#A NIGHT OF UNBRIDLED GUILT?? FOR BREAKING HEARTS LEFT AND RIGHT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years

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Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

#carol danvers #captain marvel #carol danvers x reader #marvel #mcu #wlw #lesbian #pride

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samstree · 3 years

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21. kissing the other’s brow as a touch prompt?

(Just because I'm mad at you doesn't mean I stopped loving you.)

Jaskier puts down his lute, walks across the inn room, picks up a pillow from the bed, and screams into it.

The nervous energy under his skin is untamable. His hands are fidgeting hard against the fabric. The soft down in the pillow starts to form clumps from his abuse, but he pays no mind. He can't compose, can't think, and certainly is in no mood to entertain the crowd downstairs.

A fight shouldn't affect him like this.

It's not smart to let anger ruin his evening like this, no matter how justified it is. Oh, and it is justified! He can't even think about Geralt and his stupid face and his stupid overprotectiveness and the stupid mess they ended in and—

He breathes in, and out.

"Stupid witcher," he curses but it doesn't help.

The fury still burns and Jaskier lets out another frustrated scowl. More wrinkles appear on the pillowcase. He doesn't know how to deal with Geralt when he comes back, and he will come back. Soon.

Daylight is fading, the window to reach those nightwraiths is closing in. And yet, Geralt's swords are still leaning next to the door, his potion bag on the ground. He'll need to come back and prepare before he leaves.

Before he leaves, Jaskier suddenly realizes. Their ritual before each hunt.

The tiny kiss pressed on Geralt's brow, right over the scar that reaches across his left eye. For luck, Jaskier will say. I don’t need luck to stay alive, Geralt will answer while still indulging him.

Afterwards, after Geralt comes back to him in one piece, after they curl up nicely together, Jaskier will run the pad of his thumb over the witcher’s scarred brow again. The little good luck charm, the little talisman that stays with Geralt when Jaskier can’t.

See? It worked.

The thought drives a knife through his heart. He can’t do it tonight. He’s sure if he even talked to Geralt he would scratch his own eyes out. Jaskier needs to leave the room so they don’t bump into each—

The door creaks open and there Geralt is, with guilt in his eyes and worry by his lips. Jaskier freezes on the spot when their gazes meet. The honey gold is so overflown with dejection that the bard almost finds his resolve crack.

Geralt opens his month and Jaskier turns his back so quickly that whatever the witcher meant to say dies in the awkward silence.

Facing the wall, Jaskier can hear the witcher collect his supplies and putting on his armor. The quiet shuffling noise is ever so familiar, but his attention is still hyper-fixated on each sound, counting each step. Finally, the preparation is done.

But Geralt doesn’t leave yet.

He’s hovering by the door.

Waiting.

A lump forms in Jaskier’s throat. He can’t move, not when he can feel Geralt’s expectant eyes on his back. The stillness in the room is too palpable that he finds it difficult to take in air. The mere distance of a few feet between them suddenly stretches into miles.

Geralt breathes, and the door shuts behind him. His footsteps disappear into the hallway.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes prickling. What has he done? His mind can’t help but start to conjure up a million ways a simple hunt can go wrong. The image of Geralt covered in blood and swaying on his feet is suddenly all he can think about. His stomach churns with nausea.

What if this is the one time Geralt needs luck? What this is the one time he doesn’t come back?

In the blink of an eye, Jaskier’s feet are taking him out of the door, down the stairs, and into the crisp night. The street is empty and Geralt hasn’t gone far. Before he catches up in a jog, the witcher has already turned back to meet him. His honey eyes are wide with surprise that slowly morphs into unbridled hope.

“Jask—”

Jaskier takes Geralt’s face in his hands and kisses his brow with all the force he can muster. The touch burns his lips but he lingers. “For luck,” he whispers, and presses another one before pulling back.

Geralt’s hand comes up to cradle Jaskier’s but the bard subtly shies away.

“I’m still mad.” His voice cracks. “Come back and we can talk. Just... come back to me.”

A relieved sigh escapes Geralt’s lips and he nods. His hand is still hovering, reaching out subconsciously. With that, Jaskier turns back to the inn. He notices that his own footsteps are the only ones echoing against the cobblestone. It takes everything in him not to look back at Geralt. At how lonely he must look, standing by himself under the night sky.

The tears are falling freely down Jaskier’s cheeks, and he hugs himself tighter, letting the dam break.

Geralt will come back.

He has to, so they can make it better.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #hurt no comfort #but with love #prompt fill #thanks for prompting me my dear!!#<333

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peachysamu · 3 years

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A/n: please just take this away from me; unedited; companion piece to this but can be read alone.

One of the first words that Aran would describe himself as is funny, and whenever you laugh upon him saying so, he gives himself an imaginary pat on the back and thinks to himself it’s true. But then the next words bring a crumple to his lips.

“That is not what I would describe you as,” You give a flippant chuckle.

He frowns because he can name countless moments when his jokes have been well received, doesn’t even have enough fingers and toes to count them all. “What would you describe me as then?”

“Reliable.” You tell him blatantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then you begin listing off more adjectives. “Kind. Independent. Thoughtful. And then, maybe funny.”

“You didn’t tell me I wasn’t funny when you were laughing at my jokes last night!” Aran accuses, appalled. He’s funny. He knows this and he’s not going to allow you to take this away from him.

“I’m not saying you aren’t,” You give him a kiss on the nose, a faint smile dusting the tip as you grab his plate and set it into the sink. You roll your sleeves up before looking back at him over your shoulder, “I’m only saying there are some things I admire in you more than when you make me laugh.”

You speak over the stream of the faucet as you wet the sponge and wash dinner’s dishes. “When Atsumu called you reliable and then showed me a picture of you, I thought, ‘Wow.’” At this, you give a wistful smile, one that is more visible in your eyes and cheeks versus your teeth. It’s one that has the capability of lifting his spirit as well, forgetting all about the fact that he may not be the most humorous man to you.

“That does look like a guy I could depend on,” you continue, “I want to lay my head on his chest and wake up to his kind smile.”

Then you poke your tongue out at him, “But then you were late on our first date!”

“Hey!” Aran gets up. “I made up for it! We maxed Atsumu’s card with no remorse. You remember his face when he got the bill?”

And he tickles your side, right in the middle of your ribs where he knows you’ll jolt with the cutest squeak he’s in love with.

“Hey!” Unbridled laughter and rays of sun upon your lips, “I’m washing dishes! I might break something!”

“You’re right, you’re right,” He says, warming his cheek against yours as his hands travel down your arms and over your own, until it’s a mix of water, suds, with your hands and his. “Let me help ya.”

“See,” you say softly, “so reliable.”

And with your convincing, Aran realizes that maybe he is. He’s been commended by Kita himself for how well he handles the twins like no other and his parents have always boasted how independent he’s been since a child. And maybe he hasn’t thought himself much this way because of the guilt he feels every time he has to leave you behind. Where airports leave a trail of salt along his cheeks and a bitter bite across his tongue. He doesn’t seem so dependable when facetimes end with someone falling asleep and when he’s not there to help fix the leaky sink in the bathroom.

But Aran’s done everything right since he was a child. Excelled during his volleyball classes, became a top five ace in the country, went pro right after high school, and to top it all off, he met you. Where at one point in his life, he only ever felt satisfied when the thrill of the fans intermixed with the squeaks of sneakers on the court, he is satiated here. A full belly, soft jazz in a sepia kitchen, warm cheeks and sudsy hands, he thinks this is all he’ll need and ever want in his life.

So he decides.

“Rely on me, baby,” he whispers. “I’ll be here.”

And you snort an ‘of course’ without knowing what he really means and follow the sway of his hips to the music.

Dreams in one hand and heart in the other, he offers them to you. He’s done all that has made him happy, all that is left is to give himself completely to you.

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starrazorr · 2 years

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percy giving vex the siege arrow (“what is this?” “a night of unbridled guilt”) and telling her it’s for “shattering stone, shattering doors, breaking things that should not be broken” and her teasing, “breaking hearts left and right?” and him pausing for a long moment before answering “if that’s what your after” oh i am going APESHIT over these two this is DELICIOUS

#critical role #c1e45 #v watchparty

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wicked-mind · 3 years

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Fire and Gasoline - Alternate Ending

Summary: Break-ups are hard. Especially when the cause of the break up is the man of your dreams cheating on you but what’s even worse… You both still love each other.

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Cheating, unreciprocated kiss, swearing, drinking, tiny bit of implied smut

All Writings Masterlist

Fire and Gasoline - Original Version

As always, any likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated (: I love that shit.

*gifs not mine

ALTERNATE VERSION

Since the day Bucky met Y/N, he knew she was the one. She was a new tech analyst at the facility and made sure the heroes had all the new tech possible. Bucky got to know her for about two months before asking her out and they had been like fire and gasoline ever since. He loved her more than anything in the world, more than himself. But he always thought she was out of his league. She was too sweet, too innocent for him. He worried everyday that he wasn’t enough for her, that she would figure out just how screwed up he was and leave him for someone better.

Y/N stood in the technology lab with her assistant, Nick, going over some new technology. Nick flirted with her all the time which she ignored every time and kept reminding him she was dating Bucky and that he would break Nick’s arms without trying if he didn’t stop, but he didn’t. Y/N was working on a present for Bucky, a new type of knife to add to his collection. She got inspired after watching Star Wars with Bucky one night and decided to surprise him with some sort of laser blade. Once she got it to finally work and test it out, she squealed and clapped her hands, turning to Nick and saying, “We did it!” What she didn’t expect to happen was Nick pressing his lips to her’s.

Bucky had rounded the corner to greet Y/N with some coffee when he paused, seeing Nick kissing her through the window. He frowned, jealousy immediately flooding him. He hated that they spent so much time together with Nick’s incessant flirting, worried that one day Y/N would choose Nick over him. Nick was a handsome man, had the same hobbies as her, and was just as smart. He stomped away, going up to his room in a jealous rage. He couldn’t think rationally, feeling cheated in his relationship. Betrayed. Hurt. All he could think about was getting even. What he didn’t see after he stomped away was the abrupt slap Y/N had landed to Nick’s face.

Y/N finished up in the lab, sending Nick home after firing him for sexual misconduct. She filled out her report with Steve of why he had to fire him and said she was alright. It took a few hours before she was able to go find Bucky, the knew laser knife in her hands. She knocked on his bedroom door softly and opened it with a smile but froze when she saw him perched over Katerina from communication who had always had the biggest crush on Bucky. Even though he was under the blankets and she could only see his bare shoulders, she could see the movement of the bed as he thrust into her. Katerina’s eyes met her’s and she smirked. Y/N quickly shut the door, tears welling up in her eyes as she walked back to her own room. How could he do this to her? He knew her history of how all her boyfriends cheated on her before.

After a good hard cry, Y/N went to Natasha. Her eyes were glossy and her nose was red from crying, but that didn’t stop her from sitting down in Natasha’s office, “I would like to be transferred with you to the Seattle facility. I think it would be good for me to help set up the tech lab.” She told Natasha, picking at her fingernails as she spoke.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at Y/N. When she had asked her before to come to Seattle for a temporary position until the new facility was up and running, Y/N had told her she didn’t want to be away from Bucky, “I would love to have you. But I’m curious, what changed?”

Y/N looked up to meet Natasha’s gaze, “Everything. I just need this right now, Nat. I’ll go start packing and leave tonight. I’d like to be there to make sure everything is all set up correctly in the lab.” She said before standing and going back to her room. She didn’t have much stuff, most of her things got packed into the two suitcases she had. She quietly snuck passed Bucky’s room, hearing light snoring coming from inside knowing he was asleep. She couldn’t confront him… How could she go through that again? Every time she seemed to find the perfect man she could picture the rest of her life with, they cheated on her or left. Bucky was no different in her mind. She was gone that night on a private jet to Seattle to the new facility.

Steve was walking passed Bucky’s room when he escorted Katerina out, his brow furrowing at the view as he watched the brunette leave in one of Bucky’s shirts. He looked at Bucky with an eyebrow raised, anger in his eyes at what his best friend had done to Y/N, “What the hell, Buck? Did you and Y/N break up?” He asked once Katerina was out of earshot.

Bucky shrugs, folding his arms, “You could say that.” He muttered out with a frown as he leaned against his doorframe, “Saw her kissin’ that punk, Nick, yesterday.”

Steve’s jaw dropped a little, realizing the full situation since Y/N had reported and fired Nick, “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Bucky!” He said loudly, “So you go and screw the first thing that bats her eyes at you?! You don’t even know what happened, did you even talk to Y/N?”

Bucky’s frown deepened, “Didn’t need to,” He snapped back, “Saw the whole thing.”

Steve ran his hand through his hair as the other rested on his hip, “You really screwed up, Buck. Did you stick around long enough to see her slap him? Or fire him? Or maybe ask her what happened? She filed a sexual misconduct complaint with me yesterday, saying that Nick just randomly kissed her!”

Bucky’s jaw dropped at his words before a loud groan passed his lips, “Fuck.” He growled out. He had fucked up. He let his jealously get the best of him and screwed everything up. He betrayed her in the worst way possible, “I… I didn’t know, Steve. She’s going to hate me.”

Steve kept the deep frown on his face, shaking his head, “I wouldn’t be surprised. The best thing you can do is go explain it to her right now before Katerina goes around and tells everybody that she was in your bed last night.” He said, pointing a finger at Bucky before disappearing down the hallway shaking his head in disbelief still.

Bucky sighs and immediately made his way to Y/N’s room, shifting on his feet awkwardly. How was he supposed to tell the love of his life that he cheated on her? That he did the thing that every man before him had done to her? He took a deep breath and knocked on her door, “Y/N? I need to talk to you..” He said through the door, hearing silence he knocked again with still no answer. After a few minutes of standing there with no response from her, he tried the doorknob to find it was unlocked. As he started to push it open, he immediately started apologizing, “Y/N, sweetheart… We need to talk and I-“ He paused when he looked around the room. All her belongings were gone from the room and her closet was empty. Fuck. Y/N knew. She must know if she was gone.

Natasha was walking by the door when she noticed Bucky sitting on what used to be Y/N’s bed, “What’re you doing, Barnes?” She asks, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Bucky looked over at Natasha before back to the floor, “Do you know where she went?” He asks softly, his heart breaking inside as each second passed. He had ruined his chance at real love because of his unbridled jealousy and temper.

“She came in last night and asked to be transferred to the new Seattle facility, left immediately after.” Natasha told him, “What happened? She looked like she had been crying when she came and talked to me.”

“I fucked up.” Bucky said, staring at the floor, “I thought I saw her kissing Nick in the lab yesterday. Turns out he kissed her and she slapped him then fired him. I didn’t see that though… All I saw was his lips on her’s… I slept with Katerina. She must have known.”

Natasha frowned at him, wanting to yell at him for his mistake but instead decided to go an alternate route, “Y/N loves you. She’s never shut up about you.” She told him, “I would give her a little bit to cool down before going and seeing her. You’re lucky she isn’t a field agent otherwise she would’ve killed you. I would have.” Natasha turned and left him in the room.

Bucky took Natasha’s advice, giving it a few weeks. He could barely look himself in the mirror anymore. All he saw was guilt plastered on his face and rage at himself. How could he do that to her? To the one he loved, the girl that he knew was the one… He had packed his bag to take to Seattle with him. He needed to see her, to explain what an idiot he was and that his jealousy and rage got the best of him. Bucky grabbed his bag and walked to the runway, getting on the jet to go see Y/N in Seattle.

Y/N was busy trying to sort through resumes for potential tech analysts to hire in her office. She let out a deep sigh and put the papers on her desk, leaning back in her chair. Her heart still ached and when she slept the only thing she saw was Katerina grinning from underneath Bucky as the bed shook. She hadn’t had a proper nights sleep since she left New York, spending her night crying herself to sleep to only wake up crying from the nightmares. A light knock on the door interrupted her train of thought, letting out a soft, “Come in.” Her eyes looked at the door and she froze when she saw Bucky standing there. He looked as good as the day she met him except for the dark circles under his eyes letting her know he hadn’t been sleeping well either. She could read his face like a book. It was like a written apology was stapled to his features. Y/N adverted her eyes from his gaze and looks down, “What are you doing here?”

Bucky shut the door behind him gently, looking Y/N over. It saddened him to see the heartbreak clear on her features. He didn’t know how to start, just staring at her sadly, “Sweetheart…” He began but was cut off.

“Don’t.” Y/N said, looking up to try her best to glare daggers at him. The brim of her eyes started to fill up with tears at the familiar pet-name, “Don’t call me that.”

Bucky flinched at the words, feeling his heart break a little more than it already was, “Y/N we need to talk about what happened.” He said, staying standing by the closed door.

Y/N shook her head, looking up at the ceiling in hopes to keep the tears from falling, “Talk about what happened? You mean talk about how I walked in on you fucking Katerina?” She said, her voice cracking slightly as she said it. She kept her gaze anywhere but on him.

“I’m sorry…” Bucky said softly to her. Now he knew the truth about how she found out- Nobody had told her, she had walked in on him during the deed and that must’ve hurt her so much more. The guilt inside of him bubbled up more, “I was coming down to your lab to give you some coffee… I saw Nick kiss you and-“

“So the first thing you do is go find that bitch and pull her into bed with you?!” Y/N yelled, standing from her desk and throwing her hands into the air in anger. She didn’t try to stop the tears that now streamed down her cheeks, “He kissed me. I didn’t kiss him. I fired him instantly and filed a report while you were busy finding the first woman to breathe in your direction to go fuck.”

Bucky watched her, his own tears brimming in his eyes at the sight of her so mad at him, “Y/N I’m so sorry… I wasn’t thinking… I was just so consumed with jealousy and anger. I never meant for this to happen.”

Y/N tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing as a deep frown sat on her lips, “You didn’t mean for it to happen? Really? You just happened to trip into bed with her naked?” She said before taking a deep breath, “You knew how much that would destroy me. You knew everything about me. How every man I’ve been with did the same thing that you did to me. And you didn’t care.”

