returns to itself, and you watch as the villain undoes your pants and pulls them off, letting them dust off beside him.

“No,” you mumble, lifting your hands and grabbing at the hem of your shirt and pulling it down. Your mind is catching up to what your eyes see, and you try to protect yourself, very much aware of how bare you’re becoming. “No, fuck,” you slur out, spit bubbling at the corner of your mouth as you start to take deep breaths. Something wraps around your ankle and drags you around the floor and you turn your head and kick out your legs, and you see Shota looking at you when you turn, and you freeze.

He looks away the moment that you catch his eyes.

“Look at me,” he hisses, and grabs you by the chin, making you look at him. “You only look away when I tell you to.” His hand wraps around your neck, and you take a sharp breath.

There’s a sharp pain that starts around your neck, it’s like your skin is being scraped slowly and painfully, each layer and centimeter pulled away quickly and it hurts. Tears are in your eyes and streaming down your face, and you’re calling for your mentor, nails on the concrete and blood dampening your hair. You scream, legs kicking into the ground and hands wrapped tight around a wrist, desperate to pull it away, and just like that, the harsh pain is numbed down, and your head is twisted to where Eraserhead is laid down, his hair standing on its ends, and eyes glowing.

He’s looking at him.

He’s looking at you.

He’s being forced to watch whatever is about to happen.

He’s going to watch.

The realization makes your intestines twist into a tight knot, and sweat forms under your arms and in the back of your knees. Your shirt is ripped from your body, the quality fabric torn as if it were nothing, made and held by weak stitches, and you try to cover the parts of yourself that you have only seen in the mirror. You try to fight and pull away, try to push yourself away from him, and in your injured body and weak mind, you are quickly overpowered by the villain above you.

His hands roam your body, all five fingers dragging over every inch of exposed skin. It pulls on your underwear, dragging them to your ankles, a hand on your ankle, and the other fisting cloth into his nose as he takes a deep breath with his eyes shut. “Setting up the trap wasn’t all that difficult you know?” He pulls down his pants, boxers going down. His cock is semi-hard and you’re realizing that this isn’t a scare, it’s him making a point. The head is red, a gossamer string of precum leaking from his slit and dripping onto the inside of your thigh. It bobs into a stand as he tucks your underwear into his pocket, fabric peeking out to mock you. You hope that you pass out. “You both have enough enemies that they were more than happy to help.” His hands are on your chest, nails scratching down the valley between your breasts, and stopping above your belly button. “I wonder if they knew what I was planning to do.” He moves the hand away from his face and his smile is stretched thin, teeth slick with saliva and pointed like a monster.

His teeth latch onto your nipple, and he rolls the bud around with his teeth, squishing it between the bone and tugging it away. It’s uncomfortable, and you try to push him off, hands shoving him away, but it only has him grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his cock. Nails imbed themselves into his shoulders, flecks of red peeking between the skin and nail, and it does nothing to stop him from suckling so sweetly on your breasts.

Spit and tongue roll off your pert nipple, his cheeks hollow as he humps your body, the other hands pinching and groping the other breast. You can feel every roll and flex of the pink muscle, feel it be pushed and teased between teeth, and the stimulation between your breasts and the restless humping makes your cunt slick. He lets your breast go with a pop, and moves over to where the neglected teat is burning hot with blood and ache; his breath is hot over it, and you beg for him to stop.

“I love your tits so much,” he says. “I always jerk off to your photos, ya know.” And with that, he gives the same attention to the breast, suckling and teething, his cock hot and hard on the inside of your thigh.

Bruises coat your chest, a deep hue of blood that’s been rushed and flutters over to where he’s touched will serve as a reminder far past when you’ve cleaned his spit off of you. He licks your face, the tip of his tongue starting at your chin, and the flat of his tongue going up in a long stripe across his face. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way that his tongue felt on you.

You won’t forget how rough he was when he pushes his tongue into your mouth. It swipes across the roof of your mouth, across your teeth, and between your lips and teeth, running over the gums. His tongue is fat, spit pooling past the corner of your lips and running down your chin and over your jaw. Your heart beats fast in your chest, flutters like a captive bird, and you are aware of the eyes that are on you, how every second that you aren’t dead, is because you have an audience.

Hands paw and slap against his chest as he deepens the kiss, so desperate to taste you that his own taste and stench will never leave you. Your cunt drips and stains the floor beneath you. His tongue is still in your mouth, invading and seeking over every inch that he can claim, and his cock rubs between your cunt, spreading your lips apart to rub his cockhead over your hardened clit, and he moans into the kiss.

“I wanted to wait until you were begging for me to fuck you,” he whispers, lips wet against yours, “but I need to feel you. Wanna stick my dick deep in your pussy,” he mumbles.

He stretches you painfully, pushes his cockhead in and without waiting for you to adjust, slams his hips until they’re pressed against yours. You scream until your throat feels raw, and you cover your eyes, sniffling and crying, kicking your legs out and trying to think of anything other than the feeling of being ripped apart. “Fuck!” A string of curses taint the air between the three of you, and you’re left hearing him, how deep his voice goes, the way that it croaks and how desperate it is with every thrust that he gives to you.

“How do you think your mentor is going to look at you, huh?” His eyes are crazed and from his neck, a hue of red is blossoming, and he gives his entire being into pushing inside of you. “You think he’ll think of you the same as before? Or will- fuck-” He dips his head down and hides himself in the crook of your shoulder- “will he think of you as the slut sidekick who fucked a villain in front of him? Do you think he’ll jerk off and think about your tits being sucked on and hearing the sloppy noises that your pussy is making?”

You wheeze and gasp for air. He’s too heavy. He reeks of sweat and musk, and it’s filling your senses; your lungs are filled with him, he’s invading every inch of you, and no matter where you turn your head, you see him, and you feel him.

“Shigaraki-” you hiccup- the soles of your boots digging into the concrete below- “please stop, please.” It’s getting harder to breathe, and you don’t know if you’ll survive into the next day. You worry about how long you’ll be trapped under him, how long you’ll feel him.

There’s a sharp pain when he pulls back and slams his hips into you. There’s no pacing, it's quick and brutal, already searching for his own high and grunting above you like an animal. “Say my name again.” You can feel his cock stretch you, the girth of it feeling as if it’s going to rip you apart, but that could also be how unprepared you were to take him. “I wanna hear you say my name when I fill your pussy with my cum.” You feel something thick and warm slide down your neck and over your shoulder.

Your eyes widen, and you arch your back when his teeth bite at your neck. Your cunt squeezes around him, and you feel him shudder, moaning into you, stiffening and moaning loudly into your ear. You realize that he’s already finished, and yet he’s still inside of you, still erect and twitching his cock in you.

“‘M gonna fuck you over and over again till I’m drained,” he says so softly against the shell of your ears. “I want you to take my seed. Gonna push it so far up your cunt, wanna make sure that you always remember this day.” You cry, and he kisses away the tears, slowly pumping his cock into you- loud squelching sounds fill the room, and you feel his semen run down the inside of your thighs. “I don’t think I could ever forget this day. Every time I see you, I’m gonna think about your pussy and how wet you are.” He lifts his head and turns it over to face Eraserhead. “Can you hear them?” You refuse to look that way. “They’re clenching over my cock. I’m surprised you never laid them down and fucked them. You ever use your cloth on them? Bind their limbs and press them against a wall and use their pussy?” He’s gotten quicker, the mental image of your mentor doing something so perverse only adds to his arousal.

“When I escape, I swear I’ll-”

Eraserhead is cut off by you. You can’t stand to hear him, so you wail, and hide yourself behind your hands. “Stop- please.” Your voice is muffled behind your hands, thick and slurred, your plead for him to stop talking. He won’t stop fucking you until he’s had his full, untill you’ve been filled, but you just need him to stop talking. Slowly, your body reacts to the stimulation, and the opening of your cunt doesn’t sting as much.

The villain is monstrous, touching you softly, pinching at your nipples and stretching them until you yelp. His hands touch your body, and you’re surprised that Eraserhead has gone this long without blinking. “You feel so good,” he says, kissing you at the end, his tongue pushing into your mouth and swirling all over, pulling apart with a string of spit connecting the two of you. His face is flushed, and he looks down at you. “Fuck, I think I could fall in love with your pussy,” he says so earnestly. “So fucking glad that I got to fuck you.” You see the inside of his cheeks hollow, and he opens his mouth, a thick spring of drool pools out and is left on your cheek, sliding down to your hair. “If being a hero doesn’t work, ‘m sure someone will pay a fortune to sink their cock into your greedy pussy.”

You do your best to stop the growing arousal. You can’t muster up any coherent thoughts, other than a few babbling words that have you choking on your tears.

“Tell him that you’re a slut,” he spits out. “Look at him and tell him how much you loved being fucked.” You start to plead for him to stop, that you won’t do that- that you can’t- but then he wraps his hand around your throat. “I may not be able to use my quirk, but I can still kill you,” he says in a low voice. “So turn your head and tell Eraserhead how much of a whore you are.”

Reluctantly, you turn your head and you choke on your words, your chest sputtering and heart beating rapidly as if it were going to burst out of your chest. “I’m a-” you stutter- “I’m a slut. You focus on Earserhead’s forehead, trying to not pay attention at how strained and exhausted he looks from having his head slammed to the ground and having to keep his quirk active for so long. “I’m a whore,” you sob.

“Yell my name. Tell him how much you love having your pussy stuffed with my cock.”.

“I love having my-” you sob, turning and shaking your head, unable to keep going, but you’re met with a slap across your face that has your cheek pulsing and burning with blood. You wheeze and your head is forced to turn to face your mentor. “I love having my pussy stuffed with Shiaragki’s cock.”

“Say it again,” he moans, slamming his hips into yours, his movements slowly turning sloppy. “I want you to yell it out loud.”

“I love Shigaraki’s cock! I love his cock so much,” you wail, thighs clenching and legs kicking out.”

He gives your clit a sharp slap, making you wince and clench around him, jerking your hips to meet his. “Look at him and tell him that.” You look at him with wide eyes. “Tell your mentor how much you love my cock- how you love the feeling of it. Do it before I decide to choke you.”

You squint your eyes shut, and take a shuddering breath before turning over to look at Eraserhead. The tears in your eyes that stream down, only help so much to obscure your vision. “I love Shiagaraki’s cock! I love how it feels inside of me!”

“Fuck!” He curses out. He’s getting close and you hope that this will be the end. “Tell him how you’re a fucking slut. How you want me to fuck you like a whore. How you love villain cock and want my villain cum in your greedy pussy,” he commands, wrapping his hand around your throat.

You hesitate and his hand tightens around you, nails breaking your skin, until you’re choking and flailing your limbs. “I’m a slut,” you cough out, spitting wetting the floor beneath you. With each raggedy breath, you say a vile sentence out loud, hoping that he’ll ejaculate into you already. “I want Shigaraki to fuck me like a whore.” The knot in your stomach is starting to tighten, and you kick your legs out, clenching your cunt around his cock. “I love villain cock and I want Shigaraki to cum in my greedy pussy,” you bawl, biting down on your lip when you feel your high finally start to tear through your body.

Your body tenses and a rush of water spills out of you, spraying over him and your left crying on the floor as the villain pumps into you. “Ha!” He laughs manically. “Did you see that Earserhead? They’re a squirter!”

Left sensitive, your body shakes and twitches, the inside of your cunt, wet and squishy with your arousal and his seed. He kisses you again, and wet, sloppy kisses peppered over your face, as he moans out your name, and lets his weight fall above you. You’re crushed, and his hand squirms between the two of you, letting the flat of his hand rest over the soft swell of your stomach.

“Your pussy really is the best,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss against your cheek as his cock twitches it’s own arousal into you.

His weight is heavy above you, crushing your chest and suffocating you. With him still inside of you, you can feel his cock twitch and leak something inside of you. The fluorescent lights make your head hurt. You feel his lips press against the side of your face and tears slide down to wash where his lips have touched you. His hand cups over your breast, and pinches at the abused nipple. You feel him smile when you let out a whine.

“You felt so good,” he mumbles. “I wish I could keep you- fuck you whenever I wanted and kiss you whenever.” You feel heavy.

The weight disappears and he lifts you up, your body limp like a doll, and your mind empty, eyes staring into nothing. He drags you with him, nails digging into your wrist and there’s something leaking out of you, a thick warm trail sliding down the inside of your thigh as your feet stumble on the ground. His breath is warm beside the shell of your ear, and it makes your skin burn, feeling like a rash is breaking out and spreading itself down your neck and flaming your chest. You’re let go, and you fall without support and the pain on your knees and the slamming of the door brings you back to reality.

Your eyes dart around the room until you find your mentor, still staring at you, legs bound to the floor and nails scraped with crimson tinting at his fingertips. You’re not sure what to do. A breath fills your lungs, and it quickly leaves. Another enters, sharper and shakier, and your breaths are heavy, chest rising and falling, with tears welling in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks and landing on your chest. Your arms wrap around your body, nails scratching at the exposed skin and scratching down, desperate to peel away what he’s touched.

Screams are muffled by your hand, legs pinched tight and eyes staring at the ground that’s covered in grime. You can feel his heaviness on you, and you want the ground to swallow you, to open a cavern underneath you and let you fall into nothingness.

Time has passed and your throat is sore. There's a lump in your throat, and you can feel how raw it is, the iron thin on your tongue, and the queasiness that’s making itself known in your stomach is threatening to spill past your hand and onto your knees. You want to walk away, and wash the blood, grime, and spit off of you. You want to scoop out whatever it is that he’s filled you with and let it wash down the drain into the pipes and never see the light of day again.

But you can’t leave yet. With shaky legs, you stand and hold yourself against the wall for a moment, before walking towards your mentor where he lays trapped. His eyes have looked away, and they don’t look at you as you rest your hand on the makeshift trap. You shut your eyes tight when your hands turn pale and nails turn chipped and sharp as the trap disintegrates into ash. He finally turns to you, and you look away. You jump when his jacket is placed over you.

“Wait here.” His voice is quiet, and you can feel the heaviness of his hand pat at the top of your head and pull away when you shy away from his touch. He mumbles an apology that you don’t respond to. “I’m going to get you clothes and then I’ll take you home. Just wait here.” The door closes with a slam and you’re left alone.

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wannaeatramyeon · 1 year

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HEYEYEYE I felt like annoying you but can I request Vin Jin nsfw? :D

HEY KIRA! You can't be annoying, especially considering I answered this like 3 weeks late lol. Hope your exams/studying is going well!

Damn. Let's do some hc shall we.

Vin Jin x Reader: NSFW headcanons (+ a lil romance too)

Selfish and dominant. Really, look at this guy. Were you expecting anything else.

Foreplay? Doesn't know them. Spit and slick and away he goes.

Doesn't have a preference for where he cums. On you, in you. Whatever, as long as he cums.

Loves blow jobs. Absolutely loves the sight of his dick in your mouth, him rutting and hitting the back of your throat.

