#he’s just pretty for no reason. those blue eyes gone to waste.
Text
Such a pretty mommy
Summary: Leon comes home and helps relieve his pregnant wife
DI!Leon x F!Reader
CW: MDNI, 18+ only, breeding, milk kink, lactation kink, p in v, fingers
Word Count: 2K
You had managed to start relaxing after receiving the call that you husband had been collected from Alcatraz and was on his way home. The bath water had gone cold, and you had finally stepped out from it with a small pout, wishing that the water had stayed warm for just a little bit longer. With a strained groan you lifted yourself from the tub, being nearly 8 months pregnant had its challenges. Like getting out a bathtub and then trying to dry yourself, you often found yourself wondering why you wanted a child but then your heart would melt when your husband would give you a new fact he'd found in one of those parenting books he’d brought in a hurry to make sure he was ready.
The way his face lit up when you’d go for appointments, or the softness in his eyes every time you brought something new for the nursery and especially the way he spoke in that excited voice when he rattled of names. And even when he had missions he still managed to send you the information he had found, in the form of notes around the house or through poor Ingrid, who he had roped into checking on you when he was away.
As you set yourself to drying off the water on your body, you hadn’t heard the door downstairs open and close, nor the heavy thump of his boots as he took them off. Not even the creak of the stairs as he made his way to you. With you not noticing the homecoming of your husband, you set about trying to soothe some of the aching the pregnancy was causing. One of the reasons you’d taken the warm bath anyway after your midwife had recommended it, she had also recommended just softly massaging the ache in your breasts.
You had brought a soothing oil to help, pouring it onto your hands before gently rubbing your hands over the soft skin, a whine leaving you at the feeling. Leon leant against the bathroom door, watching as his wife’s head leant back and her eyes closed. He moved forward, his hands coming around you to replace your own. You jumped, eyes shooting open before they softened and leant back into his chest. “Welcome home”
He grinned down at you, the pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue as he pressed a kiss to your forehead “Certainly a way to welcome me home, honey” his voice dripped with want, fingers moving to pull gently at your nipples, drawing a gasp from your mouth. “Such a pretty mommy, just let me take care of you”.
Your head leant on his chest as you sunk further into his embrace before he bent to pick you up. Your arms around his neck, you should be surprised at how he could pick you up like nothing when you were heavily pregnant…but you’ve seen the things he’s had to pick up while working. Leon carries you to your bedroom, your attention focused on the way his arms flex and the vein that stands out while he lays you on the bed.
Once he has you placed where he wants, his hands sooth up your legs to your sides and eventually his fingers feather over the soft skin of your breasts. He settles himself above you as he massages at your chest like you were moments ago, his eyes not leaving the way his fingers cause the tissue to dimple or the way your eyes close. Leons attention is taken when he squeezes a little bit too hard and a small amount of milk trails down to drip over the knuckle of his fingers.
“What a waste” his head dips low so he can press his lips to your skin, and your head tilts back with your mouth opening. He trails down to the pebbled nipple of your left breast. You feel his hot and wet tongue lick over the sore area before his lips attach and he suckles gently. Leon groans at the warm liquid dripping into his mouth, eyes closed while his hand continues to massage at your neglected tit.
With the way your husband is angled against you, you’re able to fill the way he quickly fills out against your thigh. You shouldn’t find this as hot as it is. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your own hands turn to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, slightly scratching the scalp. Leon lets your nipple fall from his mouth with a pop, quickly moving to mouth at the other. His hand moved down to hold your hips while his tongue lapped at the milk you so lovingly provided.
“Taste so fucking good, my pretty baby giving me my fill” His hips grind against your thigh, and you don’t want to admit how much all of his actions are affecting you, even as slick drips between your thighs. But his help is working at least, your breasts are still sore, especially with the way his wraps those pretty lips around your nipples just so he can coax more of that sweet warmth down his throat but they’re not as heavy now. “Getting these pretty leaky tits nice and empty, then let gonna empty my balls into you”.
You arch, pressing your tit further into his mouth while your hands press his head down. And your legs spread open, Leons hand on your hip dipping down between to tease at your pussy lips. “You’re gonna be such a pretty mommy” maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or maybe it’s just him but the teasing has you writhing and whining under him quickly. Leon nips lightly at your tit as you move, his eyes hardening “Keep still, I’m helping you baby”. He quickly goes back to lapping at the wetness leaking from your breasts, his thumb circling at your sensitive bud as you feel middle finger easily slip into your fluttering hole.
Your hands curl almost painfully into his hair as you try to hold still for him. With how soaked you are it’s easy for him to add another finger “So tight, sweetheart, been gone for so long and I still need to work you open” you feel his wedding band glide against your walls and the feeling has you mewling under him with your fingers moving down to scratch at his arms.
“Leon, more please” You tug his biceps, and he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your drippy pussy. His mouth goes back to suckling your nipples, drinking the milk being produced with a low groan. He has you squirming below him while his tongue licks at the hardened buds in time with the fingers that are rocking into you at a slow pace.
Almost too slow. It has you begging him in quick panting breaths, faster, more, please. Leons pulls back from your nipples so he can kiss both of them instead, he nods his head. Knowing exactly what you want and needing it for himself too. He hovers above you, weight on one arm while pushing his trousers and boxers down in a haste. You whine at the sudden empty feeling as his fingers slip out of you. “Shh s’okay, comin right back, gonna make you feel better”.
His hand wraps around the base of his cock so he can guide it to your drippy cunt, he pushes in slowly causing both of you to moan at the feeling as he bottoms out. He sits back on his knees so he can watch your blissed face, and the way your tits start leaking again. One of his hands rubs at the bump you’ve grown with a smile on his face “So pretty, such a pretty baby, all mine”.
His hips rock himself deep into your, the weeping head grinding against the opening of your womb, and he pressed sweet kisses down your neck, his arms moving to hold his weight above you. Trying his hardest not to pin you down like he normally does, not settling his all his weight onto you in the way that has you clenching around him. His eyes watch as your milky tits leak again and he’s quick to lap it up.
His tongue flicks over your nipple soothing the ache in them, and your hands claw at his back while his hips bully his cock into your clenching drippy hole again and again. When your eyes open to look at your husband, your mouth opens with a moan at how blissful he looks, nestled between your breasts while he humps at you, and he mouths at the sweet milk leaking from your nipples. Your thighs shake and tighten around his waist.
Leon moans at the taste and the way your pussy keeps tightening around him, keeping him warm and snug while he gets his fill. He moves between the nipples, milk spilling from your tits and the sight is messy, the white smearing on his face with how sloppy he is at drinking. One of his hands moves to play with the nipple he’s not mouthing at. His fingers tugging and pinching which causes milk to spray and Leon groans diving to lick up the mess he’d made.
“So fuckin good, gonna have to keep you knocked up. Fuck you till it’s spilling so I can have a taste” His fat cock slides into your pussy, stretching you out while he bottoms balls deep, his hips speeding up as he focuses on that familiar feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, and the cute moans and whimpers that he’s drawing out of you.
He fucks into you at an almost brutal pace, nipping at the skin of your breasts until they’re littered with bruises “Pussy just sucking me in baby, she wants it so bad huh? Yeah? Just wants me to keep ‘er plugged up” He presses a hot kiss to your neck before dragging his mouth back down to your tits so he can press his face into them. The milk smearing over his lips while his hips snap into you, hard.
Your drippy walls clamp down onto cock, only causing him to suck on your hard bud roughly so he can eagerly drink up the producing milk. He mumbles praises into your skin, you’re so good, taking him so well, letting him help like this. He pulls out until only the head of his dick stretches the opening of your cunt out, causing you to whine until he ruts his cock back into you and he buries in you until the tip bruises your cervix.
His thick cock stretches you out until all you can do is whimper and squirm beneath him. His pelvis grinds against your clit, and his mouth milks your breasts until your cockdrunk on the way he rubs against that spongy spot. He slows to a rolling grind, his hips slowly humping into you and your thighs tremble as your back arches. You cum with a pitiful whine, gushing around Leon and soaking down to the sheets below you while he continues to suckle.
“That’s it baby, cum on my cock, such a good girl” His hips circle into you, he helps you ride your orgasm as he fucks deep into your cunt and pulls away from your now empty breasts. Your pussy spasms and clenches onto his cock, he groans at the feeling and pushes as far into you as he can while catching your mouth in a messy kiss. You can taste the sweet milk on his mouth while his tongue fucks past your lips until there’s spit drooling down your mouth.
His cock grinds against your clenching walls until he hot ropes of cum spurts from the head of his cock. His thick sticky ropes of cum fill your pussy until it’s dripping out of you. Leon pulls away so the both of you can catch your breath, his heavy pants filling your ears before he pulls out of you. Leon leans back so he can watch the mix of creamy cum and slick drip out of your pulsing hole, his cock kicking again at the sight.
Leon looks up to smile at you, his eyes soft as a hand moves the hair stuck to your forehead and he presses a kiss to your cheek “I missed you”. He lays next to you, other hand gently stroking at the bump of your stomach. “Might need another bath now”.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy smut#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x female reader#leon kennedy x f!reader#resident evil x reader#death island!leon x reader#di!Leon x reader#leonkennedysmut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
In Too Deep (Blue) | afab!Reader/Gojo Satoru
Summary: You convince Gojo to go with you to the aquarium, not realizing that the man has a huge crush on you. He knows he shouldn't indulge in the urge to be close to you, but you're just too damn cute to say 'no' to.
Contains: Shamelessly Self-Indulgent Fluff, Pining, First Kiss, Everyone Gets Roasted A Little (Affectionate), Hand-Holding (Scandalous)
Tag: @dabislittlebeaniebaby
wc: [3.5K]
An array of colorful little fish swam by, dancing in front of your eyes before swiftly retreating into the artificial coral reef in the back of the tank. They nestled themselves against the surfaces, flitting through the crevices and cracks in a beautiful display of nature. Your face was practically glowing as you leaned in closer to the tank in front of you to watch them float by. It was cute, Gojo realized, how such a simple thing could bring so much light to your eyes. Even in this dimly lit hallway of the aquarium, you shined like a beacon, drawing his gaze away from the beautiful sea life that surrounded him from all sides.
It was probably a good thing that his sunglasses obscured his eyes or you would have caught him staring at you more than once today. You were very distracting.
How you managed to convince Gojo to join you for a trip to the aquarium, he didn’t know. You were just too damn hard to say ‘no’ to. Everyone knew he was kind of a big deal. You were going, with or without him, but you’d gone out of your way to pester him into tagging along. A big important guy like him had better things to do than to waste an afternoon looking at fish and whatever other sea mammals this place had in their collection. But when you’d looked at him with those big sparkly eyes asking him to take you out, his reluctance crumbled like a house of cards. He could still hear your voice, sweetly begging him to come with you.
“You’re busy?” you scoffed, eyes narrowing at the man as he lounged on the couch in the break room. “With what? Bullying the higher-ups into submission? Please, Gojo. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
That little pout on your lips broke Gojo. It was too damn cute to resist. “Alright, alright!” He waved a dismissive hand and made a big hoopla about getting up, groaning in mock-annoyance as you clapped your little hands together at your victory. “I’ll take you to see the pretty fishies, okay?”
And that’s how he wound up here: watching you — watching the fish swim by.
Every once in a while, Gojo would catch you bouncing on your heels when a particular fish swam up to the front of the tank to greet you. You would lean forward and whisper hello as if it would somehow be able to hear you through the thick glass. It was a sickeningly sweet sight that made his heart clench.
Did you even know how much he adored you?
Gojo had so desperately tried not to get attached to you. Staying away from you was harder than he liked to admit. At first, he just enjoyed your company. You were sweet, funny and strong. It wasn’t until you began biting back to his teasing that Gojo fell hard. That obnoxious way you rolled your eyes at his jokes and the way you would hit him with the finger-guns whenever you entered the room. You were so effortlessly charming and dorky, he couldn’t stand it. This silly infatuation with you had gotten out of hand long ago, Gojo realized that now. Love was dangerous and unkind to sorcerers in particular. But, fuck, did he love it when you smiled at him like that, moving your attention away from the tank for a brief moment to point at something that had caught your eye.
“Gojo, look! It’s Nanami,” you said, a little grin tugging at the corner of your lips.
Gojo pushed himself off the wall and shuffled closer, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets for the single reason that he was fighting the urge to hold your hand. He’d had been thinking about it all day. Your delicate little fingers lacing with his. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have the warmth of your touch against his palm.
Pathetic behavior on his part, really.
The only way Gojo was going to make it through this little outing with his dignity intact was if he just kept his hands to himself. None of that touchy stuff. Wouldn’t want you catching on to the little crush he was nursing, would he? Gojo stopped next to you and peered over the edge of his darkened glasses into the tank.
A funny-looking thing with a clueless expression sat upon the reef with its jaw lazily moving up and down. It was a moray eel, poking its head out from a little hole in the rock to stare at the passing visitors. A set of gnarly little teeth gleamed in its maw but its most striking feature by far were the colors of its skin. It was reminiscent of a certain Nanami Kento’s fashionably questionable tie choices. Definitely. Yellow with brown speckles. A genuine, snorting laugh escaped him as one of his hands emerged from his pockets to ruffle your hair affectionately.
“You’re so mean, babycakes,” Gojo started, tacking on a sarcastic nickname at the end for good measure. It wasn’t flirting if he was being an ass about it, right? The moray eel stared at the glass and Gojo could feel his grin growing wider at the sight. Its emotionless, unmoving gaze was indeed very familiar to both of you. You were right, it did remind him of Nanami in that way. “He’s not that ugly.”
“The eel, or Nanami?” you asked, shoving your shoulder into Gojo’s side. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. Nanami could get it, don’t even try to deny it.”
A sharp stab of envy went through Gojo’s heart but his smirk never wavered. “Oh? Then why am I here and not him, huh?” The hand in your hair dropped down as he wrapped the arm around your neck and pulled you closer so he could whisper the following words into your ear. “Too shy to ask the guy out? It’s okay, you can tell me. Your secret’s safe with me.”
Your body jerked as it collided with Gojo’s chest. His beautiful blue eyes stared down at you from beyond the dark lenses of his glasses, his gaze unreadable as you slapped his firm pecs a few times. “Ha-ha, very funny, Gojo. I don’t have a thing for Nanami, okay? He’s just hot.”
Not only did you let him hold you without protest, but you also inadvertently admitted you preferred his company over Nanami’s. And you thought the guy was attractive. Which meant there was a good chance you thought Gojo was hot too. Gojo shouldn’t be relieved by this little piece of information – but he was.
“Aw, poor baby. You don’t have to deny it,” the man joked, trying to bait a confession from you in the most subtle way he was capable of. “He’s a catch I’m sure.” You saw one of Gojo’s eyebrows quirk up at his own pun as he pointed at the tank. Following the direction of his finger, you noticed the moray eel in the tank in front of you again. The unfortunate creature hastily retreated into its burrow as if it could somehow sense Gojo was making fun of it. He laughed watching it slink back into its lair.
“I don’t!” you fumed, stomping your foot just once on the floor. Gojo’s smirk only grew. You were extra adorable when he managed to get under your skin like this. “Besides, you’re more fun to hang out with anyway…”
There it was. Hearing you say that filled Gojo’s heart with pride and, dare he admit it, caused a little flutter too. Maybe you had asked him out because you liked him after all. And was that a blush on your cheeks? It was too dark to tell for certain you sure did feel warm in his arms.
“I know, babycakes, I know. No one compares to me, after all.”
A small victory — but a win is a win.
The way your pretty eyes looked at him right now was simply breathtaking. That small hint of surprise flickering in your gaze as you adjusted to feeling his arm around your neck, your hand resting against his chest. You’d never been this close to Gojo before. He liked the feeling of it. There was something so beautiful about your face in this light. The blue hues of the aquarium lighting cast rounded shadows on your cheeks, accentuating the highs of your face with a healthy glow. The more he looks, the more he sees and he finds himself wanting to look deeper. Into your very soul. Gojo didn’t even realize you had been holding his gaze for the longest time until you looked away first, eyes shyly traveling back to the fish in the tank. His eyes roamed over your face once more, relishing in the sight of your reddened cheeks before landing back on the fish in front of you.
Gojo had had his fun. He would back off for now. Couldn’t fluster you too much, right?
“Look at that,” Gojo said, pointing at a bunch of sea urchins heaped together against the glass. “A cluster of Megumis.”
You laughed – a sound so lively and bubbly to Gojo’s ears it would put the most beautiful symphony to shame. “You’re right, you’re right!” you said, waving a hand in front of your face in an attempt to calm your giggles. “They do look like him, holy shit…”
And just like that the tension he had caused was broken.
“What would Yuji be?”
You didn’t even have to think about that one. “Clownfish. Hands down.” His hair was even two colors and the kid seemed impervious to damage.
Gojo chuckled. “Hey, you’re pretty good at this. Nobara?”
