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monocaelia · 3 years

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comforting you after a nightmare headcanons

nightmares aren't fun, but luckily you have someone there to protect you.

feat. albedo, diluc, childe, kaeya, xiao, zhongli

genre : hurt/comfort, fluff

note : hbd to me!! here's a gift from me to you with one of my favorite tropes, hehe <:

❀ albedo

albedo isn't one to dream much, let alone rest. he's always caught up in his own research and experiments that sleep isn't really needed if he wanted to be more productive in his research, despite the worried comments from sucrose and your lighthearted nags that he'll stay short forever.

though, that isn't to say that he's not interested. there are many times that albedo has caught you dozing off in his laboratory while waiting for him to be done with his experiments. he would be lying to himself if he didn't wonder what could possibly be playing in your mind to make you be smiling like that while unconscious.

this time, though, is an exception.

test tubes and flasks filled with various liquids and concoctions fill albedo's workspace as he examines each and every one before filling in his notebooks with descriptions and drawings of his work. there's a shuffle from his other desk and his eyes shift up to glance at you. albedo's gaze softens at the sight of his coat draped over your shoulders as they move to the rhythm of your breathing.

he wonders why you choose to stay at his laboratory so late and wait for him to finish his research rather than head home alone and sleep in your much more comfortable bed. albedo supposes you find comfort in his presence, an odd thing to be comforted by really.

however, the gentle smile quickly falls from his face the moment he hears the quiet whimpers and pleas. as quickly as he could, albedo moves to your side and gently shakes you awake. he isn't the least surprised when your eyes snap open and a gasp leaves your lips.

"...are you alright?" the question breaks you from your daze and you seem to relax when you realize you aren't dreaming anymore. though, the way your hands and shoulders shake doesn't escape the sharp eyes observing you.

"come on, i think i'm done with my research for now. we can head home if you'd like?" albedo smiles when you nod your head, but as he turns to pack up and prepare to leave his laboratory your hand shoots out to grasp his own.

albedo is surprised at first, but the shock melts into endearment as his hand pulls yours up to his lips. he presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles, reassuring you that he'll be right there for you. that you wouldn't be alone.

"nightmares, huh? ...i wonder if i can concoct something to help eradicate the chances of them appearing. oh, don't worry, i won't leave your side for the rest of the evening. promise."

❀ diluc

diluc isn't prone to nightmares, honestly he probably gets them quite often. or maybe even dreamless dreams if he's lucky. well, considering he sleeps at all. he's busy being the darknight hero of mondstatdt in the dead of night, so sleep doesn't come by often for the red haired vigilante.

even when he does get nightmares, there's not many people he can call to or rely on to help comfort him. he doesn't trust any of the knights, and he definitely doesn't trust kaeya to help at all. so comforting someone isn't something he knows how to do well.

but he tries his best to comfort you in any way, shape, or form if you ever needed him to.

the knocking against his door is quiet, nearly nonexistent if diluc was preoccupied with anything other than trying to sleep. he would have ignored it if it weren't for the quiet whisper of his name from a voice he recognized. sighing, he rises from his bed and heads over to his door, mentally preparing himself for whatever you're planning to throw over his head.

instead, diluc is met with your cheeky smile. you're definitely up to no good, but he hasn't quite figured out what you were going to do or say. before he could even question why you're standing outside his door in the dead of night, you interrupt him.

"wow diluc! fancy seeing you here, do you come here often?" he deadpans at you and nearly closes the door to go back to sleep. but he notices the way your fingers twiddle, a sign that you're nervous about something. his eyes flicker to your face, scanning anything that would give him clues on what's on your mind.

"what happened?" diluc's brows furrow in worry seeing the way your smile falls and the way your body begins to curl in on itself. he offers a hand for you to take, an invitation for you to be comforted by the stoic man in front of you. he lets a small smile grow on his lips when he sees you brighten up a tad at his invitation.

your hand is encased in his own, scarred and rough with callouses but comforting and warm at the same time.

"go back to sleep, it's already getting really late. if you need anything, though, i'll be right here until the dawn rises."

❀ childe

although sleep is necessary to maintain perfect health, childe finds it difficult to maintain a proper sleeping schedule due to his job as a fatui harbinger. when the tsaritsa calls, he needs to be there immediately to come to her aid and carry out her orders regardless of how inconvenient it was for him.

but, having many siblings, especially younger ones, has always prepared childe to comfort and protect anyone that he holds close to his heart. nobody, not even nightmares, can get close enough to harm the people he loves, not if he's alive to knock them down a peg.

which definitely includes you, someone who holds his entire world in the palm of your hands.

childe finds you awake at the dead of night after one of his shifts at the northland bank. which is surprising considering you're always asleep before he gets back home from work, always trying to stay up to welcome the harbinger home but always succumbing to the sweet embrace of slumber.

a mischievous grin grows on his lips as he plans to spook you, but as he nears your body, the shaking of your body and quiet sniffles reach his ears. immediately, childe's hand is on your shoulder and he frowns when you yelp and whip around to see him.

"o-oh, ajax, i didn't expect to see you home so soon. i was just getting ready for bed." a white lie. childe presses his lips into a thin line, his hand reaching out to catch a tear falling from your cheek. did...did he do this to you? was he being a bad partner for not putting aside more time for you?

as if reading his mind, you vehemently shake your head and grab onto childe's wrist. "no! no... it's not what you think i just had a really bad dream and couldn't go back to sleep. don't worry, you don't need to beat yourself up over this." he relaxes immediately at your comment, but he still feels bad for leaving you alone when you needed someone to comfort you.

childe leans over, cupping your face in his hands as he showers your face in featherlight kisses. your giggles fill the room and the habinger can't help but laugh as well, especially after pressing a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips. "how about i cook you a nice stew for tonight? it always helped teucer calm down when he was scared."

and you take him up on that offer. the rest of the evening is filled with light laughter from the both of you as childe moves around the kitchen and tells you stories of his childhood. the scene is comforting, peaceful, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"how about we turn in for tonight? don't worry, nothing will harm you as long as your big, strong ajax is by your side!"

❀ kaeya

despite his title of being a "lazy" and "laid-back" captain of the calvary, kaeya isn't one to sleep too much. he has a regular sleeping schedule, though there are some nights where the memories of his past haunt him and he stays up reminiscing about how things were.

he's one to brood alone, not letting anyone see him vulnerable. but he likes to be relied on. there isn't a bone in his body that prevents him from helping anyone in need, even though the way he gets things done is quite... unconventional to everybody else's standards.

but when you call to him for help, he’s there in an instant.

the sound of rustling from beside kaeya stirs him from his slumber. he squints, his good eye focusing in the darkness of his room before landing on your curled up figure beside him. he figures you’re just shifting in your sleep and closes his eyes again, but you shift again and sigh. surely, you’re not sleeping at this point.

kaeya gently calls out your name, a warm smile on his face when he sees you startle from his voice. though, his smile melts away from his face when he sees your expression. it doesn’t help that you flinch slightly when his hand reaches over to brush against your cheek.

“sorry, i just…i’m still shaken from my dream and-“ your apologies are cut short when kaeya sends you a comforting smile and cups your jaw in his hand. he assures you that it’s fine.

“are you okay? how long have you been up?” it takes you a moment too long to come up with a lie that would put your lover at ease. when you come up with an answer, kaeya is already staring at you with his mismatched orbs, one of deep sapphire and the other a light, milky blue color. you can’t lie to him now.

so you tell the calvary captain about the dream you just had, not going too into details with what really shook you. and kaeya listens to everything you say, a hand firmly on your arm to remind him that you’re with him and not whatever occurred in your dreams.

he makes little comments here and there to lighten the mood, though he knows when to keep quiet so you can talk it through. when you finish talking the dream through, kaeya pinches your cheek, chiding you for dreaming of such things.

but he reassures you that you’re fine, and that he’s here to protect you should anything from your dreams come into reality. he jokes about letting you handle everything alone, but you know he wouldn’t despite how cheeky he is.

"don't let the bedbugs bite, [name]. haha, kidding. i'll be here to fight them off if you need me. i am a captain after all."

❀ xiao

xiao isn't unfamiliar with nightmares and dreams. don't forget, one of his duties under the reign of the yaksha's previous master was to devour the dreams of the innocent. it had gotten to the point where dreams were the only things he could stomach, despite detesting the intent behind it.

despite it all, though, xiao is still an adeptus who protects the mortals and the innocent of liyue. his sole job now, under his contract with rex lapis, is to protect even if it means throwing his life away. with a swift call of his name, he would be there to be the guardian of liyue and anyone residing in it.

and that includes you, the sole mortal that the young adeptus enjoys the company of.

a gasp tears through your throat as you sit up in your bed, sweat dripping down the side of your face. your eyes are blown wide open with the visions of your nightmare still clear in your mind. the rapid beating of your heart and panting are the only sounds heard in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

curses spill from your lips as you cradle your head in your hands, your knees pulled up to your chest to try and make yourself as small as you possibly could. but to no avail, no matter what you did to comfort yourself or make yourself forget the nightmare, the visions still flashed in your memories every time you closed your eyes.

you don't hear the rustling from your window, nor did you feel the presence of someone crouching from behind your curtains. it's only when he gently calls your name do you whip your head around, eyes coming face to face with golden eyes that gleam in the moonlight.

"xiao... sorry i didn't see you there," you stutter, quickly wiping your eyes and turning away so the young adeptus wouldn't see you crying. his eyes narrow at you, eyebrows furrowing as a frown settles on his face. "what are you-"

your hands are pulled away from your face and you're pulled closer to him. "you're crying." you try to deny xiao's observation and reassure him that you're fine, but a hand gently brushes against your cheek.

xiao doesn't say anything when the tears begin falling down your face again. he doesn't say anything when you jump into his arms and bury your face in his chest. you feel his arms firmly wrap themselves around you. he doesn't say a word, but his actions alone assure you that he would be there with you for the rest of the evening.

"sleep. should any more dreams come to haunt you during your rest, i'll be here to dispose of them."

❀ zhongli

as an archon, zhongli doesn't find much need for sleep. he's a god and no god needs sleep to be energized for the following day. it's not like it would do well for him anyways, seeing as he would much rather prefer strolling the lit up streets of liyue harbor in the late evening before returning to his home to drink tea and relax.

that's not to say he isn't familiar with dreams and how they can affect mortals. he knows full well the impact they can have, especially if they're dreams filled with horrible outcomes or stuff nobody would like to be reminded of.

so when you come to him to seek comfort after a horrible night, he's ready to welcome you into his embrace.

the gentle whisper of zhongli's name alerts him of your presence from the hallway in your shared home. the archon lifts his head to look at you, eyes made of molten gold meeting your shaking gaze. "what's wrong, dear?" you don't answer his question and instead shift your gaze to the ground.

zhongli tells you to "come here" in the gentlest voice he could muster, and you do. as soon as you sit beside your lover, his hand comfortingly holds your jaw and lifts your face so you can see him. there's nothing but endearment and love in his gaze. "you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

he hums in amusement seeing the way your body relaxes after that. there's a gentle tug on your arm, a signal for you to find comfort in zhongli's embrace, and you find yourself snug in between the archon's arms. you inhale deeply, zhongli's comforting scent filling your lungs.

his hands rake gently up and down your spine and hearing his heartbeat from where you rest on his chest calms you immensely. if it weren't for your nervous, rhythmic tapping against his arm, zhongli would have assumed you fell back asleep in his arms.

"would you like to hear about the play i've been attending to recently? the plot is quite interesting, i think you would enjoy it." he attempts to distract you for a while to calm your nerves after waking so abruptly, and it works, not to his surprise.

as he drones on and on about the plot that doesn't quite make sense to you in your dazed state, the archon notices the way your fingers have stilled and your breathing has evened out, much calmer and more regulated than before. zhongli smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"it's starting to get late. you should try to rest again. don't worry, i'll be beside you should anything happen to you once more."

#albedo headcanons #albedo x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc x reader #childe headcanons #childe x reader #tartaglia headcanons #tartaglia x reader #kaeya headcanons #kaeya x reader #xiao headcanons #xiao x reader #zhongli headcanons #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin #didi writes #i wanted to do thoma but TT there's nothing on his wiki

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gladerscake · 3 years

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Blind Spots

(Gally x Reader)

Another lengthy one, because self-restraint means nothing to me. Major fluff ahead. Hope you enjoy!

Gally was back, and it was nothing short of a miracle. All this time, for the last six months, your grieving heart had wept for him, quietly, while you did your best to put on a brave facade and seem alright on the outside. You always made sure that none of your friends could see exactly how much pain you were in. They didn’t need to know. They couldn’t have done anything to change it, and their looks of pity wouldn’t have helped in the slightest. So you kept it locked away, only letting it torment you at night, while everyone else were asleep and couldn’t hear you cry.

And now, seeing him again, alive and relatively unharmed… Truthfully, you were still processing it, but even through your heavy state of shock, every fiber of your being was reeling with joy and relief. You felt a little light-headed, but in the best possible way. Feeling his muscular arms around you again, his warm embrace, looking into his piercing bluish-green eyes that shined into yours with the same undiluted love they had back in the glade… It had almost made you dizzy, and you were surprised at yourself for not having passed out - for a moment there, it felt like you might have.

You never stopped loving Gally, not for one moment. Despite having been convinced you’d never see him again, there was no force in the world strong enough to make you forget him or even begin letting him go.

Having him back filled you with a happiness you had long given up on experiencing ever again. You hadn’t felt anything close to it since the day you thought you’d lost him. The worst day of your life, your most haunting memory… No. You refused to think about it again. It didn’t matter anymore, because Gally was alive, and that’s what you needed to focus on. The light inside you, the one you thought had died with him, was flickering back to life again. It was flourishing and spreading with each passing second, as you realized you were no longer bound to imagine a future that he wouldn’t be in. The bleak and cheerless future you had laid out for yourself was rapidly dispersing before your eyes, giving way to something brighter, something much more hopeful and promising.

However, as much as you wanted to let the euphoria of having Gally by your side again consume you entirely, you knew you couldn’t. Not completely. You still had a mission, a dangerous and inordinately challenging one - rescuing Minho. You could already feel what a “fun adventure” this was going to be…

You had just met Lawrence, and although he’d initially stated that only two people were allowed to be shown the way into the city, Gally managed to bargain for three. The third one being, unsurprisingly, you. He had just got you back, and he wasn’t ready to let you out of his sight, if he had anything to say about it. Not that you minded - you had no desire to be far away from him either. You’d had more than enough of that.

“So… That’s the dead boyfriend, huh?” Brenda asked with a cheeky smile as she walked beside you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Gally was walking ahead, leading you all somewhere only he knew, as you were making sure to keep up.

“Yeah… That’s him.” You responded, keeping your voice down, a slightly dazed grin pulling at the corner of your lips. ‘Not dead anymore’ your heart seemed to whisper in utter excitement.

“He’s different from what I’d imagined!” Your dark-haired friend mused out loud, causing your brow to quirk upwards as you shot her a confused glance.

“Different how?”

“Just different…” Brenda shrugged, her smile widening before she lightly punched you in the arm. “But I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really. Most people don’t get a second chance like this.”

Your grin grew brighter, eyes landing on Gally’s broad back as your abdomen swarmed with butterflies. You were well aware of how minuscule the odds were of a past love ‘coming back from the dead’. Yet, a part of you couldn’t help but feel like, maybe, after all you and Gally had endured, you deserved that second chance.

“I know…”

Soon enough, Gally led you all into a closed-off area of the base, a rather filthy room with a large covered pothole in the middle and a ladder propped up against one of the walls. You took a moment to examine your surroundings, while the rest did the same, all exchanging equally questioning looks.

Before you could ask what this place was, you suddenly felt a large and warm hand descend onto your shoulder. There was no way for you to not know, immediately, who it belonged to. Your question died in your throat as you turned around to face him.

Gally squeezed your shoulder with as much comfort as he could manage, his bright eyes staring, deeply, into yours, making your heart leap. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he wanted to tell you and talk to you about, but the number of people surrounding you was preventing him from doing so. He so badly wanted to be alone with you. Even if just for a few minutes… All he could do was hope that there will be time for that later. You two had plenty to catch up on, and he couldn’t wait for a chance at it.

“You alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” He whispered, hoarsely, scanning you for any sign of even minor injury.

You breathed a slightly quivering chuckle, shaking your head and covering Gally’s hand with your own, the mere contact reminding you of the closeness you and him once shared… and will share again, now that he was back.

“I’m okay, definitely. Much better now…” You whispered in response, your eyes gleaming up at him. A small but sincere smile formed on his lips as he looked at you. He knew what you meant by that - he felt the exact same way. He had been afraid that after everything that’s happened, your feelings for him may have dimmed, or even worse, trickled away altogether. But with the way you were looking at him now, with such warmth and sheer affection, Gally felt those heartbreaking thoughts melt away. You still loved him. Just as much as he loved you. Even if only one person was genuinely happy to see him again, he couldn’t be more thankful that it was you.

Ignoring the presence of your friends, Gally pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. You bit down on your bottom lip, the sweet gesture almost bringing fresh tears to your eyes. However, the next moment, he drew back, gazing down at you “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to grab a couple things before we can go.”

You nodded, understandingly, giving his hand a soft squeeze before letting go “Of course.. We’ll be right here.”

Gally delivered you one more subtle smile before leaving you and the others to look around a bit.

“By the looks of it, we’re going down the bloody sewer.” Newt assumed, eyeing the pothole with slight confusion and just a hint of disgust.

“Wouldn’t be the worst place you’ve been to so far, no?” Jorge scoffed, arms folded on his chest as he stayed close to Brenda.

Frypan chuckled, lowly, glancing at the ladder “True that…”

Although most of your friends had seemingly chosen to look away and act oblivious to your and Gally’s little exchange, one person had not.

Thomas’ dark eyes darted to you, uneasily, every muscle in his body strained and jaw clenched, tensely, as he nudged you in the side.

“Y/N… Can we talk for a second?” He all but grunted, clearing his throat.

“No.” The blatant response tumbled from your lips without hesitation, despite the calmness of your tone.

You already knew what was on his mind. You didn’t want to hear it. Thomas was a close friend and very dear to your heart, but this wasn’t something he had a say in. You knew how he felt about Gally, so naturally, the thought of you two together again did not particularly thrill him. Nonetheless, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. If Thomas had a problem with it, then that’s just something he would have to learn to deal with.

“Y/N…” Thomas tried again, more insistently this time “Please…”

You felt him grip your forearm, not hard enough for it to hurt, but hard enough to let you know that he needed to speak with you, now, and he wouldn’t let go until you at least attempted to hear him out.

Drawing in a heavy sigh, you shot him a sharp pointed look.

“Fine.” You muttered, curtly. You decided you would give him a chance to just get it off his chest. Nothing he’d say could possibly change your mind, regardless.

With that, Thomas briskly slipped out of the room, as you reluctantly followed him. Once you two were a few feet away from the others, you halted to a stop, not wanting to go too far.

“Can’t imagine what’s so urgent.” You huffed, quietly, your arms crossing as you stared, expectantly, at your friend. “Well? Come on, let’s hear it.”

Thomas frowned, his features painted with exasperation “Y/N, before you go running back to him-“

“I already did.” You hastily cut him off, trying to keep your expression as placid as you could. “Thomas, there’s nothing you can do. You know how I feel.”

He grimaced, his mind refusing to wrap around it. What was it about Gally? How could you so easily forget what had happened and welcome him back with open arms?

“Seriously…? After what he did?” He stared at you in disbelief, dark brown eyes narrowing.

You gritted your teeth, staring right back at him, endeavouring to suppress your own bubbling comtempt for the subject “What happened to Chuck wasn’t Gally’s fault.”

“He shot him, Y/N!”

