#to human and raw and strong enough that he voice would be heard and listened to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shorkbrian · 4 years

Note

How about some barbarian bakugo noncon?

Prelude - One time I came home from a walk and smelled this scent so freaking thick that I could taste it, and I almost threw up cause it smelled like skinning a deer but like, ten times worse?? and I was like lol that’s kinda weird and it turns out the neighbor had caught a skunk in a catch-and-release trap (which we gave him cause we didn’t want him catching a skunk in a trap that’d kill it) and apparently decided to kill it right then and there, and just let it by the edge of his property, right by my car. That was fun.

Anyways, Katsuki makes a big deal about reader looking different in this. You can take that any way you’d like. Personally, I was feeling insecure about my freckles (I have so many that my skin almost looks even-toned because they almost all touch rip) and my hair color/odd face so I wrote him liking that reader looked different. It’s not super deep lol

Pairing - Bakugou Katsuki X Reader X slight Izuku Midoriya

Warnings - NSFW, dubcon, noncon, voyerisum, exhibistionism, blood mention lol. Idk groping?

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/4FeWr4OsidcJClBjUEBHWI?si=OPHwLWXrTsiNQ42SlMKLEg

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There is a point where you stop screaming.

A point when you realize that no one is coming to save you, that you’re wasting your breath, that it’s fruitless. Does nothing more than raw your throat and grate against your own ears.

It’s no use. The Barbarian King seems unaffected, perhaps even spurred on by your ear-splitting screams. There’s no reason to scream anymore - it’d be impossible to scream forever.

——

Village in flames, corpses littering the streets. You’d heard about the stench of death from books, from traveling warriors who stop in your village for a night, regaling the people with tales of heroics and strength. It smelled quite different from what you had imagined though.

Metallic, yes, but tangy, thick enough for you to taste the iron seeping into the ground. Raw, like the scent of the butcher’s shop, heavy and suffocating - you hadn’t been able to breathe.

Everything had happened so fast, too fast. People were dead, people were dying, people were killing and being killed. You had been running, trying to escape the stifling aroma of your village being drained, the barbarians running amok through the streets leeching out it’s lifeblood.

Then you had been falling, tripped up by a loose limb on the ground, a body still warm and rattling with it’s last breaths. Shocked by the vivid image of the gore underneath you, a man reaching for his severed arm, you hadn’t been able to catch yourself as you fell, a cry leaving your lips.

Darkness.

And then light as you slowly blinked to awareness, slumped on the ground. A line of prisoners, prizes from the raid. You were one of them, hands bound to your neck, ankles tied to the people on either side of you. Two men had come by after a while, a green haired man in dress similar to your own - perhaps a captured man from the village?

The other man was bare chested, as many of the barbarians were, gold and red paint swirled across his skin in intricate, sharp patterns. He looked fearsome, and he barked at the green haired man accompanying him who scribbled furiously onto paper at each utterance of the fearsome blonde man.

They seemed to be going down the lengthy line of prisoners, assigning them? Selecting them for something? You didn’t know, couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were numb, sealed off from the horrific event you had just experienced, safe within your cocoon of forced apathy.

And then the two men were in front of you, the blonde man silent as he stared you down, the green haired man with his pen poised, though he studied you also.

But they quickly moved on, the barbarian barking something at his companion, before striding to the next prisoner.

You had been untied from your fellow captives, led through the barbarian camp. Red tents, warm fires and laughter filled the space, bare-chested warriors of both genders celebrating their recent victory.

The large red tent you had been led to was warm, a fire crackling in the deep pit in the center, silky furs softening the harshness of the ground. There was a table in front of the fire, a large basin filled with water nearby, close to the fire. A desk in the corner, near the tent flap, and a folding screen hiding the back of the tent from view.

Promptly tied to the leg of a table, you were left alone, the woman who had dragged you here leaving before you could ask what was happening.

Shortly, green hair popped through the tent flap, quickly followed by the rest of the man from earlier, the one dressed like your people.

“Izuku Midoriya!” He had introduced himself, giving a little flourish as he bowed, before being pushed aside as the fearsome blonde from before entered the tent.

Still tied to the leg of the table, numb to the world, you merely stared at the ground when the two men approached.

“What’s your name?” The green haired man - Izuku - asked.

He was met with a blank stare.

The blonde man growled at your lack of answer, spitting something in his native tongue, words you didn’t understand. Izuku seemed to shrink, before turning to address you again.

“Please tell us your name. Kacchan is not the most patient man.”

The fearsome man beside him bared his teeth towards you, and you shrank back. He did not seem the type of person who tolerated being left waiting.

“(Y/N)….” You whispered, eyes falling to the ground.

“(Y/N), ah! Such an interesting name, the first part means-“ Izuku was cut off from his ramble with a shove from the blond man - Kacchan - who crouched down in front of you, rolling your name around his tongue.

Turning, he spoke to Izuku in the same jumbled language, who listened, then addressed you as Kacchan turned back to study you again.

“Kacchan would like to know uhm, uuh.....” Izuku trailed off, uncertain eyes flickering between you and the blonde.

Kacchan scoffed, listening to Izuku’s hesitancy with disdain, saying something directed at the younger man, yet Kacchan’s eyes were fixed on you the entire time. It was intimidating.

“He uh, wants to know ifyou’reavirgin.”

Oh god.

Even though the man’s words were rushed, you understood, limbs beginning to shake. You were going to be violated.

A finger poking your calf made you jump, the blonde man leering at you, head cocked to the side, eyebrow raised as if to say “Well?”

You shook your head - lovers had existed in your life, not many, but you still cherished each one deeply, thought back on the experiences you shared fondly.

When relayed this information, the blonde man seemed to grin even wider, rising to his feet. “This will be easier then, no need to go slow.”

With a gasp, you lifted your gaze, wide eyes taking in the man hovering above you. His words were completely forgotten as you took in the shock of understanding his words. He spoke your tongue? Wasn’t he using an interpreter? Why-?

The confusion must be apparent on your face, because Kacchan scoffed, turning to stride to the table, taking a seat facing the fire.

“It pays to play dumb.”

“Loose lipped locals give information more freely when they assume that Kacchan can’t understand them.” Izuku beamed, crouching down in the Barbarian’s previous place to begin untying the rope binding your hands and feet to the table leg.

“Stand up for me please.”

You did as Izuku asked, shakily rising to your feet with a helping hand from Izuku on your arm. He began leading you towards the basin nearby, Kacchan watching the two of you with sharp eyes.

“Do you need help with the fastenings?” Giving Izuku a confused look, your eyes fell to the basin, to the fire, to Kacchan seated at the table. Were they going…. Were they going to boil you alive? Eat you?

Trembling even harder now, it was only Izuku’s surprisingly strong grip on your arm that kept you upright, knees giving out beneath you.

“Help her out, she’s damn near useless.” Kacchan’s strong voice cut through the air, the air that seemed too thick, the air that was choking you, throat closing up.

What does one even do in this situation? Do you beg for your life? Scream for help? Who would come? Accept your inevitable fate?

There was no time to make a decision, however, because Izuku’s nimble fingers were pulling at the fastening of your dress, quickly unlacing it.

You were numb again, fingers leaden, legs heavy, mind fuzzy and listless. Izuku peeled down the top of your dress, and you barely thought to cover yourself - you’d be dead in minutes anyways, what did it matter?

Still, your hands rose to your breasts, shielding them from view involuntarily. Kacchan snorted from his sweat, but said nothing.

When you were completely bare, an arm over your chest, a hand over your sex, Izuku ushered you towards the basin, prompting you to step into it.

This was it, you were going to die.

One last shot of fear raced up your spine, and you turned to the green haired man by your side, his hand falling away from the small of your back. “Please, please don’t kill me, I don’t know what I did but please spare my life. Please, I’m sorry.” Tears were burning your vision, throat choked up with thickness.

Kacchan burst into laughter. “I’m not gonna kill you, the fuck?! Goddamn, your people call us barbarians yet you’re afraid of a bath, fucking hypocrites.” There was a mirthful glint in his eyes when you looked at him, the man leaning back in his chair, arms resting behind his head as he relaxed.

Izuku chuckled also, putting his hand on your lower back again, gently pushing you towards the basin. “You’ll be okay, it’s just some warm water. It’s close to the fire because we don’t want you to catch a chill. You know, the human body actually operates best when it’s within the temperatures of-“

“Deku, shut your trap before I come kick your ass, just get the girl into the water, you dumb fuck.”

The water was warm, and it felt pleasant against your skin, just on the right side of too warm, hot enough to have you relaxing your shoulders as you sank down lower, the liquid covering you up to your neck.

Izuku-Deku? Held your hair out of the way, quickly using a scoop to wet down the strands before rubbing some kind of herbal scrub through your scalp, cleaning out the dirt and debris that had gathered during the raid. You were certain you were absolutely filthy, covered in mud and small scraps, half of your side crusted with dried blood and muck from falling in the bloody street.

For a moment, you felt embarrassed at your earlier panic, silly and like a stupid child, thinking that they were going to boil and eat you. It was clear now what their intent had been, but riddled with fear your thoughts had been clouded and slow.

Fear was still present, rolling through your brain in waves, goosebumps rising from your flesh as you tried to hypothesize what was going to happen to you. From their earlier questioning, you had a faint idea, but you couldn’t bear to think about that outcome, didn’t know if you could tolerate it.

Instead, you let the warm water soothe your body, washing away the grime and dust. Izuku’s hands were gentle in your hair, as he massaged your scalp, as he rinsed out the soap. You tried to ignore how his breath hitched whenever you shifted - you couldn’t keep all of your body covered, no matter how you positioned yourself.

His hands disappeared from your hair, instead prompting your to sit up straight so he could scrub at your body with a cloth smelling of the herbal soap.

It felt weird, and goosebumps arose on your skin as strange hands touched your body. You closed your eyes and endured, for there was nothing else that could be done.

Running would be a bad idea - a naked woman sprinting through the barbarian camp would surely be caught and violated, or brought back to this tent for some twisted punishment. And you could only run if you managed to get past the two men, who ere watching you like hawks, and much, much stronger than you.

Izuku’s hands paused briefly at your chest, eyes flickering over to the blonde man, who nodded in permission. Then Izuku’s hand were running the cloth across your breasts, washing them in gentle circular motions, taking care to not scrub too hard or push too deep.

You bit your tongue as you waited for it to be over.

And it was soon, at least that part. Then the green haired man was instructing you up on your knees, facing him. Telling you to grab onto his shoulder (the man was also kneeling) and spread your legs apart.

Trembling limbs obeyed, face flushing bright red as you followed his commands, eyes squeezing shut so you wouldn’t have to look at his own flushed face.

He ran the cloth down your back, over your ass, then slipped it between your legs to wash your sex with easy swipes of the cloth. The man’s breathing picked up subtly, and you could tell, leaning up against him as you were. His hands wandered, the cloth moving slower and slower upon your cunt, almost stroking at your folds, his fingers pressing through the cloth.

“Oi, Deku! Keep your shitty hands to yourself, you’re supposed to be washing her up, not feeling her up, shitbrain.” Kacchan barked, slamming his fist down against the table to get Izuku’s attention.

Both you and the man in front of you jumped, Izuku immediately blushing the deepest red you’d ever seen, flashing the blonde an apologetic look and you a nervous smile, before he seemed to gather himself, continuing to dutifully cleanse your nether regions.

It was awkward for the both of you, feeling his hands run over your private areas, over your sex, through your ass cheeks. But then he was down, rinsing you off with scoops of warm water before fetching a large towel, ushering you out of the basin, holding out the towel to wrap around your body when you stepped out.

Then you were ushered closer to the fire, sat upon a small stool as you huddled close to the warmth, clutching the towel tightly around you. The air was quite warmer than outside, but was still cold to your wet skin.

Izuku began running his fingers through your hair, parting knots, patting sections dry with a corner of the towel. By the time he was finished, you felt warm again, face rosy from the heat of the fire.

The heat felt pleasant, like the feeling of a full belly after a long day.

You were tired, exhausted from the emotional weight you had endured. Village burned, tripping over corpses and disembodied limbs, taken captive, forced away from your fellow villagers. Stripped down and fondled - at this point, you just wanted to sleep.

To sleep and sleep, wake up and have this all be a bad dream. Some twisted nightmare your mind conjured up while in the warmth and safety of your own home.

A large hand upon your shoulder roused you from your half-asleep state, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the quietness of the tent. You jumped, turning to find Kacchan towering over you and Izuku both.

Kacchan crouched, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your hair, then onto your cheek. “You look so fuckin’ weird.”

Izuku sputtered. “Oh my god, what he means to say, is that we’ve never seen anyone like you before. You’re… quite unique, and very um, attractive.”

You leaned away from the hand on your cheek, and Kacchan let you, red eyes blinking slowly as they scanned your features. He was an odd man, as was Izuku. There was an obvious dynamic of power, Izuku submitting to Kacchan willingly.

“Alright, you’re dry enough, get up.” You blinked at Kacchan, processing his words, before he huffed out a breath, rising to his own feet. “C’mon, let’s go, are you stupid? Get the fuck up.”

You scrambled to your feet, towel still wrapped tightly around your body, preserving your modesty.

Kacchan’s hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck, pulling you along with him as he strode towards the back of the tent, towards the sectioned screen acting as a wall.

“Deku, make your ass useful and dump out the bathwater, will ya?”

You weren’t able to see Izuku move due to the hand forcing your head forward, but you could hear his footsteps as he hurried to do what Kacchan instructed.

Rounding the screen, it was clear to see that this was where the Barbarian King slept, a pile of cozy-looking furs strewn in a pile on the ground.

You were promptly shoved towards them, stumbling down to your knees as you lost your balance. The furs provided cushion though, soft and inviting.

But you were scared again.

It was happening, it was going to happen, you were going to raped by the King.

Turning back towards the man, you began to plead, hands securing the towel around your shoulders like a safety blanket. “Sir, please, don’t do this, why me? You can have anyone, not me, please not me.”

He ignored you in favor of beginning to strip, unfastening his cloak, removing his weapons. You decided to try and appeal using a more personal approach.

“Kacchan-“

Suddenly the man was in your face, his own visage twisted into a growl.

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that. Stupid ass Deku made that shit up when we were kids, I’m not some brat anymore. I’m Katsuki-“ He backed away from you, leaving you trembling. “-Barbarian King.”

The man resumed removing his clothes, dropping his belt to the ground, grumbling as he began to undo his pants. “Should beat his fuckin’ ass for calling me that, so goddamn disrespectful. Fuck him, stupid little ass wipe twerp-“

You tuned him out, frozen. What could you do? Another impasse where your options were none.

A strong hand gripped your shoulder, or more accurately, your towel, tugging it forcefully away from you.

“No!” You cried, trying to pull it back, to cover yourself, but the man was stronger, ripping it away before you could utter another word.

“No! Stop, please!” You tried again, finally taking in Kacc-Katsuki before you. He was naked now, aside from the paint decorating his skin. His cock was quickly hardening, plumping up with each step he took towards you as you scrambled backwards.

“Katsuk-Katsuki, I’m begging you, please don’t do this. I’ll do anything! Please just have someone else!” You sobbed, back finally meeting the wall of the tent.

Katsuki smirked, crouching down just out of your reach. “You’ll do anything? You’ll let my horde use you as a toy then?”

Dread flowed through your already fear-filled body, and you gulped thickly, eyes closing.

“No?”

Shaking your head, you started to cry silently, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You’re already doing fucking anything.” Katsuki growled, hand shooting out to grab your ankle, dragging you down and towards him.

A high-pitched cry left you as he pulled you under him, until he was hovering over you, grinning. “Cry all you want, ain’t gonna change a damn thing. In fact-“ He surged down, until his forehead touched your own, red eyes blazing “-It just turns me on more.”

The man pulled away, a hand falling heavily around your throat, giving a compulsory squeeze before hie started moving his hand downwards, fingers skimming across your flesh.

Immediately, your own hands caught his own, trying to still their journey as they neared your breasts. Katsuki paused, a sound akin to a growl falling from his throat as his eyes flickered away from your body and up to your own eyes.

There was a threat there, a warning. Let him touch, or else. Trembling, you removed your hands, instead grabbing at the furs you rested upon. Katsuki made a gruff sound of approval, before resuming his exploration of your body.

“You’re like nothing I’vs ever seen before, know that? Like some fuckin’ alien or something, but damn, you’re gorgeous. Didn’t even know someone could look like this.” He mused, entranced as he watched his hands splay over your body, pinching at your skin, caressing your breasts, slipping over your stomach and down between your legs.

“Oh god, pleaseee-“ You sobbed out, cringing as a finger trailed down your slit.

Katsuki stilled, quirking a brow as he smiled meanly. “Please what? You wanna cum?”

“Please stop…” You whispered, eyes clenching shut again as he found your clit, giving it a few quick rubs.

The man scoffed, before quickly teasing one of his fingers into your tight hole. “Tough shit, I’ve never had whatever the fuck you are, I ain’t stopping”

His finger burned, dry and too large, and you struggled to keep from clenching down upon it in discomfort, trying to force out the intrusion. This would go easier if you relaxed, if you let him have his way. You knew that, rationally, but it was hard to make you body obey.

Katsuki prepped you quickly, fingering you open until he deemed you ready, withdrawing his fingers and crudely wiping them off upon your thigh. You twitched away at the wetness, at your own slick being cleaned off on your skin, but Katsuki ignored you.

“Why do you look like this anyway? What the fuck happened?” Katsuki asked coarsely, shuffling off of your thighs, moving to lounge by your side, studying you.

The man seemed to be taking a break, more interested in your looks than fucking you, but you were glad for the reprieve, trying to wipe tears from your face as you struggled to think of a response.

“I-I don’t know?” You finally spoke, genuinely at a loss for how to explain your appearance.

Katsuki studied you with sharp eyes, a hand reaching down to his cock, beginning to absent-mildly pump himself while he looked you over.

“I’ve traveled through every shitty little village in the north, met with the damn piss-baby tribes of the east, I’ve ransacked the towns of spoiled nobles, and I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you.”

You sat up, subtly shuffling away from the Barbarian King while you shrugged, at a loss.

Your appearance wasn’t anything superiorly unusual, but apparently it piqued Katsuki’s interest. Yes, your skin was perhaps a bit different, but it’s not like you were inhuman.

Katuski seemed to get tired of talking though, settling further back into the furs, getting himself comfortable as he jerked himself off. You refused to look between his legs.

“Alright, whatever. Get up here.”

Pausing, you looked at him incredulously. Did he mean on his lap? His chest? You didn’t want to be anywhere near him - wouldn’t he find more pleasure with someone who was willing?

“Are you fucking deaf? C’mon, up.” He growled, patting his thigh, urging you over.

A gulp before you started moving, limbs heavy and hesitant, unwilling as you slowly crawled forward, towards the intimidating, impatient blonde.

You straddled his thighs unsteadily, swinging your leg over, trying to avoid touching his cock.

Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, you caught sight of it, the red tip, the precum making his length shine, the wrinkly, darker skin of his balls, his blond pubes.

You cringed, distaste evident upon your face, and you heard Katsuki chuckle darkly before his hands grabbed your hips, dragging you forward.

“What, don’t fucking like what you see? Am I not to your taste? I’ve fucked whorebag princesses less fussy than you. Get over yourself.” He spat, before taking a hand off your hip, reaching underneath you to line himself up as his other hand kept you lifted.

You trembled in his hold, twitching and swaying to the side, but this was unavoidable.

A gasp left your lips as he entered you, tip slipping through your folds, teasing into your wet hole, stretching you out.

Katsuki let out a groan, slowly dropping you down until he could remove his hand from his cock, returning it to your hip, guiding you to push further down. You felt disgusting, his cock sliding against your velvety insides, dirtying your walls with leaking precum.

When your sit bones rested against his upper thighs, his cock resting fully inside you, it felt impossible to breathe, your chest rising to draw in air but failing, the distress you felt upon being speared open seemingly too much for your body to handle.

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight. You got a dirty little cunt, don’t you? Feels fucking amazing.” Katsuki groaned, moving his hips minutely, relishing the grip your inside had on his cock, how warm you were around him.

“Ride me, will you? I’m getting bored down here.” He snapped after a moment, delivering a harsh slap to your rear to emphasize his words, spurring you into tentative action.

Problem is, you didn’t want to.

Your palms rested against his heated chest, eyes raising to the ceiling as your cheeks burned. This was embarrassing, you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be an active participant in your violation. What would that make you?

“Oi, princess - I don’t got all night.“ Katsuki growled, landing a significantly more-jarring hit to rear, hard enough to make you squeak and jump, hips twitching at the sensation of his cock moving around your pussy at the movement.

Afraid of more forceful repercussions, you started to move, slowly sliding up, then down, creeping along, hoping it’d be enough to satisfy the man.

It wasn’t.

Katsuki grumbled something under his breath, before tightening his hold on your hips, planting his feet in the furs, then plunging into you with force. The sudden movement jostled you, and you fell forward with a cry, head bouncing onto Katsuki’s chest by your hands, the man groaning as he found a satisfactory rhythm.

“There we go, that’s fuckin’ nice.”

You cried into his chest, hands clutched into fists as you were bounced up and down, the led slap of skin too loud and jarring in the tent. The paint on Katsuki’s body was beginning to smear, sweat dampening his skin and letting the paint drip onto the ground, transfer to your own skin.

It was starting to feel good, make your stomach tighten, limbs tremble with pleasure instead of fear, and you hated it.

Slick sounds reached your ears, out of rhythm with Katsuki’s quick prods. It was wet, pulsing, as if someone-

Gasping breaths reached your ears, not from the man grunting beneath you.

Another round of cold fear dampened your arousal as you honed in on the sound, realizing it was coming from the other side of the screen.

Someone was on the other side of the screen, listening in to the Barbarian King taking you against your will.

A stuttered cry left you when Katsuki pushed too hard, hitting your sweet spot, making you clench and shudder, forgetting about the other person for a second.

But they were so loud, little gasps and moans, and the shlick, shlick, shlick, was getting faster and faster, it was impossible to ignore.

Should you try to tell Katsuki? Would he stop? Would he be mad? It was so disturbing, knowing someone was sitting on the other side of the screen, jerking themselves off so obviously .

“Katsuki-Katsuki wait, oh-“ You started, quickly cut off by a series of battering thrusts against your sweet spot.

But you had to try again. “Wait, sto-o-op, wa-unh, unh, Katsuki pl-mmh!”

“Shut up, I don’t fucking care.” The man snapped, out of breath.

“But there’s-oh…. Katsuki there’s someo-“

“I don’t /fucking care/.” Katsuki reiterated, gritting his teeth. He shut you up with another perfectly placed push against your sweet spot, and a cruel spank against your already-stinging ass.

“Ow!” You yelped, clenching up. It was clear now, that Katsuki was aware of the listener, he just didn’t mind. Maybe he got off on it, knowing someone was listening to him take apart his latest conquest.

Clenching up was the wrong response, because the Barbarian King swore, before his hips sped up, bouncing you so violently on his lap that you found it hard to breath, barely able to hang on for the ride.

“Oh…. (Y/N)….” The voice behind the screen moaned lowly, almost whispering.

It was Izuku.

You shivered, at the sound, feeling creeped out with the knowledge that the gentle, timid “interpreter” was listening. He must have returned at some point from dumping out the basin. You were feeling revolted by this entire situation, disgusted with Katsuki, Izuku, and most importantly with yourself.

Pleasure was building quickly in your stomach, zapping up into your chest, making you tingle and shake with the sensations assaulting your body.

“Sit back, fucking sit back-“ Katsuki panted, pushing at one of your shoulders to push you up, so he could see you as he fucked up into you, watch your body move, your face contorting in pleasure.

You felt like you couldn’t help it, your eyes closing, mouth falling open to let out girlish, high-pitched moans.

Your breasts were being jostled, jiggling up and down with the movement of your body, and it hurt. Hands moved to hold them, stopping their bouncing, but Katsuki appreciated the view apparently, because he groaned, pushing his head back while still trying to watch you.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. Keep touching yourself princess, keep moaning like a little slut. Let Deku know how fucking good I’m making you feel.”

Your body didn’t give you a choice, noises being pushed from your throat involuntarily as Katsuki pounded into you, red eyes trained on your frame, intense and unwavering.

An orgasm ripped through you, seemingly out of nowhere despite the steady buildup of it the past few minutes. You gasped, breathing catching in your throat, hips furiously grinding down against Katsuki’s as you rode it out, trying to stimulate your clit to intensify the feeling.

The noises leaving you were perverted; wet gasps, little squeaks and long moans as you fucked yourself onto Katsuki’s cock, previous hesitance forgotten in preference of chasing your pleasure.

Katsuki swore underneath you again, rabbiting his hips up into you in response, breathing raggedly as he neared his own release.

You were so lost in feeling the sensations in your own body, you didn’t register the stuttered groans on the other side of the screen, the speedy clicking of Izuku jerking himself through his own orgasm, the almost-silent spatter of his cum hitting the screen.

Katsuki swore once more, a vehement “Shit, shit!” before he pulled out quickly, orgasm apparently catching him by surprise, the first few warm strings of cum shooting into your warm cunt, adding to the wet mess of your own orgasm.

The rest was aimed onto the puffy lips of your slit, one of Katsuki’s hands leaving your hips to pump his cock as he gasped, hips twitching upward at the sudden temperature change from your burning heat to the air of the tent.

Then there was just the sound of three people breathing heavily, completely spent, sweaty and dirtied from sex.

Katsuki pulled you down onto his chest, chuckling breathlessly as he brought his clean hand to your head, ruffling your hair tiredly.

“Well, you’re a goddamn catch, pussy’s like a fuckin’ vice.” The crude comment made your cheeks color, but as exhausted as you were, you couldn’t find the energy to offer a rebuttal.

“I think you’re gonna stick around for a while.” Katsuki mused, and you felt your heart drop. “Yeah, you’re a keeper. Maybe if fuckface over there-“ The blond slapped at the screen “-can stop being a pervert, we could actually fuck without feeling creeped out.” He growled, although the blonde didn’t sound irritated in the least.

A small “Sorry Kacchan” was whispered from the other side of the screen, and Katsuki laughed dryly.

“Tell you what bastard, maybe I’ll let you touch her a bit.” Katsuki said, a hand creeping down to knead at your ass. “Then you don’t have to act like a little freak. Who knows, maybe I’ll even let you fuck her if you do good translating those maps we found. Got it, you little shitnugget?”

“Mm, alright Kacchan.” Came the tired response.

You were barely awake, already drifting off on Katsuki’s warm chest, too preoccupied with the red and gold paint no doubt smearing against your cheek than with the conversation going on around you.

You could panic about that later.

#fun skunk story #srsly the air was so thicc #it made my eyes water and my stomach cramp #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #barbarian #barbarian katsuki #barbarian bakugou #tw dubcon #tw noncon #dark bakugou #kidnapping #captive #blood #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere

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i-need-air · 4 years

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"Dude" — Bakugou Katsuki x Reader.

Summary: Your former bully, Midori, has confessed her undying love for one of the most famous guys at U.A.; you're just venting gossiping about it with Mei, not knowing Bakugou Katsuki is right around the corner, listening;

Warnings: None. Well, Bakugou Katsuki having various anger induced strokes > the normal > no warnings; light crackfic? subtle ending;

Word count: 4.5k;

[ Part 2 ];

"She confessed to him." You grinned, throwing a bunch of fries into your mouth like the absolute animal you were.

Mei on the other hand continued her work on whatever in the world her new prototype, or "baby", was. Still, you had the honor of having half of her attention, which was a compliment to say at least.

She just smiled, shaking her head, leading you to continue, not knowing a blond was quite literally behind the corner, just outside the door leading to the support department, frown on his face.

"She came to class giggling like an idiot saying she's got a plan." You made a face into the distance, remembering your classmate's obnoxious squeal. "Ugh, she started telling the Divas how she's gonna have The Bakugou Katsuki in the bag." An ugly snort left your body, which earned an amused chuckle from Mei.

Both of you were pretty well known to be very good friends, and as much as you hated to admit it, you were both quite the social pariahs too. She was a little bit strange or weird, as some called her, but not for a single second she cared, which was the reason you admired the girl so much in the first place. Meanwhile you've taken the role of the bitch of the whole school by far. Sadly, you were placed in the same class as your archenemy, only increasing your chances of being called said endearing term.

Middle-school was a nightmare to say at least, getting bullied for your looks, the way you spoke or dressed, anything really as long as you were the one being mocked. And who was the one doing the bullying? Midori. Stunning, graceful, baby-faced Midori. Petite yet elegant, a devil in disguise. Whoever crossed her path suffered her malice unless she had something to gain from them.

And now, sweet Midori was in the U.A.'s General Studies, coinciding with you in the majority but not all classes. It had to do with the tragedy that your quirk was so rare that the principal Nezu had to adjust a new schedule just for you. Just kidding, it was amazing. The actual tragedy was seeing her face every day.