“Venomous sea snake.” Another easy one. You paused for a second before turning to him with a worried little frown. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“My lips are sealed!” he swore, placing a solemn hand on his chest. Somehow, you doubted the validity of that claim. Perhaps your distrust had something to do with the shit-eating grin on the man’s lips. Gojo simply laughed in the face of your raised eyebrows. “I’m serious, I won’t tell her. So, what’s yours?”
“Mine?” you wondered out loud. Gojo watched you place a pensive hand under your chin as you ran through your mental library on all things aquatic life. Picking one for yourself was kind of difficult, there were a lot of different fish in the sea after all. It took you a few seconds but after a moment of thoughtful silence, your eyes lit up and a gasp escaped your lips. You had it! “Come with me!”
You grabbed Gojo’s hand without a second thought, dragging the man past several exhibits toward your favorite tank. Just like that. Like it was nothing to you. Gojo stared down at your hand in his as he trailed after you. Could you feel the fact that he’d disabled his Infinity, he wondered. It was like a precious little secret that he was keeping from you. Even in the most casual settings, the man always used his technique to protect himself. It came naturally to him — a bit too naturally in fact. Almost like a mindless compulsion to keep a barrier between himself and others at all times. That infinite, unfathomable space was the one thing that kept him safe. Both physically and metaphorically. He couldn’t help it.
And yet Gojo made an exception for you. Just like how you broke through the metaphysical barriers the sorcerer had constructed, you bypassed his Limitless as well. Albeit with his consent. It was a shamelessly self-indulgent move that he would never dream of telling you about. Your hand was every bit as soft and pleasant to hold as he imagined it would be.
Wait a minute — he wasn’t supposed to be touching you at all. Shit.
Well, it was too late to back out now. Besides, it felt nice to hold you. Even if it was just a temporary indulgence — for a little while, he could pretend you were his. Navigating the rest of the aquarium, you pulled Gojo towards a tank in the middle of the room. His eyes immediately honed in on the little creatures floating about in the salty water. It was a swarm of cute little jellyfish, elegantly floating in front of the two of you. The tank’s lighting changed colors, shifting across a beautiful range of neons. As the jellyfish continued their leisurely dance, their near-transparent bodies took on the hues of the lights, making for a beautiful display of moving colors.
You could barely contain your excitement and Gojo felt it too: you squeezed the palm of his hand at the sight of them. "They're like me, no brains but really cute."
He barked out a short laugh and shook his head, giving you an amused smile. “Now, now, give yourself some credit. That’s not the only thing you have in common. They might be dumb as bricks, but they’ve got a sting to them too. Like you.”
The fact that Gojo took your joke and ran with it made you crack a wide grin. He just added to the humor of it instead of loading you with false praise and you appreciated that. You cackled in response, muffling the noise with your free hand while the other was still firmly clasped in Gojo’s palm. This entire moment was delightful. Just the two of you in front of the jellyfish tank, having a laugh. "That's so rude," you said, grinning like an idiot. "I love it. C'mon, we've seen my assigned ocean creature. Let's go see yours, yeah?"
“You got one for me too? It better be something awesome. If it’s one of those goofy-looking crabs I’m never speaking to you again.” Gojo was a little skeptical after you low-key roasted all of his students and Nanami – he didn’t expect any different for himself.
“I promise you — you’re gonna love it.”
It took you a while to locate the right place – but once you found it, Gojo knew exactly where you were taking him. This tank was the largest one you’d seen on your trip by far, spanning the entire width and height of the room. Several species of fish lived in harmony within those waters but, most notably, it contained a number of bull sharks. You yanked Gojo along with you, practically running up to the glass to point at the sharp-toothed little brutes.
Of course, you had chosen a dangerous predator as his ocean creature. He wasn’t surprised by your choice in the slightest.
"Sharks are so fun," you said, giving Gojo’s hand another squeeze. "They look mean and scary but they're really big softies who like nose-rubs." As you spoke you watched the sharks swim around, eyes gleaming with something Gojo could only identify as adoration. "They're kinda like you in that sense. Big reputation, but not really all that bad once you get to know them."
That was — not what he had expected you to say.
People were afraid of sharks. They were hunters and thirsted for blood. There were countless movies going over the inherent fear these creatures inspired in the hearts of normal men. But that’s not why you chose them. You picked a shark because you liked them. The look in your eyes was filled to the brim with delight as you watched them swim by the glass. Not a single shred of fear in sight. That did something to Gojo. His heart warmed at the sight of you. The realization that you were trying so hard to understand and see him for more than just ‘the strongest’ was refreshing.
“They like nose-rubs?” Gojo didn’t quite think that was true – but then again, he didn’t know enough about sharks to dispute your claims.
“Yeah, like boop!” At that last word, you touched the tip of your finger to his nose and bounced it off. It hit Gojo so unexpectedly that he cracked a huge smile, both flabbergasted and in awe at the adorable little gesture.
You shouldn’t have done that. Gojo was already in love with you but that just sealed the deal. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was silenced — lost for words as you gave him a bright smile.
This was happiness.
Gojo felt truly at peace by your side right now — a rarity for him these days. All he could hope was that you felt the same and managed to enjoy this moment of normalcy in the midst of your crazy lives. No curses or curse users to ruin it. Just you, him, and a bunch of fish.
You quietly leaned your head against Gojo's shoulder as you stood side by side, enjoying the view of the shark tank.
The sorcerer glanced at the sharks in the tank, feeling content as one of them swam up to the glass, almost like it was seeking your company. When you gave his hand another squeeze, Gojo smiled and returned the gesture. His heart pumped wildly in his chest upon experiencing your touch again. You had no idea how much he wanted to kiss you right now. It would be the perfect time for it too — but Gojo was too afraid. There would be no going back if he went through with this selfish urge to show you just how much you meant to him. He was being a coward, hardly worthy of being compared to fearsome sharks who liked nose-rubs.
You’d be disappointed if you knew how much he was pussyfooting around his own feelings right now.
"Can I kiss you?" Gojo asked quietly, the words just spilling out directly from the heart. It was an almost mindless request that he couldn’t stop himself from voicing in the silence of the moment. The second the words left his lips, Gojo’s heart leaped into his throat as you blinked back at him.
Oh no — Gojo froze — he’d fucked up, hadn’t he?
The question nearly threw you off balance. If you hadn't been holding Gojo’s hand to ground yourself, you might have floated off into space then and there. Suddenly, your fingers felt very warm against his. A little sweaty too. Uncertainty clung to the air between the two of you as you recovered from the shock to your system that his words had left you with. The silence was deafening. Your lips parted slightly as you took in a shallow breath to speak but you stopped yourself, unable to answer. Gojo couldn’t stand it.
But then you nodded. And that was all he needed to give in.
Gojo gently pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist. It felt right. Whatever inhibitions he had vanished the moment his eyes found yours. He let out an amused little chuckle at the expression on your face. You looked so beautiful and dumbstruck by his forwardness. That alone made this moment worth it.
Your eyes fluttered shut as Gojo's lips connected. There was something so beautiful about this kiss. Standing in each other's arms in the company of sharks. You felt a rush going directly to your head. It was almost as if you were on the ocean floor itself right now, surrounded by such beauty and the soaring of your heart felt like waves crashing against the shore. Gojo was gentle at first but all that pent-up longing began to spill out rather quickly once he’d taken the breaks off. One of his hands grasped the back of your neck, locking your lips against his as he deepened the kiss. There was a certain uncanny desperation to his movements — like he was worried you might vanish if he didn’t kiss you hard enough. He was drowning in your presence and couldn’t be happier about his inability to breathe. Your lips were every bit as sweet as he’d dreamed they would be. Nothing could compare to your taste. Gojo hummed against your mouth, delighted and relieved now that he’d finally taken the plunge into the deep. Every second he’d spent fighting his feelings had been such a waste. But that was behind him now.
When he finally parted from your lips, your face felt like it was burning. It was probably a good thing the shark exhibit was so dark or Gojo would absolutely make fun of your flushed expression.
He broke the silence first. “That was more than a little jelly sting, wasn’t it?”
“Do you need me to pee on it?” you quipped, coaxing a little chortle from the man’s throat.
Gojo shook his head. Way to ruin the moment — but he wouldn’t have it any other way though. “You’re disgusting. Cute and irresistible. But absolutely disgusting.”
“I know, it’s part of my charm.”
“It is.” Gojo placed another quick peck against your lips. It was so quick and sweet that you barely registered it – but caused a little flutter in your stomach.
“What happens now?”
Gojo raised a brow at your question. He knew you meant ‘what now between us’ but he simply couldn’t resist messing with you a little more. “Now,” the man started, placing his hands on your hips and giving them a little squeeze. You felt so soft and warm, it was heavenly. His breath tickled your neck as Gojo leaned in to whisper seductively into your ear. “Now…I’m gonna break into the turtle enclosure.”
“Gojo—don’t.”
If you liked this, please leave a little reply or reblog | MASTERLIST
#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x you#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#gojo satoru
724 notes
·
View notes
Text
HARRINGROVE WEEK [DAY II + III] - GONE FERAL + RISKY
[nsfw. angst. warnings: violence, blood, slight dub-con but only very slight. generally toxic in every way?]
It's only a shove but it's a good shove, an unexpected one, and Billy goes down.
"There he is," Billy mumbles. He inhales and the breath rattles through his teeth. He's winded, no air in his lungs, but he smiles up at the sky.
Looks like a storm's on the way.
"What did you say?" Harrington's somewhere above him, out of sight but never out of mind.
"There. He. Is." Billy's smile slips into a grin and all remaining sense slips into senselessness. "Fucking King Steve. I knew he was in there somewhere." Like a viper, Billy's leg strikes. He hooks a foot around Harrington's ankle and brings him down to his level.
This new view is far more impressive than the blank, grey canvas of the sky. This new view is colourful; all black-and-blue. All blooming bruises, looking like purple roses. Billy stares into Harrington's eyes and this is the storm he's been expecting. The storm sits inside dark irises and blown-wide pupils and threatens to shake Billy's world.
It feels like picking up where they’d left off. Feels like Harrington’s found his balls, found his fight, instead of leaving Billy hanging for a second time.
“You’re an asshole, Hargrove,” Steve spits, eyes roaming around Billy’s face as though he’s trying to find a reason to take back those words, but.
Harrington’s right. Billy’s an asshole. Billy had been the one to put colour into those pretty, porcelain cheeks and despite Max’s threats, despite the syringe in the neck and the baseball bat between his legs, he doesn’t regret it. It’s Billy’s turn to search Steve’s face, looking for a reason to regret it, but all he finds is a sick sense of pride.
“Should be thanking me, Harrington,” Billy pants. “The bruises suit you.” He finishes his remark with a harsh shove at Harrington’s shoulders in an attempt to shift his weight. It doesn’t work. Briefly, Steve rocks backward, out of sight, before he sways back into Billy’s space and Billy’s vision.
A strong hand attacks him and gets a good grip in the collar of his shirt. “You’re fucking crazy,” Harrington tells him, but it’s kind of ironic when there’s a flash of something not quite right in the dark of his eyes.
"You followed me here," Billy states. "Does that make you crazy, too?"
Harrington's fist tightens in Billy's collar. Their eyes are locked in a fight that hasn't quite started yet. There's a tight silence hanging over them, suspended as high and as deep as the thunderclouds framing the sky.
It becomes unbearable; the silence and the fire in Harrington's eyes. Billy's mouth is dry when he brings his hands to Harrington's biceps and curls his fingers into taut muscle. "What?" He prompts. "Did I finally knock some fucking sense back into you?"
Harrington laughs. It's short and sharp and entirely humourless.
"Feel like fighting now, huh?" Billy laughs, too, but it's full of humour. It's full to the brim and spilling over. It's a cackle; mean and harsh. It's a clap of thunder. He lifts his head up off the ground, dirt caught in his curls. Like this, they're closer. Like this, the tips of their noses are nearly touching. "You want me to waste my time beating your ass again? I'm not fucking interested."
Abruptly, there's a throbbing in Billy's temples and along the bridge of his nose. It's violent and it's dizzying and it's followed by a rough sting; by something white-hot and sharp.
Billy's thoughts are hazy, brain foggy, but he's under the distinct impression that Harrington has just fucking head-butted him.
He's slow to catch up but there's a second sting soon following the first and Billy's tasting metal.
His lower lip is caught between Harrington's teeth.
Billy's frozen in place. The cold tips of his fingers dig into Harrington's arms, hard enough to bruise. Heat pools in his stomach, fast and relentless; floods his body from head-to-toe until he's melting in dead leaves and dirt. "What the fuck?"
The words are muffled beneath Harrington's mouth and the only answer Harrington gives is another fast nip of his teeth, closing down on Billy's bottom lip and drawing more blood.
The pressure in the atmosphere snaps and there's a crash of thunder. At the same time, Harrington snaps too and slides his hand from Billy's collar towards his throat. Holds it in his palm until Billy's pulse is thrumming against rough, calloused skin.
He opens his mouth to demand some kind of fucking answer, but Harrington swallows him whole.
Harrington kisses him, but it's all teeth and anger and fire. It's not really a kiss - it's filled with too much rage.
No. It's a punch.
With Harrington's hand around his throat and Harrington's tongue in his mouth, Billy can hardly breathe.
And, yet.
Billy tips his hips up to meet Harrington's.
He surrenders and fights back.
His tongue darts into Harrington's mouth and tastes copper. Tastes his own blood, drawn by Harrington, in some unfathomable twist of events.
Denim scrapes against denim and Harrington's hard. The pressure and the heat is unmistakable and Billy laughs again, mind lost like there's a full moon sitting in the sky above them. He howls into Harrington's mouth, the laughs spilling like water from a faucet, cramping up his stomach with their weight.
It doesn't stop Harrington. If anything, it spurs him on.
Harrington grinds down against Billy, crushing him into the ground. It's a constant thing, an up and down, a back and forth, and Billy's sure that Harrington won't stop until Billy is just dust; a forgotten thing, lying on a blanket of brown leaves.
He tries to match him. Tries to keep up. Thrusts his hips up each time Harrington thrusts down, but. He’s losing strength because there’s a hand wrapped around his throat and it’s still squeezing, never quite easing up but only seeming to grow tighter, more oppressive.
Billy’s eyes are watering and Harrington’s a blurry, watercolour painting floating in front of him, made up of brushstrokes and splatters. Blues and purples and reds. Billy’s favourite colours.
Instinctively, Billy knows that he’s losing.
Like meeting the sharp prick of a needle or a Neil-sized fist, Billy knows that his time is up. Knows that there’s no winning this round.
But unlike Max’s syringe and the fist of his father, these hits are sweet to take. These hits are different. He takes them with a weak smile on his face and a throbbing at the front of his jeans because this is the fight he’s been looking for.
This is the fight he needs.
Harrington’s using him and grounding him up into particles finer than salt. He’s pinning him down and he’s raising him up. He’s cutting off his air and giving him an alternative supply.
Billy feels alive when Harrington bites a groan into his mouth and shudders between his parted thighs. Harrington finishes with a long sigh and doesn’t say a word when he finally releases Billy’s throat.
A high-pitched beeping reverberates around Billy’s skull as everything falls back into focus. He can breathe again, and with that comes sharper hearing and sharper vision. Sharper knowledge that he’s lost this round and that they’re even.
Harrington pushes himself up off the ground, leaves rustling beneath the commotion. He nearly stumbles over Billy’s leg as he walks away but he keeps balanced and keeps walking.
Billy’s hard. There’s a wet patch staining the front of his jeans and, listening to the sound of Harrington’s footsteps growing distant, he dips an urgent hand beneath his waistband and finishes what Harrington started.
It isn’t quite losing when it feels like winning.
He shoots into his own fist as Harrington’s engine starts up. His eyes are fixed on the clouds, staring above the tree line of the woods, but it’s the image of Harrington that’s stuck with him; face roughed up with bruises and blood, and eyes as hot and hard as lightning.
Feral, like the growl that rips through Billy’s throat when Harrington’s car can no longer be heard.
