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mellowswriting · 1 year

Note

Can we see soft Ghost? nothing specific, I trust your judgment!!!😉

let me take care of you

pairing || Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!Reader

word count || 1.8k

summary || Simon can’t bring himself to leave your side after a mission gone sideways.

content || fluff, hurt/comfort, Simon is so in love it HURTS, injured!Reader (but it isn’t too serious), vague descriptions of injury

a/n || I loved writing this so much 😤 thank you for the request!!!

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Simon’s brain screams at him to turn back with every single step he takes. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. A thousand reasons run through his mind - it’s late, you should be resting, he hasn’t even debriefed yet. All of that is drowned out by one thought that plays on repeat. He needs to see you. Now.

The medical bay is practically deserted and Simon is grateful. He isn’t supposed to be here at this hour and doesn’t have the energy to argue or strongarm his way into your room. The harsh echo of his boots against the linoleum sounds impossibly loud but he can’t bother to walk with caution. It’s been four days since he loaded you up on that evac chopper with a tourniquet cinched on your thigh. The time for poise has long since passed. He won’t be able to breathe freely until he can see you with his own eyes, alive and well and giving him that smile that makes him melt. If only he could fucking find you.

A nurse rounds the corner and Simon tenses as her eyes fall on him. He expects annoyance, maybe an admonishment - but she just smiles knowingly.

“She’s in bed six.” She nods toward a curtain-covered corner hidden away in the far back of the room. “She wanted the most isolated space for when you all got back. That one’s hard to argue with, you know that?”

“Better than most,” Simon murmurs. “Thank you.”

The sight of you makes his chest tighten. You’re awake, much to his dismay, but you look surprisingly well-rested for someone covered in injuries - some of which he didn’t even know you had. The bruises along your side and stitches in your upper arm throw him off. It kills him how good you are at shaking off the pain. You can hide the blood and damage better than most and he hates it. All of it looks like hell but despite it all, you still smile at him like he hung the moon and stars in your sky.

“Don’t even give me that look. I’m fine.” You reassure him. The shock must have been obvious on his face.

“You got shot, Sargeant. There is nothing fine about that.” Simon sighs as he tugs the curtain closed. Just having you in his sight has him aching to touch you but he’s terrified that he could hurt you even more. Guilt already eats away at him for not keeping you safe to begin with.

“C’mon, don’t ‘Sargeant’ me.” You give him that pout that never fails to weaken his resolve. Fuck, you know him too well. He’s wrapped around your pretty little finger and he wouldn’t have it any other way. You toss your hands up in faux exasperation and drag yourself into a cross-legged position. “Do I have to get out of this bed and show you just how fine I am? Or can I give you the welcome back kiss I had planned?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” As much as he grouses, Simon still comes right to you nonetheless.

He had the foresight to clean himself up before coming to you. All the dirt and grime from the field wouldn’t be good for you, he reasoned. No need to put you at more risk. His hair is still damp beneath the plain black balaclava he opted for and the taste of his tooth past still lingers in his mouth. All in the hopes of this moment. The air stretches thin between you as you tug the mask up enough to expose his mouth. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips and Simon doesn’t even bother to hold himself back. Need crashes through him in harsh waves that drag all reason into the undertow to be lost forever.

Moments like these are the closest he has ever felt to peace.

Your relieved sigh against his lips is a salve to his aching, weary soul. Simon can feel it in the way your fingers fan out against his cheek, in every brush of your tongue against his lower lip - you needed this just as much as he did. His hand settles firmly at the back of your neck, holding you so close to him that you can barely escape him to draw in a breath. The last line of tension eases at the feeling of your heartbeat pounding beneath his fingertips. You’re here. You’re okay. You haven’t left him.

Simon presses his forehead to yours and draws in a deep breath. Your thumb brushes his cheekbone in slow, soothing circles and he can’t help but lean into your touch. He swore to himself that he was only going to check on you for a few moments and leave you to rest, but he can’t quite bring himself to draw away from you.

“Can… Can I, uh… stay?” Simon dies a little on the inside from just how awkward he sounds, but it doesn’t even phase you.

You just smile and scoot over to make space for him, because you know. You feel it, too. Fitting a man of his stature on such a small cot is a tight squeeze, but that only makes it better. He prefers holding you this way, with his body pressed so close to yours that he can’t tell where you end and he begins. Simon can’t rest until his face is tucked away in the crook of your neck and his arm is slung over your belly. His fingertips explore the bare skin exposed to him by your sports bra and lounge shorts, drifting carefully around the bruises and cuts. So soft, so warm.

“I kept lookin’ for you, y’know.” Simon mumbles into your throat. “Didn’t feel right, not havin’ you on my six.”

“I missed you, too, Si’.” You whisper, your voice already growing sleepier now that he’s wrapped around you. His mouth goes dry at your response. It never fails to punch him in the chest, how well you can par down to the meaning he can’t quite voice yet. Your hand settles on the back of his head and Simon aches for the privacy of his own room, just to take off his mask and feel your fingers in his hair. “I know how much you hate the whole mandatory leave thing, but I’m glad I’ll have you here for the next month.”

Simon hums a sound of agreement. You are the only thing that makes it all bearable, without even trying. Just sitting in each other’s presence as you both do paperwork, arguing over whose place to sneak off to for the night, dragging each other around mats for some sparring practice. Nothing else matters as long as you’re in his sight. The closest he has ever been to domestic bliss is the moments he spent with you on leave. Those are the memories he holds most fondly. You, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts as you patter about his kitchen making coffee. Watching you drool against his chest as you finally get to sleep in for the first time in weeks. Half carrying you back to bed after one too many drinks with Johnny.

“They’re finally letting me out of here tomorrow morning.” You sigh a moment later. “I’ll get to stare at the ceiling of my own room for a few weeks, then desk duty for a few more. Yay.”

The sarcasm in your voice is palpable, but he can hear the undercurrent of loneliness that you try to hide from him. Not one of Task Force 141 likes being sidelined while everyone else takes on the dirty work, but you’ve always taken it harder than the others. You’ve dealt with people underestimating your abilities for your entire career and that old wound has never had the chance to heal. Being left out, even for good reason, feels like digging fingers into a bruise. Of course, you also worry after the team - your boys, as you call them. They tend to be a little too off-kilter without you there to balance everything out and you know it, too. Simon hates the idea of you stuck here alone, chewing your nails down to the quick as you conjure up worst cases and what-ifs.

An old urge rears its head, one that becomes harder to stifle as the intimacy you share flourishes. His resolve weakens with every moment spent with you. Whether you’re asleep in his arms or saving his ass in the middle of a firefight, it has never mattered. Wherever he is, he wants you there with him - no matter the circumstances. He doesn’t want to fight this anymore. It’s exhausting to constantly deny himself something he craves so deeply. The idea of relenting to his desires has been forgone for so long that anything beyond his basic needs feels selfish.

Simon leans back to look at you suddenly enough that you meet his eyes inquisitively. Your eyebrows quirk as you chuckle, “What?”

“Come stay with me. Not just until you get better. For good.” Simon’s voice is steely as he spits out the words that force him into the abyss of uncertainty. Vulnerability has never been his strong suit but the way you look at him, eyes glittering with affection and surprise, make it all so goddamn worth it. He forces his tone to soften. “Just… let me take care of you, yeah?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. A soft, bright smile curls your lips, crinkles the corners of your eyes.

“Yeah,” You whisper. “I would love that.”

The relief that washes over him is nothing less than divine. Simon pulls the mask out of his way just enough to kiss you, a soft yet earnest brush of his lips against yours. All he wants is to pull you beneath him and engrave his love into your skin with every touch. You pull him closer with a honeyed sigh, your sweetness spreading across his tongue and down into his very core. Simon loses himself in your touch, in the peace your presence brings him. His fingertips dig into your jaw to hold you still as he takes in the sight of you. Your lips all spit slick and a little puffy from his attention, your eyes half-lidded but so bright and happy.

You smile up at him as you tug his mask back into place and shove his head back onto your shoulder. “No more dropping big things on me in my sickbed, Lieutenant. We both need sleep.”

Simon may be the superior officer in the room but he follows your orders like a good soldier. You’re right, as always. He’s fucking exhausted. Sleep hasn’t been easy to find in the last few days with all of the uncertainty but now that he’s back in your arms, it comes with ease. He takes in the warmth of your body as he settles in, his fabric-covered nose brushing along your throat.

He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingertips.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley fanfic

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maitaitiu · 8 months

Text

recall

read on ao3 | 6672 words

courage need not be remembered; for it is never forgotten not even if you swallow a Stone that tears your memories, your personality, your very soul from your body in exchange for immortality

To become an Immortal Dragon… is to lose oneself.

Her personality, her body, her memories. Gone, in a flash of light.

It was a death, in a sense.

How ironic it was, to die in every way except literally for the sake of gaining immortality.

Zelda didn’t even try to quell the trembling in her hands as she held the Stone out in front of her, its golden hue reminiscent of so much. There was no point in trying to hide her fear anymore; nobody was watching.

There was nobody left to, anyway.

It really wasn’t fair, was it?

She never asked for any of this.

What she wouldn’t give to be home; in the arms of her loved ones, in a world where there was no Calamity, no Upheaval, no Goddesses.

None of this hurt and pain and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting, how many times did she have to walk into the arms of Death before it would grasp her tight enough to not let go?

The Goddesses were toying with her. And she knew it. And she played along.

Because really, what other choice did she have?

Accept failure? Let everyone die, again, again, again!

After everything that had happened?

No way.

The Goddesses, the stars, the moon and sun, the Dragons and Spirits of anything and everything. They could laugh themselves to death and take the universe with them for all she cared.

It was cruel.

She didn’t want to die. But at least, she’d always thought, on days where she felt especially awful, when she did eventually kick the bucket: there would be people waiting for her. People she missed dearly, so dearly, the gaping wound in her soul was still tender from their untimely loss.

This was different. She couldn’t even have that anymore.

But there was nothing to be done.

Zelda closed her eyes and tipped the Stone into her mouth.

I am going to die.

Pain ripped through her entire body, through the air itself. Glowing, molten gold light spewed from her chest, her hands, her throat, everywhere, everywhere.

And yet; her mind was clear.

She had been moments from death oh, so many times.

Too many times, said a voice in her head, sounding like Urbosa and Sonia and Mineru and Link and Daruk and Teba and Buliara and so many more all at once, I’m sorry this is the world you inherited, Zelda.

At least this time, there was no blood. No rain or dirt or tearstains or one of the thousands of different weapons that had once been aimed at her heart.

It was quite a nice day, actually.

She staggered forward. One goal. She could not dream of anything else except that her repeated sacrifices would finally mean something.

She reached for the Sword, and the cool metal hilt rapidly matched the impossible temperature of the light spilling from her being.

Her hands gripped around the Sword, as though it could save her from the Holy fire that tore her body apart from the inside out, her final plea; her only plea, broke desperately free from her throat as the world vanished in a blaze of blinding, burning white.

I am going to die.

She watched in horror as Mineru fell to the floor like a stone. The other Sages’ frozen bodies betrayed how their expressions matched to hers, though hidden under their intricate masks.

Rauru’s rage, his grief, his pain, flooded the room.

Choking.

First his wife was murdered, and now his sister, too?

A glow of blue from the corner of Zelda’s eye at least allowed her to breathe. Mineru would be gone, intangible and lost behind the impenetrable mist that was death, but, thanks to her abilities, she would still be able to speak with them. At least, for a while.

At Rauru’s unspoken command, the Sages attacked once more. He dodged them easily, and Zelda pulled the arrow, the spear, the trident, the sword- Goddess, she couldn’t remember anything but agony anymore- back, and again, he stepped out of the way, and right into Rauru’s merciless death-grip.

She knew what would happen. She had borne witness to this scene months ago, thousands of years into the future.

Nothing would change. There would be no future past that.

Her father had been more correct than he’d ever have known.

She really was the heir to a throne of nothing.

I am going to die.

She was a fool for thinking this would work; that he would be deterred by a show of cunning and wisdom. That much was clear the second she saw Sonia’s knees buckle.

She raced to her friend- though that word felt far too simple for the way she saw Sonia- and shook her, and cried out over and over, pleading with her to wake up.

The scene felt familiar.

How many times had she stood idly by as a woman she might consider something akin to mother die in a horrid fashion at the hands of someone who was cruel for the sake of it?

She distantly heard Rauru’s furious voice and his cold laughter, but all she could see was Sonia’s blood as it stained her hands, her dress, the castle, and the whole world in a deep, violent red.

I am going to die.

Gloom- no, malice, malice- hurtled towards her, and in a flash of blinding blue, Link was between her and the very essence of evil, the Master Sword in a hand that was swiftly ravaged by the poisonous mire.

He must have been in agony, and yet he still managed a powerful swing into the gloom, and the Sword shattered.

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat; Link’s immediate cease of all movement betrayed his own horror.

He spoke. And Zelda listened, and hardly understood a word, didn’t recognise a single name aside from her own and Link’s, outside of a vague recollection of reading it somewhere once, though she would know them far too well, come time.

The figure laughed a dry, pained laugh, torn from ragged, half-dead lungs, and let himself fall backwards into the abyss as the earth crumbled and the cavern’s ceiling rose and rose and rose in a shower of blood red evil.

“Link!” Zelda cried, suddenly awake to his injury, as he stumbled, grasping at his arm- oh, it was too familiar- and she made to run to him, when the world beneath her feet gave way and she didn’t even have time to scream.

I am going to die.

She wasn’t. She knew that logically.

But her heart raced all the same.

She paced around the dining room, fretting over her outfit.

“Is this too formal? Perhaps it is. I should change. But… oh… everything else feels so informal…”

Link stared at her, not unsympathetically, but obviously quite bored of the cycle that had repeated since before dawn.

You look fine. You always do. His expression told her.

She believed him.

But would the schoolchildren think the same?

She paused her pacing when Link’s hand came to rest upon her shoulder.

You’ll be fine. They’re going to love you… Miss Zelda. he signed, one handed, a cheeky smile playing on his face at her “new title”.

A laugh bubbled from her throat, and she playfully pushed him away.

Or do you think they’ll call you Miss Princess?

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, and so did he, nerves from the past month that had lead up to today finally released her from their clutches, “You should really drop by the school sometime. You’re a good example of how not to be an adventurer.”

Link simply stuck his tongue out at her, unfazed by her light-hearted jabbing, secretly glad she could be stressed about something mundane for a change.

I am going to die.

He remembered her. Of course, he did. She should have known that just from the look on his face.

Apprehension, adoration, fear, exhaustion. Relief.

All mixed together.

Despite the horrid amount that it had cost, Zelda felt a weight lift from her shoulders at Link’s unabashed expression of anything and everything that he was thinking or feeling.

And then her whole body seemed to suddenly fall weak and frail; a hundred years of using one’s entire strength to hold down the Embodiment Of All Things Evil would do that to a person, and fear gripped her tightly as she fell.

Perhaps she’d been too optimistic, and there was no future waiting for her specifically after the horrific ordeal of it all.

A hundred years… she was practically running on stolen time.

Of course… of course.

Her knees grazed the grass, and she was prepared to slumber for eternity, when Link caught her.

And the way he carefully lowered her to the ground, rested her head in his lap and brushed his fingers through her golden hair with a gentleness that might be shocking considering his vicious display of sword fighting, archery, and who knows what else he used against that Goddess-forsaken boar just a few minutes prior, but she was not surprised.

She was content to lay here though, at least for a little while.

She’d wake up in a couple of hours, and it felt like there was a future on the horizon after all.

I am going to die.

It didn’t matter.

Everyone else was dead anyway.

She might as well do this.

The Sword was safe, under the watchful gaze of the Deku tree.

Impa and Purah and Robbie… she knew not if they were alive.

If they were, it surely wouldn’t be for long.

Link, too. His heartbeat had been petering out the last she heard. Perhaps the brave Sheikah warriors had not made it to the Shrine of Resurrection in time to save him and had dumped his body somewhere in an effort to save themselves.

She wouldn’t fault them for doing so.

But they were oh, so selfless. She hated it. She didn’t deserve such treatment.

Maybe they hadn’t made it at all.