Bucky couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked over to her, walking around her desk until he was looking straight down at her face with his pained eyes, “I know. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He told her, “I was stupid. I was an idiot. But I love you, doll. Yours is the only face I saw while I was with Katerina. I wanted it to be you and I feel so guilty that I did that to you. I regretted it the whole time and especially now. I love you. Please just give me another chance.”

Y/N sniffled slightly as she listened to him, staring straight up into his apologetic, painfully broken eyes, “And I love you and I probably always will. But I can’t trust you anymore.” She told him, tears streaming down her face, “I can’t be with you if I don’t trust you.”

Bucky reached a hand out to touch her cheek, wiping away those tears that were breaking his already broken heart with his thumb gently, “Give me a chance. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll regain your trust in whatever way possible.” He begged, “I love you… I know I fucked up really bad. And I’m so unbelievably sorry for breaking your heart. Please let me try to put it back together.”

Y/N stared into those eyes she loved so much. They were like her own personal ocean but right now the waves were crashing, unresting, “I don’t know…” She whispered to him, breaking her eye contact with him and looking to the floor.

Bucky moved quickly, pulling her into his arms in a tight hug and couldn’t help but feel the smallest bit of relief when she hugged him back, sobbing into his chest, “I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered down to her, keeping a tight grasp around her body, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I promise.”

After Bucky left Y/N’s office, she slumped in her chair and thought about everything that was said. How could she trust him? Believe that he was actually sorry? She couldn’t… The image of Bucky fucking Katerina would stick in her brain forever no matter what he did to make it up to her. Y/N leaned her forehead on her desk and groaned at the situation. She had been here many times but this time was different. She thought Bucky was the one but maybe he was just the same as all of her exes. Once she gathered herself and sat herself back up straight about to go through the applicant list again, another knock came at her door, “Come in.” She said softly, looking up the door expecting to see Bucky with his endless apologies again but instead there stood the tall and blonde Captain America giving her those sad blue eyes.

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve said, shutting the door softly behind him and taking a seat in front of her, watching her intently. He could see her glossy eyes, knowing she had been crying and the dark under her eyes meant she hadn’t been sleeping well. Steve had never seen her like this for as long as he had known her. She looked defeated- broken.

Y/N looked at him before back down at the papers on her desk, leaning back in her chair, “Are you here to tell me how sorry he is? That I should give him another chance?” She asks softly.

Steve shook his head at her, “No, I’m not.” He said softly, returning his gaze to her, “I wanted to make sure you were okay. You left without saying goodbye.”

Y/N felt tears stinging her eyes again, shaking her head slightly as she closed her eyes tightly to try and not let the tears fall down her face, “I’m not okay, Steve.” She said, finally looking up to meet his gaze, “He knew exactly how to ruin me and he didn’t care. He knew every other relationship I had ended that same way- being cheated on. Me walking in on him… That’s not the first time it’s happened to me. I’ve caught two other of my exes screwing women… He’s no better. He’s ruined me.”

Steve listened, his eyes shifting into a sadder stare than they were already. He didn’t know that about Y/N and it just made his sadness grow for her and anger grow at Bucky, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He said to her. What else could he say? The tears falling from Y/N’s eyes stung him deeply. Steve was Bucky’s best friend which meant when Y/N and him started dating, Steve got to know her really well. He thought someone like her would be good for Bucky, someone full of so much light to help him out of his darkness. But Steve was wrong- Bucky had just pulled the light out of Y/N and destroyed it, “He’s an idiot.”

Y/N scoffed, “I can think of far better words to describe him other than ‘idiot'…” She said looking towards Steve, “But I’ll contain my language for you.”

Steve’s lips twitched slightly to a smile, “Appreciate that, Y/N.”

“You know, I was headed up to his room to give him a gift when I caught him in the act.” Y/N said softly, opening her drawer and pulling out the laser knife she had made for Bucky and passing it to him, “You just click that button and laser knife.” She watched him click the button and the red laser blade appear, “I made it for him after we watched Star Wars.”

Steve looked at the blade in amazement, “This is amazing.” He said, turning it in his hand to observe every bit of it, clicking it to make the laser disappear, “Star Wars? I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

Y/N nodded, “Yeah, Star Wars. It’s not just one, there’s like nine movies now I think.” She said, “I haven’t seen any of the new ones yet though. Was going to wait and watch them with Bucky but I guess that isn’t going to happen.”

Steve heard her voice trail into sadness again t the end of her sentence, frowning slightly again. He hated the sound in her voice, she didn’t deserve to feel like this. If anything, Bucky deserved to feel like this, “I’ll watch them with you.” He blurted out before continuing, “I’ve never seen them before and I’d like to see where the inspiration for this comes from.”

Y/N smiles slightly at him, “You don’t have to do that, Steve.” She said softly, “I know you’re probably busy.”

Steve flashed her a small smile, “Don’t worry, I want to do it.”

Luckily for Y/N, the apartment suites for staff were in the total opposite side of the facility than where the guest rooms were which meant she didn’t have to see Bucky in the hallways when she walked to her apartment suites from her tech lab. It also meant that Bucky never saw Steve come over to watch movies with Y/N. She started the Star Wars series over so Steve could get the full Star Wars experience. He was great to be around. He was always a gentleman, he made her laugh, and he always brought the best snacks to enjoy while watching the movies. They started by sitting on opposite ends of the couch with the snacks in between them but they slowly started getting closer until they sat right next to each other. One night, Y/N looked up at Steve who noticed and paused the movie, “Whats up?” He asks, giving her a small smile.

Y/N smiled a little. Steve made her feel better, feel worthy of love again like there was a light at the end of the dark tunnel she had been trapped in. She had known him from the first day she started work back in New York and he had always been kind and welcoming, “I have a question for you but I don’t want to pry.” She said to him, biting her lip.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her as he watched her face curiously, “I have an answer. What’s your question?” He asks. Steve enjoyed hanging out with Y/N as well. He could see the light in her start to glow again and he couldn’t help but feel like he had something to do with it. Whenever Steve came to visit, usually the weekends, he would sneak up into her apartment so Bucky wouldn’t get suspicious. He didn’t know how Bucky would feel if he figured out he was spending so much time with Y/N.

“I was wondering what Peggy was like.” Y/N said softly, picking at her fingers as she asked the question, “You know all about my relationship with Bucky and all I know is that you loved Peggy.”

Steve smiled gently, “Peggy was great. She was beautifully confident in everything she did. She was sweet and kind, but also fierce and smart. I have no doubt she could move mountains if she put her mind to it.” He told Y/N, watching her face as she listened, “Reminds me a lot of you.” That was the truth. Y/N reminded him a lot of Peggy. The way she was smart, determined, fierce but also kind and sweet. A good soul.

Y/N smiled softly, “She sounds great. I’m sure we would’ve been friends.” She said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with her own slightly, “Do you think you’ll ever find love like that again, Steve? I really thought Bucky was the one. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never find a love like that again.”

Steve kept his eyes on her, keeping that small gentle smile on his lips as he listened to her, “I know I’ll find a love like that again.” He said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her a little closer, “And I know you will too, Y/N.”

Y/N and Steve continued having little moments right under Bucky’s nose. Bucky was helping in the training department which was on the opposite side of Y/N’s lab so he didn’t really have a reason to see Y/N. That didn’t mean that Bucky didn’t linger around outside her apartment door or the door to her lab, wondering how she was doing. He kept his distance and everyday it seemed like she was doing a little better, even happy. The dark rings under Y/N’s eyes had faded and she didn’t look like she had cried in a while. Bucky continued to try and make amends with Y/N from a distance- sending flowers to her apartment every week as well as having her favorite coffee waiting on her desk in the morning. Little did he know that Y/N and his best friend were getting closer and closer every week.

Steve sat with his arm around Y/N’s shoulder, smiling to himself as he watched the sixth Star Wars movie. He enjoyed them and it made Y/N’s little laser knife even cooler as he saw where her inspiration came from. Eventually, she switched the blade color to a blue and gave it to Steve as a gift for helping her feel better and he was ecstatic, never going anywhere without it. He would make jokes about being a Jedi to Y/N which made her laugh. God, he loved to see her laugh and smile. A Peggy sized hole in his heart had been replaced with Y/N and he wondered if she felt the same for him. As the movie ended, he looked over at Y/N to see her asleep leaning on his shoulder. He felt his heart flutter at how comfortable she was around him. Sure, it took a long time for both of them to get to this point, but it felt right, like they were slowly mending each other’s broken hearts while slowly falling in love, “Hey, Y/N, movies over are you tired?”

Y/N smiles at his voice, wrapping her arms around his large one and snuggling her face into his shoulder, “Nope. Not tired.”

Steve chuckles at her, “Honey, I think you might be tired.” He told her gently, “Why don’t I help you get to bed?”

Y/N shook her head against his shoulder, “I’m comfy here. You’re an excellent pillow.” She protested and opened her eyes to look up into those blue ones. Bucky’s eyes used to hypnotize her but now… The way Steve looked at her felt like magic was running through her body. He gave her butterflies that would bounce off the insides of her stomach frantically trying to get her to make a move with him.

Steve shrugs, “Alright, alright.” He chuckles out and picked up the remote to start the next movie, “We are onto the ones you haven’t seen though.”

Y/N sat up straighter next to him, focusing her eyes on the screen in front of her as it started with the opening, “Okay, pass me some popcorn.” She asks and watches Steve grab the bowl of popcorn and pass it to her. She kept brining some of the popcorn to her mouth before she realized Steve wasn’t paying attention to the movie and was still looking at her. Y/N looked back up at him, “Hey, you were just giving me crap for not watching the movie and now you’re not pa-“ Steve cut her off by cupping one of her cheeks in his palm and leaning down and giving her a soft kiss. He waited until she kissed him back before twisting his body a little bit to face her, blindly grabbing the bowl of popcorn from her lap and trying to place it on the table but it fell to the floor. He pulled away and looked at the mess he made, “Oh crap.”

Y/N took a deep breath, blinking at him when he pulled away before grabbing his arm and pulling him back to her, “Don’t worry about it…” She whispers before pressing her lips back to his. He slowly but easily moved do lay her down on the couch, crawling on top of her and continuing to kiss her, each kiss more deep and passionate than the next.

Steve pulled away finally to look at her face, one hand stroking through her hair while the other rested on her hip. He looked into her eyes and smiled softly to her, “I think I’m falling in love with you, Y/N.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her hands stroking gently through his hair as he spoke, “I think I’m falling in love with you too.” She whispers back to him before pressing her lips back to his. Steve made her feel safe, made her feel like he would never hurt her in anyway, especially in the way Bucky did. Unlike when she was with Bucky, being with Steve felt secure. There was no doubt that if they had a relationship that he would be a loyal, loving man. There had always been deep doubt inside of Y/N when she was with Bucky that she had ignored for a long time. But with Steve… Everything was effortless. She could be herself and not worry about if he was taking care of himself or worry if his emotions were going to flip on a dime. He was consistently Steve.

Bucky caught Steve a few times at the facility, questioning what he was doing in Seattle instead of New York. Steve always told him he was just making sure everything was getting set up correctly and see if anybody needed any help. He was keeping his relationship with Y/N on the down-low, worried of how Bucky would react. It wasn’t until a week before the grand opening of the facility that Bucky was lingering outside Y/N’s office when he heard the phone call or at least her side of the phone call that made him panic.

“Hey! How are you?…. I’m good…. I miss you too. I’ve been considering what you said and I think I have an answer for you… I know we are going to need to find some new movies to watch… Are you coming for the grand opening?…. I’m excited… I’ll save you a dance.”

Bucky could hear Y/N starting to head out of her office and made himself scarce. Who was she talking to? How long has she been talking to them? She missed them? He felt that same jealousy bubble up in him. He would have to wait another week to figure out who this mystery person talking to his girl was. Bucky wanted to be the only person she missed. The only person she danced with. The only person she watched movies with and even though he knew he ruined that for himself, he was still determined to get her back.

On the night of the grand opening of the new facility, Y/N looked so beautiful Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Her hair was curled and swept to one side of her neck and she wore a long dark blue dress that sparkled slightly when she walked. Bucky watched her walk around making conversation, bringing a champagne glass to her lips as she smiled and talked. He kept himself at the bar, ordering whiskey after whiskey as he watched her. He sat up as he noticed her making her way to the bar, running his hands over his clothes and through his hair to make himself look more presentable and put together.

Y/N smiled at the bartender, passing him her empty champagne glass. He asked if she wanted a refill and she nodded her head at him with a smile, “Yes please.” She said with a smile. Y/N looked over at Bucky as the waiter refilled her glass, her smile fading a little but still on her lips. She had to admit that Bucky always looked good in a suit. Her stomach was twisting slightly with the way he was looking at her with a small grin on his lips. She bit her lip at him before turning to the bartender, “Thank you.” She said and watched the bartender smile at her before going to help other guests.

Bucky stood from his seat and moved to sit by her. This was his chance to talk to her, see how she was. See if she wanted to try again with him, “I thought you didn’t like champagne.” He said with a smile.

Y/N looked over to him and allowed a small smile to appear on her lips, “I’ve acquired the taste I guess.” She said with a small shrug.

Bucky nods slowly, bringing his whiskey glass up to his lips and taking a large gulp before smiling back over to her, “You look beautiful, doll.”

Y/N looked at him and smiles, “Thank you.” She said, running her free hand down the dress to flatten it out a little bit before taking a sip of her champagne glass, “You clean up nice yourself.”

Bucky nodded and grinned at her compliment, taking a drink of his whiskey and keeping his eyes on her, “How do you like Seattle?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going. This is the longest he had been able to get her to talk to him since he’s been staying here.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders slightly, “It’s alright. It never stops raining though and it’s always cold.” She admitted, looking down at her glass of tequila, “I miss New York. It would rain and be cold sometimes, but at least it had sunshine too.” She bit her lip looking at him before sharing her information, “I’m actually going back to New York soon.”

Bucky smiled as he listened to her. Y/N’s voice was like music to his ears, “Yeah, you never did well with the cold.” He said before downing the rest of his whiskey in his glass, “That’s great news.” He loved the idea of Y/N being back in New York with him- it was just another step closer to her forgiving him and getting her back.

“Yeah…” She murmurs out, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a large swallow before she felt a large hand on her hip. She turned to look up and to see Steve which immediately brought a smile to her lips, “Hey! You made it!”

Steve looked at Bucky before looking down at Y/N with a smile, “I did, sorry I’m late.” He said before looking back to Bucky, “How you doin, Buck? Getting the training division all figured out?” Bucky shrugs, not noticing Steve’s hand on Y/N’s hip, “They’re getting there. Few more weeks and they’ll be able to figure out their head from their ass.” He joked. Bucky had been helping train field agents in hand to hand combat during his stay in Seattle.

Steve nods with a small chuckle and smile, “Yeah, here’s hoping.” He responded before looking down at Y/N, “Did you save me a dance?”

Y/N smiled and nodded to him, “I did.” She said up to the blonde, setting her champagne glass on the bar and pulling him towards where the other couples were dancing to slow songs.

Bucky watched them go, his eyes falling to Steve’s hand on Y/N’s hip. It made his lips part slightly as he started to put pieces together in his mind. Steve hadn’t just been here figuring out how the facility was coming along, he was here to spend time with Y/N. Steal her right out of Bucky’s grasp. Bucky frowned as he watched Y/N wrap her arms up around his neck and Steve wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her close. Bucky shook his head when Steve laid a gentle kiss on top of Y/N’s head, slamming his empty glass down onto the bar before making his way to the elevator to go to his room. He had pushed her away from him and right into Steve’s arms. Into the arms of someone who would never hurt her or betray her loyalty.

Later that night, Bucky was planning on going to talk to Y/N and let her know she didn’t need to be sneaking around with Steve. That he understood and wanted her to be happy. But instead, as he was about to knock on the door, he froze. He heard noises with his enhanced hearing. The noises. The noises she used to make for him when he had her tangled in his arms naked.

“Oh… Oh god, yes… Mmmm… Right there… Yes, Steve!”

Bucky blinked at the sounds, feeling his heart break all over again and knowing he was the cause of all of this. He used to be the only one that could make Y/N say those things, moan like that. The only one that could make those sweet noises pass her lips. Here he was- getting taste of his own medicine. At this moment, Bucky felt like he knew how Y/N did when she saw him with Katerina. He did something unforgivable, pushed her away and right into the arms of a better man. Bucky had received a taste of his own medicine.

___________________________________________________________

Taglist: @buckypops @bibliophilewednesday @stcrryslibrary

@perseone Here is the alternate version (;

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #steve x you #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #bucky fanfic #steve fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fanfic

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (14/?)

word count: 5k

Read on AO3

previous / next / masterpost

Content warnings: fear of someone dying/drowning, guilt

One more time. Just one more time did Geralt allow himself to shout Jaskier’s name with fear filling his senses.

The broken name was a hope, a plea, a desperate confession.

It wasn’t enough.

So Geralt locked his fears away in his mind. A cold numbness overcame him, calming his body and steadying his hands. He rolled Jaskier onto his side. A slow trickle of water flowed out of his mouth. Not enough.

Geralt hit his back. He pressed onto his stomach. Did everything he could think of to get Jaskier to reject the water from his body.

A shadow ran towards them. Essi. She fell to her knees beside Jaskier. Geralt didn’t look at her, unwilling to let his eyes leave Jaskier for even a second, but he still could feel her. Anxiousness rolled off of her in waves, hitting Geralt and almost drowning him in what he couldn’t allow himself to feel. He smelt salt that didn’t come from the sea.

He turned Jaskier again, putting his ear against his lips. He needed to hear his breath.

But it was too loud. Everything was too fucking loud and he couldn’t hear what was most important.

The waves kept roaring and the wind kept rustling the leaves and Essi kept shouting Jaskier’s name as if she was a siren and her voice alone could lure Jaskier back to the land of the living.

She didn’t allow herself just one time. She kept calling out for Jaskier, kept telling him that Geralt was here, that he would save him.

