#boss yenn
Text
Pumpkin spice
Masterlist
Pairing: barista!Walter Marshall x librarian!reader
Summary: You finally manage to get a date with the handsome barista from your favorite coffeeshop.
Word count: 5.2k
Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), a cheesy (romantic) date, a short appearance of Mike The Idiot TM, awkwardness, a lot of coffee and abuse of a cable knit... I think that's it?
A/N: Another promise made to @deandoesthingstome. I swear this woman is responsible for half the stuff on my masterlist at this point. Credit for the other half goes to @geralts-yenn of course. This time, it was - of course - because I made the mistake of adding one of the - according to her - more attractive Henry-shaped men to the Coffee+Cats universe. Naturally, grumpy coffeeshop manager Walter needed a hug and some good head, and Charlie volunteered, so here we are.
What we're left with is a crazy crossover between the Coffee+Cats AU and the 179th Crescent Street AU, because this is - indeed, for the people who are familiar with Crescent Street - the librarian!reader from After Hours.
@ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss
The brooding man behind the counter has been getting on your nerves for weeks. His only crime is ‘getting your order right’, which shouldn’t even be all that surprising, because that’s his job – if it weren’t for the fact that he seems to know exactly what it’s going to be before you’ve even opened your mouth to speak.
“What can I do for you today?” He could look less godlike, maybe? Don’t say that. Or he could smell worse? Or that. Or he could not smile in a way that seemed to make the earth stop spinning. Very dramatic, also don’t say that.
“Ehh…” Brilliant. Someone should give you an award for that monologue. Shake it off. “Since when do I have to order for myself?”
Alright, you’ve made him chuckle – God, that’s a delicious sound – and look away. Now what? “I’m sorry,” he says, still avoiding your eyes, “I can’t read you today. But you seem annoyed enough with me to make me want to make whatever you’re going to order lukewarm in case I get it thrown in my face later.”
“That’s too bad,” you say, “I was really hoping to get a recommendation.” Because you only know what you want to order when you’re here for coffee. And you’re not here for coffee. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, why are you getting coffee today?” Son of a bitch! It’s a good thing the shop is slow right now, so you’re not holding anyone up with your… is it flirting? God, let it be flirting! No, definitely not flirting. Or maybe…?
“Maybe it’s not the coffee so much as the company,” you say shyly. Yeah, flirting. Qualitatively very poor flirting, but still. It stays quiet on the other side of the counter for a beat too long, which sends your anxiety through the roof.
“So, how about she has whatever you’re having when you go on your break in about... A minute and a half?” The voice belongs to Mike, the almost annoyingly upbeat barista you’ve seen around countless times. He’s responsible for at least half the college crowd that flocks to this place, because he’s a cutie. A little young, maybe, but he has a nice ass.
“I was going to go with a regular old espresso.” He smiles apologetically.
“You look like you could do with a double.” God, that’s a horrible line.
It’s Mike who ends up laughing. “He could do with way more than a double,” he snickers, shooing Walter away from the cash register. “Get out of here, or I’m getting you both pumpkin spice lattes.”
Walter shudders at the thought. He never struck you as the kind of guy who likes his coffee sweet, and you’re happy you’re right. At least… You think you’re right until you see the little twinkle in Mike’s eyes. Granted, that happens a lot, but never for nothing, and the little wink he throws your way suggests he knows his boss has a secret pumpkin spiced sweet tooth he doesn’t want the world to know about. So you pretend not to notice.
When you’re finally settled at a table, you talk for what feels like forever, your knees touching under the table. You’d expected him to move his leg out of the way when you first bumped into it accidentally, but he didn’t. Then, as your conversation went on, more and more of your legs got mixed up together.
“Walter?” For the love of God, why? “I hate to break up your date, but a whole sorority just walked in and I can’t do this by myself.”
“I’m on my break, Mike,” Walter grumbles in return, clearly not happy about the interruption. That’s a good sign, right?
“Your break, Mr. Manager, sir, ended forty-five minutes ago.” Mike would make a great wingman, if it weren’t for the fact that he seems a little keen to pat himself on the back for his efforts. “Give her your number and come do your job.” With a dramatic sigh, he walks back to where he’s supposed to be.
“I’m really sorry,” Walter says with an apologetic smile on his face. You shrug it off – it really doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even supposed to have spent the better part of the past hour with you – and slide your phone towards him.
A poetry reading in a – different – coffeeshop in town. That’s where he suggests you go. First, any man who is creative enough to come up with something other than ‘a drink’ or ‘dinner’ is worth a shot in your book, but when they’re of the dark, gloomy, burly variety; all the better. And no three-day-wait nonsense, either. He calls you right after his shift ends, and asks you to meet him in two hours.
It's barely a fifteen-minute walk from your apartment, which leaves you with plenty of time to complain quietly to yourself that an hour and forty-five minutes is not enough time to get dressed for a date, while getting dressed for your date. You manage with time to spare – five whole minutes – which you spend pensively checking out your outfit in every imaginable angle in the mirror on your bedroom door. You toy with the hem of the skirt you’re wearing, fondly remembering another time you put it on. You’re not one to kiss and tell, so only a few of your closest friends know the crudest of outlines to the story of your scandalous liaison in the university library – and the long night that followed. Not that you’re particularly happy that those same friends, to this day, still tease you about how you – a grown woman – let yourself get talked into a night in student housing with a guy just about so much younger than you that you really didn’t want to even begin doing the math, but you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything in the whole world.
One look at your watch tells you it was time to go, and with trembling hand you open the door of your apartment. It had been sheer, dumb luck that even got you this place in the first place. It's tiny – just the second floor of a beautiful old townhouse – and narrow, but it has a separate bedroom, which was all you could really wish for with your income, anyway. During this time of year, the street it was on looks like a picture; orange leaves bravely cling to the steadily baring branches of the trees, and litter the ground, making for the perfect autumn scene. The sight also never fails to make you more desperate than usual – even for you – for coffee.
You’ve always enjoyed the fall, including all its necessary trials and tribulations – slippery sidewalks that weren’t quite suited for folks with your level of coordination, the unannounced rain that mercilessly drenched you and your absolutely everything in the early morning so that the sleeves of your coat would be unbearably wet when you put it on later in the afternoon, the cold that had you shivering and covered in goosebumps more often than not, and your toes. Freezing. Always. On that front, living in an old, drafty apartment with less-than-efficient heating isn’t exactly your top choice. Oh well.
The coffeeshop is – as per your calculations – a little less than a fifteen-minute walk away from your place, and you dread being early. Getting there first. Waiting for him. Fortunately, when you round the corner, you see him standing outside. You happily note that he is standing there – again, outside – in nothing but a dark cable-knit sweater, jeans and sturdy shoes that are the most weather-appropriate part of his outfit as far as you’re concerned.
“Hello.” His blue eyes smile down on you, and you barely remember your own damn name. Was he always this tall? This big? This handsome? A nervous smile will have to serve as your answer, because you’re at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t seem to mind.
For a moment, you stand there, simply staring sheepishly into his eyes, until finally a drop of rain falls right on the tip of your nose, pulling you from your trance at once. “We should get inside,” you say softly.
Walter reaches an arm out. “After you,” he says with the same kind smile in his eyes. You pick a table in the corner, settling nicely on the comfortable couch, while Walter grabbed the two of you coffee.
“Pumpkin spice,” you chuckle when he returns with two identical steaming cups. He nods, a playful smile in his eyes, only. “Is Mike the only one who knows your secret?” Your nerves convince you that your shot at playful banter goes wide, until Walter sits down and chuckled.
“There’s, eh… There’s this woman,” he says softly. To your surprise, he doesn’t sit in the chair opposite you, but he joins you on the couch. As the café is filling up, another customer quickly confiscates the chair Walter isn’t using.
“Don’t worry, she won’t tell,” you say, your voice trembling as you briefly consider the possibility that he wasn’t referring to you.
When the reading ends, you linger until the shop closes – which isn’t too long after, but still, you find it comforting in the sense that you’re simply glad Walter doesn’t try to run as soon as he can. Outside, the rain has picked up, and if the autumn air was chilly before, now, it’s downright icy. Despite his lacking a jacket or coat, the cold doesn’t seem to bother Walter, and though the rain clearly does, he offers to walk you home – an offer, mind you, he’s not intent on allowing you to decline.
It would have been obvious to anyone just under half as nervous as you are, but neither of you seem to be in a hurry to get you home, despite the rain, both clearly dragging out the little time you both think is still left to this date. Until you reach your front door, that is, and you both look at each other.