Maybe they hadn’t even made it past the Dueling Peaks.

Zelda’s fingers curled around one of the bangles on her wrists.

The sky was dark, gloomy, a deep blood red.

There would soon be nothing left to lose anyway.

She stepped into the castle and let herself drown in the golden light.

I am going to die.

Please run, she was begging, both inward and outwardly, please run, save yourself. Please. Please.

He was so exhausted, battered and bruised from every angle. A nasty burn from a Guardian laser had torn through both his Champions’ tunic and several layers of skin and muscle on his back.

They- the Champions- her friends- were all dead. She couldn’t let Link die, too.

Please run.

He stumbled. The vibrant red light of a Guardian’s eye, preparing to strike, lit up the bloody marks on his chest, and Zelda screamed.

“NO!”

Glowing, molten gold ripped itself from her hand, from her heart, from the air and everything around her and inside her, and it smothered the evil glow in the Guardian’s eye.

Horror and awe froze her in place, staring at the triangular mark that had now burned itself into the back of her hand, until she heard Link collapse behind her.

No. No no no no no!

Not him, too.

Please, no…

I am going to die.

She ran and ran, unable to move on her own, only continuing forward in thanks to Link’s incessant dragging.

She wished he’d just leave her to rot in the mud.

It’s all she deserved at this point.

Vah Medoh shrieked far above the trees, and both Hylians looked up.

Zelda tripped over her own feet upon seeing the horrid pink light that plagued the Guardians had infected the Beast as well as it fired onto the Field.

Not in their defence.

But searching for them.

To… to…

A white-hot laser screamed from Medoh’s beak and blasted apart the trees just a few meters behind them.

The heat of the blast stung her bare arms, though the rain doused the fire immediately.

And if Medoh… if Revali, her friend, was unable to control the Beast, then surely, surely, he was… dead.

Then certainly, the others…

Zelda crumbled to the floor, and she heard Link splash back towards her through the mud.

She half expected him to reach and grab for her, to pull her upwards again to continue running toward an impossible goal, but he only knelt down in front of her, and his movements ached with the same resignation that she felt deep in her bones.

Mipha, fiercely protective and patient, Daruk, unreservedly and loudly kind, and Urbosa… Oh, Urbosa, her closest confidant, the closest thing she’d had to a mother ever since her own had been ruthlessly slaughtered…

Dead and gone and lost forever.

What was the point in running anymore…

Zelda flung herself at Link, a flurry of tears and utter, complete anguish, and somehow it did not surprise her when he held her close to his chest with shaking hands.

I am going to die.

It’s awake.

Not now. Please, not now!

Everything seemed to be crumbling; she held tightly onto the only thing in her immediate vicinity that wasn’t.

Urbosa.

The woman urged Zelda to go with Link, to find somewhere safe; leave the Kingdom behind if necessary, and a flash of anger shocked through Zelda’s core, clearing her mind- even if only temporarily.

“No!” she snapped, “I will not flee!”

All her beloved friends were about to run headfirst into danger, her complete and utter failure to do anything worthy of their protection or care or time should not exempt her from doing the same.

She had to do something.

Anything.

Urbosa’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, in worry and admiration, but knew Zelda’s decision would not waver, and the situation was too dire to even attempt to argue.

“Please, stay safe. Promise me, Zelda.” Urbosa’s voice was steady, but Zelda just barely heard it wobble for a fraction of a second.

Zelda nodded. She could try, at least.

And just like that, Link’s hand was on hers, pulling her away from her friends as they prepared to storm directly into the bloody jaws of Hell.

I am going to die.

Her lungs burned and her legs felt like they were moments away from falling off. How long had she been running?! It felt like forever; only made worse by the uneven, shifting sands of the desert.

How had the Yiga even found her?!

Her whereabouts being kept a secret was probably the only thing she could agree upon with her father at the moment, and yet they still had managed to find her during one of the few times she was alone.

A strangled cry wrested itself from her throat as two more assassins appeared out of nowhere, blocking her route forwards, and she collapsed into the sand, shuffling as fast as she could away from the two new assailants, and only ending up closer to the first.

Cornered against a rock, Zelda thought her heart might explode with how fast it was pounding, and a whimper broke free of her lips when the Yiga who’d been chasing her all this time drew their weapon- a wicked, curved sickle.

Her eyes closed, unable to face her own gruesome demise, her failure, and the Yigas’ footfalls slowed.

She swore she heard them chuckling to themselves, behind their hollow masks. Toying with her.

She felt the presence of one of them too close, heard the rush of air as a blade descended, when-

CLANG!

The sound of metal violently meeting metal, and then tearing fabric and flesh other than her own prompted Zelda to open her eyes and look.

Stood directly in front of her – how had he gotten so close?!- was Link, as his gaze flitted furiously between the three Yiga, one of whom- the one with the sickle- was now cradling a heavily bleeding arm.

Link brandished his sword threateningly, and took a step towards the Yiga, and they all stopped moving, snapped their hands together, and vanished in a poof of red smoke.

Zelda was still frozen, pressed up against the rock as Link picked up the sickle, and she watched as his face wrinkled in disgust, and he hurled it far away into the sand dunes, where it was quickly buried under the shifting, golden waves.

And her lungs still ached, but at least she was free to breathe again.

I am going to die.

Perhaps a sword to the gut would be less painful than her father’s disappointed glare.

Zelda kept her head as high as she could, knowing the second she was out of the forsaken throne room and in the safety of her own quarters, she’d likely burst into tears and cry herself to sleep.

“What I don’t understand,” his voice was grave, and it twisted painfully into her heart, “Is what is wrong with you, Zelda. Do you not grasp the severity of our situation? If you cannot fulfil your duty, everyone- everyone- will die an agonising death. The whole kingdom will be gone.”

She bit down on her lip as hard as she dared to.

Whether to keep from shouting that she was trying, so, so hard, or to keep from bursting into tears, she didn’t know.

“Your brain is too full of dreams of being something you can never be. I understand that this is unfair; were you alive for any other part of our history, you likely would have been able to pursue your passions.” Zelda thought he didn’t sound like he cared much about how fair any of this was, “But you are not. You do not have any option to deviate from your destiny. Failure, straying… none of it is an option. You will be allowed two days to recover from your journey, and then you will resume your training. Do you understand me, Zelda?”

She sucked in a breath slowly, and let it go as steadily as she could.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She said, and at the very least, she could be proud of the fact that her voice did not tremble.

I am going to die.

Her hands hurt, and it took Impa offering her a cautious hand up for her to truly realise it.

“Oh, Princess, you’re bleeding!” her friend exclaimed, and knelt down beside her, a roll of gauze already in hand.

“I’m alright, really,” Zelda responded, distractedly; completely frazzled by what had just happened.

At least her knight had the grace to look guilty at pushing her to the floor, even if it was an accident, and even if it was so that he could block the explosive attack of a rogue guardian with a cooking pot lid of all things.

She let Impa patch up her scratched hands, though her gaze remained on the knight, watched how he glanced around over and over, watching for any further danger.

Shock from the sudden explosion, the surprise at being knocked to the floor; it all swirled together in Zelda’s stomach unpleasantly.

What in the world had happened to that Guardian?

Why did it just fire on them?

It was nothing like any other malfunction she’d seen with the mechanical beasts…

Her stinging hands itched to rip the thing apart to figure it out.

I am going to die.

Fury shot through her veins; her hands trembled as she clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left deep indents in her palms.

Really?! She wanted to scream- and she would, later, in the privacy of her own quarters- a knight appointed to follow me everywhere? And not just some random soldier; it has to be him?! That irritating silent prodigy?

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate at the moment! Trying to stay sane while enduring all the gruelling training to unlock her Sacred power, trying to maintain the very few friendships she had, trying to explore her own passions and research the ancient Sheikah technology as more and more kept being dug up, and even just trying to simply exist, would all now be a million times harder as some glorified babysitter with a sword was now tasked with tailing her everywhere.

It was not fair!

The fact that it was that stupid prodigy boy- who was barely a month older than her! - made it even more insulting.

Look at him, who was able to defeat grown men when he was barely older than a toddler, the order seemed to say, mockingly, look at him, and see just how much you lack in comparison.

Maybe his presence would make her angry enough that her power would awaken just to get rid of him.

I am going to die.

What a pathetic way to go out. Dragged from the world due to a fever.

Zelda scowled as she shivered and shivered under the quilts that Urbosa had wrapped her in. All that time in the Spring of Power, praying and praying and praying, wishing desperately for something to happen.

Perhaps the vague wishes were the problem.

After all, something had happened. She’d passed out.

And now she was here, back at their little campsite- ‘they’ being her, Urbosa, Impa, and a handful of guards- with a wet rag on her forehead and wrapped in Impa’s jacket and the aforementioned quilts.

“You’re awake,” Urbosa’s voice was gentle with concern, “How do you feel, Little Bird?”

Zelda sniffled, and forced herself to sit up, despite the aching and chill that weakened her bones, “Fine. I need to-”

“Rest.” Came a second voice: Impa’s.

She was sitting a little way back under their makeshift canopy tent, and it was clear she’d not moved at all since Zelda had been- presumably- carried back.

“You need to rest, Princess.” She insisted.

“No.” Zelda shrugged off one of the quilts and started on untangling herself from the other, stifling the cough that wanted to escape and reduce her to more shivers, “I must continue my training.”

Urbosa’s hand rested on her shoulder, and Zelda stopped her battle with the quilts.

“I must,” Zelda reiterated, though her voice was very small this time.

“Little Bird…” Urbosa sighed, her hand now moving to caress Zelda’s hair, the other pulling the girl into a hug, “Please rest. Your training can wait until you have recovered.”

“But-”

“Please. Rest.” Urbosa repeated, “If not for yourself, for me, and for your friend, Impa, and for the Royal Guardsmen, all of whom have been worrying ever-so-much about you since you collapsed.”

Guilt washed over Zelda, and evidently that hadn’t been Urbosa’s intention, as the woman spoke again, though this time it fell on unhearing ears.

Why must they worry about someone who keeps disappointing them? Zelda thought, distraught and embarrassed, I don’t deserve their kindness…

A cough wracked her body and she found she had very little energy to fight as Urbosa laid her back down and tucked the quilts back over her.

Perhaps if I do die here, the Goddess will take pity on them all; it’s not their fault that their Princess is such an abject failure, Zelda thought, as she unwillingly fell into the arms of sleep.

I am going to die.

Zelda barely noticed how her knees shook under the water as her fists came down angrily to splash the surface; ripples danced mockingly around her as she just barely held back a scream of anger.

Why won’t you answer me?!

She couldn’t even begin to guess what she was doing wrong; she spent practically every waking moment praying- well, except for when she was studying, and, oh no, what if that was the problem? What if the Goddess was angry that Zelda wasn’t actually devoting every waking moment to Her?

Tears stung at her eyes and her teeth chattered, obstructing her already shallow breaths.

Was the water always this cold?

How long had she been out here now?

A glance upwards revealed stars twinkling above her in an inky sky. Perhaps they were laughing at her.

Perhaps…

Strangely, the stars seemed to disappear bit by bit, and she felt very light all of a sudden.

Oh, well. She’d rather the stars and the Gods laugh at her than face her father’s disappointment and the knowledge that her endless failures were leading to the demise of the entire kingdom.

The final star vanished into the abyss, and Zelda felt it surround her, too.

She let herself float in it.

Distantly, someone called her name.

I am going to die.

Shame made her skin prickle as she strode through the corridors of the castle. She tried her best not to pay attention to the staff’s whispers, but she worried her discomfort was showing plainly on her face, as they only seemed to grow in volume as she walked.

She knew the idea of dying of shame was a ridiculous one, but the way her ears burned, and her heart pounded as she turned a corner- heading toward her study- she wasn’t so sure about its implausibility.

Another failure at another Spring. She was running out of Sacred places to visit. Every day she awoke terrified- that this would be the day the Calamity returned.

And while an absolutely gigantic mechanical Beast had been recently dug up in Hebra, with reports of possibly three others in other regions, she wasn’t sure if a huge weapon would be enough; if it was, what use would there be of her power in the first place?

The Legend of the Calamity had stated that four Champions had “piloted” Beasts (perhaps the ones currently being excavated?), to weaken the Calamity, but that afterward, a Hero with the Sword of Evil’s Bane and a Princess shrouded in Sacred Light had worked together to seal it away.

And then… and then… even if these mechanical Beasts were the ones in the Legend, even if she could unlock her power… they had still not found a person who was able to wield such a Holy sword. Hell- they hadn’t even located the thing!

So, she had to come up with something. She must be missing something about her power. Perhaps she needed the Sword? Perhaps the Beasts must all have pilots?

That was why she needed to get to her study; the one place she could actually think.

Her pace quickened, and she rounded another corner; the sooner she could sit in her study and lock the door, the better.

And finally- finally- the door was in sight.

She hurried across, not hearing the approaching footsteps behind her.

“Ah, Princess Zelda!”

A quick glance back was enough for her to recognise the Court Poet, a light blush painted on his pale cheeks and a scroll in hand. His mouth was open, ready to ask a question.

“Sorry,” Zelda rushed to speak before he could, and managed to get out a brief explanation. “Busy.”

And then she shut the door in his face, hardly sparing the Poet a second thought as she locked the study door and collapsed into the chair by her desk.

She’d allow herself a minute to be upset about her failure; the whispers; everything.

And then she’d get on with everything else.

She had to.

I am going to die.

This was annoying.

Like. Really, really annoying.

She was supposed to be training today- eleventh birthday be damned; there were more important things in the world than presents and cake, and she was grown up enough to know it- but she’d been so sick since last night, even her father had insisted she rest today.

But the thing was, today was supposed to be rest for how sick she had been! Not a day for her to get worse!

Her father was too busy to watch over her, but there were a few handmaidens bobbing in and out of her room to check on her; two knights stationed outside the door and two on the outside of her balcony. The staff were annoying. She didn’t need to be babied!

Only one person had been able to coax an expression other than a scowl from her.

Lady Urbosa, who had travelled all the way from her home in the Desert just to help Zelda get to and from the Spring of Courage.

She was nice, and told Zelda interesting stories while she was confined to bedrest, didn’t say silly things like “oh, you’re so brave” whenever she threw up (wasted) every bit of food she tried to eat, and had been nice enough to move the vase of flowers away from Zelda’s bed because the smell of them was giving her a headache.

Zelda also was very aware, that if she were brave enough to ask, the woman would tell her stories about the late Queen. Zelda missed her mother desperately; even though it had been years and she felt she should be over it by now, she did still ache for her.

But, as much as she’d like to, she wasn’t daring enough to ask that.

And still, as nice as Lady Urbosa was, she couldn’t completely get rid of Zelda’s ire.

Being cooped up, so dreadfully sick that she hadn’t been able to even manage to keep down half a slice of bread, and being under a completely unfair amount of pressure was a simple recipe for an extremely miserable child.

Miserably, Zelda shimmied further under her blankets, despite her rising temperature making her sweat so much she looked as though she could have been out in a rainstorm, and she selfishly, silently, wished that the illness would dispose of her completely so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.

Her father would be dreadfully disappointed in her failure to even conquer a simple illness, though, which would be a shame…

But hey, at least, if this sickness did snuff her out, maybe she could see her mother again.

I am going to die.

“Father, please don’t!” she exclaimed, running after him as fast as her little legs allowed, “Please! I promise I can do better! I can get my power! You don’t have to take Terrako!”

Her father- no, the King- stopped his march down the corridor so suddenly that she almost crashed into his legs.

A flicker of hope ignited in Zelda’s heart as she caught a glimpse of her only friend as it wiggled in her father’s arms, its mechanical chirps warbling out; it sounded as distressed as she felt.

“Princess Zelda. Take this as an order from your King.” His voice was cold, and Zelda stood up straight instinctively, feeling her hopefulness die out immediately, replaced only with the emptiness that had plagued her after her mother had… “You are to focus on your training. Not building… whatever this thing is.”

“Terrako.” She corrected in a whisper, as tears pricked at her eyes, and she raised her voice properly, “Please. I can focus. Don’t take it away, please.”

A smidge of guilt flashed across the King’s face, though in the coming years, Zelda would be sure she’d completely imagined it, as he’d continued speaking as though she hadn’t said anything at all.