215 notes
·
View notes
Text
we never painted by the numbers, baby, but we were making it count; you know the greatest loves of all time are over now?…I knew you, leaving like a father running like water, and when you are young they assume you know nothing—but I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss, I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs, the smell of smoke would hang around this long, ‘cause I knew EVERYTHING when I was young, I knew I’d curse you for the longest time (chasing shadows in the grocery line) I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired, and you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me you’d come back to me and you’d come back to me and you’d come back…50 years is a long time Holiday House sat quietly on that beach, free of woman with madness (their men and bad habits) and then it was bought by me ;)…I can see you staring, honey, like he’s just your understudy, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me, second, third, and hundredth chances (balancing on breaking branches) those eyes add insult to injury…I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace, and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves, you had to kill me (but it killed you just the same) cursing my name, wishing I stayed, you turned into your worst fears, and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years…and I’m still a believer (but I don’t know why) I’ve never been a natural (all I do is try try try) I’m still on that trapeze, I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me…please picture me in the weeds, before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously any time I wanted…back when we were still changing for the better, wanting was enough (for me it was enough) to live for the hope of it all—cancel plans just in case you’d call and say, “meet me behind the mall,” so much for summer love (and saying “us”) ‘cause you weren’t mine to lose…they told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when I’m mad (I have a lot of regrets about that) I was so ahead of the curve the curve became a sphere, fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here…“DON’T CALL ME “KID”! DON’T CALL ME “BABY”! look at this IDIOTIC FOOL that you made me,” you taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else; and you know DAMN WELL for you I would RUIN myself a million little times…time, mystical time, cutting me open then healing me fine, were there clues I didn’t see? and isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?…the master of spin has a couple side flings (good wives ALWAYS know)—she should be MAD should be SCATHING like me, but no one likes a mad woman…only 20 minutes to sleep but you dream of some epiphany (just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you’ve seen)…will you have me? will you love me? will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? if you kiss me will it be just like I dreamed it? will it patch your broken wings?…our coming-of-age has come and gone, suddenly this summer it’s clear: I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near (and it’s just around the corner, darling, ‘cause it lives in me, no I could never give you peace), but I’m a fire and I’ll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade, ocean wave blues come, all these people think love’s for show (but I would die for you in secret)…my best laid plan, your sleight of hand, my barren land I am ash from your fire, stood on the cliffside screaming, “give me a reason, your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in.” don’t want no other shade of blue, but you, no other sadness in the world would do…I want auroras and sad prose, I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet ‘cause I haven’t moved in years, and I want you right here
204 notes
·
View notes
Note
Smut #79 with Cahir Please!
“Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that, darling.”
TIS NOT SMUTTY BUT INSTEAD VERY CUTE I CAN DO A PART TWO IF YOU WANT
Cahir rose from his spot on the bench, a pointed look at you that tells you he’s coming back with a drink for you as well. All night, he’s refused to let you get anything for yourself. All night, he’s basically waited hand and foot on you for whatever reason. Angouleme wasted no time in telling you Cahir wants to get in your pants, to which you immediately felt like the room was suffocating.
“Shut up!” Milva had hissed, “Eat your soup, girl.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
And that was that, save for the mischievous smile on the young blonde’s face.
You watch Cahir’s back as he stands at the bar. He’s polite and patient waiting his turn to ask for two mugs of ale. The pretty barmaid flits back and forth between customers not unlike a hummingbird in the garden.
But when she gets to Cahir, she pauses. She smiles at him and stands still finally while he orders. Did she just wink at him?
You turn around, suddenly not interested in how long it could take him to get back here with your ale.
You look down to your soup bowl in front of yours, half done and looking a bit sad, compared to the amount of carrots in your companions unattended bowl. He won’t miss them if he’s playing cat and mouse with the beer girl, you think.
Your spoon dips into the bowl while Milva and Angoulême watch, eyes darting between you and each other like they know something you don’t. You spoon several carrots into your bowl and then continue eating like the vegetables were yours all along.
“Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that, darling,” Cahir whispers in your ear, and you recoil nearly dropping your spoon. You hadn’t even heard him sneak up on you. He needs a bell on him, you decide.
“Oh no?” you play, as coy as you can be with soup on your lips.
“No, you owe me that taste of my soup. I wanted it.”
You lean in close to him, closer than what’s proper but no one in this inn cares much about the word proper.
“It’s yours for the taking, Nilfgaardian,” you tease, and then draw back from him like nothing happened. You can swear you hear Milva choke but your focus is only on the man beside you, now sitting and delivering your mug of ale. You and Cahir had always been flirtatious, but never this bold. Maybe it was him being a gentleman tonight bringing it out in you, or maybe the ale gone to your head, or maybe it was the music tonight provided by another one of your companions on this journey.
You take the hot soup up to your lips again, and sip at the broth, warm with hints of what might be chicken in the flavor. Your favorite.
Cahir is leaning in close, trying not to hawk as his eyes flicker from your own to your lips and back up and down again. You don’t break your stare at him, like a challenge. That barmaid might have winked at him but you’ll be damned if you’re not the one to keep his attention tonight.
You hardly put the spoon down before he clumsily surges forward, kissing you strongly on the mouth. His lips are softer than you always thought they’d be, cool from the ale and tasting slightly of it. He humms against your lips and you can feel him smile, and then he pulls away.
“Delicious,” he whispers.
“Why did we have to see that?!” Angoulême’s shrill voice cuts through your romantic little moment, and you remember you’re in a crowded tavern, and trying to lay low.
Milva is tugging at the blonde teen’s arm to try to get her to leave the both of you there.
You look back at Cahir, only admiration showing in those stormy blues.
None of the Hansa is going to shut up about this.
129 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dad (or Five times Alan’s brothers carried him to bed and one time they didn’t) (Part 2)
Part 1 | Part 2
This is all @flyboytracy ‘s fault.:P ::hugs:: From this post
Many thanks to @katblu42 for the read through and advice ::hugs you lots::
I’m writing this completely unplanned, so who knows what is likely to happen.
I hope you enjoy it.
-o-o-o-
The second time was not the second time.
There were many times a big brother had to carry Alan to bed because it had become a habit and a reassurance.
And yes, he knew his brothers were concerned. There was even talk of a therapist at one point, but Alan closed that one down.
Grandma took him aside and they had a long talk. Alan knew he wasn’t being entirely honest with her. He loved his grandmother with all his heart, but he hid his reasons nonetheless.
He covered it up as study. He wanted to know exactly what his brothers did, so when he was old enough, he would be ready.
It worked. Kinda.
He also learnt to keep his reactions to his brothers close to his heart. To not yell in fear, to not cry out. He developed a stoicism that he claimed would help when he was older.
When he was older.
But he wasn’t older. He was still young and terrified.
And still he had to watch.
He was watching when Scott slipped and fell into an ice crevasse.
For a split second, terror was everything. He thought he had lost another family member. That his big brother with all his kind smiles and eyes of blue was gone forever.
But he was also watching when Virgil hauled a complaining Scott out of that same crevasse.
He learnt a few new words that day.
And John refused to let him watch any more rescues.
But he still did.
John wasn’t the only genius in the family.
Scott was home for a while after that and if Alan was honest, despite his brother’s broken leg, it gave them time together. Scott still had some Tracy Industries work and Alan still had school, of course, but there were shared moments on the sofas or out on the balcony. Perhaps more candy than there should have been, and the hair tousling was just annoying, but he had time with his big brother.
Scott’s injury also hauled the rest of the family in to keep him company, and as Alan tended to hang around the longest, he also had more time with everyone else.
There were still rescues to attend and every time that happened, Scott was grumbly and frustrated. He was as determined to ‘monitor’ every rescue until Virgil finally cracked and ordered – yes, Virgil ordered - John to cut the feed.
There were various medical threats involved.
Scott grumped off to his rooms after that, so Alan did the same, and hooked into his own connection to Thunderbird Five.
Couldn’t let all those computing lessons go to waste, could he?
John would be proud.
After he committed fratricide.
But John wasn’t going to find out, so he had nothing to worry about, did he.
Or so he thought.
Scott eventually recovered and returned to saving the planet on a daily basis and everything settled back into the groove of normalcy…well, as far as normal went for his family.
Alan kept his grades up and watched the rescues on his tablet, hidden behind the lesson he was currently doing. He had ghosted his presence and there should be no reason John should discover his breach in security. It wasn’t as if he was a nasty anyway.
He should have known better.
All three of his big brothers were out on this particular night, so once again the comms room was empty. Even Grandma was off the Island. Brains was around somewhere, so technically, he wasn’t unsupervised. No doubt John had an eye on him as always, in any case, and honestly it was great to have the place to himself.
Besides, it wasn’t like he was three years old and likely to stick a fork in a power socket or anything.
But he was still young, and despite himself he fell asleep watching Virgil packing equipment back onto Two.
He was woken by a sigh.
Someone sat down beside him on the sofa and took his tablet out of his limp hand.
He kept it limp because he had a pretty good idea who had sat down next to him and how much shit he really was in.
“Allie, why?” It was soft and despairing.
And John.
John was his idol.
He did everything Alan wanted to do. He even lived in space.
The downside of living in space meant he was rarely home nowadays. So the fact his space brother was currently sitting down beside him was a big thing.
But also terrifying because he was in so much shit.
So he faked slumber and gambled John might be a little cooler in the morning.
If he didn’t throttle Alan awake in the meantime.
He waited, limp on the couch as his brother examined his tablet. There was a soft hiss, followed by something like a small gasp.
Alan itched to open his eyes, to see his brother’s reaction to his work. But it wasn’t worth it.
Tomorrow was going to be hell.
He fully expected John to shake him awake and have at it then and there. But instead, he was surprised to feel a gentle hand in his hair.
What was it with his hair? Why did his family always poke at it?
But this was John. His secluded brother always gave Alan his time and his care, but the hugs and familial touches were rare.
Alan didn’t mind. After all, he knew all about the effects of space on the human body.
He worried about John sometimes. Alan would be grateful to one day take some of the long space hours off his brother to give him some down time.
When Alan wasn’t flying space rockets, of course.
“Allie, you’ve out done yourself on this one.” It was whispered ever so quietly.
A touch to his temple.
And then he was being lifted. Spacesuit brushed against his cheek and still he let himself stay limp.
He felt bad. John was always sensitive first thing down from orbit. The air pressure on his skin, gravity, it all took a little time to get acclimated to, and Alan did not want to cause his brother any hurt.
Of any kind.
But John was so gentle. He kissed his hair and held him ever so strong in his arms. Alan felt so loved, so cared for, in a way that was usually so far above, so far away, that he let himself fall into it.
While he was ‘asleep’, there was no need for bravado, no toughness, no show of strength. He had no responsibility and could give control of everything to his brother, whom he trusted with…everything.
It was what was so addictive. The chance to be cared for and not have to push it away because he was tough…he didn’t need coddling.
A small voice in the back of his head said that he obviously did, and this was just further proof he was still a kid and possibly in need of that therapy. But if being a kid felt like this, he was willing to sacrifice bravado for the moment.
And why should he need therapy for the need to feel loved?
Caught in his own thoughts and the warmth of his brother’s arms, he did not realise that John was not taking him to his rooms. The corridor was too short and they exited on the wrong side.
A peek and he saw the stardust on John’s ceiling. Before he knew it, John was settling him on a bed. A very soft bed with special sheets designed to be kind to space-soaked skin.
John’s bed was huge and Alan melted into it.
“You may be smart, Allie, but there is no way you are asleep.”
Alan couldn’t help it, he peeked open an eye.
John was standing beside the bed, still in his uniform, a small smile on his face. “Now go to sleep and we will talk in the morning.”
“Promise?” It came out far too childish for Alan’s liking, but it was necessary.
“Promise. Now sleep.”
The bed was little more than a cloud, like those John usually floated above, and Alan was tired.
He closed his eyes as the bed dipped and a finger brushed a hair off his forehead.
The last he heard was a whisper.
“Too smart for your own good.”
-o-o-o-
TBC
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#Alan Tracy#John Tracy#nuttyfic#oooh two parts in two days
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
all work and no play makes blue a dull girl
gift fic for @deuynndoodles!
Blue arrives in the same form as usual: slightly incensed, with sore muscles and tousled hair and a cartoonishly large hammer strapped to her back. Erune watches her close the front door, step out of her boots, and stretch her arms over her head in the foyer of their tiny Castle Town home. Blue opens her eyes and meets Erune’s gaze.
“Hylia,” she groans, already making her way to the den. “This has been a long day.”
Erune lowers her nail gun and holds a palm out towards Blue. “Stop. You’re barefoot. I don’t want you getting splinters.”
She’s set herself up on the tarped-over floor, kneeling beside a sturdy wooden frame in progress. To her side is a large piece of fabric, made with patched-together clothes formerly belonging to Red, Blue, Vio, Green, and Shadow, as well as numerous pieces of woodworking equipment. Tiny shreds of wood litter the tarp, and the smell of cedar wafts through the room.
“Sorry,” Blue says, stepping back into her boots by the front door. She returns to the den and crosses her arms over her chest. “Permission to enter?”
“Granted,” Erune says with a smile, beckoning Blue inside with a gloved hand. “Here.” She passes Blue a pair of plastic goggles identical to her own, which Blue puts on immediately,
“Are you making progress?” Blue asks, sizing up the project.
Erune nods. “Yes. Thanks again for fetching the fabric, by the way.”
“No problem. The others were happy to help. The frame looks… stable?”
Erune chuckles and grins, shaking her head. She’s tried to explain her vision to Blue before—a puppet theater for the Castle Town children she teaches—but she’s almost positive that the blueprints are inscrutable to anyone but herself.
“It’s holding up great,” she tells Blue, shaking it at its foundation in demonstration. “What about you?”
Blue raises an eyebrow under her goggles. “You mean, how am I holding up? Fine, I guess.”
“You said you had a long day.”
“It wasn’t that bad. It’s just, I’m not used to doing knight stuff without the others. They’re all out of town right now.”
“Really? All of them at the same time?”
“Really,” Blue sighs, counting her friends with her fingers. “Green is visiting Hytopia with Zelda, Vio and Shadow are off in the Dark World doing Hylia knows what, and Red’s on some mushroom foraging camping retreat with Tingle. And I’m just here, crossing my fingers that nobody gets assassinated, injured, poisoned, or all of those things at once.”
Erune places down her nail gun and lends Blue her full attention. “I understand that you care about them,” she says slowly, carefully, “but you’re your own person now. Time apart is good for you.”
“I guess.”
Erune cracks a smile. “Also… Tingle?”
“I don’t know,” Blue grumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose. “They’re in some kind of foraging club together. It’s pretty stupid.”
“Aw, but that’s fun!”
“Just seems like a waste of time. Like, Green’s away, but he’s still acting as Zelda’s knight. Vio and Shadow wrote the trip to the Dark World off as a research mission, even though we all know that’s a lie, but they’ll probably bring at least something back to show for it.”
Erune narrows her eyes. “And you’re working hard, I presume?”
“Of course!”
“Don’t you think Red’s working hard, too? Searching for mushrooms?”
Blue rubs the back of her neck. “Maybe, but it’s for a dumb hobby, not… y’know, actual work.”
“It doesn’t seem like Hyrule is currently under attack,” Erune reasons, dusting off her gloved hands on her skirt. She gets to her feet and removes the gloves, using a single hand to cup Blue’s face. “Have you defended the kingdom today, Blue?”
She can feel her cheek getting warm. It’s adorable.
“Well? Have you?”
Blue sighs, closes her eyes, and leans into Erune’s touch. “No. I polished my armor and sparred in the courtyard.”
Erune gives Blue’s cheek a gentle pat and removes her hand. Blue clearly misses it once it’s gone. “I’d argue, then,” Erune says, kneeling back down by the wooden frame, “that Red’s doing just as much ‘actual work’ as you or I.”
She can hear Blue’s grumbles as she slides on her gloves. “It’s just… silly.”
“Is this silly?” Erune asks, motioning to her project.
Blue looks offended by the notion on Erune’s behalf. “No, of course not!”
“Oh yes, it absolutely is! And that’s what’s great about it! It’ll make the kids happy to use, and it makes me happy to build. It’s hard work and it’s fun work.”
“Sparring is fun,” Blue offers, avoiding her girlfriend’s goofy smile.
“My point exactly. So stop obsessing about the others and focus on what makes you happy. Also, say hello to your adoring girlfriend.”
Blue rolls her eyes, but now she’s smiling too. “Hello, adoring girlfriend. You're something that makes me happy.”
“Cute,” Erune says. “Now please hand me a hammer.”
Blue raises the massive hammer she used to kill god or whatever, and Erune just snorts.
“Wrong hammer, but I like your spirit.”
Blue returns the hammer to its place on her back and hands Erune a much smaller rubber mallet. “Do the kids know you're making this for them?”
“Nope!” says Erune. “They just know there's going to be a fun surprise for them after their spring break next week. That gives me more than enough time to finish it up.”
Blue cocks her head as she watches her girlfriend work. “Spring break, huh? I don't think you've mentioned that before.”
Erune shrugs. “Well, I'm still technically going to be working on this thing, and you… y’know. Like you said, you love your work. I respect that.”
“I could take some time off. If you wanted to go somewhere.”
Shaking her head, Erune taps a nail into the foundation. “Really, Blue, it’s all right—”
“No, actually, I insist that we take a trip together next week. A vacation. Wherever you want.”
Erune blows hair out of her face, growing slightly frustrated by the lateness of this offer. “The thought is nice, but I promised the children I’d finish this thing by the time break ends.”
And there’s that determination that Erune loves so much. Blue narrows her eyes and places a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, well, you won’t have to do it alone. Think we can finish it together in the next couple of days?”
Erune pretends to think it over (the answer is easily yes). “Hmmm… I suppose, as long as we’re together...”
Blue grins and cracks her knuckles. “Great. Then it’s settled. Tell me how to help.”
“Here,” Erune says, passing Blue an extra pair of gloves from her toolbox. “Safety first.”
“I’m the Hero of Hyrule, I think I’d be fine without gloves.”
“Last week I watched you almost lose a finger while cutting a frozen bagel.”
Blue has no response to this. Erune picks up the large piece of fabric, holds it up against the wooden frame, and turns to Blue.