“It was an accident, Thomas!” Your voice had risen, finally, your hands clenching into fists. You had had this exact argument with him before and you couldn’t stand hearing it for one more second. “Whether you want to admit it or not! You were there - you know exactly what happened!”

Thomas, much to your surprise, fell silent. His mouth twitched as he looked at you as if you weren’t making any sense. Yet, deep down, even though he despised the idea of conceding, a small part of him knew you weren’t entirely wrong.

You took advantage of his silence and continued. You had every intention of standing your ground on this. “Gally never would’ve hurt Chuck! He wasn’t aiming for him! And what part of “he was stung” keeps getting lost on you? Have you forgotten what that does to a person? Because I haven’t!”

“Yeah, he was stung, but he could have-“

“No, he couldn’t have!” Your hands were practically shaking by now, a lump had formed in your throat “He wasn’t himself, he had no control over what he was doing! You just want to blame him, because it’s easy!”

Thomas glowered “I don’t get it… I really don’t, what is it about him?”

“What is it about Teresa?” You countered, not missing a beat.

At that, Thomas trailed off, the familiar pang of hurt shooting through his limbs. Something that occurred every time he thought about her, since the day of her disastrous betrayal.

You huffed, knowing you had struck a nerve, but also knowing that you were right “Come on, look at me and tell me that if she showed up right now, looked at you with those big blue eyes and told you how sorry she was, how much she regretted the whole thing, you wouldn’t immediately want her back.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“You would!” You noted the way Thomas bit the inside of his cheek, as well as the way his knuckles were already turning white. “You would, Thomas… You damn well know it.”

He shook his head, the inner conflict swirling prominently in his dark eyes as his tone dipped “She would have to do a lot more than apologize.”

“Yeah, but you still wouldn’t turn her away.” You retorted, firmly, your penetrating gaze not leaving him.

Silence. Heavy, deafening silence that spoke for itself.

Thomas remained unmoving, his shoulders sagging as he peered at you, solemnly. You didn’t break the agitated eye contact, merely taking a step back.

“That’s what I thought. I guess we both have our blind spots.”

The dark-haired boy looked away from your eyes, finding himself tragically at a loss for words. He hated that you were right. He could lie to himself all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he knew that even after what Teresa had done, he still cared for her. If he were to see her again… He highly doubted he would forgive her instantly, especially while WICKED still had Minho, but if she were to have a change of heart and choose to be on their side again… He knew he would have an agonizingly hard time discarding her.

You watched Thomas’ demeanor shift, his tense expression softening as he exhaled in defeat. Evidently the thought of trying to get you to keep your distance with Gally was no longer the dominant one on his mind. You took no joy in fighting with him, but Thomas needed to understand exactly where you stood, on all counts. You didn’t need his approval on this. You and Gally were together, and if Thomas, as your friend, couldn’t be happy for you, then the least he could was stay out of it.

“At least mine isn’t torturing our friend right now.” You gritted out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thomas heard it clearly, though. His gaze shot up to meet yours once more, and you almost winced at the miserable glint in his eyes. You suddenly felt like you had just kicked a puppy. Was that a little harsh? Maybe. Was it accurate? Unfortunately, it was.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel bad, your compassion prevailing. You and Thomas may have had moments where you didn’t see eye to eye, but he was a good and loyal friend to you. There was no need to hit him where it hurt.

“I’m sorry…” You breathed out, giving him a forlorn, apologetic look.

Thomas only shrugged in response, eyes momentarily averting to the ground “No, you’re right. I just…” He inhaled, deeply, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his head in irritation “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

You delivered him a soft smile, touched by his concern, even though there was no need for it. At least not in that regard “Gally is not going to hurt me.”

Your friend responded with a tight-lipped smile that read ‘I hope that’s true’, before turning away and beginning to walk back to the room the rest of your friends were in. You were about to follow him, until… you realized how badly you needed just a few minutes alone with Gally, before you, him, Thomas, and Newt would venture into the city. You didn’t know just how dangerous the path was, and you couldn’t bear the idea of something terrible happening along the way. Sure, you could be optimistic and wait until after you all got back, but… could you? Could you really? You had missed him so much, and so far you’d only managed to say a few words to each other.

Oh, screw it. You were not asking for much. You needed it, so you were going to take it.

With a quick look-around, you turned on your heels, following in the direction you thought you’d seen Gally go. Sadly, as you reached the spot where he had disappeared from your line of vision, you had no idea where to go from there.

People were bustling all around you, some reloading their rifles, others fixing their gas masks. In one of the rebels, you recognized the guy that had stood behind Lawrence, while you all were being introduced to him, earlier. You thought his name was… Jasper? Whatever. Clearly he knew Gally, so you hoped he would know where he would have gone to.

You cleared your throat, striding up to him with as much confidence as you had been able to gather “Hi! I’m sorry, do you know where Gally’s room is? Or… wherever it is that he sleeps around here?”

The rugged man looked you up and down, a strangely amused smirk curving his slightly crooked mouth. It confused you and almost made you feel uncomfortable, but not enough to make you retreat without an answer.

“You must be the girlfriend? From the maze? The one he wouldn’t shut up about finding?” He rasped, snickering under his breath.

You relaxed, inwardly, glad that you had apparently picked the right person to ask. Also, hearing that Gally had mentioned you during his time here, undoubtedly made you smile on the inside.

“Yeah, I guess that’s me. So where can I find him?”

The rebel chuckled, pointing upwards to the corridor a level above that led to the more secluded parts of the base “Right up there, seventh door on the left.”

You muttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ before scurrying off, hoping you would, in fact, find him there. Soon, you made your way down the corridor, your gaze bouncing from one door to the next one. Five, six… seven.

Your heartbeat suddenly began quickening as you stared at the tattered, scratched-up door in front of you. You allowed yourself to take a deep breath before finally knocking.

“Yeah?”

You exhaled in relief, a smile instantly making its way onto your lips. Gally’s voice. He was in there.

“Gally…? It’s me. Can I come in?”

After a short pause, he replied.

“Of course. I’m just about done here.”

You pushed the door open with a slight ‘creak’, and there you were met with a sight that brought a burgeoning blush to your cheeks. Gally’s bare back was turned to you as he was changing, about to reach for a grey hoodie that was draped over an old wooden chair. You could see his toned muscles tensing, every crevice generously offered to your view, as you felt your face grow hotter. He looked even stronger than he did back in the glade, his form even more glorious than you remembered it.

You didn’t get to remain in your trance for too long though, as Gally slipped the hoodie over his head and turned around to face you, a loving grin playing at his lips.

“How’d you know where to find me?” He arched a curious brow, making his way over until he was standing right in front of you.

You smiled and took a step closer, minimising the distance between the two of you and gently taking his hand in yours. Your fingers interlocked perfectly, like puzzle pieces. “Jasper told me.”

Gally chuckled at that, eyes widening in slight surprise “You know his name?”

You shrugged “I pay attention.”

His grin widened, warmth filling his eyes as he gazed down at you, giving your hand a tight, grounding squeeze “You always have.”

Your heart raced faster as you raked your gaze over every feature of his face, each faint freckle on his cheeks, his plump lips, his vibrant eyes… You couldn’t help yourself as you threw your arms around him, Gally not wasting a second in wrapping you up in his strong embrace. He held you so fervently, so close to his body, you thought he was almost lifting you off the ground. So many emotions swirled between you two - the relief of both of you somehow having survived every hardship up until this point, the joy of having found your way back to one another, the desperate urge to never let go of each other again, the fear of somehow getting separated along the way of whatever came next. You felt a small shudder pass through your body as you clung to him for dear life, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

“I’ve missed you… Gally, I’ve missed you so much…!” You uttered on half a breath, succumbing to the compelling warmth that emanated from him.

“I’ve missed you, too, Y/N… More than anything.” He whispered so close to your ear, his arms around you tightening as he slowly rocked you from side to side, making sure you felt how much he meant it.

Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes, in spite of your best attempts at keeping them at bay “I’d spent months thinking you were… Dead… I-I thought it was over, you were gone, I’d never see you again…!”

Gally released a fervid sigh, at last picking you up and allowing you to wrap your legs around his midriff as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder “I know, baby, I know… But I’m okay, I’m right here. And you are, too…”

You stifled a sob, pressing your slightly trembling lips to his temple, basking in the feeling of his heated breath fanning your skin “I’m scared I’m gonna wake up any moment, and you won’t be there. It’s already happened too many times…”

“Won’t happen this time. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N…” He promised, lifting his head from your neck so that he could meet your glimmering eyes “I’m not gonna screw it up twice.”

You let out a quivering breath as you gazed into the eyes that reflected all the unyielding love you harbored. Every nerve in your body pulled you into Gally, every thump of your heart resonated within him as he held you in his arms. This was the feeling you thought had been lost forever to you. Something so powerful and burning that no other force could compare to it. He was the piece of your heart that had been ripped out all those months ago, the piece that was now being graciously returned to its rightful place.

With a tenderness no one else but you has ever shown him, you cupped his face in between your soft palms and leaned in, your lips pressing fully and ardently against his.

The long-overdue kiss instantly clouded Gally’s senses, his heart hammering against his rib cage as his lips reciprocated, moving against yours with enough passion and longing to make your head spin. Your legs tightened around his midsection as his left hand moved lower to grasp at your hip, endeavouring to bring you even closer, as if that was possible. Gally swallowed the soft whimper that escaped you as he kissed you deeper, all his conscious thought paralyzed by the enrapturing sensation of your lips on his. He didn’t believe anything in the world tasted sweeter. He had spent countless nights dreaming about the day he would get to do this again. And now that he had you back, just like this, so close, so yearning, so thoroughly his… he wished it would never end.

Your fingertips threaded through the short sandy strands of his hair, your body feeling weightless, almost floating. You bit back a mewl as Gally’s hand reached up to your face, his calloused fingers brushing your cheek and trailing down your neck in a feather-light caress. Every bit of your skin felt so sensitive to his touch. After a few more blissful seconds, you finally broke away from his lips, both of you panting heavily, catching your breath from the heavenly feeling of your kiss.

Gally rested his forehead against yours, his mouth still mere inches away from your own “I’m never losing you again… Never, you hear me?”

You nodded, frantically, holding onto his neck with both hands, his closeness filling you with a searing light. It exhilarated you, made you feel like you could do anything, overcome anything, as long as you two were together.

“Sounds good to me…”

Thank you for reading!

Tags: @seldomabsent @obsessivelycapricious @ultraintrovertedgryffindor @maraudersimp @lattsgocaps @magnoliabloomfield @sherbertscarrothead-2 @moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom @abundantxadorations @izzymultifan @willseyebrows @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

#the maze runner #tmr gally #the death cure #gally imagine #gally x reader #gally tmr #gally x fem!reader #gally x you #gally x y/n #tmr gally imagine #gally fanfic #gally #will poulter #tmr imagine #gally the death cure

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delvalentine · 3 years

Text

artem x reader drabble

prompt: cherry / writing challenge here

“well, miss? aren’t you impressed?”

marius wags the cherry stem in your face, looking smug. you can’t help but roll your eyes at the suggestive tone.

“anybody can tie a knot in a cherry stem.”

your conversation draws in vyn’s attention who was typing nearby. he raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

“i don’t believe i’ve tried.”

“i bet you can’t beat me, doc.” marius picks a cherry out of the bowl and tosses it to his tutor, who catches it in one hand. “my time was what, 10 seconds?”

you think it’s pretty accurate, though you hardly pay attention to him when he says “hey, look at what i can do!” anymore.

vyn makes a valiant effort but can’t beat 10 seconds, needing 20. it seems like his first time trying and it’s a good time for somebody who’s never done it before, but he has an irritable expression that marius gleefully doesn’t let go of.

luke was just observing from the sideline, but you rope him in. for somebody so multi-talented, he should be good at this too, right? even marius eggs him on, trying to place a bet that the “super spy hotshot” will lose. nobody wants his money, but you can tell everybody in the room is waiting with bated breath as luke sticks the stem into his mouth. he looks confused for a second before his brow scrunches up with determination. it only takes him a count of 9, and marius is devastated.

“you next,” luke says to you, looking pleased with himself.

“let me go again!” marius argues, reaching for a cherry. “i wasn’t really trying—”

“everybody should only get one try!” you rebut, smacking his hand out of the way. you pull a cherry out of the bowl. you haven’t tried this kind of gimmick since high school when it was all the rage and you’re not even sure if you can succeed; but you’ve got a competitive spirit, so you may as well try.

in your concentration you don’t notice artem walking in, clearly confused as he missed everything beforehand. you triumphantly spit out a knotted cherry stem and hear luke whistle in approval.

“eleven seconds.”

“what are you doing?” artem asks from behind you, scaring you lifeless. you whirl around. although he’s not technically your work partner-slash-boss in the NXX room, you feel the same crushing pressure as if it were his office.

“u-um, just a friendly competition of who can tie a knot the fastest.” you leave out the connotation of what it means.

“want to give it a shot, mr. wing?”

everybody in the room knows about artem’s painfully dry dating history. marius looks particularly giddy as he slides the bowl of fruit over. artem disinterestedly picks one out and plucks the stem off.

“i have to tie a knot using only my mouth?” he clarifies, looking skeptical. you’re a little embarrassed that he’s looking right at you.

“yeah.”

marius whips out his phone to time, clearly still hurt over luke’s victory. artem places the stem in his mouth, his expression deadpan. nobody thinks he can actually do it. but in literally five seconds, he removes a perfect knot from his teeth.

“does that mean i win?” he asks, bewildered as marius curses loudly, and he’s so innocent that you almost forget he’s 29 years old. it’s endearingly sweet. you want to congratulate him, but you don’t want him to take it the wrong way. vyn glances between you and him before an almost evil smirk slashes across his face.

“i suppose that means artem is the best kisser out of all of us. don’t you think, [name]?”

you’re mortified. artem looks shocked, his face turning red all the way to the tips of his ears. he looks down at the cherry stem in his hand helplessly.

“i…” his blue eyes keep darting away from yours, unable to hold your gaze. you also can’t seem to look him in the eye.

“oh, don’t worry about it—it’s just for fun!” you stammer, trying to salvage the situation.

“for a man who’s got no game, this is so unfair,” marius whines. you want to hit him with your documents. not helping.

of course, the one who had volunteered to take you home before the cherry fiasco was none other than mr. wing. the car ride is excruciatingly silent. you struggle to come up with other topics to talk about, but the thought of artem being a good kisser haunts your mind.

“what dr. richter said,” he suddenly brings up at a red light, staring forwards intently. “is that… really what it means?”

for a second you worry that you said something out loud by accident. you don’t even know how to reply, not expecting him to have brought it up first. he waits expectantly for an answer and you attempt to put coherent words together.

“it’s just a party trick people use to show off!” you try to reassure, but even you can tell you sound desperate. “it’s only a superstition that… it means you’re a good… y’know.”

despite the a/c, it feels scorchingly hot in the car. artem clears his throat awkwardly.

“i see. thank you for explaining.”

you’ve never been so excited for a ride to end. you hastily grab your bag and move to get out.

“good night,” artem calls out all of the sudden. you pause, but remember that no matter how embarrassed you are right now, he’s still your professional work partner. you steel yourself and eject the thoughts of artem making out with somebody in order to take him seriously.

“good night! drive home safe.”

“i will.”

he waits for you to walk into the building before pulling the cherry stem out of his pocket. the knot has started to dry, rigid in its preservation. he sighs in frustration and tosses it into a cup holder, out of his sight. a good kisser… he could only imagine.

there was only one person he’d even be willing to try with, after all.

#artem/reader #tot #tears of themis #artem #wing #artem wing #chye's fics #deltachye 2021

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

This is the Beat of My Heart

happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf! have some soulmates.

new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened

art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets

tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.

The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.

The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...

It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.

They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.

That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.

In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.

Can ever know, perhaps.

Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…

Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.

“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”

The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.

“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”

Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.

It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…

Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.

“The creatures in your song.”

“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”

Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.

The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”

---

Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”

“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.

“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.

“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.

“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”

“I was matching it to-”

Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”

“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”

He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.

A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”

“Torque! Stand aside!”

“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”

Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.

“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”

The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”

The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”

“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”

“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.

“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”

Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”

---

It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.

But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”

“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”

“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”

Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”

“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”

Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.

“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”

“Was that… the only time?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”

“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”

“Geralt!”

“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”

“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”

Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."

#geraskier #geraskier ficlet #art collab sorta #art collab #geraskier art #geraskier fluff #getting together #soulmate au #geraskier soulmate au #soulmates #you can hear you soulmate's heartbeat #heartbeats #tw violence #tw four marks #tooth rotting fluff #happy birthday wolfie #geraskier fluffiness

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years

Text

REGRET

Pairing: FFXV! NYX ULRIC x GENDER NEUTRAL!READER

Words: 2.416

Warnings: hurt - comfort; some small cursing

Summary: Nyx dates you for you eight months and everything seems good. At least, you think that. Therefore, you're shocked as Nyx breaks up with you.

Nyx broke up with you because of reasons but ... was it really the right decision? And might his friends be helpful to knock some sense into Nyx?

Nyx watched how you danced through the kitchen. Soft music was playing from hidden loudspeakers. With a low voice, you hummed along while preparing two cups of hot chocolate. For eight months, Nyx dated you. You were pure joy, the kindest person Nyx had ever met. You cared for him in a beautiful way. You gave him the feeling to be something special. To be valuable. There was no time you weren't there for him. You had been able to soothe the pain he was carrying in a loving, self-less way.

"We have to stop this.", Nyx said low but serious and almost feared you hadn't heard him as you didn't react.

But you had heard him. Frowning, you turned over to the man who stood in the middle of your apartment, "We have to stop- what?", you asked, confused even if you already had an odd feeling spreading through your body as you saw Nyx' serious expression.

"This. Between us. I can't do this anymore- well... I could but I don't want it anymore.", Nyx said while looking you straight in the eyes.

"Y-you wanna break up with me?", you considered that it might be some cruel kind of a joke but the longer Nyx stayed silent, the less funny it became, "Nyx? You scare me. What is going on?", you asked, stepping forward, reaching for him.

But Nyx stepped back, drawing his brows together, "I told you what is going on. I'm leaving you. Now. We… Sure, we had some fun together but… it's not enough. You are not enough for me."

Your blood ran cold by his emotionless voice. The soft blue eyes you loved so much resembled more sharp diamonds, "I- I don't understand. Nyx, where does this come from? Have I done something wrong?"

"No. I mean, yes! It's not one thing you have done. It's everything you do. To be with you gives me nothing. I'm bored having you around.", he continued his merciless honesty.

Tears were brimming in your eyes, almost spilling out of them, "No… you can't mean that.", you whispered helplessly, feeling your heart breaking into tiny pieces while a voice told you that his words were just lies. Even the way Nyx looked at you, told you that there was more than he said. He wasn't telling the truth but you had no idea why he tried to hurt you then, "Tell me the truth. What is really going on?", you asked.

Nyx stared at you, blinking several times because he couldn't believe what he heard, "Damn, I had no idea how stupid you are! I told you what is going on. I'm leaving you. I don't have to explain anything. Don't call me or stuff like this. Just … forget me.", he said, grabbing his jacket and leaving your apartment without looking back for one second.

You stared at the closed door, motionless. Just one single, hot tear was escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheek, leaving behind a trail of sadness on your skin.

***

Three days had passed since the last time Nyx had seen you. Three days since all the things he had said to you. You, the most precious and important miracle that ever happened to him. You, whose eyes would forever haunt him. Day and night. His nightmares were nothing compared to the shock and the sadness he had seen in your face because of the words he had chosen to hurt you.