Back to your heartbreaking backstory and origin; time made you tough, comments made you build a wall so tall and thick nobody could crumble it. Backstab after backstab made you learn that not everyone has good intentions, but in your loneliness you found Hatsume Mei. So honest and dedicated, so raw and passionate. A good person. The type of person your parents promised you'd someway cross paths with and gain such a strong friendship that nothing could tear it apart.

Becoming friends with her was easy, kinda. It took snapping back at Midori when she started her normal bullying routine on Mei, which ignored it without a care. You stepped in and the rest is history. It did feel good though, calling her a pathetic bitch before turning to the stranger with a cool gadget in her hands to compliment it. And, since she's a sucker for her babies, you had to deal with an hour of sparkly eyes and monologues about her plans and prototypes.

Funny girl, Mei. You remember thinking but the following day you passed by her usual spot to fill your curiosity, asking if she did solve the problem she was complaining about.

"He was the one she was planning to ask out?" She screamed at you, head inside a giant metal gauntlet and the reason you two started talking about said man in particular. News were extra-fresh anyway.

"Oh, yeah!" You shook your head, ashamed to exist in the same general proximity as a person like your former bully. "He's gonna be so rich and famous!" A high pitched squeal left your mouth as you tried to copy her voice. "Poor fucking guy, if only he knew."

"But people know she's a bitch!" She screamed again, repairing or adjusting something with almost all of her body inside the gauntlet. A smile, genuine and soft this time, formed on your face. The pink-haired girl wasn't one to talk bad about others or even care, but it was clear she wasn't particularly fond with Midori either, although the conversation was more for you to vent rather than gossip. Sure it was.

"Like the people from the Hero Department even care about us, the commoners." With a roll of the eyes, you followed. "If he's smart, he'll run away. If he's an asshole, he could use her too."

"What do you mean?" Pink flocks of hair suddently submerged from the gadget, eyes curious zooming on you. That probably got more than 50% of her attention and it was a new personal goal while she was at the workshop.

With shrugged shoulders, your answer came nonchalant. "He could date her and dump her like she's nothing. Would serve her right for all the shit she's talking about him." But the only response you got was a short quizzical look, followed by your exagerated sigh. "She's talking shit about him constantly, but then says he's hot and that his personality doesn't matter anyway. Money, fame, looks. She has a whole fucking life-plan! Then calls him a rabid dog!"

"Woah—" that surprised her.

"Woah indeed! Insane. It's insane. I don't know the guy but no one deserves that shit." When you got no response, you continued your speech, munching in the food with passionate hunger, words coming out almost indistinguishable. "Doubt he'd play her though. He looks like a smart guy. I've seen the Sports Festival—" you picked up your burger, giving it heart eyes. "—and I've seen the news. He's probably a good guy too, the issue is people don't see that and... Well, I understand what's it to be judged... Not many have what it takes to be a real hero but he does. Hope he finds happiness in life." Much talk for someone that doesn't know shit about the guy in particular, but even so faint, your gut instinct was trained well enough to spot malice and he lacked that. "And a therapist." And there's the little shit in you that had to drop a cheeky comment.

Mei's gaze turned downwards and even if you could see her brain do mental gymnastics to solve whatever problem she had in front of her super-eyes, she also contemplated your words with great care.

"He comes here from time to time—" she grins, smacking the grenade looking gauntlet with her weird utensil. "I noticed you two are similar." Your face twisted, eyes wide towards the girl.

Similar how? He was loud, bold with a foul mouth, definitely needed a therapist for those unresolved anger issues... But he was also bright as in whenever he went, people looked in his direction, like he shined; obviously strong, also from what you've heard smart, popular, lucky to be surrounded by kind people. Example being that very nice pink girl that had a joyous conversation with you the very first day of school and, much to your surprise, continued greeting and having sweet small talks with you every single time you saw each other. Or the blond haired guy that showed off a little bit too much and made dumb flirty comments with no bad intentions, the same blond that waved at you with enthusiasm when you'd cross paths. There was the red-head, Kirishima, that was an absolute gentleman, opening doors for you even if you had two functioning hands and smiled so bright it made your corneas burn, or also the dark haired guy, Sero, that you've seen helping literally anyone in need around the school campus with an easy going attitude and gentle grins. Bakugou Katsuki was surrounded by good people, good heroes just as amazing as him and if they liked him, he must've definitely had some good in him, right? Another point appeared in your mental presentation about the brash hero in the making was that he was way too attractive but the wise burried deep inside of you made that particular point dissappear. No need to think about that. Overall you weren't even remotely similar. Not even close. Two completely different human beings from two completely different worlds that would never collide. With that being said, there was the small chance that Mei hinted for you to get a therapist too, who knows.

"How even—"

"I mean!" She screwed something in place. "I mean in your— determination?"

"I wouldn't know that." You muttered.

"He screams I'm gonna be the best every time he's here—"

"Cute..." You vomit that endearment without thinking, but thankfully it got ignored.

"—and it always reminds me of you." A small chuckle left your mouth.

"Don't make fun of me."

"You say it too~"

"I just heal, Mei, it's not the same." Principal Nezu's speech, the speech he gave your parents months into the first year as they found themselves aware of your power made you hold your words. You had it in you. The potential. If incredible people like your teachers, like Shuzenji Chiyo or Principal Nezu twisted things around for your quirk, for how rare and powerful it is, you'd accept it.

"But you're gonna be the best healer ever, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Of course. Which reminds me—!"

"Hmm?" Her attention faded away slightly, but it wasn't a problem.

She cheered, both at you and at her finished masterpiece and proceeded to eat too, passing through the lunch hour without interruption.

"Recovery Girl is putting me on active duty at the infirmary from now on. Finally!"

Innocent pale purple eyes stared into deep crimson ones, furrowed brows covering them.

—

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't one to enjoy being annoyed or surprised and this extra managed to make him feel both things in a short notice.

Everyone around him froze in fear or wonder, awaiting his response without breathing or moving an inch. Meanwhile Whoever-she-was held a pink envelope in front of him, a perfume too sweet coming from it making him want to literally gag in the spot.

Another thing the boy did not appreciate was to have someone bullshit him. His senses were telling him to back off, alarms ringing in his head and those purple eyes held hidden intentions; he wasn't having any of it.

"Fuck off." He snapped, yet his stance was casual as he refused to move out of her way since she was the one that had the audacity to run into him.

Some gasps, even coming from his so-called idiotic friends, could be heard and an indignant Bakubro behind him as he got slapped in the shoulder but he did not care. Not until her lips started to tremble as she retreated her confession letter towards her chest dramatically. His eyebrow started to twitch at the sight.

It was a spectacle for anyone surrounding him.

"What's going on?" Shushes and whispers.

"Bakugou Katsuki just got a confession!" Gossip.

"What!? Who?!" Confusion.

"You said Bakugou Katsuki?!" Shock.

"Oh, she's pretty!" Awe.

"He told her to Fuck off! What an asshole!" Outrage.

"Is that Midori?" Surprise.

"The nerve—" Anger.

"Midori from—" Disbelief.

"Oh, my God, she's really doing it~!" Giggles.

He frowned deeper. If people were to talk about him, they should be talking about all the crap he's been doing and all the lives he saved, not because of a fake bimbo decided to cross his path.

Bakugou wasn't stupid either. With time he knew these things would eventually come in his direction, stuff he'd have to deal with in the future as fame would take over, but not now. He did not have time to entertain this show anyway.

There was only one destination in his mind and she was keeping him in the middle of the whole school cafeteria with prying eyes on them both.

"Bakugou, do something, she's about to cry!" Dunce Face harshly whispered, but turned towards the white haired girl that looked devastated in front of them. "Ignore him! Ask me out, I would never make you cry!"

He rolled his eyes so back in his head it almost hurt. With a need to hurl the food he just ate, he made a step to leave the scene but small hands with claw-like fingernails gripped his arm and he looked at her in utter disgust.

"No, I would never! He—" she sniffled but had no tears in her eyes. He gave her a scowl, trying to take his arm out of her grip but she scratched him in place with her tiny rat hands. "You're the one I love! I—" her bangs covered her face as she continued her show.

"Bakugou! Dude! Do something!" Shitty Hair said, his dumb and blind trust in people buying the act. A vein almost popped on Bakugou's forehead.

"I fucking said—" he pulled his arm so hard she fell on her knees by his side. "Fuck. Off."

Another set of gasps filled the room.

"Bakugou!"

One thing he did not want, even if he could tell it was a foul theater, was to hurt somebody. His asshole act ended at that but his pride stopped him from saying anything.

Glancing to see if she's hurt, Pink Idiot was by her side, helping her up and asking way too many fucking questions.

"No, I'm fine..." she said with such a meek voice he scoffed, also hearing all the shit everyone around him was talking.

"He's such a brute."

"What a mean guy—"

"She's crying!"

"Fucking asshole."

He gritted his teeth.

After the disaster with the League of Villains in the first year, people started to respect him for who he was yet one single, minuscule shit like this and they were all at his jugular.

"I took Bakugou-san by surprise." She excused his behavior to Ashido, which then suggested they should eat lunch together sometimes to make up for the trouble after apologizing in his behalf.

"Yeah, we'd love to have you around! Isn't that right, Bakugou?" The apologetic and almost pleading voice of his blond friend, if he ever was going to call him that anymore, just made him bare his teeth. If they wanted to get played like fools it was their problem, not his.

And that's how he found himself eavesdropping on the weirdo and an extra.

And with a single "Whatever." he left the cafeteria, going to check if his gauntlets were ready, annoyance oozing off him, making the sea of people part from his path. Except he didn't notice you rushing away a little bit in front of him, holding a bag of food, all amused.

Why the fuck was everyone talking about him? Can't they fucking keep his pretty name outta their mouths? With time and without finding a reason why the hell he was glued in place, he listened attentively, his suspicions confirmed and his ego hurt, but whoever was talking about him calmed his nerves a lot. He just needed to put a face to that voice. Just to see who's gossiping about him, nothing else.

—

With a full belly and a whole afternoon to study by Recovery Girl's side, you marched towards the infirmary after you bid your farewell to Mei. There was still time to walk around, grab something sweet for later and save any poor soul that Midori decided to sink her teeth in. It was common at this point, you getting in between her and her victims and taking the hit, yet somehow also being called a bitch by everyone. That's how high-school worked. She did have friends and they spread any word she spat. Vultures.

It was fine though. Hero [Y/N] is there to save the day no matter what. You scoffed at your own stupidity, turning the corner just to step on a leg that was sprawled on the floor.

He clicked his tongue, getting up with no worry in the world, but made no action to leave, settling for observing and analyzing you way too intensely.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, idiot." The man of the hour, the guy you've defended in front of your friend just screamed at you as he dusted off the imprint of your shoe left on his pants. Meanwhile you just paled in place before regaining your composture.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" You said, tilting your head with a frown, already knowing you will not apologize.

Unimpressed by what was going on, even if you truly couldn't point out what really was going on, you made an attempt to move past him towards the vending machines not far behind, but he caught your arm in a firm grip.

You blinked stupidly at the skin contact.

"Heard you were talkin' shit."

Your stomach dropped. Legs almost gave up too if it weren't for his iron grip holding you still. In the silence and at the satisfaction of the reaction you let out, he smirked and raised his chin, only Mei's singing voice coming from her workshop could be heard. Realization hit you. Hit you? Bitchslapped you in the face and left a mark for sure, because your cheeks started feeling heated, tingly.

He dragged you away, maybe to have the privacy to murder you in peace, but your common sense kicked in and you came back from the land of the mortified.

Much like he did before, action you saw with your two own eyes and repeated, you pulled out of his strong grip and stared as he turned towards you, mouth already opened to probably eat you alive.

"I wasn't talking shit about you, dude." You quickly spoke first.

"You don't fucking know me." He growled back, taking a step towards you but like hell you'd back down.

"Don't need to be besties to say what I said." Without understanding why he was so agitated, the only thing left to do after this beautiful turn of events was to defend the honor remaining in you, so you raised your chin to be at par with him. The action clearly took him by surprise, making him glare more, if even possible.

"I don't fucking appreciate when extras talk about me behind my back!"

"I don't give a shit what you appreciate, dude." Your laugh was the complete opposite of his menacing loud voice, like ying and yang.

"Bakugou, the name's fucking Bakugou, you extra!" Bakugou recovered quickly at your snappy self, getting more bothered as you talked.

"Okay, dude." His hands fisted, shaking in place as he stared you down but did not continue.

Silence; the hallway was now filled with silence as he boiled in his own anger and as you raised your brows in confusion. Now what? Was it time to leave? You've never met anyone like him, this was peculiar—

"NOW IT'S WHEN YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOUR SHITTY NAME, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS!"

A second passes; two; at the third you're wheezing your lungs out, laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.

"What the fuck are you LAUGHING AT?!" His voice got louder just to top your howling. You did not expect that.

Through a sigh, regaining your breath, you say "It's [L/N] [Y/N].", seeing him retreat in his form and cross his arms. He was still seizing you up.

"If you have shit to say to me, say it to my fucking face, understood?"

"I—... Say what now?"

"I—." He copied in a mock, getting an incredulous look from you. "You stupid or what?" Your upper lip lifted, ready to cuss him to infinity and beyond but he continued. "Like about that bitch from before and shit—" even if he still was loud, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked more interested in the way the tiles on the wall were placed instead of your person. "An' like you told the weirdo—"

No time to be shocked at the implied; his last word enraged you, making your body shake with rage. "Don't fucking dare to call her a weirdo ever again."

Like a challenge, he snapped his face back at you, ready to take it.

"Or what?"

"Listen here, fucker—" now that was a nice surprised face he was pulling. "Just because I gave you a pat on the back in there doesn't mean you can disrespect people just because you think you're the shit. You're not. Now get out of my fucking way." With a final push to his shoulder, your mind was focused on going to the infirmary, steam almost coming out of your nostrils.

"Hey, extra!"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. went through your mind, marching away without a glance back. Not until—

"[L/N]! You're a healer, hah?" That's interesting. He stood where you left him, watching.

"What's it to you?"

Someone sane would've left at your tone but this guy walked towards you then showed you his arms, recently scratched. Images came back to you about the cafeteria incident but did not underst—... did he want to get healed?

You scoffed.

"They're scratches, dude."

"They annoy me. Now heal." All the energy you had left in your body was channeled towards the slow blink you threw at him, at which he scoffed. But they did look nasty— and Midori did them. It was a curse by itself to look down at your own arms and remember that face, so the guardian angel in you decided to take control and be the better person.

Gentle fingers barely tapped his muscular arm. Smile crept up on your lips, feeling absolutely delighted at his obvious stiffness at the skin contact and the clear interest in his eyes, specially when the scratches started disappearing into nothing, leaving smooth silk skin under.

"Hey— Wha— Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" raspy voice got lost in the distance and one thought in your head.

"Want a lollipop for being a good patient too?" You mock and his face explodes in all shapes of red. It would've been great to mock him more, enthralled by his reactions, but with that you turned and left, ignoring the tingling under your fingers that should not be there and your stomping heart.

Did he wait all the lunchbreak to talk to you?

—

A long queue was ahead of you, earning the longest sigh out of your lungs. Life was pain sometimes. Mei couldn't hang out, food was too far away, the delicious croissants Lunch Rush made ran out as far as you could see. Pain. Just pure pain.

And disappointment. When you walked away with your food in a bag, maybe to sit under a tree and enjoy some peace and quiet, you saw her. Midori sitting at a table you did not expect. At the same table where Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijirou and Hanta Sero sat at. Good people. Honest, good people about to get bitten by a snake. If she was there, then Bakugou decided—

"You. Sit."

Thinking about the boy somehow summoned him behind you. Food in hand and bored expression on his face, he passed you not without giving you a stink eye. Indeed, disappointment.

You shrugged, trying not to pay much attention to the pang in your heart as you moved forward, but a voice— his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You. Get the fuck out of my face." His growl made everyone around him turn to watch, you being one of them. There was no excuse to what came next, no way to run away past it and dissappear. He nodded his head at you out of all people and pointed at the seat still occupied by Midori; her purple eyes big, shocked, running between your frame and the blond's.

Do you know what it felt to be put in the spotlight without warning? Well, congratulations because that was your life now.

"Ba—Bakugou-san?" Her voice, now highed up and meek followed, then a small scream as Bakugou slammed his food on the table. His friends sat there, wide-eyed, but made no attempt to interrupt.

"Did I fucking stutter, bitch? Or want me to turn into a rabid dog for fucking real?"

You choked on your own spit, bag of goodies about to drop on the floor once you saw her horrified face. She knew that he knew. And when her pale eyes, filled with sudden malice, act dropped, turned to you it's when you realized she figured out where he found out from.

Not like you cared, really, but the little shit that always had to poke out every time she was in the same room as you decided to finally show up, making you wave and send her a wink.

"I said MOVE!" now— that growl, raspy and filled with anger startled her. The orange juice in her hands spilled all over her uniform and woke her up from whatever delusion she was in. With zero time to reconsider, every belonging of hers was picked up with trembling hands and she ran away to her group of cockroaches.

A smile was already settled on your face; your brain was storing that whole interaction deep within, ready to bring it back up whenever you needed a good laugh.

Life was pain and disappointment, you say? No. Life was great. Or more importantly, Bakugou was. Not like he needed to know. But he was a decent guy as he proved—

"THE FUCK YOU STANDING THERE LIKE A DUMBASS?! I SAID SIT!" —to be a pain in the fucking ass and the bane of your existence.

You gave him a face then turned to walk away, even rushing more when you heard his chair screeching on the floor. The exit was so close, so near, freedom never felt this great, the sunlight kissing your skin giving you a new hope to live. But not for long because he grabbed your hand and started dragging you towards his table.

Your hand was in his hand and he was dragging you—

Your hand— his big, warm, a little bit sweaty hand—

How could you ruin such a beautiful moment? Eyes on you two, shocked, silence, his adorable red ears being the only thing you could see as he was completely in front of you, still dragging you towards his friends...

"Did you wait all lunchbreak yesterday to talk to me?" You collided into him as you finished the sentence, his way taller form stiffened so much you felt you single-handedly broke Bakugou Katsuki for good.

But when he turned... Oh, when he turned. Biggest deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes you've ever seen on anyone, cheeks painted so red you almost melted in the spot, lips trembling as his head worked a thousand miles per second just to find a retort. And you prepared yourself for—

"NO, I FUCKING DIDN'T! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FUCKING EXTRA? I'D NEVER WAIT FOR SOMEONE LIKE YO— ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!" Mina's waving hand caught your attention and smiled at her. Your hand was still in his, gripped harshly as he still hasn't noticed it's still there.

"Hey! [L/N], long time no see!" She cheered, ignoring the living shit out of her screaming friend, like she's used to it.

"FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU—"

"Hey, chill, dude. Now let go of my hand, I wanna talk to Ashido." You smiled sweetly, making extra effort to wave your linked hands arond until he finally noticed. He zapped his hand away so fast, like he's been bitten by a wild animal. Maybe even a rabid dog, if you will.

You couldn't ignore your own flustered state as you walked past him, giving him a one up, adding the absolute scandalized face he had into the back of your mind for safekeeping.

"Come sit with us!" The pinkette offered.

"Oh, hey, I know you! You're by Hatsume's workshop all the time!" Kirishima intervened with a surprised face that broke into a grin. "Nice to officially meet—"

"I fucking said." he appeared, sitting in front of you. "My name's Bakugou."

"Ok, dude, but I'm talking to someon—"

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI!" Could be heard from the stratosphere.

Note: I just realized Midori means Green [ fucking duh ] but I'm not gonna change the name or her description. I think her parents fucking up her name was the start of many accidents leading into the Midori we all know and hate. Also, I know you understand. We all know a Midori in our lives. Much love.

Note 2: I keep editing it but tumblr dot com slash Install App on Phone fucks my editing and switches paragraphs all around! If you find any PLEASE tell me, I'd really appreciate it!!!

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #noire writes #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #i just wanted to make myself uwu #reader is op

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the-broken-truth · 3 years

Text

The Lion of House Dimitrescu

Summary: During a meeting with Mother Miranda & the other lords, Alcina learns of a strange captive in her brother's care - he has the body of a human but humans don't have horns nor ears & tails that resemble lions. Just what is he and what is Alcina's interest in him?

Pairing: Lady Alcina Dimitrescu x Male Lion Demon (Leo)

Leul meu - My Lion

Cereți și voi livra, Doamna mea - Ask and I shall deliver, My Lady

"I'm telling you, Mother Miranda - we have to get rid of him. He's costing me Lycans." The voice of that fool - Heisenberg - was the first thing Alcina heard as she made it to the Meeting Grounds and took her seat; all the other lords were present, as well as their matriarch/mother - Mother Miranda.

"What has he done now, Heisenberg?" Mother Miranda asked as she looked in Fourth Lord's direction.

"Just last night - that creature slaughter another 5 of my Lycans without even moving for where he stood; with a flick of his claw, he tore open their bellies like scissors through ribbons. I can't keep hold him - not like I'm really holding him, to begin with; he can easily break out of his bindings but he just choices not to because 'it's not worth his time.'." Heisenberg said as he leaned back into his chair with a tired exhale.

"Sounds like someone is giving you a run for your coin, Karl." Angie chuckled as she clapped from her position on Donna's Lap, Heisenberg snarled at the doll as he forced his hammer into his hand.

"Keep that damn doll quiet, Donna, or I'll turn it into a porcelain pile!" He growled.

"Meanie!" Angie squealed as she scooched closer to Donna.

"Silence!" Mother Miranda echoed out as she threw her hands up and her 6 wings fanned out - silencing the siblings. "Now - we shall discuss like adults what shall do about this creature; it's not something you would see every day and thus it will not be killed." Mother Miranda began before Karl interrupted her.

"With all due respect, Mother Miranda, it's not that we 'shouldn't' kill - it's that we 'can't' kill it. I sent a fuck-ton of metal through its chest before it fell, only to revive itself." Karl said as he looked at his mother.

"Mother Miranda - what is this 'creature' that you and Heisenberg keep referring to?" Alcina said as she took one long swing from her cigarette before resting the hand that held it on her armrest.

"Heisenberg has come in possession of a creature - it looked like a mortal man so he sent his lycans after it but it easy cut them all down. Once Heisenberg managed to capture it - it was revealed that this creature wasn't mortal at all; it possessed the ears and tail of a lion, as well as the fangs, claws, and power of one." Mother Miranda explained.

"And the horns - don't forget the fucking horns." Karl said as he exhaled again.

"If this creature is so strong - then how was Heisenberg able to capture it?" Alcina asked.

"The fucker allowed itself to get caught - when I asked it, it told me 'wasting my strength on your pathetic brood isn't worth it. I'll go with you and see just what you can offer me.' - then it followed me back to the factory and it stayed there...until it got bored or my lycans got ballsy and got their asses killed." Karl explained.

"Where is the creature now? At your deathtrap of a factory?" Alcina asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No - I brought the fucking monster here. Like I said - I'm not taking it back with me; I lost more than 25% of my lycans dealing with that fucking thing." Karl said with a hiss.

"Now that you are all caught up - we need to decide what we can do with the creature. Heisenberg refuses to house it any longer - which is understandable."

"Thank you, Mother Miranda." Karl took an exhale of relief.

"Donna has always backed out of housing the creature in fear of it breaking her dolls. That would leave Moreau and Alcina. Out of the two of them - I think would be best if Alcina housed the creature." Mother Miranda said.

"You would wish a beast to roam in my castle?" Alcina asked.

"As Heisenberg stated before - it is well behaved. It acts mortal but with far more strength and a few unseen abilities." Mother Miranda said.

"As much as I hate to admit it - the damn thing knows how to cook and damn good too. If it wasn't so damn destructive, I would have kept it for the food." Karl said.

"Is that so? Well - I was looking for a new cooking staff. If this is what you wish, Mother Miranda - I shall house the creature." Alcina said.

"Perfect. Heisenberg - collect the creature and bring it here." Miranda ordered as she pointed down the hall where the creature was being held. Heisenberg groaned as he rose from his seat and grabbed his hammer and disappeared down the hall.

Everyone waited and watched the hall until they heard a few things: the sounds of chains rattling, then the sound of Heisenberg yelling 'Get your fucking hands off me!'...then they watched as Heisenberg came flying out the shadows and crashed into the pue he was sitting on; laying there, groaning in pain.

All these were on the shadows and they widened as another figure came out of the shadows: He was built with muscles as if he was sculpted - his skin was like light bronze, riddled with scars and wounds that healed up over time - his eyes were dark blue, deeper than a raw sapphire - his hair was short, didn't even go past his hairline but it was free all over his head. True to Heisenberg's word: There were lion ears that matched his hair color perched atop his head, as well as a tail of the same color that swayed by his ankles; what's more on his hair line were two black goat-like horns where the tips pointed in the direction of the back of his head. And if that wasn't enough, he was tall.

By tall - they meant giant.

And by giant - they meant HE WAS THE SAME HEIGHT AS ALCINA!!!

The giant wasn't wearing a shirt or shoes but he was wearing dark grey baggy pants made of cloth that were tied around his waist with a cloth belt, tied at his side. His hands here bound before him as he glared down at the groaning Fourth Lord.

"I've warned you thrice, Heisenberg, and you didn't heed my warnings. I told you not to grab my tail to try to make me move at your desired pace." The stranger growled as his long lion swayed at his heels.

"That doesn't mean you throw me like trash, you damn freak!" Karl yelled as he pushed himself off the ground.

"If you didn't want to be treated like trash, then don't behave like trash." The man rolled his eyes as he looked at Miranda and the other lords - the massive man bowed his head with his eyes closed.

"Please do forgive me for destroying your stuff, Madam Miranda; but I refuse to act like an animal." The stranger said - respect dripping for each of his words.

"You...You are excused this first time but only this time - do not let it happen again." Miranda said as she collected her composer.

"Of course. I was informed you decided on my fate." the man said.

"Yes." Miranda began as she gestured her hand in Alcina's direction - making the First Lord stand. "This is Lady Alcina Dimitrescu - Lord of the Castle Dimitrescu. She will be your new keeper; I expect you to treat her with respect and listen to her words." Miranda said as Alcina walked up to the man who could stand up to her - literally.

"So - you are the one who has been giving that fool such a hard time. You're not exactly what I imagined." Alcina said as she waved her cigarette in his direction - he was not affected by the smoke.

"If you don't mind me asking - just what were you expecting, Lady Dimitrescu? I pray you weren't expecting a grotesque, uncontrollable monster." The man said with a raised eyebrow.

"In a way, Leul meu. But I am happy to announce you are better looking than I thought. I wonder what else you are capable of." Alcina said with a smile.

"Well." He smirked as he grabbed Alcina's other hand gently with his bound hands and brought them to his lips. "Cereți și voi livra, Doamna mea." He placed a gentle but burning kiss on Alcina's knuckles. The two of them smiled like cats who just devoured canaries as they looked into each others' eyes.

"What name do you go by?" Alcina asked with a purr.

"My name is Leo, My Lady." He purred back and kissed her knuckles again.

#resident evil 8 #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x oc #alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x male oc

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wroteclassicaly · 3 years

Text

Waves of Blue (Andy Dolan x Reader)

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, face slapping, slight choking, mentions of drug usage, & angst.

A/N : AAAAAAHHHHH! I have found the post that teaches you how to add a read more on mobile! Shoutout to the person who told me about that! You know who you are! ^_^ Anyways, I am so gonna be posting more, even if it’s harder because I have to write the fics on my phone, versus my laptop, lol. I stumbled across the song Waves of Blue by Majid Jordan, and my ass was emotional af (I have included some of the lyrics here in blue!) I obviously don’t own the song/lyrics!

The song was the kick one of my drafts needed for extra inspiration! And so, I bring you the start of this mini fic! It won’t be very many chapters. And I will probably re-visit for a prequel, to write out how the reader and Andy first hooked up. But I wanted to try something different and start my fic with their relationship already ongoing. Hopefully it doesn’t suck, haha.?

I haven’t felt this inspired for a Cody character since Michael Langdon! I adore Andy’s traumatic, cocky, angsty, hot mess ass! And I really wanna explore the creativity he’s bringing me! Lemme know what y’all think? And give the song a listen - I’m in in love with it!

Forgive me if there’s some mistakes, loves! I’m nervous about how I’ve written Andy, and how the smut is. Hope y’all enjoy anyways!

~*~

The rain is a glittering array of shimmering moisture as its presence is pouring down on the roof of your apartment. Your knees are knocked tightly together, jean fabric digging into flesh. Your phone is perched face down atop your legs, vibrating messages you don’t care to read. They’re not the ones that you want to see. You tilt your head back, the tears redirecting themselves down the sides of your cheeks. You turn your gazing direction to that silk robe atop your bed - a reminder.

“It’s just a fling, love.”

But it can’t be, can it?

You have to laugh at yourself. Isn’t this what every girl asks themselves when they’re dumped? Rare is an exception who steals the other person’s heart and changes that exterior they carry. Your phone vibrates again and that raging anger to match the ruby red color on his robe that rests on your bedroom sheets - it charges your energy like a violent strike of lightening! Your hand launches your phone into the hallway outside your bedroom door before you can stop yourself.