Returning the favour? Nah. Tired. Maybe later. (Later never cums comes).

Obviously he has a reputation to keep up, people talk. Vin will satisfy enough to not warrant any complaints. The bare minimum. He won't do anything more than that though.

And his attention is pretty fleeting. He doesn't get attached often. He could be ghosting you the next morning, or you could be around for a month or two.

In all likelihood, you may sleep together, nothing for like six months and then a message from him at 11pm 'baby wuu2'.

Sighhhhh. What is it about his cocky attitude and his arrogance that is just irresistable. The fact he keeps his goddamn sunglasses on even in the middle of the night and whilst fucking should be enough of a turn off.

Anyway, at least that's how he treats his casual hookups.

If Vin likes you? Very very different story.

Lets start from the beginning. If he likes you just for your looks, that's easy mode. He's a bit of player, a rising star, and very full of himself. Has no issues with just asking you out (see - Crystal Choi).

But if it's not just a superficial attraction, and he truly likes you, then here comes the schoolboy crusssssssh.

Vin is still Vin. An absolute asshole and relentless. He is very silently soft and simping for you. Tries his best to make you smile, be supportive in his own way, but you're still getting a lot of jokes cracked at your expense.

Mary has to like you too. Otherwise, if she disapproves, then Vin's interest will eventually disappear. She always has his best interests at heart, in a totally healthy and green flag, bff, ride-or-die way. If she suspects anything off with you, and her instincts are pretty spot on, then there is no chance.

Once he gets you into bed. All bravado but a little shy.

Vin wants to make you feel good. He wants his name to be the only one on your lips, and for you to be thinking about him hours, days, YEARS later.

What was that about foreplay? You'll have to teach him your likes and dislikes and be mad patient with him. So much pity for his previous partners for settling for anything less.

Because this guy. Once he gets into it? After some very fun practice? Amazing with his hands, even more so with his tongue. You can't spit bars without being good with your mouth and Vin. Is. GOOD.

It's not his favourite thing to do. Changes his mind when you writhe and moan as he's between your thighs. Huh. It might be the hottest thing he's ever seen and heard.

With actual sex, he tends to still be a little selfish. Some habits are too hard to break out of. And he prefers to go at his pace, which is hard and rough. Though you're not too worried considering that he'll likely make it up to you afterwards.

Has a little thing for degrading you. Expected considering all the shit he talks every day. Otherwise, he can be surprisingly wordless. His grunts and moans are loud though.

And you may have seen him without his sunglasses on, but not yet during sex. Adding an extra layer of vulnerability when he already is so vulnerable? Not his vibe at all.

The thought of that connection? Looking into each other's eyes when he's inside you. It's cheesy and cliched yet Vin can't get it out of his damn mind.

First time that it actually happens? Mindblowing. By far the best orgasm that he's ever had. He finally gets what all those shitty love songs and gross romances are on about. Keeps his sunglasses off from then on, usually.

Aftercare? Good fucking luck he hasn't just turned round and gone straight to sleep. You might get a tissue if you're lucky.

Probe and prod him enough, and you'll at least get some cuddles.

If you really are the type that wants a post-coital embrace? Vin guesses he can do that. You'll need to give him a play-by-play recount though of how amazing he is, how good he's made you feel etc. etc.

#lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism hc #lookism x reader #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #vin jin #vin jin x reader #jin hobin #jin hobin x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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melanieathene · 11 months

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Suptober 2023 Day 12 - Swap-Meat

“O-kay,” Bobby drawled. “Run it by me one more time. Cas is Sam. Sam is Dean. Dean is Cas. Have I got that right?”

“No,” Sam said, but the words came out of Castiel's mouth, in Castiel's voice. “Sam is Cas. Cas is Dean. Dean is Sam. ”

“Huh?” Bobby shook his head. “Let's try spelling it out one at a time, boys.”

“I'm Sam,” Sam said, “in Castiel's body.”

“I'm Dean,” Dean said, “in Sam's body.”

“I'm Cas,” Castiel said, “ in Dean's body.”

“I'm confused,” Bobby said. “I'm going to slap name tags on the lot of you.”

“If you think that will help,” Castiel agreed, in Dean's voice – the words didn't sound sarcastic, as they normally would spilling from Dean's lips.

“How long is this going to last, anyway?” Bobby grumbled.

“A day or two. Maybe more, maybe less. Rowena was plenty pissed at us. She wouldn't give a straight answer, just whammo! Swap-meat! And I'm suddenly a giraffe. How do you do it, Sam? It's like walking on stilts.”

“At least you're not stuck wearing a flasher's outfit and shoes that pinch.”

“There's nothing wrong with Cas's trench coat. He'd look naked without it.”

“Well, I'm borrowing some of your clothes, Dean, until we switch back. “How about you, Cas? You doing okay?”

“I'm fine, Sam. Angels are accustomed to adjusting to different vessels. Dean's body is very comfortable, and the bowed legs are quite endearing.”

“Aww,” Dean cooed. “What a nice thing to say.”

Their eyes met and held; unconsciously, they drifted closer together, inevitably drawn into each other's orbit – no matter the bodies they wore.

“Nope, nope, nope!” Sam declared, shoving them apart. “I am not going to stand here and watch myself make out with Dean. You two can just keep it in your pants – your own pants – for the next however long this takes.”

“But, Sam,” Dean whined, turning a pleading look on his brother.

“Those puppy dog eyes won't work on me. I invented them.”

Castiel pouted, the look not new on Dean's face, but quite unsettling coming from the normally implacable angel.

“Fine,” Dean muttered. “No PDAs.”

“No hanky-panky behind closed doors either! You know what – I don't trust you. You and I will bunk together until we're back to ourselves, Dean.”

“Aren't you afraid he will mistake you for me in a half-asleep state and make a move on you?” Castiel wondered.

“Ewww,” Dean and Sam chorused. “Gross!”

“Well it is a possibility,” Cas said. “Dean is surprisingly cuddly, and often wakes up with an erection. If one thing leads to another – as it often does – ”

“I need a drink,” Bobby declared.

“Make that a double,” Sam sighed. “And add a dash of brain bleach while you're at it.”

#suptober #suptober23 #suptober23 day 12 #destiel #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #bobby singer

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lover-of-skellies · 2 months

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Don’t know if you’re still doing this but has anyone asked about inks smoochability?

It's been a year since I've done anything with the smoochability ratings, but hey. There were a few skeletons I hadn't done this for, and Ink was one of them, so I figured I might as well :P

All my logic is under the cut if you wanna look at it, but at the end of the day, Ink gets a smoochability rating of 9. He's one of the safer options, surprisingly enough, so if you'd like to smooch him, go right on ahead. Just be prepared; he could end up accidentally nipping or throwing up ink on you if you get him too excited

1) Is Ink's mouth dangerous at all? I don't believe it would be. His teeth are flat and standard, though I've seen some depictions of him that had little fangs, too. There are no parasites in there, no mysterious diseases/viruses you could catch, and a kiss wouldn't kill you; in fact, the worst thing that could happen would be Ink getting too excited and throwing up ink in your mouth and on you in general. While that's incredibly gross to think about, that's more of a health hazard than a danger factor, since if you kiss him, you'll at least leave without having any blood drawn. So, 2 points for safety

2) Would he bite? Not intentionally. While he IS like adhd incarnate and while he DOES do things that are a bit impulsive (see: everything involving taunting Error), I would assume he knows that biting people is bad. There is a chance that he might bite accidentally if startled, but for the most part, no, I don't see him being a biter. 2 points for not munching on anyone's lips

3) Are there any health hazards to the smoocher? Uhhhh yeah. It's the fact that if he gets too excited, he vomits ink. That in and of itself is gross, but not overly harmful. Then again though, there are different types of ink that exist, and we don't know what specific type he vomits. The impact that accidentally swallowing it might have on a human person could vary, depending on what exactly the type is. Worst case scenario, it's toxic and you need your stomach pumped asap to get it out, and best case scenario, it's yuckydisgusting and only makes you slightly sick for a short amount of time. The hazard level is up for debate here, but I'll still give him at least 1 point since death is not a guaranteed outcome

4) Does he have a sympathetic backstory? Sort of?? I know he was from an incomplete AU and was sorta. Left alone in the vast nothingness, until creators' feelings started raining down on him and he started experimenting with them. It'd really suck to be the only vaguely self aware person from your home, and then be alone eventually, surrounded by nothingness, so that does give me at least a little sympathy. So,, 1 point. It's very unfortunate, but it's not sad enough that I feel like crying over it

5) Does he deserve a smooch? Ehhhh, this one is up for debate. Personally, I'd say no, since from what I know and remember of his canon story, he never really did anything that would make him deserving of a smooch. 1 point, since maybe under the right circumstances he'd be deserving, but as is, I'm not really feeling it

6) Is Ink cute or cool? In a way, yeah, he could be considered cute and cool. He's cute in the "small guy with 0 thoughts behind those eyes" sense, and then he's cool design-wise. His first design was interesting and unique, but it had a lot going on, and then his updated design has less going on visually, but it's still pretty interesting and unique. If I was shown a silhouette of him, I'd be able to identify who he was, so. 2 points

When we add up all of our points and take everything into consideration, Ink is a 9 out of 12 :P he's a safer option, but even then, he could still unintentionally give you a nasty surprise. This is the part where I'd add in a scenario to kinda lay out how it'd go, but like. It's hot here. I'm feeling lazy, and thinking is Hard right now. I have a first kiss master list in my pinned post, which could be something to consider checking out if you're curious at all!

#anon #asks #smoochability rating #my fingers are weeping rn #so much typingggg #its been a while since we did this huh #ink sans #inktale sans

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kittttycakes · 1 month

Note

Charles/Monty, 23

There’s some vaguely background/implied poly relationships here, but the main point is Charles/Monty!

23. In relief

It was almost an accident. If he’d still had a physical body, Charles would have been nearly shaking with adrenaline, and perhaps he could have blamed it all on that crushing rush of hormones. As it was, he had only barely drug himself back from the edge of kissing Thomas, who would have been utterly insufferable about it. Monty never stood a chance.

Charles had gone to Edwin first, pulling him to his chest with surprisingly little resistance, one arm wrapped securely around his waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of his head in one gloved hand. He could feel Edwin’s own hands, fisted in the leather of his jacket, holding him just as closely.

“All right, mate?”

Edwin nodded against his neck. “Quite,” he managed, his voice only slightly muffled. Charles turned his head, pressed a kiss to his temple, reveling in the fact that that was something he was allowed to do.

He let Edwin go, the other ghost turning towards Thomas, who was bleeding sluggishly from a cut above his eye but was otherwise unharmed. Nevertheless, Edwin crossed to him, intent on examining the wound, and Thomas preened under the attention. He didn’t need anything from Charles; he would give him that infuriating smirk, the one that emphasized the scar above his lip that he thought was so terribly dashing—and it would have been significantly less annoying if he’d been any less correct about it.

Charles’s arms weren’t empty for long: Niko and Crystal rushed him, sandwiching him neatly between them. He couldn’t feel them, not like he could Edwin, but he remembered what it should have been like, and enjoyed the closeness nonetheless. That they were unharmed was one of the most important things on Charles’s list of priorities; as the two human members of the agency, they were by far the most vulnerable.

Something was missing, tugging at the back of his mind as Crystal and Niko relinquished their hold on him, and he wondered how he could have possibly forgotten—Monty. Monty, who had navigated them all out of that terrible maze, making sure all five of them had found their way to a safe path, separated as they were and horribly alone. Monty, who had changed from bird to boy and back again more times than Charles could count, even when he knew it exhausted him, each transformation taking seconds longer than the last, barely perceptible, unless you knew how to look. Charles was very good at looking.

He saw him then, on the edges still, blending in to the background in his black coat. Thomas had proven himself useful and transported all of them as far from those wretched gardens as he possibly could: in this case, it was to the ground floor of their office building, uninhabited and barely lit by a few flickering bulbs, but safe nonetheless.

Without thinking, Charles stepped over to Monty. He was, as far as Charles could tell, unharmed, and the rush of relief that swept through him was only half unexpected. He had felt the same at seeing Edwin in one piece, and Crystal, and Niko, and yes, even Thomas, and it was only natural to fold the former crow into his arms.

He and Monty had a somewhat complicated relationship, he could admit, and so the other’s temporary stiffness in his arms was only to be expected. Charles held on, waiting for the moment when Monty either let go, let himself accept it, or pushed back; Monty’s arms came up to tentatively wrap around Charles’s middle, and he mentally congratulated himself on reading him correctly. He was getting better at it; he could read no one else so well as he could read Edwin, but he was growing more comfortable with Monty day by day.

“Great job back there,” Charles said. “Wouldn’t have been able to manage that infestation without your help.”

This was in many ways a gross underestimation, but Monty sometimes grew uncomfortable in the face of praise, particularly when it came from Charles, and the last thing he wanted was for the other boy to pull back. He did not, at present, have time to examine this. Without him, they would not have been able to identify the source of the maze’s malevolence half so quickly: bustles were an all but lost species of fairy, little seen, and half extinct, but it had been Monty who had placed them, having recognized them from one of Esther’s books, left carelessly open where he could view it from his cage, long ago. They were small, but exceedingly dangerous, and Monty had put himself at risk in both crow and human form more than once to ensure the safety of the rest of the agency. It took Charles by surprise, how relieved he was that Monty had made it out with them entirely in one piece.

When Monty pulled back slightly to look at Charles’s face, intent on saying something based on the look on his own, Charles didn’t think, and acted purely on instinct: he leant forward, pressing his lips to Monty’s.

Time, briefly, slowed to a crawl. Kissing Monty was not like kissing Edwin, or even like kissing Crystal; it was something different, something other, and half of his brain wondered if this was what Edwin had felt when he had kissed him too—the other half was rather more focused on the fact that, after a brief, surprised pause, Monty was kissing him back.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds. Charles wasn’t certain which of them pulled away first at the sudden, sharp sound of a wolf whistle from behind him. Thomas, grinning ear to ear, was the undebated source of the sound, Niko and Crystal having made their way upstairs mere seconds before. From Thomas’s side, Edwin rolled his eyes in the way that Charles knew was good natured; he tapped Thomas on the chest with the back of his hand.

“Do shut up,” he said, not unfondly, before placing his hand on Thomas’s upper arm and steering him towards the stairs. “I have something for that cut in the office. Up you get.”

Thomas looked as though he were considering protesting, no doubt to say something explicitly voyeuristic, but for once, his better instincts appeared to win out. It was either that, or the very firm hand that Edwin was pushing him up and away with, pausing only briefly himself to turn and give Charles an as yet un-catalogued look, a small smile playing at his lips.