“Do you want to come up for a drink?” Is that your voice? Your invitation? And is that him? Accepting your offer? Apparently it is, because he follows you in when you open the door. The stairs to your floor are almost too narrow for him, and he has to watch his head for that one ridge in the ceiling of the stairwell that you never look out for because you’re small enough to never have it bother you. “This is me,” you say nervously as you open the door and invite him into your place. He seems comically large in your tiny living room, and you barely manage to suppress a chuckle. “Coffee?”
“Please!” he says before he shivers visibly.
“Oh god! I’m so sorry,” you say as you realize – what you consider – your error. “I shouldn’t have… You must be wanting to get home and get out of your wet clothes, I…” A hand on your cheek and the heat that, despite being soaked through and through, radiates off his body cuts you off mid-apology.
“I wouldn’t mind getting out of these clothes,” he says slowly, his voice dark and husky in a way that makes your breath stick in the back of your throat for a moment, “but I don’t see a reason to wait until I get home to do that.” Without waiting for a response, he captures your lips in a scorching hot kiss that almost make you forget that both of you have wandered – slowly – through the pouring rain for nearly fifteen minutes.
Large hands gently tug your coat off your shoulders until a single move of your arms makes it drop to the floor, then they’re at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips are gentle, surprisingly soft, and his beard scratches against your cold skin. When you reach for his face, and your fingers connect with his skin, he inhales sharply.
“Are your hands made of ice?” he mumbles against your lips, his lips pulling away in a grin. He takes your hands away from his face, draping your arms around his neck instead, where you weave your fingers into his messy curls. They’re all but soaked from the rain, and part of you wants to offer him a towel, but another – much bigger – part of you swears it will die if not attached firmly to big, big man. Walter pulls you close, not expecting an answer to his question, and carefully slides his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. You do, and you allow yourself to be swept away by the gentle yet thorough way in which his tongue explores your mouth, dances with yours.
With near-greedy impatience, you push him back, towards the door of your bedroom, longing so desperately to feel more of this man than you currently are. ‘Stumble’ is an apt descriptor for the way you cross the threshold into your room. Here, too, he seems almost too large for the space – which is so small that from where he’s standing, he couldn’t fall in any direction without hitting a wall. Your bed covers the whole wall beneath the window, easily taking up half the space, with your wardrobe taking up most of what’s left. You might have fit another bookcase in there, if it weren’t for the fact that you prefer your bathroom door actually closes.
Without thinking, you reach for the hem of his sweater, your fingers purposely lingering on the skin beneath, which – despite being damp from the rain – still radiates heat. Under your touch, his grip on your waist tightens, and his abs twitch. There’s more muscle to him than you’d thought, and you find another pleasant surprise when you rake your fingers over his stomach. So pleasant, in fact, that you can’t suppress a soft chuckle. Nothing says ‘perfect fall hookup’ like a deliciously hairy man. Now, if only that damned – and dampened – sweater would come off, that would be so amazing…
Frustrated groans escape the both of you when the garment puts on more of a fight than any sweater has the right to, and as soon as it’s on the floor, Walter kicks it out of the room for good measure. Your hands eagerly travel the now-exposed skin of his chest and back, making him shiver and moan loudly as you drag a single fingernail softly down his spine. He captures your lips again, stringing you along into the depths of another scorching kiss, fingers working diligently to untuck your sweater from your skirt. A soft growl slips from his throat as he finishes his mission, only to encounter the fabric of the blouse you’re wearing underneath the sweater – you really do get cold easily. This time, he is far less friendly in his approach, pulling almost recklessly at the fabric that finds itself so rudely between your body and his greedy touch.
Your sweater meets a fate similar to his, and your hands make quick work of just enough buttons of your blouse that you can pull the thing over your head while his hands continue their exploration slightly further down, following the soft curve of your ass and pulling you closer to him as he goes. His mouth barely leaves yours – he alternates between using just the right amount of tongue, and nipping at or sucking on your bottom lip. Paired with his obviously horny impatience, it’s nothing short of divine.
You can’t wrap your head around how warm his hands feel on your skin, but the contrast with the chilly air of the room is both staggering and arousing. Not that Walter had thus far been unsuccessful in arousing you – quite the opposite, in fact. His lips move to your neck while his hands roam your back and sides, hesitant to grab more of you. What does he think you’re going to do? Object?
Your hands are already undoing his belt, eager to take the final pieces of wet fabric off him so you can finally seek the solace of your warm bed, and he lets you, kicking off his shoes while you struggle with the buckle. Finally, he takes over, taking care of the tricky metal contraption with one hand while staring directly into your eyes. It’s at that moment that you finally realize what all of this is doing to you…
The arrogant little smirk on his face while he licks his lips doesn’t help – the whole thing sends shivers down your spine and your body answers with a greedy throb between your thighs. You manage to kick your own boots off before Walter mercilessly tackles you to the bed. With a single, swift move, he rolls you both over, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs, his hands firmly on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with admirable determination. His face does a poor job of hiding the fact that he likes what he’s feeling.
When you bend over to press your lips to his again, you shriek in surprise as his hand disappears from its newfound playground and lands there again, only a moment later, with a firm smack. He shoots an apologetic look at you as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and you roll your hips against his by means of a faux-admonishment you’re nowhere near serious about. A man like that can manhandle the ever-loving fuck out of you every damn day. When he groans, your insides turn to jelly. In the heat of everything that’s been happening, you haven’t exactly been paying attention to what this has been doing to him, but that move of your hips makes you instantly aware of the very impressive erection you’re sitting right on top of. Another moan escapes him when you repeat the motion, his hands grabbing your ass tighter – nudging you, urging you to keep moving.
Suddenly, he sits up on the edge of the bed, keeping you in his lap, his hands finally moving underneath the fabric of your skirt. Walter moans again – appreciatively, this time – when his fingers explore the soft lace of your underwear. Then, he chuckles. “For someone who gets cold a lot…”
“Shut up,” you reprimand him before kissing him hard. The line between fun and functional is thin, and it wasn’t that you were expecting to end up in bed with this guy, but you sure as hell were hoping you would, and peeling off tights in the heat of the moment has proven disastrous on many occasions thus far. You shiver when he runs his hands up and down your thighs, lingering just above your knee, where his fingers toy with the hem of your thigh-high socks – an absolute requirement in your marginally successful attempt to not freeze to death – and you feel his cock twitch as he does. He likes them. Good.
Apparently, your smirk is too much for him, because he grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, and Walter hovers over you, diligently seeking out the most sensitive spots on your neck. He kisses a blazing hot trail down your chest, pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your waist. You can almost feel his gaze between your legs, and the way he licks his lips wrings a whimper from your lips. Seconds pass in which you anxiously wait for his reaction – a mocking grin, a victorious chuckle or a vicious smirk filled with pity – but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a hand on your thigh, creeping higher until you’re not sure if ‘thigh’ is still an appropriate label. His thumb softly trails the thin fabric between your legs. The smile that appears on his face isn’t mocking, cocky or challenging – it’s peaceful and almost grateful in a way you don’t quite understand.
“My turn to get you out of your soaking wet clothes.” It’s a joke, absolutely, but it’s a gentle one, just like his hands are when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and he slowly pulls them down.
You’re holding your breath. At first you don’t notice – it really isn’t until his hands slide up your thighs again and you suck in a desperate breath that you realize just how welcome the air is. He pushes your legs apart, settling comfortably between them before using his thumbs to spread your pussy wide. Insecurities plague your brain. You should feel exposed. Insecure. Uncomfortable.
You don’t.
Walter looks up at you with a question in his eyes, and you mouth a breathless answer to his unspoken query. Please. Carefully, he inches closer, until you feel the tickle of the coarse hair on his jaw against the sensitive skin of your thigh. You can see the shiver travel down his spine as he licks a single stripe through your folds, and you moan in unison. Almost immediately, your hand weaves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your center.
He's thorough, relentlessly lapping at your clit while you squirm in his arms, strong hands firmly pressed to the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open for him while he takes his time exploring you, tasting your arousal and learning what works for you. After some time, you notice he settles into a rhythm that might actually work for you, which – as you’re somewhat reluctant to admit, even to yourself – is a rather rare feat. Encouraged by the movement of your hips and the sounds you make, he continues on his mission, and before long your grip on his hair tightens and your squirming gets worse – so much worse, in fact, that he reaches around your thigh to steady your hips against his mouth.