“There’s your fucking fling, dumbass Andy Dolan!”

You try to hum to fight off the incoming intrusive thoughts, to ignore your ringing phone in the distance, but it’s to no avail. You’re getting more overwhelmed with the pain by every agonizing second. Your fists clench into the leather armrests below. It’s too much, you can’t bear another second of this shit. It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, it doesn’t matter that you have over fifteen unanswered recent calls from Andy since you threw your phone - unbeknownst to you.

You snatch the stupid silk robe from its place and begin your knowing journey with the excruciatingly expensive item, having already made up your mind. A quick removal of your keys from the hooks beside your front room door and your bare feet seem to lead you - heart first - into the downpour. Your clothing is soaked the instant you step outside. Mumbling all the way to your SUV and clutching Andy’s silk garment becomes your saving grace to help anchor your focus. If one can be focused in bare feet during a thunderstorm, erratically throwing her car into reverse.

The drive to his place of privacy - his sanctuary - the cold place you once used to help him warm. It doesn’t take you long. With your tires grinding against soaking asphalt, country beach roads whipping past you, and your angry windshield wipers struggling to keep up with your car’s pace - Andy’s gates come into your sights. You’re trembling, too upset and geared to go for a turn around now. Andy didn’t change the security, so you let yourself in, abandoning your car just inside, doors open and interior carelessly being soaked.

It doesn’t matter. I just have to tell him this.

That’s your mantra for continuous approach. You round the long expanse of beautiful greenery, waves crashing violently in the distance, a love affair to collide with this storm. Your simple outfit of blue jeans and a baby blue tank top are beyond recognition, weighted down by the sopping wet summer. The shivering begins to thrum along to an invisible, but very present humming inside you. It’s that feeling, the one you know all too well.

Andy Dolan.

Like when you first met, you begin to tremble, letting your limbs move you accordingly. Making sense is last on the priority list. Normally, you would have a thousand conversational scenarios laid out, but that’s not the case. Rushed on purely raw need to tell him - no - inform him, that is what is in charge here. The soft grass is squishy between your toes, a tickle from each freshly mowed blade, water in the distance smelling like salt and flowing freedom.

Every sense is heightened for you right now. Your limbs are heavy, yet your footfalls are light, carrying you with a quick grace. You don’t bother with the front door, opting for his usual back door hang out. It’s a few more minutes before your destination is reached. That’s when you hear him screaming, his voice in high distress, hard and rough against the accent. Your chest heaves to cage hammering heartbeats that you can’t keep up with.

“Motherfucking ANSWER ME!” He shouts, ripping the phone from his ear to redial.

You rolls your eyes, assuming it’s a dealer, or whomever he would rather be with than you. After all, he’s the one who said he just needed an ideal situation, not a relationship.

“Y/N... come on, don’t be a fucking cunt! I need to tell you something, please!”

Almost on cue the song drops loud on his fancy speakers in the house, freezing you to your spot.

I wanna hold you close

Don't wanna let you go

Be with you night and day

'Cause I've been feeling so low

Don't have to ask me twice

You really take me there

I wanna touch your light

I wanna breathe in your air

Andy angrily taps at his phone again, almost growling, reminding you of a wild animal. That’s when you’re snapped into your remaining senses, moving up and onto his deck, standing just feet from him. It takes him a few seconds to look up and see you through the rain. You can’t bring yourself to go any closer, afraid to let go right away. That’s how it is with Andy, you always give in.

You cut him off before he even gets a chance.

“Fuck you, Andy.”

Damn, was that really what you worked up the courage to dangerously drive yourself here to confess?

His lips purse a popping a noise, eyes widening in surprise at your word choices.

“I really fucking hate you.” Is what you give him, finding it easier to take steps now.

He still doesn’t speak as you approach, almost as if he’s recoiling. That wild animal within Andy Dolan. He’s not used to this. You can barely see through the rain, feeling like a moron. The movies make it look so dramatic, but you feel like you’re a wet dog on the verge of catching a cold.

It does good at numbing you though, almost shielding you from those haunting blue eyes. You swipe a hand across your face to clear your vision, and take that final step onto the deck with him, now just on the other side of where he stands in the doorway. That’s when he decides to speak, his voice softer than you’ve heard. It echoes his exhaustion, his surprise.

“You’re not the only one that feels that way, Y/N.”

You shake your head in disbelief, both of you not daring to make that closing gap. You would douse his body with yours; wet and cold. You’d be lying if you denied the shiver that attacked you, drawing your body in like a magnet - helpless to its every move.

“Don’t give me this kicked puppy front. We’re all human beings, Andy. And I didn’t fucking deserve you cutting your baggage open and just... dumping out whatever you felt like on me and then letting me go.”

Fuck.

He inhales sharply, head tilting in this sadness you seem to understand within the moment. It steals your breath, a pain punching your ribcage, causing your heartbeat to skip a few. Your jaw twitches as you turn away to gather your bearings, starting back down into the yard.

Why the fuck did I come here?

I'll be holding you tight

When the night is through

Andy takes a deep inhalation behind you and that catches you, dragging you right back. Before you know which end is up you’re turning back around and striding across the pool deck and right into your former lover. Andy meets you in the harsh rains, his hands cupping your neck so possessively, that you can’t remember a time where this hot mess of a man wasn’t bull dozing your life apart. You grasp his face in your palms, that unshaven stubble prickling your flesh. Your mouth meets his, his phone becoming ruined and forgotten as he lets it fall to the ground beside him.

His strong arms path down to encircle your waist, pulling you in from the weather, bunching your t-shirt up until it’s pooling around your tattered bra. You raise your arms to help him discard it, the heavy wet noise it makes when it collides with a nearby pool chair is enough to make Andy gain his surroundings.

“Stop, stop. Are you fucking high?” He asks you, a cautious pause.

You shake your head. “Aren’t you?”

This is when he scares you with a solemn silence you weren’t aware he could possess.

“Andy...” You push your fingers through his damp curls.

“No, I’m not. I was just about to... when you didn’t answer.”

Almost as if he can’t take revealing that bit of truth, he thumbs a bra strap down your shoulder - deliberately slow. Your skin stings with the line of goosebumps that it brings, your own hands struggling to push that stupid ass identical robe off his broad chest.

“I should fucking rip this.” You say, causing a smile to come from him.

“Rip it and I’ll put you on your knees.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” A challenging look presses your features, but Andy intercepts, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling your hair back. You feel the ache crack from the tips of your toes, hot wired into your cunt - direct express.

“You need more marks from me.” His mouth caresses your jawline, stubble catching the underside when his lips find your neck, a stimulation that you have become accustomed to craving.

His teeth bite down, a few seconds more where you feel him cleaning his evidence with a light set of kisses.

“There we go.” He scrapes his milky white teeth across your ear with a whisper so hot that you bow into him; knees weak.

Your bra is the next thing to fall somewhere, your jeans following. Andy doesn’t wait for you to even kick them off, his fingers sliding into your lace panties to see how much you still need him. He licks his lips, eyes closing in pleasure, a familiar stroking rhythm unraveling from the tips of his fingers.

“Shit, that’s a good girl. Even when you hate me you still need me, don’t you?”

The cockiness makes your wrist snap and palm collide with his cheek. You’re riled up, he’s riled up. Something you know he likes. “Like you fucking needed that?” Is your retort.

He groans out, a honey wet dip in his tone. “Only you can fucking touch me like that, Y/N.”

Lightening flashes through the darkened midnight skies, rain pounding across the surface of the pool to create a special beat. Andy finds your mouth in desperation once more, working your underwear down in a frustrated jerk. His fingers part your slick folds and ease into you without any warning. You look down to watch his strong forearm flex in its working marathon, back and forth between your thighs.

We'll be riding the tide in the sky so alive

On waves of blue (waves of blue)

I'm in love with the thought of being in love

In love with you (love with you)

You can bring me along for the rest of your life

If you wanted to (wanted to)

You let go and give into him, not daring to question why you came here in the first place. You know why. Andy has stopped his touches, watching you with that lowered stare he gives. His body is glowing from the neon lighting his home harbors, his creamy skin glistening with rain water. He’s hard through those silk pants, nothing left to the imagination.

“Take them off. Now.” You command him.

He can’t hide the greedy smirk that appears on his lips, not taking his eyes off you as his pants and boxers disappear in one go. He is gloriously hard and thick. You almost want to laugh at your cliche salivating tongue. Andy brushes your wet hair off your temple, his hands moving down your body in a tapping massage - reaching their target to hook behind your thighs.

He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He’s panting rapidly, nosing your neck. He grips himself, teasingly stroking your cunt to gather your arousal. You stutter on an exhale, unable to breathe out properly. It’s jagged and broken, much like your rationality.

You stop him when he attempts to press inside you. “Tell me again,” You plead. He looks at you in confusion. “Say I’m just a fling.” You finish.

“Y/N...” He struggles.

“Before you fuck me, I want you to tell me what I mean to you, Andy.”

It’s hard not to just fucking forget this and let go, let him take you, both of you get what you want and not have to deal with anything else. But you need to hear it. You want to know how much you’re not worth anything to him. You need to hear it more than you need to find out how much you mean to him. That’s what you came here for...

His enriching ocean eyes are glossy with desire, with something else you can’t place. They pin you into a set of shakes. You grip the hair at his neck’s nape.

“Everything.” He says it all at once, bringing your hand down atop his to help him line up, as he fucks himself into your cunt, stretching you with that delicious drowning burn.

You're no good for me

You got what I need

I just wanna be with you

You cry out, vision sprinkled with an array of floating shapes. Andy drives you against the door, hips slamming so hard you know you’ll be bruised before the night is through. You keep one arm around his neck, lowering the other to encourage him to hurt you deeper, nails clawing at his lower back, shredding the skin. His face stays buried in your neck, stubble adding to each motion he makes inside. You cling tight, using all your strength.

It’s slippery, it’s unstable, you can barely hold onto one another, but you manage. And that moment when you finally can’t keep yourself up, Andy lets you slide down, bringing you into the floor of the doorway, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, pressing in so hard you can’t contain the tears that roll from the corner of your eyes, coasting. He’s familiarized himself with how you come undone, even before you knew.

“You’re drenching my cock, baby. You need to let it go?”

You don’t answer, causing him to grip your throat.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer. You remember how this works, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes! Please, Andy!” You don’t pride yourself now.

He guides a hand across you, as if he’s tuning a fine instrument. Your stomach quivers with a passing of his fingertips, engaging in a butterfly filled stomach clench. You’re tensing up, anticipating. Desiring.

“Fucking do it! Show me how much you still need this...” He trails off, dropping to rest his chest against your breasts.

“Even if you don’t need me.” It’s a counter thought to your need to hear him say he doesn’t want you.

“I’ll always need you.” You push him onto his back with newfound strength, and pin his hands above his head, your hips bouncing so hard that you can feel his firm structure beneath. That’s right, this is exactly what you have to have.

He’s damn near whining now, squeezing your fingers tightly. “Y/N.”

It’s a warning you don’t need. You lean down to steal a kiss, leaving him further winded, nudging his nose with your own, breasts smashed to between you two. Andy gives a silent agreement, dropping a hand down to quickly rub your clit. Your heartbeat is so out of control that you can’t hear anything but your own cries as you cum all over Andy’s cock. He follows with you, holding himself, keeping you there.

He’s shaking when it’s over. You can’t find coherent speech capabilities.

I'll be holding you tight

I'll wait this through

You stay resting on top of him, still keeping him inside. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you know that there’s no going back now.

This is just another beginning...

~*~

Tagging: @dark-mei-rose @confettucini @lovelylangdonx

Lemme know if y’all wanna be added to the tag list?!!!!

#andy dolan fanfiction #andy dolan fic #andy dolan x you #andy dolan x reader #andy dolan #eden fanfiction #eden #kristenwrites

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laequiem · 4 years

Text

Small Claims

/ Lorcan finally tells Elide that he thinks she’s his mate. Claiming follows. Fluff & Smut.

Fandom: Throne of Glass

Characters: LORD LORCAN LOCHAN / Elide Lochan

Rating: Explicit bay-beeeeeee

TW: a lil bit of blood

Lorcan Salvaterre didn't think he had any "firsts" left. Most of them had come to pass centuries ago. First fistfight when he could still count his age on his fingers. First real battle a few years later. First kill in his late teens. Those he remembered clearly. First kiss, first time getting drunk, first fuck—blurry meaningless memories he did not care to untangle.

Listen, my power went out when I sat down to finish this last week, so I decided that it’s cursed and that it needs to get out of my WIPs. So if it’s bad, please send your complaints to Hydro. Thanks.

read on ao3 • masterlist

In the last few months, he was surprised to experience new "firsts" with this force of nature he now shared his life with. Elide was the first person he cared about, the first person he loved. His first time having sex and feeling something more than pure lust.

And now, Elide Lochan was the first partner he ever had the urge to claim. Lorcan had bitten plenty of females before, but never broke skin. It was a part of his fae heritage that had never surfaced until he started traveling with her. He felt it first when they traveled with the circus and men kept hovering around her tent, trying to gage if they could bed the innocent fortune teller. He pushed the urge down, down into himself, refusing to acknowledge any feeling for her. He kept the urge at bay for long, even making fun of Whitethorn when he noticed the mark he had left on his Queen. But when Elide gave him everything, the need to claim her had flooded Lorcan's senses. It was not the time, though. Not when she was so insecure.

Since then, Elide has grown confident with her sexuality, initiating things even more often than he does. Still, Lorcan has not claimed her. He could not figure out how to ask her.

His primal instincts are always stronger on mornings like this. When he wakes up and she sleeps peacefully next to him, hair swept away, exposing her throat to him.

"Lorcan?" she asks softly, tentatively, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Elide's voice is not as sleepy as he thought it would be. It sounds as if she has been awake for a while. She shifts to face him, hands coming up to rest on his chest.

"Can humans have a mate?"

Lorcan trails one of his hands up Elide's arm and inclines his head, a silent cue for her to continue.

"I dreamt of Aelin and her mate and I… I was wondering why you didn't have one." Her tone is so sad, Lorcan feels his heart twist. "If it is because you're demi-fae."

He lifts a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone.

"Not everyone has a mate, Elide. They're rare," she lets a little oh and he continues, "I used to think I couldn't have one. Not because of my human blood, but because of… Who I am. What I did."

"Used to?"

For so long, Lorcan had convinced himself that he didn't even have a heart left. That his power, like it does to his enemies, had rotted his insides to the point of rendering him heartless. Living only to inflict pain and slaughter. Then, he met Elide and his rotten heart had made itself known. Twisting and pulling, accelerating and stopping, until he had to admit to himself that he cared for her. At first, it was an inconvenience, a distraction from his mission and the Queen he thought he loved. When he betrayed Elide and sold Aelin to said-Queen, Lorcan could hardly live with himself knowing she hated him, that he had ruined what they had. Whatever that was.

And now?

"I don't… think that anymore."

"So why then?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you have a mate?"

Lorcan removes his hands from her and rolls over on his back. He stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to say, how to say it. Words have never been his forte. Elide is so good with words, but it seems the talent is not contagious. She inches closer to rest against his side, head on his shoulder. Can she hear his heart thundering in his chest? Can she read the fear on his face?

He inhales deeply, then exhales slowly.

"I think you're my mate."

There it is, the secret he has been holding for months now. He feels her still against his side and all his repressed worries to come flooding in.

She doesn't want to be your mate.

Who would even want that?

You don't deserve her.

You don't deserve anything.

You've killed so much.

You've brought on so much suffering.

It would be unfair for you to have a mate.

All she does, however, is ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't… I don't know how any of this is supposed to feel.” He rubs at his face with one broad hand. “I've never loved before, I don't know the difference."

Elide's fingers start tracing the outline of his pecs, toying with the dark hair there.

"Neither do I. We're learning together."

Lorcan lets out a breath of relief. She isn't mad at him. She doesn't laugh at him.

"It doesn't have to… change anything," he says tentatively, "I don't want to force this on you."

Elide shifts and leans on her elbow, staring at him with those devastating dark eyes.

"Lorcan, you never forced me into anything. I'm… honored."

He scoffs. As if. He already struggles everyday to remind himself that she does, in fact, love him. Thinking she would see being his mate as an honor was far beyond what he could imagine. She flicks his nose. He is not worthy of her and they both know it, the whole court—

"I'm serious," Elide chastises, "I wouldn't want anybody else."

Elide leans towards her husband and presses her lips to his.

"Who wouldn't want Lorcan Salvaterre, second in command to Queen Maeve as a mate?" she teases, her hand trailing lower on his chest, "A strong fae male to scare my enemies."

"You're the only female fearless enough to want me," he replies, as serious as ever.

Lorcan shivers as her fingers slipped past the waistband of his underwear.

"Why would I be afraid," she croons, palming his semi-hard cock firmly, "when I have you wrapped around my finger?"

Lorcan snaps and rolls to be on top of her. This kind of talk always got to him. Of course, his wife's body is beautiful and perfect, but it's that cunning mind and sharp tongue that really made him lose his mind.

He nips at Elide’s lower lip and her lips part for him, allowing him a taste. She always tastes so sweet—strawberries and cinnamon, more addictive than any sugary treat.

Lorcan groans as he witnesses her wide eyes, darkened by lust and need. He lowers his mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking the soft flesh. Her pulse rushes under her skin and his canines are aching to pierce and claim and—

He moves down to her chest before the feral thing inside him can fully surface. He focuses this energy on her breasts, knowing she likes him leaving marks for nobody but them to see. He palms one of her heavy breasts with one hand while the other seeks out her sex. Before he reaches his destination, however, she grabs his wrist and pulls him up to look at her.

"You're holding back," she simply says, "why?"

He must look absolutely savage right now—wild eyes, panting heavily, shaking slightly with restraint—for her to even bring it up.

"I want to claim you," he replies roughly.

Elide lets go of his wrist and for a second, Lorcan fears he drove her away. She understood that he doesn't deserve her and she doesn't want a life shackled to him and—

Her hand moves up to his nape and she lightly tugs on his hair.

"I want everything you can give me."

Her other hand reaches between them and grasps him again, angling his length to line up with her.

Lorcan's breath hitches, "are you—"

"Yes. I want everyone to know you're mine."

Everyone knows, of course. He does not preside over meetings with her, but everybody notices the armored warrior standing in the doorway, a constant threat of violence etched on his face. The Lady's brute, he had heard some whisper. They're right. Her uncle had called him a brute as well. No amount of gentle kisses and magical braces would erase the centuries of pain he has caused.

Sensing her lover's hesitation, Elide bends forward to whisper in his pointed ear, "claim me."

Lorcan unleashes himself with a feral groan, any semblance of control he once had shattering to give way to the beastial fae half of him. He drives his cock into her heat in a powerful stroke, eliciting a surprised gasp and a giggle from Elide.

With all his previous partners, Lorcan kept the kissing to the absolute minimum. But Elide's moans were a siren song to his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to drink them all up until he drowned. He claims her lips in a hungry kiss, so raw and unchained that their teeth clinked together.

Even with his lips on hers, his cock in her and a hand grasping her breast, he still needs more, more to touch, more to taste. By the way her hands roam his chest and claw at his back, his wife feels the same.

While he ruts into her, Lorcan reaches between them to toy with her clit, wanting—needing to feel her shatter on his cock.

She's mine, she's mine, she's mine. The words echo in his head with each slap of his hips against hers.

I have a mate.

Clap.

A mate.

Clap.

A mate.

As if she could read his mind, Elide echoes his thoughts in-between two short breaths, "my mate."

A shock passes through their bodies, heightening every sensation. The bond snapping into place, he supposes. It's overwhelming, better than any story Lorcan has ever heard. He feels her emotions, her love for him, as strongly as if they were his. He knows now more than ever that he wants to spend his whole life with Elide Lochan. That, no matter how short their time together would be, he could never live without her.

Lorcan hooks one of Elide's legs around his elbow while his other hand quickens its ministrations on her clitoris. The next thrust is deeper, angled just right, and Elide comes with a scream that will surely wake up the maids. He coaxes her through the waves of her orgasm, his eyes never leaving her flushed face. Beautiful.

As he feels his own release approaching, Lorcan leans towards her and drags his teeth down Elide's neck, inhaling her scent deeply. Just before erupting, he bites down, canines piercing the soft skin effortlessly.

My mate, my mate.

Lorcan spills in her. Once. Twice. By the end of his climax, he is shaking all over. He finally pulls away from her neck, licking his lips, then running his tongue over the mark. He stares at it for a moment, admiring as droplets of blood start beading out again. Will she want to keep the scar, like Aelin did? The memory of it will live in his mind forever either way, just like their scent will always be intertwined now. The possessiveness is not a part of himself he is used to, and he feels quite ashamed of the primal nature of it all, but faeries are territorial creatures.

Elide trails a finger up his throat and he leans into her touch.

"Am I supposed to… do it too?"

"Only if you want to," he says, brushing a strand away from her sweaty forehead.

She hums softly, considering. "Your throat does look bare without a scar."

"Do I not have enough scar for you, Milady?"

She laughs and Lorcan wonders if he will ever get used to the sound and how it makes his heart skip a beat.

"I like your scars."

Elide pushes on his chest and Lorcan pulls himself out and twists to lay on his side next to her. She turns to face him and starts tracing a scar that spans the length of his biceps.

"Do you want one?"

"More than anything."

#Throne of Glass #Elorcan #Elide Lochan #Lorcan Salvaterre #lord lorcan lochan #Kingdom of Ash #Empire of Storms #Smut #fanfiction #fluff and smut #fluff #Queen of Shadows #sjmaas #Sarah J Maas #Maas #faerie smut #ToG #KoA #EoS

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savrenim · 3 years

Note

SORRY WHAT IS LESBIANISM HADESTOWN IN SPACE IM IN LOVE WOTH IT AREADY

Batteries low. Only enough air in the filters for one person to survive the rest of the winter.

“Orpheus,” she cries out, but Orpheus does not wake.

It is both the easiest and the hardest choice she’s ever made. Orpheus my heart is yours. She leaves. Not even in the dead of night, Orpheus is so deep under that they haven’t seen each other in a week. Hermes lets her out at the last stop without comment. Always was and will be. She’s heard enough about Hades from rumors amongst the workers, whispers, the last station, the one before hell, where you can get on if you have a ticket. Hermes sings it sometimes. Descend into whatever’s there, because that’s the one station that hasn’t been picked clean. And she’s not defenseless, she knows some of Orpheus’s songs. Enough to escape. It’s my gut I can’t ignore. Eurydice is good at casual seduction, good at getting people to let her in, and all she needs is to be let into Hadestown, and then she’ll fucking take what she needs. She’ll take it and she’ll run, she’s good at running, the best.

Orpheus, we’re hungry.

Especially now that she has someone to run back to.

“Wait for me,” she whispers.

And then she leaves to rob a god.

__________________________________________________________

so lesbian hadestown in space, which is actually titled 'the wind, the wind, the wind', is a present to one of my friends that is at this point.... literally more than two years late? I think literally two years late, close to two and a half now. there is also literally just one scene left for me to write and then one last round of editing to do and then it will be ready for me to send to my friend with the "happy belated two years plus late I guess this is now an anniversary gift?" (E if you're reading this aaah sorry I'm ridiculous but also soon to be happy two years late present). BUT. lesbian hadestown in space happened in the following manner: -> me, listening to hadestown: okay oh gods this is great but what part would I sing. as a soprano. ......Orpheus, maybe? is Orpheus the highest part in this show? -> me, pulling up the lyric ____/ And I know how it was because ____/ He was like me ____/ A man in love with a woman okay so side-rant one of the reasons I loved hadestown so much besides I'm a sucker for literally anything with counterpoint singing or harmonies and also really good lighting in musicals, is because!! hadestown is a masterpiece!!!! that is directly about climate change!! and unionization!!! with the really strong thesis of "the only way we can fight climate change effectively is via unionization!" (and all sorts of fun sub-themes about art mattering but how much does art alone matter without collective action to back it up) and just, like. absolute top-notch did not have to go as hard as it did but damn does it go hard, if you haven't listened to Hadestown defs do, much like Hamilton and gods can't believe I'm bringing up Hamilton but I'm doing it for the sole reason of saying, literally everything said on the stage is in the cast album, it's a fully sung show, so at least you can get the full storyline via the cast album on youtube

BUT ANYWAYS the thought of 'what would happen if you re-cast Orpheus as a woman' led me to the realization of 'really, not too much, until you got to the lyrics 'And I know how it was because / He was like me / A man in love with a woman' that you'd want to change it a bit, I never quite settled on what I was happiest with, maybe 'Someone in love with a woman', but then suddenly you have added to the massive unionization theme and climate change theme in the most emotionally raw and evocative moment of the show, when Orpheus is trying to reach Hades and remind him of his humanity through the shared experience of just. simple, unadorned love. what if that was a lesbian not knowing whether or not she would be acknowledged or rejected in trembling voice trying to offer 'look at my love, when you strip it down to its core, it's not that different from yours.' -> me: gives that above speech to E -> E: you need to write this fic -> me: ........okay but come on that's not enough to write a fic around, like, that one simple change. I'd need to make at least one other significant change for it to work as enough to write a fic around esp given that my main fic style is 'just retell the canon but, like, with this particular shift' and I'd want more than just the shift to be a single genderbend. -> me: like putting it in space -> me: like there are so many fun sci-fi things you can do with it. Hadestown you can't go back from it, because it's the station on a stable interior orbit of a (Kerr) black hole's event horizon, you know actually you can keep the whole 'mining town' bit given that the majority of heavy elements in the universe are forged either in neutron star mergers or the accretion disks of black holes, -> me: [20 minutes later] and so yeah that's the r-process and why it's not enough to account for all the heavy elements in the universe and while neutron star mergers are a candidate this is three years ago so LIGO hasn't observed them yet and the other explanation is black hole accretion disks. and THAT'S why Hadestown is still a mining town. also event horizon being the 'once you go you can't come back' bit is really clever and I'm in love with my own cleverness here. -> me: also if you do some sort of fun post-post-apocalypse setting where the majority of the people have lost understanding of technology you could make Orpheus and her song literally be that she's trained in the lost art of hacking and coding -> me: and you can make Eurydice a grifter. that feels like the Vibe. Eurydice cool space grifter. -> E: I have patiently listed to you infodump about black holes because I am a genuinely a great and deeply appreciated friend. also I'm in love with sci-fi grifter Eurydice, you now need to write this fic -> me: given how much I'm in love with black holes I think I'm writing this fic -> me: but you're right grifter Eurydice is great, I will extra special write it as a present for you

and now for the better part of three years I've been writing this fic, anyways, fingers crossed really soon like in the next few weeks really soon lesbian hadestown in space is going to happen, I've been saying that for nearly three years but It Will Happen Eventually

#my life #my writing #hadestown #twtwtw #there are a lot of fun other bits that makes me super happy #the gods are all AIs #there are weird implications of a futuristic post-singularity civilization in the background #I am in love enough with the setting that I'm considering re-using it for an original sci fi novel #but yeah anyways #this is lesbian hadestown in space

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (19/20)

word count: 16k

AO3

previous / masterpost

content warning: brief mention of blood

“You don’t have to play,” Geralt said, his brows drawn together in concern, but Jaskier made no move to put his lute back into her case that sat next to their bed. “You already made sure I got the coin for the basilisk. You don’t have to –“

“I know.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt, halting in his movements. “I don’t have to play for the coin, but…I still feel like I should play.” He hesitated. “You haven’t been able to listen to me play these past days and I wanted…that is, I don’t know if you’d even want to listen to me, but I would like it if you did.”

Geralt watched as Jaskier turned the pegs of the lute, despite rarely ever having to tune the elven instrument. Geralt put one of his hands above Jaskier’s, stilling the movement. The silence that came with the sudden absence of nervously plucked strings felt too big for their small room. Jaskier stared at Geralt’s hand, before slowly looking up at him with something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes.

“Of course I’d like to listen to you play.” He plucked Jaskier’s hand off the lute and turned it. Gently, he caressed Jaskier’s palm, where the hints of blisters could still be seen. They had healed a little with the ointment he had applied the day before, but Geralt couldn’t get the images of Jaskier’s hands, red and raw, out of his mind. “But I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not,” Jaskier said, his voice strong, though his hand trembled in Geralt’s. The evening light falling in through the small window, made his eyes gleam and his cheeks flush red. “I want to do this. I – I know it’s silly, but when you didn’t return form the basilisk hunt, I thought I’d never get to play for you again. I know it’s selfish of me, and I know I shouldn’t make this about me, but…you never got to hear the finished version of your song.”

Your song. Geralt’s.

There had been so many songs about him, his hunts, his accomplishments, his supposedly valiant character.

But there was only one song that was truly his. Not one of Jaskier’s songs about him, but the one he had written for him.

Geralt’s throat grew tight and he felt himself nodding, before his mind could conjure up any more arguments against Jaskier playing.