Geralt tried to shut out her ramblings, tried to focus on Jaskier’s breathing that must be there. Yet, this he couldn’t shake. Her unwavering certainty that Geralt could save him.

Geralt wished he was filled by the same conviction.

But Jaskier remained unnaturally still, no matter what Geralt did. He let himself get pushed around like a lifeless puppet whose strings had been cut.

Geralt pulled back to look at Jaskier’s pale face. No change.

The fear that Geralt had tried so hard to repress returned with full might, crashing into him and taking his breath away.

He didn't think. There was nothing left to do. Nothing but –

He surged forward and pressed his lips against Jaskier's. They were cold and unmoving.

Again and again Geralt forced his breath into Jaskier's lungs. For endless moments he felt nothing but the crushing fear that this wouldn't be enough. That it was already too late.

Still, he didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Couldn't.

Until something shifted.

It was miniscule at first. Barely noticeable. A shudder so faint Geralt wouldn't have known about it if his entire being hadn't been focused on Jaskier.

He pulled back to take another deep breath, but before he could give it away, a jolt went through Jaskier's body. His eyes flew open, wide and panicked as water dripped out of his open mouth with each convulsion.

Immediately, Geralt grabbed him and turned him over again. He held Jaskier as he vomited water until it ended in rough coughs.

Finally, after what seemed like endless torments, Jaskier sucked in a deep breath without his lungs rattling from it.

Jaskier remained in his position, head hung low as he breathed in life. One of his hands was braced against Geralt, gripping him tightly, as if he still thought he was drowning. As if even the solid ground beneath his feet wasn't enough to assure him he was safe.

"Jaskier?" Geralt asked tentatively.

He wasn't sure why he said his name or what he wanted Jaskier to say. He only knew that every moment that he didn't hear Jaskier's voice was a moment still filled with terror.

He just needed to hear Jaskier speak. He needed to know he was going to be fully alright.

Jaskier turned to face him. Painfully slow at first and then letting himself fall onto his back with a relieved groan.

Yet, not once did his eyes leave Geralt's face. He didn't smile, but there was something in his expression that made Geralt's chest clench. Trust. The same certainty that Geralt wouldn't let him come to harm that Essi had expressed earlier.

It was trust Geralt didn't deserve. A lump formed in his throat, growing bigger and choking Geralt with every second that Jaskier looked at him as if there was no place he'd feel as safe as he did with Geralt.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," he croaked out his voice breaking on the name.

Jaskier's brows knitted together, but he still remained so painfully silent. A hand reached towards Geralt's face and Geralt caught it before it could touch him. Jaskier shouldn't be the one to comfort him. Geralt shouldn't have even been here. If he hadn't, then Jaskier would still be dancing with Essi or maybe lying beneath the stars, forging verses and rhymes.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "This is my fault."

Jaskier made a hoarse sound of protest but Geralt cut him off before he could give Geralt a defence he didn't deserve. "You flinched back when you saw me." His voice shouldn't sound so bitter, so defeated. "You fell because of me."

A crocked smile tugged at Jaskier's lips and there's an unexpected twinkle in his eyes. Geralt's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't as bright a smile as Jaskier had shown him before, but after having been gripped by the terror of thinking that he was never going to see Jaskier smile again, this was the most breath-taking sight Geralt could imagine.

Jaskier let out a small hum of agreement, not unlike the ones Geralt often used.

Geralt's insides twisted. So Jaskier agreed that this was Geralt's fault. Geralt should leave. Jaskier shouldn't have to endure Geralt's presence any longer.

But when Geralt let go of Jaskier's wrist to put distance between them, Jaskier snatched Geralt's hand right back.

Like before he held onto Geralt lightly but with determination. His smile was still in place.

"I guess," Jaskier said, voice hoarse, "you could say that I was falling for you."

Geralt stared at him, aghast. He wanted to growl at him, shout that this is not the time to joke, beg him never to joke about something like this. Tell him that he had been afraid he had lost Jaskier.

But Jaskier’s smile was cracked and shaken and the last thing he needed right now was Geralt yelling at him. Neither for getting too close to the edge, nor for trying to hide his hurt with humour.

Jaskier’s eyes were still rimmed with red and he looked as if he were to start crying again, if he wasn’t allowed to cover his shock with jokes.

So Geralt swallowed against the lump in his throat and cracked a thin smile of his own.

“Really? That’s the best pun you can come up with?” Geralt teased. He knew he couldn’t hide the strain in his voice from Jaskier, but still Jaskier’s smile grew wider; an expression looking painfully close to thankfulness that shouldn’t be aimed at Geralt.

“Well, I was going to say something about you taking my breath away, but you did the opposite of that, didn’t you?”

Geralt’s breath hitched. It hadn’t been – he had merely pressed his mouth against Jaskier’s out of necessity. The gods knew Geralt hadn’t been able to think of anything but saving Jaskier’s life in that moment. It had been the closest Geralt would ever come to know the feeling of Jaskier’s lips on his in a kiss and Geralt didn’t remember a damn thing about it save for the memory of unbridled fear. It was better that he didn’t remember what Jaskier’s lips tasted like. Had it been anything other than Geralt doing what he could to save him, Jaskier wouldn’t have wanted it.

Jaskier must have noticed Geralt stiffening, for his face fell a little.

“Geralt?” he asked in a small voice and gave his hand a little tug. “Can we go home?”

Home. Calling it that was ridiculous. There was nothing coming even close to ‘home’ with the small inn room they had rented. Yet Jaskier insisted on calling every place they went to together ‘home’.

It almost made Geralt believe that he could have such a thing with Jaskier.

“Yeah,” Geralt rasped. “I’ll get you back home.”

He hesitated. He didn’t know how badly Jaskier’s foot hurt. It could have been just the short sharp shock of stepping on it wrongly that had made Jaskier’s face twist in pain or it could be something much worse and longer-lasting.

Jaskier looked so small lying on the ground, so fragile. Geralt didn’t want to make him walk back. He wanted to cradle him and carry him in his arms, close enough to feel Jaskier’s heart beating strongly and his breath caressing Geralt, proof that he was alive.

But was he allowed to hold Jaskier like that? Would Jaskier even want him to touch him like that after Geralt had been the one who was to blame for this?

The decision of what to do was taken away from him by Jaskier who slung his arms around his neck. It was as obvious a sign as Geralt was going to get.

Without further hesitation, he put one hand beneath Jaskier’s knees and the other behind his back, scooping him up as he stood.

He made to hasten back to the inn, when something touched his arm. He turned and almost cursed when he saw Essi standing there. With everything going on, he had all but forgotten that she was still there, that she too must have been worried sick about Jaskier.

She would want to stay with him as he recovered from the shock. She would ask Geralt to bring him to her room so that she could hold watch over him during the night.

But Essi only gave him an imploring look. “Take care of him.”

Geralt held her eyes for a long moment, making sure she saw the sincerity in them, before he inclined his head. “I always will.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t care what Essi would do next. With Jaskier in his arms, he all but ran back to the inn, careful not to jostle Jaskier too much. He was acutely aware of how Jaskier’s arms tightened around him, how he buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck to release a shuddering breath against his skin.

The touch burned and it took all of Geralt’s willpower not to tighten his hold as well. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to let go again, if he allowed himself this.

After an eternity that still felt too fast, they reached their room.

Geralt brought Jaskier over to the bed to set him down on it gently. He didn’t want to. It was just wishful thinking that Jaskier fisted his hands into the back of Geralt’s shirt as if he didn’t want to let go either.

When Geralt finally gathered the strength to pull away, he could feel Jaskier shiver against him one last time.

“We need to get you out of those clothes,” Geralt said as calmly a he could.

It wasn’t cold yet, but it during the nights one could already feel that summer was about to pass. Jaskier’s clothes were wet and his cheeks were flushed from the cold the water must have settled into his bones.

He forced himself to focus on the task, to not let his mind stray as he carefully opened the buttons on Jaskier’s doublet and pushed it over his shoulders. Both of them were near silent as Geralt worked on getting Jaskier out of his clothes. The only sound was an occasional gasp of Jaskier’s when Geralt’s fingers accidentally brushed his skin while tugging his chemise free or sliding his trousers down his legs.

More than once, it made Geralt pull back and look up to Jaskier for permission to continue. Permission that Jaskier granted him time and time again with a small nod and the hint of a smile. Still, Geralt was more careful as he peeled the rest of the clothes off of Jaskier. There was no ignoring the way Jaskier’s heart was hammering or his breath was getting more shallow with every passing second that Geralt was too close to him.

When Geralt was finally done and the only thing covering Jaskier was a blanket, Geralt went over to his bags. The few seconds he needed to gather his own clothes wasn’t enough to distract him from the memory of how Jaskier’s skin had felt beneath his fingers. He could almost imagine that there had been a different reason for him to shiver under his touch.

But those were useless dreams that Geralt couldn’t get lost in. He needed to be awake to take care of Jaskier.

He handed Jaskier a set of his own clothes; a simple black shirt and trousers that were too big for him. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so – his mind kept supplying him with some excuse about how Jaskier’s own clothes were too tight for Jaskier to wear them comfortably right now and how they had more buttons to struggle with – but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, when his face appeared again after he pulled on the shirt, it was lit up and bright as if Geralt had given him a precious gift and not just this old shirt with the least amount of holes in it.

Jaskier’s smaller frame got swallowed by the shirt and his hands disappeared to the tip of his fingers in the sleeves.

Geralt stood next to the bed awkwardly, unsure what to do. Jaskier curled into himself and brought his hands up to his face, drawing in a deep breath that couldn’t have been very effective through the fabric of the sleeved, but evidently it helped Jaskier to lose some of his tension.

Geralt cleared his throat. When Jaskier’s eyes snapped up to him, Geralt’s chest grew tight.

“Your night is ruined.”

Geralt had meant for it to be an apology, but now as the words hung in the air, they served as a reminder to himself. Jaskier wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He wasn’t wearing Geralt’s clothes because he enjoyed it. He should have been dancing beneath the stars with Essi or have her run her fingers through his hair as they sat next to each other.

As much as the sight of Jaskier in their shared bed like this made Geralt feel warm and light-headed, he couldn’t let himself forget that for Jaskier this was a testament to how his night had been ruined by the very man who now pretended to be able to keep Jaskier safe.

Jaskier waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Nothing is ruined but my clothes. Guess I should have listened to you when you said not to go for a swim in my clothes.”

They both were well aware that the joke didn’t land, but Geralt still offered Jaskier an amused snort. At that, Jaskier visibly relaxed, though some of the tension in his expression still remained.

“And my reputation, of course,” Jaskier continued, sighing dramatically. “The world knew me as elegant and sophisticated – “ He shot Geralt a warning glare as if to dare him to negate that. “- and now I shall be known as clumsy. Oh the shame!”

Geralt almost opened his mouth, but he forced himself to merely grunt, swallowing back the words that tried to escape him. No matter how jokingly he would have said that Jaskier could hide away in shame from the world at Kaer Morhen, it would break something between them. Jaskier would laugh at the mere idea of coming to Geralt’s home with him when he could do so much better. Or worse, he would see through Geralt and recognise the invitation as what it was. He would tense up again and his nearly normal smile would drop.

No matter Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt wouldn’t be able to forget it. He would have to live with the brief moment in which he had dreamed that Jaskier could accept his invitation only to shut it down.

Whichever way it would go, this easy banter that Jaskier tried so hard to keep up to distract himself from what had happened would turn into something sour and serious that Geralt wasn’t ready for yet.

So Geralt lowered his head and sank to his knees beside the bed. He told himself he did this out of necessity and not because his resolve to keep quiet about that foolish dream he had would crumble if he looked into Jaskier’s face a second longer.

Without speaking, he tapped Jaskier’s ankle lightly. Jaskier didn’t need to hear words to understand Geralt. With a sound that was surely accompanied by a grimace, he sat up, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bed.

As gently as he could, Geralt reached for Jaskier’s hurt ankle and inspected it, prodding it gently.

Jaskier stayed eerily quiet and his breath had stuttered for just a second as Geralt touched his leg. An unpleasant feeling spread through Geralt’s chest. It was wrong for Jaskier to be so quiet.

While Geralt began wrapping Jaskier’s foot to stabilise it, his mind was racing. Frantically, he searched for something to say that would get Jaskier talking again or at least distract him from the sharp pain that made him wince whenever Geralt pulled the bandage tighter. It must hurt him, for Jaskier’s hands flew to Geralt’s hair as if he wanted to pull him way. Instead he started playing with the still wet strands, untangling them gently.

Geralt swallowed and latched on to the first thing that came to mind. An embarrassingly belated reply to what Jaskier had said.

“A shame, yeah. I’d be surprised if anyone would fall for you now.”

It was a lie if Geralt’s ever told one. He knew better than anyone why people fell in love with Jaskier and he couldn’t for the life of him imagine anything that would be able to change that.

An uncomfortable and by now painfully familiar pang shot through his chest. People would keep falling in love with Jaskier, always. And Jaskier would keep falling in love with them. He would always keep on loving and giving, but never taking what Geralt could offer.

The thought stung, but even worse was Jaskier’s reaction.

Or rather, lack thereof. His silence continued and when Geralt risked a look at his face, his expression was unreadable, though thankfully not closed off as Geralt had feared.

“Well, of course you would say that.” Jaskier said with a half grin and nudged Geralt with his free foot. “You’re far too agile to fall for someone.”

Geralt couldn’t supress a snort. “Really? Another pun?”

Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I think I’ve earned the right to make some terrible puns.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Fair enough. But your logic is flawed.” He swallowed thickly, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow and Geralt could have sworn that just for a second his heart beat a little faster too. “How so?”

“You are falling for people left and right despite being agile.” He ran his fingers over the make-shift bandage, pretending to be very busy making sure it will keep Jaskier’s foot from twisting. “Always dancing through crowds and skipping ahead like a little fox.”

Jaskier’s hand in Geralt’s hair stilled. For a moment Geralt feared that he had said too much, that somehow his poor attempt at being something resembling poetic would make Jaskier pull away. But then Jaskier tugged lightly at his hair, making Geralt look up.

What he found in Jaskier’s expression wasn’t contempt or ridicule. Instead his eyes were soft and his lips curved into a tentative yet radiant smile.

“Little fox?”

Geralt could feel heat rise in his neck and his tongue stumbled over an explanation that wouldn’t damn him further.

“You know. Lithe. Nimble. Clever.”

“You think I’m clever?”

Geralt huffed. “Not when you’re making horrible puns that don’t even make sense.”

Jaskier’s lips parted, letting a light laugh escape that made something warm and soft spread through Geralt’s chest. The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkled in mirth. “You know, foxes are also being known for being pretty.”

“I’m not going to justify that with a response,” Geralt said, though his lips stretched into a wider smile.

This felt natural. The strain in Jaskier’s voice had left him fully and he baited Geralt into bantering as if this was just a normal day. Thinking about it, it somewhat did resemble normalcy. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to get into danger and neither was it unusual for Jaskier to recover from the shock first – at least if it was Jaskier himself who had nearly gotten hurt. Geralt was never able to shake off the fear of Jaskier getting hurt.

Though Geralt still couldn’t banish the images of Jaskier disappearing beneath the water from his mind, Jaskier already looked as if he was comfortable as could be, right here with Geralt. And as if had completely forgotten about Essi.

Geralt shouldn’t feel a relieved satisfaction at that, but he never claimed to be a good man. Despite the brief moment of understanding he had had for her, he couldn’t deny that having Jaskier laugh at something he had said, of having him relax and forget his worries and fears in Geralt’s presence, filled Geralt with a sense of rightness.

“Fine. Be like that.” Jaskier tilted his head to the side and gave a long exaggerated sigh. “I’ll take what I can get. And calling me a fox is definitely an improvement to comparing me to a fish.” His smile turned into a grin and he nudged Geralt one more playfully. “I am a little foxy, wouldn’t you say?”

“You couldn’t pay me to say such a thing.”

“What would you call me instead then?” Jaskier challenged.

Geralt opened his mouth, a sarcastic retort already at the tip of his tongue, but Jaskier chose that moment to lean forward, his elbows on his knees and his face far too close to Geralt’s. Close enough to see every nuance in his eyes. Close enough that Geralt had to gather all his strength not to let his eyes dart down to his lips. Close enough that Geralt forgot how to breathe or utter any words.

He knew Jaskier was just joking around. All this talk of falling in love meant nothing. It was just Jaskier seizing the opportunity to make terrible jokes. After all, those were the ones that normally got the biggest laugh – or groan – out of the both of them. He didn’t really care what Geralt thought of his appearance. If he did, he wouldn’t wear his doublets open uncaringly around Geralt or let him see him in the morning with messy hair and pillow creases on his face. More often than not, Jaskier complained about Geralt having no sense of beauty and every time Geralt would reply that he had no need for pretty things.

In this moment, Geralt was far too close to have his resolve snap. He knew witchers shouldn’t want beautiful things. He shouldn’t want to press his face into Jaskier’s messy hair every morning for the rest of his life. He shouldn’t want his freely given touches. He shouldn’t want Jaskier’s words spoken in trust, in playfulness, in the knowledge that he didn’t need to pretend in front of Geralt.

He shouldn’t want any of that and so much more. Witchers weren’t allowed to keep beautiful things either way.

But with Jaskier so close, Geralt wanted more than anything to try. He wanted to tell Jaskier that to Geralt he was the most beautiful person, messy hair or not. But Geralt was no poet. He wasn’t like Essi or the countless other people who knew what gemstone or flower to compare Jaskier’s eyes to. They would know how to put into words what Jaskier’s smile made them feel or express how Jaskier took their breath away whenever he left a crowd and dropped the mask of performance, becoming wholly himself.

All Geralt could give Jaskier was a stilted compliment that would probably come out wrong. Nothing Geralt could say would be good enough for Jaskier.

So he did the only thing that he could. He turned the no doubt vulnerably open expression on his face into something teasing and safe.

“I’d say that you probably need your beauty sleep now.”