Outside, the rain threatens to turn into a thunderstorm, and if you’d been in any position to notice the weather, you’d have been happy to be inside. As things are, you’re still quite content with your whereabouts, but luckily for completely different reasons. Your back arches off the bed when you come, crying out Walter’s name as you do. With trembling legs, you lay there, your walls pulsing and clenching around nothing. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, his lips never leaving you as he kisses a path up your body again, effortlessly reaching for the clasp of your bra on your back. He doesn’t find it – your favorite just happens to close in the front. Once found, however, that pesky clasp is no match for his capable fingers, and only a moment later you’re shivering as the cold air of your bedroom brushes past your exposed nipples.
He looks at you briefly before latching onto your neck again, gently sucking and biting your skin, making you shiver. One hand finds its way to your chest, fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, fingers brushing tentatively past your hardening nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers. You whine, writhing against the sheets, goosebumps erupting over your skin – the result of the electrifying combination of the slightest sheen of sweat meeting cool air. He grins. Chuckles. Then, he bends his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, that capable tongue passing over it, toying with it, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin, luring cries of pleasure from you in abundance.
Your hands all but scramble for the waistband of his underwear, slipping into the dark boxer briefs without a trace of patience. Fuck. Fingers wrap around – try to, at least – his unapologetically massive cock, images of that one night flashing before your eyes as you give him a few gentle strokes. A trembling exhale tells you your ministrations are appreciated, and you smile, hoping this is only the tip of the iceberg – a hope that is soon confirmed truth when he lets out a loud moan as you run your thumb gingerly over the underside of his cock.
A hand on the back of his neck, pulling softly, is enough to guide him to lie down next to you, and he smiles up at you when you sit on your knees. He’s all too eager to help you get rid of his underwear, and when you take your sweet time taking him in, in all his glory, he almost looks shy.
You start with a light kiss on his lips, then work your way down, fingers trailing the expanse of his chest, dragging slowly through the coarse hair on it, further and further down over his abs until they meet his hips, where they linger to draw teasingly light patterns on his skin. A featherlight touch of your lips to the tip of his cock makes him twitch and groan, and a soft tap on your ass urges you to keep going. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and with the tip of your tongue, you circle the head, teasing him until he’s impatiently moaning. His hand hooks around your thigh and pulls you closer – at first you wonder why, but soon after, his fingers run along your slit, searching for your entrance.
He pushes two fingers into your wet core exactly when you swallow as much of his cock as you possibly can, and both of you let out a long moan at the same time. You bob your head up and down his shaft in the same rhythm his fingers pump into you. It’s easy to figure out he likes it sloppy, and you’re happy to oblige. With the delicious symphony of moans and grunts that spill from his lips as an inspiration, you’re enjoying yourself greatly – which makes it all the more disappointing when he pulls his fingers back, a sharp smack on your ass breaking your concentration.
“Come here,” he says huskily, impatiently tugging at your arm.
You straddle his thighs again, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand to grab a condom, and waiting entirely impatiently for him to put it on. Normally, you’re somewhat nervous about being on top, but tonight, you couldn’t care less. You need this man inside of you.
Now.
Walter helps guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself, screwing your eyes shut at the stretch his incredible girth provides. Nails dig into his shoulder so hard he hisses, and you rest your head on his shoulder, whining pitifully against his skin.
“Easy,” he shushes you, sensing whatever distress you’re feeling, “take your time.” His permission helps; you slow down, and steadily make it all the way down his length. You take a moment to get used to the stretch, gradually relaxing around him. It feels no less full, but definitely increasingly less uncomfortable. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. It’s impossible to keep quiet – luckily, you’re not the only one who can’t seem to hold their tongue. Soft praise is mixed in with the abundance of expletives that come out of Walters mouth. “That’s it.” A personal favorite of yours, especially when he says it – a gravelly snarl through gritted teeth.
You could ride him forever – sure, your thighs will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll all have been worth it. Right? He clearly has other plans, pushing you off him unceremoniously. You’re on your stomach, and you half expect him to turn you around – but he doesn’t. Rough hands drag you to your knees, and – knowing what’s about to happen – you don’t bother raising yourself up on your elbows. They’ll give out in no time, anyway. Walter lines up behind you and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has you gasping for air. He’s rough and demanding, yet kind and careful, clearly trying not to hurt you. Every thrust wrenches a moan from your lips, and your hand snakes between your legs, fingers drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re teetering right on the edge of bliss. His laughter when you beg him for more, harder, faster is largely obscured by the sound of rolling thunder outside the window. Your orgasm, when it finally does rip through you like an explosion, is theatrically accompanied by an almost unnaturally well-timed lightning strike.
“Dramatic,” Walter notes dryly behind you, his strained voice signaling his stamina knows a limit after all. In a moment of poetic justice, the storm lulls for a moment when Walter’s orgasm forces a sound from him that could be described as many things, but not ‘charming’. When he pulls out, your walls clench against nothing, and you whine softly at the somehow overwhelming emptiness. “Bathroom?” Walter asks, pointing at the other door in your bedroom. You nod, speechless, before collapsing on your bed.
His return marks the start of that awkward hooked-up-on-the-first-date-dance. Stay? Go? Hookup? Date? Yes? No? You sigh your relief when Walter hesitates for the shortest possible moment before crawling under the covers with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and allowing you to snuggle into his chest.
“Do you mind if I stay?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice. “It’s raining.”
“Is that the only reason you want to stay?” you chuckle. It’s strange. Normally you wouldn’t be so confident he hadn’t been genuine in his remark.
“Well, eh…” he mutters as he nuzzles your hair, “there’s this woman…”
The sun is an unwelcome intruder in your house the next morning, and you do your very best to hide from the rays as long as possible. A new preferred method: burying your face in Walter’s chest. A very nice added bonus to the approach is that it comes with strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight. As far as you’re concerned – and you’re well aware that it’s a little soon to say this after one date, but it’s not like you’re planning on proposing today – you’re not letting this man walk, ever again. He didn’t complain when you warmed your icy feet against his legs yesterday, and the only reaction you get out of him when you put your cold hands on his body is a low grumble and an involuntary shiver.
“Morning,” he groans after a while. By now, you’re awake enough to at least make an attempt at playing host.
“Coffee?” you ask – a suggestion that’s met with an approving grunt.
On your way to the kitchen, you come across his discarded and banned-from-the-bedroom sweater – and you make the mistake of stepping on it, shrieking in surprise when the damp fabric touches your already cold foot. Coffee first, you decide.
“I have some bad news,” you say as you enter your bedroom with two cups of coffee in your hands, his sweater dangling from your pinky. “This is still wet.”
“Oh, god, no,” Walter says with a smile, “whatever will we do to pass the time until it dries?”
#walter marshall x reader#walter marshall fanfic#walter marshall smut#walter marshall fanfiction#walter marshall#henry cavill characters#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#night hunter
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Lightweight
Pairing: Young!Syverson X OFC (Maddie)
Word Count: 2K
Warnings: Angst, Alcohol, Hurt/Comfort
Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25
A/N: Working my way through my abandoned WIPs. This one was originally a milestone celebration challenge based off the prompt "Should you be drinking that much?"
Masterlist
Sy’s friends had insisted that on his last Friday night of freedom, a bonfire party was compulsory. He could think of a few other things he’d prefer to be doing like having dinner with his mama or spending the night with a certain little lady, but at least the thrum of the party crowd would keep his mind occupied.
Maddie was the only person missing and Sy knew as soon as he heard the car door that she’d finally arrived. He approached from behind as his oldest friend poured copious amounts of liquor into a red plastic cup.
“Woah there, lightweight, you might wanna pace yourself,” Sy teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders. He’d intended to pull her into a hug but Maddie instantly jerked away from his touch, slamming the forty ounce down on the table and turning to face him. “I can drink whatever the hell I want, Sy!”
He was fixed in place, mouth agape, as he watched her storm off to the porch. Her best friend, Ashley, walked into the kitchen just as Madison left, pulling a beer from the fridge.
“What the devil’s gotten into her tonight?” Sy asked, frowning in the direction Madison had run off. She was normally so quiet and reserved — he could count on one hand the number of times she’d raised her voice at him and it had never been undeserved.
“You mean she didn’t tell you either? I thought for sure you’d have been the first one she confided in. I had to drag it out of her in the car.”
Sy finally broke his gaze away from the yard, looking over his shoulder at Ashley. “What are you talkin’ about?”
Her beer hissed as she twisted the top off the bottle and wordlessly offered one to Sy. “You know that position she interviewed for at her work? The promotion?”