“If you are selfish, then so am I,” Geralt said. “I heard you- no, not you. My hallucination. I thought there had been music. I thought that would be the last thing I would hear. But it wasn’t yours, not really.” He pressed his lips together as his fingers slid from Jaskier’s palm to his wrist, right where he could feel his heart, that was beating unusually quickly. “I would love to hear you sing again. And I’m sure your audience would miss you if you didn’t play for them again.”

Jaskier’s pulse spiked beneath Geralt’s fingers. “My audience?”

Geralt rubbed a soothing circle into Jaskier’s skin. He had never seen Jaskier worried about performing for an audience before. His brows rose, as he realised what this meant.

“Am I the only one who ever heard that song?” He asked, his chest clenching when Jaskier nodded slowly. “Don’t worry. I know they’ll love it. I have only heard the unfinished version and it already was – “ so beautiful and meaningful that it did the impossible and made me fall even more in love with you. “-good. It would be wasted if I was the only one to ever hear it.”

A lie. A damned lie. Geralt wanted to be selfish. He wanted to keep the song for himself, but he knew he couldn’t. Jaskier might have shared it with him first and Geralt might have been foolish enough to ascribe more meaning to it than it had, but at his heart, Jaskier was still a performer and Geralt wasn’t a great audience. Not like the people who could watch Jaskier with starry eyes. People, in whose adoration and love Jaskier blossomed, so unlike the unwanted affection Geralt’s chest burst with.

“Come on then,” Geralt said and nudged Jaskier with a grin that felt wrong and stony. “Your audience is probably waiting to get wooed by you.”

“I thought I could – I wanted to…” Jaskier looked down, nervousness and a hint of disappointment, that Geralt didn’t understand, pouring off him. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll sing it downstairs. For an audience.” His voice sounded strangely flat, but when he rose his head again, determination and something unbearably fond shimmered in his eyes.

“You’re right. Let’s go downstairs,” Jaskier said. He slung the lute strap over his head and grabbed Winter from the night stand, holding it close to his chest. “I have a song to sing.” He hesitated, hs eyes flickering to Geralt’s, before darting away again as he echoed Geralt’s words, “And an audience to woo.”

It looked wrong, that wolf figure sitting at Jaskier’s feet where normally the wooden songbird would watch over his performance.

For once, Geralt wasn’t sitting in the far end of the taproom, but close enough to Jaskier that he could see all of him while he played. He didn’t know why Jaskier had asked him to come out of the shadows so that Jaskier could see him too, but he had followed the bard’s plea the second it had left his lips. It was uncomfortable, not being surrounded by shadows or sitting in a way that would give Geralt a view on the entire room, but if he was being honest with himself, it had been years since he had watched anything other than Jaskier while he performed anyway.

So now Geralt shifted in his seat, while Jaskier played a quick scale to warm up his fingers, before bending down again and making sure that the wolf figure sat there for all to see, as if it was a grand masterpiece. The care and pride with which Jaskier handled the figure made something warm and fuzzy blossom in Geralt’s chest.

More than one person gave the figure an admiring look and whenever someone commented on how lucky Jaskier was that he had found one of the fae-blessings, Jaskier’s chest swelled a little and his face glowed. Apparently, this was the first time anyone here saw the figure. The last one Jaskier still had, the only one not rotting in the woods somewhere. The one that had always meant more to Jaskier than the others. It was hard to believe that Jaskier hadn’t shown the figure around before. After all, with how proud he was of his carvings, Geralt would have assumed he had presented it before. Unless…Jaskier had traded the supposed fae-protection of him for protection of Geralt. Had the wolf sat next to Geralt’s bed all this time while he had recovered from the toxins?

He tried to catch Jaskier’s eyes to silently ask him that question that he already knew the answer to, but before their eyes could meet, someone interrupted Jaskier’s fidgeting with the wolf and demanded he should start playing already. It seemed Geralt hadn’t guessed incorrectly when he had said Jaskier’s audience would miss him.

Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat rabbiting, but Jaskier’s smile was even and blinding as ever, as he looked around the taproom until a hushed quiet fell over it. He took a deep breath and began to play.

The first note that left Jaskier’s lips trembled, like the first bird of spring singing while unsure if it really was time yet. Geralt held his breath when he saw Jaskier wince at the imperfection of his own voice, but then their eyes met and something seemed to come lose in Jaskier. He stood up straighter, his smile got warmer and his voice…his voice was no longer like a single songbird. He sounded like the stars shining above the coast. Like the feeling Geralt had gotten when he had shared the story of his first Roach. Like Jaskier standing before Geralt, a shield between him and the cruelty of humans.

Jaskier’s song sounded like trust and something that ran deeper than even that. Something that Geralt’s entire being burned to understand. What felt like a lifetime ago, Jaskier had asked him, if Geralt would be scared of feelings he didn’t understand. Back then, he might have thought that the answer had been yes. Now, he leaned closer to Jaskier, listening to every word, every break in his voice and everything his words didn’t say, desperate to understand what he knew was there, hidden underneath.

The words to the song were barely any different from last time Jaskier had sung it to him. It still spoke of the fae and their gifts. Of the figures bringing luck, but this time Jaskier mentioned how the luck had shown, when the bear he had found had brought him to Geralt.

He sang of how the figures meant that the gifter cared for him and for a moment his eyes flickered downwards to his hand. Jaskier never looked at his hands while he played. He didn’t need to see what they were doing to find the right place on the strings. But when Geralt looked more closely at Jaskier’s face, he found him smiling softly and still he sang of protection and care and healing. That last one had never been part of the stories about the fae that Jaskier had told Geralt. Why was Jaskier looking at his hands while singing about this?

His eyes snapped back up at Geralt and there was something in them, something important. Jaskier was begging Geralt to understand and Geralt was so close to doing so! The pieces were all there, laid out for him. All he had to do was reach out and grasp the truth, but his mind wasn’t working. Not when Jaskier was looking at him like this.

Not when he was singing about the carvings guiding him to the right way, only to describe places that Geralt remembered seeing with him. A lake shining in the colours of the setting sun. A grand market that was bustling with people and pretty things. The path to a small hut in which they had found shelter from a storm and a place for Roach to stay. Places that Geralt and Jaskier had been to together since Jaskier had found the first carving. But…surely Jaskier must know that the fae had nothing to do with any of these places? Geralt had been the one to take him to that market because Jaskier had been excited about it and Jaskier had been the one who had taken Geralt to that lake where they had spent the night. Why was he singing about those things in a song about the fae and their gifts?

All thought left Geralt, when Jaskier reached the last verse. The one he had dreaded and anticipated.

It was the verse in which Jaskier explained that the fae helped their favoured ones find true love within a year. From Jaskier’s lips, these words sounded like the sweetest promise and the cruellest trap.

Many months ago, Geralt had heard Jaskier speak of this part of the legend and since then, he had done his best to banish it from his memory. It hadn’t worked. Not when Jaskier kept singing about the person he loved, the one that Geralt knew would love him back and make him happy, once Jaskier confessed to them.

Geralt’s chest clenched, as he prepared himself for this song to mention blonde hair and a valiant character as well, but no such descriptions came. Jaskier just kept looking at Geralt, the determination from earlier having softened into something fond and vulnerably open.

Geralt wanted to stand up, to go over to Jaskier and cradle his head in his hands. He wanted to kiss these words off Jaskier’s lips and keep them in his chest where they burned like a wildfire.

He was not prepared for Jaskier begging the fae to let his love be returned. He was not prepared for the vulnerability in Jaskier’s eyes, the way his voice trembled and his fingers missed a note, making the lute give a dissonant twang.

Geralt felt like he was underwater. The world slowed around him and all sounds except for Jaskier’s song got muffled. He couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but watch hope and hurt chase each other in a complicated dance across Jaskier’s face.

This had gone on for too long. Geralt had taken it too far. His lies, his secrets, all of it. They hurt Jaskier too much. If Geralt truly loved him, then he couldn’t lie to him any longer.

And by the gods, he loved him. So much so, that this simple word that poets liked so much to use didn’t feel like enough. What Geralt felt was more than just this one word. It was sitting around campfires, it was singing and laughing. It was Jaskier seeking refuge in his arms during a storm and offering comfort after Geralt let go of Roach. It was carving animals just to see Jaskier smile. It was eyes crinkling at the sides and hands brushing and breath being taken away. It was…it was Jaskier.

Knowing him meant knowing this feeling. It meant loving him. In this moment, Geralt thought he knew Jaskier better than anyone else.

Knowing Jaskier meant loving him. And that meant, not being able to bear seeing him like this; so torn up about being unloved, about not being trusted with the truth.

The last note rang through the room and for a moment it was completely silent. Never before had Geralt seen a tavern go so quiet. The smell of salt filled the air and no one dared move in fear of breaking whatever spell had befallen them when Jaskier had sang his song.

Geralt barely paid any attention to them. He only had eyes for Jaskier who didn’t break eye contact. There was something between them, something that was either fragile enough to break with one wrong word, or strong enough to hold fast no matter what.

“Another song!”

The sudden shout made Geralt flinch. It was only when he threw a glare over his shoulder at the man who had demanded an encore, that he realised that he had looked away from Jaskier and broken whatever had been between them.

When he turned back, it was to Jaskier fiddling with his lute again. None of the patrons seemed to notice or care about his nervousness. More voices chimed in, demanding another song.

“Ah, my dear audience,” Jaskier began, his performer’s smile wavering and allowing a brief glimpse at the uncertainty behind the mask. “I’m afraid I don’t have any other polished songs that fit my mood for tonight.”

A noise of disappointment rumbled through the audience and Geralt could see the moment Jaskier’s resolve broke.

“I have one song,” he said, his eyes darting from Geralt to the wolf at his own feet. “I wrote it these past two days and it’s not finished yet. But I hope it doesn’t offend.”

He glanced at Geralt again, just long enough that Geralt got the feeling that Jaskier addressed him specifically, as if his opinion meant more to him than that of the audience he actually was performing for. Jaskier knew Geralt didn’t mind half-finished songs. Or he had never shown that he cared if Geralt was bothered or not, whenever Jaskier composed while walking next to him or repeating a line over and over until it felt right to him while Geralt sharpened his swords. Really, Jaskier should have no reason to worry about Geralt’s opinion.

Geralt tried to give him an encouraging nod, but he wasn’t sure if Jaskier registered it. He expected Jaskier to strum his lute again or pluck at the strings with nimble fingers, but instead Jaskier started hitting the body of his lute gently but firmly enough to create drumming.

When Jaskier started singing again, it didn’t sound like any of his usual songs. It wasn’t a sweet ballade, nor was it a roaring epic or cheeky ditty.

It was something else entirely. An easy and repetitive melody set to a steady and uncomplicated rhythm, not unlike the sea shanties Jaskier had learned from those seafarers at the coast. It was one of those songs meant to make work easier and entertain during a longwinded task.

Geralt’s brows drew together. What task did Jaskier have, to come up with such a song? He had assumed that Jaskier had spent all his time here performing or taking care of Geralt. With most of their supplies, including Jaskier’s books and notebooks, gone, there wasn’t much for Jaskier to entertain himself with. They had nothing but Jaskier’s lute, the medical supplies and Geralt’s weapons and Geralt seriously doubted Jaskier had chosen this time to steal Geralt’s knives and learn how to wield them for anything other than preparing a meal.

He shook his head to rid himself of his wandering thoughts and listened to Jaskier instead. It didn’t take him more than half a verse to realise what Jaskier was singing about. The rhythm might have made the song sound like a shanty, but the lyrics, so full of longing and deep-rooted feelings, left no doubt to what it truly was: a dirge.

He was remembering and mourning all the carvings he had lost. A bear broken. A friend staying with someone else. The others lost and gone, never to come back to him again.

Listening to this was like a punch in the gut, leaving Geralt breathless and with a throbbing pain inside of him. Having just heard about the joy the carvings used to bring Jaskier only made this worse.

Now, it made sense that Jaskier had been worried about Geralt being offended. Geralt was the reason why the figures were gone. If he hadn’t been so stupid to let himself get hurt during the hunt, if he had just kept his promise and made it back to Jaskier, this wouldn’t have happened. Jaskier wouldn’t have lost the one thing that had brought him so much joy over the past months. He had been able to find comfort in the carvings. He had held them close while sleeping, had stroked over the sanded down wood when he had needed to keep his hands occupied. He had loved those carvings. And Geralt, who had never meant for Jaskier to find any of them at first, was the one who had unwittingly taken them from him again.

His throat got dry and he gripped the edge of the table as tightly as he could. Jaskier hadn’t mentioned before how hard he took the loss of the figures, but it had hurt him so much that he had put it into song, even without his notebook to write down the words. Why hadn’t he been able to talk to Geralt about it? He couldn’t possibly think that Geralt would turn away from him because Jaskier blamed him for something he had done.

It felt like an iron chain was winding around Geralt’s chest and tightening until he couldn’t breathe anymore, when Jaskier’s voice softened.

“-but the wolf will still be mine.

Silently, afraid to splinter.

Mine to love and mine to hold.

Secretly, wood-heart of pine.

Not mine in winter

When it’s cold.”

The wolf, sat so innocently at Jaskier’s feet where the songbird should sit instead. It was wrong. It shouldn’t be the only carving Jaskier had left. Even Jaskier, who said he loved the wolf, sounded strained and afraid as he sang. He had trusted Geralt with the wolf once, but clearly not anymore. If the lyrics were any indication, he didn’t even expect to be able to keep the figure once winter arrived. Was he already imagining all the different ways in which Geralt could let him down and make him lose this last figure, this most precious one, too?

And why wouldn’t he imagine such things? Geralt had already betrayed his trust, had taken from Jaskier again and again. He had taken his touch, his smiles. And Geralt had so greedily taken the love Jaskier had for the gifts, though Jaskier had never known whom he was giving this love to. Now Jaskier’s touch must hurt Jaskier himself, with the blisters on his palms. His smiles must strain, now that the thing that had made him smile most often these past months was gone. And Jaskier’s love – well. Geralt had never truly had it in the first place, had he?

“Though I will still be his.

Not his to love, to long for, no.

But perhaps I’m his to miss,

As I will him, when I watch him go.”

Jaskier’s eyes bore into Geralt’s soul. Was this…this meant something. Jaskier’s songs always meant something and Geralt never understood. He knew he didn’t, but he needed to!

When I watch him go.

Was this Jaskier’s way of saying their time together was over? That he had finally realised that Geralt had taken more than Jaskier was willing to give? Just hours ago, Jaskier had allowed Geralt to dream about a future in which Geralt was allowed to visit him at Oxenfurt. Perhaps Essi had been wrong after all when she had said Jaskier wanted to stay with Geralt. But she had been so sure of herself and when Geralt had spoken about Oxenfurt, Jaskier had appeared to be excited. Geralt couldn’t have misread that…could he?

Maybe Geralt had gotten it all wrong and Jaskier was still talking about the wolf figure, still mourning a loss he hadn’t endured yet?

Geralt didn’t register the applause, didn’t hear the clatter of coins being tossed at Jaskier’s feet. To him, there was nothing but the burning gaze of the bard who might have already lost all faith in him.

He watched as though through a fog, how Jaskier collected the coin and strode over to him. Jaskier was clutching the strap of his lute as if it was protecting him, as if it was a barrier between him and Geralt.

“We should rent another room,” Geralt said, before Jaskier had the chance to open his mouth. “You don’t have to –“ he broke off, unable to say out loud how Jaskier wouldn’t be forced to spend another night with Geralt, if he didn’t want to. “With the coin from the contract I can afford to pay for a better room for you.”

The words tasted bitter in Geralt’s mouth. He didn’t look forward to staying in the small room by himself, but Jaskier shouldn’t have to stay in a place where it was impossible for him to put distance between them. As much as Geralt’s body ached to take Jaskier into his arms again and hold him as he had last night, there was no way Jaskier would want the same thing. Not now, that he had shown Geralt how disappointed and betrayed he felt by him. No, getting two rooms was for the best.

Jaskier blinked at him. “Oh…uh. I guess you’re right. The small room was a bit…cosy.” He shifted his weight and fiddled with a loose thread of his doublet. “I guess I’ll go ask the innkeeper for a new room then.”

Geralt watched Jaskier go, his heart sinking. He had known Jaskier would agree to his suggestion, of course, but a small part of him had hoped that Jaskier would at least put up a little resistance and say that he didn’t mind staying with Geralt.

When Jaskier came back, he waved a key at Geralt’s face, before pocketing it and gesturing to the stairs. “We better get our things.” His smile became a bit strained. “I wouldn’t want to lose any more of our stuff because we forgot to bring them to our new room.”

The guilt crashing into Geralt was too bitter for him to realise what exactly Jaskier had said. The words only caught up with him, when Jaskier pressed Geralt’s belongings into his hands, once they were in their small room and motioned for him to follow him again. Geralt did, though his brows were furrowed and his tongue burned with the question why Jaskier wanted Geralt’s stuff in his room as well.

It was only when Jaskier unlocked the door to his new room and ushered Geralt inside that he understood.

The room had two beds.

“Jaskier.” He turned to see Jaskier putting his lute gently on the table standing against one of the walls. “There are two beds.”

Jaskier winced a little and his hands nearly faltered on the lute. “Ah. Yes. There are,” he said, as if that explained anything.

Geralt’s heartbeat quickened and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. This was Jaskier meeting him half-way. He might have agreed quickly to not sharing a small room with Geralt anymore, but he was still fine with sharing a sleeping space with him. Not all was lost. Now Geralt had to take the next step somehow.

When Geralt didn’t reply, Jaskier’s brows furrowed. “Is that…alright?”

It was more than Geralt had dared hope for.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. More than alright. Jaskier was giving him another chance and Geralt would do everything he could to not disappoint him again. He could still have that future visiting Jaskier and taking him with him again. He could still keep Jaskier close.

“So…” Jaskier began again with a smile that didn’t distract from the tension in his body. “What do you think about my songs?”

His voice held none of that cockiness or self-assuredness Jaskier usually had when talking about his performances.

Geralt’s jaw clenched as he tried to keep the guilt sweeping over him once more, at bay. “I think I understand them.”

“Oh?”

Geralt didn’t need to hear the skip in Jaskier’s heart or see the way he tensed up even more at his words. He had known as soon as Jaskier had started to sing about Geralt’s failures that he had nothing left to win. A small smile that must be an attempt at pacifying Geralt, lit up Jaskier’s face.

“I understand,” Geralt repeated. He swallowed and put as much sincerity in his expression as he could. “And I’m sorry.”

Something in Jaskier’s expression crumbled, the shards left by his smile as if fell, cutting deep into Geralt’s chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jaskier said, the tremor in his voice betraying his lie. “I just… after finding you in the woods, I didn’t want to just keep going without having told you. We never have to talk about this again. It’s – it was a mistake.”

A mistake. Only one of many mistakes Geralt had made. How many more before Jaskier would have enough?

“I’ll fix this, I promise.” Geralt said firmly. He knew what he had to do. He would find the figures and bring them back to Jaskier, mend the heartbreak in Jaskier and hopefully fix what Geralt had broken between them with his lies and his carelessness that had taken too much from Jaskier. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “But… I thought…”

“I can’t wait until it gets colder,” Geralt said. He had never cared much for the carvings he left in the woods, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how long the wood would be able to withstand wind and weather before it started to rot.

“No, Geralt, you don’t have to go. Not so soon.” Jaskier’s voice was urgent and he spoke so fast that his words nearly slurred together. “I promise I won’t bring it up again. It’ll be just like before. We’re still friends, right?” His throat bobbed nervously. Quieter, he repeated, “Right?”

“Of course we are still friends.” Geralt looked away. There was too much hope in Jaskier’s eyes, too much trust. He didn’t deserve that trust. Not yet. Not until he had brought the carvings back. “But I don’t want things to go back to the way they have been.”

For too long, Jaskier had been hurting. He couldn’t go back to that. He couldn’t let this new loss fester in Jaskier’s heart and add to his doubts and pain. Geralt had to fix it and make sure Jaskier would be better than he had been before. He owed him this much.

“So you’re leaving.” Jaskier’s face was strangely devoid of emotion. “Without me.”

Geralt’s chest clenched painfully. With two long strides, he was by Jaskier’s side, tentatively reaching for his hand.

“I have to go alone,” he said apologetically. He couldn’t risk getting Jaskier’s hopes up only to shatter, in case Geralt failed. He would do what it took to get the figures back to Jaskier, but there was no telling how long it would take him. Three days had passed since Jaskier had brought him to this town. The trail they had left must have gone cold by now and Geralt had no way of knowing how exactly to get back to the abandoned camp. Knowing Jaskier, he wouldn’t know how to find his way back there either. No, Jaskier deserved to sleep in a warm bed and eat well-cooked meals until Geralt came back. He shouldn’t have to track through the forest in which bad memories waited for Jaskier, for who knew how long. Here, he would be able to live in comfort until Geralt returned and brought back Jaskier’s smile.

“The coin from the contract will pay for this room for at least a week,” Geralt said, placing the newly-filled coin pouch on the table next to the lute. “You’ll be safe and comfortable.”

“I’ll be alone.” The words were spoken so softly that even Geralt had trouble hearing them. There was no doubt they hadn’t been meant for his ears, and yet, Geralt’s stomach tightened when he heard them as if Jaskier had screamed them at him.

“I’ll fix this,” Geralt said again. “It might take me a while, so I can’t tell when I’ll be back. But I won’t let things continue as they are.”

Jaskier nodded dejectedly, his eyes wandering to the two beds. His lips pressed into a thin line and he looked like he struggled to decide whether or not to speak up again.

“Jaskier?” Geralt prodded gently, letting his thumb rub small circles into Jaskier’s hands.

“You should go to bed.” Jaskier pulled away from Geralt and turned his back to him, fiddling with the few belongings he had. “You shouldn’t be tired when you leave. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Not when I’m not there to take care of you.”

The nervous fluttering in Geralt’s heart softened. Jaskier was still looking out for him, even after he had messed up.

Geralt obliged him and got ready to go to bed. It should have been a luxury to have a bed all for himself, but it felt strangely cold and empty. He would have gladly exchanged his blanket for Jaskier’s weight as he lay on him.

He nearly asked. With his mind so focussed on how to make Jaskier feel better, he nearly crossed that line and asked Jaskier to join him in bed again, but when he rolled onto his side to face Jaskier, he found him still standing over his belongings, clothed and making no move to get to bed, though he rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands, clearly trying to keep the sleepiness at bay.

“Jaskier?” he asked into the darkness of the room.

“Sleep,” Jaskier replied quietly and his hands grabbed something out of his lute case and put it behind his back where Geralt couldn’t see. “I’ll just…I need to do something. I’ll be back. Goodnight.”

Without waiting for a reply, Jaskier hastened out of the room, leaving Geralt and the little bit of comfort and luxury he had wanted to provide Jaskier with.

He closed the door quietly behind him and yet the click of it rang in Geralt’s ear like a death sentence.

Geralt rolled back onto his other side, so he didn’t have to face the empty bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to calm his breathing and fall asleep as Jaskier had told him to. But the silence was too loud. Without Jaskier’s familiar tossing and turning, without his quiet breathing and heartbeat, his sleepy mumbles, the silence that remained was deafening.

He didn’t know how long he waited with bated breath and his hopeful heart beating too quickly, until finally the door creaked open again.

He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on the back of his head as he slipped back into the room and put the thing he had taken with him before back into his lute case.

He smelled like frustration and something else that Geralt knew he should recognise, but couldn’t discern under the heavy stench of Jaskier’s emotions.

“Jaskier?” Geralt turned his head just in time to see Jaskier flinch. “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” Jaskier said instead of answering. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Geralt shook his head, a movement Jaskier should be able to see even in the dark.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “Is there something I can do?”

He was trying. Already, Geralt was trying as hard as he could. Tomorrow, he would go out to search for Jaskier’s happiness and bring it back to him, but for now, he was helpless, relying on Jaskier’s guidance on how to best help and comfort him. How to be a good friend to him.

Jaskier remained quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke again, it was too quickly and too loudly for it to have been anything other than a spontaneous loss of control.

“Can I still sleep in your bed? Just for tonight?” Jaskier swallowed audibly. “I mean, I understand if you don’t… but we’re still friends.”

Silently, Geralt lifted his blanket in invitation. Jaskier waited only for another heartbeat, before flinging himself into bed with Geralt, as if Geralt would take his invitation back if he wasn’t fast enough. Jaskier was still wearing his chemise and trousers. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but Jaskier sighed as if he didn’t even notice.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered. “For…for still wanting to be my friend.”

Geralt had no reply, no words to express how much it meant to him that Jaskier still considered him his friend after Geralt had disappointed him like that. Tentatively, he gathered Jaskier into his arms and pulled him closer, until Jaskier’s head came to rest on his chest. Immediately, Jaskier pressed closer against him. He tucked his head beneath Geralt’s chin and let out a small noise when Geralt started caressing his back and running his fingers through his hair.

Slowly, Jaskier relaxed and yet, Geralt’s heart felt heavy. He wished –

They never did this without reason. Every time Geralt had gotten to hold Jaskier in the night, it had been to offer or receive comfort or out of necessity. During the storm, when they had said goodbye to Roach, they had comforted each other. When Jaskier had almost drowned, they had clung to one another as a reminder that Jaskier was safe. The night before, they hadn’t had much of a choice when it came to sharing the bed and Jaskier had still been worried about Geralt. Now, it was once again Jaskier seeking comfort that Geralt was happy to offer in any way that he could.

Yet, his chest ached. He wanted to have this in a different way. Just once, he wanted to wake up entangled with Jaskier knowing that they had spent the night together simply because they wanted to. Because they were happy with each other and couldn’t imagine a better place than the other’s arms. No pain, no danger, no too small bed to push them together like this. Simply the fact that they were important to the other.

Maybe, once Geralt got the carvings back and Jaskier wasn’t hurt and frustrated with him anymore, he could ask him for that.

Tomorrow.

Geralt closed his eyes, as he listened to the soft noises Jaskier made as he drifted in his sleep.

Tomorrow, Geralt would end Jaskier’s doubts and bring back what he had lost. They were still friends now. If Jaskier still sought comfort in Geralt’s arms after how Geralt had let him down, then there was still a chance that he wouldn’t tell him to leave once Geralt confessed to all his lies and secrets.

He inhaled a deep breath and surrounded by the scent of Jaskier and wood, Geralt fell asleep.

The next morning brought no more lazy hours to waste in bed with Jaskier. As soon as the first rays of the sun climbed over the horizon and fell through the window into their room, Geralt steeled himself for the task ahead of him.

Carefully, so as not to wake Jaskier, he lifted Jaskier’s arm that was wrapped around Geralt’s waist in his sleep. Jaskier made a disgruntled noise when the bed dipped as Geralt shifted his weight and got up.

As silently as he could, Geralt put on his armour, yet the snapping of the clasps as he tightened them, was still loud enough to rouse Jaskier.

“Geralt?” he mumbled, still half-dazed from sleep. He blinked blearily, before suddenly his eyes opened wide and he sat up in a flash. “You’re leaving.”

Geralt nodded and tightened the straps of his armour. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but he couldn’t risk not coming back to Jaskier a second time.

“Don’t tell me you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

Geralt gave him a soft smile. “I wanted to let you sleep in. You went to bed so late last night.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jaskier said, as he swung his legs out of the bed and ran his hands through his hair and down his chemise to straighten it. “I’ll go downstairs with you. If nothing else, you at least have to let me say goodbye to Roach.”

Geralt’s lips quirked up in amusement. Despite how cold the late-autumn air might be, Geralt’s chest was warmed from the care and easy affection Jaskier had for Geralt’s mare, going so far as to bid her farewell, even though they would only be gone for a couple of days, if everything went well.

Jaskier followed him to the stables, where he hugged Roach around the neck and didn’t complain even once when she started nibbling at his chemise.

Geralt pretended to be busy fastening Roach’s saddle and let Jaskier have his moment, but he couldn’t help but listen in, when Jaskier leaned closer to Roach’s ear and whispered, “Take care of him for me, will you? Don’t let him be lonely. And…bring him back to me. He promised to visit me in Oxenfurt. Make him keep that promise. Please.”

The warmth in Geralt’s chest spread into his fingertips and his expression was soft, when he turned to Jaskier again.

“Take care, Jaskier,” he said.

“You too.” Jaskier hesitated, before opening his arms a little. “Can I…?”

It took Geralt a moment to understand, but when he did, his heart skipped a beat and he opened his arms, mirroring Jaskier. A tentative smile appeared on Jaskier’s face, before he stepped closer and buried his face in Geralt’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Geralt’s throat grew tight and he could do nothing but hold Jaskier close and make himself remember why he needed to leave or else he would never let go. Jaskier needed him to do this. He would be happier once he had his carvings back. Their friendship would be stronger for it.

Yet, standing here in the stable with Roach happily nudging Jaskier’s back as he clung to Geralt, it was hard to gather the strength to let go again and leave. Geralt wanted just a few more moments to savour this. He could allow himself that much.