“This… it will be confiscated until you can prove you have been putting in the effort required to play your part against the Calamity when it arises,” he said, his voice the same regal, distant one that she would hear when she eavesdropped on court sessions, “Am I clear?”

Zelda felt herself deflate.

“Yes, sir.” She said numbly, and received no response as the King turned back and continued his way down the hall, leaving her to stand there, fists clamped around her skirt as tears sneaked out of her eyes and tumbled down her face.

I’m sorry… This is all my fault. I have to do better.

In a whisper, mostly to herself, she added, “Good-bye, Terrako.”

I am going to die.

One tiny mistake would be enough to make her crumble. A stone in her shoe, tripping up, her plaits being too tight against her head; any one of those, and countless other possibilities, would be enough.

And she couldn’t let it happen. Not now, not ever.

Her mother was gone. She and her father marched behind the casket that held what had once been her mother, but was now just a stone-cold lump of scarred flesh.

Zelda didn’t envy whichever of the castle staff had been the unlucky ones to change her mother’s lifeless and bloodied form into clothes that were clean and befitting a Queen for the funeral.

She was sure that she could still smell the blood.

No. No. Don’t think about it.

She kept her gaze forward, looking toward an unseeable point in the distance. The future, perhaps.

If there was such a thing.

Zelda felt like she’d died alongside her mother that night.

And if she were anyone else, she’d have probably been wailing and beating the ground, begging for anyone, anything, to make everything better and to bring her mother back.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was the Princess. And she had to act like it.

So onward she marched, stalwart and blank-faced, as people who had never met her mother stood on the sidelines, behind rope fences, openly weeping as though they’d lost a dear friend.

Zelda hated them. What right did they have to cry?

Grief was choking her, responsibilities her mother had been shouldering now placed on her, and they were crushing.

She should be the one crying.

She felt like she was going to burst.

She wanted to run home and run to her room and for her mother to come in and say it was all okay; it was a bad dream.

None of that would happen.

Somehow, a stone had made its way inside her shoe.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she marched onward.

I am going to die.

This was just a continuation of her nightmare. It had to be.

It had to be.

Moonlight was the only thing that dared be in the room; Zelda had frozen in the doorway, her gaze stuck on something that just couldn’t be real.

Please don’t let it be real.

The air reeked of rusted metal, and Zelda’s face was soaked with tears she hadn’t even realised had begun spilling from her eyes.

“Mama?” she breathed, managing a tiny step forward toward the still figure on the floor, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

The woman did not reply from where she lay, entangled in once-pristinely white blankets, now soaked with a dark stain that just kept growing.

With her eyes locked on the terrifyingly still form of her mother, Zelda didn’t notice the thing that was in her path.

She tripped over it- something hard and sharp- and felt a small cut be torn into her foot. She landed on the ground, and her hand, attempting to catch herself, came to rest on the blood-soaked body in the centre of the room, and her head twisted around to search for the offending object.

The entirety of Hyrule had likely been awoken that night by the screams of a little girl as her gaze fell upon a bloodied sickle that glinted dangerously in the moonlight.

I am going to die.

Zelda clung to her mother’s dress, nerves threatening to bubble over into tears, but at least she could hide those in the elegant skirt.

She didn’t fully understand what her parents were talking about, or what the Oracle lady was talking about before, but the word Calamity rung in her ears in a way that was almost painful.

It was bad. Very bad.

She knew that much.

Her parents were talking about sending parties of soldiers to all the villages across Hyrule in search of a person who could wield a Sacred sword, as well as any other strong fighters and strategists who could help.

Plus, they were discussing what role she, Zelda herself, would play against this “Calamity”. Apparently, because she and her mother were descended from the Goddess herself, they had a special type of Holy magic that could stop evil.

It had sounded cool when she’d first been told about it, but now that the idea of actually having to do something really scary and use a magic she hadn’t shown any signs of having… it just sounded horrible.

She didn’t want to have to face down a monster on her own!

Finally, her parents seemed to remember she was there- she doubted they’d actually forgotten about her, but it sure felt like it- and her father scooped her up and into an embrace.

“Don’t worry, my sweet Zelda,” he said, and she hid her face in his coat, “Your mother will tell you all you need to know about your power. We’ll have the strongest fighters the world has to offer by your side.”

She sniffled. She still felt so scared.

Her mother’s hand gently stroked her hair, as the woman hummed Zelda’s favourite lullaby to her.

“You won’t be alone for this, Zelda.” her father reassured her, “We’ll be here as well.”

And it was nice to not be alone.

But it didn’t change the heavy weight that now dragged her shoulders downward, that pressed upon her chest to the point where it was often hard to breathe, that twisted her brain into terrifying nightmares where a faceless monster would raze the whole world and ashes rained from a blood red sky.

I am going to die.

Zelda wailed and wailed, because that was all she could do.

She was (according to the whispers of castle staff when they thought nobody was listening) developmentally behind other children her age, being four and not able to speak as much as she probably should, would have likely gotten her bullied, if she attended a school instead of being educated by scholars in the castle.

She’d tripped in the garden and scraped her knee, and it was bleeding.

Never in her entire life had she felt so much pain… and she didn’t know how to shout for help, so all she could do was cry and cry and cry and hope that someone would hear her.

“Oh, no, darling!”

Zelda turned her tear-streaked face to the sound of her mother’s voice.

And no sooner than had she laid her tearful eyes on the deep, royal blue of a formal dress, Zelda felt herself scooped off the floor and a hundred kisses being pressed onto her face.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” her mother asked, as she carried the tiny girl over to one of the garden benches.

“Fell,” was the only word Zelda knew that would answer. She sniffled, and more tears ran down her cheeks, “Am I gonna die?”

“No, Zelda, you aren’t. Okay?” her mother reassured her, rubbing circles into her back, “We’ll have to go and get some medicine to clean your knee, and then bandage it up, though.”

Zelda winced. She’d had that cut-cleaning-medicine-stuff put on a splinter a little while ago, and it had really stung…

“But then we can go and read a nice story afterwards to feel better. Would you like that?”

Hm… That did sound nice.

She nodded, and touched her face as she realised her tears had dried up.

“Lovely,” her mother said, and pressed another kiss to her forehead, “Shall we go and find the doctor then?”

“Okay…” Zelda mumbled, and clung to her mother’s neck as she was picked back up.

“You’ve already been so brave, my sweet little bird,” her mother soothed as Zelda sniffled again, “Can you try and be brave for me, for just a little bit more while we go and get patched up?”

“Okay, mama.” Zelda agreed quietly, exhausted now after the whole ordeal, and let her head rest on her mother’s shoulder and her eyes droop closed as she was carried inside to safety.

She could be brave for as long as she had to be.

#is this whump. anyway.#totk #botw #totk spoilers #ask to tag #tloz #words #first stanza was gonna be the like. summary. but ao3 said it was too long so :(

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pianocat939 · 2 years

Note

I loved how you played clotted cream in your last story and gotta see more yandere clotted cream!

May I request a yandere!clotted cream x cleaner reader? Like they are used to cleaning up after the council after meetings and basically cleaning around the main building and the meeting room and places like that? Just a sucker for high class x low class ships sometimes!

I always foam at the mouth every time I read upper class x lower class. It’s just a perfect dynamic for dark/horror genres.

All my requests are taking forever to answer…makes me kinda angry at myself for some reason

Tw: Financial issues, mentions of loan sharks, mentions of illegal immigration, MC gets taken away from family due to debt issues, strawberry jam (blood), power difference (kinda subtle), this version of Clotted Cream is very different from the last time I wrote him, Clotted Cream looks at personal information

Dirtied hands

In the early morning, the sky still a pale dark blue, a cleaner clutches a rag with a bucket in the other hand. Their hands efficiently erase the dust that clings onto the table, making the table shine in glory: a needed aspect in the meeting room of the Elders and Consul.

Y/n Cookie, a regular cleaner that lives within the Creme Republic. Someone who always had a normal life, and wishes to continue living that way until their demise. A job that doesn’t bring attention to them, only to the things they clean is perfect for someone like them.

Yet cleaning can be quite demanding sometimes.

Everyday they have to clean so many rooms, and not just a quick sweep either. Since it is the building that the leaders of the Creme Republic meet and reside in, they have to make sure it’s satisfactory for the higher class. Which is tiring for the body and mind.

There are some benefits though; a surprisingly good pay, being distant from those around, and being able to touch the glamourous architecture makes up for most of it. Well, enough to be tolerated would maybe be a more suiting word.

Y/n Cookie sets down the rag and bucket, proceeding to hold a broom for the next act. They sweep all the dirt and hair into a pile, creating an ugly sight for the eyes. Grabbing the dust pan as they let the broom fall, they sweep up the grotesque mount of grime.

What beauty the role of being a cleaner has...

Just then, someone opens the door, tall stature sauntering in. “Pardon me cleaner, I think I have forgotten my pocket watch have you seen it anywhere?” He asks, a charismatic smile forming on his attractive face.

Y/n Cookie blankly blinks for a moment before shuffling through their bag settled on the floor. After a few seconds, they fish out a brass-colored pocket watch, the intials “CCC” inscribed in lovely cursive on the back. They hold it out to him, eyes still blank with any emotion.

“Why thank you! How kind hearted you are—most steal such quality of watch!” He cheers, recieiving the item with one of his needles. He lightly laughs in a light-hearted manner, but his eyes show no light in them. “Know that I, Clotted Cream Cookie, is indebted to your service.” He turns around, walking off while his cape flutters behind him.

As he leaves, Y/n Cookie shuts the door, frowning as they do so. “Of course, because I’m a cleaner he thinks I’m going to steal his watch. I am not a beggar thank you very much.” Mumbling venom, they go back to their cleaning.

——————————————————

The evening stars dance in the navy blanket of the sky, twinkling brightly as the moon rises amongst them. Most cookies are now in their homes, letting the night roll through. Yet upon the streets of the Republic, is a cookie who still hasn’t arrived home since the early morning. Their body aching from the nonstop cleaning. Thankfully, another cookie will be cleaning tomorrow so they won’t have to go for the next few days; barely enough time to rest and relax all the stress away.

They finally arrive at their house, sluggishly taking out the key and unlocking the door. They turn on the lights, the darkness instantly washing away as the brightness pierces the vicinity of the room. Settling down their items on a plush sofa, they seat themselves on the furniture lazily, releasing the tension that was trapped inside their body all day.

“Berries? Are you awake?” They call out, tilting their head to see if the other inhabitant of the house is nearby. A meek bark replies, a small blueberry cake hound sauntering over to its owner—Y/n Cookie. It hops onto their lap, nuzzling against their lower abodmen. “Sorry I was gone for so long, I hope the neighbor’s pets kept you company.” Y/n Cookie slowly strokes the hound’s head in a loving matter.

It barks once more, making small circles on their legs before settling down. “At least I have the next few days off; maybe we can go to the nearby park for a while.” They lean their head back, eyes staring up at the ceiling in contemplation. “Just a little more time Berries...Then we can go back to the Hollyberry kingdom.” The hound’s ears perk momentarily before flopping to its sides.

-----------

‘Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Y/n Cookie’

Clotted Cream holds the list of employees in his hands, eyes narrowing at the sight of one cookie’s name. “File number 678…” He mutters to himself, opening the file cabinet adjacent to him. His needles sift through the files, stopping when they reach their target at the number ‘678’.

When he opens the file, he skims through the text, trying to figure who exactly Y/n Cookie is. The profile is mostly the normal things; age, occupation, name, and so on. Yet at the very last line, it states, ‘Citizen of the Hollyberry Kingdom’. How odd. Those of Hollyberrian descent are always registered as citizens of the Republic. So why would this plain little cleaner be a citizen of the Hollyberry Kingdom?

He turns the page to see another paper of data and personal background. ‘Immigration papers approved, has a debt of XXX before able to return. Parents are both Hollyberrian. Taken away due to financial issues.’ His eyes widen the further he reads the text; realizing that Y/n Cookie was taken away and is now living in the Creme Republic in illegal circumstances.

“My, my...Looks like I’m going to have to confront this plain little cleaner soon enough.”

--------

A few days after the pocket watch incident, Y/n Cookie is once again cleaning. Today, they are assigned to clean Clotted Cream Cookie’s office. It’s quite messy, as if someone had been desperately trying to research something. Files and papers are scattered about the desk, a notepad has writing scratched all along the pages; clearly indicating the distress the person must have been in.

They sigh, realizing they’ll have to sort the papers and do the regular cleaning. “I should get paid more for cleaning this room.” Quickly getting to work, they start to sort through the papers, putting them into their individuals piles and files. Most of the papers are information about the immigration and regulations of the borders. Seemingly normal things for the Consul to research about.

At the bottom of all the clutter, lay a file labeled ‘678 Y/n Cookie’. Curious, the cleaner reaches to open the bundle, only for a loud slam of the door interuppting them from doing so.

“Cleaner~ How are you? Doing well I hope?” Clotted Cream questions, walking towards them with his hands behind his back. Y/n Cookie doesn’t speak, only nodding before returning back to their cleaning. “Apologies for this mess. I was checking some immigrant rules since there have been some illegal crosses from the Hollyberry Kingdom lately.” He walks over to the desk, shuffling through the piles and putting them back into the cabinets.

Meanwhile, Y/n Cookie stares at the ground, unmoving like a statue. He possibly couldn’t have found out, right? And even if he did, he would most likely send them back to the Hollyberry Kingdom. They slowly relax and continue on cleaning, trying to distract themselves from the smile plastered on his face.

His eyes creepily observe their movement, taking note of their obvious discomfort. Finding it adorable that the ever-so-silent cookie is terrified because of a simple mention of illegal crossing. He wants see more—more expressions.

Watch out little cleaner, the Consul has come for you…

——————————————————

“I see…We’ll miss having your presence around!” The manager of employees speaks, giving a small smile to the Hollyberrian.

Finally, Y/n Cookie has managed to save enough money to pay off all the debt and go back to their home in the Hollyberry kingdom. They’ve been gone for a few years now: only being able to communicate with their loved ones through letters. But that doesn’t matter anymore. They can finally leave this Republic and drink all the juice they want when back at the motherland.

“I will be off now, I hope you have a wonderful day.” They quietly leave the room, trying hard to contain a smile.

When they step out into the courtyard, a large grin couldn’t help but appear. After all their hard work and suffering they can finally live a life of liberty! They softly squeal, “Haha! I’m going back! I’m really going back!” Their body wiggles in excitement.

As they cheer in what seems like the empty courtyard, a certain green-eyed male watches them with ecstasy. First uncomfortableness, next happiness; what else could be unlocked within them? Oh how he wants to see them all!

Yet there’s problem that has risen now. The audacity of thinking they’re going to get back safely—ugh how it blackens his heart! He can’t let them go after witnessing their true beauty and emotions! He needs to keep them here in the Republic!

Not to worry, he wasn’t elected Consul for nothing. All he has to do is turn a few keys, pay some money, and jyajan~ they’re right in his arms. (Jyajan is another form of ta-dah btw)

Little cleaner, he’s getting closer…

——————————————————

In the Hollyberry kingdom, far away from the Republic, resides a town just outside the capital city’s walls. In the vicinity of this town, berry bushes line up all around the paths, and barrels upon barrels litter the residents’ homes.

One family in particular has juice barrels in the cellar that stack up so high, it reaches the ceiling. This household is known all around the Kingdom for their famous juice. Their wealth grows year by year as more cookies buy their products. After all, rarely could someone resist the temptation of the dark red liquid.

Despite their current status, it was only until recently have they reached such goals. Before, they were an average juice making company; average taste, average price. It was enough to go by, but it certainly could have gotten better. Unfortunately, it seems as though fate had other plans for them.

One year, a horrible disease killed most of the bushes, causing a great decline in exports. With most of their harvest being cut, they had to buy from others. Which ended up with them making a deal with loan sharks.

As punishment for not being able to pay it off in time, a young member of the household got taken away. Leaving the family terrified of what might happen next. So, they decided to improve their business with lots of research.

After a few months of testing and surveying, they made a breakthrough in juice production. Not only did it taste absolutely delicious, but the amount of berries needed to make the juice is a lot lower than the previous product.