Sy nodded, accepting the bottle. “Yeah, I remember her sayin’ it was a good raise, better benefits…”
Ashley leaned her forearms on the counter, picking at the corner of the paper label with her nail.
“Well, she got passed up for it. They gave it to some other guy and the explanation was that she was ‘overqualified for that specific position’.”
“What kind of bullshit is that? If she’s overqualified for a promotion, isn’t she then also over qualified for her current job?” Sy demonstrated his annoyance by downing half of the cold liquid in one go.
“I agree, it’s bullshit. For now, she’s stuck as an entry-level associate with no insurance, shit pay and working twice as much as the people above her in the food chain. I keep telling her to quit but she’s convinced nobody would want to hire her.”
Sy was silently fuming, shaking his head. “Why wouldn’t she tell me any of this?”
He was angry at her dumbass boss for not realizing how amazing she was, but he was also hurt that she hadn’t told him herself. Didn’t she know that she meant everything to him? Did she think he wouldn’t care?
Normally when he was home on leave they spent every spare second together. This last week she’d been uncharacteristically withdrawn and now he knew why.
“I don’t know, Sy. You’d have to ask her that.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, stepping away to join the rest of the guests.
Sy looked out of the little window over the sink, eyes trailing over the yard until he found the girl he was seeking sitting in a chair on the far side of the yard. It was already getting late, the warm mid-summer sun having fully set. One of the guys was adding another log to the glowing embers in the fire pit.
He fought with himself, debating whether he should go talk to her, but the opportunity was lost when the rest of the girls gathered around the fire and took up the remaining camping chairs. He watched from afar, seeing her take a sip from her overfull cup every other sentence. In only a few minutes, the cup was set upside down on the ground and one of Sy’s friends shoved a shot glass full of tequila into her hand.
Sy’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his name being called. Realizing that he couldn’t spend his going away party hiding in the kitchen, he downed the remaining beer, setting the empty by the sink and trading the quiet of the kitchen for the medley of excited voices of the yard.
About an hour later, more camping chairs were added around the fire and the boys settled between the ladies. Of course, yet another round of shots was passed around and Maddie threw back not only hers but the one meant for the girl beside her as well.
Sy knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, that she was her own person and fully capable of making her own decision, but the look on her face compelled him to speak up. She was normally a happy drunk. Give that girl a few glasses of sweet wine and she turned into this cute, giggly ball of sunshine but instead she was hunched down in her chair, not really paying attention to the others around them except when they waved alcohol in her face.
When she stood on shaky legs to head back into the kitchen, Sy followed.
“Should you be drinking that much?” he asked, startling her so badly she dropped the liquor bottle which landed on the counter with a loud bang. Thankfully, it was still screwed shut and didn’t shatter on impact.
“I— I can do wh’tever the hell I want.”
“That’s true,” he conceded, moving closer. “But just ‘cause ya can, don’t mean you gotta make yourself sick.”
“Fuck off, you’re just ‘nother guy trying to tell me what I can or can’t do. Only time guys ever talk t’me these days is to bark orders.”
Sy had never seen her act in that way before and, frankly, he didn’t know what to make of it. He had a hard time believing it was only her job making her so upset. Or maybe she had more to drink than usual and this was just what excessive alcohol did to her.
Whatever the reason, he hated seeing her so upset. “I’m not barkin’ orders, Squirt, I’m looking out for your safety.”
He’d meant his tone to be soothing but it had the opposite effect.
“Don’t call me that!” Maddie snapped. She secretly hated when he called her “squirt”, it was a constant reminder that she was nothing more than an annoying little sister to him.
“Been callin’ ya Squirt for damn near fifteen years, that ain’t gonna change now.”
She scoffed, attempting to march away but only making it two feet before stumbling and nearly falling flat on her face. Sy caught her just in time but she was less than grateful.
“I don’t need you… I don’t need your help.”
He sighed, getting frustrated with the bratty behavior.
“Look, I heard about the job and I’m real sorry about that but you’re actin’ like it’s me you’re angry with, and for the life of me, I don’t know why.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter does it?” She hiccuped. “‘Cause you’ll be gone and I’ll be here and I’ll be stuck with just myself! I don’t even like my job, I just wanted to have something, fucking anything, in my life to keep my mind off the fact that I’m stuck here worrying that the guy I love, who doesn’t even love me back, might never come home and that then I really will be all alone!”
The young woman sobbed in his arms, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath after her furious ranting. Sy went over her words in his head, his mind playing catch up.
“What was that about a guy?”
Maddie’s eyes went wide but she didn’t answer, instead planting her palms against Sy’s chest and slipping out of his arms. She made a beeline for the front door and Sy chased after her, hoping like hell she wasn’t thinking about getting in her car and driving off.
“No, we’re not goin’ that way,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Maddie’s waist. “Come on, let’s get you to a bed.”
Had it been anyone else, those words would have sent a terrified shiver down her spine but this was Sy.
Sy who’d been her friend since they were kids.
Sy who knew her better than she knew herself.
Sy who gave all her boyfriends the “if you hurt her, I’ll beat your ass” speech.
Sy whose embrace made Maddie feel like she meant something yet always looked as disinterested as if he’d hugged his sister once he let go.
“Fine,” she eventually agreed.
Maddie allowed Sy to lead her up the steps and into the house’s only guest bedroom. He always stayed with a friend when he was on leave since his mama had moved out of state.
But if she slept in Sy’s bed, where was he going to sleep?
“Right here to make sure you don’t suffocate in your sleep.”
It seemed she’d asked that last question out loud.
Maddie dropped onto the mattress, immediately regretting it when her head spun from the bounce. She turned her back to Sy, intent on ignoring his presence but then the bed dipped and Sy pulled her into his chest.
They hadn’t shared a bed since they were children and his mother had to work the graveyard shift. Though she had fallen asleep with her head on his lap a time or two and they had always greeted each other with hugs, cuddling was not something they had ever done before.
“That guy you said you love,” Sy whispered, pressing a cheek to the top of her head, “why do you think he doesn’t love you back?”
“Because he doesn’t. He never has. If he did, he’d have asked me out by now.”
Sy tightened his embrace, stroking a soothing hand up and down Maddie’s arm. “See darlin’, I think he loves you just as much as you love him. I think he didn’t want to tell you because he thought it would hurt too much to leave you behind.”
“So I was right. I am alone.”
“No,” he said. “You’re never alone, Maddie. He loves you. He’s loved you for years. Even when he’s away, all he can think about is you.”
Sy prayed that her alcohol addled brain could understand what he was trying to say. He’d already spent that long chickening out every time he got the chance to confess his feelings, he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it all over again.
“Then why does he keep leaving?”
“‘Cause lovin’ ya also means he wants to keep you safe.” Sy gently tipped Maddie’s head up catching her gaze. “This is just somethin’ I gotta do right now, Sweetheart. I wish I didn’t have to leave you but I do have to go.”
Finally getting a good look at her, Sy realized she had dark circles under her eyes, suggesting she hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last few days. He hoped that his impending deployment wasn’t the cause but based on what she had just said, it might very well have been. Her eyelids kept falling shut but she seemed to be fighting hard to stay awake and finish the conversation.
“Get some sleep, Sweetheart. We can finish this in the morning. I’ll be right here all night, okay?”
“I’m scared for you, Sy,” she mumbled, nuzzling into his chest and clinging to his shirt.
He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I know, I’m scared too.”
How could he not be scared? It was his first deployment, he had no idea what to expect. He looked down at the woman now sleeping softly on his chest. At least now he had something to look forward to once he returned home.