Jaskier let out a mock-offended gasp. “The audacity!” His shoulders shook with a short laugh. “You’re lucky I like you or you wouldn’t get away with such an insult.”

Geralt’s stomach did a swoop and breath got stuck in his throat.

“Not an insult,” he said roughly.

Jaskier’s lips twitched. “Sure sounded like one.” His tone made it clear that he had taken no offence and was just trying to rile Geralt up. It was a relief that lifted a pressing weight off Geralt’s chest.

“It’s…care.” He said awkwardly, quietly enough to hope that Jaskier hadn’t heard it. The struck expression on Jaskier’s face that slowly morphed into a soft and precious thing proved his hope useless. “It’s late. You need some rest.”

Miraculously, Jaskier didn’t protest. He just gave a small nod and ran his hand through Geralt’s hair one last time before lying back down. Geralt’s hands hovered over his leg, poised to help him, should he accidentally jostle his ankle too much.

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” he whispered as he pulled the blanket up to Jaskier’s chin.

For a moment Geralt remained standing awkwardly by the bedside, not sure what he should do, if his presence was wanted or if maybe he should try to find Essi instead to keep Jaskier company, as much as that thought twisted his insides.

The decision was made for him when Jaskier’s hand snatched him by the wrist, tugging him towards the bed lightly but insistently.

“Stay with me?”

The plea was barely audible, but the urgency in Jaskier’s voice rang in Geralt’s ears like thunder.

Without hesitating any longer, he peeled himself out of his own wet clothes before slipping under the covers next to Jaskier, keeping enough distance between them that he wouldn’t accidentally cage Jaskier in and make him feel trapped.

Naturally, it didn’t take long for Jaskier to roll over until he was pressed into Geralt who slung his arms around him as if he was protecting him from the dark that was so similar to the one that had swallowed him and dragged him under not long ago.

Jaskier let out a sigh that tickled Geralt’s neck and Geralt pressed his nose into Jaskier’s hair. It was still a little wet and smelled like salt and fish and danger. It smelled like Jaskier falling off a cliff and of a pale hand grasping Geralt’s leg for safety.

Geralt tightened his arms around Jaskier. One of his hands wandered up until he was cradling his head protectively.

“I will stay,” he promised. “I got you. You’re safe.”

He wasn’t sure for whose benefit he whispered those words and he couldn’t be certain that he hadn’t imagined Jaskier’s mumbled “I know.”

But there was no denying the way Jaskier snuggled into him, pressing his face against Geralt’s neck and relaxing as if he was convinced that no threat could reach him for as long as he was being held like this. Just loud enough for Geralt to hear it, Jaskier added, “I’ll stay with you too. You’ve got me.”

Geralt didn’t know what to make of these sleep-clouded words that cradled his heart like a warm embrace. He didn’t ask what Jaskier had meant. For now, he let himself dream while lying wide awake.

It didn’t take long for Jaskier’s breaths to even out and his body to melt into Geralt’s as sleep embraced him.

Geralt stayed awake, listened to Jaskier’s heartbeat and rubbing circles into his back whenever his dreams seemed to shift into something ugly and dangerous. He couldn’t allow himself to sleep. Not when he had to watch over Jaskier. It wasn’t a fate that he minded.

Having Jaskier calm down time and time again by Geralt’s touch was yet another beautiful thing. Geralt might be selfish or a fool, but just for now, he let himself believe that he could keep this.

He pulled back, just slightly, just enough to be able to see Jaskier’s face. Careful, so as not to wake him, Geralt traced his features with his fingers. His cheekbones, the small crease between his brows that disappeared under with soft touch, his lips that moved beneath him. A sigh left Jaskier that sounded almost like his name.

Geralt froze, his heart racing in his chest. If his touch hadn’t been light enough, if Jaskier had woken and found Geralt touching him like that, Jaskier would know. As much as Geralt was used to hiding his feelings behind a blank mask during the day, he wasn’t sure he would be able to do so in the dead of night with Jaskier so close and the softness of his lips beneath his fingers.

But Jaskier didn’t stir, his eyes didn’t snap open and he didn’t pull away from Geralt.

It was a thought that made his chest ache, but for just a heartbeat – one foolish, reckless moment – Geralt thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if Jaskier knew. Maybe there was a chance that Jaskier wouldn’t leave him after all, that he wouldn’t turn away from Geralt and shun him for daring to love Jaskier.

Geralt swallowed thickly and he couldn’t tear his eyes from Jaskier’s face, from how utterly trusting he was to let Geralt hold him in the night.

Geralt didn’t think about it. He was simply filled by one certainty: Having seen Jaskier almost die today, having him seek comfort in Geralt, it was impossible to go as much as another day without having said it at least once.

Perhaps the only reason why Geralt was able to gather his courage or be overmanned by his folly, was because Jaskier was sound asleep and wouldn’t be able to hear a word he said.

It didn’t matter.

Geralt caressed the soft skin of Jaskier’s cheeks and leaned in until his lips were right next to Jaskier’s ears.

The night was his only witness as he shared his secret in a whisper.

“I love you.”

---

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aaetherius · 3 years

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@cxffexngel:

[ cxffeexngel ] modern AU!! || because this has been in my mind for days sFÑKDSFDf have soft time!

Unlike the pouring rains of an announced storm and a message sent in a whim. Sandalphon’s invitation fell on a calm day, with pillowy clouds dusting the canvas of the stretching blue skies on a quiet afterwork hours of sundown. A confession made in days passed and an evergrowing bond with stolen gazes and lips touching whenever extra eyes did not pry over them. Sandalphon adored kissing lucifer, adored those warm welcomes whenever Lucifer was the one already first thing in the morning for their shared shifts, or taking that mantle himself and welcome the taller with cups ready in their favorite spot under the gaze of the sun filtered through the windows adorned in flowers that never had ceased coming as offerings and all the more secret words his voice couldn’t hope to whisper to the other. The you g man resided now during one of those free days closing the flowershop, dusting off tables and leaves, changing pots and moving those that needed extra hours of sun before the evening would claim the rest of the day thorough. The slightest tinge of anxiety clinging behind his mind, after mulling for hours to pour just exactly which words to type over the phone and let Lucifer know he could come over if he wanted to, having deleted the message over and over until settling with the simplest ’ I have nothing to do, feel free to come over if you want ’ only to be replied within seconds with the most adorable message, if not perhaps a bit formal considering Lucifer’s tendencies if not to how he adorned his texts with cutesy stickers the young man failed to not blush for or ever not find them less than endearing when they were between sheep, drawn cats happy with sparkles and very colorful animated ones. Ah, he really finds ways to fall in love with this man everyday, isn’t he? With the flowershop properly locked, and turning over the ’ Open’ sign to seal it for the day, the young barista and shoopkeeper is done for the day, the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating every inch of his home as it rests in idle silence, if not by the gentle song of water heating over the stove not too far from the main room - and the open bags of beans and cups ready to be filled. For now, Sandalphon only attempts drowning every voice about how anything could go wrong, his coffee going acid, the temperature not being right - thinking too much like Gran often liked to poke fun at the cranky barista those days the young man inadvertently broke into his house somehow despise having checked each of his locks twice or even trice just to ensure that the pest the other adored to make himself out to be couldn’t get in. Always futile because it seemed like no lock was match against Gran’s lockpicking and his indestructible will to simply invite himself into Sandalphon’s home. Sometimes even with the girl in blue who made it even easier for the barista to simply cave in and let them stay and steal his food. - those memories are enough to ignore the impending doom that could brew should he mull over the little details about this and that. A soundless sigh slips past somewhat dry lips, tired eyes blinking calmly when attention flicks towards one of the windows as gentle breeze blows curtains into a serene dance matching leaves of branches and leaves outside, palm over his cheek scratching aimlessly any tension left that arises as spontaneously as it leaves. Only finding light within the autumn scarlet within his eyes when spotting the familiar shine of opal locks shimmering behind the blurriness barely transparent curtains of white could offer casting a shadow over that form that Sandalphon could arguably recognize even amidst a crowed street. His body moving before he could think towards the main door, and fingers curling tightly over the handle to twist it and push the frame open for the other, a sheepish smile drawn all over dusted rose pale features, sporting Lucifer’s borrowed hood and black legging the young man often wore whenever there was no work to be done, and the always needed pair of heeled boots rarely Sandalphon took off. “A-Ah! Welcome, Lucifer! ” Sandalphon almost wanted to visibly wince at how drearily hoarse his voice comes despise his initial joy - but he doesn’t, instead clearing his throat with a small cough over his palm. “ Please come on! I’m readying our cups, feel free to choose any seat if you’re tired. ” Continues, while stepping to the side giving the taller enough space so he could finally step in, and their time together start and go along however it takes - ah, how feeble his heart is that the thought alone of Lucifer in his home makes it leap into his throat, and rob any coherent thought or even the plans he mulled over the whole morning about everything.

Sandalphon’s text had kick started his heart after he had returned to his apartment to try out a handful of new coffee recipes he had written down in his journal when he hadn’t been attending to customers this afternoon - something that had become a less frequent habit of his following his confession as the slow hours were typically spent with his attention fixed on the barista instead of a notebook these days. He’d texted the other back before thinking much about his response - he could never deny Sandalphon’s company, and he had tossed off his work clothes to change into something a tad bit more casual in a matter of minutes as well…only to pause as he was slipping out of the door with a mildly displeased Ellie seated comfortably, he thinks, on the plush cushion nestled inside of the feline backpack strapped safely around his shoulders. After all, he couldn’t leave her alone for the night - that would be downright criminal when she’s spent a night on her since he had rescued her. His unwilling companion (who would have been perfectly content to romp around the apartment unattended) aside, he had realized that he hadn’t prepared anything to give to the other. Perhaps it was a somewhat trivial notion, but despite all of the flowers and beautiful poems Sandalphon had gifted him with, he hadn’t done much in return for the other. His own knowledge of flowers had come from the barista himself, and he had little talent when it came to writing out meaningful poems. Even Michael, who had known him nearly his entire life, struggled to follow his notes. Neat as his handwriting naturally was, he had a terrible habit of jotting down notes in a manner only he could truly understand. Ah, and bringing flowers to a flowers hop didn’t seem like a suitable gift either. Sweets wouldn’t do wither, Sandalphon favored bitter and savory foods, much like how he preferred his coffee. So, quickly, the smile upon his features had faded as he lingered in the doorway of his apartment, smiling softly at the various neighbors that walked past him. A low hum rumbles in throat for moment as he strokes his chin absentmindedly before turning tail back into the apartment, gingerly removing a handful of things from the cluttered bookshelf and carefully tucking them away behind Ellie so they weren’t terribly apparent before he slipped outside to a day distinctly unlike the one he had mindlessly invited Sandalphon over on when it had been storming dreadfully.

The walk to the flower shop is a short one, yet, despite that, he checks his phone constantly on the way. He had memorized the address when the other had sent it to him, but the rush of joy that had held his heart tightly enough that it made his chest throb was enough to make that information leap to the very back of his mind. He had never been to the barista’s home before, and he hadn’t been aware of the fact that he owned a flower shop until very recently - to say he was delighted would be an understatement when he feels something akin to excitement for the first time in years; perhaps for the first time since he had dabbled in coffee that fateful say more than a decade ago. And his hand comes up to press firmly against the center of his chest as if doing so would somehow quell the swan song of his heart as every step brought him closer to the one he loves most. For so long, truthfully, he had felt numb - the emotions he harbored had been tucked deep within him, unable to break free from the constant guilt and sense of melancholy that hung over him. He had forgotten what feeling excited was like - what looking forward to something could be like, and he had thought, for quite some time now, that he was incapable of feeling something so unbridled. But Sandalphon brings him more joy than he could have ever dreamed of experiencing, despite the pain that comes alongside it, so he can only tighten his hold around the fabric clumped between his fingers as he exhales in the humid air, and allows his gaze to wander upwards towards the clear sky. Its color paling now that the better part of the day had come and gone, but it still casts a gentle, blue shadow onto his pale features as he stops in front of the flower ship, and Sandalphon’s home. Pearly strands of hair absorb the colors cast upon them, and reflect them back with a gentle shimmer that almost makes it appear as if wayward strands of his hair are glowing in an array of dazzling colors. Sometimes, he’s reminded, the world can be a beautiful place. But, truly, he’s always found the sky to be something remarkable - something free; something wondrous, and grand. As a child, he used to dream of reaching his hand up high enough to touch the clouds despite knowing all he would come away with were damp fingers. Even now, a small part of him is still drown to the vast blue, and the gentle, creamy clouds that float through it without a care.

The click of the door draws him away from his thoughts, and he quickly loosens his hold on the white shirt he’s wearing before trying, and failing, to smooth out the wrinkles he’s formed in the fabric before trying, and failing once more, to cover them with the light blue sleeve of his hoodie as an impossibly warm smile spills onto his rosy lips. Their hue nearly the same shade as the color that dusts over Sandalphon’s features, though the utterly fond look stretched across Lucifer’s visage doesn’t quite match the other’s sheepish one. And it brightens all the more once he realizes the barista is wearing the hoodie he had borrowed from him. And that, too, makes his chest ache, but in a different way than the anticipation that had crept through his bloodstream a moment ago. Love is a strange thing, he thinks, it’s not a singular emotion but rather a collection of so many complex feelings he can’t place individual names to that he hardly knows what he’s supposed to feel at any given point in time. “Good evening, Sandalphon,” he offers, his voice gentle and soft and full of affection. And the sound of the other’s name appears to be all it takes for Ellie to meow loudly from her bubbly, lavender prison upon Lucifer’s back as she tries to crane her neck around to curiously peek beyond her owner’s shoulder at the younger man - her keen eyes narrowing into a glare once she spots that familiar nest of auburn hair. Lucifer, for his part, seems entirely unaware of Ellie’s struggles when he’s utterly captivated by the sight of Sandalphon dressed in his hoodie alongside his typical leggings and heels. “Thank you, and thank you for allowing me to visit you. I’m looking forward to tasting the coffee you’ve made, and – ah, I have something for you, as well, when we have a moment.” It’s hard for him to focus when he’s still awestruck by the sight of the homely flower shop that doubles as the barista’s residence. Something about it seems magical to him, perhaps if only because it’s where Sandalphon lives. And he can’t imagine a place he would rather be than beside the other, yet, even so, stepping into the smaller’s home is a strange mixture of comfortable and wonderful. His eyes wander everything and anything for a moment before he shakes his head gently to snap his attention back to Sandalphon. “I’m grateful you invited me over, and I’m so very happy to see you, Sandalphon.” Slowly, he reaches out his hand to push a few strands of auburn hair behind the other’s ear - his fingers gently gliding over the other’s skin as he leans forward to place a kiss in greeting upon the top of the smaller’s head before withdrawing again at the sound of another meow echoing against the rounded window of the backpack Ellie is still seated in, and he can’t stop the hoarse chuckle that falls from his lips. “Forgive me, I may have brought an uninvited guest along. She has never been left alone, so I’m afraid I didn’t have the heart to leave her behind today. I’m certain; however, that she’ll be on her best behavior. She’s rather fond of you after all.” Fond is not the word most people would use to describe Ellie’s feelings towards rival, and it most certainly wasn’t how the feline felt to the man she had dubbed an intruder in her quiet, and peaceful life, but, well, Lucifer, for whatever reason, was convinced they got along wonderfully.

#cxffexngel #| ☩ i would bend the skies; realign all the stars in space; just to be with you ☩ (cxffexngel: sandalphon) |#| ☩ to meet with you again ☩ (verse: au - modern) |#| ☩ thread 100: sandalphon: cxffexngel ☩ |#{ Thank you for sending this! }#{ Okay so I got hit with the new post editor finally and I am attempting to use my old man brain to figure out #how to works and what the heck I am doing }#{ so if I post this and it looks like a hot mess I'm sorry GFDJKHJBFCGKHD }#{ I am not afraid to admit that I have not a single clue as to what I am doing but I am doing it anyway gfdfjghjdkhjsf }#{ Lucifer 100% has one of those cat window backpacks no I do not accept constructive criticism bvfghfdkgjfvd }#| ☩ and once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (ic) |#{ Oops forgot that one fghdjgfjkd tungle ate all of my tags with the update ;u.u; fdjghjdhsj }

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

I NEED TO SEE THAT LUPIN VS GREYBACK FIGHT HOLY SHIT THE WOLF IS A N G R Y ALSO- sirius’s reaction after the game 😏 maybe if you feel comfy with that if not it’s fine i just feel like sirius would go buck wild if he saw remus fight lmao. o r——— remus being vv bossy and dominating and- you get the idea lmfao. work your magic, love, ill love it regardless of what you do with it ❤️

Anon, this ask made me laugh so much when I first saw it. If anyone has computer skills, please record a live reading of this and send it to me so I can giggle for all eternity. I love you.

As requested, Sirius’ POV! It’s almost 2k words again and some of the dialogue is the same as Remus’ POV, but since he was in an......unreliable headspace the first time around there have been some changes. I hope you like it! Credit for Coops/ Sweater Weather goes to our savior @lumosinlove

TW for a panic attack, fistfighting, and scabs/ bruises/ minor blood

Sirius was so gone for Remus Lupin it wasn’t even funny. The whole game, he had been a force to be reckoned with on the ice as he dodged checks and slammed two goals in without breaking a sweat. Remus had gone to bed anxious and awoken with a determined set to his mouth that was incredibly attractive, though Sirius had been unable to properly appreciate it at the time.

Then Leo got hit, hit by Greyback of all people.

Sirius hesitated at first, torn between rushing to Leo’s side or going to beat the living shit out of Greyback for what he did. Finn crossed the ice with Talker and Kuny on his heels and they carefully pried Leo off the posts—oh, god, he looked like he was in so much pain—while a flash of black and furious red slammed Greyback down. Remus?

Greyback seemed too shocked to fight back as Remus landed hit after hit on him, pinning him to the ground with one hand wrenching the front of his jersey until it nearly tore. Sirius had made the foolish mistake of thinking yesterday’s emotional breakdown would be the end of his nerves, but no; no, this was the culmination of years of looming terror.