In the moments that Charles had looked away, Monty had reddened considerably, the blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck. Had Charles been alive, he was certain his own ears would have been burning. Monty appeared to be on the verge of turning back into a crow, a preferable alternative to whatever awaited him here. Charles couldn’t have that; he reached out, his hand on Monty’s shoulder, hoping to keep him there with him, even if just for a minute longer.

“I’m—” Monty began. If he hadn’t looked down at Charles’s mouth again, he wouldn’t have had to cut him off quite so suddenly.

Charles was rather good at snap decisions, if he did say so himself. Choosing to stay with Edwin, offering to let Crystal stay, these and a hundred others that had happened over the years, allowed him to feel quite resolute in his decision making capabilities. It always worked out in the end—he had the extensive track record to prove it.

To that end, rather than letting Monty stumble through an unnecessary apology and a catalogue of his own feelings at the present moment, Charles opted for the much more enjoyable alternative of kissing him again, not in the heady rush of relief that he had returned with them in one piece, but in the equally buoyant feeling of deliberately kissing someone he realized that he did, after all, rather fancy, despite all that had come before them.

The second kiss was all the better for having been planned, Charles’s arm once again around Monty, drawing him in closer; Monty’s hand fisted in the front of Charles’s shirt, unwilling to let him go. It was Monty who broke the kiss to breathe, something Charles would have to make a note to remember, his forehead tipped against Charles’s, his eyes closed.

There would be time, later, to talk; alone together and with Edwin, Thomas no doubt slinking around somewhere as a cat, hoping to eavesdrop, and the girls no better, hidden in the closet or in the next room with drinking glasses held to their ears, pressed against the wall. For the moment, however, Charles was enjoying the sensation of being wanted by someone new, of learning how someone else liked to be kissed, alongside the satisfaction of a job well done.

Send me a kiss prompt!

#dead boy detective agency #cricketcrow #<- is that their ship tag?#background payneland #background catwin #background cryland #me? posting charles/monty as my first published dbda fic? it’s more likely than you think #word crimes

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stillfoodforguys · 2 years

Text

My friend Steven decided to lick my face during an evening we spent sharing a few beers together. His plan was just to try and gross me out as a joke, but by doing so he’d accidentally discovered how incredible he thought my skin tasted. Coincidentally, I actually found it hot that he was into the idea of tasting me, and drunkenly offered for him to swallow me for his enjoyment. I figured it would be a nice gesture to repay him for being such a good friend for years, and he seemed eager to try it.

To my amazement, the feeling of Steven’s throat muscles throbbing against my body as he swallowed me was extremely soothing, and I found it surprisingly comfortable being held in the warm embrace of his stomach once he had finished. He released me quite soon after out of concern for my safety, but from the blissful expressions we could both see on each other’s faces, we knew it wouldn’t be long until we both wanted to experience this again.

I made a deal to let Steven indulge his desire to taste me every weekend, eventually offering him a spare key to my house. Something he took full advantage of one night, where he came to claim his favourite delicacy while I was still sleeping. I was jolted awake by the wet, ticklish sensation of my feet being licked, my sudden squirming doing nothing to distract my friend from slobbering all over them for as long as he could. He eventually stopped for a moment to greet me, pointlessly wiping the drool from his mouth before it was immediately replaced with more as his hunger became uncontrollable.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been thinking about you all night, and you look tastier than ever, lying there all naked and sweaty.” Without waiting for a single word in response, Steven shoved my feet into his mouth and began slowly consuming me, making sure to gather up the flavour in every crevice of my body. It brought me immense pleasure knowing how much he was enjoying himself, feeling his moans vibrate along my spine as I descended into his expanding stomach.

Steven squeezed and jiggled his full belly once I was completely sealed inside. Perhaps he’d started to enjoy the feeling of fullness I gave him just as much as the taste of my body. After savouring me for a few minutes, he belched softly to relieve the pressure and prepare to let me out again. However, the intoxicating flavour of my sweat made a sudden return in doing so, distracting him from his important task.

“Mmm, there’s that taste again. Just give me a moment…” I spent another minute or so trapped inside Steven’s sweltering stomach while he licked around his mouth, savouring the flavour of my skin one more time. It took some more energetic struggling to snap him out of his trance and remind him to spit me out, then proceed to cuddle me throughout the rest of the night in a slightly less intense embrace.

#gay vore #mm vore #oral vore #safe vore

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darl-ingfics · 2 months

Text

Challenge Accepted

[First fic, let's go, I'm not panicking, you are]

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Jun

Caregiver(s): Seungkwan, Mingyu

Summary: Seungkwan is confused to find a bronchitis-ridden Junhui curled up on the floor of the bathroom, unaware that he isn't, in fact, alone.

Word Count: 766

As he made his way towards the living room to watch a movie with Jeonghan and Seokmin, Seungkwan was caught off guard by the terrible sound coming from the bathroom. Taking two steps back to get a closer listen, he could identify the noise as that of a deep, mucusy coughing, the kind that almost sounded like choking. But what really set off the alarm bells in Seungkwan’s brain was the additional sound of the shower running, because anyone coughing like that had absolutely no business being unattended in the slippery deathtrap of the second floor bathroom.

Without knocking, Seungkwan threw the door open. He was simultaneously caught off guard and genuinely relieved to find that the source of the coughing was Junhui sitting on the floor outside of the shower rather than inside of it. Despite sitting, the dancer was nearly bent double, a wad of tissues pressed over his mouth. Seungkwan rushed to his side just as the fit subsided, placing a comforting hand on Jun’s back as the dancer wiped at his mouth.

“Hey.” Jun’s greeting was surprisingly bright given that his voice sounded like he’d been swallowing sandpaper. He sniffled harshly, balling up the tissues in his hands and throwing them into the trash can right across from him.

“Are you okay? What are you doing on the floor?” Seungkwan asked, thumb rubbing at Jun’s shoulder as he slumped back against the wall. The dancer simply nodded, the tiniest smile pulling at his lips as he took deep, controlled breaths. Or at least as deep of breaths as the bronchitis allowed him.

“Who’s there?” Mingyu’s voice called from behind the curtain.

“Seungkwan,” the vocalist announced himself, looking up at said curtain. “What’s…” he paused a moment, letting the oddity of the situation sink in a bit more before asking, “What’s going on in here?”

Rather than answer him, Mingyu asked, “Is the door closed?”

“No?”

“Can you close it please? You’ll ruin the experiment.”

“What experiment?” Seungkwan asked, slightly more exasperated, even as he complied and moved back to close the door.

“Hao was researching ways for me to ‘get better faster,’ and we came across using the steam from a shower. So Mingyu offered to let me sit here to clear things out a bit,” Jun explained, head lolling back against the wall. He looked exhausted: hair unruly, eye lids weighing heavy, skin dully pale except for the dark circles looming under said heavy eyes and the faint flush of fever on his cheeks. And of course the wheezy sound of each inhale and exhale that physically rocked his body up and down with the strain of it.

“‘Get better faster?’” Seungkwan smirked, copying Jun’s air quotes.

Jun rolled his eyes as Mingyu answered, “Minghao heard ‘at least two weeks recovery period,’ and said ‘nah, we can do that in one.’ And then he got me involved, and it seemed like a worthy challenge.”

Seungkwan snorted, shaking his head. He refocused his attention on Junhui. “And you just let them drag you in here?”

Jun shrugged. “I walked here myself.” Seungkwan lightly socked his shoulder for being cheeky. “Gotta earn favorite hyung points somehow.”

“You’re ridiculous. Is this at least helping you?”

Jun gave him a thumbs up with a tired smile. “I’d say so.” He coughed again, leaning into his elbow away from Seungkwan. The younger man was grateful that he didn’t sound like he was choking this time.

“Yeah, it sounds like he’s been hacking up some awful shit, which I guess is what’s supposed to happen,” Mingyu added. “Doesn’t make it less gross, though.” Seungkwan resisted rolling his eyes, smiling when Jun laughed softly. “And I’m gonna help hyung shower after this so we get a little more steam time, and a squeaky clean Junnie-hyung.”

“Fun.” Seungkwan frowned as Jun began coughing again. “You want to extend that steam time a little more?”

Pressing a tissue to his streaming eyes and nose, Jun arched one eyebrow at him with a muddled, stuffy, “Hmm?”

Seungkwan shrugged. “I can go grab a change of clothes and hop in too. Give you a bit more time to breathe.”

The dancer’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Of course! If this is actually helping, count me in.” The genuine joy on Jun’s face, the first look of happiness anyone had seen from the dancer in half a week, was enough to solidify Seungkwan’s decision. He squeezed Jun’s shoulder one last time as he got to his feet. “Not sure you’ll be 100% in a week, but stranger things have happened in this dorm.”

#kpop sickfic #seventeen sickfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen #svt sickfic #svt fanfic #sick jun #caretaker mingyu #caretaker seungkwan #darlingfics

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blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 1 year

Note

Rashad: So who exactly are you dating? Kalim: Uhhhhhh

Rashad: ???

Kalim: Yes

---------

Hcs of Kalim coming out to his siblings/ how the other bois parents react to his big poly?

Kalim's conversation makes me think of the beginning of "Boy Bi"

But I got this boo!

Kalim Coming Out to his Siblings:

Obviously this is when he visited home for break with Jamil, who at this point already told Najma/Najma knew from the get go with their reactions together

Kalim was nervous, obviously, and was even debating on just not saying it today

Then Rashad opened his mouth during a dinner without their parents or Jamil's parents, "So, Neige's been extra busy the last few months. And Arie said that he, Neige, and Chenya's been are NRC often. Have you seen them around?"

Kalim nearly dropped his food with Jamil looking surprised.

Honestly you two should've known those three wouldn't be quiet with their relationship

Kalim admitted rather loudly that yes indeed he knows because he's dating them. In fact he's dating others. And they're all dating each other. And he's so happy and in love!

A lot of his siblings were happy for him, some were too young to fully get it and why it has to be a secret but none the less they love seeing their brother happy

THE OTHERS COMING OUT TO THEIR FAMILIES: I will order these from best to worst or meh

They all made gameplans to not do it alone or in private without discussing things over with everyone else

Heartslabyul -

Trey was actually pretty excited to come out to his family since he himself having secrets with his family

So Trey went on a video call with his family and chatted with them as Riddle and Cater and Chenya who snuck in joined in a bit and said their hellos before Trey said, "So, um, there's someone else here..." And invited Kalim in who snuggled between Cater and him. As Trey started saying his thing Chenya was hugging Kalim's neck, Cater had his hand on Trey's, and Riddle held Kalim's hand across Trey's lap which made it easier to say, "Mum, dad, I'm gay. I'm in a poly relationship."

He teared up when they said he was proud of him and laughed when they went on complimenting his partners

Deuce was very nervous about it, he knows his mother wouldn't really be mad or throw him out over it, but he was still nervous it'll go wrong somehow.

Lucky for him Kalim was physicals there when he came out alongside Jamil and Ace when the two Scarabian beans came to the Queendom of Roses for break and they all sat at a cafe when Deuce's mum had a break off work and told her. He actually cried when she hugged him and told him how much he loves him and is proud of him, which caused Kalim to cry

Cater tried to act like this wasn't a issue but he was nervous as shit inside. Like Deuce he knew his family wouldn't throw him out but the fear that they would be grossed out by his relationship and he's have his anxiety picking up (I hc he has anxiety he's working with now)

He arranged a meet up with his sisters and mum for brunch in the Mostro Lounge in which Azul and the Tweels worked extra hard to make good impressions and food for the three as Cater built up the conversation talking about school, club activities, oh and his besties from his dorms and club before drifting to, "Uh, speaking of Kalim, Lilia, Riddle, and Trey-" and slowly started talking about his feelings with them, voice cracking some, before ending with, "You know I'm pan, and um...I..well we...um...I'm in a relationship...w-with them..." He didn't look at his family for a while until they all came to his side of seating and hugged him, telling him it'll take time for them all to be used to it but they love him no matter what

Ace did a two part coming out since I headcanon thanks to you his parents are divorced and it makes sense to me He was surprisingly super energetic and excited for this and he went out of his way arranging a lunch date with his mother at a cool 50's themed diner in Sage's Island and invited his partners as well.

The lunch was going well, people came and were ordering, Cheka was there and having fun, and Ace was having a good confident talk with his mum. Until he said the words "These are my romantic partners" and she walked out. People left and right had many waves of emotions of this reaction but Ace followed her out to the parking lot to talk more and she tried telling him she wishes he can have a "normal" relationship with a girl. His mood was crushed after watching her leave and just came back inside and sat down silent. Then Azul ordered them all milkshakes and cherry pies and Cater ate a lot even though they all know how much he hates sweets

With his dad and brother he was more alone but had his partners on his phone with the mic off and in his pocket. He sat on the couch while they're watching the basketball game, nervous as shit since his confidence dashed when he came out to his mum, and slowly started by saying, "So, you know how I said after the game you both visited for that I was going to a club meet afterwards? Well...I was actually not with my club...I was...with my partners...Because...I'm bi..." and he slowly started to tear up as he started to ramble before both his dad and bro stopped him and told him that it's a lot to take in but they still love him regardless. Yeah he was a snotty mess at that moment and denies it afterwards

Riddle broke the rule. He went to talk to his mum without informing the others

He went home during winter break while Kalim and Jamil stayed back for Azul Jade and Floyd since they can't go home during winter and told his mum

Everyone got a text from him right after in the group chat saying what he did and that he's arriving back to NRC imminently, so Octatrio and Jamil and Kalim rushed to the mirror and were met with a red faced teary eyed Riddle who's barely standing from crying so much and Ace and Deuce and Leona and Ruggie and Vil and Idia came back early to help comfort him while they all joined in a video call later that night, Riddle just heartbroken as he sobbed what his mother said and shaking

Savanaclaw -

Ruggie was nervous for different reasons, he brought Kalim, Leona, Vil, Rook, Jamil, and the Octatrio to his neighborhood during break off the school for a week and was scared they'd be mugged or assaulted but luckily it wasn't Leona's first rodeo in the slums thanks to being friends and dating Ruggie so he made sure their identities of wealth and power were covered and a lot of people assumed Vil and Jamil were women so they were extra respectful and Jamil's like "That's nice but why-"

It went well him coming out to his grandmother as she said Ruggie works hard making everyone happy and he deserves so much happiness in return

Jack's pretty chill as it was back to back with Epel's family and he brought his partners on a group video call to meet them properly and his siblings kept going on about how pretty they are and "Bro bro talks about you a lot though and how you smile so cute-" and he's all blushy

Leona did it alone after talking to them all and he visited home He mostly was taking small cause of how big it was, starting with Cheka building it up, watching Cheka play with everyone and tells him about them a lot and kind of implying in a way a kid would he loves them before he sat Cheka down and talked to him about it and Cheka's cute ass face lit up like "You're gonna marry all of them?" and he's like "I'll have to try" He then dropping hints while on phone calls with his brother

Soon by the time he came home and chilled there as usual for a bit, he waited for the right moment and told Kifaji first and told him his plans to tell his brother, sister-in-law, and parents during the dinner in which Kifaji was honored he was told first

So the dinner happens and unlike everyone else who had words and speeches prepared he just casually said like as if he was asking someone to pass the butter. It didn't go as well and he assumed that and remained calm and composed when things were said yelling was made so announce he'll stay with someone else for the rest of the vacation and left the room. Though Kifaji comforted him and he finally cracked and cried a bit before leaving dead in the night for Ruggie's home

Octavinelle -

Azul was just nervous as shit and worked hard to not show it or mess up

He had set up a nice day for his mother and step-father to visit and set up a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge for them where he did a good presentation display of the food and his schooling conversations. When the mood felt right he took a breath and said it, and was quickly met with his mother hugging him tight telling him how proud they are and smooching his face up and just being that sweet but honestly embarrassing mother

Dylan already knew cuz same dorm-

Jade and Floyd were pretty indifferent with their coming out since their parents didn't really care who they date as long as they both and all respect each other well and all that jazz

They both came out during a parent teacher day where they came out of their poly relationship and the parents looked at Kalim, them at them, then at Kalim and went, "You sure you want to date our boys? We love them but they can be a bit crazy-"

Both Mama Ashengrotto and Mama Leech were showing embarrassing cute pictures of their babies to the partners

Scarabia -

Jamil has a legit panic attack before he could do or say anything Just beyond scared shitless and was about to literally throw up

Kalim pulled him aside and told him he didn't have to say it if he doesn't want to and so he just didn't. They'll hear from Kalim in the end and that eased his emotions a bit

Pomfiore -

Rook was excited as hell. Like puppy dog energy!