#captain syverson#captain syverson x ofc#captain syverson fic#captain syverson fanfic#captain syverson fanfiction#henry cavill
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Dans cette rue, l’enseigne défraîchie « TÉLÉ MEUBLES YENNE » vous attrape l'œil. Ici pas de fla-fla, que de l'authentique. Une boutique d’antan où chaque recoin a son secret. Ce n’est pas très compliqué de percevoir la vie ici. On imagine Josette, la proprio, se lamenter sur le bon vieux temps. « Les jeunes d'aujourd'hui, ils savent même pas ce que c'est qu'un vrai téléviseur ! » Elle a cette voix rocailleuse, usée par des décennies de cigarette et de discussions animées. Femme au caractère bien trempé, elle vend avec passion des télés couleur aux familles aisées du coin, émerveillées par la magie de l'image. Pendant ce temps-là, leurs gosses s’amusent à tirer sur les antennes des postes radio sous le regard noir de Josette. À l’extérieur, le môme Nono file entre les jambes des passants, une baguette sous le bras, un sourire espiègle sur les lèvres. C'est pas vraiment un ange, mais qui l'est dans le coin ? Assis près de la vitrine, sur sa vieille chaise paillée, il y a Gustave, avec son chapeau un peu de travers et sa moustache en bataille. Ce gaillard, c'est le raconteur du quartier. « Y'a un môme, une fois, qu’a voulu troquer sa grenouille contre un poste radio. Non mais j’te jure ! » Il balance des histoires, vraies ou inventées, qui font rire ou pleurer. Dans l'arrière-boutique un peu sombre, Hortense bosse. Discrète, la tignasse en chignon, elle répare les appareils en panne avec une minutie d’horloger. Elle a ce regard dans le vague, comme si son esprit vagabondait ailleurs, peut-être dans des contrées lointaines où les horizons se confondent. Les volets bleus, témoins discrets, cachent sûrement quelques secrets d’amours de jeunesse. Peut-être ceux d’une certaine Claudine, fille de Josette, qui guettait depuis la fenêtre le beau Lucien, l’apprenti menuisier au sourire canaille. Si on tend bien l'oreille, on entend les échos des rires, des marchandages et des chuchotements d’hier qui se mixent en une pure symphonie de vie. Ici, les souvenirs swinguent encore.
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@mcrcki asked: ♫ + 80 : yenn and leia
80. Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths
"Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone." Yenn was trying to get Leia to open up to her. She felt that her friend and boss was being distant which was not very much fun. "The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken"
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I dunno if you're still doing Witcher convos, but it's an objective fact that Yennefer of Vengerberg is *the best acted, written, and portrayed character in the show* and people who focus on Jaskier (who is a wonderful character) fail to realize that It's Yen's show she's just letting everyone else be in it.
LMAO
Thoughts about Yennefer!!
I think she’s absolutely one of the most fascinating characters on the show. I appreciate that she’s like. The most Character of the whole thing. She’s a power hungry deeply selfish manipulator AND she’s also a really sympathetic character as well! She’s done some TERRIBLE things. She’s also like — eventually trying to do the right thing even though that does NOT come super easily to her. I think she’s really interesting and I really appreciate that she has a fascinatingly nuanced personality. Like, I would never want to hang out with her irl but I am obsessed with her Choices and Motivation and Character in the show if that makes sense LOL
(This is also about Netflix yenn btw. Game yennefer is not nearly as fun in my opinion LOL)
#sometimes the Girl Boss characterization of yenn misses the mark for me#like she’s a cold hearted bastard most of the time but fascinatingly NOT all the time and I love to see how that works in the show plot#anyway she’s absolutely the most nuanced and the most Unique character#in the show. in the game she is unfortunately. in my opinion. just kind of terrible to be around without the motivations that make her#interesting in the show#also rip but she and Geralt have No Lovers Chemistry but that’s just a me thing#they ABSOLUTELY have friends with benefits energy#maybe even enemies with benefits energy sometimes#the witcher#anyway that’s my rant LOL
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I made it!
8 hours were rough and it was a wild ride but I'm mostly happy with the changes they made and how the plot is going.
Some questionable choices I wasn't sure about but I'm hopeful:
-Killing Eskel, he will be missed. His perspective really helped to paint a more vivid nuanced reality for the witches but I guess that's why they made Nightmare of the Wolf. Also fans always wanted to see Coen and now we got an AU with him, but the price was Eskel since he will be taking his role
-Holding to that thought, movie canon. I was a lit bit confused on why they will try to push the hybrids, fake monsters and now new monsters but I dig it, it helps flourishing Cori's powers earlier and keeps the book readers guessing, which is nice
- Continuing, the Wild hunt and how fast it went from subtle to very real, I dig it. It helps setting them up as the final boss a lot more than before
- I'm still having doubts but Yennefer betraying Ciri, or attempted, honestly I could be happy with this if Ciri was separated of Geralt and Yenn didn't knew what she was to him, I love that Yenn is resourceful and not afraid to take what she wants but she is also very maternal so I find hard to believe she will come as close as she was to use Ciri as a sacrifice
#the witcher#tw#the witcher s2#geralt of rivia#cirilla fiona elen riannon#ciri#yennefer of vengerberg#spoilers#the witcher spoilers#season 2 spoilers#the witcher s2 spoilers#and thats about it#i think#im hyped#i loved this season
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A Wolf In Toussaint Chapter One
Summary: You(nin) wakes up, finding that things at the Vegelbud wedding didn’t go according to plan, but questions quickly rise about what exactly happened.
Word Count: 2558
Warnings: Spoilers for Witcher 3 DLC
A/N: Sorry this is a little longer than normal. It hasn’t been beta-ed, so all the mistakes are my own. This is the new series in the Witcher series I am writing. It follows We Meet Again and Running With The Wolf. If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek @djinny-djin-djin @seanh-boredom
Chapter One
Pain. That’s the first thing you noticed when you started to come to. Pain in your wrists that were lashed together behind your back by rope that was much too tight. Pain throbbing in your head where the hilt of the dagger had hit you, knocking you out when you put up too much of a fight. The last thing you remember was trying to call on your magic to get away from the man with the dagger pressed to your throat as Geralt came back around the corner of the hedge, alerted by your struggles.
That’s when your captor had opened a portal. You remember feeling the power vacuum form behind you as it yawned wide open. Geralt didn’t reach you in time as the man with his arms around you stepped through, closing the portal quickly behind him. A deepening fury flared through Geralt’s golden eyes as the last shred of portal closed.
Slitting your eyes open, you didn’t dare lift your head in case you weren’t alone. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. The pounding headache was certainly making any movement harder. The room was dimly lit, and you realized that the rocking you felt wasn’t because of the swimming fog in your head. You were on a boat. Now that you knew, the creaking and groaning of the timber made more sense. A lamp swung on a post nearby, causing the fire inside to flicker intensely which didn’t work well with your headache.
The good news was you were alone. The bad news was that you seemed to be in the brig, tied to a post in the middle of the cell. The stench wafting from the corner caused your stomach to churn unfavourably, and you fought hard to keep the contents down. Breathing through your mouth, you lifted your head to look around as best you could from your vantage point.
“Ah, you awaken.” A voice to your left drew your attention. Fighting off another wave of nausea at the pain in your head, you turned to investigate the darkened cell next to yours. An Ofieri slave sat, tied similarly to you to the post in the middle of the cell, but unlike you, he seemed to be fairing better. “I was wondering how long it would be.”
“How long have I been out?” You didn’t want to think about how many days had passed. Based on how cramped your muscles felt, and how raw your wrists seemed to be, it had been at least a couple of days. You ached to rub your head, wanting to ease at least some of the pain bouncing around in your skull.
“It has been 5 days. I didn’t think you would ever wake up.” The man informed you, the last part of what he said concerning you the most. He must have seen the question form on your face, because he continued. “You were bleeding a lot from your head. Eventually the guard brought you the ship’s healer. It seems that they want to keep you alive.”
“Though not comfortable.” You quip, testing your bonds, wincing at the pain that shoots up your arms from your open wounds from the ropes.
“Where would the fun be in that?” The man laughed. You squinted into the darkness, trying to see him better. The lamp light didn’t seem to touch his cell as much as yours, and you could only see a vague outline of his face. If it wasn’t for his legs sticking out into the pool of light, you would have been convinced that you were talking to yourself.
“Why are they keeping you here?” You ask, groaning as you shift, stretching your stiff legs out to sit in a similar fashion to your new companion. You were careful not to move your arms too much, not wanting to cause further damage to your wrists.
“I stole from the King.” Your ears perked up at the mention of a king. He didn’t specify which one, but not many used that title lightly. And if he was Ofieri, perhaps it was a hint at what was in store for you.
“Which king would that be?” You hesitated before asking, not wanting to seem too eager. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t fight off the suspicion that this was a trap to get more information out of you.
“The King of Beggars.” The man offered as though it was obvious.
It was as though all the air was sucked from your lungs. A man you had trusted on more than a few occasions had effectively kidnapped you after screwing over a mission he had set you and Geralt on the path to. Something wasn’t adding up for you, but your head was still foggy with pain, and you felt like you couldn’t see all the pieces laid out in front of you. There was some else at work here, but it lay just outside of what you could see.
“Do you happen to know where we are heading?” Still trying to piece together what you knew already with all sorts of possibilities, you decided it was best to gather as much information as you could from someone who might be willing to provide answers. It was unlikely you would have another opportunity like this one.