Soon enough the money started to pile in, enabling them to successfully pay off all the debt; however, the one that was taken away still resides in the Republic. As much as they wanted to help, the Republic was very picky on their immigration and visitors: stopping them from helping the lost Y/n Cookie. The most they could do was send letters and hope they come back to the motherland.

When they heard news of them coming back they were greatly overjoyed. No more worries! Just staying at the plantation, enjoying each other's company.

Too bad little cleaner attracted their demise.

——————————————————

The Consul is viewed as society's pride and joy; and yet here he is hiring someone to initiate crime. “As soon as they fall asleep I want you to drug them and bring them back to the Republic.”

“Along the edge of the land or…?”

“Leave them along the port, I’ll retrieve them myself.”

“Ok. And you’ve already paid my debts?”

“Of course. No Consul could dirty their record.” His charming smile? More like meet-your-end smile.

——————————————————

Clotted Cream Cookie sits at the side of his bed, monitoring the cookie before him. He hesitantly caresses their hair, tenderly feeling the strands. His arrogant character replaced by a softer presence. The room is silent, only the soft hisses and clicks of movement accompany his troubled mind.

“Dearest, wake up. It’s time for you to awaken~” He pleas, shaking their body a little. The cookie grunts in discomfort, slowly opening their eyes. Clotted Cream smiles, leaning in closer to the point their faces almost touch. “Good morning.”

“Huh…? Oh, yeah…Good morning.” They look around, recording their surroundings. “This isn’t my bed…And why are you here?” Slowly descending into confusion, they start to take a grip on the situation. “Why do I feel so sick?”

The soft morning light burns their eyes, making them squint in discomfort. The bedroom definitely isn’t theirs, and shouldn’t Clotted Cream be back at the Republic?

Wait…

Why is he here?!

Panicking finally pumping into their veins, they stammer, “Wha- I should be- I should be back at Hollyberry kingdom! Why are you here?! You shouldn’t be here! You belong in the Republic!” As they frantically look at his face, he puts a finger to their lips.

“You’re panicking. It’s going to ruin your health; calm down. You’re fine, I promise you.” He leans back, taking off his finger while doing so. Y/n Cookie watches in shock before snapping back to their usual demeanor. Well, as best as they can after all, they are drugged.

“Consul. Where am I?” Their words slightly slur, indicating the side effects of the drug. Clotted Cream doesn’t answer, now a frown on his face.

They slide out from the bed and stand on the solid ground. “Answer me. Where am-”

“I wouldn’t suggest asking anymore, dearest. You illegally crossed into the nation, now you must pay the price. Your punishment is to be forever bounded and monitored by me.”

He jerks towards them, eyes blown-wide from insanity. “Little cleaner, you may not smile or frown, but I know; deep inside your heart you weep tears of loneliness…Something I want to see exposed for me.” Y/n Cookie looks at his hands, only to realize that there’s jam on it.

Not even a Consul grand as he can stop from wrath of impurity.

——————————————————

THE. ENDING. TOOK. AN. EXTRA. 3. DAYS. Listen, I put lots of effort into this. It’s definitely my longest one I’ve written so far. Yes, it’s messy and I’ll probably edit it sometime this week.

But you have to applause for the time I spent into making this. (Tbh it’s kinda on me because I just really love the social class difference trope)

I’m trying to improve my fics but it’s so hard to organize I swear.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed.

- Celina

#cookie run #yandere cookie run #yandere #yandere x reader #cookie run kingdom #clotted cream cookie #Yandere clotted cream cookie

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jjksblackgf · 2 years

Text

three of cups (m) | namgi

pairing — witch!namjoon x witch!reader x witch!yoongi summary — in the Three of Cups, three young people are dancing with each other in a circle, raising their cups in a toast of joy and celebration. They are bound by their emotional connection and friendship. Unlike their tarot counterparts, these three young people are also bound by their sexual chemistry. genre — supernatural, smutt rate — 21+ word count — 2.9k warnings — explicit sexual content, supernatural themes, mentions of death, mention of blood drinking, polyamorous romance, mention of alcohol intake, threesome, unprotected sex, anal sex, double penetration author's note — the biggest of thanks to @yoon2k for the amazing, genius, groundbreaking, sensational banner!! she saw me struggling and lent a helping hand, as the kind person she is <3 everyone say thank you, fi <3

❖ BBCS Sip, Vibe, & Create Event: Double Double, Toil in Trouble hosted by @btsblackcreatorsociety ⤞ Category: witches ⤞ Theme(s): nature, spells ⤞ Kinks: double penetration, threesome

🕸 NO-FACETOBER hosted by @bangtanbathhouse ⤖ 「 Day 1 」 : eerie ⤖ 「 Day 9 」 : cauldron ⤖ 「 Day 18 」 : candles ⤖ 「 Day 25 」 : mystic

My arms were almost elbow deep in the soil as I worked to make room for some new vegetable plants. The leaves of the forest were starting to change colors, announcing that the weather was about to get chilly, so why not plant some brussel sprouts?

I placed some Citrine crystals and covered them with dirt before sowing the seeds. I heard some steps coming in my direction, but that didn’t deter me from my work. The soft wind shifted towards me, and I smelled Namjoon’s perfume close by. I could feel his gaze on my back now.

“Are you sure you want to put the citrines under the seeds?” he asked, sounding not entirely confident in my planting skills. “I usually just plant only half of them, so the other half stays above ground…”

“Yes, I am sure,” I replied, a little exasperated, a little amused. Of course I should expect some observations and notes from Namjoon. He always liked his work done a certain way. “Are you done harvesting for dinner tonight?”

“Almost…” he said, abashed. I didn’t hear another word from him, so he must’ve scattered to the other side of the garden.

A regular day in our coven of three consisted of tending our garden, doting on our cute cats, and sharing laughter and joy with each other. Our regular nights also had a routine. We’d eat a spell blessed meal together, right before we devoured each other.

Yoongi spent most of his days at his crafting table, each and every time coming with more creative and functional pieces to fill our small cottage. Namjoon and I shared a love for nature, so our hands were always full of ingredients, and we made sure our house always smelled like fresh flowers.

We also joined in prayer for devotion to our Gods. Brewing potions and casting various spells around the forest surrounding our home. Our cauldron would always be the center of attention, placed underneath the thicker branches of the spruce trees that decorated our front yard.

And today was no different from our general routine. That was until we reached nighttime.

The wind whistled through the tree branches above, and Namjoon shivered. The darkness of the night was troublesome. The new moon usually gave more of a stage to the bright stars, but those were also nowhere to be found. All I could hear were steps disturbing the fallen foliage.

None of us knew what to make of the sound of steps coming your way. Or the disturbing darkness that was trying to engulf our cottage.

Did we do something wrong? I thought to myself. Maybe we accidentally conjured something we shouldn't in our earlier ceremony…

I wanted some reassurance from Yoongi, but he was busy casting a spell to protect our house from whatever came to visit us tonight. That left only Namjoon and me, neither with enough knowledge to fight this by ourselves.

Bottled in glass jars, I placed the banishing spells along the tree branches and trunks, and lit candles along the path. Namjoon’s knowledge of the forest gave him an instinctual sense of where to place everything, and I was relieved to just follow along.

The unknown steps got closer and closer, riling up the wind within its proximity. But neither of us ceased our work. Some of the candles gave up under the powerful gush, and I wondered if there was time to go back and light them up again. I heard a different set of steps coming in our direction, and my heart almost stopped, fearing getting cornered by the shadow. But I relaxed when Yoongi’s voice filled my ears.

“Let’s go to the cauldron,” he said. His voice was a little troubled, and I could see the fear buried deep within his eyes. He helped Namjoon with the spell jars, while I focused on relighting the path back to the cottage.

Yoongi had everything ready for our collective spell. Ingredients were correctly placed, and the words glowed on the page as we read them in our Grimoire. The wind got worse, and we could hear the wind chimes rustling with intensity. We finished reading the inscriptions, and with a loud scream, our visitor fleeted the scene. The sky suddenly cleared and we got to see the stars again.

We stared at each other for a moment. I could see both relief and fear mingled behind their eyes. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, steading myself. I was still a bit shaken. I’d never seen anything like that before. I’ve never felt such dark energy.

My hands went to my face as I stood in front of the cauldron. I could still feel the heat of the cast iron warming my feet. Suddenly, I felt two pairs of arms embracing me. I didn’t realize until then that I was sobbing.

“Shh, it’s over now, honey. It’s okay now…” Yoongi cooed, caressing my arm. Namjoon hugged me the tightest, and I could feel his lips at the top of my head. “Let’s get you something to eat, hm?”

We decided to cook our meal outside, using our spells cauldron for extra protection. Yoongi went inside to gather the ingredients, while Namjoon maintained the cauldron warmed with fresh wood. I didn’t sit idly either, relighting some candles for extra brightness.

I wanted my hands busy, to do something useful and be the asset I always saw myself as, but both of them insisted I take it easy. Frustrated, I sat on the ground, on top of our outside blanket. Namjoon followed not long after, taking me in his long arms. He hugged me tight against his chest and hummed a song I didn’t recognize, and it calmed me down a little.

With our food prepared, and our prayers done, we sat down and communed in silence. Until Yoongi pulled out the bottle of wine.

I hadn’t realized we talked all night. The sky turned from deep black to lighter and lighter shades of gray. It took me by surprise, and I felt a mixture of awe and embarrassment. These men sure knew how to keep me distracted.

The bottle of wine was dry for many hours now, and I could bet none of us felt the buzz anymore. Every now and again I’d remember the night’s events and tremble, but another conversation would always be more interesting. I didn’t know if that was intentional. I didn’t have that much time to think about it, honestly.

But after the initial shock, I was starting to settle into a deeper despair. Imagining and calculating how close we’d come to death… I stared at the beginning of the path to the forest, the candles almost burnt to the very end. I felt the urge to follow that path. In the daylight I could calculate the damage better…

Namjoon laughed loudly, distracting me from my musings.

“Oh, c’mon! That’s literally the worst story you ever told! You never did that! Stop lying to us!” He chortled, half annoyed, half curious. He just couldn’t believe Yoongi had ever come face to face with a Siglas.

The legend of the Siglas was a very common one. Everyone involved with the supernatural world had heard of it. It’d even reached human ears, and now the story lived through many cultures, with many names and interpretations.

Siglas, God of good fortune and ambition, had a wife named Varok. They roamed the Earth spreading their love far amongst other beings. However, there was a demon, Renag, who became jealous of their happiness, and plotted to destroy them.

So Renag took Varok hostage and demanded eternal servitude from Siglas, in exchange for his wife’s freedom. However, Siglas found a way to meet his wife in secrecy. But when Renag found out, he killed Varok and scattered her soul across many nations. Heartbroken, Siglas followed suit, in hopes to put his wife back together.

Now, many pieces of Siglas’ body wandered through the planet, transforming itself into a blood drinking demon, draining whoever he believed housed a piece of his wife’s soul.

No one ever reached a consensus if we should believe the legend or not. The stories of people who encountered a Siglas were almost nonexistent. They either never met one or were drained by one. Or so the legend says…

Yoongi was sitting at my side, quietly laughing. One hand on the ground supported his torso while the other casually hung over my shoulder. “I guess I don’t have a piece of Varok in me,” he joked.

“How do you even know that was a Siglas?” I pressed, not believing it myself.

“There was something about his eyes… the pain in there. Too intense,” he answered.

“Maybe you had an allergic reaction to mushrooms and were actually hallucinating,” Namjoon teased. “It wouldn’t be the last time…” he trailed off, a sly smile curving his lips.

“Probably,” Yoongi shrugged, but his answering smile was cocky. “But I’d rather believe I’m just that powerful.”

“We’re just so lucky to have you…” Namjoon mocked, the teasing smile never left his lips. I chuckled with Yoongi as he got up. “I’m going to feed the cats. It’s almost sunrise. They’ll be hungry.”

We watched him leave for a second, before Yoongi pulled me towards his chest and laid us on the ground with a swift movement. I got comfortable immediately, placing my ear to his heart, and hitched my leg while hugging his waist. He hugged me tighter and kissed the crown of my head.

“Y/N?” Yoongi asked hesitantly after a minute, his voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He continued, caressing my arm with just his fingertips. His voice sounded distant now, almost as if he regretted saying something in the first place.

“Anything. What is it?” The curiosity was thick on my voice. He took a deep breath, and I expected the question then. But it didn’t come.

I looked up at his face. He was looking at me with intense, worried eyes. He furrowed his eyebrows before speaking again.

“How are you feeling?”

Dramatic, much? I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

“I’m feeling fine, actually,” I lied. He didn’t seem convinced. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe he knew me too much. The furrow of his brow didn’t change, and the corner of his lips turned down slightly.

“Don’t lie…” he warned. His intense gaze didn’t let up for a second. I sighed and closed my eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” I finally answered. “I just never experienced something like that before, so it shook me up a little, that’s all.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked

“Distracting me has been effective enough,” I confessed, wiggling my eyebrows, and he chuckled.

He then held onto my hips as he shifted us. He was on his side, almost on top of me, a leg hitched in between mine. His knee softly caressed my inner thigh, and my body reacted. He held himself up by his elbow, and his free hand went to cup my throat before he kissed me passionately.

The give and warmth of his full lips made me sigh. His tongue lightly pressed against my lower lip, and I purred under his touch. He trailed my jaw with kisses, before settling on my neck.

“Why do you two always start without me?” Namjoon complained at a distance. “You know I get jealous.”

“You say it like you’re not the one that has the most fun,” Yoongi said, shifting us again so this time I’d be straddling him.

Namjoon shrugged. “Still, it’s nice to be included.”

“Come here and let me include you, then,” I joked, grabbing his hand for him to join us.

“I don’t want your pity kisses.” he said, but he was already licking his lips, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“My pity for you can go a long way, actually,” I teased, and his eyes perked up.

He kneeled at my side and my arms rested on his shoulders. His lips were intoxicating. I was instantly begging for more. My lips were fierce when molding to his. I shivered when I got to taste his tongue, and a moan escaped my lips unexpectedly.

Yoongi’s hands made themselves known when he caressed my thighs underneath the skirt of my dress. His hands traveled upwards and palm pressed firmly against my skin, before he gripped my ass cheeks.

Then, I could feel another set of lips on my skin. Yoongi settled on kissing my neck while I entertained myself with Namjoon. But my attention was diverted when his kisses trailed below my collarbone.

His tongue swirled on my skin as he indulged in the cleavage of my dress. He cupped my breasts with his palms, and I got annoyed by the fabric separating my nipples from his fingers and tongue.

I yanked the buttons open. They were both shocked at my sudden desperation, and I couldn’t seem to care. I grabbed Yoongi’s head and pressed against my chest. He got the clue and his languid tongue swirled against my nipple.

He knew my body. He knew which buttons to push. How to caress my body just so. When to kiss, where to lick, when to pull my hair… He sucked on it and I was entirely absorbed. He laid on his back, dragging me along with him while he continued to bless me with his mouth and teeth.

The hem of my dress was at my waist at that point, and I turned my head to see Namjoon lick the tip of his fingers while sliding my panties to the side with his free hand.

He touched the moistened fingers directly at my clit, and I moaned again. He used his thumb to travel between my entrance and my clit, the friction getting smoother and more pleasurable each time.

He slid his middle and ring fingers inside me, and I bit my lower lip. A low purr escaped my throat with the sensation. He pushed his fingers back and forth, each time hitting my spot just right. My walls clenched in anticipation and he picked up speed.

Yoongi stopped to pay attention to what was making me a moaning mess. He looked at me with a big taunting grin and said “Prepare to get utterly distracted.”

Before I could make sense of his words or even pay attention to them, his fingers were in my open mouth, just long enough for a small amount of makeshift lube.

His digits pressed my ass, and I understood at once. He circled the area, and Namjoon hummed in expectation. He inserted his fingers slowly, paying attention to my expressions and asking permission with his own. He kissed me again once his fingers were completely introduced.

“It’s my turn, now,” Namjoon said, his voice a little too excited.

“I’m already in so I got dibs,” Yoongi teased.