But the second he appeared home with his partners in tow, introduce some who didn't meet, and announced everyone wasn't surprised they just went "Oh honey we knew, but FINALLY!"

Epel was back-to-back with Jack as mentioned and he was sweating bullets throughout the whole thing

Basile and Aicha knew rather early after walking on on Epel getting his flirty make-out grind on with Neige and Kalim before Kalim had band club and Neige was going out on a date with Vil and Rook and they were taking their time, but they swore secrecy. . . for a price

It was clumsy in the end since he blurted it out and squeezed his eyes shut, only to get silence and opened his eyes to his family staring at him. Jack held his hand to keep him steady and his family reacted rather calmly, yeah there was one aunt and uncle who started some bullshit but Jack ended that real fast

Vil met with his dad in town after a photoshoot in the weekend and arranged for him to meet Kalim, Leona, Esther, and Cater during lunch in a nice yet isolated spot in a cafe

Taking a breath, he gave a well planned for ahead of time speech to Eric and confessed he's in a relationship with all of them, how it happened, etc. Eric took it really well, he accepts whoever Vil dates as long as they treat him well and all that jazz

Vil with his mother though was rough She called him every name in the book through the phone and was all like "What would the tabloids say? Did you even think what the neighbors would say about me?!" Before Kalim reached over and hung up the call for him

Ignihyde -

Ortho knew from the beginning cause Idia vents to him a lot and he just sensed something was afoot when he noticed them coming to his dorm a lot for study sessions and one time walking in one "study" and took a mental note of how slightly messy Kalim's hair was and his brother's ashamed looking face and the heighten heart rate of the two

As for the parents (Slight Chapter 6-7 spoilers but it's mostly location and parents) he took them to the Island of Woe which gave Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, and Vil flashbacks to that one time they got kidnapped by Idia of all people and they all hung out for a day before the second night being a dinner with the parents in which Idia came out there

Parents reaction? "Idia, sweetheart, we've seen your anime harem internet history we know and we're so proud of you for meeting such beautiful and kind people~ Everyone please treat our boy well!" And Floyd gave Idia a knowing smirk

Diasmona -

Silver and Lilia were left out cuz Lilia is Silver's adopted dad and also duh-

Well they planned with the idea with jokes- Silver: "Father, I have a confession to make..." Lilia: "What is it my boy?" Silver: "I...am gay father." Lilia: giggles "Oh my dear boy, I am also gay" Silver: dramatic gasp Lilia: snorts Silver: "Father, I have another confession to make..." Lilia: "What is it my boy?" Silver: "I...am in a poly relationship with someone..." Lilia: he giggles "I am also in a relationship... with your boyfriend and future step-father" Silver: makes a face cause he didn't that Lilia: cackling

Sebek, like I mentioned before, shot himself in the foot one evening during summer break

His siblings made a comment about Kalim and Sebek went red and went "How did you know?!" and is met with confusion and he excused himself to go to the other room to make a quick phone call with them all and asked if he can say it without them

After they gave him to okay, he came back and came out

Malleus was on a phone call with his grandmother after talking to the others and was in the room alone and said it, it went well since he rarely gets romantic with people and without it blowing up in his face with rejections or failed love

Esther's family I think was fine with this since Esther is getting SO MUCH LOVE but also they see Kalim and went, "If you ruin that boy's innocent soul-"

Royal Sword Academy -

Chenya came out the same week Riddle was in town, he was the most excited of them all since he's been very open since day one

His parents were confused but his grandpa and siblings were happy to hear the news

Neige was nervous but soon calmed down and came to the dwarfs who were more surprised they didn't notice and a bit concerned of some of the partners but they calmed down enough to meet them properly

They join in on NRC hang-outs but get stuck with chilling with Ortho which they ain't complaining

Arie, well-

It went with him wanting to go alone and promises to return back right after and knows it won't be good but everyone's trying to convince him to let them come with in which he was not budging

A couple hours passed and Arie texted Esther that he's going through the mirror and everyone waited for him, only to see him with a bruised face and eyeliner tear streaks on his cheeks and a red swollen lip "Yeah it didn't go so well..." He said trying to be whatever with it and walked calmly pass everyone, "What did I expects? He hates me so why would he like me being in love with men like this?"

He tried to drink the wine Rook brought for their date and Vil stopped him, he argued a bit until Silver took his hands and he shakes his head, "I'm fine guys, really, I'm fine..." He kept repeating "I'm fine" until he finally cracked and started sobbing into Silver's chest

They all watched as many movies they can rent at the Scarabia dorm with Idia's movable projector while having wine, foods of all kinds, and make-up and Arie started to feel much better

Nobel Bell Academy -

Rollo just didn't tell his family. Forget that idea

23 notes · View notes

karatekels · 1 year

Text

Fresh Start - Day 13 (Part 1)

This time, there isn't a tag for #eventual smut...

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Day 13 - Late Night/Early Morning

Terry pulls the car up to the front of his house just after midnight, and you feel surprisingly comforted at the thought of being in his home again. You would have thought, after the way you had left, that this would be a source of stress and anxiety for you, but the sight of the front door only gives you the warm feeling of being home.

Smiling to yourself, you hop out of the car, heading to the trunk to grab your bags, you throw your tote over your shoulder. Terry snatches up the handle of your suitcase before you can, lifting it out of the trunk and closing it before you can object.

“Are you ever going to let me do things for myself?” you ask exasperatedly, though you’re smiling. You know that Terry doesn’t mean to suggest that you need help, or that he’s using these opportunities to show off his strength (that obviously went without saying), but you would need some time to adjust to the idea of someone wanting to take care of you all the time.

“Not as long as I’m still breathing,” he replies solemnly, grinning down at you, and you stick your tongue out at him. You’re so grateful that you had gone back to your witty banter; you had done more than enough crying tonight.

He leads you into his home, setting your suitcase down and taking your bag off your shoulder, resting it on top. He tugs you towards him impatiently, wrapping you in a hug and kissing you slowly. You momentarily forget how to breathe, your toes curling inside your shoes.

“Welcome back,” he says softly, gently kissing your forehead. You know what he’s really saying: Welcome home.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your tone making it clear that you are grateful for much more than just the warm welcome. You bury your head into his chest, hugging him around the middle tightly, feeling his arms wrap around you securely, one hand stroking your hair.

“I know it’s late – are you tired? Are you hungry?” Terry asks, and his desire to take care of you makes you melt into him even more.

“No, not really,” you say honestly. “But if you are, I have no problem going to bed.”

“You’re much more agreeable at this time of night,” he teases, and you glare playfully up at him. “That’s alright with me; I can become nocturnal if it means I’d get less lip from you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” you reply in a sing-song voice, standing on your toes to give him a peck on the lips, making him smirk down at you in a way that brings the butterflies back to the pit of your stomach. You needed to put a stop to that… temporarily.

“Is there somewhere I can freshen up really quick?” you ask, trying not to feel too self-conscious. “I always feel so gross after I’ve been crying.”

Terry nods, but insists on kissing you for a moment longer, as if to prove that you weren’t a mess from your tears, at least in his eyes. You giggle against his mouth, and his smile lights up his whole face as he takes your hand and leads you to a powder room down the hall.

When you reemerge a couple of minutes later, feeling slightly more presentable, Terry is just coming back down the stairs.

“I just took your bags up to the third floor,” he explains without you needing to ask. “If you’d like, we can go upstairs and you can pick whichever guest room you want to stay in while you’re here.”

Now, this presented an interesting situation. You decide to test the waters as you both make your way to the staircase, feeling nervous but excited at the thought of teasing him.

“Guest room, huh?” you comment casually. You try your best not to look over at him; you knew it would make you lose your nerve. Shifting your voice slowly to a huskier tone as you speak, you continue. “That’s a surprise; I would have thought that you’d want to take every opportunity you could to convince me to stay.”

Terry has you up against the wall before you can blink, his eyes darkening with lust as he presses his body against yours.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me that you were joking, Y/N,” he says, nearly growling the words at you, “or I will be taking you up on that.”

You let the silence stretch for five long seconds, batting your eyes up at him with the most innocent smile you can muster, trying not to shiver with anticipation. Pinning you in place with his eyes, his hands slowly slide down the wall on either side of your body, close enough to you that you can feel him ghosting beside you, making you tingle all over. His hands finally grip your hips tightly, squeezing you in a way that makes you weak at the knees.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks softly, teasing the soft skin within his reach between your top and the waistband of your jeans, making you draw in a shuddering breath.

“Yes, Terry,” you hiss, running your hands across his pectorals before gripping his shirt tightly. “I want you.”

His expression is one of pure euphoria as he takes your hand, leading you up the stairs to the third floor and past your bags to the elegant wooden double doors that undoubtedly led to the master bedroom.

He hesitates again, turning to look down at you, and you know that he’s about to make sure that you’re okay with this. Before he can, you reach up, pulling his face down to yours and kissing him possessively, almost dominantly, your tongue slipping past his lips to claim his mouth. Surprised, he lets out a groan that nearly has your eyes rolling back in your head with desire. You break the kiss, but keep his head in your hands, stroking his cheek with your fingers. He stays put obediently.

“I’m sure, Terry,” you tell him, trying to convey assurance in your tone. “If I want to slow down or stop, I will tell you, okay?” you promise, and you can read the trust and excitement in his eyes as he seems to accept that you are more than alright with this.

“Just don’t be surprised when that moment never comes,” you say teasingly, releasing his face so that you can open the door to his bedroom, strolling in as if you owned the place. You hear him laugh softly to himself as he follows behind you, closing the door behind him.

You take in his room, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the expansive windows. It’s a fairly open space with high ceilings, but it still looks comfortable and lived in, much like the rest of his house. There’s an armchair next to a coffee table covered with books, a fireplace with a large TV mounted above it, plants and art dotting the room, two other doors that you presume lead to the ensuite bathroom and a walk-in closet, and a massive bed with dark sheets. Your heartbeat quickens as your eyes take in the bed, visions of what the night might hold for you flashing through your mind, and you slowly make your way over to the window, hoping the view will relax you some.

As you look out over the gardens to the ocean, you feel Terry come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. He kisses the top of your head affectionately, and you smile up at his reflection in the glass, placing your own arms on top of his and leaning back against his chest. You are once again pleased by how comfortable and natural it feels to be with Terry; in some ways it felt like you had been together for ages rather than having just met not even two weeks ago. Terry, as usual, had been right; you were meant to be.

“Every night since we first met, I have looked out this window at where you stood, thinking about you,” he croons in your ear, the confession making you shiver against him. He lifts one hand and brushes your hair over your shoulder, his fingers lightly stroking your skin. You bite back a moan.

“And now I finally have you here with me,” he continues softly, kissing a path from your shoulder up to the spot just below your ear, and this time you can’t contain your moans of pleasure, your nails digging into his arm around your waist as you bare the side of your neck to him and try to fight against your weak knees.

“Terry,” you whisper his name desperately, feeling his cock harden as it presses against your lower back. Terry turns you in his arms, pulling your face towards him with a hand in your hair, kissing you fiercely. All thoughts of teasing him for reacting so strongly to you saying his name disappear from your mind as you struggle to have any coherent thought that didn’t have to do with kissing him back, touching him, getting closer to him… you’re nearly dizzy with desire, and he hadn’t done much more that kiss you yet.

“You saying my name like that may be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard,” he purrs against your lips. “But you’ll be making quite a few others to rival it tonight if I have anything to say about it.”

You whimper in response, and he gives you a smirk that perfectly illustrates the concept of devilishly handsome.

“There’s one now!” he comments cheekily, and you give his chest a playful shove; he takes the opportunity to walk backwards towards his bed, sitting on the edge of it and pulling you over to stand between his legs. Even sitting, Terry is still tall enough that he’s looking down at you, giving you a pleased expression.

“Terry,” you whine his name petulantly, pouting up at him. “Stop teasing!”

His fingers dance up and down your body, coming to stroke the backs of your thighs gently, making you squirm in his clutches.

“Oh, I have no intention of doing that,” he says matter-of-factly, and you’re sure he can feel your thighs clench together tightly as his words send another flood of arousal through you. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you for days now, my dear, and now that I have you, I’m going to make up for lost time.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Terry may claim to be a man of infinite patience, but you didn’t have anywhere near that level of self-control. You needed to manipulate this situation the only way you knew how when it came to Terry: by being a brat.

“Hmph,” you try to make the noise sound like you were as unimpressed as possible. “Prove it,” you say snarkily, staring him right in the eye, arching one brow up at him challengingly. It’s clear that he knows what you’re trying to do, but his eyes narrow anyway. Wordlessly, he grips your thighs and lifts you into his arms as he stands up, just so he can turn around and toss you onto the middle of the bed, making you yelp in surprise.

The blankets are so soft, and saturated with the appealing scent of Terry. You feel the strange urge to roll over and bury your face in them, but Terry has other ideas, pouncing on top of you and caging you in on all sides, keeping just a few inches of space between your bodies. You wrap your arms around his neck, trying to pull him down, but he stubbornly refuses to budge, seeming amused by your efforts. After a minute or two of you struggling, he snatches up your hands, interlacing your fingers with his own and gently pinning them on either side of your head. His dominance and the strength you know he could put behind it turn you on even more, if that were possible.

“You need to be taught some manners, Y/N,” he murmurs in your ear as you writhe beneath him on the bed. “You’re supposed to ask someone nicely when you want something.”