Nyx was awake for seventy-two hours straight. Trying to drown his guilt and sorrow with alcohol but no matter how much he drank, Nyx couldn't get your tears-filled eyes out of his mind. Or the way you had tried to reach out for him. The TV blurted some nonsense. It was nothing more than background noise. He couldn't focus on anything around him because you always came back to his mind.

Therefore, Nyx needed several minutes to realize that the dull knocking sound came from his own door. Slightly swaying, Nyx crossed his small, one room apartment to answer the door. He already expected to see you. That, even if he had said you should stay away from him, you would ignore him. Somehow, Nyx hoped you had come to see him.

But instead, Crowe and Libertus stood in front of a tired looking Nyx. His hair was tousled and all in all, he looked miserable, "Wow… you look…", Libertus said, searching for the right words.

But Crowe was faster. She pushed past Libertus, "You look like shit.", she said. As she spotted all the empty bottles, she added: "And you smell horrible."

Nyx crossed his arms over his chest, "Are you done with insulting me?", he said, turning around to let himself fall into his armchair.

With a stern expression, Crowe followed Nyx while Libertus opened a window for some fresh air before he looked at his best friend, "Spit it out. What is going on?"

"YN left me. That's going on. I'm just trying to deal with this. Problem?", Nyx hissed and glared at his two friends.

Crowe frowned, looking skeptical, "YN... left you…", she asked doubtfully, "And when?"

"What day is it?", Nyx asked, noticing that he had kinda lost track of time.

"Friday.", Libertus answered serious.

"Oh, then three days ago or so-"

"Or so? Nyx!"

"What?", Nyx snapped, looking at Crowe with gleaming eyes, "They left me, ok? They said they couldn't do this anymore with me being a Glaive. And I don't blame them.", he said angrily while taking the next bottle of booze, "And now, if you don't wanna drink with me, I would be thankful if you two leave me alone."

Crowe and Libertus waited a moment but they saw that there was no way to discuss anything with him. So, they left Nyx alone with his self-destructive behavior. At least, for a little while.

On the street, Crowe stemmed her fists into her sides, "You believe what he said? That YN left him?", she asked Libertus.

He shook his head, "Not for one second."

***

But no matter how often one of his friends asked, Nyx stuck to his story: you had left him after eight months because the life with a Glaive wasn't what you wanted. You wanted more. You needed more stability and mostly, you didn't want a life where you always feared for Nyx' life.

So, one day, Crowe and Libertus walked to Nyx who was busy polishing his Kukris while looking tired like every day during the past two weeks.

Nyx noticed the two well-known shadows towering above him, "What is it now?", he asked, annoyed, without looking up.

"We watched you long enough and this has to end!", Crowe said.

Nyx was about to answer but the siren interrupted him and the others. A new attack by Niflheim troops killed this unwanted conversation before it even started.

While getting ready for action, Crowe watched Nyx. From the outside, he seemed to be composed and calm, dressing his combat clothes and putting his Kukris into the right spots but she knew the difference. She saw his wild eyes that told her that some kind of storm was raging inside of him. She just wasn't sure how this storm could break through: if Nyx would just let off some steam or if he would do something stupid.

Slowly, she walked over to Libertus and Pelna, "Hey, guys, do me a favor when we're on the battlefield. Look out for Nyx."

Pelna frowned, "You think he's not ready to fight?"

"Oh, trust me. Nyx will fight. I just fear he could do something stupid."

And somehow, Crowe should have been right with her assumption. While she was busy with the other female Glaives to create a thunderstorm to destroy some of the Niflheim ships, Libertus was fighting on the ground against upcoming waves of demons. Pelna fought on his right side while Nyx on his left.

It was a hell of a battle and everyone was busy but at the same time, Libertus kept an eye on Nyx as he had promised. But as Libertus checked Nyx' position once again, his friend was gone. Quickly, Libertus called Pelna over to him and together, they searched for Nyx.

"Over there! Is he suicidal or what?", Pelna asked as he watched how Nyx tried to fight against a bunch of ass-kicking demons at the same time. One demon aimed for Nyx without his knowledge and both, Pelna and Libertus, feared the worst.

"We have to do something. He has to get out of there or he will get killed!", Libertus called out over the ear-piercing sound of an explosion some distance away.

"I will warp me to him, help him to fight.", Pelna said, threw his knife to Nyx' position and fought against the last few remaining demons.

As the field was clear, Libertus ran over to Nyx, grabbing him by his uniform jacket to push him against the next half broken wall, "Stop this shit!"

"What? Doing my job?", Nyx hissed, pushing Libertus away from him with a glaring expression.

Libertus kept Nyx' glance, "No! You try to get killed! Since you left YN, you're more reckless than ever before."

"I told you YN left me!", Nyx called out, ignoring the next explosion which covered everyone in dust and debris.

Libertus stepped forward, towering above his childhood friend, "You weren't really thinking that I believed that for one second, right? Crowe neither. YN would never leave you like that! Unlike you, they are sure how they feel for you. YN already loves you too much to leave you! And that's why you left them with some flimsy excuses, am I right? Because you’re too scared to admit your feelings you have for them.", Libertus hissed angrily.

Nyx' eyes flickered back and forth between Libertus' eyes. He swallowed thickly before he tried it again, "N-no… YN... They said they couldn't do this anymore-"

For a quick moment, Libertus lost his temper and punched Nyx right in the face so Nyx' head snapped to the side before Libertus grabbed Nyx by his collar again, "Don't lie to me ever again! YN spoke with me. They told me what you have said to them! And you know what? They weren't even crying because they knew that everything was just a lie! YN knew that you did it to push them away from you!"

Nyx felt how the guilt was back in charge about what he had done to you. There was no excuse in this world that would ever be enough for what he had said, "But I... I...", he whispered weakly.

Libertus let go of Nyx, staring at him with a stone cold expression, "We will end this damn mission! Alive! All of us! And then, you apologize and go back to YN!"

***

It was raining for hours and you were just making a cup of hot, delicious chocolate as someone knocked. As you opened the door, curious who it would be for such an hour, a dripping wet Nyx stood in front of you, looking like a kicked puppy with his long hair clutching to his face.

He still wore his Glaive battle uniform, coming straight from a mission. Libertus and Crowe had made sure that he went to you. He still had dirt and dust in his face, a few scratches were crossing his skin while the rain water was dripping onto the floor of the hallway. His eyes were red-rimmed and all in all, he looked more tired and worn out than you had ever seen him before.

Nyx' heart hammered in his chest as he saw your eyes holding a caring glance while you looked at him patiently, "I- I'm sorry-", he breathed, shaking with coldness and a tear filled voice. He wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize for everything but he got cut off as you just pulled him to you for a strong embrace with your arms firmly snaking around his neck.

Nyx immediately snuggled into the crook of your neck with his nose, shaken by sobs while inhaling your warm, familiar scent. Your body heat enclosed him and within one second, he felt back home again. The emptiness and darkness he had felt during the last days slowly vanished and got filled with warmth.

"Welcome home, hero.", you breathed lovely, raking your fingers through his soaked hair to soothe him.

"I don't deserve you.", he breathed against your skin, embracing you even stronger, clinging to you desperately in fear you could disappear.

"Well, maybe you're right... maybe you're wrong. But ... it doesn't matter. I just want you, Nyx.", you answered honestly.

Nyx leant back, slowly cupping your face with his shaking, cold hands to stare into your eyes he had missed so much, "But why? Just why? I'm a mess. I could die so easily and I don't wanna put you through this pain because you would miss me... So, why god damnit do you want me?"

You nudged Nyx' nose with your own, "Because you're wonderful. Nyx, I saw your real you. How caring you are. How lovely you can be. You're so soft and sweet to me. You're perfect. Even without admitting it, you love me so much and I try to give you as much as I can back because you deserve it."

"And still, I tried to push you away...", he whispered, devastated about what he had done to you, about all the cruel things he had said.

"Yes, and you know, I understand why you did it. But, trust me, I would rather live a life in pain because I have lost you than to live one minute without having you in my life at all.", you swore solemnly.

Nyx couldn't stop the tears from running down his cheeks, "I'm so, so sorry.", he whispered and kissed you desperately because of the loyalty and unconditional love you showed him when he didn't even deserved it but when needed it the most.

You broke the kiss after the first sensation to have him back again. With closed eyes, you were slightly swooning and with a soft smile on your lips you said: "Come in. You have to get out of these wet clothes before you get sick. I also made some hot chocolate that will warm you up.", and with these words, you brought Nyx softly back into your apartment and into your life where he belonged.

#final fantasy nyx ulric #kingsglaive nyx #nyx ulric x male reader #nyx ulric x reader #nyx ulric #male reader #female reader #nyx ulric x gender neutral reader #final fantasy kingsglaive #final fantasy xv

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male drider x reader - Part Four (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I think the previous parts have had a female reader, but I left it ambiguous/gender neutral in this one, even in the nsfw bits, mostly out of habit.

It's 8000 words, with a bit of angst, a good dose of fluff, some recognition of unhealthy attitudes, and a slightly messy nsfw scene at the end...

Hope you enjoy!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Gilvas waited until you’d closed the matching panel at the other end of the secret passage, and then turned away.

While you worked on the catalogue, you couldn’t shake the vulnerable look on his face as he’d told you about his late wife and as you’d stared at her vivacious features in the portrait. In the nine years since her death, he’d become a shadow, haunting this creepy old mansion and drifting from one day to the next, and it broke your heart. Gilvas was clearly a gentle soul, though his fuse was short at times, but you had begun to suspect that it was more of a defence mechanism than a character trait.

As evening billowed around the stone walls of the enormous house at the end of the day, with an awful lot still swirling around your mind, you nearly walked straight into Naril who was loading his last pile of autumn leaves into a wheelbarrow by the back door. He called your name just in time and you sidestepped with a bashful grin.

“So is it true?” he asked almost immediately.

“Is what true?”

His ears waggled and he laughed as he dumped the leaves into the barrow with a little flourish. “You and the master…?”

“Me and the master what?” you snorted, crossing your arms. “You make it sound like we’re school kids caught snogging behind the bike sheds! He showed me the portrait of his wife and told me a bit about her, that’s all.”

Naril shook his head expressively. “We’ve had people here on the estate before, you know? None of them ended up strolling the corridors with him.”

“How’d you know about it anyway?” you asked instead, resisting the urge to flick him in fond reprimand on his large ear.

“Chiara came in and started talking to my dad about it. I couldn’t believe it, and neither could they. The master doesn’t ‘chat’ with anyone…”

You shrugged. “Well, if he’s happy talking to me, I’m happy enough to listen. He seems nice, once you get past the way he likes to bark at you.”

Two days later, while you were stooped over the working version of the catalogue, scribbling something down in the margins of your cataloguing notes, the shadows moved in the recesses of the library, and Gilvas emerged. You looked up and smiled. “Hi,” you offered.

He nodded curtly at you and began to pace.

Setting your pencil down a minute or two later, you asked, “Everything… alright?”

Gilvas turned, apparently on the point of snapping something acerbic and defensive at you, but he caught himself in time and paused, throat working. The dark red birthmark on his neck moved and shifted like ink in water. If asked, you’d have said he was nervous. “I… I was wondering if you would take tea with me on the terrace today.”

You froze. Of all the things you’d been expecting from him, that had not been it. “Uh…” you began artlessly.

“Or not. You don’t have to,” he blurted, turning away. “Stupid idea anyway.”

“Wait,” you laughed, relief washing through you. “Wait. I’d love to. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

If you’d been surprised, it was nothing to the expression on Chiara’s face when he summoned her to the library with a little bell pull that you’d not spotted before.

“You… You want to take tea… You want to take tea outside…?” the harpy repeated, looking unsteady on her clawed feet.

As if he’d just realised how unusual it was, his expression went blank, his four ruby eyes going dull, and he seemed to deflate. Gone was the intimidating, sharp-edged lord of the manor, and in his place you saw a vulnerable, shattered widower, with no one to talk to and rusty social skills.

Reading her master well enough, Chiara schooled her features into something resembling their usual sternness, and she nodded. “Of course. I will have it set up for you and…” she looked at you with her golden eyes and you tried not to shrink away. “For the both of you.”

“Thank you,” you said, and she nodded, departing.

“I think I gave her quite the shock,” he muttered, half smirking.

With a snort, you said, “We’re just going to have to find more ways to surprise them.”

“Them?”

“Your staff,” you said. “It’s clear that they all respect you, and they enjoy working here - well, obviously I can’t speak for all of them, but I have supper with Mr. Ambleside and his son almost every night. I don’t get the impression that they’d object to seeing a bit more of their mysterious master from time to time.”

“It’s been so long,” he croaked. “I… I’ve hidden myself away up here. I… I don’t remember — I mean…” he broke off and you noticed how glassy his eyes were.

Cautiously, you approached him and laid your hand on his foremost right leg. It was smooth like glass, and cold. It felt extremely brittle, though you knew the chitin was pretty tough. Your eyes nearly drifted to the empty stump on his right side though, and you suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t that tough. He shuddered and you nearly retracted your touch. “Sounds like you could use a friend to take tea with every now and again…” you said gently.

“I’d like that,” he said. “If… If you could bear it.”

“Bear it?” you repeated. “Please. I wouldn’t have accepted if it wasn’t something I didn’t already want to do.”

Gilvas fixed you with a piercing red gaze, making the blood-dark streak of his hair and the swirling birthmark stand out in vivid detail. “No,” he mused slowly, his legs and spider body relaxing a little into your touch like a great machine coming to rest. “I don’t suppose you would.”

Tea on the terrace became a daily fixture, weather permitting, and on the first day it was rained off, he asked you into a small drawing room on the ground floor that you’d never been in before.

Four and a half months into your stay, he leaned over the table and poured you another cup with shaking hands. He always shook, you realised, though the tremors worsened when he grew agitated or emotional. If Naril was right, he was about ten years older than you, and while at times he seemed youthful and almost playful when you got him talking about one of his interests - mathematics was a particular favourite of his - there were times when he seemed stiff and tired, and much, much older than you; and older than he truly was. He carried the weight of his grief around with him everywhere, dragging at him like chains, rattling in the quiet corridors of his mind and reminding him of his heartache. He never went too long with a smile on his face, the expression often shattering or sliding off his face to leave a brittle mask behind.

“Gilvas?” you asked as he set the teapot down on the tray with a rattle. “Everything alright?”

“You’re too perceptive by half,” he grumbled. “I wanted to ask you to dine with me tonight.”

“Oh,” you breathed, taken off-guard.

“You sound disappointed,” he said a slight huff to his tone.

Conflicted, you said, “It’s Naril’s birthday. He’s celebrating with the rest of the staff and some of his friends tonight, and he asked me to join him…”

“Then you must go, obviously,” he said. After a pause he added, “Naril is the one who tends to the gardens, is he not?”

“Mmm. He’s a firbolg.”

“My father always hired firbolgs for their way with nature. I’d forgotten that Ambleside has a child. How old is he?”

“About my age, I suppose?”

Whether or not he was aware of it, Gilvas’ face shuttered at that. With a sigh, he shifted his already vague gaze to the huge patio windows beside you and stared out at the gardens beyond. It had been raining earlier, but it had cleared up now to leave broad puddles flashing in the sunlight on the terrace. “I think I will go for a walk through the gardens this evening before sunset…”

“You want some company?” you asked, but he shook his head.

“No. Thank you.”

Naril’s party was just rowdy enough to be fun without straying too far into unruliness, and you stayed up late in the kitchens, laughing and joking with him and his father, who, it turned out, had quite the sense of humour with a few glasses of wine in him. Eloise, the maid, also joined you, and a few friends of Naril’s who lived in Starfall Springs. The laughter continued long into the night, until his friends from town announced that it was time to head back just shy of one in the morning.

Waving them off at the end of the night, still buzzing with the unusually vibrant evening, you and Naril turned from the upper gates and walked back to the house. In the dark, the firbolg could see much better than you, so he let you loop your arm amicably through his to stop yourself stumbling on the uneven driveway.

Just as you stepped back into the kitchen, he cracked a good-natured joke at your expense, recalling a moment from earlier in the evening, and you nearly fell about laughing. “Oh my gods,” you wheezed as you clung to his arm to stop yourself tripping up the step. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the plosive consonant with a chuckle. “You’re far too easy to tease. I —” he cut off suddenly, expression falling. His eyes were wide and he was staring at a point on the far side of the kitchen.

You looked up and found the hulking shape of a drider standing silhouetted in the dark doorway. “Forgive me,” Gilvas said stiffly, jaw working. “I came for a brandy. I thought you’d all turned in for the night.”

You blurted, “Gilvas?” at the same time as Naril whispered, “My lord?”

“Forget it,” he said, turning abruptly in the wide doorway. “I hope you enjoyed your evening together.”

Even after the door slammed behind him - the gesture leaving a sour taste in your mouth - neither you nor Naril spoke.

Finally it was Naril who broke the silence. “I’ve never seen him before…” he murmured, awestruck at the encounter. “He looks dreadful. Perhaps he is sick after all?”

“He doesn’t look as dreadful as he looked three months ago,” Chiara’s unexpected voice said tartly from the pantry to your left where she’d apparently been occupied, stowing away the remnants of the uneaten food.

You swallowed. “Well… I… uh… I guess I’d better head back. Thanks for tonight,” you said, hugging Naril briefly. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to give you… It’s not as if I can go into town or anything from here…”

“Couldn’t you ask your friend to pick you up,” he said. “You know, the one you phone every Friday?”

Despite having phoned Damien every week since arriving, you’d never even thought of asking him to drive all the way out here and pick you up for the weekend. He’d probably do it though if you asked. “I guess I could…”

The idea took root in your mind, and as you took your break the next day, you used the house’s landline to call Damien’s shop since he’d be at work too.

“Hey!” he chuckled. “You don’t normally phone today. How’s things at the Spookville Court?”

“Don't call it that,” you scoffed. “It’s fine. Listen, I haven’t got long, but I was wondering if maybe you’d be free this weekend…? I know it’s not exactly a short drive, but I’d kind of like to get out of here for the weekend…”

There was a pause while he checked his calendar. “Sure,” he said. “I can pick you up on Friday night if you like?”

“You don't have plans?”

“I was gonna grab a beer with Sarrigan since he’s in town,” he admitted, “But maybe if you can get away early, we could go together?”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t…” you said. No one was monitoring your hours after all, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t made huge inroads into the project already.

You grinned and practically flung yourself at him when Damien’s truck drew up outside your cottage on the far side of the courtyard. The wide expanse of gravel sat on the side of the house with the servants’ entrance, and was overlooked by the back of the mansion.

“I missed you!” you laughed, letting the colossal orc spin you easily in a circle. “You still smell like chocolate,” you said as his immensely long, black plait caught you in the face.

“Just proves I’m sweet,” he joked, and you groaned, smacking him in the chest with the back of your hand as he set you down.

“That was a bad pun, even for you.”

“You ready?” he asked.

“You don’t want to stretch your legs first? You’ve literally just got here.” He shook his head, but did nip inside your apartment for a drink of water and a bathroom break. While he was gone, you leaned against his truck and looked up at the trees above you. The height of summer was fading to the bronze of autumn now, and a few coppery leaves rained down around you like confetti, spiralling through the air that promised a change of season soon.

“Ready?” he asked, swinging your overnight bag easily into the truck and helping you up the enormous step into the cab.

As you drove away, you glanced up at the house and caught the glint of sun on a window as it closed on one of the upper storeys, but you soon forgot about the house as Damien began to regale you with stories of your friends’ antics.

With Widowsweb Court in the rear view mirror, you sighed and settled into the comfy seat, letting Damien talk as the house dwindled to nothing behind you. It felt good to be away from the limited confines of the estate, but as you looked forward to a weekend in Starfall Springs with your friends, something nagged at the back of your mind, like a caught thread pulling in the sleeve of a favourite sweater…

Your whole weekend in Starfall Springs was like the first breath of fresh garden air after a day spent in the dusty library of Widowsweb Court.