Jaskier had never hugged Geralt goodbye before. He had been ready to give Eskel a hug after having known him for no more than a couple of hours, but he had never parted from Geralt by leaving him with the memory of how his arms felt around him. Safe. Warm. Like home.

Geralt hadn’t known he had longed to be send off like this. Before, whenever they had separated for a longer time, Geralt hadn’t been sure if he was allowed to hold Jaskier like this and all the short separations didn’t warrant a big farewell. And then, ever since the first time Jaskier had wrapped his arms around Geralt, they had been together. For nearly a year, they had spent every day together. It felt strange knowing that he wasn’t going to see Jaskier for the next couple of days. Jaskier must feel the unpleasant tug in his chest too, that came from the sudden split, however brief it may be, for he tightened his hold on Geralt.

It felt wrong, to have the ache of saying goodbye taint a hug like this. The few hugs and half-embraces they had shared before in broad daylight had been meant to say I’m here. For you. With you.

Geralt didn’t want Jaskier’s embrace to mean that he let him go. So he tried to pour everything he felt into the hug. A promise to come back, to not disappoint Jaskier again.

Jaskier let out a shaky laugh.

“I guess I was right all these months ago,” he said, voice muffled against Geralt’s neck. “You do give the best hugs. Bear hugs.”

Geralt’s hands wandered up to the back of Jaskier’s head, cradling it gently, as he was unable to pull him even closer.

“That was so long ago,” Geralt replied.

It had been back when Jaskier had still had Bumblebee. The first of Geralt’s carvings that had been lost to him. Even back then, it had been for the same reason as it was now: Jaskier’s carvings were sacrificed for Geralt.

He took a deep breath and pulled away.

“Goodbye, Jaskier,” Geralt said his voice thick with the overwhelming urge to right his wrongs.

He knew he couldn’t linger as he wanted to, or he would never leave and do what he needed to do.

Without so much as looking back at Jaskier, he swung himself onto Roach’s back.

The last thing he heard, nearly inaudible compared to the click-clack of Roach’s hooves was Jaskier’s whispered “Goodbye, Geralt.”

He missed Jaskier already. It had been no more than hours since Geralt had left him at the inn and yet, he found that there wasn’t a single moment that he didn’t spend thinking about Jaskier, about what he would say if he were here with him now.

As Geralt gathered sticks for a small campfire, he imagined Jaskier composing a little ditty to sing while he worked and as he lit it with Igni, he could practically hear Jaskier sigh contently and cheerfully announce how good it was to have a travel companion who could create fire just like that.

Geralt’s heart ached to hear his voice again, his footsteps behind him, his heartbeat. Anything.

And yet, as night fell and Geralt curled in on himself on the cold, hard ground with neither bedroll nor tent to shield him from the cold seeping into his bones, he was glad that he hadn’t surrendered to the begging of his heart and asked Jaskier to come with him. Though Geralt shivered from the cold and wished for nothing more than to have Jaskier’s warm body to hold, he knew that Jaskier deserved better than to be in these conditions. At best, he would have been uncomfortable, at the worst, he would have fallen ill in the middle of the woods from which it was a day’s ride to reach the town and a healer again.

No, it was good that Jaskier wasn’t with him, that he was comfortable at the inn. Perhaps he was performing right now, spending his hard earned coin on ale and a hearty meal, now that he didn’t need to pay for Geralt’s health as well. Maybe, while Geralt had trudged through the forest, keeping his eyes out for any sign of a trail he and Jaskier could have left when they had been here, Jaskier had strolled around town or talked to people who laughed at his jokes and admired his eloquence.

Whatever Jaskier was doing, it was better for him than being in the cold with Geralt.

And yet, selfishly, Geralt wondered if maybe Jaskier was looking at his wooden wolf and missing Geralt in the same way that Geralt was already missing Jaskier.

Geralt feel asleep alone and cold and begging for the next day to bring him to the abandoned camp so he could get back to Jaskier quickly.

A light drizzle turned into a downpour. With no cloak to keep him covered, Geralt was quickly drenched to the bones, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The trail had been near impossible to track before, but now with the water washing it away, there was no hope that there was any of it left still. Now, Geralt could only rely on guessing and luck to guide him to where he needed to be.

A sour taste filled Geralt’s mouth as he realised that the naïve estimation that he would be back with Jaskier in a couple of days wouldn’t be possible to achieve anymore. At the least, it would take him a week to find their belongings.

Still he trudged on.

Behind him, Roach snorted in protest when he pushed too hard and walked for too long.

“I know,” Geralt muttered as he eventually came to a halt and stroked down Roach’s neck. “We’ll get back to him soon. And then I’ll let him spoil you with as many treats as you like.”

He wanted to be back with Jaskier, wanted to pillow his head on Jaskier’s legs while Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair and talked about everything and nothing, or maybe quietly read a book.

This unlikely fantasy was the only thing keeping him warm, as hours bled together and the fourth day away from Jaskier turned into the fifth.

Had this forest always been that huge? It had felt smaller with Jaskier there to tell him stories and softly sing to him. More than once was Geralt tempted to give up on his fruitless search and go back to Jaskier, his warm arms and warmer smiles.

Perhaps Jaskier would make a song out of Geralt’s search for the wooden animals he had never before cared so much about. But first, Geralt had to find them. For Jaskier.

A little more than a week without Jaskier was enough to make Geralt feel utterly miserable. He had no idea how he was going to make it through winter without Jaskier by his side.

Geralt brushed a low hanging branch to the side – and stopped dead in his tracks. His heartbeat spiked up and for a moment he was frozen where he stood, unable to believe his eyes.

But there is was: The camp he had been looking for. The bags with their supplies, Jaskier’s bedroll that he had clearly abandoned in a hurry.

Roach’s neighing behind him shook him out of his stupor and with hasty strides, he rushed over to the bags, rummaging through them until he found what he had come here for.

A crushing weight was lifted off his chest, when he finally held the figures in hand again. They were all there. In worse condition than when Geralt had last seen them and covered in mud and with dark spots, but they were there nonetheless.

A relieved breath escaped Geralt as he gathered them close and wiped off the traces of mud as best he could with one of his undershirts that he carelessly pulled from his newfound bag. Then he took out his hunting knife – the smaller knife had somehow disappeared, he must have lost it on the way here somehow – and started carving away the blemishes of the wood, until the figures looked less miserable. Jaskier would be able to see that they had been tempered with, but in this moment, it was more important that Geralt made sure that they didn’t look as if they had been abandoned.

Geralt had never cared much about that before. Countless other carvings were probably still rotting somewhere, unfound and uncared for. But these ones were Jaskier’s. They were important.

And when Geralt got them back to Jaskier, it wouldn’t make a difference if he could tell that Geralt had polished them up or not. Because Geralt would finally tell him.

His chest tightened at the thought, but with every second he spent fixing up the carvings, his resolve hardened. It was time.

Quickly, he gathered up anything salvageable – some of their clothes, the coin pouch, the pots and pans, the tent and thankfully Jaskier’s notebook – and fastened them onto Roach, who was already prancing nervously.

“Let’s go, Roach.” For the first time in a week, Geralt smiled again. “We’re going back to Jaskier.”

Geralt was spurning on Roach to gallop faster than she had in a long time. In the hand that didn’t hold the reins, he held the bag with the carvings, not willing to let them out of sight and risk even the chance of losing them again.

He barely paid attention to the way, trusting Roach to bring him back to Jaskier on the fastest route. His mind was too preoccupied with figuring out what he was going to tell Jaskier. For weeks, he had told himself to confess that he had been the one who had carved the animals, always waiting for the perfect moment, but not once had he actually tried to prepare the words he was going to say. And Jaskier would need words. Any other time, actions might have sufficed, but with something this important to Jaskier, Geralt could leave no doubt in Jaskier’s mind that Geralt hadn’t meant to deceive him out of malice or lack of care for him.

Yet as the town came into view on the horizon, Geralt was still no closer to having found the words and now that he was so close to Jaskier again, his mind wouldn’t stay focussed for long enough to come up with words to explain himself.

He was going to see Jaskier again and he was going to make him happy. For once, Geralt would be allowed to give him the gifts, he had made for him all along, openly. A twinge of dread stung in his stomach. The well-known fear of the rejection he had spent so much time anticipating.

There was still the possibility that Jaskier’s face would twist in disappointment and anger at his betrayal, but when Geralt had told him that he was going to do his best to fix what he had inadvertently broken, Jaskier had still considered him his friend and had said it with so much feeling, that it had ignited a hope stronger than his doubt in Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier might get angry at him, and rightfully so, but there was still hope that they would get past this.

For now, all that was important, was that Jaskier got his figures back and that Geralt could see him smile again as on the days he had found each of them.

When he reached the town, Geralt didn’t bother dismounting Roach, though he slowed her down as he rode through the streets. In front of the inn, Geralt jumped off, not bothering to bring her to the stables first. She knew better than to walk away and get lost in the town or let anyone steal her.

And Geralt had no time to waste. He threw open the doors to the inn, rushing through the pub room, ignoring the strange looks he received and sprinted up the stairs to their room.

He pushed against it – and found it locked.

Geralt’s brows drew together. It wasn’t unusual for Jaskier to lock the doors when he slept or had company – a habit he had developed while travelling with Geralt to either avoid danger or Geralt walking in on compromising situations – and it wasn’t unlikely that Jaskier was out and about in town at the moment. Yet, something prickled at the back of Geralt’s neck. A foreboding feeling, he couldn’t shake.

“Jaskier?” he called, knocking against the door, while his other hand tightened around the bag with the carvings. “It’s me. I’m back.”

No reply.

Geralt’s frown deepened. Even pressing his ear against the wooden door, Geralt couldn’t hear a single sound coming from within the room. Not as much as a heartbeat. And something else was off. The usually inescapable scent of Jaskier wasn’t there. Not so much as a trace of it.

“Jaskier!” He called again, louder this time, though he already knew that he would get no reply.

Huffing and the creaking of floorboards made Geralt whirl around, half-expecting Jaskier to come running towards him. The hope that flared up in him disappeared just as quickly as it had come, when Geralt’s eyes fell on the maid who hastened towards him.

“Sir Witcher, I need to ask you to quiet down,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “The other guests are complaining already and-“

“Where’s Jaskier?” Geralt interrupted her, not wasting a single thought to how rude he might sound.

The girl’s eyes snapped up to him. Her brows knitted together for a second, before recognition flooded her face.

“Master Jaskier? The bard?”

Geralt nodded, his fingers twitching impatiently around the bag. “This is his room.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” the maid said, a blush colouring her round cheeks. “But it’s not. Hasn’t been for about a week.”

Geralt’s blood turned to ice.

“What?” His voice was toneless and he knew his expression must be as hard as stone.

“He left. Not long after you did. I thought he had gone after you.”

“He didn’t.” Geralt hands clenched to fists helplessly. “I know when I’m being followed and I wasn’t.”

“Oh.” The maid’s blush deepened in embarrassment. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What do you mean?” Geralt didn’t intend for his voice to come out as a growl, but Jaskier was gone and he didn’t understand why. He had known Geralt would come back for him. So then why hadn’t he waited?

“He…I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” The maid fisted her hands into her skirts and played with the fabric nervously, not unlike how Jaskier sometimes played with the hem of his doublets. “But after you left, he stormed back to his room,” she nodded towards the door, “and got his lute. I thought he was going to perform again, which I thought was strange because it was so early still, but when I asked him about it, he said that he couldn’t stay here a moment longer. He…” she lowered her voice. “He didn’t look very happy.”

“What do you mean?” An abyss opened up in Geralt’s stomach, swallowing all the excitement he had built up when thinking about seeing Jaskier again.

“Well, his eyes were red and his voice was all,” she gestured vaguely, “as if he had been crying.”

Geralt’s heart sunk. He had known that Jaskier hadn’t been feeling well, that he was mourning the figures he had lost, but that had been why he had gone out there. So that Jaskier wouldn’t have to feel like that any longer. So that he would know that Geralt wouldn’t let him be miserable if there was anything he could do to help him. Jaskier had known that…hadn’t he?

He wouldn’t have just left without at least leaving a note, not after being so adamant about them being friends that he would even tell Roach to make sure Geralt kept his promise to visit him in Oxenfurt.

Oh.

Oh no. That was where he was going. But it wasn’t time yet. No merchant caravans that Jaskier could join for safety would head there for at least another month. What could have possibly driven Jaskier to head out on his own?

What, if not Geralt himself?

Geralt’s face must have shown the cracks in his heart, for the maid’s face scrunched up in concern.

“Sir Witcher?” she asked tentatively, but Geralt didn’t listen to her anymore. He stormed past her and down the stairs.

Jaskier was out there somewhere, had been for days. With no horse, no protection and no possessions but his lute and possibly some coin. It wasn’t safe for him. Even if monsters or bandits didn’t see him as easy prey, he would still have nothing to fight off the cold with.

Geralt needed to find him. Right now.

The urgency with which Geralt had ridden Roach before was nothing compared to now. He knew he was pushing her too hard, but he couldn’t slow down. The roads were too unsafe for a bard travelling on his own and a week was more than enough time for Jaskier to get hurt or lost.

Just as it had in the woods, the rain had washed away all tracks Jaskier had left, but at least Geralt had a direction to follow and a road that Jaskier must have taken.

At least until two days later he came to a crossroad and the road split into two smaller paths, one of which led in the direction of a forest.

Dread pooled in Geralt’s stomach. Silently, he begged with whoever was listening, that Jaskier hadn’t taken this path, but he already knew that his plea was useless. It was the path leading vaguely in the direction of Oxenfurt and Jaskier had never been good at calculating risks.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Geralt nudged Roach to follow the path. If he was lucky, he would get to Jaskier soon. Two days on horseback should be enough to catch up with a man, even if he had great endurance from being used to walking a lot.

It didn’t take long for the path to veer directly into the woods stretching out before Geralt. He gritted his teeth but pushed on. With every step Roach took, he was praying that Jaskier hadn’t been stupid enough to take this path, though he knew it was useless.

Jaskier’s scent hung in the air, faintly, but leaving no doubt that he had passed this place not long ago. A day ago at most, if Geralt had to guess.

Geralt’s only hope was that Jaskier had listened to him when he had tried to teach him basic survival skills. Jaskier had struggled with putting up the tent, but he knew which sticks to gather for a fire – except Jaskier had never had to light a fire himself. He had watched more than enough times how Geralt gutted a rabbit or other animal he had caught to make it edible – but Jaskier had neither a knife with him nor did he ever try to catch an animal himself.

Geralt cursed under his breath. He needed to hurry.

Had there been anything useful he had taught Jaskier in all these years? Anything at all that might make sure that he didn’t starve out there in the wild?

Water. That was always the first thing one needed to find. Last time Geralt had seen Jaskier, the bard hadn’t carried a waterskin or flask with him. If he wanted to drink, he’d have to veer off the path and find a body of water. The thought sent an unpleasant chill down his back. Too many dangers lurked in lakes and swamps.

Geralt sharpened his senses, taking note of any sign that Jaskier might have left the path.

There! Twigs that were broken in a way that made it unlikely that an animal had done it. Geralt followed the trail, his heart beating faster with every sign of Jaskier he found.

Footsteps.

More broken twigs.

Leaves that were shredded on the ground, doubtlessly something Jaskier had done to keep his hands occupied.

Finally, after another hour of trudging through the underbrush, Geralt found it. A pond in the middle of a clearing. He took in a deep breath and relief flooded his senses. Jaskier’s scent was stronger here. He must have been here recently and lingered for a while – not a surprise, considering he had likely been on the open road for days without a chance to drink much or wash himself.

Geralt’s shoulders dropped slightly and he felt himself relax, when he noted something else. Another scent, coppery and pungent. Blood.

“No.”

Geralt rushed forward, his mind refusing to understand. His eyes fell on something he had mistaken for twigs lying on the ground before. But it was something else. A makeshift fishing rod, the line of which was a thin strap of the same fabric Jaskier’s chemise had been made out of. It was snapped in half.

He kneeled down, picking up the halves with a trembling hand. It smelled like more blood and to the splintered ends hung a blueish-grey flap of skin. Drowner skin.

Geralt’s stomach churned and his grip on the rod became tight enough to nearly snap it again. He needed to breathe. To focus. To find Jaskier.

With more strength than he believed himself to have, Geralt pushed himself back to his feet. There were signs of struggle all around. Someone – Jaskier – had been dragged through the grass towards the water, but the tracks didn’t reach the pond.

When Geralt came closer, something glinted in the sparse light that shone through the canopy of leaves overhead. He furrowed his brows, but a wave of relief hit him when he recognised what it was. The small knife he had thought lost. Its blade was covered in the sickening smell of blood. Jaskier hadn’t been helpless, neither in a fight nor when it came to survival.

Geralt took another deep breath, this time, as his mind wasn’t clouded with overwhelming fear, he could find only mild traces of Jaskier’s blood in the air. Most of it came from the drowners that must have attacked him.

Geralt was just about to turn away from the pond to find where Jaskier could have run off to, when something caught his eye. Something was half-buried in the mud at the water’s edge. Perhaps something Jaskier had flung at the drowners as an improvised weapon?

Geralt didn’t know why he leaned closer. It wasn’t important what exactly Jaskier had used to fend off the drowners, the only thing that mattered was that he had gotten away. And yet, Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from the light brown object lying there, an eerie feeling creeping up at him as he stared at the one thing he had never dared to think he could be finding out here. He blinked, not comprehending, as his fingers touched the wood and pulled out a carved animal.

For a moment he thought it was the wolf – the figure that was more important to Jaskier than any of the others. The one that was meant to stay with him when Geralt was gone. The one thing beside his lute that could still offer him comfort –, but then Geralt looked closer.

This carving had none of the craftsmanship of someone who had been whittling for years. He could recognise a head and legs, but most importantly, he didn’t recognise it as anything he had made. This wasn’t one of the carvings he had given Jaskier.

His brows drew together and his grip tightened on the carving. He had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the impossible thing in his hand and focus on the scene of the fight again.

The signs of struggle turned into muddy footprints again, leaving away from the pond. Without hesitating a second longer, Geralt followed them.

Roach snorted in displeasure, when he led her through more rough terrain, but he couldn’t consider losing Jaskier’s trail for a more passable path. He was close! He could feel it, smell it in the scent that Jaskier had left, could hear it –

He could hear it. Jaskier.

It was faint, at first, far away. But it was unmistakably singing. Geralt wasn’t close enough to understand the words yet, but it was Jaskier’s voice.

Geralt didn’t think. He sprinted through the trees, trusting Roach to follow him on her own.

The singing grew louder the closer he got. Loud enough for Geralt to recognised the melody that had sent him off on his search for the carvings. The song of Jaskier’s heartbreak over the loss of his carvings.

Twigs snapped into Geralt’s face, tore at his hair, scratched his skin, but he didn’t care. Jaskier was here. He was safe. He was so close!

“But perhaps I’m his to miss

As I do him since I watched him go.

I’m yours, my wolf.

Oh tell me, please

Won’t you be mine?”

This was new. It was rawer than anything Jaskier had sung before. It was pure heartbreak.

The bushes parted before Geralt and his breath caught in his throat. There Jaskier was, sitting on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest and his hands he clutched the wolf figure. Scratches littered his face and arms where his doublet was torn, but there were no injuries bigger than bruises and scratches. He was breathing. His heart was beating. He was here.

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathed his name like a blessing.

Jaskier’s head snapped up to him, but before his expression could fully morph from shock to anything else, Geralt had run over to him and fallen to his knees before him.

“Geralt, what –“

He didn’t let him finish. He dropped what he was holding and just grabbed him by the shoulders, crushing him against his chest.

“You’re safe,” Geralt whispered in Jaskier’s hair, his hands roaming over every inch of Jaskier’s body they could reach. “You are alive.”

Jaskier tensed and his shuddering breath tickled Geralt’s neck. For a moment, Geralt thought Jaskier was going to push him away, but then he returned the embrace, pressing himself impossibly closer against Geralt, clutching the fabric of Geralt’s shirt desperately.

“What are you doing here, Geralt?”

Geralt pulled away again, but his hands didn’t leave Jaskier. They wandered up his back and over his shoulders until he was cupping Jaskier’s face tenderly. His eyes raked over the small cuts in his skin.

A crease formed between Geralt’s brows. “Searching for you. When I came back to the inn and you weren’t there, I thought – why did you leave?”

Jaskier’s eyes darted between Geralt’s.

“I- You left. We were talking about separating for winter and then I messed up and I thought… I thought this was it. I had finally been too much.” He hesitated. “Haven’t I?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said softly. “How could you be too much? How could you think I’d ever just leave you?”

Jaskier swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “You heard my song. I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Not in front of all those people. But…I knew that if I did it close to winter and you rejected me, you’d be able to put distance between us easily.” He closed his eyes and placed his hand that wasn’t still holding Winter, over Geralt’s wrist and gently pulled it away from his face.

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Jaskier’s flickering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You were clearly uncomfortable with how I felt and then you left. What else was I to think?”

Geralt’s frown deepened in confusion, but he made sure his voice was soft and soothing, when he said, “I wouldn’t leave you because you were angry at me. I understand how you felt and – that is, unless you want me to leave?” Sudden uncertainty seized Geralt. “If you want to be away from me, that’s alright. Just let me get you to Oxenfurt safely first.”

“No!” Jaskier’s grip on his wrist tightened. “Don’t. If you don’t want to leave, then don’t.” Something shifted in his expression.

Geralt nodded slowly. “Then I won’t. I always meant to come back for you. I told you, I just needed to fix what I had broken.”

He let his thumb caress Jaskier’s cheek one last time, before pulling away and reaching for the bag with the carvings he had carelessly dropped before.

“I couldn’t let you be alone for winter without your carvings.” Without something to remember me by. “I had to get them back for you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. A disbelieving smile stretched his lips.

“You did that? For me?”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “Always for you.”

Slowly, Jaskier let go of Geralt’s wrist and reached for the bag, but just before he could touch it, Geralt brought it closer to his chest again, pulling it out of reach from Jaskier.

“Wait,” he said quickly.

“What’s wrong?”

Geralt’s mouth went dry and his throat grew tight. “I…There’s something I need to tell you first.”

He could hear Jaskier’s breath hitch and his heart speed up.

“What is it?” Jaskier nearly whispered, leaning closer to Geralt.

“I’ve been lying to you.” Geralt forced the words past his lips, despite a year of doubts and fears screaming at him to just shut up. “I’m sorry. I never meant for it to go this far. I never meant for this to break your heart.”

“Geralt…”

“I made them,” he blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear look at Jaskier as he confessed to his lies. Couldn’t see the disappointment and betrayal in his eyes. “The carvings. They are mine. I didn’t…I couldn’t ruin your belief in the fae and they made you so happy. I know I should have told you right away but…I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “The figures were never supposed to mean anything. They were just something I made and left and forgot about. And then you found the bear and…and you gave it meaning. And every single figure that came after it seemed to mean more to you and I didn’t know how to stop. I didn’t…I didn’t know how not to break your heart.”

A soft hand touched Geralt’s atop of the bag he was gripping tightly and softly caressed his knuckles until ever so slowly, some of the tension eased away.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “Can you look at me?”

That was all Jaskier had wanted. He had said it at the coast. He wanted the fae to look him in the eyes and tell him why. The reason was already at the tip of Geralt’s tongue. Another confession ready to hang between them. But when Geralt opened his eyes, his words got stuck in his throat.

Jaskier wasn’t looking at him with contempt. No trace of anger was etched into his skin. Yet his eyes were glistening with tears.

Geralt’s heart clenched painfully. He wanted to reach out, to hold Jaskier close, to make this better.

But he was the reason why tears threatened to spill from Jaskier’s eyes, why he had left on his own to go to Oxenfurt without protection, why he had lost the trust that people could want to stay with him.

“Jaskier-“

“I had hoped it was you.” The corner of Jaskier’s lips tugged upwards into a weak smile. “For such a long time I had wanted it to be you and then when you gave me the wolf, I had known for sure, but I hadn’t known why.”

“You knew?” Geralt blinked, unable to understand. “But – how? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you didn’t. Because as long as I didn’t ask you why you kept making the figures, I wouldn’t have to hear you say that there was no meaning to them, that I just got them because you had nothing better to do with them. At first I thought you were afraid of telling me, so I tried to tell you that it was alright, that you could trust me with this. But when you still didn’t say anything…I became the one who was afraid.” He added the last part quietly, his voice barely more than a breath.

Geralt’s mind was racing. It didn’t make sense. “You still took them. You knew they weren’t from the fae and you still accepted them.” He let out a sharp breath, his eyes searching Jaskier’s face for something to help him understand. “You knew they came from me and they still made you happy?”

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped Jaskier. “Of course. Why did you think they meant so much to me? When I still thought they came from the fae, they were special. A novelty. Everyone wanted to find one. But a gift from you? Geralt, there is nothing that could be more meaningful to me.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered. “I didn’t know – I wanted to tell you. When I was hallucinating. I’m not even sure you were really there, but I wanted you to know.”

“I was there.” A shadow flashed through Jaskier’s eyes. “I didn’t want you to tell me then. Not if it wasn’t really your choice. With the toxins…I didn’t want to break your trust by letting you tell me without having control over it.”

“You deserved to know. If I had died without telling you-“

Jaskier winced. “Don’t. I know. That’s what I kept thinking about while you were unconscious. What if you died and I never got to tell you?” He hesitated. “That’s why I started – but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Started what?”

Jaskier avoided Geralt’s eyes and his fingers on Geralt’s hands twitched nervously, but he didn’t let go.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “I lost it anyway.”

Geralt furrowed his brow as he searched Jaskier’s face, trying to understand. What had Jaskier lost? Geralt had brought back everything important to Jaskier from camp. His notebook, his clothes, the carvings…

Geralt’s gaze dropped to the carving he had found at the pond, lying innocently in the grass next to them. His eyes went wide.

As if in a trance, he reached out for it, lifted it to his face to examine it closer. He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him as he ran his thumb over the unevenly carved wood. Jaskier hadn’t taken Geralt’s knife to help him survive, had he?

“It’s not as good as the ones you made,” Jaskier said quietly, shrugging in a vain attempt to appear nonchalant. “I didn’t really know what I was doing.”

Geralt turned the animal over. Four legs, one of which was cracked, while another was broken off. A tail that looked a bit lumpy, a head that was misshapen and the proportions were all off.

Still, it was unmistakably a horse.

Geralt’s lips twitched as he looked up at Jaskier again, unable and unwilling to hide the wonder and affection in his expression.

“Roach?”

Red heat rose in Jaskier’s cheeks as he nodded. “It’s not finished yet. I wanted it to look better and I thought I’d have more time. And then, when I had missed my chance, I stopped working on it.”

“More time before what?” Didn’t Jaskier have all the time in the world? Surely, once he had reached Oxenfurt, Jaskier would have found time between lectures to continue working. There would have been no rush to finish it.

Jaskier looked at him with an unreadable expression and his voice was small, when he finally answered.

“Before you left.”

Joke, you know it would break Roach’s heart if I left you.

“Did you want my help? I can…if you wanted to, I could still teach you how to whittle.” Geralt remembered vividly how lost and frustrated he had felt, when he had first started woodcarving. If possible, the bird that had been his first attempt at whittling had looked even more misshapen than the horse he was now holding. Not to mention the blisters Geralt had gotten from whittling that had made it uncomfortable to hold his sword and –

Geralt froze. Slowly, he let go of the bag with the carvings and turned his hand so that he was now holding Jaskier’s. He turned it until he could see Jaskier’s palms.

“You hurt yourself,” Geralt said, rubbing small circles into Jaskier’s wrist. “The blisters, your wrists…that didn’t come from playing the lute too much, did it?”

Jaskier shook his head silently. Something twisted painfully in Geralt’s chest.

“But why? If it hurt you, why did you keep working on it?” Geralt faltered. “Is it because I stopped making them after we went to the coast?” He gave Jaskier’s hand a light squeeze. “I can still make you another one. If you want a horse, I can make one. Or…or a rabbit. Or a squirrel. Any animal you want.” He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the bag in his lap that Jaskier hadn’t taken from him yet. “That is, if you still want to have the carvings I made.” After Geralt hurt him enough to leave all on his own, he wouldn’t be surprised if the gifts had soured for Jaskier. “But please, don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier let out a choked noise and his fingers twitched again. “You don’t need to give me things, Geralt. We’ve been over this.” He let out a small noise that could have been a laugh. “You gave me a stick once and it meant the world to me. Besides.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, “I didn’t make the horse for myself. I know it’s not good enough to give it away, which is why I kept it, but the horse was never mine to keep.”

“Oh.”

Geralt’s heart dropped. Of course. How could he have forgotten. Jaskier still had someone out there, someone whom he wanted to give gifts too. Geralt’s chest cramped up at the thought of Jaskier gifting his beloved the same thing that Geralt had given to Jaskier when he had had no words to make Jaskier smile.