You glare up at him at the implication, your face flushed with frustration and desire. He smirks down at you, his thumbs lightly tracing the pulse points of your wrists in a way that makes you feel hot all over. You turn your head to the side, stubbornly refusing to meet his eye and give him what he wants.

Terry takes the opportunity to lean down and whisper in your ear, his lips lightly brushing against your sensitive skin in a way that has you softly crying out, arching up against him as much as you can in your current position.

“I’ll give you anything, beautiful. All you have to do is ask…” his breath ghosts over the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder, making you scrunch your eyes shut as you fight to keep quiet. “Tell me what you want, Y/N…”

“PLEASE!” you beg desperately as you fight against his grip. “Please touch me, please let me up Terry, I need to feel you!”

“If you’re going to insist on being so demanding, I’m going to come prepared with something to tie you down with next time,” he threatens, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he takes in your very enthusiastic response to the suggestion as you lick your lips and buck your hips against him.

“Ohh, you like that, huh?” he teases, his eyes glinting at you in the moonlight. “I could’ve guessed that you’d be a dirty little thing; you’ve been a damn tease since I met you.”

“I’ve been a tease?!” you whine in frustration. “You’re still holding me down, even after I said ‘please’ and everything! This all talk, no action act is really starting to make me –”

He releases your hands, his fingers moving to your chest and somehow perfectly pinpointing your nipples through your shirt and your bra, pinching both of the sensitive buds firmly, making you scream with surprise and pleasure.

“You were saying?” he asks innocently once you’ve quieted down, and you snarl at him, trying to flip you both over. He allows you to with an amused chuckle, his thumbs rubbing your hip bones as you straddle him. You glare down at him as you pull your tank top over your head impatiently, and when the fabric is no longer covering your eyes you take in his expression as he stares hungrily at your torso, eyes honing in on your cleavage in your simple black bra. His hands trace your curves, sliding up your sides, but you slap them away as he moves up your rib cage.

“Nuh-uh,” you say, holding his wrists in your small hands despite knowing that you stood no chance of actually restraining him. “That’s not how this goes. Your shirt comes off next, and then I’ll get rid of this,” you tell him, toying with one of your bra straps. Terry sits up immediately, so close that your chests are nearly touching.

“You’re bossy,” he points out petulantly, and you give him a slow smile in response.

“I can be much worse, Mr. Silver,” you inform him, rolling your hips against his, feeling his erection through the layers of clothes between you.

“I’ll make you a good girl before long,” he promises teasingly, lightly swatting your butt with one flick of his wrist. You blush, and he lifts his other hand to your face to stroke your cheek softly. “Will you help me with this?” he asks, gesturing down to his shirt, and you immediately move to do so, kissing him languidly as your hands fumble between you, unbuttoning his shirt. Once you slide it off of his shoulders and toss it behind you, you break the kiss, sitting back so that you can push him back on the mattress, staring at his chest hungrily, biting your lip.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he warns you, inhaling sharply as you lightly run your hands all over him, tracing the lines of muscle. Damn, he was fit…

His eyes flutter closed after a moment, and you take the opportunity to bend down and kiss his chest, right over his heart. As you map the planes of his torso with your lips and tongue, his hands come around you and squeeze your butt firmly through your jeans. In retribution, you run your tongue lightly over a flat nipple.

He bucks his hips against yours insistently, letting out a needy moan.

“Reeeally,” you purr, smirking against his chest, repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him curse under his breath, making you giggle, and that seems to be the last straw for him. Flipping you over, Terry kneels between your spread legs, a curl falling over one of his eyes as he stares down at you, licking his lips in a way that suggests his revenge for your teasing will be absolutely merciless.

“Wait!” you cry out suddenly. You can tell by the look in his eye that he’s going to ravish you, and you want to be ready and comfortable. He freezes immediately, tensing slightly, and you remember the last time you had said that word when he was getting carried away.

“Just for a second, love,” you add softly, the petname falling from your lips without much thought as you reach up to cradle his face in your hand, looking to reassure him. He gives you a small smile, the tension leaving his body, and your heart warms at how much faith he seems to have in you.

Reaching down, you move to unbutton your jeans, tugging the zipper down and trying to shimmy them down your legs with Terry on top of you. He watches with lust in his eyes, first as your underwear, then your bare thighs slowly come into view.

“If you’re not going to help me, then at least get out of the way!” you exclaim, giggling up at him as your progress is forced to stop due to Terry’s placement between your knees. “I wanna be comfy!” you pout, reaching over to poke him in the leg when he doesn’t respond. He blinks, his eyes flitting up to your own before he nimbly hops over one of your legs, tearing your jeans off the rest of the way and throwing them to the side carelessly in one fluid movement.

“Sorry, sweetheart – you distracted me,” he confesses, grinning down at you shamelessly from the side of the bed. You could relate to that, you think to yourself as your eyes roam across his bare torso again. You are brought out of your ogling by a sound, and see that Terry is slowly removing his belt. You clench your legs together in anticipation.

Seeing you watching, Terry takes his time, unable to resist riling you up. You spear him with a glare as he toys with the zipper of his pants, and he gives you a cheeky grin.

“So impatient,” he chides you, bending down to remove his pants. As he straightens out, your eye hones in on the large bulge tenting the front of his underwear. Your jaw falls open slightly, your tongue sneaking out to lick your lips without you even realizing.

“What did I say about looking at me like that?” he growls at you. “You’re going to make me lose control.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” you tease, rolling away from him to the far side of the bed and onto your stomach, turning your head to the side to look at him coyly, kicking your feet up and crossing them at the ankles. He watches you for a moment, looking like he wants to devour you before beckoning you over to him, curling one finger in towards himself.

You decide to obey, but continue being a tease; being a brat had been working in your favour so far tonight. Lowering your legs, you turn to face him before getting on your hands and knees, slowly crawling towards him. You sway your hips from side to side as you approach, watching his eyes tracking your butt.

Once you reach him, your face nearly level with his erection, you get as close as you dare, looking up at him from under your lashes and blinking up at him once, twice, three times before straightening up on your knees and sitting back on your heels in front of him, giving him a flirty grin. He pulls you towards him, kissing you passionately and running his fingers along your body with feather-light touches until you are a moaning mess under his lips. When you break apart, you are panting for breath, but Terry continues, kissing his way down your throat and across the tops of your breasts, his hands gripping your waist firmly to keep you in place. You fist your hands in his hair, trying to pull him closer.

“You are so gorgeous,” he croons, laving your breasts over your bra with his tongue. He slowly lowers himself to his knees beside the bed, kissing his way down your stomach, your hips, your thighs. Finally, he’s standing on his knees, his chin pressed against your thighs. He’s eye-level with your panties, but his eyes are looking up at you as you tremble violently with need, his fingers stroking your legs. “So fucking sexy,” he groans, and you jump in surprise; Terry never swore in front of you, and something about the way he did just now has you rubbing your thighs together, trying to get some much-needed stimulation to your clit. How were you this close already… You were sure he could smell your arousal at this point; you were half-surprised you hadn’t soaked your panties through from all his teasing.

“Terry, please,” you whimper, all-too-willing to beg at this point, even without his prompting. You reach behind you, unclasping your bra and tugging the straps down your arms. “You’re driving me crazy, I can’t stand it. I need you.”

Silently, and agonizingly slowly, Terry stands back up to tower over you with a predatory expression. He grips your chin in one hand as if to hold you still, but the rest of you is shaking like a leaf. He tilts his head to one side as if considering something, staring at you with a dangerous look in his eye that would probably scare you under ordinary circumstances, but you’re too blinded by lust to care right now.

“You’re so unbelievably tempting, my dear,” he says softly, stroking the spot below your bottom lip with his thumb. “But I don’t think so,” he says, releasing you from his grip and stepping away from you, leaving you dumbfounded.

“W-What?” you stammer after a moment.

“If I give you what you want now, who’s to say you’ll ever come back?” he explains, shrugging nonchalantly before crossing the room and disappearing into what you presume is the closet. Your jaw falls open.

“Are you serious?!” you cry out after him, scrambling off the bed to follow after him. Even just a few feet from the doorway, you can’t see anything inside the closet before Terry lunges at you, making you shriek with surprise. Sweeping you into his arms, he carries you back over to the bed, feeling his laughter move through his chest.

“No, silly girl, of course I’m not serious,” he teases, smirking down at you. “But that’s what you get for being a brat. Don’t think I don’t recognize your little attempts to manipulate me for what they are, you little minx.” He tosses you back on the blankets before climbing back on top of you.

“You are unbelievable, Terry Silver,” you grumble.

“My apologies, Madam,” he says, though his smug smile looks anything but apologetic. “Please allow me to make it up to you…” He kisses you deeply, his tongue stroking your own in a way that has you forgetting your annoyance immediately as you twine your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss. His hands come up to your chest, kneading your breasts gently and making you arch up against him, silently asking for more. He complies, his fingers teasing your nipples, plucking them more and more insistently until you break the kiss to throw your head back, moaning loudly and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“More, please,” you beg desperately, writhing under his touch. Everything Terry did drove you wild; you felt like you were burning up inside from desire. He slides down your body, kissing his way to your chest, stopping just before his mouth reaches your nipple. Your arms fall to your sides to fist in the sheets; you’re trying so hard to be good, not wanting to give him any reason to stop.

The moment stretches on, and just when you think you’re going to scream in frustration, he smoothly slips a finger under your panties and inside of your tight, wet heat, his mouth closing around your nipple at the same time. A wanton moan escapes your lips along with a string of curses, and you feel one corner of his mouth lift up in a smirk around your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple in a way that has your head spinning. He pumps his finger inside you, setting a slow, deep pace that has you bucking your hips against him until his free hand pins you down firmly against the mattress.

You distantly hope that none of his staff are in earshot, but that thought (and all others) immediately disappear from your mind as his thumb brushes your clit, making your previous moans seem like whispers as you positively shriek, the sound echoing throughout his bedroom.

“Terry!” you cry out his name lustfully, feeling dizzy. “Oh God, Terry!”

“That’s it,” he coos, tugging your panties off before adding another finger, stretching you deliciously. “Say my name, babygirl,” he urges you, moving his lips to your neglected nipple. “I never want you to stop.”

You chant his name like a mantra as he continues to tease you, working you up to take three of his fingers, his pace increasing. You are far too incoherent to notice, but he’s given you quite the collection of hickeys all across your breasts, giving your chest a smug smile as he watches you writhe and buck beneath him.

“I can feel you getting close for me,” he whispers tauntingly above you, your eyes fluttering open through their lust to stare into his desperately. He was right; you were so, so close, feeling yourself ready to come with a partner for the first time. It had never bothered you before, but now, feeling it building, you want it more than anything.

“You’re going to come all over my fingers, and then I’m going to give you what you really want,” he promises, grabbing your wrist and dragging your hand over to his erection. You whine needily, bucking your hips as you wrap your hand around his cock over his underwear. He was huge.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he purrs in your ear, curling his fingers upwards inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit in quick circles, and you scream his name until your voice is hoarse as you come harder for him than you ever have before, your legs clamping down around his hand.

Gradually, the tremors wracking your body slow down and stop, leaving you panting, and Terry is able to withdraw his hand from between your legs, glistening with your juices. He makes a show of slowly taking each of his fingers into his mouth, locking his eyes with your own, but after the first two you force yourself to sit upright suddenly, snatching his wrist and taking one of his fingers into your mouth.

You gaze into his eyes as you bob your head up and down, swirling your tongue around his finger, tasting yourself on his skin. He stares at you with a hungry expression. Feeling devious, you reach down, slipping your hand into his underwear and gripping the base of his cock. Switching to a different finger, you stroke him in time to the movements of your mouth on his finger, and he starts swearing under his breath again, his breath coming heavier. Being able to have such a powerful man utterly come apart for you gives you a heady sense of power.

Releasing his finger from your mouth with a ‘pop!’ of your lips, you guide him to lay back on the bed, crawling down to pull his cock out and take it in your mouth. Freeing his erection, you take a moment to stare at him as you remove his underwear, licking your lips. How on earth was he ever going to fit inside of you?

Nearly purring, you bend your head down, but before you can run your tongue across the head of his cock the way you were desperate to, Terry takes your chin in his hand once more. You look up at him questioningly.

“As much as I want you to do that,” he says, his voice hoarse in a way that has you feeling incredibly seductive, “there’s somewhere that I need to take you first,” he purrs, running a finger along your wet slit teasingly. “It’s all I can think about.”

Nodding somewhat reluctantly, you bite your lip. You really want to please him the way he had pleased you. Stroking your cheek, Terry sits up and flips the two of you around, pinning you beneath him once more. This time, you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling like you were trapping him here with you with a strangely giddy feeling. He looks down at you with pure adoration in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat. He lines his cock up with your entrance, looking to you for permission in a way you find surprisingly sensual.

“Please,” you say gently, playing into his game of asking nicely, “please make me yours.”

His expression softens at your words, and your heartbeat quickens as you look up at him. Running his hands from your legs to your waist, he then takes one of your hands in his own, lifting it up to kiss it before twining his fingers with yours, placing your joined hands beside your head on the bed. Leaning down, he gives you the sweetest kiss imaginable, nearly making you tear up as the emotions he evokes in you threaten to overwhelm you.

Resting his forehead on yours, Terry stares into your eyes as he slowly enters you, pausing to let your body adjust to his size whenever he feels your body tense up. After a minute or two, he enters you fully, and you let out a shaky breath, squeezing his hand and angling your head to kiss him. He indulges you, patient as always, or maybe he wants to stay buried inside you as much as you want to keep him there.

Gradually, you relax around him, rocking your hips in small circles experimentally, and now he’s the one clutching your hand tightly. You whimper needily, letting him know you want him to move, and he obliges you, slowly pulling out of you so that you feel every inch of his cock before thrusting fully inside you again.

“Y/N,” he groans your name, and the sound of it is so erotic you pull him down to kiss him again just so you can whimper into his mouth and muffle the sound. He kisses you deeply, setting a slow, deep pace with his thrusts as you lift your hips up to meet him, easily falling into a rhythm that has you both moaning in pleasure.

“Terry,” you sigh softly, digging your nails into his back as he changes the angle of his hips slightly, somehow fucking you even deeper than before. You squeeze your thighs around him even tighter, grinding up against him, feeling yourself becoming more desperate as a second orgasm starts to build within you. Terry buries his face in your neck, kissing you possessively as he increases the speed of his thrusts, his own need for release rising.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he pants in your ear throatily, his fingers playing with your nipples insistently. “So good, so perfect for me,” he purrs.

“Oh, Terry, yes!” you cry out, feeling your orgasm approaching. “I was made for you, only for you,” you moan against his lips, kissing him passionately as you feel his urgency grow, snapping his hips against yours faster as your words drive him to the edge.