“No one has dibs on my ass,” I interrupted, scolding them. But they ignored me.

Namjoon placed himself behind me and Yoongi removed his fingers. I pouted slightly and Yoongi chuckled beneath me. I then felt Namjoon’s tip enter me, and I gasped as I adjusted to his girth. He continued slowly, and we cussed when he was fully inside.

Yoongi took that time to free himself from his pants, and once he saw I was fully comfortable, he began to tease my entrance with his tip. Namjoon’s slow and deep thrusts became shallower and faster with each stroke. I started to rock my hips to his pace, meeting his hips halfway. He cussed again and grabbed my jaw, turning my head so I could look into his eyes.

Wanting to tease him, I licked my upper lip with exaggerated fashion, and I earned a smack in the ass. I increased the power of my hips, and Namjoon closed his eyes, growling. An animalistic sound coming from his chest.

I became arrogant, feeling myself more than I expected. But before I could act on it, Yoongi used the momentum of my hips to thrust himself inside me. I faltered, gasping by the overwhelming sensation of them both. My walls clenched hard in desire, and I had to stop my movements.

Their strokes were different in the beginning. Namjoon’s fast and shallow approach contrasted with Yoongi’s nice & slow method. But they eventually found a rhythm of their own, and I was speechless with the sensation.

I wanted to move my hips again, savor even more the delicious feeling of being filled by my boyfriends. But my legs were weak. I wouldn’t have that much time to savor them anyway. I felt a warm knot in my stomach, the fluttering of my heartbeat, my mouth gaped open as I gasped quietly. And sure enough, I reached my climax.

My torso felt limp onto Yoongi’s and he kissed me before cumming inside me. Namjoon was the last to finish, retrieving his member and massaging himself to completion.

We were all panting, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t bicker again.

“I got ass dibs for next time,” Yoongi said, his voice tired.

“Fine, I’ll be a bottom for a day,” Namjoon grumbled, resigned.

“Stop negotiating like I’m not here,” I said, rolling my eyes.

But this fight was useless. It honestly didn’t matter the position. I’d always be open to getting wrecked like this again.

#namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts x reader #bts #kim namjoon #namjoon #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #nofacetober #bangtanbathhouse

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cyantomatos · 2 years

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Even Stars Will Fall - Ch 4

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x Ellaria Sand Word Count: ~3.1k Warnings: Not really much this time, vague allusions to Ellaria being pregnant and how many people both her and Oberyn sleep with Notes: Shhh it didn’t take me two months to get this out idk what you’re talking about. The visit mentioned at the end was actually supposed to take place in this chapter, but I got there and realized how long the chapter already was, so I’m moving it to next chapter. Which will hopefully be out quickly, since I’m actually really excited about writing it! Big thanks to @emmikmil and @moon-kn1ght for beta reading

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Several days pass before anything interesting happens.

You dream more, and although you usually can’t remember more than snippets when you wake, the feeling of importance tinged with anxiety is hard to shake after each dream. You try to ignore the way those snippets that you do remember tend to crop up in your life - the cook burning his hand, a prize horse getting loose from the stables, a specific blend of berries being served up in a jeweled bowl for breakfast.

Every time you wake from another dream, you push the anxiety that rises in you down. You don’t know what the dreams mean, and for all you know this could be your mind making things up, trying to make sense of the strange world you’ve found yourself in. You manage to convince yourself they mean nothing. Nothing is better than something, you don’t need more something on top of the already large something of being stuck in a world that isn’t yours.

You’ve taken to spending time in the gardens, fascinated by the plants you find there. There are some familiar plants, fruit trees and bright flowers that you can name from back in your world, but there are also plants you don’t recognize.

One of the gardeners, a kind older man named Solomon, notices your interest. He doesn’t complain when you begin following him through the many palace gardens, patiently answering all of your questions about the plants you don’t recognize, and a few about the plants you do recognize. He seems to like it, actually.

“Solomon?” You’re perched on the edge of a fountain, enjoying the bright sunshine as your new friend tends to a patch of vibrant flowers. He’d told you earlier they were called Crimson Woodbine, and you had listened with fascination as he listed off the uses for the different parts of the plant. Many of the plants in the gardens had medicinal or culinary uses aside from being ornamental, and you wondered if that had anything to do with the whispers you’d hear about Oberyn’s side projects.

The man grunts in response, concentrating on clearing the few weeds from around the base of the beautiful plant.

“Are you sure I’m not bothering you? I know everyone seems to think they have to keep me happy because I’m the prince’s guest, but if I’m a bother-” Solomon cuts you off with a wave of one dirt covered hand, stretching up from his hunched kneeling position.

“You are the furthest thing from a bother, my dear. To be honest, I enjoy your company. It gets lonely with only the plants to talk to, and I enjoy the enthusiasm you show in learning about them. I find it refreshing for someone so young to be so interested in something many see as boring.”

You’re about to respond when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and look up to see Ellaria standing next to you with a smile on her face. “I hope I am not interrupting, but it seems your new outfits from Maricel have arrived. I thought you might like to get out of borrowed clothing.” You’re on your feet before she can finish the sentence, and she covers a laugh with a hand over her mouth.

Before you leave Ellaria turns to Solomon, inclining her head apologetically. “I apologize for stealing your company.” The older man waves her off with a smile, turning back to his plants.

She leads you down the halls that you’re steadily growing more accustomed to. When you first arrived it had felt like a maze of opulence, but little things have started to stand out and aide you in moving through the palace. The decorations tend towards ornate vases and statues the closer you get to the official side of the palace, where Doran hosts visitors and conducts his business. As you get closer to the residential side there is a slow transition towards tapestries and paintings, especially of human subjects near Oberyn’s rooms.

There’s a gold vase with sapphire gems cut like blooms at the corner you turn to take to Ellaria’s rooms, set close to Oberyn’s. The painting of what you would assume to be an English countryside if you didn’t know any better signals the turn towards the kitchen, and a small statue of what you think is a horse sits close to your own rooms. You aren’t sure you will ever be able to move about the halls as confidently as Ellaria, but - as you remind yourself - you aren’t even sure you’ll be here long enough to get that chance.

The thought sobers you as you arrive outside Ellaria’s rooms, but the sight that greets you as she flings the door open is enough to sweep your melancholy mood away. It seems like every surface is covered in a riot of colors and patterns, the combination threatening to overwhelm you.

Ellaria chuckles from off to the side, picking up a pale pink dress that looks similar in style to the one she is wearing. “Is it a bit much, dove? I did say Oberyn wanted you to have a full wardrobe.”

You let out a nervous laugh, turning to her with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile. “I think Oberyn and I might have different opinions on what a ‘full wardrobe’ means.” You drift over, picking up a dress draped over the back of a gilded couch that seems to be made of liquid gold as it slips through your fingers. “There’s enough cloth here to make a circus tent. How much did this cost him?” Your voice takes on a slightly panicked note at the end, suddenly wondering if you’ll be expected to pay all this extravagance back.

Ellaria just shrugs, fingering the delicate lace edge of the dress she holds. “To be honest, I am not sure a number could be put to it. Maricel works for the family, as well as a number of other well-off families in Dorne. I doubt Oberyn even asked her for a price, and even she might not know.” She sinks onto the one spot on the couch not covered by silky fabrics. “Maricel makes, and Oberyn pays. Well,” She smirks, leaning back. “Doran pays, really.”

You stare at her, letting the golden fabric slip through your fingers. “Ellaria, I-” Glancing around the room you find yourself at a loss for words, unable to process.

Ellaria reaches out a hand, catching your fingers between hers with a soft smile. “Do not worry, my dear. You will not be expected to repay Oberyn or Doran for these clothes. They are a gift for a guest of the Prince of Dorne.”

It takes some prodding but Ellaria finally convinces you to try the dresses on. Despite their beauty, they end up being surprisingly simple to get on and off. The fabrics are all soft and light, perfect for the Dornish heat. They fit you better than anything you owned back home, and as you smooth your hand over the pale blue silk of one dress as it drapes over your hips, you find this another mark in favor of not leaving.

Not that you’re sure the choice will even be yours. If you don’t know how you got here, who’s to say you won’t leave just as suddenly as you arrived?

There’s a knock on the door just as Ellaria is doing up the back of a burnt yellow dress, the edges of the flowing sleeves trimmed in tiny suns. As she works at the laces, she calls for the person to enter.

You hear the door open, too preoccupied with examining the beautiful embroidery on the hem of the sleeve to look up right away, but you recognize Oberyn’s voice. “I heard the new dresses have arrived, I trust Marciel has crafted-”

After a moment of silence, and Ellaria stilling behind you, you look up to the mirror she has you positioned in front of. She’s looking over your shoulder off to the side towards the door, a smirk you’ve come to associate with her winning an argument on her face. Slowly you turn towards the door, unsure if you want to see why she’s aiming that smirk at Oberyn.

You’ve yet to quite place why the prince seems to have a never ending parade of people in and out of his bed. He’s attractive, you can’t deny that, and while it doesn’t lure you, the promise of claiming a night in the bed of a prince is an undeniable draw for some.

But still. So many people?

As you finally feel the weight of his gaze settle on you, however, you also feel yourself beginning to understand.

There’s a paper clutched in one of his hands, although he seems to have forgotten all about it. He almost looks surprised, like you’ve caught him off guard, although you know he had to assume you would be trying the dresses on if he came to see them. As your eyes meet his the weight of his gaze shifts. You watch as he scans down your body, snagging for a moment you think on the suns embroidered on your sleeves.

When his gaze finally meets yours again, you feel pinned in place, reminded vaguely of the frog you dissected in 8th grade science - exposed and incredibly seen by a man standing completely across the room from you.

You want to say something, to make a joke about his seeming inability to speak, but you find yourself just as unable to form words. The only thing you can seem to focus on is the solid warmth of Ellaria behind you, and Oberyn’s almost possessive gaze pinning you in place.

“Love, you’re staring.” Ellaria’s voice seems to break both of you out of the spell holding you in place. You just barely catch a somewhat flustered smirk coming across Oberyn’s face before you’re looking away, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

“How could I not stare at such a beautiful sight? Maricel has truly outdone herself again, our dove looks even more radiant than before.” Long strides eat up the space between the two of you, and you find yourself looking up to meet his gaze once more. There isn’t the same weight as before, you don’t feel pinned and helpless to look away, but there is still a pull that wasn’t there before.

Before you can be sucked back in, Oberyn lifts the hem of your sleeve, gaze dropping to the embroidery. He rubs a thumb almost thoughtfully over the gold thread, glancing up at you from beneath unfairly long lashes with a small smile. “It is a good color for you.”

There, sandwiched between the two of them so close you feel surrounded by them, you feel that belonging from the dinner days ago begin to seep in again. It feels right, having them both near you, their attention on you, and you find yourself wanting it to never end.

Oberyn straightens, soft cloth slipping from between his fingers, and although he really only moves a few inches away you feel yourself lean forward to close the distance again. Ellaria’s fingers still twisted in the laces at your back keep you in place, ensuring you don’t embarrass yourself by chasing after the prince.

He holds up the paper in his hand, the smirk on his face making you almost certain he knows how being in your space is affecting you. “I will be gone for a few days, boring matters of state to attend to. I trust you will be absolutely crushed by my absence, but alas, duty calls.”

Despite the fact that you know he’s right, you will miss him while he’s away, something about the smug tone his voice takes on has you leaning back into Ellaria and away from him, letting a smug smile bleed onto your own face. “I suppose we will just have to find a way to entertain ourselves without you.” Ramping up the dramatics you tilt your head back onto Ellaria’s shoulder, eyes closed as you drape a hand over your forehead. “It will be such agony being deprived of your presence, my prince.”

You feel Ellaria shaking against your back, and crack one eye open to see her covering her mouth with a hand, attempting to stifle her laughter at your dramatics. One look at Oberyn shows similar amusement playing out across his face, and the combination cracks your resolve to hold up the act. You collapse into a fit of giggles against the other woman, the room quickly filling with laughter from both of you.

Oberyn holds up his hands, shaking his head with a grin. “Alright, I get the picture.”

With one last lingering look at the suns embroidered on your sleeve he lifts your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back that has your breath catching in your lungs, your laughter dying on your lips. His eyes never leave yours, an emotion you can’t quite place shining in them.

“Until I return, beautiful mystery.”

This time when you shoot up in bed, sweaty and panting with a feeling of doom draped about your shoulders like an insistent cat, you can’t shake the feeling off by the time the sun rises. These dreams are something, you can’t pretend otherwise anymore.

You seek Ellaria out, finding her on the balcony of her rooms. You had originally found it odd that Ellaria and Oberyn didn’t share rooms, what with their obvious closeness despite not being married. She had explained that while usually they did share a bed and their conquests, there were times where one or the other or whoever they brought to bed didn’t feel like sharing or being shared, which made separate rooms convenient.

She also smiled and told you that there were times, much as she loved him, that she just needed space from Oberyn.

Despite the separate spaces, you find both of them on the balcony of Ellaria’s rooms, Oberyn freshly back from his trip the night before, a spread of breakfast food on a tray resting on the built-in bench between them. Ellaria sees you first, and a warm tingle spreads through you at the smile that lights up her face as soon as she spots you.

“Darling! If I had known you were going to join us this morning I would have had more food brought up.” You quickly shake your head, cutting her off before she can call for someone to bring more food.

Instead you settle on the other side of the bench that stretches around the edge of the small balcony, nervously tucking your legs beneath you. “Thank you, but I um…I actually wanted to ask you about something.”

Even staring nervously at the floor, you don’t miss the way they both straighten, twisting to look more fully at you. Oberyn sets the glass of wine in his hand down, and you have to resist the urge to squirm under the full weight of both their attentions.

“It’s…god I’m going to sound insane, but magic is a thing here, right?” You look up and the two of them glance at each other.

“Somewhat, yes. Why do you ask?” Oberyn is the one that answers you, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

You twist your fingers together in your lap, partially out of nerves and at least somewhat to resist the urge to reach out and smooth the wrinkle down. “Well, I uh…I’ve been having these dreams? And at first I didn’t think anything about them, I just thought they were nightmares, but then I remembered I had them as a kid too, and they always ended up coming true. Which didn’t really mean anything, I thought maybe I was just making connections where there weren’t any, but I had a dream the other night and the only thing I could remember from it was one of the cooks burning himself on a pan, and when I went down to get a snack the next day he burned himself while I was down there in the same spot, which I know sounds insane but I swear it’s true and-”

You don’t realize you’re rambling until Ellaria leans forward, covering your increasingly twisted fingers with her own. The feeling stops you short and you draw in a deep breath, suddenly aware of how low on oxygen you had been running. You lower your eyes from the pretty blue sky where they’d drifted, unable to look at either of them as you rambled.

They’re both frowning, and panic fills you. They don’t believed you, they think you’re insane, what kind of crazy person thinks they have dreams that come true how stupid is that-

“That sounds similar to Amphise.” Ellaria’s voice breaks your spiraling train of thoughts and brings you back to the present to see her looking at Oberyn. You realize now they both look thoughtful, not judgmental, and you sag with relief.

Then Ellaria’s words register, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Amphise? Who’s Amphise?”

Oberyn leans back, resting against the railing of the balcony with arms crossed. “Amphise is what I suppose your world would call a witch. They are called seers here in Dorne, but have different names in different parts of the world. Seers have prophetic dreams similar to yours, among other abilities.”

“She is the one that confirmed Oberyn and I were soulmates. It is one of their abilities.” Ellaria turns to you, and you shove down the sting at the reminder of their bond. “Normally signs manifest in early childhood that someone is a seer, and they would be trained on how to harness their powers. But since you were not born in our world…”

“It was never seen, so I was never trained.” You finish her thought for her, and she gives you a small smile of confirmation. “So I’m not going crazy? I’m actually having dreams of the future?”

Oberyn laughs, shaking his head. “No, dove, you are not going crazy.” He leans forward, snagging a grape. “We should take you to see Amphise. She lives here in Sunspear, Doran likes to keep her close since her abilities are so useful.”

You sit up, nodding excitedly. “Can we?” You can finally get answers about these dreams, and the thought occurs to you - what if Amphise might know how you came to be in Dorne?