And still. If this would guarantee Jaskier’s happiness…

“I would still do it,” Geralt said quietly, the words tasting like razor blades on his tongue. “If you want the horse to be a gift, I will still help you.”

Jaskier gave him a crooked smile. He hesitated, but then he took his free hand and closed used it to close Geralt’s fingers around the horse.

“That would defeat the purpose, don’t you think? Working on your own gift.”

“My own…” Geralt’s eyes went wide and his treacherous heart skipped a beat. Jaskier couldn’t possibly mean what Geralt’s foolish heart thought he meant.

“It’s for you,” Jaskier said softly and let go of Geralt again. “I know it’s not beautiful or useful and it would probably take up space you need for other things, but if you want it, it’s yours.”

Mine.

Geralt’s breath got caught in his throat. For a long moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Jaskier, but then he looked back down at the wooden horse in his hand. It was imperfect and, as Jaskier had said, far from beautiful. Geralt had no need for carvings or trinkets. There was no use for them and if this had been one of the carvings Geralt had made himself, he would have had no qualms, leaving it in the woods.

But this was from Jaskier. He had made it for him. The little lumpy horse with the missing leg and strangely proportioned head was the most beautiful and precious thing Geralt had ever owned.

A lump formed in his throat and his eyes started burning.

“Why?” His voice was raspy and bordering on desperate. There was so much more that he wanted to say, to ask, but this was all he could get out before his throat closed off again.

Jaskier shifted his weight and pulled his shoulders up a little.

“You have given me all those beautiful carvings. So many gifts to remember you by and yet you had nothing from me. I wanted you to have something of mine when you left. So that maybe in winter, you could look at it and think of me.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest, to say that he didn’t need any reminder of Jaskier, that not an hour went by without Geralt thinking about the way his laugh sounded, his touch felt or his eyes looked. But before a single word could leave his lips, Jaskier continued.

“When I found you in the woods, I thought I had missed my chance to tell you how important you are to me. I needed you to have something to remind you of that. I thought that if I gave you something I had carved, you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide anymore that you had been the one to give me the gifts. And I hoped that maybe – no, it’s stupid. Forget it.”

“Jaskier-“

“No, you were right. I gave the carvings more meaning than they had. I shouldn’t have. Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t made them mean so much to me.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Geralt said in a voice so sincere that Jaskier’s big eyes got even wider.

“Then what did you mean?”

“The carvings I made before you found the bear didn’t mean anything. But once I started making them for you, it was impossible for them to be meaningless anymore. You mean too much to me for them to mean nothing.”

Geralt hesitated. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and he wanted to hide. To turn tail and not bare this last secret of his heart to Jaskier.

But this was what Jaskier had wanted. The truth. The one thing he had asked for that Geralt had refused to give him. Until now.

Taking one last deep breath, Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hand and reached into the bag instead, pulling out the first of the gifts he had made with Jaskier in mind.

He held the bird up for Jaskier to take. “I know I don’t say it nearly often enough, but you have the most beautiful singing voice. Your songs make being on the Path so much easier. Not only the ones you sing in taverns to change my reputation, but all of them. Hearing you sing to yourself while you search for firewood, listening to you senselessly serenade Roach to bribe her, seeing you deep in thought, plucking away at your lute. All of it. The Path was always quiet before you. The only thing I listened for, was whether there was danger nearby. You gave me something else to listen to. Something soft and beautiful.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s lips moved silently, as if he couldn’t find his words, while for once Geralt was the one who couldn’t stop his own words from tumbling from his lips, despite not having known exactly he had wanted to say until he had opened his mouth.

“We don’t have Friend anymore,” Geralt continued, before Jaskier could find his words again or courage forsook Geralt, “but that is what you are. The best friend I could ever ask for. The first friend I had made since Blaviken and the only one who stayed with me for as long as you have, despite what you have seen of me. You are…warm and soft and so full of comfort. I don’t know if this is too much to say, but to me, you are family.”

The pungent smell of salt pierced Geralt’s nose and when he looked at Jaskier in alarm, Jaskier was blinking furiously.

“Jask,” Geralt began uncertainly. “Are you alright? I…I’m sorry, if I said anything wrong. I can stop. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier said. HIs voice sounded choked, but his hand shot forth to take the songbird out of Geralt’s hand and cradle it against his chest. “Please don’t stop.”

Geralt hesitated for a heartbeat longer, uncertain despite Jaskier’s words, whether he was hurting him again somehow. Then he swallowed thickly and nodded.

He searched for the next carving, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he found it and sat it down in front of Jaskier.

“I don’t know if you remember, because you were quite drunk when I told you, but I haven’t been able to pet a cat since becoming a witcher.”

Jaskier nodded and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“When I told you back then, you gave me the sheep to hold instead. Because that’s something that had always made you happy.” A fondness welled up in Geralt at the memory. “You make me happy, Jaskier. I am alright with knowing that I won’t ever pet a cat and I was fine knowing that I would never find someone like you either. But you’re here. You’re always here. You give me so much. You make me want something – someone – I never thought I could have. You make me want and need you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing.”

A choked noise escaped Jaskier and he turned his face away, but not fast enough to hide the tear that rolled down his cheek. Without thinking, Geralt brushed it away, letting his hand linger on Jaskier’s cheek until his hitched breathing got back under control. Jaskier leaned into the touch with closed eyes, letting Geralt caress his cheek with his thumb and wipe away any tears that escaped Jaskier.

When Geralt made no move to speak up again, Jaskier opened his eyes again and with a watery but bright smile said, “The snake is next, isn’t it?”

Geralt snorted. “I still can’t believe you didn’t just throw it away.”

When Jaskier lifted his chin in defiance, Geralt shook his head fondly and pulled the stick out of the back and held it up to Jaskier, who snatched it out of his grip, immediately.

“Of course I didn’t throw it away. You gave it to me.”

“Anybody else would have discarded it. They wouldn’t have bothered to accept it in the first place. It’s just a stick. Nothing special. It’s just making your bag dirty and it’s not beautiful.” Geralt couldn’t stop his expression from softening. “But you still kept it. Thank you, Jaskier. For not casting me aside.”

“You didn’t cast me aside either,” Jaskier said tentatively. “I’m sorry for thinking you did.”

“Don’t be.” Geralt gave him a soft smile, though his stomach twisted when the tears kept streaming down Jaskier’s face.

For a moment, he watched helplessly, as Jaskier tried to stop the tears and wipe them away with his sleeve, before he pulled out the next carving. The fish.

“I guess we have a matching set now,” Geralt said with a lopsided smirk and lifted the horse in his other hand.

Jaskier let out a watery laugh that made Geralt’s chest warm from the inside.

“I never told anyone but Eskel about why I call all my horses Roach. You listened. You always do, even if I don’t say anything with words.”

Jaskier sniffled. “I’m not always good at listening.” Pointedly, he looked at the trees surrounding them. “If I was, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Geralt let out a low hum. “Maybe not. But I don’t mind being here with you. And you still hear more than I can say with words. You…you pay attention. There are not many people who would bother to learn what I mean or even listen to a witcher. I negotiate contracts and pay and for most people that is it. They don’t care about what else I have to say. And then there’s you. You keep needling me about details of my hunts and ask me for my opinion on your songs as if it mattered – “

“It does,” Jaskier interrupted him. “Of course your opinion is important.”

“It is to you,” Geralt relented quietly. “You have no idea how special that is to me. I know I still don’t talk much often, but you make me feel like I can try. I’m not a poet. I know my words aren’t as good as what other people can say to you. I can’t speak in verse or compare you to the sun or moon.”

Jaskier’s tear-streaked smile was like the sun bursting through a rain cloud. “I like the words you’re saying right now.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, but it was overshadowed by the sincerity that gave it weight.

Geralt’s chest grew even tighter and he grinned when he pulled out the last carving, the fox that reminded Geralt of a night spent under the stars. Of Jaskier leaning against him and being happy to receive a gift, even though he had known that Geralt had lied to him about having found the fox figure. And it was a reminder of Jaskier crumbling before him, devastated and thinking that he wasn’t trusted enough to be told the truth. That he wasn’t important enough to Geralt.

Geralt placed the fox in front of Jaskier like a sacrifice. Jaskier’s eyes followed the movement and remained on the figure, a small smile dancing around his lips.

Without the figures, Geralt’s hand felt strangely empty. Without thinking, he took Jaskier’s chin in his hand and tilted his head up until their eyes met again.

“My little fox,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He heard Jaskier’s breath hitch and Geralt’s thumb caressed Jaskier’s chin, brushing lightly against his bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” he repeated. Panic overcame Geralt, when Jaskier’s chin began to wobble again and he squeezed his eyes shut to prevent more tears from falling. He didn’t know what to do, how to make Jaskier stop crying. Helplessly, he grasped the first thing that came to mind. With a lopsided grin, he added, “One might even say you’re roguishly handsome.”

A laugh bubbled up in Jaskier that soothed the panic in Geralt.

“Oh?” Jaskier said, the teasing now obvious and when he opened his eyes again, they were glinting with mischief rather than tears. “What else could you call me?”

Geralt’s lips twitched and he groaned in a mockery of annoyance. “Don’t make me say it,” he begged, already knowing full well that he was going to repeat the ridiculous word Jaskier had described himself with at the coast.

“Make you say what?” Jaskier asked with false innocence.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him and when Jaskier only lifted a brow, he let out a sigh and relented.

“Fine. You’re foxy. Happy now?”

“Very,” Something in the way his eyes softened as he said it, made Geralt think that he didn’t only mean his triumph about getting Geralt to call him that.

“You are?” Geralt asked again, uncertain if he hadn’t misunderstood. “Happy? With me here. Despite…despite me having lied to you and made you believe that I had left you?”

“You came back,” Jaskier said as if that explained everything, leaning into Geralt’s touch. His eyes drifted down to the carvings sitting between them, each one with their own precious meaning hanging in the air. “And you gave me the most wonderful gift.”

“I’ll always come back. You – I always thought that I couldn’t have anyone with me. That having someone worth coming back to was dangerous.” When Jaskier’s brows pinched together and he opened his mouth to protest, Geralt continued quickly. “And it is, but you make it worth it. You make me want to be more than what they taught me to be at Kaer Morhen or what other people see in me.” He let go of Jaskier’s chin and as his hand sunk back down, it hovered for just a moment above Jaskier’s heart. “You make me want to be the person you see in me.” He swallowed thickly and dropped his hand back into his lap where it clenched and unclenched. “Because of you. It’s always been because of you.”

He didn’t know what exactly he was referring to. Everything. For years, everything he had done had been influenced by Jaskier, by what would make him feel safe or make him smile. By what would make him want to stay with Geralt.

“I know this,” Geralt gestured to the carvings, “isn’t much. Others can give you more and you deserve more than gifts from a witcher, but it is all I can give to you.”

Jaskier’s shoulders moved as another sob shook him, or perhaps it was a watery laugh.

“Geralt,” he said, with disbelief and unbearable fondness written on his face. “How could you think I’d ever want anything from you but you?”

Geralt’s heart sped up as hope welled up in his chest. “So you’re not leaving for Oxenfurt? You’ll still travel with me for a bit?”

“For as long as you’ll have me. I thought I had made myself clear with my song, but evidently I have been wrong.” Jaskier placed a hand above Geralt’s hand holding onto the horse carving. “Do you understand the carving, then?”

Geralt mouth went dry as Jaskier’s thumb caressed his knuckles.

“I think I’m starting to understand. Or maybe I’m just hoping.” His eyes followed the movement of Jaskier’s thumb, then he looked back up and met Jaskier’s gaze. There was a depth to the fondness in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt had never allowed himself before to think it could be for him. “Explain it to me?”

Jaskier’s lips twitched up. “It’s a horse because you love Roach. I wanted you to have something of mine that you could love. And…” He hesitated, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. One last moment of doubt for the both of them, but for once, Geralt was the brave man of Jaskier’s songs and let everything he felt show on his face for Jaskier to see, “you know what the legend says. He, who finds the fae’s gifts will find their love within a year.”

“Even if that myth were real,” Geralt said with deliberate slowness, so that there was no doubt Jaskier could understand him, “I wouldn’t need the fae’s favour. I have already found the one I love.” His smile became crooked. “Though I suppose, the carving has led me to him.”

When Jaskier let out a shuddering breath, Geralt asked carefully, “What about you? You found the first carving months ago. You still have time before your year is up.”

“I still have the winter months to get my love,” Jaskier agreed with a faint smile, “but I’m afraid I won’t be seeing him in those months. He has the habit of leaving me for the winter.”

The glimmer of hope flared up in Geralt’s chest, turning into a blazing fire, just shy of becoming a certainty, but enough to give him the bravery he had lacked for so long.

“If you were to come with me to Kaer Morhen, you’d still have those months. Will that be enough to find your love?”

“I found it years ago,” Jaskier lifted Geralt’s hand, despite the horse still clutched in it and brought it to his lips. The light press of Jaskier’s lips against his knuckles sent a pleasant shiver up Geralt’s spine. Jaskier’s lips brushed once more against Geralt’s skin, when he began to sing, while keeping his gaze locked on Geralt’s eyes. “I’m yours, my wolf. Oh tell me, please. Won’t you be mine?”

His free hand trembled, as it came up to touch Jaskier’s face once more. “I never told you what the wolf carving meant, did I?”

He leaned in closer to Jaskier, their breaths almost mingling.

“What does it mean then?” Jaskier asked. He was so close, Geralt could almost imagine feeling his lips against his own.

It meant everything. It meant that Jaskier was part of Geralt’s family. It meant that when Geralt was with Jaskier, he felt like he truly belonged. It meant that Jaskier was his home.

“It means that I’m yours,” Geralt rasped.

Jaskier let out a small gasp, leaning impossibly closer, but still not touching.

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“You know I don’t need you to give me things, but…can I ask one more thing of you?”

“What do you want?”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered close. “Your heart.”

“You have it. Can I give you something else too?”

Jaskier gave the smallest nod. And Geralt closed the gap between them and gave Jaskier a kiss.

---

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#wood carving #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #fic #witcher #the witcher #fanfic #my writing #geralt #jaskier

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solomonish · 3 years

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you dumb bitch, i loved you! (belphegor & lucifer)

the worst part is i loved you, and sometimes i feel like i still do

when belphegor fell, it felt like everything he loved had been forced inside out and created just to hurt him.

WARNING: (christian) religious imagery and guilt, swearing, brief choking, and my own interpretation of how belphie was forced in the attic.

based off of this song // ao3 link: here!

No matter how hard he tried to forget, Belphegor remembered how passionately he loved the human realm and how his bliss in his old home had been nearly just as strong.

His memories are filled with adventures in the human realm, walking down the streets with Beel and Lilith at his side. Humans liked to marvel at their gradual progress over the centuries, but to an extension of Father himself as everlasting as His love, they seemed to grow and learn at a fascinatingly fast pace. He could walk down dirt paths made only by the constant wear and tear of feet, only to be pulled away by his ear and come back after his punishment to find cobblestone and two-story apartments lining the spot where he last stood. Humans were such darling creatures, bold and brave in their battles yet never losing that adorable haze of ignorance to the greater realms. There was something about them that made him want to work harder to guide them gently on their way - an urge to protect the people who interested him so much, in an effort to maybe let them know just how dearly he loved them all.

When he wasn't wandering the human realm with a wide-eyed wonder, he spent his time diligently working, hoping that he might catch the attention of a certain angel - or maybe get him to admit that his work made him proud. Angels were not perfect, being mere reflections of His grace - if the warped spot in Belphegor's mirror was not his interest in humans, it was the favoritism he harbored for a certain group of angels. His attachment to Beel could be tied to their kindred creation and his love for Lilith a version of the love all senior angels felt for their younger brothers and sisters, but the complete admiration he had for Lucifer was something entirely different. The sentiment was shared by most angels, complementary sighs of Lucifer’s beauty and success floating around any room he was in. But Belphegor noticed the softness Lucifer held for him and the others in their little group - a bond that would not go punished if not boasted about. Fortunately for them, boasting wasn’t in the nature of angels.

There was something about Lucifer that had Belphegor completely enamored. There was something about how he seemed so...brilliant, with magnificent wings and a certain air of vulnerability that made his few imperfections invisible. Not only did Belphie respect and admire Lucifer, he considered him his favorite. If angels were creatures of devotion, Belphegor had no issue devoting himself to Lucifer. It was hardly blasphemous to revere a creature made so as glorious as he.

Perhaps his fault was that he loved Lucifer more than his Father, or his love was too selfish. (He always knew in the back of his mind that his desire to be perfect in Lucifer’s eyes, his desire to hide away with only the seven angels that felt more like his brothers than anyone else, was sacrilegious). But at the end of the day, he had loved Lilith enough to go against Father, and he had loved Lucifer enough to trust in his battle plan. A band of disillusioned heretics was no match for the strongest armies of heaven, and their ideas were destined to burn.

And burn they did.

When he watched Lilith fall out of the clouds, Belphegor felt his heart drop, bile threatening to spill from him as he, too, slipped out of his realm. Plummeting to the ground, seven burning stars on their path to damnation, he was acutely aware of the fire encapsulating him and Beel - and yet the only burning he remembered was from his throat, raw from his screams. Just as quickly as his wings burned up and his halo fractured, all of the joy Belphegor’s life once gave to him disintegrated as well. It was replaced with a hatred just as deep, the comforting warmth turned into a scalding flame that ensured he would never forget what it once was.

The Devildom was hardly a place to fear as much as the Celestial Realm made it sound. Although Belphegor really didn’t experience much of the realm - between grappling with his grief and being lulled to sleep inexplicably most hours of the day, he didn’t have much time to irritate the denizens of his new realm. He accepted what was given to him, the room and the school itinerary, and spent his time in his room, mulling over what fate had handed to him. With no ear to listen, (one unbiased by its own pain, at least), sorrow quickly turned to bitterness. He refused to admit - or believe - that Lilith had been wrong, and a fond part of him that hadn’t yet died was reluctant to blame his past celestial siblings. It was humans who led to his downfall, humans in their stupid, ignorant, arrogant ways. They moved on too quickly, their rich energy a gilded facade that hid just how shallow and stupid they really were. It was their fault - it had to be, because the idea that it could be anybody else’s was far too terrifying to deal with.

Days turned to months turned to centuries, and Belphegor slept it all away. That was easier than dealing with the world. Besides, if what Beel told him was true, Lucifer was taking care of them. They were all in good hands.

Properly adjusting to the world, once he was forced to actually attend school (and regularly, at that! What a chore), wasn’t as horrible as he thought it might be. After all, spending so much time in the personal hell of his own mind meant that mingling with demons for eight hours of the day was a walk in the park. The worst part of his day was the school council meetings, a place in which he only learned he had just before he left to take a desperately needed afternoon nap. The meetings were boring, and he often found himself dozing off during them. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be able to offer ideas when he had nothing to offer. Lucifer scolded him, of course, for acting so disgracefully in front of Diavolo. The defensive aura prickling over both their skin made Belphegor shift in his seat, the scowl Lucifer wore like a horrifying version of the firm decision-making face he knew. The fall seemed to have done that to all of them, forcing them all into distorted versions of themselves. That time, he brushed the incident off and made an empty promise not to do it again.

He would do it again, though. There was too much effort in keeping promises.

Sometimes, though, he felt well-rested enough to stay awake during these meetings. He still slumped in his seat, head rolling back and eyes shut, but he was listening intently. It was then that he heard plans were being put forth for an exchange program - were some circles of Hell shut off from the main city of the Devildom?

Lucifer and Diavolo went back and forth, discussing logistics and statistics boring enough to almost put him back to sleep. Aside from an occasional interjection from Satan, nobody really interrupted their little lovefest - until Asmo seemed to perk up and ask excitedly, “You’re considering Solomon?!”

Finally interested in the conversation, Belphegor adjusted himself in his seat and watched Lucifer carefully. He looked worn thing and undeniably frustrated - his fault for working himself to the bone for his dumb little boyfriend - but he still spared Asmo a second to answer his question. “He would be at the top of the list, yes. It isn’t wise to bring in two humans who have no idea what they’re doing.”

Belphegor took care to hide his outburst, but his anger must have been palpable as the two heads of the table turned their attention to him. “How nice of you to join us,” Lucifer said, a hint of something completely unfamiliar underneath his breath.

“Belphegor! What do you think of the program?”

He only stared dumbly, eyes darting between the prince who had done everything wrong and his brother who he thought could never. He wasn’t concerned with revealing that he hadn’t been paying attention until this moment. For a moment, he could feel again, his sloth and hidden feelings doing nothing to dampen the turmoil inside of him. He didn’t miss being able to feel. His blood seemed to burn at his skin, like his entire red-hot soul wanted to explode out of him and destroy the entire city. “That’s what this exchange program is?”

“What’d ya think it was?” Mammon asked underneath his breath. Belphegor ignored him.

“Don’t you remember what they did to us? You didn’t forget, did you? You couldn’t have.”

His brothers either stared at him in shock or purposely looked away, examining the floor absently. Diavolo was the only one who didn’t understand, steepling his fingers in front of him and tilting his head curiously. Belphegor hated it, and fought the urge to leap at him from across the table.

“Lucifer, what the hell? We can’t just make peace with them and pretend that everything is fine!”

“No human is alive from then,” He justified, his voice missing the harsh edge Belphegor expected. Had they been in the Celestial Realm, it would have been soft and comforting, but he couldn’t risk his imposing image, could he? “Peace between the realms could improve life here more than we know.”

“What does he know?” Belphegor shouted. His throat started hurting again, reminding him of things he’d rather forget and forcing tears to prick his eyes. After blinking them away, he turned to Diavolo and started walking towards him. “You don’t know. This is a horrible idea. We can’t let them in.”

“Belphegor.”

“Wait until they tear everything you care about apart and force everyone you loved into people you barely recognize.”

He could feel the awkwardness settle over the room at that, but he also felt hot enough to burn everything in the room with one touch. Maybe that was why he was inching closer to the prince, wanting to burn him, scar him, teach him what pain was because surely he had never felt it if he thought bringing them into the Devildom was a good idea-

Belphegor ran into somebody, and it wasn’t Diavolo. It was Lucifer, who had a warning grip on Belphegor’s shoulders that felt like a plea to back down. Belphegor watched him glance over his shoulder, nodding once at Diavolo. The prince had a firm look on his face, fitting for someone of his status - too bad Belphegor was centuries past giving a shit about any of that. Gritting his teeth at the sight of Lucifer asking for permission, Belphegor tried to shake his hands off of his shoulders.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Lucifer announced, allowing Belphegor to push away from him. He wanted to rip Lucifer’s eyes out of his skull when they settled on him. “We will talk about this when I get home.”

“Like hell we will,” Belphegor hissed, turning to hurry out of the room. He didn’t bother to stop for his bag, just wanting to escape and run.

At the House of Lamentation, Belphegor kept to himself in his shared room with Beel. His twin had the wisdom to keep away for a while, though he did hear the zippers on his bag clink together when Beel dropped it off outside the door. Curled up underneath all of his blankets, Belphegor alternated between willing sleep to come to him or the weight of the covers to crush him. Nothing happened, the adrenaline and resentment coursing through him too quickly. As he held onto himself for some sense of stability, he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw locked. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, curling in on himself like a black hole and wishing he’d burn out, but he didn’t move until somebody knocked on the door. It was Beel again.

“Dinner just ended,” He said lowly. “I know you’re up. You should eat.”

That normally came with a silent I brought you food but I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back. “Go ahead and eat it, Beel. I’m not hungry.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the door. “...You’ll die if you don’t eat.”

“I’m not you. I can skip one meal,” Another silence, one that gave Belphegor a moment of enough sanity to make a plan. Shuffling, he made his way to the door and opened it, surprised to see Beel still standing there. He was unsurprised to see him with half a phoenix leg in his mouth.

“Sor-” He started, voice muffled by the food. Belphegor put a hand up and walked past him. “Where are you going?”

“Lucifer had to talk to me, remember?” Belphegor didn’t look back, knowing the pained look that would be watching him if he did.

Lucifer knew who it was when he knocked - hell, he probably had their knocks memorized at this point - and called for Belphegor to come in. Just seeing Lucifer made all the anger come rushing back in a blistering wave, but Belphegor bit his tongue and fought it back.

“I take it, since you came to me, you’ve come to your senses?” Lucifer asked. When he clenched his fists, Belphegor felt the hostile way Lucifer glanced at them.

“What the fuck?” He asked. Unfazed, Lucifer only blinked. “How could you do this? You know what they did.”

“Belphegor, every human isn’t to blame-”

“Of course they are!” Belphegor didn’t care about how loud he was getting and how quickly he was unraveling. He was angry, and he needed Lucifer to see what he was seeing. “Who else? If she hadn’t fallen for that idiot-”

Cutting himself off, Belphegor clenched his teeth again and doubled over. Was this how Satan felt all the time, so consumed by a rage he didn’t know what to do with? Lucifer hesitated, but his words showed no such remorse. “I know that...it’s hard to believe people who we thought were family would betray us like that-”

“No it fucking isn’t!” When Belphegor straightened himself out and levelled Lucifer in a murderous glare, Lucifer immediately stood up. “That’s what you’re doing right now! You’re throwing me under the bus because, what, your prince wants to do something stupid?”

“Belphie,” Lucifer’s voice was softer than he had ever heard since the fall, but the way he squared his shoulders warned him to watch his step lest he step on a landmine. Unlike the spineless demon in front of him, though, Belphegor wasn’t a coward, and he was going to stomp through the field and hope he blew themselves both up. “We can talk about this.”

“They killed her, Lucifer. They killed Lilith, and if you wanted to talk about it, you should have done it centuries ago.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating, hovering with all the pain and anger left unsaid woven between the hesitation. He was stuck in a culmination of atrocities surmounting to their peak, the inevitable fall not finishing on a battlefield in glory but in a stupid fucking office. Belphegor could feel the content of the books surrounding them, filled with the words and law of the creatures he had been taught to despise since day one, one of the only two demons he'd ever truly been able to hate standing in the middle. Shaking with what he wished he could say, Belphegor wanted to prompt Lucifer to say something. He regretted the thought when he opened his mouth.

“I know what you’re about to say, Belphegor. Watch what you say next,” Lucifer said, slowly. Belpheor didn’t doubt that, but he let out a scorned laugh all the same.

“I’ll kill it. Them. Both.” His voice sounded much lower than he had ever heard it, like he was using it to its full demonic potential for the first time. “I’ll kill the human you bring down here.”

Lucifer rounded his desk and stepped carefully towards Belphegor. “Watch it.”

“Anything! Anything to stop this stupid program,” Instincitively stepping back, Belphegore’s gaze unfocused for a moment. “I’ll kill your precious prince, too. This can’t happen. It isn’t-”

All at once, Belphegor’s voice cut off and his back hit the wall behind him. His legs dangled a distance from the ground, and it took him a moment of being unable to breathe to realize Lucifer pinned him to the wall by his neck. He found himself staring at Lucifer framed in an endless black void, noticing a few moments later that he was in demon form and his wings were stretched out. His red eyes were staring through him, as if deciding what to do with the demon hanging limply in his grasp.

Lucifer didn’t give him the luxury of an explanation, instead forcing him down the hall and up the only staircase to the attic. When he was thrown forward, Belphegor felt what little breath was left being forced out of his lungs. He could vaguely hear Lucifer chanting something and bars forcing themselves into place, but by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. Stumbling to the bars, still uneasy on his feet in his fatigue, Belphegor pressed himself against the bars. Lucifer stood just out of reach, and the thought that it had been like this since they were demons tasted bitter on his tongue.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his voice a harsh rasp. “You’re just- leaving me here?”

It was the first time Belphegor saw uncertainty flicker in Lucifer’s gaze, but he couldn’t find any pleasure in it with metal bars pressing into his face and chest. “Believe me when I say this is what’s best for you,” Lucifer said.

Belphegor didn’t know how long Lucifer was planning to keep him up there, but the finality circling around him was as bad an omen as any. When Lucifer turned to walk away, he began throwing himself against the bars, screaming his protests and promising to find a way out. He couldn’t see the pain on Lucifer’s face with his back turned - but his own angry, desperate tears would have blurred his vision anyway. Still, he wouldn’t resort to begging to be let go, not if it meant accepting a world where humans wouldn’t pay for what they did to his whole family.

For the second time in his life, Belphegor screamed his voice hoarse. For the second time, when he was done, his cheeks wet and body exhausted, he crawled into the nearest bed and lay in contemplative silence. There was one small window in the attic, one he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape from, and from it the moon shone through and painted the otherwise dark room a misty white. He remembered how he had stared at a similar moon and wondered with the humans about what it’d be like to go there, and felt as though he had finally made it there only to realize it was nothing but a dusty rock.