“Damn right,” he growls against your lips, his hands coming down to grip your hips tightly and pound into you hard and fast. “I want to fill you up, babygirl.”

Your eyes roll back into your head at his smutty words, feeling so, so close.

“Please!” you whimper, peppering his face with kisses while you beg. “I need you so bad, baby. I need to feel you come inside me please give it to me TERRY YES!” you scream with your release, feeling him shudder above you as he comes fully buried inside your pussy with an animalistic grunt of your name that makes you feel completely obscene in the best way.

You wrap your arms and legs around him as tightly as you can muster, trying to catch your breath as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, clinging to him almost desperately. Terry stays inside you, kissing any and every part of you his lips can reach as he comes down from his own high. Once you both return to earth, he reluctantly slides out of you to lay beside you, and you feel his cum and your own slick juices leaking out of your pussy. You’re too boneless to care, letting him pull you into his arms.

He strokes your hair as you lay your head on his chest, his other hand at your hip. You wrap one arm around his middle, twining both of your legs around one of his. You can’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed, this satisfied, this happy. You turn your head slightly to kiss his chest.

“Thank you,” you murmur against his collarbone, feeling suddenly sleepy. His chest rumbles underneath your head as he laughs.

“And just what are you thanking me for, silly woman?” he asks, tracing patterns across your hip with his fingers.

“For being braver than me,” you explain through a yawn, not giving much thought to what you are saying. “For not giving up and letting me go.”

“Never,” he whispers hoarsely into your hair, his grip tightening around you at the mere thought. “You’re mine,” he reminds you, and the thought that seemed too scary for you to accept just a few hours ago now sounds like the most logical, natural thing in the world.

“I should be thanking you,” he adds quietly, “for trusting me… for wanting me…”

“Okay,” you agree sleepily, fully relaxing in his arms. “You’re welcome.”

Terry laughs again, louder this time, the pleasant sound seeming to wrap around you on all sides comfortingly. Terry had a wonderful laugh…

“I love you, you silly girl,” he confesses under his breath, kissing the top of your head. Distantly, you wonder if you were meant to hear it or not.

“Yes,” you reply, sighing dreamily as you nuzzle up into him. “Love you, too.”

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Don't worry, this isn't the last of the smut! Hope you all enjoyed! <3

Day 13-B | Day 13-C | Day 14-A | Day 14-B | Day 14-C

#terry silver #thomas ian griffith #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #smut #fresh start

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kayte-overmoon · 1 year

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Daisy Chain - Part 1

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Alpha Geralt/Omega Jaskier

Rated E

Pregnancy AU

Full tags on AO3

Geralt knows the omega is pregnant the second he sidles up to Geralt’s table in the Posada pub.

He’s not showing under the obnoxiously colored doublet he wears, but Geralt can smell the twinge in his scent that tips him off. Geralt hasn’t met many pregnant men in his life, surprisingly, but something keys him in almost immediately: a foreign sweetness to his scent. Even omega men still have a deepness to their scent, but this boy smells like a damned bakery.

It's subtle to anyone without a heightened sense of smell. Geralt would be surprised if he even knows of the pregnancy himself.

That—more than the omega’s grating personality or the endless stream of nonsense spilling from his mouth—makes him want to get as far away from the bard as possible. He’s aware he’s in perhaps the most dangerous line of work one could have. People close to him tend to get caught up in all sorts of magical and monstrous business. He doesn’t need the debt of another life on his hands, let alone two.

As luck would have it, the shiny young man only clings onto Geralt even more fervently.

Geralt’s first thought upon waking from unconsciousness at the Edge of the World is for the omega and his pup. It only takes a sniff and a touch to the omega’s wrist (currently bound between their backs along with Geralt’s) to know they are both alive and well, if a little anxious. He’s shockingly bitey, if a little unwieldy. Geralt has no doubt that if he hadn’t been there to shut him up, he likely wouldn’t have made it out in one piece.

Granted, he wouldn’t have even been in that situation had he heeded Geralt’s dismissal, but noooo.

Geralt holds himself back from biting the elves’ heads off—he’s tired, and poor, and irritated, and more than a little worried about his new accidental friend—and gets them out with a shiny new lute for the bard to replace the one the elves had broken.

Geralt means to ditch the omega—Jaskier, as he learns—as soon as they make it to the nearest town, but the way his eyes widen and his scent turns sour when Geralt tries to leave him behind makes it impossible.

So, Geralt gains a traveling companion. A companion and a half, to be exact.

It’s several weeks later when one of them brings up the metaphorical kikimora in the room.

They’re sitting at the fire Geralt built in a clearing that’s just a bit too open for his comfort. Usually he tends to find the closest approximation to a cave to hole up in for the night, but Jaskier has made his complaints known. Frequently and loudly.

The bard likes his sunlight and detests tree roots digging into his back as he sleeps, so Geralt’s begun making allowances. He tells himself it’s to keep the bard from nagging his ear off. (Secretly, he knows it’s because of the way the omega’s scent turns buttery and sweet every time Geralt acquiesces.)

Over dinner, Jaskier clears his throat once, then twice. “I… I assume you know,” he says.

Geralt looks up from his rabbit leg—unseasoned and a bit dry, but less gamey than he’d been expecting. He glances at Jaskier’s hands, where he’s polished off his own rabbit leg and pushes the remains of the spitted rabbit toward him. “Eat more,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes but takes the meat, pulling off a bit more for himself but leaving the rest for Geralt. He huffs. “You know, don’t you?”

Geralt looks down the bard’s body. He still wasn’t showing, yet. He’s not sure when, exactly, that starts to happen during pregnancy, but Geralt can’t help but steal glances. “About that?”

Jaskier nods, eyes wide. His scent edges into something unpleasant. Hesitant, cautious.

Geralt wrinkles his nose. “I smelled it when you walked up. Figured you probably didn’t even know.”

Jaskier is clearly mildly grossed out by Geralt’s admission that he’d smelled the pregnancy on him, but he nods again, nonetheless. “I knew. I knew the minute it took, really.”

Geralt frowns. “Then why are you here?”

Jaskier blinks slowly for a minute before taking a deep breath. “I wanted adventure. To see the Continent. Take part in its pleasures.”

Geralt smirks—or as close as he can get to it. “Took too much pleasure, did you?”

Pink floods the bard’s cheeks. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He looks away, the fire lighting the side of his face as he stares into the woods. “It happened before I set out.”

“You chose a life on the road for you and your child?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Beats the alternative.”

Geralt studies him for a long moment. The young man never minds the attention, but now, he’s squirming under Geralt’s perusal. After a while, Geralt finally asks, “What happened to you?”

Picking up on Geralt’s bristling, Jaskier snorts and waves a hand. “Nothing like you’re thinking, I’m sure. The sire was one of my close friends growing up. We weren’t bonded, though he fancied himself in love with me.” A fond look crosses his face, softening the line that always seems to stick between his brows. “We dallied for months without consequence.” He laughs, sudden and bitter, looking down at his own stomach, hand straying to the area below his navel. “And then… consequence.”

“You think he wouldn’t have taken care of you?” Geralt asks. “Made an honest man out of you, or what have you?”

Jaskier chuckled softly. “It wasn’t him I was worried about.”

“Your family, then,” Geralt says.

“Aye.” Jaskier grits his teeth. “The Count would not approve of his oldest son bonding with a stable boy.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts. It was new information, but he’s not surprised. He’d suspected Jaskier was some form of nobility; he was too well-dressed and well-spoken to be anything but, and he was too young to have learned it all elsewhere. “So, you left?”

Jaskier sucks his teeth. “Better them think I’m a flake running from responsibility rather than a hussy who will lift his skirts for any man who smiles at him.”

Geralt bristles and wants to protest, but he knows their ilk. People like that would rather feed their son to the wolves than let him be happy with someone below his station. As rash as his decision had been, it wasn’t the wrong one, if he wanted freedom. If he wanted any chance at raising his child.

They lapse into silence—something he only gets from Jaskier when he’s eating or asleep, and even then, he will speak around a mouthful of stew or talk back to his dreams. Jaskier lets himself be coerced into finishing off the rabbit and half of Geralt’s own waterskin.

“I would thank you,” Jaskier says after they’ve eaten. He’s reclining on his bedroll like it’s a chaise lounge, tipping his head back to look at the stars emerging above them. “For not judging me. Or encouraging me to go back and face my mistakes, or whatever the hell else.”

Geralt snorts.

“Right,” Jaskier says. “Forgot who I was speaking to.”

Geralt shakes his head and lays back in his own bedroll. He folds his hands over his stomach, covertly breathing in Jaskier’s scent as the apprehension melts away into contentment. He likes Jaskier’s scent, he realizes suddenly. After only a few weeks in his company, he’s found himself seeking it out in crowds or taverns, following him and making sure he’s not gotten himself in trouble.

It tells him things about Jaskier that the bard has yet to reveal himself. It sours when he accidentally eats any sort of green vegetable. It deepens when the sky is overcast and positively simmers when it rains. It mellows when he’s picking at his lute or humming under his breath, the same way it does when Geralt finds him again after finishing a contract, like it pleases him that the witcher has returned. It sweetens when he’s dancing with pretty girls but absolutely blooms any time a man either taller or wider than him pays him the barest amount of attention. And, completely by accident, Geralt knows how he smells when he’s been freshly bedded. Jaskier had been covert about sneaking off with the lumberjack’s son a few towns back, but Geralt had smelled the sweat and slick and satisfaction on him the moment he’d returned to their room at the inn.

Geralt’s still trying to work his way through how that one makes him feel.

“Your stable boy,” he says after a few moments. He hears the rustle of Jaskier’s bedroll that tells him he’s turned his head toward Geralt. “He knows?”

“He knows I have wanderlust,” Jaskier says. Geralt hears the click of his throat as he swallows. “He knows I care for him, but I care for myself more. He knows we never could be more than what we were, and we were both better off ending things before they got too serious.”

“He doesn’t know he’s going to be a father?”

The scent of tears stains the night air between them. “He never will. He deserves a life, someone to love him and provide him children who won’t be torn apart by the nobility. He’s better off not knowing.”

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement, unsure how to word what he wants to say. “Jaskier… I know you’re doing what you know is best for you. And for…” He makes a vague hand gesture, not sure if the bard is even looking at him still. A soft snort tells him he is. “And I want you to know… I will keep you safe. Both of you. The Path is hardly a comfortable place for a human, let alone a child. But when you’re with me… I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Jaskier sniffs and lets out a soft laugh. “Geralt, you big lug. I’d hug you if I weren’t so comfortable over here.”

“Good thing you’re comfortable, then.”

Jaskier laughs harder, the sound soothing the ache in Geralt’s chest.

⚘⚘⚘

Several weeks later, the morning sickness begins.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jaskier insists. He waves a hand to dismiss Geralt but just ends up whacking him in the chest as his stomach heaves and he continues emptying his breakfast into the brush beside the road.

Geralt stands by awkwardly, holding Roach’s reins in one hand and a waterskin in the other for when Jaskier is finished. They’d just left town after Geralt finished a contract. They’d barely made it to the main road leading out of town before Jaskier rushed over to the roadside and retched.

“Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier pants. He stands upright again, rubbing his stomach absently, his hand encountering the tiniest of bumps—more like he’d eaten a good dinner than anything else. He’s gone pale under the light tan he’s picked up from all their traveling the past two months. “You do not enjoy soft cheeses, do you, pup?”

“Healer,” Geralt says. Jaskier looks at him, dabbing at his mouth with the corner of his handkerchief as he takes the waterskin from Geralt. “You need a healer.”

“I do not, Geralt.” Jaskier takes a few tentative sips of water. They both relax as his stomach seems to settle at the cool drink. “I told you I found a witch who specializes in omega male pregnancies when I first left home. She told me this would be normal. Omega males can bear children, but they’re not necessarily going to enjoy it.”

Geralt hums. He has half a mind to track down Yennefer of Vengerberg, the sorceress he’d once saved from making a very bad decision involving a djinn. They’d become friends after a short but intense affair where they ended up breaking each other’s hearts. Now they stayed in touch, calling on one another for aid and the occasional romp when they were both off their stride enough to give in. He hasn’t spoken to her in several years, but she would know how to help, or at least know someone who could. She was smart, and resourceful, and had friends in high (and low) places.

“Quit your frowning!” Jaskier pokes Geralt in the cheek. “I’m sure this will be the worst of it.”

⚘⚘⚘

It’s not the worst of it.

Jaskier gets sicker the bigger his belly grows. By the time he has to start wearing his doublets open all the time because the laces dig in, he has dark circles under his eyes, and he’s lost a considerable amount of weight. It doesn’t help that traveling with a pregnant omega is hell on Geralt’s reputation. He can hardly get work to keep the three of them (plus Roach) fed.

Geralt insists they stay in town, even when the inns they had to offer were shabby at best. At least they keep Jaskier and his pup out of the open air, where anyone or anything could cause them harm.

For the time being, they’re safe.

⚘⚘⚘

There comes a point when Geralt realizes this may be a more permanent arrangement than he originally thought.

He’s aware he’s growing overfond of the pregnant omega following him around for the past three or so months, but by the time summer’s heat has swelled past its zenith and the nights grow chilled, Jaskier’s steady stream of chatter and his music have become the background hum of Geralt’s life. The Path has always been quiet, lonely. For the better part of the past century that’s been the case. Jaskier has changed that in a matter of weeks.

However, it doesn’t change the risks involved with Geralt’s profession.

It was only a matter of time before Jaskier got dragged into it.

The contract was nothing out of the ordinary to start out. A farmer kept finding her cows butchered by something with claws big enough to nearly rend the poor things in half, their insides feasted on by the time she gathered her farmhands and went out to follow the sound of animal screaming. The farm was right on the edge of the forest, a creek running along the east side. It was the perfect location for any number of lower monsters.

Overall, it was pretty standard, as far as witchering went.

Then the endrega swarm caught him off guard.

He took a few brutal bites to the leg and shoulder before he realized he would need the help of his potions. The sun had set, and the moon was only a slim crescent above. Even with his witcher senses, he could hardly see a few meters in front of him. And the bastards were coming at him from every angle.

He fumbled for his potion sash with one hand as he ran one of the giant lizard-like creatures through with his sword. He barely stopped to confirm he’d grabbed the correct vial—he knew them all by feel, had a careful order he kept them in on his belt—before ripping the cork off with his teeth and downing it in one swallow.

It was quick, tedious work after that. There were 15 endrega in the end—more than he was used to fighting, but not unheard of. They’d been having mild winters of late. Beast populations—monster and otherwise—tend to go up when they’re not being frozen out every year. Once he lobbed the head off the last one, he set fire to the corpses and sniffed out their nest to burn that as well. By the time he was done, the smell of burning flesh singed with sulfur was pungent enough for the whole village to smell.