Damien had taken you to the Inglenook Inn that first night, where he, Sarrigan, their respective partners, plus a mothman named Merritt whom you’d met a few times before, and a couple of your other friends were gathered, and the lot of you talked late into the night. There were a lot of questions about Widowsweb Court, but you mostly focused on the work and describing the house and gardens to them. Somehow it felt disrespectful - an invasion of his privacy - to talk about Gilvas much.

As you left the pub to walk back to your modest apartment at the north end of the town, Sarrigan caught up with you. As he scuttled up to you, you were struck suddenly by the difference between him and Gilvas. Sarrigan Silkfoot’s silver-banded fur rippled in the moonlight, ruffled by the night breezes, where Gilvas’ spider body was black, hard, and shiny as black lacquer, and where Gilvas’ legs moved like articulated, curved daggers, Sarrigan’s were chunky and muscular and unbelievably fuzzy, ending in a little hooked and almost dainty talon. Gilvas’ legs ended in wicked points, sharp and slender as paring knives, and his fangs probably carried a deadly venom, where Sarrigan’s smile held only jollity. Gilvas also had no mandibles, where Sarrigan’s hardware clicked and chittered with his emotions.

“Listen,” he said as he fell into a near-silent step beside you. “I know you’ve not got any reception up there at Widowsweb, so I haven’t been able to get in touch by text or whatever, but I just wanted to ask you - away from the others - how it’s going. With my family’s history with theirs, I did some digging into the Widowsweb estate and the family…”

“You did?” You weren’t sure whether to be offended or curious, but in the end, the latter won out. “What did you find?”

“Just tragedy. Lately anyway. Earlier generations seem to have done ok, but… you should look him up.”

“Who, Gilvas?”

He nodded.

“You mean the fire?”

Again, he nodded, shuffling nervously. “The police think he started it, but they could never prove it.”

You scowled, horrified and hurt. “Sarrigan, I’ve met him. He doesn't seem like the type to murder his family - and his unhatched children too?” You shook your head, appalled, stomach roiling. “He’s devastated… rarely talks about them, and when he does… he’s close to tears. I think he lost a leg in the fire too.”

Sarrigan’s handsome face remained harsh and he clicked his mandibles pensively. Finally, he sighed. “Just… be careful, ok? The articles I found all said he had a nasty temper, and that since his wife’s death, he fired all the staff and turned into some kind of recluse…”

“They’ve got the last bit right,” you said, “But not the first.” He did have a short fuse though. “Thanks for looking out for me, Sarrigan, but I’m not worried.”

He nodded once. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

You shook your head and parted from him with a warm hug. “I appreciate it, but trust me… Gilvas isn’t some cruel, violent lunatic. He’s an isolated widower who’s never learned how to move past his grief.”

To your relief, Sarrigan seemed to take you at your word, and left you at your door looking happier for having aired his anxieties, and in turn having had them laid to rest.

The remainder of your weekend passed without incident, but you couldn’t get Sarrigan’s words out of your head. If he’d been painted by the press at the time as some kind of violent monster, it was no wonder that Gilvas had hidden himself away on his estate and never spoke to anyone.

On the Sunday of your weekend away, you met up with a few friends at Damien’s cafe for breakfast, and spent the better part of the day while the sun was out browsing the marketplace. As you passed a carpenter’s stall, your eye was drawn by a number of carved, wooden puzzle boxes. The satyr who had made them was demonstrating how one of them worked to a small crowed of fascinated onlookers, and when he finished, finally sliding the last section of wood free, the lid sprang open to reveal the empty chamber inside, and everyone applauded.

Fascinated, you realised what a tactile thing the boxes were, and suddenly thought of Gilvas. With his reduced sight, he relied a lot on his sense of touch. On a whim, you bought one and had it wrapped neatly in brown paper by the satyr. Thanking him, you headed home and packed up, bringing with you a few new clothes and a few more things to occupy your evenings.

Bouncing back up the driveway in Damien’s truck that evening, you couldn’t miss the looks the orc tossed you sidelong, and as you drew to a halt in the courtyard again, he stayed put in his seat and asked, “Are you really alright here? It’s so remote…”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I love the work, and the people are kind. I promise I’ll ring you the moment I’m unhappy, but for now, I’m honestly loving it. I’ve never had a better or more fulfilling job, Damien. I can’t believe I’ve got so little time left really…” You paused and sighed. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

He bowed his head and backed off, though not without pulling you half into his lap for a bone-crushing hug first. “Take care, OK?” he grunted before releasing you.

“You sure you won’t stay for some supper?” you asked as you slithered out of your side of the cab and landed on the gravel. “I bet you’d love Naril.”

“I can’t,” he said with a regretful grimace. “I need to get back to prep the shop for next week. Another time?”

You nodded. “Drive safely.”

For the entire week following your return to Widowsweb Court, you didn’t see even the slightest glimpse of Gilvas.

There was no trace of his having been in the library at all, and the secret panel at the rear of the room stayed firmly shut. You didn’t think it was your place to go wandering the corridors again, and although you continued to take a mug of tea out onto the terrace every afternoon, it was hardly the spread of High Tea that you had shared with him every day for months. The whole place seemed empty without his presence now, reminding you of your very first week there, when every shadow and doorway had loomed ominously large before you.

Finally, at the end of the week, you ran in to Chiara on your way back down and you paused to let her past with an armful of linen. “Chiara, is… is Gilvas around? Is he alright?”

She narrowed her eyes and tutted softly at you. “None of your concern,” she snipped at you before bustling off.

You stood there, mute and surprised.

It definitely didn’t sound like he was alright, but what were you to him, really? You thought of the box stowed away in your room, waiting for the right time to be brought out and given to him, and suddenly felt foolish. You’d known him for a matter of months. He was a lord, with land and a title; he had a whole household full of things already, and you were just there to reorganise his library. He’d probably already forgotten about you.

You worked solidly through the morning again the next day, but didn’t feel hungry enough to go down to lunch. You continued on through the day, pausing only to sip from your water bottle before heading back up the ladders time and time again with armfuls of books. It was exhausting. There was no trace of the webbing he’d used to catch you, and since there was also no sign of him, you made sure to take extra care going up and down.

With a sigh you finally set down the last of the hagiographies at eight o’clock that night, and put your hands to the small of your back, grunting. Dusty, tired, stiff, and still oddly demoralised, you thought you heard the creak of a door from the back of the library, but you’d barely dared to hope before the main doors opened and Naril stumped in, looking terribly out of place and awkward in his gardening overalls. He had mud on his trousers, but his boots had been scraped clean.

He sighed your name in obvious relief when he spotted you. “You ok?” he asked.

“Fine, why?” you frowned as you turned to face him, still with your palms pressed to the small of your back.

“You didn’t come to lunch, and you missed supper as well. I was worried about you.”

You smiled and dropped your hands to your sides. “I’m fine. I just… haven’t felt like myself lately. Thank you though.”

An awkward silence hung between you, and he scratched the back of his head. “Right. Well, there’s… uh… stuff in the larder and fridge if… if you get hungry. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been crushed by a ton of books or something.”

With a chuckle, you said, “This isn’t The Mummy you know? People do actually secure their bookshelves…”

He laughed briefly and headed for the doors again. “Seriously though… Are you sure you’re ok?” he asked, ears waggling.

“I’ve… I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Ok,” he said, green eyes wide and glassy. “Well, you can always talk to me. What are friends for, right?”

“Right. Thank you, Naril.”

He nodded, and left.

In the silent stillness of the library, you sank with a heavy sigh into one of the nearby chairs and let your palm cradle your chin, with your elbow planted on the wood of the table. When had this place started to feel so sad again? It was as if the gloom was seeping back into the fabric of the place like a sponge soaking up ink.

About a minute later, a familiar movement caught your attention and you looked up to find Gilvas standing beside a bookshelf. He was tilting his head in that way that meant he couldn’t see you in the dim light, but he knew you were still there.

“I’m here,” you said quietly, hardly daring to move in case he scuttled away.

Locking onto your voice, he moved with expert familiarity round the library and came to a halt near your table. The only light now came from a lamp one shelf over. “I… I overheard…” he began stiffly. His red gaze sailed right over your head, so it was clear that he couldn’t see you, even this close up. “Is… I mean… Are you alright?”

“Could ask the same of you,” you said wryly, eyeing the dark shadows under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth. “I haven’t seen you in ages.” He looked dreadful again, as if he’d hardly eaten anything in the interim.

“Been better, I suppose,” he said. “The firbolg said you haven’t eaten today… is that right?”

“Mmm.”

“Should we raid the kitchen together?”

You smiled. “You haven’t eaten either I take it…”

He shook his head.

Standing, you swayed as a head rush washed over you and you let out a tiny grunt of surprise, grabbing the back of the chair.

With a scowl, he stepped closer. “Alright?” He steadied you, his hand finding your waist and lingering there.

“I missed you,” you breathed unthinkingly as you stared up at him.

Gilvas froze and then let out a rough exhale, withdrawing a few paces. “You did?”

“Mmm. I have something for you too, from Starfall, but it’s back in my room. I… I’d started to think I wasn’t going to see you again…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his fingers curling briefly into fists at his side. “I… I rather let the melancholy take over again.”

“Why?” you asked, stepping closer to him. His ear followed you and he narrowed his eyes. You got the impression that you’d just stepped into his limited field of vision and he could now make out your silhouette in the shadowy library.

The lord of Widowsweb Court gave a bitter, brittle laugh and turned away, legs moving in sequence like a windup toy. “I think I misled myself,” he said eventually.

Your brows knitted and you closed the distance between you, laying your hand boldly on his cool, obsidian foreleg again. As before, he shivered, but he didn't pull away. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose I got carried away - this past month in particular,” he said in his rough baritone.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said, that cut-glass edge returning to his voice. “You don’t know what it was like before you came here; before you —” he stopped himself but then took a breath and continued in barely a whisper, the consonants softly articulated. You had to lean in closer to hear him. “Before you brought the light back to this place.” His voice cracked as he added, “And you took it with you.”

“Gilvas…” you gasped, shocked by his tone.

“I know,” he growled. “It’s inappropriate of me, and melodramatic. You were only gone for two days. But it’s the truth. I got so swept up in spending time with someone again — in… in enjoying myself — that I somehow forgot that you have a whole life outside of our brief interactions here, beyond these walls…”

“Naril's birthday…” you breathed and he nodded. He’d stumbled upon you and Naril sharing a laugh and a close touch at his birthday and had assumed from the physical closeness that there was something more than friendship between you. That had been the last time you’d seen him.

Then he shook his head in disgust and sneered self-deprecatingly, “It’s as though I became a teenager again - spoilt and sour and… everything I loathe about myself.”

He backed away out of your grip until his huge carapace nudged against the shelf behind him and he went still again. Trapped between you and the books, he breathed heavily for a moment through his aquiline nose. Your heart was beating in your throat but you kept quiet.

“I have a nasty, possessive side,” he said, scowling. “I’d almost forgotten about it, but as — I hesitate to call it a friendship… I’m not sure what we had between us — but whatever it was grew, I came to think of you as… mine. And then I saw you laughing with him and… I remembered that you’re not mine at all. I have no right to make those kinds of disgusting demands or claims. You’re not mine — you’re not anyone’s but your own person. I forgot myself, and I hated myself for it.”

He was jealous.

Gilvas was jealous that you’d been laughing with Naril that night. Despite the anguish on his face, you had to smile. When he heard you chuckle softly, he growled at you again, deep and rich and animalistic. Defensive. That was all it was; defensive bluster.

“It’s true that Naril has come to be my friend here,” you said, moving carefully closer to him now that he couldn’t back away any more. “But I thought about you all weekend while I was away. I couldn’t get you out of my head. When my friend Sarrigan —”

“— Silkfoot?” he interrupted with a sneer. “‘Sarrigan’ is an old Silkfoot name…”

“Yes. Sarrigan Silkfoot is a friend of mine,” you said carefully, noting the lingering displeasure in his features. “He’s currently dating a human, and my best friend, Damien, is also very much in love with a human. If you’re worried about what previous generations of Silkfoots thought about relationships between species, you needn’t worry. The current heir to the family - Sarrigan’s older brother - has even recently married a human. Things have moved on since the founding of Widowsweb…”

His chest heaved and he sank lower so that his pendulous spider’s body was only a few inches above the ground, and his torso and head were almost on a level with yours. “I’ve hidden myself away too long,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

Taking a final step over to him, you stood in the space between his deadly front legs. It felt suddenly intimate in the extreme, and you reached your palm out and laid it on his chest. He flinched, but let you talk.

“Sarrigan told me a bit more about the papers said… about the circumstances of the fire… about what people believed at the time…” you said carefully, and Gilvas’ face darkened dangerously. “But I got to know you before I’d heard that, and I can’t believe you would have started it. I can’t believe anyone thought that of you.” You placed your left palm to mirror your right and felt the way his chest heaved with emotion as he listened. “You’re a good person, Gilvas. I told my friends that, and they believed me. And I think you’ve suffered alone for long enough.”

Gilvas’ expression shattered and he leaned forwards and drew you into his arms. “I don't want you to leave…” he whispered into your hair as he held you close. He smelled like books and sandalwood, warm and comforting, and you let your arms snake around his waist.

“I don't have anything else lined up for after I finish here,” you said without letting go. He was gently inhaling the scent of you, you realised, and you let him hold you, drawing comfort from the warmth of your body. “And I told you there’s a lifetime’s worth of work to do on this library…”

“I could renew your contract,” he said. “Or… Or you could… No. I don't want you to feel… obliged…” he said, swallowing thickly and drawing sharply back from your embrace as if you’d burned him. “If I’m paying you —” his face buckled into a sour grimace and he lurched slightly further away from you. “I don’t want to pay you to stay here…” he spat as if the idea thoroughly disgusted him.

You laughed. “I own my apartment in Starfall. I could rent it out for some income, and come and live here with you. That way… there’s no imbalance…”

“Yes,” he nodded breathlessly, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. “Yes, that’s… that’s good. And if you still have your apartment, you can… I mean… there will be somewhere for you… if… if you decide…”

“Stop,” you said. “Don’t push me away again.”

The drider took a huge inhale and nodded. Then he licked his lips nervously and said, “You know, we were going to raid the kitchen before we went down this path. You shouldn’t make any rash decisions on an empty stomach.”

“An excellent point,” you said with mock seriousness. “Let’s go.”

Over a rather strange and cobbled-together supper of leftovers scrounged from the pantry, eaten at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, Gilvas stayed almost completely silent. At first, you thought he was just concentrating on eating, being particularly careful about his movements since he didn’t see as clearly as you did, but after a while, you discovered the crinkle in his brow and noticed the tremor in his fingers again.

“Wait here,” you said, pushing back from the table and touching the back of his hand briefly. He was always so cold.

“Where are you going?” he barked, tense.

With a giggle, you said, “Trust me. I’ll be right back.”

And with that, you vanished out of the back door and scuttled over the gravel to the little apartment above the old stable block where you’d been staying for the past few months. Minutes later, you returned to find him exactly where you’d left him, scowling at his food.

He looked up sharply as you reentered, and you watched his shoulders drop with relief a split second later when he figured out that it was you.

“Here,” you said, holding out the brown paper parcel to him, touching it to the back of his fingers in case he couldn’t see it.

In moments, it was obvious to you that he couldn’t, because his fingertips trailed along the edges, looking for a way into the parcel. “What is it?” he asked warily, shifting his head from side to side.

“You’ll find out. I saw them being made in the marketplace, and I think with your sense of touch you’ll probably have an advantage over someone with sharper vision…”

At that, his frown deepened, though not from discomfort. He was openly curious now, and he got to work on the wrappings, abandoning them to one side. “A box?” he murmured when he’d run his fingers all the way around it. Watching him, you suddenly felt a thrum of desire go right through you. You wanted him to do that to your body, to explore you by touch, and you barely bit back a moan as the force of it swept through you.

He paused and turned his face towards you expectantly.

“Yeah,” you croaked. “It’s a puzzle box. It’s all inlaid with different types of wood, and there are a few panels and sections that you have to slide in the right order to open it.”

At that, his face cracked into a gorgeous, open, delighted grin and your heart slipped sideways in your chest at the youthfulness it lent to his features. “I used to love these as a child,” he said. “Thank you.”

He moved then, obviously not having been sitting on a chair like you, and found his way faultlessly around the kitchen to where you were seated opposite him. The little inlaid box lay to one side on the table while he took your hands in his and squeezed your knuckles fondly, earnestly.

“Thank you,” he rasped again.

You raised your chin and he let go of you with his right hand and brought it up to cup your left cheek in his cool palm. His thumb traced an arc across your skin and you shivered, exhaling and breathing hard. “Gilvas…” you whispered, want burning inside you inside you like a flare. You didn’t want to push him or rush him, but if he didn’t kiss you in the next three seconds, you thought you might just wither up and die on the spot.

Mercifully, he leaned down, tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips. His kiss was soft, his lips cool and hesitant, but the moment you let a little moan of pleasure escape you, he deepened the kiss. His long fingers scrunched in your hair and he closed his red eyes with a flutter of long lashes. His two forelegs rose up slightly for balance as his body rocked downwards and he pulled back with a gasp, chest heaving again. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely, looking suddenly shy.

You grinned and stood. “I want you too…”

Gilvas led you through the house, pausing with endearing frequency to kiss you breathless against almost every spare surface that wasn’t covered by paintings or suits of armour or priceless vases on precarious pedestals, and finally he backed you up against the double doors to a bedroom on the fourth floor, and picked you up so that you had to latch your legs around his waist at the point where his humanoid torso met his spider’s body. You ground yourself against him as he kissed you over and over, his long hair falling around your face in a black and red curtain.

With one foreleg, he delicately pushed the handle down and nudged the doors open. Still holding you, he drew your top off over your head, discarding it to one side as he carried you across the room and deposited you onto a massive bed. It bounced and flexed beneath you, and as you looked around you discovered that it was not a bed, but a thick and intricately woven web slung between the two perpendicular walls of the far corner of the room. You leaned back into it, feeling the soft silken strands flex slightly beneath you, and looked up to see Gilvas’ silhouette in the darkness of the room.

The moon shone through an open window to your right, painting fine silver highlights to the gleaming lacquer of his carapace and needle-like legs, and in the moonlight, you saw that he was dripping webbing onto the floor from the gland at the tip of his spider’s abdomen. You knew enough about driders to know that when they got really aroused, they often leaked webbing like this. Male driders did not mate the way many other beings did, but that didn't put you off. You wanted him - his pleasure, his ecstasy, his noises, his joy…

It did make him suddenly nervous though, as if he’d only just realised that you might be expecting him to penetrate you, and with his anatomy, he couldn’t.

“Gilvas?” you asked, reaching up for him where he still loomed hesitantly above you. “Come here… let me take care of you…”

“I…” he began, but he let you draw him down onto the soft, smooth webbing. His legs ended in those dazzlingly sharp points, and he seemed to dance across the webs like a circus performer on a high wire. He lowered himself down atop you and you kissed him again. His hands skated over your hips and he drew the rest of your clothes off to abandon them beside his bed.

Seeking friction, he carefully slid his slick abdomen against your legs and shivered, moaning. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, head bowing forwards as he rested on his elbows, one on either side of your body. “I can’t believe how warm you are… it’s… it…”

“Does it feel good?” you asked, raking your fingers through his long hair and he nodded wordlessly. “Can you roll over?” you asked.

“Oh gods,” he gasped, clearly aroused by the idea, and nodded.