He hated being stuck without his brothers, being able to hear their commotion through the floorboards but knowing they didn’t miss him at all. He hated having so much time left to his thoughts, and it only embittered him more. Most of all, he hated Lucifer, hated how he could so clearly remember how great he had been and how pathetic he turned out to be. The illusion of fallen angels no longer stuck in his mind - he was the complete opposite of his former self, so it only made sense that Lucifer was, too. What once was great and admirable was now nothing short of disgusting, and Belphegor had allowed him to trick him into thinking he might still be worth something. Everything he loved had been torn apart and distorted into a monster even he couldn’t stomach.

How easy it was to be fooled by the things you loved.

How easy it was to fall for them.

#WAS HIT BY RANDOM INSPO AND WROTE THIS IN A FEW HOURS #SRRY 4 SUCK #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me belphegor #swd belphegor #belphegor #mine #belphegor angst #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer angst #lucifer angst #belphegor fic

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grabthemhorns-old · 4 years

Text

The brothers looking after you in pain - Obey Me! HC collab

Myself and one of my best friends Vic - faikittyy on twitter - wrote these together!

I did: Belphegor, Leviathan and Mammon and they did Lucifer, Satan, Asmodeus and Beelzebub.

We hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoyed writing them. We both suffer from chronic pain, so these are rather dear to us <3

Belphegor

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you suffer. But it’s different now. It’s through the eyes of love, and you’re his.

This isn’t the first time he’s felt helpless. But it’s different now. Now, it’s you, and you need him.

His acts were simple at first, methodical. As if reading from a list given to him by Beel. It almost was. He’d sought help from his twin, with quiet, humble words. “What do I do?” as you’d lain on his bed, your body wrapped around his pillow, indenting the soft down as you curled into yourself, whimpers of pain muffled.

Be there.

Beel’s defining advice rung through Belphie’s head as he knelt by your side, timid fingers clutching yours, willing you to hold tighter - as tight as you needed. It was all he could do at first, for he knew what his touch could do to you, and he was afraid if he touched you now, he would just rewind, and press play.

So he sat, until his legs were numb; until you woke up.

“Belphie.” That singular plea, it was enough.

He lies at your side now, asking you if you’re hungry, what’s your favourite Devildom flower, where would you like to visit next - inane distraction. He’s still afraid to touch you too much, but there’s a compromise. The delicacy of his tail tuft draws up and down your body as you sleep. And when you wake, it rests where it hurts, and you clutch the soft warmth against you, fingers weaving out the knots.

He doesn’t often struggle to sleep, but times like now when he does, watching you sleep is a comfort. And he talks to you, about things he won't. Words that can’t usually find form, do. And part of him wants you to wake up and hear. But he knows in time you will. For it’s not only you who’s recovering, as you lie side by side, fingers kissing.

Satan

Satan turns to distractions when things are difficult for him. He isn’t like his brothers. He didn’t fall from the Celestial Realm. He was never created to be his own person; he was created by what Lucifer rejected. There are times when it is all too much, when the unfortunate circumstances of his birth claw at his heart, when the hatred that was drawn from Lucifer’s veins and injected into his own fills him with a fury that can never be resolved. He struggles with it. He has a sense, sometimes, that the fires of rage he has tried so hard to put out will day burn him up from the inside. So he distracts—or avoids, some might say—thoughts of his tumultuous entry into the world and the wrath that wounds him if he allows himself to feel it too deeply.

But you can’t avoid your pain. He knows that. It is a physical part of you and is all-consuming at times, in the way that his anger is to him. The pounding in your head, the inflammation that freezes your joints, the stabs of electricity shooting through your abdomen… Whatever your pain may be, it is unavoidable.

So Satan distracts. He sits with his back to the wall, your head in his lap and a book in his hands. You close your eyes and concentrate on his reading aloud instead of the pain that constricts your chest and sends waves of nausea through you. His voice is like those waves, pitch rising and falling with the characters’ dialogue, but it is gentle and laps at your mind like the ocean surf at your toes. You can’t always follow the story; sometimes the pain makes it incomprehensible. But you can always hold onto his words, his voice, his presence. And for Satan, this—his ability to distract, to be there for you, to be needed—makes the pain of his birth and his anger worthwhile. He forgets he was born of hatred when he feels such love for you.

Levi

You’re half asleep, buried in blankets and plushies that Levi’s cushioned you with, when you feel him wrap around your back, so careful, so slow, his handheld that you were playing lazily together sitting on the sheets in-front of you. He pulls free your tangled hair.

“A-any better?” he asks, the words as careful as his touch.

You shake your head.

He’s quiet for a while. Longer than he wants to be, his tail perfectly still, but you feel his heart beat wild with worry. Helpless. Hopeless. Useless. That’s all he is.

“But I can cope when you’re here,” you whisper, moulding against his body. Levi’s tail curls to an O behind him at your words, and he lightly kisses your neck.

A wave of pain hits so hard it catches your breath, the nausea raw, and you claw, and claw, digging nails into your arm as you try and ride it out. You can feel Levi behind you, a small noise of worry touching your ear as he tries to find the words. But they’re stuck. He sees you scratch, nails pulling so hard at skin it breaks.

Levi almost breaks.

He whispers your name; he holds your shaking hand, and beside your arm, cool and smooth and steady, curls his tail.

“Use my tail instead,” he says, placing your hand on it, his words timid. “I know it’s not much, but I can take the pain. For you.”

He notices you’re clutching one of his priceless, ultra rare Ruri-chan pillows. It’s pressing an enchanted heat pad, eternally warm, against your pain. He pauses, wondering if you know how much that cushion means to him. But when you turn into his chest and smile for the first time in hours, aglow from the light of his phone, the only thing of meaning anymore, is you.

Lucifer

Lucifer worries about you more than the others do, even as he shows it less. He struggles with kind words—a consequence of keeping so many secrets inside for so long. But he does worry, over your health, your safety, urging you to take care of yourself with a gentleness that he has never allowed himself. Therein lies the difference, though; he is a demon, and you are a human. You are fragile. Breakable. He is scared—yes, scared—to even touch you when you are in pain, fearing that he might hurt you worse.

He has hurt you before, after all. He would not be surprised if you didn’t want his comfort at all.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to offer you comfort, though. The sight of you looking so small and miserable, your body a tiny heap beneath your blankets, fills Lucifer with an emotion he cannot identify. Sadness, perhaps? Fear? Above all, a fierce protectiveness and gnawing helplessness. He is no stranger to pain himself, after all. The Celestial War left him with wounds that time will never heal. He knows how mind-numbing pain can be. How frustrating, when it feels as if it will never end. He tries to help you; he brings you teas from Barbatos, potions from Solomon, pills from the human world. And on days when none of the remedies work, when your pain still has you nearly in tears, he wonders, and he wants. He wants to help. To touch.

Until finally, he swallows down his fear, and asks if he can.

Yes, you whisper. Yes.

Lucifer transforms in a heartbeat. His wings, black as pitch, engulf you as he pulls you into his arms. Feathers brush lightly over your skin as he settles in with you against him. You rest your head on his chest and close your eyes with a sigh, grounding yourself in his touch. His fingers play in small circles on your skin, offering small comforts, and you accept them—accept him. You were always going to find peace in his arms. He never needed to be afraid.

Mammon

Mammon’s never been so quiet.

He doesn’t just see you in pain, he feels it too. He’s always held such strong empathy with those around him, especially with those he loves - really loves.

At first, he won’t leave you, forgetting his own needs for all of yours. He’s like a shadow, echoing your movements, making sure that anything you need, he’ll fulfill; anything you do, he’ll do instead. It’s endearing at first, and the consistent company helps distract you, but a part of you begins to worry for him. He still barely talks. But when he does, his stutter is more prominent, and there’s a pitch to his voice you’ve never heard before. You think it’s fear.

He’s careful when he gets closer to you, when he touches you. He’s never been reminded so keenly of your fragility - and mortality. It’s something he doesn’t like to visit, because if he does, he’s not sure how to come back.

As he gently ties back your hair, brushing it off your sticky face and neck, he wonders if you know that he’d give up everything - everything - to give an extra ten years to your lifespan, a year, a day.

“What can I do?” he asks.

“Relax, Mammon,” you smile, with closed eyes. You’re sure he smiles in kind.

And somehow, he does. He joins you on bed, and he holds you skin to skin, face to face. You fit against him as you listen to him breathing against your palms, pressed to chest. Then the soft rumble of his voice returns. He tells stories. Of him, of his brothers, of their early days in Devildom, and there’s even one from the Celestial. The image of him as an angel fills your head, and you wonder. But you don’t ask. It’s not time.

“Tell me what else I can do” he says, almost begging, as you wince in his arms, forehead touching chest.

But you just shake your head, and look up into his wide, worried blues, slow fingers tracing the slide of his jaw. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is often slow to notice when you’re in pain. It isn’t his fault, you remind yourself. He is the Avatar of Lust; he is the star at the center of his own galaxy. He shines so brightly it’s only natural that he would be blinded by his own light. It doesn’t make him uncaring. When he finally does notice, he feels terrible for not realizing it sooner. Sometimes, he hurts you accidentally. He is simply so full of affection that he can’t hold it in, so he is always jumping at you when he sees you, throwing his arms around you, nuzzling in against your skin. His body is propelled forward by a desire to be near, but he never means to hurt. So when you give a pained hiss and shove him away on instinct, his gaze turns almost immediately from wounded to worried. He fusses over you, never once listening to your insistences that you’re okay. He clicks his tongue at the dark circles beneath your eyes, scolds you for letting your pain keep you from getting your beauty sleep, and hauls you off to his room before you can say another word.

Clothes never stay on for long in Asmodeus’s room. He strips your shirt from you and eases you onto his bed, laying you on your stomach. You’re hit with the scent of lavender; then his practiced hands touch you. The moment his palms, soft and slick with lotion, meet the bare skin of your back, they’re all you can focus on. The pain is still there, still probing at the outer recesses of your mind, but his touch is there too, far more significant. His dexterous fingers play over your muscles, working out knots you didn’t even know you had, and you give an unintentional groan as your eyes flutter closed. You hear his bell-like laugh; you feel his breath hot on your ear as he leans over you and whispers suggestions of what he’ll do to you later to make you repeat the sound. But for now, he says, just lay still. Let him do what he does best. Let him take care of you.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub feels useless when you’re in pain. He doesn’t know what to do. It isn’t that he doesn’t understand the sensation; he does, all too well. The chasm of emptiness in his abdomen gnaws at him constantly, urges him to feed it lest it consume him whole. It is not mere hunger. It is a void at the core of his very being, a black hole that swallows up all he swallows down. But his problem has a simple solution: food. Even if eating does not cure the starvation completely, it dulls it for a short time. Makes it bearable. So the first time he finds you, balled up on the couch with your hair all amess and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, he asks himself what he would want, if he were you. The answer? Food. He decides right then: he will bring you his favorite custard, a panacea if there ever was one. It will help.

But it doesn’t. You take one look at the open cup, and your face turns green. You turn your head. You push him away. And suddenly food is no longer the answer, as the question shifts to become: what can he do, if the only thing that helps him hurts you?

Beelzebub leaves and returns empty handed. He sits gingerly beside you, his thoughts a mess. Useless. Useless. Still, he can’t bring himself to leave you alone, not even when his stomach growls its low complaint.

Good. You don’t want him to.

Beelzebub gives a quiet, startled sound as you shift to lean in against him. His arms go around you automatically, and you sigh. He is warm. The constant release of energy as his body burns through calories makes him feel like a blazing fire, his skin fever hot. Better than a heating pad. Better than a hot bath. Because it’s him. After a moment, he tugs you into his lap to encompass all of you in this warmth. And he realizes: maybe he is not so useless after all.

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me fic #my writing #vic's writing #writing collab #obey me masters #chronic pain

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 44

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: I won't give specific chapter warnings because it would spoil it. Just... brace yourselves. I mean that, truly. The entire fic has been leading up to this moment, so... take a deep breath. It's going to be okay.

AO3

Demonic claws striking vibranium metal reverberated painfully around the room, like a gong being struck directly next to your head. You couldn’t cover your ears because your hands were occupied with clutching your shirt, helpless to do nothing but watch as Rogers tried to fight off the Winter Soldier.

And he was losing. Each slash kept Rogers on the defensive, holding up his shield to ward off the next brutal attack. Bucky was ruthless and far faster than Rogers was equipped to handle.

It wasn’t long before Bucky managed to land some blows. Talons left trails of bleeding scarlet, whether from his hands or feet, and even his wings had managed to buffet Rogers more than once.

Bucky’s tail, fast as a whip, grabbed for something at Rogers’ hip. A pistol, yanked out of its holster and deposited into Bucky’s grip, he fired several shots at Rogers who barely managed to get his shield up in time. When the clip was emptied, Rogers bashed it out of Bucky’s hands, following it through with his first solid punch.

Bucky didn’t so much as stumble. Instead, he ripped Rogers’ shield out of his hands, threw a pointed, ridged elbow into his face, and sent him rolling backwards across the floor.

Zemo had remained quiet for the fight, but now he moved closer, a glittering hunger in his eyes.

“It seems you have met your match, Captain. And it turns out, even you can bleed. How nice to find a flaw.”

Rogers rose to his hands and knees, glaring up at Zemo as he wiped blood from his mouth. He gained his feet and held his hands into fists like a pugilist.

“I can do this all day,” he quipped, giving a bloodied smile that was all sharp and no humor. He looked exactly like Bucky had in the HYDRA torture video.

That’s what finally snapped you out of it and got you moving.

Bucky was also on the move, striding toward his friend like a hunter stalking prey, and then he delivered a savage kick to Rogers’ face.

Rogers crashed against the wall behind him, hitting it hard enough to slightly bounce off before collapsing onto his knees. He wasn’t going to win this, and from the pained expression, he knew it, too.

Bucky descended on him. You got there first.

Placing yourself squarely between them, you braced your hands in front of you as if to physically stop Bucky.

Surprisingly, he did, head slightly tilted like a curious animal.

“Bucky. Bucky, please, listen to me.” Your hands shook but somehow your voice was steady. “I know you can hear me. I know, because I’ve been there, with you, in your head when you’re him. The Soldier. He’s just another part of you, Bucky. You’re still in there.”

He simply stood there, immobile as a stature except for his tail. It twitched, restless and agitated, different from its controlled, languid movements during the fight.

But he wasn’t moving. He was listening. There was a chance.

“You can feel it, can’t you? Here.” You touched one hand to the middle of your chest. “Zemo tried to break the bond, but it’s there. Faint and dim, but I can feel it. You must feel it, too. Please, Bucky. Fight him!”

Tears flooded your vision and your throat burned.

“Come back to us.”

Eyes as cold as eyes didn’t so much as blink. If Bucky heard you, he gave no sign of it.

“You gotta get out of here,” Rogers said from behind you. He could barely speak, and a glance over your shoulder told you he was holding a particularly large gash across his stomach. “Go! I can take care of myself!”

You ignored him and faced the demon standing before you. You weren’t leaving Bucky to face his worst nightmare all alone. You weren’t leaving him to be someone’s pawn again. And you definitely weren’t leaving him so he could kill the only other person he loved.

All you could hope was that the animus still tied you to Bucky, and that he wouldn’t harm the human he was bound to.

It was a huge gamble, but there were no other cards to play. Everything depended on whether you could reach Bucky. Not a human slave reaching out to its master.

You needed Bucky.

“You belong to me, Barnes,” you whispered.

You somehow got your legs moving and walked forward until you were standing right in front of him.

“And I belong to you.”

Bucky said nothing, his eyes gaze on you in their entirety. Meanwhile, Zemo appraised you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Kill her.”

Bucky raised his demonic arm, claws extended. You didn’t move.

Even as your heart raced and your limbs trembled, you didn’t move.

The arm didn’t come down. Bucky stayed like that, poised to strike while you braced for the killing blow.

But his eyes. The icy blue searched your face, brows pulled into a confused line, and there was a faint glimmer of something within their depths.

He slowly lowered his arm.

“Sergeant, what are you doing?” Zemo glanced between you and Bucky, his expression darkening. “Obey my command! Kill her!”

Bucky’s ears twitched but his focus was completely on you, eyes narrowed and blinking, as if on the verge of remembering.

It was enough for hope to surge through your limbs, and you couldn’t help but give a small, timid smile.

Studying your expression, Bucky seemed dazed, his eyes widening, and his lips parted as he said your name, raw with roughness.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

Zemo clicked his tongue.

“Pity.”

You didn’t understand; Zemo sounded more annoyed than angry. Bucky also frowned, and began to turn to face the man who had enslaved him.

It was when Bucky turned just far enough that his left arm was no longer shielding you that Zemo pulled the pistol from his holster.

You didn’t hear the shots. You didn’t see the flash of a muzzle, either. But you were still knocked backwards by a brutal force ripping through your stomach, and then next thing you were looking at was the vaulted ceiling and the lights glittering above you.

They were oddly beautiful.

You expected the floor to be as cold as the table, but you were wrapped in something warm and strong. A familiar silhouette leaned over you, blocking out the lights with a pair of curved horns and brown hair, and you had an eerie case of déjà vu.

Had it all been a dream? A hallucination? Had you imagined the whole thing and was Bucky only now rescuing you?

No. It wasn’t a dream. Bucky’s face was etched in unimaginable horror. He gripped one hand tightly with his armored claws, the other pressed against your stomach. You could barely feel it, feel any of it, past the cold wetness, as if you’d tumbled into a frozen pond and you couldn’t get warm again.

You opened your mouth to say his name, but nothing came out. Bucky shook his head frantically, and looked somewhere over his right shoulder as he yelled for Rogers to find the fucking sorcerers.

You tried once more, but only a gurgling noise came out. Your mouth filled with iron. It was getting harder to breathe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay—“

He repeated the mantra but the tears in his eyes alarmed you. It was bad. It had to be for Bucky to look at you that way.

You tried to lift your head to look down, but Bucky told you not to, his large hand still pressed to your stomach as he pulled you close. He was so warm, his scent earthy and alive, but it wasn’t enough. The world was beginning to fade at the edges. You were so tired.

“No, no, don’t close your eyes, don’t—please, please look at me.”

You wanted to obey him, if only to show him you were fine and he had nothing to cry about, but your eyelids were like iron weights.

Trapped in darkness, the cold numbness was winning, robbing you of your connection to Bucky. All that was left were the sounds of his muffled sobs. It was agony to listen to, but you couldn’t find him in the dark.

All that was left was the fading golden thread, and the slowing beat of your heart.

And then, that too, was gone.

***

You were immediately assailed by heat and stinging wind.

You shielded your face as you sat upright, drawing your shirt up to cover your mouth on instinct. The air was so dry and hot it hurt to breath, and when you opened your eyes, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

There was nothing beyond the endless dune of red.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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wildlittlefoxsworld · 4 years

Text

My world crashed almost into pieces | The Old Guard | Andy x Fem!Reader

A/N: So, something new from me ;) I hope you like it and have fun. I think it's not easy to write Andy as a character, she has no many facettes and she is a strong and brave woman, but I try to protray his soft side mostly in my stories. So, that's for everyone who likes soft Andy ❤

Summary: You get injured on a mission and you doesn't wake up. Andy waits anixously for you come back. When you heal she doesn't leave your side and shows you all her love for you.

Warnings: tempory reader's death, major angst

TOG Masterlist

***

„Don’t you dare to leave me,“ she mumbled again and again while watching your body didn’t show any signs of healing. If she must bet, she would say fourty percent of your skin was burnt and from the impact of the explosion you were flung backwards, so you suffered a few broken and silvered bones that cut through skin.

Andy was full of your blood and the car seats were stained as well, but she didn’t care, all she wanted was you to come back and open your pretty eyes. Joe was driving like a mad-man to get away from the men that were following you in black jeeps and Nicky and Booker leaned out of the windows to fire back.

Andy took your injured hand in hers and was careful so she didn’t crash it. Your face was deep red and the raw flesh was stretched over your skull. Of course you died; no human body could survive an explosion, the injuries were too much. She was grateful that Joe handled fast enough and had lifted you in his arms, because all of you needed to get away there as fast as possible. The whole mission was a disaster and she hoped that you didn’t have to pay a price for that.

“Come, babe, wake up. Don’t leave me,” she begged you and felt the tears forming in her eyes. You were on her side for over two thousand years now and when her time hadn’t come yet, then it couldn’t be your time to die now. She wouldn’t know what to do when you wouldn’t revive. You were her whole world and to lose you would break her heart into pieces. Only the thought of a life without you made it hard for her to breathe. She blinked her tears away, but there came only more.

The car ride went chaotic, but Joe succeeded in leaving the jeeps behind them. He looked in the rear-view mirror and met Andy’s gaze. She shook the head slowly and Joe growled angrily. Andy knew that he would be by her side if you wouldn’t make it and she would take revenge, but she didn’t want to think about this scenario. She still had faith that you will come back to her.

The group arrived at one of their many safehouses, well it was just a small cabin, but better than nothing. Andy planned to go here after the mission one way or another, but she never thought that it would be the four of them and your dead body.

“How is she doing?” Nicky asked worriedly and opened the door to lean over your face. He hoped to find any signs of you starting healing. He could imagine how Andy felt in the moment, he wouldn't feel different if it would be Joe. Andy was focused on your face as well and stroked your unharmed right forearm.

“How long?” Joe whispered from the driver seat after he turned around.

“Too long,” Andy replied with trembling lips. “Maybe half an hour already. Why isn’t she healing?”

“She has probably inner injuries too. You know that big wounds need longer to heal. She will be fine,” Nicky assured her and Andy looked hopeful at him. Nicky always found the right words to calm her down, but the waiting stressed her immensely.

Your family waited impatiently that you started to heal. The seconds and minutes were crawling slowly and the silence was unbearable. Andy would give everything she had to hear your laugh again.

The noise when your bones began to crack back in their places and your skin grew back over the red flesh, let Andy flinch, but all of them let out a sigh of relief. Andy didn’t notice that she held her breath the whole time since Nicky spoke.

“Now it won’t take any longer, only a few seconds,” Joe said smiling slightly.

Andy nodded slowly, but never kept her eyes of you, she watched how your body healed in every place that was injured and she laughed weakly when you took your first breath. Your eyes flattered open and you tried to focus on anything. You looked directly at her.

Your whole body hurt when you came back to life. In one moment you killed a man who tried to attack Nicky from behind and in the next moment everything went black. You knew you had died, but you recognized that you lay with your head in Andy’s lap and she was watching you worriedly. You noticed tears on her cheeks and now you were really confused.

“Why are your eyes so red?” you asked confused and knitted your eyebrows together, but you received no answer and Andy’s arms wrapped around your upper body to pull her close to her chest. Your face was buried in the crook of her neck while Andy was rocking back and forward with you.

You were sure something went horribly wrong that made Andy so emotional, because she was hugging you desperately and caressed your hair tenderly. “You’re okay, you’re here,” she whispered again and again more to herself than to you.

“Yes, I’m good, Andy. What happened?” you asked and your voice was muffled. She didn’t let go and you decided to hug her back. You wrapped your arms around her waist and squeezed her gently, to let her know you were there and it would be okay whatever got her so sad and worried. But it seemed your words made it only worse, because Andy began to shake with sobs.

She laid a hand on your cheek and made you looking at her. “Don’t you ever do this again to me,” she said sternly and kissed your forehead for a long moment, she didn't care that there was blood everywhere on your new healed skin. Andy didn’t want to talk about what happened to you. All she wanted was holding you in her arms and listening to your frequent breathing and your steady heartbeat. Your body had been so cold, but now the warmth was spreading in your torso and limbs, but Andy still needed a few minutes to realize that you weren’t dead anymore.

A rock in the size of the Mount Everest fell from her heart the second you openend your eyes. She never felt so happy in her entire life and she would never let go of you again. Never keeping her of you again. Not ever letting anyone hurt again.

“We should go inside. The both of you need a hot bath,” you heard Nicky’s voice and you thought that you must sat in a car with Andy and the others. Slowly the whole situation made sense to you and you assumed that you took too long to revive from the death. But there would be no chance that Andy would explain everything to you, because she didn’t answer your question the first time and you knew her well enough that it meant she didn't want to talk about it.

“Nicky is right, Andromache,” you tried to get her attention and she shifted carefully with you in her arms. She went out of the car, but never let go of you and helped you to stand on your feet. She studied you intensely and wrapped an arm around your middle to push you gently in direction of the small cabin.

You didn't complain when she lead you straight into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. You walked over to the mirror and looked at yourself.

“I look awful,” you commented giggling your reflection, but Andy shook her head. She reached for your shoulders to peel off the rest of your remaining clothes. It stuck to your skin and you felt dirty and itchy. You needed a hot shower and Andy had the same idea in her mind, when she pushed you wordlessly under warn water. A few seconds later a pair of arms wrapped around your body and Andy nuzzled her face to your neck. You weren't used to so much affection from her. Naturally she showed affection when you were alone or when she had a very good day then in front of your family too, but now she was desperate to touch you, feeling you close to her.

“I'm fine, my heart.”

She hugged you harder and started to place kisses on the side of your neck. You turned around in her arms and dug your fingers in her upper arms. She watched you attentive and her eyes still showed worry, pain, sadness, but there was as well relief and her love for you. You understood that she almost lost you today.

“I'm fine,” you reassured her and you leaned your forehead against hers. “You won't lose me, ever, my heart belongs to you and I will be always by your side.”

Andy wasn't good with words, bur her actions showed more than thousand words. She raised a hand and her fingers traced over your eyebrows, cheeks, the soft curve of your lips, her thumb opened your mouth with gentle pressure and then she kissed your lips. Your mouths met from time to time in soft kisses until they moved slowly and sensual. Andy treated you like you could break from the slightest touch of her, but on the other side she wanted to caress all the parts that were injured, feeling only smooth and flawless skin.

Your spine tingled in anticipation when you pulled back and saw Andy's eyes were a few shades darker. The worry was replaced with lust and adoration, her kisses grew deeper and passionately, her hand in the small of your back made you upper body aching and her tongue find the way in your mouth. You will give her everything that she needed and she could take everything that she wanted.

“I was barely so scared in my entire life,” she muttered and the confession took her a lot of bravery, but it didn't matter, she didn't need to be brave or strong in the moment, not here with you.

You didn't answer anything, you simply hugged her with your arms around her shoulders and stood in silence with water raining down on you that turned pink on the way down.

Clean from the dirt and blood you went in the small bedroom that you shared everytime you came to the cabin. She tugged you under the blankets and cuddled you from behind in a firm grip like she thought you could disappear when she fell asleep.

You found sleep while listening to her breathing. You felt secure and happy to be with the woman that meant… well, there wasn't existing any words to describe your love for Andy. She was your other half and the constant in your life. Your feelings grew over the centuries for her into a love so deep that no ocean was big enough to contain it.

Andy whispered lovely words and sweet nothings in your ear what woke you up slowly and you felt the kisses on your face, neck, clevage and chest. Her hands caressed your heated skin from under the blankets and pressed to her hot body so long.

“I need you,” she stated clearly with authority in her voice. You were surprised for a moment, but the worry was back in her eyes and you nodded in agrerment.

“You got a bad dream?” you asked softly. She kissed you desperately as an answer to show you her need to be close to you.

“I'm here. We're both safe here,” you reassured her, whispering against her lips and Andy claimed your mouth again and again. You knew she didn't want to talk, only touch and feel you.

***

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#the old guard #the old guard fanfic #the old guard x reader #andy x reader #andromache the scythian x reader #nicolo di genova #yusuf x nicolo #andromache the scythian

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

The Art Of Letting Go

Summary: You though you were searching for Demon!Dean to help Sammy cure his brother. When you do find him, Dean shows you just exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Created for: @spndarkbingo

Square Field: Dub Con

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, Demon!Dean (yes, he has his own warning), slight angst, dub con, language, spn level violence, I think that’s it...

A/N: This fic was beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks hun! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my MASTERLIST! Still want more? BECOME A PATREON, and get exclusive fics and make request!!

People are affected by things differently. No one processes trauma the same way. Some people close up completely. They refuse to talk about what they’ve been through, and shut themselves off to everyone around them. Some people chose therapy. They choose a professional stranger as a way to vent, or get it off their chest. Some people get violent and want to seek revenge for whatever happened to them, whether that be to a person, group of people, or just the universe in general.

You’ve seen it all. This life, it had very few secrets left for people in your line of work. You’ve seen them cry, kill themselves, go bat shit crazy and murder everyone they were ever attached too. You’ve seen them lock themselves in the house and refuse to come outside again.

You often wondered what had happened to that girl. She was such a good hunter. She had finally come across the one thing she couldn’t handle mentally. You were pretty sure it would happen to you one day as well.

In all the things you’ve seen, in all the horrors you’ve experienced, in all the shit you’ve hunted, you’ve never seen anything that held a candle to Dean Winchester. He once was a damn good hunter, a friend, but had now turned demon. You know it was the mark that had turned him, and what it was doing to him that made him who he was today, but to say he was handling the trauma from his past life as a human to now swimmingly was bullshit. He literally took all the trauma he’d been through in his life, channeled the anger, took on the fucking mark of Cain and died and became a demon. You didn’t give a shit what Sam said. Dean had done it on purpose.