“Hold this in place while I staple, please.”
“Got it.”
Erune prepares her staple gun with a smirk. “Watch your fingers.”
Blue does as asked as Erune attaches the fabric to the frame, but of course her mind still wanders. “So, uh… where would you want to go? We could spend a couple days pretty much anywhere—Village of the Blue Maiden to visit your dads, Gerudo Desert, even the Dark World, now that the mirror’s been repaired with moon pearl dust or whatever.”
Erune sours. “One visit to the Dark World was enough, thanks.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, darling.” And it truly is, it’s been more than a year. But still… the thought of that place still sends chills down her back.
“Darling…” Blue repeats, and Erune swats her arm.
“Fingers!”
“Sorry. Again.”
Erune nods, satisfied with Blue’s stillness, and finishes stapling the fabric to the foundation.
“That should do nicely,” she says, glancing down at her blueprints for the next step. “And I like the idea of the Village of the Blue Maiden. We don’t need to stay with my dads, though—let’s rent a place near the beach.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“Smart girl,” Erune says, kissing Blue on the forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
How does Emory and Callista interact as we never see them -mostly- together since they are both on the other side of the line?
i was absolutely POSSESSED by this ask, congratulations
Seven in the morning, a crisp bite in the air, leaves crunching under Emory’s boots, blue sky peeking through the yellow aspen overhead, and the sharp tang of fresh blood in the air. She’s already slapped a hand against her side, empty, before her mind can process the scene in front of her: Callista, balanced on a boulder, with a knife the size of her forearm and the corpse of a squirrel splayed out on the rock.
Say something, one part of her brain shrieks. Run! screams another. The rest is too busy flooding her body with alarm chemicals and useless reflexes to grab for a sword that isn’t there to do anything coherent or useful.
“I’m so sorry ma’am,” Emory’s mouth says in the vacancy, “but you ain’t doing that right.”
Well. She had a good run, making it out through an Arena she was meant to die in. Makes sense she’d bite it on the trails three months out because she can’t keep her mouth shut.
Callista unfurls, long limbs and narrow eyes, but the knife disappears. Emory didn’t even see her do it, but the glint of metal in the morning light is gone. “What’s that, infant?”
Her heart hammers in her throat and the stink of blood fills her nostrils but it’s not Arena memories that swim to the surface, it’s a rifle nocked against her shoulder and large hands over hers guiding the point of her knife. “I mean, Reap me if I’m wrong, but you lose half the hide that way. Those cuts, I mean. Fishing lures, I guess, but that’s about all.” Callista’s still studying her, eyes piercing, and damn it all, she jumped, didn’t she, no backing down now. “And if you’re killing for sport then that’s a real waste, begging your pardon.”
One perfectly manicured eyebrow creeps up, then another. “And what do you do with dead squirrels, little one?”
Emory’s taller than Callista and her arms are half again as thick, but sure, okay. She is the baby of the Village, so fair enough. “Eat them,” she says, and doesn’t curl her hands into fists even though she knows what’s coming and she should have known better, how many years of quarry-mocking did she go through in Residential, how many noses did she have to grind into the mats, and Brutus told her she could lose the Capitol-standard behind these gates but that just meant she’d let her guard down. “They’re good protein in a pinch. And you can use the hides for any old thing, we’ll be here to next Reaping Day if I stand here and list ‘em all. You could make a sheath for that knife, for starters.”
Callista’s head tips to the side with incredible precision. “Fascinating. Your mentor never shared this with me. I presume this is quarry wisdom.”
The Program teaches basic field-dressing, but the kind that gets you animals ready to eat over a fire without catching diseases from their insides, not how to get the hide off in one piece. Brutus doesn’t talk about his family much but she’s pretty sure they were miners, not Peacekeepers, and didn’t have a gun at home. Emory knows that isn’t the reason though. “Reckon he didn’t think it was his place, ma’am.”
The twitch at the corner of Callista’s mouth feels like a victory, though Emory couldn’t begin to explain why. “I think we both know better. Come, little one, I want you to show me.”
“Uh.” Emory squints at the mess of squirrel on the rock. “Think that one’s pretty near finished. Ma’am.”
“Call me ma’am one more time, fetus, and I will return you to your mentor in a mason jar,” Callista says smoothly. Emory huffs out a startled laugh, but takes the point. Ma didn’t take kindly to ma’am-ing from strangers either. “And that is not what I meant.”
She holds out a knife — not the one she used for skinning, symmetrical and perfectly balanced for throwing. In the tree above her, a squirrel’s irritated chatter suddenly sounds louder than the Arena’s cannon boom. Emory goes still. Callista gives her that intent look again. “Or not?”
It’s a squirrel. It’s not a person. And she can make its death mean something, instead of pointless waste. Emory squares her shoulders and plucks the knife from Callista’s fingers. “I’m fine,” she says, and squints up at the branches, tracking her shot.
A clean hit, right to the eye. She doesn’t even have to chase it down.
***
Callista knocks on her door the next morning, an enormous bag dripping red onto the welcome mat. “I hear you make jam?”
Emory stares at the bag in low, creeping horror. “Uh —“
Callista clicks her tongue. “Honestly, never seen a raspberry, what even are the quarries? Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Do we need to send out for the jars?”
“No, I — got stuff,” Emory says, her brain catching up in a scramble. “Jam?”
“When I tried it I got soup,” Callista says. She drops the berry-bleeding bag onto Emory’s counter and Emory’s brain dies a little bit. “Odin says you’re the one to ask.”
“Cornstarch,” Emory says without thinking. “Yeah, I can … teach you?”
“Wonderful.” She drops down onto the counter stool and waves a hand, magnanimous. “Teach away.”
Brutus never told her anything about this. “Sure,” Emory says. First squirrels, now jam. Why the hell not.
#lorata answers#anonymous#we must be killers: tales from district 2#oc: emory#oc: callista#my writing
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
Waking Romeo (2021)—Review Part 1
In which I finally reread Kathryn Barker’s Waking Romeo, a YA sci-fi Wuthering Heights/Romeo and Juliet crossover featuring time travel, Romeo the Death Eater, and *checks notes* Juliet/Heathcliff endgame. Yeah, not even joking. This time around the time travel stuff did make a whole lot more sense. Unfortunately it made everything else all the more ridiculous. Spoilers, of course, because I literally cannot.
So in this latest entry into published R&J fanfic, people have unfortunately discovered how to time travel. Unfortunate because they only knew how to go forwards, and not backwards, leading to a crapbasket hellish present what with Travellers disrupting and changing the past too much. Our Juliet comes from a family of Settlers, those who have eschewed time traveling altogether and created a settlement in London, and they have a feud with the similar Montagues (which—I kid you not—plays absolutely no role in this story whatsoever. Like, none.)
Juliet (now a jaded Jules) has recently recovered from a failed suicide with a dead arm and her Romeo is now in a coma. She visits him every day for the past two years, though, and even begins to write a play in iambic pentameter about their affair—literally, R&J, in the style of Shakespeare, Jules’ favorite author. But of course one day she meets a boy—Heathcliff Ellis, part of a group of time travelers known as the Deadenders, led by a mysterious AI called Frogs. Ellis is a dark-skinned boy from the 19th century and recovering from his own tragic love affair with Emily Brontë, who wrote the tale of their doomed love known as Wuthering Heights. Only she decided to portray a perfectly nice and basic Ellis as a rough bodice ripper alpha male aggressively antagonistic love interest. Ouch.
Rescued from a grisly fate by the leader of the Deadenders (three guesses who) Ellis now has his latest mission: To wake Romeo from his coma, as he and Juliet are the parents of the future Deadender leader. Without them getting together and having a son, the Deadenders would cease to exist and Frogs would be no more. Ellis and Jules team up with time travel shenanigans and of course catch feels. The rest is wild and slightly entertaining bullshit, with alternating Jules POV and Ellis POV. Let’s just get on with it.
[Jules POV] Rosaline takes the stage, all pretty, blond, and clean. She gives an exaggerated sniff, though not until everyone's quiet, so as not to waste it. Even from here I can see that her big blue eyes have just the right amount of wet—enough to prove she's still grieving after all this time, yet not so much that it smudges her coveted mascara.
“It's been two years," she says softly, then gives a dramatic pause. It hasn't been two years, you self-aggrandizing cow. It's been one year, eleven months, and thirty days. […]
The girl really does live for such stuff. I don't know how she managed to spin it the way she did, but serious props for a job well done. Nobody remembers the pesky little detail about how she dumped him and broke his heart. Hell no. In the retelling, she was his one great love and I was just the little skank who killed him. Well, mostly killed him, if you're getting all technical.
Aaaaand right away I want to stab something. It’s arguably even worse at the end, when Jules and Rosaline become friends for no good reason. No development, none at all. And of course there is the anti dumb of any version of Rosaline dating/caring for Romeo.
From behind a wall of dark fringe, I see that Romeo’s besties have spied me. Laurence is keeping it simple with a fairly standard glare. Paris has gone one better, mouthing "crazy" at me from across the chapel. (5)
So this is the first indicator that this Romeo is very different than his canon personality—as in, he is an asshole with asshole friends. Unfortunately Jules is made dumber than bricks and does not realize the red flags until the very end.
[Ellis POV] DEMONSTRABLY SUPERIOR
"Our jumps are—"
ALMOST EMBARRASSINGLY SO
“—are programmed by an AI called Frogs, who is prone to interrupting," finishes Iggy, zooming in on the top level of the bus, where the circuitry that constitutes Frogs is contained.
BUT YOU ALL ADORE ME. DON'T YOU, MY LITTLE FLOCK?
And here we are with an introduction to Frogs, who is Romeo and Juliet’s genius son. Yeah, this is meant to be a plot twist, but on the second rereading it’s clear enough that Frogs is human. Yeah. Casual reminder that in this book where Romeo is Death Eatered and Juliet falls for a nicer Heathcliff, their son is a de facto genius. Because ~drugs, of course.
[Jules POV] Writing what really happened with Romeo and me was all a bit close to the bone, so I changed things around a little. I set it way back in the past, with lots of silly clothes and frilly honor. Then, to top it all off, I wrote it in iambic pentameter. Why? Because when it comes to William Shakespeare, I'm a tragic. Seriously—I'm the ultimate fan. Even as a kid, I couldn't get enough of his plays—the irony of all those timeless themes when time is precisely what broke us. I guess a homage to him seemed only fitting. Not that Shakespeare ever wrote about stuff like teenage love, Montagues versus Capulets, or any of my other real-life dramas. And yet, fool that I am, I mimicked the Bard.
I’m a masochist, apparently.
What you are is bullshit. Even for YA shit, this is too ridiculous to consider. Just the psychological implausibility of a modern 21st century teen girl whatever able to write in 16th century verse about her very modern love affair gives me agita.
[Jules POV] I suppose he's aged—technically, he must have, though sure can't see it. To me, he looks exactly like he did the day that everything went wrong. Fair skin, blond hair, pretty eyes eternally closed—yep, he's your regular sleeping beauty. Except, of course, without the storybook ending.
[studio audience groan] Blond Romeo strikes again. Seriously, what is the appeal??? Hell, even the rationale? Even the first Romeo, Richard Burbage, was not at all blond. Leo DiCaprio has done incalculable damage indeed.
[Jules POV] It sounds ridiculous, but I don't really know if Romeo's seen me naked. We only slept together that one time and it was dark and cold, so there were plenty of blankets. Maybe he didn't see me at all. I wish I knew. In the grand scheme of true love, I know it shouldn't matter and yet I can't help it. Now that there's even a chance he might wake, I'm worried. Right from the start, Romeo bombed me with love—petards of affection, blowing my praise at the moon. He was always comparing me to a summer's day or linking love to beauty. I didn't care back then because I thought I fit the bill, but now? I don't know—I just hope that true love can admit impediments. (62)
Romeo compared Juliet to the sun, not a summer’s day. And that was in his own soliloquy-monologue. To Juliet his metaphors are much more action-oriented. Either way, already it’s plenty obvious this Romeo is a tosser and already I have a dim view of this Jules’ intelligence.
[Jules POV] Looking down, I can't help picturing that scene from my story. The one with Romeo beneath my window, full period costume, gazing up at me with total adoration. But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Those weren't his exact words, of course. It's what he meant, though, more or less. Basically speaking.
What part of “soliloquy” and “Romeo never directed those words to Juliet, those are his own private thoughts” do these people not understand????
Anyway, soon Ellis comes into the picture and we get a series of tedious comparisons and Not Like Other Girls-ing going on.
[Ellis POV] “The bolt cutters are in there,” she says, dropping her backpack on the ground at my feet.
Now, I might have been born at a time when chivalry was thriving, but I have never liked the women who simply expect it. Besides, Jules seems far from helpless. She handled herself very adequately back there with the lads on bicycles. (68)
Because of course a 19th century boy would 110% accept the assertiveness of a 21st century teen girl with no trouble. No thoughts, head empty.
[Jules POV] Ellis smiles. I scrutinize his face, trying to work out what game he's playing. I don't remember him having stubble before. Huh. I guess I'm too used to staring at Romeo's face, always smooth as a baby. (79)
Because Romeo isn’t manly, get it? He is the embodiment of toxic male entitlement and cis het boorishness, but he is also a wittle twink, get it? Meanwhile Ellis is tough and manly but also respectful and sensitive. What do you mean, this makes no sense?
[Ellis POV] Iggy reminds us. “Pretty much everyone still left here is desperate to jump. How are we going to get our hands on any?”
“I don't know,” I say, “though Beth is right.” I look around at my friends, the Deadenders. This is what we have been training for. This is what we cheated death for. “Somehow, we must save Jules. And wake Romeo. They have to be together. Everything—the whole future—depends on the two of them being together.” (84)
So the plan is to get the Cat-9 drug that can get Romeo out of his coma, and a mysterious note that appears on Jules’ book specifies “by first nightfall.” Which means Ellis and Jules spend about roughly the same amount of time as canon R&J in spending time together and falling in love, most likely even less. I’m sure the book won’t try to make their love for each other the true love and disparage R&J only for it to retcon the whole thing and hastily try to claim Jules didn’t fall in love with Ellis, she only loved him later on, right????
[Jules POV] When I arrived in the crypt that terrible night, I thought Romeo was dead. He looked dead. There was a faint pulse, apparently, but I sure as hell couldn’t find it. So, to my mind: dead. And here's the thing—I couldn't imagine anything more awful. Romeo not breathing? Most. Tragic. Thing. Ever. (101)
So I can’t help but noticing that in this AU Jules pretty much takes the role of Canon Romeo, and even appropriates a lot of his lines, claiming she is the one who came up with them. And of course, it’s Romeo in the coma, not Jules. I’m just saying that had Jules been male and Romeo in the coma had been female, this emotional cheating plot wouldn’t have flown for YA readers.
[Jules POV] I wipe some of the vomit off my hair. Then I keep staring at the puddle of sick on the floor so I don't have to look up again.
“Are you finished?” asks Ellis once the dry heaves have stopped. His tone is gruff, but he's moved to block my view of the Picassoed girl. It means stepping in puke, although he doesn't seem to care. Romeo would care. Romeo would find it all very disgusting. He wore nice shoes—loafers. Maybe the last pair of loafers left in all of creation. They were lovely. He took proper care of them. (101)
Because Romeo “I climbed a high-ass garden wall and killed Tybalt and Paris easily even though they are canonically dedicated duelist/older than me and turned into Cell Games Gohan the moment I heard Juliet was dead” Montague would be all precious about his shoes!!! Why can’t he be as manly as Ellis?????
[Jules POV] The old man starts eating hungrily. Ellis gave his last bit of food to a total stranger, I realize. Romeo never once did a noble deed without wanting praise. Yet Ellis tried to hide it?
Because Romeo “I gave my life for my true love and deeply regretted killing Tybalt and asked his corpse for forgiveness in the middle of my suicide” Montague never did a noble deed without wanting praise!!! This Romeo is basically an OC.
[Jules POV] I was wrong before. There aren’t two versions of Ellis, like some dramatic disconnect—Jules versus Juliet. The boy I met in the Chinese restaurant? The one who told me to trust my heart…and who said that I was smart and brave and beautiful and strong…and who died for me? He's the real one. Ellis can pretend all he wants, but I see him now. And once you've truly seen a person…well, unlike with time, there really is no going back.
So Jules met Future Ellis, who of course is in love with her and is all perfectly lovely to her, and so even though Present Ellis is snappish at her, she suddenly ~knows Future Ellis is the true version of this guy she just met two minutes ago??? Fuck you, book. Really.
[Ellis POV] Jules stares up at a murder of crows that have started to circle. After a moment, she says, “Our parents hated each other. Romeo and me being together...it was forbidden."
Yes, I understand forbidden all too well. A dark-skinned brat, a gypsy imp of Satan—that is what Mr. Brontë called me when he read Emily's journal. When he discovered that his daughter loved a boy who was not white. It was October of 1831, in the kitchen of their home. Mr. Brontë waved the journal around in a terrible rage. Emily stood her ground, refusing to apologize. (106-107)
Here we have Ellis’ backstory. Yes, he was supposedly the real-life inspiration of Brontë’s Byronic male love interest. I don’t know much about the real life of the Brontës, but I’m fairly sure this is all completely invented and Heathcliff is not based on any real-life amours of Brontë—I heavily doubt she even had any.