By the time Sirius got his arms around Remus and tried to pull him off, Greyback was a wreck. His lips was split and both eyes were already swelling with purple-black bruises as he stared up in shock. “Let go!” Sirius shouted over the stadium noise. “Re, you have to let him go or you’ll get in trouble!”

“—fucking let me go—”

“Stop it, this isn’t you!”

“—if you even breathe on them again—”

“Remus, sweetheart, that’s enough!” Sirius heaved backward and Remus came with him, writhing in his hold like a cornered wildcat. His threats were low enough that Sirius could only make out every third word, but the pure, unbridled venom in his voice was palpable. “Just—just stop fighting me, love. You have to breathe, Remus, take a deep breath.”

“Get off me, I’m not done with him yet,” he spat, struggling to break free. Remus was strong, but Sirius was stronger—his arms didn’t budge as he leaned back against the boards and nearly lifted Remus off the ice.

“Yes, you are. Leo’s going to be fine.” Sirius grunted as one of Remus’ sharp elbows caught him in the side. “Greyback’s going to get kicked out but you need to stop.”

Remus’ sudden weight as he slumped was a surprise; Sirius nearly dropped him. His whole body shook for a second and he grasped at Sirius’ hands. “Leo—around the goal post—“

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure what reassurances came out of his mouth, but they must have been good enough, because Remus listed to the side and stopped thrashing entirely. “Lupin!” Coach barked as Sirius pulled him off the ice. Please don’t be angry, please don’t be angry. “What the hell were you doing out there?”

“ ‘m sorry, so sorry, Coach,” Remus wheezed, leaning all his weight into Sirius, who scrambled to catch him. His face had gone from flushed to alabaster pale, almost gray in the bright lights. His pupils were so dilated there was barely any of the warm amber Sirius’ loved around the edges and every breath was shallow. “Fuck, wasn’t thinking, ‘m sorry.”

Coach visibly rocked backward, his gaze flickering to Sirius’ face. “Alright, Lupin, why don’t you head back into the locker room for a bit. Black, make sure he’s okay.”

Thank you, Sirius mouthed as he wrapped one of Remus’ arms around his neck. Coach nodded silently and he felt his eyes follow them as they headed for the tunnel. “You’re okay, sweetheart, just hang on for a moment—”

Remus mumbled something and dropped like a stone.

Sirius’ knees smarted with pain as they hit the ground, but he was too consumed with Remus to focus on that. He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his hands, grasping and grabbing at the walls blindly. “Remus, look at me. Come on, you’re okay, just open your eyes.”

“Bad. This feels bad ohmygodIhithim.”

“You did—”

“Sirius.” His voice cracked and Sirius’ heart broke. “Sirius, I hit him. ‘m not scared, just angry.”

“I think you’re a lot of things right now,” Sirius murmured under his breath. “Can you open your eyes for me, love?” Remus sucked in a few harsh breaths as tears slipped down his cheeks, but soon frightened amber met grey and Sirius reached out to hold his arms. “It’s just us right now. We’re in the tunnel.”

“So much happening. Can’t stop shaking.”

“I know, Remus, just take your time. Let it out. I love you so much, you know that? You’re okay now and you can just hang on to me. I’ve got you.”

“Why do I feel like this?” he asked in little more than a whisper as he desperately reached out for Sirius.

“You just worked through a lot of trauma in under a minute, honey.”

“It is, it really is.” Sirius frowned; he started to wonder what Remus was talking about when he began…laughing? He was laughing. Okay. That was new. It wasn’t really laughing, just short, broken-off wheezes that were a cruel imitation of the little down-up that happened when Remus read a funny passage in a book or Sirius made a pun.

And then he cried, and cried, and cried.

So Sirius held him.

“I hate him, and I feel better,” Remus mumbled into his shoulder on the tail end of a heaving exhale. It was the first coherent thing he’d said since the ice.

“Ride it out, sweetheart, you can do this.” Sirius pressed a kiss into his hair as cold hands tangled in his jersey and strong shoulders shook. The guilt was eating him alive—how could he have missed this last night? Just how long had Remus been bottling this up?

“Pads?”

Sirius looked up at the end of the tunnel but never relinquished his hold. “Hey, Pots.”

James’ eyes flickered once to Remus and his heartbreak was clear. He had always been an open book like that. “How is he?”

A pause. “He’ll be better soon. We’re just gonna head home, I think. Any news on Leo?”

“Bruised ribs, no major damage.” James raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “Three weeks and he’ll be good as new. I’ll let the guys know you left, alright? Do you need a ride?”

“I’ve got it, but thank you.”

“Sirius.” Remus’ strangled voice made them both wince and Sirius rubbed his back gently as the sobs abated into trembling breaths.

“Keep me updated?” James asked, resting one careful hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

“I will.”

“Drive safe, Sirius.” And then it was just the two of them, twisted together as Remus slowly came back to himself.

Sirius didn’t say much as he led Remus to the car, both in their socks with their skates in his other hand. The drive home was quiet; Remus curled up against the window and closed his eyes immediately. The worst of it was behind them.

Even Hattie seemed to understand something was wrong, because she nuzzled Sirius’ thigh once and licked Remus’ hand before laying down in her bed and watching them leave. “Good girl,” he said softly.

Remus managed to get two whole buckles undone on his pads before Sirius stepped in with careful fingers and lifted the heavy gear away. The scabs and bruises on his knuckles had been hard to see in the darkness of the tunnel, but they were stark in the gentle light of their bedroom. Sirius took his hands and stepped into the shower, then turned the water on hot.

A slow ripple worked its way down Remus’ back as the steam rose and fogged up the mirror. Sirius reached for a bar of soap—not mine, he says it’s toothpaste on steroids—and smoothed the suds down his spine. “Is this okay?” he asked as the muscle jumped under his touch.

Remus sighed. “Yeah, it’s good.”

He worked his way up to his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”

There were a few heartbeats of comfortable silence before Remus spoke again. “I think so? I feel lighter. I don’t know yet. Did I scare you?” His voice was fragile, but not laced with panic, just exhaustion.

“What?” Sirius laughed a little in surprise. Of course he scared him, what kind of question was that?

“Your voice was shaking when you pulled me away. I was worried.”

You were having the worst panic attack of your life and you were worried about me. Sirius’ knees nearly gave out with how much love flooded through his body. “You scared me a little, yeah, but mostly because you didn’t seem like you,” he admitted, sliding his hand up to wash the nape of Remus’ neck. He had been so tense on the ice, so viciously angry and vengeful in a way that Sirius would have never expected. He spat and snarled and flailed like he was going to die if Sirius held him a second longer.

“You were fighting me like I was going to hurt you, and then in the tunnel you just kind of dropped. I was expecting something to happen once the adrenaline wore off, but it was really fast.” He poured some shampoo into his palm and began working it through Remus’ curls.

“It felt fast. That’s nice.” Damp, soapy skin slid against his chest as Remus leaned into him, then turned to face him. His face was cast in shades of pink and gold again, and his eyes went soft as he looked at Sirius. “Hey.”

The breath rushed from his lungs. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Do not cry, do not cry, nobody else gets to cry tonight.

“Are you…using my soap?”

“It does have an intense smell.” Remus looked up at him and smiled. “You make it work.”

“Thanks?”

The pre-laugh hiccup made the lump in Sirius’ throat return and he closed his eyes against the burn, only for a feather-light kiss to touch his nose and make him freeze. One pressed to his left cheekbone, then his right, then one to his jawline, and finally, finally, the lingering pressure of Remus’ lips on his own. Lean, strong arms settled over his shoulders and Sirius held his hips like the world would come crashing down if he let go.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” he asked, leaning in once more.

A wry smile, one that was so Remus it hurt, flickered over his features. “I’m not tired yet.”

“Okay.”

And as Remus dragged him into the bedroom by the hands, laughing at Sirius’ antics and lighting the whole damn place up with his smile, Sirius knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life right here.

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dismuch47 · 3 years

Text

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 2)

Winner of Scarlet Vision Drabbles votting. Because SV/WV fans are thirsty af.

So I lied. This “drabble” is mutating and I’m long-winded. There will be a part 3.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. This section is rated Explicit.

Vision’s head reared up when he heard the bathroom door finally creak open. He turned towards Wanda, to see her large eyes downcast. Her flame-like hair was free of it’s bun, draped behind her shoulders. She had one of the hotel robes on, which concealed her slim figure in white plushness. She chanced to look up at him, like a sorry child.

The synthezoid strode over to her, wine-glass ready for her, gentle and assuring smile upon his lips.

“Vision I’m sorry-“

“Absolutely nothing to atone for-“

“-But I was being so-“

“-Honest, which I so admire in you.”

Wanda huffed, accepting the wine. Her unease appeared to be waning. “Can’t you just be upset with me? I would understand…”

“Never.” He punctuated the word, pointedly. Then smiled broadly. Wanda finally caved with a grin, looking away. Vision gently captured her chin with his thumb and index finger, directing her back to his sincere face. “My greatest satisfaction is in seeking yours. And that you somehow are able to accept me. Odd quirks and all.”

“Vis…”

Her eyes were glittering. She was experiencing strong emotion. Unclear if it was extreme sentimentality or misplaced guilt, it seemed logical to stoop down and kiss her full lips to make it better. His index finger stroked down her chin and ventured down her soft throat. Wanda’s breathing shifted as warm and featherlight touch lingered on creamy collarbone. He had become expert at these areas of sensitivity, eliciting honest breathy responses from his love of flesh and blood. Cause and reaction. Scripted and executed

But perhaps there were some modifications he could accommodate to his side of the performance. Inwardly, he did not enjoy contemplating that notion. Their relationship had, thus far, been founded on honesty and acceptance. It seemed dishonest to her and a reminder to him of his limitations by… pretending. Sex was proving to be more emotional than he had anticipated, which was an extremely murky concept for him to grasp…though, slowly, he was learning. Through Wanda, he was learning.

Wanda’s hungry stomach gurgled loudly in protest, causing the two to open their eyes at eachother mid-kiss, before breaking away in laughter.

Vision took his place on the loveseat first, angling himself so that Wanda could easily nestle her back into his side when she came over with her plate of late-night indulgences and wine. She gave a sigh of contentment once she was situated.

“Anything good on?” she asked, already working on one shrimp. Rather ungracefully. It was endearing.

“3rd Rock from the Sun, Batman, or Green Acres?” Vision turned on the hotel flatscreen.

“Which would you like?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Right, but if YOU had to pick one-“

“I would pick what you would pick.”

A moment lapsed. Wanda’s chewing even ceased. Clearly Vision had miscalculated and his response had been received as an irritant rather than as affectionate. He was about to modify his meaning when Wanda spoke up.

“Well, I’m too tired for spazzy Dick Solomon, no to cheesy super heroes… so I guess Green Acres it is.” Her tone was not as cheerful as it had been.

Vision turned it to the right station, feeling uneasy. He wanted to correct their interaction, but he eased back into the loveseat when Wanda leaned her head against his chest. She still wanted contact.

It was interesting, hearing the lines dubbed in Russian. They turned on English subtitles for Wanda’s sake, but even she said that she didn’t know how long her eyes would last, straining to read and comprehend the words in her second language. Vision asked a couple of times if she was ready for bed. She would lazily protest, trying to “convince” him she was wide awake by how well she could mumble the catchy theme song. But it was clear that she was fading fast. She just wanted to stay in his embrace.

And that would have been suffice for Vision, if he didn’t feel she would significantly benefit from a good night’s sleep. When he was sure she was unconscious enough, he slowly and gradually phased through the couch to let the cushions take his place. He set about turning off most of the lights, save for one lamp to provide a soft glow to guide Wanda to the bed. He then went about covering the left-over food with a napkin and stacking her dishes in a neat presentation for the food service team.

After placing the tray outside the door, Vision returned to coax Wanda to proper slumber, only to see her now splayed out on the couch. Turning about upon the upholstered texture had worked her thick robe open. Her smooth skin exposed in a thin sliver between her breasts, down her navel, with a bent leg peeking out from under the cloth as the only provision of modesty.

She was... a vision.

He came closer, peering down at her in contemplative wonder, to see her eyes sleepily open. She then extended a graceful arm to him, slender hand beckoning. Her unspoken request transparently clear to him.

Vision’s clothes collapsed into a shapeless pile on the floor as his physical form faded in a golden shimmer for an instant. The very sight of his body stimulated her, he knew that well. He lightly wedged one knee between her legs, to steady himself as he leisurely untied the fastening of her askew robe. Wanda’s breathing deepened, her hands reaching above herself, tangling in an auburn pool of silky hair as soft terry peeled away from taunt flesh…

The synthezoid had always told Wanda that human bodies were not completely unlike an advanced, organic computer. She would scrunch her nose, sure that he was innocently patronizing her on some level. But it was true. And being globally aware of any and all signals and energies, seeing them in her now was not so different. Perhaps he didn’t know what they meant exactly, or what they felt like, but trace currents of electricity and signals from the brain to the billions and billions of neurons throughout the human body made sense to Vision. It was quite the light show, when he truly connected to the body’s activities as he was now. It mapped out what efforts were effective, and what areas needed his rapt attention next. Where to experiment with a squeeze, lick, or bite. When a rapid rhythm was paramount or a restrained thrust would guarantee instant and powerful release.

It was confusing, marrying the biological science which made complete sense to the synthezoid, to the complete language of erotica which was more abundantly used in literature and pop culture… and completely conceptional. And yet here Vision was, observing the messaging of Wanda’s body, comparing it to a brilliant and unbridled sea storm of scarlet, scattering billions of ruby fractals across her glittering coral shores. Complete nonsense, yet complete truth.

“Vis!” Wanda cried. Her thighs twitched in his strong grasp as the first scarlet wave hit. Vision raised his head from between her legs, laving his slick tongue over her apex one last time, like a signature. She gasped, well past the brink, her fist clutching at her hair to hold on to something.

He leaned over her, parting her legs wider, but massaged them after keeping them so restricted over his broad shoulders for a time. He then skimmed his maroon hands up her pelvis, and around to cradle the curve of her rear, then scooted her down close to himself. Wanda propped herself up on her elbows, but immediately her head fell back in helpless passion as she felt him sheath himself deeply in her and start a powerful rhythm.

Verbal coaxing always elicited positive response. “Wanda.” Vision murmured, deeply. More rubies and stardust, just at his voice. Wanda was too overcome to form words, but her hand traveled down below her navel, to where they joined and moved as one, then up his front. She squeezed, rubbed, then clawed… but to no avail. He could feel her touch… but it didn’t create storms and shooting sparks within him as it would her.

She dimmed in sadness. Suddenly those ethereal shores were darkening. Vision wavered. He was failing her.

He swallowed hard, reeling at this complete disappointment in himself, so he made a flawed calculation. He slowed, simulated heavy panting, eyes shut tight as if with desire. There was a shimmer in Wanda, of hopeful excitement. He recalled love-scenes in movies, trying to remember how the male human interacts, even though the camera was always fixed on the female in the thralls of ecstasy. He moaned softly, and then more loudly and with urgency. It was an act. It felt wrong and stupid to him. Humiliating even…

“STOP IT.” Wanda commanded. Vision abruptly stopped, gladly, yet mortified at being found out.

“I… I was just-“

“I know what you were doing, Vis.” Wanda slid herself out from under him. She was upset. “For a moment I thought…” Her voice broke off.

Vision sat back on his haunches, realizing the gravity of what he had done. “I thought it would help.”

Wanda stood up, sniffling back her frustration. She picked up the robe and put it back on, avoiding his pleading eyes. “I know you did. I know.” She put her face in her hands for a moment. The synthezoid stood up in concern, wanting to hold her. He moved forward to do so, but she put a hand up. “I just need you to let me hurt about this for a little, Vis. Okay? And not to try and fix it.”

Vis looked down at his feet, dejected. He slowly gathered his pants and slid them over his compact form. He felt Wanda’s arms slide under his and around his torso. He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry. So sorry, dear heart.” Vision’s voice had never hitched in such a manner before.

“Me too.” She held on to him for a few more beats. “I’m going to bed.”

“I am… going read for a bit.”

“…Alright.” The departure of her embrace left him standing alone in the dark.

#scarletvision #wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #advanced settings #FOR THE FANDOM #it will all work out #Vision's POV just ends me #IT'S HARD TO SOUND LIKE A SMART ANDROID/SYNTHEZOID #rated A for Angst

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silentprincess17 · 3 years

Text

Sometimes Things Have To Get Worse Before They Get Better

This is essentially a darker, heavier alternate take on Memory #7 - Blades of the Yiga. I wanted to write a fic with a competent Yiga Clan. (Yes you read that right). It is very angsty in the beginning and then becomes fluffy (hence the title!)

Summary: Link and Zelda have returned from Vah Naboris with Urbosa and have spent the night in Kara Kara Bazaar Inn. Link wakes up and finds her missing.

Cue the angst.

This story is complete and I will post each chapter daily on here but you can read the whole thing on AO3

Rating: Mature (Graphic descriptions of violence) Pairing: Link/Zelda (Zelink) Characters: Link, Zelda, The Yiga Clan, Master Kohga

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6: Dusk of the First Day

TW: rope burns, emotional trauma.

They left her there

In the sun

With a shirt half ripped, mercy to the wind, sand and heat.

He didn’t know where to look.

He wanted to see if she was okay.

But he didn’t want to ruin whatever shred of dignity she had left.

So, he stood sideways. If anything moved into her vicinity he would know. Not like he could do much, but it would be better for him to at least know.

Would it though?

The guilt seared through him, branding him more than the wound under his eye could. He pressed his head against the bars. He felt so wrung out, so weak. He was used to fighting, to being able to actually do something. He’d never been so helpless before. The irony was that he’d received training to deal with interrogation in case the Yiga ever captured him. He’d been trained under Sheikah tutelage, specifically, about methods to hold in one’s emotions and pains whilst imprisoned by the enemy.