The farmer paid him well for his efforts, but even a woman strong-willed enough to try and fight off the endrega on her own was shy to look him in the eye. She was a strong, brave woman for her portion, but Geralt could smell the bitter tang of her fear as she handed over his hefty earnings. The potion was still in his system, so his eyes were black as pitch and his skin was deathly pale and run through with crawling lines. He was covered in soot and guts. He couldn’t blame her for her trembling hands.

A wave of vertigo hits him when he leaves the farm, so strong he staggers and nearly falls to his knees. Only then does he notice the throbbing pain in his left thigh, the hot drip of blood staining him from the knee down.

There’s a chunk of his leg missing—nothing life threatening, but hurts like a bitch, and even with the potion, he’s healing slower than he’d like.

No matter. He’s had worse. He’s got a needle in his medical kit. He’ll patch himself up, sew the gash closed, and be on his way. It won’t be pretty but—

Oh.

Right.

He left his medical kit with Jaskier.

Jaskier, who’d gotten a nasty splinter on his hand and hadn’t stopped whining about it until Geralt plucked it out, applied a salve, and bandaged it. He’d left the kit with him out of spite, and to see the bard’s pout quiver at the edges as he tried not to smile.

Gods, Geralt is an idiot.

Jaskier could be in bed already. Fortune had favored them recently, so Geralt had been able to get them separate rooms joined by a single door. Maybe he left the medical kit in Geralt’s side of the room. Or maybe Jaskier was at the tavern, singing that gods-awful song he’d written about the Edge of the World that people seemed to love for some reason. Their inn has a back entrance that would let him avoid anyone else.

Jaskier was the only consideration.

Isn’t he always, though? Geralt thinks to himself.

He hobbles his way back to town, ignoring the insistent throb of his leg. The stairs up to the back entrance of the inn are a journey all their own—by the time he reaches the top, he’s dragging in breaths through clenched teeth and hissing them out just as quickly. Black dots flash in and out of his vision. It’s a miracle he even manages to make it to the door to his room.

He throws it open then collapses against it when he’s inside, focusing on his breathing so he doesn’t pass out before he deals with his leg. He’ll survive—he’s had far worse—but even witchers can’t overcome blood loss.

“Geralt?”

Shit.

The legs of Jaskier’s chair scrape against the floor as he jolts to his feet, his eyes wide in alarm. He’s in his sleeping clothes, his lute hastily set aside as he takes Geralt in. He was clearly picking at his lute, mindful of his bandaged finger, waiting up for Geralt to return. Why he couldn’t have done so in his own room is beyond Geralt.

Geralt can’t imagine what he must look like to the omega: hulking and imposing on a good day, with the added gore and the effects of his potions. He’s still got his sword out, apparently, and he hasn’t bothered to clean the endrega guts off it.

“Leave,” Geralt says through gritted teeth.

Jaskier doesn’t leave. “You’re hurt,” he says instead, taking a step closer.

“Stop.”

Blessedly, he does.

Geralt pants for a moment. Speaking is taking all the energy he has left. “Med kit. Get it, then get out.”

Jaskier frowns. “I won’t leave you like this, Geralt.” He rummages around on the table in the corner before finding the pouch that contains the needle, thread, and bandages they keep on hand.

Geralt considers him. Jaskier may be pregnant, but he’s still young and spry, and with Geralt’s leg still spitting blood into his boot, he could probably outrun Geralt right now. Geralt can’t snatch the kit from him without a fight. And with the wound on the back of his leg, it will be hard to mend himself. If Jaskier is stupid enough to offer, then Geralt’s tempted to indulge him. He can already feel his familiar scent seeping through the cracks in his mind, soothing him and tempting him in equal measure.

“Fine,” he grits out. He wobbles his way to the chair Jaskier had just vacated, but the bard stops him.

“Ah, ah. Bed. I won’t be able to reach it if you sit.”

Geralt can’t be bothered to care. His vision is swimming. He’s lost too much blood. If he were human—maybe even if he hadn’t drank his potions—he would have been unconscious by now, if not worse. He falls face-first onto the bed, not even bothering to take off his armor.

Vaguely, he hears ripping fabric and a drip of water. Jaskier prods at his leg. Eventually, he feels the sting of a needle and the unpleasant tug of thread through skin. He must doze off because the next thing he knows, his swords are being pulled from his back and he rears up, snarling at whoever tried to disarm him.

Jaskier jumps back, hands raised. His fingers are stained with dark blood. It’s on his sleep shirt, too, for which Geralt thinks he’ll get an earful come morning. Geralt scans the room beyond him, scenting the air to make sure they’re alone.

No threats. Only Jaskier, his scent tinged sour with worry.

“There, there, Geralt,” Jaskier says when he’s recovered from his shock. He drops his hands and rolls his eyes, shaking off being growled at by a witcher armed to the teeth and dripping with toxins. Utterly unbothered. “I’m only trying to make you more comfortable. Your trousers are ruined. I’m not certain of the immune response among witchers, but I imagine you are not totally incapable of contracting infections from poorly tended wounds. It’s shut now, I think. As well as I can get it. But you need to clean off if you expect to be able to walk on it tomorrow.”

Geralt stares at him as he eases himself back to his feet.

Jaskier raises a hand to his own cheek, forgetting, apparently, that he’s still covered in Geralt’s blood. “What are you looking at?”

Geralt’s struck dumb between one moment and the next. Maybe it’s the potions, or the blood loss, or the adrenaline wearing off, or the sight of his own blood streaked across Jaskier’s fair cheek, covering him in his scent, claiming him…

Want washes over Geralt like a summer deluge.

Distantly, he hears himself growling, but he’s not present in his body to do anything about it. It’s far from the snarl he’d let out when Jaskier went to take his swords, when he’d thought someone was coming to disarm him and make him unable to protect Jaskier and his pup. That was the growl of an alpha who felt his pack was being threatened. This is something darker, something more primal.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Geralt snaps his eyes shut and digs his fingernails into his palms, steadying himself with the bite of pain. “Get out.”

“W-what?”

“Get out, Jaskier.”

Jaskier huffs, offended. “Now, Geralt, I’ve just saved your life. The least you can do is not snap at me like I’m some—”

Geralt crosses the steps between them quicker than he thought he could in his condition and grips Jaskier’s jaw in his gloved hand. Jaskier’s eyes go wide, his pupils dilating. Geralt can feel his pulse spike, hear the pause in his breath before he reaches up to hold onto the witcher’s arm. Not pushing nor pulling, simply holding.

“I need you to listen, little lark.” Geralt doesn’t let himself breathe between words. He knows if he catches another whiff of the bard’s scent, he’s not going to be able to hang on. His control is on a razor’s edge. He’s about to start coming down from the effects of his potion. Who knows what he could do to Jaskier, to an unmated omega in his space. “Go to your room, lock the door, do not open it until dawn. Not for me, not for anyone else.”

Jaskier licks his lips, his gaze flicking between Geralt’s left eye to his right rapidly. “But—”

“Don’t argue.” Geralt pushes him away, not ungently. “I’ll explain later. I just need to know you’re...” He can’t bring himself to finish, another wave of something dark washing over him so strong he has to sit on the edge of the bed, uncaring for the wound on his leg.

Jaskier understands anyway. He nods and crosses to the door separating their rooms, pausing at the threshold. “Geralt, are you—”

“Now, Jaskier.”

The door snaps shut. The lock clicks into place a moment later.

Geralt spends a long time counting his heartbeats, willing the heat that had risen in him to fade.

⚘⚘⚘

Come morning, Jaskier emerges from his room looking about as well rested as Geralt feels. There are dark circles under his abnormally dull blue eyes and he seems to have forgotten to do up the last few buttons on his trousers.

But he smiles when he sees Geralt, even though the witcher both looks and feels like he’s just crawled from the gutter, and offers him the breakfast he’d rang for them both.

“You’re still here,” Geralt says in lieu of a good morning.

Jaskier’s smile falters, just the slightest. “Where else would I be?”

Geralt finds himself considering that question for a long while, even after he explains the potions’ effects to Jaskier and they go along their merry way.

Where else would Jaskier be?

More importantly, where should he be?

⚘⚘⚘

Something changes after that.

Geralt, now seeing that Jaskier isn’t about to be scared off, even when Geralt’s snarling at him and brimming with poison, finds himself relaxing around the bard more. He seeks out his company, rather than playing at tolerating when Jaskier finds him. He finds himself leaning into Jaskier’s friendly touches and reaching out for his own on occasion.

He’s never been so comfortable with another person, other than his family. Even as close as he and his brothers are, they’re not prone to reaching for each other’s hands or offering one another chains of daisies they’ve woven as they walked or finding any excuse to touch each other.

Geralt’s going soft. He knows he is.

He can’t find himself to be bothered when it clearly makes Jaskier so happy, his scent flowering out and deepening every time Geralt returns his affection.

Jaskier’s scent is heavy on the air now. He is soaking in an Igni-heated bath barely big enough for him to fit in. He doesn’t seem to mind, kicking his feet up over the far edge as he rests his head on the other end.

“As much as I hate spending all our money on inns,” he’s saying, eyes closed as Geralt cleans his swords. “I do appreciate a good soak in a man-made basin every now and then.”

“I know you do,” Geralt says, half a smile on his face for a moment (our money, Jaskier said) before it drops. There’s something on his mind, something that’s been bugging him since the night of the endrega attack, when he’d pushed Jaskier away and he’d still come back.

“Now, now, witcher,” Jaskier tsks. “What’s the frown for this time?”

Geralt sets aside his swords and looks at his companion. Jaskier has twisted his torso to see Geralt better, arms crossed on the side of the basin and chin propped up on them, watching Geralt with wide, amused blue eyes. Geralt no longer bristles at the bard’s nudity—a good thing, because he tends toward heat spells these days despite their steady march toward mid-autumn, and often the only way to cool down is to strip to the skin. They’ve had a good couple of weeks of work, so his cheeks are full and pinked with the heat from the bath. He could use a shave, but other than that, he looks good. Happy.

Geralt looks down at his own hands. “We should talk. About our arrangement.”

“I wasn’t aware we had an arrangement.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, watching the omega smile out of the corner of his eye. “I mean our situation.” He looks up and meets Jaskier’s eye again. “You can’t keep traveling like this, Jask. We need to get you somewhere safe. Comfortable.”

“But I am safe,” Jaskier pouts. “I feel safer with you than I do anywhere else.”

“That’s the problem, little lark,” Geralt says, the endearment spilling from his lips like water. He’d done it first on instinct the night Jaskier stitched him back together, and every time he’s done it since, Jaskier’s shoulders relax like Geralt’s taken a great weight off them. He makes it a point to do it as frequently as possible now. “I told you before, the Path is no place for a child. And all that aside, you’re going to keep getting sicker if we don’t let you rest.”

Jaskier waves him off, sinking back into his bath. “You worry too much.”

“No, you don’t worry enough!”

The omega flinches at his tone, glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

Geralt sighs, looking at him apologetically. “I just mean you should take care, Jaskier. If you’re this ill barely a third of the way into your pregnancy, what do you expect to happen later on?”

“I’m not that ill.”

Geralt scoffs. “You turned down a minced pie today, Jaskier.”

He purses his lips, caught. “Fine. You’re getting rid of me, then?”

Geralt should take it for the opening it is. He knows how dangerous traveling with him is for Jaskier. How much worse will it get when he has a child at his breast? Geralt’s new worst nightmare has quickly become returning from a hunt to find Jaskier taken, hurt, beaten, ripped apart and sold for parts. And besides all that, it was becoming dangerous for Geralt. He’s never been so attached to someone—perhaps Eskel or Vesemir, but they know the dangers of their line of work and can fend for themselves. It’s hard to focus on monster hunting when half his mind is preoccupied with the omega waiting for him back at the inn.

A distracted witcher is a dead witcher.

“No,” Geralt says, not even surprising himself.

There’s no question. There hasn’t been, since the moment he realized Jaskier wasn’t afraid of him, would never be afraid of him. He physically can’t bring himself to let Jaskier go. He’s considered it a time or two in the months they’ve been together, and each time, his stomach ties itself in knots.

The omega relaxes in the tub. “Good. Because as much as I love you, Geralt, there are some things even you can do to break my heart.”

His tone is light, teasing, and he doesn’t seem to realize the impact the words have on Geralt.

He’s still reeling from those words (I love you echoing in his mind) when Jaskier finally pulls himself from the bath, dripping wet, pruned, and smelling of chamomile. Perhaps the sight, perhaps the smell, perhaps those words muddle his mind enough for Geralt to blurt out, “Come to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Jaskier blinks up at him from the towel he’d been drying himself with, his hair tufted up on one side from where he’d rubbed it. “Kaer Morhen?”

“The homeplace of the witchers,” Geralt explains. “The wolf witchers, at least. It’s where I grew up. It’s where I—where we go every winter.”

“And you… want me to come with you?”

“Is that… is that alright? For me to ask?”

Jaskier chuckles and comes to where Geralt is sitting at the edge of the bed—there’s only one, since they’re on a strict budget, after all, and Jaskier claims he sleeps better with Geralt’s warmth only an arm’s reach away—and insinuates himself between Geralt’s knees. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of his nudity. Geralt decidedly is aware of it.

“Dear witcher,” Jaskier says fondly. His hands land on either of Geralt’s shoulders and his scent, warm and happy, surrounds Geralt’s senses. He closes his eyes, letting Jaskier pet him as he pleases. Thin, bath-pruned fingers brush his hair off his shoulders, off his ear. It’s nearly enough to make him shiver. “Never doubt how much your generosity means to me. It sounds lovely, but…”

“But?” Geralt gives into temptation, lets his hands settle in the dip of Jaskier’s hips, his wrists almost brushing the soft skin of his ever-growing belly. Some deep, base instinct makes him want to rub his scent glands over Jaskier’s bump, to claim him and the pup as Geralt’s. He digs his fingers into his bard’s hips to keep from doing that. He hasn’t been given permission. Jaskier has given no indication that he sees Geralt as anything more than a close friend, a platonic person who could protect him and his pup. The last thing Geralt wants is to breach his trust.

Jaskier purrs softly, not seeming to realize he’s doing it. He keeps fiddling with Geralt’s hair. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you.”

Geralt snorts, leaning his head into the bard’s hands. “Trust me, if I didn’t want you here, I would have dumped you before we even left Posada.” And he’s grown soft, he knows. No one has ever shown him this much gentleness, this much kindness. Not even his own family. Not that he’s ever wanted Vesemir or his brothers to play with his hair, do his laundry, buy him little trinkets or pick him flowers just because it pleased them.

Jaskier doesn’t respond for a long moment, and Geralt opens his eyes. The bard tips his head and smiles and gods above Geralt just wants to pull him into his lap and press his face against his neck where his scent is strongest. Still grinning, Jaskier asks, “Why do you put up with me, witcher? You don’t seem the type to form attachments.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt observes him carefully in the candlelight. “Here we are.” He drags his thumb absently across Jaskier’s ribs, watching goosebumps rise in his wake. Jaskier takes a breath at that, pulling himself away from Geralt to continue drying and dressing himself. Geralt mourns the loss of his touch but lets him go.