It wasn’t the most elegant manoeuvres, but once he was on his back with his legs curled upwards like a black, clawed hand, you sat in the gap where his one missing leg should have been, and ran your hand over the smoothness of his underbelly. In no time you discovered the slit in his lower body that was leaking slick, pearlescent fluid all over himself.

“Oh!” he yelled, spine curling and legs twitching as you traced your fingertips around the softer inner walls of the slit. Where the rest of his body was cool and hard, there he was almost searingly hot, the inner walls silky and slick. “Oh gods, oh gods… oh gods…” he chanted in time with your motions, his whole body twitching and making the webbing rock beneath him.

The tendons of his neck stood out in glorious contrast beneath the watercolour birthmark as he clenched his jaw and rammed his eyes shut, lost in the sensations. His fingers scrabbled at the web of his bed and he rocked and shivered and arched into your touch as you worked him closer and closer. You knew he was going to make a mess when he came, and you felt your whole body flush hot at the thought of finally getting him to let go of all his tight control and insecurities, to give himself over to the simple, honest pleasure you were offering to give him.

The thought of that was almost enough to make you come yourself, but you focused on him until he growled softly.

“I want…” he began but cut off as you grazed a spot inside him unexpectedly with a fingertip that made him bellow wordlessly. “Fuck…” he hissed when he’d recovered, head lolling back again, and you grinned at the curse on his aristocratic tongue. “Wait…” he panted. “I want… I want to touch you… before I… before you make me…” he growled again in frustration. “I’ll only be able to… to… come once… please… let me…” Hearing him lose control of his words like that in the face of his arousal only made it all the more endearing.

“You can touch me,” you said coyly without changing anything, but when he genuinely snarled, sounding more like a werewolf than a drider, you laughed and leaned closer to him.

His cool fingers dug into your arms as he tugged you tight against his body, pulling you down to lie atop him along the length of his belly and humanoid stomach, and you ground yourself against him for a little relief. His hand slid down your body, down your side, and before you could think, he was pleasuring you. “Let me,” he hissed when you tensed a little, revealing his venomous fangs as a flash of white in the dimness when you tried to pull back to finish him.

“But I wanted to make you come,” you pouted, and he actually laughed at that, four red eyes closing and crinkling softly in the corners with genuine amusement at your disgruntlement.

“Too bad,” he groused. “I want to watch you first.”

“Fair enough,” you grunted as he caught you just so and you rocked against him. “I’m so close…” and you really were. His touch was relentless, demanding your pleasure in return for the sensations you’d just given him.

“I know,” he snarled right in your ear, teeth - the non-venomous ones you hoped - just grazing the shell of your ear. “I can smell it on you.”

And with that, you came unexpectedly hard, crashing into your release and clinging to him. He eased you through it and when you lay panting and spent on his chest, he moved his hand to his mouth and cleaned himself luxuriantly, obviously enjoying the taste of you on his skin.

After that, he seemed softer and more relaxed, and when you’d recovered enough to get your legs back under you and return your attentions to his body, he finally seemed to have allowed himself this connection to another person. His body heaved and rocked rhythmically, his legs knocking nonchalantly against each other as he spasmed and moaned, and as he grew wetter and slicker around your hand, and his inner walls began to clench and shiver in a distinct cadence, you knew he was getting close. He was also giving you the most delicious sounds; gasping and cursing, grunting and even wailing softly at times when you slowed your touches to a barely-there whisper against him.

Eventually though, he began to rock against you in earnest, and you felt his release coming as a rapidly-building wave, gathering momentum until it finally ripped through him like a wildfire. White release gushed from his entrance and covered your hand, rolling down the sleek, shiny carapace to soak into the webbing while his body heaved and convulsed with pleasure. He made no sound, his face contorted in a rictus of pleasure as he gave everything he had to you, his hands gripping the webbing as he released in messy waves all over himself and you.

Finally as the pleasure faded to something gentler and less intense, he lay back, motionless on his bed, muscles completely slack, face soft, breathing quiet.

“Gilvas?”

“Mmm?” he hummed without moving.

“You alright?”

“Mmm.”

Weak and completely spent, he lay there unmoving for a long time while you gently trailed your fingers around his still clenching slit as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through him. Eventually, you wiped your hand clean on the webs beside him and shuffled up to lie beside him. He still looked absolutely exhausted and drained, and you sat there a long time just watching him.

After a very long time, he mustered the energy to open one arm to you and you nuzzled in against his bare shoulder. His breath hissed softly through his slack jaw and he pressed a shy kiss to the top of your head. “See why I wanted… to make you… to make you come first?” he whispered, words heavily slurred and indistinct.

You nodded and shifted to drape your arm across his chest and draw idle patterns over the bare skin of his white torso.

His skin was starkly pale in the moonlight, and as you stared at him, you realised he’d probably relied solely on touch for the whole time you’d been in the room. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his jutting collarbone, making him inhale sharply.

He was still too thin, still obviously not taking care of himself properly, but, you thought, if he’d trusted you and let you in to this extent, perhaps you could both take care of each other now.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispered after another long while of silence and closeness in the dark.

“Just thinking how good this feels,” you said honestly. “And how I could lie like this forever… Or at least… until you’re ready to go again.”

He snorted, taken off-guard. “Won’t be for a very long while,” he said bashfully. “Driders don’t recover quickly. Not the male ones, anyway.”

“I’m in no rush,” you said, laying your cheek back down on his cool skin and shivering as goosebumps rippled up your body.

He fumbled around on his other side and drew a large blanket up and over his body, careful to avoid the mess on his carapace, and let you snuggle up beneath it.

You’d have to wait for the dawn to go again though, because you were asleep in his arms in minutes.

___

Maybe we'll get to see more of them in the future, but for now, this four-part story is over. Thanks for your comments and enthusiasm for the cranky spooder boy!

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#drider #exophilia #male drider #male drider x reader #drider x reader #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend #male monster #gender neutral reader #female reader #(technically - although the reader in this part is gn)

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Characters: Wilbur, Tommy, Dream, Sam, Tubbo, Ranboo Word count: 1004 words Content: Bruises, revival arc, terror, dream as puppet master, tommy as puppet, mind control, mild spoilers, ask to tag

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The sirens ring across the SMP, alerting the other members toward the prison location. No matter what anyone’s doing, they all rush toward the building to stand around and watch whatever chaos is happening.

Tubbo and Ranboo are most curious, stepping in front of the crowd. The prison looks as normal as it normally does. Admittedly, Tubbo doesn’t want to be here. He almost wants to nudge Ranboo and trudge back to Snowchester, but something is keeping him rooted in place. Maybe it’s the morbid curiosity. Maybe Sam’s finally dragging Tommy’s body out of the cell. If that was the case, then why is he sounding the alarms? Is there something more going on?

There’s a silence when the sirens finally stop, leaving a ringing in Tubbo’s ears. He leans against Ranboo for comfort, something heavy settling in his stomach. This isn’t looking good for anyone. He watches as Sam walks out of the lobby, staring straight ahead and looking shell-shocked. Tubbo knows that expression even from a distance. Something had happened inside the prison that he’s definitely never going to mention.

That’s not all. Behind Sam, hunched over and hugging himself, is Tommy.

Tommy, who’s very much alive and not dead. Tommy looks awful. Tubbo fights back his initial glee over seeing Tommy alive, but there’s something off about him. Tommy is covered in bruises and cuts, and looks very much like he’d just been beaten to death.

Sam had mentioned that, but Tubbo had brushed it off. He hadn’t understood the implications until just now, and the sight is making him feel sick to his stomach. With a small gasp, Tubbo steps back, now wanting more than ever to leave and go home. This isn’t right, everything about this situation isn’t right. He can barely look at Tommy anymore, or the condition Tommy’s in. Fresh waves of anger wash over Tubbo as well, now directed toward Sam. He’d left Tommy alone!

“Tubbo, wait,” Ranboo whispers. “I see something else.”

Tubbo stays, only for Ranboo. Being alone isn’t ideal right now, so he swallows his anger and forces himself to keep watching.

Dream is coming out next. Dream’s mask is in place, but his aura is radiating a sort of smugness. Tubbo lets himself drown in the anger. He wants to lash forward and deliver the same treatment to Dream that Dream had given Tommy. Once again, he glances over at Tommy. The teen is staring down at the ground, curling in on himself as if...

“Tommy!” Tubbo yells, waving his arms. “Tommy, over here!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dream replies instead. He marches over and puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, yanking the teen closer. “See, we have plans, Tommy and I.”

“Why are you out?” Ranboo calls. “Sam, why did you let him out? What the hell is going on?”

Tommy continues to say nothing, staring at the ground. The expression on his face is haunting. Tubbo has a suspicion he’s lost Tommy for good. If not to trauma, then to Dream. The anger is snuffed out, leaving him feeling cold. Tommy had completely shattered, leaving nothing but a trembling, sad shell in his place.

“Oh, I had a little fun in prison,” Dream says. His tone is so casual as he pulls Tommy back toward the lobby. “Before you all kill me, just wait a second.”

The crowd as a whole starts murmuring. Tubbo can hear angry whispers, some of them directed toward Dream, other suspecting Tommy and Dream of working together. There are even angry hisses directed at Sam. Surely not... this is Tubbo’s worst nightmare come true. Pinching himself only hurts, which means this isn’t just a nightmare, but it’s a nightmare he’s forced to live through.

Just as suddenly as the crowd stirs, it falls silent. The silence is thick and terrifying. Tubbo’s finding it hard to breathe as his gaze snaps back toward the lobby. Everything now makes sense, and he’s colder than he had been minutes ago.

No, he’s not cold. Tubbo’s terrified.

Marching out, with a netherite pickaxe resting over his shoulder, with a trenchcoat on, a haunted, smug expression that screams dark is someone who was dead. Who should still be dead.

He too stands next to Tommy and Dream. Tubbo doesn’t miss Tommy silently crying now as another hand presses down on the teen’s shoulder.

This isn’t Ghostbur anymore. Tubbo can see that Ghostbur is long dead and gone, and was only a temporary relief from this form.

This is Wilbur.

This is Wilbur alive. Standing next to Dream as if they’re old friends.

They’re holding onto Tommy.

“Sam?” Tubbo asks. “Sam what-”

“I had no choice,” Sam whispers. “I’m so sorry everyone, I... I’m so sorry. They forced me.”

“Sup everyone,” Wilbur says with a smirk on his lips and a laugh in his voice. He lifts his chin to grin out at the crowd. The grin on his face is cold and humorless, and the expression in his eyes screams madness. “Did you miss me?”

Tubbo feels faint. Again, he tugs at Ranboo and the two turn to leave. Except, Ranboo stops cold. When Tubbo turns to plead with him, he’s met with a terrifyingly blank stare.

“Tubbo?” Tommy finally speaks up. He sounds so broken. “Tubbo, I’m sorry. They’re in control now. I’m so sorry, Tubbo I love you...”

Ranboo is drawing out a sword and lifting it up into the air. Tubbo watches in slow motion as it’s brought down. He closes his eyes and waits for the strike. It never comes.

When he opens his eyes, Ranboo is walking away to join the crowd in front of the prison lobby. Dream and Wilbur are passing out ender pearls between them, Tommy and Ranboo, and then the four are gone, disappeared out of sight.

Tubbo collapses to his knees, unable to force a sob out. He doesn’t let himself move, even as he feels Puffy and Sam lift him and carry him away.

Thank god for unconsciousness.

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wonderlandoccupant · 3 years

Text

Izuku and Todoroki have their first real fight as a couple.

OR.

Todoroki refuses to take his own well being seriously and Izuku can’t bear it.

A QUICK ONE SHOT TO MAKE UP FOR ME VANISHING FOR A WEEK- <3 (sorrryyyyyyyyy)

TW: ANGSTY BOIS!! A bit of blood, self depreciation

Izuku applies pressure to Todoroki’s arm where a hefty gash is currently spilling crimson onto the floor of his dorm. It’s about… 12AM. Todoroki has been gone for three days, doing who knows what who knows where with Endeavor.

The hero has specified that it had to be Todoroki that came… that they had business to take care of that would concern no one else. Aziawa had begrudgingly let Todoroki go, and since then it has been complete and utter hell for Izuku. They had only recently become a couple and the days after his absence were some of the most stressful in Izuku’s whole life… and that’s saying a lot.

When Todoroki had finally texted him to meet him in his dorm Izuku did not hesitate to literally rocket through the halls to get there. To meet the now returned Shoto Todoroki who is bleeding out on his own dorm room floor.

“Damn it Sho.”

Izuku whispers into his multicolored hair, propping him up on the bed, trying to elevate his arm while simultaneously bloodying his hands even further. His skin is bruised and battered, and Izuku can feel the tenseness in his joints- from both shock and injury. He’s in so much pain. But…Todoroki seems perfectly calm, his expression relaxed and his body language at ease as always. He slowly activates his quirk on his other arm, as if testing if he still has enough power to do so- still going despite all of his exhaustion.

And Izuku hates it.

Usually Todoroki’s calm aura is something that gives him peace, something that he can draw comfort from. Not right now. Right now he is absolutely outraged. He needs Todoroki to scream, to admit his pain, to ask for help… to let Izuku know that he missed him, to say something ANYTHING. And Izuku knows he may be being selfish but Todoroki has never given a damn about himself. Sure, he has survival instincts- he doesn’t necessarily want to die but… he doesn’t want to live either. And it’s driving Izuku up the wall.

“Todoroki WHERE WERE YOU?! Do you have any idea what I was thinking?! You can’t just disappear. I was worried Todoroki-Kun.”

Izuku lets out a few shaky breaths, biting back tears while he stares into those gloriously haunted eyes.

“And then you come back here with my explanation with your arm basically half gone… just… please… can I have an explanation?”

Todoroki’s gaze changes, the brief chance for vulnerability slipping away as the hero raises himself to stand, pulling away from Izuku’s grasp. But they both know it’s more than that.

“I will Midoriya. I promise. But right now I have to get back to my father. He still needs me.”

Izuku’s gut clenches painfully as he watches Todoroki walk to the door. He knows he’s earnest with his words- and he knows he doesn’t intend to be cold but this is wrong. This is so, so wrong. Izuku can see Todoroki curling deeper and deeper within himself and he fears soon there will be nothing left for him to reach.

“I just wanted to come to… uh. I wanted to… just tell you that I’ll be ok. And that I’ll be back for real in… about three weeks.”

Three weeks. That bomb drops on Izuku’s heart and cracks it down to it’s core.

“Three weeks?! Are you serious? You- you…”

He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

“Look, at least see recovery girl first. I know that’s probably why you really came here, to get healed.”

Todoroki doesn’t respond.

Izuku’s hands ball themselves into fists.

“Fine then. Run back to your Dad. Have fun with whatever the hell you’re doing.”

Todoroki leaves without even looking back, arm still bleeding and Izuku’s legs find it very hard to keep him upright. He lets himself fall back on to the bed of his lover, the soft tears now falling from his cheeks.

And oh it hurts, it hurts so, so much.

Because Izuku loves him immeasurably.

But Todoroki doesn’t love himself at all.

#shoto todoroki #anime #tododeku #midoriya izuku #romance #deku #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #angst #Tododeku angst #mha todoroki #mha deku

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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diaco1968 · 3 years

Text

REQUEST!!!

@yeehaw87

Ok this took my lazy bottom so long to reply to! I'm sorry!!! And then I accidentally deleted the main request!!! Omg double sorry!

But! Very interesting request to be fair XD

Hope you enjoy.

@yeehaw87

Warnings! Suggestive themes, bj/oral sex, mentions of rude words, awkwardness!

Shoto

• He had taken you home with a cab from the fancy dinner, and you attempting to be polite invited him inside for a drink. His elegance was unnerving to you, making you feel small and trying harder than usual to not mess up. The look on his face. He usually looked unimpressed or just less than amused with everything in general. So, it didn't necessarily mean you were being boring... right?... These thoughts were running through you making your anxiety sky rocket and the butterflies in your belly to go wilder than usual when he leaned in gently for a kiss.

• All the feelings and thoughts doing their part to force your body to relieve you of the sexual tension they created, the simple kiss stirred into a heated makeout session, and that led to his hand sliding up your legs as he turned from his place on the couch to face you fully as he pulled you over and onto his lap, lips never disconnecting as they moulded together feverishly. His hands on your ass, pulled you closer, grinding you over his crotch And of course you wanted more contact on certain other areas so you started by unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off before slowly pushing him on the couch so he was lying on his back now with you straddling his hips. You pulled back from the kiss, panting lightly and straightened up to pull your shirt off over your head.

• Unbeknownst to you, Shoto was quite nervous too. He feared messing up anything with you. The way you always made his heart flutter with any simple thing you did. And surprisingly, when he was nervous he tended to blabber. Averting his eyes from your undressing, with a soft blush he looked up. And blabber he did.

• "Did you know the ceiling needs painting?"

• You already had your shirt off and numbly looked up to see what he was referring to. It sure did. But... were you so boring to him that he found the ceiling more interesting?... looking at the ceiling when you were taking your shirt off?! All your movements froze and tears started welling up in your eyes as you tried getting off of him. His eyes snapped back onto you, catching a glimpse of your watery eyes right before the tears spilled and you turned your head to hide them from him. A choked sob left your lips. And that was the moment he knew he fucked up. Grabbing your hands to prevent you from running off as he sat up with you still in his lap, wrapping you in his shirt and grabbing the sides of your face to wipe your tears off with his thumbs.

• "Oh shit! I'm so sorry! It's not-! I didn't-- I meant! ... I'm such a fucking idiot... I just didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable by staring at you..."

• He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you flush to his warm bare chest, rubbing your back while rocking back and forth.

Dabi

• You were sore all over, but the warmth and the aftershocks of the pleasure earlier still running through your deliciously worked out body had you feeling amazing. Added to the way he breathed on the back of your neck and had his arms wrapped tightly around you from behind, his extraordinary warmth radiating off his body soothing your muscles, made your first ever experience such an amazing thing. Your emotions were in overdrive along with your sensations, all thoughts you had before this whole thing still lingering and mixing in with your new thoughts. You had been pretty new at this, so the idea of messing up embarrassingly, in front of Dabi of all people, who looked quite experienced in the sexual field.

• You did not mess up. He was kinda sorta patient with you, and it turned out pretty amazing.

• Remembering the whole thing, you got a little excited and biting your lower lip, you sneakily grinded your ass back onto his crotch, finding surprisingly that he was as excited as you.

"Wanna go again doll?"

He rasped in your ear making you shiver with a smile as his hips started moving, humping your ass, sliding his hardening shaft over and in between your cheeks.

"I'm surprised you would want to go again with me. I know I'm not that much of a pro at this."

"Are you kidding?"

You don't know why you decided to joke, you were emotionally not in the place to do so yet, or receive a snarky reply. Cause face it, Dabi is the king of snarky replies.

• "You're good enough to do this for a living."

• You blinked, halting as you tried to make sense of his words. And of course they registered in your head the wrong way. Do this for a living... this?! Did he mean you were only good for sex?... like ...

• You started to pull away as you tried to pry his arms off of you. He was surprised but he wasn't going to hold you by force. Until he heard you sniffle and his arms tightened back around you as he sat up.

• "What the fuck? Are you okay? Did I hurt you or something?"

• He was looking for any out of control burn marks he might've accidentally left on you.

• "No! Let me go, I better get to work then huh? Got to make a living..."

• He paused. A moment of uncomfortable awkward silence staring at your face with a pair of tear streams running down your face before he burst out laughing, much to your annoyance, and hugged you forcefully until you calmed down.

• "You silly little thing. It was a compliment! I meant to say you are good... maybe I said it wrong... sorry. You are sexy AND amazing."