But… he had not received training for what to do when it was the Princess being tortured. Whilst he watched. Powerless. What was he supposed to do when the person whose life he was meant to defend with his own was being humiliated in such a vulgar way? The worst thing was that he’d completely and utterly failed to handle the responsibility he has given. She was entrusted to him by the King, and he had failed. He’d failed not only as her Appointed Knight, but as her supposed Hero, and that seared the most. Some counterpart he was to her soul if he couldn’t stop what was happening to her.

Eventually the same researchers came back, this time accompanied by some Yiga Foot soldiers. Link felt unbridled fury run rampant through him at the sight, because despite his fatigue, he still had enough strength to swear on the Golden Three he'd avenge her. He'd find them, and he'd make sure they regretted even setting eyes on his Princess.

"No change still. Hm. Prolonged exposure made no difference. Well, that's... good news. Let her down, now."

Link was extremely confused, at this whole scenario, but he ignored that, right now his focus would be on Zelda. And trying to help her. He pulled his tunic off and turned his gaze away from the world outside.

“Don’t fight Hero, or we’ll put her in chains. Don’t think we won’t. You might want to cover her up. Or maybe you’ll enjoy the sight too, not like she ever gave you much joy otherwise."

Link was too emotionally drained to pay much heed to their words, he'd already seen the clamps in their hands before they brought Zelda over and hence knew it was useless trying to intervene. The same thing that happened earlier today would repeat itself and this time Zelda would much closer and he just-

They snickered away, teleporting out once they shoved her in.

He didn’t look at her, couldn't bring himself to. He felt so ashamed. He offered his tunic to her, with his hand behind his back, still not looking.

He felt her take it.

And then he heard her sink to the floor.

He didn't know what to do. Did he try to step closer? He wasn’t sure that was what she would want right now. Hell, even at the best of times she hated his presence, and whilst it had felt like they’d turned a new leaf last night… a lot had happened since then.

She sniffed. And his heart broke. “Is the sight of a tainted Princess so disgusting that the Great Hero of Hyrule, blessed by Hylia herself, can’t lay his oh-so-holy eyes on her?”

He spun and was by her side in a second, kneeling. “You could never be tainted.”

The sand clung to her hair, and all the way along the side of her face and neck, both of which had reddened a little from all the exposure to the sun.

She laughed but it was sarcastic, dripped in venom. And it made him scared. “That’s the first I’ve ever heard you speak. Keen to defend your honour Hero?” She scoffed. “I’m sure somehow father will still find a way for this to be my fault. If only you spent more time in dedication to the Goddess, then maybe she would have blessed you with the powers that would have allowed you to get out of this situation. You would have been stronger than them. You would not have allowed yourself to be humiliated.”

Goddesses above. The power. Fundamentally, everything came back to the Calamity... It was so powerful, hell, even it's impending arrival had already wrecked havoc with their lives. He didn't have the answer to her powers, but he wasn't so sure the key was with prayer to the Goddess. He was just as clueless with the sword, and if it would be enough, but it wasn't right to bring that up now. It would be like rubbing salt into her wound. Because at least he had the sword. And... he sort of understood what she was doing. And he’d let her do it. She was hurt. He was too, but he’d shoulder any burden of hers he could. “And he’s silent again.”

Crap, he hadn't meant- “I’m sorry Princess. I’m really sorry.” He didn't know what else to say. He bowed his head, the sight of her burnt and upset felt like a stab to his soul. He heard her sigh, and then she knelt back against the very bars his hands had become blistered, red and swollen from hitting so much.

He hesitantly sat down next to her, wary of her boundaries.

They stayed like that for a while, until she caught sight of his hands. She reached over and traced a faint line over where his skin had split open from the abuse it had received. Sand lined the edges of the wound and he would be lying if he didn’t admit that it stung. And then she shuffled just a little closer.

Link took a series of small half-panicked breaths. He moved, very slowly, as though she was made of glass that could shatter and touched his fingertips on her shoulder. She leant back a little, so his whole hand was now touching her. He took that to mean it was okay to touch, and slowly wrapped his arm around her fully. She shivered, and he started to rub his hand up and down her arm, in an attempt to warm her up.

He observed her throughout. At any sign of discomfort, he would stop, but she hadn’t shown any yet, only leaning into his arm slightly.

Her lower lip trembled. He immediately stopped. She shook her head, “I’m overreacting. I just asked for forgiveness yesterday and look at what I’m doing today.” She blinked rapidly; he could tell she was holding back tears. “It. It could have been worse. I still have my chest guard on. So. They didn’t cut through that.”

He was relieved, honestly, because she’d been spared that, but regardless it was humiliating. “It doesn’t make your pain any less valid Princess, regardless of how many layers they cut through.”

She stiffened at his validation, his corroboration that it wasn’t her fault, because that is what this was about truly, that is why she brought up her father, and her inability to unlock the power. She angrily brushed back the few tears that had dared to make their way through.

He felt sick, bruised and battered, watching her. It was heart-breaking. “It’s okay to cry Princess. It doesn’t mean they’ve won.”

She stared hard at his chest, before slowly looking up to him, as if she was seeing him for the first time. Truly properly seeing him. He guessed it was hard to know someone's intentions if they remained silent. He’d promised himself today though, there was no one here to put a façade on for. And he vowed that he would at least try to help her, even if he didn’t know how.

She latched onto his other arm, fisting the fabric in her hand, and slowly laid her head down on his shoulder. He assumed he said the right thing then, and he slowly exhaled a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding in.

Something his mother had always done for him whenever he’d hurt himself as a child was to brush through his hair. He wasn’t sure that would be appreciated here though. He didn’t want to touch her more than she allowed. What else could he do?

… the lullaby. He knew the lullaby. He could hum the lullaby. He waited for a while, letting her breathing settle a little. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond. She felt so fragile in his arms, like a frightened deer and he was terrified of scaring her away, of hurting her more than she had suffered through already.

A few minutes passed and she was still gripping his shirt, still rigid and tense, and he decided it was worth a shot. He could always stop if she told him too.

She inhaled, sharply, once he started. And then she leaned closer still, until her head was practically on his chest, her ear pressed against his sternum. Could she tell his heart rate had tripled since she moved closer?

He felt, rather than heard, her tears. They pierced through his thin undershirt, blot by blot, each one a stab to his heart.

He would be lying if he didn’t cry too, and it messed up the rhythm a little.

And she looked up, sitting up a little so she could see more of him, probably wondering why his voice had cracked halfway through. And she gasped. “What-”

She raised a hand to his face, and gently brushed the tears away from his left eye and then hovered over his right.

Oh. Oh yes, he’d been hurt. He imagined it probably wasn’t a pretty sight, a fairly deep gouge into the skin between his eye and cheek. He didn’t have her needles so he couldn’t fix it. Even if he did have thread, it wasn’t like he could even see it. It throbbed but it felt nothing compared to the turmoil that had run through him the entirety of the day.

“I refused to look.”

And his gaze flitted from her over-filled eyes, the dull haunted look in them making his heart twist for the umpteenth time today, to her wrist.

And he almost had a heart attack.

Dear Goddesses, he was going to end up with severe cardiac problems after this.

He gently grasped her hand and turned it so he could see properly. Her entire wrist was mangled, red, sore… Chapped from rope burns, no doubt, as she tried to wrench free at the posts.

She sighed. And held up her other hand, and then brought her ankles close, all of which were in a similar state, her ankles less so because it was harder to twist against rope with them.

And then she got out her kit. She moved to him first and he was horrified, snatching it out of her hands and pointing towards the designated bed area. She frowned. He didn’t back down. To hell with her taking care of him, after today.

She shuffled across, probably realising that this was a fight she was doomed to lose. As he moved to clean the wound with the little cup of water the Yiga had left them when they’d dropped Zelda off, she stopped him. “We shouldn’t waste water this way, Link. We both need to drink it rather than clean wounds out. Dehydration trumps infection in the causes of death order, Sir Link.”

He accepted; she was right. Who knew when the next water-cup would come? He keenly felt the loss of his pouches, for the small first aid kit he always carried, and the antiseptic cream he had. He did the best he could, using small pieces of Champion blue cloth to bind around her wrists and ankles, in a makeshift bandage. And then he got unceremoniously pushed into the wall, and he grimaced at the sight of the needle in her hand. He wouldn’t be asleep this time.

He still couldn’t really look at her though, he felt guilty, because the wound was proof that he had failed to protect her honour, even from himself.

“None of this is your fault Link.”

How did she know him so well? Perhaps she’d spent more time observing him that he’d thought. “I failed you Princess. Again. I let them take you. I-” His voice broke. He couldn’t actually voice the rest of his apology, the words scraped against his throat, foul and bitter as shame paralysed him.

She swallowed. “We could play the whose-fault-is-it game all day. Ultimately neither of us are to blame. I’m tired Link. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

He nodded his assent, and he let her fix the wound. She used small careful stitches which he could tell she did as quickly as she could, so that she didn't cause him excessive pain. And then she wrapped some of the material around his hands in a makeshift bandage. The pain was nothing though. Nothing compared to the dread he felt as to what would come next.

Because today was just day one. What would happen tomorrow?

She eventually finished, and then came to sit next to him. They split the water, and although he tried to make sure she got more than he did, she refused and they each got half equally.

“Hypothermia.” Is all she said afterwards, and he knew what she meant.

This time, though he felt her tears instead of her smile, and he felt completely and utterly useless. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this. He understood, that perhaps right now they were in survival mode, and that is why she didn’t want to think about it too deeply because who knew what horrors awaited them tomorrow. But he worried for her, he always did, because he knew the scars this whole experience would have would be lasting.

That was a depressing line of thought and he was treading dangerous waters. He needed to think about how they were supposed to get out. He needed to make sure this didn’t happen again. He needed to actually protect her damn it. He leaned back. What could he really do, stuck as they were? What were the tips he'd been taught on how to handle an imprisonment? Perhaps the first thing to do was to try to figure out what the captors wanted. Usually that was pretty obvious, information or money but it wasn’t so clear cut here.

It just didn't make sense, and he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the Yiga Clan wanted from this. The thing the researcher had said when stopping the Blademaster- something about it not working... was he talking about Zelda's sealing powers not awakening? He must have, seeing as the Blademaster more or less confirmed that when he taunted Zelda for being unable summon Hylia. And then when the researchers had come to let Zelda down, it seemed to be more of a... conclusion to their experiment. Link wasn’t a scientist, but he’d silently observed plenty of simulations that the Sheikah and Zelda had run on various parts of Ancient Technology. It was a process akin to what happened today- there was some sort of plan beforehand, then the “subject” - most often a Guardian - was prepared, and the planned programming was completed and then the results recorded.

But... Link couldn’t match that criteria with what had happened to Zelda. Just what were the researchers trying to get out of the whole thing? What was their initial plan- i.e why conduct, this-this experiment to torment Zelda to try to get the power to show itself? Surely that was counterintuitive to their overall aim? Because awakening her powers would mean the Darkness would be sealed and that was completely against what they wanted? Which brought him back to what, exactly, was their end goal? Had it changed? It didn’t seem so... And why had the Yiga changed their plan from assasination to... torture? For the life of him he couldn’t understand...

Chewing on his lip he decided it was worth a shot, to try to sift through the memories of lives he’d had but not lived himself, and… he even decided to try to look through the last Hero’s one. He sighed, he always felt uncomfortable with the memories. The thing was that they were like snapshots in time, and they were not… organised in any meaningful way. The whole thing was one big mess of emotion, because most of them were glimpses of things that his predecessors had felt strongly about, those were the ones that they unconsciously imprinted on the sword, and it carried those memories through for each wielder that followed. Maybe it thought there was a lesson to be learnt from each one, or maybe it just wanted a memento of each Hero. Who knew, the sword had a mind of its own.

So, whilst he knew he’d transformed into a wolf, he had no idea why or even how it had happened. The only time he'd get a semi-coherent sequence of events was during his dreams. Those often flowed a lot better than him trying to access the memory whilst conscious, which confused him but really, was anything about the Master Sword simple?

And that was why he’d found it so hard to understand just what was going on in the life of the Hero who was his direct comparator, the one who had succeeded the last time this had happened. The truth of the matter was, Link felt incredibly depressed, every time he thought of what happened 10,000 years ago.

For starters, the guy had it all. Link could only vaguely remember something glowing blue with a distinct sense that it was “Sheikah” so he assumed that was from the inside of one of those shrines, and it was accompanied by a feeling of “training programme”. And the rest of the memories pre-calamity were of… well. This was the part that used to disturb and plague him the most, because clearly, this Hero had a good working relationship with his Princess, and it was probably not just working. Okay it was definitely not just working, but Link refused to think further on that before, especially considering his own tenuous relationship with His Princess. The only other significant thing, alongside a bucketful of reminiscences with the Princess of that time, was some sort of glowing hand, which Link for the life of him couldn’t figure out but it seemed important. Oh, and also a crimson-coloured mist thing, but he wasn’t sure- because the whole thing seemed to be blurred around the edges. What was even more bizarre, was that there was barely any feeling of fear associated with the two things, it was weirdly relief more than anything else. And that frankly made him very frustrated. Relief at facing destiny? Just how prepared was this Hero? The whole thing left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, more so than the others because Link felt anything but prepared.

He sighed, the other thing with the memories were that he couldn’t just summon up what he wanted, and it would appear. It was more like he’d have to file his way through, and hopefully happen upon whatever it was he was searching for. And only now, after revisiting Mr Successful, did he actually remember that the Sheikah were still united back then, so there was no Yiga. They just didn't exist. Wonderful. Another reason why he hated to dwell on the seemingly illustrious journey that Hero had had.

He refocused. This wasn’t about that time. Why else would the Yiga have captured them, other than a sick sense of humour with the whole experiment? Was there any other purpose for this whole thing? His mind continued to wrack with the problem, and he watched as the moon moved across the sky.

Eventually, the Princess’s breathing evened out, as she fell asleep in his arms. At least she’d managed to sleep, he wasn’t sure she would, all things considered.

He sighed. The only other idea he had was that the whole thing was a farce, so they could exact revenge against the Royal Family for the humiliation they underwent all those eons ago and were banished. Clearly, they still used Ancient Sheikah Technology, the likes of which he’d never seen before. But still, surely the aim would be to kill them both to ensure Ganon’s revival would be unhindered? Not that he minded they hadn’t killed them yet; it was relieving to know they still had a chance, even if it was due to some sort of study.

He was distracted when she started to shiver, flinching inwards and he could only imagine what horrors she was seeing in her dreams. He grasped her tightly, running his fingers through her hair as he hummed her lullaby, hoping it would calm her, just as much as it did for him. Thankfully it worked, she settled back down, although now her knees were also pressed against his abdomen. He didn’t think it was a very comfortable position, but he didn’t want to disturb her, given she’d only just relaxed.

He, meanwhile, remained wide awake, tensed as bowstring. He would be ready next time.

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randomidiocyncrazies · 3 years

Note

i know you like them both so yunichika and oda/aoki for the ship ask

thank you for giving me a chance to gush about these kids!!! they’re precious.... this got pretty long so imma put it under a cut

YuniChika, the main boys of 2.43:

• when or if I started shipping it:

tbh i didn’t really ship them when i read the first book... they’re the kind of pairing that i can see people shipping and i think it’s cute, but i’m not super invested in them as a romantic pairing. I think i was more sold about them as a ship in the second book, but i can’t quite remember if there was a specific moment that made me change my mind, or if it was a gradual process

• my thoughts:

i think the anime definitely played up the tension between them (allll the blushes lol), but i’m glad people are enjoying the YuniChika content XD they’re pretty cute!

also, i think they balance each other well and spur each other to become better—Yuni and Chika are both self-centered(?) in very different ways: Yuni lacks drive because he mostly wanted to please people so they’ll like him, while Chika has the opposite problem in that he acts like he doesn’t care what people think of him.

but now Yuni is able to take a stand for his interest in volleyball and for Chika, and while Chika doesn’t really soften and still has a problem with not realizing how harsh he could be, he’s more willing to communicate his thoughts.

• what makes me happy about them:

boys reuniting! relearning how to have a relationship with one another! learning from past mistakes and trying to be better people together! HELL YEAH

• what makes me sad about them:

boys, please use your words to communicate with each other...

also, from Yuni’s perspective, it’s kinda sad when someone you used to know really well comes back into your life, but they’ve changed so much that they are essentially a different person... but of course they have a new opportunity to become closer now 😉 so i’m not that sad about it

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

... there are fanworks for them?????????

(on a more serious note, erasing their flaws to make them more likable... please don’t make Chika ‘secretly nice’ or whatever, the kid is blunt as hell, and not realizing how his words affect others is his biggest flaw. on the other hand, Yuni can still be a little spineless at times, and sometimes his priorities are. questionable.)

• things I look for in art/fic:

hm, i’d like a future fic about them as professional players! i think their inclination is to stick together (they’re a package deal!) but it’d be super interesting to read something where they’re on rival teams years down the line

EDIT: haha Chika actually transferred to Keisei High School after their first Spring Tournament, so he and Yuni have faced each other as rivals since then (2.43 next 4years). they’re go to the same university and are on the same team now though!

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

uh i don’t really have specific people for this, but Chika would probably have to be with someone who understands his love of volleyball (like Oda, but if Oda wasn’t their team captain and thus too much of a dad friend to qualify as a romantic interest), and someone who can inspire Yuni would be good for him

also, i know who i’d NOT be comfy about: the first book (and anime i guess) had this weird tension between Itoko and Yuni, COUSINS who BASICALLY GREW UP TOGETHER. i think(?) their weird whatever was mostly dropped in the 2nd book and wasn’t really made explicit, but like. what the hell. (i have no idea what happens beyond the 2nd book.)

• my happily ever after for them:

the YuniChika in college arc is being serialized rn, so in a way that’s already fulfilled? (i have NO idea what’s going on tho)

in general i just hope they can play volleyball together until one or both decide not to, for whatever reason, and that they stay in each other’s lives and support each other even after they’ve retired from competitive volleyball. i think with Yuni’s personality he could be a good coach after getting more experience, and Chika... he’s really valuable as a strategist, but I think he’d always be a little brusque, so he’s respected but hard to bond with if he does take on coaching?