“Until you were brought in, I assumed I was being taken back to Ofir to face the crimes I committed there.” The man shrugged as best he could. “Now it is anyone’s guess.”
Ofir. That was beyond the sea. Without the help from a Sorceress, Geralt would never find you. Unless he was willing to take down one of the crime bosses of Novigrad to get answers. And that was if that was where you were even heading. As your fellow captive pointed out, neither of you could really know where you were heading. You needed to convince a guard to give you the answers, but it wasn’t like you could enchant him to do it.
The fog in your head suddenly cleared. Magic. The fools had tied you up with rope. There wasn’t a single piece of Dimeritium on you. Nothing was binding your magic. They didn’t know who or what you were. They simply thought you were important to the Witcher and to the King of Beggars, but the latter hadn’t offered up any information about you to your captors before they got their hands on you. You held in the laughter that threatened to bubble up as relief flooded you.
“What did you steal?” You weren’t about to let a known criminal walk free. Not unless the punishment outweighed the crime. “What crimes are you facing back in Ofir?”
“Horse theft.” The man stated simply. You had to assume that he had committed that crime in both Velen and in Ofir. In Ofir, where they valued horses above most else, that was a serious crime. The punishment was death. In Velen, they punished it with death, but horses were viewed more as property than as a way of life. Velen had some harsh laws involving property.
“I’m going to get us out of here, but I suggest you find somewhere other than Novigrad and Velen to make a home for yourself. The King won’t let you live if he sees you again.” You smiled at him, already drawing on the wealth of power from the water surrounding the ship you were housed in. The look of awe that spread across the man’s face was worth the nosebleed this was probably going to cost you. “Unfortunately, I can’t promise where we will land, but it will be on land and out of captivity.”
Your portalling wasn’t as precise as Yennefer’s, and you were vastly out of practice. Just yet another thing that you needed to work on, stretch that metaphorical muscle. First things first though, you had to make your bonds disappear. Not the easiest task as there was always the risk of burning the person. At this point, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t feel it if you burned yourself, but you didn’t want to burn your companion.
“This may sting.” You offered a mild warning as you pulled the magic together to create your spell. You winced as your hands relaxed apart, the tension leaving your shoulders. You were pleased to see the man in the cell next to you not show any pain as the spell displaced the ropes binding his hands.
You jumped to your feet, adrenaline taking over as you felt the vacuum of a portal you weren’t creating. You watched warily as a hole was ripped, spinning, in the space in front of your cell. Then you felt it. The signature of the Sorceress creating the portal. Every spell left a signature, but not all signatures could be traced. Only the strongest among the Lodge could do that. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t recognize it.
You immediately set to work on melting down the hinges of your cell door. It would be one last thing you needed to worry about once the portal was fully formed. There was no way the crew on the ship didn’t feel the power amassing below deck in the brig. You split your power between your door and your neighbour’s, knowing that as soon as the iron doors fell, the crew would definitely know something was going on with the prisoners.
“Younin!” Geralt rushed through the portal just as the doors fell. He pulled you to him in a tight hug, relief flooding both of you now that you were in each other’s arms again.
“We have to move. Now.” Your voice dripped with urgency as you pulled out of the all too brief hug, wishing you could do more than that. There was no time though.
“Well, if you hadn’t created such a cacophony of noise, we could have just slipped you back out.” The voice of the signature floated through the portal. You stiffened, hoping you could have avoided this encounter a little longer.
“Thank you, Yenn.” Your voice was tight as you turn to your fellow Sorceress. A slither of jealousy snaked around your spine, settling in your gut. You hated that Geralt had to turn to his old lover, even though you knew she was basically the only one who could do what he needed.
Reaching for your cell mate, you pulled him through the portal as you heard shouting and boots on the stairs leading into the brig. Geralt drew his sword but followed behind you through the portal. Yennefer quickly slammed the portal shut before anyone could follow you. As much as you didn’t like it, you knew you could never have pulled off the portal as smoothly as Yennefer did.
The danger had passed for now. There was still the issue of the King of Beggars botching the mission on purpose, but you were safe. That seemed to be all that mattered to the otherwise stoic Witcher. Geralt pulled you in for a fierce kiss, not caring about the company you were in. You clung to his armour, wishing it wasn’t in your way. After the close call you just had, you needed to feel alive, and the only way that was going to happen was if you were alone and there was nothing between you. You needed to feel his body stretched out above yours, skin to skin.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but where are we?” The Ofieri interjected. Pulling away from Geralt, making sure to check your anger at having been interrupted, you turned to look at your surroundings.
“Good question. Yennefer?” You frowned when you didn’t recognize the room you were in. A quick glance out the window didn’t offer you an answer either. Turning to the other Sorceress, you caught the look of displeasure that flitted across her face at realizing how deeply Geralt felt for you.
“Geralt wanted me to bring you to his house in Toussaint in case you were injured.” Yennefer offered, her face becoming a perfected mask of indifference. She examined her nails as though trying to prove how little interest she had in your feelings for the Witcher who once warmed her bed.
“You have a house in Toussaint?” You ignored Yenn’s antics, looking up at Geralt. The land filled with Knights-errant seemed like the last place Geralt would want to settle down.
“It was a reward for helping the Duchess. And with Kaer Morhen in ruin, it seemed as good as any place to set some roots.” Geralt guided you closer to the window with a hand on your lower back. You smiled up at him, leaning into his hold as you took in the sun dappled scene beyond the glass.
“Come, Ofieri, I think there is food in the kitchen for us.” Yennefer couldn’t stomach anymore of seeing you two together and fled the room. The man who you realized you still didn’t know his name followed quickly after her, leaving you and the Witcher alone.
“How are you really?” Geralt turned you with his hands on your shoulders. His gold eyes flicked over your body, assessing all your injuries.
He guided you to the bed, squatting in front of you when you sat down. He carefully lifted your hands up when he noticed how bad your wrists were. At the slight movement, however, the wounds opened again and began bleeding freely. You winced as sharp pain travelled up your arms again. Geralt caught the look on your face, cupping your cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. He didn’t have to say anything, you could see the concern and worry darkening his hypnotic cat eyes. His hand travelled to the back of your head, wanting to draw you to him for a kiss, but he felt the congealed blood in your hair.
“How is your head?” He asked quietly, sure your headache was pounding especially after using magic to free yourself. As uncomfortable as Yennefer’s presence was making you, you had to admit you didn’t think you could have pulled off the portal in your condition.
“It hurts.” You admitted unnecessarily. You knew he understood what a head injury felt like. One of the perks of his job. You leaned into his hand when he cupped your cheek again. “For now, I just think I need rest. I can work on healing later.”
Geralt nodded, helping you get into the decadently decorated bed. Even through your pain, you had to almost laugh at how out of place this bed seemed in Geralt’s life. The rich colours and immense comfort were a far cry from the places the Path normally took him. As your head hit the down filled pillow, all the questions you had been asking yourself came flooding back to you.
“Sleep.” Geralt gently said, his hand making the motion you had come to recognize as the Axii sign. Your questions were probably written all over your face, and he was compelling you to sleep instead of laying awake as your mind ran wild.
Your eyes slid closed shortly after. The last thing you remember is the feeling of Geralt’s warm callused hand on your forehead, followed by the soft press of his lips. And then sleep overtook you.
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Gonna Run This Nothing Town
Gonna Run This Nothing Town
by ghostinthelibrary
Jaskier has known for a while that Yenn, his kind-of-sort-of girlfriend, is hiding something from him. He just never thought it would be the kind of secret that would get him abducted, thrown in the trunk of a car, and held at gunpoint on the edge of the Pontar River Bridge.
Words: 1744, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 15 of Tumblr Prompt Fills & One-Shots
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M
Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cyprian Wiley | Whoreson Junior, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Mob, Mob Boss Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Kidnapped Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu, Gun Violence
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Dear Sugawara-san
A birthday blessing from me (or Yenne [y/n-chan]) to you
AU [[Postcards]]: Not Social Media, but SOULMATE based.
Rating 18+ for CW [still a SFW, with hints of certain kinks [daddy dom, mentions of pearl-necklace, brat tamer!yenne, LANGUAGE, etc]
🔞MDNI -> (read at your own leisure.) recommended age 18+
A work inspired by this gif above (^-^)
PART I:
post card (1)
21/2/20XX
Happy birthday love! I'm so sorry I missed out on your day. I know you and the guys have been practically partying since last week, but I do sincerely hope you have a blast! Oh yeah! I went to a film festival & thought of you (I saw 'His Girl Friday') It was a hoot! Anyways, as you can see, I love you to bits lover-boy, so happy birthday Koshi! <3 Yenne
post card (2)
12/12/20XX
Babs: you know you looked so fucking hot in those boudoir photos for me. You fucking turned me on & trust me, I won't share you. Although, you did seem pretty happy tied to my chair. Then again, you love it. I think you blessed me with a knew name as I reminded you who owns your moans, dearie. Fucking you senseless and taking my cock from behind during this boring af faculty lounge has suddenly awakened my desire to be called, 'Daddy' by you and you only.