It’s Ellaria’s turn to smile. “We can leave now, if you’d like.”

Another thought occurs to you as you look at both of them, one that when you first arrived would have filled you with more excitement but now fills you with a confusing mix of emotions you can’t quite parse out.

What if she knows how to send you back?

Taglist:

@sarahjkl82-blog @ecuadorlady @fan-of-encouragement @knivesareout @writeforfandoms @gorgeousgrogu @leto-duke @xoxabs88xox @kirsteng42 @hauntedmama @urofficial-cyberslut @marvelousmermaid @tanzthompson @lowlights @dobbyjen @tanzthompson

#ESWF #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand #ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x you #Even Stars Will Fall

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nancypullen · 2 years

Text

Progress

While parts of the interior of the house are still in limbo, today I went out to play in the dirt and, OH, it was good for me. Pretty sure the previous owners never pulled a weed, spaces that were probably flower beds once upon a time were a hot mess. I snapped this when I was making progress on the west side of the house.

See what I mean? A mess. But look at that rich soil! I eventually got it tidied up and...

because I’m lucky enough to have a daughter-in-law who is a botanist and happens to have a green house, I already had some beautiful tomato plants and herbs to put in.

I’ll still need to get some tomato cages and some sort of edging for the space, but I feel good having the plants in. I weeded in the front as well and put in a few red geraniums and some lobelia, I still have a long way to go in that bed - but I’m still deciding what I want to do. In the back yard there’s a little hump that looks like there was an attempt at landscaping. It had three clumps of Monkey Grass on it, which I promptly dug up and replaced with lavender. I’ve been making note of what’s going in where and I have to admit that while I was pulling out that Monkey Grass I was reliving every Dateline episode I’ve ever watched. “Is there something buried here?”...”Why were they in such a hurry to close and leave?”...”Bet they took the money from the sale and fled the country...”

Don’t be surprised if you see a CNN report featuring a backhoe in our yard.

I have a few yard projects in mind, and this little fellow has a starring role. Isn’t he adorable? When I saw him I immediately thought of Charlotte’s Web - that’s some pig.

I couldn’t resist him. I’m rolling in Lowe’s money because the people I love know me well. My Rat Patrol friends and both sons have filled my wallet with Lowe’s gift cards and I’m parsing it out a bit at a time on things that make me happy. Isn’t that lovely? I never, ever forget how lucky I am to have such good people in my life. Speaking of good people, on Sunday we went over to the other Pullen house and filled our hearts and tummies. The sweet grandgirl entertained us and Tyler and Jamie made amazing homemade pizzas in their fancy schmancy outdoor pizza oven. The grandgirl’s pizza of choice was ham and pineapple. No thanks. The rest of us ate delicious combinations - chorizo, pesto, pistachio, cotija and plenty of gooey cheese as well as fig, feta, walnut ,mozzarella, and just a drizzle of honey (that one is my favorite!).

It was a wonderful day, exactly what we’d imagined when we started this journey. We’re going to be a regular presence in our grandgirl’s life and watch her grow up. That squeezes my heart. It’s an easy drive from our place to theirs, close enough to go whenever we want but far enough away not to be up in their business all the time. Heading over the bridge at dusk on a Sunday made it a peaceful trip.

By the time we made it home that great big moon was hanging in the sky lighting up our little patch. It was a sweet welcome home. We didn’t stay up for the eclipse, we hit the sack early (for us). Maybe we’ll catch the one in November. Big day tomorrow. Mickey has to go back to work (BOOOOO!) and I’m going to visit the library and get my card. That’s a big deal to me, that’s part of making a town into a hometown. So there you have it - we had a busy, productive, happy couple of days. Each day we feel more at home and the house feels more like ours. We’ll get there. We’re already making happy memories. More tomorrow. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

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rachaelnpc · 1 year

Text

Light up the darkness one day at a time.

This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.

Prayer For LOVE from The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz

We are going to share a beautiful dream together- a dream that you will love to have all of the time. In this dream you are in the middle of a beautiful, warm sunny day. You hear the birds, the wind, and a little river. You walk toward the river. At the edge of the river is an old man in meditation and you see that out of his head comes a beautiful light of different colors. You try not to bother him, but he notices your presence and opens his eyes. He has the kind of eyes that are full of love and a big smile. You ask him how he is able to radiate all of that beautiful light. You ask him if he can teach you to do what he is doing. He replies that many, many years ago he asked the same question of his teacher.

The old man begins to tell you his story: “My teacher opened his chest and took out his heart, and he took a beautiful flame from his heart. Then he opened my chest, opened my heart, and he put that little flame inside it. He put my heart back in my chest, and as soon as my heart was inside me, I felt intense love, because the flame he put in my heart was his own love.

“That flame grew in my heart and became a big, big fire that doesn’t burn, but purifies everything that it touches. And that fire touched each one of the cells of my body, and the cells of my body loved me back. I became one with my body, but my love grew even more. That fire touched every emotion of my mind, and all the emotions transformed into a strong intense love. And I loved myself, completely and unconditionally.

“But the fire kept burning and I had the need to share my love. I decided to put a little piece of my love in every tree, and the trees loved me back, and I became one with the trees, but my love did not stop, it grew more. I put a piece of love in every flower, in the grass, in the earth and they moved me back, and we became one. And my love grew more and more to love every animal in the world. They responded to my love and they loved me back, and we became one. But my love kept growing and growing.

“I put a piece of my love in every crystal, in every stone in the ground, in the dirt, in the metals, and they loved me back, and I became one with the earth. And then I decided to put my love in the water, in the oceans, in the rivers, in the rain, in the snow. And they loved me back and we became one. And still my love grew more and more. I decided to give my love to the air, to the wind. I felt strong communion with the earth, with the wind, with the oceans, with nature, and my love grew and grew.

“I turned my head to the sky, to the sun, to the stars, and put a little piece of my love in every star, in the moon, in the sun, and they loved me back. And I became one with the moon and the sun and the stars, and my love kept growing and growing. And I put a little piece of my love in every human, and I became one with the whole of humanity. Wherever I go, whomever I meet, I see myself in their eyes, because I am a part of everything, because I love.”

And then the old man opens his own chest, takes out his heart with that beautiful flame inside, and he puts that flame in your heart. And now that love is growing inside of you. Now you are one with the wind, with the water, with the stars, with all of nature, with all animals, and with all humans. You feel the heat and the light emanating from the flame in your heart. Out of your head shines a beautiful light of different colors. You are radiant with the glow of love and pray:

Thank you, Creator of the Universe, for the gift of life you have given me. Thank you for giving me everything that I have ever truly needed. Thank you for the opportunity to experience this beautiful body and this wonderful mind. Thank you for living inside of me with all your love, with your pure and boundless spirit, with your warm and radiant light. Thank you for using my words, for using my eyes, for using my heart to share your love wherever I go. I love you just the way that you are, and because I am Your creation, I love myself just the way that I am. Help me to keep that love and the peace in my heart and to make that love a new way of life, that I may live in love the rest of my life. Amen.

#Spotify

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julek · 3 years

Text

for @asweetprologue and myself <3 | read on ao3

“Eurgh,” Jaskier says as he gracelessly flops down onto his bedroll. He wipes his nose. “This is impossible.”

It’s cold season for mere mortals and humble bards, it seems. Jaskier wipes his nose again, coughing into his elbow. Being out in the wilderness doesn’t help, either — the nights are mild but there’s a soft breeze that won’t let up, making Jaskier wake up with a sore, dry throat.

“I wonder…” he mumbles to himself, pushing forward with effort to kneel onto the bedroll. He lets his arms drop, release the tension they’d been holding all day just to keep him standing upright. He brings his fingertips to his thighs and closes his eyes. “Okay, big breath…”

He inhales slowly, pushing down the sudden urge to cough with a frown on his face. He bites his lip as he tries to hold the air in for a moment, counting to five in his head, then breathing out with a heavy exhale that’s immediately followed by a coughing fit.

When he’s regained composure, he tries again. Keeping his back straight as an arrow — or what he hopes resembles it at the moment — he breathes in again, but his left nostril is blocked, the right one whistling as the air comes in. As good as I’m going to get, he thinks, and holds his breath. His ears pop.

“Gods!” He groans, his head in his hands. He sniffs miserably. “What do you want from me? What sins am I paying for?”

“I could name a few,” he hears Geralt’s voice say from the foliage. He walks out of the trees with a smirk, holding a pheasant by the neck. “What are you doing?”

Jaskier looks up at him, droopy-eyed and forlorn. “I tried to meditate. You know, like you do. Deep breaths and all— it didn’t work.”

“Hmm.” Geralt puts the pheasant aside for a moment, moving into Jaskier’s space to kneel beside him. He brings his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, the touch grounding, and says, “You don’t have a fever.”

Jaskier sighs. “But I feel like shit.”

“Mm,” Geralt says emphatically, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before getting up. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier watches him retrieve his knife from his bag. “Can’t you just,” he whines, his fingers making a whoosh motion, “Axii me back into health, or something?”

Geralt snorts, his blade flat against the feathers as he removes the wings. Jaskier almost feels bad for the poor thing, but the rumble in his stomach holds its ground. “That’s not how it works.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.” Jaskier flops onto his back, looking at the twinkling stars. “Just so you know, if I had the ability to do…” He frowns. “...magic thingies, I’d use them to nurse my beloved back into health. Just saying.”

“Good to know.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Since you won’t be displaying your undying love for me via some sort of, of… miracle potion, dear, wake me when dinner’s ready.”

The way Geralt stays silent and doesn’t strangle him is a small display of his undying love of its own. Curled up on his bedroll, Jaskier dozes to the sound of Geralt’s knife and the crackling of the fire.

When he wakes, it’s to Geralt’s foot poking him in the side. “Jask.”

“Mmmpf?” He manages before coughing back to life. “Ugh.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Geralt says, and waits for Jaskier to stop wheezing and attempting to spit his lung out to pass him a slightly-burnt leg.

“Thanks,” Jaskier croaks, and digs in.

They eat in comfortable silence, the distant sound of a stream trickling down and cicadas singing their evening song into the sky, the simmering of water on a pot over the fire. Putting his waterskin aside, Jaskier stretches, pleased.

“Well,” he says. “That was good. Now, I think some sleep is in order.”

Geralt smiles at him like he’s withholding a secret. It’s a dangerous smile for him to wear. “Oh, what is it?” Jaskier says.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, all innocent and wide-eyed.

“You’ve got that conspiratorial look about you. What is it?”

Geralt says nothing, instead fetches his bedroll and rolls it out next to Jaskier’s. Before Jaskier can lay down as he’s been waiting to and before he can drag the Witcher down with him and press into his warmth, Geralt puts up his hand.

“We can’t share,” he says.

Jaskier splutters. “And why not?” He says indignantly.

Geralt gestures vaguely at his face.

Jaskier sniffs, as if to prove his point. “I cannot believe,” he says, wiping his nose, “that Geralt of Rivia, slayer of beasts and hero of humanity, won’t share his bed with me because of a runny nose!”

Geralt makes a face. “You’ll cover me in goo.”

“You’ve been covered in much worse! You can’t even get sick, you—” His voice is comically nasal as he whispers, heartbroken, “I thought you loved me.”

Geralt sits closer. “And I do,” he says. “Which is why I’m displaying my— what was it?”

“Undying love for me,” Jaskier grumbles.

“Yes, that— by offering you the oldest cold-banishing ritual there is.”

Jaskier perks up. “You are? Why didn’t you lead with that? What is it?” He scrambles to get up, starts undoing his chemise. ”Do I have to be naked? Howl at the moon? D’you need some blood? I read that—”

“None of that, Jask,” Geralt says, touching his fingers to Jaskier’s arm, settling him. “Just— wait.”

Jaskier does, curiously watching Geralt wander around their camp. He retrieves a small linen bag from his pack, upending its contents into the pot and taking it out of the fire, placing it on the ground next to it. Then, he digs up an old shirt of his, black and faded, from his bag, and hands it to Jaskier with a warm smile.

“Come here,” he says softly, motioning for Jaskier to come kneel by the fire. He does, the dirt digging in his knees, and looks up at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt unfolds his shirt with care, and wraps it around the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Drape it over your head,” he instructs gently. “With your hands, like this. Like— like a tent.”

It makes Jaskier laugh, but he does it anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I feel like a child. What next?”

He can’t see Geralt with the dark cloth covering his head, but he hears him snort. “Now, put your face over the pot— here, I’ll help you.” Geralt places a hand on his back and helps him lean over the steaming pot, arranges his shirt so that it covers the pot as well, leaving Jaskier inside a warm, humid cocoon. “Now, breathe in.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of chamomile filling his senses. His face feels warm already, the steam curling his hair at the edges. Geralt’s hand is still on his back, soothing. “The steam will help clear your airway,” he says. “Just breathe in and out until the water starts to cool down.”

Jaskier nods, but realizes Geralt can’t see him. “Okay,” he says, breathing in again. It makes him sweat, the warm steam on his face, but with every breath he takes, he can feel it work its magic. There isn’t any, he knows — it’s no different from the potions Geralt brews, the salve he uses on his wounds — but there’s something mesmerizing about watching the cut-up stems and petals dancing on the water, unintelligible shapes revealing themselves at the bottom of Geralt’s beaten-up pot.

The water cools down after a while. When Jaskier emerges from his makeshift tent, Geralt’s watching him with a tender look in his eyes, a smile curling on his lips despite himself. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier sniffs, but this time, he takes in a clean breath. “Better,” he says, handing Geralt his shirt back. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” says Geralt, and this time, when he lays on his bedroll, he beckons Jaskier close. “Sleep?”

Jaskier smiles. The chamomile made him sleepy, and he feels warm as he lays next to Geralt, entwining their legs and brushing his nose against the cold spot where his jaw meets his neck.

“Thank you for saving me,” he murmurs against Geralt’s skin.

Geralt huffs a laugh, tightening his arms around the bard. “‘S hardly a cure.”

Jaskier looks at him. Geralt’s profile is illuminated by the dying firelight, the flames casting shadows on his face. Still, his golden gaze gleams as their eyes meet.

“How’d you come up with it?” Jaskier asks quietly. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

Geralt doesn’t answer for a while, his fingers tracing lines over Jaskier’s chemise. Jaskier brushes a wayward strand of white hair from Geralt’s face. He smiles.

“My mother used to do it for me.”

Jaskier hums at the quiet admission, listening to the slow beating of Geralt’s heart. He smiles faintly, and Jaskier knows he’s not really there right now.

“There wasn’t money for healers, back then.” Geralt swallows. “But there was always chamomile.”

Jaskier squeezes his hand.

“I never liked it, in truth,” Geralt admits, quietly. “The steam was always too hot on my face. But she would… she’d sit next to me. Hold the cloth over my face.”

Jaskier thinks of Geralt’s hand at his back.

“We’d do it together.”

Breathing out, like he can finally feel the air filling his lungs, Geralt looks into Jaskier’s eyes. They’re softer, somehow, honey-gold around a pool of black. Jaskier brushes his fingers against Geralt’s cheek, leans in for a tender kiss to his jaw, missing his lips.

Geralt laughs, low and beautiful. “I can’t get sick now, you know.”

Jaskier smiles. “I know.”

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fluff

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marsbutterfly · 2 years

Note

Can I request an Erwin x Reader? y/n gets isekaid into the walls, gets to Erwin and the SC and tells them about titans, Karl Fritz, etc. Erwin ends up falling in love with the convenient angel who just told him the answers he's been looking for his entire life

Erwin's Love Letter

To My Dear Y/N

As I sit by myself in this office, I am thinking of the first time my eyes were ever so blessed to lay on you.

The moon shined in the sky, surrounded by the most beautiful stars I had ever seen. It was an strangely quiet night considering the loud crashes coming from the Executioner From Hell. It remained like that until we saw you running from a small horde of titans.

You had a mixture of dirt and blood covering your face, hands bound together by a white cloth. Clear signs of dehydration and starvation but you still managed to put up a fight.

I went down the wall to pick you up myself and I do not regret that decision for one second, even if it was incredibly dangerous and a bit stupid.

And that was the best decision I have ever made in my entire life because one look at you and I knew I had found my soulmate.