“So.” Jaskier twists open a jar of sweet-smelling oil he’d been rubbing on his belly of late. I may adore this child with every fiber of my being, Geralt, but that does not mean I wish to have the marks of pregnancy on my youthful form for the rest of eternity. “Kaer Morhen?”

“Mmm.” Geralt picks up his swords again, going about cleaning and sharpening them absently while he watches Jaskier go about his routine. He misses his touch, but his scent is still there, rubbed into Geralt’s hair, his hands. It’s enough for now. “Vesemir will be there. He’s a healer, of sorts. He could help with the delivery. Or we could bring someone if you like. A midwife of your choosing.”

Jaskier hums back at him, a mannerism he’s beginning to pick up from Geralt without even realizing it. “Vesemir?”

“My… father, I suppose.” At the omega’s inquisitive look, he goes on. “Witchers are born human and come—came, rather—to the keep when they were young. Many were orphans. Some… weren’t.” Jaskier clearly catches his meaning but graciously deigns not to dig in. “Vesemir was one of the teachers before the sacking of Kaer Morhen, when mages destroyed all knowledge of making new witchers and killed all but a handful of us. Vesemir is the oldest living witcher. He took it upon himself to care for the keep and the last few witchers.”

“You speak fondly of him,” Jaskier says. “Are you close?”

Geralt grunts, not in agreement or disagreement. “I suppose. As close as witchers let themselves get. We have a lot in common. All the witchers left do. No one quite understands the life of a witcher more than another witcher.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Of my school, the wolf witchers”—he thumbs his medallion—“there’s only me, Vesemir, and my brothers Eskel and Lambert. There are several others left from other schools, but we’re not nearly as close.”

“So, this winter,” Jaskier says. “Would it just be us and Vesemir? Or will your brothers be there?”

“Hard to tell,” Geralt shrugs. “We usually don’t know who’s going to show up until they arrive at the keep. The past couple years, Lambert has brought a guest.”

Dark eyebrows rise as Jaskier slips into a clean change of smallclothes. “A guest? Then it won’t be strange if I come?”

Geralt snorts. “No, it will be strange. Lambert’s guest is a witcher from one of the other schools.” He meets Jaskier’s eye. “None of us have ever brought home a human. Not since it’s just been the four of us. We’ve had our fair share of mages and sorceresses. But no humans.”

“Let alone a pregnant omega?” Jaskier snorts. He flicks a wrist, playing at being scandalized. “Imagine what they’ll say, Geralt! They’ll accuse you of stealing my virtue!”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “As if you had any to begin with.”

Jaskier gasps, clutching his chest. “You wound me, darling. I’ll have you know I was the picture of innocence before—well, before this.” The hand at his chest smooths over his stomach as he looks down fondly.

Geralt hums in response, languishing in the omega’s happy scent as he strokes his baby bump. “They’ll know it’s not mine anyway.”

“How so?”

“Witchers are sterile,” Geralt says. He expects the shocked, saddened look Jaskier shoots his way, and waves him off before he can start to mourn Geralt’s useless knot. “I’m not sensitive about it. It’s part of the Trials to become a witcher, and they don’t hide the information from us beforehand. We go in knowing we will either die in the trials or come out the other side an alpha with no ability to breed.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wilts a little, his scent—usually a mix of honey and wheat—dips toward something like sandalwood. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“It’s not your fault, Jask.”

“No, I mean.” He throws his chemise over his head and scrambles up onto the bed with Geralt, laying his head on the witcher’s shoulder with no regard for the sword in his hands. Again, that blind trust that makes Geralt wonder what he did to deserve it. “Here I am, running around and making poor life decisions while carrying a pup, and you can’t…”

“Jask.” Geralt nuzzles his hair absently to get his attention. The omega tips his head up to look at him with watery blue eyes. Geralt sets the sword aside—again—and resolves to finish it in the morning. “I told you, I don’t care. Especially not when I get to see how happy you are every day.”

Jaskier squints, mushing his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder, looking every bit like a contented house cat. “I am happy. I feel as if I should be worried or anxious or afraid, but I’m not. I have many regrets in my life, but this is not one of them. I’m glad I have the pup. I’m glad I have my freedom. I’m glad I have you. You’re a dear friend, you know that, Geralt?”

Geralt grunts.

“You are!” Jaskier shoves his arm gently, not even enough to dislodge himself from Geralt’s shoulder. “Not many people would be willing to put up with me, with or without the child. And here you are, not just tolerating me, but taking care of me. Why is that?”

Geralt shrugs with his free shoulder.

“Oh, don’t get silent on me now, Geralt! We’re having a heart-to-heart!”

“I’m aware.”

“Ugh!” Jaskier flings himself back on the bed, kneeing Geralt in the thigh as he squirms to get comfortable. Geralt pinches his leg in retaliation, making him giggle. “Fine. Don’t tell me, then. I’ll just assume you are susceptible to my charm and wit. You saw me in Posada and thought, ‘Yes. Now there’s a man I’d let rub chamomile on my lovely bo—‘”

“It was one time, Jask.”

“One very memorable time, on my part.” Jaskier grins, cheeky and lecherous. With a face like that, there’s no wonder he was knocked up before the age of twenty.

Geralt makes himself end that line of thought the second it arrives.

Instead of admiring his friend’s fuckability, he grunts. “It’s not too late for me to leave you along the road somewhere.”

“No!” Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist from behind, his head knocking against his hip. Geralt twists to accommodate him, letting the bard rest his head in his lap. “I’ll surely shrivel up and die the moment you leave me. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“I think you overestimate how much you need me. You’d make it just fine on your own.”

The omega tips his head to level an unimpressed look up at him. “When we met, I was getting booed out of taverns and stuffing bread in my pants so I’d have something to eat later.”

Geralt just hums.

Jaskier pokes him in the side. “I’m happy with you, Geralt. It’s a peculiar arrangement, I’ll admit, but I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Geralt watches him for a moment, aware his face was probably too fond at the moment but too content with the omega’s closeness to care. “You pet your stomach when you’re tired, you know that?”

Jaskier looks down. Sure enough, his hand had strayed to the little bump and was smoothing over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Winter isn’t for another two months still.”

“Very astute, love.”

Geralt snorts and tugs his hair until Jaskier yelps and bats his hands away. “I mean, I think we should find somewhere safe for you until it’s time to make the trip to Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier frowns and turns to lay on his back, his head still in Geralt’s lap. The hand that had tugged his hair now smooths it back. “You want to split up?”

“Only for a couple weeks,” Geralt says. “The Path, as I’ve said, is no place for you right now. You’re only going to get more uncomfortable in the coming months, and you need to be somewhere you can rest and relax. It would… I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you or the pup because you’re with me.”

“What do you propose, then?”

“I can put you up somewhere. Somewhere with good weather and plenty of things for you to do. Somewhere you can relax and pick at that lute you’ve barely touched the past few weeks.”

Jaskier frowns. “Fingers were too swollen.”

“The swelling will go down if you rest.” Geralt leans over him to catch his eye. “And as much as I love having you close, knowing you and the pup are safe and healthy, I’d feel better knowing you were somewhere you can get warm baths and hot food whenever you want.”

“How do you propose we do that, hmm? It isn’t as if we have the money.”

Geralt puts a hand on Jaskier’s chest to hold him steady as he reaches over the edge of the bed for his sword. He unclasps the pin there, the one he’d pulled from Renfri’s body as a reminder all those years ago. He holds it out for Jaskier.

The bard takes it and studies it. “I’ve seen this but didn’t want to ask.” His thumb runs carefully across the clasp. “I figured it was sentimental. It’s fine craftsmanship. I’m sure it would sell for a pretty penny, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“It is,” Geralt says. “I’m not sentimental. The person who gave it to me is long dead. It was more of a… reminder to myself, than anything else. I don’t…” He looks at Jaskier. The bard was now holding the hand Geralt had put on his chest, stroking his wrist softly as he watches Geralt with those wide, innocent eyes. “I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart rate spikes for a moment as he turns the pin over in his hand, pink flushing his cheeks. “If you’re sure,” he says. “I don’t want you giving up any more than you already have for me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“I’m not doing this so you’ll pay me back.”

“Then why are you?”

The same question from earlier, just rephrased. Glancing at Jaskier, Geralt knows he did it on purpose. Geralt sighs and takes the pin back, just to give himself something to do. “Because you’re special, Jask.” The bard beams, and Geralt nudges him softly. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m going to sell this so you don’t freeze or go hungry while I’m gone. I’ll let you pick the town.”

“Oxenfurt,” he says without hesitation.

Geralt frowns. “Why Oxenfurt?”

“I’ve got friends there, at the university,” Jaskier explains. “I know at least one of them will put me up, especially if I pay for food and whatever other expenses I’ll have.”

“How do you know these friends?”

“Stand down, guard dog,” Jaskier chuckles. “We grew up together. Priscilla was from a neighboring family, and we were the same age, so we always sat together at parties. She is kind, and generous, and happily bonded to her alpha, Philippa.” He gives Geralt a significant look and Geralt stops bristling—which he didn’t even realize he was doing. “They’re good friends, Geralt. They’ll ensure I’m looked after while you’re gone.”

Geralt nods, smoothing a hand down Jaskier’s chest. His gaze strays to the little bump on the bard’s belly, where Jaskier is still stroking.

“You want to feel?” the omega offers. “Pup won’t be moving for a couple months, probably, but it’s a fascinating feeling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier takes his hand and lifts his chemise, letting Geralt finally rest his palm over the little swell beneath his navel. His skin is hot and smooth, little divots where his skin has begun stretching to accommodate the life growing beneath the surface. It’s not big—Geralt’s hand covers the full expanse of it—but it feels significant. If he focuses, he can feel the vibrations of the pup’s heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a rush.

“What?” Jaskier asks in quiet alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Geralt says. He strokes his hand across Jaskier’s belly gently, soothing him in and taking in the feel. “I can feel their heartbeat.”

“Really?” Jaskier slips his hand under Geralt’s, brows drawing in with the effort of trying.

Geralt chuckles softly at him. “You won’t be able to. Witcher senses.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks. The scent of tears alerts Geralt to his sudden burst of emotion.

“Jaskier?” He shifts around so the bard is no longer on his lap and leans over him, one hand still on his belly and the other on the bed. “Jaskier, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, no.” Jaskier gives a shaky laugh and wipes his face with the hand not trapped under Geralt’s. “I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He flips his hand over to catch Geralt’s fingers in his. “That was the greatest gift you could give me. Guh.” He gives a mighty, nasty sniff that makes Geralt laugh. “Shut up. Don’t make fun of a poor, pregnant omega.”

“I would never.” Geralt raises their joined hands to his lips before he even realizes what he’s doing and presses a kiss to the omega’s knuckles. Jaskier’s cheeks turn pink and his scent takes a sultry spike that Geralt doesn’t let himself linger on. He pulls away before he can do anything more embarrassing. “So, we’re agreed? Tomorrow we leave for Oxenfurt, where you’ll stay with your friends if they’ll have you. I’ll return for you in two months when it’s time to make the trip up the Blue Mountains. We’ll spend the winter in Kaer Morhen until the pup arrives, then we stay as long as you need to recover.”

Jaskier blinks up at him. “We… you mean you intend to keep me around after the pup arrives?”

“Of course,” Geralt says, though he hadn’t put much thought to it before. All he knew was that there was no way he was willing to part with his omega.

No, not his omega. Just Jaskier. Jaskier, who happened to be an omega. Jaskier, who was carrying another alpha’s pup.

Jaskier can’t seem to find words—a rare occurrence for him—so he just pulls Geralt down into a crushing hug. Geralt keeps himself up, afraid to put too much weight on the bard. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes and smearing all over both of them. “Thank you, thank you.”

⚘⚘⚘

Their parting at Oxenfurt is somehow tearier than Geralt feared.

Jaskier, now in his fourth month of pregnancy, is overcome with emotion at the prospect of Geralt leaving him. Priscilla and Philippa watch silently from the door of their little townhouse Jaskier will be calling home until Geralt returns for him. It’s small, but clean and warm. Geralt knows Jaskier will be taken care of, especially with the money he’d given the omega after he sold Renfri’s pin in the market.

Still, knowing he’s safe doesn’t make it any easier to pull away from the teary omega clinging to him.

“Promise you’ll come back,” Jaskier whimpers into Geralt’s throat where he’s been nuzzling desperately for the better part of five minutes. They’re in the middle of the street, Roach waiting impatiently a few paces away and countless passersby giving them a wide berth.

Geralt pats him gently on the back, pretending he's not rubbing his cheek against the bard’s hair to scent him as much as he can before he pulls away. “You have my word,” he says. “Two months, I’ll be right back here with everything we need for our journey. I won’t leave you behind. Never.”

Jaskier whines softly, breaking Geralt’s heart into pieces as they clutch each other tighter.

Finally, a wince from Jaskier pulls them apart as he rubs a hand across his belly. The pup is barely the size of Jaskier’s fist at present, but it makes itself present at inopportune times. “Alright,” Jaskier grumbles down at his bump. “I’ll stop pressing on you, calm down.”

Geralt brushes the back of his knuckles against the omega’s belly, afraid to do much more in public. “Take care of each other, alright?” he whispers, loud enough for Jaskier to hear but too quiet for the women on the stairs.

Jaskier nods, pressing his face up to Geralt’s to nuzzle him once more. “I hope you know,” he sniffs delicately. “If you don’t come back, I’ll send half the Continent after your head. You shall never find rest. You will never find work with the nasty ballads I’ll write of you. Everyone will know you kick puppies for fun and drink the blood of orphans with your breakfast.”

Geralt smiles and gently knocks his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Noted. I’ll keep an ear out for them. I’m sure they’ll be your finest work.” Reluctantly, he pulls away from the omega, the whine he makes at the loss of contact nearly making him change his plans completely. He turns to Priscilla and her alpha, bowing his head slightly at them. “Thank you for taking care of him. I’ll return by the first snow. If you encounter any problems, send word southwest. I don’t plan to go far. I’ll pick up a few contracts, stock up on supplies, and be back here as soon as I’m able.”

Priscilla descends the steps and takes Jaskier into her arms. He nuzzles against her, looking back at Geralt miserably but taking comfort in the other omega’s familiar scent. “He’s safe with us,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. She doesn’t trust him—or at least, she doesn’t trust his motivations with Jaskier. “He’ll always be safe with us, no matter what happens.”

It’s a threat and a promise, and a subtle one. We’ll take care of him if you can’t.

Geralt nods at her then at Philippa, who despite being an alpha seems less intimidating than Priscilla. He gives one last look at Jaskier, pressing his lips together in his best approximation of a smile, then turns to Roach.

He swings himself up and urges her onward, not letting himself look back even once.

Next Part

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