Bakugou

• You were slightly older than him (...just... just imagine plz l...even one minute XD) and despite that he barged in right inside your life so boldly, you just had to give him what he wanted. You liked him, he didn't look younger and he definitely didn't act younger, so you were definitely interested in him. C'mon he was hot, who were you trying to fool.

• As you dropped to your knees in front of him seductively, sensually running your fingers down his biceps, hes pecs, his abs and his hips before cupping his ass, drawing a hiss out of him. You locked eyes with him as your teeth grabbed onto the zipper of his pants, pulling them down, holding his heavy gaze and fluttering your eyelashes at him. Your fingers moved and unbuttoned the pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, his hard cock springing out and standing to attention as it leaked precum.

• "Oh my, look how excited this little boy is by little old me."

• He rolled his eyes in annoyance, fed up with your snarky age comments. It wasn't like it mattered that you were older or anything. Annoying little brat that you acted like. And Katsuki being, well, Katsuki, he even took this age thing as a competition. And he couldn't really win it so it got him grumpy.

• "Shut up and put that mouth to good use, will ya?!"

• Seeing you chuckle his fingers tangled in your hair and guided you over to his cock, tapping the tip on your lips a few times before you opened your mouth to let him in. Your cheeks hollowed out around his length as your throat constricted around him, your hand fisting the length you couldn't fit down your throat in time with the bobbing of your head.

• "Fuck ..."

• Gods he loved what you did with that mouth. It was like magic. Such an expert performanc, always making him hiss and whimper and curse in pleasure. And pleasure is a distracting thing for common sense.

• "You definitely look younger than you feel anyway."

• With a surprised slurp you came to a sudden halt and pulled away. He tried to reach out and hold your head in place but you dodged his attempt and stared up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, what the hell did he mean you felt old?! What does feeling old even mean? Are you not fun enough for him anymore?! Your eyes glossed over and he could tell it wasn't just your gag reflex as tears pulled in your eyes, voice already strained.

• "The fuck did you just say?..."

• He opened his mouth and closed it again, too shocked by the outcome. He had never seen you this upset. He had meant to compliment you...

• As the haze of pleasure was chased away by your haunting sad expression and spilling tears he put the pieces together.

• And he grabbed your hands pulling you up on your feet and hugging you tightly, burying his nose in your hair.

• "Oh my fucking god I'm such an idiot! I meant you are so amazing with your mouth ... and experience comes with age ... and you don't look old... fuck I'm sorry I'll just shut up..."

#Request #Todoroki x reader #Bakugou x reader #Dabi x reader #Shoto x reader #Bakugou Katsuki #Shoto Todoroki #Dabi

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souichioneshots · 3 years

Text

Adult!Souichi x Reader 【2 day fic; Day 2】 NSFW!!

Lol here's part 2

Ya'll said you like detail

well, here's a lot of detail

this is super ooc for sure, but whatever there's like barely any adult!souichi porn so take this shit and leave me alone

byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

【MUST-READ DAY 1 + Binzo FIC To UNDERSTAND WHAT IS HAPPENING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!】

Souichi loudly sighed as he placed the hairdryer back on the counter. He was exhausted. What had started out as a good day turned to shit in a matter of minutes.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the events that had unfolded before him that afternoon.

After checking out of the hotel, you two still had another four hours to kill until the kimonos were ready for pickup. Although there wasn’t a lot to do in the little town you were in, there was a large home center that he had planned on going to soon. He needed to get some things for the haunt and some everyday items for his family. You claimed you’d never been to a home center before, so it should be fun.

At least, that’s what he initially thought.

He had left you alone for 1 minute to go get a cart. Seeing how heavily invested you were in reading the comic book he told you he liked as a kid, he figured that you wouldn’t notice. But he was dead wrong.

As he put the items he was holding into an empty cart, the lights of the store started to flicker. He heard people screaming and things being knocked over.

Leaving the cart, he rushed to where he had left you. But you weren’t there. Instead, your mask along with several broken mannequins took your place. There were drops of blood everywhere. You had been scratching yourself again. A nasty habit you had whenever you got anxious. Following the trail of blood and broken items, he finally found you. You were in the pet-item section of the store.

His eyes widened in shock as he saw you, floating ever so slightly off the floor. A group of Japanese horned beetles circled your floating body as you swayed back and forth, like a body that had been hung by its neck. All the other animals in the area, the rabbits, the birds, even the fish all laid dead on the floor surrounding you.

He was about to call out your name and try to calm you down, but then he saw your eyes.

They had gone completely black.

Blood dripped from your nose and to your lips as you smiled at him. A shiver traveled down his spine as you met his eyes.

¡¡¡∀ﻼ∀ﻼ∀ﻼ∀ﻼ∀ﻼ ¡¡ɘɿoʜʍ 'υoγ uɒc 'ɿɘʍob γɯ ʇυoʜʇᴉʍ ϱuᴉɘp quɒʇƨ ʇ,uɒC ¡γʇɿɘboɿb ɿᴉɘʜʇ ɘʌɘᴉɿʇɘɿ oʇ kcɒp ɘɯɒc γllɒuᴉt oʜʍ koo⅃ ˙llɘM llɘM llɘM

Souichi couldn’t understand a single word you were saying. His heart raced as he remembered what the man who sold you had said. If you were ever displeased, you could take the power of others away, and in extreme cases, their life force. From the looks of you and the dead animals around you, this seemed like an extreme case.

The lights above you flickered rapidly as you placed your feet on the ground and walked towards him.

He needed to do something fast. You were drawing too much attention to yourself. Drawing too much attention to him! He needed to run. If he ran fast enough, he might be able to reach his family and disappear just before you could get him.

Just as he was about to turn around and leave, tears started to run down your cheeks, making him stop. You put your hands out to reach for Souichi, but he backed away, afraid you were trying to trick him.

“I,ɯ ƨoɿɿγ˙˙˙ Ⴇou,ʇ˙˙˙⅃ɘɒʌɘ ɯɘ˙˙˙ I,ɯ˙˙˙Sorry…Please…” The whites in your eyes returned as tears endlessly streamed down your face.

The people who had been watching from afar made a commotion as you suddenly collapsed onto the ground. Blood seeped from your arms, legs, and nose as your eyes finally shut.

It took all the power Souichi could muster to make everyone in the store forget what had happened. He was able to pin everything on a couple of teenage pranksters, but he prayed that no one would ever look at the security footage from that day.

Seeing that it would not be the best idea to travel with the bloody body of an unconscious girl thrown over his shoulder. He rushed to the nearest hotel. Using his power to make you undetectable by the people around him, he brought you into the room you two were in now and allowed you to rest. However, you had awoken while he was showering.

You nearly scared him to death when you entered the shower fully clothed.

Your face was emotionless, eyes slightly puffy from crying too much, and dried blood was smeared all over your body. Seeing how your legs trembled from exhaustion he offered to help you wash up, something his older sister would usually do for you, but you refused, asking him to leave. Quickly finishing up, he left you alone.

He didn’t know how long it would be until you finished. But either way, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

Walking over to the mini-fridge in the room, he took out a can of lemon-flavored Strong Zero and chugged it all down in one go. He held the still cold can up to his head as he tried to relax his mind.

He really didn’t think things through very well when he got you. He should have heeded that man’s warning. All of this just to get more powerful? There were dozens of other ways he could get the power he wanted. Ritual sacrifices, joining covens, deals with demons. But he just had to choose the ‘easy’ route.

If he didn’t do something soon, he might end up powerless or dead like your old masters.

Souichi let out a sound of surprise as he turned around to see that you had been standing behind him the entire time. Small puddles of water formed around you as water droplets dripped from your hair.

“Y-You’re done? Do you need help drying your hair?” He nervously asked.

He really hoped you couldn’t read minds. God knows he can’t take on anyone as powerful as you, especially after all he did today.

Keeping your eyes to the ground, you spoke in a small voice.

“Where did you go?...”

“Hmm? You told me to get out?” Souichi tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“No!” You gripped the hem of your pajama-yukata, trying to hold back your emotions. You sounded like you were on the verge of crying again.

“You left me alone…at the home center…You tricked me…” Your body trembled as you took deep-uneven breaths. “Why did you leave me…Did I do something wrong… I’m sorry if I did something to upset you… I just… Please… Tell me…”

Souichi’s eyes widened at your words. He couldn’t believe what you were saying.

The scene you made at the home center was all because of him. All because you thought he left you. Dumped you to fend for yourself in an environment you were completely unfamiliar with. He knew he could never truly understand how you felt, but he assumed that it must have felt worse than the time his grandmother left him alone with a family who doesn’t understand him or his abilities.

He felt horrible for actually thinking about leaving you back there.

“Y/N… I wasn’t trying to abandon you. I just went to get a cart to put the stuff in. I’m sorry…” You looked up at him with teary eyes as he explained what had truly happened.

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around his slim body.

“Promise you’ll never leave me again…” The sound of your voice was muffled a bit by his clothes.

“I Promise.” He put his pinkie out for you to wrap your own around.

Moving back a bit, you both looked at each other and chanting in unison.

「指きりげんまん　嘘ついたら針千本飲ます　指きった！」

As you let go of each other’s pinkies, a devilish smile grew across your face.

“You’re suddenly in a good mood.” He said, a little surprised by your sudden change in attitude.

“Fufufu. Of course, I am. After all, a promise between two witches is sacred.” Rushing to stand on top of the bed, you pointed and laughed at him. “Don’t blame me if you end up drinking a water bottle full of needles one day ~! Kakakaka!”

Souichi couldn’t help but laugh at how similar you sounded to him when he was younger. Even your laugh, although it suited you well, was forcefully done just so you could sound creepier. You were like a little clone of him.

As you stood taller than him, Souichi was now able to clearly see the scratch marks that traveled from your knees up into your yukata. They looked painful. Your arms weren’t looking so good either.

Going to a bag filled with supplies, he called for you to sit down. “We should heal those wounds before we go back home.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you waited for the man to start the healing process. He was the only person you had ever met that was able to successfully do this.

“Where did you get this?” You asked as you examined the green bottle of gooey liquid labeled ‘100% Aloe Vera’.

“I went to the superstore while you were asleep.” Souichi replied as he kneeled in front of you and took your arm into his hands.

“Hmm…” Suddenly you gasped loudly, making Souichi jump a bit. “The kimonos!”

“Ah~ I got those too. I even went to eat sushi from that place we saw yesterday.”

“Ehh--!!” You exclaimed. “You’re lying!! I wanted to go too!”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have thrown a tantrum and blacked out at the home center.”

You huffed and looked away in annoyance as he continued to massage your left arm. The scars slowly faded away as he chanted and rubbed the skin.

“Geez…You should have just gone ahead and conquered Japan without me while you were out…” Souichi laughed as you mumbled under your breath.

“So…did you have fun?” You asked as he moved onto your right arm.

“Not really. The sushi was meh and those annoying old ladies kept asking where you were. They even tried to fit me for a kimono.”

“Did you get one?!” You excitedly asked. Souichi shook his head side to side, indicating that he did not.

“Aw…That’s a shame. I personally think you would look absolutely delicious in a kimono.” Souichi looked at you with a shocked expression, making you go into a panic.

“N-Not that kind of delicious!! I mean uh… Like …nnn…” You ran your hand through your hair as you tried to find the right word. “Handsome! You would look very handsome in a kimono…uuuu…” You brought your hand down to cover your face as Souichi laughed at your embarrassed expression. You’ve been saying a lot of weird things like that to him recently.

Finally finishing your arms, he moved down to your legs. Souichi’s heart suddenly started to race as you pulled your yukata up, allowing him properly to see the scratches he needed to heal on your legs.

Clearing his throat, he gave you the bottle. “I think you can do this part yourself.”

You looked up at the raven-haired man in confusion. “No, I can’t. I never learned how to do healing spells. If I did, do you think I would have been walking around with scratches and bite marks all over my body this whole time?” Souichi sighed at your statement. You were right.

“Fine… I can teach you how to do this if you want.” He said as he opened the bottle.

“Ok. Teach me.” You let out a sigh as Souichi poured the lotion on your legs. It stung at first, but that pain soon melted away.

Rubbing his hands over the markings, he explained the spell to you. You paid careful attention, repeating the chant right after him and watching as your skin healed before your very eyes.

Seeing that you still had a couple of scratches trailing to the back of your legs, he told you to flip over.

You immediately apologized when a small growl escaped you. Being put in a vulnerable position like this was not something you were used to.

As you finally calmed down, Souichi noticed your body slightly move on its own. Your body slid down a bit, trying to keep his fingers on the top half of your legs. His mouth started to feel dry when he saw that you weren’t wearing anything underneath your yukata.

Your legs closed ever so slightly as his hands moved dangerously close to your already slick pussy.

“I-It’s really important to heal all parts of the body…” He nervously explained as he gently rubbed his thumb against your pussy, clear fluid sticking to it as he pulled away.

Completely forgetting about the other scratches on your legs, Souichi focused himself on another part of your body.

“This spell helps with cuts, bruises, and even... muscle fatigue.”

“Fatigue...?” You repeated the word like you had no idea what it meant.

“This place seems to be pretty tight. You probably have a lot of built-up fatigue here…”

You tried to hold back your voice as he slid his index finger into you. Your legs trembled each time he pulled it back and almost out of you. Souichi could feel his member getting harder in his boxers as he continued to finger you. The wet-hot sensation of you wrapped around his finger was making his mind go fuzzy.

He wanted to go further.

Grabbing you by your waist, he flipped you back over. Your cheeks were red, and your chest was rising and falling at an uneven pace. Souichi licked his lips as he got back on his knees and brought his face closer to your pussy.

“You don’t always have to use your hands for this spell though…But…I’ll need to help you if you wanna try this method…”

You let out a shaky moan as he pressed his tongue against you. Souichi could taste the Aloe Vera he had rubbed on you as he pushed his tongue in between your folds.

His tongue was tingling, and his mind was slowly starting to forget how or why he even started doing this to you.

Bringing his hand down to his boxers, he freed his aching erection. Clear fluid dripped from the tip of his cock as he started to move his hand back and forth.

Jolts of pleasure surged through his body as he slipped his tongue inside you, rolling over your clit every time he pulled out. It was almost like you two were actually connected.

He can’t remember how many times he repeated this motion.

Your legs physically trembled as your breathing became more erratic. He could tell you were gonna cum soon. But he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

Pushing himself off of you, Souichi spread your legs wide. He needed to cum inside you. He needed to make you his.

“Fuck…” Souichi pressed himself against your dripping entrance as he sped up his hands’ motions.

Why did you have to cover your face with your hands? He wanted to see your face when he came inside you.

“Ah~I’m cumming…” His body twitched downward as he pushed just the head of his cock in and poured his thick white seed into you.

A smile grew on his face as he looked down at the mess he had made of you. His seed seeped out of your pussy as he pulled himself out.

Moving to the empty space next to you, Souichi laid on his back. Your shoulders slightly touched as he moved even closer.

His heart was still racing from how amazing that felt. Even now his body felt like it was tingling.

Souichi closed his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.

Completely oblivious to the immense amount of power that was being transferred into him right now.

#//NSFW #souichi x reader #adult souichi #//tw panic attack #//tw blood #angst??#fluff???#uhhh???#souichi gives reader oral ahaha #and then he cums in her #but with a twist #ahahahahahahahahhahaha

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crescentsteel · 4 years

Text

Imagination

plot: Halloween with Kiyoomi Sakusa genre: fluff, crack warnings: sorta creepy wc: 6.3k (went a bit overboard sorry lol)

A/N: - This is collab from our server @babythotshq. See others spoofy stories from our server here. - I’m posting another halloween fic later, sum Semi fluff. lmk if u wanna be tagged - Thank you so much @newfriendjen for the betaread and @aomineavenue for that idea u gave me ehe - Sakusa brainrot

Nothing beats the spirit of Halloween, the best holiday ever invented. Ghost stories, people in costumes, haunted houses, scary movies, everything about this holiday — you love and welcome them all. Last year, your Halloween adventure was you and your friends trying to make a documentary (actually it was just you hogging the camera and tripping your friends that you’re seeing apparitions) in an abandoned building.

But the highlight of that Halloween wasn’t that. It was meeting Sakusa. Albeit how sweet that sounds, the whole of it was honestly ridiculous.

A year ago, you and your coworkers agreed to join the Halloween party at the club near your office. You drew lots on what will be the theme of each person’s costume in the office. The person whose costume fits their theme the most gets a prize. When you got “something unexpected” at the draw, you were thrilled at all the possibilities your imagination could think of.

But then work fucked you up until you barely had any time left. You only had less than 48 hours to come up with an award-winning costume. As you’re scrunching for your work deadlines, you look around for possible costume inspirations. And voila, your eyes landed on that certain object near your monitor.

You laughed your head off when you pictured what you’d look like.

At the club at the night of the Halloween party, it was expected to have most people in costume. No one gave anyone a second look for being all dressed up.

Except for you.

When you entered the bar, people were staring. You made your way to your colleagues, uttering your excuse mes and sorrys to the people you bumped. Once your officemates saw you, they guffawed simultaneously. You were wearing white boots, surgical , a light blue long-sleeve top, and black short shorts. On top of the long-sleeve top and shorts was a white box hanging inches just below your thighs which made it look like a box dress. Printed on the front of the box dress was “GERMINATOR. Kill 99.9% germs” complete with its logo. At the back of it was the product’s information. It even had an improvised pump on your head. On your bare thighs was a holster holding sanitizers instead of guns.

You twirled in front of your colleagues and they all gave you a round of applause.

You were so stressed out with work that you drank your heart out before the party even began to reach its peak. Your nearing drunk ass was letting loose when your back collided with someone and you nearly tripped.

It was a guy with white streaks on his hair that was held up by gel or wax. He gasped as he took in your appearance. “Miss! Please come with me.” The guy didn’t really give you a choice when he grabbed your wrist and dragged your tipsy self to wherever.

“Omi-kun! I brought you someone.” He said while he hid you behind him.

“Really, Bo-kun? You think he’d be interested in anyone from here?” You heard someone say despite the noise. The guy who just hauled you there moved away to reveal that certain someone, aka you. You went with the flow and gave them a curtsy while your vision started to sway a bit.

You easily distinguished who he’s with since they’re all wearing the same yellow jacket. “What are you s’ppsed to be? A boy band or somethin?” you asked but no one answered.

You are met with different reactions. Two of them dropped their jaws. One had a wide smile on his face, obviously proud of finding you. Then, there was this guy you couldn’t make out because he was wearing a face mask. After recovering from their shock, the three men looked at the one who wore a face mask.

The guy with white streaks turned to you and said, “I’m Bokuto,” referring to himself. “That’s Hinata,” he pointed out to the shortest guy in orange hair. “Miya, “ the blonde one said, then grabs the face masked-guy who has a stiff frown on his half-visible face. “And this,” he pushed the face-mask man in front of you, “is Sakusa.” Everyone looked so entertained and so amused, except for the one directly in front of you. But you don’t acknowledge the somber aura coming from him. You like being the source of entertainment, especially for this event.

“Oh you unsanitary boys! You can call me,” you grab two sanitizers dramatically from your holster and pose like a sailor scout, except weirder. You couldn’t even tell how you exactly posed your arms in the air, you just let the alcohol do the work. As a finishing touch to the pose, you winked and announced, “Germinator-chan!!!”

At that, Miya spilled the drink he was about to take while Bokuto put his hands on his hips as they both laughed uncontrollably. Hinata walked beside … what was his name again? You’ll just continue calling him face-mask man. “You look so cool, Germinator-chan!!” Hinata beamed at you while scanning your whole look. “We should’ve dressed up as well,” he added with a slight pout.

Ah. Sakusa it was.

Miya ,who was still laughing his heart out, put an arm around Sakusa, “My, my, Omi-kun,” he paused to chuckle, “We’ve found yer dream girl!” Sakusa tried to shrug Miya’s arm off of his shoulder. “Please don’t touch me.”