--Daddy Sugarcane
post card (3)
17/01/20XX
Sir, I regret to inform you that this establishment is an entirely different department for nightlife entertainment. Now now, don't pout pretty baby. Yes, you can spank me later daddy, but you know I'm gonna tie you up eventually. Fuck! Do I miss you eating me and taking what I dish out to you. How dare you think you can flirt with that dumb broad to get more ice in your cupcake... (T^T) and I thought you loved me.
xoxo,
Yenne
PART II
post card (4)
13/03/20XX
Happy anniversary angel. Tonight, I just want to take care of you the best way I know how. I know it’s been tough being away from me because your team decided it would be best to send their best architect abroad to oversee the latest building(project). I miss pampering you after you’ve let me cum inside; my little darling bunny so eager to be taken care of…
—D.Sugawara
post card (5)
08/07/20XX
Honey, I’m sorry I overreacted. You were too strict today. All I wanted was to sleep and relax with you, but apparently you thought quality time with me is not as valuable as hanging out with your friends from high school. They’re good boys… SugaDaddy, I’m not coming home. Not this time. My boss asked me to stay for the following year at the construction site…
xoxo,
Yenne
post card (6)
11/11/20XX
I love you. I love you dearly. Hopelessly and effortlessly. The kids I teach asked me, ‘sensei, what’s love?’ & I thought of you. You who has taken care of me since graduate school. You who’s face I’ve seen crumple and cave in pleasure around my cock; your whimpers…You’ve been gone for nearly a year and now all I can think of is how I’ll welcome you home the best way your daddy knows how…
-D.Sugawara
#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue#sora after hours#sora scribbles#🔞mdni#haikyuu!!#cw: daddy kink#cw: pearl necklaces#cw: brat taming & rigger kink mention#cw: language!#sugawara koushi#haikyuu x reader
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Part 5
Masterlist
Series masterlist
Part 4 🍂 Part 6
Pairing: Syverson x ofc
Series summary: Life with Sy, what more can you wish for? The most amazing husband and father to a whole litter of cute little kids... Sometimes you wonder "how did you get here?"
Chapter warnings: Mostly fluff, some frustrations (we're still remodeling, folks), but we're getting there.
Word count: 1.9k
A/N: @keanureevesisbae congrats on 43k! You are doing so great ❤️ I am proud, girrrrrl ❤️
@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn
“Matthei- I’ll spell it for you.” As you did, you picked at the already raw skin around your fingernails nervously. It had been almost ten weeks, and the furniture you’d had shipped was supposed to have arrived weeks ago. Instead, as was evident from the absence of, well, furniture, it hadn’t arrived. In its place, you had received the very unwelcome phone call that the shipping container ‘had been misplaced’, and that you should keep in touch with such and such company to see if they could get it back for you. In other words: ‘We lost your shit, please see to it that you somehow find it.’ Now, you were on the phone with a new company every other day, for at least an hour, being jerked around like a fool, and no one was giving you any information. You were seconds away from throwing your phone through the kitchen when Sy knocked. He was here so often now that you’d just given him a key.
“Lara?” He whispered, but you raised your hand at him to shut him up. He mouthed the words ‘what’s going on?’ at you, which landed him another dismissive gesture.
“Fine, I’ll hold,” you said when the lady on the phone asked you to. You put the phone on speaker and slammed it down on the table before making a break for the coffee machine. “Coffee, Sy?”
“Always,” he answered. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Sugar, are you alright?” As you waited for the coffee to brew, you brought Sy up to speed on the whole Furniture Fiasco.
“Long story short,” you finally said after ranting about the situation for fifteen minutes, “all my stuff ended up in Kazbukmenistan or wherever.” The whole time, you were still on hold. Sy asked for some details, and you gestured at the folder that was open on the table. He took a quick look through it.
“Hand me the phone,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but you weren’t inclined to indulge him.
“Sy, you don’t have to…”
“Hand me the phone,” he repeated, only this time, it really wasn’t a question. As much as you hated it when men tried to boss you around, something in his voice shut your Girlboss-attitude right up. The woman you’d been on the phone with finally returned.
“Miss, I have some bad news,” she said. Sy raised a finger at you to keep you quiet.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, she’s not here right now, what’s the bad news?” It was that voice again. The phone-lady was clearly taken aback by the sudden change on the other side of the line.
“The container that the furniture is in, can’t be found in the system,” she said in her phone-lady voice. You hated the phone-lady voice. All you’d been hearing over the past six weeks was phone-lady voices. And one man who had had the audacity to tell you ‘I’m sorry, little missy.’ You had kindly told him to fuck all the way off.
“Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but that won’t do.” Apparently, that voice had an even more stern variant, and apart from making you want to immediately do everything he told you to, it also turned you on big time. “I understand you’re just doing your job, but somewhere down the line, someone didn’t. Now I’m gonna need to know who that was and what they did or didn’t do that they shouldn’t or should have done, so we can get this mess sorted.” It took him twenty minutes to get someone on the phone who actually seemed to know what was going on, and another ten to get them to promise to give you an answer by the end of the week, or else a reimbursement for the shipping cost, and the cost of your things.
“Thirty minutes,” you said, “it took you thirty minutes to do what I’ve been trying to do for six weeks.” You just couldn’t believe it. Tears burned behind your eyes as you vowed to yourself to scrap the words ‘I don’t need a man’ from your vocabulary forever.
“I’m just a little more comfortable barking orders, that’s all,” he said as he gently laid a hand on your shoulder. The kindness in his voice, his eyes and his gesture broke you. You were exhausted from the move, the remodeling, your classes, dealing with the phone-ladies and their stupid voices, and from sleeping on a horrible air mattress. Tears flowed freely and you cursed yourself for your stupid behavior.
“C’mere, Sugar,” Sy said softly as he pulled you into a hug, “you look dog-tired, you know that?” You knew you felt it, so you weren’t surprised you looked the part, but it still mad you feel embarrassed. A tired look wasn’t a good look, and something inside you wanted to look good for him. Or, you know, not for him, but just when you were around him. Okay, fine, for him. He let you cry for a while, and you had to fight to not lose yourself in the warmth and strength of his embrace. Eventually, you were so fed up with yourself and the way you were acting that you managed to force yourself to stop crying and broke away from his hug. You felt two strong hands on the sides of your face, and thumbs wiping the tears off your cheeks.
“You know what works wonders for all that frustration?” Either that sounded strangely sexual, or you were imagining things. “Tearin’ up some carpet. C’mon.” He actually managed to make you laugh. It wasn’t completely genuine, but it was a start.
Sy handled the first corner of the first room carefully, because neither of you had any idea what was underneath the carpet.
“Shit,” you heard him say from where you were standing. That didn’t sound good, did it? “Sugar, I’ll still buy this house from ya.”
“What is it?” The way he was talking to you right now sure kindled your curiosity. As it turns out, some ‘degenerate’ – Sy’s exact words - had dared to carpet over some beautiful hardwood floors. You checked the other rooms first, before tearing the rest of the room up, because curiosity had really gotten the better of both of you. It wasn’t necessarily surprising that you found the same floorboards in the other rooms, but it was still exciting. One room had some seriously ugly vinyl underneath the carpet. Strange. You urged Sy to check underneath that, too, even though he wasn’t initially planning on it.
“My bad, baby,” he chuckled, “you were right.” When he said the word ‘baby’, your heart rate somehow slowed down and sped up at the same time. Over the past few weeks, you had barely gotten used to ‘sugar’, and now this? It took a lot more than you cared to admit to calm yourself back down.
Now that you knew what you were dealing with, it was time to deal with some of that aggression. You found out quickly that taking out your aggression on a carpet was easier said than done. The material was stiff, and heavy, and so thick that even your small-people rage wasn’t enough to give you the strength to cut through it. But you had Sy, who was in all aspects much better equipped to handle this stupid carpet. That didn’t mean you didn’t almost kick him out – twice – because he made you mad when he couldn’t stop laughing at the way you struggled.
“Next time, Syverson, I’m telling myself to leave, and you can do this by yourself!” You yelled after the second time while you wiped the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Who the hell did he think he was?