[Jules POV] We wait, frozen, which I guess is ironic. Because hasn't that been my life before today? Frozen in time, waiting for Romeo to wake? A life officially on hold?
I glance at Ellis; he's biting his lip again. It reminds me of a line from my play—this thing that I wrote about two blushing pilgrims. I was describing Romeo's lips. Thinking about it now, I wonder why I chose such delicate, bashful words. If I had to describe Ellis's lips, I'd—
No, never mind. (129)
The two blushing pilgrims is a religious-style metaphor framing Romeo as a pilgrim to Juliet’s saint. They are definitely not bashful at all, but some of the most blatantly erotic lines in Shakespeare. It’s such an effective come-on that the notion of this vapid airheaded Jules coming up with that metaphor is completely ludicrous.
[Ellis POV] "All of them," he says, quietly. "Every single era of humankind—past, present, future. Every time, the color of my skin has been an issue. Hate has been an issue.” (130)
Ellis had been a time traveller for years and yet he has never even heard of the words “Africa, Middle East, South Asia, Latin America” or “Xenophobia is not the same as racism.” And it shows.
I remember the wedding that I gave to myself, like a gift, in my story: quaint little church, flowers and candles, longing gazes, heartfelt vows, full period costume. Then the image morphs into what really happened: church smelling of piss, pews piled tall, graffiti everywhere. Romeo high as a kite, tongue-in-cheek as he slid the ring onto my finger…
I tell myself that the ring doesn't matter, except that’s a huge lie. The band of gold does matter, though not because of its connection to my husband. Romeo never gave me a ring—he forgot, so we used one of mine. It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me back when I was little and we were close. Before she became nothing more to me than a source of dramatic tension. (131)
Again, Jules’ lack of brain cells regarding her Romeo’s true nature is astounding. This is explained later on as a defense mechanism over Tybalt’s death and losing her baby (so she believed). But since Jules rarely if ever mentions Tybalt and the baby isn’t even so much as hinted at, all this delusion and make-believe rings so false. Jules almost died—to any sensible person this would be enough of a wake-up call.
When I first met her, I thought she was like Romeo—that they were peas in a pod. Well, not that kind of pod. Now I am starting to think it is a case of opposites attract. She is the wild one, and he is the conformist. (135)
When Ellis met Juliet, he didn’t even know Romeo, he literally just met him in a coma. He also had no other info about Romeo other than he would be Juliet’s husband and Frogs’ future father. How the fuck could he have gotten “Ah, yes, soulmate vibes, 10/10” out of Romeo lying there motionless???? Or even “Er, never mind, he is clearly the conformist to Juliet’s ~wildness”???? This novel is killing me. I’m just going to stop here for now before I really lose it.
#romeo and juliet#cristina reads#waking romeo#kathryn barker#oh god this book is better and worse than i remember#rj hate dumb#r&j hate dumb#romeo hate dumb#also the fact that jules literally visited romeo every day for two years straight#but ofc they are not endgame
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
@lunarscaled / i have brain rot for them in this au shut up just take this ♡
tw ; abusive relationship ( vis & vivian ) , violence , possible murder , imprisonment , drinking .
it will be tagged as ❛ v ; guard dog ❜ for those who may wish to block this from dash .
vivian was gone for a few days , perhaps a week . she had business within the port of the bladed district & deemed it too much trouble to come all the way back home just to return early the next morning . but ah , the two had a fight the night before she left . . . was that the true reason for her leaving him alone again ? no ⸻ it can’t be . his wife would not lie to him , right ? the fight was not their worst one , far from it . it was just another couples squabble , all couples had that ! it was his fault anyway –– he should have known better then to speak back so strongly to one of her friends . they were . . . kind to him . spoke of how pretty he was , that vivian & vis were so lucky to have one another !
why didn’t he feel lucky ? oh , wasn’t he so blessed to be married to a woman who’s friends valued him !
he sipped his wine . his fourth one today . it was never enough . besides . . . today would be the day she returns & he had to be happy to see her . so vis sat , in his sitting room watching the fireplace roar . . . the only source of light in the otherwise dark room . his eyes stared deep into the dancing & flickering of the flames . sometimes he could make out a person in that fire . was that person dancing ? perhaps they too , felt like the flames of love . burnt . scarred , but warmed too . that's what love was ? to be kept warm : laying the the grass during the summer months , lazy & relaxed . to place your hand directly in the fire & watch your skin bubble & melt away at it’s touch but don’t pull away ! it worth the warmth . it worth it & this is how it should be . this is how it will always be . so why bother fighting it .
vis leaned back into his chair , wine glass tilted & almost spilling out ⸻ until he heard the turn of the knob . he jolted up , tipping the glass into the nearest planter so she may not see how much he had today . vis turned to face the door , smilingly softly with hands in front of him . so politely , so softly . like a naive woman on her wedding day ! but when he saw those dark curls his body relaxed –– ah , when did he get so tense ?
❝ oh . . . lyric . ❞ it was not disappointment in his voice , no far from it in fact . it was utter relief .
❝ you should announce yourself when entering i thought ⸻ well i . . . i-it doesn’t matter . please sit with me . i have some snacks if you’d like some . . . ❞ he gestured to the spot next to him on his couch . the plushest seats ever seen , made of the finest blue velvet & edged in gold painted wood with intricate details of serpents in the seas . vivian would hate to see that dragon on ❛ her good furniture ❜ but it was his ! he bought everything here ! still , she wasn’t here . . . what she didn’t know would do harm . besides , vis could bat his eyelashes . play that wide-eyed-beauty role up . ❛ oh they looked so sad . . . how can i say no to good puppy eyes ? i know when you look at me with big eyes i can’t help myself vivi ❜ & she would melt once more to him .
so the shade returned back to his own seat & patting the space next to him . ( oh - how regretted dumping his wine . . . such a waste . . . hopefully the plant enjoyed it . ) it was nice to have lyric around . behind sharp teeth & snarling ; they were soft to him . almost like a guard dog at his feet ⸻ baring fangs towards anyone they seemed a threat to vis : vivian included . head in his lap as he sat , flipping through paperwork or simply enjoying a good book . sometimes vis would even read aloud to them . ah , how fast they fall asleep on him during those moments . so cute !
too bad the guilt of keeping them here ate at him . vivian & her division found them , washed ashore all alone & deemed them an asset to the kingdom . like a weapon to learn how to master . a dragon to best any enemy valskhan would have : so vivian took it upon herself to keep lyric in his home to ❛ train ❜ . lyric could leave any time ⸻ but the whole army would be after them to bring them back . DEAD OR ALIVE . so was there really a choice for lyric ? it kept him up at night .
❝ have you had lunch today ? if not i can ask miss clara to bring you something . anything you’d like . oh , do tell me if the fire is too much . . . i’m always a bit chilly . ❞ short dresses don’t offer much warmth in this cold weather of valshakn . but that was his uniform . either way , he crossed his legs & brushed forward some hair an attempt to cover his shoulders . a moment passes before he turns back to the fire to speak again ( why couldn’t he meet lyric’s gaze ? ) .
❝ i . . . she comes home today . you’ve been nice . . . can i ask you to keep that up ? ❞
#lunarscaled#⚜ ・ speak only when spoken to . — BEFORE THE DEATH OF VIVIAN VERSE !#v ; guard dog#tw abusive relationship#tw imprisonment#tw drinking#tw long post#𝓥˙˖* °⸻ ❛ you still want it … the inner sanctity ⅋ its an evil but the evil is necessary . ❜⎜❲ ic .❳
0 notes
Text
A Love He Once Knew
A Modern with Witchers AU feat. Reincarnation.
Pairing: Geraskier, Past Gerlion and Yenralt.
CW: Jaskier was Dandelion in a former life so minor MCD with Dandelion, Memory Loss (Geralt has lived too long to remember everything), touch-starved Geralt, canon-typical violence.
_
Geralt had lived a long time; too long, some might say. He’d seen the fall of Kingdoms, the rise of science and more wars than he could count. Sometimes, he even struggled to remember what the cold and crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen looked like. It was just a name that fell from his lips in dreams, a vision of a life long past. Friends and family had come and gone, the sorceresses his only constant companion in life. Their shared experience had bonded the witchers and mages more than Geralt would have ever anticipated, and as a result, Yennefer had led a series of experiments to help bring the witchers the same immortality as the mages had. She’d stood in front of- of the lodge, if Geralt recalled correctly, and stated that if they could no longer make new witchers, then they needed to preserve the ones they had.
The monsters, after all, weren’t going away any time soon.
Somewhere in his memory, Geralt remembered a pair of cornflower blue eyes, framed by soft golden curls. He couldn’t quite remember the man’s name - if they were a man. Geralt couldn't always be sure, “she-elf” his mind supplied on occasion, but ‘he’ felt right…
If only he could place the name.
Dandelion
He sometimes heard on a whisper of the wind, but he always shook his head with a quiet scoff. After all, who named themself after a fucking flower?
“I’m Jaskier,” the brunet slurred in his lap, spilling an orange cocktail over Geralt’s shirt and trousers. “And you… you are very pretty.”
“I’m here to drink alone,” Geralt grumbled for not the first time, trying to push the musician onto the floor.
He’d been howling some gods awful tune at the start of the evening, until he’d eventually been booed off the stage and pulled away from the mic. The idiot had then proceeded to get absolutely wasted, as if there wasn’t a bruxa roaming the streets of Oxenfurt at night, favouring those who were drunk as skunks. The worst part was he seemed to be very attached to Geralt.
The man, Jaskier, had no concept of personal space. He seemed to have absolutely no fear of witchers, despite the still lingering rumours of the death and destruction that followed them. Jaskier clung to Geralt, hands resting on his arms, legs, cheeks. The touch burned, and Geralt wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold Jaskier closer or push him to the floor.
“Oh well, darling, that’s just no fun!” Jaskier giggled… not for the first time.
Melitele’s tits… he was a mess.
And yet Geralt’s arms were wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, holding him steady so he didn’t slip to the floor and injure himself. Everyone would surely blame Geralt if he did, which was the only logical reason, of course. It had nothing to do with the strange comfort found in a stranger's touch after so long of being alone and feared in the world.
It certainly had nothing to do with the strange familiarity found in the cornflower blue of Jaskier’s eyes, the curve of his smile, the melodic peal of his laughter.
A loud screech tore through the air, and all the doors and windows burst open around them, an icy breeze catching on Geralt’s skin. The rest of the crowd started to scream and pandemonium broke out around them, everyone trying to escape it whatever way they could. Glasses shattered to the ground, and there was a clatter of wood against stone as the pool cues fell to the floor, all games abandoned.
And then there was Jaskier.
“Oooh cool!” Jaskier giggled, completely unaware of the danger.
Geralt let out a low growl as black eyes scanned the room beneath a mess of long dark hair. Her gaze landed on Jaskier and then she disappeared, blurring from view and leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone in the room.
“Not good,” Geralt hummed, sliding Jaskier to one knee so he could get at his potions. The black blood was bitter on his tongue but it was a familiar sensation as the poison burned through his veins.
“Oh my gods, your eyes!” Jaskier giggled, “Gorgeous, stunning, amazing… just,” the man paused, his words cut off with a hiccup. “Ethereal”
“Shut up, Jaskier!”
“Oh, ho, ho! Scary witcher!”
The bruxa shrieked as she landed almost in Jaskier’s lap, but Geralt was faster. He pushed the musician to the floor and pulled his sword from its sheath on the floor. “Get down!”
Thankfully, the idiot finally seemed to grasp the danger he was in, and scrambled to hide under the table. The battle ended quickly, Geralt ruthless in his attacks to the detriment of his own safety, and by the time the bruxa lay dead on the floor, he had several wounds bleeding sluggishly through his armour. His energy was seeping from his body quickly but he had something he needed to do-
Something-
Needed…
“Geralt!”
“Fuck.”
_
When Geralt woke up it was to the sterile scent of a hospital, and he groaned. Hospitals had improved since the days of leeches, but they were less inclined to hire magic users these days which was… not good. Mages were more expensive than nurses, but whilst the healers were talented, there were just some things that couldn’t be helped without the aid of chaos.
Monster bites and other related injuries, for example.
“Shit!” he cursed as he sat up quickly, pulling at the wires that were stuck to his bare chest. He barely registered the sting of his hair being pulled from the follicles, too desperate to be free.
“Woah, there,” a firm hand pressed him down, gripping at his shoulder, and Geralt let out a low snarl, but he was too weak to fight. “You almost died, Geralt. Lie back down until the nurse comes to check up on you, alright?”
Geralt blinked, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a sigh, and then glanced up at his captor. Blue eyes met his and he groaned, falling back against the pillow. “Not you.”
“Oi! I saved your life, witcher.”
“Saved yours first,” he muttered back.
“Yes, yes, and I’m very grateful,” Jaskier cooed, his hand drifting from Geralt’s shoulder down his arm until he gripped Geralt’s hand tightly in his own. The touch burned and he wanted to tear away. Nobody came near witchers like this, and he had no doubt that there was some kind of ulterior motive. “I was worried about you, love.”
“Love?”
Jaskier shrugged. “Pet names are a terrible habit of mine, although you know it’s special if I-”
“Don’t care.”
“You’re grumpy.”
“I almost died.”
With a laugh and a blinding smile that made Geralt’s heart trip a little… something he really didn’t want to think about so he blamed it on the after effect of the potions. “Oh, my darling, I almost died too. No excuses.”
Geralt hummed, ready to fall back asleep again when he suddenly noticed Jaskier’s clothes. They were stained with orange juice… or more accurately Sex on the Beach, and crumpled; the same clothes he’d been wearing at the club. He frowned, turning to the window, wincing at the bright light that shone through the glass- daylight.
Which meant that Jaskier had stayed overnight with him… at least.
“How long have I been here?”
A dark blush bloomed on Jaskier’s cheeks, and he fiddled with the dirt under his nails, very obviously avoiding Geralt’s gaze. “Three days?”
“Fuck.”
“What?” Jaskier pouted.
“My dog.”
The horror that crossed over Jaskier’s face was endearing. Without even knowing Roach, Jaskier immediately was concerned for her safety, and that warmed something inside Geralt that he’d not thought about in centuries.
Not since-
Blue eyes, blond hair…
No.
That wasn’t, he didn’t. He would never forget someone so special. He couldn’t. Geralt refused to believe that once upon a time he’d love someone in the way that all the fairy tales spoke of, only to forget their name, the sound of their voice.
He shook his head and re-focussed on the brunet in front of him, noting the differences between Jaskier and the man from his dreams. He was broader, not quite as tall or elf-like, short, messy brown hair in place of long, golden locks… but still beautiful, and those eyes…
Geralt knew those eyes.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, cupping his cheek with calloused fingers, and it was only then that Geralt realised the man had been talking whilst he’d been lost in thought.
“Hmm?”
“I asked where you live, I’ll see to your dog until you’re discharged.” Jaskier's eyes were focussed on him with such intensity, and his hand never strayed from Geralt’s cheek. The touch was warm, firm, and Geralt wanted to lean into it, forget about the pain in his chest or the burning stench of the hospital. He could get lost in Jaskier’s eyes and never have to worry about the world again.
But Jaskier was just being kind because Geralt had saved his life. The drunken flirting had meant nothing to him, probably just curious about what it was like to fuck a witcher more than anything, and Geralt knew he couldn’t get attached… shouldn’t get attached, so he pulled away from the touch with a snarl and shook the bard- no… the musician- away from him. The hospital was too small, enclosed, sterile, suffocating. He had to get away, get home. Pushing back the lure of sleep, he pulled out the rest of the wires and stood up. The world spun a little and his knees buckled underneath him, but Jaskier was there, an arm around his waist to steady him.
“I really think you should-”
“I’m leaving.”
“Right, right, yes, okay then… Let me help you?”
Geralt growled, turning to Jaskier with more anger than he felt. “I don’t need your help.”
The idiot just shrugged and smiled softly, never taking his hands from Geralt’s waist. “Perhaps not, but I’d still like to, Geralt. Please?”
“Fine, but then you will leave me alone.”
Jaskier just laughed, that bright and beautiful, musical laugh that made Geralt feel… feel something. “Oh, ho, ho! Witcher, you’ll have to try harder than that darling. I think you’ll find that I’m rather like velcro… or superglue? Nah, velcro is better. Makes a nice sound too, like me, get it? Because I’m a singer and-”
“Jaskier!”
“Shutting up.”
He didn’t shut up, not really. Less than a minute later, Jaskier was rambling on about something again, something he’d seen outside the window, or commenting on a nurse's hair or smile… anything and everything, and yet Geralt got the sense that no matter how much Jaskier talked, he never said anything. Beyond the fact that the man was a musician and had no apparent sense of self-preservation… Geralt knew nothing about him. For all the words that he spoke… none of them really held any meaning. It was infuriating. Geralt himself only spoke when he had something meaningful to say, and this mindless drivel that was spouting from Jaskier’s lips was just… it was too much.