I carried you in my arms towards the infirmary and I sat by your side as you regained your strength, day after day, week after week.

The day you told me about the world outside the walls? I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe there is a whole world out there, still living, evolving, growing. It felt like a cosmic joke, what cruel God would do this?

But the more you told me about the cars, the food, the way people treats Subjects Of Ymir, the more attracted to you I became. I was so interested in everything you had to say.

Hanji was beyond the moon when you first told them about the origin of the titans they adored so much. Where it all came from and to where we are all heading.

You answered my every question about the outside world and I can never thank you enough for that. You were an angel sent to me by Ymir herself and I am not willing to let you go.

Now that the titans have been eliminated and are no longer a threat, I can ask you to run away with me.

Let's leave Hanji in charge of the Survey Corps and let's run away together. Let's get married, have a family of our own far away from all this mess.

Let's go back to your hometown and start a new life there, where you can show me how to live amongst other kinds of people and I can see with my own eyes the wonders of the outside world.

Please, give this a thought.

Cordially yours,

Erwin Smith, 13th Commander Of The Survey Corps

#erwin smith #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x you #erwin smith x y/n #erwin smith's love letter #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x y/n #aot #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #shingeki no kyojin x you #shingeki no kyojin x reader

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath.

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin.

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades.

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars.

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong.

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead.

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close.

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings.

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you.

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on.

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out.

A man.

Device.

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer-

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang.

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t.

Can’t.

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision…

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward.

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold.

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands.

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist.

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out.

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it.

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you.

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...”

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks.

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin.

Oh, you think, numb. Huh.

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”

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ragnarachael · 2 years

Note

13 and 14, for the kiss prompts, with Loki or Guitarist!Loki? Please and thank you, friend. 🥰

13.) pulling your lover closer by the waistband

14.) kissing under the stars

absolutely delivering this for u rn. you're so welcome <33

loki taglist: @mushroomlupin @miniminwriting @mariahlaufeyson @lam-ila @sineads-art @rosaline-black @a-lonely-gray-couch @lokis-little-love @lokis-tigress

rach's valentine's blurb session!! send in something and i'll write a drabble about it!! | or request a kiss from this list!

"Who knew the lead guitarist for The Revengers could be so romantic—"

"Oh hush, you!" Loki says dramatically, hand easily swatting at your ass as you walk past him on the dirt path. "When I invited you to come with us to Brian's little cabin in the country, I didn't expect a roast every night."

You laugh, almost loud enough for there to be an echo through the trees you're surrounded by on the lit path to the small clearing Brian's wife, Anita, had directed you two to go down to stargaze.

"That's what you get for dating me, baby. I can be brutal."

"Yes, you can," Loki grumbles, a finger hooking into one of your belt loops to tug you back towards him.

"Hey! Easy!"

Loki chuckles and wraps his arms around your middle once you're close, the both of you walking in sync. "I'm being easy. I am being so easy."

You roll your eyes fondly and relax in Loki's grip before you're catching the trees thinning out and the moon shines as bright as the sun does during the day.

"Look at that," you breathe, almost stumbling completely to a stop if Loki wasn't still walking the both of you. "Loki, stop, the moon!"

Loki does as you ask, his chest molding with your back before he's also looking up into the night sky with you.

He says something, you're not too sure what since you're so focused on tracing the constellations in the sky above and the way his hands are absently rubbing your waist how you like.

"Is that one of the Dippers?" you mutter, turning your head to speak towards Loki while still looking at the sky. "Maybe Orion?"

"I dunno," Loki replies. "Shoulda grabbed one of Bri's books before leaving so we'd know."

You hum in reply, trying to trace the stars with your eyes as you both silently stare in awe at the sky.

"You ever wonder what it'd be like in space? I remember when I was little I would always want to go up there so I could see Pluto and tell them how terrible they're treated here on Earth," you gently ramble, finally bringing your eyes to Loki.

But he's already looking at you. And you feel like the breath is knocked out of you.

The moon highlights him in the best way, his skin almost glowing.

"Loki?"

"Hm?" he hums, eyes staring directly at your lips.

"Kiss me already," you say, trying to hold back your giggle as his eyes roll, his lips pressing to yours.

You push up onto your tip toes with ease, moving your lips with Loki's passionately before he's pulling away to let out a small laugh.

"Wait. You're telling me you wanted to find Pluto and fix all the mistreatment it gets as a planet?"

You groan and break out of Loki's grasp. "Yes! And I wanted to live on Neptune, okay!"

#rachael's void speaks back #🥰 anon #guitarist!loki au #guitarist!loki x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson drabble #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson drabble #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson fluff

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samstree · 3 years

Note

for the drabble thing: “you weren’t there”

maybe post mountain geraskier? i’m in an angsty mood rn but whatever you wanna write will be good :)

Creatures of the Night (2)

It's the night of Jaskier and Valdo's wedding. Geralt needs to do something.

(endgame geraskier, background valdo/jaskier, angst, infidelity)

Previous | AO3

The Oxenfurt Observatory might just be the grandest building in Redania.

The great hall is decorated with countless flowers and candles, giving the ancient walls a soft glow. Through the tall glass ceiling, stars are shining in the clear night sky, the perfect weather for a wedding.

It must be Jaskier’s idea, to be handfasted at midnight, to have his guests slow-dance under the moon and the stars until dawn breaks. Their new life will begin when the candles burn out and the first ray of light spills into the room.

If only there’s a competition for the biggest romantic on the continent. Jaskier could win without breaking a sweat.

The room is being filled up with guests—mostly bards and professors, old schoolmates of the two grooms. After all, both Valdo and Jaskier are Oxenfurt’s children, which means everyone is dressed in the most colorful clothes one could imagine. In another word, the room is being filled up with Jaskiers, and it’s getting loud.

It’s more difficult to locate the bard himself through the din of the room, but Geralt hears him, unmistakably. Jaskier’s heartbeat approaches the Observatory, thrumming with nervousness.

No more nervous than Geralt.

He breathes in, and exits the room in a few strides. And there Jaskier is, surrounded by pale moonlight, with jasmine flowers braided into his hair and pure joy painted across his cheeks. He seems to be murmuring a private joke to Essi, and they both burst into strings of giggles.

Geralt almost backs out.

“Geralt!” Jaskier notices him. “You came! I was worried for a moment.”

“Of course.” Geralt gestures to the outfit he helped pick out. “You look nice.”

“Thank you. Now, Poppet, can you give us a few moments?” Jaskier sends Essi inside with the sweetest smile. She shoulders past Geralt a little too curtly. There’s always an air of wariness whenever Essi regards Geralt, an untrusting side-eye here and there.

“Don’t mind her.” Jaskier waves when they are left alone. “Little Eye is a tad too protective. She’ll get over it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt swallows hard. “Can we find somewhere more private? I want to talk to you.”

Jaskier blinks, but leads them away anyway until they are by the side of the road, the celebrating crowd and the orange glow of candlelight in the distance.

“Here to make sure I end up someone else’s problem, aren’t you? Don’t worry, in about half an hour, I will be legally required to only bother Valdo for the rest of eternity.” Jaskier nudges Geralt in the shoulder, a jasmine slipping by his ear.

Geralt rights it without thinking, his fingers trembling.

Gods, he can’t say it. He can’t. Jaskier is so happy and Geralt will only ruin their friendship. His second chance is too precious to be risked—

“No, actually,” Geralt heaves out a breath, his heart pounding. “The opposite."

Jaskier snorts, “And, my dear witcher, what is the opposite?”

Here it goes.

“I am in love with you.”

The words sink into the silence. Geralt’s world narrows down to the steady rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest and the little hitch in his breathing. In the darkness of the night, Jaskier’s eyes stay in the shadows, his emotions obscured.

“No, you are not.” When he finally answers, it comes out in a snort. “Ha! A good one, Geralt! And they say witchers don’t have a sense of humor, idiots!”

Jaskier lets out another dry laugh, although the waver in his voice betrays everything.

“I am,” Geralt stresses again, “in love with you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier is staring, the upturn of his lips freezing into shock, the rise and fall of his chest picking up into a frenzy and suddenly he’s breathing too fast. “You can’t. You just can’t…” Air seems to trap in his lungs and a salty tang of tears hits Geralt full-force.

“I wish I couldn’t love, like what they say, but Jaskier, I can and I do—”

“You can’t do this to me!” Jaskier shouts, crying openly. “No, no! You don’t get to tell me this now! We had twenty years…”

Geralt wants more than anything in the world to pull Jaskier into his arms and wipe away the tears, but the space between them is too great. “I didn’t know for twenty years, Jask. Forgive me. It was only after the mountain that I learned how important you were to me. I couldn’t go on like this—”

“The mountain?” Jaskier chokes out a whimper. “You realized after the mountain? You mean when I bared my heart to you and you stomped on it like it was nothing?”

Geralt shakes his head, the guilt constricting his chest. “I’m sorry. For all the pain I caused you.”

“For months I thought I was but a mistake to you, that you hated me for two decades and couldn’t wait to cast me aside like dirt stuck on your shoes. Do you even know… Geralt, do you have an ounce of idea what I went through?”

Jaskier sways and Geralt catches him in his arms, placing his head on his shoulders and feeling the uncontrollable shakes running down Jaskier’s spine. The sight of Jaskier hurt because of him, again, pains Geralt more than any monster’s claws or talons.

“I love you, Jaskier,” he vows. “You were never nothing to me. You are everything. I was an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier struggles and swats at his shoulders and Geralt takes it all the while murmuring more sweet nothings into his ear. Finally, when Jaskier calms down, it’s with another whimper. “You are an idiot.”

“I am.” Geralt cradles the nape of Jaskier’s neck, running his thumb in circles, soothing the last of the trembling away. “Just one word from you, Jask, I can take you away. You don’t have to marry him. Just give me the word and I’m yours. Gods, I’ve waited for so long for this day. At last, I’m sure of my heart, just as I’m sure of yours.”

He buries into Jaskier’s hair and inhales the grief and the flowers, and something that is distinctly Jaskier, expecting a whispered plea. Just one word from Jaskier and they can start their new life together.

What he doesn’t expect is the way Jaskier goes stiff in his arms and the hand that pushes him away.

The soft moonlight catches a glint in Jaskier’s eyes, and it speaks of determination. “Valdo,” he says, as if in a dream.

“You don’t have to marry him. We can lea—”

“Valdo will be here soon.” Jaskier sniffles and wipes at his tears frantically. His whole face is puffy from crying and there’s no way he can hide it. “It’s almost midnight.”

Geralt’s world comes to a stop.

“What?”

“Get inside, and don’t say anything about this.”

“I don’t understand. Jask, you don’t need to go through this anymore. I’ll give you anything you ask. Just say the words, please,” he begs for the first time in a century, catching Jaskier’s hand.

“I am saying it. Get inside. Sit in the back row and don’t speak to me. Valdo might be able to tell.” With a few deep breaths, Jaskier school his features back to neutral. “Only the gods know how he can read me like an open book.”

Geralt’s blood runs cold. “Do you love him?”

The anguish by the corner of Jaskier’s lips says everything. It remains as he smiles a crooked smile. “He loves me. Oh, Geralt, he loves me. I can’t hurt him like this.”

“I thought,” Geralt looks down in shame. “I thought I knew your heart.”

“I thought I did too.”

“Then why?”

“You weren’t there,” Jaskier shrugs like it’s the easiest explanation. “He was.”

Despite every cell in Geralt’s body screaming against it, he nods and lets go of Jaskier’s hand, allowing his limp fingers to slip from his grasp at last.

Jaskier has asked it of him after all.

He doesn’t know how he got back into the crowd, the warm light only a blur in his vision. Another group is stopping near the hall, among them is the other groom-to-be. Valdo’s worried voice when he sees Jaskier is another blow to Geralt’s chest.

“Oh, Julian, are you crying?”

“Just…too happy.”

There’s the sound of kissing, and Geralt can’t tune it out. He laughs at himself for the masochistic tendencies, but maybe he deserves the torture.

“No more tears. Let’s get married, my love.”

The guests settle, and the music begins.

The happy couple walks towards the altar in the witness of family and friends, and Geralt watches every moment of it.

If the smile on Jaskier’s face is a bit strained as the priest ties the ribbon, no one seems to notice.

---

A big thanks to anon for the prompt! I asked for some one-word or one-sentence prompts and the next thing I knew they were connecting into a whole story.

Each chapter of this story will be based on a prompt, so send in one if you want to steer it in certain directions ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #angst #background valdo/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #weddnings #unrequited love #requited unrequited love #valdo marx #endgame geraskier #ignore the fact that glass ceilings weren't a thing back then #also 'Oxenfurt Observatory' looks so nice

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moonlightwritesdisney · 3 years

Text

DREAM COME TRUE. -- WYATT LYKENSEN.

Paring: Wyatt Lykensen X FEMALE! READER

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: foul language. nudity. graphic descriptions of blood and cannibalism. sexual activity.

Summary: Weeks after your old elementary friend had finally vanished from all existence everything seems to finally go back to normal. Standing in a coffee shop you met him. And all hell breaks loose.

SEQUEL TO ‘YOU’.

PREVIOUSLY . . .

You were fashioned in the bathroom taking a warm cloth and bringing it towards your face wiping off the dried blood. You sucked in a breathe the sound of your beating heart filling your ears. You didn’t feel at all ashamed for what you had done. That bastard human deserved it.

The overbearing of your anxiety flared, you were worried you might get in huge trouble, since unfortunately, the human is never to blame. You had gone to bed that night in hopes for a better day the next morning -- the only problem was, he saw everything.

THE DIRT BELOW HIS BROWN BOOTS became sore while he had previously been peering into your small window for the past five minutes watching you. Your brown pale skin covered in the blood that wasn’t your own. Your face dry and lips cracked from the crying you had done, you felt numb. Your heat besting rapidly in anxiety.

The mirror reflected your bruised image. The bags under your eyes were a dark purple, your eyes a dark brown with widened pupils ( a side effect of a broken Z-band which usually wears off after twelve hours ). Your sink water turned a bright pink as the last of his blood washed down the drain. Disappearing into the drain pipes.

Your mascara smeared down your cheeks, your nose and cheeks red and your eyes puffy. ‘Your going to kill him’. A selfish voice spat in his head, his sharp claws dug into the untouched flesh of his tan palm. He was furious.

How could someone so shameful have the power of destroying someone who was so innocent? She was a ray of pure sunshine. His sunshine. The pondering question he already knew the answer to racked the Alpha wolf’s brain. He couldn’t understand it.

You were so innocent. Baby like. His baby. He felt guilt.

A page pant of sadness washed over him. He had wished it was him, who could comfort you from what had just happened. ‘Shh baby it’s okay I’m here now, your safe, completely safe, I won’t let anyone ever harm you again, ever, never again. I am so sorry.

So sorry. So sorry.’ He had imagined you sobbing desperately in his chest the ache of your body he felt against his own skin, he’d stroke your arm softly and whisper sweet nothing in your ear.

He’d reassure you constantly, be their for you when having to deal with the gained trauma even after the act. He’d give you anything you needed. Leave you loving encouraging notes in your belongings. Hold you every night as you slept. Lock every door and window in the house.

He’d lay bare with you in bed for hours just to make sure his babygirl was okay. Although he couldn’t help blame himself. He knew that he couldn’t just burst into your house and save you from your attacker, even after the matter.

‘oh uhm yeah, I’ve totally been watching you for months, that includes changing, and showering, and well... pleasing yourself too.

I’ve seen it all, and uhm I’m kinda in love with you too so I mean that’s a plus, uhm I know literally everything about you, how you are very persistent in organization and you hate cheesy romantic comedies.

How you’d just want to stay up until three a.m. reading a book about truce crime. How you can girl over the most underrated music artists and how you hate a guy that plays dumb in the most basic way. I know you absolutely hate roses anything I’m missing?’

He chuckled at the image of you stunned. He knew more about you than you knew yourself. How you’d jump into his arms, the feeling of your skin against his. Your soft lips brushing against his neck. He’d want it all.

That would immensely creep you out. His intention would to never make you uncomfortable. So the pain only grew worse. Not being able to call you by your name. Hold you. Take in the surreal beauty that was Y/N.