Bokuto came closer as well and spoke to Sakusa, “Are you still leaving? Germinator-chan can keep you clean.”

“Of course I’m still leaving. I shouldn’t even have come in this germ-infested place” he said and was about to saunter off towards the exit. Before he could even pass you by, you block his path and extend your arms.

“Germ, you say? I got you,” you said while you poised your sanitizers in place, ready to give him some if he extends his hands to you. You find no shame in how flippant you seemed. This is what Halloween parties are all about. You, yourself, are having fun even if you don’t entirely grasp why they’re teasing the guy. He probably has a cold and wants to avoid too many people.

You weren’t expecting it, but Sakusa held out his hands. You thought he was just going to ignore your antics because he seemed annoyed. You heard him mumble something, but because of the music and his face mask, you didn’t hear it.

“Sorry, what?!”

He comes a bit closer, close enough for you to notice how he’s not as serious as he was before. More so, he looked pleased. Since half of his face is covered, all your attention went to his eyes, and at this proximity, you became aware how pretty they actually looked. Or maybe you’re already drunk and he’s just too close.

“Thanks, miss,” he uttered softly.

“BAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!! You’re perfect for each other!” Bokuto’s laugh drew your attention away from Sakusa.

“Before you leave, Omi-san. Can we take pictures with you, Germinator-chan?” Hinata asks with his phone already on his hand.

“Ah yes yes, Shoyo-kun. Clever idea.” The Miya guy said with a widespread grin on his face. Once again, they all gathered around Sakusa. You joined them with silly poses as they took several selfies with you. The three of them were obviously having fun while Sakusa’s expression was the same in all the photos. Even with the face mask, you could tell. He’s pissed. As soon as they put the phone down, he was on the move again.

“Wait, Omi-kun!” Miya stopped him once more. Sakusa looked like a vein was gonna pop on his temple. Maybe you just imagined him being pleasant a while ago.

“We’re letting ya leave, don’t worry.” Miya smirked prior to adding, “after ya take pictures with Germinator-chan.” You see Sakusa’s shoulders slump in defeat. But you didn’t feel bad for him at all. In fact, you also wanted to keep on teasing him.

As they snap pictures, you kept on doing superhero poses with your costume. Sakusa’s impassiveness doesn’t bother you one bit. You kept on flailing around him while they took pictures. When they had their fill, they said their goodbyes as Sakusa walked away without even looking back.

“Byeee. Stay germ-free!” You half-shouted as he already gained some distance away from you and the three men. When he reached the exit, you felt someone tap your shoulder. You turned on your heel and saw Miya offering you a drink. “You, Germinator-chan, are fucking awesome.” The three boys wore big smiles on their faces which you reciprocated. You bowed as acknowledgment to the compliment and took the offered liquor. You gulped a significant amount before excusing yourself “Bye boyysss.” You head back to your coworkers, faltering on every step of the way.

Two days after that Halloween party, life went on. You regret drinking so much that night. You barfed like crazy when you got home and you had a massive hangover the morning after so you had to take the following day off. Since everyone in your office knew why you had to be absent the previous day, they made you do additional work that day.

You’re a Lifestyle writer, but the Sports department needed another person today. They weren’t able to do the interview for some players the week before so you’re needed to do the last set of interviews. You don’t really know anything Sports-related. They just gave you a list of the people you’re going to interview and the questionnaire for them to answer. The most you could do is follow up on their answers. You looked at the names to be interviewed.

Shion Inunaki

Kiyoomi Sakusa

Shoyo Hinata

You don’t know why, but the names were awfully familiar. You shrugged it off. Maybe you just saw some articles about them from the Sports department.

You arrived at the gymnasium and went straight to their manager, stating that you were scheduled there to interview some players for your magazine. You took your seat at the sides and waited. The first interview with Inunaki went smoothly. When you’re done with him, he called the next guy and got back to their practice.

Upon seeing the next interviewee, you stare intently at him for he looked incredibly familiar, you just had to remember where you met him. Black, curly hair that framed his face nicely. Two moles located right above his right eyebrow. Sharp, serious eyes. But something’s off. Something at the back of your head knows that you’ve seen his face, but something’s amiss.

Face mask. He wasn’t wearing his face mask.

Sakusa.

Drunken memories came rushing down to your sober mind. You even heard your frilly voice saying Germinator-chan!!

You looked down and fixed your glasses as an attempt to hide your face. You cleared your throat and deepened your talking voice so that he wouldn’t perceive any resemblance you may have with what you looked like two nights ago.

You started the interview and took down notes more keenly than you should, just so you wouldn’t meet his gaze. From your peripheral, you saw him trying to get a better look at your face.

“Excuse me, have we met somewhere?” he said after answering a question from your list. You smile thriftly and shake your head. “I don’t think so.” He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press on.

‘Kami-sama, I swear to take care of myself and not contaminate my precious body with alcohol. Just let me go through this unnoticed. I’m begging you,’ you prayed silently.

Fortunately, the interview ended with Sakusa not figuring out who you were. When the last interviewee sat down, a pair of bright hazel eyes stared at you with glee.

“GERMINATOR-CHAN!” Hinata yelled while pointing at you happily. It echoed in the whole gymnasium and how awfully lucky you were, everyone was on break. You felt everyone’s eyes on you. Not long after, you’re crowded by not only the four boys you met that fateful night, but everyone else in the team.

“Wow. This is the Germinator-chan?” A player you didn’t know asked.

Apparently, Miya shared the pictures to every single one on the team. Inunaki joined their fun and tapped the back of Sakusa. “Real nice, Sakusa-san!” You heard a familiar voice and found Miya beside Sakusa. “Well, well, Omi-kun. Her alter-ego’s real pretty.” The taunts were focused on Sakusa, but you felt like sinking on your seat that moment.

“Um!!” You got all their attention. “Sorry, but can I finish my interview with Hinata-kun first?” You smiled as professionally and as nice as you could. They all uttered light apologies and dispersed back on the court. You resumed with the interview as fast as you could. You thanked Hinata and their manager and semi-sprinted out of the court when you had the chance. No way you’re gonna get hounded by any MSBY member again.

The exit was just a few steps away and finally, you can rest easy. You let out a breath of relief when you reached outside with no problem.

“Germinator-chan.”

You yelp from the sudden voice behind you. You slowly turn around to confirm if it was who you thought it was. And behold, it really was Sakusa Kiyoomi. You twiddled with your fingers while thinking of what you should say. You didn’t want to apologize for your behavior the other night. You liked having fun and going crazy. You saw nothing wrong with that. You didn’t do anything inappropriate. It’s just that you didn’t think you’d see any of those men right when you’re working.

He walked towards you until you were face to face. Without his face mask, you end up staring at his whole profile that was partially hidden that night. He must’ve been really sick to want to cover such an attractive face.

“What brand of sanitizer did you use?” You blink twice from the confusion. “What?” you ask dumbfoundedly. “That night. The sanitizer you gave me felt nice. Did it have 70% isopropyl alcohol?” You couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you cause his face is dead serious. That’s when you figured it out.. The face mask, the early escape from the crowd, attention to disinfectant — he was a clean freak.

“Umm. I-Uh.. I’m not really sure. I didn’t really check,” you said, then laughed nervously.

“Do you want some recommendations?”

“Huh?” You felt like an idiot for not fully grasping what he was talking about. If you weren’t staring so hard, you wouldn’t have noticed it, but something broke his stoic expression when his eyes averted your gaze for a second. He looked a bit unsure.

“I can help you choose a good sanitizer...and stuff.”

The smile that broke in your face was wide and it hurt your cheeks. You’ve been asked out several times, but that. That was unlike any other you’ve ever heard. It was so weird. It was the kind of weird that appeared so charming to you.

You just had to go out with him.

A year after that, you find yourself in his apartment to celebrate Halloween. Originally, you wanted to go to that Halloween party again, but no matter how much you pouted, begged, and pestered him, the answer was a big, fat no.

This is your most-awaited holiday of the year. There’s no way you’re missing out on Halloween activities with him. So days prior to this, you brainstormed on what activities you could do with him.

Haunted House? Dirty. Abandoned buildings? Dirtier. Street Parties? Crowded. Ouija Board? You’re scared something will actually happen. Zombie run? Dirty and crowded.

You almost gave up until you remembered your vast collection of untouched horror movies, documentaries, and series that you didn’t have the time to watch because of work. You instantly texted Sakusa if that was okay with him.

Okay

You’ve never been so glad to read a four-lettered text after receiving a constant n-o, no to all your suggestions. Finally. FINALLY, you came up with something you two could do.

Halloween weekend came and you both decided on Sakusa’s apartment to do the movie marathon. You keep shifting in your seat from excitement. Tonight, you get the opportunity to watch some of your hoarded horror pieces, and much better, you’re watching it with Sakusa.

“Is there anything you’d like to watch in particular?” you ask him with your eyes still glued on the screen, browsing your bought movies. He moves closer to you and slouches so he can better see his options.

If Sakusa will be honest, he’s not really a fan of horror. He doesn’t see the point of scaring oneself from something that is make-believe. So he’s not that enthusiastic about it.

But you were.

If watching freakish movies makes you happy, then okay. Out of all your ideas this year, this is the only one he can tolerate. He knows how dedicated you are in celebrating this event. Last year was already a solid proof of that.

“Don’t you get scared by watching that stuff?” He’s looking at you but your focus is on the screen as you scroll down. “I do. But that’s the point!” You squeal from excitement. He still can’t wrap his head around the whole concept, but he’s willing to indulge you.

“Do you get scared by these?” you peel your eyes away from the TV and shift your attention to him.

He shrugs indifferently. “Not really,” was his answer even though he still hasn’t watched a full length horror film. He just couldn’t imagine how a fictional work could potentially frighten him.

“Okay. Let’s go with something light since the night is still young,” you said, then clicked on some movie that he didn’t catch the title of. You huddled closer to him. You tuck your knees in and hug your legs as the movie starts.

You’re so elated that you don’t notice the tug in the corner of his mouth as he studies your face. He asked you out on a whim because that day, he didn’t really have the time to think twice. He wasn’t sure if he’d see you again. If he’d been honest, he thought you were all over the place when he first saw you. He didn’t usually find that appealing, but he couldn’t deny that you looked so cute as Germinator-chan, especially with your eyes twinkling in glee as you offered him that sanitizer.

Even though asking you out wasn’t a well-thought of idea, he made the right decision. He didn’t need to match up to your outgoing personality. You never made him feel that he wasn’t enough or that he needed to be more than himself. He never felt pressured to make you happy because you already are with whatever he gives. You’re you and he’s him, yet your relationship is more than satisfactory for both of you.

You might have noticed him gaping at you since you suddenly turned to him and raised your eyebrow. “What’re you staring for?” Your lips formed the cute smile he’s always adored.

“Nothing,” he replied more quickly than he should. He takes in your smile for one good second before shifting his gaze to the screen. The movie starts with people going to the woods for their idea of fun.

‘Ew’ he thought to himself.

As the film progresses, it gets even worse. There are body parts getting dismembered. It’s so bad when someone’s arm was severed, blood splattered all over the place. He unconsciously grips your thigh to ground himself. You don’t notice this since you shrieked happily at the scene. You were even clapping your hands.

“Yeeess! Cut those arms, dude.”

He couldn’t believe you found this fun. He couldn’t bear to look at the mutilated body parts, even if it was just on screen. He just looked away until he thought it was safe for his eyes again. That’s what he’ll do every time there’s a bloody clip.

After a while, you finally sense that his hand was clutching your thigh because of the gradual increase of force he unknowingly put behind it.

“Kiyoomi?” You look at your boyfriend whose face is now drained of color. “Oh no. What’s wrong?!” Your full attention is now on him despite the film still rolling.

Your face is a pile of concern. A while ago, he was painfully uncomfortable in your choice of movie, but seeing your once cheery facade get all worried cause he couldn’t take the blood made him feel bad. You already adjusted your Halloween plans for him. He can at least try harder to get through this movie.

He gently shakes his head. “I’m okay. Don’t mind me. Let’s keep watching.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do it if you’re not okay with it.” It was very like you to look out for him and adjust to him, even at your own expense. You’re easygoing, loud, fun, and everything he’s not - that included messy and clumsy. Despite that, you accepted his needs and boundaries without any qualms.

He removes his grip from your thigh and wraps his arm around you.

“I’m really fine, sweetheart.”

Your face lights up at his endearment, completely melting away the worry you had a while ago.

Now, he just needs to pin it on his mind that the thing isn’t real and he can survive the night.

However, it proved to be more difficult than he imagined when the scenes keep getting messier, bloodier, and dirtier. He keeps on focusing on your entertained face to distract himself from the screams and the sound of blood splashing and gushing.

From the short moments that he was able to glance at the screen, he can tell that the movie is reaching its climax already. He decided that he’s going to keep his eyes on the screen starting from now, just to fulfill your wish of him actually watching with you.

A few minutes into it and he was starting to feel sick. He gets nauseous when someone's head is crushed by a rock. Unable to continue, he pulls you closer and leans his forehead on your shoulder with his eyes closed.

You immediately notice him wavering and quickly turn off the television. You cup his cheeks and brush away the curls blocking his face. He opens his eyes and looks at you weakly.

“Sorry, we were almost done… but the blood was too much,” he confessed defeatedly.

“No, no, no. I should’ve realized that it would make you uneasy.” You felt guilty for not figuring it out sooner. You’ve been with him for a year now. You should’ve put two and two together.

“Let’s do something else. What do you wanna do?”

“We can watch another scary film. Just less blood.” He suggested a compromise. He won’t let you do all the adjusting this time. He’s getting fed up with himself being coddled by you all the time.

“Swear to me that you’ll let me know if it gets too much.” Your tone was serious.

“I swear Germinator-chan,” he says monotonously but you catch the humor behind it. This is Sakusa afterall. Because you’re used to his non-expressive self, you’ve gotten used to the intricate details of how he conveys his emotion.

You couldn’t help but smile while rolling your eyes back to the screen. You choose a more recent movie that’s a sequel to a very famous horror franchise you’ve been following. It was perfect because it was just plain creepy and scary without the gore.

You make yourselves comfortable again. Around twenty minutes into the film, there's no one who’s body parts are missing from their bodies. You’ve been keeping an eye on him. Thankfully, it seems like he’s calmed down now that he’s leaning on the couch with the color back on his face. He looks focused on the movie that was playing. With that, you are able to relax and do the same.

The calm was short-lived though. This movie is quite distinct from the last one. The previous film was chaotic and fun (for you). Now, the room is drowning in ominous music as you wait for the next jumpscare to happen. But it doesn’t. It leaves you at the edge of your seat when you tortuously wait for it to come. The eerie background music stops without any sign of the demonic ghost showing up. You finally let out the breath you were holding in your chest.

That is until you see something in the corner of the screen. It was hazy and it looks like it’s just part of the background. You fixate your eyes on the imagery while you feel a familiar dread rising in your throat. You want to make sure that it was nothing. You squeeze Sakusa’s knee while leaning a bit towards the screen to get a better look.

When you find that you’re close enough, the screen completely turns black, but only for a millisecond. It pops back up to reveal the same background you were looking at earlier. Only now, the thing you were closely looking at was not there anymore. You don’t know what to expect as there’s only silence.

In a blink of an eye, the object of your focus was revealed. A woman’s face occupied the whole screen. She had blood-shot eyes wide as saucers accompanied by an inhuman grin that spread too wide, making her face look unholy.

“SHIIIIITTTTTTTT!!!”

Your reflexes kick in. You use the hand you have on Sakusa’s knee to propel yourself and launch yourself to him. Both your hands find their way on his chest, clutching tight the fabric over it. You bury half your face on his chest and close your eyes.

“Is she gone?” Before he even answers, you open one eye cautiously and peek at the screen to see if it was safe to look again. You see that the scene is cut to a crowd with mundane music. You exhale heavily. You loosen your grip on his shirt and look up to him with a sheepish smile.

“I thought you’re used to this.” He remarks inquisitively while looking confused as to why you were so frightened when you were the one who suggested the horror marathon.

“Do you watch this stuff when you’re alone?” He asked further.

“Of course not. I live alone. I might not get any sleep if I watch some by myself.” You giggle. “And it’s more fun to watch with others.” You let go of your grip on him and go back to how you were previously sitting.

The movie went on with several more screams from you. You begin to feel Sakusa tensing up. You notice how intense he’s leaning on the couch. It’s like he doesn’t want any space behind him from the way he pushed his back to the cushioned backrest and seized the armrest with his right limb. His other hand was holding yours rigidly. Like him, you also start to be agitated as the appearances of haunted apparitions become clearer and more frequent.

It came to point that you were kneeling on the couch and had your arms around him. You have no control on how tight you were holding on to him. You’re pretty sure you were squishing his cheeks sometimes, but you don’t hear anything from him. He seems to be immersed in the story as well because you can feel him flinch and jerk at jumpscares. At the turning point of the movie, it was basically a screamfest held by you.

Seems like you blew his ear off since he tugged you to sit back down. Still, he doesn’t say anything and encloses an arm around you instead. You respond accordingly and use his embrace as your cover.

When the movie ends, you breathe a sigh of relief, which is followed by a laugh and an applause.

“That was so good!” Your eyes are beaming brightly from satisfaction. “Right?” You turn to him to see his reaction.

He has a faint smile on his face, then nods twice. “I didn’t expect you’d be that jumpy,” he said. You scratch your head while laughing embarrassedly. When you settled down, you just found yourselves staring at each other. The thick restlessness from the scary film was gone, replaced by something intimately familiar to both of you.

He makes the first move. He gently cups your cheek and lets it linger momentarily while his eyes shimmer with tenderness as they remain on yours. Some people, namely your coworkers, found it weird that someone like you is dating Sakusa. According to them, you’re a firecracker while he was a defective explosive that only lights up when playing volleyball.

But they’re wrong.

They just don’t know that this Sakusa in front of you exists. He has his own ways of letting you know how much he cares. They were quiet gestures that spoke loudly and exclusively for you. And yes, you are a chaotic bundle of energy, so there were many days that even you, yourself overwhelm yourself. But he gives you peace that nothing or no one else has provided you.

So when he leans closer to capture your lips, you immediately melt to him.

What started out as an affectionate kiss begins to heat up when he grabs your waist and pulls you closer. Then, he grazes his tongue on your lower lip before biting it gently. To hell with your coworkers. He’s nowhere near a defective explosive when he makes you burn up like this.

You want to feel him more, so you take the lead and straddle him. You grind your hips against his crotch and cover his mouth with yours. You’re getting eager to touch his bare skin so you pull up his shirt which reveals his toned chest and abs that made you drool. Best perk of dating a pro athlete. You look down a bit to relish the sight of him topless.

“Um. Can you tie your hair?”

“I washed my hair right before we watched. It’s clean.” You don’t look back at him and continue trailing your palm down on his abs.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” You still keep your eyes on his torso while biting your lips.

“You’re like the demon lady with your hair down like that when you look down.”

You snap your head back up and find him clearly avoiding looking at you. You try to imagine what he’s thinking - the demon lady on his lap and is about to do the nasty with him. You throw your head back and roar from laughter.

“You have quite the imagination, you know that?” you tell him with your eyes still twinkling from amusement.

“You looked like her for a minute,” he insisted. You click your tongue while shaking your head. “Too bad, Omi. I don’t have my hairtie with me.” You get off from his lap and sit beside him. “Let’s watch a documentary instead?” He only replies with a nod.

“Sorry.I tried, but I can’t unsee it.”

“It’s fine.” You giggle and kiss him on the cheek. “I don’t want you having nightmares of me as the demon lady.”