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

bold of you to assume Chika even cares about sex

anyway, they don’t go to movies for a romantic date night, they go watch volleyball matches. sometimes this backfires when Chika gets too frustrated at bad plays tho

and of course i will never pass up an opportunity to talk about Oda/Aoki, the main guys of my heart (my OTP for this series tbh):

• when or if I started shipping it:

they pinged on my radar when they were bickering in Ibara’s chapter, but i wasn’t super duper invested... and then I got to The Dog’s Perspective and the Giraffe’s Perspective (specifically The Kick™) and oh god i’ve never fallen so fast

• my thoughts:

GOD WOW Aoki really loves Oda... even though objectively Oda’s height prevents him from being a super ace, he is the coolest, strongest super ace to Aoki. i think it’s beautiful that someone can see you as your best self even when you’re feeling shitty about yourself. Aoki knows that objectively Oda faces a lot of obstacles, and wants to support him as best as he can—not out of pity (pity would’ve burned out long ago), but because he really respects Oda’s passion and drive.

also, these two have unaddressed issues that they should talk about! Oda, i know you feel inferior but you are so much better than you think you are. please accept that Aoki really does respect you, and that you are worthy of it (or like, you don’t have to be ‘’’worthy’’’’ or ‘’’’’’deserving’’’’’’’’’’ of it, because it is Aoki’s choice to support you and play volleyball with you!!! it’s not something you gotta earn, it’s something freely and happily given to you)

(ahhhhhh i die when i think of them)

• what makes me happy about them:

gosh i love their dynamic SO MUCH! Oda is exactly my type of character (passionate, determined, knowing that he can never be the best at what he’s passionate about due to factors he cannot control, trying to be kind and gracious but struggling with feelings of inferiority and jealousy, thinks of himself as a selfish person, a supporting character...) and Aoki’s devotion is really touching.

again: even when you feel like crap about yourself, there’s someone out there who thinks you’re the best thing that happened to them.

there’s also the fact that Oda thinks the world of Aoki as well (to the point of feeling inferior, which is like... c’mon Oda :/ you are better than you think you are!) he trusts Aoki a lot, despite knowing his willingness to engage in, uh, underhanded methods

• what makes me sad about them:

it’s their last year together, and they’d be approaching a new phase of their lives in different places... although Aoki offered to lower his rankings so they’d go to the same university, realistically they’ll go to different colleges, and most likely end up in different prefectures. (like, not only do i think it’s a Terrible Idea to give up your dream school so that you could stay with someone else, there is no way Oda would accept the offer without being crushed by guilt. something like that would actually ruin their relationship, which i think Aoki knows as well.)

there’s also a lot left unsaid between them at this point and i just want them to lay everything out between them and move forward together

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

the fact that there’s NONE >:[ what does a gal have to do to get some content for them???????

• things I look for in art/fic:

at this point anything is fine.... it’s a desert out there and i’m dying

more specifically i’m Extremely Down for a get together fic; i personally only see them getting together after high school, at least several months (or even longer) studying in different prefectures and no longer able to see each other every day. (i mean... absence makes the heart grow fonder right?)

i’d also love to see Oda using Aoki’s first name, considering Aoki calls him “Shin” and all. Oda managing to surprise/fluster Aoki would be nice too.

EDIT: they’re both in the Kansai region (2.43 next 4years prologue). Oda’s revealed to be studying in Osaka, and assuming Aoki got into KyoDai, they should be around 2 hours away from each other by train? so visiting each other over short breaks would be cute! also, apparently Oda took a gap year before going to Osaka (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2), so something set during that time would also be awesome :V

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

hm... if i had to imagine people well-suited to them, i’d say Aoki’s type is people who are straightforwardly passionate about their interests (Oda hooked him with his unbridled love of volleyball way back in their first year of high school after all), and I think Oda probably needs someone who is willing to indulge him a little (like Chika he can be pretty dang determined about what he wants, though without the single-minded intensity at the expense of everything else)

... this is just a roundabout way of saying i think they’re ideal for each other, especially if they resolve the problem of hiding things from the other

• my happily ever after for them:

they get careers/hobbies they enjoy, and get a place together as boyfriends/husbands. no i will not hear any criticism of this idea

i can see Aoki working in the private sector (this guy is fine with ‘joking’ about blackmail after all!) after getting his law degree. this is super self-indulgent, but given his penchant of rooting for passionate but objectively disadvantaged entities, i think it’d be pretty awesome if he works for a smaller company that truly believes in their work, instead of working at a big firm pulling in big bucks.

while I’m not sure what Oda is canonically studying, I can see him going into sports education or sports therapy—i think he’d be really good at nurturing the talents of other athletes, and he’s good at rallying the team (Aoki pretty much says he’s the heart of the team in the epilogue of the first book, though Aoki’s kiiinda biased lol). i think it’d be really cute if Oda coaches a grade school team!

neither plays volleyball competitively after high school, but sometimes they watch matches for fun (esp if their ex-teammates are playing). Oda also makes Aoki come to his students’ matches if he doesn’t have work

EDIT: apparently Oda continues competing as a wing spiker in college, playing in Kaisai’s 2nd Collegiate Division (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2)—Aoki probably watches his matches, even when he’s busy (and Oda probably chides him for neglecting his work, but they both know Aoki can manage his workload).

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

hm... idk, i think they’re the kind of couple who are cool with just chilling with each other doing their own work. like, Oda planning strategies for the kids he’s coaching while Aoki reads next to him, occasionally glancing over to make comments, stuff like that

also since Oda says they mostly talked about volleyball during high school, I can kinda see them finding something new they both enjoy after they get together? Maybe shounen manga, for something fun

#2.43 #2.43 anime #2.43 seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #yunichika #odaoki #replies

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wicked-mind · 3 years

Text

Fire and Gasoline

Summary: Break-ups are hard. Especially when the cause of the break-up is the man of your dreams cheating on you. But what’s even worse… You both still love each other.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Cheating, unreciprocated kiss, swearing, drinking.

All Writings Masterlist

Fire and Gasoline - Alternate Ending

As always, any likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated (: I love that shit.

*gifs not mine

Bucky shrugs, folding his arms, “You could say that.” He muttered out with a frown as he leaned against his doorframe, “Saw her kissin’ that punk, Nick, yesterday.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, “Didn’t need to,” He snapped back, “Saw the whole thing.”

Natasha was walking by the door when she noticed Bucky sitting on what used to be Y/N’s bed, “What’re you doing, Barnes?” She asks, folding her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t.” Y/N said, looking up to try her best to glare daggers at him. The brim of her eyes started to fill up with tears at the familiar pet-name, “Don’t call me that.”

Bucky flinched at the words, feeling his heart break a little more than it already was, “Y/N we need to talk about what happened.” He said, staying standing by the closed door.

“I’m sorry…” Bucky said softly to her. Nobody had told her, she had walked in on him during the deed and that must’ve hurt her so much more. the guilt inside of him bubbled up more, “I was coming down to your lab to give you some coffee… I saw Nick kiss you and-“

That promise was kept. Bucky stayed at the Seattle facility, spending his time trying to do little things to make Y/N happy. He kept his distance but always had fresh flowers delivered to her office as well as her favorite coffee waiting for her every morning. He wanted to show her he cared but didn’t want to smother her when the pain was still written across her face. Sometimes he would walk down the hallway in the living quarters passed her door and hear her muffled crying into the pillow, knowing he was the cause of it. He wished more than anything he could just walk into her room and comfort her, hold her close and apologize profusely for the pain he was causing her. But he knew that right now she wasn’t his to hold.

Y/N had talked to Natasha about the situation after Bucky came to see her. She told Natasha how heartbroken she was and that she still loved Bucky but didn’t know how to get passed what had happened. She didn’t know how to forgive him. Natasha had told her it takes time to heal and maybe one day she would be healed enough to give it another chance.

It wasn’t until two months later when the facility had its grand opening that Bucky couldn’t keep his distance from her any longer. Y/N looked beautiful. Her hair was curled and swept to one side of her neck and she wore a long red dress with matching red lipstick. Bucky watched her walk around making conversation, bringing a champagne glass to her lips as she smiled and talked. He kept himself at the bar, ordering whiskey after whiskey as he watched her. He sat up as he noticed her making her way to the bar, running his hands over his clothes and through his hair to make himself look more presentable and put together.

Y/N smiled at the bartender, passing him her empty champagne glass. He asked if she wanted a refill and she shook her head at him with a smile, “No, I think I’m going to need something a little stronger. Let’s do…. Whiskey.” She said with a smile.

The bartender chuckled and shook his head, “Sorry miss, the gentleman over there just drank the last of it.” He said, nodding over to Bucky.

Y/N looked over at him, her smile fading a little but still on her lips. God he looked so good in a suite. Her stomach was fluttering with butterflies with the way he was looking at her with a small grin on his lips. She bit her lip at him before turning to the bartender, “We’ll just go with tequila.” She said and watched the bartender pour a little into the glass, “You better just keep filling that up or leave the bottle.” The bartender raised an eyebrow at her but left the bottle by the glass before going to help other guests. She took a seat at the bar a few seats away from Bucky, picking up the glass and bringing it to her lips and swallowed some of the liquid, her nose scrunching as it burned her throat.

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at her nose scrunch. It was one of the small things he loved about her. Y/N didn’t drink hard liquor very often but when she did, she always made that little face with a nose scrunch. He knew after a few drinks of the tequila she would be stumbling over her heels so he decided to keep an eye on her. Bucky stood from his seat and moved to sit by her, “Do you wanna switch?” He asks, holding his half filled whiskey glass over to her.

Y/N looked over to him then to the whiskey before back to him and shook her head, “Oh no. I know you don’t like tequila.” She said with a small smile before taking another small sip from her own glass.

“I’d drink it for you though.” Bucky said with a smirk towards her before watching her take another sip, “Suit yourself, doll. You’re not going to be making it very far in those heels after that.”

Y/N looked at him and chuckles softly. He knew her too well. A few more drinks of the tequila and she would have to manage to stumble herself to bed before she was up dancing on the bar, “I’ll manage, thank you.”

Bucky nodded, taking a drink of his whiskey and keeping his eyes on her, “How do you like Seattle?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going. This is the longest he had been able to get her to talk to him since he’s been staying here.

Bucky smiled as he listened to her. Y/N’s voice was like music to his ears, “Yeah, you never did well with the cold.” He said before downing the rest of his whiskey in his glass.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply but shut it quickly. She was about to tell him it was okay because she always had him as her personal heater but he wasn’t her’s anymore and she wasn’t his, “Yeah…” She murmurs out instead, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a large swallow, “How are you liking Seattle?”

Bucky shrugs a little, keeping his eyes on her, “It’s where you are and anywhere you are is perfect to me.” He replied honestly.

Y/N looked over to him at his words, a smile coming across her lips as her stomach started to flutter with those damn butterflies again, “You know, I think there’s a personal stash of whiskey upstairs in the kitchen.” She said to him, “And I much rather drink that than this tequila. Plus it’s closer to bed so I won’t have to stumble and fall in front of all these people.”

Bucky beamed and sat up a little straighter, “You don’t have to ask me twice.” He said, standing up and starting to follow her towards the elevators. His own butterflies were in his stomach as he stood beside her in the elevator silently, not knowing what to say. Once they reached the correct floor, he let her lead the way to the kitchen and watched her open numerous cupboards before making an “Ah Ha!” noise and placing the unopened bottle of whiskey in front of him. Bucky bit his bottom lip when she turned away and grabbed out two glasses for them, looking her up and down slowly at what used to be his to touch. His eyes went back to Y/N’s face when she turned around to face him, “Thank you, doll.” He said, reaching and grabbing the bottle of whiskey and pouring the amber liquid into the two glasses.

Y/N smiled and picks her’s up, standing across the island from him, “Cheers.” She said, clinking her glass to his before taking a sip of the whiskey, her nose scrunching at the new burn in her throat from the new alcohol, “Yeah.. That’s much better.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh slightly at her words, “Yeah, looks like it went down your throat like honey.” He joked, bringing his own glass to his lips and taking a gulp of it, “You better keep a slow pace, darlin’ otherwise I’m gonna have to carry you to bed.”

Y/N looked at him, biting her lip at his words. She looked down at her glass before back up to him, meeting his gaze from under her long eyelashes, “That wouldn’t be the worst thing.” She replied softly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her with a grin on his lips. This was progress. This was the Y/N he knew. The Y/N he fell in love with and he could tell by the way he was looking at him that she was falling for him again. He stood up and walked around the counter slowly to look down at her, his eyes scanning her face, “You mean that, sweetheart?”

Y/N shrugs slightly with a smile up to him, “I do.” She told him before looking down at the ground, “You’ve been really patient with me, very kind. Leaving me my favorite flowers and coffee…” She paused and let out a deep breath, “I still love you.”

Bucky placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, “And I still love you, Y/N.” He told her, “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I was so stupid to do that. To lose you.”

Y/N looked at him, seeing the honesty in his eyes of how sorry he really was for had happened, “You mean that?” Bucky nodded to her, moving his hand from her chin to stroke along her cheek gently, “I do, babydoll.” He told her, “I regret it more than anything I have ever done in my life and I have a long list of regrets but what I did to you is at the top of my list. I would never hurt you like that again. I promise.” He watched her bite her bottom lip gently again, knowing he was having her hooked with every honest word that left his mouth, “I love you more than anything, Y/N. I won’t ever hurt you again.”

Y/N smiled gently at his words before nodding slightly, “Okay.” She whispers to him.

“Okay?” Bucky asks, tilting his head, “Like… ‘Okay, let’s give it another chance or…?”

Y/N’s eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips before taking a deep breath and leaning up to kiss him gently. She felt Bucky’s hand on her face move to the back of her neck, pulling her in for a deeper kiss while his other went to her waist. His lips were soft, even more intoxicating than the alcohol. She pulled away slowly and looked up at him, her face still so close to his as she took a few deep breathes before speaking, “Just don’t hurt me again… please.”

“I could never hurt you ever again, sweetheart.” Bucky whispered to her, moving his hand from behind her neck to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

_____________________________________________________________

Permanent Taglist: @buckypops @stcrryslibrary @bibliophilewednesday

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot

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dancedelion · 4 years

Text

Lover’s Lament

Genre: fluff Word Count: 2575 Summary: "What's it like to be in love?" "Don't." *** Jaskier and Geralt attend a wedding. ao3: Lover’s Lament Jaskier writes lover's laments - A long time ago, Jaskier wondered, is it an analytic truth that one must love to love? Is a feeling of reverence implied in soft touches, in shining eyes? Is happiness integral to a kiss?

And now he weeps into his pillow.

And now he feels his heart ache like a sore spot in his body.

Oh, how he loves to love. (How he loves picking himself up and piecing himself back together like patchwork never in the right order never how it was before never whole) (And never is like a string around his neck pulling tight, he is held up by rope of almosts.) Sweetheart, only masochists love love. What a brave fool you must be to walk onto a battlefield with no weapons and no shield.

But who needs weapons when you have a witcher in front of you by your side at your back -

(And there is nothing that could make you think he is your enemy, not even feeling the blade of his sword against your neck, not even when it stars to pierce your skin, if only slightly – even then, don't I still love your breath in my neck?)

Sometimes it hurts, but Jaskier can't stop writing a lament, when Geralt is with him and when he is not, this is his routine, what he knows -

Love hurts.

***

Everything is going according to routine - Geralt is fighting a monster, then killing a monster, then he returns to the tavern, goes upstairs to change out of his armor - until Jaskier bursts into the room and blurts: “A wedding!”

“What?” “We've been invited to a wedding!” Jaskier waves his hands around in a flourish. “You mean, you've been invited to a wedding.” “Nope! Both of us.” Geralt contemplates this for a moment. Jaskier bringing everything out of order and mixing everything up is according to routine. “Why would anyone invite me to their wedding? I'm a witcher.” “And what a witcher! Impressive swords, impressive... muscles. Who wouldn't be blown away?”

Geralt mutely shakes his head.

“Okay, I'll admit,” Jaskier amends, “from a certain point of view, that might seem a tiny bit threatening.”

“So what endeared them to me? The friendly smile?”

“The fact that you saved their village and now they don't have to live in constant panic and fear anymore! The wedding can finally happen! In a way, you've birthed this wedding. As the father, it's your responsibility, no, your duty even, to attend.”

“Hm,” Geralt says. “Sure it's not just your incessant guilt tripping that's forcing me to attend?”

“I'd like to think it was my irresistible charm,” Jaskier flashes a smile. “Or because I annoyed you into it. That is a skill, I'll have you know. One I intend to perfect!”

“Believe me, you're already pretty good at it.”

“Oh, Geralt, stop, you'll make me blush.”

Geralt smirks and watches as Jaskier wanders the room.

“What a feat.”

“Hey! I do not blush easy.”

Overcome by a strange feeling, Geralt has to avert his eyes.

“So who's the happy couple?” Geralt busies himself with putting away his swords and folding the armor.

“Farmer's son and smith's daughter. It's properly romantic. We can not miss out on this! I can smell love in the air!”

Geralt turns his head. It's strangely hard to keep the smile in. “I'm pretty sure that's your perfume.”

“Fine, be grumpy, work it off. You've already agreed to this.” “I have?” “Come on, Geralt. Don't even pretend you can say no to me.”

Geralt shakes his head in amusement. (He doesn't say no.)

*** “I look ridiculous.” “You look dashing.”

“I look like a peacock.” “You look like a dashing peacock, witcher, pay attention.” Jaskier has gotten him a doublet – Melitele knows from where – and Geralt is sure it must be at least one size too small.

“I wear black,” Geralt tries to argue.

“Not today you're not. This is a wedding, not a funeral. Can't go around spreading gloom and bringing everyone down.”

“If they don't want that, then they shouldn't invite a witcher to their celebration.”

“That's not fair, they only got one quick look at you and you looked like exceptional, truly excellent company when you walked in from the hunt covered in blood.”