“Sorry, Sugar, wouldn’t want ya to go,” he said with a wide smile on his face. “I could use a drink, though, I’m runnin’ a li’l hot here.” For some reason – to torture you, to show off… you had no idea – he decided to prove his point by cleaning the sweat of his face, except he didn’t have the common decency to use his hands. No, of course not. Sy just had to use the bottom of his t-shirt. And now you were left standing there with nothing else to do but look at Sy’s abs. Okay there were other places to look, and you could have just turned around and made a break for the kitchen, but your brain made those abs a priority, because dear God were they amazing… Strong, defined, a very non-disgusting amount of hairy, sweaty and… God you hated how Jules was always right.
“Fuck, I’m dead,” you said as you slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table. You had found it at the side of the road and begged Julie to take it to your house. It shouldn’t have been here for as long as it had. You should have been in possession of your furniture by now. Every joint in your body popped when you moved, every muscle protested. Even picking up your phone to order a pizza felt like a trip up mount Everest. Sy handed you a cold coke from your fridge and grabbed himself a beer. You laughed at the ease with which he did it. Sy truly had a habit of making himself at home. Strangely, it made you feel more at home, too. He was really great to have around - especially when he wasn’t offering to help you with something – and you missed him when he was gone. You ordered the pizza and hung up the phone, sinking down into the chair even further, letting your head hang back.
“Ow,” you groaned when something in your body made a very concerning noise.
“You need to get yourself a decent bed, Sugar,” Sy said. His voice was serious; he was really concerned. “Now.”
“What if –“ you started, but you got no chance to finish your sentence.
“If they find your stuff,” Sy said while clearly trying to keep his voice friendly, “you’ll have an extra bed for a guest room. You have plenty of space for plenty of beds. You only have one back.” He was right, and you knew it, but you couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight.
“Sy-“ Again; no chance to finish. He stood up from his chair and walked around the table to stand behind you. Hands landed on your shoulders, strong fingers pinched your muscles, making you wince.
“That don't sound too good, Sugar,” he said, “so you can get a new bed by the end of this week, or I’m buying you one.”
“What, you want me in bed so much you’d buy me one to make it happen?” The words were out before you realized it. Fuck! You were the one who fucked it up by saying he was a friend, right? Sy was over you by now, you were sure of it. Why were you flirting with him? Badly, too, but that was just the only way you knew how. His fingers tightened on your shoulders until it started to hurt a little. “Sugar, you have no goddamn idea,” he said hoarsely before walking to the door to collect your pizza.
#syverson fanfiction#syverson x ofc#captain syverson fanfiction#captain syverson#syverson#syverson fic#syverson fluff#henrycavill fanfic#henry cavill fanfiction#henry cavill characters
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do you ship geralt x yenn in the show?
Despite the complete lack of competent story-building, chemistry and romantic value (I blame the writers fully) yes, I ship Geralt and Yen because I adore their relationship in the books and can only hope that future seasons will be better in constructing their bond. I also think Henry and Anya looked fantastic together and the potential is BRIMMING but Lauren was more concerned about the cringe dialogue and Girl Boss moments rather than bothering to construct a proper relationship🙄🙄🙄
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I’m lowkey surprise that I haven’t seen a coffee shop AU of Geralt and Jaskier I see Geralt as a senior in college and alwyas gets his black cofffee and Jaskier as a bar aid ya begging him to try something new Jaskier once in a while will like put smilie faces on his cups and cute nick name (He also tried to sell his sweet ass music Abbie while his boss is not looking ) so for this ramble ahhh
Jaskier's favorite drinks to make are those super complicated motherfckers.
Also one day Jas is out sick and Geralt comes in to get his coffee but it tastes? Off. When Jas doesn't make it, despite it just being straight up black coffee. He doesn't bring it up. He just thinks his mind is playing tricks
Jas also gives Geralt a CD of his music. Geralt doesn't listen to it until weeks later. Then he finds his YT channel because he Definitely has one and long story short Geralt finds out Jaskier has a crush on him through that. He doesn't tell Jaskier he knows. Geralt ends up listening to Sweet Kiss on repeat
Yennefer? Former sorority member, college graduate. Idk what she does but she's good at it. And she comes in with Geralt sometimes. They're a casual thing, open relationship. They thought about making it romantic but something happened. They're still friends. And hell might end up more than friends with Jaskier.
Geralt would be dating them both, with both of their consent ofc. But Jas wouldn't be dating Yenn-but that can always change
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by SweetestHoney
Geralt DiRivia is a journalist who works alone, thank you very much, and he doesn't need a partner to help him finish his articles. But, following him getting stabbed (just once! and everyone made such a big deal about it!) his boss Yenn insists that he have a junior reporter along, so there's something keeping him from running headlong into danger. Geralt's not so sure about the idea, and when he meets Jaskier he decides that he's certain he doesn't need the kind of 'help' Jaskier provides - namely never shutting up.
or, I wanted to write the two of them stuck hiding from a mob boss in a small closet and rubbing off on each other (in the most literal way possible).
Words: 7166, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Stregobor (The Witcher)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sort Of, they're journalists, and Jaskier is still annoying, but he can write really well, so geralt puts up with him, also his ass, another prominent reason geralt puts up with him, First Time, Semi-Public Sex, Frottage, Dirty Talk
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Been tagged by @renegad3spectre Thanks again!
Rules:
Go to Random.Org/List
Type in 15 characters from anything, hit randomise, and then write them in order below!
Mom/Dad: Lara Croft - she’s my mom! woogie boogie. she also can kill me before I even know what is happening!
Your Sibling: Aloy - I’m the worst sibbling out of two
Grandma/Grandpa: Jackie Welles - I’d like him to be my daddy more but grandpa Jackie? that beats everything
Haunts You: Paladin Danse - ok just because not all of us are in BoS it doesn’t mean I can be haunted smh
Your Ex: McCree - yes
Significant Other: Geralt of Rivia - y e s
Your Best Friend: Agent 47 - I taught him how to make friends ugh
Your Boss: Benny Gecko - ok work so we are at the casino
Proposed to you: Kiryu Kuzuma - I’d prefer to sing karaoke with him rather tahn Yenn but him propsing to me will be even nicer
Random Person You Drink With At A Bar: Albert Mason - and then he took my drunk picture?
Your Rival: Arthut Morgan: oh shit I stole Albert from him or soemthing?
Gave You Your First Kiss: Piper Wright - this was gays only event. mlm and wlw solidarity
Drunk And Sing Karaoke With: Yennefer - can’t wait for her to cast a spell that’s gonna kill me in 4 seconds
Played 7 Minutes In Heaven With: Markus RK200 - I’m at peace with that
Your Favorite Dessert: Hanzo - This Is Very True.
I tag: @cyberpunk-thot @thesavagemuffin @malwa1216 @mercurys-void
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Insecurity and powerlessness as a low-wage worker
We have to start talking about the conditions of low-wage employment. They are key to understanding how much more difficult work-life 'balance' is when one's access to wage work is limited to irregular and unpredictable work.
It is important too, to recognize the significance of both formal and substantive rights. Low-wage employment is poorly on both.
Many low-wage workers are contract workers rather than permanent staff. This means they have limited or no leave benefits and that they are paid only for the specific hours the are at the workplace. Even among permanent workers, benefits such as paid time off or healthcare tend to be commensurate with pay scale level, such that low-wage workers have low levels of benefits.
In addition to these formal differences, there are also important differences when it comes to the substantive execution of rights. At my job, I get respect. I never doubt that I have the right to take time off to deal with life's needs. I expect my colleagues to understand. I do not worry about having my pay deducted, being reprimanded or otherwise punished for missing a few days of work here and there. My confidence that no one will fault me is important for shaping how I behave and how well I am able to deal with my needs. As a study in the Netherlands demonstrates, understanding bosses and co-workers set the tone for what are reasonable and expected practices at the workplace.
Low-wage workers do not generally face the same set of conditions when they need to attend to family needs. Even if formal rights exist, substantive ones often do not. The reality of low-wage work is that workers feel insecure and powerless. They are afraid to ask for time off to take care of their families needs. They worry about supervisors being irritated with them. They know from experience that they must strategize to avoid getting scolded by bosses or losing jobs that they need. In my conversations with low-income persons, fear and anxiety about asking for time of looms large. Their past encounters with supervisors, with bosses, have informed them that they should fear, they should be anxious.
- 'This Is What Inequality Looks Like' by Teo You Yenn
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