You grab the remote and put on a ghost-sighting documentary while he puts on his shirt back. It fell flat compared to the other two that previously went on, but you did not change it. You gave it a chance. Maybe there’s something interesting about it.

….

Sakusa woke up with the TV already displaying its screen saver. Before he passed out, he recalls you were starting to get drowsy with your eyes hazy while leaning on his shoulder. He doesn’t remember when, but he must’ve fallen asleep.

Not realizing that there was no weight resting on him, he looked beside him.

You weren’t there.

That was odd. If you moved to the bedroom, you would have woken him up. He blinks a few times to clear his vision before scanning the corners of this room from his seat. His only source of light was the one emanating from the screen, but that should be enough to get even just an outline of your figure.

But there was no sign of you, just the darkness engulfing the inanimate objects in the room.

“Y/n?” He called out, but there was no response.

He grabs the remote and turns off the TV. On the slight chance that you are already in his bed, he walks to his bedroom.

The cool metal of the doorknob wakes his senses. He’s suddenly more wary of everything around him. Because he wanted to reduce the accumulation of dust in his place, he did not place any unnecessary object that can cause dirt. That made his place look spacious and wide. It was only now that he became aware of the vast empty spaces on his back.

Yet despite the seeming emptiness, it feels like something is occupying the place, lurking in the vacant arrays of his home.

A sudden breeze grazes his nape.

‘It’s nothing. It’s usually cold this time of the year.’ He told himself even though he could feel the chill creeping up on his spine.

He hurriedly turns the doorknob and opens the door, only to reveal an empty bed and an empty room. You aren’t there. He’s about to shut the door when the curtains suddenly fly softly at its hems. Yeah. It’s definitely windier than usual.

He closes the door and moves towards the bathroom. The lights are off in it, but you sometimes don’t turn it on when you get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. You don’t like sudden bright lights. Although when you do that, you usually leave the door open.

The bathroom door is shut. His hand was ready to knock when he saw a shadow from his peripheral. He wanted to ignore it, but his trained eye caught the figure. He harshly spun to see what it was.

Nothing.

It was nothing. The deafening silence augmented the dread that was starting to consume his being. He can feel the tips of his fingers get colder, his skin prickling from goosebumps, his throat getting dryer.

“You’re just imagining things,” he uttered to himself to quell his nervousness. He enjoyed the movie earlier, but he didn’t think it would get in his head.

He turns back around to the door and knocks three times. No answer. He knocks again, louder this time. Where the hell are you? It wasn’t like you to leave without saying anything.

He heads for the kitchen to get some water, hoping that it can erase the uneasiness on his mind and body. Then he’ll call your phone as a last resort.

When he makes his turn at the corner of the living room leading to the kitchen, his breath gets suspended in the air at the sight.

A woman who’s looking down stood in front of him. He’s never seen something so sinister. Her black pupils occupy the whole of her eyes. Her hair is down and framed her face in a perfect V shape.

“FUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!” His thick scream broke the stillness of his apartment while stumbling a few steps back. It was followed by the woman’s screechy wail as she looked up to him.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Her hair falls a few inches away from her cheeks, giving him a clearer view of her face. It was not a haunted apparition.

It was you!

Now that he looks closely, your eyes were actually normal. It’s just that it was so dark and your eyelids were half closed so it seemed like your eyes were a complete block of black.

When the two of you stopped exchanging screams, it was you who recovered first. He was still frozen in place with terrified eyes. “Oh Kiyoomi.” You put your arms around him and dipped your head on the crook of his neck. Your relieved heaving quickly bubbled into tittering as you realized how stupid you two must’ve seemed.

You put a gentle hand on his face and looked at him. He’s still a bit shaken, but he meets your gaze. “I called for you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“I got a voice call from one of my editors so I was listening intently.”

“Why here?”

“I was getting water when I opened the message.”

“Were you in the living room just now?”

You frown at him. “No…. well actually, maybe? I was spaced out while walking when I realized I didn’t really get the water I came for. So I immediately went back to the kitchen.”

The breath he exhales is deep, but you feel his shoulders loosen up from it. “You didn’t even see that TV was already off and I wasn’t there anymore?” His tone was a bit irritated.

“I was preoccupied with what my editor said.” You pout.

His demeanor softens up. He takes your hand off from his cheek and holds it tenderly. “Let’s just get to bed already.”

When you two lie down, you’re surprised that he’s spooning you. He never does. He doesn’t like your hair touching his face, even though you tell him that you’ve thoroughly cleaned it. Usually, you are the big spoon, which was weird because he’s way too huge for you, or you position yourself a bit lower so that your cheeks are on his chest and you aren’t obstructing his face.

“Next year, let’s go to that Halloween party instead. I’ll dress up in a PPE so no one touches me.“ He says in your ear while his arm snakes around your waist.

“Hmm. I dunno. I quite like this to be honest.” You hold the arm he has around you and snuggled closer. Yep. You’d rather have this.

Taglist: @shinhiromi @elianetsantana @moonlightaangel @vicassa @shrimpypenis @sunshine-hina @isentsworld @kozupresh @humanitysbiggestsimp @omibaby @atsumubabe @sachirou-senpai

#bbthots #spoofythots #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #sakusa scenarios #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #imagination

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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 3 years

Text

quality time

There are so many wonderful fics being posted for @jb-smut-swap!

quality time centers around togetherness; Jaime x Brienne + love languages based off @observedchaos post

For @naomignome

“Perhaps I should go to King’s Landing with you.” He says it so easily, but Brienne’s hands freeze against his laces.

Jaime struggles with some tasks, still, too proud to accept help, except for this one thing he allows her to do. She helps him dress every morning and undress every night, fingers nimbly undoing the laces of his tunic, his breeches.

She raises her gaze to his, taking in a breath. “You do not have to.” The last time they visited the capital was shortly before they sailed to Tarth. The shock in his eyes upon seeing the city in ruins has haunted her since.

As she steps away from him, rounding the bed, he asks. “Are you embarrassed of me?” His question slams into her, like an unexpected attack from behind.

Brienne turns, startled. “No, I thought you…” she lets out a sigh. “I was not sure how easy it was for you to be there.” Jaime holds no love for the Targaryen queen. Brienne is not sure what to make of her still, except she allowed him to live. If she had not done that...

After the war’s end, Jaime was the one who gently suggested he might accompany her to Tarth. She was not certain what the island might look like after being ravaged by pirates and the Golden Company, and part of her was scared to return, to pick up her father’s mantle. Brienne never expected him to stay forever, but she’s happy to provide Jaime a refuge here. Wherever she is, he is always welcome. “You are embarrassed of me,” he states, as if it is fact.

“Jaime.” He’s being petulant. “I am not embarrassed of you.” It would be unusual to have the Evenstar show up to conduct business with the new Regent with a guest in tow, but they are far beyond worrying about society’s gossip.

“Is it because we dishonor the gods?” She almost laughs because neither of them has much use for religion, but he is whispering as if they might hear him. “Because you have taken me into your bed? Perhaps we should marry then.”

It falls out of his mouth so easily, so quietly, as if it is an afterthought. Yet it rattles her as much as a strong hit to the head, the type that leaves her ears ringing. “What did you say?”

His eyes are twin emeralds, dark and dangerous in shadow, but softer and more beautiful in the light. “You heard me, Lady Brienne.”

She never expected romance, but that was hardly--“It was not even a question.” The irritation rising in her chest manifests itself in her shaking hands. They are standing across from each other, the chasm of the bed between them. “If you mean to command me, then I shall take you out into the yard and make you prove your worth.”

He lifts a sole eyebrow at her. “If that is what you wish,” he draws out lazily. “But you already know I am worthy, do you not? You have broken me in, like that pale gray palfrey you ride.”

“Jaime.” This time his name is meant as a warning. He is rarely sharp and bitter like this. Not anymore, not with her. He is hurting, somehow. “I haven’t--you’re not...it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? You let me into your bed every night, sometimes you even want me in the afternoons. What would you call that?”

She’s never considered it before. Not precisely in the way Jaime is asking her to. It’s always been them. It’s how they are, what they do. Things between them have been this way since before the Battle of the Long Night. Coming together to comfort one another during the very worst of circumstances, but now it has continued for far longer than she dared to imagine it might. “I like having you here, but I never...I expected you to return to the mainland. To rebuild your life somewhere, like all of us have done.” Her words are blunt and unvarnished, like a wooden tourney sword, but they are true. Or at least they were when they boarded a ship together and sailed towards her home. In all these months, they have never spoken about what it means that he is still here.

“I see.” She wishes for a glint in his eye, searches for some small sign of expression, but there is nothing. His gaze falls from hers and for a long moment there is silence between them. Then Jaime moves away from his side of the bed, his feet padding across the marble, stepping slowly towards her. “You never once thought I might want to rebuild my life with someone by my side? The person who fought beside me against the wights, who has seen to it to salvage my honor?”

He is standing in front of her now, so close she can feel the heat from his body, yet she demurs. “I did not do as you say, ser.”

“Brienne.” Now he is the one who sounds frustrated with her.

“Let me finish,” she barrels onwards, a bit unlike her, but she wants him to hear it. “You did that, the honor part, all on your own. You do realize that, don’t you?”

His eyes soften. “And yet you still do not understand why I might want to spend the rest of my life with the person who sees the best in me?” A tentative smile pulls at his face.

No, she does understand that. Jaime sees her for who she is and loves her anyway. She thought he knew she felt the same about him. She loves him for who he is, has for the longest, longest time. “Marry me,” she whispers.

He steps into her, his mouth warm on hers, his arm sliding around her waist. “Do I still need to fight you in the yard?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“It might be fun.” His face slides into that teasing expression she knows so well.

“It would be,” Brienne agrees, a little breathless.

He reaches up, dragging his thumb ever so gently across the scar on her cheek. “Yes,” he whispers. “That is my answer. Yes.”

She cannot resist teasing him. “To the yard?”

“To marriage, you stubborn woman,” he practically growls in her ear before they tumble down onto the mattress.

When she arrives in King’s Landing a few weeks later, Jaime is by her side, and as they enter the Throne Room, they are announced as Lady Brienne, the Evenstar of Tarth, and her Lord Husband.

Author’s Note: This one was a bit of a cheat, as Jaime was asking about KL in order to spend quality time with her, but we don’t actually see it “on screen” as it were.

#jaime x brienne #fic: quality time #love languages

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imaginaryari · 3 years

Text

Welcome to the Show

Part One

The prisoner looks up as her least favorite cop comes into the interrogation room. Officer Warren has awards for rounding up the enhanced, people like Silver. He walks and talks like a man the people respect and fear. Talks to the enhanced like they’re close on first name bases and revels in the fact that he put them in their cells. What she would give to lay one finger on him. That’s all she needs. Unfortunately, her hands are gloved and bound because officer Warren also knows that.

“To what do I owe the pleasure officer.” She asks.

“How would you like to get out here?”

It’s a trap. Silver knows this. The enhanced don’t get second chances especially not from officer Warren.

“Wasn’t I supposed to rot in here? Just as you said?” Silver asks.

Officer Warren gives her a sick grin. “I thought you would be interested in parole but if you aren’t...there’s plenty of you in here. “

The promise of seeing the outside world again would sway anyone.

“How can I trust you?”

Officer Warren beckons one of the guards. “Remove her cuffs.”

“Sir?”

“Now, please.” Warren orders.

Silver immediately rubs her wrists when the cuffs click open. The relief is almost overwhelming. She quickly reminds herself not to do anything stupid, no matter how satisfying it would be to knock Warren’s lights out.

“There’s a group of enhanced kids going around and robbing people. Messing with their heads. You’re fond of doing that so I thought this would be the perfect way to end your sentence.” Warren had said as he escorted her out.

Silver squints. Nothing about that story adds up. Robbing civilians while common isn’t a team effort especially if you can mess with minds and memory. A group would actually draw more attention and a tight knit one wouldn’t take the risk of losing a member to officials.

Unless your Silver’s ex. Hm. Things are starting to make sense.

“You’ve tried to catch them before.” Silver states.

Warren doesn’t even look ashamed admitting his failure. “Physical powers are one thing. Mental ones are harder. But from my experience you can catch ‘em with a little trust.” He begins to walk away, leaving Silver at the gates. “You have three weeks.”

—

It’s no fancy hotel, barely a motel, but it’s a place and it’s furnished. Officer Warren had said it was hers for as long as it took her to finish her task. Silver won’t complain, before she was arrested, she was constantly couch surfing. Never out staying her welcome and never spending too long on the streets. She had made friends this way but contacting them was out of the question. Getting caught means getting blacklisted. A means of protecting themselves. Well, Silver had been thrown under the bus. Semantics. She won’t see them again and hopefully they’re doing okay.

She shakes her head, never mind that. She has a job to do and extraordinarily little to go on.

The neighborhood is different. She didn’t expect it to be quite the same after lock-up but the changes are more than jarring. New buildings going up, less of the spots her old friends used to hang. Silver is so sure the neighborhood has been purged of the enhanced until she decides to hit up one of the cafés. She stares at it; upset she can’t remember what it used to be and then enters reading the weirdly named drinks on the menu.

“Are you new around here?” another patron asks.

“Not exactly,” Silver says with a shrug, eyeing the stranger. He’s handsome even if he looks like he should have taken a sip of his drink before speaking. The bags under his eyes scream exhaustion but he still sounds awake. And happy about it. “It’s just a while since I’ve been round here.”

“Ah, try the mint hot chocolate. It’s a crowd favorite.”

“Is that what you’re having?”

He chuckles. “No…this is way too caffeinated for the masses.”

“Is the inevitable crash worth it?” She asks.

“Always.” He says as Silver is called next to order. “See you around.” The stranger says exiting. She thinks about the encounter for hours afterwards. The enhanced were still around even if they were muted.

—

She finds what she’s looking for the next day, right before the sun sets. It’s a large tent set up in a nearby park. Big enough to draw attention but lacking the actual necessities to pass as a real circus. No animal trailers, no confection stands. To anyone paying attention there’s no possible way it could have been set up so quickly. Definitely the work of the enhanced.

Civilians flock to the tent with the promise of entertainment. Silver by-passes the line and taps a potential viewer on their shoulder. “You don’t really want to see this show, right? I can take that ticket off you.” The man blinks and then hands over his ticket. Silver quickly takes it and makes her way to her seat.

The spotlight lowers, illuminating what has to be the ringleader. He’s barely dressed for the occasion. Top hat donned but instead of a blaring red jacket, a black T-shirt with a tuxedo print and black jeans contrasting nicely with white sneakers.

“Hello everyone. Welcome to your wildest dreams. I’ll be your guide. Whenever you need me you can shout More!” Silver snorts at the corny introduction but still applauds with the crowd. It takes a moment but she recognizes him. The man from the café with the over caffeinated drink. Interesting. So far he’s just the host, maybe the leader of this whole operation, but Silver can’t place an ability just yet.

“Please give a round of applause to our first act, Mirage, master of illusion.”

Silver is willing to bet he’s the one responsible for the tent. His set isn’t too extravagant; he just has smoke and card tricks. It’s what he does with them that counts. Shifting the smoke to look like a bird that soars over the crowd. It lands ever so gently on the empty seat in front of one of the viewers. The spotlight shifts to them, a young boy, and he offers a nervous smile, not prepared for the attention. The guest looks to Mirage who gives a cocky smile. “Blow it away.” He instructs through his mic. With a shrug he does. The smoke dissipates to reveal a real bird. A stark white dove. The young boy reaches for it face lit up in wonder, but it takes off landing right on Mirages shoulder. He pets it to prove its real and the dove seems to love it. However, it then dissipates into smoke after Mirage blows on it. That confirms it for Silver, the dude simply makes illusions.

“I need a volunteer for my next trick.” Mirage says.

He and More look around at the audience and More locks eyes with Silver. There’s a connection, a shock of understanding, and something else she can’t quite place before he says, “You, cutie with the hood. Would you like to help Mirage?”

Silver nods unable to break eye contact.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a simple card trick.” Mirage says, a deck of cards pulled from his pockets. Silver keeps her head down and her hood on as she walks into the ring. She wasn’t supposed to draw attention. More finally backs away giving Mirage the stage.

It is a simple card trick, with a lot of flourish. Silver selects a card, memorizes it, puts it back in the deck. Mirage is skilled making the cards seem to dance, shuffling and tossing them even pulling some from behind Silver. Sleight of hand can be learned, however,

“Is this your card?”

“It sure looks like it!” Silver says, and the audience applauds. Her choice in words don’t go unnoticed by Mirage. He smiles, like he just learned a juicy secret and gestures for Silver to return to her seat.

More passes her on his way back to the stage and gives her a similar smile to Mirage’s. She can’t help but feel she shouldn’t have done that.

“Our next act goes by Charlie. He doesn’t say much but he’s loads of fun!”

Silver immediately understands how the next act earned his name. Charlie dances out, encompassing Chaplin’s energy. He dons a similar top hat to More, and shirt except his is white instead. More comments on this with a laugh. “Clearly one of us has to change!” As corny as Silver finds More, she can’t say she’s not amused. Charlie looks More up and down, and then gets into a stance. He’s posed like a batter on home base and leans back and forth on his toes. He swings and More ducks, his top hat flying across the ring as if a real bat had hit it. The trick ears them impressed gasps and amused giggles from the audience. From Silver it earns a disbelieving stare. She’s never seen an enhanced like Charlie yet.

Charlie continues, his set like any traditional mime. Tripping over objects that aren’t there, pushing invisible walls, overexaggerating his facial expressions. Except Silver thinks, knows, he isn’t. There is a wall the audience can’t see. Silver can’t prove it, and wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining Charlie to officer Warren.

“Give it up for Charlie everyone!” More says shaking Silver from her thoughts. Charlie leaves the stage with the same comedic swagger and a wave.

“Now our next act is unfortunately our last. But we always go out with a bang! Please welcome to the ring, Star!”

With the snap of More’s fingers the lights go out. Another snap and they’re back, along with a woman sitting on a trapeze. She’s beyond beautiful, it could be the lighting, or the slight shimmer she has, but she’s captivating all the same. Her hair is pulled into two puffs and her smile dazzles the audience. Silver notes that there is no apparent netting beneath her, that should be concerning.

The music starts, a haunting melody punctuated by a bass that Silver feels in her chest. Star is flying above the audience on her trapeze. She hangs by her legs and lets her arms hang. If Silver focuses, she can see what looks like dust, her charisma spills off of her, entrancing the audience. She makes another mental note, three out of four isn’t bad. Maybe she wrong about him being enhanced. He could just be the fall guy if this all goes to shit. Authorities like Warren wouldn’t keep a powerless civilian. It’s smart. The doubt lingers. She knows what she felt.

Silver almost misses the end. Stars trapeze returns to the ring and she waves before letting go and falling to the ground. The audience gasps bracing for an impact that never comes. Star vanishes in a puff of smoke that settles all over the ring. The applause is stuttered out, the crowd is impressed and worried.

When the smoke clears the applause picks back up as all the performers are safe, taking their bows.

“Thank you all for coming!” More says. The lights go out. When they come back on the group is gone. Well, that’s one way to end things.

“Like the show?” A voice comes up from behind Silver. She’s just as dazzling up close and silver can see how she captivates the audience. The charisma wisps around her like smoke.

“Sure did. Wasn’t expecting to be part of it though.”

“Yeah, More can be a bit impulsive,” Star says apologetically. She steps closer to whisper. “But his guess was right! You are like us.”

“All of you? Special?”

“Yup!”

“What gave me away?”

“You didn’t immediately fall for my charm.”

“...really?”

“That and More caught you using your gift to get a ticket.”

“Also caught her struggling to order at the café,” More says rounding on them. “We should stop meeting like this.”

#mine #short story #circus story #writing #a story in 3 parts #its rough idc

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