“Oh, when you put it like that.” Geralt rolls his eyes, worried the effect might be slightly undermined by the outfit. It looks like the outfit of someone who doesn't mind having eyes on him, someone who values looks over practicality, someone delicate and pretty – someone like Jaskier.

“Stop this,” Jaskier says and gestures in Geralt's direction. “Stop what?” “Your general grumpiness and pessimism. Think of it as going undercover. Here's your new role: You're going to pretend to be a normal person.”

“Hm. Like a human.”

“Exactly! It'll be fun.”

Geralt scrutinizes himself in the mirror, tries to think away the white hair and the yellow eyes. It doesn't quite work. Normal human, not so much, but maybe he could pretend to be a strange human.

*** They're in the back of the church. Geralt is on a mission. He has already calculated seven different escape routes.

“Stop glowering,” Jaskier whispers over to him. “I don't glower,” Geralt answers, “I just... observe.”

“You observe gloomily. You're unsettling the flower children.”

There's a boy three rows in front of them staring at them. Geralt tries to smooth out his expression a little. What would human Geralt do?

“Oh, that's a wonderful flower arrangement. Look at her, that dress is so beautiful.” Jaskier continues gushing compliments about the decorations. Geralt follows after Jaskier's descriptions with his eyes. It's simple, they can't afford much, but suddenly Geralt finds himself admiring the carnations tied to the benches. Nearly the whole village is assembled, chattering among themselves and laughing. The children are playing tag along the corridor. It's their faces though – creases in the corners of their eyes, like a whole face pulled apart by a smile.

Geralt is too big here, the seat is too small, the doublet is too small, he just doesn't fit -

There is no use in pretending he is human, he is not human, he could never exist in a space like this, he ruins moments like this. A wedding. What was he thinking? Listening to Jaskier, with the bad ideas that always get them in trouble? Inevitably some monster is going to burst in, or a brawl is going to break out, and somehow, how ever, it will be Geralt's fault. Who invites a witcher to a wedding?

“Geralt?”

Only someone who's scared of something worse. Geralt's not stupid, people always have an agenda, he knows this. He won't let himself be fooled by Jaskier's endless optimism. Just because he has let a human too close doesn't mean he is one, never will be again.

“I should have brought a sword,” Geralt mumbles.

“A sword? At a wedding? Are you crazy? Why, you mean the second row on the left? That's not a water hag, that's the groom's great aunt.”

Geralt snorts, but quickly grows serious again. “I have a bad feeling about this.” “You have bad feelings about everything, it's called being a paranoid bastard,” Jaskier says jokingly, “come on, relax a little. Have fun!”

Geralt has been to some weddings before and those had always been noble families and political marriages. This is... different. Strange.

The church quiets down and the ceremony begins. Geralt holds himself completely still, which is stupid – like that will somehow turn him invisible. The groom is a young man, barely out of childhood. He looks lost in front of the priest, scared even. But his face lights up completely when the bride steps in, wearing a blue dress, the best the family could afford. Geralt is dumbstruck at the unbridled joy in his eyes.

(If he were human, would he fall in love?) When they speak their vows – words of love and gentle promises – the bride starts crying and then so does the groom. They stumble forward, like the happiness pulled them together, and kiss, so enthusiastic in it that it turns clumsy and they pull apart again with a laugh.

(Could he kiss someone like that?) A sniff next to him startles Geralt out of his stupor.

“Are you crying?” Geralt glances at Jaskier sideways, who tries to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. “...no.” “Yes, you are.”

“Fine! Yes. I'm crying. It's a wedding, everyone cries at weddings.” “Look around. No one is crying except for you.” “They're crying!” Jaskier points at the couple.

Geralt watches them, talking with a few older people, maybe their parents, all the while holding hands. “They're in love.”

Jaskier looks away.

(Could Jaskier love him, if he were human?)

*** At the reception, everyone is giddy from relief to be rid of the monster that was terrorizing the village and giddy from the joy of the wedding. People are eating at the benches outside of the church and when it turns dark, they start a fire.

He can tell Jaskier is a little intoxicated by the way he leans into Geralt.

“Geraaalt,” Jaskier sings, “I love this song.” “Not gonna complain that they didn't ask you to play?” “Not today.” Jaskier smiles a little. “You know I don't ask you for much, right? So can you just – can we just -” “What?” “Dance with me?” He leans into Geralt more and he's so close, Geralt's head gets dizzy.

“You can barely stand.” “Shut up, I'm not that drunk.”

And there is something about that night that makes Geralt believe in things he knows to be impossible, because he doesn't put up a fight and instead holds out a hand to Jaskier, like a nonsensical offer. Jaskier grabs his hand immediately and Geralt catches him by the hip and he lets himself touch. They are on the outskirts of the celebration, a small distance away. Geralt leads Jaskier slowly and suddenly gets unreasonably worried that Jaskier will hear his heartbeat. (Jaskier probably can't even hear the crickets in the field, there is nothing to be worried about.)

But he can't get the couple out of his mind and that kiss and what if he were human, somewhere in another universe -

“Jaskier?” “Hm?” “What's it like to be in love?”

Jaskier steps away from him abruptly, with a harsh intake of breath.

“Don't.”

*** Jaskier feels faint, his eyes becoming unfocused, then focused and unfocused again. They don't talk about this. It's like a rule, or maybe a courtesy, or a secret, how ever unspoken truths can be secrets. (My hand home in your hand. My house in your house. My lips in your lips. My dreams the color of your eyes. My heart beating to your song.) Jaskier has never tried to hide this, couldn't if he wanted to because this feeling is too big to hold in and he's always known that Geralt knows but they don't talk about it, because it would be embarrassing, because it would hurt.

Jaskier sways back a little. We don't do this.

(Have you ever stood on the edge of a cliff and had a strange desire to throw yourself off of it? Have you ever seen a butterfly and wanted to catch it, keep it in your hands?)

Jaskier doesn't understand, because Geralt is never cruel, not like this, so he looks up and sees confusion in Geralt's eyes.

“Don't you know,” Jaskier chokes out.

(What is love? A heart beat going too quickly? Elated eyes? A rush of joy in the human body? If that's what you think, dear, you have no idea.) “Witchers don't -” “Don't start with that.” “I – I don't -” Geralt starts.

“I don't believe that.”

It's Geralt, after all. Never understanding feelings, but always having so many of them.

“Tell me.” “I can't.”

“What? Can't find the words?” Jaskier presses his lips together.

“Can't find the courage,” he admits quietly. (Imagine a storm raging through my mind and the storm is just you, you, you. Everywhere, just you. Imagine a room full of mirrors and not being able to see yourself in a single one of them.)

“So you have been in love?” Geralt asks.

“What kind of question is that?” “Right, right. You fall in love with everyone.”

“Don't tell me you don't know,” Jaskier says, astounded. “You idiot. You moron. You complete imbecile.” Maybe some truths need to be spoken. Maybe it was more of a secret than Jaskier thought. And he could keep it to himself if he wanted to. He could leave the painful conversation to never. But how could he do that to Geralt who doesn't believe in being loved? Exposing yourself to love, exposing love – like laying bare fear and dreams and hope – maybe pain is integral to love, in a good way, but also in the worst way -

“Do you even know how many times I've come back to you? Every spring?” “We meet out of coincidence -” “What, you think we met all these times by hazard and you still don't believe in destiny?” Typical Geralt, trying to find some ridiculous explanation in everything rather than accept simple truths.

“Things don't just happen just because you hope for them,” Geralt says somberly. Hope for them? Hope for Jaskier's return? And isn't that ridiculous, because Jaskier always returns.

“Look, Geralt, I don't know if it's because you're really not emotionally intelligent or because you don't want to see it, but I think it's pretty clear that I love you.” Geralt's mouth drops open. He stares at Jaskier wide-eyed. Jaskier watches him with his heart in his throat and Jaskier would lose his nerve if it weren't for Geralt taking a small step toward him.

“Let me show you -” he says. Maybe it's not just him, maybe it's a thing, like him and Geralt, a them thing -

He reaches for Geralt's palm and presses his lips to it. He gets a small sigh as an answer and it tells Jaskier all he needs to know. He whispers a lament against his skin. Then he takes Geralt's hand in his and presses both of them against his chest.

It feels like the future is bright, bright, bright, like maybe they can have this, maybe they can love each other like humans do.

(Love is, I'm here. When you need me and when you don't know that you need me and when you don't need me. Love is, I'm waiting for you to catch up at the end of the road. Even when I can see you in the distance walking in the opposite direction.)

They dance together under the stars and Jaskier leads them, like come here, come here, let me show you the way – and Geralt does, like I'll follow you wherever you go, like stepping into gentleness, so close, like we are sharing oxygen like we are sharing a life like a sweet light little melody that is nothing like a lament and everything like joy.

#geraskier fic #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #geralt x jaskier

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pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

Help Me Understand

Word Count: 2k-ish Pairing: Dean x Lisa, Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst, cursing, mutual pining, cheating

A/N: Hey, ya’ll! Long time, no fic, amirite? Anyway - I’m back again, though you may wish I’d just stayed away. ;) This was written for @rockhoochie’s Love Supernatural Style challenge. My prompt was “Maybe I’m Amazed” by Paul McCartney and Wings (x). Congrats on your milestone! This takes place around Season 6.

Beta’d by the always lovely and very talented @shy-violet-soul. Thanks for the love and support, sweet cheeks! *hugs*

Help Me Understand

Another night, another hunt, another smug smile from the green eyed man seated across the room from me. It’s not aimed at me; not this time anyway. No, that smile - that toothy, eye-crinkling, “light up the room” smile - it’s for her. I scoff, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking a swig, desperate to look anywhere but at his arm, curled possessively around her shoulders, or his lips as he brushes them gently against her temple.

I wish I could make myself leave; walk away and have literally anything else to look at besides them. But if I do, it would raise questions I’m not ready or willing to answer. It’s easier to stay here, glued to this seat, pretending to celebrate the end of a long-ass hunt than face the fallout of my abrupt departure.

Her laugh is bright - throaty and full of joy - as Dean whispers in her ear, her fingers fisting in the front of his shirt and her head thrown back.

I have no right to feel the stab of jealousy as it twists into my side, steals the air from my lungs, burns at the back of my eyes. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s quickly paired with a gut wrenching, nauseating pang of guilt. The feelings aren’t new - haven’t been for longer than I care to admit. But their intensity hasn’t lessened over time.

I focus my attention on the flimsy, brightly colored coaster protecting the already blemished wood of the table from the condensation dripping down my beer bottle.

I can feel it. I don’t know how, but I can and I know if I look up, I’ll find a pair of moss colored eyes focused on me, despite the girl tucked under his arm.

There was a time when the pull of his gaze felt too heavy to ignore, or maybe I was just unwilling to try. This pain, though - it’s hardened my resolve; the constant friction has calloused a part of me. These days, I’ve found I can refuse him the satisfaction of direct eye contact, though I can’t be sure how much is out of self-preservation and how much is full-on, unbridled bitterness.

I wish I could say it wasn’t always this way; that the years of working together had formed this indelible bond between us. But it was there from the moment we met. The memory of that day is so vivid in my mind, I can practically feel the sizzle of electricity between us as our hands touched the first time. I may not have known the exact road that lay ahead, but I could read the road signs enough to know that things could only end one way.

Our interactions were largely professional at first. He’d call, asking for some help on a case - sometimes vice versa - both of us eager to help the other. We’d talk about the victims, the M.O., lore, but even then, the tension was there, bubbling under the surface but neither of us addressed it. In fact, there were a multitude of things left unsaid between Dean and I.

One night, a few months back, I’d mentioned the possibility of getting out of this life; trying to find some semblance of normalcy. He’d nodded as he listened, the cold air of the evening enveloping us as we sat on the hood of his Impala. Despite the dark, I could make out the way his throat convulsed as the moon reflected the shine of unshed tears in his eyes.

That was the closest we’ve gotten to addressing the elephant in the room. As the conversation drifted on to other things - Sam, the Campbells, her - he stopped, sucking in a breath and looking away from me.

“Life is weird,” he began, his breath hanging in the air. He licked his lips, eyes cast downward. “It’s like, ya know, you’ll never see yourself the way I see you. Your voice sounds completely different to me than it does to your own ears.”

Silence followed.

What could I say? Maybe it was just a brief moment of introspection, but it felt heavy.

Something had shifted then. He started calling me late at night - sometimes short conversations about the mundane, sometimes lengthy discussions about what was going on with Sam. I think he felt lost; alone. Finding out Sam’s soul was gone broke part of him, and there was only so much he could talk about with Lisa. She wasn’t raised in this life. He needed someone who understood, but someone who could provide an objective opinion. I guess that someone was me.

Lisa’s laugh carries across the room again. Glancing up, I watch as she stands, shaking her head and grabbing empty beer bottles in each hand. Just as she starts toward the bar, Dean’s hand shoots out, gripping her wrist and pulling her down for a quick kiss. She giggles when Dean slaps her ass playfully as she walks away.

Before I can look away, his eyes lock on mine. As much as I want to ignore the tingle running down my spine at the pleading expression on his face, I can’t. And that’s what propels me to my feet, the chair creaking backward abruptly and me knee banging on the underside of the table. My nearly empty beer bottle wobbles precariously before tipping over completely, the remaining liquid splashing against my thigh. Gathering my coat and purse, I reach inside to grab a few crumpled bills and throw them on the table. I don’t look back as I make my way to the exit, but hearing the sound of shuffling behind me hastens my steps. I’m desperate to feel the kiss of winter air against my flushed skin.

“Y/n.” Dean’s voice is muffled as the front door swings back in place behind me. Maybe it hit him in the face.

I rifle blindly through the contents of my purse, anxious to find my keys somewhere in the mess. Just as my fingers close on the metallic ring, a hand grips my arm, halting my steps.

“Y/n?” Dean sounds slightly breathless.

Though I’ve stopped, I haven’t turned around and frankly, I don’t plan to. As though he realizes this, his grip tightens as he pulls me around to face him.

Lines of worry and confusion furrow his brow and his lips are pressed together in a harsh line as he searches my face.

He tries again, his voice low. “Y/n. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just getting late.” A carefully practiced smile curves my lips as I gently pull my arm from his hold. “I think I hear my bed calling my name. Goodnight Dean.”

“Y/n, wait. Please?” The pleading look I’d seen from him inside seems to have found a voice, the words thick on his tongue.

“What?” My response is more clipped than I mean for it to sound. Sighing, I try again. “What do you need, Dean.”

His mouth moves silently, stopping and starting as though he’s weighing his answer carefully. The muscle in his jaw flexes under his scruffed cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so soft, I wonder for a moment if I’d imagined them, but the look in his eyes shows me I didn’t.

“Sorry for what?” I try for oblivious, but it just sounds tired.

The dull roar of the bar behind him echoes around us, and Dean looks back to find two men stumbling out of the building toward the patio, probably to smoke. Wordlessly, he pulls me behind a large dumpster and out of view from anyone coming out of the bar. The pleading look I’d seen before is back, his eyes flicking across my face as he steps closer.

My heart is beating violently inside my chest due to his proximity and his scent is overwhelming - beer and gunpowder mixed with something musky and clean. Then, it happens. It’s simultaneously the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life.

His lips are soft against mine and a stark contrast to the bristles of his beard against my cheek. It’s slow - not demanding, or full of fiery passion. A sigh passes from my lungs to his as he tilts his head to one side. I know it’s wrong. I know this is exactly what was never supposed to happen, but it is. It is, and there’s no point holding back now.

I flick the tip of my tongue against the crease of his lips, and he moans, opening up to me as he pulls me closer - one hand in my hair and the other in a crushing grip against my hip. He tastes like beer and home, and my heart aches at how right it feels and at the same time, so wrong.

The sob that bursts from my chest ends it and I pull back, dropping my gaze to the ground to hide the tears. Dean just pulls me against him, pressing my face against his chest and rubbing soothing circles against my back. He shudders, pressing his lips against my hair.

When I can finally catch my breath, I pull free and step back. He doesn’t try to stop me, just lets his hands drop to his sides, sighing.

“Why?”

It’s one word; three letters to try to unravel everything between us.

Dean pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

“I feel like these last few months, there’s been this thing,” he sighs, “between you and I. I don’t understand it. It’s like you’re the only person in the world who really sees me. Sometimes it feels incredible, and sometimes it’s so damn scary I can hardly breathe.”

When I don’t answer he scrubs a hand across his face, huffing out a breath.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he mutters.

“What about Lisa?” Dropping my gaze to the ground, I cross my arms tightly, trying to hold myself together against the crack in my chest. I don’t know whether he’s hurt or angry, but I can’t look at him as he scoffs.

“I love her.” His voice catches.

The crack in my chest deepens, and I curse myself as another sob breaks from my lungs.

“I can’t help it. I do.” Dean pauses, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at him. The sight of tears trailing down his cheeks catches my breath. “But I love you, too. And honestly, it terrifies the shit out of me. I know, it’s so goddamn selfish, but I can’t lose you.”

“Well, Dean. You can’t have it both ways,” my voice trembles, but I continue. “It’s not fair to me, and it’s sure as hell isn’t fair to her.”

“I know.” He releases my chin and rakes his hand through his hair, tugging violently on the short strands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

And there it is. The answer I always knew, but never wanted. It will never be me - at least not while she’s around; it can’t be. No good can come of me staying. I can’t be responsible for her heartbreak, no matter how shattered my own heart is and no matter how selfish I wish I could be. I straighten my shoulders and suck in a steadying breath.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

I don’t wait for a response before striding past him. The cacophony of the bar fills the night once again, and I know before I ever hear her voice.

“Dean? You out here?” It’s clear from her tone that she’s clueless, and I’m grateful for that, at least.

I wrench the door of my truck open, tossing everything across the seat before climbing inside and shutting the door. It’s fitting, I realize as I look up to see Dean striding to meet her. The door is finally closed for good and, despite the ache in my chest, I feel relief wash over me. Some doors are just better closed.

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