At least he was creative?

You and Dean had never been very close, but in all fairness, Dean was only ever close to a handful full of people. You? Hell, you were just another hunter. Not someone he was ever attached too. Not that he had time to even really get to know you anyway. You grew up in one of the many hunting compounds, and you joined about a month before Dean became the beast you were currently hunting.

You had always idolized Dean in a way. You had heard all the stories over the years growing up, and you always wanted to work with him, meet him. Now? Fuck, now you were hunting the very man you swore that one day, you’d work along side him to save the world. Funny how that shit turned out.

Sam swore he could cure Dean. You remain unconvinced. Either way, the problem at the moment was finding the bastard. Years of hunting when he was human made Dean damn near impossible to find, and you were pretty sure he was leaving the pair of you a trail of breadcrumbs that literally had you going around in circles.

“What, Sam?” You growled in the phone that wouldn’t stop ringing on the seat next to you. It had been ringing almost non-stop for the past thirty minutes, and you didn’t know how to tell him that you still hadn’t found his brother, and were pretty sure you were never going to find him.

“Y/N, listen, I just got some video footage from a convenience store about 30 minutes north of where you are right now. Dean was seen there.He beat a man to death with a skin mag. Can you check the local bars and strip clubs, see if you can find him?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, thankful that Sam was unable to see it. This was a first. Dean in his demon form, decided to beat the poor ass hole to death with a fucking porn magazine. He had a knife that was very capable to do the job for him, but this just proved there may be more of the old Dean still in here than you wanted to admit out loud. It took all the self control you had left in you not to burst into hysterical laughter, or ask Sam to send you the footage so you can laugh, and not be judged for it later.

“I’ll check it out Sam, but I’m starting to think we’re not going to see Dean again in person unless he wants to be found.”

The resounding silence on the other end was hard to read. You couldn’t tell if you were actually getting through to him with reason alone, or if he was just as done as you were looking for Dean.

“Just… Just try, okay?” Sam pleaded, and you could literally hear the fucking puppy dog eyes in his voice through the phone, damn him.

“Okay, there’s a bar about five miles from me. I’ll start there and If I find anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks Y/N, I really couldn’t do this without you,” he says, letting go the breath he was obviously holding.

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it Winchester,” you tell him before hanging up on him. He’d said enough for tonight, and a few strip joints and bars were all you were willing to do before finding a place to crash for a while. Dean may be a demon, but you were still human and needed at least another four hours before continuing this wild goose chase.

You couldn’t deny as you pulled up in front of the old dive bar, that it was just the kind of place the Dean you know would have chosen to hang out in. You could hear the crappy country music blaring even outside in the parking lot, and there were plenty of blondes walking around in cut off shorts to choses from, adding a nice Backwoods appeal to the place that would have drawn the elder Winchester in like flies to horseshit.

Human Dean was predictable, and you missed that. The only question that remained was just how much of the man was still inside the monster.

As soon as your boots hit the gravel outside your car, a cold chill shot down your spine, throwing your hunter instincts into high gear. You didn’t haven’t even have time to grab your angel blade before your body was pinned to the outside of your Mustang with enough force to knock the wind out of you. The smell of sulfur assaulted your senses, and a scent you knew all too well… Dean.

You could feel the cold steal of the first blade pressing into the thin fabric of your flannel, and you shivered involuntarily at the hot breath that smelled of beer, sulfur, and spearmint gum fanning over your face, Dean’s strong calloused hand had a tight grip around your throat, while the other held your hands behind your back as if you were nothing more than a blowup doll. No form of shaking, kicking, or moving at all seemed to be able to break his inhuman hold.

“You know sweetheart, you and my little brother are getting on my last fucking nerve. I told you both to let me go, and what do you do? You chase me across the country like a fucking bitch in heat, all at the request of Sammy.”

You swallow around the lump that was in your throat as best you could with Dean’s hand holding your neck, tight enough to leave a bruise. You knew he’d been leaving a trail for you, you weren’t an idiot, but you didn’t expect him to be so… well, Dean. You expected a stupid demon, like the hundreds you’d sent back to hell before him. Boy, were you wrong.

“Then why don’t you just fucking kill me, Dean?” You asked him, knowing that if he wanted you dead you’d already would be, especially if he knew you were tailing him. “If I’m that much of a fucking pest, why didn’t you just handle it three states back?”

An inhuman growl sounded close to your ear, and you felt his solid chest vibrate on your back, his hand tighten around your neck, cutting off most of your air supply.

You could feel your body responding to his administration, even though you knew it was wrong. The sheer, raw power that seemed to be pouring from his grip on your hand had slick gathering in your underwear and there wasn’t shit you could do about it.

“Why should I do you that favor hun, Y/N, when you and I could have so much fun together.”

Dean’s hot breath fanned over the shell of your ear, closely followed by his teeth, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine, and to your horror, more arousal pooling between your legs.

“Fuck off, Dean,” you gritted back at him, determined to fight against this senseless attraction to the very thing you were trained to hunt and kill from birth.

This is wrong, this is wrong…

No matter how much you repeated it to yourself, the fast growing bulge in Dean’s jeans against your ass had your cunt squeezing around nothing, begging the fucking demon to fill you up, stretch you in a way you’d only fantasised about. Knowing the human Dean was packing, and a god of man that seemed to drip sex on bowed legs? What woman with a pulse wouldn’t think about it?

“See, your lips are saying fuck off, but that little pussy of yours? Well, it’s saying come to Daddy.”

Dean’s hot tongue licked from the shell of your ear to your jawline, and you had to bite down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that was right on the edge of your lips. His hand that had been holding your throat slipped down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and slipping into your panties with ease, wasting no time in slipping two thick digits into your soaking folds, toying with your entrance.

A deep chuckle ripped through his throat when he felt just how wet you were, and damn it if his fingers didn’t already have you on the edge of oblivion as they slipped into your cunt, pumping and curling slowly. You fought against the overwhelming urge to grind down against his hand to get the friction you needed from him.

This is wrong, this is wrong…

“Look at you,” the demon said, grinding his full denim covered erection against your ass as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, hitting your G-spot with terrifying precision. “So fucking wet and needy. How many times have imagined these dirty little fingers of yours were mine, baby? How many times have you cum moaning my name, like your doing right now? Better keep it down or you're going to get us caught, and you won't get to cum.”

You hadn’t realized all the noise you’d been making until he’d pointed it out, but here you were, all but saying his name like a prayer as your legs began to shake, the coil in your stomach winding painfully tight.

“Dean, please,” you begged him, unsure if you wanted him to stop, because you knew this was so fucking wrong. You didn’t fuck demons, this wasn’t you, but be fucked if it didn’t feel so fucking good. Dean was playing your body like a fiddle, and you were helplessly grinding down on his hands as he increased the speed of his fingers.

“Please what, Y/N?” he said, chuckling as you did all you could not to fall over the edge he had you teetering on. “It’s all you sweetheart, all you gotta do is let go.”

You shook your head no as he laughed again, sinking his teeth into your pulse point hard enough to make you almost cum right there, but you refused to do it, you just couldn’t do it.

This is wrong, this is WRONG!

“You know what your problem is Y/N? You are always SO FUCKING TENSE! All the fucking time. You walk around like you got this big stick up your ass, and a chip on your shoulder. I did the same for a long fucking time, but you know what baby girl, I’m gonna do you a favor. I’m gonna teach you the art of letting go, and we’re gonna start right here in this parking lot. Now, cum.”

Dean added his thumb against your throbbing clit, and as if on command from some invisible force, you came hard enough to blur your vision. The coil in your stomach snapped as your pussy clenched around his thick digits, your juices running down his hand and soaking your panties further. He worked you through your release until your body fell lax against the car, and your breath came out in short pants as you tried to stand on shaking legs.

“Hope you're not too tired yet bitch, that was just lesson one.” Dean said, turning you around to meet cole black eyes, and a smirk carved by the devil himself.

You knew this was wrong, but there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to get away from him now, so you might as well sit back and learn how to let go and enjoy the ride.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6 @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @thoughts-and-funnies @hearteyes-j2 @miss-nerd95

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insufferablelust · 4 years

Text

THE ARTIST AND HIS MUSE (v)

Hi lovely people! it’s me again with the fifth installment of TAAHM, hopefully y’all enjoy this, as always thank you for your support, and excuse the grammatical errors. As i said before, this story is dark themed, so it can get triggering to some people, please read the warning, and read at your own risk.

WARNINGS : BEWARE DARK FIC. SMUT, Angst to the max, Mental Illness (PTSD, with severe anxiety and depression), Some Fluff, hints/mention of Suicide (doesn’t happen), Psychological abuse (in flashbacks), over sensitivity (both sexual and non sexual), hints of Masochism, Anxiety attack, Soft raw tender moments, aaand thats it.

———————

A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive.To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. —Pearl S. Buck.

———🍃———

Little did they know, that night is going to be the beginning of a roller coaster ride.

———//———

It was already late when she opened her eyes the next day, her soft sigh occupied the quiet room as she scanned for the one person she craved the most, biting her lips at the cold left side of the bed sheet. However, he’s kind enough to leave the only thing she could reminisce about last night in a form of a long letter note he left on her night table, written with purple ink,

“Good Morning Y/N,

I hope you’re feeling well, although knowing how anxious you can get, i know your mind would wander off and we don’t want that. If you can remember what i said, then good but if you can’t, i said that i left because it’s more convenient for the both of us, not because i don’t want to be with you. Believe me, watching you sleep right now really put an image inside my memory that i’ll never forget, you’re so beautiful.

I hope you don’t mind, but i put on Debussy on your vinyl right now. I want you to know that we’ll still talk about it, preferably today, maybe we can go have dinner unless we have a case. There are things i never got the chance to say, and i think its time i finally tell you, later.

As for your past, we’ll also talk about that too. But i want you to not worry— yes i’m disappointed still, but i know why you did what you did. We’ll figure out a way.

Lastly, please take care.

Spencer R.”

By the time she had finished reading, her internal being is overflowing with emotions, dangerous ones that she won’t be able to control and she knows this. Her eyes teared up at the sight of ‘Classical Lover Etiquettes’ cued up on her record player. Her legs were incredibly sore, as much as her thighs and arms. There was just so much that’s happening, so much to feel, and she needed to escape.

Her feet dragged her to the balcony, inhaling the scent of life, breathe in heavily as she hoped— cross her fingers hoping to die that the amount of oxygen would be able to drown her from all the confusion, even more so the horrors that started to flows back in. Spencer opened a large deep wound that she had buried a long time ago, and then he showed her the way to paradise. He confuses her as much as she probably confuses him.

She wanted to apologize for being complicated, wanted to get on her knees again and show him how much she needs a savior right now; someone to love, and cherish to get her mind off of the horrible things in the past. She wants him to know that he can help her, by guiding her like he did the night before, by owning her like he said the night before, by loving her like he promised. She needs to be devoted to him, she would do anything for him.

She knows how damaged she is on the inside, she put up a persona every day so people could believe that she’s alive. But the only time she ever felt alive was with Spencer. The only time she ever wished she’s not complicated is when she’s with Spencer, His name consumed her like the opiates she used to take. He owned her soul already and she’s not letting that go. Even if the world stands in her way. She deserves this, this pure thing for once.

So she cried, hard. Hard enough for her neighbors to hear, to check up on her, but she wasn’t listening, she stayed crouched down in her balcony, her vision was blurry and she can’t think of anything— only Spencer.

“Spencer..” was the only thing she remembered saying before she witnessed darkness and drowsiness penetrate her eyes as well as her other senses— sending her to sleep.

———————————

Y/N didn’t even flinched when her father’s screams once again filled her ears, telling her how she doesn’t belong, she isn’t supposed to be here, isn’t supposed to exists. She could smell the strong scent of alcohol from his mouth, clouding her senses, but she refused to give in and cry, in fact she doesn’t feel a thing. Moreover, she’s just bored, her father never got violent with her, never laid a hand on her, neither does her step mother— well not when he’s around anyways.

By the age of 9, Y/N already knew what kind of man her father was, the kind that doesn’t want to admit reality, he’s a violent genius who works in the dark, with barriers covering all sides of his life. He never hurt Y/N physically, like he always claimed. But 12 years of psychological torture will fuck you up, she thought. She lived in isolation, and darkness where the only things she knew.. were alcohol, math, abuse, impending death, and screams.

She doesn’t have anyone related that’s nice to her, enough to shield her from all the abuse. The only person that could bring her peace is Mr. Bones, one of her father’s men. He always looked out for her, he gave her hope ever since she was old enough to know that being told you were never meant to be alive was not okay.

“I apologize, papa. It won’t happen again, I swear it.”

Her eyes stayed on the ground as she feels the warmth of his palm so close to her cheek, she yelled in her mind— her mind telling her to scream at the old bastard to “Hit me!”

“Hit me!”

“Make it hurt!”

“HIT ME!”

——

Y/N felt a jolt, her eyes searching for signs of where she might be but she can’t seem to open her eyes, the smell— is clean like iodine, the next thing she felt was the rough yet strangely comfortable sheets that grazes against her skin, And then she heard the talk, someone’s talking.. She recognized the voice well, so well like its imprinted deep in her soul, She tried to open her eyes.. yet she keeps on missing.

“S-she— i found her pale.. she was so pale and cold.. “ Spencer! her mind screamed, that’s Spencer.

“Spencer!” She tried to yell, but still nothing,

“Spencer please!” Nothing.

“What did her neighbor said?” Hotch!

“Hotch please i’m awake!”

“She was screaming, and they found her clutching her shirt tightly, she was crying and she.. she said my name over and over again, before blacking out.. thats why they called me first after calling 911” Is that true? she has been taking her meds, hasn’t she?

“Did anyone said that she was about to jump or anything like that?”

“No! No! Spencer i’m not suicidal!”

“N-no i don’t know.. Hotch i was with her last night, i should’ve—“

“Please don’t cry! please i’m sorry i love you i won’t do it again!”

“Hey no, she looked like she was having a panic attack. Has she ever mentioned anything about being depressed? or experiencing anxiety attacks maybe?”

“no... no... don’t tell him Spencer, you promised.”

“Stop the silence, Spencer you promised you won’t tell anyone.”

“N-no.. not that i know off.. she wanted company so i stayed with her, we watched movie.”

“Spencer...” She tried again, believing that it won’t work, he won’t hear her, maybe she’s not even here anymore— just floating away from her body. But when she saw his head turned towards her, she sighed contently, letting go of all the burden for a second just to hear him mutter her name in silence and peace.

“Y/N... you’re awake wait let me—“ before he could exit the door, Hotch pulled him back a little, telling him that “It’s okay, let me get the doctor.” Leaving Spencer and her alone.

Her heart rate accelerated as he sat down on the chair next to her, eyes filled with worry and fear— Y/N couldn’t take it, couldn’t bare to see how broken he looks, because she was selfish and complicated, because she was damaged.

“I-i wasn’t... trying to.. jump” Her voice came out laced with fragility, all raw and quiet. She’s trying to tell Spencer that she’s alright, as long as he’s here she’ll be alright. “Don’t.. please don’t blame yourself, it was an anxiety attack, a bad one.”

“Have you been taking your meds?” There it is, the question she has been hoping she wouldn’t have to answer. She looked down at his trembling hands, reaching to grab it but unable to do so because she realized now that she was restrained to the bed.

“Why am i being restrained?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No Spencer i haven’t! now why am i restrained? i’m not a danger to anyone.” Y/N half yelled with a cracked voice, closing her eyes tightly at the tears that’s threatening to spill out of her eyes.

“Miss Bones, i see that you’re awake now.” Her eyes never leaving the sight of her cuffed wrist, ‘did they honestly thought you were planning on killing yourself?’

“I’m not suicidal, i’m an FBI agent for god’s sake.” The tone of her newfound voice surprised everyone including Spencer.

“Then why were you unconscious on the balcony of your apartment?”

“Because i haven’t been taking my pills! look, i haven’t for years now and i was fine. It was just rush of emotions, and i got overwhelmed okay? doesn’t mean i was going to jump. Believe me thats the last thing i would’ve wanted.” The last bit was a whisper, indicating the raw pain behind it. It was the truth, moments before you passed out you were thinking of Spencer, of how he’s your savior.

“Okay, Agent. We believe you, now why don’t you get some rest, and we’ll have you prescribed for something stronger, meanwhile i’m going to take the cuffs off” The doctor replied gently, except you know he’s not a doctor well he is but he’s a psychiatrist. Great, now everyone think she’s crazy.

——————

After the incident, you rarely talked to anyone on your team not because they don’t want to but because you won’t let them. You’ve caused enough pain, so the last thing you want to see is the pity on their eyes and face, it was nice seeing how they care though— sometimes in the mornings you can hear Garcia and JJ dropping new baskets full of goodies and treats for you to try. Sliding a note underneath your door before leaving.

Hotch insisted you to take a month break, which you would’ve tried to argued but you knew you didn’t stand a single chance. You could’ve lose your job, he could’ve fired you for lying about your psychological problems and endangering yourself but he didn’t, though he wanted you to take the break, and do another psych eval, so you agreed.

The bad thing about not going to work, except the obvious fact that you miss your work family and you missed out on catching men women alike your father and his killer— is not seeing Spencer often enough. It made you anxious just thinking how he’s doing constantly, Prentiss has said in a text that ‘he seems okay, just a little off’ in which you ended the conversation quickly, not wanting to let invasive questions spring up to life.

You’ve tried to contact him multiple times, yet he never answered the calls, there was one time where he had responded your text; it was the one after you told him that you haven’t eaten and taken your meds because thats what you do now, pretending like he actually listens you, that day you heard a knock, before finding out that there was a box of pizza; the tuna, with creamy mushroom kind, your favorite. Spencer is the only one who knew about it, so it was him. You cried that night knowing that he was close... yet you didn’t see him.

After that, nothing. Nothing at all, until it was your 17th day isolated in your apartment trying to get better. A therapist from FBI was supposed to come today, checking up on you, Hotch’s order. So when you heard a knock, you opened the door without looking.

“Y/N...”

“Hi you must be the— Spencer?” You eyes went wide as you recognized the person standing at your door, you swear your knees buckled finally seeing him again after so long. His hair seemed longer, his eyes has bags under them, he doesn’t look fine.

“Spencer, you look—“

“Can i come in?” His voice startled you, it was deep, deeper than you remembered it last.

“Yes, yes please come in..” You watched him enter your house, eyes scanning through every bit of everything, probably profiling your condition. So you let out a chuckle as you close the door, “I’m fine Spencer, unless you didn’t notice, i’m doing therapy 3 times a week plus routine visits from every therapist in town it seemed like. So i’m good” the tone of your voice reflects sarcasm and you know it, but how can you help it when he wont even look at you.

“Thats good..” He mumbled, sitting down on the couch where you two talked the last time about your past, you remembered that night’s event so clearly you could’ve sworn you have an eidetic memory. “You haven’t been sleeping have you?”

“no.” you sat down next to him, deciding that you shouldn’t touch him even if you wanted to.

“Why?”

“Because i worry about you.”

“Spencer, i told you i’m—“

“No! no you can’t say that you’re fine, again. do you know what you did me? after the night we had, you basically suffered an anxiety so bad you collapsed on your balcony, while whispering my name. You don’t get to say that you’re fine, i deserve more Y/N.”

You didn’t flinched even once when you heard his voice raised, if anything you just close your eyes and not let the volume of his voice get inside your head, “Everyone who yells is the same like your father, wake the fuck up” is what your mind been telling you but you refused to listen to it, Spencer is good, he’s a good man. So you controlled your breathing for a second before opening your eyes to see Spencer’s face begging for answers.

“You’re right, you deserve answers and you’ll get your answers but can you please listen to me and don’t interrupt? Spencer, i need the space if you want me to tell you, the space to make you understand.” Your palm move on top of his to see his reaction, you expected him to swat your hands away or at least flinched but strangely he let out a pleasant sigh, like he was relieved, like every weight has been lifted off of him.

“Okay, i’m sorry for—“

You cut him off before he could say what he’s sorry for, you don’t need it— his reactions are normal, too normal that it makes you fall in love with him over and over again. “Shh, don’t. You don’t have to explain, you don’t have to respond, just.. wait here, i’ll tell you everything okay..?”

With a nod you get from him, you stand up to make two chamomile teas, bringing it to where Spencer is sitting on the couch, then after you put on Gymnopédie on your record player, you sit down next to him. To your surprise, he leaned and laid his head on top of your thighs, curling up on the couch— which sent a smile to your face, you haven’t smiled for so long and of course Spencer Reid is the one who put your first smile since.. you don’t even remember when.

————

“It’s one of my favorite, I love the serenity of it.” You whispered, as your fingers ran through his soft hair. Relaxing your back against the couch and enjoying the tune of one of your favorite classical of all time. Spencer smiled at that, you swore the smile could lit your insides like nothing else.

“I’m a beethoven guy, but i guess Satie is alright..” He laughs, his laugh sounded like heaven, his smile and laugh makes you dizzy. This is the Spencer that makes your heart pound ten times faster, and the one that makes you lost for words each time, the one that you’ll love... too fast Y/N, too fast.

“Of course you are, it’s not hard to see..”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Spencer looked up at you, he looked so pure like this, like he was made to justify every wrong things that has been done, like he’s an angel that protects the earth from filth. He’s pure and tender, it takes all of your willpower to not lean down and kiss him.

“Oh yes, explanation.” You laughed awkwardly, eyes refusing to meet his. “Look at me, please” You shake your head at his demand, your eyes still trailing to where the record player is going.

“Look at me, Y/N.” You did, you looked. Under any other circumstances, the authoritative tone would instantly leave you dripping wet ready to submit to him. But this time, you only whimpered and nods.

“Good girl, now tell me” He cupped your cheeks, the gentle gesture sent you to oblivion.

“I don’t know where to start..”

“I heard the beginning is a great start.” His lips tugged into a wide smile, you heart warmed at the sight before you sigh, your fingers still curling and uncurling itself on his hair.

“I opened up to you that night, it’s something strange for me, i told you something that i swore i would never tell anyone, but i told you because.. because you were right, you are right Spencer. And i guess after that we took it to a whole new different level, i want to be able to do all the things with you and cross all boundaries but it’s something new to me, so that morning when i... woke up alone, it was scary, i felt so small and sad in such a big space. I was overwhelmed, by the thought of letting another person in, i don’t wanna take it slow but then again the transition won’t be easy for me.” Spencer opened his mouth as he was about to say something, but you simply leaned in shakily and press a quick peck on his lips as a sign that you’re not done yet, to your surprise he pulled you down one more time and let the kiss linger this time before letting you pull back, whispering a small “go on.”

“I lived in isolation most of my life, the only taste of real life emotions i ever got was the moment right after my graduation. The man who saved me, he teached me social skills, and the basics of.. of having this gift of rawness emotions. But i’ve been so closed off, i realized its just not possible for me to fall in love or feel such a strong emotion towards another, the only strong emotion i’ve ever known before this was.. hatred towards my father and his killer.

I had PTSD when i was 13, consistent with severe anxiety and depression, at one point Mr.Bones insisted that i...i started talking to myself, admitted me to a psychiatrist where i got my.. antipsychotics for um the voices. But i came out well, and he promised me that if i was able to make it, he would change my identity, stripped me out of my old misery, give me a new one, my father was a very very important man where he worked, so does his men including Mr.Bones. Thats why before i was 21, there’s no record of Y/N Bones existed because.. i didn’t, i never existed.”

Y/N ended it with a smile, looking down at Spencer whose eyes brimming with tears. She shook her head, her trembling fingers wiping the traces of tears. “Hey no no, please don’t cry, please it’s hurt to see you cry..” She whimpered.

“Spencer please say something..” Her eyes pleaded with her, as he sat up, before inching closer to her and before she even processed the warmth of his body, his lips pressed themselves against hers in a gentle loving way. His thumb stroking her soft supple cheek, as his lips took its time to explore every inch of hers, imprinting how it feels so he can remember it all the time. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck as he guided her to his lap, pulling back a little.

They stared at each other for such a long time, before Spencer move his hand downward— tugging on her shirt. “Do you want to?” His voice rise your goosebumps to wake, all the adrenaline rushing through your core as you nod eagerly. “Please”

——————

“Tchaikovsky.”

“what?”

“This is tchaikovsky.” Spencer looked up at her, seeing how needy but beautiful she is, her skin glistening under the dim lights, her lashes are wet, her eyes glassy, and her lips bitten raw. He smiled admiring her before continuing his exploration down her labia, stroking it gently— almost like he’s teasing her.

“yes Spencer this is, Oh god!” you stopped mid-sentence as you felt the warmth of his tongue exploring from her slit up to her clit, flicking the sensitive button gently— Holy mother! doesn’t he know how sensitive she is?

“I’m pretty sure Tchaikovsky isn’t god, Princess.” the doctor giggles as his fingers tracing her tummy gently, caressing every mark every curve every indent every scar so so gently to show her how much he appreciates her, appreciate her beauty— all of it.

“Shut up!” She whined and shuddered as she feels him burying his face against her sensitive pussy, tongue swiping side to side at her slit as his nose bumps against her clit sending intense pleasure throughout her body making her jolt and convulse as she tug on his hair.

“Are you sure that’s wise, princess? i’m the one in charge of your orgasm here” Her legs quivered, his tongue push inside her and explore every inch of her inside— moaning at the taste and catching every drop.

“Sorry! so sorry Spencer, just don’t stop!” Oh how sweet is that, her voice cracked at the end, meaning he’s doing a good job. And the boy wonder does seek for praises sometimes.

“Never planning on it, love.” He mumbled against her pussy before inserting two fingers in, and moving them in a brutal pace whilst her tongue and lips sucking on her clit.

“Oh! Spencer, you’re so good at this” Her eyes shut tightly, as her fingers gripping his hair— she’s practically grinding against his face which he moaned at the sight and taste of her, oh so heavenly.

“C’mon Princess, come for me then i will give you what you’ve been waiting for” oh the way she clenched around her fingers so tightly, made him groaned and shut his eyes tight as he works her over the orgasm

“Spencer! oh! thank you!” Every inch of her skin was burning and her brain was mush. So much pleasure, that she could die happily now. Her body shivers still, when he comes up to leave tiny kisses on her face. “Good girl.” Spencer then align himself at her entrance, sliding the tip up and down her pussy.

“Ready, princess?”

“Yes.. yes please?” With a smile on his face, Spencer bent Y/N’s knees before pushing the tip of his cock inside of her slowly, indulging in the velvety warm walls that welcomed his cock. The feeling is like home. Her mouth agape, as her eyes roll at the back of her head, and her fingers intertwined with his.

He stilled inside her for awhile as he let out grunts of how “so warm and tight, pet” she is. He then leaned down to press a gentle loving kiss on her lips before thrusting his cock in and out of her slowly, keeping the pace light as they both relinquish all the frustrations out, and indulging in each other’s warmth. It’s perfect.

“so— full, Spencer..” Her desperate whimpers was the one that egged him to move faster, thrusting his hips so every-time he thrusted in, the sounds were slapping of skins and their moans. But when one particular deep thrust, her cunt involuntary clenched around his cock and she screamed “Thats it! thats it fuck!”

Spencer grinned, before letting go of her hand to grip her waist, pulling her closer to him then continue to fuck her with a torturous brutal pace, hitting the spot over and over again. “I’m not going to last if you keep- fucking clenching that tight cunt Y/N” He warned, eyes glinting with a dangerous look like how he was that night. Feral.

Strings of plea left her mouth as she arched her back, he was so deep— filling her to the brim and making her feel good.

“Please cum inside me!”

“I will baby, i will. But first you gotta cum alright? can you do that? i know you can, c’mon” His breathing labored as he move even faster, her headboard banged against the wall, and her body bounced. With one final deep thrust, they reached their peak, and shuddered at the feeling. Spencer pulls out before grabbing a wet cloth from the beside table and carefully wiped her sensitive areas, causing goosebumps that were dying down to rise again.

“Swan lake” Was the first thing she muttered as her legs still quivering, Spencer looked up at her confusedly as he set throw the cloth to the dirty hamper and laid down beside her once more, cuddling her to his side.

“What?” he asked, his fingers running through her hair.

“Tchaikovsky’s, Swan lake was playing.” They both laughed at her answer, shaking their heads. It wasn’t until Y/N’s eyes flickered to his hazy ones, that they muttered it together,

“I love you—“

———————

TBC!

As always, TAGLIST is open, blurb requests are also open any genre of course, send them in along with suggestions and/or constructive criticisms! thank you. Just message me or send me an ask :) thank you for supporting. I’M SO SORRY FOR THE REUPLOAD, the TAGS DOESNT WORK TUMBLR IS MEAN TO ME AGAIN❤️

( @blancastans @spencerwaltergubler @slutforthegubes @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @babybloomer @liaabsurd @midnightsubmissives @addie5264 @maybankslut @secretpickleprofessordean )

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #dom!spencer #taahm #spencer reid blurbs #criminal minds smut

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