And yet not enough.
Geralt wanted to know more, despite the lies he told himself. If this idiot kept latching onto Geralt with easy touches and not even a whiff of fear in his scent, then Geralt wanted to know why. Everyone was afraid of witchers, they were rare and dangerous and it was human instinct to fear them. Witchers were, after all, often the most dangerous creature in whatever room they occupied. That was their entire reason for existing- to fight and kill the monsters that destroyed everyone else.
“We’re here,” Geralt grumbled as they hobbled up to his front door.
He watched Jaskier’s face carefully as he pulled the key from his pocket, surprised to find it was still there. His clothes were torn to shreds under the armour but they’d been the only clothes he’d had to change into at the hospital. He’d half expected the pockets to be useless but luckily the bruxa’s attacks seemed to have left at least one of his them unscathed and his key and mobile remained safely nestled inside. Jaskier’s nose wrinkled as he looked at the worn down block of flats that Geralt called home. The walls were rotten in places, and half the windows were boarded up to protect the residents from the broken shards of glass. The paint on the main door was peeling off and thick with mould.
It was not a pleasant place to live.
But Geralt was not a wealthy man. Monster hunting had never been a lucrative profession and even with Yennefer’s help over the years… he couldn’t afford much. Any profits he made went back into his armour, swords and potions. His only luxury was his dog and taking care of her wasn’t exactly cheap. It was less expensive than a horse, but food and vet bills were still an expense he didn’t exactly need. He’d found Roach at a shelter, days away from being put down, and despite his better judgement, he’d not been able to leave her behind.
With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and gestured for Jaskier to go in. The man scurried in wordlessly, but clearly looked around in distaste, and Geralt couldn’t blame him. Of course, he could have lived with Yennefer, or asked her for more help financially, but owing Yen favours was a tricky business and Geralt preferred to be as independent as he could. It was simpler this way.
“Not what I expected,” Jaskier mused as Geralt led him up the stairs, right to the top of the building.
“Hmm?”
“I thought maybe… oh I don’t know, some kind of old castle, a training yard or- or… something?”
Geralt chuckled, unlocking the door to his flat. “Kaer Morhen is long gone. We had to move on.”
“Kaer Morhen?”
“Our home… Once upon a time.” Geralt didn’t add that the only reason he remembered the name was because of the fairytales about witchers from long ago.
“Huh… neat.”
That was all Jaskier managed to say before Roach barrelled through the door and knocked the man off his feet. She pinned him down and licked at his face with happy barks. Geralt just watched, stunned by the rare display of affection from his dog.
“Weird, she normally hates strangers.”
Jaskier giggled and made a fuss over Roach, “She knows that I’m no stranger. Isn’t that right, darling? You know I’m going to be your dad’s best friend in the whole wide world? Yeah? Aww you are such a good girl. The bestest girl!” Jaskier cooed with a blinding smile. “Oh can I give her a treat?”
Rolling his eyes, Geralt stepped over the pair of them and wandered into the kitchen to grab the jar of dog biscuits from the counter. He rattled the pot and Roach came flying towards him, swiftly followed by Jaskier, red-faced and bright-eyed.
“Make sure she earns it.”
Jaskier nodded and eagerly grabbed the treat from Geralt. “Sit?” Geralt hummed. “Sit, Roach, Oh there’s a good girl, you are aren’t you! Ow!” Stuffing his fingers into his mouth, Jaskier glared at Roach who was quite happily crunching at the gravy bone he’d given her. “She bit me!”
“She’s just excited,” Geralt explained with a shrug.
That didn’t appear to be good enough for Jaskier though. He continued to pout until a mischievous smirk bloomed on his face, and that was the only warning Geralt got before Jaskier’s hands flung around his neck. “Kiss it better!”
“No.”
“Oh come on, please,” Jaskier whined, pouting up at him and leaning all his weight against Geralt so that he needed to be held up. It was very tempting to let him drop to the floor, but Geralt couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the weight of Jaskier in his arms.
“Urgh, fine,” Geralt grumbled, taking Jaskier’s not really injured hand into his and pressing a light kiss to his fingertips. “Better?”
Blushing furiously, Jaskier nodded. “Yup, yeah… yes. Good. All good. Thank you, dear heart.”
After that, Geralt appeared to be stuck with Jaskier. It was like the man had said, he was like superglue. Jaskier visited him almost everyday, bringing food, wine, and dog biscuits for his two new favourite people in the whole wide world (his words, not Geralt’s), and quite often Jaskier would join Geralt on dog walks, and later on hunts whenever Geralt had a contract. The two of them became… inseparable? And Geralt was confused by Jaskier’s presence on a daily basis. The easy touches never stopped, in fact they only seemed to get worse- no… not worse; better… more. More and more, Jaskier would be there for Geralt when he got injured, tending to his injuries or dragging him to a hospital when it was too bad for him to help.
Slowly, but surely, Geralt got used to Jaskier’s warmth, his glow. The touches hurt less as he got used to them and he began to almost seek them out, not really asking for them but Jaskier always seemed to know what Geralt needed and when. It became part of his routine as much as breathing and eating, and whenever he didn’t see Jaskier for a few days then he noticed that he started to curl up more in his sleep, hugging the pillow towards him, or wrapping his arms around his own chest in a desperate need to fill the gap that Jaskier had carved out for himself in Geralt’s life.
It was overwhelming on the best of days and downright terrifying on others.
But Jaskier stayed, despite the harsh words Geralt sometimes threw his way in a panic, Jaskier would lightly tease him about being grumpy and move on. They’d end up in some restaurant or other for dinner, or Jaskier would insist they go out to a museum or zoo, because that’s what friends do. Geralt wasn’t so sure, he’d never been to a zoo with Yennefer before.
He’d never done any of this with Yennefer before, or Triss, or even any of his fellow witchers. Trailing around Jaskier watching animals was… well, Geralt wasn’t sure what to think. He’d spent a lifetime in the wilderness before the mass urbanisation and it still felt strange to see the animals caged, but they were happy, and most importantly, they were alive; safe from hunters who stole their lives and their lands.
“Geralt?” Jaskier asked one day whilst he was helping to pull monster guts from Geralt’s hair, with a little more force than Geralt thought was strictly necessary.
“Hmm?”
“Did you- umm, did you want to get dinner with me tonight?” The musician sounded nervous, and Geralt turned round with a puzzled expression on his face, only to see Jaskier scraping at the dirt under his nails and tugging his hair. What was even stranger, was that Jaskier wouldn’t meet his gaze, preferring to stare at the floor or at a loose thread on his clothes from where he’d worried the sleeve with his thumb.
“Sure?” Geralt grunted. He didn’t have much food left in his fridge, even with Jaskier pulling him out on bi-weekly grocery shops. There just hadn’t been much time between hunts recently and he ate more than Jaskier realised.
Dinner out would be better than tinned tuna.
That really didn’t explain the way Jaskier completely lit up, and threw his arms around Geralt’s neck, pressing his lips to Geralt’s cheek and then laughing almost manically. “Brilliant! I was sure you would say no, Gods… wow. Good. Brilliant, great-”
“Jaskier!”
“Yes, fine. Thank you, dear heart. I- I will see you tonight?”
“Yeah.”
_
About two weeks after their dinner, Geralt came to the startling realisation that he was now dating Jaskier, and the even more startling realisation that he wanted to, but he also wasn’t sure why Jaskier wanted to date him? What if they weren’t dating? Jaskier was flirtatious by nature, throwing charming smiles to their servers as often as he did to Geralt on their maybe dates. He hugged and touched and winked at almost everyone they met… so Geralt’s wasn’t really all that special. Not that that was a problem. Geralt had survived for centuries without Jaskier, so he was sure he could do it again. He didn’t need anyone, certainly not a twinky musician with a habit of getting into trouble.
“Geralt, love,” Jaskier said softly, his fingers lightly brushing Geralt’s cheek. “What’s going on up there?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure, sure…” Jaskier scoffed and rolled his eyes before pressing his lips to Geralt’s in a chaste kiss, swiftly followed by a kiss to his forehead.
It was nice. He liked when Jaskier kissed him. It was different from Yennefer. Those kisses were burning bright fireworks, desperate to get out before the spark died once more. Jaskier kissed him as if they had all the time in the world.
The irony did not escape Geralt.
But… what if Jaskier kissed his friends like that too? Men were starting to do that again… right? Fuck. Gods, he was so confused. So he just whined and pressed into Jaskier’s side, melting against him and snuggling up into his side. It was easier not to question it. No matter what the reason, Jaskier seemed to like him and Geralt would enjoy it whilst it lasted.
_
Four months later, Jaskier was still plastered to his side and Geralt had finally just about come to terms with his new friend, or boyfriend really he supposed. They had become an unstoppable force together. Jaskier told the stories of Geralt’s adventures via his music and short stories, and in turn Geralt protected him from gods knows how many monsters.
So many fucking monsters.
It felt like every week Jaskier was being trailed by something or other, if not twice a week. Geralt was sure his boyfriend was cursed. He’d never met anyone who was quite as prone to trouble as Jaskier.
Dandelion
The thought drifted through his mind unbidden, and he snarled, even after all this time his brain kept trying to find connections between Jaskier and the unknown man that still lingered in his dreams. He’d even spoken to Yen, but she’d just smiled enigmatically and said something about souls always finding each other eventually.
Fucking mages. They never spoke plainly and it drove him mad.
Geralt’s phone rang, snapping him from his thoughts. He would usually ignore it, but it was Jaskier’s special ringtone, and that only ever meant trouble, so he pulled the device from his pocket and jabbed at the screen.
“G-geralt?” Jaskier’s voice hissed through the tiny speaker.
“Jaskier?”
“I think monsters are attacking my house,” he whined, sounding more scared than Geralt had ever heard him.
Fuck.
“Stay. Put!” Geralt ordered firmly and then gathered his swords and potions. There wasn’t time to work out the specifics, he would have to deal with that when he got to Jaskier’s house.
His boyfriend was in danger, and he refused to lose the best thing that had happened to him in centuries. The streets flew past in a blur, and at least two cars and to emergency break as Geralt drove more recklessly than he had in years. He couldn’t remember the last time Jaskier had been attacked when they weren’t together, but he knew he didn’t like it. There was a horrible helplessness that plagued him with every minute that ticked by on the clock. Jaskier could be dead by the time Geralt made it across town, and he knew that he would blame himself if he didn’t cut every corner or take every shortcut. There had to be absolutely no excuses if he was too late.
In his wing mirror, the speed camera flashed behind him as he went past.
“Fuck,” he sighed but didn’t let up on the accelerator. Jaskier’s house was only another block away and Geralt would not be too late; he couldn’t be, it just wasn’t an option.
The house was already a mess when Geralt pulled up, splintered beams and shards of glass covered the lawn, and there was a billow of smoke coming from inside the broken building.
“Shit! Jaskier!”
“Geralt!” came the reply, and Geralt let out a sigh of relief.
Jaskier was safe...ish. He was still alive at the very least. Focussing his senses, Geralt scanned the wreck of the house, the low snuffling growl was not a good sign. It could have been a wolf if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage that had been done. So it was something… big rather than magical. Geralt sighed and drew his silver sword, pulling a thunderbolt potion from his satchel and downing it with a grimace. Even after all these years, they’d never figured out who to make it taste better without messing with the potency.
He followed the sounds of the monster through the ruin, snarling as something grabbed his arm. Jaskier whined and fell against him before Geralt could attack.
“Oh thank fuck, I thought I was a goner,” his boyfriend cried, clinging onto Geralt’s arm as if he were the only thing keeping him standing.
“Wait in the car,” Geralt ordered, not bothering to hide his face from the musician. Over the months Jaskier had seen Geralt in all stages of toxicity and Geralt knew that there was very little that scared his boyfriend when it came to witchers. Monsters, however, Jaskier was terrified of this one in particular. The bitter stench of fear almost made Geralt feel nauseous. He wasn’t used to Jaskier’s normally sweet, honied chamomile scent smelling so… putrid.
“But-”
“I said wait in the car!”
“Urgh, fine,” Jaskier pouted and placed a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “Be safe, love. Come back to me.”
“Hmm.”
And with that Jaskier finally saw sense to flee the house, leaving Geralt to deal with its destroyer. He found the fiend in the garden, asleep but snoring loudly, clearly guarding its new territory. Geralt wasn’t lucky enough to get close enough without waking the beast, and teeth met silver in a fierce battle. Thankfully, the destruction of the house, presumably looking for Jaskier, had left the fiend weak and, as far as fiends went, the fight wasn’t too bad- certainly not deadly. Geralt still received a rather nasty gash to his thigh, but it was worth the sacrifice, on the next blow the fiend was dead, Geralt’s sword driven through its skull.
Grunting, Geralt fell to the floor, rolling onto his back as he tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, mentally going over where his body hurt and how badly. There was a swallow potion in the car, but he was pretty sure he’d be okay without it. The injury on his leg needed stitches but nothing that he couldn’t do himself and Jaskier was sure to fuss over him until he could walk without limping again. No need to waste precious potion ingredients on it though. They grew less and less in the wild, and he really hated going to Triss to buy more. There was something unbelievably frustrating about spending money on ingredients when he’d been able to find plenty in the fields of the Continent for centuries.
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, until a touch to his cheek startled him. Gazing up through a weary haze, he caught sight of soft cornflower blue eyes, framed by long golden curls. The man wore a lilac hat on his head adorned with a feather, and he had a- a lute? Strapped to his back.
“Dandelion?” Geralt murmured, not quite believing his eyes.
The man laughed, the sound more beautiful than any nightingale’s song, and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “Oh darling, I haven’t gone by that name in years. How did you even know?”
Geralt groaned and rubbed his eyes, blinking as he gazed up at the cornflower blue eyes, but the blond faded to brunet, and the fine silks were replaced with the jeans and flannel that Jaskier preferred.
“Jaskier…” he breathed.
Luckily, Jaskier only seemed amused by Geralt’s mistake… wait…
“You used to go by Dandelion?”
Jaskier chuckled, lacing their fingers together. “Mhmm, back at Oxenfurt. I didn’t want to go by Julian. I’d always hated it but it’s an old family name I guess, anyway I was looking through the records at Oxenfurt for inspiration, and found about an old bard that used to attend the school back in medieval times. He used to travel with a witcher too, but there’s a bit of a debate about which one and whether he ever survived. He went by Dandelion, and I thought that was really cool, but it never felt quite right, like I was trying to be someone… someone I used to be? It’s hard to explain. Either way, I decided to keep the flower theme and switched to Jaskier after a couple of months.”
Frowning, Geralt sat up, pressing his head against Jaskier’s, he caught the musician’s lips in a chaste kiss. “I think Dandelion would be proud to have inspired you, Jask.”
“Oh really?”
Smiling as he finally saw the man from his dreams clearly for the first time in centuries, Geralt nodded. Yennefer had said that souls often find a way of finding each other, and Geralt had found his Dandelion in Jaskier. They were not the same man, nor did Geralt want them to be, but he found great comfort in knowing that Dandelion had never left him, had just waited for life together to begin again.
“Yeah.”
“You sap,” Jaskier sighed against Geralt’s lips. “I love you, Geralt.”
The words surprised Geralt. They shouldn’t have done, not with the way Jaskier seemed to fall in love with everyone he met, but still they did, melting his heart and easing the ache that he’d lived with for years. His own reply lingered on his tongue, not quite ready to come out yet, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind, content to keep kissing languidly until Geralt pulled away.
“Move in with me?”
“What?”
“Until…” Geralt gestured to the wreck of Jaskier’s home. “Or longer if you’d like. I should warn you, I only have one bed though.”
Jaskier scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Darling, we’ve been dating for months. I’m hardly going to complain that I get to cuddle up to my boyfriend every night.”
Dating.
Thank fuck. Geralt laughed and pulled Jaskier into another kiss. Gods, he’d really been an idiot all this time, but really it had been the first time Jaskier had said it so plainly.
“My boyfriend,” Geralt echoed, nuzzling into Jaskier’s neck. “I like the sound of that.”
-
Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @thewitcherbog
#the witcher#geraskier#gerlion#geralt/jaskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#jaskier pankratz#dandelion#reincarnation#wolfie's witcher writing
245 notes
·
View notes
Text
you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}
summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)
^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)
this is spoiler free! enjoyyy
- jazz xx
Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.
And frankly, that was putting it nicely.
It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.
So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.
Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.
That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.
"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.
"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."
Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.
"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.
"I'm good, but thank-"
You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.
"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.
"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."
"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."
"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"
"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.
"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."
"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."
"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."
That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.
You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.
"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."
"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"
"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."
"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.
"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.
"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.
"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."
"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."
--
The night only got longer from there, really.
There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.
"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"
"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.
Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.
"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.
"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"
"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."
"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."
He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"
"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"
"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.
"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"
"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.
Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.
Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.
You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.
"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."