His white fangs pressed against his bottom teeth. His blood boiled to the brim. He wanted to make that disgusting human pay for what he did. His stomach twirled in mixed emotion.

He so badly wanted to hold you in his chest and comfort you, but some things have complicated consequences.

In the low midst of the night he kept a sharp eye on the human who groggily made his way down the deserted dirt road, stalking the weak being beneath the depths of the dark forest.

Small boots could be heard from miles stretched along the black canvas of the open air, the human male scanning his surroundings for some place to rest or.. a possible shortcut that could lead him home.

Wyatt licked his dry lips breathing out slowly watching the human stand in the clearing with curiosity. ‘Kill him’. ‘He deserves to suffer for what he did’. ‘Y/N’. ‘Think of Y/N’. ‘Gut him’.

The imploding thoughts trying to take control of him. His pupils shrunk and turned a bright yellow his fangs grew from the K-9’s in his mouth. He breathed heavily and beast like trying to regain his composure. Sure, he thought of you.

How you would’ve told him ‘this is dangerous and could get you caught by wolf patrol don’t’. But, the monster side of her would’ve agreed with him. Could’ve given into the impulses.

Could’ve joined in on the eccentric thrill of gutting a human to their bones watching as blood came spitting out of their body, falling limp to the ground and squirming like a dead rabbit, until their last breath leaves the closure of their lungs.

But he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard and shoved the impulsive thoughts aside. He caught attention of the human stepping through the clearing, Wyatt swiftly disappeared behind a tree. (Thank his wolf stealth.)

He watching closely behind the large oak as the midnight sky lit up with thousands of glowing stars the bright moon floating still. His feet crunched under the small wood chips and loose dirt, which made Wyatt’s right ear twitch occasionally.

The human was lost, he had reached up to a large clearing in the middle of the forest ‘maybe this will be a quicker way home’. He thought to himself as he squeezed his way through the thick pine trees that scratched his face and dark leather. Little did he know he wouldn’t be going home.

An owl called in the distance alarming the human. Shrugging it off he walked a few more feet bonfire stopping in the middle of the clearing an eerie feeling began to set it and shake throughout his body. Wyatt quickly ran behind the large oak tree causing the bushes to rustle.

The human quickly threw his head around to the source of the sound, Wyatt felt his heart pace quickly , quicker as each second passed.

The moonstone laid on Wyatt’s chest grew a bright blue his sharp K-9s’ growing to a slick point and his eyes glowing a bright deeming yellow.

A low growl erupted from his stomach the animalistic nature taking grasp of his human side. The human caught sight of a dark shadow peeking out from behind the tree. He bolted the other direction.

His breathing paced as his nimble legs carried him the south west end of the dark dreary forest. Mud crushed under his boots his lungs burning and heaving out of exhaustion. Wyatt was faster. He dodged past trees and bushes running at almost fifty miles.

His leg got caught on a sharp tree ranch nearby he knew that whatever was out to kill him was going to make it quick. He was scared. He pulled with force which caused the branch to cut into the soft flesh of his leg, blood seeped through the blue denim and into Wyatt’s nostrils.

Jumping over large rocks and the bushes he caught up to the human quickly grabbing him by his jacket he pushed to human to the ground and used the force of his arms to hold him in a pin.

The human breathed heavily his eyes widened in fear “please .... don’t hurt me”. He spoke weak like it was an excuse to let him go. Wyatt’s eyes glowed his lips formed a deep snarl.

“Let you go? And what, you continue raping other innocent women”. He whispered a deeply distorted voice replacing Wyatt’s usual calm manner. The monster had completely taken over. The human whimpered and squirmed like a dead animal.

A scream left the human’s mouth and soared above the trees as Wyatt bite deeply into the salty flesh. The blood was warm a large chunk of his skin hung off of Wyatt’s mouth before he spit it out discarding it.

The human grunted and moaned in pain shooting out lines of foul words. Wyatt smirked as he straddled the humans hips in place allowing him to not move.

In panic the human began to wail his arms, the young wolf felt his heart erupt in his chest. The watched as the human wailed in half death, he felt evincible.

The blood squirted and poured out of the human’s uncared wound. The blood tasted sweet in his mouth, a true delicacy.

About fifteen minutes after he threw the discarded bones into a six feet deep ditch he had dug after killing the human.

His mouth, arms, and clothes all drenched in the human’s bodily fluids and chunks of his flesh on his chest.

He smelt foul. He knew he did. He wanted to make sure you were okay but couldn’t come to you smelling like this.

He had walked the path he knew like the back of his hand spotting the small watering hole, he stood at the shore of the small lake the moon glowing brightly over him.

Taking off his fur coat he stripped himself of his purple hoodie before slowly bringing up his white tank top over his head revealing his broad v line, toned abs and chest stained with blood.

Unclasping his jeans he slide them down towards his knees kicking off his boots and white socks. Then came his boxers.

He engulfed himself in the lake slowly, it was freezing cold but was used to it. The water has risen up to the middle of his waist, he began to vigorously rub off the dried blood splashing cold water in his face and arms.

Dipping himself under the cold lake he rushed up and breathed out coughing. Moving his wet hair out of his face he caught sight of a dark shadowed figure that stood at the shore. He could’ve sworn it was you. Your pale skin glimmered beautifully under the moonlight.

He didn’t move a muscle, yet he waited to see what your next intention was. A robe you were wearing slowly feel to the ground as you now stood naked your gaze kept on his, you slowly entered the water.

Your figure made your way through the cold water, his eyes never leaving yours he was absolutely stunned. This had to be surreal.

Your hips moved in the water causing ripples to shift outwards, your brown eyes fluttered innocently. He stood in front of you awestricken, you were gorgeous.

He was scared that maybe if he had made one wrong move you’d leave, so there he stood motionless waiting for you to respond.

You were now in front of him, your naked glory he kept his eyes on you out of full curiosity. Your face inches away from his you guided his hands towards your side his warm arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The tension was lingering, his heart was pacing at an irregular pace questions swirling around in his mind but nonetheless, he wouldn’t change a thing.

The two of your lips met in pure bliss, moving in synchronization your fingernails traveling up the back of his neck and into his soft curls his hands gripping your hips lightly not wanting to hurt you without permission.

His lips trailed from your jaw and to your neck where he softly bite and sucked gaining small moans from you in response.

Heavy breathing and moans began to fall from your lips as he held you in his arms his nails digging into the sides of your hips causing you to squirm, the fingers of his right hand gently sliding over your folds.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, he awoke in a panic, his head was spinning and he was covered in blood. His brown eyes scanned his surroundings, the green trees a dim green and the woods ground wet and sloshy from the rain the night before.

It was a dream.

Fuck. It was a dream.

Shivers shot down his spine and throughout his body as he remembered the horny dream he had. God he wished it where real. He observed his clothing. He was drenched in blood. His whole body.

He pondered to himself in confusion then it clicked. After killing the human he had retreated back to the clearing and fell asleep after ... Waking up he knew aside from the perks of his wolf powers one downside was that wolves couldn’t remember events that happen after they detach from their human form.

He licked his chapped numb lips while his ears perked up, sirens could be heard from miles away, holy shit. The police had found his body. Quickly, he stood up and ran left towards large similar oaks trees, lucky for him he knew the woods so it was easy for him.

Suddenly while his head was turned behind him making sure he wasn’t seen he quickly looked forward and collided with anther body a loud grunt slipped passed his lips as he fell on the hard soil, groaning.

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itssuppertim3 · 3 years

Text

Lean (Miraak x Reader):

Contemplating on writing for Pyramid Head every once in a while since I can't get the thick bastard off my mind but we'll see what the future brings

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"Do you like winter, Miraak?" I asked the man strolling quietly beside me. "Not necessarily. However, I remember a time when I did. My temple always felt a bit warmer-- more enjoyable during that time." I snorted at him in amusement, to which he wasn't fond of. "I just imagined you stringing up holiday decor." He merely scoffed in denial, though we both knew it was true.

While searching for another conversation topic, my foot slid against the mud beneath me. "Careful," Miraak warned as his hands clasped firmly around my shoulders. My breath was trapped in my throat from the sudden startle, but somehow he only made it worse. Once my voice came back to me, I said, "uh...-- yeah. Thank you." Damn, his hands were so warm. I could feel the heat emitting from them even through my armor. Alas, the soothing feeling dissappeared as soon as he retracted his arms.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't already cracked your skull before I came along. It seems that you are always tripping and stumbling wherever you go." I scratched my cheek and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, you know me so well."

"That is only because I stand witness to it," he uttered. We continued onward to Morthal in silence. A week ago, Jarl Idgrod sent me a letter of assistance; "potential murdurer on the loose," it had read. She noted that she wasn't one to fall victim to senseless gossip, but over the last several days she had been growing paranoid of the situation. Thus, she requested us to investigate. "I wonder why the jarl wants two dragonborn to take care of a killer instead of the guards? Gods, I feel like most of the soldiers are just using this pitiful war as an excuse to be lazy," I grumbled with my arms crossing.

"I agree. Though as far as I'm concerned, she wants you to handle it, not I." I perked up at his remark. "What do you mean? Everyone should know by now that you're just as powerful as I am. We've been traveling together for three months." Miraak diverted his gaze from me and pointed it straight ahead. "Perhaps, but you and I are still very different from one another. The people of Skyrim view you as a hero to be remembered for ages, whereas I will forever be remembered as a traitor-- if I was even remembered at all." The atmosphere around us suddenly became very dim. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the mire sloshing under our boots.

"That's bullshit," I retorted finally. Miraak was taken aback by my sudden change of attitude. "Excuse my language, but it is. Look at all of the good you've done since we've been together! We took down a vampire lord for crying out loud! And yeah, we weren't thanked for it or anything--"

"Y/n."

"But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you put in a lot of effort to make the world safer, and I think that deserves respect."

"Y/n." By now, Miraak was no longer walking at my side. "What is it?" Before he was able to respond, the muddy ground had fallen loose beneath me and I plummeted into a brown socket of water. Oh yeah, I forgot that we were trudging through a swamp. The filth shot through my mouth and nose as I was completely sumberged. To make matters worse, the water was also incredibly frigid, making it even more difficult to sort through my panic. A pair of arms dove into the murk and proceeded to yank me up by my collar.

I gurgled, spluttered, and heaved strong breaths once I was dragged out of harm's way. Miraak shook his head at me all the while. I could practically feel the smirk hiding under his mask. "Oh, yeah. Real funny. Please continue... to remind me of how much... of a klutz I am," I rasped, still trying to flow air into my lungs. "I did try to warn you, you know. You were about to walk straight into the pond," the man defended. "Ok. I'll give you that." Miraak helped me to my feet after I finally regained my composure. "Oh, great," I sighed at the muck covering me head-to-toe. "I look so unprofessional." He skimmed over the grime coated over my outfit before scooping a clump of mud and smearing some over his robes. "I suppose we'll both have to look unprofessional, then." My cheeks tainted a dark pink at his actions, but I decided to blame it on the nip in the air.

My arms hugged my body when I started to shiver. Going for a dip in late autumn definitely wasn't the best of choices. Miraak scanned over the map and pinpointed our distance from Morthal. "We won't be able to arrive there before nightfall. We still have an hour left to go," he informed. I groaned to myself in reply. "Guess we'll have to make camp, then." He nodded, gesturing me to follow him.

In a matter of minutes, he had already secured a decent campfire and was now assembling the tent. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a nearby log with my bedroll enveloped around my trembling body. I was enjoying watching him, though. "I'd say you're a natural. When did you get so skilled at camping?" I inquired once he took a seat next to me. "By learning from you," he stated simply. Gods, how could he be such a jerk yet act so charming?! I avoided saying anything more and began scrubbing the dirt from my armor with a wet rag.

It was freezing, tonight. There was no comforting glow from the moon and stars due to the thick layer of clouds overhead, which only made it feel colder. I shuddered when a breeze travelled through the area and tormented my body. I was still wearing my undershirt and trousers, and even those were still damp. The cloth made my fingers sting the more I used it, until I felt Miraak's hand take ahold of my own. "Your fingers are red," were the only words that left his mouth before he grabbed my other hand and squeezed them both gently. I was so shocked by this that I couldn't even so much as blink. "Are you cold?" I had forgotten about the prickles climbing over my skin. "Um--uhh, kind of." How did my voice become so small?

Before I could protest, I was pulled closer to Miraak. And now that I left exposed, he felt even warmer than he did earlier. I wasn't even touching him! Not to mention how nice his hands felt. He was like a portable smelter! I stayed more silent than a moth as he continued to caress my fingers and palms. There was no telling what was going on inside of that brain of his.

"You may lean against me, if you like."

Oh.

Oh!

My heart was thrashing around inside of my chest. He wanted me to just... slide even closer and lean on him?! Just like that?! By now, my mind was spiraling in both confusion and embarrassment. Still, I was very cold. There wasn't any harm in doing it, right? He was the one who offered. I ultimately accepted his proposal.

It started off with our knees touching awkardly, and then with my head attempting to rest against his shoulder, which failed due to the golden scales protruding out from his sleeve and jabbing me in the side of the head. Miraak eventually lifted his arm, inviting me to scooch under it-- to which I did. As soon as I got situated, he let his hand ease onto my shoulder. I was so flustered that I could barely breathe. It was suffocating, practically unbearable, yet I only felt myself nestling further into him. "You're really warm," I mumbled.

Oh, dear.

Why on Nirn did I say that? I sounded like a pervert!!! What if he thought I was creepy?! My heart dropped as he held me still and turned to look at me. "Y/n, how do you feel?" It was made to be a question, but it sounded more of a demand. I sat tense for a long while, lips parted yet unmoving. "About...?" I gulped when he slowly placed my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart throbbing at a rapid pace, as was mine. "Me."

Miraak's voice was low and sounded on edge. Perhaps he was more nervous than I thought he was? My next movements were reckless. Recklessness seemed to be my only sense of courage, right now. I carefully drew his hand towards me and slipped off his glove. He didn't stop me, however his muscles twitched under my touch. I stared at his pale skin for a long while. It was decorated with veins and had a scar stretched over his knuckles. Thanks to the protection of his gloves, his fingernails were in prestine condition. In short, his hands were utterly glorious.

I tilted my face down and pressed my lips against his scar, leaving him breathless. "Does that answer your question?" I asked Miraak with a flushed grin. Without responding, he brushed his thumb over my cheek and felt the entirety of my features. His hand was so calloused and smoothe! I cupped my own against it, keeping it there for as long as possible. Once again, I was pulled into another embrace, this one being much tighter and affectionate. Neither of us decided to speak, and somehow it felt more befitting that way.

With my head resting against Miraak's chest, I could hear his heartbeat quite clearly. It was much slower compared to earlier, more soothing than anything. He wasn't very sure where to place his hands, so he kept one firm on my waist and the other rubbing my hair. Sure, my face was hotter than a bonfire and there was still panic fresh on my mind. Then again, I also felt so calm in his arms. This may have been the first time in my life where I actually felt normal. Everything around me simply fell into place. It was selfish of me to inwardly beg for this moment to never end. As a dragonborn, I had my responsibilites, but for now I kicked those responsibilities aside. I had the right to be selfish every now and then.

"Maybe I should go diving into swamps more often," I teased, breaking through the comfortbale silence. I felt my heart flutter in the midst of him vibrating a soft chuckle. "That would certainly be an entertaining idea. Though I might not get the same reaction from you each time." I peered up at my new love interest with a quirked brow. "What kind of reaction?" In one swift motion, Miraak nudged up his mask to his nose and blessed me with a kiss. It was quick and simple, hardly lingering over my lips in time for me to process it. It was as if I had just imagined it!

Even so, the blush stained on my cheeks was already spreading to my ears. This man was a complete menace. His mask was already tipped back down, but the coy smile he was holding was evident. "You bastard," I hissed. He only shrugged his shoulders at me. "If you fall into the swamp again, I may even give you another kiss," Miraak jested. I proceeded to whack his bicep.

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I bet Miraak got those plump ass lips :^3

#miraak #skyrim #elder scrolls #miraak x ldb #fdb #one shot #x reader #dragonborn dlc #tesblr #writeblr #dragon priest

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