You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."
"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.
"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."
"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"
"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."
"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."
"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."
"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.
"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.
"Do you have a better suggestion?"
"Vienna, obviously."
"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."
You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"
"I remember." You softly smiled.
"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."
"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"
"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."
"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."
"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."
"I do try."
He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."
"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."
"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"
"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."
"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'
Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."
"Thank you, though."
"For what?"
"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."
"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."
#why am i low key in love with katie?#i want a tall woman who smells of strawberries :(#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x gn!reader#bucky barnes x y/n#avengers x reader#avengers x you#avengers fluff#avengers angst#avengers imagines#avengers imagine#marvel imagines#marvel imagine
783 notes
·
View notes
Note
you uh. wouldn't mind an angst request would you haha because I have had this one scenario stuck in my head where leon (probably resi 6 leon) has been drinking a lot more and has been neglecting his s/o and they finally call him out on his shit
anyway ooga booga they fight and decide it's best they give leon his space and take a break and maybe he finds them at a bar he goes to to get wasted to already find them drunk off their ass
Angst is absolutely one of my most favourite things to write and to read like damn I do be out here making myself CRY. So I definitely don't mind angst like hell yeah!
I was gonna end this was a happier note- but uh, I really love angst so I left it semi-open ended but also pretty sad I think. Also not really dialogue-heavy, more like... I write too much detail-heavy :,) Also this isn't edited, I spent days on this cause I was overthinking it and felt it was just not good so oof I'm sorry!
Length: 2k
Request: in the ask
Warnings: angst, drinking, lowkey it's alcoholism on Leon's part, being drunk
Leon x Reader - "I know."
How long had it been since you had held your boyfriend's hand? Since the two of you had really sat together and done something together, fully, completely, involved, and focused on one another. You didn't even remember, which was agonizing to think about.
You had been through so much with Leon. And you knew where his deepest thought lay, but you could never truly know. And it didn't help that over the years the two of you had together, he had started to become more distant. And instead of finding his comfort in your arms, he found it in some glass bottle.
At first, you didn't really protest much, you didn't say much about it. A drink every once in a while couldn't hurt. Yet, it wasn't every once in a while. It was more often than you'd have liked. And he was using it to forget. To focus on anything else but his life and his memories. Your soft words trying to talk to him didn't do much to stop him or dissuade him. He brushed you off more often than not. It tore you up from the inside out that you couldn't help him, that at some point a bottle was his chosen form of comfort over you.
The guilt mixed with sadness, and then with anger. And in the end, those feelings came together and created an explosion between the two of you one night.
Your throat was hoarse as you swallowed as much air as you could. You couldn't exactly remember what the argument stemmed from but you knew it had to be related to him drinking.
"Will you just listen to me?!" You shouted, the words coming out uneven as your throat begged you to stop, "put that shit down Leon, and look at me!"
The man sitting at the aisle in your kitchen put the flask he had down in front of him, but still had his hands on it. He turned his head to look at you, barely even moving at all, and his eyes were looking at you like he was unimpressed or annoyed.
"I'm listening."
You wanted to pull on your hair and scream because he wasn't. He wasn't listening, and he hadn't been, at least not for a while.
"No you aren't, you are not listening to a word I say, you never do!"
He scoffed, turning back to his drink and taking another sip.
"Where am I going on Friday?"
"What?" He looked at you incredulously, completely lost as your voice went from yelling at him to speaking relatively peacefully, but there was no peace in your voice.
"I said, where am I going on Friday, Leon," you repeated with clenched fists, "if you listen to me if you even bother to pay attention to me, you would know the answer. So where am I going on Friday?"
The silence was your answer, as you expected it to be, you just hadn't expected it to be so painful.
"I'm going to visit my family in the town over," your voice was low and tired, and you wanted to cry but you couldn't even find it in you to do that, "I told you that a thousand times Leon I..."
Biting your lip hard, you felt yourself break skin, and the metallic taste of blood invaded your taste buds. You were so angry at him moments before, angry enough you had been yelling. But suddenly you weren't angry anymore. You were just so sad; sad for yourself and sad for him. He wasn't going to listen to you, not right now, that much was clear.
"I've been busy Y/N-" whatever he said was wasted on deaf ears as you drowned them out unintentionally, your eyes trained on the flask he nursed.
For once, you knew you had to let it be. You had to give him space, and give yourself space.
"I'm sleeping in the guest room," you offered lamely after the long silence between the two of you after he had finished whatever he had said. Leon looked up at you, with a look of surprise, and confusion, "we both need space. From each other. I just... Don't stay up drinking all night."
"Y/N-" his words once again fell upon deaf ears, and his fingers just missed your arm as you turned and went upstairs to the room usually used by people like Claire, or Chris, sometimes Sherry.
When morning came, you had gotten up later than usual, Leon was already gone as he usually was early in the morning with his job and everything. Your heart felt heavier as you walked into the empty kitchen and noted the vodka bottle you two had been given as a gift was half empty. Something in you asked if it was all worth it; did it really do so much that he drank more than he should've? Did it take away the feelings of hopelessness, like the one you were currently stuck in?
Those were the thoughts that followed you the entire day as you went about your routine. They followed you all the way to the spare bedroom of one of your old friend's homes as you decided you and Leon needed to take a break. If you didn't do that, you feared you would only lose him completely. Or lose yourself. It was exhausting.
But what was even more exhausting was not seeing him. You worried for him, and even if you sometimes felt like he didn't, he worried for you.
It would take about a week before something would crack, before the storm that had been brewing between you two, the one that laid dormant after you walked out to take from your relationship, would begin to thunder again, but in a much different way.
"We're here to have fun," your friend who had been letting you stay over said as she pushed a shot of... something into your hands, leaning against the bar from your side while you said on one of the barstools, "and loosen up. You specifically."
You rolled your eyes; this wasn't in your plan for the day, going to a bar. But it was more than you had done in the past week now. Your routine consisted of going to work and heading back to your friends. Nothing more, nothing less.
You wanted Leon. But you couldn't have him right now. You were still upset, and you didn't even know if he wanted you right now. Everything was a mess.
Things seemed to blur together over the course of the night in the bar, your friend insisting on you trying each new drink she got, some not new too. You had had one drink that you ordered of your own volition, and it had been a regular bottle of beer. But the shots your friend got for you two, and the sips of the drinks your friend ordered, culminated into more than you realized and you could say you were a bit more than just tipsy.
For some reason though, your friend seemed to be chugging along much better than you, you must've been a lightweight.
You hadn't even seen your friend in a while, but you also were so out of it that you couldn't exactly comprehend time properly at that current moment in time.
A hand on your arm and a familiar voice seemed to sober you a bit as your eyes met familiar blue, but they were clouded over with pain, with worry. Confusion too, and a bit of shock. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch his arm. His face. To smooth the furrow that seemed to be etching itself into his brow, threatening to become a new and permanent feature.
But the sober feeling you experienced also stopped you from doing any of the above. Rather, your body stiffened a bit and you pulled away from his touch, only barely missing the look of hurt that glided over his features as you did so.
"L-Leon?" the alcohol in your system made it sound more like you were questioning if he was real rather than saying his name, "What are you-"
The question you were going to ask didn't even need to be finished. It didn't even need an answer from him, because even if you were drunk, you knew Leon. And you knew why he was there.
"Oh," you couldn't help but scoff, "you want my drink? It'll start you off-"
Leon wasn't going to pretend that he hadn't come to the bar to drink away his sorrows; to forget all the pain he held onto and the nightmares he couldn't escape, and now the pain of not having you around. But when he walked in and saw you? Something in him stopped. Something in him twisted and he felt nauseous and for once it wasn't because of a hangover, but it was because of you.
You looked so miserable. Not that you realized you were wearing your heart on your sleeve at the bar, with the dejected look on your face and the limp hand holding onto a beverage you clearly didn't enjoy. Whilst at the same time, you looked empty.
Is that what you saw? Is that what he looked like to you when he was drinking? When he was at home or at a bar, focusing on anything but reality?
Leon didn't want a drink anymore, he wanted to get you out of a place that didn't suit you whatsoever. He wanted to take you home, he didn't want you to be him.
"You didn't come here alone, did you?" He cut off whatever you were trying to say as he looked into your eyes sternly.
"What? N-no I'm not stupid... I came here with a friend."
It didn't take long for Leon to figure out the friend because he spotted her coming near the bar, and recognized her.
"Hey, I'm taking Y/N home," Leon tried to not sound aggressive when he spoke, but it may have only made him sound more upset.
"Leon? Oh, ya, of course. Are you two...?"
"We'll be fine," Leon replied as he helped you stand up, "thanks for being with them."
He hadn't just meant in the bar but in the past week. It was left unsaid, but it was laid bare.
As much as you wanted to pull away from the man who gently wrapped one of his strong arms around your waist, and used the other to hold your arm behind his neck, you couldn't. You didn't have the strength to, and you missed him.
Leon was glad he had taken the car and not his motorcycle. There was no way in hell he would've been able to keep you on a motorcycle all the way back to your home that you shared, or well, you hadn't for the past week. But that wasn't the point.
"You're so mean Leon..." you mumbled as he helped you get into the passenger seat of the car. He all but carried you into it like a child and leaned across you to put your seat belt on. You leaned your face into his neck as he did so, breathing deeply.
"I just... Want you to be happy," you continued sloppily, "but you won't... Let me in..."
Leon's breathing stopped for a moment as he stilled, his hand still on the seatbelt he had just finished putting you in. He quickly pulled himself together and pulled back, adjusting the belt on your body so it wasn't digging into your lazy form, but it was still doing its job.
"I know."
There was so much more he could say, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he ever could.
He settled himself into the driver's seat and got ready to start the car up.
"I still love you though..." your words were slurred as you rested your head on the car window, feeling your eyes grow heavier.
"I..." Leon's hand was turning white at the knuckles from how hard he was holding the steering wheel. He didn't deserve you. And you didn't deserve this.
"I know..."
#leon kennedy x reader#leon scott kennedy#leon kennedy#leon x reader#my writing#amy writes#resident evil#resident evil 6#re#resident evil imagine#resident evil fanfiction#angst#re angst#hey tumblr and EVERY OTHER PLATFORM#STOP TRYING TO CORRECT MY CANADIAN SPELLING OF WORDS OKAY GOSH#Just cause i wrote favourite with a U doesnt mean its wrong i hate u#this isnt good im sorry oop#alcohol mention#drinking mention#its 5 am omfg i need to go to bed holy FUCK
400 notes
·
View notes
Text
Life As We Know It {Prologue}
Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.
Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.
Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both Shelby and I’s blogs! >> @snelbz
We hope you all enjoy. :)
Cassian knew very little about Nesta Archeron, but he knew one thing for certain: she was hot as hell.
He had sworn he’d never go on another blind date, but Rhysand had begged, over and over again, for him to go out with the eldest sister of his girlfriend. So, to shut his brother up, Cassian agreed.
Reluctantly, but nonetheless.
He took a quick shower where he bathed himself in a new bottle of body wash before stepping out and towel-drying his hair. Considering Nesta was Feyre’s sister, he felt the need to make a good first impression, although he wasn’t sure what a good impression was to Nesta Archeron.
He was hoping he was sufficient enough.
He dressed in his usual attire of jeans and old boots, but decided to wear a button up for once, rather than one of his go-to t-shirts. Still, he pulled on his leather jacket and grabbed his keys before hurrying out the door.
He typed the address Rhys had texted him into his gps, seeing the drive was going to take him nearly twenty minutes longer than he’d anticipated, thanks to an accident on the interstate.
He swore under his breath, throwing his truck into motion. He hurried across town and parked in front of Nesta’s townhouse, fifteen minutes later than he was supposed to. Flipping down his sun visor, Cassian ran a quick hand through his loose hair and was heading up to the front door, knocking twice.
Or he would have, if the door wasn’t pulled open the second his fist made contact with it.
Suddenly, in his jeans and leather jacket, he felt extremely underdressed.
Nesta Archeron wore a beautifully fitted dark blue dress that fell only a couple inches above her knees. She wore heels, and her hair was curled. A silver clutch was gripped tightly in her hand.
She eyed Cassian, from the top of his head to his toes. For once, even though he was half a foot taller than she, even in heels, Cassian felt smaller than shit.
“Hey,” he said, at last, once the silence became unbearably awkward.
“You’re Cassian?” she asked.
“Were you expecting someone else?” he shot back.
Nesta’s lips thinned. “You’re late,” she said, instead.
“At least I came,” he grinned. “Hungry?”
Nesta took a deep breath as she lifted her chin. “I suppose so.”
“Good,” he said, gesturing toward his running truck. “Let’s go. I made reservations.”
She locked her door and followed him down the sidewalk. “Are we going to be late for those, too?”
Cassian elected not to answer her, pausing at the passenger door and opening it for her. He let out a sigh as he rounded the truck to his own seat.
Something told him this was going to be a long night.
He was absolutely right.
Not a single word was said on the way to the restaurant across town, and, by some grace of the Cauldron, they made it on time for their reservations.
They were set at a table by the entrance quickly, and once their server arrived, Nesta ordered a glass of wine, while Cassian stuck with his usual beer.
“So,” Cassian began, clearing his throat as they waited for their drinks to arrive. “What should I know about you, Nesta?”
“That’s it?” she asked, brow raised. “That’s the question you’ll begin with?”
Cassian’s head fell to the side. “What question should I have gone with?”
Nesta took a moment to look around the bustling restaurant. “Well, you’ve yet to tell me how beautiful I look, or ask me how I’m doing tonight.”
Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine. You look nice. How are you?”
Nesta snorted. “Well, I waited twenty minutes for my date, thinking he wasn’t coming. Other than that, fine, I guess.”
“You don’t do this often, do you?” Cassian asked. There was nothing accusatory in his tone, just simple curiosity.
“Do what?” Nesta asked, the words nearly clipped.
“Date,” Cassian replied, simply. “Go out with someone for the first time.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I don’t particularly have a lot of free time to waste.”
Cassian’s eyebrows rose at her choice of words. “You don’t have to be here, you know?”
The server quietly returned to the table, setting their drinks down, before hurrying away, sensing the tension between the two. Nesta’s eyes didn’t leave him the whole time. She picked up her wine glass, taking a long drink, before she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you clearly would rather be anywhere but here,” Cassian replied, leaning back in his seat. “I’d hate to waste your time.”
She was about to reply when a voice came from their left.
“Cassian?”
He looked over his shoulder to find an old friend - a term that he used very, very loosely.
Tanwyn and he had a very complicated relationship. They were friends - at least, they had been at one time. It had all become very complicated the first time he had invited her into his bed.
And the second time.
And the third.
And every time after that.
He smiled at her, almost hesitantly. “Hey, Tan. What are you doing here?”
“Here with some friends,” she grinned, approaching their table. “And you?”
“Here with…” Cassian’s voice trailed off as he looked across the table. “This is Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is Tanwyn-.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nesta said, words clipped. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re on a date.”
She blinked, taken aback at Nesta’s cold greeting. “Right… Sorry to interrupt. I’ll see you later, Cass.” She nodded to Nesta. “Nice to meet you.”
She was gone before Cassian could say another word, and he looked at Nesta incredulously.
She raised her glass before putting it to her lips. “So when is the last time you slept with her?”
Cassian was stunned, shaking his head. “She’s a friend, there was no reason to be rude.”
“My question still stands.” Nesta folded her hands on the table, her eyes on Cassian’s.
“How do you even know-? What are you, a psychologist?”
“No, I’m a chef,” she said, glaring at him. “But you show everything on that pretty little face of yours. It was easy to read.”
He closed his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “We just need to…start over. This is all going wrong.”
Nesta stayed quiet before finally nodding. “Fine.”
The server picked that time to return, the two of them ordering their food, and the awkward first date conversation began again.
“I have to be honest,” Cassian began. “I’m not sure where to even begin.”
“Your name would be fine,” Nesta said, sipping from her glass.
Cassian watched her for a moment to make sure she was serious before saying, “Cassian Nazari. Childhood friend of Rhys’.”
“And your occupation?” she asked, in all seriousness.
“I’m a bartender,” Cassian said.
Nesta stared at him for a moment before asking, “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously, and before you make any judgements, bartenders make damn good money,” Cassian said.
“Interesting,” Nesta said, watching him intently.
“Right,” Cassian muttered. “Now, will you give me some insight into you or should I beg?”
Nesta rolled her eyes before saying, “I’m Nesta. And, yes, lie I said, I’m a chef. I’ve got a little restaurant in the Square”
“That sounds…interesting,” he said, repeating her words. “And your Feyre’s sister?”
“I am,” she said, pausing as the server brought out salads and she began to eat hers, without any dressing.
Cassian, on the other hand, nearly drowned his in ranch dressing. He watched as she ate her plain lettuce. “That looks…boring.”
“Salad dressing is fattening. It negates all of the goodness of the salad.” She took another bite, chewing and looking at him, then his salad swimming in ranch. “You look like you take care of yourself, I’m surprised you don’t watch what you eat as well.”
He scoffed. “I work out, but I’m not going to be miserable and eat rabbit food.” He gestured to the bowl in front of her.
She rolled her eyes, but continued to eat her rabbit food.
Silence grew between them but neither of them attempted to break it. It wasn’t until their main courses arrived that Cassian nodded toward the cursive ink on the inside of her wrist.
“You have a tattoo,” he said.
She eyed the ink that swirled around his arms, up beneath his rolled up sleeves. “I have a few,” she confessed.
“What are they?” he asked, starting to cut up his steak.
She took a bite of her salmon, chewing it slowly before deflecting his question with one of her own, “What are yours?”
Cassian glanced down at the swirls and marks of black ink that covered his forearms. “They’re Illyrian tribal marks. They all mean something different, but I would be lying if I told you I knew what every one of them meant.”
Nesta snorted. “Then why have them?”
Cassian met her eyes. “My mother was Illyrian. I grew up in Illyria, with her tribe.”
It seems the answer nearly took her back, but she ended up nodding, curtly. “How is your steak?”
“Too done,” he said, shrugging as he took a bite. “I like my meat red.” Her nose crinkled slightly. He asked, “What?”
Nesta shrugged. “I don’t eat meat.”
He blinked and watched as she took another bite of salmon. “You’re…eating fish.”
An eye roll was her reply. “I don’t eat red meat,” she clarified.
“So you’re a vegetarian?” He asked.
“No, I just don’t like to eat red meat. Chicken, pork, fish,” she gestured to her plate. “I like that. But I just prefer not to eat red meat.”
“Hmm.” It was more of a non-answer than anything, but before she could say anything, a man appeared, standing next to their table. Cassian glanced up at him. “Can we help you?”
He wasn’t looking at him though. He was looking at Nesta, who was pointedly not looking at him.
“What are you doing, Nes?”
She took a drink of her wine, draining the glass. “This doesn’t concern you, Tom.”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “We take a break and less than a month later, you’re on a date?”
She finally looked at him. “We’re not on a break, I broke up with you.”
Cassian cleared his throat. “Is this where all exes gather?” He looked around again to see if he saw Tanwyn, but she was gone.
“Leave,” Nesta said, plainly. “I can’t enjoy my dinner with you standing over me like the controlling bastard you were in our relationship.”
Cassian’s lips nearly fell open.
The woman had balls.
He respected that.
“I hate to break up this little reunion, but this is awkward as hell,” Cassian muttered, popping a spoonful of garlic mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Tomas said, looking to Cassian, using Nesta’s own words.
Cassian chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll give you two choices here, Tom. Either I call someone to take your ass away from our table or I make you leave, myself.”
“Tough guy, huh?” Tomas asked, putting a hand on Nesta’s shoulder.
Nesta brushed his hand off the second it made contact with her skin. “This is ridiculous. I’m calling over the server. We’re leaving.”
Cassian was inclined to agree. This date had been a catastrophe so far, but he was hopeful that maybe if she invited him in, he could salvage it.
Tomas seemed to take the hint, looking back to Nesta. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll talk about this entire situation then.”
She flagged down the server, but said to Tomas, “Don’t waste your time or mine.”
He walked away, muttering something under his breath, but the server returned and after a quick explanation from Nesta, she was off to get their check.
“Well, that was awkward,” Cassian said, clearing his throat, taking a drink of his beer, planning to finish it off.
“No more awkward than running into your fuck buddy,” she replied, pulling her lipstick out of her purse to re-apply it.
Cassian managed to swallow the mouthful of beer before he spewed it all over her. He coughed quietly. “You don’t tiptoe around anything, do you?”
Her answer was curt. “No.”
The server returned, standing the check book on the edge of the table, and Cassian elected to let the conversation drop at that. He reached into his back pocket to grab his wallet.
And froze.
It wasn’t there.
He checked every other pocket he had on him.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” he breathed, patting himself down.
Nesta arched a brow. “Issues?”
“I have to run out to the truck,” Cassian said, quietly. “I can’t seem to find my wallet.”
Nesta froze from where she sat behind her half-eaten salmon. “You forgot your wallet?”
“It’s probably in the truck-.”
“I didn’t see it in the truck-.”
“Then the glove box, maybe,” Cassian snapped. “Just, give me a minute.”
“Don’t bother,” Nesta bit, reaching across the table to grab the check.
Cassian got to it first and held it outside of her reach. “I can pay for it. I took you out, I’m paying.”
Nesta scoffed. “Spare me your holier than thou male bravado.”
Cassian stood. “I just need to run out to my truck.”
She was on her feet, snatching the check book from him and looking at the total. Without another word, she reached into purse and laid down a series of bills, before closing it and heading for the door.
Sighing, Cassian followed her, his cheeks heating. Never had he let a woman pay for his dinner, and he’d sure as hell never let her pay for the first date.
He didn’t say a word as he unlocked her door, opening it, and closing it after she’d climbed in. He rounded to his own door, immediately looking around the cab for his wallet. It was nowhere to be seen. He reached across, opening the glovebox, pulling a few things out.
His wallet wasn’t one of them, but Nesta didn’t fail to notice the gold foil wrappers. And how many he had. She scoffed, buckling her seatbelt and looking out the window.
“I’ll pay you back,” he said, after he’d started the truck and had pulled onto the main road.
“No need,” she snapped, staring out the passenger side window. “Dropping me off and leaving me the hell alone will do.”
The words were barely audible. She spoke the words under her breath. And yet, Cassian felt them like a slap in the face.
He was mortified.
He was at a loss for words.
He just wanted to go home.
He also wanted to make a move on Nesta Archeron.
There was something about the head-strong, independent woman that made Cassian swoon.
Not that it stopped the car ride back to her home any less silent and awkward.
“You’re Feyre’s sister,” Cassian said, randomly.
Nesta blinked, looking toward him. “Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No,” Cassian said quickly. “It’s just that, you’re so…” Different. Cruel. Different. Opposite. Different. Vindictive. Different. “Not the same,” Cassian finished, at last.
“I am my own person,” she snapped, as he stopped in front of her townhouse.
“I know you are, just-.” He sighed, turning to look at her. “This has been a mess from the start. Can I come in? I’d like some time for us to talk, just the two of us. No ex’s, no servers, no interruptions. I just want to get to know you.”
She laughed once.
The sound infuriated him.
“You mean you want to fuck me,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. He was, once again, caught off guard by how blunt she was. She pulled open his glovebox and removed the strip of condoms, holding them up. “Forgot your wallet, but made sure you didn’t forget these.”
Cassian slowly looked at her. “That’s not fair.”
“Not fair?” she repeated. “What are you, a child?”
Cassian couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve tried to be the perfect gentleman tonight, alright? Yeah, I forgot my wallet, but-.”
“And we also ran into your fuck buddy, don’t forget about that,” Nesta said, with a vindictive grin. She opened the door, grabbed her purse, and hopped out.
Cassian was close behind her, following her up her walkway. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Nesta spun around. “What the hell is wrong with me?” she laughed, humorlessly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Cassian asked, as she approached her front door.
“Yet you’re still following me to my door,” she said, not looking back at him. She unlocked the door, opening it and stepping inside. Turning back to him, she held the door in one hand, the hand holding her purse propped on her hip. “Thank you for a truly unforgettable evening, Cassian, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, letting his gaze slowly drag from her head to her toes and back up again. He watched as her cheeks heated, anger lighting up her eyes. “Yeah, I think you’re right. You’re too stuck up for your own good. Too bad.”
She groaned before slamming the door in his face, praying she’d never have to see Cassian Nazari again.
305 notes
·
View notes
Text
Back when things were still easy, Billy and Max used to have sibling days on the weekends when Neil wouldn’t be home, setting aside their issues to have just one day that was meant for doing something fun together.
The tradition had been dropped after the move to Hawkins, and Max thinks that’s where a lot of the strain on their relationship comes from. Without those designated times to let go of some of the tension building between them, they fall to pieces.
There’s one day in particular where it’s just Max at home all by herself, her mother and Neil having gone on a trip to the city she opted out of, when Billy shows up much earlier than he said he would be back, ruining the calm when he slammed the front door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall.
Neither of them say a word to the other, all she gets is an apologetic and glossy looking glance for the noise as he storms past her like she isn’t even there.
She doesn’t see Billy again for a long time after that, just hears the angry music blaring in his room. By now, she’s wisened up enough to know that meant he was probably crying in there, and though she doesn’t know what happened, she feels bad.
It’d been far too long since they acted anything like real siblings, not that they were actually related, but they used to be just as close, so after her brother’s been brooding for literal hours, she knows she wants to do something.
Her opportunity to bring it up comes when Billy makes his grand appearance at her door, stopping by to ask if she ate dinner just so he, quote ‘wouldn’t get any shit for it.’ She nods in agreement and asks, “Do you know what day it is, Billy?”
He shrugs, “28th of June.”
“Well, doy, but it’s also Friday.” Billy raises an eyebrow, missing the point, and Max rolls her eyes. “Friday. You know, like, the one day we get to hang out.”
Too cool for that stuff anymore apparently, he scoffs and leans against the doorframe, and she just knows he’s going to say something snarky, so she turns the puppy dog eyes up a notch, “Please? It’ll be fun.”
It works, Billy sighs way over dramatic and steps into her room, throwing himself down onto her beanbag chair. She can’t contain the smile on her face when he asks with fake defeat, “What did you want, shitbird?”
“I want a makeover day. Like we used to do.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“Why?” She crosses her arms, “Just because that’s what I want to do?”
He fixes her with a look that says ‘seriously?’, and explains, an edge of frustration to his voice, “No, because you know what’ll happen if I’m struttin’ around in nail polish and shit when Neil gets back.”
“They’re not supposed to come back until like, Monday though,” in response to her excuses, he mimics her in crossing his arms over his chest, so she tries harder to reason with him, “And we can always just take it off when we’re done.”
“That’s just a waste of your stuff, then.”
“Come on, Billy, please?” she’s out of actual arguments and he’s winning, so she brings out the big guns, the little sister privilege, the one surefire way she knows will always knock her brother off guard, “I miss you.”
He squints at her, seeing through the attempted guilt trip, but he can’t muster a frown, and he must know it wasn’t all fake, because he says, “Whatever.”
She knows that’s his version of a yes and he’s just too proud to admit he caved, so she squeals and claps her hands together, taking off like a shot to dig under her bed for the stowed away beauty kit. It’s a little wicker basket filled to the brim with nail polish and makeup, the same one they’d used years ago before everything went wrong, and it makes her happy, bringing the old thing back out.
She stops to put a record in her player, choosing Queen as the closest thing to a middle ground between their respective music tastes, they at least both weren’t supposed to listen to it, and drops down into the other chair beside Billy.
On the latch-hook rug in front of them, she starts to empty the basket, lining up all her brightly colored bottles of nail polish, slightly dried out after months of not using them. “What color?”
“Why do I have to go first?” Billy asks. All Max has to say in response is a know-it-all “Because I said so.”
“Fine. You pick.” The moment he says it he looks like he regrets it, Max is notoriously bad at making decisions, but she ignores him and starts holding up bottles anyways.
First, after few minutes deliberation, she chooses a pretty dark green, and he scrunches his nose and doesn’t say anything. She picks a purplish color, which he tosses away on the bed, a very firm ‘no’ that makes Max giggle. Then she gives him a bright orange bottle, and he holds in front of his face, studying it before turning that one down too.
“God, if I knew you’d be so annoying I would’ve just painted them all the colors.” She remarks, lining up her polishes so she could do just that.
“That’s actually probably not a very good idea, kiddo.” Looking a little panicked, he digs through the bottles himself, settling on one he pulls away and stares at for a second before handing it to her and telling her, “Just do ‘em red.”
It confuses her, but she agrees regardless, and makes him turn in his seat so he’s facing her and his hands are flat on the floor. His hands are a little shaky, so her paint job isn’t the best, she even drips some on the carpet, which she hopes her mother won’t notice, but Billy doesn’t say anything about the mess.
With his nails done she moves onto his hair, she wants to do double braids like how he taught her to do in her own hair, so she shoves his arm to get him to turn around. “Scoot.”
He lets her push him around until he’s in the right place that she can reach his hair, but once he’s facing the far wall he tells her, “Don’t you dare use that brush on my hair, Maxine.”
“Jeez, relax. I’m not gonna mess up your princess curls.” She mocked, but she still went for the comb to run through his hair instead.
She waited until she could get it through without catching on any tangles before bothering trying to talk to him. When Billy was upset, he tended to clam up, but she didn’t particularly like feeling awkward in the silence, leaving all the talking to the record player. “Can we talk about why you were mad earlier?”
“Nope.”
“Would you tell me if I told you about my day?” She tries, but he shuts it down again with an “Unlikely.”
“I’ll tell you anyways.” Max didn’t know what had happened with Billy, but she knew she hadn’t had the greatest morning herself either. “I had to ask Lucas to bring me home early because me and Mike got in a fight.”
Billy snorted, and spoke with just as much sarcasm as Max had used on him. She learned that from him anyways. “You and Mike? No.”
“Yeah. He was being a total ass about El, trying to like, own her or something, so I told him to lay off ‘cause that’s totally not fair.”
She knew that Billy, having graduated and turned 18 now, was probably getting a little old for this type of drama, but he was a good listener, no matter how much he pretended not to care, always giving little bits of insight and saying things to make her laugh.
She continues, “Well, anyways he like, totally bit my head off for sticking up for her, so then I told him he was just a miserable mouth breather who’s jealous of El being happy, and he tried to kick me out.”
Billy laughed at that, muttering a little ‘ow’ when the action made Max pull his hair, “But you left before he could kick you out right?”
“Duh.” She sighs a little, the fun part of the story over. “Then when we pulled up outside, Lucas said something stupid about it being my fault or whatever, so I dumped him again.”
“Good. I told you not to take any shit from them anymore.” Billy had been less than happy with her friends a lot recently, when she’d come home from school or from hanging out upset over something they said. They never meant to hurt her feelings, but Billy didn’t like it all the same, and made her promise she’d stand up for herself a little more. Like she did to him.
“Yeah, I guess.” It makes her feel light on the inside, to know Billy was proud of her for following his advice, in his own way at least. “So? What happened to you?”
He shrugs again, and blows her off, “It’s nothing.”
“You were crying.”
“Yeah, and it’s none of your business.”
“Maybe not,” she fumbles with the braid and loses it, Billy’s stupid uneven mullet making it way too hard to braid so many different lengths of hair, “But I’m like, an expert now. El says she likes my advice.”
Under his breath, Billy mutters, “‘Course she does.”
Max purses her lips and pretends she didn’t hear that before continuing her offer, “Anyways, I can always try to help.”
“Listen, it’s just stupid dating stuff. Nothin’ you need to be worrying about.”
“But I’m a girl. I can give advice about that.” She thinks about it for a second, “I mean, I know more about being a girlfriend than having one, but it’s probably about the same.”
“Maybe.” Billy mumbles, focusing all his attention on picking at the nail polish that had missed the edges of his nails, and just from the way he tensed up she can tell she’d overstepped Billy’s boundaries in some way or another.
She finishes of the braid she had already started over twice now and puts a blue scrunchie on the end of it, giving him a minute.
When she starts combing out the rest of his hair is when Billy speaks again, not a drop of his distinctly Billy attitude in his words as he admitted softly, “You know, shitbird, I never said anything ‘bout having a girlfriend.”
That’s confusing to her at first, because he had just told her it was a dating thing, but Max’d been hearing all the nasty things Neil said about Billy for years now, and while she might just be a kid, might be the clueless and annoying little sister, she still knew the weight of what he’d just admitted to her.
It had always made her sad, to know Neil didn’t really like Billy, all the mean words he used, ones she wouldn’t dare repeat, to describe Billy and his friends, all the lies he told about him behind his back. But she doesn’t buy it, what her asshole step-dad had to say.
Her brother was cool, and she liked hanging out with him, when he wasn’t being such a jerk. The fact that he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend didn’t change that in the least bit.
She hums, trying to gather words and, her voice strained against the outburst of happiness, says “See? I can totally help with boy stuff.”
#billy hargrove#max mayfield#billy and max#harringrove#it’s implied harringrove at least because Steve is the boyfriend in question#story by ej!#ej writer#this is really sloppy but I wanted to just get this outta my drafts so here ya go#it was also initially from a much larger story#I just decided this was the only part I like#if you take note of the date tho I think y’all can probably tell where I was going with this#just wanted to write Billy coming out to Max because we as a fandom kinda decided that she already knew bc of that one vague convo#but like that stuff is really hard to pick up on when you’re the clueless little sister#(trust me lol)#I think it’s more something like maybe she snitched on him for doing smthn neil knew was Bc he was gay but she didn’t#and she never put the pieces together until he told her#featuring (subtle) autistic Max bc when doesn’t my writing#and colorblind Billy if you squint with the nail polish
373 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
vvenus-of
Vvenus62
metalspidy1
27/chinese/m/sg :)
gaurav1144-blog
Gaurav Singh
genellelengvenis
Genelle Lengvenis
lesangesbleus
Les Anges Bleus